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+Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: August 28, 2008 [EBook #26447]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE STRANGE CASE OF
+ MORTIMER FENLEY
+
+ BY LOUIS TRACY
+
+ AUTHOR OF
+
+ THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,
+ NUMBER SEVENTEEN, ETC.
+
+ GROSSET & DUNLAP
+ PUBLISHERS   NEW YORK
+
+ Made in the United States of America
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+ CHAPTER                                                     PAGE
+
+
+    I. THE WATER NYMPHS                                        1
+
+   II. "WHO HATH DONE THIS THING?"                            19
+
+  III. THE HOUNDS                                             39
+
+   IV. BREAKING COVER                                         59
+
+    V. A FAMILY GATHERING                                     79
+
+   VI. WHEREIN FURNEAUX SEEKS INSPIRATION                    101
+
+  VII. SOME SIDE ISSUES                                      123
+
+ VIII. COINCIDENCES                                          145
+
+   IX. WHEREIN AN ARTIST BECOMES A MAN OF ACTION             166
+
+    X. FURNEAUX STATES SOME FACTS                            189
+
+   XI. SOME PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHING                          211
+
+  XII. WHEREIN SCOTLAND YARD IS DINED AND WINED              229
+
+ XIII. CLOSE QUARTERS                                        246
+
+  XIV. THE SPREADING OF THE NET                              266
+
+   XV. SOME STAGE EFFECTS                                    286
+
+  XVI. THE CLOSE OF A TRAGEDY                                305
+
+ XVII. THE SETTLEMENT                                        324
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WATER NYMPHS
+
+
+Does an evil deed cast a shadow in advance? Does premeditated crime
+spread a baleful aura which affects certain highly-strung temperaments
+just as the sensation of a wave of cold air rising from the spine to
+the head may be a forewarning of epilepsy or hysteria? John Trenholme
+had cause to think so one bright June morning in 1912, and he has
+never ceased to believe it, though the events which made him an
+outstanding figure in the "Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley," as the
+murder of a prominent man in the City of London came to be known, have
+long since been swept into oblivion by nearly five years of war. Even
+the sun became a prime agent of the occult that morning. It found a
+chink in a blind and threw a bar of vivid light across the face of a
+young man lying asleep in the front bedroom of the "White Horse Inn"
+at Roxton. It crept onward from a firm, well-molded chin to lips now
+tight set, though not lacking signs that they would open readily in a
+smile and perhaps reveal two rows of strong, white, even teeth.
+Indeed, when that strip of sunshine touched and warmed them, the
+smile came; so the sleeper was dreaming, and pleasantly.
+
+But the earth stays not for men, no matter what their dreams. In a few
+minutes the radiant line reached the sleeper's eyes, and he awoke.
+Naturally, he stared straight at the disturber of his slumbers; and
+being a mere man, who emulated not the ways of eagles, was routed at
+the first glance.
+
+More than that, he was thoroughly aroused, and sprang out of bed with
+a celerity that would have given many another young man a headache
+during the remainder of the day.
+
+But John Trenholme, artist by profession, was somewhat of a
+light-hearted vagabond by instinct; if the artist was ready to be
+annoyed because of an imaginary loss of precious daylight, the
+vagabond laughed cheerily when he blinked at a clock and learned that
+the hour still lacked some minutes of half past five in the morning.
+
+"By gad," he grinned, pulling up the blind, "I was scared stiff. I
+thought the blessed alarm had missed fire, and that I had been lying
+here like a hog during the best part of the finest day England has
+seen this year."
+
+Evidently he was still young enough to deal in superlatives, for there
+had been other fine days that Summer; moreover, in likening himself to
+a pig, he was ridiculously unfair to six feet of athletic symmetry in
+which it would be difficult to detect any marked resemblance to the
+animal whose name is a synonym for laziness.
+
+On the way to the bathroom he stopped to listen for sounds of an
+aroused household, but the inmates of the White Horse Inn were still
+taking life easily.
+
+"Eliza vows she can hear that alarm in her room," he communed. "Well,
+suppose we assist nature, always a laudable thing in itself, and
+peculiarly excellent when breakfast is thereby advanced a quarter of
+an hour."
+
+Eliza was the inn's stout and voluble cook-housekeeper, and her attic
+lay directly above Trenholme's room. He went back for the clock, crept
+swiftly upstairs, opened a door a few inches, and put the infernal
+machine inside, close to the wall. He was splashing in the bath when a
+harsh and penetrating din jarred through the house, and a slight
+scream showed that Eliza had been duly "alarmed."
+
+A few minutes later came a heavy thump on the bathroom door.
+
+"All right, Mr. Trenholme!" cried an irate female voice. "You've been
+up to your tricks, have you? It'll be my turn when I make your coffee;
+I'll pepper an' salt it!"
+
+"Why, what's the matter, Eliza?" he shouted.
+
+"Matter! Frightenin' a body like that! I thought a lot o' suffrigettes
+were smashin' the windows of the snug."
+
+Eliza was still touchy when Trenholme ventured to peep into the
+kitchen.
+
+"I don't know how you dare show your face," she cried wrathfully. "The
+impidence of men nowadays! Just fancy you comin' an' openin' my door!"
+
+"But, _chérie_, what have I done?" he inquired, his brown eyes wide
+with astonishment.
+
+"I'm not your cherry, nor your peach, neither. Who put that clock in
+my room?"
+
+"What clock, _ma belle_?"
+
+Eliza picked up an egg, and bent so fiery a glance on the intruder
+that he dodged out of sight for a second.
+
+"Listen, _carissima_," he pleaded, peering round the jamb of the door
+again. "If the alarm found its way upstairs I must have been walking
+in my sleep. While you were dreaming of suffragettes I may have been
+dreaming of you."
+
+"Stop there a bit longer, chatterin' and callin' me names, an' your
+bacon will be frizzled to a cinder," she retorted.
+
+"But I really hoped to save you some trouble by carrying in the
+breakfast tray myself. I hate to see a jolly, good-tempered woman of
+your splendid physique working yourself to a shadow."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Eliza squared her elbows as a preliminary to another outburst, when
+the stairs creaked. Mary, the "help," was arriving hurriedly, in curl
+papers.
+
+"Oh, _you_'ve condescended to get up, have you?" was the greeting Mary
+received.
+
+"Why, it's on'y ten minutes to six!" cried the astonished girl, gazing
+at a grandfather's clock as if it were bewitched.
+
+"You've never had such a shock since you were born," went on the
+sarcastic Eliza. "But don't thank _me_, my girl. Thank Mr. Trenholme,
+the gentleman stannin' there grinnin' like a Cheshire cat. Talk to him
+nicely, an' p'raps he'll paint your picter, an' then your special
+butcher boy will see how beautiful you reelly are."
+
+"Jim don't need tellin' anything about that," said the girl, smiling,
+for Eliza's bark was notoriously worse than her bite.
+
+"Jim!" came the snorting comment. "The first man who ever axed me to
+marry him was called Jim, an' when, like a wise woman, I said 'No,' he
+went away an' 'listed in the Royal Artillery an' lost his leg in a
+war--that's what Jim did."
+
+"What a piece of luck you didn't accept him!" put on Trenholme.
+
+"An' why, I'd like to know?"
+
+"Because he began by losing his head over you. If a leg was missing,
+too, there wasn't much of Jim left, was there?"
+
+Mary giggled, and Eliza seized the egg again; so Trenholme ran to his
+sitting-room. Within half an hour he was passing through the High
+Street, bidding an affable "Good morning" to such early risers as he
+met, and evidently well content with himself and the world in general.
+His artist's kit revealed his profession even to the uncritical eye,
+but no student of men could have failed to guess his bent were he
+habited in the garb of a costermonger. The painter and the poet are
+the last of the Bohemians, and John Trenholme was a Bohemian to the
+tips of his fingers.
+
+He carried himself like a cavalier, but the divine flame of art
+kindled in his eye. He had learned how to paint in Julien's studio,
+and that same school had taught him to despise convention. He looked
+on nature as a series of exquisite pictures, and regarded men and
+women in the mass as creatures that occasionally fitted into the
+landscape. He was heart whole and fancy free. At twenty-five he had
+already exhibited three times in the Salon, and was spoken of by the
+critics as a painter of much promise, which is the critical method of
+waiting to see how the cat jumps when an artist of genius and
+originality arrests attention.
+
+He had peculiarly luminous brown eyes set well apart in a face which
+won the prompt confidence of women, children and dogs. He was
+splendidly built for an out-door life, and moved with a long, supple
+stride, a gait which people mistook for lounging until they walked
+with him, and found that the pace was something over four miles an
+hour. Add to these personal traits the fact that he had dwelt in
+Roxton exactly two days and a half, and was already on speaking terms
+with most of the inhabitants, and you have a fair notion of John
+Trenholme's appearance and ways.
+
+There remains but to add that he was commissioned by a magazine to
+visit this old-world Hertfordshire village and depict some of its
+beauties before a projected railway introduced the jerry-builder and a
+sewerage scheme, and his presence in the White Horse Inn is explained.
+He had sketched the straggling High Street, the green, the inn itself,
+boasting a license six hundred years old, the undulating common, the
+church with its lych gate, the ivy-clad ruin known as "The Castle,"
+with its square Norman keep still frowning at an English countryside,
+and there was left only an Elizabethan mansion, curiously misnamed
+"The Towers," to be transferred to his portfolio. Here, oddly enough,
+he had been rebuffed. A note to the owner, Mortimer Fenley, banker and
+super City man, asking permission to enter the park of an afternoon,
+had met with a curt refusal.
+
+Trenholme, of course, was surprised, since he was paying the man a
+rare compliment; he had expressed in the inn his full and free opinion
+concerning all money grubbers, and the Fenley species thereof in
+particular; whereupon the stout Eliza, who classed the Fenley family
+as "rubbish," informed him that there was a right of way through the
+park, and that from a certain point near a lake he could sketch the
+grand old manor house to his heart's content, let the Fenleys and
+their keepers scowl as they chose.
+
+The village barber, too, bore out Eliza's statement.
+
+"A rare old row there was in Roxton twenty year ago, when Fenley fust
+kem here, an' tried to close the path," said the barber. "But we beat
+him, we did, an' well he knows it. Not many folk use it nowadays,
+'coss the artful ole dodger opened a new road to the station; but some
+of us makes a point of strollin' that way on a Sunday afternoon, just
+to look at the pheasants an' rabbits, an' it's a treat to see the head
+keeper's face when we go through the lodge gates at the Easton end,
+for that is the line the path takes."
+
+Here followed a detailed description, for the Roxton barber, like
+every other barber, could chatter like a magpie; it was in this wise
+that Trenholme was able to defy the laws forbidding trespass, and
+score off the seemingly uncivil owner of a historical dwelling.
+
+He little imagined, that glorious June morning, that he was entering
+on a road of strange adventure. He had chosen an early hour purposely.
+Not only were the lights and shadows perfect for water color, but it
+was highly probable that he would be able to come and go without
+attracting attention. He had no wish to annoy Fenley, or quarrel with
+the man's myrmidons. Indeed, he would not have visited the estate at
+all if the magazine editor had not specially stipulated for a
+full-page drawing of the house.
+
+Now, all would have been well had the barber's directions proved as
+bald in spirit as they were in letter.
+
+"After passin' 'The Waggoner's Rest,' you'll come to a pair of iron
+gates on the right," he had said. "On one side there's a swing gate.
+Go through, an' make straight for a clump of cedars on top of a little
+hill. There mayn't be much of a path, but that's it. It's reelly a
+short cut to the Easton gate on the London road."
+
+Yet who could guess what a snare for an artist's feet lay in those few
+words? How could Trenholme realize that "a pair of iron gates" would
+prove to be an almost perfect example of Christopher Wren's genius as
+a designer of wrought iron? Trenholme's eyes sparkled when he beheld
+this prize, with its acanthus leaves and roses beaten out with
+wonderful freedom and beauty of curve. A careful drawing was the
+result. Another result, uncounted by him, but of singular importance
+in its outcome was the delay of forty minutes thus entailed.
+
+He crossed an undulating park, and had no difficulty in tracing an
+almost disused path in certain grass-grown furrows leading past the
+group of cedars. On reaching this point he obtained a fair view of the
+mansion; but the sun was directly behind him, as the house faced
+southeast, and he decided to encroach some few yards on private
+property. A brier-laden slope fell from the other side of the trees to
+a delightful-looking lake fed by a tiny cascade on the east side. An
+ideal spot, he thought.
+
+This, then, was the stage setting: Trenholme, screened by black cedars
+and luxuriant brushwood, was seated about fifty feet above the level
+of the lake and some forty yards from its nearest sedges. The lake
+itself, largely artificial, lay at the foot of the waterfall, which
+gurgled and splashed down a miniature precipice of moss-covered
+bowlders. Here and there a rock, a copper beech, a silver larch, or a
+few flowering shrubs cast strong shadows on the dark, pellucid mirror
+beneath. On a cunningly contrived promontory of brown rock stood a
+white marble statue of Venus Aphrodite, and the ripples from the
+cascade seemed to endow with life the shimmering reflection of the
+goddess.
+
+Beyond the lake a smooth lawn, dotted with fine old oaks and
+chestnuts, rose gently for a quarter of a mile to the Italian gardens
+in front of the house. To the left, the park was bounded by woods. To
+the right was another wood, partly concealing a series of ravines and
+disused quarries. Altogether a charming setting for an Elizabethan
+manor, pastoral, peaceful, quite English, and seeming on that placid
+June morning so remote from the crowded mart that it was hard to
+believe the nearest milestone, with its "London, 30 miles."
+
+Had Trenholme glanced at his watch he would have discovered that the
+hour was now half past seven, or nearly an hour later than he had
+planned. But Art, which is long-lived, recks little of Time, an
+evanescent thing. He was enthusiastic over his subject. He would make
+not one sketch, but two. That lake, like the gates, was worthy of
+immortality. Of course, the house must come first. He unpacked a
+canvas hold-all, and soon was busy.
+
+He worked with the speed and assured confidence of a master. By years
+of patient industry he had wrested from Nature the secrets of her
+tints and tone values. Quickly there grew into being an exquisitely
+bright and well balanced drawing, impressionist, but true; a harmony
+of color and atmosphere. Leaving subtleties to the quiet thought of
+the studio, he turned to the lake. Here the lights and shadows were
+bolder. They demanded the accurate appraisement of the half closed
+eye. He was so absorbed in his task that he was blithely unconscious
+of the approach of a girl from the house, and his first glimpse of
+her was forthcoming when she crossed the last spread of velvet sward
+which separated a cluster of rhododendrons in the middle distance from
+the farther edge of the lake.
+
+It was not altogether surprising that he had not seen her earlier. She
+wore a green coat and skirt and a most curiously shaped hat of the
+same hue, so that her colors blended with the landscape. Moreover, she
+was walking rapidly, and had covered the intervening quarter of a mile
+in four minutes or less.
+
+He thought at first that she was heading straight for his lofty perch,
+and was perhaps bent on questioning his right to be there at all. But
+he was promptly undeceived. Her mind was set on one object, and her
+eyes did not travel beyond it. She no more suspected that an artist
+was lurking in the shade of the cedars than she did that the man in
+the moon was gazing blandly at her above their close-packed foliage.
+She came on with rapid, graceful strides, stood for a moment by the
+side of the Venus, and then, while Trenholme literally gasped for
+breath, shed coat, skirt and shoes, revealing a slim form clad in a
+dark blue bathing costume, and dived into the lake.
+
+Trenholme had never felt more surprised. The change of costume was so
+unexpected, the girl's complete ignorance of his presence so obvious,
+that he regarded himself as a confessed intruder, somewhat akin to
+Peeping Tom of Coventry. He was utterly at a loss how to act. If he
+stood up and essayed a hurried retreat, the girl might be frightened,
+and would unquestionably be annoyed. It was impossible to creep away
+unseen. He was well below the crest of the slope crowned by the trees,
+and the nymph now disporting in the lake could hardly fail to discover
+him, no matter how deftly he crouched and twisted.
+
+At this crisis, the artistic instinct triumphed. He became aware that
+the one element lacking hitherto, the element that lent magic to the
+beauty of the lake and its vivid environment of color, was the touch
+of life brought by the swimmer. He caught the flash of her limbs as
+they moved rhythmically through the dark, clear water, and it seemed
+almost as if the gods had striven to be kind in sending this naiad to
+complete a perfect setting. With stealthy hands he drew forth a small
+canvas. Oil, not mild water color, was the fitting medium to portray
+this Eden. Shrinking back under cover of a leafy brier, he began a
+third sketch in which the dominant note was the contrast between the
+living woman and the marble Venus.
+
+For fifteen minutes the girl disported herself like a dolphin.
+Evidently she was a practiced swimmer, and had at her command all the
+resources of the art. At last she climbed out, and stood dripping on
+the sun-laved rock beside the statue. Trenholme had foreseen this
+attitude--had, in fact, painted with feverish energy in anticipation
+of it. The comparison was too striking to be missed by an artist. Were
+it not for the tightly clinging garments, the pair would have provided
+a charming representation of Galatea in stone and Galatea after
+Pygmalion's frenzy had warmed her into life.
+
+Trenholme was absolutely deaf now to any consideration save that of
+artistic endeavor. With a swift accuracy that was nearly marvelous he
+put on the canvas the sheen of faultless limbs and slender neck. He
+even secured the spun-gold glint of hair tightly coifed under a
+bathing cap--a species of head-dress which had puzzled him at the
+first glance--and there was more than a suggestion of a veritable
+portrait of the regular, lively and delicately beautiful features
+which belonged to a type differing in every essential from the cold,
+classic loveliness of the statue, yet vastly more appealing in its
+sheer femininity.
+
+Then the spell was broken. The girl slipped on her shoes, dressed
+herself in a few seconds, and was hurrying back to the house, almost
+before Trenholme dared to breathe normally.
+
+"Well," he muttered, watching the swaying of the green skirt as its
+owner traversed the park, "this is something like an adventure! By
+Jove, I've been lucky this morning! I've got my picture for next
+year's Salon!"
+
+He had got far more, if only he were gifted to peer into the future;
+but that is a privilege denied to men, even to artists. Soon, when he
+was calmer, and the embryo sketch had assumed its requisite color
+notes for subsequent elaboration, he smiled a trifle dubiously.
+
+"If that girl's temperament is as attractive as her looks I'd throw
+over the Salon for the sake of meeting her," he mused. "But that's
+frankly impossible, I suppose. At the best, she would not forgive me
+if she knew I had watched her in this thievish way. I could never
+explain it, never! She wouldn't even listen. Well, it's better to have
+dreamed and lost than never to have dreamed at all."
+
+And yet he dreamed. His eyes followed the fair unknown while she
+entered the garden through a gateway of dense yews, and sped lightly
+up the steps of a terrace adorned with other statues in marble and
+bronze. No doorway broke the pleasing uniformity of the south front,
+but she disappeared through an open window, swinging herself lightly
+over the low sill. He went with her in imagination. Now she was
+crossing a pretty drawing-room, now running upstairs to her room, now
+dressing, possibly in white muslin, which, if Trenholme had the
+choosing of it, would be powdered with tiny _fleurs de lys_, now
+arranging her hair with keen eye for effect, and now tripping down
+again in obedience to a gong summoning the household to breakfast.
+
+He sighed.
+
+"If I had the luck of a decent French poodle, this plutocrat Fenley
+would eke have invited me to lunch," he grumbled.
+
+Then his eyes sought the sketch, and he forgot the girl in her
+counterfeit. By Jove, this _would_ be a picture! "The Water Nymphs."
+But he must change the composition a little--losing none of its
+character; only altering its accessories to such an extent that none
+would recognize the exact setting.
+
+"Luck!" he chortled, with mercurial rise of spirits. "I'm the luckiest
+dog in England today. Happy chance has beaten all the tricks of the
+studio. O ye goddesses, inspire me to heights worthy of you!"
+
+His visions were rudely dispelled by a gunshot, sharp, insistent,
+a tocsin of death in that sylvan solitude. A host of rooks arose
+from some tall elms near the house; a couple of cock pheasants flew
+with startled chuckling out of the wood on the right; the white
+tails of rabbits previously unseen revealed their owners' whereabouts
+as they scampered to cover. But Trenholme was sportsman enough to
+realize that the weapon fired was a rifle; no toy, but of high velocity,
+and he wondered how any one dared risk its dangerous use in such a
+locality. He fixed the sound definitely as coming from the wood to
+the right--the cover quitted so hurriedly by the pheasants--and
+instinctively his glance turned to the house, in the half formed
+thought that some one there might hear the shot, and look out.
+
+The ground floor window by which the girl had entered still remained
+open, but now another window, the most easterly one on the first
+floor, had been raised slightly. The light was peculiarly strong and
+the air so clear that even at the distance he fancied he could
+distinguish some one gesticulating, or so it seemed, behind the glass.
+This went on for a minute or more. Then the window was closed. At the
+same time he noticed a sparkling of glass and brasswork behind the
+clipped yew hedge which extended beyond the east wing. After some
+puzzling, he made out that a motor car was waiting there.
+
+That was all. The clamor of the rooks soon subsided. A couple of
+rabbits skipped from the bushes to resume an interrupted meal on
+tender grass shoots. A robin trilled a roundelay from some neighboring
+branch. Trenholme looked at his watch. Half past nine! Why, he must
+have been mooning there a good half hour!
+
+He gathered his traps, and as the result of seeing the automobile,
+which had not moved yet, determined to forego his earlier project of
+walking out of the park by the Easton gate.
+
+He had just emerged from the trees when a gruff voice hailed him.
+
+"Hi!" it cried. "Who're you, an' what are you doin' here!"
+
+A man, carrying a shotgun and accompanied by a dog, strode up with
+determined air.
+
+Trenholme explained civilly, since the keeper was clearly within
+his rights. Moreover, the stranger was so patently a gentleman
+that Velveteens adopted a less imperative tone.
+
+"Did you hear a shot fired somewhere?" he asked.
+
+"Yes. Among those trees." And Trenholme pointed. "It was a rifle,
+too," he added, with an eye at the twelve-bore.
+
+"So _I_ thought," agreed the keeper.
+
+"Rather risky, isn't it, firing bullets in a place like this?"
+
+"I just want to find out who the ijiot is that did it. Excuse me, sir,
+I must be off." And man and dog hurried away.
+
+And Trenholme, not knowing that death had answered the shot, took
+his own departure, singing as he walked, his thoughts altogether on
+life, and more especially on life as revealed by the limbs of a girl
+gleaming in the dark waters of a pool.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+"WHO HATH DONE THIS THING?"
+
+
+Trenholme's baritone was strong and tuneful--for the Muses, if
+kind, are often lavish of their gifts--so the final refrain of an
+impassioned love song traveled far that placid morning. Thus, when he
+reached the iron gates, he found the Roxton policeman standing there,
+grinning.
+
+"Hello!" said the artist cheerily. Of course he knew the policeman. In
+a week he would have known every man and dog in the village by name.
+
+"Good mornin', sir," said the Law, which was nibbling its chin strap
+and had both thumbs stuck in its belt. "That's a fine thing you was
+singin'. May I arsk wot it was? I do a bit in that line meself."
+
+"It's the _cantabile_ from Saint-Saëns' _Samson et Dalila_," replied
+Trenholme. "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix!"
+
+"Is it now? An' wot may that be, sir?"
+
+The policeman's humor was infectious. Trenholme laughed, too.
+Realizing that the words and accent of Paris had no great vogue in
+Hertfordshire, he explained, and added that he possessed a copy of
+the song, which was at the service of the force. The man thanked him
+warmly, and promised to call at the inn during the afternoon.
+
+"By the way, sir," he added, when Trenholme had passed through the
+wicket, "did you hear a shot fired while you was in the park?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Jer see anybody?"
+
+"A keeper, who seemed rather annoyed about the shooting. Some one had
+fired a rifle."
+
+"It sounded like that to me, sir, and it's an unusual thing at this
+time of the year."
+
+"A heavy-caliber rifle must sound unusual at any time of the year in
+an enclosed estate near London," commented Trenholme.
+
+"My idee exactly," said the policeman. "I think I'll go that way. I
+may meet Bates."
+
+"If Bates is a bandy-legged person with suspicious eyes, a red tie,
+many pockets, brown leggings, and a yellow dog, you'll find him
+searching the wood beyond the lake, which is the direction the shot
+came from."
+
+The policeman laughed.
+
+"That's Bates, to a tick," he said. "If he was 'wanted,' your
+description would do for the _Police Gazette_."
+
+They parted. Since Trenholme's subsequent history is bound up more
+closely with the policeman's movements during the next hour than with
+his own unhindered return to the White Horse Inn, it is well to trace
+the exact course of events as they presented themselves to the ken of
+a music-loving member of the Hertfordshire constabulary.
+
+Police Constable Farrow did not hurry. Why should he? A gunshot in a
+gentleman's park at half past nine on a June morning might be, as he
+had put it, "unusual," but it was obviously a matter capable of the
+simplest explanation. Such a sound heard at midnight would be
+sinister, ominous, replete with those elements of mystery and dread
+which cause even a policeman's heart to beat faster than the
+regulation pace. Under the conditions, when he met Bates, he would
+probably be told that Jenkins, underkeeper and Territorial lance
+corporal, had resolved to end the vicious career of a hoodie crow, and
+had not scrupled to reach the wily robber with a bullet.
+
+So Police Constable Farrow took fifteen minutes to cover the ground
+which Trenholme's longer stride had traversed in ten. Allow another
+fifteen for the artist's packing of his sketching materials, his
+conversation with gamekeeper and policeman, and the leisurely progress
+of the latter through the wood, and it will be found that Farrow
+reached the long straight avenue leading from the lodge at Easton to
+the main entrance of the house about forty minutes after the firing of
+the shot.
+
+He halted on the grass by the side of the well-kept drive, and looked
+at the waiting motor car. The chauffeur was not visible. He had seen
+neither Bates nor Jenkins. His passing among the trees had not
+disturbed even a pheasant, though the estate was alive with game. The
+door of The Towers was open, but no stately manservant was stationed
+there. A yellow dog sat in the sunshine. Farrow and the dog exchanged
+long-range glances: the policeman consulted his watch, bit his chin
+strap, and dug his thumbs into his belt.
+
+"Mr. Fenley is late today," he said to himself. "He catches the nine
+forty-five. As a rule, he's as reliable as Greenwich. I'll wait here
+till he passes, an' then call round an' see Smith."
+
+Now, Smith was the head gardener; evidently Police Constable Farrow
+was not only well acquainted with the various inmates of the mansion,
+but could have prepared a list of the out-door employees as well. He
+stood there, calm and impassive as Fate, and, without knowing it,
+represented Fate in her most inexorable mood; for had he betaken
+himself elsewhere, the shrewdest brains of Scotland Yard might have
+been defeated by the enigma they were asked to solve before Mortimer
+Fenley's murderer was discovered.
+
+Indeed, it is reasonable to suppose that if chance had not brought the
+village constable to that identical spot, and at that very hour, the
+precise method of the crime might never have been revealed. Moreover,
+Farrow himself may climb slowly to an inspectorship, and pass into the
+dignified ease of a pension, without being aware of the part he played
+in a tragedy that morning. Of course, in his own estimation, he filled
+a highly important rôle as soon as the hue and cry began, but a great
+deal of water would flow under London Bridge before the true effect of
+his walk through the wood and emergence into sight in the avenue began
+to dawn on other minds.
+
+His appearance there was a vital fact. It changed the trend of
+circumstances much as the path of a comet is deflected by encountering
+a heavy planet. Presumably, neither comet nor planet is aware of the
+disturbance. That deduction is left to the brooding eye of science.
+
+Be that as it may, Police Constable Farrow's serenity was not
+disturbed until a doctor's motor car panted along the avenue from
+Easton and pulled up with a jerk in front of him. The doctor, frowning
+with anxiety, looked out, and recognition was mutual.
+
+"Have you got the man?" he asked, and the words were jerked out rather
+than spoken.
+
+"What man, sir?" inquired Farrows, saluting.
+
+"The man who shot Mr. Fenley."
+
+"The man who shot Mr. Fenley!" Farrow could only repeat each word in a
+crescendo of amazement. Being a singer, he understood the use of a
+crescendo, and gave full scope to it.
+
+"Good Heavens!" cried the doctor. "Haven't you been told? Why are you
+here? Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep nearly an hour ago.
+At least that is the message telephoned by his son. Unfortunately I
+was out. Right ahead, Tom!"
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch, and the car darted on again. Farrow
+followed, a quite alert and horrified policeman now. But it was not
+ordained that he should enter the house. He was distant yet a hundred
+yards, or more, when three men came through the doorway. They were
+Bates, the keeper, Tomlinson, the butler, and Mr. Hilton Fenley, elder
+son of the man now reported dead. All were bareheaded. The arrival of
+the doctor, at the instant alighting from his car, prevented them from
+noticing Farrow's rapid approach. When Hilton Fenley saw the doctor he
+threw up his hands with the gesture of one who has plumbed the depths
+of misery. Farrow could, and did, fit in the accompanying words quite
+accurately.
+
+"Nothing can be done, Stern! My father is dead!"
+
+The two clasped each other's hand, and Hilton Fenley staggered
+slightly. He was overcome with emotion. The shock of a terrible crime
+had taxed his self-control to its uttermost bounds. He placed a hand
+over his eyes and said brokenly to the butler:
+
+"You take Dr. Stern inside, Tomlinson. I'll join you in a few minutes.
+I must have a breath of air, or I'll choke!"
+
+Doctor and butler hurried into the house; then, but not until then,
+Hilton Fenley and the keeper became aware of Farrow, now within a few
+yards. At sight of him, Fenley seemed to recover his faculties; the
+mere possibility of taking some definite action brought a tinge of
+color to a pallid and somewhat sallow face.
+
+"Ah! Here is the constable," he cried. "Go with him, Bates, and have
+that artist fellow arrested!"
+
+"Meaning Mr. Trenholme, sir?" inquired the policeman, startled anew by
+this unexpected reference to the man he had parted from so recently.
+
+"I don't know his name; but Bates met him in the park, near the lake,
+just after the shot was fired that killed my father."
+
+"But I met him, too, sir. He didn't fire any shot. He hadn't a gun. In
+fact, he spoke about the shootin', and was surprised at it."
+
+"Look here, Farrow, I am incapable of thinking clearly; so you must
+act for the best. Some one fired that bullet. It nearly tore my father
+to pieces. I never saw anything like it. It was ghastly--oh, ghastly!
+The murderer must be found. Why are you losing time? Jump into the
+car, and Brodie will take you anywhere you want to go. The roads, the
+railway stations, must be scoured, searched. Oh, do something, or I
+shall go mad!"
+
+Hilton Fenley did, indeed, wear the semblance of a man distraught.
+Horror stared from his deep-set eyes and lurked in the corners of his
+mouth. His father had been struck dead within a few seconds after they
+had separated in the entrance hall, both having quitted the breakfast
+room together, and the awful discovery which followed the cry of an
+alarmed servant had almost shaken the son's reason.
+
+Farrow was hardly fitted to deal with a crisis of such magnitude, but
+he acted promptly and with fixed purpose--qualities which form the
+greater part of generalship.
+
+"Bates," he said, turning a determined eye on the keeper, "where was
+you when you heard the shot?"
+
+"In the kennels, back of the lodge," came the instant answer.
+
+"And you kem this way at once?"
+
+"Straight. Didn't lose 'arf a minute."
+
+"So no one could have left by the Easton gate without meeting you?"
+
+"That's right."
+
+"And you found Mr. Trenholme--where?"
+
+"Comin' away from the cedars, above the lake."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"Tole me about the shot, an' pointed out the Quarry Wood as the place
+it kem from."
+
+"Was he upset at all in his manner?"
+
+"Not a bit. Spoke quite nateral-like."
+
+"Well, between the three of us, you an' me an' Mr. Trenholme, we
+account for both gates an' the best part of two miles of park. Where
+is Jenkins?"
+
+"I left him at the kennels."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The policeman was momentarily nonplussed. He had formed a theory in
+which Jenkins, that young Territorial spark, figured either as a fool
+or a criminal.
+
+"What's the use of holding a sort of inquiry on the doorstep?" broke
+in Hilton Fenley shrilly. His utterance was nearly hysterical.
+Farrow's judicial calm appeared to stir him to frenzy. He clamored for
+action, for zealous scouting, and this orderly investigation by mere
+words was absolutely maddening.
+
+"I'm not wastin' time, sir," said Farrow respectfully. "It's as
+certain as anything can be that the murderer, if murder has been done,
+has not got away by either of the gates."
+
+"If murder has been done!" cried Fenley. "What do you mean? Go and
+look at my poor father's corpse----"
+
+"Of course, Mr. Fenley is dead, sir, an' sorry I am to hear of it; but
+the affair may turn out to be an accident."
+
+"Accident! Farrow, you're talking like an idiot. A man is shot dead at
+his own front door, in a house standing in the midst of a big estate,
+and you tell me it's an accident!"
+
+"No, sir. I on'y mentioned that on the off chance. Queer things do
+happen, an' one shouldn't lose sight of that fact just because it's
+unusual. Now, sir, with your permission, I want Brodie, an' Smith, an'
+all the men servants you can spare for the next half hour."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Brodie can motor to the Inspector's office, an' tell him wot he
+knows, stoppin' on the way to send Jenkins here. Some of us must
+search the woods thoroughly, while others watch the open park, to make
+sure no one escapes without bein' seen. It's my firm belief that the
+man who fired that rifle is still hidin' among those trees. He may be
+sneakin' off now, but we'd see him if we're quick in reachin' the
+other side. Will you do as I ask, sir?"
+
+Farrow was already in motion when Fenley's dazed mind recalled
+something the policeman ought to know.
+
+"I've telephoned to Scotland Yard half an hour ago," he said.
+
+"That's all right, sir. The main thing now is to search every inch of
+the woods. If nothing else, we may find footprints."
+
+"And make plenty of new ones."
+
+"Not if the helpers do as I tell 'em, sir."
+
+"I can't argue. I'm not fit for it. Still, some instinct warns me you
+are not adopting the best course. I think you ought to go in the car
+and put the police into combined action."
+
+"What are they to do, sir? The murderer won't carry a rifle through
+the village, or along the open road. I fancy we'll come across the
+weapon itself in the wood. Besides, the Inspector will do all that is
+necessary when Brodie sees him. Reelly, sir, I _know_ I'm right."
+
+"But should that artist be questioned?"
+
+"Of course he will, sir. He won't run away. If he does, we'll soon nab
+him. He's been stayin' at the White Horse Inn the last two days, an'
+is quite a nice-spoken young gentleman. Why should _he_ want to shoot
+Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"He is annoyed with my father, for one thing."
+
+"Eh? Wot, sir?"
+
+Farrow, hitherto eager to be off on the hunt, stopped as if he heard a
+statement of real importance.
+
+Hilton Fenley pressed a hand to his eyes.
+
+"It was nothing to speak of," he muttered. "He wrote asking permission
+to sketch the house, and my father refused--just why I don't know;
+some business matter had vexed him that day, I fancy, and he dashed
+off the refusal on the spur of the moment. But a man does not commit a
+terrible crime for so slight a cause.... Oh, if only my head would
+cease throbbing!... Do as you like. Bates, see that every assistance
+is given."
+
+Fenley walked a few paces unsteadily. Obviously he was incapable of
+lucid thought, and the mere effort at sustained conversation was a
+torture. He turned through a yew arch into the Italian garden, and
+threw himself wearily into a seat.
+
+"Poor young fellow! He's fair off his nut," whispered Bates.
+
+"What can one expect?" said Farrow. "But we must get busy. Where's
+Brodie? Do go an' find him."
+
+Bates jerked a thumb toward the house.
+
+"He's in there," he said. "He helped to carry in the Gov'nor. Hasn't
+left him since."
+
+"He must come at once. He can't do any good now, an' we've lost nearly
+an hour as it is."
+
+The chauffeur appeared, red-eyed and white-faced. But he understood
+the urgency of his mission, and soon had the car in movement. Others
+came--the butler, some gardeners, and men engaged in stables and
+garage, for the dead banker maintained a large establishment. Farrow
+explained his plan. They would beat the woods methodically, and the
+searcher who noted anything "unusual"--the word was often on the
+policeman's lips--was not to touch or disturb the object or sign in
+any way, but its whereabouts should be marked by a broken branch
+stuck in the ground. Of course, if a stranger was seen, an alarm
+should be raised instantly.
+
+The little party was making for the Quarry Wood, when Jenkins arrived
+on a bicycle. The first intimation he had received of the murder was
+the chauffeur's message. There was a telephone between house and
+lodge, but no one had thought of using it.
+
+"Now, Bates," said Farrow, when the squad of men had spread out in
+line, "you an' me will take the likeliest line. You ought to know
+every spot in the covert where it's possible to aim a gun at any one
+stannin' on top of the steps at The Towers. There can't be many such
+places. Is there even one? I don't suppose the barefaced scoundrel
+would dare come out into the open drive. Brodie said Mr. Fenley was
+shot through the right side while facin' the car, so he bears out both
+your notion an' Mr. Trenholme's that the bullet kem from the Quarry
+Wood. What's _your_ idea about it? Have you one, or are you just as
+much in the dark as the rest of us?"
+
+Bates was sour-faced with perplexity. The killing of his employer was
+already crystallizing in his thoughts into an irrevocable thing, for
+the butler had lifted aside the dead man's coat and waistcoat, and
+this had shown him the ghastly evidences of a wound which must have
+been instantly fatal. Now, a shrewd if narrow intelligence was
+concentrated on the one tremendous question, "Who hath done this
+thing?" He looked so worried that the yellow dog, watching him, and
+quick to interpret his moods, slouched warily at heel; and Farrow,
+though agog with excitement, saw that his crony was ill at ease
+because of some twinge of fear or suspicion.
+
+"Speak out, Jim," he urged, dropping his voice to a confidential
+pitch, lest one of the others might overhear. "Gimme the straight tip,
+if you can. It need never be known that it kem from you."
+
+"I've a good berth here," muttered the keeper, with seeming
+irrelevance.
+
+"Tell me something fresh," said Farrow, quickening with grateful
+memories of many a pheasant and brace of rabbits reposing a brief
+space in his modest larder.
+
+"So, if I tell you things in confidence like----"
+
+"I've heard 'em from any one but you."
+
+Bates drew a deep breath, only to expel it fiercely between puffed
+lips.
+
+"It's this way," he growled. "Mr. Robert an' the ol' man didn't hit
+off, an' there was a deuce of a row between 'em the other day,
+Saturday it was. My niece, Mary, was a-dustin' the banisters when the
+two kem out from breakfast, an' she heerd the Gov'nor say: 'That's my
+last word on the subjec'. I mean to be obeyed this time.'
+
+"'But, look here, pater,' said Mr. Robert--he always calls his father
+pater, ye know--'I reelly can't arrange matters in that offhand way.
+You must give me time.' 'Not another minute,' said Mr. Fenley. 'Oh,
+dash it all,' said Mr. Robert, 'you're enough to drive a fellow crazy.
+At times I almost forget that I'm your son. Some fellows would be
+tempted to blow their brains out, an' yours, too.'
+
+"At that, Tomlinson broke in, an' grabbed Mr. Robert's arm, an' the
+Gov'nor went off in the car in a fine ol' temper. Mr. Robert left The
+Towers on his motor bike soon afterward, an' he hasn't been back
+since."
+
+Although the fount of information temporarily ran dry, Farrow felt
+that there was more to come if its secret springs were tapped.
+
+"Did Mary drop a hint as to what the row was about?" he inquired.
+
+"She guessed it had something to do with Miss Sylvia."
+
+"Why Miss Sylvia?"
+
+"She an' Mr. Robert are pretty good friends, you see."
+
+"I see." The policeman saw little, but each scrap of news might fit
+into its place presently.
+
+"Is that all?" he went on. They were nearing that part of the wood
+where care must be exercised, and he wanted Bates to talk while in
+the vein.
+
+"No, not by a long way," burst out the keeper, seemingly unable to
+contain any longer the deadly knowledge weighing on his conscience.
+"Don't you try an' hold me to it, Farrow, or I'll swear black an' blue
+I never said it; but I knew the ring of the shot that killed my poor
+ol' guv'nor. It was fired from an express rifle, an' there's on'y one
+of the sort in Roxton, so far as _I've_ ever seen. An' it is, or ought
+to be, in Mr. Robert's sittin'-room at this very minute. There! Now
+you've got it. Do as you like. Get Tomlinson to talk, or anybody else,
+but keep me out of it--d'ye hear?"
+
+"I hear," said Farrow, thrilling with the consciousness that when some
+dandy detective arrived from the "Yard," he would receive an
+eye-opener from a certain humble member of the Hertfordshire
+constabulary. Not that he quite brought himself to believe Robert
+Fenley his father's murderer. That was going rather far. That would,
+indeed, be a monstrous assumption as matters stood. But as clues the
+quarrel and the rifle were excellent, and Scotland Yard must recognize
+them in that light.
+
+Certainly, this _was_ an unusual case; most unusual. He was well aware
+of the reputation attached to Robert Fenley, the banker's younger son,
+who differed from his brother in every essential. Hilton was
+steady-going, business-like, his father's secretary and right hand in
+affairs, both in the bank and in matters affecting the estate. Robert,
+almost unmanageable as a youth, had grown into an exceedingly rapid
+young man about town. But Roxton folk feared Hilton and liked Robert;
+and local gossip had deplored Robert's wildness, which might erect an
+insurmountable barrier against an obviously suitable match between him
+and Mr. Mortimer Fenley's ward, the rich and beautiful Sylvia Manning.
+
+These things were vivid in the policeman's mind, and he was wondering
+how the puzzle would explain itself in the long run, when an
+exclamation from Bates brought his vagrom speculations sharply back to
+the problem of the moment.
+
+The keeper, of course, as Farrow had said, was making straight for the
+one place in the Quarry Wood which commanded a clear view of the
+entrance to the mansion. The two men were skirting the disused quarry,
+now a rabbit warren, which gave the locality its name; they followed
+the rising edge of the excavation, treading on a broad strip of turf,
+purposely freed of encroaching briers lest any wandering stranger
+might plunge headlong into the pit. Near the highest part of the rock
+wall there was a slight depression in the ground; and here, except
+during the height of a phenomenally dry Summer, the surface was always
+moist.
+
+Bates, who was leading, had halted suddenly. He pointed to three well
+marked footprints.
+
+"Who's been here, an' not so long ago, neither?" he said, darting
+ferret eyes now at the telltale marks and now into the quarry beneath
+or through the solemn aisle of trees.
+
+"Stick in some twigs, an' let's hurry on," said Farrow. "Footprints
+are first rate, but they'll keep for an hour or two."
+
+Thirty yards away, and somewhat to the right, a hump of rock formed
+the Mont Blanc of that tiny Alp. From its summit, and from no other
+part of the wood, they could see the east front of The Towers. In
+fact, while perched there, having climbed its shoulder with great
+care lest certain definite tokens of a recent intruder should be
+obliterated, they discovered a dusty motor car ranged between the
+doctor's runabout and the Fenley limousine, which had returned.
+
+The doctor and Miss Sylvia Manning were standing on the broad mosaic
+which adorned the landing above the steps, standing exactly where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood when he was stricken to death. With them
+were two strangers: one tall, burly and official-looking; the other a
+shrunken little man, whose straw hat, short jacket, and clean-shaven
+face conveyed, at the distance, a curiously juvenile aspect.
+
+Halfway down the steps were Hilton Fenley and Brodie, and all were
+gazing fixedly at that part of the wood where the keeper and the
+policeman had popped into view.
+
+"Hello!" said Bates. "Who is that little lot?"
+
+Clearly, he meant the big man and his diminutive companion. Farrow
+coughed importantly.
+
+"That's Scotland Yard," he said.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Detectives from the Yard. Mr. Hilton telephoned for 'em. An' wot's
+more, they're signalin' to us."
+
+"They want us to go back," said Bates.
+
+"Mebbe."
+
+"There can't be any doubt about it." And, indeed, only a blind man
+could have been skeptical as to the wishes of the group near the door.
+
+"I'm goin' through this wood first," announced Farrow firmly. "Mind
+how you get down. Them marks may be useful. I'm almost sure the
+scoundrel fired from this very spot."
+
+"Looks like it," agreed Bates, and they descended.
+
+Five minutes later they were in the open park, where their assistant
+scouts awaited them. None of the others had found any indication of a
+stranger's presence, and Farrow led them to the house in Indian file,
+by a path.
+
+"Scotland Yard is on the job," he announced. "Now we'll be told just
+wot we reelly ought to have done!"
+
+He did not even exchange a furtive glance with Bates, but, for the
+life of him he could not restrain a note of triumph from creeping into
+his voice. He noticed, too, that Tomlinson, the butler, not only
+looked white and shaken, which was natural under the circumstances,
+but had the haggard aspect of a stout man who may soon become thin by
+stress of fearsome imaginings.
+
+Farrow did not put it that way.
+
+"Bates is right," he said to himself. "Tomlinson has something on his
+chest. By jingo, this affair _is_ a one-er an' no mistake!"
+
+At any rate, local talent had no intention of kowtowing too deeply
+before the majesty of the "Yard," for the Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department himself could have achieved no more in the
+time than Police Constable Farrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE HOUNDS
+
+
+Superintendent James Leander Winter, Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, had just opened the
+morning's letters, and was virtuously resisting the placid charms of
+an open box of cigars, when the telephone bell rang. The speaker was
+the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+"Leave everything else, and motor to Roxton," said the calm voice of
+authority. "Mr. Mortimer Fenley, a private banker in the City, was
+shot dead about nine thirty at his own front door. His place is The
+Towers, which stands in a park between the villages of Roxton and
+Easton, in Hertfordshire. His son, who has just telephoned here,
+believes that a rifle was fired from a neighboring wood, but several
+minutes elapsed before any one realized that the banker was shot, the
+first impression of the servants who ran to his assistance when he
+staggered and fell being that he was suffering from apoplexy. By the
+time the cause of death was discovered the murderer could have
+escaped, so no immediate search was organized. Mr. Hilton Fenley, a
+son, who spoke with difficulty, explained that he thought it best to
+'phone here after summoning a doctor. The dead man is of some
+importance in the City, so I want you to take personal charge of the
+inquiry."
+
+The voice ceased. Mr. Winter, while listening, had glanced at a clock.
+
+"Nine thirty this morning, sir?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes. The son lost no time. The affair happened a quarter of an hour
+ago."
+
+"I'll start in five minutes."
+
+"Good. By the way, who will go with you?"
+
+"Mr. Furneaux."
+
+"Excellent. I leave matters in your hands, Superintendent. Let me hear
+the facts if you return to town before six."
+
+Evidently the Roxton murder was one of the year's big events. It
+loomed large already in the official mind. Winter called up various
+departments in quick succession, gave a series of orders, sorted his
+letters hastily, thrusting some into a drawer and others into a basket
+on the table, and was lighting a cigar when the door opened and his
+trusted aide, Detective Inspector Furneaux, entered.
+
+"Ha!" cackled the newcomer; for Winter had confided to him, only the
+day before, certain reasons why the habit of smoking to excess was
+injurious, and his (Winter's) resolve to cut down the day's cigars to
+three, one after each principal meal.
+
+"Circumstances alter cases," said the Superintendent blandly,
+scrutinizing the Havana to make sure that the outer leaf was burning
+evenly. "You and I are off for a jaunt in the country, Charles, and
+the sternest disciplinarian unbends during holiday time."
+
+"Scotland Yard, as well as the other place, is paved with good
+intentions," said Furneaux.
+
+Winter stooped, and took a couple of automatic pistols from a drawer
+in the desk at which he was seated.
+
+"Put one of those in your pocket," he said.
+
+Again did his colleague smile derisively.
+
+"So it is only a 'bus driver's holiday?" he cried.
+
+"One never knows. Some prominent banker, name of Fenley, has been
+shot. There may be more shooting."
+
+"Fenley? Not Mortimer Fenley?"
+
+"Yes. Do you know him?"
+
+"Better than I know you; because you often puzzle me, whereas he
+struck me as a respectable swindler. Don't you remember those bonds
+which disappeared so mysteriously two months ago from the safe of the
+Mortgage and Discount Bank, and were all sold in Paris before the loss
+was discovered?"
+
+"By Jove! Is that the Fenley?"
+
+"None other. Of course, you were hob-nobbing with royalty at the time,
+so such a trifle as the theft of ten thousand pounds' worth of
+negotiable securities didn't trouble you a bit. I see you're wearing
+the pin today."
+
+"So would you wear it, if an Emperor deigned to take notice of such a
+shrimp."
+
+"Shrimp you call me! Imagine a lobster sticking rubies and diamonds
+into a heliotrope tie!"
+
+Winter winked solemnly.
+
+"I picked up some wrinkles in color blends at the Futurist
+Exhibition," he said. "But here's Johnston to tell us the car is
+ready."
+
+The oddly assorted pair followed the constable in uniform, now
+hurrying ahead to ring for the elevator. The big, bluff, bullet-headed
+Superintendent was physically well fitted for his responsible
+position, though he combined with the official demeanor some of the
+easy-going characteristics of a country squire; but Charles François
+Furneaux was so unlike the detective of romance and the stage that he
+often found it difficult to persuade strangers that he was really the
+famous detective inspector they had heard of in connection with many a
+celebrated trial.
+
+On the other hand, if one were told that he hailed from the Comédie
+Française, the legend would be accepted without demur. He had the
+clean-shaven, wrinkled face of the comedian; his black eyes sparkled
+with an active intelligence; an expressive mouth bespoke clear and
+fluent speech; his quick, alert movements were those of the mimetic
+actor. Winter stood six feet in height, and weighed two hundred and
+ten pounds; Furneaux was six inches shorter and eighty pounds lighter.
+The one was a typical John Bull, the other a Channel Islander of pure
+French descent, and never did more curiously assorted couple follow
+the trail of a criminal.
+
+Yet, if noteworthy when acting apart, they were almost infallible in
+combination. More than one eminent scoundrel had either blown out his
+brains or given himself up to the law when he knew that the Big 'Un
+and Little 'Un of the Yard were hot on his track. Winter seldom failed
+to arrive at the only sound conclusion from ascertained facts, whereas
+Furneaux had an almost uncanny knowledge of the kinks and obliquities
+of the criminal mind. In the phraseology of logic, Winter applied the
+deductive method and Furneaux the inductive; when both fastened on to
+the same "suspect" the unlucky wight was in parlous state.
+
+It may be taken for granted, therefore, that the Assistant
+Commissioner knew what he was about in uttering his satisfaction at
+the Superintendent's choice of an assistant. Possibly he had the
+earlier bond robbery in mind, and expected now that another "mystery"
+would be solved. Scotland Yard guards many secrets which shirk the
+glare of publicity. Some may never be explained; but by far the larger
+proportion are cleared up unexpectedly by incidents which may occur
+months or years afterward, and whose connection with the original
+crime is indiscernible until some chance discovery lays bare the
+hidden clue.
+
+One queer feature of the partnership between the two was their habit
+of chaffing and bickering at each other during the early stages of a
+joint hunt. They were like hounds giving tongue joyously when laid on
+the scent; dangerous then, they became mute and deadly when the quarry
+was in sight. In private life they were firm friends; officially,
+Furneaux was Winter's subordinate, but that fact neither silenced the
+Jersey man's sarcastic tongue nor stopped Winter from roasting his
+assistant unmercifully if an opportunity offered.
+
+Their chauffeur took the line through the parks to the Edgware Road,
+and they talked of anything save "shop" until the speed limit was off
+and the car was responding gayly to the accelerator. Then Winter threw
+away the last inch of a good cigar, involuntarily put his hand to a
+well-filled case for its successor, sighed, and dropped his hand
+again.
+
+"Force of habit," he said, finding Furneaux's eye on him.
+
+"I didn't even think evil," was the reply.
+
+"I really mustn't smoke so much," said Winter plaintively.
+
+"Oh, for goodness' sake light up and be happy. If you sit there
+nursing your self-righteousness you'll be like a bear with a sore
+head before we pass Stanmore. Besides, consider me. I like the smell
+of tobacco, though my finer nervous system will not endure its use."
+
+"Finer fiddlesticks," said Winter, cutting the end off a fresh Havana.
+"Now tell me about Fenley and the ten thousand. What's his other name?
+I forget--Alexander, is it?"
+
+"No, nor Xenophon. Just Mortimer. He ran a private bank in Bishopsgate
+Street, and that, as you know, generally hides a company promoter.
+Frankly, I was bothered by Fenley at first. I believe he lost the
+bonds right enough, for he gave the numbers, and was horribly upset
+when it was found they had been sold in Paris. But, to my idea, he
+either stole them himself and was relieved of them later or was
+victimized by one of his sons.
+
+"The only other person who could have taken them was the cashier, a
+hoary-headed old boy who resides at Epping, and has not changed his
+method of living since he first wore a silk hat and caught the
+eight-forty to the City one morning fifty years ago. I followed him
+home on a Saturday afternoon. The bookstall clerk at Liverpool Street
+handed him _The Amateur Gardener_, and the old boy read it in the
+train. Five minutes after he had reached his house he was out on the
+lawn with a daisy fork. No; the cashier didn't arrange the Paris
+sale."
+
+"What of the sons?"
+
+"The elder, Hilton Fenley, is a neurotic, like myself, so he
+would shine with equal luster as a saint, or a detective, or a
+dyed-in-the-wool thief. The younger, Robert, ought to be an explorer,
+or a steeplechase jockey, or an airman. In reality, he is a first-rate
+wastrel. In my distress I harked back to the old man, to whom the loss
+of the bonds represented something considerably less than a year's
+expenditure. He is mixed up in all sorts of enterprises--rubber, tea,
+picture palaces, breweries and automobile finance. He lent fifty
+thousand pounds on five per cent. first mortgage bonds to one firm at
+Coventry, and half that amount to a rival show in West London. So he
+has the stuff, and plenty of it. Yet----"
+
+Winter nodded.
+
+"I know the sort of man. Dealing in millions today; tomorrow in the
+dock at the Old Bailey."
+
+"The point is that Fenley has never dealt in millions, and has
+kept his head high for twenty years. Just twenty years, by the way.
+Before that he was unknown. He began by the amalgamation of some tea
+plantations in Assam. Fine word, 'amalgamation.' It means money, all
+the time. Can't we amalgamate something, or somebody?"
+
+"In Fenley's case it led to assassination."
+
+"Perhaps. I have a feeling in my bones that if I knew who touched the
+proceeds of those bonds I might understand why some one shot Fenley
+this morning."
+
+"I'll soon tell you a trivial thing like that," said Winter, affecting
+a close interest in the landscape.
+
+"I shouldn't be at all surprised if you did," said Furneaux. "You have
+the luck of a Carnegie. Look at the way you bungled that affair of
+Lady Morris's diamonds, until you happened to see her maid meeting
+Gentleman George at the White City."
+
+Winter smoked complacently.
+
+"Smartest thing I ever did," he chortled. "Fixed on the thief within
+half an hour, and never lost touch till I knew how she had worked the
+job."
+
+"The Bow Street method."
+
+"Why didn't you try something of the sort with regard to Fenley's
+bonds?"
+
+"I couldn't be crude, even with a City financier. I put it gently that
+the money was in the family; he blinked at me like an owl, said that
+he would give thought to the suggestion, and shut down the inquiry by
+telephone before I reached the Yard from his office."
+
+"Oh, he did, did he? It seems to me you've made a pretty good guess in
+associating the bonds and the murder. You've seen both sons, of
+course?"
+
+"Yes, often."
+
+"Are there other members of the family?"
+
+"An invalid wife, never away from The Towers; and a young lady, Miss
+Sylvia Manning--a ward, and worth a pile. By the way, she's twenty.
+Mortimer Fenley, had he lived, was appointed her guardian and trustee
+till she reached twenty-one."
+
+"Twenty!" mused Winter.
+
+"Yes, twice ten," snapped Furneaux.
+
+"And Fenley has cut a figure in the City for twenty years."
+
+"I was sure your gray matter would be stimulated by its favorite
+poison."
+
+"Charles, this should be an easy thing."
+
+"I'm not so sure. Dead men tell no tales, and Fenley himself could
+probably supply many chapters of an exciting story. They will be
+missing. Look at the repeated failures of eminent authors to complete
+'Edwin Drood.' How would they have fared if asked to produce the
+beginning?"
+
+"Still, I'm glad you attended to those bonds. Who had charge of the
+Paris end?"
+
+"Jacques Faure."
+
+"Ah, a good man."
+
+"Pretty fair, for a Frenchman."
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+"You born frog!" he cried.... "Hello, there's a Roxton sign post. Now
+let's compose our features. We are near The Towers."
+
+The estate figured on the county map, so the chauffeur pulled up at
+the right gate. A woman came from the lodge to inquire their
+business, and admitted the car when told that its occupants had been
+summoned by Mr. Hilton Fenley.
+
+"By the way," said Furneaux carelessly, "is Mr. Robert at home?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"When did he leave?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bates knew quite well, and Furneaux knew that she knew.
+
+"The country domestic is the detective's aversion," he said as the car
+whirred into the avenue. "The lady of the lodge will be a sufficiently
+tough proposition if we try to drag information out of her, but the
+real tug of war will come when we tackle the family butler."
+
+"Her husband is also the head keeper," said Winter.
+
+"Name of Bates," added Furneaux.
+
+"Oh, you've been here before, then?"
+
+"No. While you were taking stock of the kennels generally, I was
+deciphering a printed label on a box of dog biscuit."
+
+"I hardly feel that I've begun this inquiry yet," said Winter airily.
+
+"You'd better pull yourself together. The dead man's limousine is
+still waiting at the door, and the local doctor is in attendance."
+
+"Walter J. Stern, M.D."
+
+"Probably. That brass plate on the Georgian house in the center of
+the village positively glistened."
+
+They were received by Hilton Fenley himself, all the available men
+servants having been transferred to the cohort organized and directed
+by Police Constable Farrow.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Furneaux," said Fenley. "I little thought, when
+last we met, that I should be compelled to seek your help so soon
+again, and under such dreadful circumstances."
+
+Furneaux, whose face could display at will a Japanese liveliness of
+expression or become a mask of Indian gravity, surveyed the speaker
+with inscrutable eyes.
+
+"This is Superintendent Winter, Chief of my Department," he said.
+
+"The Assistant Commissioner told me to take charge of the inquiry
+without delay, sir," explained Winter. He glanced at his watch. "We
+have not been long on the road. It is only twenty minutes to eleven."
+
+Fenley led them through a spacious hall into a dining-room on the
+left. On an oak settee at the back of the hall the outline of a white
+sheet was eloquent of the grim object beneath. In the dining-room were
+an elderly man and a slim, white-faced girl. Had Trenholme been
+present he would have noted with interest that her dress was of white
+muslin dotted with tiny blue spots--not _fleurs de lys_, but rather
+resembling them.
+
+"Dr. Stern, and Miss Sylvia Manning," said Fenley to the newcomers.
+Then he introduced the Scotland Yard men in turn. By this time the
+young head of the family had schooled himself to a degree of
+self-control. His sallow skin held a greenish pallor, and as if to
+satisfy some instinct that demanded movement he took an occasional
+slow stride across the parquet floor or brushed a hand wearily over
+his eyes. Otherwise he had mastered his voice, and spoke without the
+gasping pauses which had made distressful his words to Farrow.
+
+"Ours is a sad errand, Mr. Fenley," began Winter, after a hasty glance
+at the table, which still bore the disordered array of breakfast.
+"But, if you feel equal to the task, you might tell us exactly what
+happened."
+
+Fenley nodded.
+
+"Of course, of course," he said quietly. "That is essential. We
+three, my father, Miss Manning and myself, breakfasted together. The
+second gong goes every morning at eight forty-five, and we were
+fairly punctual today. My father and Sylvia, Miss Manning, came in
+together--they had been talking in the hall previously. I saw them
+entering the room as I came downstairs. During the meal we chatted
+about affairs in the East; that is, my father and I did, and Syl--Miss
+Manning--gave us some news of a church bazaar in which she is taking
+part.
+
+"My father rose first and went to his room, to collect papers brought
+from the City overnight. I met him on the stairs, and he gave me some
+instructions about a prospectus. (Let me interpolate that I was going
+to Victoria by a later train, having an appointment at eleven o'clock
+with Lord Ventnor, chairman of a company we are bringing out.) I stood
+on the stairs, saying something, while my father crossed the hall and
+took his hat and gloves from Harris, the footman. As I passed along
+the gallery to my own room I saw him standing on the landing at the
+top of the steps.
+
+"He was cutting the end off a cigar, and Harris was just behind him
+and a little to the left, striking a match. Every fine morning my
+father lighted a cigar there. In rain or high wind he would light up
+inside the house. By the way, my mother is an invalid, and dislikes
+the smell of tobacco, so unless we have guests we don't smoke indoors.
+
+"Well, I had reached my room, a sitting-room adjoining my bedroom,
+when I heard a gunshot. Apparently it came from the Quarry Wood, and I
+was surprised, because there is no shooting at this season. A little
+later--some few seconds--I heard Sylvia scream. I did not rush out
+instantly to discover the cause. Young ladies sometimes scream at
+wasps and caterpillars. Then I heard Tomlinson say, 'Fetch Mr. Hilton
+at once,' and I ran into Harris, who blurted out, 'Mr. Fenley has been
+shot, sir.'
+
+"After that, I scarcely know what I said or how I acted. I remember
+running downstairs, and finding my father lying outside the front
+door, with Sylvia supporting his head and Tomlinson and Brodie trying
+to lift him. I think--in fact, I am sure now from what Dr. Stern tells
+me--that my father was dead before I reached him. We all thought at
+first that he had yielded to some awfully sudden form of paralysis,
+but some one--Tomlinson, I believe--noticed a hole through the right
+side of his coat and waistcoat. Then Sylvia--oh, perhaps that is
+matterless----"
+
+"Every incident, however slight, is of importance in a case of this
+sort," Winter encouraged him.
+
+"Well, she said--what was it, exactly? Do you remember, Sylvia?"
+
+"Certainly," said the girl, unhesitatingly. "I said that I thought I
+recognized the sound of Bob's .450. Why shouldn't I say it? Poor Bob
+didn't shoot his father."
+
+Her voice, though singularly musical, had a tearful ring which became
+almost hysterical in the vehemence of the question and its disclaimer.
+
+Fenley moved uneasily, and raised his right hand to his eyes, while
+the left grasped the back of a chair.
+
+"Bob is my brother Robert, who is away from home at this moment," he
+said, and his tone deprecated the mere allusion to the rifle owned by
+the absentee. "I only mentioned Miss Manning's words to show how
+completely at a loss we all were to account for my father's wound. I
+helped Tomlinson and Brodie to carry him to the settee in the hall.
+Then we--Tomlinson, that is--opened his waistcoat and shirt. Tomlinson
+cut the shirt with a scissors, and we saw the wound. Dr. Stern says
+there are indications that an expanding bullet was used, so the
+injuries must have been something appalling.... Sylvia, don't you
+think----"
+
+"I'll not faint, or make a scene, if that is what you are afraid of,
+Hilton," said the girl bravely.
+
+"That is all, then, or nearly all," went on Fenley, in the same
+dreary, monotonous voice. "I telephoned to Dr. Stern, and to Scotland
+Yard, deeming it better to communicate with you than with the local
+police. But it seems that Bates, our head keeper hurrying to
+investigate the cause of the shot, met some artist coming away from
+the other side of the wood. The Roxton police constable too, met and
+spoke with the same man, who told both Bates and the policeman that he
+heard the shot fired. The policeman, Farrow, refused to arrest the
+artist, and is now searching the wood with a number of our men----"
+
+"Can't they be stopped?" broke in Furneaux, speaking for the first
+time.
+
+"Yes, of course," and Hilton Fenley became a trifle more animated. "I
+wanted Farrow to wait till you came, but he insisted--said the
+murderer might be hiding there."
+
+"When did Farrow arrive?"
+
+"Oh, more than half an hour after my father was shot. I forgot to
+mention that my mother knows nothing of the tragedy yet. That is why
+we did not carry my poor father's body upstairs. She might overhear
+the shuffling of feet, and ask the cause."
+
+"One thing more, Mr. Fenley," said Winter, seeing that the other had
+made an end. "Have you the remotest reason to believe that any person
+harbored a grievance against your father such as might lead to the
+commission of a crime of this nature?"
+
+"I've been torturing my mind with that problem since I realized that
+my father was dead, and I can say candidly that he had no enemies. Of
+course, in business, one interferes occasionally with other men's
+projects, but people in the City do not shoot successful opponents."
+
+"No private feud? No dismissed servant, sent off because of theft or
+drunkenness?"
+
+"Absolutely none, to my knowledge. The youngest man on the estate has
+been employed here five or six years."
+
+"It is a very extraordinary crime, Mr. Fenley."
+
+For answer, the other sank into a chair and buried his face in his
+hands.
+
+"How can we get those clodhoppers out of the wood?" said Furneaux. His
+thin, high-pitched voice dispelled the tension, and Fenley dropped his
+hands.
+
+"Bates is certain to make for a rock which commands a view of the
+house," he said. "Perhaps, if we go to the door, we may see them."
+
+He arose with obvious effort, but walked steadily enough. Winter
+followed with the doctor, and inquired in an undertone--
+
+"Are you sure about the soft-nosed bullet, doctor?"
+
+"Quite," was the answer. "I was in the Tirah campaign, and saw
+hundreds of such wounds."
+
+Furneaux, too, had something to say to Miss Manning.
+
+"How were you seated during breakfast?" he asked.
+
+She showed him. It was a large room. Two windows looked down the
+avenue, and three into the garden, with its background of timber and
+park. Mr. Mortimer Fenley could have commanded both views; his son sat
+with his back to the park; the girl had faced it.
+
+"I need hardly put it to you, but you saw no one in or near the
+trees?" said Furneaux.
+
+"Not a soul. I bathe in a little lake below those cedars every
+morning, and it is an estate order that the men do not go in that
+direction between eight and nine o'clock. Of course, a keeper might
+have passed at nine thirty, but it is most unlikely."
+
+"Did you bathe this morning?"
+
+"Yes, soon after eight."
+
+"Did you see the artist of whom Mr. Fenley spoke?"
+
+"No. This is the first I have heard of any artist. Bates must have
+mentioned him while I was with Dr. Stern."
+
+When Farrow arrived at the head of his legion he was just in time to
+salute his Inspector, who had cycled from Easton after receiving the
+news left by the chauffeur at the police station. Farrow was bursting
+with impatience to reveal the discoveries he had made, though resolved
+to keep locked in his own breast the secret confided by Bates. He was
+thoroughly nonplussed, therefore, when Winter, after listening in
+silence to the account of the footprints and scratches on the
+moss-covered surface of the rock, turned to Hilton Fenley.
+
+"With reference to the rifle which has been mentioned--where is it
+kept?" he said.
+
+"In my brother's room. He bought it nearly a year ago, when he was
+planning an expedition to Somaliland."
+
+"May I see it?"
+
+Fenley signed to the butler, who was standing with the others at a
+little distance.
+
+"You know the .450 Express which is in the gun rack in Mr. Robert's
+den?" he said. "Bring it to the Superintendent."
+
+Tomlinson, shaken but dignified, and rather purple of face as the
+result of the tramp through the trees, went indoors. Soon he came
+back, and the rich tint had faded again from his complexion.
+
+"Sorry, sir," he said huskily, "but the rifle is not there."
+
+"Not there!"
+
+It was Sylvia Manning who spoke; the others received this sinister
+fact in silence.
+
+"No, miss."
+
+"Are you quite sure?" asked Fenley.
+
+"It is not in the gun rack, sir, nor in any of the corners."
+
+There was a pause. Fenley clearly forced the next words.
+
+"That's all right. Bates may have it in the gun room. We'll ask him.
+Or Mr. Robert may have taken it to the makers. I remember now he spoke
+of having the sight fitted with some new appliance."
+
+He called Bates. No, the missing rifle was not in the gun room.
+Somehow the notion was forming in certain minds that it could not be
+there. Indeed, the keeper's confusion was so marked that Furneaux's
+glance dwelt on him for a contemplative second.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BREAKING COVER
+
+
+Winter drew the local Inspector aside. "This inquiry rests with you in
+the first instance," he said. "Mr. Furneaux and I are here only to
+assist. Mr. Fenley telephoned to the Commissioner, mainly because
+Scotland Yard was called in to investigate a bond robbery which took
+place in the Fenley Bank some two months ago. Probably you never heard
+of it. Will you kindly explain our position to your Chief Constable?
+Of course, we shall work with you and through you, but my colleague
+has reason to believe that the theft of the bonds may have some
+bearing on this murder, and, as the securities were disposed of in
+Paris, it is more than likely that the Yard may be helpful."
+
+"I fully understand, sir," said the Inspector, secretly delighted at
+the prospect of joining in the hunt with two such renowned detectives.
+The combined parishes of Easton and Roxton seldom produced a crime of
+greater magnitude than the theft of a duck. The arrest of a burglar
+who broke into a villa, found a decanter of whisky, and got so
+hopelessly drunk that he woke up in a cell at the police station, was
+an event of such magnitude that its memory was still lively, though
+the leading personage was now out on ticket of leave after serving
+five years in various penal settlements.
+
+"You will prepare and give the formal evidence at the inquest, which
+will be opened tomorrow," went on Winter. "All that is really
+necessary is identification and a brief statement by the doctor. Then
+the coroner will issue the burial certificate, and the inquiry should
+be adjourned for a fortnight. I would recommend discretion in choosing
+a jury. Avoid busybodies like the plague. Summons only sensible men,
+who will do as they are told and ask no questions."
+
+"Exactly," said the Inspector; he found Machiavellian art in these
+simple instructions. How it broadened the horizon to be brought in
+touch with London!
+
+Winter turned to look for Furneaux. The little man was standing where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood in the last moment of his life. His eyes
+were fixed on the wood. He seemed to be dreaming, but his friend well
+knew how much clarity and almost supernatural vision was associated
+with Furneaux's dreams.
+
+"Charles!" said the Superintendent softly.
+
+Furneaux awoke, and ran down the steps. In his straw hat and light
+Summer suit he looked absurdly boyish, but the Inspector, who had
+formed an erroneous first impression, was positively startled when he
+met those blazing black eyes.
+
+"Mr. Fenley should warn all his servants to speak fully and candidly,"
+said Winter. "Then we shall question the witnesses separately. What do
+you think? Shall we start now?"
+
+"First, the boots," cried Furneaux, seemingly voicing a thought. "We
+want a worn pair of boots belonging to each person in the house and
+employed on the estate, men and women, no exceptions, including the
+dead man's. Then we'll visit that wood. After that, the inquiry."
+
+Winter nodded. When Furneaux and he were in pursuit of a criminal they
+dropped all nice distinctions of rank. If one made a suggestion the
+other adopted it without comment unless he could urge some convincing
+argument against it.
+
+"Mr. Fenley should give his orders now," added Furneaux.
+
+Winter explained his wishes to the nominal head of the household, and
+Fenley's compliance was ready and explicit.
+
+"These gentlemen from Scotland Yard are acting in behalf of Mrs.
+Fenley, my brother and myself," he said to the assembled servants.
+"You must obey them as you would obey me. I place matters unreservedly
+in their hands."
+
+"And our questions should be answered without reserve," put in Winter.
+
+"Yes, of course. I implied that. At any rate, it is clear now."
+
+"Brodie," said Furneaux, seeming to pounce on the chauffeur, "you were
+seated at the wheel when the shot was fired?"
+
+"Ye--yes, sir," stuttered Brodie, rather taken aback by the little
+man's suddenness.
+
+"Were you looking at the wood?"
+
+"In a sort of a way, sir."
+
+"Did you see any one among the trees?"
+
+"No, sir, that I didn't." This more confidently.
+
+"Place your car where it was stationed then. Take your seat, and try
+to imagine that you are waiting for your master. Start the engine, and
+behave exactly as though you expected him to enter the car. Don't
+watch the wood. I mean that you are not to avoid looking at it, but
+just throw yourself back to the condition of mind you were in at nine
+twenty-five this morning. Can you manage that?"
+
+"I think so, sir."
+
+"No chatting with others, you know. Fancy you are about to take Mr.
+Fenley to the station. If you should happen to see me, wave your hand.
+Then you can get down and stop the engine. You understand you are not
+to keep a sharp lookout for me?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The butler thought it would take a quarter of an hour to collect
+sample pairs of boots from the house and outlying cottages. Police
+Constable Farrow was instructed to bring the butler and the array of
+boots to the place where the footprints were found, and Bates led the
+detectives and the Inspector thither at once.
+
+Soon the four men were gazing at the telltale marks, and the
+Inspector, of course, was ready with a shrewd comment.
+
+"Whoever it was that came this way, he didn't take much trouble to
+hide his tracks," he said.
+
+The Scotland Yard experts were so obviously impressed that the
+Inspector tried a higher flight.
+
+"They're a man's boots," he continued. "We needn't have worried
+Tomlinson to gather the maids' footgear."
+
+Furneaux left two neat imprints in the damp soil.
+
+"Bet you a penny whistle there are at least two women in The Towers
+who will make bigger blobs than these," he said.
+
+A penny whistle, as a wager, is what Police Constable Farrow would
+term "unusual."
+
+"Quite so," said the Inspector thoughtfully.
+
+Winter caught Furneaux's eye, and frowned. There was nothing to be
+gained by taking a rise out of the local constabulary. Still, he gave
+one sharp glance at both sets of footprints. Then he looked at
+Furneaux again, this time with a smile.
+
+The party passed on to the rock on the higher ground. Bates pointed
+out the old scratches, and those made by Farrow and himself.
+
+"Me first!" cried Furneaux, darting nimbly to the summit. He was not
+there a second before he signaled to some one invisible from beneath.
+Winter joined him, and the east front of the house burst into view.
+Brodie was in the act of descending from the car. The doctor had gone.
+A small group of men were gazing at the wood, but Hilton Fenley and
+Sylvia Manning were not to be seen.
+
+Neither man uttered a word. They looked at the rock under their feet,
+at the surrounding trees, oak and ash, elm and larch, all of mature
+growth, and towering thirty to forty feet above their heads, while the
+rock itself rose some twelve feet from the general level of the
+sloping ground.
+
+Bates was watching them.
+
+"The fact is, gentlemen, that if an oak an' a couple o' spruce first
+hadn't been cut down you wouldn't see the house even from where you
+are," he said. "Mr. Fenley had an idee of buildin' a shelter on this
+rock, but he let it alone 'coss o' the birds. Ladies would be comin'
+here, an' a-disturbin' of 'em."
+
+The detectives came down. Furneaux, meaning to put the Inspector in
+the right frame of mind, said confidentially--
+
+"Brodie saw me instantly."
+
+"Did he, now? It follows that he would have seen any one who fired at
+Mr. Fenley from that spot."
+
+"It almost follows. We must guard against assuming a chance as a
+certainty."
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"And we must also try to avoid fitting facts into preconceived
+notions. Now, while the butler is gathering old boots, let us spend a
+few profitable minutes in this locality."
+
+After that, any trace of soreness in the inspectorial breast was
+completely obliterated.
+
+Both Winter and Furneaux produced strong magnifying-glasses, and
+scrutinized the scratches and impressions on the bare rock and moss.
+Bates, skilled in wood lore, was quick to note what they had discerned
+at a glance.
+
+"Beg pardon, gentlemen both, but may I put in a word?" he muttered
+awkwardly.
+
+"As many as you like," Winter assured him.
+
+"Well, these here marks was made by Farrow an' meself, say about ten
+forty, or a trifle over an hour after the murder; an' I have no sort
+o' doubt as these other marks are a day or two days older."
+
+"You might even put it at three days," agreed Winter.
+
+"Then it follows----" began the Inspector, but checked himself. He was
+becoming slightly mixed as to the exact sequence of events.
+
+"Come, now, Bates," said Furneaux, "you can tell us the day Mr. Robert
+Fenley left home recently? There is no harm in mentioning his name. It
+can't help being in our thoughts, since it was discovered that his gun
+was missing."
+
+"He went off on a motor bicycle last Saturday mornin', sir."
+
+"Can you fix the hour?"
+
+"About half past ten."
+
+"You have not seen him since?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"You would be likely to know if he had returned?"
+
+"Certain, sir, unless he kem by the Roxton gate."
+
+"Oh, is there another entrance?"
+
+"Yes, but it can't be used, 'cept by people on foot. The big gates are
+always locked, and the road has been grassed over, an' not so many
+folk know of a right of way. Of course, Mr. Robert knows."
+
+Bates was disturbed. He expected to be cross-examined farther, but, to
+his manifest relief, the ordeal was postponed. Winter and Furneaux
+commenced a careful scrutiny of the ground behind the rock. They
+struck off on different paths, but came together at a little distance.
+
+"The trees," murmured Winter.
+
+"Yes, when we are alone."
+
+"Have you noticed----"
+
+"These curious pads. They mean a lot. It's not so easy, James."
+
+"I'm growing interested, I admit."
+
+They rejoined the others.
+
+"Did you tell me that only you and Police Constable Farrow visited
+this part of the wood?" said Furneaux to Bates.
+
+"I don't remember tellin' you, sir, but that's the fact," said the
+keeper.
+
+"Well, warn all the estate hands to keep away from this section during
+the next few days. You will give orders to Farrow to that effect,
+Inspector?"
+
+"Yes. If they go trampling all over, you won't know where you are when
+it comes to a close search," was the cheerful answer. "Now, about that
+gun--it must be hidden somewhere in the undergrowth. The man who fired
+it would never dare to carry it along an open road on a fine morning
+like this, when everybody is astir."
+
+"You're undoubtedly right," said Winter. "But here come assorted
+boots. They may help us a bit."
+
+Tomlinson was a man of method. He and Farrow had brought two wicker
+baskets, such as are used in laundry work. He was rather breathless.
+
+"House--and estate," he wheezed, pointing to each basket in turn.
+
+"Go ahead, Furneaux," said Winter. "Because I ought to stoop, I
+don't."
+
+The little man choked back some gibe; the presence of strangers
+enforced respect to his chief. He took a thin folding rule of aluminum
+from a waistcoat pocket, and applied it to the most clearly defined of
+the three footprints. Then beginning at the "house" basket, he ran
+over the contents rapidly. One pair of boots he set aside. After
+testing the "estate" basket without success, he seized one of the
+selected pair, and pressed it into the earth close to an original
+print. He looked up at Tomlinson, who was in a violent perspiration.
+
+"Whose boot is this?" he asked.
+
+"God help us, sir, it's Mr. Robert's!" said Tomlinson in an agonized
+tone.
+
+The Inspector, Farrow and Bates were visibly thrilled; but Furneaux
+only sank back on his heels, and peered at the boot.
+
+"I don't understand why any one should feel upset because these
+footprints (which, by the way, were not made by this pair of boots)
+happen to resemble marks which may have been made by Mr. Robert
+Fenley," he said, apparently talking to himself. "These marks are
+three or four days old. Mr. Robert Fenley went away on Saturday. Today
+is Wednesday. He may have been here on Saturday morning. What does it
+matter if he was? The man who murdered his father must have been here
+two hours ago."
+
+Sensation! Tomlinson mopped his forehead with a handkerchief already a
+wet rag; Farrow, not daring to interfere, nibbled his chin strap;
+Bates scowled with relief. But the Inspector, after a husky cough,
+spoke.
+
+"Would you mind telling me, Mr. Furneaux, why you are so sure?" he
+said.
+
+"Now, Professor Bates, you tell him," cackled Furneaux.
+
+The keeper dropped on his knees by the side of the detective, and
+gazed critically at the marks.
+
+"At this time o' year, gentlemen, things do grow wonderful," he said
+slowly. "In this sort o' ground, where there's wet an' shade, there's
+a kind o' constant movement. This here new print is clean, an' the
+broken grass an' crushed leaves haven't had time to straighten
+themselves, as one might say. But, in this other lot, the shoots are
+commencin' to perk up, an' insec's have stirred the mold. It's just
+the difference atween a new run for rabbits and an old 'un."
+
+"Thank you, Bates," broke in Winter sharply. "Now, we must not waste
+any more time in demonstrations. Mr. Furneaux explained this thing
+purposely, to show the folly of jumping at conclusions. Innocent men
+have been hanged before today on just such evidence as this. We
+should deem ourselves lucky that these footprints were found so soon
+after the crime was committed. Tomorrow, or next day, there might have
+been a doubt in our minds. Luckily there is none. The man who shot Mr.
+Fenley this morning--" he paused; Furneaux alone appreciated his
+difficulty--"could not possibly have left those marks today."
+
+It was a lame ending, but it sufficed. Four of his hearers took him to
+mean that the unknown, whose feet had left their impress in the soil
+could not have been the murderer; but Furneaux growled in French--
+
+"You tripped badly that time, my friend. You need another cigar!"
+
+Seemingly, he was soliloquizing, and none understood except the one
+person for whose benefit the sarcasm was intended.
+
+Winter felt the spur, but because he was a really great detective it
+only stimulated him. Nothing more was said until the little procession
+reached the avenue. During their brief disappearance in the leafy
+depths two cars and three motor cycles had arrived at The Towers. A
+glance sufficed. The newspapers had heard of the murder; this was the
+advance guard of an army of reporters and photographers. Winter
+buttonholed the Inspector.
+
+"I'll tell you the most valuable service you can render at this
+moment," he said. "Arrange that a constable shall mount guard at the
+rock till nightfall. Then place two on duty. With four men you can
+provide the necessary reliefs, but I want that place watched
+continuously, and intruders warned off till further notice. This man
+who happens to be here might go on duty immediately. Then you can make
+your plans at leisure."
+
+Thus, by the quaint contriving of chance, Police Constable Farrow,
+whose stalwart form and stubborn zeal had blocked the path to the
+Quarry Wood since a few minutes after ten o'clock, was deputed to
+continue that particular duty till a comrade took his place.
+
+His face fell when he heard that he was condemned to solitude, shut
+out from all the excitement of the hour, debarred even, as he
+imagined, from standing on the rock and watching the comings and
+goings at the mansion. But Winter was a kindly if far-seeing student
+of human nature.
+
+"It will be a bit slow for you," he said, when the Inspector had given
+Farrow his orders. "But you can amuse yourself by an occasional peep
+at the landscape, and there is no reason why you shouldn't smoke."
+
+Farrow saluted.
+
+"Do you mean, sir, that I can show myself?"
+
+"Why not? The mere fact that your presence is known will warn off
+priers. Remember--no one, absolutely no one except the police, is to
+be allowed to pass the quarry, or approach from any side within
+hailing distance."
+
+"Not even from the house, sir?"
+
+"Exactly. Mr. Fenley and Miss Manning may be told, if necessary, why
+you are there, and I am sure they will respect my wishes."
+
+Farrow turned back. It was not so bad, then. These Scotland Yard
+fellows had chosen him for an important post, and that hint about a
+pipe was distinctly human. Odd thing, too, that Mr. Robert Fenley was
+not expected to put in an appearance, or the Superintendent would have
+mentioned him with the others.
+
+On reaching the house there were evidences of disturbance. Hilton
+Fenley stood in the doorway, and was haranguing the newspaper men in a
+voice harsh with anger. This intrusion was unwarranted, illegal,
+impudent. He would have them expelled by force. When he caught sight
+of the Inspector he demanded fiercely that names and addresses should
+be taken, so that his solicitors might issue summonses for trespass.
+
+All this, of course, made excellent copy, and Winter put an end to the
+scene by drawing the reporters aside and giving them a fairly complete
+account of the murder. Incidentally, he sent off the Inspector post
+haste on his bicycle to station a constable at each gate, and stop the
+coming invasion. The house telephone, too, closed the main gate
+effectually, so when the earliest scouts had rushed away to connect
+with Fleet Street order was restored.
+
+Winter was puzzled by Fenley's display of passion. It was only to be
+expected that the newspapers would break out in a rash of black
+headlines over the murder of a prominent London financier. By hook or
+by crook, journalism would triumph. He had often been amazed at the
+extent and accuracy of news items concerning the most secret
+inquiries. Of course the reporters sometimes missed the heart of an
+intricate case. In this instance, they had never heard of the bond
+robbery, though the numbers of the stolen securities had been
+advertised widely. Moreover, he was free to admit that if every fact
+known to the police were published broadcast, no one would be a penny
+the worse; for thus far the crime was singularly lacking in motive.
+
+Meanwhile Furneaux had fastened on to Brodie again.
+
+"You saw me at once?" he began.
+
+"I couldn't miss you, sir," said the chauffeur, a solid, stolid
+mechanic, who understood his engine and a road map thoroughly, and
+left the rest to Providence. "I wasn't payin' particular attention,
+yet I twigged you the minute you popped up."
+
+"So it is reasonable to suppose that if any one had appeared in that
+same place this morning and taken steady aim at Mr. Fenley, you would
+have twigged him, too."
+
+"It strikes me that way, sir."
+
+"Did you see nothing--not even a puff of smoke? You must certainly
+have looked at the wood when you heard the shot."
+
+"I did, sir. Not a leaf moved. Just a couple of pheasants flew out,
+and the rooks around the house kicked up such a row that I didn't know
+the Guv'nor was down till Harris shouted."
+
+"Where did the pheasants fly from?"
+
+"They kem out a bit below the rock; but they were risin' birds, an'
+may have started from the ground higher up."
+
+"No birds were startled before the shot was fired?"
+
+"Not to my knowledge, sir. But June pheasants are very tame, and they
+lie marvelous close. A pheasant would just as soon run as fly."
+
+The detectives began a detailed inquiry almost at once. It covered the
+ground already traversed, and the only new incident happened when
+Hilton Fenley, at the moment repeating his evidence, was called to the
+telephone.
+
+"If either of you cares to smoke there are cigars and Virginia
+cigarettes on the sideboard," he said. "Or, if you prefer Turkish,
+here are some," and he laid a gold case on the table. Furneaux grabbed
+it when the door had closed.
+
+"All neurotics use Turkish cigarettes," he said solemnly. "Ah, I
+guessed it! A strong, vile, scented brand!"
+
+"Sometimes, my dear Charles, you talk rubbish," sighed Winter.
+
+"Maybe. I never think or smoke it. 'Language was given us to conceal
+our thoughts,' said Talleyrand. I have always admired Talleyrand,
+'that rather middling bishop but very eminent knave,' as de Quincey
+called him. '_Cré nom!_ I wonder what de Quincey meant by 'middling.'
+A man who could keep in the front rank under the Bourbons, during the
+Revolution, with Napoleon, and back again under the Bourbons, and yet
+die in bed, must have been superhuman. St. Peter, in his stead, would
+have lost his napper at least four times."
+
+Winter stirred uneasily, and gazed out across the Italian garden and
+park, for the detectives were again installed in the dining-room.
+
+"What about that artist, Trenholme?" he said after a pause.
+
+"We'll look him up. Before leaving this house I want to peep into
+various rooms. And there's Tomlinson. Tomlinson is a rich mine. Do
+leave him to me. I'll dig into him deep, and extract ore of high
+percentage--see if I don't."
+
+"Do you know, Charles, I've a notion that we shall get closer to
+bed-rock in London than here."
+
+Furneaux pretended to look for an invisible halo surrounding his
+chief's close-cropped bullet head.
+
+"Sometimes," he said reverently, "you frighten me when you bring off a
+brilliant remark like that. I seem to see lightning zigzagging round
+Jove's dome."
+
+Fenley returned.
+
+"It was a call from the bank," he announced. "They have just seen the
+newspapers. I told them I would run up to town this afternoon."
+
+"Then you did not telephone Bishopsgate Street earlier?" inquired
+Winter, permitting himself to be surprised.
+
+"No. I had other things to bother me."
+
+"Now, Mr. Fenley, can you tell me where your brother is?"
+
+"I can not."
+
+He placed a rather unnecessary emphasis on the negative. The question
+seemed to disturb him. Evidently, if he could consult his own wishes,
+he would prefer not to discuss his brother.
+
+"I take it he has not been home since leaving here on Saturday?"
+persisted Winter.
+
+"That is so."
+
+"Had he quarreled with your father?"
+
+"There was a dispute. Really, Mr. Winter, I must decline to go into
+family affairs."
+
+"But the probability is that the more we know the less our knowledge
+will affect your brother."
+
+The door opened again. Mr. Winter was wanted on the telephone. Then
+there happened one of those strange coincidences which Furneaux's
+caustic wit had christened "Winter's Yorkers," being a quaint play on
+the lines:
+
+          Now is the Winter of our discontent
+          Made glorious Summer by this sun of York.
+
+For the Superintendent had scarcely squeezed his big body into the
+telephone box when he became aware of a mixup on the line; a querulous
+voice was saying:
+
+"I insist on being put through. I am speaking from Mr. Fenley's bank,
+and it is monstrous that I should be kept waiting. I've been trying
+for twenty minutes----"
+
+Buzz. The protest was squelched.
+
+"Are you there?" came the calm accents of the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Winter.
+
+"Any progress?"
+
+"A little. Oddly enough, you are in the nick of time to help
+materially. Will you ring off, and find out from the exchange who
+'phoned here two minutes ago? I don't mean Fenley's Bank, which is
+just trying to get through. I want to know who made the preceding
+call, which was effective."
+
+"I understand. Good-by."
+
+Winter explained in the dining-room that the Assistant Commissioner
+was anxious for news. He had hardly finished when the footman
+reappeared. A call for Mr. Hilton Fenley.
+
+"Confound the telephone," snapped Fenley. "We won't have a moment's
+peace all day, I suppose."
+
+Winter winked heavily at Furneaux. He waited until Fenley's hurried
+footsteps across a creaking parquet floor had died away.
+
+"This is the bank's call," he murmured. "The other was from the Lord
+knows who. I've put the Yard on the track. I wonder why he lied about
+it."
+
+"He's a queer sort of brother, too," said Furneaux. "It strikes me he
+wants to put Robert in the cart."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A FAMILY GATHERING
+
+
+Fenley was frowning when he reappeared.
+
+"Another call from the Bank," he said gruffly. "Everything there is at
+sixes and sevens since the news was howled through the City. That is
+why I really must go to town later. I'm not altogether sorry. The
+necessity of bringing my mind to bear on business will leaven the
+surfeit of horrors I've borne this morning....
+
+"Now, about my brother, Mr. Winter. While listening to Mr. Brown's
+condolences--you remember Brown, the cashier, Mr. Furneaux--I was
+thinking of more vital matters. A policy of concealment often defeats
+its own object, and I have come to the conclusion that you ought to
+know of a dispute between my father and Robert. There's a woman in the
+case, of course. It's a rather unpleasant story, too. Poor Bob got
+entangled with a married woman some months ago. He was infatuated at
+first, but would have broken it off recently were it not for fear of
+divorce proceedings."
+
+"Would you make the position a little clearer, sir?" said Winter, who
+also was listening and thinking. He was quite certain that when he
+met Mr. Brown he would meet the man who had been worrying a telephone
+exchange "during the last twenty minutes."
+
+"I--I can't." And Fenley's hand brushed away some imaginary film from
+before his eyes. "Bob and I never hit it off very well. We're only
+half brothers, you see."
+
+"Was your father married twice?"
+
+"Am I to reopen a forgotten history?"
+
+"Some person, or persons, may not have forgotten it."
+
+"Well, you must have the full story, if at all. My father was not a
+well-born man. Thirty years ago he was a trainer in the service of a
+rich East Indian merchant, Anthony Drummond, of Calcutta, who owned
+racehorses, and one of Drummond's daughters fell in love with him.
+They ran away and got married, but the marriage was a failure. She
+divorced him--by mutual consent, I fancy. Anyhow, _I_ was left on his
+hands.
+
+"He went to Assam, and fell in with a tea planter named Manning, who
+had a big estate, but neglected it for racing. My father suddenly
+developed business instincts and Manning made him a partner.
+Unfortunately--well, that is a hard word, but it applies--my father
+married again--a girl of his own class; rather beneath it, in fact.
+Then Bob was born.
+
+"The old man made money, heaps of it. Manning married, but lost
+his wife when Sylvia came into the world. That broke him up; he
+drank himself to death, leaving his partner as trustee and guardian
+for the infant. There was a boom in tea estates; my father sold on
+the crest of the wave and came to London. He progressed, but Mrs.
+Fenley--didn't. She was just a Tommy's daughter, and never seemed to
+try and rise above the level of 'married quarters'.
+
+"I had to mind my p's and q's as a boy, I can assure you. My mother
+was always thrown in my teeth. Mrs. Fenley called her 'black.' It was
+a ---- lie. She was dark-skinned, as I am, but there are Cornish and
+Welsh folk of much darker complexion. My father, too, shared something
+of the same prejudice. I had to be the good boy of the family.
+Otherwise, I should have been turned out, neck and crop.
+
+"As I behaved well, he was forced to depend on me, because Bob did
+as he liked, with his mother always ready to aid and abet him. Then
+came this scrape I've spoken of. I believe Bob was being blackmailed.
+That's the long and the short of it. Now you know the plain, ungarbled
+facts. Better that they should come from me than reach you with the
+decorations of gossip and servants' tittle-tattle."
+
+The somewhat strained and metallic voice ceased. Fenley was seated at
+the corner of the table near the door. Seemingly yielding to that
+ever-present desire for movement, he pushed with his foot an armchair
+out of its place at the head of the table.
+
+Sylvia Manning had pointed out that chair to Furneaux as the one
+occupied by Mortimer Fenley at breakfast.
+
+"Is the first Mrs. Fenley dead?" said Furneaux suddenly.
+
+"I don't think so," said Fenley, after a pause.
+
+"You are not sure?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you ever tried to find out?"
+
+"No, I dare not."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"If it were discovered that my mother and I were in communication I
+would have been given short shrift in the bank."
+
+"Did she marry again?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Again there was silence. Furneaux seemed to be satisfied that he was
+following a blind alley, and Winter became the inquisitor.
+
+"What is the name of the woman with whom your brother is mixed up?"
+
+"I can not tell you, but my father knew."
+
+"What leads you to form that opinion?"
+
+"Some words that passed between Bob and him last Saturday morning."
+
+"Where? Here?"
+
+"Yes, in the hall. Tomlinson heard more distinctly than I. I saw there
+was trouble brewing, and kept out of it--hung back, on the pretense
+of reading a newspaper."
+
+"As to the missing rifle--can you help us there?"
+
+"Not in the least. I wish to Heaven Bob had gone to Africa, as he was
+planning. Then all this misery would have been avoided."
+
+"Do you mean your father's death?"
+
+Fenley started. He had not weighed his words.
+
+"Oh, no, no!" he cried hurriedly. "Don't try to trip me into
+admissions, Mr. Winter. I can't stand that, damned if I can."
+
+He jumped up, went to the sideboard and mixed himself a weak brandy
+and soda, which he swallowed as if his throat were afire with thirst.
+
+"I am not treating you as a hostile witness, sir," answered Winter
+calmly. "Mr. Furneaux and I are merely clearing the ground. Soon we
+shall know, or believe that we know, what line to avoid and what to
+follow."
+
+"Is Miss Sylvia Manning engaged to be married?" put in Furneaux.
+Fenley gave him a fiendish look.
+
+"What the devil has Miss Manning's matrimonial prospects got to do
+with this inquiry?" he said, and the venom in his tone was hardly to
+be accounted for by Furneaux's harmless-sounding query.
+
+"One never knows," said the little man, taking the unexpected attack
+with bland indifference. "You don't appreciate our position in this
+matter. We are not judges, but guessers. We sit in the stalls of a
+theater, watching people on the stage of real life playing four acts
+of a tragedy, and it is our business to construct the fifth, which is
+produced in court. Let me give you a wildly supposititious version of
+that fifth act now. Suppose some neurotic fool was in love with Miss
+Manning, or her money, and Mr. Mortimer Fenley opposed the project.
+That would supply a motive for the murder. Do you take the point?"
+
+"I'm sorry I blazed out at you. Miss Manning is not engaged to be
+married, nor likely to be for many a day."
+
+Now, the obvious question was, "Why, she being such an attractive
+young lady?" But Furneaux never put obvious questions. He turned to
+Winter with the air of one who had nothing more to say. His colleague
+was evidently perplexed, and showed it, but extricated the others from
+an awkward situation with the tact for which he was noted.
+
+"I am much obliged to you for your candor in supplying such a clear
+summary of the family history, Mr. Fenley," he said. "Of course, we
+shall be meeting you frequently during the next few days, and
+developments can be discussed as they arise."
+
+His manner, more than his words, conveyed an intimation that when the
+opportunity served he would trounce Furneaux for an indiscretion.
+Fenley was mollified.
+
+"Command me in every way," he said.
+
+"There is one more question, the last and the gravest," said Winter
+seriously. "Do you suspect any one of committing this murder?"
+
+"No! On my soul and honor, no!"
+
+"Thank you, sir. We'll tackle the butler now, if you please."
+
+"I'll send him," said Fenley. Probably in nervous forgetfulness, he
+lighted a cigarette and went out, blowing two long columns of smoke
+through his nostrils. He might, or might not, have been pleased had he
+heard the reprimanding of Furneaux.
+
+"Good stroke, that about the stage, Charles," mumbled Winter. Furneaux
+threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust.
+
+"What an actor the man is!" he almost hissed, owing to the need there
+was of subduing his piping voice to a whisper. "Every word thought
+out, but allowed to be dragged forth reluctantly. Putting brother Bob
+into the tureen, isn't he? 'On my soul and honor,' too! Don't you
+remember, some French blighter said that when an innocent man was
+being made a political scapegoat?... Of course, the mother is a
+Eurasian, and he has met her. A nice dish he served up! A salad of
+easily ascertainable facts with a dressing of lying innuendo. Name of
+a pipe! If Master Hilton hadn't been in the house----"
+
+A knock, and the door opened.
+
+"You want me, gentlemen, I am informed by Mr. Hilton Fenley," said
+Tomlinson.
+
+There spoke the butler, discreet, precise, incapable of error.
+Tomlinson had recovered his breath and his dignity. He was in his own
+domain. The very sight of the Mid-Victorian furniture gave him
+confidence. His skilled glance traveled to the decanter and the empty
+glass. He knew to a minim how much brandy had evaporated since his
+last survey of the sideboard.
+
+"Sit down, Tomlinson," said Winter pleasantly. "You must have been
+dreadfully shocked by this morning's occurrence."
+
+Tomlinson sat down. He drew the chair somewhat apart from the table,
+knowing better than to place his elbows on that sacred spread of
+polished mahogany.
+
+"I was, sir," he admitted. "Indeed, I may say I shall always be
+shocked by the remembrance of it."
+
+"Mr. Mortimer Fenley was a kindly employer?"
+
+"One of the best, sir. He liked things done just so, and could be
+sharp if there was any laxity, but I have never received a cross word
+from him."
+
+"Known him long?"
+
+"Ever since he come to The Towers; nearly twenty years."
+
+"And Mrs. Fenley?"
+
+"Mrs. Fenley leaves the household entirely under my control, sir. She
+never interferes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"She is an invalid."
+
+"Is she so ill that she can not be seen?"
+
+"Practically that, sir."
+
+"Been so for twenty years?"
+
+Tomlinson coughed. He was prepared with an ample statement as to the
+catastrophe which took place at nine thirty A. M., but this delving
+into bygone decades was unexpected and decidedly distasteful, it would
+seem.
+
+"Mrs. Fenley is unhappily addicted to the drug habit, sir," he said
+severely, plainly hinting that there were bounds, even for detectives.
+
+"I fancied so," was the dry response. "However, I can understand and
+honor your reluctance to reveal Mrs. Fenley's failings. Now, please
+tell us exactly what Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert said to each other in
+the hall last Saturday morning."
+
+How poor Farrow, immured in his jungle, would have gloated over
+Tomlinson's collapse when he heard those fatal words! To his credit be
+it said, the butler had not breathed a word to a soul concerning the
+scene between father and son. He knew nothing of an inquisitive
+housemaid, and his tortured brain fastened on Hilton Fenley as the
+Paul Pry. Unconsciously, he felt bitter against his new master from
+that moment.
+
+"Must I go into these delicate matters, sir?" he bleated.
+
+"Most certainly. The man whom you respected so greatly has been
+killed, not in the course of a heated dispute, but as the outcome of a
+brutal and well-conceived plan. Bear that in mind, and you will see
+that concealment of vital facts is not only unwise but disloyal."
+
+Winter rather let himself go in his earnestness. He flushed slightly,
+and dared not look at Furneaux lest he should encounter an admiring
+glance.
+
+The butler, however, was far too worried to pay heed to his
+questioner's florid turn of speech. He sighed deeply. He felt like a
+timid swimmer in a choppy sea, knowing he was out of his depth yet
+compelled to struggle blindly.
+
+So, with broken utterance, he repeated the words which a rabbit-eared
+housemaid had carried to Bates. Nevertheless, even while he labored
+on, he fancied that the detectives did not attach such weight to the
+recital as he feared. He anticipated that Winter would write each
+syllable in a notebook, and show an exceeding gravity of appreciation.
+To his great relief, nothing of the kind happened. Winter's comment
+was distinctly helpful.
+
+"It must have been rather disconcerting for you to hear father and
+son quarreling openly," he said.
+
+"Sir, it was most unpleasant."
+
+"Now, did you form any opinion as to the cause of this bickering? For
+instance, did you imagine that Mr. Fenley wished his son to break off
+relations with an undesirable acquaintance?"
+
+"I did, sir."
+
+"Is either Mr. Hilton or Mr. Robert engaged to be married? Or, I had
+better put it, had their father expressed any views as to either of
+his sons marrying suitably?"
+
+"We, in the house, sir, had a notion that Mr. Fenley would like Mr.
+Robert to marry Miss Sylvia."
+
+"Exactly. I expected that. Were these two young people of the same way
+of thinking?"
+
+"They were friendly, sir, but more like brother and sister. You see,
+they were reared together. It often happens that way when a young
+gentleman and young lady grow up from childhood in each other's
+company. They never think of marriage, whereas the same young
+gentleman would probably fall head over heels in love with the same
+young lady if he met her elsewhere."
+
+"Good!" broke in Furneaux. "Tomlinson, do you drink port?"
+
+The butler looked his astonishment, but answered readily enough--
+
+"My favorite wine, sir."
+
+"I thought so. Taken in moderation, port induces sound reasoning. I
+have some Alto Douro of '61. I'll bring you a bottle."
+
+Tomlinson was mystified, a trifle scandalized perhaps; but he bowed
+his acknowledgments.
+
+"Sir, I will appreciate it greatly."
+
+"I know you will. My Alto Douro goes down no gullet but a
+connoisseur's."
+
+Even in his agitation, Tomlinson smiled.
+
+What a queer little man this undersized detective was, to be sure, and
+how oddly he expressed himself!
+
+"I ask this just as a matter of form, but did Mr. Robert Fenley take
+his .450 Express rifle when he went away on Saturday?" said Winter.
+
+"No, sir. He had only a valise strapped to the carrier. But I do
+happen to know that the gun was in his room on Friday, because Friday
+is my day for house inspection."
+
+"Any cartridges?"
+
+"I can't say, sir. They would be in a drawer, or, more likely, in the
+gun room."
+
+"Where is this gun room?"
+
+"Next to the harness room, sir--second door to the right in the
+courtyard."
+
+"Speaking absolutely in confidence, have you formed a theory as to
+this murder?"
+
+"No, sir. But if any sort of evidence is piled up against Mr. Robert I
+shall not credit it. No power on earth could make me believe that he
+would kill his father in cold blood. He respected his father, sir.
+He's a bit wild, as young men with too much money are apt to be, but
+he was good-hearted and genuine."
+
+"Yet he did speak of blowing his own brains out, and his father's."
+
+"That was his silly way of talking, sir. He would say, 'Tomlinson, if
+you tell the pater what time I came home last night I'll stab you to
+the heart.' When there was a bit of a family squabble he would
+threaten to mix a gallon of weed-killer and drink every drop.
+Everything was rotten, or beastly, or awfully ripping. He was not so
+well educated as he ought to have been--Mrs. Fenley's fault entirely;
+and he hadn't the--the words----"
+
+"The vocabulary."
+
+"That's it, sir. I see you understand."
+
+"Tomlinson," interrupted Furneaux, "a famous American writer, Oliver
+Wendell Holmes, described adjectives of that class as the blank checks
+of intellectual bankruptcy. You have hit on the same great thought."
+
+The butler smiled again. He was beginning to like Furneaux.
+
+"You have never heard, I suppose, of Mr. Fenley receiving any
+threatening letters?" continued Winter.
+
+"No, sir. Some stupid postcards were sent when he tried to close a
+right of way through the park; but they were merely ridiculous, and
+that occurred years ago."
+
+"So you, like the rest of us, feel utterly unable to assign a motive
+for this crime?"
+
+"Sir, it's like a thunderbolt from a clear sky."
+
+"Were the brothers, or half brothers, on good terms with each other?"
+
+Tomlinson started at those words, "or half brothers." He was not
+prepared for the Superintendent's close acquaintance with the Fenley
+records.
+
+"They're as different as chalk and cheese, sir," he said, after a
+pause to collect his wits. "Mr. Hilton is clever and well read, and
+cares nothing about sport, though he has a wonderful steady nerve.
+Yes, I mean that----" for Winter's prominent eyes showed surprise at
+the statement. "He's a strange mixture, is Mr. Hilton. He's a fair
+nailer with a revolver. I've seen him hit a penny three times straight
+off at twelve paces, and, when in the mind, he would bowl over running
+rabbits with a rook rifle. Yet he never joined the shooting parties in
+October. Said it made him ill to see graceful birds shattered by
+clumsy folk. All the same, he would ill-treat a horse something
+shameful. I----"
+
+The butler bethought himself, and pulled up with a jerk. But Winter
+smiled encouragingly.
+
+"Say what you had in mind," he said. "You are not giving evidence.
+You may rely on our discretion."
+
+"Well, sir, he's that sort of man who must have his own way, and when
+things went against him at home, he'd take it out of any servant or
+animal that vexed him afterwards."
+
+"It was not an ideally happy household, I take it?"
+
+"Things went along very smoothly, sir, all things considered. They
+have been rather better since Miss Sylvia came home from Brussels. She
+was worried about Mrs. Fenley at first, but gave it up as a bad job;
+and Mr. Fenley and the young gentlemen used to hide their differences
+before her. That was why Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert blazed up in the
+hall on Saturday. They couldn't say a word in front of Miss Sylvia at
+the breakfast table."
+
+"The four always met at breakfast, then?"
+
+"Almost without fail, sir. On Monday and Tuesday mornings Mr. Hilton
+breakfasted early, and his father was joking about it, for if any one
+was late it would be him--or should I say 'he', sir?"
+
+Furneaux cackled.
+
+"I wouldn't have you alter your speech on any account," he grinned.
+"Why did Mr. Hilton turn over these new leaves on Monday and Tuesday?"
+
+"He said he had work to do. What it was I don't know, sir. But he
+managed to miss the nine forty-five, and Mr. Fenley was vexed about
+it. Of course, I don't know why I am telling you these small things.
+Mr. Hilton might be angry----"
+
+Some one knocked. Harris, the footman, entered, a scared look on his
+face.
+
+"Can you come a moment, Mr. Tomlinson?" he said. "The undertaker is
+here for the body."
+
+"What is that?" cried Winter sharply.
+
+The butler arose.
+
+"Didn't Mr. Hilton mention it, sir?" he said. "Dr. Stern must hold a
+post mortem before the inquest, and he suggested that it could be
+carried through more easily in the mortuary attached to the Cottage
+Hospital. Isn't that all right, sir?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I didn't understand. Go, by all means. We'll wait
+here."
+
+When they were alone, the two detectives remained silent for a long
+minute. Winter arose and looked through a window at the scene outside.
+A closed hearse had arrived; some men were carrying in a rough coffin
+and three trestles. There was none of the gorgeous trappings which
+lend dignity to such transits in public. Polished oak and gleaming
+brass and rare flowers would add pageantry later; this was the livery
+of the dissecting-room.
+
+"Queer case!" growled Winter over his shoulder.
+
+"If only Hilton had breakfasted early _this_ morning!" said Furneaux.
+
+"If the dog hadn't stopped to scratch himself he would have caught the
+hare," was the irritable answer.
+
+"Aren't you pleased with Tomlinson, then?"
+
+"The more he opened up the more puzzled I became. By the way, you
+hardly asked him a thing, though you were keen on tackling him
+yourself."
+
+"James, I'm an artist. You handled him so neatly that I stood by and
+appreciated. It would be mean to suggest that the prospect of a bottle
+of Alto Douro quickened his imagination. I----"
+
+Winter's hands were crossed behind his back, and his fingers worked in
+expressive pantomime. Furneaux was by his side in an instant. Hilton
+Fenley was standing on the steps, a little below and to the left of
+the window. He was gazing with a curiously set stare at the bust of
+Police Constable Farrow perched high among the trees to the right. The
+observers in the room had then an excellent opportunity to study him
+at leisure.
+
+"More of Asia than of Europe in that face and figure," murmured
+Furneaux.
+
+"The odd thing is that he should be more interested in our sentinel
+than in the disposal of his father's body," commented Winter.
+
+"A live donkey is always more valuable than a dead lion."
+
+"We shall have to go to that wood soon, Charles."
+
+"Your only failing is that you can't see the forest for the trees."
+
+They were bickering, an ominous sign for some one yet unknown.
+Suddenly, far down the avenue, they saw a motor bicycle traveling
+fast. Hilton Fenley saw it at the same moment and screened his eyes
+with a hand, for he was bareheaded and the sun was now blazing with
+noonday intensity.
+
+"Brother Bob!" hissed Furneaux.
+
+Winter thought the other had recognized the man crouched over the
+handlebar.
+
+"Gee!" he said. "Your sight must be good."
+
+"I'm not using eyes, but brains. Who else can it be? This is the
+psychological moment which never fails. Bet you a new hat I'm right."
+
+"I'm not buying you any new hats," said Winter. "Look at Hilton. He
+knows. Now, I wonder if the other one telephoned. No. He'd have told
+us. He'd guess it would crop up in talk some time or other. Yes, the
+motorist is waving to him. There! You can see his face. It _is_
+Robert, isn't it?"
+
+"O sapient one!" snapped Furneaux.
+
+The meeting between the brothers was orthodox in its tragic
+friendliness. The onlookers could supply the words they were unable to
+hear. Robert Fenley, bigger, heavier, altogether more British in build
+and semblance than Hilton, was evidently asking breathlessly if the
+news he had read in London was true, and Hilton was volubly explaining
+what had happened, pointing to the wood, the doorway, the hearse,
+emphasizing with many gestures the painful story he had to tell.
+
+Then the two young men mounted the steps, the inference being that
+Robert Fenley wished to see his father's body before it was removed. A
+pallor was spreading beneath the glow on the younger Fenley's
+perspiring face. He was obviously shocked beyond measure. Grief and
+horror had imparted a certain strength to somewhat sullen features. He
+might be a ne'er-do-well, a loose liver, a good deal of a fool,
+perhaps, but he was learning one of life's sharpest lessons; in time,
+it might bring out what was best in his character. The detectives
+understood now why the butler, who knew the boy even better than his
+own father, deemed it impossible that he should be a parricide. Some
+men are constitutionally incapable of committing certain crimes. At
+least, the public thinks so; Scotland Yard knows better, and studies
+criminology with an open mind.
+
+The brothers had hardly crossed the threshold of the house when an
+eldritch scream rang through the lofty hall. The detectives hastened
+from the dining-room, and forthwith witnessed a tableau which would
+have received the envious approval of a skilled producer of melodrama.
+The hall measured some thirty-five feet square, and was nearly as
+lofty, its ceiling forming the second floor. The staircase was on the
+right, starting from curved steps in the inner right angle and making
+a complete turn from a half landing to reach a gallery which ran
+around three sides of the first floor. The fourth contained the
+doorway, with a window on each hand and four windows above.
+
+The stairs and the well of the hall were of oak, polished as to
+parquet and steps, but left to age and color naturally as to wainscot,
+balusters and rails. The walls of the upper floor were decorated in
+shades of dull gold and amber. The general effect was superb, either
+in daylight or when a great Venetian luster in the center of the
+ceiling blazed with electric lights.
+
+The body of the unfortunate banker had not been removed from the oaken
+settee at the back of the hall, and was still covered with a white
+sheet. An enormously stout woman, clothed in a dressing-gown of black
+lace, was standing in the cross gallery and resisting the gentle
+efforts of Sylvia Manning, now attired in black, to take her away. The
+stout woman's face was deathly white, and her distended eyes were
+gazing dully at the ominous figure stretched beneath. Two podgy
+hands, with rings gleaming on every finger, were clutching the carved
+railing, and the tenacity of their grip caused the knuckles to stand
+out in white spots on the ivory-tinted skin.
+
+This, then, was Mrs. Fenley, in whom some vague stirring of the spirit
+had induced a consciousness that all was not well in the household
+with which she "never interfered."
+
+It was she who had uttered that ringing shriek when some flustered
+maid blurted out that "the master" was dead, and her dazed brain had
+realized what the sheet covered. She lifted her eyes from that
+terrifying object when her son entered with Hilton Fenley.
+
+"Oh, Bob!" she wailed. "They've killed your father! Why did you let
+them do it?"
+
+Even in the agony of the moment the distraught young man was aware
+that his mother was in no fit state to appear thus openly.
+
+"Mother," he said roughly, "you oughtn't to be here, you know. Do go
+to your room with Sylvia. I'll come soon, and explain everything."
+
+"Explain!" she wailed. "Explain your father's death! Who killed him?
+Tell me that, and I'll tear them with my nails. But is he dead? Did
+that hussy lie to me? You all tell me lies because you think I am a
+fool. Let me alone, Sylvia. I _will_ go to my husband. Let me alone,
+or I'll strike you!"
+
+By sheer weight she forced herself free from the girl's hands, and
+tottered down the stairs. At the half landing she fell to her knees,
+and Sylvia ran to pick her up. Then Hilton Fenley seemed to arouse
+himself from a stupor. Flinging a command at the servants, he rushed
+to Sylvia's assistance, and, helped by Tomlinson and a couple of
+footmen, half carried the screaming and fighting woman up the stairs
+and along a corridor.
+
+Thus it happened that Robert Fenley was left in the hall with the dead
+body of his father. He stood stock still, and seemed to follow with
+disapproval the manner of the disappearance of the poor creature whom
+he called mother. Her shrieks redoubled in volume as she understood
+that she would not be allowed to see her husband's corpse, and her son
+added to the uproar by shouting loudly:
+
+"Hi, there! Don't ill-treat her, or I'll break all your ---- necks!
+Confound you, be gentle with her!"
+
+He listened till a door slammed, and a sudden cessation of the tumult
+showed that some one, in sheer self-defense, had given her morphia,
+the only sedative that could have any real effect. Then he turned, and
+became aware of the presence of the two detectives.
+
+"Well," he said furiously, "who are you, and what the blazes do you
+want here? Get out, both of you, or I'll have you chucked out!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+ WHEREIN FURNEAUX SEEKS INSPIRATION FROM
+ LITERATURE AND ART
+
+
+The head of the Criminal Investigation Department was not the sort of
+man to accept meekly whatsoever coarse commands Robert Fenley chose to
+fling at him. He met the newcomer's angry stare with a cold and steady
+eye.
+
+"You should moderate your language in the presence of death, Mr.
+Fenley," he said. "We are here because it is our duty. You, on your
+part, would have acted more discreetly had you gone to your mother's
+assistance instead of swearing at those who were acting for the best
+under trying conditions."
+
+"Damn your eyes, are you speaking to me?" came the wrathful cry.
+
+"Surely you have been told that your father is lying there dead!" went
+on Winter sternly. "Mrs. Fenley might have yielded readily to your
+persuasion, but your help took the form of threatening people who
+adopted the only other course possible. Calm yourself, sir, and try to
+remember that the father from whom you parted in anger has been
+murdered. My colleague and I represent Scotland Yard; we were brought
+here by your brother. See that you meet us in the dining-room in a
+quarter of an hour. Come, Furneaux!"
+
+And, stirred for once to a feeling of deep annoyance, the big man
+strode out into the open air, with a sublime disregard for either the
+anger or the alarm struggling for mastery in Robert Fenley's sullen
+face.
+
+"Phew!" he said, drawing a deep breath before descending the steps.
+"What an unlicked cub! And they wanted to marry that girl to him!"
+
+"It sha'n't be done, James," said Furneaux.
+
+"I actually lost my temper," puffed the other.
+
+"Tell you what! Let's put the Inspector on to him. Tell the local
+sleuths half what we know, and they'll run him in like a shot."
+
+"Pooh! He's all talk. Tomlinson is right. The neurotic Hilton has more
+nerve in his little finger than that dolt in the whole of his body."
+
+"What did you think of his boots?"
+
+"I shall be surprised if they don't fit those footprints exactly."
+
+"They will. The left heel is evenly worn, but the right bears on the
+outer edge. Let's cool our fevered brows under the greenwood tree till
+this hearse is out of the way."
+
+The butler, who had asked the undertaker's assistants to suspend
+operations when Robert Fenley arrived, now appeared at the door and
+signaled the men that they were free to proceed with their work. The
+detectives strolled into the wood, and soon were bending over some
+curious blotchy marks which somehow suggested the passage of a
+pad-footed animal rather than a human being. Bates, of course, would
+have noted them had he not been on the alert for footprints alone, but
+they had stared at Winter and Furneaux from the instant their
+regularity became apparent. They represented a stride considerably
+shorter than the average length of a man's pace, and were strongly
+marked when the surface was spongy enough to receive an impression.
+Except, however, in the slight hollow already described, the ground
+was so dry that traces of every sort were lost. In the vicinity of the
+rock, too, the only marks left were the scratches in the moss adhering
+to the steep sides of the bowlder itself.
+
+"What do you make of 'em, Charles?" inquired Winter, when both had
+puzzled for some minutes over the uncommon signs.
+
+"Some one has thought out the footprint as a clue pretty thoroughly,"
+said Furneaux. "He not only took care to leave a working model of one
+set, but was extremely anxious not to provide any data as to his own
+tootsies, so he fastened a bundle of rags under each boot, and walked
+like a cat on walnut shells."
+
+Winter nodded.
+
+"When we find the gun, too--it's somewhere in this wood--you'll see
+that the fingerprints won't help," he replied thoughtfully. "The man
+who remembered to safeguard his feet would not forget his hands. We're
+up against a tough proposition, young fellow-me-lad."
+
+"Your way of thinking reminds me of Herbert Spencer's reason for not
+learning Latin grammar as a youth," grinned Furneaux.
+
+"It would be a pity to spoil one of your high-class jokes; so what was
+the reason?"
+
+"He refused to accept any statement unaccompanied by proof. The
+agreement of an adjective with its noun displeased him, because an
+arbitrary rule merely said it was so."
+
+"An ingenious excuse for not learning a lesson, but I don't see----"
+
+"Consider. Mortimer Fenley was shot dead at nine thirty this morning,
+and the bullet which killed him came from the neighborhood of the rock
+above our heads. One shot was fired. It was so certain, so true of
+aim, that the murderer made sure of hitting him--at a fairly long
+range, too. How many men were there in Roxton and Easton this
+morning--was there even one woman?--capable of sighting a rifle with
+such calm confidence of success? Mind you, Fenley had to be killed
+dead. No bungling. A severe wound from which he might recover would
+not meet the case at all. Again, how many rifles are there in the
+united parishes of Roxton and Easton of the type which fires expanding
+bullets?"
+
+"Of course, those vital facts narrow down the field, but Hilton Fenley
+was unquestionably in the house."
+
+Furneaux cackled shrilly.
+
+"You're in Herbert's class, Charles," he cried, delighted at having
+trapped his big friend.
+
+"Pardon me, gentlemen," said a voice from among the leaves, "but I
+thought you might like to know that Mr. Robert Fenley is starting off
+again on his motor bike."
+
+Even as Police Constable Farrow spoke they heard the loud snorting of
+an exhaust, marking the initial efforts of a motor bicycle's engine to
+get under way. In a few seconds came the rhythmic beat of the machine
+as it gathered speed; the two men looked at each other and laughed.
+
+"Master Robert defies the majesty of the law," said Winter dryly.
+"Perhaps, taking one consideration with another, it's the best thing
+he could have done."
+
+"He is almost bound to enter London by the Edgware Road," said
+Furneaux instantly.
+
+"Just so. I noticed the make and number of his machine. A
+plain-clothes man on an ordinary bicycle can follow him easily from
+Brondesbury onwards. Time him, and get on the telephone while I keep
+Hilton in talk. If we're mistaken we'll ring up Brondesbury again."
+
+Winter was curtly official in tone when Hilton Fenley came downstairs
+at his request.
+
+"Why did your brother rush off in such an extraordinary hurry?" he
+asked.
+
+"How can I tell you?" was the reply, given offhandedly, as if the
+matter was of no importance. "He comes and goes without consulting my
+wishes, I assure you."
+
+"But I requested him to meet me here at this very hour. There are
+questions he has to answer, and it would have been best in his own
+interests had he not shirked them."
+
+"I agree with you fully. I hadn't the least notion he meant going
+until I looked out on hearing the bicycle, and saw him racing down the
+avenue."
+
+"Do you think, sir, he is making for London?"
+
+"I suppose so. That is where he came from. He says he heard of his
+father's death through the newspapers, and it would not surprise me in
+the least if I did not see him again until after the funeral."
+
+"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I bothered you, but I imagined or hoped he
+had given you some explanation. His conduct calls for it."
+
+The Superintendent's manner had gradually become more suave. He
+realized that these Fenleys were queer folk. Like the Pharisee, "they
+were not as other men," but whether the difference between them and
+the ordinary mortal arose from pride or folly or fear it was hard to
+say.
+
+Hilton Fenley smiled wanly.
+
+"Bob is adopting the supposed tactics of the ostrich when pursued," he
+said.
+
+"But no one is pursuing him."
+
+"I am speaking metaphorically, of course. He is in distress, and hides
+behind the first bush. He has no moral force--never had. Physically he
+doesn't know what fear is, but the specters of the mind loom large in
+his eyes. And now, Superintendent, I am just on the point of leaving
+for London. I shall return about six thirty. Do you remain?"
+
+"No, sir. I shall return to town almost immediately. Mr. Furneaux will
+stop here. Can he have a bedroom in the house?"
+
+"Certainly. Tomlinson will look after him. You are not going cityward,
+I suppose?"
+
+"No, sir. But if you care to have a seat in my car----"
+
+"No, thanks. The train is quicker and takes me direct to London
+Bridge. Much obliged."
+
+Fenley hurried to the cloakroom, which was situated under the stairs,
+but on a lower level than the hall. The telephone box was placed
+there, and Furneaux emerged as the other ran down a few steps. The
+little man hailed him cheerfully.
+
+"I suppose, now," he said, "that hot headed brother of yours thinks he
+has dodged Scotland Yard till it suits his convenience to be
+interviewed. Strange how people insist on regarding us as novices in
+our own particular line. Now you wouldn't make that mistake, sir."
+
+"What mistake? I wouldn't run away, if that is what you mean."
+
+"I'm sure of that, sir. But Mr. Robert has committed the additional
+folly, from his point of view, of letting us know why he was so
+desperately anxious to get back to London."
+
+"But he didn't say a word!"
+
+"Ah, words, idle words!
+
+          "Words are like leaves; and where they most abound
+          Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
+
+"It is actions that count, sir. Deeds, not words. Now, Mr. Robert has
+been kind enough to give us the eloquent facts, because he will be
+followed from the suburbs and his whereabouts watched most carefully."
+
+"Dear me! I hadn't thought of that," said Hilton Fenley slowly. Two
+ideas were probably warring in his brain at that moment. One classed
+Furneaux as a garrulous idiot; the other suggested that there might be
+method in such folly.
+
+"That's a clever simile of Pope's about dense leaves betokening
+scarcity of fruit," went on Furneaux. "Of course, it might be pushed
+too far. Think what a poisonous Dead Sea apple the Quarry Wood
+contained. Your father's murder might not have been possible today
+but for the cover given by the trees."
+
+Fenley selected a dark overcoat and derby hat. He wore a black tie,
+but had made no other change in his costume.
+
+"You are quite a literary detective, Mr. Furneaux," he commented.
+
+"More literal than literary, sir. I have little leisure for reading,
+but I own an excellent memory. Nothing to boast of in that. It's
+indispensable in my profession."
+
+"Obviously. Well, I must hurry away now. See you later."
+
+He hastened out. His manner seemed to hint an annoyance; it conveyed
+indefinitely but subtly a suggestion that his father's death was far
+too serious a thing to be treated with such levity.
+
+Furneaux sauntered slowly to the front door. By that time the Fenley
+car was speeding rapidly down the avenue.
+
+"With luck," he said to Winter, who had joined him, "with any sort of
+luck both brothers should pass their father's body on the way to the
+mortuary. Sometimes, O worthy chief, I find myself regretting the ways
+and means of the days of old, when men believed in the Judicium Dei.
+
+"Neither of those sons went near his dead father. If one of them had
+dared I wonder whether the blood would have liquefied. Do you
+remember, in the 'Nibelungenlied,' that Hagen is forced to prove his
+innocence by touching Siegfried's corpse--and fails? That is the
+point--he fails. Our own Shakespeare knew the dodge. When Henry VI was
+being borne to Chertsey in an open coffin, the Lady Anne made Gloster
+squirm by her cry:
+
+          "O gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds
+          Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh.
+
+"Why then did those sons fight shy of touching their father's body?
+Had it been your father or mine who was beaten down by a murderer's
+spite, we would surely have given him one fare-well clasp of the
+hand."
+
+Winter recognized the symptoms. His diminutive friend was examining
+the embryo of a theory already established in his mind. It was a
+mere shadow, something vague and dark and uncertain in outline. But
+it existed, and would assume recognizable shape when an active
+imagination had fitted some shreds of proof to that which was yet
+without form and void. At that crisis, contradiction was a tonic.
+
+"I think you're in error in one respect," said Winter quietly. "Hilton
+Fenley went to his father's assistance, and we don't know whether or
+not Robert did not approach the body."
+
+"You're wrong, most sapient one. Before telephoning Brondesbury I
+asked Harris to tell me exactly what happened after the banker dropped
+at his feet. Harris shouted and knelt over him. Miss Manning ran and
+lifted his head. Tomlinson, Harris and Brodie carried him to the
+settee. Hilton Fenley never touched him."
+
+"What of Robert? We cleared out, leaving him there alone."
+
+"I watched him until the undertaker's men were called back. Up to that
+time he hadn't moved. Bet you a new hat the men will tell you he never
+went nearer."
+
+"You buy your own new hats," said Winter. "Do you want me to stand you
+two a day? I'm off to the Yard. I'll look up two lines in town. 'Phone
+through if you want help and I'll come. You sleep here tonight if you
+care to. Tomlinson will provide. How about the wood?"
+
+"Leave it."
+
+"You'll see that artist, Trenholme?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the bedrooms?"
+
+"Going there now."
+
+"So long! Sorry I must quit, but I'm keen to clear up that telephone
+call."
+
+"If you're in the office about six I'll tell you the whole story."
+
+"Charles," said Winter earnestly, placing a hand on his colleague's
+shoulder, "we gain nothing by rushing our fences. This is the toughest
+job we've handled this year; there's a hard road to travel before we
+sit down and prepare a brief for counsel."
+
+"Of course, I meant the story up to the six o'clock instalment."
+
+Winter smiled. He sprang into the car, the chauffeur having already
+started the engine in obedience to a word from the Superintendent.
+
+"Stop at the Brondesbury police station," was the order, and Furneaux
+was left alone. He reëntered the house and crooked a finger at the
+butler, who had not summoned up courage to retire to his own sanctum,
+though a midday meal was awaiting him.
+
+"Take me upstairs," said the detective. "I shall not detain you many
+minutes. Then you and I will have a snack together and you'll borrow a
+bicycle for me, and I sha'n't trouble you any more till a late hour."
+
+"No trouble at all, sir," Tomlinson assured him. "If I could advance
+your inquiry in the least degree I'd fast cheerfully all day."
+
+"What I like about you, Tomlinson, is your restraint," said Furneaux.
+"Many a man would have offered to fast a week, not meaning to deny
+himself a toothful five minutes longer than was avoidable. Now you
+really mean what you say----Ah, this is Mr. Robert's den. And that is
+his bedroom, with dressing-room adjoining. Very cozy, to be sure. Of
+course, the rooms have been dusted regularly since he disappeared on
+Saturday?"
+
+"Every day, sir."
+
+"Well, I hate prying into people's rooms. Beastly liberty, I call it.
+Now for Mr. Hilton's."
+
+"Is that all, sir?" inquired the butler, manifestly surprised by the
+cursory glance which the detective had given around the suite of
+apartments.
+
+"All at present, thank you. Like the Danites' messengers, I'm only
+spying out the lie of the land. Ah, each brother occupied a corner of
+the east wing. Robert, north, Hilton, south--a most equitable
+arrangement. Now these rooms show signs of tenancy, eh?"
+
+They were standing in Hilton Fenley's sitting-room, having traversed
+the whole of the gallery around the hall to reach it. The remains of a
+fire in the grate caught Furneaux's eye, and the butler coughed
+apologetically.
+
+"Mr. Hilton won't have his rooms touched, sir, until he leaves home of
+a morning," he said. "He likes to find his papers, et cetera, where he
+put them overnight. As a rule the housemaid comes here soon after
+breakfast, but this morning--naturally----"
+
+"Of course, of course," assented the other promptly. "Everything is at
+sixes and sevens. Would you mind sending the girl here? I'd like to
+have a word with her."
+
+Tomlinson moved ponderously towards an electric bell.
+
+"No," said Furneaux. "Don't ring. Just ask her to come. Then she can
+bring me to your place and we'll nibble something. Meanwhile I'll
+enjoy this view."
+
+"Certainly, sir. That will suit me admirably."
+
+Tomlinson walked out with stately tread. His broad back was scarcely
+turned before the detective's nimble feet had carried him into the
+bedroom, which stood in the southeast angle. He seemed to fly around
+the room like one possessed of a fiend of unrest. Picking up a glass
+tumbler, he sniffed it and put it in a pocket. He peered at the bed,
+the dressing-table, the carpet; opened drawers and wardrobe doors,
+examined towels in the bathroom, and stuffed one beneath his
+waistcoat.
+
+Running back to the sitting-room, he found a torn envelope, and began
+picking up some specks of grit from the carpet, each of which went
+into a corner of the envelope, which he folded and stowed away. Then
+he bent over the fireplace and rummaged among the cinders. Three
+calcined lumps, not wholly consumed, appeared to interest him. A
+newspaper was handy; he wrapped the grimy treasure trove in a sheet,
+and that small parcel also went into a pocket.
+
+When a swish of skirts on the stairs announced the housemaid he
+retreated to the bedroom, and the girl found him standing at a south
+window, gazing out over the fair vista of the Italian terraces and the
+rolling parkland.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the girl timidly.
+
+He turned, as if he had not heard her approach. She was pale, and her
+eyes were red, for the feminine portion of the household was in a
+state of collapse.
+
+"I only wanted to ask why a fire is laid in the sitting-room in such
+fine weather," he said.
+
+"Mr. Hilton sits up late, sir, and if the evening is at all chilly, he
+puts a match to the grate himself."
+
+"Ah, a silly question. Don't tell anybody I spoke of it or they'll
+think me a funny detective, won't they?"
+
+He smiled genially, and the girl's face brightened.
+
+"I don't see that, sir," she said. "I don't know why Mr. Hilton wanted
+a fire last night. It was quite hot. I slept with my window wide
+open."
+
+"A very healthy habit, too. Do you attend to Mr. Robert's suite?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Does _he_ have a fire?"
+
+"Never in the summer, sir."
+
+"He's a warmer-blooded creature than Mr. Hilton, I fancy."
+
+"I expect so, sir."
+
+"Well, now, there's nothing here. But we detectives have to nose
+around everywhere. I'm sure you are terribly upset by your master's
+death. Everybody gives him a good word."
+
+"Indeed, he deserved it, sir. We all liked him. He was strict but very
+generous."
+
+Furneaux chatted with her while they descended the stairs and
+traversed devious passages till the butler's room was gained. By that
+time the housemaid was convinced that Mr. Furneaux was "a very nice
+man." When she "did" Hilton Fenley's rooms she missed the glass, but
+gave no heed to its absence. Who would bother about a glass in a house
+where murder had been done? She simply replaced it by another of the
+same pattern.
+
+"May I inquire, sir," said Tomlinson, when Furneaux had washed face
+and hands and was seated at a table laid for two, "may I inquire if
+you have any preference as to a luncheon wine?"
+
+"I think," said Furneaux with due solemnity, "that a still wine----"
+
+"I agree with you, sir. At this time of the day a Sauterne or a
+Johannisberger----"
+
+"To my taste, a Château Yquem, with that delicate flavor which leaves
+the palate fresh--Frenchmen call it the _sève_----"
+
+"Sir, I perceive that you have a taste. Singularly enough, I have a
+bottle of Château Yquem in my sideboard."
+
+So the meal was a success.
+
+An under gardener lent Furneaux a bicycle. After a chat with Farrow,
+to whom he conveyed some sandwiches and a bottle of beer, the
+detective rode to Easton. He sent a rather long telegram to his own
+quarters, called at a chemist's, and reached the White Horse at Roxton
+about two o'clock.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now the imp of mischance had contrived that John Trenholme should hear
+no word of the murder until he came downstairs for luncheon after a
+morning's steady work.
+
+The stout Eliza, fearful lest Mary should forestall her with the news,
+bounced out from the kitchen when his step sounded on the stairs.
+
+"There was fine goin's on in the park this morning, Mr. Trenholme,"
+she began breathlessly.
+
+He reddened at once, and avoided her fiery eye. Of course, it had been
+discovered that he had watched that girl bathing. Dash it all, his
+action was unintentional! What a bore!
+
+"Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep," continued Eliza.
+She gave proper emphasis to the concluding words. That a man should
+be murdered "on his own doorstep" was a feature of the crime that
+enhanced the tragedy in the public mind. The shooting was bad enough
+in itself, for rural England is happily free from such horrors; but
+swift and brutal death dealt out on one's own doorstep was a thing at
+once monstrous and awe-compelling. Eliza, perhaps, wondered why Mr.
+Trenholme flushed, but she fully understood the sudden blanching of
+his face at her tidings, for all Roxton was shaken to its foundations
+when the facts slowly percolated in that direction.
+
+"Good Lord!" cried he. "Could that be the shot I heard?"
+
+"He was killed at half past nine, sir."
+
+"Then it was! A keeper heard it, too--and a policeman--our Roxton
+policeman."
+
+"That would be Farrow," said Eliza. "What was _he_ doin', the
+lazy-bones, that he couldn't catch the villain?"
+
+"What villain?"
+
+"The man who killed poor Mr. Fenley."
+
+"They know who did it, then?"
+
+"Well, no. There's all sorts o' tales flyin' about, but you can't
+believe any of 'em."
+
+"But why are you blaming Farrow? He's a good fellow. He sings. No real
+scoundrel can sing. Read any novel, any newspaper report. 'The
+prisoner's voice was harsh and unmusical.' You've seen those words
+scores of times."
+
+In his relief at learning that his own escapade was not published
+broadcast, Trenholme had momentarily forgotten the dreadful nature of
+Eliza's statement. She followed him into the dining-room.
+
+"You'll be a witness, I suppose," she said, anxious to secure details
+of the shot-firing.
+
+"A witness!" he repeated blankly.
+
+"Yes, sir. There can't be a deal o' folk who heard the gun go off."
+
+"By Jove, Eliza, I believe you're right," he said, gazing at her in
+dismay. "Now that I come to think of it, I am probably the only person
+in existence who can say where that shot came from. It was a rifle,
+too. I spoke of it to the keeper and Farrow."
+
+"I was sure something would happen when I dreamed of suffrigettes this
+mornin'. An' that comes of playin' pranks, Mr. Trenholme. If it wasn't
+for that alarm clock----"
+
+"Oh, come, Eliza," he broke in. "An alarm clock isn't a Gatling gun.
+Your association of ideas is faulty. There is much in common between
+the clatter of an alarm clock and the suffragist cause, but all the
+ladies promised not to endanger life, you know."
+
+"Anyhow, Mr. Fenley is dead as a doornail," said Eliza firmly.
+
+"Too bad. I take back all the hard things I said about him, and I'm
+sure you do the same."
+
+"Me!"
+
+"Yes. Didn't you say all the Fenleys were rubbish? One of them, at any
+rate, was wrongly classified."
+
+"Which one?"
+
+Trenholme bethought himself in time.
+
+"This unfortunate banker, of course," he said.
+
+"I'd a notion you meant Miss Sylvia. She's pretty as a
+picter--prettier than some picters I've seen--and folk speak well of
+her. But she's not a Fenley."
+
+At any other time the artist would have received that thrust _en
+tierce_ with a _riposte_; at present, Eliza's facts were more
+interesting than her wit.
+
+"Who is the lady you are speaking of?" he asked guardedly.
+
+"Mr. Fenley's ward, Miss Sylvia Manning. They say she's rich. Pore
+young thing! Some schemin' man will turn her head, I'll go bail, an'
+all for the sake of her brass."
+
+"Most likely a one-legged gunner, name of Jim."
+
+"Well, it won't be a two-legged painter, name of Jack!" And Eliza
+bounced out.
+
+Now, Mary of the curl papers, having occasion to go upstairs while
+Trenholme was eating, peeped through the open door of the room which
+he had converted into a studio. She saw a picture on the easel, and
+the insatiable curiosity of her class led her to examine it. Even a
+country kitchen maid came under its spell instantly. After a pause of
+mingled admiration and shocked prudery, she sped to the kitchen.
+
+"Seein' is believin'," quoted Eliza, mounting the stairs in her turn.
+She gazed at the drawing brazenly, with hands resting on hips and head
+cocked sidewise like an inquisitive hen's.
+
+"Well, I never did!" was her verdict.
+
+Back in the kitchen again, she announced firmly to Mary--
+
+"_I'll_ take in the cheese."
+
+She put the Stilton on the table with a determined air.
+
+"You don't know anything about Miss Sylvia Manning, don't you?" she
+said, with calm guile.
+
+"Never heard the lady's name before you mentioned it," said Trenholme.
+
+"Mebbe not, but it strikes me you've _seen_ more of her than most
+folk."
+
+"Eliza," he cried, without any pretense at smiling good humor, "you've
+been sneaking!"
+
+"Sneakin', you call it? I 'appened to pass your room, an' who could
+help lookin' in? I was never so taken aback in me life. You could ha'
+knocked me down with a feather."
+
+"An ostrich feather with an ostrich's leg behind it," was the angry
+retort.
+
+Eliza's eyes glinted with the fire of battle.
+
+"The shameless ways of girls nowadays!" she breathed. "To let any
+young man gaze at her in them sort of clothes, if you can call 'em
+clothes!"
+
+"It was an accident. She didn't know I was there. Anyhow, you dare
+utter another word about that picture, even hint at its existence, and
+I'll paint you without any clothes at all. I mean that, so beware!"
+
+"Sorry to interrupt," said a high-pitched voice from the doorway.
+"You are Mr. John Trenholme, I take it? May I come in? My name's
+Furneaux."
+
+"Jim, of the Royal Artillery?" demanded Trenholme angrily.
+
+"No. Charles François, of Scotland Yard."
+
+Eliza fled, completely cowed. She began to weep, in noisy gulps.
+
+"I've dud-dud-done it!" she explained to agitated curl papers. "That
+pup-pup-pore Mr. Trenholme. They've cuc-cuc-come for him. He'll be
+lul-lul-locked up, an' all along o' my wu-wu-wicked tongue!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+SOME SIDE ISSUES
+
+
+Trenholme, rather interested than otherwise, did not blanch at mention
+of Scotland Yard.
+
+"Walk right in, Mr. Furneaux," he said; he had picked up a few tricks
+of speech from Transatlantic brethren of the brush met at Julien's.
+"Have you lunched?"
+
+"Excellently," was the reply.
+
+"Not in Roxton. I defy you to produce a cook in this village that
+shall compare with our Eliza of the White Horse."
+
+"Sir, my thoughts do not dwell on viands. True, I ate with a butler,
+but I drank wine with a connoisseur. It was a Château Yquem of the
+eighties."
+
+"Then you should be in expansive mood. Before you demand with a scowl
+why I shot Mr. Fenley you might tell me why the headquarters of the
+London Police is named Scotland Yard."
+
+"Because it was first housed in a street of that name near Trafalgar
+Square. Scotland Yard was a palace at one time, built in a spirit of
+mistaken hospitality for the reception of prominent Scots visiting
+London. We entertained so many and so lavishly that 'Gang Sooth' has
+become a proverb beyond the Tweed."
+
+"There is virtue, I perceive, in a bottle of Château Yquem--or was it
+two?"
+
+"In one there is light, but two might produce fireworks. Now, sir, if
+you have finished luncheon, kindly take me to your room and show me
+the sketches you made this morning."
+
+The artist raised an inquiring eyebrow.
+
+"I have the highest respect for your profession in the abstract, but
+it is new to find it dabbling in art criticism," he said.
+
+"I assure you, Mr. Trenholme, that any drawings of yours made in the
+neighborhood of The Towers before half past nine o'clock today will be
+most valuable pieces of evidence--if nothing more."
+
+Though Furneaux's manner was grave as an owl's, a certain gleam in his
+eye gave the requisite sting to the concluding words. Trenholme, at
+any other time, would have delighted in him, but dropped his bantering
+air forthwith.
+
+"I don't mind exhibiting my work," he said. "It will not be a novel
+experience. Come this way."
+
+Watched by two awe-stricken women from the passage leading to the
+kitchen, the artist and his visitor ascended the stairs. Trenholme
+walked straight to the easel, took off the drawing of Sylvia Manning
+and the Aphrodite, placed it on the floor face to the wall, and
+staged the sketch of the Elizabethan house. Furneaux screwed his
+eyelids to secure a half light; then, making a cylinder of his right
+hand, peered through it with one eye.
+
+"Admirable!" he said. "Corot, with some of the breadth of Constable.
+Forgive the comparisons, Mr. Trenholme. Of course, the style is your
+own, but one uses the names of accepted masters largely as adjectives
+to explain one's meaning. You are a true impressionist. You paint
+Nature as you see her, not as she is, yet your technique is superb and
+your observation just. For instance, every shadow in this lovely
+drawing shows that the hour was about eight o'clock. But, in painting
+figures, I have no doubt you sink the impressionist in the realist....
+The other sketch, please."
+
+"The other sketch is a mere color note for future guidance," said
+Trenholme offhandedly.
+
+"It happens also to be a recognizable portrait of Miss Sylvia Manning.
+I'm sorry, but I must see it."
+
+"Suppose I refuse?"
+
+"It will be obtained by other methods than a polite request."
+
+"I'm afraid I shall have to run the risk."
+
+"No, you won't." And the detective's tone became eminently friendly.
+"You'll just produce it within the next half minute. You are not the
+sort of man who would care to drag a lady's name into a police-court
+wrangle, which can be the only outcome of present stubbornness on your
+part. I know you were hidden among those cedars between, say, eight
+o'clock and half past nine. I know that Miss Manning bathed in a lake
+well within your view. I know, too, that you sketched her, because I
+saw the canvas a moment ago--an oil, not a water color. These things
+may or may not be relevant to an inquiry into a crime, but they will
+certainly loom large in the public mind if the police have to explain
+why they needed a warrant to search your apartments."
+
+Furneaux had gauged the artistic temperament accurately. Without
+another word of protest Trenholme placed the disputed canvas on the
+easel.
+
+"Do you smoke?" inquired the detective suddenly.
+
+"Yes. What the deuce has my smoking got to do with it?"
+
+"I fancied that, perhaps, you might like to have a pipe while I
+examine this gem at leisure. One does not gabble the common-places of
+life when in the presence of the supreme in art. I find that a really
+fine picture induces a feeling of reverence, an emotion akin to the
+influence of a mountain range, or a dim cathedral. Pray burn incense.
+I am almost tempted to regret being a non-smoker."
+
+Trenholme had heard no man talk in that strain since last he sat
+outside the Café Margery and watched the stream of life flowing along
+the Grand Boulevard. Almost unconsciously he yielded to the spell of a
+familiar jargon, well knowing he had been inspired in every touch
+while striving frenziedly to give permanence to a fleeting vision. He
+filled his pipe, and surveyed the detective with a quickened interest.
+
+Furneaux gazed long and earnestly.
+
+"Perfect!" he murmured, after that rapt pause. "Such a portrait, too,
+without any apparent effort! Just compare the cold sunlight on the
+statue with the same light falling on wet skin. Of course, Mr.
+Trenholme, you'll send this to the Salon. Burlington House finds
+satiety in Mayors and Masters of Fox Hounds."
+
+"Good, isn't it?" agreed Trenholme. "What a cursed spite that it must
+be consumed in flame!"
+
+"But why?" cried Furneaux, unfeignedly horrified.
+
+"Dash it all, man, I can never copy it. And you wouldn't have me
+blazon that girl's face in a gallery after today's tragedy!"
+
+The detective snapped his fingers.
+
+"Poof!" he said. "I shall have Mr. Fenley's murderer hanged long
+before your picture is hung. London provides one front-rank tragedy a
+week, but not another such masterpiece in ten years. Burn it because
+of a sentiment! Perish the thought."
+
+"If I had guessed you were coming here so promptly it would have been
+in ashes an hour ago," said Trenholme, grimly insistent on sacrifice.
+
+With a disconcerting change of manner the detective promptly assumed a
+dryly official attitude.
+
+"A mighty good job for you that nothing of the sort occurred," he
+said. "Your picture is your excuse, Mr. Trenholme. What plea could you
+have urged for spying on a lady in an open-air bath if deprived of the
+only valid one?"
+
+"Look here!" came the angry retort. "You seem to be a pretty fair
+judge of a drawing, but you choose your words rather carelessly. Just
+now you described me as 'hidden' behind that clump of trees, and again
+you accuse me of 'spying.' I won't stand that sort of thing from
+Scotland Yard, nor from Buckingham Palace, if it comes to that."
+
+Furneaux instantly reverted to his French vein. His shrug was
+eminently Parisian.
+
+"You misunderstand me. I allege neither hiding nor spying on your
+part. Name of a good little gray man! The President of the Royal
+Academy would hide and spy for a month if he could palliate his
+conduct by that picture. But, given no picture, what is the answer?
+Reflect calmly, Mr. Trenholme, and you'll see that mine are words of
+wisdom. Burn that canvas, and you cut a sorry figure in the witness
+box. Moreover, suppose you treat the law with disdain, how do you
+propose explaining your actions to Miss Sylvia Manning?"
+
+"In all probability, I shall never meet the lady."
+
+"Oh, won't you, indeed! I have the honor to request you to meet her
+tomorrow morning by the shore of that sylvan lake at nine fifteen,
+sharp. And kindly bring both sketches with you. Only, for goodness'
+sake, keep this one covered with a water-proof wrap if the weather
+breaks, which it doesn't look like doing at this moment. Now, Mr.
+Trenholme, take the advice of a dried-up chip of experience like me,
+and be sensible. One word as to actualities. I'm told you didn't see
+anything in the park which led you to believe that a crime had been
+committed?"
+
+"Not a thing. I heard the gunshot, and noted where it came from, but
+so far as I could ascertain, the only creatures it disturbed were some
+rabbits, rooks and pheasants."
+
+"Ah! Where did the pheasants show up?"
+
+"Out of the wood, close to the spot where the rifle was fired."
+
+"How many?"
+
+"How many what?"
+
+"Pheasants."
+
+"A brace. They flew right across the south front of the house to a
+covert on the west side. Is that an important detail?"
+
+"When you hear the evidence you may find it so," commented Furneaux.
+"Why do you say 'rifle'? Why not plain 'gun'?"
+
+"Because any one who has handled both a rifle and a shotgun can
+recognize the difference in sound. The explosive force of the one is
+many times greater than that of the other."
+
+"Are you, too, an expert marksman?"
+
+"I can shoot a bit. Hardly an expert, perhaps, seeing that I haven't
+used a gun during the past five years. If you know France, Mr.
+Furneaux, you'll agree that British ideas of sport----"
+
+"I do know France," broke in the detective. "There isn't a cock robin
+or a jenny wren left in the country.... As a mere formality, what
+magazine are you working for?"
+
+Trenholme told him, and Furneaux hurried away, halting for an instant
+in the doorway to raise a warning finger.
+
+"Tomorrow, at the cedars, nine fifteen," he said. "And, mind you, no
+holocausts, or you're up a gum tree. You were either painting a pretty
+girl or gloating over her. Prove the one and people won't think the
+other, which they will be only too ready to do, this being a cynical
+and suspicious world."
+
+He left a bewildered artist glaring after him. Trenholme's
+acquaintance with the police, either of England or France, was of the
+slightest. Sometimes, when overexcited by the discovery of some new
+and entrancing upland in the domain of art, he had bought or borrowed
+a volume of light fiction in order to read himself to sleep, and a
+detective figured occasionally in such pages. Usually, the official
+was a pig-headed idiot, whose blunders and narrow-mindedness served as
+admirable whetstones for the preternaturally sharp intelligence of an
+amateur investigator of crime.
+
+Trenholme, like the average reader, did not know that such
+self-appointed sleuths are snubbed and despised by Scotland Yard, that
+they seldom or never base their fantastic theories on facts, or that,
+in fiction, they act in a way which would entail their own speedy
+appearance in the dock if practiced in real life. Furneaux came as a
+positive revelation. A small, wiry individual who looked like a
+comedian and spouted the truisms of the studio, a wizened little
+whippersnapper who put hardly one direct question to a prospective
+witness, but whose caustic comments had placed a new and vastly
+disagreeable aspect on the morning's adventure--such a man to be the
+representative of staid and heavy-footed Scotland Yard! Well, wonders
+would never cease. It was not for a bewildered artist yet to know that
+Furneaux's genius alone excused his eccentricities.
+
+And he, Trenholme, was to meet the girl! He turned to the easel and
+looked at the picture. A few hours ago he had reviled the fate that
+seemed to forbid their meeting. Now he was to be brought to her,
+though somewhat after the fashion of a felon with gyves on his wrists,
+since Furneaux's request for the morrow's rendezvous rang ominously
+like a command. Indeed, indeed, it was a mad world!
+
+At any rate, he did not, as he had intended, tear the canvas from its
+stretcher and apply a match to it in the grate. Thus far, then, had
+Furneaux's queer method been justified. He had hit on the one certain
+means of restraint on an act of vandalism. The picture now stood
+between Trenholme and the scoffing multitude. It was his buckler
+against the shafts of innuendo. Rather than lose it before his actions
+were vindicated he would suffer the depletion to the last penny of a
+not altogether meager bank account.
+
+Of course, this open-souled youngster never dreamed that the detective
+had read his style and attributes in one lightning-swift glance of
+intuition. Before ever Trenholme was aware of a stranger standing in
+the open doorway of the dining-room Furneaux had taken his measure.
+
+"English, a gentleman, art-trained in Paris. Thinks the loss of La
+Giaconde a far more serious event than a revolution, and regards the
+Futurist school pretty much as the Home Secretary regards the militant
+suffragists. Knows as much about the murder as I do about the rings of
+Saturn. But he ought to provide a touch of humor in an affair that
+promises little else than heavy tragedy. And it will do Miss Sylvia
+Manning some good if she is made to see that there are others than
+Fenleys in the world. So, have at him!"
+
+While going downstairs, the detective became aware of some sniffing in
+the back passage. Eliza red-eyed now from distress, stood there,
+dabbing her cheeks with a corner of her apron.
+
+"Pup-pup-please, sir," she began, but quailed under a sudden and
+penetrating look from those beady eyes.
+
+"Well, what is it?" inquired Furneaux.
+
+A violent nudge from curl papers stirred the cook's wits.
+
+"I do hope you dud-dud-didn't pay any heed to anythink I was a-sayin'
+of," she stammered. "Mr. Trenholme wouldn't hurt a fuf-fuf-fly. I
+sus-sus-saw the picter, an' was on'y a-teasin' of 'im, like a
+sus-sus-silly woman."
+
+"Exactly. Yet he heaps coals of fire on your head by declaring that
+you are the best cook in Hertfordshire! Is that true?"
+
+Furneaux's impish grin was a tonic in itself. Eliza dropped the apron
+and squared her elbows.
+
+"I don't know about bein' the best in Hertfordshire," she cried, "but
+I can hold me own no matter where the other one comes from, provided
+we start fair."
+
+"Take warning, then, that if I bring a man here tomorrow evening--a
+big man, with a round head and bulging blue eyes--a man who looks as
+though he can use a carving-knife with discretion--you prepare a
+dinner worthy of the reputation of the White Horse! In that way, and
+in none other, can you rehabilitate your character."
+
+Furneaux was gone before Eliza recovered her breath. Then she turned
+on the kitchen maid.
+
+"Wot was it he said about my char-ac-ter?" she demanded warmly. "An'
+wot are _you_ grinnin' at? If it wasn't for _your_ peepin' an' pryin'
+I'd never ha' set eyes on that blessed picter. You go an' put on a
+black dress, an' do yer hair respectable, an' mind yer don't spend
+half an hour perkin' an' preenin' in front of a lookin'-glass."
+
+Mary fled, and Eliza bustled into the kitchen.
+
+"A big man, with a round head an' bulgin' blue eyes!" she muttered
+wrathfully. "Does he think I'm afraid of that sort of brewer's
+drayman, or of a little man with eyes like a ferret, either? If he
+does, he's very much mistaken. I don't believe he's a real 'tec. I
+wouldn't be a bit surprised if he wasn't a reporter. They've cheek
+enough for ten, as a rule. Talkin' about my char-ac-ter, an' before
+that hussy of a girl, too! Wait till I see him tomorrow, that's all."
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had not held the second glass of Château Yquem to
+the light in Tomlinson's sanctum before Winter's car was halting
+outside Brondesbury police station. An Inspector assured the
+Superintendent that a constable was on the track of Robert Fenley, and
+had instructions to report direct to Scotland Yard. Then Winter
+reëntered the car, and was driven to Headquarters.
+
+He was lunching in his own room, frugally but well, on bread and
+cheese and beer, when the Assistant Commissioner came in.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Winter," he said. "I was told you had returned. That
+telephone call came from a call office in Shaftesbury Avenue. A lady,
+name unknown, but the youth in charge knows her well by sight, and
+thinks she lives in a set of flats near by. I thought the information
+sufficient for your purpose, so suspended inquiries till I heard from
+you."
+
+"Just what I wanted, sir," said Winter. "There may be nothing in it,
+but I was curious to know why Hilton Fenley took the trouble to fib
+about such a trivial matter. His brother, too, is behaving in a way
+that invites criticism. I don't imagine that either of the sons shot
+his father--most certainly, Hilton Fenley could not have done it, and
+Robert, I think, was in London at the time----"
+
+"Dear me!" broke in the other, a man of quiet, self-contained manner,
+on whose lips that mild exclamation betokened the maximum of
+surprise. "Is there any reason whatsoever for believing that one of
+these young men may be a parricide?"
+
+"So many reasons, sir, and so convincing in some respects, that the
+local police would be seriously considering the arrest of Robert
+Fenley if they had the ascertained facts in their possession."
+
+The Assistant Commissioner sat down.
+
+"I hear you keep a sound brand of cigars here, Mr. Winter," he said.
+"I've just lunched in the St. Stephen's Club, so, if you can spare the
+time----"
+
+At the end of the Superintendent's recital the Chief offered no
+comment. He arose, went to the window, and seemed to seek inspiration
+from busy Westminster Bridge and a river dancing in sunshine. After a
+long pause he turned, and threw the unconsumed half of a cigar into
+the fireplace.
+
+"It's a pity to waste such a perfect Havana," he said mournfully, "but
+I make it a rule not to smoke while passing along the corridors.
+And--you'll be busy. Keep me posted."
+
+Winter smiled. When the door had closed on his visitor he even
+laughed.
+
+"By Jove!" he said to himself. "A heart to heart talk with the guv'nor
+is always most illuminative. Now many another boss would have said he
+was puzzled, or bothered, or have given me some silly advice such as
+that I must be discreet, look into affairs closely, and not act
+precipitately. Not so our excellent A. C. He's clean bowled, and
+admits it, without speaking a word. He's a tonic; he really is!"
+
+He touched an electric bell. When the policeman attendant, Johnston,
+appeared, he asked if Detective Sergeant Sheldon was in the building,
+and Sheldon came. The Superintendent had met him in a Yorkshire town
+during a protracted and difficult inquiry into the death of a wealthy
+recluse; although the man was merely an ordinary constable he had
+shown such resourcefulness, such ability of a rare order, that he was
+invited to join the staff of the Criminal Investigation Department,
+and had warranted Winter's judgment by earning rapid promotion.
+
+Though tall, and of athletic build, he had none of the distinctive
+traits of the average policeman. He dressed quietly and in good taste,
+and carried himself easily; a peculiarity of his thoughtful, somewhat
+lawyer-like face was that the left eye was noticeably smaller than the
+right. Among other qualifications, he ranked as the best amateur
+photographer in the "Yard," and was famous as a rock climber in the
+Lake District.
+
+Winter plunged at once into the business in hand.
+
+"Sheldon," he said, "I'm going out, and may be absent an hour or
+longer. If a telephone message comes through from Mr. Furneaux tell
+him I have located the doubtful call made to The Towers this morning.
+Have you read the report of the Fenley murder in the evening papers?"
+
+"Yes, sir. _Is_ it a murder?"
+
+"What else could it be?"
+
+"An extraordinary accident."
+
+Winter weighed the point, which had not occurred to him previously.
+
+"No," he said. "It was no accident. I incline to the belief that it
+was the best-planned crime I've tackled during the past few years.
+That is my present opinion, at any rate. Now, a man from the
+Brondesbury police station is following one of the dead man's sons, a
+Mr. Robert Fenley, who bolted back to London on a motor cycle as soon
+as I threatened to question him.
+
+"Robert Fenley is twenty-four, fresh-complexioned, clean-shaven, about
+five feet nine inches in height, stoutish, and of sporty appearance.
+He had his hair cut yesterday or the day before. His hands and feet
+are rather small. He talks aggressively, and looks what he is, a
+pampered youth, very much spoiled by his parents. His clothes--all
+that I have seen--are a motorist's overalls. If the Brondesbury man
+reports here during my absence act as you think fit. I want Robert
+Fenley located, followed, and watched unobtrusively, especially in
+such matters as the houses he visits and the people he meets. If you
+need help get it."
+
+"Till what time, sir?" was the laconic question.
+
+"That depends. Try and 'phone me here about five o'clock. But if you
+are otherwise engaged let the telephone go. Should Fenley seem to
+leave London by the Edgware Road, which leads to Roxton, have him
+checked on the way. Here is the number of his cycle," and Winter
+jotted a memorandum on the back of an envelope.
+
+"What about Mr. Furneaux if I am called out almost immediately?"
+
+"Give the message to Johnston."
+
+Then Winter hurried away, and, repressing the inclination to hail a
+taxi, walked up Whitehall and crossed Trafalgar Square _en route_ to
+the Shaftesbury Avenue address supplied by the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+He found a sharp-featured youth in charge of the telephone, which was
+lodged in an estate agent's office. The boy grinned when the
+Superintendent explained his errand.
+
+"Excuse _me_," he said, with the pert assurance of the born Cockney,
+"but we aren't allowed to give information about customers."
+
+"You've broken your rules already, young man," said Winter. "You
+answered a similar inquiry made by Scotland Yard some hours since."
+
+"Oh, was _that_ it? Gerrard rang me up, and I thought there was
+something funny going on. Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?"
+
+Winter proffered a card, and the boy's eyes opened wide.
+
+"Crikey!" he said. "I've read about you, sir. Well, I've been doing a
+bit of detective work of my own. At lunch time I strolled past the set
+of flats where I thought the lady lived, and had the luck to see her
+getting out of a cab at the door. I followed her upstairs, pretending
+I had business somewhere, and saw her go into No. Eleven. Her name is
+Miss Eileen Garth--at least, that's the name opposite No. Eleven in
+the list in the hall."
+
+"When you're a bit older you'll make a detective," said Winter.
+"You've learned the first trick of the job, and that is to keep your
+eyes open. Now, to encourage you, I'll tell you the second. Keep your
+mouth shut. If this lady is Miss Garth she is not the person we want,
+but it would annoy her if she heard the police were inquiring about
+her; so here is half a crown for your trouble."
+
+"Can I do anything else for you, sir?" came the eager demand.
+
+"Nothing. I'm on the wrong scent, evidently, but you have saved me
+from wasting time. This Miss Eileen Garth is English, of course?"
+
+"Yes, sir; very good-looking, but rather snappy."
+
+Winter sighed.
+
+"That just shows how easy it is to blunder," he said. "I'm looking for
+a Polish Jewess, whose chief feature is her nose, and who wears big
+gold earrings."
+
+"Oh, Miss Garth is quite different," said the disappointed youth.
+"She's tall and slim--a regular dasher, big black hat, swell togs,
+black and white, and smart boots with white spats. She wore pearls in
+her ears, too, because I noticed 'em."
+
+Winter sighed again.
+
+"Another half day lost," he murmured, and went out.
+
+Knowing well that the boy would note the direction he took, he turned
+away from the block of flats and made for Soho, where he smoked a
+thin, raffish Italian cigar with an Anarchist of his acquaintance who
+kept a restaurant famous for its _risotto_. Then, by other streets, he
+approached Gloucester Mansions, and soon was pressing the electric
+bell of No. Eleven.
+
+"Miss Garth in?" he said to an elderly, hatchet-faced woman who opened
+the door.
+
+"Why do you want Miss Garth?" was the non-committal reply, given in
+the tone of one who meant the stranger to understand that he was not
+addressing a servant.
+
+"I shall explain my errand to the lady herself," said Winter civilly.
+"Kindly tell her that Superintendent Winter, of the Criminal
+Investigation Department, Scotland Yard, wishes to see her."
+
+To him it was no new thing that his name and description should bring
+dismay, even terror, to the cheeks of one to whom he made himself
+known professionally, but unless he was addressing some desperate
+criminal, he did not expect to be assaulted. For once, therefore, he
+was thoroughly surprised when a bony hand shot out and pushed him
+backward; the door was slammed in his face; the latch clicked, and he
+was left staring at a small brass plate bearing the legend: "Ring. Do
+not knock."
+
+Naturally, this bold maneuver could not have succeeded had he a right
+of entry. A woman's physical strength was unequal to the task of
+disturbing his burly frame, and a foot thrust between door and jamb
+would have done the rest. As matters stood, however, he was obliged to
+abandon any present hope of an interview with the mysterious Miss
+Eileen Garth.
+
+He remained stock still for some seconds, listening to the retreating
+footsteps of the strong-minded person who had beaten him. It was his
+habit to visualize for future reference the features and demeanor of
+people in whom he was interested, and of whom circumstances permitted
+only the merest glimpse. This woman's face had revealed annoyance
+rather than fear. "Scotland Yard" was not an ogre but a nuisance. She
+held, or, at any rate, she had exercised, a definite power of
+rejecting visitors whom she considered undesirable. Therefore, she was
+a relative, probably Eileen Garth's mother or aunt.
+
+Eileen Garth was "tall and slim," "good-looking, but rather snappy."
+Well, twenty years ago, the description would have applied to the
+woman he had just seen. Her voice, heard under admittedly adverse
+conditions, was correct in accent and fairly cultured. Before the
+world had hardened it its tones might have been soft and dulcet. But
+above all, there was the presumable discovery that Eileen Garth was as
+decidedly opposed as Robert Fenley to full and free discussion of that
+morning's crime.
+
+"Furneaux will jeer at me when he hears of this little episode,"
+thought Winter, smiling as he turned to descend the stairs. Furneaux
+did jeer, but it was at his colleague's phenomenal luck.
+
+The door of No. Twelve, the only other flat on the same landing,
+opened, and a man appeared. Recognition was prompt on Winter's side.
+
+"Hello, Drake!" he said genially. "Are _you_ Signor Maselli? Well met,
+anyhow! Can you give me a friendly word?"
+
+The occupant of flat No. Twelve, an undersized, slightly built man of
+middle age, seemed to have received the shock of his life. His
+sallow-complexioned face assumed a greenish-yellow tint, and his
+deep-set eyes glistened like those of a hunted animal.
+
+"Friendly?" he contrived to gasp, giving a ghastly look over his
+shoulder to ascertain whether any one in the interior of the flat had
+heard that name "Drake."
+
+"Yes. I mean it. Strictly on the q. t.," said Winter, sinking his
+voice to a confidential pitch. Signor Giovanni Maselli, since that was
+the name modestly displayed on No. Twelve's card in the hall beneath,
+closed the door carefully. He appeared to trust Winter, up to a point,
+but evidently found it hard to regain self-control.
+
+"Not here!" he whispered. "In five minutes--at the Regency Café,
+Piccadilly. Let me go alone."
+
+Winter nodded, and the other darted downstairs. The detective followed
+slowly. Crossing the street at an angle, he looked up at the
+smoke-stained elevation of Gloucester Mansions.
+
+"A well-filled nest," he communed, "and a nice lot of prize birds in
+it, upon my word!"
+
+The last time he had set eyes on a certain notably expert forger and
+counterfeiter a judge was passing sentence of five years' penal
+servitude and three years' police supervision on a felon; and the
+judge had not addressed the prisoner as Giovanni Maselli, but as John
+Christopher Drake!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+COINCIDENCES
+
+
+Winter was blessed with an unfailing memory for dates and faces.
+Before he had emerged from the main exit of Gloucester Mansions he had
+fixed Drake as committed from the Old Bailey during the Summer assizes
+four years earlier, released from Portland on ticket of leave at the
+beginning of the current year, and marked in the "failure to report"
+list.
+
+"Poor devil!" he said to himself. "The very man for my purpose!"
+
+Therefore, seeing his way clearly, his glance was not so encouraging
+nor his voice so pleasant when he found the ex-convict awaiting him in
+the Regency Café. Nevertheless, obeying the curious code which links
+the police and noted criminals in a sort of _camaraderie_, he asked
+the man what he would drink, and ordered cigarettes as well.
+
+"Now, Maselli," he said, when they were seated at a marble-topped
+table in a corner of a well-filled room, "since we know each other so
+well we can converse plainly, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir, but I'm done for now. I've been trying to earn an honest
+living, and have succeeded, but now----"
+
+The man spoke brokenly. His spirit was crushed. He saw in his mind's
+eye the frowning portals of a convict settlement, and heard the boom
+of a giant knocker reverberating through gaunt aisles of despair.
+
+"If you reflect that I am calling you Maselli, you'll drink that
+whisky and soda, and listen to what I have to say," broke in Winter
+severely.
+
+The other looked up at him, and a gleam of hope illumined the pallid
+cheeks. He drank eagerly, and lighted a cigarette with trembling
+fingers.
+
+"If only I am given a chance----" he began, but the detective
+interfered again.
+
+"If only you would shut up!" he said emphatically. "I want your help,
+and I'm not in the habit of rewarding my assistants by sending them
+back to prison."
+
+Maselli (as he may remain in this record) was so excited that he
+literally could not obey.
+
+"I've cut completely adrift from the old crowd, sir," he pleaded
+wistfully. "I'm an engraver now, and in good work. Heaven help me, I'm
+married, too. She doesn't know. She thinks I was stranded in America,
+and that I changed my name because Italians are thought more of than
+Englishmen in my line."
+
+"Giovanni Maselli, may I ask what you are talking about?" said Winter,
+stiffening visibly.
+
+At last the hunted and haunted wretch persuaded himself that "the
+Yard" meant to be merciful. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he
+finished the whisky and soda and remained silent.
+
+"Good!" said Winter more cheerfully. "I sha'n't call you Maselli again
+if you don't behave. Now, how long have you lived in Gloucester
+Mansions?"
+
+"Four months, sir. Ever since my marriage."
+
+Winter smiled. The man had gone straight from the gates of Portland to
+some woman who was waiting for him! He was an old offender, but had
+proved slippery as an eel--hence a stiff sentence when caught; but
+penal servitude had conquered him.
+
+"Has Miss Eileen Garth lived in No. Eleven during those four months?"
+was the next question.
+
+"Yes, sir--two years or more, I believe. Her mother mentioned
+something of it to my wife one day."
+
+"Her mother? Same name?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Garth."
+
+"How do they live?"
+
+"The daughter was learning to be a stage dancer; but they've come into
+a settled income, and that idea is given up."
+
+"Any male relations?"
+
+"None that I know of, sir. Eileen is engaged to be married. I haven't
+heard the gentleman's name, but I've seen him scores of times."
+
+"Scores of times--in four months?"
+
+"Yes, sir, every second or third day. That is, I either meet him or
+know he is there because Mrs. Maselli and Mrs. Garth are friendly, and
+there is constant coming and going across the landing."
+
+"Is he a man of about thirty, middle height, lanky black hair, smooth
+dark face, sunken eyes, high cheek bones--rather, shall I say, Italian
+in appearance?"
+
+Maselli was surprised, and showed it.
+
+"Why, sir, you've described him to a nicety," he said.
+
+"Very well. Next time he is there to your absolute knowledge, slip out
+and telephone the fact to me at Scotland Yard. If I'm not in, ask for
+Mr. Furneaux. You remember Mr. Furneaux?"
+
+A sickly smile admitted the acquaintance. Furneaux had recognized the
+same artist's hand in each of many realistic forgeries, and it was
+this fact which led to the man's capture and conviction.
+
+"If neither of us is at home, inquire for Mr. Sheldon," went on
+Winter. "Note him. He's a stranger to you. If you fail to get hold of
+any of us, say simply that Signor Maselli would like to have a word at
+our convenience. It will be understood. We sha'n't bother you. Give
+another call next time the visitor is in Mrs. Garth's flat, and keep
+on doing this until you find one of the three on the line. Don't use
+the telephone in Shaftesbury Avenue near the Mansions, because the boy
+in charge there might be suspicious, and blab. That is all. You are
+not doing Mrs. Garth or her daughter an ill turn, so far as I can
+judge. Keep a still tongue. Silence on your part will meet with
+silence on mine.... Oh, dash it, have another drink! Where's your
+nerve?"
+
+Signor Giovanni Maselli was crying. A phantom had brushed close, but
+was passing; nevertheless, its shadow had chilled him to the bone.
+
+Winter walked back to Scotland Yard, and found that Sheldon had gone,
+leaving a note which read: "Mr. Robert Fenley is at 104, Hendon Road,
+Battersea Park." He was tempted to have a word with Furneaux, but
+forbore, and tackled some other departmental business. It was a day
+fated, however, to evolve the unexpected. About a quarter to four the
+telephone bell rang, and Maselli informed him that Miss Garth's fiancé
+had just arrived at Gloucester Mansions.
+
+"Excellent," said Winter. "In future, devote your energies to
+legitimate engraving. Good-by!"
+
+He rushed out and leaped into a taxi; within five minutes he was at
+the door of No. Eleven once more. Let it not be imagined that he had
+not weighed the possible consequences of thrusting himself in this
+fashion into Hilton Fenley's private affairs. Although the man had
+summoned the assistance of Scotland Yard to elucidate the mystery of
+his father's death, that fact alone could not secure him immunity from
+the law's all-embracing glance. Winter agreed with Furneaux that the
+profession of a private banker combined with company promotion is too
+often a cloak for roguery in the City of London, and the little he
+knew of the Fenley history did not tend to dissipate a certain
+nebulous suspicion that their record might not be wholly clean.
+
+The theft of the bonds had been hushed up in a way that savored of
+unwillingness on Mortimer Fenley's part to permit the police to take
+action. The man's tragic death might well be a sequel to the robbery,
+and, granted the impossibility of his elder son having committed the
+murder, there was nothing fantastic in the notion that he might be a
+party to it.
+
+Again, Hilton Fenley had deliberately misled Scotland Yard in regard
+to the seemingly trivial incident of the telephone call. Had he told
+the truth, and grumbled at the lack of discretion on some woman's part
+in breaking in on a period of acute distress in the household,
+Winter's subsequent discovery would have lost its point. As matters
+stood, however, it was one of a large number of minor circumstances
+which demanded full examination, and the Superintendent decided that
+the person really responsible for any seeming excess of zeal on his
+part should be given an opportunity to clear the air in the place best
+fitted for the purpose; namely, the address from which the call
+emanated.
+
+Therefore, when the door was opened again by Mrs. Garth, she found
+that the Napoleonic tactics of an earlier hour were no longer
+practicable, for the enemy instantly occupied the terrain by leaning
+inward.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Hilton Fenley," he said suavely. "You know my name
+already, Mrs. Garth, so I need not repeat it."
+
+The sharp-featured woman was evidently sharp-witted also. Finding that
+the door might not be closed, she threw it wide.
+
+"I have no objection to your seeing Mr. Fenley," she said. "I am at a
+loss to understand why you follow him here, but that does not concern
+me in the least. Come this way."
+
+Latching the door, she led him to a room on the right of the entrance
+hall, which formed the central artery of the flat. The place had no
+direct daylight. At night, when an electric lamp was switched on, its
+contents would be far more distinct than at this hour, when the only
+light came from a transverse passage at the end, or was borrowed
+through any door that happened to remain open. Still, Winter could
+use his eyes, even in the momentary gloom, and he used them so well
+on this occasion that he noted two trunks, one on top of the other,
+and standing close to the wall.
+
+They were well plastered with hotel and railway labels, and when a
+flood of light poured in from the room to which Mrs. Garth ushered
+him, he deciphered two of the freshest, and presumably the most
+recent. They were "Hotel d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris," and a
+baggage number, "517." Not much, perhaps, in the way of information,
+but something; and Winter could trust his memory.
+
+He found himself in a well-furnished room, and hoped that Mrs. Garth
+might leave him there, even for a few seconds, when he would be free
+to examine the apartment without her supervision. But she treated him
+as if he might steal the spoons. Remaining in the doorway, she called
+loudly:
+
+"Mr. Fenley! The person I told you of is here again. Will you kindly
+come? He is in the dining-room."
+
+A door opened, a hurried step sounded on a linoleum floor-covering,
+and Hilton Fenley appeared.
+
+"Mr.--Mr. Winter, isn't it?" he said, with a fine air of surprise.
+
+"Yes," said the Superintendent composedly. "You hardly expected to
+meet me here, I suppose?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Garth mentioned your earlier visit, but I am at a loss to
+understand----"
+
+"Oh, it is easily explained. We of the Yard take nothing for granted,
+Mr. Fenley. I learned by chance that a young lady who lives here rang
+you up at Roxton this morning, and knowing that you took the trouble
+to conceal the fact, I thought it advisable----"
+
+Mrs. Garth was a woman of discretion. She closed the door on the two
+men. Fenley did not wait for Winter to conclude.
+
+"That was foolish of me, I admit," he said, readily enough. "One does
+not wish all one's private affairs to be canvassed, even by the
+police. The moment Mrs. Garth mentioned your name I saw my error. You
+checked the telephone calls to The Towers, I suppose, and thus learned
+I had misled you."
+
+"Something of the sort. Miss Garth is a lady not difficult of
+recognition."
+
+"She and her mother are very dear friends. It was natural they should
+be shocked by the paragraphs in the newspapers and wish to ascertain
+the truth."
+
+"Quite so. I'm sorry if my pertinacity has annoyed them, or you."
+
+"I think they will rather be pleased by such proof of your
+thoroughness. Certainly I, for my part, do not resent it."
+
+"Very well, sir. Since I am here, I may inquire if you know any one
+living at 104, Hendon Road, Battersea Park?"
+
+"Now that you mention the address, I recall it as the residence of the
+lady in whom my brother is interested. This morning I had forgotten
+it, but you have refreshed my memory."
+
+"You're a tolerably self-possessed person," was the detective's
+unspoken thought, for Fenley was a different man now from the nervous,
+distrait son who had clamored for vengeance on his father's murderer.
+"You own up to the facts candidly when it is useless to do anything
+else, and you never fail to hammer a nail into Robert's coffin when
+the opportunity offers."
+
+But aloud he said--
+
+"You really don't know the lady's name, I suppose?"
+
+Fenley hesitated a fraction of a second.
+
+"Yes, I do know it, though I withheld the information this morning,"
+he replied. "But, I ask you, is it quite fair to make me a witness
+against my brother?"
+
+"Some one must explain Mr. Robert's movements, and, since he declines
+the task, I look to you," was the straightforward answer.
+
+"She is a Mrs. Lisle," said Fenley, after another pause--a calculated
+pause this time.
+
+"Have you visited your City office today?"
+
+"I went straight there from The Towers. I told you I was going there.
+What object could I have in deceiving you?"
+
+"None that I can see, Mr. Fenley. But I have been wondering if any new
+light has been shed on the motive which might have led to the crime.
+Have you examined Mr. Mortimer Fenley's papers, for instance? There
+may be documents, letters, memoranda secreted in some private drawer
+or dispatch case."
+
+The other shook his head. He appeared not to resent the detective's
+tone. It seemed as if regret for the morning's lack of confidence had
+rendered him apologetic.
+
+"No," he said. "I have not had time yet to go through my father's
+papers. This afternoon I was taken up wholly with business. You see,
+Mr. Winter, I can not allow my personal suffering to cost other men
+thousands of pounds, and that must be the outcome if certain
+undertakings now in hand are not completed. But my father was most
+methodical, and his affairs are sure to be thoroughly in order. Within
+the next few days, when I have time to make a proper search, I'll do
+it. Meanwhile, I can practically assure you that he had no reason to
+anticipate anything in the nature of a personal attack from any
+quarter whatsoever."
+
+"Do you care to discuss your brother's extraordinary behavior?"
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"Well, he virtually bolted from Roxton today, though I had warned him
+that his presence was imperative."
+
+"My brother is self-willed and impetuous, and he was dreadfully
+shocked at finding his father dead."
+
+"Did he tell you he meant returning to London at once?"
+
+"No. When I came downstairs, after the distressing scene with Mrs.
+Fenley, he had gone."
+
+The Superintendent was aware already that he was dealing with a man
+cast in no ordinary mold, but he did not expect this continued
+meekness. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred would have grown restive
+under such cross-examination, and betrayed their annoyance by word or
+look; not so Hilton Fenley, who behaved as if it were the most natural
+thing in the world that he should be tracked to his friends' residence
+and made to explain his comings and goings during the day. Swayed by a
+subconscious desire to nettle his victim into protest, Winter tried a
+new tack.
+
+"I suppose, Mr. Fenley, you have seen your father's solicitors today?"
+he said suddenly.
+
+"If you mean that question in the ordinary sense, I must tell you that
+my father employed no firm of solicitors for family purposes. Of
+course, at one time or another, he has availed himself of the services
+of nearly every leading firm of lawyers in the City, but each
+transaction was complete in itself. For instance, his will is a
+holograph will, if that is what you are hinting at. He told me its
+provisions at the time it was signed and witnessed, and I shall
+surely find it in his private safe at the office."
+
+"You have not looked for it today?"
+
+"No. Why should I?"
+
+Feeling distinctly nonplussed, for there was no denying that Fenley
+had chosen the best possible way of carrying off a delicate situation,
+Winter turned, walked slowly to a window and gazed down into the
+street. He was perturbed, almost irritated, by a novel sense of
+failure not often associated with the day's work. He had to confess
+now that he had made no material stride in an inquiry the solution of
+which did not seem, at the outset, to offer any abnormal difficulty.
+
+True, there were circumstances which might serve to incriminate Robert
+Fenley; but if that young man were really responsible for the crime,
+he was what "the Yard" classes privately as a monumental idiot, since
+his subsequent conduct was well calculated to arouse the suspicion
+which the instinct of self-preservation would try to avert. A long
+experience of the methods of criminals warned Winter of the folly of
+jumping at conclusions, but he would be slow to admit and hard to be
+convinced that Robert Fenley took any active part in his father's
+murder.
+
+Of course, it was not with a view toward indulging in a reverie that
+he approached the window. He was setting a simple trap, into which
+many a man and woman had fallen. Any one of moderately strong
+character can control face and eyes when the need of such discipline
+is urgent, but howsoever impregnable the mask, the strain of wearing
+it is felt, and relief shows itself in an unguarded moment. At the
+farther end of the room there was a mirror above the fireplace, and as
+he turned his back on Fenley, by a hardly perceptible inclination of
+his head he could catch the reflection of his companion's face.
+
+The maneuver succeeded, but its result was negative. Hilton Fenley's
+eyes were downcast. He had lifted a hand to his chin in one of those
+nervous gestures which had been so noticeable during the morning's
+tumult. His face wore an expression of deep thought. Indeed, he might
+be weighing each word he had heard and uttered, and calculating its
+effect on his own fortunes.
+
+Still obeying that unworthy instinct which bade him sting Fenley into
+defiance, Winter tossed a question over his shoulder.
+
+"May I have a word with Miss Garth?" he said suddenly.
+
+"Why?" was the calm answer.
+
+"Just to settle that telephone incident once and for all."
+
+"But if you imagine it might not have been Miss Garth who made the
+call, why are you here?"
+
+Then the detective laughed. His wonted air of cheerful good humor
+smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead. He was beaten, completely
+discomfited, and he might as well confess it and betake himself to
+some quarter where a likelier trail could be followed.
+
+"True," he said affably. "I need not bother the young lady. Perhaps
+you will make my excuses and tell her that I ran you to earth in
+Gloucester Mansions merely to save time. By the way, I led the youth
+at the call office to believe that I was searching for an undersized
+Polish Jewess, all nose and gold earrings, a description which hardly
+applies to Miss Garth. And one last question--do you return to Roxton
+tonight?"
+
+"Within the hour."
+
+So Winter descended the stone stairs a second time, a prey to a
+feeling of failure. What had he gained by his impetuous actions? He
+had ascertained that Hilton Fenley was on terms of close intimacy with
+a pretty girl and her mother. Nothing very remarkable in that. He had
+secured a Paris address and the number of a baggage registration
+label. But similar information might be gleaned from a hundred
+thousand boxes and portmanteaux in London that day. He had been told
+that Mortimer Fenley had made a holograph will. Such procedure was by
+no means rare. Millions sterling have been disposed of on half sheets
+of note paper. Even his Majesty's judges have written similar wills,
+and blundered, with the result that a brother learned in the law has
+had to decide what the testator really meant. He wondered whether or
+not Mortimer Fenley had committed some technical error, such as the
+common one of creating a trust without appointing trustees. That would
+be seen in due course, when the will was probated.
+
+At any rate, he grinned at his own expense.
+
+"The only individual who has scored today," he said to himself, "is
+John Christopher Drake, alias Giovanni Maselli. I must keep mum about
+him. By gad, I believe I've compounded a felony!"
+
+But because he had not scored inside Gloucester Mansions there was no
+valid reason why he should not accomplish something in their immediate
+neighborhood. For instance, who and what were the Garths, mother and
+daughter? He looked in on a well-known dramatic agent, and raised the
+point. Reference to a ledger showed that Eileen Garth, age eighteen,
+tall, good-looking, no previous experience, had been a candidate for
+musical comedy, London engagement alone accepted; the almost certain
+sequel being that she had kept her name six months on the books
+without an offer to secure her valuable services.
+
+"I remember the girl well," said the agent. "She had the makings of a
+coryphée, but lacked training. She could sing a little, so I advised
+her to take dancing lessons. I believe she began them, with a teacher
+I recommended, but I've seen nothing of her for a year or more."
+
+"Again has Giovanni filled the bill," mused Winter as he made for his
+office. "I wish now I had curbed my impulsiveness and kept away from
+Gloucester Mansions--the second time, anyhow."
+
+Though chastened in spirit, the fact that no news of any sort awaited
+him at Scotland Yard, did not help to restore his customary poise.
+
+"Dash it all!" he growled. "I'm losing grip. The next thing I'll hear
+is that Sheldon is enjoying himself at Earl's Court and that Furneaux
+has gone fishing."
+
+Restless and ill at ease, he decided to ring up The Towers, Roxton. A
+footman answered the telephone, and announced that Mr. Furneaux had
+"just come in."
+
+"Hello, Charles," said Winter, when a thin voice squeaked along the
+line. "Any luck?"
+
+"Superb!"
+
+"Good! I've drawn blanks, regular round O's, except three probably
+useless addresses."
+
+"Addresses are never useless, friend. The mere knowing of a number in
+a street picks out that street from all the other streets where one
+knows no numbers."
+
+"Tell me things, you rat, if conditions permit."
+
+"Well, I've hit on two facts of profound importance. First, Roxton
+contains an artist of rare genius, and, second, it holds a cook of
+admitted excellence."
+
+"Look here----"
+
+"I'm listening here, which is all that science can achieve at
+present."
+
+"I'm in no mood for ill timed pleasantries."
+
+"But I'm not joking, 'pon me honor. The cook, name of Eliza, does
+really exist, and is sworn to surprise even your jaded appetite. The
+artist is John Trenholme. In years to come you'll boast of having met
+him before he was famous."
+
+"So you, like me, have done nothing?"
+
+"Ah, I note the bitterness of defeat in your tone. It has warped your
+judgment, too, as you will agree when a certain dinner I have arranged
+for tomorrow night touches the spot."
+
+"Can't you put matters more plainly?"
+
+"I'm guessing and planning and contriving. Like Galileo, I am
+convinced that the world moves." Then Furneaux broke into French.
+"Regarding those addresses you speak of, what are they?"
+
+Using the same language, Winter told him, substituting "the Eurasian"
+and "the motorcyclist" for names, and adding that he was writing
+Jacques Faure, the Paris detective, with reference to the hotel and
+the label, the figures on the latter being of the long, thin, French
+variety.
+
+"Are you coming here tonight?" went on Furneaux.
+
+"Do you want me?"
+
+"I'm only a little chap, and I'd like to have you near when it is
+dark."
+
+Winter sighed, but it was with relief. He knew now that Furneaux had
+not failed.
+
+"Very well," he said. "I'll arrive by the next convenient train."
+
+"The point is," continued Furneaux, who delighted in keeping his chief
+on tenterhooks when some new development in the chase was imminent,
+"that the position here requires handling by a man of your weight and
+authority. The motor cyclist came back an hour ago, and is now walking
+in the garden with the girl."
+
+"The deuce! Why hasn't Sheldon reported?" blurted out Winter.
+
+"Because, in all likelihood, he is watching the other girl. Isn't that
+what you were doing? Isn't half the battle won when we find the
+woman?"
+
+"I haven't set eyes on _my_ woman."
+
+"You surprise me. That kind of modest self-effacement isn't your usual
+style, at all, at all, as they say in Cork."
+
+"Probably you're right about Sheldon. He is a worker, not a talker
+like some people I know," retorted Winter.
+
+"What very dull acquaintances you must possess! Workers are the small
+fry who put spouters into Parliament, and pay them £400 a year, and
+make them Cabinet Ministers."
+
+"Evidently things have happened at Roxton, or you wouldn't be so
+chirpy. Well, so long! See you later."
+
+Having ascertained that an express train was timed to leave St.
+Pancras for Roxton at six P. M., he was packing a suitcase when a
+telegram arrived. It had been handed in at Folkestone at four thirty,
+and read:
+
+     Decided to follow lady instead of motor cyclist. Will explain
+     reasons verbally. Reaching London seven o'clock.
+
+                         SHELDON.
+
+"I'm the only one of the three who has accomplished nothing," was
+Winter's rueful comment. Nor could any critic have gainsaid him, for
+he seemed to have been wasting precious hours while his subordinates
+were making history in the Fenley case.
+
+He left instructions with Johnston that Mr. Sheldon was to write
+fully, care of the Roxton police station, and took a cab for St.
+Pancras. He was passing along the platform when he caught sight of
+Hilton Fenley seated on the far side of a first-class carriage, which
+was otherwise untenanted. An open dispatch box lay beside him, and he
+was so engrossed in the perusal of some document that he gave no heed
+to externals. Winter threw wide the door, and entered.
+
+"We are fated to meet today, Mr. Fenley," he said pleasantly. "First,
+you send for me; then I hunt you, and now we come together by chance.
+I don't think coincidence can arrange any fourth way of bringing us in
+touch today."
+
+But he was mistaken. Coincidence had already done far more than he
+imagined in providing unseen clues to the ultimate clearing up of a
+ghastly crime, and the same subtle law of chance was fated to assist
+the authorities once more before the sun rose again over the trees
+from whose cover Mortimer Fenley's murderer had fired the fatal shot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN AN ARTIST BECOMES A MAN OF ACTION
+
+
+Furneaux's visit left Trenholme in no happy frame of mind. The man who
+that morning had not a care in the world was now a prey to disquieting
+thought. The knowledge that he had been close to the scene of a
+dastardly murder at the moment it was committed, that he was in a
+sense a witness of the crime, was depressing in itself, for his was a
+kindly nature; and the mere fact that circumstances had rendered him
+impotent when his presence might have acted as a deterrent was
+saddening.
+
+Then, again, he was worried by the reflection that, no matter how
+discriminating the police might prove with regard to his sketch of
+Sylvia Manning, he would undoubtedly be called as a witness, both at
+the inquest and at the trial of any person arrested for the crime. It
+was asking too much of editorial human nature to expect that the
+magazine which had commissioned the illustrated article on Roxton
+would not make capital of the fact that its special artist was
+actually sketching the house while Mr. Fenley's murderer was skulking
+among the trees surrounding it. Thus there was no escape for John
+Trenholme. He was doomed to become notorious. At any hour the evening
+newspapers might be publishing his portrait and biography!
+
+On going downstairs he was cheered a little by meeting an apologetic
+Eliza.
+
+"I hope I didn't do any reel 'arm, sir," she said, dropping an
+aspirate in sheer emphasis.
+
+"Any harm to whom, or what?" he asked.
+
+"By talkin' as I did afore that 'tec, sir."
+
+"All depends on what you said to him. If you told him, for instance,
+that I carry Browning pistols in each pocket, and that my easel is a
+portable Maxim gun, of course----"
+
+"Oh, sir, I never try to be funny. I mean about the picter."
+
+"Good Heavens! You, too!"
+
+Eliza failed to understand this, but she was too subdued to inquire
+his meaning.
+
+"You see, sir, he must ha' heerd what I said about it, an' him
+skulkin' there in the passage. Do you reelly think a hop-o'-me-thumb
+like that can be a Scotland Yard man? It's my belief he's a
+himpostor."
+
+It had not dawned on Trenholme that Furneaux's complete fund of
+information regarding the sketches had been obtained so recently. He
+imagined that Police Constable Farrow and Gamekeeper Bates had
+supplied details, so his reply cheered Eliza.
+
+"Don't worry about unnecessary trifles," he said. "Mr. Furneaux is
+not only a genuine detective, but a remarkably clever one. You ought
+to have heard him praising the picture you despised."
+
+"I never did," came the vehement protest. "The picter is fine. It was
+the young lady's clothes, or the want of 'em, that I was condemnin'."
+
+"I've seen four thousand ladies walking about the sands at Trouville
+in far scantier attire."
+
+"That's in France, isn't it?" inquired Eliza.
+
+"Yes, but France is a more civilized country than England."
+
+Eliza sniffed, sure sign of battle.
+
+"Not it," she vowed. "I've read things about the carryin' on there as
+made me blood boil. Horse-racin' on Sundays, an' folks goin' to
+theaters instead of church. France more civilized than England,
+indeed! What'll you be sayin' next?"
+
+"I'll be saying that if our little friend behaves himself I shall ask
+him to dine here tomorrow."
+
+"He's axed himself, Mr. Trenholme, an' he's bringing another one, a
+big fellow, who knows how to use a carvin'-knife, he says. What would
+you like for dinner?"
+
+Trenholme fled. That question was becoming a daily torment. The
+appearance of Furneaux had alone saved him from being put on the
+culinary rack after luncheon; having partaken of one good meal, he
+never had the remotest notion as to his requirements for the next.
+
+He wandered through the village, calling at a tobacconist's, and
+looking in on his friend the barber. All tongues were agog with
+wonder. The Fenley family, known to that district of Hertfordshire
+during the greater part of a generation, was subjected to merciless
+criticism. He heard gossip of Mr. Robert, of Mr. Hilton, even of the
+recluse wife, now a widow; but every one had a good word for "Miss
+Sylvia."
+
+"We don't see enough of her, an' that's a fact," said the barber. "She
+must find life rather dull, cooped up there as she is, for all that
+it's a grand house an' a fine park. They never had company like the
+other big houses. A few bald-headed City men an' their wives for an
+occasional week end in the summer or when the coverts were shot in
+October--never any nice young people. Miss Sylvia wept when the
+rector's daughter got married last year, an' well I knew why--she was
+losin' her only chum."
+
+"Surely there are scores of good families in this neighborhood?"
+
+"Plenty, sir, but nearly all county. The toffs never did take on the
+Fenleys, an', to be fair, I don't believe the poor man who's dead ever
+bothered his head about them."
+
+"But Miss Manning can not have lived here all her life? She must have
+been abroad, at school, for instance?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir. I remember her comin' home from Brussels two years
+ago. But school ain't society. The likes of her, with all her money,
+should mix with her own sort."
+
+"Is she so wealthy, then?"
+
+"She's Mr. Fenley's ward, an' the servants at The Towers say she'll
+come in for a heap when she's twenty-one, which will be next year."
+
+Somehow, this item of gossip, confirming Eliza's statement, was
+displeasing. Sylvia Manning, nymph of the lake, receded to some dim
+altitude where the high and mighty are enthroned. Biting his pipe
+viciously, Trenholme sought the solitude of a woodland footpath, and
+tried to find distraction in studying the effects of diffused light.
+
+Returning to the inn about tea time, he was angered anew by a telegram
+from the magazine editor. It read:
+
+     _News in Pictures_ wants sketches and photographs of Fenley case
+     and surroundings. Have suggested you for commission. Why not pick
+     up a tenner? Rush drawings by train.
+
+"That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out,
+bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor
+mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of _News in Pictures_ with
+his compliments. Coming back from the station, he passed the Easton
+lodge of The Towers. A daring notion seized him, and he proceeded to
+put it into practice forthwith. He presented himself at the gate, and
+was faced by Mrs. Bates and a policeman. Taught by experience to
+beware of strangers that day, the keeper's wife gazed at him through
+an insurmountable iron palisade. The constable merely surveyed him
+with a professional air, as one who would interfere if needful.
+
+"I am calling on Miss Sylvia Manning," announced Trenholme promptly.
+
+"By appointment, sir?"
+
+"No, but I have reason to believe that she would wish to see me."
+
+"My orders are that nobody is to be admitted to the house without
+written instructions, sir."
+
+"How can Miss Manning give written instructions unless she knows I am
+here?"
+
+"Them's my orders," said Mrs. Bates firmly.
+
+"But," he persisted, "it really amounts to this--that you decide
+whether or not Miss Manning wishes to receive me, or any other
+visitor."
+
+Mrs. Bates found the point of view novel. Moreover, she liked this
+young man's smile. She hesitated, and temporized.
+
+"If you don't mind waitin' a minute till I telephone----" she said.
+
+"Certainly. Say that Mr. John Trenholme, who was sketching in the
+park this morning, asks the favor of a few words."
+
+The guardian of the gate disappeared; soon she came out again, and
+unlocked the gate.
+
+"Miss Manning is just leavin' the house," she said. "If you walk up
+the avenue you'll meet her, sir."
+
+Now, it happened that Trenholme's request for an interview reached
+Sylvia Manning at a peculiar moment. She had been shocked and
+distressed beyond measure by the morning's tragedy. Mortimer Fenley
+was one of those men whom riches render morose, but his manner had
+always been kind to his ward. A pleasant fiction enabled the girl to
+regard Mr. and Mrs. Fenley as her "uncle" and "aunt," and the tacit
+relationship thus established served to place the financier and his
+"niece" on a footing of affectionate intimacy. Of late, however,
+Sylvia had been aware of a splitting up of the family into armed
+camps, and the discovery, or intuition, that she was the cause of the
+rupture had proved irksome and even annoying.
+
+Mortimer Fenley had made no secret of his desire that she should marry
+his younger son. When both young people, excellent friends though they
+were, seemed to shirk the suggestion, though by no means actively
+opposing it, Fenley was angered, and did not scruple to throw out
+hints of coercion. Again, the girl knew that Hilton Fenley was a rival
+suitor, and meant to defy his father's intent with regard to Robert.
+Oddly enough, neither of the young men had indulged in overt
+love-making. According to their reckoning, Sylvia's personal choice
+counted for little in the matter. Robert seemed to assume that his
+"cousin" was merely waiting to be asked, while Hilton's attitude was
+that of a man biding his time to snatch a prize when opportunity
+served.
+
+Sylvia herself hated the very thought of matrimony. The only married
+couples of her acquaintance were either hopelessly detached, like
+Fenley and his wife, or uninteresting people of the type which the
+village barber had etched so clearly for Trenholme's benefit.
+Whatsoever quickening of romance might have crept into such lives had
+long yielded to atrophy. Marriage, to the girl's imaginative mind, was
+synonymous with a dull and prosy middle age. Most certainly the vague
+day-dreams evoked by her reading of books and converted into alluring
+vistas by an ever-widening horizon were not sated by the prospect of
+becoming the wife of either of the only two young men she knew.
+
+There was a big world beyond the confines of Roxton Park. There were
+interests in life that called with increasing insistence. In her heart
+of hearts she had decided, quite unmistakably, to decline any
+matrimonial project for several years, and while shrinking from a
+downright avowal of her intentions, which her "uncle" would have
+resented very strongly, the fact that father and sons were at daggers
+drawn concerning her was the cause of no slight feeling of dismay,
+even of occasional moments of unhappiness.
+
+She had no one to confide in. For reasons beyond her ken Mortimer
+Fenley had set his face against any of her school friends being
+invited to the house, while Mrs. Fenley, by reason of an unfortunate
+failing, was a wretched automaton that ate and drank and slept, and
+alternated between brief fits of delirium and prolonged periods of
+stupor induced by drugs.
+
+Still, until a murderous gunshot had torn away the veil of unreality
+which enshrouded the household, Sylvia had contrived to avoid a
+crisis. All day, during six days of the week, she was free in her own
+realm. She had books and music, the woods, the park, and the gardens
+to occupy busy hours. Unknown to any, her favorite amusement was the
+planning of extensive foreign tours by such simple means as an atlas
+and a set of guide books. She had a talent for sketching in water
+color, and her own sanctum contained a dozen or more copious records
+of imaginary journeys illustrated with singular accuracy of detail.
+
+She was athletic in her tastes, too. She had fitted up a small
+gymnasium, which she used daily. At her request, Mortimer Fenley
+had laid out a nine-hole links in the park, and in her second golfing
+year (the current one) Sylvia had gone around in bogey. She would
+have excelled in tennis, but Robert Fenley was so much away from home
+that she seldom got a game, while Hilton professed to be too tired
+for strenuous exercise after long days in the City. She could ride
+and drive, though forbidden to follow any of the local packs of
+fox-hounds, and it has been seen that she was a first-rate swimmer.
+Brodie, too, had taught her to drive a motor car, and she could
+discourse learnedly on silencers and the Otto cycle.
+
+On the whole, then, she was content, and hugged the conceit that when
+she came of age she would be her own mistress and order her life as
+she chose. The solitary defect of any real importance in the scheme of
+things was Mortimer Fenley's growing insistence on her marriage to
+Robert.
+
+It was astounding, therefore, and quite bewildering, that Robert
+Fenley should have hit on the day of his father's death to declare his
+prosaic passion. He had motored back from London about four o'clock.
+Hurrying to change his clothing for the attire demanded by convention
+in hours of mourning, he sent a message to Sylvia asking her to meet
+him at tea. Afterwards he took her into the garden, on the pretext
+that she was looking pale and needed fresh air. There, without the
+least preamble, he informed her that the day's occurrences had caused
+him to fall in unreservedly with his father's wishes. He urged her to
+agree to a quiet wedding at the earliest possible date, and pointed
+out that a prompt announcement of their pact would stifle any
+opposition on Hilton's part.
+
+Evidently he took it for granted that if Barkis was willing, Peggotty
+had no option in the matter. He forgot to mention such a trivial
+element as love. Their marriage had been planned by the arbiter of
+their destinies, and who were they that they should gainsay that
+august decision? Why, his father's death had made it a duty that they
+owed to a sacred memory!
+
+Though Sylvia's experience of the world was slight, and knowledge of
+her fellow creatures rather less, Cousin Robert's eagerness, as
+compared with his deficiencies as a wooer, warned her that some hidden
+but powerful motive was egging him on now. She tried to temporize, but
+the more she eluded him the more insistent he became.
+
+At last, she spoke plainly, and with some heat.
+
+"If you press for my answer today it is 'No,'" she said, and a wave of
+color flooded her pale cheeks. "I think you can hardly have considered
+your actions. It is monstrous to talk of marriage when my uncle has
+only been dead a few hours. I refuse to listen to another word."
+
+Perforce, Robert had left it at that. He had the sense to bottle up
+his anger, at any rate in her hearing; perhaps he reflected that the
+breaking of the ice would facilitate the subsequent plunge.
+
+Far more disturbed in spirit than her dignified repulse of Fenley had
+shown, Sylvia reëntered the house, passing the odd-looking little
+detective as she crossed the hall. She took refuge in her own suite,
+but determined forthwith to go out of doors again and seek shelter
+among her beloved trees. Through a window, as her rooms faced south,
+she saw Robert Fenley pacing moodily in the garden, where he was
+presently joined by the detective.
+
+Apparently, Fenley was as ungracious and surly of manner as he knew
+how to be, but Furneaux continued to chat with careless affability;
+soon the two walked off in the direction of the lake. That was
+Sylvia's chance. She ran downstairs and was at the door when a footman
+came and said that Mrs. Bates wanted her on the telephone.
+
+At first she was astounded by Trenholme's message. Then sheer
+irritation at the crassness of things, and perhaps some spice of
+feminine curiosity, led her to give the order which opened the gates
+of Roxton Park to a man she had never seen.
+
+The two met a few hundred yards down the avenue. Police Constable
+Farrow, who had been replaced by another constable while he went home
+for a meal, was on guard in the Quarry Wood again until the night men
+came on duty, and noticed Miss Manning leaving the house. He descended
+from his rock and strolled toward the avenue, with no other motive
+than a desire to stretch his legs; his perplexity was unbounded when
+he discovered Mortimer Fenley's ward deep in conversation with the
+artist.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered!" he said, dodging behind a giant rhododendron.
+Whipping out a notebook and consulting his watch, he solemnly noted
+time and names in a laboriously accurate round hand. Then he nibbled
+his chin strap and dug both thumbs into his belt. His luck was in that
+day. He knew something now that was withheld from the Scotland Yard
+swells. Sylvia Manning and John Trenholme were acquaintances. Nay,
+more; they must be old friends; under his very eyes they went off
+together into the park.
+
+Back to his rock went Police Constable Farrow, puzzled but elated. Was
+he not a repository of secrets? And that funny little detective had
+betaken himself in the opposite direction! Fate was kind indeed.
+
+He would have been still more surprised had Fate permitted him to be
+also an eavesdropper, if listeners ever do drop from eaves.
+
+Sylvia was by no means flurried when she came face to face with
+Trenholme. The female of the species invariably shows her superiority
+on such occasions. Trenholme knew he was blushing and rather
+breathless. Sylvia was cool and distant.
+
+"You are Mr. Trenholme, I suppose?" she said, her blue eyes meeting
+his brown ones in calm scrutiny.
+
+"Yes," he said, trying desperately to collect his wits. The
+well-balanced phrases conned while walking up the avenue had vanished
+in a hopeless blur at the instant they were needed. His mind was in a
+whirl.
+
+"I am Miss Manning," she continued. "It is hardly possible to receive
+visitors at the house this afternoon, and as I happened to be coming
+out when Mrs. Bates telephoned from the lodge, I thought you would
+have no objection to telling me here why you wish to see me."
+
+"I have come to apologize for my action this morning," he said.
+
+"What action?"
+
+"I sketched you without your knowledge, and, of course, without your
+permission."
+
+"You sketched me? Where?"
+
+"When you were swimming in the lake."
+
+"You didn't dare!"
+
+"I did. I'm sorry now, though you inspired the best picture I have
+ever painted, or shall ever paint."
+
+For an instant Sylvia forgot her personal troubles in sheer
+wonderment, and a ghost of a smile brightened her white cheeks. John
+Trenholme was a person who inspired confidence at sight, and her first
+definite emotion was one of surprise that he should look so
+disconsolate.
+
+"I really don't understand," she said. "The quality of your picture
+has no special interest for me. What I fail to grasp is your motive in
+trespassing in a private park and watching me, or any lady, bathing."
+
+"Put that way, my conduct needs correcting with a horsewhip; but
+happily there are other points of view. That is--I mean----Really,
+Miss Manning, I am absurdly tongue-tied, but I do beg of you to hear
+my explanation."
+
+"Have you one?"
+
+"Yes. It might convince any one but you. You will be a severe judge,
+and I hardly know how to find words to seek your forgiveness, but I--I
+was the victim of circumstances."
+
+"Please don't regard me as a judge. At present, I am trying to guess
+what happened."
+
+Then John squared his shoulders and tackled the greatest difficulty he
+had grappled with for years.
+
+"The simple truth should at least sound convincing," he said. "I came
+to Roxton three days ago on a commission to sketch the village and
+its environment. This house and grounds are historical, and I applied
+for permission to visit them, but was refused. By chance, I heard of a
+public footpath which crosses the park close to the lake----"
+
+Sylvia nodded. She, too, had heard much of that footpath. Its
+existence had annoyed Mortimer Fenley as long as she could remember
+anything. That friendly little nod encouraged Trenholme. His voice
+came under better control, and he contrived to smile.
+
+"I was told it was a bone of contention," he said, "but that didn't
+trouble me a bit, since the right of way opened the forbidden area. I
+meant no disturbance or intrusion. I rose early this morning, and
+would have made my sketches and got away without seeing you if it were
+not for a delightful pair of wrought iron gates passed _en route_.
+They detained me three quarters of an hour. Instead of reaching the
+clump of cedars at a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I arrived at
+half past seven.
+
+"I sketched the house and lawns and then turned to the lake. When you
+appeared I imagined at first you were coming to pitch into me for
+entering your domain. But, as I was partly hidden by some briers
+beneath the cedars, you never saw me, and, before I realized what was
+taking place, you threw off your wraps and were in the water."
+
+"Oh!" gasped Sylvia.
+
+"Now, I ask you to regard the situation impersonally," said Trenholme,
+sinking his eyes humbly to the ground and keeping them there. "I had
+either to reveal my presence and startle you greatly, or remain where
+I was and wait until you went off again.
+
+"Whether it was wise or not, I elected for the easier course. I think
+I would act similarly if placed in the like predicament tomorrow or
+next day. After all, there is nothing so very remarkable in a lady
+taking a morning swim that an involuntary onlooker should be shocked
+or scandalized by it. You and I were strangers to each other. Were we
+friends, we might have been swimming in company."
+
+Sylvia uttered some incoherent sound, but Trenholme, once launched in
+his recital, meant to persevere with it to the bitter end.
+
+"I still hold that I chose the more judicious way out of a difficult
+situation," he said. "Had I left it at that, all would have been well.
+But the woman tempted me, and I did eat."
+
+"Indeed, the woman did nothing of the sort," came the vehement
+protest.
+
+"I speak in the artistic sense. You can not imagine, you will never
+know, what an exquisite picture you and the statue of Aphrodite made
+when mirrored in that shining water. I forgot every consideration but
+the call of art, which, when it is genuine, is irresistible,
+overwhelming. Fearing only that you might take one plunge and go, I
+grabbed my palette and a canvas and began to work.
+
+"I used pure color, and painted as one reads of the fierce labor of
+genius. For once in my life I was inspired. I had caught an effect
+which I might have sought in vain during the remainder of my life. I
+painted real flesh, real water. Even the reeds and shrubs by the side
+of the lake were veritable glimpses of actuality. Then, when I had
+given some species of immortality to a fleeting moment, you returned
+to the house, and I was left alone with a dream made permanent, a
+memory transfixed on canvas, a picture which would have created a
+sensation in the Salon----"
+
+"Oh, surely, you would not exhibit me--it----" breathed the girl.
+
+"No," he said grimly. "That conceit is dead and buried. But I want you
+to realize that during those few minutes I was not John Trenholme, an
+artist struggling for foothold on the steep crags of the painter's
+rock of endeavor, but a master of the craft gazing from some high
+pinnacle at a territory he had won. If you know anything of painting,
+Miss Manning, you will go with me so far as to admit that my
+indiscretion was impersonal. I, a poet who expressed his emotions in
+terms of color, was alone with Aphrodite and a nymph, on a June
+morning, in a leafy English park. I don't think I should be blamed,
+but envied. I should not be confessing a fault, but claiming
+recognition as one favored of the gods."
+
+Trenholme was speaking in earnest now, and Sylvia thrilled to the
+music of his voice. But if her heart throbbed and a strange fluttering
+made itself felt in her heart, her utterance, by force of repression,
+was so cold and unmoved that Trenholme became more downcast than ever.
+
+"I do paint a little," she said, "and I can understand that
+the--er--statue and the lake offer a charming subject; but I am still
+at a loss to know why you have thought fit to come here and tell me
+these things."
+
+"It is my wretched task to make that clear, at least," he cried
+contritely, forcing himself to turn and look through the trees at a
+landscape now glowing in the mellow light of a declining sun. "When
+you had gone I sat there, working hard for a time, but finally
+yielding to the spell of an unexpected and, therefore, a most
+delightful romance. A vision of rare beauty had come into my life and
+gone from it, all in the course of a magic hour. Is it strange that I
+should linger in the shrine?
+
+"I was aroused by a gunshot, but little dreamed that grim Death was
+stalking through Fairyland. Still, I came to my everyday senses,
+packed up my sketches and color box, and tramped off to Roxton,
+singing as I went. Hours afterward, I learned of the tragedy which
+had taken place so near the place where I had snatched a glimpse of
+the Hesperides. It was known that I had been in the park at the time.
+I had met and spoken to Bates, your head keeper, and the local
+policeman, Farrow.
+
+"A detective came, a man named Furneaux; a jolly clever chap, too, but
+a most disturbing reasoner. He showed me that my drawings--the one
+sketch, at any rate, which I held sacred--would prove my sheet anchor
+when I was brought into the stormy waters of inquest and law courts.
+It is obvious that every person who was in that locality at half past
+nine this morning must explain his or her presence beyond all doubt or
+questioning. I shall be obliged to say, of course, that I was in the
+park fully two hours, from seven thirty A. M. onward. What was I
+doing? Painting. Very well; where is the result? Is it such that any
+artist will testify that I was busily engaged? Don't you see, Miss
+Manning? I must either produce that sketch or stand convicted of the
+mean offense you yourself imputed to me instantly when you heard of my
+whereabouts."
+
+"Oh, I didn't really imply that," said Sylvia, and a new note of
+sympathy crept into her voice. "It would be horrid if--if you couldn't
+explain; and--it seems to me that the sketches--you made more than
+one, didn't you?--should be shown to the authorities."
+
+Trenholme's face lit with gratitude because of her ready tact. He was
+sorely impelled to leave matters on their present footing, but whipped
+himself to the final stage.
+
+"There is worse to come," he said miserably.
+
+"Goodness me! What else _can_ there be?"
+
+"Mr Furneaux has asked me--ordered me, in fact--to meet you by the
+side of the lake tomorrow morning at a quarter past nine and bring the
+drawings. Now you know why I have ventured to call this afternoon. I
+simply could not wait till I was brought before you like a collared
+thief with the loot in his possession. I _had_ to meet you without the
+intervention of a grinning policeman. When you heard my plea I
+thought, I hoped, that you might incline to a less severe view than
+would be possible if the matter came to your notice without warning."
+
+He stopped abruptly. A curiously introspective look had come into the
+girl's eyes, for he had summoned up courage to glance at her again,
+and snatch one last impression of her winsome loveliness before she
+bade him be gone.
+
+"Where are you staying in Roxton, Mr. Trenholme?" she asked. The
+unexpected nature of the question almost took his breath away.
+
+"At the White Horse Inn," he said.
+
+She pointed across the park.
+
+"That farm there, Mr. Jackson's, lies nearly opposite the inn. I
+suppose the detective has not impounded your sketch?"
+
+"No," he murmured, quite at a loss to follow her intent.
+
+"Well, Mr. Jackson will let you go and come through his farmyard to
+oblige me. It will be a short cut for you, too. If you have no
+objection, I'll walk with you to the boundary wall, which you can
+climb easily.
+
+"Then you might bring this debatable picture, and let me see it--the
+others as well, if you wish. Wouldn't that be a good idea? I mightn't
+get quite such a shock in the morning, when the detective man parades
+you before me. It is not very late. I have plenty of time to stroll
+that far before dinner."
+
+Hardly believing his ears, Trenholme walked off by her side. No wonder
+Police Constable Farrow was surprised. And still less room was there
+for wonder that Hilton Fenley, driving with Winter from the station,
+should shout an imperative order to Brodie to stop the car when he saw
+the couple in the distance.
+
+"Isn't that Miss Sylvia?" he said harshly, well knowing there could be
+only one answer.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the chauffeur.
+
+"Who is the man with her?"
+
+"Mr. Trenholme, the artist, from the White Horse, sir."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I've seen him several times hereabouts."
+
+Fenley was in a rare temper already, for Winter had told him Brother
+Robert was at home, a development on which he had by no means counted.
+Now his sallow face darkened with anger.
+
+"Drive on!" he said. "I gave orders, at your request, Mr Winter, that
+no strangers were to be admitted. I must see to it that I am obeyed in
+future. It is surprising, too, that the police are so remiss in such
+an important matter."
+
+For once, Winter was perforce silent. In his heart of hearts he blamed
+Detective Inspector Furneaux.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+FURNEAUX STATES SOME FACTS AND CERTAIN FANCIES
+
+
+This record of a day remarkable beyond any other in the history of
+secluded Roxton might strike a more cheerful note if it followed the
+two young people across the park. It is doubtful whether or not Sylvia
+Manning's unpremeditated action in accompanying Trenholme was inspired
+by a sudden interest in art or by revolt against the tribulations
+which had befallen her. Of course there is some probability that a
+full and true account of the conversation between man and maid as they
+walked the half mile to Jackson's farm might throw a flood of light on
+this minor problem. Be that as it may, stern necessity demands that
+the chronicle should revert for a time to the sayings and doings of
+the Fenleys and the detectives.
+
+Despite a roundabout route, Furneaux had merely led Robert Fenley
+through the gardens to the Quarry Wood. Somewhat to the detective's
+surprise, the rock was unguarded. The two were standing there,
+discussing the crime, when Police Constable Farrow returned to his
+post. Furneaux said nothing--for some reason he did not emphasize the
+fact to his companion that a sentry should have been found stationed
+there--but a sharp glance at the policeman warned the latter that he
+ran considerable risk of a subsequent reprimand.
+
+Conscious of rectitude, Farrow saluted, and produced his notebook.
+
+"I've just made a memo of this, sir," he said, pointing to an entry.
+
+Furneaux read:
+
+     Miss Sylvia Manning left home 6.45 P. M. Met Mr. John Trenholme,
+     artist, White Horse Inn, in avenue 6.47 P. M. The two held close
+     conversation, and went off together across park in direction of
+     Roxton 6.54 P. M. Lady wore no hat. Regarded incident as unusual,
+     so observed exact times.
+
+"I note what the Inspector says, and will discuss the point later,"
+said Furneaux, returning the book. The policeman grinned. As between
+Scotland Yard and himself a complete understanding was established.
+
+"Have the local police discovered anything of importance?" inquired
+Fenley, who, now that his own affairs called for no immediate
+attention, seemed to give more heed to the manner of his father's
+death. At first, his manner to Furneaux had been churlish in the
+extreme. Evidently he thought he could treat the representative of the
+Criminal Investigation Department just as he pleased. At this moment
+he elected to be gruffly civil in tone.
+
+"They are making full inquiries, of course," replied the detective,
+"but I think the investigation will be conducted in the main by my
+Department----As I was saying, Mr. Fenley, undoubtedly the shot was
+fired from this locality. Dr. Stern, who is an authority on bullet
+wounds, is convinced of that, even if there was no other evidence,
+such as the chauffeur's and the artist's I told you of, together with
+the impressions formed by Bates and others."
+
+"Were there no footprints?" was the next question, and Fenley eyed the
+ground critically. He deemed those Scotland Yard Johnnies thickheaded
+chaps, at the best.
+
+"None of any value. Since ten o'clock, however, dozens of new ones
+have been made. That is why the policeman is keeping an eye on the
+place--chiefly to warn off intruders. Shall we return to the house?"
+
+"It's a strange business," said Fenley, striding down the slope by
+Furneaux's side. "Why in the world should any one want to shoot my
+poor old guv'nor? He was straight as a die, and I don't know a soul
+who had any real grievance against him."
+
+Furneaux did not appear to be listening. The two were approaching the
+patch of moist earth which bore the impress of Robert Fenley's boots.
+"By the way," he said suddenly, "are you aware that there is a sort of
+a theory that your father was shot by a rifle belonging to you?"
+
+"What?" roared the other, and it was hard to say whether rage or
+astonishment predominated in his voice. "Is that one of Hilton's
+dodges to get me into trouble?"
+
+"But you do own an Express rifle, which you keep in your sitting-room.
+Where is it now?"
+
+"In the place where it always is. Standing in a corner behind the
+bookcase."
+
+"When did you see it last, Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"How the deuce do I know? I give it a run through with an oiled rag
+about once a month. It must be nearly a month since I cleaned it."
+
+"It has gone."
+
+"Gone where?"
+
+"I wish I knew."
+
+"But who the devil could have taken it?"
+
+If ever a man was floundering in a morass of wrath and amazement it
+was this loud-voiced youngster. He was a slow-witted lout, but the
+veriest dullard must have perceived that the disappearance of the
+weapon which presumably killed his father was a serious matter for its
+owner.
+
+In order to grasp this new phase of the tragedy in its proper bearings
+he stood stock still, and gazed blankly into the serious face of the
+detective. Furneaux knew he would do that. It was a mannerism. Some
+men can not think and move at the same moment, and Robert Fenley was
+one.
+
+Naturally, young Fenley did not know that he was leaving a new set of
+footprints by the side of the others already attributed to him. Having
+done that, he was no longer wanted.
+
+"We'll solve every part of the puzzle in time," said Furneaux slowly,
+moistening his thin lips with his tongue as if he were about to taste
+another glass of rare old-vintage wine.
+
+"I mentioned the fact of the gun being missing to show you how unwise
+you were this morning. You shouldn't have bolted off as you did when
+Mr. Winter requested you to remain. I haven't the least doubt, Mr.
+Fenley, that you can prove you were in London at the time the murder
+was committed, and during some days prior to it, but the police like
+these matters to be cleared up; if I may give you a hint, you'll tell
+the Superintendent that you regret your behavior, and show you mean
+what you say by giving him all the information he asks for. Here he is
+now. I hear Mr. Hilton's car, and Mr. Winter is coming with him from
+town."
+
+"Mr. Hilton's car? It's no more his car than mine. You mark my words,
+there will be trouble in the family if my brother starts bossing
+things. He hates me, and would do me an ill turn if he could. Was it
+Hilton who spread this story about my gun?"
+
+"No. Rather the reverse. He kept your name studiously out of it."
+
+"Who was it, then? I have a right to know."
+
+"I fail to recollect just how the matter cropped up. It was the
+direct outcome of the common observation of several persons who heard
+the report, and who were able to discriminate between one class of gun
+and another. Anyhow, there is no occasion for you to squeal before you
+are hurt. You acted like a fool this morning. Try and behave yourself
+more reputably now."
+
+The prophet Balaam was not more taken aback when rebuked by his ass
+than Robert Fenley when Furneaux turned and rent him in this fashion.
+Hitherto the detective's manner had been mildness itself, so this
+change of front was all the more staggering.
+
+"Oh, I say!" came the blustering protest. "I don't allow any of you
+fellows to talk to me like that. I----"
+
+"You'll hear worse in another second if you really annoy me," said
+Furneaux. "Heretofore no one seems to have troubled to inform you what
+a special sort of idiot you are. Though your last words to your father
+were a threat that you were inclined to shoot him and your precious
+self, when you saw him lying dead you thought of nothing but your own
+wretched follies, and bolted off to Hendon Road, Battersea, instead of
+remaining here and trying to help the police.
+
+"When I tell you your gun is missing you yelp about your brother's
+animosity. Before your father is laid in his grave you threaten
+to upset the household because your brother acts as its master.
+Why shouldn't he? Are you fitted to take the reins or share his
+responsibility? If you were at your right job, Robert Fenley, you'd
+be carrying bricks and mortar in a hod; for you haven't brains enough
+to lay a brick or use a trowel."
+
+The victim of this outburst thought that the little detective had gone
+mad, though the reference to Hendon Road had startled him, and a
+scared expression had come into his eyes.
+
+"Look here----" he began, but Furneaux checked him again instantly.
+
+"I've looked at you long enough to sum you up as a sulky puppy," he
+said. "If you had any sort of gumption you would realize that you
+occupy a singularly precarious position. Were it not for the lucky
+accident that my colleague and I were on the spot this morning it is
+more than likely that the county police would have arrested you at
+sight. Don't give us any more trouble, or you'll be left to stew in
+your own juice. I have warned you, once and for all. If you care to
+swallow your spleen and amend your manners, I shall try to believe you
+are more idiot than knave. At present I am doubtful which way the
+balance tips."
+
+Furneaux stalked off rapidly, leaving the other to fume with
+indignation as he followed. With his almost uncanny gift of
+imaginative reasoning, the Jersey man had guessed the purport of
+Fenley's talk with Sylvia in the garden. He had watched the two from
+a window of the dining-room, and had read correctly the girl's
+ill-concealed scorn, not quite devoid of dread, as revealed by face
+and gesture. To make sure, he waylaid her in the hall while she was
+hurrying to her own apartments. Then he sauntered after Robert Fenley,
+and only bided his time to empty upon him the vials of his wrath.
+
+He had taken the oaf's measure with a nice exactitude. To trounce him
+without frightening him also was only inviting a complaint to the
+Commissioner, but Furneaux was well aware that the longer Robert
+Fenley's dull brain dwelt on the significance of that address in
+Battersea being known to the police, the less ready would he be
+to stir a hornets' nest into activity by showing his resentment.
+Obviously, Furneaux's methods were not those advocated in the Police
+Manual. Any other man who practiced them would risk dismissal, but the
+"Little 'Un" of the Yard was a law unto himself.
+
+Meanwhile, he was hurrying after the "Big 'Un," (such, it will be
+recalled, were the respective nicknames Furneaux and Winter had
+received in the Department) who had alighted from the car, and was
+listening to Hilton Fenley berating a servant for having permitted
+Trenholme to make known his presence to Miss Manning. The man,
+however, protested that he had done nothing of the sort. Miss Sylvia
+had been called to the lodge telephone, and the footman's acquaintance
+with the facts went no farther. Smothering his annoyance as best he
+could, Fenley rang up Mrs. Bates and asked for particulars. When the
+woman explained what had happened, he rejoined Winter in the hall,
+paying no heed to Furneaux, who was entering at the moment.
+
+"That artist fellow who was trespassing in the park this morning--if
+nothing worse is proved against him--must have a superb cheek," he
+said angrily. "He actually had the impertinence to ask Miss Manning to
+meet him, no doubt offering some plausible yarn as an excuse. I hope
+you'll test his story thoroughly, Mr. Winter. At the least, he should
+be forced to say what he was doing in these grounds at such an unusual
+hour."
+
+"He is putting himself right with Miss Manning now," broke in
+Furneaux.
+
+"Putting himself right with Miss Manning? What the deuce do you mean,
+sir?" Fenley could snarl effectively when in the mood, and none might
+deny his present state of irritation, be the cause what it might.
+
+"That young lady is the only person to whom he owes an explanation. He
+is giving it to her now."
+
+"Will you kindly be more explicit?"
+
+Furneaux glanced from his infuriated questioner to Winter, his face
+one note of mild interrogation and non-comprehension.
+
+"Really, Mr. Fenley, I have said the same thing in two different
+ways," he cried. "As a rule I contrive to be tolerably lucid in my
+remarks--don't I, Mr. Robert?" for the younger Fenley had just come
+in.
+
+"What's up now?" was Robert's non-committal answer.
+
+For some reason his brother did not reply, but Furneaux suddenly grew
+voluble.
+
+"Of course, you haven't heard that an artist named Trenholme was
+painting near the lake this morning when your father was killed," he
+said. "Fortunately, he was there before and after the shot was fired.
+He can prove, almost to a yard, the locality where the murderer was
+concealed. In fact, he is coming here tomorrow, at my request, to go
+over the ground with me.
+
+"An interesting feature of the affair is that Mr. Trenholme is a
+genius. I have never seen better work. One of his drawings, a water
+color, has all the brilliancy and light of a David Cox, but another,
+in oil, is a positive masterpiece. It must have been done in a few
+minutes, because Miss Manning did not know he was sitting beneath the
+cedars, and it is unreasonable to suppose that she would preserve the
+same pose for any length of time--sufficiently long, that is----"
+
+"Did the bounder paint a picture of Sylvia bathing?" broke in Robert,
+his red face purple with rage.
+
+"Allow me to remind you that you are speaking of a painter of
+transcendent merit," said Furneaux suavely.
+
+"When _I_ meet him I'll give him a damned good hiding."
+
+"He's rather tall and strongly built."
+
+"I don't care how big he is, I'll down him."
+
+"Oh, stop this pothouse talk," put in Hilton, giving the blusterer a
+contemptuous glance. "Mr. Furneaux, you seem primed with information.
+Why should Mr. Trenholme, if that is his name, have the audacity to
+call on Miss Manning? He might have the impudence to skulk among the
+shrubs and watch a lady bathing, but I fail to see any motive for his
+visit to The Towers this evening."
+
+Furneaux shook his head. Evidently the point did not appeal to him.
+
+"There is no set formula that expresses the artistic temperament," he
+said. "The man who passes whole years in studying the nude is often
+endowed with a very high moral sense. Mr. Trenholme, though carried
+away by enthusiasm this morning, may be consumed with remorse tonight
+if he imagines that the lady who formed the subject of his sketch is
+likely to be distressed because of it.
+
+"I fear I am to blame. I stopped Mr. Trenholme from destroying the
+picture today. He meant burning it, since he had the sense to realize
+that he would be summoned as a witness, not only at tomorrow's
+inquest, but when the affair comes before the courts. I was bound
+to point out that the drawings supplied his solitary excuse for being
+in the locality at all. He saw that--unwillingly, it is true, but
+with painful clearness--so I assume that his visit to Miss Manning
+was expiatory, a sort of humble obeisance to a goddess whom he had
+offended unwittingly. I assume, too, that his plea for mercy has not
+proved wholly unsuccessful or Miss Manning would not now be walking
+with him across the park."
+
+"What!" roared Robert. He turned to the gaping footman, for the whole
+conversation had taken place in the hall. "Which way did Miss Sylvia
+go?" he cried.
+
+"Down the avenue, sir," said the man. "I saw Miss Sylvia meet the
+gentleman, and after some talk they went through the trees to the
+right."
+
+Robert raced off. Winter, who had not interfered hitherto, because
+Furneaux always had a valid excuse for his indiscretions, made as if
+he would follow and restrain the younger Fenley; but Furneaux caught
+his eye and winked. That sufficed. The Superintendent contented
+himself with gazing after Robert Fenley, who ran along the avenue
+until clear of the Quarry Wood, when he, too, plunged through the
+line of elms and was lost to sight.
+
+Hilton watched his impetuous brother with a brooding underlook. He
+still held in his hand a leather portfolio bulging with papers, some
+of which he had placed there when Winter opened the door of the
+railway coach in St. Pancras station. The footman offered to relieve
+him of it, but was swept aside with a gesture.
+
+"I have never known Robert so excited and erratic in his movements as
+he has been today," he said at last. "I hope he will not engage in a
+vulgar quarrel with this Mr. Trenholme, especially in Miss Manning's
+presence."
+
+Apparently he could not quite control his voice, in which a sense of
+unctuous amusement revealed itself. Furneaux could not resist such an
+opportunity. He had pierced Robert's thick skin; now he undertook a
+more delicate operation.
+
+"That would be doubly unfortunate," he said, chuckling quietly. "If I
+am any judge of men, Mr. Robert Fenley would meet more than his match
+in our artist friend, while he would certainly undo all the good
+effect of an earlier and most serious and convincing conversation with
+the young lady."
+
+Hilton swung around on him.
+
+"When did my brother return from London?" he asked.
+
+"Shortly before five o'clock. He and Miss Manning had tea together,
+and afterward strolled in the gardens. I don't wonder at any artist
+wishing to sketch Miss Manning? Do you? If I may be allowed to say it,
+I have never seen a more graceful and charming girl."
+
+"May I inquire if you have made any progress in the particular inquiry
+for which I brought you here?"
+
+Hilton Fenley spoke savagely. He meant to be offensive, since the
+innuendo was unmistakable. Apparently Furneaux's remarks had achieved
+some hypodermic effect.
+
+"Oh, yes," was the offhand answer. "I have every reason to believe
+that Mr. Winter and I will make an arrest without undue loss of time."
+
+"I am glad to hear it. Thus far your methods have not inspired the
+confidence I, as a member of the public, was inclined to repose in
+Scotland Yard. I am going to my rooms now, and dine at a quarter to
+eight. About nine o'clock I wish to go into matters thoroughly with
+Mr. Winter and you. At present, I think it only fair to say that I am
+not satisfied with the measures, whatever they may be, you have seen
+fit to adopt."
+
+He seemed to await a retort, but none came, so he strode across the
+hall and hurried up the stairs. Furneaux continued to gaze blankly
+down the long, straight avenue, nor did he utter a word till a door
+opened and closed on the first floor in the southeast corner.
+
+Then he spoke.
+
+"Some people are very hard to please," he said plaintively.
+
+Winter beckoned to the footman.
+
+"Do you mind asking Mr. Tomlinson if he can come here for a moment?"
+he said. When the man disappeared he muttered--
+
+"Why are you stroking everybody's fur the wrong way, Charles?"
+
+"A useful simile, James. If they resemble cats we may see sparks, and
+each of those young men has something of the tiger in him."
+
+"But things have gone horribly wrong all day--after a highly promising
+start, too. I don't see that we are any nearer laying hands on a
+murderer because we have unearthed various little scandals in the
+lives of Mortimer Fenley's sons. And what game are you playing with
+this artist, Trenholme?"
+
+"The supremely interesting problem just now is the game which he is
+playing with Robert Fenley. If that young ass attacks him he'll get
+the licking he wants, and if you're in any doubt about my
+pronouns----"
+
+"Oh, dash you and your pronouns! Here's Tomlinson. Quick! Have you a
+plan of any sort?"
+
+"Three! Three separate lines of attack, each deadly. But there are
+folk whose mental equipment renders them incapable of understanding
+plain English. Now, my friend Tomlinson will show you what I mean.
+I'll ask him a simple question, and he will give you a perfect example
+of a direct answer. Tomlinson, can you tell me what the extrados of a
+voussoir is?"
+
+"No, Mr. Furneaux, I can not," said the butler, smiling at what he
+regarded as the little man's humor.
+
+"There!" cried Furneaux delightedly. "Ain't I a prophet? No evasions
+about Tomlinson, are there?"
+
+"I think you're cracked," growled Winter, picking up his suitcase. "If
+I'm to stay here tonight, I shall want a room of some sort. Mr.
+Tomlinson, can you----"
+
+"Share mine," broke in Furneaux. "I'm the quietest sleeper living. Our
+friend here is sure to have at disposal a room with two beds in it."
+
+"The principal guest room is unoccupied," said the butler.
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+"On the first floor, sir, facing south."
+
+"Couldn't be better. The very thing. Ah! Here comes my baggage." And
+the others saw a policeman bicycling up the avenue, with a small
+portmanteau balanced precariously between the handlebars and the front
+buttons of his tunic.
+
+"You gentlemen will dine in my room, I hope?" said Tomlinson, when he
+had escorted them upstairs.
+
+"We are not invited to the family circle, at any rate," said Winter.
+
+"Well, you will not suffer on that account," announced Tomlinson
+genially. "Of course, I shall not have the pleasure of sharing the
+meal with you, but dinner will be served at a quarter to eight. Mr.
+Furneaux knows his way about the house, so, with your permission, I'll
+leave you at present. If you're disengaged at nine thirty I'll be glad
+to see you in my sanctum."
+
+"Isn't he a gem?" cried Furneaux, when the door had closed, and he and
+Winter were alone.
+
+Winter sat down on the side of a bed. He was worried, and did not
+strive to hide it. For the first time in his life he felt distrustful
+of himself, and he suspected, too, that Furneaux was only covering
+abject failure by a display of high spirits.
+
+"Why so pensive an attitude, James?" inquired the other softly. "Are
+you still wondering what the extrados of a voussoir is?"
+
+"I don't care a tuppenny damn what it is."
+
+"But that's where you're wrong. That's where you're crass and
+pig-headed. The extrados of a voussoir----"
+
+"Oh, kill it, and let it die happy----"
+
+"--is the outer curve of a wedge-shaped stone used for building an
+arch. Now, mark you, those are words of merit. Wedge, arch--wedges of
+fact which shall construct the arch of evidence. We'll have our man
+in the dock across that bridge before we are much older."
+
+"Confound it, how? He couldn't be in his bedroom and in the Quarry
+Wood, four hundred yards away, at one and the same moment."
+
+Furneaux gazed fixedly at his friend's forehead, presumably the seat
+of reason.
+
+"Sometimes, James, you make me gasp with an amazed admiration," he
+cooed. "You do, really. You arrive at the same conclusion as I, a
+thinker, without any semblance of thought process on your part. How do
+you manage it! Is it through association with me? You know, there's
+such a thing as inductive electricity. A current passing through a
+highly charged wire can excite another wire, even a common iron one,
+without actual contact."
+
+"I've had a rotten afternoon, and don't feel up to your far-fetched
+jokes just now; so if you have nothing to report, shut up," said the
+Superintendent crossly.
+
+"Then I'll cheer your melancholy with a bit of real news brightened
+by imagination," answered Furneaux promptly. "Hilton Fenley couldn't
+have fired the rifle himself, except by certain bizarre means which I
+shall lay before the court later; but he planned and contrived the
+murder, down to the smallest detail. He wore Brother Robert's boots
+when available; from appearances Brother Robert is now wearing the
+identical pair which made those footprints we saw, but I shall know
+in the morning, for that fiery young sprig obligingly left another
+well-marked set of prints in the same place twenty minutes ago. When
+circumstances compelled Hilton to walk that way in his own boots, he
+slipped on two roughly made moccasins, which he burned last night,
+having no further use for them. Therefore, he knew the murder would
+take place this morning.
+
+"I've secured shreds of the sacking out of which he made the pads to
+cover his feet; and an under gardener remembers seeing Mr. Hilton
+making off with an empty potato sack one day last week, and wondering
+why he wanted it. During some mornings recently Hilton Fenley
+breakfasted early and went out, but invariably had an excuse for not
+accompanying his father to the City. He was then studying the details
+of the crime, making sure that an expert, armed with a modern rifle,
+could not possibly miss such a target as a man standing outside a
+doorway, and elevated above the ground level by some five feet or
+more.
+
+"No servant could possibly observe that Mr. Hilton was wearing Mr.
+Robert's boots, because they do not differ greatly in size; but
+luckily for us, a criminal always commits an error of some sort, and
+Hilton blundered badly when he made those careful imprints of his
+brother's feet, as the weather has been fine recently, and the only
+mud in this locality lies in that hollow of the Quarry Wood. It
+happens that some particles of that identical mud were imbedded in the
+carpet of Hilton Fenley's sitting-room. I'm sorry to have to say it,
+because the housemaid is a nice girl."
+
+"Never mind the housemaid. Go on."
+
+"Exactly what the housemaid would remark if she heard me; only she
+would giggle, and you look infernally serious. Next item: Hilton
+Fenley, like most high-class scoundrels, has the nerves of a cat, with
+all a cat's fiendish brutality. He could plan and carry out a callous
+crime and lay a subtle trail which must lead to that cry baby, Robert,
+but he was unable to control his emotions when he saw his father's
+corpse. That is where the murderer nearly always fails. He can never
+picture in death that which he hated and doomed in life. There is an
+element in death----"
+
+"Chuck it!" said Winter unfeelingly.
+
+Furneaux winced, and affected to be deeply hurt.
+
+"The worst feature of service in Scotland Yard is its demoralizing
+effect on the finer sentiments," he said sadly. "Men lose all human
+instincts when they become detectives or newspaper reporters. Now the
+ordinary policeman ofttimes remains quite soft-hearted. For instance,
+Police Constable Farrow, though preening himself on being the pivot on
+which this case revolves, was much affected by Hilton Fenley's first
+heart-broken words to him. 'Poor young gentleman,' said Farrow, when
+we were discussing the affair this afternoon, 'he was cut up somethink
+orful. I didn't think he had it in him, s'elp me, I didn't. Tole me to
+act for the best. Said some one had fired a bullet which nearly tore
+his father to pieces.'
+
+"There was more of the same sort of thing, and I got Farrow to jot
+down the very words in his notebook. Of course, he doesn't guess
+why.... Now, I wonder how Hilton Fenley knew the effect of that bullet
+on his father's body. The doctor had not arrived. There had been only
+a superficial examination by Tomlinson of the orifice of the wound.
+What other mind in Roxton would picture to itself the havoc caused by
+an expanding bullet? The man who uttered those words _knew_ what sort
+of bullet had been used. He _knew_ it would tear his father's body to
+pieces. A neurotic imagination was at work, and that cry of horror was
+the soul's unconscious protest against the very fiendishness of its
+own deed....
+
+"Oh, yes. Let these Fenleys quarrel about that girl, and we'll see
+Hilton marching steadily toward the Old Bailey. Of course, we'll
+assist him. We'll make certain he doesn't deviate or falter on the
+road. But he'll follow it, and of his own accord; and the first long
+stride will be taken when he goes to the Quarry Wood to retrieve the
+rifle which lies hidden there."
+
+Winter whistled softly. Then he looked at his watch.
+
+"By Jove! Turned half past seven," he said.
+
+"Ha!" cackled Furneaux. "James is himself again. We have hardly a
+scrap of evidence, but that doesn't trouble our worthy Superintendent
+a little bit, and he'll enjoy his dinner far better than he thought
+possible ten minutes ago. _Sacré nom d'une pipe!_ By the time you've
+tasted a bottle from Tomlinson's favorite bin you'll be preparing a
+brief for the Treasury solicitor!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+SOME PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHING
+
+
+Now, perhaps, taking advantage of an interval while the
+representatives of Scotland Yard sought the aid of soap and water as
+a preliminary to a meal, it is permissible to wander in the gloaming
+with Sylvia Manning and her escort. To speak of the gloaming is a
+poetic license, it is true. Seven o'clock on a fine summer evening in
+England is still broad daylight, but daylight of a quality that lends
+itself admirably to the exigencies of romance. There is a species of
+dreaminess in the air. The landscape assumes soft tints unknown to
+a fiery sun. Tender shadows steal from undiscovered realms. It is
+permissible to believe that every night on Parnassus is a night in
+June.
+
+At first these two young people were at a loss to know what to talk
+about. By tacit consent they ignored the morning's tragedy, yet they
+might not indulge in the irresponsible chatter which would have
+provided a ready resource under normal conditions. Luckily Trenholme
+remembered that the girl said she painted.
+
+"It is a relief to find that you also are of the elect," he said. "An
+artist will look at my pictures with the artist's eye. There are
+other sorts of eyes--Eliza's, for instance. Do you know Eliza, of the
+White Horse?"
+
+Sylvia collected her wits, which were wool-gathering.
+
+"I think I have met her at village bazaars and tea fights," she said.
+"Is she a stout, red-faced woman?"
+
+"Both, to excess; but her chief attribute is her tongue, which has
+solved the secret of perpetual motion. Had it kept silent even for
+a few seconds at lunch time today, that sharp-eyed and rabbit-eared
+detective would never have known of the second picture--your
+picture--because I can eke out my exhibits by a half finished sketch
+of the lake and a pencil note of the gates. But putting the bits of
+the puzzle together afterwards, I came to the conclusion that Mary,
+our kitchen maid, passed my room, saw the picture on the easel and was
+scandalized. She of course told Eliza, who went to be shocked on her
+own account, and then came downstairs and pitched into me. At that
+moment the Scotland Yard man turned up."
+
+"Is it so very--dreadful, then?"
+
+"Dreadful! It may fall far short of the standard set by my own vanity;
+but given any sort of skill in the painter, how can a charming study
+of a girl in a bathing costume, standing by the side of a statue of
+Aphrodite, be dreadful? Of course, Miss Manning, you can hardly
+understand the way in which a certain section of the public regards
+art. In studio jargon we call it the 'Oh, ma!' crowd, that being the
+favorite exclamation of the young ladies who peep and condemn. These
+people are the hopeless Philistines who argue about the sex of angels,
+and demand that nude statues shall be draped. But my picture must
+speak for itself. Tell me something about your own work. Are you
+taking up painting seriously?"
+
+Now, to be candid, Sylvia herself was not wholly emancipated from the
+state of Philistinism which Trenholme was railing at. Had he been less
+eager to secure a favorable verdict, or even less agitated by the
+unlooked-for condescension she was showing, he would have seen the
+absurdity of classing a girl of twenty with the lovers of art for
+art's sake, those earnest-eyed enthusiasts who regard a perfect curve
+or an inimitable flesh tint as of vastly greater importance than the
+squeamishness of the young person. Painters have their limitations as
+well as Mrs. Grundy, and John Trenholme did not suffer a fool gladly.
+
+Sylvia, however, had the good sense to realize that she was listening
+to a man whose finer instincts had never been trammeled by conventions
+which might be wholesome in an academy for young ladies. Certainly she
+wondered what sort of figure she cut in this much debated picture, but
+that interesting point would be determined shortly. Meanwhile she
+answered demurely enough:
+
+"I'm afraid you have taken me too seriously. I have hardly progressed
+beyond the stage where one discovers, with a sort of gasp, that trees
+may be blue or red, and skies green. Though I am going to look at your
+pictures, Mr. Trenholme, it by no means follows that I shall ever dare
+to show you any of mine."
+
+"Still, I think you must have the artistic soul," he said
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There was more than mere physical delight in your swimming this
+morning. You reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents
+of trees and shrubs and flowering grass. First-rate swimmer as you
+are, you would not have enjoyed that dip half as much if it were taken
+in a covered bath, where your eyes dwelt only on white tiles and
+dressing-booths."
+
+The girl, subtly aware of a new element in life, was alarmed by its
+piercing sweetness, and with ruthless logic brought their talk back to
+a commonplace level.
+
+"Roxton seems to be a rather quaint place to find you in, Mr.
+Trenholme," she said. "How did you happen on our tiny village? Though
+so far from London, we are quite a byway. Why did you pay us a visit?"
+
+So Trenholme dropped to earth again, and they spoke of matters of
+slight import till the boundary wall was reached.
+
+Sylvia hailed a man attending cattle in the farmyard, and the artist
+vaulted the wall, which was breast high. The girl wondered if she
+could do that. When opportunity served she would try. Resting her
+elbows on the coping-stones, she watched Trenholme as he hurried away
+among the buildings and made for the village. She had never before met
+such a man or any one even remotely like him. He differed essentially
+from the Fenleys, greatly as the brothers themselves differed. Without
+conscious effort to please, he had qualities that appealed strongly to
+women, and Sylvia knew now that no consideration would induce her to
+marry either of her "cousins."
+
+If asked to put her thought into words, she would have boggled at the
+task, for intuition is not to be defined in set speech. In her own
+way, she had summed up the characteristics of the two men with one of
+whom marriage had been at least a possibility. Hilton she feared and
+Robert she despised, so if either was to become her husband, it would
+be Hilton. But five minutes of John Trenholme's companionship had
+given her a standard by which to measure her suitors, and both fell
+wofully short of its demands. She saw with startling clearness of
+vision that Hilton, the schemer, and Robert, the wastrel, led selfish
+lives. Souls they must possess, but souls starved by lack of
+spirituality, souls pent in dun prisons of their own contriving.
+
+She was so lost in thought, thought that strayed from crystal-bright
+imageries to nebulous shapes at once dark and terrifying, that the
+first intimation she received of Robert Fenley's approach was his
+stertorous breathing. From a rapid walk he had broken into a jog trot
+when he saw Trenholme vanish over the wall. Of late he seldom walked
+or rode a horse, and he was slightly out of condition, so his heavy
+face was flushed and perspiring, and his utterance somewhat labored
+when the girl turned at his cry:
+
+"I say, Sylvia--you've given me such a chase! Who the deuce is that
+fellow, an' what are you doing here?"
+
+Robert had appeared at an inauspicious moment. Sylvia eyed him with a
+new disfavor. He was decidedly gross, both in manner and language. She
+was sure he could not have vaulted the wall.
+
+"I'm not aware that I called for any chasing on your part," she said,
+with an aloofness perilously akin to disdain.
+
+He halted, panting, and eyed her sulkily.
+
+"No, but dash it all! You can't go walking around with any rotten
+outsider who forces himself into your company," was the most amiable
+reply he could frame on the spur of the moment.
+
+"You are short of breath," she said, smiling in a curiously impersonal
+way. "Run back to the house. It will do you good."
+
+"All right. You run with me. The first gong will go any minute, and
+we've got to eat, you know, even though the pater _is_ dead."
+
+It was an unhappy allusion. Sylvia stiffened.
+
+"My poor uncle's death did not seem to trouble you greatly this
+morning," she said. "Kindly leave me now. I'll follow soon. I am
+waiting for Mr. Trenholme, who wants to show me some sketches."
+
+"A nice time to look at sketches, upon my word! And who's Trenholme,
+I'd like to know?"
+
+Sylvia bethought herself. Certainly an explanation was needful, and
+her feminine wit supplied one instantly.
+
+"Mr. Trenholme was sent here by the Scotland Yard people," she said,
+a trifle less frigidly. "I suppose we shall all be mixed up in the
+inquiry the detectives are holding, and it seems that Mr. Trenholme
+was at work in the park this morning when that awful affair took
+place. Unknown to me, I was near the spot where he was sketching
+before breakfast, and one of the detectives, the little one, says it
+is important that--that the fact should be proved. Mr. Trenholme
+called to tell me just what happened. So you see there is nothing in
+his action that should annoy any one--you least of any, since you
+were away from home at the time."
+
+"But why has he mizzled over the wall?"
+
+"He is staying at the White Horse Inn, and has gone to fetch the
+drawings."
+
+"Oh, I didn't understand. If that's it, I'll wait till he turns up.
+You'll soon get rid of him."
+
+Sylvia had no valid reason to urge against this decision, but she did
+not desire Robert's company, and chose a feminine method of resenting
+it.
+
+"I don't think Mr. Trenholme will be anxious to meet you," she said
+coolly.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"You are such a transparent person in your likes and dislikes. You
+have never even seen him, in the ordinary sense of the word, yet you
+speak of him in a way so unwarranted, so ridiculously untrue, that
+your manner might annoy him."
+
+"My manner, indeed! Is he so precious then? By gad, it'll be
+interesting to look this rare bird over."
+
+She turned her back on him and leaned on the wall again. Her slight,
+lissome figure acquired a new elegance from her black dress. Robert
+had never set eyes on Sylvia in such a costume before that day.
+Hitherto she had been a schoolgirl, a flapper, a straight-limbed,
+boyish young person in long frocks; but today she seemed to have put
+on a new air of womanliness, and he found it strangely attractive.
+
+"There's no sense in our quarreling about the chap anyhow," he said
+with a gruff attempt to smooth away difficulties. "Of course, I
+sh'an't let on I followed you. Just spotted you in the distance and
+joined you by chance, don't you know."
+
+Sylvia did not answer. She was comparing Robert Fenley's
+conversational style with John Trenholme's, and the comparison was
+unflattering to Robert.
+
+So he, too, came and leaned on the wall.
+
+"I'm sorry if I annoyed you just now, Syl," he said. "That dashed
+little detective is to blame. He does put things in such a beastly
+unpleasant way."
+
+"What things?"
+
+"Why, about you and me and all of us. Gave me a regular lecture
+because I went back to town this morning. I couldn't help it, old
+girl. I really couldn't. I had to settle some urgent business, but
+that's all ended now. The pater's death has steadied me. No more
+gallivanting off to London for me. Settle down in Roxton, Board of
+Guardians on Saturdays, church on Sunday, tea and tennis at the
+vicarage, and 'you-come-to-our-place-tomorrow.' You know the sort of
+thing--old-fashioned, respectable and comfy. I'll sell my motor bike
+and start a car. Motor bikes make a fellow a bit of a vagabond--eh,
+what? They _will_ go the pace. You can't stop 'em. Fifty per, and be
+hanged to the police, that's their motto."
+
+"It sounds idyllic," the girl forced herself to say lightly, but her
+teeth met with a snap, and her fingers gripped the rough surface of
+the stones, for she remembered how Trenholme had said of her that she
+"reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents of trees
+and shrubs and flowering grasses."
+
+There was a musical cadence in her voice that restored Robert's surly
+good humor; he was of that peculiar type of spoiled youth whose laugh
+is a guffaw and whose mirth ever holds a snarl.
+
+"Here comes your paint slinger," he said. "Wonder if he really can
+stage a decent picture. If so, when the present fuss is ended we'll
+get him to do a group. You and me and the keepers and dogs in front
+of the Warren Covert, next October, after a big drive. How would that
+be?"
+
+"I'm sure Mr. Trenholme will feel flattered."
+
+When Trenholme approached he was not too well pleased to find Miss
+Manning in charge of a new cavalier.
+
+From items gathered earlier in the village he guessed the newcomer's
+identity. Perhaps he expected that the girl would offer an
+introduction, but she only smiled pleasantly and said:
+
+"You must have hurried. I do hope I haven't put you to any
+inconvenience?"
+
+"Eliza informed me that she had just popped my chicken in the oven,
+so there is plenty of time," he said. "I suppose it makes one hot
+to be constantly popping things into ovens. In the course of years
+one should become a sort of salamander. Have you ever read the
+autobiography of that great artist and very complete rascal, Benvenuto
+Cellini? He is the last person reputed to have seen a real salamander
+in the fire, and he only remembered the fact because his father beat
+him lest he should forget it."
+
+"Ben who?" broke in Robert cheerfully.
+
+"Benvenuto Cellini."
+
+"Never heard of him.... Well, let's have a peep-o. Miss Manning and I
+dine at a quarter to eight. You've been taking some snapshots in the
+park, I'm told. If they've got any ginger in them----"
+
+"Probably you will describe them as hot stuff," said Trenholme, laying
+a portfolio on the wall in front of Sylvia and opening it.
+
+"This is a pencil drawing of the great gates," he went on, ignoring
+Fenley. "Of course, they're Wren's, and therefore beautiful. Roxton
+Park holds a real treasure in those gates, Miss Manning. Here is a
+water-color sketch of the house and grounds. Do you like it?"
+
+"Oh, it is exquisite! Why, you have caught the very glint of sunshine
+on the walls and roofs, and it is shimmering in the leaves of that
+copper beech. Ah me! It looks so easy."
+
+Robert peered over her shoulder. Sylvia's gasp of admiration annoyed
+him; but he looked and said nothing.
+
+"This," continued Trenholme, "is an unfinished study of the lake. I
+was so busily occupied that I was not aware of your presence until you
+were quite near at hand. Then when you dived into the water I grabbed
+a canvas and some tubes of paint. Here is the result--completed, to a
+large extent, in my room at the inn."
+
+He took a picture out of a compartment of the portfolio specially
+constructed to protect an undried surface, and placed it at an angle
+that suited the light. His tone was unconcerned, for he had steeled
+himself against this crucial moment. Would she be angered? Would those
+limpid blue eyes, violet now in shadow, be raised to his in protest
+and vexed dismay? During the brief walk to and from the inn he had
+recollected the girl's age, her surroundings, the cramping influences
+of existence in a society of middle-class City folk. He felt like a
+prisoner awaiting a verdict when the issue was doubtful, and a wave of
+impulse might sway the jury one way or the other.
+
+But he held his head high, and his face flushed slightly, for there
+could be no gainsaying the message glowing from that cunning brush
+work. There were two goddesses, one in marble and one palpitating with
+life. The likeness, too, was undeniable. If one was a replica of Greek
+art at its zenith, the other was unmistakably Sylvia Manning.
+
+The girl gazed long and earnestly. Her pale cheeks had reddened for an
+instant, but the flood of surprise and emotion ebbed as quickly as it
+flowed, and left her wan, with parted lips.
+
+At last she looked at Trenholme and spoke.
+
+"Thank you!" she said, and their eyes met.
+
+The artist understood; and he in turn, blanched somewhat. Rather
+hastily he replaced the picture in its receptacle.
+
+Robert Fenley coughed and grinned, and the spell was broken.
+
+"You said I'd call it hot stuff," he said. "Well, you sized my opinion
+up to a T. Of course, it's jolly clever--any fellow can see that----"
+
+"Good night, Mr. Trenholme," said Sylvia, and she made off at a rapid
+pace. Robert grinned again.
+
+"No young lady would stand that sort of thing," he chuckled. "You
+didn't really think she would--eh, what? But look here, I'll buy it.
+Send me a line later."
+
+He hurried after Sylvia, running to overtake her. Trenholme stood
+there a long time; in fact, until the two were hidden by the distant
+line of trees. Then he smiled.
+
+"So you are Robert Fenley," he communed, packing the portfolio
+leisurely. "Well, if Sylvia Manning marries you, I'll be a bachelor
+all my days, for I'll never dare imagine I know anything about a
+woman's soul; though I'm prepared at this hour of grace to stake my
+career that that girl's soul is worthy of her very perfect body."
+
+Puffing a good deal, Fenley contrived to overhaul his "cousin."
+
+"By jing, Sylvia, you can step out a bit," he said. "And you change
+your mind mighty quick. Five minutes ago you were ready to wait any
+length of time till that Johnny turned up, and now you're doing more
+than five per. What's the rush? It's only half past seven, and we
+don't dress tonight."
+
+"I'm not dining downstairs," she answered.
+
+"Oh, I say, I can't stand Hilton all alone."
+
+"Nor can I stand either of you," she was tempted to retort, but
+contented herself by saying that she had arranged for a meal to be
+served in her aunt's room. Grumble and growl as he might, Robert could
+not shake her resolve; he was in a vile temper when he reached the
+dining-room.
+
+His brother had not arrived, so he braced himself for an ordeal by
+drinking a stiff whisky and soda. When Hilton came in the pair nodded
+to each other but ate in silence. At last Robert glanced up at
+Tomlinson.
+
+"Just shove the stuff on the table and clear out," he said. "We'll
+help ourselves. Mr. Hilton and I want to have a quiet talk."
+
+Hilton gave him a quick underlook but did not interfere. Perhaps
+purposely, when the servants had left the room he opened the battle
+with a sneer.
+
+"I hope you didn't make a fool of yourself this evening," he said.
+
+"As how?" queried Robert, wondrously subdued to all appearance, though
+aching to give the other what he called "a bit of his mind."
+
+"I understand you made after Sylvia and the artist, meaning to
+chastise somebody."
+
+"You were wrong," said Robert slowly. "You nearly always are. I make
+mistakes myself, but I own up handsomely. You don't. That's where we
+differ, see?"
+
+"I see differences," and Hilton helped himself to a glass of claret.
+
+"Trenholme, the artist Johnny, is a clever chap--slightly cracked, as
+they all are, but dashed clever. By gad, you ought to see the picture
+he's painted of Sylvia. Anyhow, you _will_ see it. I've bought it."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"I said I'd buy it--same thing. He'll jump at the offer. It'll hang in
+my dressing-room. I don't suppose Sylvia will kick about a trifle
+like that when we're married."
+
+Hilton was holding the glass of wine to his lips. His hand shook, and
+he spilled a little, but he drank the remainder.
+
+"When did you decide to marry Sylvia?" he inquired, after a pause
+which might have been needed to gain control of his voice.
+
+"It's been decided for a long time," said Robert doggedly, himself
+showing some signs of enforced restraint. "It was the pater's wish, as
+you know. I'm sorry now I didn't fix matters before he died; but
+'better late than never.' I asked Sylvia today, and we've arranged to
+get married quite soon."
+
+"Are you by any chance telling the truth?"
+
+"What the blazes do you mean?" and Robert's fist pounded the table
+heavily.
+
+"Exactly what I say. You say that you and Sylvia have arranged to get
+married quite soon. Those were your words. Is that true?"
+
+"Confound you, of course it is."
+
+"Sylvia has actually agreed to that?"
+
+"I asked her. What more do you want?"
+
+"I am merely inquiring civilly what she said."
+
+"Dash it, you know what girls are like. You ought to. Isn't Eileen
+Garth a bit coy at times?"
+
+"One might remark that Mrs. Lisle also was coy."
+
+"Look here----" began the other furiously, but the other checked him.
+
+"Let us stop bickering like a couple of counter jumpers," he said, and
+a shrewder man than Robert might have been warned by the slow,
+incisive utterance. "You make an astonishing announcement on an
+occasion when it might least be expected, yet resent any doubt being
+thrown on its accuracy. Did or did not Sylvia accept you?"
+
+"Well, she said something about not wishing to talk of marriage so
+soon after the old man's death, but that was just her way of putting
+it. I mean to marry her; and when a fellow has made up his mind on a
+thing like that it's best to say so and have done with it. Sylvia's a
+jolly nice girl, and has plenty of tin. I'm first in the field, so I'm
+warning off any other candidates. See?"
+
+"Yes, I see," said Hilton, pouring out another glass of wine. This
+time his hand was quite steady, and he drank without mishap.
+
+"Ain't you going to wish me luck?" said Robert, eying him viciously.
+
+"I agree with Sylvia. The day we have lost our father is hardly a
+fitting time for such a discussion; or shall I say ceremony?"
+
+"You can say what the devil you like. And you can do what you like.
+Only keep off my corns and I won't tread on yours."
+
+Having, as he fancied, struck a decisive blow in the struggle for
+that rare prize, Sylvia, Robert Fenley pushed back his chair, arose,
+waited a second for an answer which came not, and strode out,
+muttering something about being "fed up."
+
+Hilton's face was lowered, and one nervous hand shaded his brows.
+Robert thought he had scored, but he could not see the inhuman rage
+blazing in those hidden eyes. The discovery, had he made it, might not
+have distressed him, but he would surely have been puzzled by the
+strange smile which wrinkled Hilton's sallow cheeks when the door
+closed and the Eurasian was left alone in the dining-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHEREIN SCOTLAND YARD IS DINED AND WINED
+
+
+Three dinners for two were in progress in The Towers at one and the
+same hour. One feast had been shortened by the ill-concealed hatred of
+each brother for the other. At the second, brooding care found
+unwonted lodging in the charming personality of Sylvia Manning--care,
+almost foreboding, heightened by the demented mutterings of her
+"aunt." At the third, with the detectives, sat responsibility; but
+light-heartedly withal, since these seasoned man-hunters could cast
+off their day's work like a garment.
+
+The first and second meals were of the high quality associated with
+English country houses of a superior class; the third was a spread for
+epicures. Tomlinson saw to that. He was catering for a gourmet in
+Furneaux, and rose to the requisite height.
+
+The little man sighed as he tasted the soup.
+
+"What is it now?" inquired Winter, whose glance was dwelling
+appreciatively on a dusty bottle labeled "Clos Vosgeot, 1879."
+
+"I hate eating the food of a man whom I mean to produce as a star
+turn at the Old Bailey," was the despondent answer.
+
+"So do I, if it comes to that," said Winter briskly. "But this
+appetizing menu comes out of another larder. I shall be vastly
+mistaken if we're not actually the guests of a certain pretty young
+lady. Finance of the Fenley order is not in good odor in the City.
+
+"Have no scruples, my boy. We may be vultures at the feast; but before
+we see the end of the Fenley case there'll be a smash in Bishopsgate
+Street, and Miss Sylvia Manning will be lucky if some sharp lawyer is
+able to grab some part of the wreckage for her benefit."
+
+"Clear logic, at any rate." And Furneaux brightened visibly.
+
+"I'll tell you what it's based on. Our swarthy friend was examining
+lists of securities in the train. He didn't lift his head quickly
+enough--took me for a ticket puncher, I expect--so I had time to twig
+what he was doing. I'd like to run my eye over the papers in that
+leather portfolio."
+
+"You may manage it. You're the luckiest fellow breathing. Such
+opportunities come your way. _I_ have to make them."
+
+After an interlude played by sole Colbert, Winter shot an amused
+question at his companion.
+
+"What's at the back of your head with regard to the artist and Miss
+Sylvia?" he said.
+
+"It's high time she spoke to a real man. These Fenleys are animals,
+all of 'em. John Trenholme is a genius, and a good-looking one."
+
+"I met the girl in a corridor a while ago, and she was rather
+disconsolate, I thought."
+
+"And with good reason. You've noticed how each brother eyes her.
+They'll fight like jackals before this night is out. I hope Sylvia
+will indulge in what women call a good cry. That will be Trenholme's
+golden hour. Some Frenchman--of course he was clever, being
+French--says that a man should beware when a woman smiles but he may
+dare all when she weeps."
+
+"Are we marriage brokers, then?"
+
+"We must set the Fenleys at each other's throats."
+
+"Yes," mused Winter aloud, when a _ris de veau bonne maman_ had passed
+like a dream, "this affair is becoming decidedly interesting. But
+every why hath a wherefore, according to Shakespeare. Tell me"--and
+his voice sank to a whisper--"tell me why you believe Hilton Fenley
+killed his father."
+
+"You nosed your way into that problem this afternoon. Between his
+mother and that girl, Eileen Garth, he was in a tight place. He stole
+those bonds. I fancied it at the time, but I know it now. They were
+negotiated in Paris by a woman who occupied a room in the Hotel
+d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris, and one of her registered boxes bore
+the rail number, 517."
+
+"You little devil!" blazed out Winter. "And you never said a word when
+I told you!"
+
+"Astonishment has rendered you incoherent. You mean, of course, when
+you told me you had seen in Gloucester Mansions a box labeled in
+accordance with the facts I have just retailed. But I yield that minor
+point. It is a purist's, at the best. I have supplied a motive, one
+motive, for the crime; the plotter feared discovery. But there are
+dozens of others. He was impatient of the old man's rigid control.
+Hilton is sharp and shrewd, and he guessed things were going wrong
+financially. He knew that his father's methods were out of date, and
+believed he could straighten the tangle if the reins of power were not
+withheld too long.
+
+"He saw that Sylvia Manning's gold was in the melting-pot, and
+appreciated precisely the cause of the elder Fenley's anxiety that she
+should marry Robert. Once in the family, you know, her fortunes were
+bound up with theirs; while any 'cute lawyer could dish her in the
+marriage settlements if sufficiently well paid for a nasty job. When
+Sylvia was Mrs. Robert Fenley, and perhaps mother of a squalling
+Fenley, the head of the business could face the future if not with
+confidence, at least with safety. But where would Hilton be then? The
+girl lost, the money in jeopardy, and he himself steadily elbowed
+out. _'Cré nom!_ I've known men murdered for less convincing
+reasons."
+
+"Men, yes; not fathers."
+
+"Some sons are the offspring of Beelzebub. Consider the parentage in
+this instance. Fenley, a groom and horse coper on the one hand, and
+the dark daughter of a Calcutta merchant on the other. If the progeny
+of such a union escaped a hereditary taint it would be a miracle.
+Cremate Hilton Fenley and his very dust will contain evil germs."
+
+"You're strong in theory but weak in proof."
+
+That style of argument invariably nettled Furneaux.
+
+"You must butt into a few more mysterious suites of apartments in
+London and elsewhere, and you'll supply proof in bucketfuls," he
+snapped.
+
+"But was there an accomplice? Squirm as you like, you can't get over
+the fact that Hilton was in his room when the bullet that killed his
+father came from the wood."
+
+"He is not the sort of person likely to trust his liberty, his
+life even, to the keeping of any other human being. I start from
+the hypothesis that he alone planned and carried out the crime,
+so I do not lift my hand and cry 'Impossible,' but I ask myself,
+'How was it done?' Well, there are several methods worthy of
+consideration--clockwork, electricity, even a time fuse attached
+to the proper mechanism. I haven't really bothered myself yet to
+determine the means, because when that knowledge becomes indispensable
+we must have our man under lock and key."
+
+"Of course, the rifle is securely fixed in that----"
+
+The door opened. Tomlinson came in, smiling blandly.
+
+"I hope you are enjoying your dinner, gentlemen both?" he said.
+
+"You have made your cook an artist," said Furneaux.
+
+"I suppose you are happier here than in a big London restaurant," said
+Winter.
+
+The butler appreciated such subtle compliments, and beamed on them.
+
+"With a little encouragement and advice, our chef can prepare a very
+eatable dinner," he said. "As for my own ambitions, I have had them,
+like every man worth his salt; but I fill a comfortable chair here--no
+worry, no grumbling, not a soul to say _nem_ or _con_, so long as
+things go smoothly."
+
+"It must have been _nem_ all the time," giggled Furneaux, and Winter
+was so afflicted by a desire to sneeze that he buried his face in a
+napkin.
+
+"And how was the wine?" went on Tomlinson, with an eye on the little
+man. Furneaux's features were crinkled in a Japanese smile. He wanted
+to kick Winter, who was quivering with suppressed laughter.
+
+"I never expected to find such vintages in a house of the _mauvais
+riches_," he said. "Perhaps you don't speak French, Mr. Tomlinson, so
+allow me to explain that I am alluding to men of wealth not born in
+the purple."
+
+"Precisely--self-made. Well sir, poor Mr. Fenley left the stocking of
+his cellar entirely to me. I gave the matter much thought. When my
+knowledge was at fault I consulted experts, and the result----"
+
+"That is the result," cried Furneaux, seizing the empty claret bottle,
+and planting it so firmly on the table that the cutlery danced.
+
+A shoulder of lamb, served _à la Soubise_, appeared; and Tomlinson,
+announcing that his presence in the dining-room had been dispensed
+with, thought he would join them in a snack. Being a hospitable
+creature, he opened another bottle of the Clos Vosgeot, but his guests
+were not to be tempted.
+
+"Well, then," he said, "in a few minutes you must try our port. It is
+not Alto Douro, Mr. Furneaux, but it has body and bowket."
+
+Winter was better prepared this time. Moreover he was carving, and
+aware of a master's criticism, and there are occult problems connected
+with even such a simple joint as a shoulder of lamb. Furneaux, too,
+was momentarily subdued. He seemed to be reflecting sadly that statues
+of gold, silver and bronze may have feet of clay.
+
+"I have often thought, gentlemen," said the butler, "that yours must
+be a most interesting profession. You meet all sorts and conditions of
+men and women."
+
+"We consort with the noblest malefactors," agreed Furneaux.
+
+"Dear me, sir, you do use the queerest words. Now, I should never
+dream of describing a criminal as noble."
+
+"Not in the generally accepted sense, perhaps. But you, I take it,
+have not had the opportunity of attending a really remarkable trial,
+when, say, some intellectual giant among murderers is fighting for his
+life. Believe me, no drama of the stage can rival that tragedy.
+
+"The chief actor, remote, solitary, fenced away from the world he is
+hoping to reënter, sits there in state. Every eye is on him, yet he
+faces judge, jury, counsel, witnesses and audience with a calm dignity
+worthy of an emperor. He listens imperturbably to facts which may hang
+him, to lies which may lend color to the facts, to well-meaning
+guesses which are wide of the mark. Truthful and false evidence is
+equally prone to err when guilt or innocence must be determined by
+circumstances alone.
+
+"But the prisoner _knows_. He is the one man able to discriminate
+between truth and falsity, yet he must not reveal the cruel stab
+of fact or the harmless buffet of fiction by so much as a flicker
+of an eyelid. He surveys the honest blunderer and the perjured
+ruffian--I mean the counsel for the defense and the prosecution
+respectively--with impartial scrutiny. If he is a sublime villain,
+he will call on Heaven to testify that he is innocent with a
+solemnity not surpassed by the judge who sentences him to death....
+Yes, please, a bit off the knuckle end."
+
+The concluding words were addressed to Winter, and Tomlinson started,
+for he was wrapped up in the scene Furneaux was depicting.
+
+"That point of view had not occurred to me," he admitted.
+
+"You'll appreciate it fully when you see Mr. Fenley's murderer in the
+dock," said Furneaux.
+
+"Ah, sir. That brings your illustration home, indeed. But shall we
+ever know who killed him?"
+
+"Certainly. Look at that high dome of intelligence glistening at you
+across the table. But that it is forbid to tell the secrets of the
+prison house, it could a tale unfold whose slightest word would harrow
+up thy soul----"
+
+Harris, the footman, entered, carrying a decanter.
+
+"Mr. Hilton Fenley's compliments, gentlemen, and will you try this
+port? He says Mr. Tomlinson will recommend it, because Mr. Fenley
+himself seldom takes wine. Mr. Fenley will not trouble you to meet him
+again this evening. Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Fenley wants you for a
+moment."
+
+The butler rose.
+
+"That is the very wine I spoke of," he said. "If Mr. Hilton did not
+touch it, Mr. Robert evidently appreciated it."
+
+He glanced at Harris, but the footman did not even suspect that his
+character was at stake. The decanter was nearly full when placed on
+the sideboard; now it was half empty.
+
+Singularly enough, both Winter and Furneaux had intercepted that
+questioning glance, and had acquitted Harris simultaneously.
+
+"Are the gentlemen still in the dining-room?" inquired Winter.
+
+"Mr. Hilton is there, sir, but Mr. Robert went out some time since."
+
+"Please convey our thanks to Mr. Hilton. I'm sure we shall enjoy the
+wine."
+
+When Tomlinson and Harris had gone, the eyes of the two detectives
+met. They said nothing at first, and it may be remembered that they
+were reputedly most dangerous to a pursued criminal when working
+together silently. Winter took the decanter, poured out a small
+quantity into two glasses, and gave Furneaux one. Then they smelled,
+and tasted, and examined the wine critically. The rich red liquid
+might have been a poisonous decoction for the care they devoted to its
+analysis.
+
+Furneaux began.
+
+"I have so many sleepless nights that I recognize bromide, no matter
+how it is disguised," he murmured.
+
+"Comparatively harmless, though a strong dose," said Winter.
+
+"If one has to swallow twenty grains or so of potassium bromide I can
+not conceive any pleasanter way of taking them than mixed with a sound
+port."
+
+Winter filled one of the glasses four times, pouring each amount into
+a tumbler. Furneaux looked into a cupboard, and found an empty beer
+bottle, which he rinsed with water. Meanwhile Winter was fashioning a
+funnel out of a torn envelope, and in a few seconds the tumblerful of
+wine was in the bottle, and the bottle in Winter's pocket. This done,
+the big man lit a cigar and the little one sniffed the smoke, which
+was his peculiar way of enjoying the weed.
+
+"It was most thoughtful of Mr. Hilton Fenley to try and secure us a
+long night's uninterrupted sleep," said Winter between puffs.
+
+"But what a vitiated taste in wine he must attribute to Scotland
+Yard," said Furneaux bitterly.
+
+"Still, we should be grateful to him for supplying a gill of real
+evidence."
+
+"I may forgive him later. At present, I want to dilate his eyes with
+atropine, so that he may see weird shapes and be tortured of ghouls."
+
+"Poor devil! He won't need atropine for that."
+
+"Don't believe it, James. In some respects he's cold-blooded as a
+fish. Besides, he carries bromide tablets for his own use. He simply
+couldn't have arranged beforehand to dope us."
+
+"He's getting scared."
+
+"I should think so, indeed--in the Fenley sense, that is. His plot
+against Robert has miscarried in one essential. The rifle has not been
+found in the wood. Now, I'm in chastened mood, because the hour for
+action approaches; so I'll own up. I've been keeping something up my
+sleeve, just for the joy of watching you floundering 'midst deep
+waters. Of course, you chose the right channel. I knew you would, but
+it's a treat to see your elephantine struggles. For all that, it's a
+sheer impossibility that you should guess who put a sprag in the wheel
+of Hilton's chariot. Give you three tries, for a new hat."
+
+"You're desperately keen today on touching me for a new hat."
+
+"Well, this time you have an outside chance. The others were
+certs--for me."
+
+Winter smoked in silence for a space.
+
+"I'll take you," he said. "The artist?"
+
+"No." The Jerseyman shook his head.
+
+"Police Constable Farrow?" ventured Winter again.
+
+Furneaux's dismay was so comical that his colleague shook with mirth.
+
+"I wanted a new silk topper," wheezed Winter.
+
+"Silk topper be hanged. I meant a straw, and that's what you'll get.
+But how the deuce did you manage to hit upon Farrow?"
+
+"He closed the Quarry Wood at the psychological moment."
+
+"You're sucking my brains, that's what you're doing," grumbled
+Furneaux. "Anyhow, you're right. Hilton had the scheme perfected to
+the last detail, but he didn't count on Farrow. After a proper display
+of agitation--not all assumed, either, because he was more shaken than
+he expected to be--he 'phoned the Yard and the doctor. We couldn't
+arrive for nearly an hour, and the doctor starts on his rounds at nine
+o'clock sharp. What so easy, therefore, as to wander out in a welter
+of grief and anger, and search the wood for the murderer on his own
+account? One solitary minute would enable him to put the rifle in a
+hiding-place where it would surely be discovered.
+
+"But Farrow stopped him. I wormed the whole thing out of our sentry
+this afternoon. Fenley tried hard to send Farrow and Bates off on a
+wild-goose chase, but Farrow, quite mistakenly, saw the chance of his
+life and clung on to it. Had Farrow budged we could never have hanged
+Hilton. Don't you see how the scheme works? He had some reason for
+believing that Robert will refuse to give a full account of his
+whereabouts this morning. Therefore, he must contrive that the rifle
+shall be found. Put the two damning facts together, and Robert is tied
+in a knot. Of course, he would be forced to prove an alibi, but by
+that time all England would be yelping, 'Thou art the man.' In any
+event, Hilton's trail would be hopelessly lost."
+
+"The true bowket of our port and bromide begins to tickle my
+nostrils."
+
+A good-looking maid brought coffee, and Furneaux grinned at her.
+
+"How do you think he'd look in a nice straw hat?" he asked, jerking
+his head toward Winter. The girl smiled. The little man's reputation
+had reached the kitchen. She glanced demurely at the Superintendent's
+bullet head.
+
+"Not an ordinary straw. You mean a Panama," she said.
+
+"Certainly," laughed Winter.
+
+"Nothing of the sort," howled Furneaux. "Just run your eye over him.
+He isn't an isthmus--he's a continent."
+
+"A common straw wouldn't suit him," persisted the girl. "He's too big
+a gentleman."
+
+"How little you know him!" said Furneaux.
+
+The girl blushed and giggled.
+
+"Go on!" she said, and bounced out.
+
+"This inquiry will cost you a bit, my boy, if you're not careful,"
+sniggered Winter. "I'll compound on a straw; but take my advice, and
+curb your sporting propensities. Now, if this coffee isn't doctored,
+let's drink it, and interview Robert before the bromide begins to
+act."
+
+Robert Fenley received them in his own room. He strove to appear at
+ease and business-like, but, as Furneaux had surmised, was emphatic in
+his refusal to give any clear statement as to his proceedings in
+London. He admitted the visit to Hendon Road, which, he said, was
+necessitated by a promise to a friend who was going abroad, but he
+failed to see why the police should inquire into his private affairs.
+
+Winter did not press him. There was no need. A scapegrace's record
+could always be laid bare when occasion served. But one question he
+was bound to put.
+
+"Have you any theory, however remote or far-fetched, that will account
+for your father's death in such a way?" he inquired.
+
+The younger Fenley was smoking a cigarette. A half consumed whisky and
+soda stood on a table; a bottle of whisky and a siphon promised
+refreshers. He was not quite sober, but could speak lucidly.
+
+"Naturally, I've been thinking a lot about that," he said, wrinkling
+his forehead in the effort to concentrate his mind and express himself
+with due solemnity. "It's funny, isn't it, that my rifle should be
+missing?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+Some sarcastic inflection in Winter's voice seemed to reach a rather
+torpid brain. Fenley looked up sharply.
+
+"Of course, funny isn't the right word," he said. "I mean it's odd, a
+bit of a mystery. Why should anybody take my gun if they wanted to
+shoot my poor old guv'nor? That beats me. It's a licker--eh, what?"
+
+"It is more important to know why any one should want to shoot your
+father."
+
+"That's it. Who benefits? Well, I suppose Hilton and I will be better
+off--no one else. And I didn't do it. It's silly even to say so."
+
+"But there is only your brother left in your summary."
+
+"By Jove, yes. That's been runnin' in my head. It's nonsense, anyhow,
+because Hilton was in the house. I wouldn't believe a word he said,
+but Sylvia, and Tomlinson, and Brodie, and Harris all tell the same
+yarn. No; Hilton couldn't have done it. He's ripe for any mischief, is
+Hilton, but he can't be in this hole; now, can he?"
+
+They could extract nothing of value out of Robert, and left him after
+a brief visit.
+
+In the interim, Hilton Fenley had kept Tomlinson talking about the
+crime. The dining-room door was ajar, and he knew when the detectives
+had gone to Robert's room. Then he glanced around the table, and
+affected to remember the decanter of port.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I feel as if a glass of that wine would be a
+good notion tonight. I don't suppose the Scotland Yard men have
+finished the lot. Just send for it, will you?"
+
+Harris brought the decanter, and Tomlinson was gratified by seeing
+that his favorite beverage had been duly appraised.
+
+"Sorry if I've detained you," said Fenley, and the butler went out.
+Rising, Fenley strolled to the door and closed it. Instantly he became
+energetic, and his actions bore a curious similitude to those of
+Winter a little while earlier. Pouring the wine into a tumbler, he
+rinsed the decanter with water, and partly refilled it with the
+contents of another tumbler previously secreted in the sideboard,
+stopping rather short of the amount of wine returned from the butler's
+room. He drank the remainder, washed the glass, and put a few drops of
+whisky into it.
+
+Carrying the other tumbler to an open window, he threw the medicated
+wine into a drain under a water spout, and making assurance doubly
+sure, douched the same locality with water; also, he rinsed this
+second glass. He seemed to be rather pleased at his own thoroughness.
+
+As Furneaux had said, Hilton Fenley was cold-blooded as a fish.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CLOSE QUARTERS
+
+
+Human affairs are peculiarly dependent on the weather. It is not easy
+to lay down a law governing this postulate, which, indeed, may be
+scoffed at by the superficial reasoner, and the progression from cause
+to effect is often obscured by contradictory facts. For instance, a
+fine summer means a good harvest, much traveling, the prolongation of
+holiday periods, a free circulation of money, and the consequent
+enhanced prosperity and happiness of millions of men and women. But
+there are more suicides in June and July than in December and January.
+On the one hand, fine weather improves humanity's lot; on the other,
+it depresses the individual.
+
+Let the logician explain these curiously divergent issues as he may;
+there can be no question that the quality of the night which closed a
+day eventful beyond any other in the annals of Roxton exercised a
+remarkable influence on the lives of five people. It was a perfect
+night in June. There was no moon; the stars shone dimly through a
+slight haze; but the sun had set late and would rise early, and his
+complete disappearance followed so small a chord of the diurnal
+circle that his light was never wholly absent. A gentle westerly
+breeze was so zephyr-like that it hardly stirred the leaves of the
+trees, but it wafted the scent of flowers and meadow land into open
+windows, and was grateful alike to the just and the unjust.
+
+Thus to romantic minds it was redolent of romance; and as Sylvia
+Manning's room faced south and John Trenholme's faced north, and lay
+nearly opposite each other, though separated by a rolling mile of
+park, woodland, tillage and pasture, it is not altogether incredible
+that those two, gazing out at the same hour, should bridge the void
+with the eyes of the soul.
+
+It was a night, too, that invited to the open.
+
+In some favored lands, where the almanac is an infallible Clerk of the
+Weather, fine nights succeed each other with the monotonous regularity
+of kings in an Amurath dynasty. But the British climate, a slave to no
+such ordered sequence, scatters or withholds these magic hours almost
+impartially throughout the seasons, so that June may demand overcoats
+and umbrellas, and October invite Summer raiment.
+
+Hence this superb Summer's night found certain folk in Roxton
+disinclined to forego its enchantments. Trenholme, trying to persuade
+himself that his brooding gaze rested on the Elizabethan roofs and
+gables rising above the trees because of some rarely spiritual quality
+in the atmosphere, suddenly awoke to the fact that the hour was
+eleven.
+
+Some men issued from the bar parlor and "snug" beneath, and there were
+sounds of bolts being shot home and keys turned in recognition of the
+curfew imposed by the licensing laws. Then the artistic temperament
+arose in revolt. Chafing already against the narrow confines of the
+best room the White Horse Inn could provide, it burst all bounds when
+a tired potman attempted unconsciously to lock it in.
+
+Grabbing a pipe and tobacco pouch, Trenholme ran downstairs, meeting
+the potman in the passage.
+
+"Get me a key, Bill," he said. "I simply can't endure the notion of
+bed just yet, so I'm off for a stroll. I don't want to keep any one
+waiting up, and I suppose I can have a key of sorts."
+
+Now it happened that the proprietor of the inn was absent at a race
+meeting, and Eliza was in charge. Trenholme's request was passed on to
+her, and a key was forthcoming.
+
+Hatless, pipe in mouth, and hands in pockets, Trenholme sauntered into
+the village street. Romance was either a dull jade or growing old and
+sedate in Roxton. Nearly every house was in darkness, and more than
+one dog barked because of a passing footstep.
+
+About half past eleven, Sylvia Manning, sitting in melancholy near her
+window after an hour of musing, heard a light tap on the door.
+
+"Come in," she said, recognizing the reason of this late intrusion. An
+elderly woman entered. She was an attendant charged with special care
+of Mrs. Fenley. A trained nurse would have refused to adopt the
+lenient treatment of the patient enjoined by the late head of the
+family, so this woman was engaged because she was honest, faithful,
+rather stupid and obeyed orders.
+
+"She has quieted down now, miss, and is fast asleep," she said in a
+low tone. "You may feel sure she won't wake before six or seven. She
+never does."
+
+The "she" of this message was Mrs. Fenley. Rural England does not
+encourage unnecessary courtesy nor harbor such foreign intruders as
+"madam." The reiterated pronoun grated on Sylvia; she was disinclined
+for further talk.
+
+"Thank you, Parker," she said. "I am glad to know that. Good night."
+
+But Parker had something to say, and this was a favorable opportunity.
+
+"She's been awful bad today, miss. It can't go on."
+
+"That is hardly surprising, taking into account the shock Mrs. Fenley
+received this morning."
+
+"That's what I have in me mind, miss. She's changed."
+
+"How changed? You need not close the door. Never mind the light. It is
+hardly dark when the eyes become used to the gloom."
+
+Parker drew nearer. Obeying the instincts of her class, she assumed a
+confidential tone.
+
+"Well, miss, you know why you went out?"
+
+"Yes," said Sylvia rather curtly. She had left the invalid when the
+use of a hypodermic syringe became essential if an imminent outburst
+of hysteria was to be prevented. The girl had no power to interfere,
+and was too young and inexperienced to make an effective protest; but
+she was convinced that to encourage a vice was not the best method of
+treating it. More than once she had spoken of the matter to Mortimer
+Fenley; but he merely said that he had tried every known means to cure
+his wife, short of immuring her in an asylum, and had failed. "She is
+happy in a sort of a way," he would add, with a certain softening of
+voice and manner. "Let her continue so." Thus a minor tragedy was
+drifting to its close when Fenley himself was so rudely robbed of
+life.
+
+"As a rule, miss," went on the attendant, "she soon settles after a
+dose, but this time she seemed to pass into a sort of a trance.
+Gen'rally her words are broken-like an' wild, an' I pays no heed to
+'em; but tonight she talked wonderful clear, all about India at first,
+an' of a band playin', with sogers marchin' past. Then she spoke about
+some people called coolies. There was a lot about them, in lines an'
+tea gardens. An' she seemed to be speakin' to another Mrs. Fenley."
+
+The woman's voice sank to an awe-stricken whisper, and Sylvia shivered
+somewhat in sympathy. "Another Mrs. Fenley!" It was common knowledge
+in the household that Fenley had married a second time, but the belief
+was settled that the first wife was dead; Parker, by an unrehearsed
+dramatic touch, conveyed the notion that the unhappy creature in a
+neighboring room had been conversing with a ghost.
+
+Somewhat shaken and perturbed, Sylvia wished more than ever to be
+alone, so she brought her informant back to the matter in hand.
+
+"I don't see that Mrs. Fenley's rambling utterances give rise to any
+fear of immediate collapse," she said, striving to speak composedly.
+
+"No, miss. That isn't it at all. I was just tellin' you what happened.
+There was a lot more. She might ha' been givin' the story of her life.
+But--please forgive me, miss, for what I'm goin' to say. I think some
+one ought to know--I do, reelly--an' you're the only one I dare tell
+it to."
+
+"Oh, what is it?"
+
+The cry was wrung from the girl's heart. She had borne a good deal
+that day, and feared some sinister revelation now.
+
+"She remembered that poor Mr. Fenley was dead, but didn't appear so
+greatly upset. She was more puzzled-like--kep' on mutterin': 'Who did
+it? Who could have the cool darin' to shoot him dead in broad
+daylight, at his own door, before his servants?' She was sort of
+forcin' herself to think, to find out, just as if it was a riddle, an'
+the right answer was on the tip of her tongue. An' then, all at once,
+she gev a queer little laugh. 'Why, of course, it was Hilton,' she
+said."
+
+Sylvia, relieved and vastly indignant, rose impetuously.
+
+"Why do you trouble to bring such nonsense to my ears?" she cried.
+
+But Parker was stolid and dogged.
+
+"I had to tell some one," she vowed, determined to put herself
+straight with one of her own sex. "I know her ways. If that's in her
+mind she'll be shoutin' it out to every maid who comes near her
+tomorrow; an' I reelly thought, miss, it was wise to tell you tonight,
+because such a thing would soon cause a scandal, an' it should be
+stopped."
+
+"Perhaps you are right, and I ought to be obliged to you for being so
+considerate. But no one would pay heed to my aunt's ravings. Every
+person in the house knows that the statement is absurd. Mr. Hilton was
+in his room. I myself saw him go upstairs after exchanging a few words
+with his father in the hall, and he came down again instantly when
+Harris ran to fetch him."
+
+"I understand that, miss, an' I'm not so silly as to think there is
+any sense in her blamin' Mr. Hilton. But it made my flesh creep to
+hear all the rest so clear an' straightforward, an' then that she
+should say: 'Hilton did it, the black beast. He always hated Bob an'
+me, because we were white, an' the jungle strain has come out at
+last.' Oh, it was somethink dreadful to hear her laughin' at her
+cleverness. I----"
+
+"Please, please, don't repeat any more of these horrible things,"
+cried the girl, for the strain was becoming unbearable.
+
+"I agree with you, miss. They aren't fit to be spoke of; an' I say,
+with all due respec', that they shouldn't be allowed to leak out. You
+know what young maid servants are like. They're bound to chatter. My
+idee is that another nurse should be engaged tomorrow, a woman old
+enough to hold her tongue an' mind her own business; then the two of
+us can take turns at duty, so as to keep them housemaids out of the
+way altogether."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure you are right. I'll speak to Mr. Hilton in the morning.
+Thank you, Parker. I see now that you meant well, and I'm sorry if I
+spoke sharply."
+
+"I'm not surprised, miss. It was not a pleasant thing to have to say,
+nor for you to hear, but duty is duty. Good night, miss, I hope
+you'll sleep well."
+
+Sleep! Parker should not have conjured up a new apparition if Sylvia
+were to seek the solace of untroubled rest. At present the girl felt
+that she had never before been so distressfully awake. Splendidly
+vital in mind and body as she was, she almost yielded now to a morbid
+horror of her environment. Generations of men and women had lived and
+died in that ancient house, and tonight dim shapes seemed to throng
+its chambers and corridors. Physically fearless, she owned to a
+feminine dread of the unknown. It would be a relief to get away from
+this abode of grief and mystery. The fantastic dreaming of the unhappy
+creature crooning memories of a past life and a lost husband had
+unnerved her. She resolved to seek the fresh air, and wander through
+gardens and park until the fever in her mind had abated.
+
+Now a rule of the house ordained that all doors should be locked and
+lower windows latched at midnight. A night watchman made certain
+rounds each hour, pressing a key into indicating-clocks at various
+points to show that he had been alert. Mortimer Fenley had been afraid
+of fire; there was so much old woodwork in the building that it would
+burn readily, and a short circuit in the electrical installation was
+always possible, though every device had been adopted to render it not
+only improbable but harmless. After midnight the door bells and
+others communicated with a switchboard in the watchman's room; and a
+burglary alarm, which the man adjusted during his first round, rang
+there continuously if disturbed.
+
+Sylvia, leaving the door of her bedroom ajar, went to the servants'
+quarters by a back staircase. There she found MacBain, the watchman,
+eating his supper.
+
+"I don't feel as though I could sleep," she explained, "so I am going
+out into the park for a while. I'll unlatch one of the drawing-room
+windows and disconnect the alarm; and when I come in again I'll tell
+you."
+
+"Very well, miss," said MacBain. "It's a fine night, and you'll take
+no harm."
+
+"I'm not afraid of rabbits, if that is what you mean," she said
+lightly, for the very sound of the man's voice had dispelled vapors.
+
+"Oh, there's more than rabbits in the park tonight, miss. Two
+policemen are stationed in the Quarry Wood."
+
+"Why?" she said, with some surprise.
+
+"They don't know themselves, miss. The Inspector ordered it. I met
+them coming on duty at ten o'clock. They'll be relieved at four. They
+have instructions to allow no one to enter the wood. That's all they
+know."
+
+"If I go there, then, shall I be locked up?"
+
+"Not so bad as that, miss," smiled MacBain. "But I'd keep away from
+it if I was you. 'Let sleeping dogs lie' is a good motto."
+
+"But these are not sleeping dogs. They're wide-awake policemen."
+
+"Mebbe, miss. They have a soft job, I'm thinking. Of course----"
+
+The man checked himself, but Sylvia guessed what was passing in his
+mind.
+
+"You were going to say that the wretch who killed my uncle hid in that
+wood?" she prompted him.
+
+"Yes, miss, I was."
+
+"He is not there now. He must have run away while we were too
+terrified to take any steps to capture him. Who in the world could
+have wished to kill Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"Ah, miss, there's no knowing. Those you'd least suspect are often the
+worst."
+
+MacBain shook his head over this cryptic remark; he glanced at a
+clock. It was five minutes to twelve.
+
+"It's rather late, miss," he hinted. Sylvia agreed with him, but she
+was young enough to be headstrong.
+
+"I sha'n't remain out very long," she said. "I ought to feel tired,
+but I don't; and I hope the fresh air will make me sleepy."
+
+To reach the drawing-room, she had to cross the hall. Its parquet
+floor creaked under her rapid tread. A single lamp among a cluster in
+the ceiling burned there all night, and she could not help giving one
+quick look at the oaken settle which stood under the cross gallery;
+she was glad when the drawing-room door closed behind her.
+
+She had no difficulty with the window, but the outer shutters creaked
+when she opened them. Then she passed on to the first of the Italian
+terraces, and stood there irresolutely a few minutes, gazing
+alternately at the sky and the black masses of the trees. At first she
+was a trifle nervous. The air was so still, the park so solemn in its
+utter quietude, that the sense of adventure was absent, and the
+funeral silence that prevailed was almost oppressive.
+
+Half inclined to go back, woman-like she went forward. Then the sweet,
+clinging scent of a rose bed drew her like a magnet. She descended a
+flight of steps and gained the second terrace. She thought of
+Trenholme and the picture, and the impulse to stroll as far as the
+lake seized her irresistibly. Why not! The grass was short, and the
+dew would not be heavy. Even if she wetted her feet, what did it
+matter, as she would undress promptly on returning to her room?
+Besides, she had never seen the statue on just such a night, though
+she had often visited it by moonlight.
+
+La Rochefoucauld is responsible for the oft quoted epigram that the
+woman who hesitates is lost, and Sylvia had certainly hesitated. At
+any rate, after a brief debate in which the arguments were distinctly
+one-sided, she resolved that she might as well have an object in view
+as stroll aimlessly in any other direction; so, gathering her skirts
+to keep them dry, she set off across the park.
+
+She might have been halfway to the lake when a man emerged from the
+same window of the drawing-room, ran to the terrace steps, stumbled
+down them so awkwardly that he nearly fell, and swore at his own
+clumsiness in so doing. He negotiated the next flight more carefully,
+but quickened his pace again into a run when he reached the open. The
+girl's figure was hardly visible, but he knew she was there, and the
+distance between pursued and pursuer soon lessened.
+
+Sylvia, wholly unaware of being followed, did not hurry; but she was
+constitutionally incapable of loitering, and moved over the rustling
+grass with a swiftness that brought her to the edge of the lake while
+the second inmate of The Towers abroad that night was yet a couple of
+hundred yards distant.
+
+In the dim light the statue assumed a lifelike semblance that was at
+once startling and wonderful. Color flies with the sun, and the white
+marble did not depend now on tint alone to differentiate it from flesh
+and blood. Seen thus indistinctly, it might almost be a graceful and
+nearly nude woman standing there, and some display of will power on
+the girl's part was called for before she approached nearer and
+stifled the first breath of apprehension. Then, delighted by the vague
+beauty of the scene, with senses soothed by the soft plash of the
+cascade, she decided to walk around the lake to the spot where
+Trenholme must have been hidden when he painted that astonishingly
+vivid picture. Its bold treatment and simplicity of note rendered it
+an easy subject to carry in the mind's eye, and Sylvia thought it
+would be rather nice to conjure up the same effect in the prevailing
+conditions of semi-darkness and mystery. She need not risk tearing her
+dress among the briers which clung to the hillside. Knowing every inch
+of the ground, she could follow the shore of the lake until nearly
+opposite the statue, and then climb a few feet among the bushes at a
+point where a zigzag path, seldom used and nearly obliterated by
+undergrowth, led to the clump of cedars.
+
+She was still speeding along the farther bank when a man's form loomed
+in sight in the park, and her heart throbbed tumultuously with a new
+and real terror. Who could it be? Had some one seen her leaving the
+house? That was the explanation she hoped for at first, but her breath
+came in sharp gusts and her breast heaved when she remembered how one
+deadly intruder at least had broken into that quiet haven during the
+early hours of the past day.
+
+Whoever the oncomer might prove to be, he was losing no time, and he
+was yet some twenty yards or more away from the statue--itself
+separated from Sylvia by about the same width of water--when she
+recognized, with a sigh of relief, the somewhat cumbrous form and
+grampus-like puffing of Robert Fenley.
+
+Evidently he was rather blear-eyed, since he seemed to mistake the
+white marble Aphrodite for a girl in a black dress; or perhaps he
+assumed that Sylvia was there, and thought he would see her at any
+moment.
+
+"I say, Sylvia!" he cried. "I say, old girl, what the deuce are you
+doin'--in the park--at this time o' night?"
+
+The words were clear enough, but there was a suspicious thickness in
+the voice. Robert had been drinking, and Sylvia had learned already to
+abhor and shun a man under the influence of intoxicants more than
+anything else in the wide world. She did not fear her "cousin." For
+years she had tolerated him, and that day she had come to dislike him
+actively, but she had not the least intention of entering into an
+explanation of her actions with him at that hour and under existing
+circumstances. She had recovered from her sudden fright, and was
+merely annoyed now, and bent her wits to the combined problems of
+escape and regaining the house unseen.
+
+Remembering that her white face and hands might reveal her whereabouts
+she turned, bent and crept up the slope until a bush afforded welcome
+concealment. Some thorns scratched her ankles, but she gave no heed to
+such trivial mishaps. A rabbit jumped out from under her feet, and it
+cost something of an effort to repress a slight scream; but--to her
+credit be it said--she set her lips tightly, and was almost amused by
+the game of hide and seek thus unexpectedly thrust on her.
+
+Meanwhile Robert had reached the little promontory on which the statue
+was poised, and no Sylvia was in sight.
+
+"Sylvia!" he cried again. "Where are you? No use hidin', because I
+know you're here! Dash it all, if you wanted a bit of a stroll why
+didn't you send for me? You knew I'd come like a shot--eh, what?"
+
+He listened and peered, but might as well have been deaf and blind for
+aught he could distinguish of the girl he sought.
+
+Then he laughed; and a peculiar quality in that chuckle of mirth
+struck a new note of anxiety, even of fear, in Sylvia's laboring
+heart.
+
+"So you won't be good!" he guffawed thickly. "Playin' Puss in the
+Corner, I suppose? Very well, I give you fair warnin'. I mean to catch
+you, an' when I do I'll claim forfeit.... _I_ don't mind. Fact is, I
+like it. It's rather fun chasin' one's best girl in the dark....
+Dashed if it isn't better'n a bit out of a French farce.... Puss!
+Puss!... I see you.... Hidin' there among the bushy bushes.... Gad!
+How's that for a test after a big night? Bushy bushes! I must not
+forget that. Try it on one of the b-boys.... Now, come out of it!...
+Naughty puss! I'll get you in a tick, see if I don't!"
+
+He was keeping to the track Sylvia herself had taken, since the lie of
+the land was familiar to him as to her. Talking to himself, cackling
+at his own flashes of wit, halting after each few paces to search the
+immediate neighborhood and detect any guiding sound, he was now on the
+same side of the lake as the girl, and coming perilously near. At each
+step, apparently, he found the growing obscurity more tantalizing. He
+still continued calling aloud: "Sylvia! Sylvia, I say! Chuck it, can't
+you? You must give in, you know. I'll be grabbin' you in a minute."
+There were not lacking muttered ejaculations, which showed that he was
+losing his temper.
+
+Once he swore so emphatically that she thought he was acknowledging
+himself beaten; but some glimmering notion that she was crouching
+almost within reach, and would have the laugh of him in the morning,
+flogged him to fresh endeavor. Now he was within ten yards, eight,
+five! In another few seconds his hand might touch her, and she
+quivered at the thought. If concealment could not save her she must
+seek refuge in flight, since therein lay a sure means of escape. Not
+daring to delay, she tried to stand upright, but felt a pull on her
+dress as if a hand were detaining her. It was only a brier,
+insidiously entangled in a fold of her skirt; but she was rather
+excited now, and there was little to be gained by excess of caution,
+for any rapid movement must betray her. Stooping, she caught the
+thorn-laden branch and tore it out of the soft material.
+
+Fenley heard the ripping sound instantly.
+
+"Ha! There you are, my beauty! Got you this time!" he cried, and
+plunged forward.
+
+Sylvia sprang from her hiding-place like a frightened fawn and
+valiantly essayed the steep embankment. Therein she erred. She would
+have succeeded in evading her pursuer had she leaped down to the open
+strip of turf close to the water, dodging him before he realized what
+was happening. As it was, the briers spread a hundred cruel claws
+against her; with each upward step she encountered greater resistance;
+desperation only added to her panic, and she struggled frenziedly.
+
+The man, unhampered by garments such as clogged each inch of Sylvia's
+path, pushed on with renewed ardor. He no longer spoke, for his
+hearing alone could help him now, the girl's black-robed form being
+utterly merged in the dense shadow cast by brushwood and cedars. He,
+however, was silhouetted against the luminous gray of the park, and
+Sylvia, casting a frantic glance over her shoulder, saw him
+distinctly. In her distress she fancied she could feel his hot breath
+on her neck; and when some unusually venomous branch clutched her
+across the knees, and rendered farther movement impossible until her
+dress was extricated, she wailed aloud in anger and dismay.
+
+"How dare you!" she cried, and her voice was tremulous and broken. "I
+warn you that if you persist in following me I shall strike you!"
+
+"Will you, by Jove!" cried Robert elatedly. "I'd risk more than that,
+my dear! A kiss for every blow! Only fair, you know! Eh, what!"
+
+On he came. He was so near that in one active bound he would be upon
+her, but he advanced warily, with hands outstretched.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do!" she sobbed. "Go back, you brute! I--I hate you.
+There are policemen in the wood. I'll scream for help!"
+
+"No need, Miss Manning," said a calm voice which seemed to come from
+the circumambient air. "Don't cry out or be alarmed, no matter what
+happens!"
+
+A hand, not Robert Fenley's caught her shoulder in a reassuring grip.
+A tall figure brushed by, and she heard a curious sound that had a
+certain smack in it--a hard smack, combined with a thudding effect, as
+if some one had smitten a pillow with a fist. A fist it was assuredly,
+and a hard one; but it smote no pillow. With a gurgling cough, Robert
+Fenley toppled headlong to the edge of the lake, and lay there
+probably some minutes, for the man who had hit him knew how and where
+to strike.
+
+Sylvia did not scream. She had recognized Trenholme's voice, but she
+felt absurdly like fainting. Perhaps she swayed slightly, and her
+rescuer was aware of it, for he gathered her up in his arms as he
+might carry a scared child, nor did he set her on her feet when they
+were clear of the trees and in the open park.
+
+"You are quite safe now," he said soothingly. "You are greatly upset,
+of course, and you need a minute or two to pull yourself together; but
+no one will hurt you while I am here. When you feel able to speak,
+you'll tell me where to take you, and I'll be your escort."
+
+"I can speak now, thank you," said Sylvia, with a composure that was
+somewhat remarkable. "Please put me down!"
+
+He obeyed, but she imagined he gave her a silent hug before his clasp
+relaxed. Even then his left hand still rested on her shoulder in a
+protective way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE SPREADING OF THE NET
+
+
+That John Trenholme should be in the right place at the right
+moment, and that the place should happen to be one where his presence
+was urgently required in Sylvia Manning's behalf, was not such a
+far-fetched coincidence as it might be deemed, for instance, by a
+jury. Juries are composed mainly of bald-headed men, men whose shining
+pates have been denuded of hair by years and experience, and these
+factors dry the heart as surely as they impoverish the scalp.
+Consequently, juries (in bulk, be it understood; individual jurors
+may, perhaps, retain the emotional equipment of a Chatterton) are
+skeptical when asked to accept the vagaries of the artistic
+temperament in extenuation of some so-called irrational action.
+
+In the present case counsel for the defense would plead that his
+clients (Sylvia would undoubtedly figure in the charge) were moved by
+an overwhelming impulse shared in common. It was a glorious night, he
+might urge; each had been thinking of the other; each elected to
+stroll forth under the stars; their sympathies were linked by the
+strange circumstances which had led to the production of a noteworthy
+picture--what more likely than that they should visit the scene to
+which that picture owed its genesis?
+
+Trenholme, it might be held, had not knowingly reached that stage of
+soul-sickness which brings the passionate cry to _Valentine's_ lips:
+
+          Except I be by Sylvia in the night,
+          There is no music in the nightingale;
+          Unless I look on Sylvia in the day,
+          There is no day for me to look upon.
+
+"But, gentlemen," the wily one would continue, "that indefinable
+excitation of the nervous system which is summed up in the one small
+word 'love' must have a beginning; and whether that beginning springs
+from spore or germ, it is admittedly capable of amazingly rapid
+growth. The male defendant may not even have been aware of its
+existence, but subsequent events establish the diagnosis beyond cavil;
+and I would remind you that the melodious lines I have just quoted
+could not have been written by our immortal bard, Shakespeare, if two
+gentlemen of Verona, and two Veronese ladies as well, had not yielded
+to influences not altogether unlike those which governed my clients on
+this memorable occasion."
+
+Juries invariably treat Shakespeare's opinions with profound respect.
+They know they ought to be well acquainted with his "works," but they
+are not, and hope to conceal their ignorance by accepting the poet's
+philosophy without reservation.
+
+If, however, owing to the forensic skill of an advocate, romance might
+be held accountable for the wanderings of John and Sylvia, what of
+Robert? He, at least, was not under its magic spell. He, when the
+fateful hour struck, was merely drinking himself drowsy. To explain
+_him_, witnesses would be needed, and who more credible than a
+Superintendent and Detective Inspector of the Criminal Investigation
+Department?
+
+When Winter had smoked, and Furneaux had contributed some personal
+reminiscences the whole aim and object of which was the perplexing
+and mystification of that discreet person, Tomlinson, the two retired
+to their room at an early hour. The butler pressed them hospitably
+to try the house's special blend of Scotch whisky, but they had
+declined resolutely. Both acknowledged to an unwonted lassitude and
+sleepiness--symptoms which Hilton Fenley might expect and inquire
+about. When they were gone, the major domo sat down to review the
+day's doings.
+
+His master's death at the hands of a murderer had shocked and saddened
+him far more than his manner betrayed. If some fantastic chain of
+events brought Tomlinson to the scaffold he would still retain the
+demeanor of an exemplary butler. But beneath the externals of his
+office he had a heart and a brain; and his heart grieved for a
+respected employer, and his brain told him that Scotland Yard was no
+wiser than he when it came to suspecting a likely person of having
+committed the crime, let alone arresting the suspect and proving his
+guilt.
+
+Of course, therein Tomlinson was in error. Even butlers of renown have
+their limitations, and his stopped far short of the peculiar science
+of felon-hunting in which Winter and Furneaux were geniuses, each in
+his own line.
+
+Assuredly he would have been vastly astonished could he have seen
+their movements when the bedroom door closed on them. In fact, his
+trained ear might have found some new quality in such a commonplace
+thing as the closing of the door. Every lock and bolt and catch in The
+Towers was in perfect working order, yet the lock of this door failed
+to click, for the excellent reason that it was jammed by a tiny wedge.
+Hence, it could be opened noiselessly if need be; and lest a hinge
+might squeak each hinge was forthwith drenched with vaseline. Further,
+a tiny circlet of India rubber, equipped with a small spike, was
+placed between door and jamb.
+
+Then, murmuring in undertones when they spoke, the detectives unpacked
+their portmanteaux. Winter produced no article out of the ordinary
+run, but Furneaux unrolled a knotted contrivance which proved to be a
+rope ladder.
+
+"One or both of us may have to go out by the window," he said. "At any
+rate, we have Wellington's authority for the military axiom that a
+good leader always provides a line of retreat."
+
+"I wonder what became of the rest of that wine?" said Winter, rolling
+the beer bottle in a shirt and stowing it away.
+
+"I didn't dare ask. Tomlinson can put two and two together rather
+cleverly. He _almost_ interfered when Harris brought the decanter, so
+I dropped the wine question like a hot potato."
+
+"It had gone, though, when we came back from Robert's room. Hilton
+sent for it. Bet you another new hat he emptied----"
+
+"You'll get no more new hats out of me," growled Furneaux savagely,
+giving an extra pressure to a pair of sharp hooks which gripped the
+window sill, and from which the rope ladder could be dropped to the
+ground instantly.
+
+"Sorry. Where did you retrieve that dirty towel?" For the little man
+had taken from a pocket an object which merited the description, and
+was placing it in his bag.
+
+"It's one of Hilton's. He used it to wipe bark moss off his clothes.
+Queer thing that such rascals always omit some trivial precaution. He
+should have burned the towel with the moccasins; but he don't. This
+towel will help to strangle him."
+
+"You're becoming a bloodthirsty detective," mused Winter aloud. "I've
+seldom seen you so vindictive. Why is it?"
+
+"I dislike snakes, and this fellow is a poisonous specimen. If there
+were no snakes in the world, we should all be so happy!"
+
+"Blessed if I see that."
+
+"I have always suspected that your religious education had been
+neglected. Read the Bible and Milton. Then you'll understand; and
+incidentally speak and write better English."
+
+"Can you suggest any means whereby I can grasp your jokes without
+being bored to weariness? They're more soporific than bromide. Anyhow,
+it's time we undressed."
+
+Though the blind was drawn the window was open; there was no knowing
+who might be watching from the garden, so they went through all the
+motions of undressing and placed their boots outside the door.
+
+Then the light was switched off, the blind raised, and they dressed
+again rapidly, donning other boots. Each pocketed an automatic pistol
+and an electric torch and, by preconcerted plan, Winter sat by the
+window and Furneaux by the door. It was then a quarter to eleven, and
+they hardly looked for any developments until a much later hour, but
+they neglected no precaution. Unquestionably it would be difficult for
+any one to move about in that part of the house, or cross the gardens
+without attracting their attention.
+
+Their room was situated on the south front, two doors from Sylvia's,
+and two from Hilton Fenley's bedroom. The door lay in shadow beyond
+the range of the light burning in the hall. Sylvia's room was farther
+along the corridor. The door of Hilton's bedroom occupied the same
+plane; the door of his sitting-room faced the end of the corridor.
+
+The walls were massive, as in all Tudor houses, and the doors so
+deeply recessed that there was space for a small mat in front of each.
+Ordinarily boots placed there were not visible in the line of the
+corridor, but the detectives' footgear stood well in view. There were
+two reasons for this. In the first place, Hilton Fenley might like to
+see them, so his highly probable if modest desire was gratified;
+secondly, when Parker visited Sylvia and quitted her, and when Sylvia
+went downstairs, Furneaux's head, lying between two pairs of boots,
+could scarcely be distinguished, while his scope of vision was only
+slightly, if at all, diminished.
+
+Soon the girl's footsteps could be heard crossing the hall, and the
+raising of the drawing-room window and opening of the shutters were
+clearly audible. Winter, whose office had been a sinecure hitherto,
+now came into the scheme.
+
+He saw Sylvia's slight form standing beneath, marked her hesitancy,
+and watched her slow progress down the terraces and into the park.
+This nocturnal enterprise on her part was rather perplexing, and he
+was in two minds whether or not to cross the room and consult with
+Furneaux, when the latter suddenly withdrew his head, closed the door,
+and hissed "Snore!"
+
+Winter crept to a bed, and put up an artistic performance, a duet,
+musical, regular, not too loud. In a little while his colleague's
+"S-s-t!" stopped him, and a slight crack of a finger against a thumb
+called him to the door, which was open again.
+
+Explanation was needless. Hilton Fenley, like the other watchers,
+hearing the creaking of window and shutters, had looked out from his
+own darkened room. In all likelihood, thanking his stars for the happy
+chance given thus unexpectedly, he noted the direction the girl was
+taking, and acted as if prepared for this very development; the truth
+being, of course, that he was merely adapting his own plans to
+immediate and more favorable conditions.
+
+Coming out into the corridor, he consulted his watch. Then he glanced
+in the direction of the room which held the two men he had cause to
+fear--such ample cause as he little dreamed of at that moment. To make
+assurance doubly sure, he walked that way, not secretly, but boldly,
+since it was part of his project now to court observation--by others,
+at any rate, if not by the drugged emissaries of Scotland Yard. He
+waited outside the closed door and heard what he expected to hear,
+the snoring of two men sound asleep.
+
+Returning, he did not reënter his own room, but crossed the head of
+the staircase to Robert's. He knocked lightly, and his brother's
+"Hello, there! Come in!" reached Furneaux's ears. Not a word of the
+remainder of the colloquy that ensued was lost on either of the
+detectives.
+
+"Sorry to disturb you, Bob," said Hilton, speaking from the doorway,
+"but I thought you might not be in bed, and I've come to tell you that
+Sylvia has just gone out by way of the drawing-room and is wandering
+about the park."
+
+"Sylvia! On her lonesome?" was Robert's astounded cry.
+
+"Yes. It isn't right. I can't understand her behavior. I would have
+followed her myself; but in view of your statement at dinner tonight,
+I fancied it would save some annoyance if I entrusted that duty to
+you."
+
+"Look here, Hilton, old chap, are you really in earnest?"
+
+"About Sylvia? Yes. I actually saw her. At this moment she is heading
+for the lake. If you hurry you'll see her yourself."
+
+"I say, it's awfully decent of you ... I take back a lot of what I
+said tonight.... Of course, as matters stand, this is _my_ job....
+Tell MacBain not to lock us out."
+
+"I'll attend to that, if necessary. But don't mention me to Sylvia.
+She might resent the notion of being spied on. Say that you, too, were
+strolling about. You see, I heard the window being opened, and looked
+out, naturally. Anyhow, drop me, and run this affair on your own."
+
+Robert was slightly obfuscated--the fresh air quickly made him
+worse--but he was sensible of having grossly misjudged Hilton.
+
+"Right-O," he said, hurrying downstairs. "We'll have a talk in the
+mornin'. Dash it! It's twelve o'clock. That silly kid! What's she
+after, I'd like to know?"
+
+Robert gone, Hilton returned to his own room and rang a bell. MacBain
+came, and was asked if he was aware that Miss Sylvia had quitted the
+house. MacBain gave his version of the story, and Fenley remarked that
+he might leave the window unfastened until he made his rounds at one
+o'clock.
+
+Seemingly as an afterthought, Hilton mentioned his brother's open
+door, and MacBain discovered that Mr. Robert was missing also.
+
+By that time the detectives, without exchanging a word, had each
+arrived at the same opinion as to the trend of events. Hilton Fenley
+was remodeling his projects to suit an unforeseen development. No
+matter what motive inspired Sylvia Manning's midnight ramble, there
+could be no disputing the influence which dominated Robert Fenley. He
+was his brother's catspaw. When his rifle was found next day MacBain's
+testimony would be a tremendous addition to the weight of evidence
+against him, since any unprejudiced judgment must decide that the
+pursuit of his "cousin" was a mere pretense to enable him to go out
+and search for the weapon he had foolishly left in the wood.
+
+Hilton might or might not admit that he told Robert of the girl's
+escapade. If he did admit it, he might be trusted to give the incident
+the requisite kink to turn the scale against Robert. Surveying the
+facts with cold impartiality afterwards, Scotland Yard decided that
+while Hilton could not hope that Robert would be convicted of the
+murder, the latter would assuredly be suspected of it, perhaps
+arrested and tried; and in any event his marriage with Sylvia Manning
+would become a sheer impossibility.
+
+Moreover, once the rifle was found by the police, the only reasonable
+prospect of connecting Hilton himself with the crime would have
+vanished into thin air. If that weapon were picked up in the Quarry
+Wood, or for that matter in any other part of the estate, the hounds
+of the law were beaten. Winter's level-headed shrewdness and
+Furneaux's almost uncanny intuition might have saddled Hilton with
+blood guiltiness, but a wide chasm must be bridged before they could
+provide the requisite proof of their theory.
+
+In fact, thus far they dared not even hint at bringing a charge
+against him. To succeed, they had to show that the incredible was
+credible, that a murderer could be in a room within a few feet of his
+victim and in a wood distant fully four hundred yards. It was a
+baffling problem, not wholly incapable of solution by circumstantial
+evidence, but best left to be elucidated by Hilton Fenley himself.
+They believed now that he was about to oblige them by supplying that
+corroborative detail which, in the words of Poohbah, "lends artistic
+verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative."
+
+Winter drew Furneaux into the room, and breathed the words into his
+ear:
+
+"You go. You stand less chance of being seen. I'll search his room."
+
+"If there is a misfire, show a signal after five minutes."
+
+"Right!"
+
+Furneaux, standing back from the window, but in such a position that a
+light would be visible to any one perched on the rock in the wood,
+pressed the button of an electric torch three times rapidly. Then he
+lowered the rope ladder and clambered down with the nimbleness of a
+sailor. In all probability, Hilton Fenley was still talking to MacBain
+and creating the illusion that the last thing he would think of was a
+stroll out of doors at that late hour. But the little man took no
+chances. Having surveyed the ground carefully during the day, he was
+not bothered now by doubts as to the most practicable path.
+
+Creeping close to the house till he reached the yew hedge, and then
+passing through an arch, he remained in the shadow of the hedge till
+it turned at a right angle in front of the Italian garden. From that
+point to the edge of the Quarry Wood was not a stone's throw, and
+clumps of rhododendrons and other flowering shrubs gave shelter in
+plenty. Arrived at the mouth of the footpath, which he had marked by
+counting the trees in the avenue, he halted and listened intently.
+There was no sound of rustling grass or crunched gravel. Hilton was
+taking matters leisurely. Fifteen minutes would give him ample time
+for the business he had in hand. Even if Robert and Sylvia reached
+home before him, which was unlikely--far more unlikely even than he
+imagined--he could say that he thought it advisable to follow his
+brother and help in the search for the girl. The same excuse would
+serve if he met any of those pestilential police prowling about the
+grounds. Indeed, he could dispatch the alert and intelligent ones on
+the trail of the wanderers, especially on Robert's. In a word, matters
+were going well for Hilton, so well that Furneaux laughed as he turned
+into the wood.
+
+Here the detective had to advance with care. Beneath the trees the
+darkness was now so complete that it had that peculiar quality of
+density which everyday speech likens to a wall. Cats, gamekeepers,
+poachers, and other creatures of predatory and nocturnal habits can
+find and follow a definite track under such conditions; but detectives
+are nearly human, and Furneaux was compelled to use the torch more
+than once. He ran no risk in doing this. Hilton Fenley could not yet
+be in a position to catch the gleam of light among the trees. The one
+thing to avoid was delay, and Furneaux had gained rather than lost
+time, unless Fenley was running at top speed.
+
+After crossing the damp hollow the Jerseyman had no further
+difficulty; he breasted the hill and kept a hand extended so as to
+avoid colliding with a tree trunk. Expecting at any instant to have a
+bull's-eye lantern flashed in his eyes, which he did not want to
+happen, he said softly:
+
+"Hi! You two! Don't show a light! How near are you?"
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir!" said a voice. "We thought it would be. We saw the
+signal, and you said you might be the first to arrive."
+
+"Any second signal?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Furneaux recognized the pungent scent of the colza oil used in
+policemen's lamps.
+
+"By gad," he said, "if the average criminal had the nose of the
+veriest cur dog he'd smell that oil a mile away. Now, where are
+you? There." He had butted into a constable's solid bulk. "Take me
+to the rock--quick. We must hide behind it, on the lower side.... Is
+this the place? Right! Squat down, both of you, and make yourselves
+comfortable, so that you won't feel your position irksome, and move
+perhaps at the wrong moment. When you feel me crawling away, follow to
+the upper foot of the rock--no farther.
+
+"Stand upright then, and try to keep your joints from cracking. There
+must be no creaking of belts or boots. Absolute silence is the order.
+Not a word spoken. No matter what you hear, don't move again until you
+see the light of my electric torch. Then run to me, turning on your
+own lamps, and help in arresting any one I may be holding. Use your
+handcuffs if necessary, and don't hesitate to grab hard if there is a
+struggle. Remember, you are to arrest _any one_, no matter who it may
+be. Got that?"
+
+"Yes, sir," came two eager voices.
+
+"Don't be excited. It will be an easy thing. If we make a mistake, I
+bear the responsibility. Now, keep still as mice when they hear a
+cat."
+
+One of the men giggled. Both constables had met Furneaux in the local
+police station that afternoon, as he had asked the Inspector to parade
+the pair who would be on duty during the night. It was then that he
+had arranged a simple code of flash signals, and warned them to look
+out for Winter or himself during the night. Any other person who
+turned up was not to be challenged until he reached the higher ground
+beyond the rock, but that instruction was to be acted on only in the
+unavoidable absence of one of the Scotland Yard officers. Privately,
+the constables hoped Furneaux would be their leader. They deemed him
+"a funny little josser," and marveled greatly at his manner and
+appearance. Still, they had heard of his reputation; the Inspector, in
+an expansive moment, had observed that "Monkey Face was sharper than
+he looked."
+
+Thinking example better than precept, Furneaux did not reprove the
+giggler. Lying there, screened even in broad daylight by the bulk of
+the rock and some hazels growing vigorously in that restricted area
+owing to the absence of foliage overhead, he listened to the voices of
+the night, never dumb in a large wood. Birds fluttered uneasily on the
+upper branches of the trees--indeed, Furneaux was lucky in that the
+occasional gleam of the torch had not sent a pheasant hurtling off
+with frantic clamor ere ever the rendezvous was reached--and some
+winged creature, probably an owl, swept over the rock in stealthy
+flight. The rabbits were all out in the open, nibbling grass and crops
+at leisure, but there were other tiny forms rustling among the shrubs
+and scampering across the soft carpet of fallen leaves.
+
+Twitterings, and subdued squeaks, and sudden rushes of pattering feet,
+the murmuring of myriad fronds in the placid breeze, the whispering
+of the neighboring elms, even the steady chant of the distant
+cascade--all swelled into a soft and continuous chorus, hardly heard
+by the country policemen, accustomed as they were to the sounds of a
+woodland at night, but of surprising volume and variety to the man
+whose forests lay in the paved wilderness of London.
+
+Suddenly a twig cracked sharply and a match was struck. It was of the
+safety type and made little noise, but it was too much for the nerves
+of a bird, which flew away noisily. Furneaux pursed his lips and
+wanted to whistle. He realized now what an escape he had earlier. But
+the intruder seemed to care less about attracting attention than
+making rapid progress. He came on swiftly, striking other matches when
+required, until he stood on the bare ground near the rock. Not daring
+to lift a head, none of the three watchers could see the newcomer, and
+in that respect their hiding-place was almost too well chosen. Whoever
+it was, he needed no more matches to guide his footsteps. They heard
+him advancing a few paces; then he halted again. After a marked
+interval, punctuated by a soft, whirring noise hard to interpret,
+there were irregular scrapings and the creaking of a branch.
+
+Furneaux arose. Keeping a hand on the rock until he was clear of the
+shrubs, he crept forward on thievish feet. His assistants, moving more
+clumsily to their allotted station, were audible enough to him, but to
+a man unconscious of their presence, and actively climbing a tree,
+they were remote and still as Uranus and Saturn.
+
+The scraping of feet and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the prompt
+flight of several birds, led the detective unerringly to the trunk of
+a lofty chestnut which he had already fixed on as the cover whence the
+shot that killed Mortimer Fenley was fired. He was convinced also that
+the rifle was yet hidden there, and his thin lips parted in a smile
+now that his theory was about to be justified.
+
+He could follow the panting efforts of the climber quite easily. He
+knew when the weapon was unlashed from the limb to which it was bound,
+and when the descent was begun. He could measure almost the exact
+distance of his prey from the ground, and was awaiting the final drop
+before flashing the torch on his prisoner, when something rapped him
+smartly on the forehead. It was a rope, doubled and twisted, and
+subsequent investigation showed that it must have been thrown in a
+coil over the lowermost branch in order to facilitate the only
+difficult part of the climb offered by ten feet of straight bole.
+
+That trivial incident changed the whole course of events. Taken by
+surprise, since he did not know what had struck him, Furneaux pressed
+the governor of the torch a second too soon, and his eyes, raised
+instantaneously, met those of Hilton Fenley, who was on the point of
+letting go the branch and swinging himself down.
+
+During a thrilling moment they gazed at each other, the detective cool
+and seemingly unconcerned, the self-avowed murderer livid with mortal
+fear. Then Furneaux caught the rope and held it.
+
+"I thought you'd go climbing tonight, Fenley," he said. "Let me assist
+you. Tricky things, ropes. You're at the wrong end of this one."
+
+Even Homer nods, but Furneaux had erred three times in as many
+seconds. He had switched on the light prematurely, and his ready
+banter had warned the parricide that a well-built scheme was crumbling
+to irretrievable ruin. Moreover, he had underrated the nervous forces
+of the man thus trapped and outwitted. Fenley knew that when his feet
+touched the earth he would begin a ghastly pilgrimage to the scaffold.
+Two yellow orbs of light were already springing up the slight incline
+from the rock, betokening the presence of captors in overwhelming
+number. What was to be done? Nothing, in reason, yet Furneaux had
+likened him to a snake, and he displayed now the primal instinct of
+the snake to fight when cornered. Thrusting the heavy gun he was
+carrying straight downward, he delivered a vicious and unerring blow.
+
+The stock caught the detective on the crown of the head, and he fell
+to his knees, dropping the torch, which of course went out as soon as
+the thumb relaxed its pressure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SOME STAGE EFFECTS
+
+
+Fenley himself dropped almost simultaneously with the rifle, landing
+with both feet on Furneaux's back, and thus completing the little
+man's discomfiture. By that time the two policemen were nearly upon
+him, but he was lithe and fierce as a cobra, and had seized the rifle
+again before they could close with him. Jabbing the nearer adversary
+with the muzzle, he smashed a lamp and sent its owner sprawling
+backward. Then, swinging the weapon, he aimed a murderous blow at the
+second constable.
+
+The man contrived to avoid it to a certain extent, but it glanced off
+his left arm and caught the side of his head; and he, too, measured
+his length. All three, detective and police, were on their feet
+promptly, for none was seriously injured; but Furneaux was dazed and
+had to grope for the torch, and the second constable's lamp had gone
+out owing to a rush of oil from the cistern. Thus, during some
+precious seconds, they were in total darkness.
+
+Meanwhile Fenley had escaped. Luck, after deserting him, had come to
+his rescue in the nick of time. He had blundered into the path, and
+managed to keep to it, and the somewhat strong language in which
+Furneaux expressed his feelings anent the Hertfordshire Constabulary,
+and the no less lurid comments of two angry members of the force,
+helped to conceal the sounds which would otherwise have indicated the
+direction taken by the fugitive.
+
+At last, having found the torch, Furneaux collected his scattered
+wits.
+
+"Now don't be scared and run away, you two," he said sarcastically,
+producing an automatic pistol. "I'm only going to tell Mr. Winter that
+we've bungled the job."
+
+He fired twice in the air, and two vivid spurts of flame rose high
+among the branches of the chestnut; but the loud reports of the
+shooting were as nothing compared with the din that followed. Every
+rook within a mile flew from its eyrie and cawed strenuously.
+Pheasants clucked and clattered in all directions, owls hooted, and
+dogs barked in the kennels, in the stable yard, and in nearly every
+house of the two neighboring villages.
+
+"I don't see what good that'll do, sir," was the rueful comment of the
+policeman who had, in his own phrase, "collected a thick ear," and was
+now feeling the spot tenderly. "He hasn't shinned up the tree again;
+that's a positive certainty."
+
+"I should have thought that a really clever fellow like you would
+guess that I wanted to raise a row," said Furneaux. "Have you breath
+enough left to blow your whistles?"
+
+"But, sir, your orders were----"
+
+"Blow, and be damned to you. Don't I know the fault is mine! Blow, and
+crack your cheeks! Blow wild peals, my Roberts, else we are copped
+coppers!"
+
+The mild radiance of the torch showed that the detective's face was
+white with fury and his eyes gleaming red. To think that a dangling
+rope's end should have spoiled his finest capture, undone a flawless
+piece of imaginative reasoning which his own full record had never
+before equaled! It was humiliating, maddening. No wonder the policemen
+thought him crazy!
+
+But they whistled with a will. Winter heard them, and was stirred to
+strange activities. Robert Fenley, recovering from an ague and
+sickness, heard and marveled at the pandemonium which had broken loose
+in the park. The household at The Towers was aroused, heads were
+craned out of windows, women screamed, and men dressed hastily.
+Keepers, estate hands, and stablemen tumbled into their garments and
+hurried out, armed with guns and cudgels. An unhappy woman, tossing in
+the fitful dreams of drug-induced sleep, was awakened by the pistol
+shots and terrified by the noise of slamming doors and hurrying feet.
+
+She struggled out of bed and screamed for an attendant, but none came.
+She pressed an electric bell, which rang continuously in the night
+watchman's room; but he had run to the front of the house and was
+unlocking the front door, where a squad of willing men soon awaited
+Winter's instructions. For the Superintendent, after rushing to the
+telephone, had shouted an order to MacBain before he made off in the
+direction of the Quarry Wood.
+
+The one tocsin which exercises a dread significance in a peaceful and
+law-abiding English community at the present day struck a new and
+awful note in Hilton Fenley's brain. Fool that he was, why had he
+fought? Why was he flying? Had he brazened it out, the police would
+not have dared arrest him. His brain was as acute as the best of
+theirs. He could have evolved a theory of the crime as subtle as any
+detective's, and who so keen-witted as a son eager to avenge a
+father's murder? But he had thrown away a gambler's chance by a moment
+of frenzied struggle. He was doomed now. No plausible explanation
+would serve his need. He was hunted. The pack was after him. The fox
+had broken cover, and the hounds were in full cry.
+
+Whither should he go? He knew not. Still clutching the empty gun--for
+which he had not even one cartridge in his pockets--he made hopelessly
+for the open park. Already some glimmer of light showed that he was
+winning free of these accursed trees, which had stretched forth a
+thousand hands to tear his flesh and trip his uncertain feet. That
+way, at least, lay the world. In the wood he might have circled
+blindly until captured.
+
+Now a drawback of such roaring maelstroms of alarm and uncertainty is
+their knack of submerging earlier and less dramatic passages in the
+lives of those whom Fate drags into their sweeping currents. Lest,
+therefore, the strangely contrived meeting between Sylvia and her
+knight errant should be neglected by the chronicler, it is well to
+return to those two young people at the moment when Sylvia was
+declaring her unimpaired power of standing without support.
+
+Trenholme was disposed to take everything for the best in a magic
+world. "Whatever is, is right" is a doctrine which appeals to the
+artistic temperament, inasmuch as it blends fatalism and the action of
+Providence in proportions so admirably adjusted that no philosopher
+yet born has succeeded in reducing them to a formula. But Eve did not
+bite the apple in that spirit. It was forbidden: she wanted to know
+why. Sylvia's first thought was to discover a reasonable reason for
+Trenholme's presence. Of course, there was one that jumped to the eye,
+but it was too absurd to suppose that he had come to the tryst in
+obedience to the foolish vagaries which accounted for her own
+actions. She blushed to the nape of her neck at the conceit, which
+called for instant and severe repression, and her voice reflected the
+passing mood.
+
+"I don't wish to underrate the great service you have rendered me,"
+she said coldly, "and I shall always be your debtor for it; but I can
+not help asking how you came to be standing under the cedars at this
+hour of the night?"
+
+"I wonder," he said.
+
+She wriggled her shoulder slightly, as a polite intimation that his
+hand need not rest there any longer, but he seemed to misinterpret the
+movement, and drew her an inch or so nearer, whereupon the wriggling
+ceased.
+
+"But that is no answer at all," she murmured, aware of a species of
+fear of this big, masterful man: a fear rather fascinating in its
+tremors, like a novice's cringing to the vibration of electricity in a
+mildly pleasant form; a fear as opposed to her loathing of Robert
+Fenley as the song of a thrush to the purr of a tiger.
+
+"I can tell you, in a disconnected sort of way," he said, evidently
+trying to focus his thoughts on a problem set by the gods, and which,
+in consequence, was incapable of logical solution by a mere mortal.
+"It was a fine night. I felt restless. The four walls of a room were
+prison-like. I strolled out. I was thinking of you. I am here."
+
+She trembled a little. Blushing even more deeply than before, she
+fancied he must be able to feel her skin hot through silk and linen.
+For all that, she contrived to laugh.
+
+"It sounds convincing, but there is something missing in the
+argument," she said.
+
+"Most likely," he admitted. "A woman analyzes emotion far more
+intimately than a man. Perhaps, if you were to tell me why _you_ were
+drawn to cross the park at midnight, you might supply a clue to my own
+moon madness."
+
+"But there isn't any moon, and I think I ought to be returning to the
+house."
+
+He knew quite well that she had evaded his question, and, so readily
+does the heart respond to the whisperings of hope, he was aware of a
+sudden tumult in that which doctors call the cardiac region. She, too,
+had come forth to tell her longings to the stars! That thrice blessed
+picture had drawn them together by a force as unseen and irresistible
+as the law of gravitation! Then he became aware of a dreadful qualm.
+Had he any right to place on her slim shoulders the weight of an
+avowal from which he had flinched? He dropped that protecting hand as
+if it had been struck sharply.
+
+"I have annoyed you by my stupid word-fencing," he said contritely.
+
+"No, indeed," she said, and, reveling in a new sense of power, her
+tone grew very gentle. "Why should we seek far-fetched theories for so
+simple a thing as a stroll out of doors on a night like this? I am not
+surprised that you, at any rate, should wish to visit the place where
+that delightful picture sprang into being. It was my exceeding good
+fortune that you happened to be close at hand when I needed help. I
+must explain that----"
+
+"My explanation comes first," he broke in. "I saw you crossing the
+park. A second time in the course of one day I had to decide whether
+to remain hidden or make a bolt for it. Again I determined to stand
+fast; for had you seen and heard a man vanishing among the trees you
+would certainly have been alarmed, not only because of the hour but
+owing to today's extraordinary events. Moreover, I felt sure you were
+coming to the lake, and I did not wish to stop you. That was a bit of
+pure selfishness on my part. I wanted you to come. If ever a man was
+vouchsafed the realization of an unspoken prayer, I am that man
+tonight."
+
+Trenholme had never before made love to any woman, but lack of
+experience did not seem to trouble him greatly. Sylvia, however,
+though very much alive to that element in his words, bethought herself
+of something else which they implied.
+
+"Then you heard what my cousin Robert said?" she commented.
+
+"Every syllable. When the chance of an effectual reply offered, I
+recalled his disjointed remarks collectively."
+
+"Did you hit him very hard?"
+
+"Just hard enough to stop him from annoying you further tonight."
+
+"I suppose he deserved it. He was horrid. But I don't wish you to meet
+him again just now. He is no coward, and he might attack you."
+
+"That would be most unfortunate," he agreed.
+
+"So, if you don't mind, we'll take a roundabout way. By skirting the
+Quarry Wood we can reach the avenue, near the place where we met this
+evening. Do you remember?"
+
+"Perfectly. I shall be very old before I forget."
+
+"But I mean the place where we met. Of course, you could hardly
+pretend that you had forgotten meeting me."
+
+"As soon would the daffodil forget where last it bloomed.
+
+          "Daffodils,
+          That come before the swallow dares, and take
+          The winds of March with beauty.
+
+"Not that I should quote you 'A Winter's Tale,' but rather search my
+poor store for apter lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream':
+
+          "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
+          Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
+          Quite over-canopied with luxurious woodbine,
+          With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine:
+          There sleeps Titania.
+
+"Believe me, I have an excellent memory--for some things."
+
+They walked together in silence a little way, and dreamed, perchance,
+that they were wandering in Oberon's realm with Hermia and Lysander.
+Then Sylvia, stealing a shy glance at the tall figure by her side,
+acknowledged that once she filled the rôle of Titania in a schoolroom
+version of the play.
+
+"We had no man," she said, "but the masks and costumes served us well.
+After a day's study I could be a Fairy Queen once more.
+
+          "I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;
+          Mine ear is much enraptured of thy note----"
+
+She stopped suddenly. The next lines were distinctly amorous. He
+laughed with ready appreciation of her difficulty, but generously
+provided a way out.
+
+"Poor mortal!" he tittered. "And must I wear an ass's head to be in
+character?"
+
+A loud report, and then another, brought them back rudely from a
+make-believe wood near Athens to a peril-haunted park in an English
+county. For the second time that night Sylvia knew what fear meant.
+Intuitively, she shrank close to the strong man who seemed destined
+to be her protector; and when an arm clasped her again, she cowered
+close to its sheltering embrace.
+
+"Oh, what is it?" she wailed in terror.
+
+"It is hard to say," he answered quietly, and the confidence in his
+voice was the best assurance of safety he could have given. "Those
+shots were fired from some sort of rifle, not of the same caliber as
+that which was used this morning, but unquestionably a rifle. Perhaps
+it is one of these modern pistols. I don't wish to alarm you
+needlessly, Miss Manning, but there is some probability that the
+police have discovered the man who killed Mr. Fenley, and there is a
+struggle going on. At any rate, let us remain out here in the open. We
+shall be as safe here as anywhere."
+
+Sylvia, who had not been afraid to venture alone into the park at
+midnight, was now in a quite feminine state of fright. She clung to
+Trenholme without any pretense of other feeling than one of unbounded
+trust. Her heart was pounding frantically, and she was trembling from
+head to foot.
+
+The police whistles were shrilling their insistent summons for help,
+and Trenholme knew that the commotion had arisen in the exact part of
+the Quarry Wood whence the murderous bullet had sped that morning. He
+was unarmed, of course, being devoid of even such a mildly aggressive
+weapon as a walking-stick, but there was doubt in his mind that the
+best thing to do was to stand fast. He was not blind to the
+possibility of imminent danger, for the very spot they had reached lay
+in a likely line of retreat for any desperado whom the police might
+have discovered and be pursuing. Naturally he took it for granted that
+the criminal had fired the two shots, and the fact that the whistles
+were still in full blast showed that the chase had not been abandoned.
+
+Still, the only course open was to take such chances as came their
+way. He could always shield the girl with his own body, or tell her to
+lie flat on the ground while he closed with an assailant if
+opportunity served. Being a level-headed, plucky youngster, he was by
+no means desirous of indulging in deeds of derring-do. The one
+paramount consideration was the safe conduct of Sylvia to the house,
+and he hoped sincerely that if a miscreant were trying to escape, he
+would choose any route save that which led from the wood to Roxton
+village.
+
+"Don't hesitate if I bid you throw yourself down at full length," he
+said, unconsciously stroking Sylvia's hair with his free hand. "In a
+minute or two we'll make for the avenue. Meanwhile, let us listen. If
+any one is coming in this direction we ought to hear him, and
+forewarned is forearmed."
+
+Choking back a broken question, she strove submissively to check her
+distressed sobbing. Were it not for the hubbub of thousands of rooks
+and pheasants they would assuredly have caught the sounds of Hilton
+Fenley's panic-stricken onrush through the trees. As it was, he saw
+them first, and, even in his rabid frenzy, recognized Sylvia. It was
+only to be expected that he should mistake Trenholme for his brother,
+and in a new spasm of fright, he recollected he was carrying the
+rifle. Robert Fenley, of course, would identify it at a glance, and
+could hardly fail to be more than suspicious at sight of it. With an
+oath, he threw the telltale weapon back among the undergrowth, and,
+summoning the last shreds of his shattered nerves to lend some degree
+of self-control, walked rapidly out into the open park.
+
+Sylvia saw him and shrieked. Trenholme was about to thrust her behind
+him, when some familiar attribute about the outline of the approaching
+figure caused her to cry--
+
+"Why, it's Hilton!"
+
+"Yes, Sylvia," came the breathless answer. "You heard the firing, of
+course? The police have found some fellow in the wood. You and Bob
+make for the avenue. I'm going this way in case he breaks cover for
+the Roxton gate. Hurry! You'll find some of the men there. Never mind
+about me. I'll be all right!"
+
+He was running while he talked, edging away toward the group of
+cedars; and, under the conditions, it was not for Trenholme to
+undeceive him as to the mistake in regarding the artist as Robert
+Fenley. In any event, the appearance of Hilton from that part of the
+wood seemed to prove that the man whom the law was seeking could not
+be in the same locality, so Trenholme did not hesitate to urge Sylvia
+to fall in with her "cousin's" instructions.
+
+For the time, then, they may be left to progress uninterruptedly
+to safety and not very prompt enlightenment; the flight of the
+self-confessed murderer calls for more immediate attention. Probably,
+after the first moment of suspense, and when he was sure that escape
+was still not utterly impracticable, he intended to cross the park to
+the northwest and climb the boundary wall. But a glimpse of the black
+line of trees daunted him. He simply dared not face those pitiless
+sentinels again. He pictured himself forcing a way through the
+undergrowth in the dense gloom and failing perhaps; for the vegetation
+was wilder there than in any other portion of the estate. So, making a
+détour, he headed for the unencumbered parkland once more, and gained
+the wall near Jackson's farm about the time that Trenholme and Sylvia
+entered the avenue.
+
+He was unquestionably in a parlous state. Bare-headed, unarmed, he
+could not fail to attract attention in a district where every resident
+knew the other, nor could he resist capture when the hue and cry went
+forth. What to do he knew not. Even if he managed to reach the railway
+station unchallenged, the last train of the day had left for London
+soon after eleven, and the earliest next morning was timed for five
+o'clock, too late by many hours to serve his desperate need.
+
+Could he hire a motor car or bicycle? The effort was fraught with
+every variety of risk. There was a small garage at Easton, but those
+cunning detectives would be raising the countryside already, and the
+telephone would close every outlet. For the first time in his life
+Hilton Fenley realized that the world is too small to hold a murderer.
+He was free, would soon have the choice of a network of main roads and
+lanes in a rural district at the dead hour of the night, yet he felt
+himself securely caged as some creature of the jungle trapped in a
+pit.
+
+Crossing Jackson's farmyard, not without disturbing a dog just
+quieting down after the preceding racket, he hurried into the village
+street, having made up his mind to face the inevitable and arouse the
+garage keeper. By the irony of fate he passed the cottage in which
+Police Constable Farrow was lying asleep and utterly unaware of the
+prevalent excitement, to join in which he would have kept awake all
+that night and the next.
+
+Then the turn of Fortune's wheel befriended Fenley again. Outside a
+house stood Dr. Stern's car, a closed-in runabout in which both the
+doctor and his chauffeur were sheltered from inclement weather. The
+chauffeur was lounging on the pavement, smoking a cigarette, and
+Fenley, of course, recognized him. His heart leaped. Let him be bold
+now, and he might win through. A handkerchief wiped some of the blood
+off his face where the skin had been broken by the trees, and he
+avoided the glare of the lamps.
+
+"Hello, Tom," he said, "where is the doctor?"
+
+"Inside, sir," with a glance toward an upper room where a light shone.
+"What's happened at The Towers, sir? Was it shooting I heard a while
+since?"
+
+"Yes. A false alarm, though. The police thought they had found some
+suspicious character in the grounds."
+
+"By jing, sir, did they fire at him?"
+
+Fenley saw that the story was weak, and hastened to correct it.
+
+"No, no," he said. "The police don't shoot first. That was my brother,
+Robert. You know what a harebrained fellow he is. Said he fired in
+order to make the man double back. But that is a small matter. Can I
+have one word with Dr. Stern?"
+
+"I'll see, sir," and the chauffeur went to the house.
+
+Furneaux had estimated Hilton Fenley correctly in ascribing to him
+the quality of cold-bloodedness. Ninety-nine men among a hundred would
+have appropriated the motor car then and there, but Fenley saw by
+waiting a minute and displaying the requisite coolness he might
+succeed in throwing his pursuers off the trail for some hours.
+
+Stern came. It chanced that he was watching a good patient through a
+crisis, and would be detained until daybreak.
+
+"Hello, Hilton," he cried. "What's up now, and what's the racket in
+the park?"
+
+Fenley explained, but hurried to the vital matter.
+
+"My car is out of action," he said. "I was going to the Easton garage
+to hire one when I saw yours standing here. Lend it to me for a couple
+of hours; there's a good fellow. I'll pay well for the use of it."
+
+"Pay? Nonsense! Jump in! Take Mr. Fenley where he wants to go, Tom.
+Where to first, Hilton?"
+
+"St. Albans. I'm exceedingly obliged. And look here, Stern, I insist
+on paying."
+
+"We can settle that afterwards. Off with you. I'll walk home, Tom."
+
+Away sped the car. Running through Easton, Fenley saw two policemen
+stationed at a cross-road. They signaled the car to stop, and his
+blood curdled, but, in the same instant, they saw the chauffeur's
+face; the other occupant was cowering as far back in the shadow as
+possible.
+
+"Oh, it's Dr. Stern," said one. "Right, Tom. By the way, have you seen
+anything of----"
+
+"Go on, do!" growled Fenley, drowning the man's voice. "I'm in a vile
+hurry."
+
+That was his last real hairbreadth escape--for that night, at any
+rate, though other thrills were in store. The chauffeur was greatly
+surprised when bidden to go on from St. Albans to London, and take the
+High Barnet road to the City; but Fenley produced a five-pound note at
+the right moment, and the man reflected that his master would not
+hesitate to oblige a wealthy client, who evidently meant to make good
+the wear and tear on the car.
+
+In about an hour Fenley alighted on the pavement opposite the firm's
+premises in Bishopsgate Street. If a policeman had chanced to be
+standing there the fugitive would have known that the game was up, but
+the only wayfarers in that part of the thoroughfare were some street
+cleaners.
+
+Now that he saw a glimmer of light where hitherto all was darkness, he
+was absolutely clear-brained and cool in manner.
+
+"Wait five minutes," he said. "I sha'n't detain you longer."
+
+He let himself in with a master key, taken from his dead father's
+pockets earlier by Tomlinson. Going to the banker's private office,
+he ransacked a safe and a cabinet with hasty method. He secured a hat,
+an overcoat, an umbrella and a packed suitcase, left there for
+emergency journeys in connection with the business, and was back in
+the street again within less than the specified time.
+
+His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth when he found a policeman
+chatting with the chauffeur, but the man saluted him with a civil
+"Good morning!"
+
+In the City of London, which is deserted as a cemetery from ten
+o'clock at night till six in the morning, the police keep a sharp eye
+on waiting cabs and automobiles between these hours, and invariably
+inquire their business.
+
+This constable was quite satisfied that all was well when he saw Mr.
+Hilton Fenley, whom he knew by sight. In any event, the flying
+murderer was safer than he dared hope in that place and at that time.
+The Roxton telephonic system was temporarily useless in so far as it
+affected his movements; for a fire had broken out at The Towers, and
+the flames of the burning roof had been as a beacon for miles around
+during the whole of the time consumed by the run to London.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE CLOSE OF A TRAGEDY
+
+
+Winter was in the Quarry Wood and feeling his way but trusting to
+hands and feet when he heard, and soon saw, Furneaux and the two
+constables coming toward him. The little detective held the electric
+torch above his head, and was striding on without looking to right or
+left. The bitterness of defeat was in his face. Life had turned to
+gall and wormwood. As the expressive American phrase has it, he was
+chewing mud.
+
+The Superintendent smiled. He knew what torment his friend was
+suffering.
+
+"Hello, there!" he said gruffly, and the three men jumped, for their
+nerves were on edge.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Napoleon," yelped Furneaux. "Behold Soult and his army
+corps, come to explain how Sir John Moore dodged him at Corunna."
+
+"You've lost your man, then?"
+
+"Botched the job at the moment of victory. And all through a rope
+end."
+
+"Tush! That isn't in your line."
+
+"Must I be lashed by your wit, too? The rope was applied to me, not to
+Fenley."
+
+"You don't mean to say, sir," broke in one of the astounded policemen,
+"that you think Mr. Hilton killed his own father!"
+
+"Was it you who got that punch in the tummy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, save your breath. You'll want it when the muscles stiffen.
+_'Cré nom d'un pipe!_ To think that I, Furneaux of the Yard, should
+queer the finest pitch I ever stood on."
+
+"Oh, come now, Charles," said Winter. "Don't cry over spilt milk.
+You'll catch Fenley all right before the weather changes. What really
+happened?"
+
+Aware of the paramount necessity of suppressing his personal woes,
+Furneaux at once gave a graphic and succinct account of Fenley's
+imminent capture and escape. He was scrupulously fair, and exonerated
+his assistants from any share of the blame--if indeed any one could be
+held accountable for the singular accident which precipitated matters
+by a few vital seconds.
+
+Had Fenley reached the ground before the torch revealed the
+detective's presence, the latter would have closed with him instantly,
+throwing the torch aside, and thus taking the prisoner at the
+disadvantage which the fortune of war had brought to bear against the
+law. Furneaux was wiry though slight, and he could certainly have held
+his man until reënforcements came; nor would the constables' lamps
+have been extinguished during the _mêlée_.
+
+"Then he has vanished, rifle and all," said Winter, when Furneaux had
+made an end.
+
+"As though the earth had swallowed him. A thousand years ago it would
+have done so," was the humiliated confession.
+
+"None of you have any notion which direction he took?"
+
+"_I_ received such a whack on the skull that I believe he disappeared
+in fire," said Furneaux. "My friend here," turning to the policeman
+who had voiced his amazement at the suggestion that Hilton Fenley was
+a murderer, "was in the position of Bret Harte's negro lecturer on
+geology, while this other stalwart thought he had been kicked by a
+horse. We soon recovered, but had to grope for each other. Then I
+called the heavens to witness that I was dished."
+
+"That gave us a chance of salvage, anyhow," said Winter. "I 'phoned
+the Roxton Inspector, and he will block the roads. When he has
+communicated with St. Albans and some other centers we should have a
+fairly wide net spread. Bates is coming from the lodge to take charge
+of a search party to scour the woods. We want that rifle. He must have
+dropped it somewhere. He'll make for a station in the early morning.
+He daren't tramp the country without a hat and in a black suit."
+
+Winter was trying to put heart into his colleague, but Furneaux was
+not to be comforted. The truth was that the blow on the head had been
+a very severe one. Unfortunately, he had changed his hard straw hat
+for a soft cap which gave hardly any protection. Had Fenley's perch
+been a few inches lower when he delivered that vindictive thrust,
+Scotland Yard would probably have lost one of its most zealous
+officers.
+
+So the Jerseyman said nothing, having nothing to say that was fit for
+the ears of the local constabulary, and Winter suggested that they
+should return to the mansion and give Bates instructions. Then he,
+Winter, would telephone Headquarters, have the main roads watched, and
+the early Continental trains kept under surveillance.
+
+Furneaux, torch in hand, at once led the way. Thus the party was
+visible before it entered the avenue, and two young people who had
+bridged months of ordinary acquaintance in one moment of tragedy,
+being then on the roadway, saw the gleam of light and waited.
+
+"Good!" cackled the little detective when his glance fell on them.
+"I'm glad to see there's one live man in the bunch. I presume you've
+disposed of Mr. Robert Fenley, Mr. Trenholme?"
+
+"Yes," said the artist. "His affairs seem to be common property. His
+brother evidently knew he was out of doors, and now you----"
+
+Furneaux woke up at that.
+
+"His brother! How can _you_ know what his brother knew?"
+
+"Mr. Hilton Fenley saw Miss Manning and myself, and mistook me
+for----"
+
+"Saw you? When?"
+
+"About five minutes ago, on the other side of the wood."
+
+"What did he say? Quick!"
+
+"He told us that the shooting was the outcome of your efforts to catch
+some man hiding among the trees."
+
+"Of my efforts?"
+
+"He didn't mention you by name. The words he used were 'the police.'
+He was taking part in the chase, I suppose."
+
+"Which way did he go?"
+
+Trenholme hesitated. Not only was he not quite conversant with the
+locality, but his shrewd wits had reached a certain conclusion, and he
+did not wish to be too outspoken before Sylvia. Surely she had borne
+sufficient for one day.
+
+Thereupon the girl herself broke in.
+
+"Hilton went toward the cedars. He may be making for the Easton gate.
+Have you caught any man?"
+
+"Not yet, Miss Manning," said Winter, assuming control of the
+situation with a firm hand. "I advise you to go straight to your
+room, and not stir out again tonight. There will be no more
+disturbance--I promise you that."
+
+Even the chief of the C. I. D. can err when he prophesies. At that
+instant the two lines of trees lost their impenetrable blackness.
+Their foliage sprang into red-tinted life as if the witches of the
+Brocken had chosen a new meeting-place, and a crackling, tearing sound
+rent the air.
+
+"Oh!" screamed Sylvia, who chanced to be facing the mansion. "The
+house is on fire!"
+
+They were standing in a group, almost where Police Constable Farrow
+had stood at ten minutes past ten the previous morning. Hence they
+were aware of this addition to the day's horrors before the house
+servants, who, headed by Tomlinson, were gathered on and near the
+flight of steps at the entrance. Every female servant in the
+establishment was there as well, not outside the door, but quaking in
+the hall. MacBain was the first among the men to realize what was
+happening. He caught the loud clang of an automatic fire alarm ringing
+in his room, and at once called the house fire brigade to run out the
+hose while he dashed upstairs into the north corridor, from which a
+volume of smoke was pouring.
+
+"Good Heavens!" he cried, on reaching the cross gallery. "It's in Mr.
+Fenley's rooms!"
+
+Mr. Fenley's rooms! No need to tell the horrified staff which rooms he
+meant. A fire was raging in the private suite of the dead man!
+
+The residence was singularly well equipped with fire-extinguishing
+appliances. Mortimer Fenley had seen to that. Hand grenades, producing
+carbonic acid gas generated by mixing water with acid and alkali,
+were stored in convenient places, and there was a plentiful supply of
+water from many hose pipes. The north and south galleries looked on
+to an internal courtyard, so there was every chance of isolating
+the outbreak if it were tackled vigorously; and no fault could be
+found with either the spirit or training of the amateur brigade.
+Consequently, only two rooms, a bedroom and adjoining dressing-room,
+were well alight; these were burned out completely. A sitting-room on
+one side was badly scorched, as was a spare room on the other; but the
+men soon knew that they had checked the further progress of the
+flames, and were speculating, while they worked, as to the cause of a
+fire originating in a set of empty apartments, when Parker, Mrs.
+Fenley's personal attendant, came sobbing and distraught to Sylvia.
+
+"Oh, miss!" she cried. "Oh, miss! Where is your aunt?"
+
+"Isn't Mrs. Fenley in her room?" asked the girl, yielding to a sense
+of neglect in not having gone to see if Mrs. Fenley was alarmed,
+though the older woman was not in the slightest danger. The two main
+sections of the building were separated by an open space of forty
+feet, and The Towers had exceedingly thick walls.
+
+"No, miss. I can't find her anywhere!" said the woman, well aware that
+if any one was at fault it was herself. "You know when I saw you. I
+went back then, and she was sleeping, so I thought I could leave her
+safely. Oh, miss, what has become of her? Maybe she was aroused by the
+shooting!"
+
+All hands that could be spared from the fire-fighting operations
+engaged instantly in an active search, but there was no clue to Mrs.
+Fenley's disappearance beyond an open door and a missing night light.
+The electric current was shut off at the main at midnight, except on a
+special circuit communicating with the hall, the courtyard, and
+MacBain's den, where he had control of these things.
+
+High and low they hunted without avail, until MacBain himself stumbled
+over a calcinated body in the murdered banker's bedroom. The poor
+creature had waked to some sense of disaster. Vague memories of the
+morning's horror had led her, night light in hand, to the spot where
+she fancied she would find the one person on earth in whom she placed
+confidence, for Mortimer Fenley had always treated her with kindness,
+even if his methods were not in accord with the commonly accepted
+moral code.
+
+Presumably, on discovering that the rooms were empty, some further
+glimmering knowledge had stirred her benumbed consciousness. She may
+have flung herself on the bed in a paroxysm of weeping, heedless of
+the overturned night light and the havoc it caused. That, of course,
+is sheer guesswork, though the glass dish which held the light was
+found later on the charred floor, which was protected, to some extent,
+by a thick carpet.
+
+At any rate, she had not long survived the husband who had given her a
+pomp and circumstance for which she was ill fitted. They were buried
+in the same grave, and Hertfordshire sent its thousands to the
+funeral.
+
+Soon after her fate became known, Winter wanted Furneaux, but his
+colleague was not in the house. The telephone having broken down,
+owing to the collapse of a standard, and the necessity of subduing the
+fire having put a stop to any immediate search being made in the park,
+Winter thought that the pair of them would be better employed if they
+transferred their energies to the local police station.
+
+He found Furneaux seated on the lowermost step at the entrance; the
+Jerseyman was crying as if his heart would break, and Trenholme was
+trying to comfort him, but in vain.
+
+"What's up now?" inquired the Superintendent, thinking at the moment
+that his friend and comrade was giving way to hysteria indirectly
+owing to the blow he had received.
+
+Furneaux looked up. It was the darkest hour of the night, and his
+chief could not see the distraught features wrung with pain.
+
+"James," he said, mastering his voice by a fierce effort, "my mad
+antics killed that unfortunate woman! She was aroused by the shots.
+She would cry for help, and none came. Heavens! I can hear her now!
+Then she ran for refuge to the man who had been everything to her
+since she was a barrack room kid in India. I'm done, old fellow. I
+resign. I can never show my face in the Yard again."
+
+"It'll do you a world of good if you talk," said Winter, meaning to
+console, but unconsciously wounding by cruel sarcasm.
+
+"I'll be dumb enough after this night's work," said Furneaux, in a
+tone of such utter dejection that Winter began to take him seriously.
+
+"If you fail me now, Charles," he said, and his utterance was thick
+with anger at the crassness of things, "I'll consider the advisability
+of sending in my own papers. Dash it!" He said something quite
+different, but his friends may read this record, and they would
+repudiate an exact version with scorn and disbelief. "Are we going to
+admit ourselves beaten by a half-bred hound like Hilton Fenley? Not
+if I know it, or I know you. We've got the noose 'round his neck, and
+you and I will pull it tight if we have to follow him to----"
+
+"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," said a voice. "I was called out
+o' bed to come to the fire, an' took a short cut across the park. Blow
+me if I didn't kick my foot against this!"
+
+And Police Constable Farrow, who had approached unnoticed, held out
+an object which seemed to be a rifle. Owing to his being seated
+Furneaux's eyes were on a level with it, and he could see more clearly
+than the others. He struck a match; then there could be no doubt that
+the policeman had actually picked up the weapon which had set in
+motion so many and such varied vicissitudes.
+
+But Farrow had more to say. It had been his happy lot during many
+hours to figure bravely in the Fenley case, and he carried himself
+as a valiant man and true to the end.
+
+"I think I heard you mention Mr. Hilton," he went on. "I met Dr. Stern
+in the village, an' he tol' me Mr. Hilton had borrowed his car."
+
+Furneaux stood up.
+
+"Continue, Solomon," he said, and Winter sighed with relief; the
+little man was himself again.
+
+"That's all, gentlemen, or practically all. It struck me as unusual,
+but Dr. Stern said Mr. Hilton's motor was out o' gear, an' he wanted
+a car in a desp'rit hurry."
+
+"He did, indeed!" growled Furneaux. "You're quite sure there is no
+mistake?"
+
+"Mistake, sir? How could there be? The doctor was walkin' home. That's
+an unusual thing. He never walks a yard if he can help it. Mr. Hilton
+borrowed the car to go to St. Albans."
+
+"Did he, indeed? Just how did he come to find the car waiting for
+him?"
+
+"Oh, that's the queer part of it. Dr. Stern is lookin' after poor old
+Joe Bland, who's mighty bad with--there, now, if I haven't gone and
+forgotten the name; something-itis--and Mr. Hilton must have seen the
+car standin' outside Bland's house. But what was he doin' in Roxton at
+arf past twelve? That's wot beats me. And then, just fancy me stubbin'
+my toe against this!"
+
+Again he displayed the rifle as if it were an exhibit and he were
+giving evidence.
+
+"Let's go inside and get a light," said Winter, and the four mounted
+the steps into the hall. Robert Fenley was there--red-faced as ever,
+for he had helped in putting out the fire, but quite sober, since he
+had been very sick.
+
+Some lamps and candles gave a fair amount of light, and Robert eyed
+Trenholme viciously.
+
+"So it was you!" he said. "I thought it was. Well, my father and
+mother are both dead, and this is no time for settlin' matters; but
+I'll look you up when this business is all over."
+
+"If you do, you'll get hurt," said Winter brusquely. "Is that your
+rifle?" and he pointed to the weapon in Farrow's hands.
+
+"Yes. Where was it found?"
+
+"In the Quarry Wood, sir, but a'most in the park," said the policeman.
+
+"Has it been used recently?"
+
+Fenley could hardly have put a question better calculated to prove his
+own innocence of any complicity in the crime.
+
+Winter took the gun, meaning to open the breech, but he and Furneaux
+simultaneously noticed a bit of black thread tied to one of the
+triggers. It had been broken, and the two loose ends were some inches
+in length.
+
+"That settles it," muttered Furneaux. "The scoundrel fixed it to a
+thick branch, aimed it carefully on more than one occasion--look at
+the sights, set for four hundred yards--and fired it by pulling a cord
+from his bedroom window when he saw his father occupying the exact
+position where the sighting practiced on Monday and Tuesday showed
+that a fatal wound would be inflicted. The remaining length of cord
+was stronger than this packing thread, which was bound to give way
+first when force was applied.... Well, that side of the question
+didn't bother us much, did it, Winter?"
+
+"May I ask who you're talking about?" inquired Robert Fenley hoarsely.
+
+"About that precious rogue, your half brother," was the answer. "That
+is why he went to his bedroom, one window of which looks out on the
+park and the other on the east front, where he watched his father
+standing to light a cigar before entering the motor. He laid the cord
+before breakfast, knowing that Miss Manning's habit of bathing in the
+lake would keep gardeners and others from that part of the grounds.
+When the shot was fired he pulled in the cord----"
+
+"I saw him doing that," interrupted Trenholme, who, after one glance
+at the signs of his handiwork on Robert Fenley's left jaw, had devoted
+his attention to the extraordinary story revealed by the detectives.
+
+"You _saw_ him!" And Furneaux wheeled round in sudden wrath. "Why the
+deuce didn't you tell me that?"
+
+"You never asked me."
+
+"How could I ask you such a thing? Am I a necromancer, a wizard, or
+eke a thought reader?"
+
+Trenholme favored the vexed little man with a contemplative look.
+
+"I think you are all those, and a jolly clever art critic as well," he
+said.
+
+Furneaux was discomfited, and Winter nearly laughed. But the matter at
+issue was too important to be treated with levity.
+
+"Tell us now what you saw, Mr. Trenholme," he said.
+
+"When the shot was fired, I recognized it as coming from a
+high-velocity rifle," said the artist. "I was surprised that such a
+weapon should be used in an enclosed park of this nature, and looked
+toward the house to discover whether or not any heed would be given to
+the incident there. From where I was seated I could see the whole of
+the south front, but not the east side, where the brass fittings of
+the automobile alone were visible, glinting through and slightly above
+a yew hedge.
+
+"Now, when Miss Manning returned to the house and entered by way of a
+window on the ground floor, I noticed that no other window was open.
+But after the report of the gun, I saw the end window of the first
+floor on the southeast side slightly raised--say six inches; and some
+one in the room was, as I regarded it, gesticulating, or making signs.
+That continued nearly half a minute and then ceased. I don't know
+whether the person behind the glass was a man or a woman, but some one
+was there, and engaged in the way I have described. If your theory is
+correct, the motions would be precisely those you suggest, similar to
+those of a fisherman reeling in a line."
+
+"Your simile happens to be exact," said Winter. "While Hilton Fenley
+and my friend here were having a dust-up in the Quarry Wood I searched
+his rooms; and among other things I came upon a salmon reel carrying
+an exceptional quantity of line. So our case is fairly complete. I'm
+sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Fenley, that not only did your half
+brother kill your father, but he tried his level best to put the crime
+on your shoulders.
+
+"He overreached himself in sending for Scotland Yard men. We have seen
+too much of the seamy side of life to accept as Gospel truth the first
+story we hear. The very fact that Hilton Fenley was attacking you in
+your absence prejudiced us against him at the outset. There were other
+matters, which I need not go into now, which converted our dislike
+into active suspicion.
+
+"But it is only fair that you should understand how narrow was your
+escape from arrest. Had the local police been in sole charge I am
+bound to say you would have passed this night in a cell. Luckily for
+you, Mr. Furneaux and I set our faces against the notion of your guilt
+from the beginning. Long before we saw you, we were keeping an eye on
+the real criminal. When you did appear, your conduct only confirmed
+our belief in your innocence."
+
+"I told you why, you will remember," piped Furneaux.
+
+But Robert Fenley said no word. He was stunned. He began to feel ill
+again, and made for his room. Sylvia had not been seen since she heard
+of Mrs. Fenley's death. The detectives collected their belongings,
+which with the gun and a bag packed with various articles taken from
+Hilton Fenley's suite--the reel, for instance, a suit of clothes
+bearing marks, possibly of moss, and the leather portfolio of
+papers--were entrusted to Farrow and another constable for safe
+conveyance. Accompanied by Trenholme, they walked to Easton. On the
+way the artist supplied sufficient details of his two meetings with
+Sylvia to put them in possession of the main incidents. Furneaux,
+though suffering from a splitting headache, had recovered the use of a
+vinegary tongue.
+
+"I was mistaken in you," he chuckled. "You're a rank impressionist.
+Indeed, you're a neo-impressionist, a get-busy-and-do-it-now master of
+art.... But she's a mighty nice girl, isn't she?"
+
+"Meaning Miss Manning?" said Trenholme coldly.
+
+"No. Eliza."
+
+"Sorry. I misunderstood."
+
+"_'Cré nom!_ You've got it bad."
+
+"Got what bad?"
+
+"The matrimonial measles. You're sickening for them now. One of the
+worst symptoms in the man is his curt refusal to permit anybody else
+to admire one bright particular star of womanhood. If the girl hears
+another girl gushing over the young man, she's ready to scratch her
+eyes out. By Jove! It'll be many a day before you forget your visit to
+Roxton Park this morning, or yesterday morning, or whenever it was.
+
+"I'm mixed. Life has been very strenuous during the past fifteen
+hours. If you love me, James, put my poor head under a pump, or I'll
+be dreaming that our lightning sketch performer here, long John
+Trenholme, late candidate for the P. R. A., but now devoted to the
+cult of Hymen, is going to marry Eliza, of the White Horse, and that
+the fair Sylvia is pledged to cook us a dinner tomorrow night--or is
+it tonight? Oh, Gemini, how my head aches!"
+
+"Don't mind a word he's saying, Mr. Trenholme," put in Winter. "Hilton
+Fenley hit him a smack with that rifle, and it developed certain
+cracks already well marked. But he's a marvelously 'cute little codger
+when you make due allowance for his peculiar ways, and he has a queer
+trick of guessing at future events with an accuracy which has
+surprised me more times than I can keep track of."
+
+Trenholme was too good a fellow not to put up with a little mild chaff
+of that sort. He looked at the horizon, where the faint streaks of
+another dawn were beginning to show in the northeast.
+
+"Please God," he said piously, "if I'm deemed worthy of such a boon,
+I'll marry Sylvia Manning, or no other woman. And, when the chance
+offers, Eliza of the White Horse shall cook you a dinner to make your
+mouth water. Thus will Mr. Furneaux's dream come true, because dreams
+go by contraries!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE SETTLEMENT
+
+
+Winter tried to persuade his mercurial-spirited friend to snatch a few
+hours' rest. The Police Inspector obligingly offered a bed; but short
+of a positive order, which the Superintendent did not care to give,
+nothing would induce Furneaux to let go his grip on the Fenley case.
+
+"Wait till the doctor's car comes back," he urged. "The chauffeur will
+carry the story a few pages farther. At any rate, we shall know where
+he dropped Fenley, and that is something."
+
+Winter produced a big cigar, and Trenholme felt in his pockets for
+pipe and tobacco.
+
+"No, you don't, young man," said the big man firmly. "You're going
+straight to your room in the White Horse. And I'll tell you why. From
+what I have heard about the Fenleys, they were a lonely crowd. Their
+friends were business associates and they seem to own no relatives;
+while Miss Manning, if ever she possessed any, has been carefully shut
+away from them. The position of affairs in The Towers will be strained
+tomorrow. The elder Fenleys are dead; one son may be in jail--or, if
+he isn't, might as well be--and the other, as soon as he feels his
+feet, will be giving himself airs. Now, haven't you a mother or an
+aunt who would come to Roxton and meet Miss Manning, and perhaps help
+her to get away from a house which is no fit place for her to live in
+at present?"
+
+"My mother can be here within an hour of the opening of the telegraph
+office," said Trenholme.
+
+"Write the telegram now, and the constable on night duty will attend
+to it. When your mother arrives, tell her the whole story, and send
+her to Miss Manning. Don't go yourself. You might meet Robert Fenley,
+and he would certainly be cantankerous. If your mother resembles you,
+she will have no difficulty in arranging matters with the young lady."
+
+"If I resemble my mother, I am a very fortunate man," said the artist
+simply.
+
+"I thought it would be that way," was the smiling comment. "One other
+thing: I don't suppose for a minute that Miss Manning is acquainted
+with a reputable firm of solicitors. If she is, tell her to consult
+them, and get them to communicate with Scotland Yard, where I shall
+supply or leave with others certain information which should be acted
+on promptly in her behalf. If, as I expect, she knows no lawyer, see
+that she takes this card to the address on it and give Messrs. Gibb,
+Morris & Gibb my message. You understand?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Finally, she must be warned to say nothing of this to Robert Fenley.
+In fact, the less that young spark knows about her affairs the better.
+After tonight's adventure that hint is hardly needed, perhaps; but it
+is always well to be explicit. Now off with you."
+
+"I'm not tired. Can I be of any service?"
+
+"Yes. I want you to be ready for a long day's work in Miss Manning's
+interests. Mr. Furneaux and I may be busy elsewhere. Unquestionably we
+shall not be in Roxton; we may even be far from London. Miss Manning
+will want a friend. See to it that you start the day refreshed by some
+hours of sleep."'
+
+"Good-by," said Trenholme promptly. "Sorry you two will miss Eliza's
+dinner. But that is only a feast deferred. By the way, if I leave
+Roxton I'll send you my address."
+
+"Don't worry about that," smiled the Superintendent. "Our friend the
+Inspector here will keep tab on you. Before you're finished with
+inquests, police courts and assizes you'll wish you'd never heard the
+name of Fenley.... By Jove, I nearly forgot to caution you. Not a word
+to the press.... Phi-ew!" he whistled. "If they get on to this story
+in its entirety, won't they publish chapter and verse!"
+
+So Trenholme went out into the village street and walked to his
+quarters in the White Horse Inn. It was not yet two o'clock, but dawn
+had already silvered the northeast arc of the horizon. Just twenty
+hours earlier an alarm clock had waked him into such a day as few have
+experienced. Many a man has been brought unexpectedly into intimate
+touch with a tragedy of no personal concern, but seldom indeed do the
+Fates contrive that death and love and high adventure should be so
+closely bound, and packed pellmell into one long day.
+
+Only to think of it! When he stole upstairs with the clock to play a
+trick on Eliza, he had never seen Sylvia nor so much as heard her name
+spoken. When he sang of love and the dawn while striding homeward
+through the park, he had seen her, yet did not know her, and had no
+hope of ever seeing her again. When he worked at her picture, he had
+labored at the idealization of a dream which bade fair to remain a
+dream. And now by some magic jugglery of ordinary events, each well
+within the bounds of credibility, yet so overwhelmingly incredible in
+their sequence and completeness, he was Sylvia's lover, her defender,
+her trusted knight-errant.
+
+Even the concluding words of that big, round-headed, sensible
+detective had brought a fantasy nearer attainment. If Sylvia were
+rich, why then a youngster who painted pictures for a living would
+hardly dare think of marrying her. But if Sylvia were poor--and
+Winter's comments seemed to show that these financiers had been
+financing themselves at her expense--what earthly reason was there
+that she should not become Mrs. John Trenholme at the earliest
+practicable date? None that he could conceive. Why, a fellow would
+have to be a fool indeed who did not know when he had met the one
+woman in the world! He had often laughed at other fellows who spoke in
+that way about the chosen one. Now he understood that they had been
+wise and he foolish.
+
+But suppose Sylvia--oh, dash it, no need to spoil one's brief rest by
+allowing a beastly doubt like that to rear its ugly head! One thing he
+was sure of--Robert Fenley could never be a rival; and Fenley, churl
+that he was, had known her for years, and could hardly be pestering
+her with his attentions if she were pledged to another man. Moreover
+he, John, newly in love and tingling with the thrill of it, fancied
+that Sylvia would not have clung to him with such complete confidence
+when the uproar arose in the park if----Well, well--the history of the
+Fenley case will never be brought to an end if any attempt is made to
+analyze the effects of love's first vigorous growth in the artistic
+temperament.
+
+About a quarter past three Dr. Stern's little landaulet was halted at
+the same cross-road where a policeman had stopped it nearly three
+hours earlier.
+
+"That you, Tom?" said the constable. "You're wanted at the station."
+
+"What station?" inquired the chauffeur.
+
+"The police station."
+
+"Am I, by gum? What's up?"
+
+"The Scotland Yard men want you."
+
+"But what for? I haven't run over so much as a hen."
+
+"Oh, it's all right. You're wanted as a witness. Never mind why.
+_They_'ll tell you. The doctor is there, smoking a cigar till you turn
+up."
+
+"I left him at Joe Bland's."
+
+"Joe Bland has left Boxton for Kingdom Come. And The Towers is half
+burnt down. Things haven't been happening while you were away, have
+they?"
+
+"Not half," said Tom.
+
+"No, nor quarter," grinned the policeman to himself when the car moved
+on. "Wait till you know who you took on that trip, and why, and _your_
+sparkin'-plug'll be out of order for a week."
+
+It was as well that the chauffeur had not the slightest notion that
+he had conveyed a murderer to London when he began to tell his tale
+to his employer and the detectives. They wanted a plain, unvarnished
+story, and got it. On leaving the offices in Bishopsgate Street,
+Fenley asked to be driven to Gloucester Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue.
+Tom had seen the last of him standing on the pavement, with a suitcase
+on the ground at his feet. He was wearing an overcoat and a derby hat,
+and was pressing an electric bell.
+
+"He tol' me I needn't wait, so I made for the Edgware Road; an' that's
+all," said Tom.
+
+"Cool as a fish!" commented Furneaux.
+
+"Well, sir, I didn't get hot over it," said the surprised chauffeur.
+
+"I'm not talking about you. Could you manage another run to town? Are
+you too tired?"
+
+The mystified Tom looked at his employer. Dr. Stern laughed.
+
+"Go right ahead!" he cried. "I'm thinking of buying a new car. A
+hundred and twenty miles in one night should settle the matter so
+far as this old rattletrap is concerned."
+
+"Of course we'll pay you, doctor," said Winter.
+
+"That's more than Hilton Fenley will ever do, I'm afraid."
+
+Tom tickled his scalp under his cap.
+
+"Mr. Hilton gemme a fiver," he said rather sheepishly. There was
+something going on that he did not understand, but he thought it
+advisable to own up with regard to that lordly tip.
+
+"You're a lucky fellow," said the doctor. "What about petrol? And do
+you feel able to take these gentlemen to London?"
+
+Tom was a wiry person. In five minutes he was on the road again bound
+for Scotland Yard this time. As a matter of form a detective was sent
+to Gloucester Mansions, and came back with the not unforeseen news
+that Mrs. Garth was very angry at being disturbed at such an unearthly
+hour. No; she had seen nothing of Mr. Hilton Fenley since the
+preceding afternoon. Some one had rung the bell about two o'clock that
+morning, but the summons was not repeated; and she had not inquired
+into it, thinking that a mistake had been made and discovered by the
+blunderer.
+
+Sheldon was brought from his residence. He had a very complete report
+concerning Mrs. Lisle; but that lady's shadowy form need not flit
+across the screen, since Robert Fenley's intrigues cease to be of
+interest. He had dispatched her to France, urging that he must be
+given a free hand until the upset caused by his father's death was put
+straight. Suffice it to say that when he secured some few hundreds a
+year out of the residue of the estate, he married Mrs. Lisle, and
+possibly became a henpecked husband. The Garths, too, mother and
+daughter, may be dropped. There was no getting any restitution by them
+of any share of the proceeds of the robbery. They vowed they were
+innocent agents and received no share of the plunder. Miss Eileen
+Garth has taken up musical comedy, if not seriously at least
+zealously, and commenced in the chorus with quite a decent show of
+diamonds.
+
+London was scoured next morning for traces of Hilton Fenley, but with
+no result. This again fell in with anticipation. The brain that could
+plan the brutal murder of a father was not likely to fail when
+contriving its own safety. Somehow both Winter and Furneaux were
+convinced that Fenley would make for Paris, and that once there it
+would be difficult to lay hands on him. Furneaux, be it remembered,
+had gone very thoroughly into the bond robbery, and had reached
+certain conclusions when Mortimer Fenley stopped the inquiry.
+
+In pursuance of this notion they resolved to watch the likeliest
+ports. Furneaux took Dover, Winter Newhaven and Sheldon Folkestone.
+They did not even trouble to search the outgoing trains at the London
+termini, though a detailed description of the fugitive was circulated
+in the ordinary way. Each man traveled by the earliest train to his
+destination and, having secured the aid of the local police, mounted
+guard over the gangways.
+
+Furneaux drew the prize, which was only a just compensation for a sore
+head and sorer feelings. He had changed his clothing, but adopted no
+other disguise than a traveling-cap pulled well down over his eyes.
+He took it for granted that Fenley, like every other intelligent
+person going abroad, was aware that all persons leaving the country
+are subjected to close if unobtrusive scrutiny as they step from pier
+to ship. Fenley, therefore, would have a sharp eye for the quietly
+dressed men who stand close to the steamer officials at the head of
+the gangway, but would hardly expect to find Nemesis hidden in the
+purser's cabin. Through a porthole Furneaux saw every face and, on the
+third essay, while the fashionable crowd which elects to pay higher
+rates for the eleven o'clock express from Victoria was struggling like
+less exalted people to be on board quickly, he found his man in the
+thick of the press.
+
+Fenley had procured a new suit, a Homburg hat, and some baggage. In
+fact, it was learned afterwards that he hired a taxi at Charing Cross,
+breakfasted at Canterbury, and made his purchases there at leisure,
+before driving on to Dover.
+
+He passed between two uniformed policemen with the utmost
+self-possession, even pausing there momentarily to give some
+instruction to a porter about the disposition of his portmanteaux.
+That was a piece of pure bravado, perhaps a final test of his own
+highly strung nerves. The men, of course, were not watching him or any
+other individual in the hurrying throng. They had a sharp eye for
+Furneaux, however, and when he nodded and hurried from his lair one of
+them grabbed Fenley by the shoulder.
+
+At that instant a burly German, careless of any one's comfort but
+his own, and somewhat irritated by Fenley's halt at the mouth of
+the gangway, brushed forward. His weight, and Fenley's quick flinching
+from that ominous clutch, loosed the policeman's hold, and the
+murderer was free once more for a few fleeting seconds.
+
+The constable pressed on, shoving the other man against the rail.
+
+"Here. I want you," he said, and the quietly spoken words rang in
+Fenley's ears as if they had been bellowed through a megaphone. Owing
+to his own delay, there was a clear space in front. He took that way
+of escape instinctively, though he knew he was doomed, since the
+ship's officers would seize him at the policeman's call.
+
+Then he saw Furneaux, whose foot was already on the lower end of the
+gangway. That, then, was the end! He was done for now. All that was
+left of life was the ghastly progress of the law's ceremonial until
+he was brought to the scaffold and hanged amidst a whole nation's
+loathing. His eyes met Furneaux's in a glare of deadly malice. Then he
+looked into eternity with daring despair, and dived headlong over the
+railing into the sea.
+
+That awesome plunge created tremendous excitement among the bystanders
+on quay and ship. It was seen by hundreds. Men shouted, women
+screamed, not a few fainted. A sailor on the lower deck ran with a
+life belt, but Fenley never rose. His body was carried out by the
+tide, and was cast ashore some days later at the foot of Shakespeare's
+Cliff. Then the poor mortal husk made some amends for the misdeeds of
+a warped soul. In the pockets were found a large amount of negotiable
+scrip, and no small sum in notes and gold, with the result that
+Messrs. Gibb, Morris & Gibb were enabled to recover the whole of
+Sylvia Manning's fortune, while the sale of the estate provided
+sufficiently for Robert Fenley's future.
+
+The course of true love never ran smoother than for John and Sylvia.
+They were so obviously made for each other, they had so determinedly
+flown to each other's arms, that it did not matter tuppence to either
+whether Sylvia were rich or poor. But it mattered a great deal when
+they came to make plans for a glorious future. What a big, grand
+world it was, to be sure! And how much there was to see in it! The
+Continent, America, the gorgeous East! They mapped out tours that
+would find them middle-aged before they neared England again. Does
+life consist then, in flitting from hotel to hotel, from train to
+steamship? Not it. German Kultur took care to upset that theory. John
+Trenholme is now a war-worn major in the Gunners, and Sylvia has only
+recently returned to her home nest after four years' service with the
+Red Cross in France.
+
+But these things came later. One evening in the Autumn, Winter and
+Furneaux took Sheldon over to Roxton and dined with Dr. Stern and
+Tomlinson at the White Horse. Tomlinson had bought the White Horse
+and secured Eliza with the fixtures. Of course, there was talk of
+the Fenleys, and Winter told how Hilton Fenley's mother had been
+unearthed in Paris. She was a spiteful and wizened half-caste; but she
+held her son dear, as mothers will, be they black or white or
+chocolate-colored, and it was to maintain her in an establishment of
+some style that he had begun to steal. She had married again, and the
+man had gone through all her money, dying when there was none left.
+She retained his name, however, and Fenley adopted it, too, during
+frequent visits to Paris. Hence he was known there by a good many
+people, and could have sunk his own personality had he made good
+his escape. The mother's hatred of Mortimer Fenley had probably
+communicated itself to her son. When she was told of Hilton's suicide
+and its cause, she said that if anything could console her for his
+death it was the fact that he had avenged her wrongs on his father.
+
+"What was her grievance against poor Mortimer Fenley?" inquired the
+doctor. "I knew him well, and he was a decent sort of fellow--rather
+blustering and dictatorial but not bad-hearted."
+
+"His success, I believe," said Winter. "They disagreed, and she
+divorced him, thinking he would remain poor. The whirligig of time
+changed their relative positions, and to a jealous-minded woman that
+was unforgivable."
+
+"The affair made a rare stir here anyhow," went on the doctor. "The
+people who have taken The Towers have not only changed the name of the
+place, but they have commissioned a friend of mine, an architect, to
+alter the entrance. There will be two flights of steps and a covered
+porch, so the exact spot where Fenley fell dead will be built over."
+
+"Gentlemen," said Tomlinson, "talking is dry work. I haven't my old
+cellar to select from, but I can recommend the brands you see on the
+table. Mr. Furneaux, I'm sure you have not forgotten that Château
+Yquem?"
+
+Then, and not until then, did the ex-butler hear that the detectives
+had never tasted his famous port. His benign features were wrung with
+pain, for it was a wine of rare "bowket," and hard to replace.
+
+But Furneaux restored his wonted geniality by opening a parcel
+hitherto reposing on the sideboard.
+
+"I never sent you that bottle of Alto Douro," he cried. "Here it is--a
+crusted quart for your own drinking. Lest you should be tempted to be
+too generous tonight, I've brought another. Now--a cradle and a
+corkscrew!"
+
+So, after a dirge, and before the world shook in war, the story ends
+on a lively note, for what is there to compare with good wine and good
+cheer, each in moderation? And one bottle among five is reasonable
+enough in all conscience.
+
+
+
+
+_"The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay"_
+
+_There Are Two Sides to Everything--_
+
+
+--including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. When
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+selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by
+prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every
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+
+You will find more than five hundred titles to choose from--books for
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+
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+
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+
+
+
+
+DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     =THE SECRET OF THE BARBICAN=
+     =THE ANNEXATION SOCIETY=
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+     =THE KING versus WARGRAVE=
+     =THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE=
+     =THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS=
+     =THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL=
+     =THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER=
+     =RAVENSDENE COURT=
+     =THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION=
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+
+_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
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+
+
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+RAFAEL SABATINI'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
+
+
+Jesi, a diminutive city of the Italian Marches, was the birthplace of
+Rafael Sabatini, and here he spent his early youth. The city is
+glamorous with those centuries the author makes live again in his
+novels with all their violence and beauty.
+
+Mr. Sabatini first went to school in Switzerland and from there to
+Lycee of Oporto, Portugal, and like Joseph Conrad, he has never
+attended an English school. But English is hardly an adopted language
+for him, as he learned it from his mother, an English woman who
+married the Maestro-Cavaliere Vincenzo Sabatini.
+
+Today Rafael Sabatini is regarded as "The Alexandre Dumas of Modern
+Fiction."
+
+=MISTRESS WILDING=
+
+A romance of the days of Monmouth's rebellion. The action is rapid,
+its style is spirited, and its plot is convincing.
+
+=FORTUNE'S FOOL=
+
+All who enjoyed the lurid lights of the French Revolution with
+Scaramouche, or the brilliant buccaneering days of Peter Blood, or the
+adventures of the Sea-Hawk, the corsair, will now welcome with delight
+a turn in Restoration London with the always masterful Col. Randall
+Holles.
+
+=BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT=
+
+An absorbing story of love and adventure in France of the early
+seventeenth century.
+
+=THE SNARE=
+
+It is a story in which fact and fiction are delightfully blended and
+one that is entertaining in high degree from first to last.
+
+=CAPTAIN BLOOD=
+
+The story has glamor and beauty, and it is told with an easy
+confidence. As for Blood himself, he is a superman, compounded of
+sardonic humor, cold nerves, and hot temper. Both the story and the
+man are masterpieces. A great figure, a great epoch, a great story.
+
+=THE SEA-HAWK=
+
+"The Sea-Hawk" is a book of fierce bright color and amazing adventure
+through which stalks one of the truly great and masterful figures of
+romance.
+
+=SCARAMOUCHE=
+
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+equally well with tongue and rapier, who was "born with the gift of
+laughter and a sense that the world was mad."
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     THE MAD KING
+     THE MOON MAID
+     THE ETERNAL LOVER
+     BANDIT OF HELL'S BEND, THE
+     CAVE GIRL, THE
+     LAND THAT TIME FORGOT, THE
+     TARZAN OF THE APES
+     TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR
+     TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN
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+     SON OF TARZAN, THE
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+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+ JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S
+ STORIES OF ADVENTURE
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     =A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE=
+     =THE ALASKAN=
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+     =THE RIVER'S END=
+     =THE GOLDEN SNARE=
+     =NOMADS OF THE NORTH=
+     =KAZAN=
+     =BAREE, SON OF KAZAN=
+     =THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM=
+     =THE DANGER TRAIL=
+     =THE HUNTED WOMAN=
+     =THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH=
+     =THE GRIZZLY KING=
+     =ISOBEL=
+     =THE WOLF HUNTERS=
+     =THE GOLD HUNTERS=
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+     =BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY=
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     TAPPAN'S BURRO
+     THE VANISHING AMERICAN
+     THE THUNDERING HERD
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+     WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND
+     TO THE LAST MAN
+     THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER
+     THE MAN OF THE FOREST
+     THE DESERT OF WHEAT
+     THE U.P. TRAIL
+     WILDFIRE
+     THE BORDER LEGION
+     THE RAINBOW TRAIL
+     THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
+     RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
+     THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
+     THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
+     THE LONE STAR RANGER
+     DESERT GOLD
+     BETTY ZANE
+     THE DAY OF THE BEAST
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
+
+    The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore,
+    with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.
+
+ ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS
+
+     ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON
+     KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
+     THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
+     THE YOUNG FORESTER
+     THE YOUNG PITCHER
+     THE SHORT STOP
+     THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+JACKSON GREGORY'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+=THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN=
+
+A thrilling story, centering about a lovely and original girl who
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+suspected of murder.
+
+=DAUGHTER OF THE SUN=
+
+A tale of Aztec treasure--of American adventurers who seek it--of
+Zoraida, who hides it.
+
+=TIMBER-WOLF=
+
+This is a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always by
+the heroic figure of Timber-Wolf.
+
+=THE EVERLASTING WHISPER=
+
+The story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and
+humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child
+of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.
+
+=DESERT VALLEY=
+
+A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. They meet
+a rancher who loses his heart, and becomes involved in a feud.
+
+=MAN TO MAN=
+
+How Steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story filled with
+breathless situations.
+
+=THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN=
+
+Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey
+into the strongholds of a lawless band.
+
+=JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH=
+
+Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being
+robbed by her foreman. With the help of Bud Lee, she checkmates
+Trevor's scheme.
+
+=THE SHORT CUT=
+
+Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel. Financial
+complications, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, make up a thrilling
+romance.
+
+=THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER=
+
+A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her
+chagrin. There is "another man" who complicates matters.
+
+=SIX FEET FOUR=
+
+Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck
+Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty.
+
+=WOLF BREED=
+
+No Luck Drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a match in
+Ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "Lone
+Wolf."
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+EMERSON HOUGH'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     =THE SHIP OF SOULS=
+     =MOTHER OF GOLD=
+     =THE COVERED WAGON=
+     =NORTH OF 36=
+     =THE WAY OF A MAN=
+     =THE SAGEBRUSHER=
+     =THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE=
+     =THE WAY OUT=
+     =THE MAN NEXT DOOR=
+     =THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE=
+     =THE BROKEN GATE=
+     =THE STORY OF THE COWBOY=
+     =54-40 OR FIGHT=
+     =THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE=
+     =THE PURCHASE PRICE=
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
+
+
+1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain faithful to the
+author's words and intent.
+
+2. In the advertising pages at the end of the book, many of the book
+titles were underlined; for this e-text, this has been noted with a
+"=" at the beginning and end of the underlined text.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy.
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+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: August 28, 2008 [EBook #26447]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox2">
+
+<h1>THE STRANGE CASE OF<br />
+MORTIMER FENLEY</h1>
+
+<h2>BY LOUIS TRACY</h2>
+
+<h5>AUTHOR OF</h5>
+
+<h4>
+THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,<br />
+NUMBER SEVENTEEN, <span class="smcap">Etc.</span><br />
+</h4>
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 107px;">
+<img src="images/mortimertitlepage.jpg" width="107" height="100" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3>GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP</h3>
+<h4>PUBLISHERS&nbsp;  NEW YORK</h4>
+
+<p class="center">Made in the United States of America </p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1919, by</span><br />
+EDWARD J. CLODE</p>
+
+<h5>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA </h5>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS">
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">CHAPTER</td>
+<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
+<td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">I.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Water Nymphs</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_MORTIMER_FENLEY">1</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">II.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">"Who Hath Done This Thing?"</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">19</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">III.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hounds</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">39</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Breaking Cover</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">59</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">V.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Family Gathering</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">79</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein Furneaux Seeks Inspiration</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">101</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Some Side Issues</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">123</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">VIII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Coincidences</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">145</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">IX.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein an Artist Becomes a Man of Action</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">166</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">X.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Furneaux States Some Facts</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">189</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Some Preliminary Skirmishing</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">211</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein Scotland Yard Is Dined and Wined</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">229</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XIII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Close Quarters</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">246</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XIV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Spreading of the Net</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">266</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Some Stage Effects</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">286</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XVI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Close of a Tragedy</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">305</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="right">XVII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Settlement</span></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">324</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_MORTIMER_FENLEY" id="THE_STRANGE_CASE_OF_MORTIMER_FENLEY"></a>THE STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY</h2>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Water Nymphs</span></h3>
+
+<p>Does an evil deed cast a shadow in advance? Does premeditated crime
+spread a baleful aura which affects certain highly-strung temperaments
+just as the sensation of a wave of cold air rising from the spine to
+the head may be a forewarning of epilepsy or hysteria? John Trenholme
+had cause to think so one bright June morning in 1912, and he has
+never ceased to believe it, though the events which made him an
+outstanding figure in the "Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley," as the
+murder of a prominent man in the City of London came to be known, have
+long since been swept into oblivion by nearly five years of war. Even
+the sun became a prime agent of the occult that morning. It found a
+chink in a blind and threw a bar of vivid light across the face of a
+young man lying asleep in the front bedroom of the "White Horse Inn"
+at Roxton. It crept onward from a firm, well-molded chin to lips now
+tight set, though not lacking signs that they would open readily in a
+smile and perhaps reveal two rows of strong, white, even teeth.
+Indeed, when that strip of sunshine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>touched and warmed them, the
+smile came; so the sleeper was dreaming, and pleasantly.</p>
+
+<p>But the earth stays not for men, no matter what their dreams. In a few
+minutes the radiant line reached the sleeper's eyes, and he awoke.
+Naturally, he stared straight at the disturber of his slumbers; and
+being a mere man, who emulated not the ways of eagles, was routed at
+the first glance.</p>
+
+<p>More than that, he was thoroughly aroused, and sprang out of bed with
+a celerity that would have given many another young man a headache
+during the remainder of the day.</p>
+
+<p>But John Trenholme, artist by profession, was somewhat of a
+light-hearted vagabond by instinct; if the artist was ready to be
+annoyed because of an imaginary loss of precious daylight, the
+vagabond laughed cheerily when he blinked at a clock and learned that
+the hour still lacked some minutes of half past five in the morning.</p>
+
+<p>"By gad," he grinned, pulling up the blind, "I was scared stiff. I
+thought the blessed alarm had missed fire, and that I had been lying
+here like a hog during the best part of the finest day England has
+seen this year."</p>
+
+<p>Evidently he was still young enough to deal in superlatives, for there
+had been other fine days that Summer; moreover, in likening himself to
+a pig, he was ridiculously unfair to six feet of athletic symmetry in
+which it would be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>difficult to detect any marked resemblance to the
+animal whose name is a synonym for laziness.</p>
+
+<p>On the way to the bathroom he stopped to listen for sounds of an
+aroused household, but the inmates of the White Horse Inn were still
+taking life easily.</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza vows she can hear that alarm in her room," he communed. "Well,
+suppose we assist nature, always a laudable thing in itself, and
+peculiarly excellent when breakfast is thereby advanced a quarter of
+an hour."</p>
+
+<p>Eliza was the inn's stout and voluble cook-housekeeper, and her attic
+lay directly above Trenholme's room. He went back for the clock, crept
+swiftly upstairs, opened a door a few inches, and put the infernal
+machine inside, close to the wall. He was splashing in the bath when a
+harsh and penetrating din jarred through the house, and a slight
+scream showed that Eliza had been duly "alarmed."</p>
+
+<p>A few minutes later came a heavy thump on the bathroom door.</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Mr. Trenholme!" cried an irate female voice. "You've been
+up to your tricks, have you? It'll be my turn when I make your coffee;
+I'll pepper an' salt it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, what's the matter, Eliza?" he shouted.</p>
+
+<p>"Matter! Frightenin' a body like that! I thought a lot o' suffrigettes
+were smashin' the windows of the snug." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>Eliza was still touchy when Trenholme ventured to peep into the
+kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how you dare show your face," she cried wrathfully. "The
+impidence of men nowadays! Just fancy you comin' an' openin' my door!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, <i>ch&eacute;rie</i>, what have I done?" he inquired, his brown eyes wide
+with astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not your cherry, nor your peach, neither. Who put that clock in
+my room?"</p>
+
+<p>"What clock, <i>ma belle</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Eliza picked up an egg, and bent so fiery a glance on the intruder
+that he dodged out of sight for a second.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, <i>carissima</i>," he pleaded, peering round the jamb of the door
+again. "If the alarm found its way upstairs I must have been walking
+in my sleep. While you were dreaming of suffragettes I may have been
+dreaming of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Stop there a bit longer, chatterin' and callin' me names, an' your
+bacon will be frizzled to a cinder," she retorted.</p>
+
+<p>"But I really hoped to save you some trouble by carrying in the
+breakfast tray myself. I hate to see a jolly, good-tempered woman of
+your splendid physique working yourself to a shadow."</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Eliza squared her elbows as a preliminary to another outburst, when
+the stairs creaked. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>Mary, the "help," was arriving hurriedly, in curl
+papers.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>you</i>'ve condescended to get up, have you?" was the greeting Mary
+received.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's on'y ten minutes to six!" cried the astonished girl, gazing
+at a grandfather's clock as if it were bewitched.</p>
+
+<p>"You've never had such a shock since you were born," went on the
+sarcastic Eliza. "But don't thank <i>me</i>, my girl. Thank Mr. Trenholme,
+the gentleman stannin' there grinnin' like a Cheshire cat. Talk to him
+nicely, an' p'raps he'll paint your picter, an' then your special
+butcher boy will see how beautiful you reelly are."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim don't need tellin' anything about that," said the girl, smiling,
+for Eliza's bark was notoriously worse than her bite.</p>
+
+<p>"Jim!" came the snorting comment. "The first man who ever axed me to
+marry him was called Jim, an' when, like a wise woman, I said 'No,' he
+went away an' 'listed in the Royal Artillery an' lost his leg in a
+war&mdash;that's what Jim did."</p>
+
+<p>"What a piece of luck you didn't accept him!" put on Trenholme.</p>
+
+<p>"An' why, I'd like to know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because he began by losing his head over you. If a leg was missing,
+too, there wasn't much of Jim left, was there?"</p>
+
+<p>Mary giggled, and Eliza seized the egg again; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>so Trenholme ran to his
+sitting-room. Within half an hour he was passing through the High
+Street, bidding an affable "Good morning" to such early risers as he
+met, and evidently well content with himself and the world in general.
+His artist's kit revealed his profession even to the uncritical eye,
+but no student of men could have failed to guess his bent were he
+habited in the garb of a costermonger. The painter and the poet are
+the last of the Bohemians, and John Trenholme was a Bohemian to the
+tips of his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>He carried himself like a cavalier, but the divine flame of art
+kindled in his eye. He had learned how to paint in Julien's studio,
+and that same school had taught him to despise convention. He looked
+on nature as a series of exquisite pictures, and regarded men and
+women in the mass as creatures that occasionally fitted into the
+landscape. He was heart whole and fancy free. At twenty-five he had
+already exhibited three times in the Salon, and was spoken of by the
+critics as a painter of much promise, which is the critical method of
+waiting to see how the cat jumps when an artist of genius and
+originality arrests attention.</p>
+
+<p>He had peculiarly luminous brown eyes set well apart in a face which
+won the prompt confidence of women, children and dogs. He was
+splendidly built for an out-door life, and moved with a long, supple
+stride, a gait which people <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>mistook for lounging until they walked
+with him, and found that the pace was something over four miles an
+hour. Add to these personal traits the fact that he had dwelt in
+Roxton exactly two days and a half, and was already on speaking terms
+with most of the inhabitants, and you have a fair notion of John
+Trenholme's appearance and ways.</p>
+
+<p>There remains but to add that he was commissioned by a magazine to
+visit this old-world Hertfordshire village and depict some of its
+beauties before a projected railway introduced the jerry-builder and a
+sewerage scheme, and his presence in the White Horse Inn is explained.
+He had sketched the straggling High Street, the green, the inn itself,
+boasting a license six hundred years old, the undulating common, the
+church with its lych gate, the ivy-clad ruin known as "The Castle,"
+with its square Norman keep still frowning at an English countryside,
+and there was left only an Elizabethan mansion, curiously misnamed
+"The Towers," to be transferred to his portfolio. Here, oddly enough,
+he had been rebuffed. A note to the owner, Mortimer Fenley, banker and
+super City man, asking permission to enter the park of an afternoon,
+had met with a curt refusal.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme, of course, was surprised, since he was paying the man a
+rare compliment; he had expressed in the inn his full and free opinion
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>concerning all money grubbers, and the Fenley species thereof in
+particular; whereupon the stout Eliza, who classed the Fenley family
+as "rubbish," informed him that there was a right of way through the
+park, and that from a certain point near a lake he could sketch the
+grand old manor house to his heart's content, let the Fenleys and
+their keepers scowl as they chose.</p>
+
+<p>The village barber, too, bore out Eliza's statement.</p>
+
+<p>"A rare old row there was in Roxton twenty year ago, when Fenley fust
+kem here, an' tried to close the path," said the barber. "But we beat
+him, we did, an' well he knows it. Not many folk use it nowadays,
+'coss the artful ole dodger opened a new road to the station; but some
+of us makes a point of strollin' that way on a Sunday afternoon, just
+to look at the pheasants an' rabbits, an' it's a treat to see the head
+keeper's face when we go through the lodge gates at the Easton end,
+for that is the line the path takes."</p>
+
+<p>Here followed a detailed description, for the Roxton barber, like
+every other barber, could chatter like a magpie; it was in this wise
+that Trenholme was able to defy the laws forbidding trespass, and
+score off the seemingly uncivil owner of a historical dwelling.</p>
+
+<p>He little imagined, that glorious June morning, that he was entering
+on a road of strange adventure. He had chosen an early hour purposely.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>Not only were the lights and shadows perfect for water color, but it
+was highly probable that he would be able to come and go without
+attracting attention. He had no wish to annoy Fenley, or quarrel with
+the man's myrmidons. Indeed, he would not have visited the estate at
+all if the magazine editor had not specially stipulated for a
+full-page drawing of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Now, all would have been well had the barber's directions proved as
+bald in spirit as they were in letter.</p>
+
+<p>"After passin' 'The Waggoner's Rest,' you'll come to a pair of iron
+gates on the right," he had said. "On one side there's a swing gate.
+Go through, an' make straight for a clump of cedars on top of a little
+hill. There mayn't be much of a path, but that's it. It's reelly a
+short cut to the Easton gate on the London road."</p>
+
+<p>Yet who could guess what a snare for an artist's feet lay in those few
+words? How could Trenholme realize that "a pair of iron gates" would
+prove to be an almost perfect example of Christopher Wren's genius as
+a designer of wrought iron? Trenholme's eyes sparkled when he beheld
+this prize, with its acanthus leaves and roses beaten out with
+wonderful freedom and beauty of curve. A careful drawing was the
+result. Another result, uncounted by him, but of singular importance
+in its outcome <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>was the delay of forty minutes thus entailed.</p>
+
+<p>He crossed an undulating park, and had no difficulty in tracing an
+almost disused path in certain grass-grown furrows leading past the
+group of cedars. On reaching this point he obtained a fair view of the
+mansion; but the sun was directly behind him, as the house faced
+southeast, and he decided to encroach some few yards on private
+property. A brier-laden slope fell from the other side of the trees to
+a delightful-looking lake fed by a tiny cascade on the east side. An
+ideal spot, he thought.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was the stage setting: Trenholme, screened by black cedars
+and luxuriant brushwood, was seated about fifty feet above the level
+of the lake and some forty yards from its nearest sedges. The lake
+itself, largely artificial, lay at the foot of the waterfall, which
+gurgled and splashed down a miniature precipice of moss-covered
+bowlders. Here and there a rock, a copper beech, a silver larch, or a
+few flowering shrubs cast strong shadows on the dark, pellucid mirror
+beneath. On a cunningly contrived promontory of brown rock stood a
+white marble statue of Venus Aphrodite, and the ripples from the
+cascade seemed to endow with life the shimmering reflection of the
+goddess.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the lake a smooth lawn, dotted with fine old oaks and
+chestnuts, rose gently for a quarter of a mile to the Italian gardens
+in front <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>of the house. To the left, the park was bounded by woods. To
+the right was another wood, partly concealing a series of ravines and
+disused quarries. Altogether a charming setting for an Elizabethan
+manor, pastoral, peaceful, quite English, and seeming on that placid
+June morning so remote from the crowded mart that it was hard to
+believe the nearest milestone, with its "London, 30 miles."</p>
+
+<p>Had Trenholme glanced at his watch he would have discovered that the
+hour was now half past seven, or nearly an hour later than he had
+planned. But Art, which is long-lived, recks little of Time, an
+evanescent thing. He was enthusiastic over his subject. He would make
+not one sketch, but two. That lake, like the gates, was worthy of
+immortality. Of course, the house must come first. He unpacked a
+canvas hold-all, and soon was busy.</p>
+
+<p>He worked with the speed and assured confidence of a master. By years
+of patient industry he had wrested from Nature the secrets of her
+tints and tone values. Quickly there grew into being an exquisitely
+bright and well balanced drawing, impressionist, but true; a harmony
+of color and atmosphere. Leaving subtleties to the quiet thought of
+the studio, he turned to the lake. Here the lights and shadows were
+bolder. They demanded the accurate appraisement of the half closed
+eye. He was so absorbed in his task that he was blithely unconscious
+of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>the approach of a girl from the house, and his first glimpse of
+her was forthcoming when she crossed the last spread of velvet sward
+which separated a cluster of rhododendrons in the middle distance from
+the farther edge of the lake.</p>
+
+<p>It was not altogether surprising that he had not seen her earlier. She
+wore a green coat and skirt and a most curiously shaped hat of the
+same hue, so that her colors blended with the landscape. Moreover, she
+was walking rapidly, and had covered the intervening quarter of a mile
+in four minutes or less.</p>
+
+<p>He thought at first that she was heading straight for his lofty perch,
+and was perhaps bent on questioning his right to be there at all. But
+he was promptly undeceived. Her mind was set on one object, and her
+eyes did not travel beyond it. She no more suspected that an artist
+was lurking in the shade of the cedars than she did that the man in
+the moon was gazing blandly at her above their close-packed foliage.
+She came on with rapid, graceful strides, stood for a moment by the
+side of the Venus, and then, while Trenholme literally gasped for
+breath, shed coat, skirt and shoes, revealing a slim form clad in a
+dark blue bathing costume, and dived into the lake.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme had never felt more surprised. The change of costume was so
+unexpected, the girl's complete ignorance of his presence so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>obvious,
+that he regarded himself as a confessed intruder, somewhat akin to
+Peeping Tom of Coventry. He was utterly at a loss how to act. If he
+stood up and essayed a hurried retreat, the girl might be frightened,
+and would unquestionably be annoyed. It was impossible to creep away
+unseen. He was well below the crest of the slope crowned by the trees,
+and the nymph now disporting in the lake could hardly fail to discover
+him, no matter how deftly he crouched and twisted.</p>
+
+<p>At this crisis, the artistic instinct triumphed. He became aware that
+the one element lacking hitherto, the element that lent magic to the
+beauty of the lake and its vivid environment of color, was the touch
+of life brought by the swimmer. He caught the flash of her limbs as
+they moved rhythmically through the dark, clear water, and it seemed
+almost as if the gods had striven to be kind in sending this naiad to
+complete a perfect setting. With stealthy hands he drew forth a small
+canvas. Oil, not mild water color, was the fitting medium to portray
+this Eden. Shrinking back under cover of a leafy brier, he began a
+third sketch in which the dominant note was the contrast between the
+living woman and the marble Venus.</p>
+
+<p>For fifteen minutes the girl disported herself like a dolphin.
+Evidently she was a practiced swimmer, and had at her command all the
+resources of the art. At last she climbed out, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>and stood dripping on
+the sun-laved rock beside the statue. Trenholme had foreseen this
+attitude&mdash;had, in fact, painted with feverish energy in anticipation
+of it. The comparison was too striking to be missed by an artist. Were
+it not for the tightly clinging garments, the pair would have provided
+a charming representation of Galatea in stone and Galatea after
+Pygmalion's frenzy had warmed her into life.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme was absolutely deaf now to any consideration save that of
+artistic endeavor. With a swift accuracy that was nearly marvelous he
+put on the canvas the sheen of faultless limbs and slender neck. He
+even secured the spun-gold glint of hair tightly coifed under a
+bathing cap&mdash;a species of head-dress which had puzzled him at the
+first glance&mdash;and there was more than a suggestion of a veritable
+portrait of the regular, lively and delicately beautiful features
+which belonged to a type differing in every essential from the cold,
+classic loveliness of the statue, yet vastly more appealing in its
+sheer femininity.</p>
+
+<p>Then the spell was broken. The girl slipped on her shoes, dressed
+herself in a few seconds, and was hurrying back to the house, almost
+before Trenholme dared to breathe normally.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he muttered, watching the swaying of the green skirt as its
+owner traversed the park, "this is something like an adventure! By
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>Jove, I've been lucky this morning! I've got my picture for next
+year's Salon!"</p>
+
+<p>He had got far more, if only he were gifted to peer into the future;
+but that is a privilege denied to men, even to artists. Soon, when he
+was calmer, and the embryo sketch had assumed its requisite color
+notes for subsequent elaboration, he smiled a trifle dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"If that girl's temperament is as attractive as her looks I'd throw
+over the Salon for the sake of meeting her," he mused. "But that's
+frankly impossible, I suppose. At the best, she would not forgive me
+if she knew I had watched her in this thievish way. I could never
+explain it, never! She wouldn't even listen. Well, it's better to have
+dreamed and lost than never to have dreamed at all."</p>
+
+<p>And yet he dreamed. His eyes followed the fair unknown while she
+entered the garden through a gateway of dense yews, and sped lightly
+up the steps of a terrace adorned with other statues in marble and
+bronze. No doorway broke the pleasing uniformity of the south front,
+but she disappeared through an open window, swinging herself lightly
+over the low sill. He went with her in imagination. Now she was
+crossing a pretty drawing-room, now running upstairs to her room, now
+dressing, possibly in white muslin, which, if Trenholme had the
+choosing of it, would be powdered with tiny <i>fleurs de lys</i>, now
+arranging her hair with keen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>eye for effect, and now tripping down
+again in obedience to a gong summoning the household to breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>He sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"If I had the luck of a decent French poodle, this plutocrat Fenley
+would eke have invited me to lunch," he grumbled.</p>
+
+<p>Then his eyes sought the sketch, and he forgot the girl in her
+counterfeit. By Jove, this <i>would</i> be a picture! "The Water Nymphs."
+But he must change the composition a little&mdash;losing none of its
+character; only altering its accessories to such an extent that none
+would recognize the exact setting.</p>
+
+<p>"Luck!" he chortled, with mercurial rise of spirits. "I'm the luckiest
+dog in England today. Happy chance has beaten all the tricks of the
+studio. O ye goddesses, inspire me to heights worthy of you!"</p>
+
+<p>His visions were rudely dispelled by a gunshot, sharp, insistent, a
+tocsin of death in that sylvan solitude. A host of rooks arose from
+some tall elms near the house; a couple of cock pheasants flew with
+startled chuckling out of the wood on the right; the white tails of
+rabbits previously unseen revealed their owners' whereabouts as they
+scampered to cover. But Trenholme was sportsman enough to realize that
+the weapon fired was a rifle; no toy, but of high velocity, and he
+wondered how any one dared risk its dangerous use in such a locality.
+He fixed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>the sound definitely as coming from the wood to the
+right&mdash;the cover quitted so hurriedly by the pheasants&mdash;and
+instinctively his glance turned to the house, in the half formed
+thought that some one there might hear the shot, and look out.</p>
+
+<p>The ground floor window by which the girl had entered still remained
+open, but now another window, the most easterly one on the first
+floor, had been raised slightly. The light was peculiarly strong and
+the air so clear that even at the distance he fancied he could
+distinguish some one gesticulating, or so it seemed, behind the glass.
+This went on for a minute or more. Then the window was closed. At the
+same time he noticed a sparkling of glass and brasswork behind the
+clipped yew hedge which extended beyond the east wing. After some
+puzzling, he made out that a motor car was waiting there.</p>
+
+<p>That was all. The clamor of the rooks soon subsided. A couple of
+rabbits skipped from the bushes to resume an interrupted meal on
+tender grass shoots. A robin trilled a roundelay from some neighboring
+branch. Trenholme looked at his watch. Half past nine! Why, he must
+have been mooning there a good half hour!</p>
+
+<p>He gathered his traps, and as the result of seeing the automobile,
+which had not moved yet, determined to forego his earlier project of
+walking out of the park by the Easton gate. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>He had just emerged from the trees when a gruff voice hailed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi!" it cried. "Who're you, an' what are you doin' here!"</p>
+
+<p>A man, carrying a shotgun and accompanied by a dog, strode up with
+determined air.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme explained civilly, since the keeper was clearly within his
+rights. Moreover, the stranger was so patently a gentleman that
+Velveteens adopted a less imperative tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you hear a shot fired somewhere?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Among those trees." And Trenholme pointed. "It was a rifle,
+too," he added, with an eye at the twelve-bore.</p>
+
+<p>"So <i>I</i> thought," agreed the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>"Rather risky, isn't it, firing bullets in a place like this?"</p>
+
+<p>"I just want to find out who the ijiot is that did it. Excuse me, sir,
+I must be off." And man and dog hurried away.</p>
+
+<p>And Trenholme, not knowing that death had answered the shot, took his
+own departure, singing as he walked, his thoughts altogether on life,
+and more especially on life as revealed by the limbs of a girl
+gleaming in the dark waters of a pool. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">"Who Hath Done This Thing?"</span></h3>
+
+<p>Trenholme's baritone was strong and tuneful&mdash;for the Muses, if kind,
+are often lavish of their gifts&mdash;so the final refrain of an
+impassioned love song traveled far that placid morning. Thus, when he
+reached the iron gates, he found the Roxton policeman standing there,
+grinning.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" said the artist cheerily. Of course he knew the policeman. In
+a week he would have known every man and dog in the village by name.</p>
+
+<p>"Good mornin', sir," said the Law, which was nibbling its chin strap
+and had both thumbs stuck in its belt. "That's a fine thing you was
+singin'. May I arsk wot it was? I do a bit in that line meself."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the <i>cantabile</i> from Saint-Sa&euml;ns' <i>Samson et Dalila</i>," replied
+Trenholme. "Mon c&oelig;ur s'ouvre &agrave; ta voix!"</p>
+
+<p>"Is it now? An' wot may that be, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>The policeman's humor was infectious. Trenholme laughed, too.
+Realizing that the words and accent of Paris had no great vogue in
+Hertfordshire, he explained, and added that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>he possessed a copy of
+the song, which was at the service of the force. The man thanked him
+warmly, and promised to call at the inn during the afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way, sir," he added, when Trenholme had passed through the
+wicket, "did you hear a shot fired while you was in the park?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Jer see anybody?"</p>
+
+<p>"A keeper, who seemed rather annoyed about the shooting. Some one had
+fired a rifle."</p>
+
+<p>"It sounded like that to me, sir, and it's an unusual thing at this
+time of the year."</p>
+
+<p>"A heavy-caliber rifle must sound unusual at any time of the year in
+an enclosed estate near London," commented Trenholme.</p>
+
+<p>"My idee exactly," said the policeman. "I think I'll go that way. I
+may meet Bates."</p>
+
+<p>"If Bates is a bandy-legged person with suspicious eyes, a red tie,
+many pockets, brown leggings, and a yellow dog, you'll find him
+searching the wood beyond the lake, which is the direction the shot
+came from."</p>
+
+<p>The policeman laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Bates, to a tick," he said. "If he was 'wanted,' your
+description would do for the <i>Police Gazette</i>."</p>
+
+<p>They parted. Since Trenholme's subsequent history is bound up more
+closely with the policeman's movements during the next hour than with
+his own unhindered return to the White <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>Horse Inn, it is well to trace
+the exact course of events as they presented themselves to the ken of
+a music-loving member of the Hertfordshire constabulary.</p>
+
+<p>Police Constable Farrow did not hurry. Why should he? A gunshot in a
+gentleman's park at half past nine on a June morning might be, as he
+had put it, "unusual," but it was obviously a matter capable of the
+simplest explanation. Such a sound heard at midnight would be
+sinister, ominous, replete with those elements of mystery and dread
+which cause even a policeman's heart to beat faster than the
+regulation pace. Under the conditions, when he met Bates, he would
+probably be told that Jenkins, underkeeper and Territorial lance
+corporal, had resolved to end the vicious career of a hoodie crow, and
+had not scrupled to reach the wily robber with a bullet.</p>
+
+<p>So Police Constable Farrow took fifteen minutes to cover the ground
+which Trenholme's longer stride had traversed in ten. Allow another
+fifteen for the artist's packing of his sketching materials, his
+conversation with gamekeeper and policeman, and the leisurely progress
+of the latter through the wood, and it will be found that Farrow
+reached the long straight avenue leading from the lodge at Easton to
+the main entrance of the house about forty minutes after the firing of
+the shot.</p>
+
+<p>He halted on the grass by the side of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>well-kept drive, and looked
+at the waiting motor car. The chauffeur was not visible. He had seen
+neither Bates nor Jenkins. His passing among the trees had not
+disturbed even a pheasant, though the estate was alive with game. The
+door of The Towers was open, but no stately manservant was stationed
+there. A yellow dog sat in the sunshine. Farrow and the dog exchanged
+long-range glances: the policeman consulted his watch, bit his chin
+strap, and dug his thumbs into his belt.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley is late today," he said to himself. "He catches the nine
+forty-five. As a rule, he's as reliable as Greenwich. I'll wait here
+till he passes, an' then call round an' see Smith."</p>
+
+<p>Now, Smith was the head gardener; evidently Police Constable Farrow
+was not only well acquainted with the various inmates of the mansion,
+but could have prepared a list of the out-door employees as well. He
+stood there, calm and impassive as Fate, and, without knowing it,
+represented Fate in her most inexorable mood; for had he betaken
+himself elsewhere, the shrewdest brains of Scotland Yard might have
+been defeated by the enigma they were asked to solve before Mortimer
+Fenley's murderer was discovered.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, it is reasonable to suppose that if chance had not brought the
+village constable to that identical spot, and at that very hour, the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>precise method of the crime might never have been revealed. Moreover,
+Farrow himself may climb slowly to an inspectorship, and pass into the
+dignified ease of a pension, without being aware of the part he played
+in a tragedy that morning. Of course, in his own estimation, he filled
+a highly important r&ocirc;le as soon as the hue and cry began, but a great
+deal of water would flow under London Bridge before the true effect of
+his walk through the wood and emergence into sight in the avenue began
+to dawn on other minds.</p>
+
+<p>His appearance there was a vital fact. It changed the trend of
+circumstances much as the path of a comet is deflected by encountering
+a heavy planet. Presumably, neither comet nor planet is aware of the
+disturbance. That deduction is left to the brooding eye of science.</p>
+
+<p>Be that as it may, Police Constable Farrow's serenity was not
+disturbed until a doctor's motor car panted along the avenue from
+Easton and pulled up with a jerk in front of him. The doctor, frowning
+with anxiety, looked out, and recognition was mutual.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you got the man?" he asked, and the words were jerked out rather
+than spoken.</p>
+
+<p>"What man, sir?" inquired Farrows, saluting.</p>
+
+<p>"The man who shot Mr. Fenley."</p>
+
+<p>"The man who shot Mr. Fenley!" Farrow could only repeat each word in a
+crescendo of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>amazement. Being a singer, he understood the use of a
+crescendo, and gave full scope to it.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens!" cried the doctor. "Haven't you been told? Why are you
+here? Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep nearly an hour ago.
+At least that is the message telephoned by his son. Unfortunately I
+was out. Right ahead, Tom!"</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur threw in the clutch, and the car darted on again. Farrow
+followed, a quite alert and horrified policeman now. But it was not
+ordained that he should enter the house. He was distant yet a hundred
+yards, or more, when three men came through the doorway. They were
+Bates, the keeper, Tomlinson, the butler, and Mr. Hilton Fenley, elder
+son of the man now reported dead. All were bareheaded. The arrival of
+the doctor, at the instant alighting from his car, prevented them from
+noticing Farrow's rapid approach. When Hilton Fenley saw the doctor he
+threw up his hands with the gesture of one who has plumbed the depths
+of misery. Farrow could, and did, fit in the accompanying words quite
+accurately.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing can be done, Stern! My father is dead!"</p>
+
+<p>The two clasped each other's hand, and Hilton Fenley staggered
+slightly. He was overcome with emotion. The shock of a terrible crime
+had taxed his self-control to its uttermost <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>bounds. He placed a hand
+over his eyes and said brokenly to the butler:</p>
+
+<p>"You take Dr. Stern inside, Tomlinson. I'll join you in a few minutes.
+I must have a breath of air, or I'll choke!"</p>
+
+<p>Doctor and butler hurried into the house; then, but not until then,
+Hilton Fenley and the keeper became aware of Farrow, now within a few
+yards. At sight of him, Fenley seemed to recover his faculties; the
+mere possibility of taking some definite action brought a tinge of
+color to a pallid and somewhat sallow face.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Here is the constable," he cried. "Go with him, Bates, and have
+that artist fellow arrested!"</p>
+
+<p>"Meaning Mr. Trenholme, sir?" inquired the policeman, startled anew by
+this unexpected reference to the man he had parted from so recently.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know his name; but Bates met him in the park, near the lake,
+just after the shot was fired that killed my father."</p>
+
+<p>"But I met him, too, sir. He didn't fire any shot. He hadn't a gun. In
+fact, he spoke about the shootin', and was surprised at it."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Farrow, I am incapable of thinking clearly; so you must
+act for the best. Some one fired that bullet. It nearly tore my father
+to pieces. I never saw anything like it. It was ghastly&mdash;oh, ghastly!
+The murderer must be found. Why are you losing time? Jump <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>into the
+car, and Brodie will take you anywhere you want to go. The roads, the
+railway stations, must be scoured, searched. Oh, do something, or I
+shall go mad!"</p>
+
+<p>Hilton Fenley did, indeed, wear the semblance of a man distraught.
+Horror stared from his deep-set eyes and lurked in the corners of his
+mouth. His father had been struck dead within a few seconds after they
+had separated in the entrance hall, both having quitted the breakfast
+room together, and the awful discovery which followed the cry of an
+alarmed servant had almost shaken the son's reason.</p>
+
+<p>Farrow was hardly fitted to deal with a crisis of such magnitude, but
+he acted promptly and with fixed purpose&mdash;qualities which form the
+greater part of generalship.</p>
+
+<p>"Bates," he said, turning a determined eye on the keeper, "where was
+you when you heard the shot?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the kennels, back of the lodge," came the instant answer.</p>
+
+<p>"And you kem this way at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"Straight. Didn't lose 'arf a minute."</p>
+
+<p>"So no one could have left by the Easton gate without meeting you?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's right."</p>
+
+<p>"And you found Mr. Trenholme&mdash;where?"</p>
+
+<p>"Comin' away from the cedars, above the lake."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>"Tole me about the shot, an' pointed out the Quarry Wood as the place
+it kem from."</p>
+
+<p>"Was he upset at all in his manner?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit. Spoke quite nateral-like."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, between the three of us, you an' me an' Mr. Trenholme, we
+account for both gates an' the best part of two miles of park. Where
+is Jenkins?"</p>
+
+<p>"I left him at the kennels."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>The policeman was momentarily nonplussed. He had formed a theory in
+which Jenkins, that young Territorial spark, figured either as a fool
+or a criminal.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the use of holding a sort of inquiry on the doorstep?" broke
+in Hilton Fenley shrilly. His utterance was nearly hysterical.
+Farrow's judicial calm appeared to stir him to frenzy. He clamored for
+action, for zealous scouting, and this orderly investigation by mere
+words was absolutely maddening.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not wastin' time, sir," said Farrow respectfully. "It's as
+certain as anything can be that the murderer, if murder has been done,
+has not got away by either of the gates."</p>
+
+<p>"If murder has been done!" cried Fenley. "What do you mean? Go and
+look at my poor father's corpse&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, Mr. Fenley is dead, sir, an' sorry I am to hear of it; but
+the affair may turn out to be an accident." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>"Accident! Farrow, you're talking like an idiot. A man is shot dead at
+his own front door, in a house standing in the midst of a big estate,
+and you tell me it's an accident!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I on'y mentioned that on the off chance. Queer things do
+happen, an' one shouldn't lose sight of that fact just because it's
+unusual. Now, sir, with your permission, I want Brodie, an' Smith, an'
+all the men servants you can spare for the next half hour."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Brodie can motor to the Inspector's office, an' tell him wot he
+knows, stoppin' on the way to send Jenkins here. Some of us must
+search the woods thoroughly, while others watch the open park, to make
+sure no one escapes without bein' seen. It's my firm belief that the
+man who fired that rifle is still hidin' among those trees. He may be
+sneakin' off now, but we'd see him if we're quick in reachin' the
+other side. Will you do as I ask, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Farrow was already in motion when Fenley's dazed mind recalled
+something the policeman ought to know.</p>
+
+<p>"I've telephoned to Scotland Yard half an hour ago," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right, sir. The main thing now is to search every inch of
+the woods. If nothing else, we may find footprints."</p>
+
+<p>"And make plenty of new ones."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if the helpers do as I tell 'em, sir." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>"I can't argue. I'm not fit for it. Still, some instinct warns me you
+are not adopting the best course. I think you ought to go in the car
+and put the police into combined action."</p>
+
+<p>"What are they to do, sir? The murderer won't carry a rifle through
+the village, or along the open road. I fancy we'll come across the
+weapon itself in the wood. Besides, the Inspector will do all that is
+necessary when Brodie sees him. Reelly, sir, I <i>know</i> I'm right."</p>
+
+<p>"But should that artist be questioned?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course he will, sir. He won't run away. If he does, we'll soon nab
+him. He's been stayin' at the White Horse Inn the last two days, an'
+is quite a nice-spoken young gentleman. Why should <i>he</i> want to shoot
+Mr. Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is annoyed with my father, for one thing."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh? Wot, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Farrow, hitherto eager to be off on the hunt, stopped as if he heard a
+statement of real importance.</p>
+
+<p>Hilton Fenley pressed a hand to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"It was nothing to speak of," he muttered. "He wrote asking permission
+to sketch the house, and my father refused&mdash;just why I don't know;
+some business matter had vexed him that day, I fancy, and he dashed
+off the refusal on the spur of the moment. But a man does not commit a
+terrible crime for so slight a cause.... Oh, if only my head would
+cease throbbing!... <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>Do as you like. Bates, see that every assistance
+is given."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley walked a few paces unsteadily. Obviously he was incapable of
+lucid thought, and the mere effort at sustained conversation was a
+torture. He turned through a yew arch into the Italian garden, and
+threw himself wearily into a seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor young fellow! He's fair off his nut," whispered Bates.</p>
+
+<p>"What can one expect?" said Farrow. "But we must get busy. Where's
+Brodie? Do go an' find him."</p>
+
+<p>Bates jerked a thumb toward the house.</p>
+
+<p>"He's in there," he said. "He helped to carry in the Gov'nor. Hasn't
+left him since."</p>
+
+<p>"He must come at once. He can't do any good now, an' we've lost nearly
+an hour as it is."</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur appeared, red-eyed and white-faced. But he understood
+the urgency of his mission, and soon had the car in movement. Others
+came&mdash;the butler, some gardeners, and men engaged in stables and
+garage, for the dead banker maintained a large establishment. Farrow
+explained his plan. They would beat the woods methodically, and the
+searcher who noted anything "unusual"&mdash;the word was often on the
+policeman's lips&mdash;was not to touch or disturb the object or sign in
+any way, but its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>whereabouts should be marked by a broken branch
+stuck in the ground. Of course, if a stranger was seen, an alarm
+should be raised instantly.</p>
+
+<p>The little party was making for the Quarry Wood, when Jenkins arrived
+on a bicycle. The first intimation he had received of the murder was
+the chauffeur's message. There was a telephone between house and
+lodge, but no one had thought of using it.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Bates," said Farrow, when the squad of men had spread out in
+line, "you an' me will take the likeliest line. You ought to know
+every spot in the covert where it's possible to aim a gun at any one
+stannin' on top of the steps at The Towers. There can't be many such
+places. Is there even one? I don't suppose the barefaced scoundrel
+would dare come out into the open drive. Brodie said Mr. Fenley was
+shot through the right side while facin' the car, so he bears out both
+your notion an' Mr. Trenholme's that the bullet kem from the Quarry
+Wood. What's <i>your</i> idea about it? Have you one, or are you just as
+much in the dark as the rest of us?"</p>
+
+<p>Bates was sour-faced with perplexity. The killing of his employer was
+already crystallizing in his thoughts into an irrevocable thing, for
+the butler had lifted aside the dead man's coat and waistcoat, and
+this had shown him the ghastly evidences of a wound which must have
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>been instantly fatal. Now, a shrewd if narrow intelligence was
+concentrated on the one tremendous question, "Who hath done this
+thing?" He looked so worried that the yellow dog, watching him, and
+quick to interpret his moods, slouched warily at heel; and Farrow,
+though agog with excitement, saw that his crony was ill at ease
+because of some twinge of fear or suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>"Speak out, Jim," he urged, dropping his voice to a confidential
+pitch, lest one of the others might overhear. "Gimme the straight tip,
+if you can. It need never be known that it kem from you."</p>
+
+<p>"I've a good berth here," muttered the keeper, with seeming
+irrelevance.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me something fresh," said Farrow, quickening with grateful
+memories of many a pheasant and brace of rabbits reposing a brief
+space in his modest larder.</p>
+
+<p>"So, if I tell you things in confidence like&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard 'em from any one but you."</p>
+
+<p>Bates drew a deep breath, only to expel it fiercely between puffed
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"It's this way," he growled. "Mr. Robert an' the ol' man didn't hit
+off, an' there was a deuce of a row between 'em the other day,
+Saturday it was. My niece, Mary, was a-dustin' the banisters when the
+two kem out from breakfast, an' she heerd the Gov'nor say: 'That's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>my
+last word on the subjec'. I mean to be obeyed this time.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But, look here, pater,' said Mr. Robert&mdash;he always calls his father
+pater, ye know&mdash;'I reelly can't arrange matters in that offhand way.
+You must give me time.' 'Not another minute,' said Mr. Fenley. 'Oh,
+dash it all,' said Mr. Robert, 'you're enough to drive a fellow crazy.
+At times I almost forget that I'm your son. Some fellows would be
+tempted to blow their brains out, an' yours, too.'</p>
+
+<p>"At that, Tomlinson broke in, an' grabbed Mr. Robert's arm, an' the
+Gov'nor went off in the car in a fine ol' temper. Mr. Robert left The
+Towers on his motor bike soon afterward, an' he hasn't been back
+since."</p>
+
+<p>Although the fount of information temporarily ran dry, Farrow felt
+that there was more to come if its secret springs were tapped.</p>
+
+<p>"Did Mary drop a hint as to what the row was about?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"She guessed it had something to do with Miss Sylvia."</p>
+
+<p>"Why Miss Sylvia?"</p>
+
+<p>"She an' Mr. Robert are pretty good friends, you see."</p>
+
+<p>"I see." The policeman saw little, but each scrap of news might fit
+into its place presently.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all?" he went on. They were nearing that part of the wood
+where care must be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>exercised, and he wanted Bates to talk while in
+the vein.</p>
+
+<p>"No, not by a long way," burst out the keeper, seemingly unable to
+contain any longer the deadly knowledge weighing on his conscience.
+"Don't you try an' hold me to it, Farrow, or I'll swear black an' blue
+I never said it; but I knew the ring of the shot that killed my poor
+ol' guv'nor. It was fired from an express rifle, an' there's on'y one
+of the sort in Roxton, so far as <i>I've</i> ever seen. An' it is, or ought
+to be, in Mr. Robert's sittin'-room at this very minute. There! Now
+you've got it. Do as you like. Get Tomlinson to talk, or anybody else,
+but keep me out of it&mdash;d'ye hear?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hear," said Farrow, thrilling with the consciousness that when some
+dandy detective arrived from the "Yard," he would receive an
+eye-opener from a certain humble member of the Hertfordshire
+constabulary. Not that he quite brought himself to believe Robert
+Fenley his father's murderer. That was going rather far. That would,
+indeed, be a monstrous assumption as matters stood. But as clues the
+quarrel and the rifle were excellent, and Scotland Yard must recognize
+them in that light.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, this <i>was</i> an unusual case; most unusual. He was well aware
+of the reputation attached to Robert Fenley, the banker's younger son,
+who differed from his brother in every essential. Hilton was
+steady-going, business-like, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>his father's secretary and right hand in
+affairs, both in the bank and in matters affecting the estate. Robert,
+almost unmanageable as a youth, had grown into an exceedingly rapid
+young man about town. But Roxton folk feared Hilton and liked Robert;
+and local gossip had deplored Robert's wildness, which might erect an
+insurmountable barrier against an obviously suitable match between him
+and Mr. Mortimer Fenley's ward, the rich and beautiful Sylvia Manning.</p>
+
+<p>These things were vivid in the policeman's mind, and he was wondering
+how the puzzle would explain itself in the long run, when an
+exclamation from Bates brought his vagrom speculations sharply back to
+the problem of the moment.</p>
+
+<p>The keeper, of course, as Farrow had said, was making straight for the
+one place in the Quarry Wood which commanded a clear view of the
+entrance to the mansion. The two men were skirting the disused quarry,
+now a rabbit warren, which gave the locality its name; they followed
+the rising edge of the excavation, treading on a broad strip of turf,
+purposely freed of encroaching briers lest any wandering stranger
+might plunge headlong into the pit. Near the highest part of the rock
+wall there was a slight depression in the ground; and here, except
+during the height of a phenomenally dry Summer, the surface was always
+moist. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p><p>Bates, who was leading, had halted suddenly. He pointed to three well
+marked footprints.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's been here, an' not so long ago, neither?" he said, darting
+ferret eyes now at the telltale marks and now into the quarry beneath
+or through the solemn aisle of trees.</p>
+
+<p>"Stick in some twigs, an' let's hurry on," said Farrow. "Footprints
+are first rate, but they'll keep for an hour or two."</p>
+
+<p>Thirty yards away, and somewhat to the right, a hump of rock formed
+the Mont Blanc of that tiny Alp. From its summit, and from no other
+part of the wood, they could see the east front of The Towers. In
+fact, while perched there, having climbed its shoulder with great care
+lest certain definite tokens of a recent intruder should be
+obliterated, they discovered a dusty motor car ranged between the
+doctor's runabout and the Fenley limousine, which had returned.</p>
+
+<p>The doctor and Miss Sylvia Manning were standing on the broad mosaic
+which adorned the landing above the steps, standing exactly where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood when he was stricken to death. With them
+were two strangers: one tall, burly and official-looking; the other a
+shrunken little man, whose straw hat, short jacket, and clean-shaven
+face conveyed, at the distance, a curiously juvenile aspect.</p>
+
+<p>Halfway down the steps were Hilton Fenley and Brodie, and all were
+gazing fixedly at that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>part of the wood where the keeper and the
+policeman had popped into view.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello!" said Bates. "Who is that little lot?"</p>
+
+<p>Clearly, he meant the big man and his diminutive companion. Farrow
+coughed importantly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Scotland Yard," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Detectives from the Yard. Mr. Hilton telephoned for 'em. An' wot's
+more, they're signalin' to us."</p>
+
+<p>"They want us to go back," said Bates.</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe."</p>
+
+<p>"There can't be any doubt about it." And, indeed, only a blind man
+could have been skeptical as to the wishes of the group near the door.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' through this wood first," announced Farrow firmly. "Mind
+how you get down. Them marks may be useful. I'm almost sure the
+scoundrel fired from this very spot."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like it," agreed Bates, and they descended.</p>
+
+<p>Five minutes later they were in the open park, where their assistant
+scouts awaited them. None of the others had found any indication of a
+stranger's presence, and Farrow led them to the house in Indian file,
+by a path.</p>
+
+<p>"Scotland Yard is on the job," he announced. "Now we'll be told just
+wot we reelly ought to have done!"</p>
+
+<p>He did not even exchange a furtive glance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>with Bates, but, for the
+life of him he could not restrain a note of triumph from creeping into
+his voice. He noticed, too, that Tomlinson, the butler, not only
+looked white and shaken, which was natural under the circumstances,
+but had the haggard aspect of a stout man who may soon become thin by
+stress of fearsome imaginings.</p>
+
+<p>Farrow did not put it that way.</p>
+
+<p>"Bates is right," he said to himself. "Tomlinson has something on his
+chest. By jingo, this affair <i>is</i> a one-er an' no mistake!"</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, local talent had no intention of kowtowing too deeply
+before the majesty of the "Yard," for the Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department himself could have achieved no more in the
+time than Police Constable Farrow. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">THE HOUNDS</span></h3>
+
+<p>Superintendent James Leander Winter, Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, had just opened the
+morning's letters, and was virtuously resisting the placid charms of
+an open box of cigars, when the telephone bell rang. The speaker was
+the Assistant Commissioner.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave everything else, and motor to Roxton," said the calm voice of
+authority. "Mr. Mortimer Fenley, a private banker in the City, was
+shot dead about nine thirty at his own front door. His place is The
+Towers, which stands in a park between the villages of Roxton and
+Easton, in Hertfordshire. His son, who has just telephoned here,
+believes that a rifle was fired from a neighboring wood, but several
+minutes elapsed before any one realized that the banker was shot, the
+first impression of the servants who ran to his assistance when he
+staggered and fell being that he was suffering from apoplexy. By the
+time the cause of death was discovered the murderer could have
+escaped, so no immediate search was organized. Mr. Hilton Fenley, a
+son, who spoke with difficulty, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>explained that he thought it best to
+'phone here after summoning a doctor. The dead man is of some
+importance in the City, so I want you to take personal charge of the
+inquiry."</p>
+
+<p>The voice ceased. Mr. Winter, while listening, had glanced at a clock.</p>
+
+<p>"Nine thirty this morning, sir?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The son lost no time. The affair happened a quarter of an hour
+ago."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll start in five minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"Good. By the way, who will go with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Furneaux."</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent. I leave matters in your hands, Superintendent. Let me hear
+the facts if you return to town before six."</p>
+
+<p>Evidently the Roxton murder was one of the year's big events. It
+loomed large already in the official mind. Winter called up various
+departments in quick succession, gave a series of orders, sorted his
+letters hastily, thrusting some into a drawer and others into a basket
+on the table, and was lighting a cigar when the door opened and his
+trusted aide, Detective Inspector Furneaux, entered.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha!" cackled the newcomer; for Winter had confided to him, only the
+day before, certain reasons why the habit of smoking to excess was
+injurious, and his (Winter's) resolve to cut down the day's cigars to
+three, one after each principal meal.</p>
+
+<p>"Circumstances alter cases," said the Superintendent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>blandly,
+scrutinizing the Havana to make sure that the outer leaf was burning
+evenly. "You and I are off for a jaunt in the country, Charles, and
+the sternest disciplinarian unbends during holiday time."</p>
+
+<p>"Scotland Yard, as well as the other place, is paved with good
+intentions," said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>Winter stooped, and took a couple of automatic pistols from a drawer
+in the desk at which he was seated.</p>
+
+<p>"Put one of those in your pocket," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Again did his colleague smile derisively.</p>
+
+<p>"So it is only a 'bus driver's holiday?" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"One never knows. Some prominent banker, name of Fenley, has been
+shot. There may be more shooting."</p>
+
+<p>"Fenley? Not Mortimer Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Do you know him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Better than I know you; because you often puzzle me, whereas he
+struck me as a respectable swindler. Don't you remember those bonds
+which disappeared so mysteriously two months ago from the safe of the
+Mortgage and Discount Bank, and were all sold in Paris before the loss
+was discovered?"</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove! Is that the Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"None other. Of course, you were hob-nobbing with royalty at the time,
+so such a trifle as the theft of ten thousand pounds' worth of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>negotiable securities didn't trouble you a bit. I see you're wearing
+the pin today."</p>
+
+<p>"So would you wear it, if an Emperor deigned to take notice of such a
+shrimp."</p>
+
+<p>"Shrimp you call me! Imagine a lobster sticking rubies and diamonds
+into a heliotrope tie!"</p>
+
+<p>Winter winked solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>"I picked up some wrinkles in color blends at the Futurist
+Exhibition," he said. "But here's Johnston to tell us the car is
+ready."</p>
+
+<p>The oddly assorted pair followed the constable in uniform, now
+hurrying ahead to ring for the elevator. The big, bluff, bullet-headed
+Superintendent was physically well fitted for his responsible
+position, though he combined with the official demeanor some of the
+easy-going characteristics of a country squire; but Charles Fran&ccedil;ois
+Furneaux was so unlike the detective of romance and the stage that he
+often found it difficult to persuade strangers that he was really the
+famous detective inspector they had heard of in connection with many a
+celebrated trial.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, if one were told that he hailed from the Com&eacute;die
+Fran&ccedil;aise, the legend would be accepted without demur. He had the
+clean-shaven, wrinkled face of the comedian; his black eyes sparkled
+with an active intelligence; an expressive mouth bespoke clear and
+fluent speech; his quick, alert movements were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>those of the mimetic
+actor. Winter stood six feet in height, and weighed two hundred and
+ten pounds; Furneaux was six inches shorter and eighty pounds lighter.
+The one was a typical John Bull, the other a Channel Islander of pure
+French descent, and never did more curiously assorted couple follow
+the trail of a criminal.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, if noteworthy when acting apart, they were almost infallible in
+combination. More than one eminent scoundrel had either blown out his
+brains or given himself up to the law when he knew that the Big 'Un
+and Little 'Un of the Yard were hot on his track. Winter seldom failed
+to arrive at the only sound conclusion from ascertained facts, whereas
+Furneaux had an almost uncanny knowledge of the kinks and obliquities
+of the criminal mind. In the phraseology of logic, Winter applied the
+deductive method and Furneaux the inductive; when both fastened on to
+the same "suspect" the unlucky wight was in parlous state.</p>
+
+<p>It may be taken for granted, therefore, that the Assistant
+Commissioner knew what he was about in uttering his satisfaction at
+the Superintendent's choice of an assistant. Possibly he had the
+earlier bond robbery in mind, and expected now that another "mystery"
+would be solved. Scotland Yard guards many secrets which shirk the
+glare of publicity. Some may never be explained; but by far the larger
+proportion are cleared up unexpectedly by incidents <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>which may occur
+months or years afterward, and whose connection with the original
+crime is indiscernible until some chance discovery lays bare the
+hidden clue.</p>
+
+<p>One queer feature of the partnership between the two was their habit
+of chaffing and bickering at each other during the early stages of a
+joint hunt. They were like hounds giving tongue joyously when laid on
+the scent; dangerous then, they became mute and deadly when the quarry
+was in sight. In private life they were firm friends; officially,
+Furneaux was Winter's subordinate, but that fact neither silenced the
+Jersey man's sarcastic tongue nor stopped Winter from roasting his
+assistant unmercifully if an opportunity offered.</p>
+
+<p>Their chauffeur took the line through the parks to the Edgware Road,
+and they talked of anything save "shop" until the speed limit was off
+and the car was responding gayly to the accelerator. Then Winter threw
+away the last inch of a good cigar, involuntarily put his hand to a
+well-filled case for its successor, sighed, and dropped his hand
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Force of habit," he said, finding Furneaux's eye on him.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't even think evil," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"I really mustn't smoke so much," said Winter plaintively.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, for goodness' sake light up and be happy. If you sit there
+nursing your self-righteousness <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>you'll be like a bear with a sore
+head before we pass Stanmore. Besides, consider me. I like the smell
+of tobacco, though my finer nervous system will not endure its use."</p>
+
+<p>"Finer fiddlesticks," said Winter, cutting the end off a fresh Havana.
+"Now tell me about Fenley and the ten thousand. What's his other name?
+I forget&mdash;Alexander, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, nor Xenophon. Just Mortimer. He ran a private bank in Bishopsgate
+Street, and that, as you know, generally hides a company promoter.
+Frankly, I was bothered by Fenley at first. I believe he lost the
+bonds right enough, for he gave the numbers, and was horribly upset
+when it was found they had been sold in Paris. But, to my idea, he
+either stole them himself and was relieved of them later or was
+victimized by one of his sons.</p>
+
+<p>"The only other person who could have taken them was the cashier, a
+hoary-headed old boy who resides at Epping, and has not changed his
+method of living since he first wore a silk hat and caught the
+eight-forty to the City one morning fifty years ago. I followed him
+home on a Saturday afternoon. The bookstall clerk at Liverpool Street
+handed him <i>The Amateur Gardener</i>, and the old boy read it in the
+train. Five minutes after he had reached his house he was out on the
+lawn with a daisy fork. No; the cashier didn't arrange the Paris
+sale."</p>
+
+<p>"What of the sons?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>"The elder, Hilton Fenley, is a neurotic, like myself, so he would
+shine with equal luster as a saint, or a detective, or a
+dyed-in-the-wool thief. The younger, Robert, ought to be an explorer,
+or a steeplechase jockey, or an airman. In reality, he is a first-rate
+wastrel. In my distress I harked back to the old man, to whom the loss
+of the bonds represented something considerably less than a year's
+expenditure. He is mixed up in all sorts of enterprises&mdash;rubber, tea,
+picture palaces, breweries and automobile finance. He lent fifty
+thousand pounds on five per cent. first mortgage bonds to one firm at
+Coventry, and half that amount to a rival show in West London. So he
+has the stuff, and plenty of it. Yet&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Winter nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I know the sort of man. Dealing in millions today; tomorrow in the
+dock at the Old Bailey."</p>
+
+<p>"The point is that Fenley has never dealt in millions, and has kept
+his head high for twenty years. Just twenty years, by the way. Before
+that he was unknown. He began by the amalgamation of some tea
+plantations in Assam. Fine word, 'amalgamation.' It means money, all
+the time. Can't we amalgamate something, or somebody?"</p>
+
+<p>"In Fenley's case it led to assassination."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps. I have a feeling in my bones that if I knew who touched the
+proceeds of those <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>bonds I might understand why some one shot Fenley
+this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll soon tell you a trivial thing like that," said Winter, affecting
+a close interest in the landscape.</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't be at all surprised if you did," said Furneaux. "You have
+the luck of a Carnegie. Look at the way you bungled that affair of
+Lady Morris's diamonds, until you happened to see her maid meeting
+Gentleman George at the White City."</p>
+
+<p>Winter smoked complacently.</p>
+
+<p>"Smartest thing I ever did," he chortled. "Fixed on the thief within
+half an hour, and never lost touch till I knew how she had worked the
+job."</p>
+
+<p>"The Bow Street method."</p>
+
+<p>"Why didn't you try something of the sort with regard to Fenley's
+bonds?"</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't be crude, even with a City financier. I put it gently that
+the money was in the family; he blinked at me like an owl, said that
+he would give thought to the suggestion, and shut down the inquiry by
+telephone before I reached the Yard from his office."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, he did, did he? It seems to me you've made a pretty good guess in
+associating the bonds and the murder. You've seen both sons, of
+course?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, often."</p>
+
+<p>"Are there other members of the family?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p><p>"An invalid wife, never away from The Towers; and a young lady, Miss
+Sylvia Manning&mdash;a ward, and worth a pile. By the way, she's twenty.
+Mortimer Fenley, had he lived, was appointed her guardian and trustee
+till she reached twenty-one."</p>
+
+<p>"Twenty!" mused Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, twice ten," snapped Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"And Fenley has cut a figure in the City for twenty years."</p>
+
+<p>"I was sure your gray matter would be stimulated by its favorite
+poison."</p>
+
+<p>"Charles, this should be an easy thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not so sure. Dead men tell no tales, and Fenley himself could
+probably supply many chapters of an exciting story. They will be
+missing. Look at the repeated failures of eminent authors to complete
+'Edwin Drood.' How would they have fared if asked to produce the
+beginning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Still, I'm glad you attended to those bonds. Who had charge of the
+Paris end?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jacques Faure."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, a good man."</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty fair, for a Frenchman."</p>
+
+<p>Winter laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"You born frog!" he cried.... "Hello, there's a Roxton sign post. Now
+let's compose our features. We are near The Towers."</p>
+
+<p>The estate figured on the county map, so the chauffeur pulled up at
+the right gate. A <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>woman came from the lodge to inquire their
+business, and admitted the car when told that its occupants had been
+summoned by Mr. Hilton Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," said Furneaux carelessly, "is Mr. Robert at home?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"When did he leave?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I don't know, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bates knew quite well, and Furneaux knew that she knew.</p>
+
+<p>"The country domestic is the detective's aversion," he said as the car
+whirred into the avenue. "The lady of the lodge will be a sufficiently
+tough proposition if we try to drag information out of her, but the
+real tug of war will come when we tackle the family butler."</p>
+
+<p>"Her husband is also the head keeper," said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Name of Bates," added Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you've been here before, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. While you were taking stock of the kennels generally, I was
+deciphering a printed label on a box of dog biscuit."</p>
+
+<p>"I hardly feel that I've begun this inquiry yet," said Winter airily.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd better pull yourself together. The dead man's limousine is
+still waiting at the door, and the local doctor is in attendance."</p>
+
+<p>"Walter J. Stern, M.D."</p>
+
+<p>"Probably. That brass plate on the Georgian <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>house in the center of
+the village positively glistened."</p>
+
+<p>They were received by Hilton Fenley himself, all the available men
+servants having been transferred to the cohort organized and directed
+by Police Constable Farrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Good morning, Mr. Furneaux," said Fenley. "I little thought, when
+last we met, that I should be compelled to seek your help so soon
+again, and under such dreadful circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux, whose face could display at will a Japanese liveliness of
+expression or become a mask of Indian gravity, surveyed the speaker
+with inscrutable eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"This is Superintendent Winter, Chief of my Department," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"The Assistant Commissioner told me to take charge of the inquiry
+without delay, sir," explained Winter. He glanced at his watch. "We
+have not been long on the road. It is only twenty minutes to eleven."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley led them through a spacious hall into a dining-room on the
+left. On an oak settee at the back of the hall the outline of a white
+sheet was eloquent of the grim object beneath. In the dining-room were
+an elderly man and a slim, white-faced girl. Had Trenholme been
+present he would have noted with interest that her dress was of white
+muslin dotted with tiny blue spots&mdash;not <i>fleurs de lys</i>, but rather
+resembling them.</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Stern, and Miss Sylvia Manning," said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>Fenley to the newcomers.
+Then he introduced the Scotland Yard men in turn. By this time the
+young head of the family had schooled himself to a degree of
+self-control. His sallow skin held a greenish pallor, and as if to
+satisfy some instinct that demanded movement he took an occasional
+slow stride across the parquet floor or brushed a hand wearily over
+his eyes. Otherwise he had mastered his voice, and spoke without the
+gasping pauses which had made distressful his words to Farrow.</p>
+
+<p>"Ours is a sad errand, Mr. Fenley," began Winter, after a hasty glance
+at the table, which still bore the disordered array of breakfast.
+"But, if you feel equal to the task, you might tell us exactly what
+happened."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, of course," he said quietly. "That is essential. We three,
+my father, Miss Manning and myself, breakfasted together. The second
+gong goes every morning at eight forty-five, and we were fairly
+punctual today. My father and Sylvia, Miss Manning, came in
+together&mdash;they had been talking in the hall previously. I saw them
+entering the room as I came downstairs. During the meal we chatted
+about affairs in the East; that is, my father and I did, and Syl&mdash;Miss
+Manning&mdash;gave us some news of a church bazaar in which she is taking
+part.</p>
+
+<p>"My father rose first and went to his room, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>to collect papers brought
+from the City overnight. I met him on the stairs, and he gave me some
+instructions about a prospectus. (Let me interpolate that I was going
+to Victoria by a later train, having an appointment at eleven o'clock
+with Lord Ventnor, chairman of a company we are bringing out.) I stood
+on the stairs, saying something, while my father crossed the hall and
+took his hat and gloves from Harris, the footman. As I passed along
+the gallery to my own room I saw him standing on the landing at the
+top of the steps.</p>
+
+<p>"He was cutting the end off a cigar, and Harris was just behind him
+and a little to the left, striking a match. Every fine morning my
+father lighted a cigar there. In rain or high wind he would light up
+inside the house. By the way, my mother is an invalid, and dislikes
+the smell of tobacco, so unless we have guests we don't smoke indoors.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I had reached my room, a sitting-room adjoining my bedroom,
+when I heard a gunshot. Apparently it came from the Quarry Wood, and I
+was surprised, because there is no shooting at this season. A little
+later&mdash;some few seconds&mdash;I heard Sylvia scream. I did not rush out
+instantly to discover the cause. Young ladies sometimes scream at
+wasps and caterpillars. Then I heard Tomlinson say, 'Fetch Mr. Hilton
+at once,' and I ran into Harris, who blurted out, 'Mr. Fenley has been
+shot, sir.' </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>"After that, I scarcely know what I said or how I acted. I remember
+running downstairs, and finding my father lying outside the front
+door, with Sylvia supporting his head and Tomlinson and Brodie trying
+to lift him. I think&mdash;in fact, I am sure now from what Dr. Stern tells
+me&mdash;that my father was dead before I reached him. We all thought at
+first that he had yielded to some awfully sudden form of paralysis,
+but some one&mdash;Tomlinson, I believe&mdash;noticed a hole through the right
+side of his coat and waistcoat. Then Sylvia&mdash;oh, perhaps that is
+matterless&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Every incident, however slight, is of importance in a case of this
+sort," Winter encouraged him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she said&mdash;what was it, exactly? Do you remember, Sylvia?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," said the girl, unhesitatingly. "I said that I thought I
+recognized the sound of Bob's .450. Why shouldn't I say it? Poor Bob
+didn't shoot his father."</p>
+
+<p>Her voice, though singularly musical, had a tearful ring which became
+almost hysterical in the vehemence of the question and its disclaimer.</p>
+
+<p>Fenley moved uneasily, and raised his right hand to his eyes, while
+the left grasped the back of a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"Bob is my brother Robert, who is away from home at this moment," he
+said, and his tone deprecated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>the mere allusion to the rifle owned by
+the absentee. "I only mentioned Miss Manning's words to show how
+completely at a loss we all were to account for my father's wound. I
+helped Tomlinson and Brodie to carry him to the settee in the hall.
+Then we&mdash;Tomlinson, that is&mdash;opened his waistcoat and shirt. Tomlinson
+cut the shirt with a scissors, and we saw the wound. Dr. Stern says
+there are indications that an expanding bullet was used, so the
+injuries must have been something appalling.... Sylvia, don't you
+think&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll not faint, or make a scene, if that is what you are afraid of,
+Hilton," said the girl bravely.</p>
+
+<p>"That is all, then, or nearly all," went on Fenley, in the same
+dreary, monotonous voice. "I telephoned to Dr. Stern, and to Scotland
+Yard, deeming it better to communicate with you than with the local
+police. But it seems that Bates, our head keeper hurrying to
+investigate the cause of the shot, met some artist coming away from
+the other side of the wood. The Roxton police constable too, met and
+spoke with the same man, who told both Bates and the policeman that he
+heard the shot fired. The policeman, Farrow, refused to arrest the
+artist, and is now searching the wood with a number of our men&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't they be stopped?" broke in Furneaux, speaking for the first
+time. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, of course," and Hilton Fenley became a trifle more animated. "I
+wanted Farrow to wait till you came, but he insisted&mdash;said the
+murderer might be hiding there."</p>
+
+<p>"When did Farrow arrive?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, more than half an hour after my father was shot. I forgot to
+mention that my mother knows nothing of the tragedy yet. That is why
+we did not carry my poor father's body upstairs. She might overhear
+the shuffling of feet, and ask the cause."</p>
+
+<p>"One thing more, Mr. Fenley," said Winter, seeing that the other had
+made an end. "Have you the remotest reason to believe that any person
+harbored a grievance against your father such as might lead to the
+commission of a crime of this nature?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been torturing my mind with that problem since I realized that
+my father was dead, and I can say candidly that he had no enemies. Of
+course, in business, one interferes occasionally with other men's
+projects, but people in the City do not shoot successful opponents."</p>
+
+<p>"No private feud? No dismissed servant, sent off because of theft or
+drunkenness?"</p>
+
+<p>"Absolutely none, to my knowledge. The youngest man on the estate has
+been employed here five or six years."</p>
+
+<p>"It is a very extraordinary crime, Mr. Fenley." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>For answer, the other sank into a chair and buried his face in his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"How can we get those clodhoppers out of the wood?" said Furneaux. His
+thin, high-pitched voice dispelled the tension, and Fenley dropped his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Bates is certain to make for a rock which commands a view of the
+house," he said. "Perhaps, if we go to the door, we may see them."</p>
+
+<p>He arose with obvious effort, but walked steadily enough. Winter
+followed with the doctor, and inquired in an undertone&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure about the soft-nosed bullet, doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite," was the answer. "I was in the Tirah campaign, and saw
+hundreds of such wounds."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux, too, had something to say to Miss Manning.</p>
+
+<p>"How were you seated during breakfast?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>She showed him. It was a large room. Two windows looked down the
+avenue, and three into the garden, with its background of timber and
+park. Mr. Mortimer Fenley could have commanded both views; his son sat
+with his back to the park; the girl had faced it.</p>
+
+<p>"I need hardly put it to you, but you saw no one in or near the
+trees?" said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Not a soul. I bathe in a little lake below those cedars every
+morning, and it is an estate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>order that the men do not go in that
+direction between eight and nine o'clock. Of course, a keeper might
+have passed at nine thirty, but it is most unlikely."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you bathe this morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, soon after eight."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see the artist of whom Mr. Fenley spoke?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. This is the first I have heard of any artist. Bates must have
+mentioned him while I was with Dr. Stern."</p>
+
+<p>When Farrow arrived at the head of his legion he was just in time to
+salute his Inspector, who had cycled from Easton after receiving the
+news left by the chauffeur at the police station. Farrow was bursting
+with impatience to reveal the discoveries he had made, though resolved
+to keep locked in his own breast the secret confided by Bates. He was
+thoroughly nonplussed, therefore, when Winter, after listening in
+silence to the account of the footprints and scratches on the
+moss-covered surface of the rock, turned to Hilton Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>"With reference to the rifle which has been mentioned&mdash;where is it
+kept?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"In my brother's room. He bought it nearly a year ago, when he was
+planning an expedition to Somaliland."</p>
+
+<p>"May I see it?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley signed to the butler, who was standing with the others at a
+little distance. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>"You know the .450 Express which is in the gun rack in Mr. Robert's
+den?" he said. "Bring it to the Superintendent."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson, shaken but dignified, and rather purple of face as the
+result of the tramp through the trees, went indoors. Soon he came
+back, and the rich tint had faded again from his complexion.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry, sir," he said huskily, "but the rifle is not there."</p>
+
+<p>"Not there!"</p>
+
+<p>It was Sylvia Manning who spoke; the others received this sinister
+fact in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"No, miss."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you quite sure?" asked Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>"It is not in the gun rack, sir, nor in any of the corners."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Fenley clearly forced the next words.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right. Bates may have it in the gun room. We'll ask him.
+Or Mr. Robert may have taken it to the makers. I remember now he spoke
+of having the sight fitted with some new appliance."</p>
+
+<p>He called Bates. No, the missing rifle was not in the gun room.
+Somehow the notion was forming in certain minds that it could not be
+there. Indeed, the keeper's confusion was so marked that Furneaux's
+glance dwelt on him for a contemplative second. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Breaking Cover</span></h3>
+
+<p>Winter drew the local Inspector aside. "This inquiry rests with you in
+the first instance," he said. "Mr. Furneaux and I are here only to
+assist. Mr. Fenley telephoned to the Commissioner, mainly because
+Scotland Yard was called in to investigate a bond robbery which took
+place in the Fenley Bank some two months ago. Probably you never heard
+of it. Will you kindly explain our position to your Chief Constable?
+Of course, we shall work with you and through you, but my colleague
+has reason to believe that the theft of the bonds may have some
+bearing on this murder, and, as the securities were disposed of in
+Paris, it is more than likely that the Yard may be helpful."</p>
+
+<p>"I fully understand, sir," said the Inspector, secretly delighted at
+the prospect of joining in the hunt with two such renowned detectives.
+The combined parishes of Easton and Roxton seldom produced a crime of
+greater magnitude than the theft of a duck. The arrest of a burglar
+who broke into a villa, found a decanter of whisky, and got so
+hopelessly drunk that he woke up in a cell at the police station, was
+an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>event of such magnitude that its memory was still lively, though
+the leading personage was now out on ticket of leave after serving
+five years in various penal settlements.</p>
+
+<p>"You will prepare and give the formal evidence at the inquest, which
+will be opened tomorrow," went on Winter. "All that is really
+necessary is identification and a brief statement by the doctor. Then
+the coroner will issue the burial certificate, and the inquiry should
+be adjourned for a fortnight. I would recommend discretion in choosing
+a jury. Avoid busybodies like the plague. Summons only sensible men,
+who will do as they are told and ask no questions."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," said the Inspector; he found Machiavellian art in these
+simple instructions. How it broadened the horizon to be brought in
+touch with London!</p>
+
+<p>Winter turned to look for Furneaux. The little man was standing where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood in the last moment of his life. His eyes
+were fixed on the wood. He seemed to be dreaming, but his friend well
+knew how much clarity and almost supernatural vision was associated
+with Furneaux's dreams.</p>
+
+<p>"Charles!" said the Superintendent softly.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux awoke, and ran down the steps. In his straw hat and light
+Summer suit he looked absurdly boyish, but the Inspector, who had
+formed an erroneous first impression, was positively <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>startled when he
+met those blazing black eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley should warn all his servants to speak fully and candidly,"
+said Winter. "Then we shall question the witnesses separately. What do
+you think? Shall we start now?"</p>
+
+<p>"First, the boots," cried Furneaux, seemingly voicing a thought. "We
+want a worn pair of boots belonging to each person in the house and
+employed on the estate, men and women, no exceptions, including the
+dead man's. Then we'll visit that wood. After that, the inquiry."</p>
+
+<p>Winter nodded. When Furneaux and he were in pursuit of a criminal they
+dropped all nice distinctions of rank. If one made a suggestion the
+other adopted it without comment unless he could urge some convincing
+argument against it.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley should give his orders now," added Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>Winter explained his wishes to the nominal head of the household, and
+Fenley's compliance was ready and explicit.</p>
+
+<p>"These gentlemen from Scotland Yard are acting in behalf of Mrs.
+Fenley, my brother and myself," he said to the assembled servants.
+"You must obey them as you would obey me. I place matters unreservedly
+in their hands."</p>
+
+<p>"And our questions should be answered without reserve," put in Winter.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, of course. I implied that. At any rate, it is clear now."</p>
+
+<p>"Brodie," said Furneaux, seeming to pounce on the chauffeur, "you were
+seated at the wheel when the shot was fired?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ye&mdash;yes, sir," stuttered Brodie, rather taken aback by the little
+man's suddenness.</p>
+
+<p>"Were you looking at the wood?"</p>
+
+<p>"In a sort of a way, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see any one among the trees?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir, that I didn't." This more confidently.</p>
+
+<p>"Place your car where it was stationed then. Take your seat, and try
+to imagine that you are waiting for your master. Start the engine, and
+behave exactly as though you expected him to enter the car. Don't
+watch the wood. I mean that you are not to avoid looking at it, but
+just throw yourself back to the condition of mind you were in at nine
+twenty-five this morning. Can you manage that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"No chatting with others, you know. Fancy you are about to take Mr.
+Fenley to the station. If you should happen to see me, wave your hand.
+Then you can get down and stop the engine. You understand you are not
+to keep a sharp lookout for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The butler thought it would take a quarter of an hour to collect
+sample pairs of boots from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>the house and outlying cottages. Police
+Constable Farrow was instructed to bring the butler and the array of
+boots to the place where the footprints were found, and Bates led the
+detectives and the Inspector thither at once.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the four men were gazing at the telltale marks, and the
+Inspector, of course, was ready with a shrewd comment.</p>
+
+<p>"Whoever it was that came this way, he didn't take much trouble to
+hide his tracks," he said.</p>
+
+<p>The Scotland Yard experts were so obviously impressed that the
+Inspector tried a higher flight.</p>
+
+<p>"They're a man's boots," he continued. "We needn't have worried
+Tomlinson to gather the maids' footgear."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux left two neat imprints in the damp soil.</p>
+
+<p>"Bet you a penny whistle there are at least two women in The Towers
+who will make bigger blobs than these," he said.</p>
+
+<p>A penny whistle, as a wager, is what Police Constable Farrow would
+term "unusual."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," said the Inspector thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Winter caught Furneaux's eye, and frowned. There was nothing to be
+gained by taking a rise out of the local constabulary. Still, he gave
+one sharp glance at both sets of footprints. Then he looked at
+Furneaux again, this time with a smile. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>The party passed on to the rock on the higher ground. Bates pointed
+out the old scratches, and those made by Farrow and himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Me first!" cried Furneaux, darting nimbly to the summit. He was not
+there a second before he signaled to some one invisible from beneath.
+Winter joined him, and the east front of the house burst into view.
+Brodie was in the act of descending from the car. The doctor had gone.
+A small group of men were gazing at the wood, but Hilton Fenley and
+Sylvia Manning were not to be seen.</p>
+
+<p>Neither man uttered a word. They looked at the rock under their feet,
+at the surrounding trees, oak and ash, elm and larch, all of mature
+growth, and towering thirty to forty feet above their heads, while the
+rock itself rose some twelve feet from the general level of the
+sloping ground.</p>
+
+<p>Bates was watching them.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, gentlemen, that if an oak an' a couple o' spruce first
+hadn't been cut down you wouldn't see the house even from where you
+are," he said. "Mr. Fenley had an idee of buildin' a shelter on this
+rock, but he let it alone 'coss o' the birds. Ladies would be comin'
+here, an' a-disturbin' of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>The detectives came down. Furneaux, meaning to put the Inspector in
+the right frame of mind, said confidentially&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Brodie saw me instantly." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p><p>"Did he, now? It follows that he would have seen any one who fired at
+Mr. Fenley from that spot."</p>
+
+<p>"It almost follows. We must guard against assuming a chance as a
+certainty."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And we must also try to avoid fitting facts into preconceived
+notions. Now, while the butler is gathering old boots, let us spend a
+few profitable minutes in this locality."</p>
+
+<p>After that, any trace of soreness in the inspectorial breast was
+completely obliterated.</p>
+
+<p>Both Winter and Furneaux produced strong magnifying-glasses, and
+scrutinized the scratches and impressions on the bare rock and moss.
+Bates, skilled in wood lore, was quick to note what they had discerned
+at a glance.</p>
+
+<p>"Beg pardon, gentlemen both, but may I put in a word?" he muttered
+awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>"As many as you like," Winter assured him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, these here marks was made by Farrow an' meself, say about ten
+forty, or a trifle over an hour after the murder; an' I have no sort
+o' doubt as these other marks are a day or two days older."</p>
+
+<p>"You might even put it at three days," agreed Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Then it follows&mdash;&mdash;" began the Inspector, but checked himself. He was
+becoming slightly mixed as to the exact sequence of events. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p><p>"Come, now, Bates," said Furneaux, "you can tell us the day Mr. Robert
+Fenley left home recently? There is no harm in mentioning his name. It
+can't help being in our thoughts, since it was discovered that his gun
+was missing."</p>
+
+<p>"He went off on a motor bicycle last Saturday mornin', sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you fix the hour?"</p>
+
+<p>"About half past ten."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not seen him since?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You would be likely to know if he had returned?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certain, sir, unless he kem by the Roxton gate."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, is there another entrance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it can't be used, 'cept by people on foot. The big gates are
+always locked, and the road has been grassed over, an' not so many
+folk know of a right of way. Of course, Mr. Robert knows."</p>
+
+<p>Bates was disturbed. He expected to be cross-examined farther, but, to
+his manifest relief, the ordeal was postponed. Winter and Furneaux
+commenced a careful scrutiny of the ground behind the rock. They
+struck off on different paths, but came together at a little distance.</p>
+
+<p>"The trees," murmured Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, when we are alone." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p><p>"Have you noticed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"These curious pads. They mean a lot. It's not so easy, James."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm growing interested, I admit."</p>
+
+<p>They rejoined the others.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you tell me that only you and Police Constable Farrow visited
+this part of the wood?" said Furneaux to Bates.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't remember tellin' you, sir, but that's the fact," said the
+keeper.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, warn all the estate hands to keep away from this section during
+the next few days. You will give orders to Farrow to that effect,
+Inspector?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. If they go trampling all over, you won't know where you are when
+it comes to a close search," was the cheerful answer. "Now, about that
+gun&mdash;it must be hidden somewhere in the undergrowth. The man who fired
+it would never dare to carry it along an open road on a fine morning
+like this, when everybody is astir."</p>
+
+<p>"You're undoubtedly right," said Winter. "But here come assorted
+boots. They may help us a bit."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson was a man of method. He and Farrow had brought two wicker
+baskets, such as are used in laundry work. He was rather breathless.</p>
+
+<p>"House&mdash;and estate," he wheezed, pointing to each basket in turn. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><p>"Go ahead, Furneaux," said Winter. "Because I ought to stoop, I
+don't."</p>
+
+<p>The little man choked back some gibe; the presence of strangers
+enforced respect to his chief. He took a thin folding rule of aluminum
+from a waistcoat pocket, and applied it to the most clearly defined of
+the three footprints. Then beginning at the "house" basket, he ran
+over the contents rapidly. One pair of boots he set aside. After
+testing the "estate" basket without success, he seized one of the
+selected pair, and pressed it into the earth close to an original
+print. He looked up at Tomlinson, who was in a violent perspiration.</p>
+
+<p>"Whose boot is this?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"God help us, sir, it's Mr. Robert's!" said Tomlinson in an agonized
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector, Farrow and Bates were visibly thrilled; but Furneaux
+only sank back on his heels, and peered at the boot.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand why any one should feel upset because these
+footprints (which, by the way, were not made by this pair of boots)
+happen to resemble marks which may have been made by Mr. Robert
+Fenley," he said, apparently talking to himself. "These marks are
+three or four days old. Mr. Robert Fenley went away on Saturday. Today
+is Wednesday. He may have been here on Saturday morning. What does it
+matter if he was? The man who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>murdered his father must have been here
+two hours ago."</p>
+
+<p>Sensation! Tomlinson mopped his forehead with a handkerchief already a
+wet rag; Farrow, not daring to interfere, nibbled his chin strap;
+Bates scowled with relief. But the Inspector, after a husky cough,
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you mind telling me, Mr. Furneaux, why you are so sure?" he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Professor Bates, you tell him," cackled Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>The keeper dropped on his knees by the side of the detective, and
+gazed critically at the marks.</p>
+
+<p>"At this time o' year, gentlemen, things do grow wonderful," he said
+slowly. "In this sort o' ground, where there's wet an' shade, there's
+a kind o' constant movement. This here new print is clean, an' the
+broken grass an' crushed leaves haven't had time to straighten
+themselves, as one might say. But, in this other lot, the shoots are
+commencin' to perk up, an' insec's have stirred the mold. It's just
+the difference atween a new run for rabbits and an old 'un."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Bates," broke in Winter sharply. "Now, we must not waste
+any more time in demonstrations. Mr. Furneaux explained this thing
+purposely, to show the folly of jumping at conclusions. Innocent men
+have been hanged before today on just such evidence <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>as this. We
+should deem ourselves lucky that these footprints were found so soon
+after the crime was committed. Tomorrow, or next day, there might have
+been a doubt in our minds. Luckily there is none. The man who shot Mr.
+Fenley this morning&mdash;" he paused; Furneaux alone appreciated his
+difficulty&mdash;"could not possibly have left those marks today."</p>
+
+<p>It was a lame ending, but it sufficed. Four of his hearers took him to
+mean that the unknown, whose feet had left their impress in the soil
+could not have been the murderer; but Furneaux growled in French&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You tripped badly that time, my friend. You need another cigar!"</p>
+
+<p>Seemingly, he was soliloquizing, and none understood except the one
+person for whose benefit the sarcasm was intended.</p>
+
+<p>Winter felt the spur, but because he was a really great detective it
+only stimulated him. Nothing more was said until the little procession
+reached the avenue. During their brief disappearance in the leafy
+depths two cars and three motor cycles had arrived at The Towers. A
+glance sufficed. The newspapers had heard of the murder; this was the
+advance guard of an army of reporters and photographers. Winter
+buttonholed the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you the most valuable service you can render at this
+moment," he said. "Arrange <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>that a constable shall mount guard at the
+rock till nightfall. Then place two on duty. With four men you can
+provide the necessary reliefs, but I want that place watched
+continuously, and intruders warned off till further notice. This man
+who happens to be here might go on duty immediately. Then you can make
+your plans at leisure."</p>
+
+<p>Thus, by the quaint contriving of chance, Police Constable Farrow,
+whose stalwart form and stubborn zeal had blocked the path to the
+Quarry Wood since a few minutes after ten o'clock, was deputed to
+continue that particular duty till a comrade took his place.</p>
+
+<p>His face fell when he heard that he was condemned to solitude, shut
+out from all the excitement of the hour, debarred even, as he
+imagined, from standing on the rock and watching the comings and
+goings at the mansion. But Winter was a kindly if far-seeing student
+of human nature.</p>
+
+<p>"It will be a bit slow for you," he said, when the Inspector had given
+Farrow his orders. "But you can amuse yourself by an occasional peep
+at the landscape, and there is no reason why you shouldn't smoke."</p>
+
+<p>Farrow saluted.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean, sir, that I can show myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? The mere fact that your presence is known will warn off
+priers. Remember&mdash;no one, absolutely no one except the police, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>is to
+be allowed to pass the quarry, or approach from any side within
+hailing distance."</p>
+
+<p>"Not even from the house, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. Mr. Fenley and Miss Manning may be told, if necessary, why
+you are there, and I am sure they will respect my wishes."</p>
+
+<p>Farrow turned back. It was not so bad, then. These Scotland Yard
+fellows had chosen him for an important post, and that hint about a
+pipe was distinctly human. Odd thing, too, that Mr. Robert Fenley was
+not expected to put in an appearance, or the Superintendent would have
+mentioned him with the others.</p>
+
+<p>On reaching the house there were evidences of disturbance. Hilton
+Fenley stood in the doorway, and was haranguing the newspaper men in a
+voice harsh with anger. This intrusion was unwarranted, illegal,
+impudent. He would have them expelled by force. When he caught sight
+of the Inspector he demanded fiercely that names and addresses should
+be taken, so that his solicitors might issue summonses for trespass.</p>
+
+<p>All this, of course, made excellent copy, and Winter put an end to the
+scene by drawing the reporters aside and giving them a fairly complete
+account of the murder. Incidentally, he sent off the Inspector post
+haste on his bicycle to station a constable at each gate, and stop the
+coming invasion. The house telephone, too, closed the main gate
+effectually, so when the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>earliest scouts had rushed away to connect
+with Fleet Street order was restored.</p>
+
+<p>Winter was puzzled by Fenley's display of passion. It was only to be
+expected that the newspapers would break out in a rash of black
+headlines over the murder of a prominent London financier. By hook or
+by crook, journalism would triumph. He had often been amazed at the
+extent and accuracy of news items concerning the most secret
+inquiries. Of course the reporters sometimes missed the heart of an
+intricate case. In this instance, they had never heard of the bond
+robbery, though the numbers of the stolen securities had been
+advertised widely. Moreover, he was free to admit that if every fact
+known to the police were published broadcast, no one would be a penny
+the worse; for thus far the crime was singularly lacking in motive.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Furneaux had fastened on to Brodie again.</p>
+
+<p>"You saw me at once?" he began.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't miss you, sir," said the chauffeur, a solid, stolid
+mechanic, who understood his engine and a road map thoroughly, and
+left the rest to Providence. "I wasn't payin' particular attention,
+yet I twigged you the minute you popped up."</p>
+
+<p>"So it is reasonable to suppose that if any one had appeared in that
+same place this morning and taken steady aim at Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>Fenley, you would
+have twigged him, too."</p>
+
+<p>"It strikes me that way, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you see nothing&mdash;not even a puff of smoke? You must certainly
+have looked at the wood when you heard the shot."</p>
+
+<p>"I did, sir. Not a leaf moved. Just a couple of pheasants flew out,
+and the rooks around the house kicked up such a row that I didn't know
+the Guv'nor was down till Harris shouted."</p>
+
+<p>"Where did the pheasants fly from?"</p>
+
+<p>"They kem out a bit below the rock; but they were risin' birds, an'
+may have started from the ground higher up."</p>
+
+<p>"No birds were startled before the shot was fired?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not to my knowledge, sir. But June pheasants are very tame, and they
+lie marvelous close. A pheasant would just as soon run as fly."</p>
+
+<p>The detectives began a detailed inquiry almost at once. It covered the
+ground already traversed, and the only new incident happened when
+Hilton Fenley, at the moment repeating his evidence, was called to the
+telephone.</p>
+
+<p>"If either of you cares to smoke there are cigars and Virginia
+cigarettes on the sideboard," he said. "Or, if you prefer Turkish,
+here are some," and he laid a gold case on the table. Furneaux grabbed
+it when the door had closed. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p><p>"All neurotics use Turkish cigarettes," he said solemnly. "Ah, I
+guessed it! A strong, vile, scented brand!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes, my dear Charles, you talk rubbish," sighed Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe. I never think or smoke it. 'Language was given us to conceal
+our thoughts,' said Talleyrand. I have always admired Talleyrand,
+'that rather middling bishop but very eminent knave,' as de Quincey
+called him. '<i>Cr&eacute; nom!</i> I wonder what de Quincey meant by 'middling.'
+A man who could keep in the front rank under the Bourbons, during the
+Revolution, with Napoleon, and back again under the Bourbons, and yet
+die in bed, must have been superhuman. St. Peter, in his stead, would
+have lost his napper at least four times."</p>
+
+<p>Winter stirred uneasily, and gazed out across the Italian garden and
+park, for the detectives were again installed in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"What about that artist, Trenholme?" he said after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll look him up. Before leaving this house I want to peep into
+various rooms. And there's Tomlinson. Tomlinson is a rich mine. Do
+leave him to me. I'll dig into him deep, and extract ore of high
+percentage&mdash;see if I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know, Charles, I've a notion that we shall get closer to
+bed-rock in London than here." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>Furneaux pretended to look for an invisible halo surrounding his
+chief's close-cropped bullet head.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes," he said reverently, "you frighten me when you bring off a
+brilliant remark like that. I seem to see lightning zigzagging round
+Jove's dome."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley returned.</p>
+
+<p>"It was a call from the bank," he announced. "They have just seen the
+newspapers. I told them I would run up to town this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you did not telephone Bishopsgate Street earlier?" inquired
+Winter, permitting himself to be surprised.</p>
+
+<p>"No. I had other things to bother me."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Mr. Fenley, can you tell me where your brother is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can not."</p>
+
+<p>He placed a rather unnecessary emphasis on the negative. The question
+seemed to disturb him. Evidently, if he could consult his own wishes,
+he would prefer not to discuss his brother.</p>
+
+<p>"I take it he has not been home since leaving here on Saturday?"
+persisted Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"That is so."</p>
+
+<p>"Had he quarreled with your father?"</p>
+
+<p>"There was a dispute. Really, Mr. Winter, I must decline to go into
+family affairs."</p>
+
+<p>"But the probability is that the more we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>know the less our knowledge
+will affect your brother."</p>
+
+<p>The door opened again. Mr. Winter was wanted on the telephone. Then
+there happened one of those strange coincidences which Furneaux's
+caustic wit had christened "Winter's Yorkers," being a quaint play on
+the lines:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Now is the Winter of our discontent</span>
+<span class="i10">Made glorious Summer by this sun of York.</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>For the Superintendent had scarcely squeezed his big body into the
+telephone box when he became aware of a mixup on the line; a querulous
+voice was saying:</p>
+
+<p>"I insist on being put through. I am speaking from Mr. Fenley's bank,
+and it is monstrous that I should be kept waiting. I've been trying
+for twenty minutes&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Buzz. The protest was squelched.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you there?" came the calm accents of the Assistant Commissioner.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Any progress?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little. Oddly enough, you are in the nick of time to help
+materially. Will you ring off, and find out from the exchange who
+'phoned here two minutes ago? I don't mean Fenley's Bank, which is
+just trying to get through. I want to know who made the preceding
+call, which was effective."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand. Good-by." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><p>Winter explained in the dining-room that the Assistant Commissioner
+was anxious for news. He had hardly finished when the footman
+reappeared. A call for Mr. Hilton Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>"Confound the telephone," snapped Fenley. "We won't have a moment's
+peace all day, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>Winter winked heavily at Furneaux. He waited until Fenley's hurried
+footsteps across a creaking parquet floor had died away.</p>
+
+<p>"This is the bank's call," he murmured. "The other was from the Lord
+knows who. I've put the Yard on the track. I wonder why he lied about
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a queer sort of brother, too," said Furneaux. "It strikes me he
+wants to put Robert in the cart." </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">A Family Gathering</span></h3>
+
+<p>Fenley was frowning when he reappeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Another call from the Bank," he said gruffly. "Everything there is at
+sixes and sevens since the news was howled through the City. That is
+why I really must go to town later. I'm not altogether sorry. The
+necessity of bringing my mind to bear on business will leaven the
+surfeit of horrors I've borne this morning....</p>
+
+<p>"Now, about my brother, Mr. Winter. While listening to Mr. Brown's
+condolences&mdash;you remember Brown, the cashier, Mr. Furneaux&mdash;I was
+thinking of more vital matters. A policy of concealment often defeats
+its own object, and I have come to the conclusion that you ought to
+know of a dispute between my father and Robert. There's a woman in the
+case, of course. It's a rather unpleasant story, too. Poor Bob got
+entangled with a married woman some months ago. He was infatuated at
+first, but would have broken it off recently were it not for fear of
+divorce proceedings."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you make the position a little clearer, sir?" said Winter, who
+also was listening and thinking. He was quite certain that when he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>met Mr. Brown he would meet the man who had been worrying a telephone
+exchange "during the last twenty minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I can't." And Fenley's hand brushed away some imaginary film from
+before his eyes. "Bob and I never hit it off very well. We're only
+half brothers, you see."</p>
+
+<p>"Was your father married twice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Am I to reopen a forgotten history?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some person, or persons, may not have forgotten it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you must have the full story, if at all. My father was not a
+well-born man. Thirty years ago he was a trainer in the service of a
+rich East Indian merchant, Anthony Drummond, of Calcutta, who owned
+racehorses, and one of Drummond's daughters fell in love with him.
+They ran away and got married, but the marriage was a failure. She
+divorced him&mdash;by mutual consent, I fancy. Anyhow, <i>I</i> was left on his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"He went to Assam, and fell in with a tea planter named Manning, who
+had a big estate, but neglected it for racing. My father suddenly
+developed business instincts and Manning made him a partner.
+Unfortunately&mdash;well, that is a hard word, but it applies&mdash;my father
+married again&mdash;a girl of his own class; rather beneath it, in fact.
+Then Bob was born.</p>
+
+<p>"The old man made money, heaps of it. Manning married, but lost his
+wife when Sylvia <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>came into the world. That broke him up; he drank
+himself to death, leaving his partner as trustee and guardian for the
+infant. There was a boom in tea estates; my father sold on the crest
+of the wave and came to London. He progressed, but Mrs.
+Fenley&mdash;didn't. She was just a Tommy's daughter, and never seemed to
+try and rise above the level of 'married quarters'.</p>
+
+<p>"I had to mind my p's and q's as a boy, I can assure you. My mother
+was always thrown in my teeth. Mrs. Fenley called her 'black.' It was
+a &mdash;&mdash; lie. She was dark-skinned, as I am, but there are Cornish and
+Welsh folk of much darker complexion. My father, too, shared something
+of the same prejudice. I had to be the good boy of the family.
+Otherwise, I should have been turned out, neck and crop.</p>
+
+<p>"As I behaved well, he was forced to depend on me, because Bob did as
+he liked, with his mother always ready to aid and abet him. Then came
+this scrape I've spoken of. I believe Bob was being blackmailed.
+That's the long and the short of it. Now you know the plain, ungarbled
+facts. Better that they should come from me than reach you with the
+decorations of gossip and servants' tittle-tattle."</p>
+
+<p>The somewhat strained and metallic voice ceased. Fenley was seated at
+the corner of the table near the door. Seemingly yielding to that
+ever-present desire for movement, he pushed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>with his foot an armchair
+out of its place at the head of the table.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia Manning had pointed out that chair to Furneaux as the one
+occupied by Mortimer Fenley at breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>"Is the first Mrs. Fenley dead?" said Furneaux suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think so," said Fenley, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"You are not sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever tried to find out?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I dare not."</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask why?"</p>
+
+<p>"If it were discovered that my mother and I were in communication I
+would have been given short shrift in the bank."</p>
+
+<p>"Did she marry again?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>Again there was silence. Furneaux seemed to be satisfied that he was
+following a blind alley, and Winter became the inquisitor.</p>
+
+<p>"What is the name of the woman with whom your brother is mixed up?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can not tell you, but my father knew."</p>
+
+<p>"What leads you to form that opinion?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some words that passed between Bob and him last Saturday morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Where? Here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in the hall. Tomlinson heard more distinctly than I. I saw there
+was trouble <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>brewing, and kept out of it&mdash;hung back, on the pretense
+of reading a newspaper."</p>
+
+<p>"As to the missing rifle&mdash;can you help us there?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least. I wish to Heaven Bob had gone to Africa, as he was
+planning. Then all this misery would have been avoided."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean your father's death?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley started. He had not weighed his words.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no, no!" he cried hurriedly. "Don't try to trip me into
+admissions, Mr. Winter. I can't stand that, damned if I can."</p>
+
+<p>He jumped up, went to the sideboard and mixed himself a weak brandy
+and soda, which he swallowed as if his throat were afire with thirst.</p>
+
+<p>"I am not treating you as a hostile witness, sir," answered Winter
+calmly. "Mr. Furneaux and I are merely clearing the ground. Soon we
+shall know, or believe that we know, what line to avoid and what to
+follow."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Miss Sylvia Manning engaged to be married?" put in Furneaux.
+Fenley gave him a fiendish look.</p>
+
+<p>"What the devil has Miss Manning's matrimonial prospects got to do
+with this inquiry?" he said, and the venom in his tone was hardly to
+be accounted for by Furneaux's harmless-sounding query.</p>
+
+<p>"One never knows," said the little man, taking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>the unexpected attack
+with bland indifference. "You don't appreciate our position in this
+matter. We are not judges, but guessers. We sit in the stalls of a
+theater, watching people on the stage of real life playing four acts
+of a tragedy, and it is our business to construct the fifth, which is
+produced in court. Let me give you a wildly supposititious version of
+that fifth act now. Suppose some neurotic fool was in love with Miss
+Manning, or her money, and Mr. Mortimer Fenley opposed the project.
+That would supply a motive for the murder. Do you take the point?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry I blazed out at you. Miss Manning is not engaged to be
+married, nor likely to be for many a day."</p>
+
+<p>Now, the obvious question was, "Why, she being such an attractive
+young lady?" But Furneaux never put obvious questions. He turned to
+Winter with the air of one who had nothing more to say. His colleague
+was evidently perplexed, and showed it, but extricated the others from
+an awkward situation with the tact for which he was noted.</p>
+
+<p>"I am much obliged to you for your candor in supplying such a clear
+summary of the family history, Mr. Fenley," he said. "Of course, we
+shall be meeting you frequently during the next few days, and
+developments can be discussed as they arise."</p>
+
+<p>His manner, more than his words, conveyed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>an intimation that when the
+opportunity served he would trounce Furneaux for an indiscretion.
+Fenley was mollified.</p>
+
+<p>"Command me in every way," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"There is one more question, the last and the gravest," said Winter
+seriously. "Do you suspect any one of committing this murder?"</p>
+
+<p>"No! On my soul and honor, no!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir. We'll tackle the butler now, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll send him," said Fenley. Probably in nervous forgetfulness, he
+lighted a cigarette and went out, blowing two long columns of smoke
+through his nostrils. He might, or might not, have been pleased had he
+heard the reprimanding of Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Good stroke, that about the stage, Charles," mumbled Winter. Furneaux
+threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust.</p>
+
+<p>"What an actor the man is!" he almost hissed, owing to the need there
+was of subduing his piping voice to a whisper. "Every word thought
+out, but allowed to be dragged forth reluctantly. Putting brother Bob
+into the tureen, isn't he? 'On my soul and honor,' too! Don't you
+remember, some French blighter said that when an innocent man was
+being made a political scapegoat?... Of course, the mother is a
+Eurasian, and he has met her. A nice dish he served up! A salad of
+easily ascertainable facts with a dressing of lying innuendo. Name <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>of
+a pipe! If Master Hilton hadn't been in the house&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>A knock, and the door opened.</p>
+
+<p>"You want me, gentlemen, I am informed by Mr. Hilton Fenley," said
+Tomlinson.</p>
+
+<p>There spoke the butler, discreet, precise, incapable of error.
+Tomlinson had recovered his breath and his dignity. He was in his own
+domain. The very sight of the Mid-Victorian furniture gave him
+confidence. His skilled glance traveled to the decanter and the empty
+glass. He knew to a minim how much brandy had evaporated since his
+last survey of the sideboard.</p>
+
+<p>"Sit down, Tomlinson," said Winter pleasantly. "You must have been
+dreadfully shocked by this morning's occurrence."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson sat down. He drew the chair somewhat apart from the table,
+knowing better than to place his elbows on that sacred spread of
+polished mahogany.</p>
+
+<p>"I was, sir," he admitted. "Indeed, I may say I shall always be
+shocked by the remembrance of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Mortimer Fenley was a kindly employer?"</p>
+
+<p>"One of the best, sir. He liked things done just so, and could be
+sharp if there was any laxity, but I have never received a cross word
+from him."</p>
+
+<p>"Known him long?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>"Ever since he come to The Towers; nearly twenty years."</p>
+
+<p>"And Mrs. Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Fenley leaves the household entirely under my control, sir. She
+never interferes."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"She is an invalid."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she so ill that she can not be seen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Practically that, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Been so for twenty years?"</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson coughed. He was prepared with an ample statement as to the
+catastrophe which took place at nine thirty <span class="smcap">a. m.</span>, but this delving
+into bygone decades was unexpected and decidedly distasteful, it would
+seem.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Fenley is unhappily addicted to the drug habit, sir," he said
+severely, plainly hinting that there were bounds, even for detectives.</p>
+
+<p>"I fancied so," was the dry response. "However, I can understand and
+honor your reluctance to reveal Mrs. Fenley's failings. Now, please
+tell us exactly what Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert said to each other in
+the hall last Saturday morning."</p>
+
+<p>How poor Farrow, immured in his jungle, would have gloated over
+Tomlinson's collapse when he heard those fatal words! To his credit be
+it said, the butler had not breathed a word to a soul concerning the
+scene between father and son. He knew nothing of an inquisitive
+housemaid, and his tortured brain fastened on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>Hilton Fenley as the
+Paul Pry. Unconsciously, he felt bitter against his new master from
+that moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Must I go into these delicate matters, sir?" he bleated.</p>
+
+<p>"Most certainly. The man whom you respected so greatly has been
+killed, not in the course of a heated dispute, but as the outcome of a
+brutal and well-conceived plan. Bear that in mind, and you will see
+that concealment of vital facts is not only unwise but disloyal."</p>
+
+<p>Winter rather let himself go in his earnestness. He flushed slightly,
+and dared not look at Furneaux lest he should encounter an admiring
+glance.</p>
+
+<p>The butler, however, was far too worried to pay heed to his
+questioner's florid turn of speech. He sighed deeply. He felt like a
+timid swimmer in a choppy sea, knowing he was out of his depth yet
+compelled to struggle blindly.</p>
+
+<p>So, with broken utterance, he repeated the words which a rabbit-eared
+housemaid had carried to Bates. Nevertheless, even while he labored
+on, he fancied that the detectives did not attach such weight to the
+recital as he feared. He anticipated that Winter would write each
+syllable in a notebook, and show an exceeding gravity of appreciation.
+To his great relief, nothing of the kind happened. Winter's comment
+was distinctly helpful.</p>
+
+<p>"It must have been rather disconcerting for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>you to hear father and
+son quarreling openly," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, it was most unpleasant."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, did you form any opinion as to the cause of this bickering? For
+instance, did you imagine that Mr. Fenley wished his son to break off
+relations with an undesirable acquaintance?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Is either Mr. Hilton or Mr. Robert engaged to be married? Or, I had
+better put it, had their father expressed any views as to either of
+his sons marrying suitably?"</p>
+
+<p>"We, in the house, sir, had a notion that Mr. Fenley would like Mr.
+Robert to marry Miss Sylvia."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. I expected that. Were these two young people of the same way
+of thinking?"</p>
+
+<p>"They were friendly, sir, but more like brother and sister. You see,
+they were reared together. It often happens that way when a young
+gentleman and young lady grow up from childhood in each other's
+company. They never think of marriage, whereas the same young
+gentleman would probably fall head over heels in love with the same
+young lady if he met her elsewhere."</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" broke in Furneaux. "Tomlinson, do you drink port?"</p>
+
+<p>The butler looked his astonishment, but answered readily enough&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>"My favorite wine, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought so. Taken in moderation, port induces sound reasoning. I
+have some Alto Douro of '61. I'll bring you a bottle."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson was mystified, a trifle scandalized perhaps; but he bowed
+his acknowledgments.</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, I will appreciate it greatly."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you will. My Alto Douro goes down no gullet but a
+connoisseur's."</p>
+
+<p>Even in his agitation, Tomlinson smiled.</p>
+
+<p>What a queer little man this undersized detective was, to be sure, and
+how oddly he expressed himself!</p>
+
+<p>"I ask this just as a matter of form, but did Mr. Robert Fenley take
+his .450 Express rifle when he went away on Saturday?" said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. He had only a valise strapped to the carrier. But I do
+happen to know that the gun was in his room on Friday, because Friday
+is my day for house inspection."</p>
+
+<p>"Any cartridges?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can't say, sir. They would be in a drawer, or, more likely, in the
+gun room."</p>
+
+<p>"Where is this gun room?"</p>
+
+<p>"Next to the harness room, sir&mdash;second door to the right in the
+courtyard."</p>
+
+<p>"Speaking absolutely in confidence, have you formed a theory as to
+this murder?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. But if any sort of evidence is piled up against Mr. Robert I
+shall not credit it. No <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>power on earth could make me believe that he
+would kill his father in cold blood. He respected his father, sir.
+He's a bit wild, as young men with too much money are apt to be, but
+he was good-hearted and genuine."</p>
+
+<p>"Yet he did speak of blowing his own brains out, and his father's."</p>
+
+<p>"That was his silly way of talking, sir. He would say, 'Tomlinson, if
+you tell the pater what time I came home last night I'll stab you to
+the heart.' When there was a bit of a family squabble he would
+threaten to mix a gallon of weed-killer and drink every drop.
+Everything was rotten, or beastly, or awfully ripping. He was not so
+well educated as he ought to have been&mdash;Mrs. Fenley's fault entirely;
+and he hadn't the&mdash;the words&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The vocabulary."</p>
+
+<p>"That's it, sir. I see you understand."</p>
+
+<p>"Tomlinson," interrupted Furneaux, "a famous American writer, Oliver
+Wendell Holmes, described adjectives of that class as the blank checks
+of intellectual bankruptcy. You have hit on the same great thought."</p>
+
+<p>The butler smiled again. He was beginning to like Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"You have never heard, I suppose, of Mr. Fenley receiving any
+threatening letters?" continued Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. Some stupid postcards were sent when he tried to close a
+right of way through <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>the park; but they were merely ridiculous, and
+that occurred years ago."</p>
+
+<p>"So you, like the rest of us, feel utterly unable to assign a motive
+for this crime?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, it's like a thunderbolt from a clear sky."</p>
+
+<p>"Were the brothers, or half brothers, on good terms with each other?"</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson started at those words, "or half brothers." He was not
+prepared for the Superintendent's close acquaintance with the Fenley
+records.</p>
+
+<p>"They're as different as chalk and cheese, sir," he said, after a
+pause to collect his wits. "Mr. Hilton is clever and well read, and
+cares nothing about sport, though he has a wonderful steady nerve.
+Yes, I mean that&mdash;&mdash;" for Winter's prominent eyes showed surprise at
+the statement. "He's a strange mixture, is Mr. Hilton. He's a fair
+nailer with a revolver. I've seen him hit a penny three times straight
+off at twelve paces, and, when in the mind, he would bowl over running
+rabbits with a rook rifle. Yet he never joined the shooting parties in
+October. Said it made him ill to see graceful birds shattered by
+clumsy folk. All the same, he would ill-treat a horse something
+shameful. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The butler bethought himself, and pulled up with a jerk. But Winter
+smiled encouragingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Say what you had in mind," he said. "You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>are not giving evidence.
+You may rely on our discretion."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, he's that sort of man who must have his own way, and when
+things went against him at home, he'd take it out of any servant or
+animal that vexed him afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>"It was not an ideally happy household, I take it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Things went along very smoothly, sir, all things considered. They
+have been rather better since Miss Sylvia came home from Brussels. She
+was worried about Mrs. Fenley at first, but gave it up as a bad job;
+and Mr. Fenley and the young gentlemen used to hide their differences
+before her. That was why Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert blazed up in the
+hall on Saturday. They couldn't say a word in front of Miss Sylvia at
+the breakfast table."</p>
+
+<p>"The four always met at breakfast, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Almost without fail, sir. On Monday and Tuesday mornings Mr. Hilton
+breakfasted early, and his father was joking about it, for if any one
+was late it would be him&mdash;or should I say 'he', sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux cackled.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't have you alter your speech on any account," he grinned.
+"Why did Mr. Hilton turn over these new leaves on Monday and Tuesday?"</p>
+
+<p>"He said he had work to do. What it was I don't know, sir. But he
+managed to miss the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>nine forty-five, and Mr. Fenley was vexed about
+it. Of course, I don't know why I am telling you these small things.
+Mr. Hilton might be angry&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Some one knocked. Harris, the footman, entered, a scared look on his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you come a moment, Mr. Tomlinson?" he said. "The undertaker is
+here for the body."</p>
+
+<p>"What is that?" cried Winter sharply.</p>
+
+<p>The butler arose.</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't Mr. Hilton mention it, sir?" he said. "Dr. Stern must hold a
+post mortem before the inquest, and he suggested that it could be
+carried through more easily in the mortuary attached to the Cottage
+Hospital. Isn't that all right, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I didn't understand. Go, by all means. We'll wait
+here."</p>
+
+<p>When they were alone, the two detectives remained silent for a long
+minute. Winter arose and looked through a window at the scene outside.
+A closed hearse had arrived; some men were carrying in a rough coffin
+and three trestles. There was none of the gorgeous trappings which
+lend dignity to such transits in public. Polished oak and gleaming
+brass and rare flowers would add pageantry later; this was the livery
+of the dissecting-room.</p>
+
+<p>"Queer case!" growled Winter over his shoulder. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>"If only Hilton had breakfasted early <i>this</i> morning!" said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"If the dog hadn't stopped to scratch himself he would have caught the
+hare," was the irritable answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you pleased with Tomlinson, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"The more he opened up the more puzzled I became. By the way, you
+hardly asked him a thing, though you were keen on tackling him
+yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"James, I'm an artist. You handled him so neatly that I stood by and
+appreciated. It would be mean to suggest that the prospect of a bottle
+of Alto Douro quickened his imagination. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Winter's hands were crossed behind his back, and his fingers worked in
+expressive pantomime. Furneaux was by his side in an instant. Hilton
+Fenley was standing on the steps, a little below and to the left of
+the window. He was gazing with a curiously set stare at the bust of
+Police Constable Farrow perched high among the trees to the right. The
+observers in the room had then an excellent opportunity to study him
+at leisure.</p>
+
+<p>"More of Asia than of Europe in that face and figure," murmured
+Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"The odd thing is that he should be more interested in our sentinel
+than in the disposal of his father's body," commented Winter. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>"A live donkey is always more valuable than a dead lion."</p>
+
+<p>"We shall have to go to that wood soon, Charles."</p>
+
+<p>"Your only failing is that you can't see the forest for the trees."</p>
+
+<p>They were bickering, an ominous sign for some one yet unknown.
+Suddenly, far down the avenue, they saw a motor bicycle traveling
+fast. Hilton Fenley saw it at the same moment and screened his eyes
+with a hand, for he was bareheaded and the sun was now blazing with
+noonday intensity.</p>
+
+<p>"Brother Bob!" hissed Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>Winter thought the other had recognized the man crouched over the
+handlebar.</p>
+
+<p>"Gee!" he said. "Your sight must be good."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not using eyes, but brains. Who else can it be? This is the
+psychological moment which never fails. Bet you a new hat I'm right."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not buying you any new hats," said Winter. "Look at Hilton. He
+knows. Now, I wonder if the other one telephoned. No. He'd have told
+us. He'd guess it would crop up in talk some time or other. Yes, the
+motorist is waving to him. There! You can see his face. It <i>is</i>
+Robert, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"O sapient one!" snapped Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>The meeting between the brothers was orthodox <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>in its tragic
+friendliness. The onlookers could supply the words they were unable to
+hear. Robert Fenley, bigger, heavier, altogether more British in build
+and semblance than Hilton, was evidently asking breathlessly if the
+news he had read in London was true, and Hilton was volubly explaining
+what had happened, pointing to the wood, the doorway, the hearse,
+emphasizing with many gestures the painful story he had to tell.</p>
+
+<p>Then the two young men mounted the steps, the inference being that
+Robert Fenley wished to see his father's body before it was removed. A
+pallor was spreading beneath the glow on the younger Fenley's
+perspiring face. He was obviously shocked beyond measure. Grief and
+horror had imparted a certain strength to somewhat sullen features. He
+might be a ne'er-do-well, a loose liver, a good deal of a fool,
+perhaps, but he was learning one of life's sharpest lessons; in time,
+it might bring out what was best in his character. The detectives
+understood now why the butler, who knew the boy even better than his
+own father, deemed it impossible that he should be a parricide. Some
+men are constitutionally incapable of committing certain crimes. At
+least, the public thinks so; Scotland Yard knows better, and studies
+criminology with an open mind.</p>
+
+<p>The brothers had hardly crossed the threshold of the house when an
+eldritch scream rang <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>through the lofty hall. The detectives hastened
+from the dining-room, and forthwith witnessed a tableau which would
+have received the envious approval of a skilled producer of melodrama.
+The hall measured some thirty-five feet square, and was nearly as
+lofty, its ceiling forming the second floor. The staircase was on the
+right, starting from curved steps in the inner right angle and making
+a complete turn from a half landing to reach a gallery which ran
+around three sides of the first floor. The fourth contained the
+doorway, with a window on each hand and four windows above.</p>
+
+<p>The stairs and the well of the hall were of oak, polished as to
+parquet and steps, but left to age and color naturally as to wainscot,
+balusters and rails. The walls of the upper floor were decorated in
+shades of dull gold and amber. The general effect was superb, either
+in daylight or when a great Venetian luster in the center of the
+ceiling blazed with electric lights.</p>
+
+<p>The body of the unfortunate banker had not been removed from the oaken
+settee at the back of the hall, and was still covered with a white
+sheet. An enormously stout woman, clothed in a dressing-gown of black
+lace, was standing in the cross gallery and resisting the gentle
+efforts of Sylvia Manning, now attired in black, to take her away. The
+stout woman's face was deathly white, and her distended eyes were
+gazing dully at the ominous figure stretched beneath. Two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>podgy
+hands, with rings gleaming on every finger, were clutching the carved
+railing, and the tenacity of their grip caused the knuckles to stand
+out in white spots on the ivory-tinted skin.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was Mrs. Fenley, in whom some vague stirring of the spirit
+had induced a consciousness that all was not well in the household
+with which she "never interfered."</p>
+
+<p>It was she who had uttered that ringing shriek when some flustered
+maid blurted out that "the master" was dead, and her dazed brain had
+realized what the sheet covered. She lifted her eyes from that
+terrifying object when her son entered with Hilton Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Bob!" she wailed. "They've killed your father! Why did you let
+them do it?"</p>
+
+<p>Even in the agony of the moment the distraught young man was aware
+that his mother was in no fit state to appear thus openly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," he said roughly, "you oughtn't to be here, you know. Do go
+to your room with Sylvia. I'll come soon, and explain everything."</p>
+
+<p>"Explain!" she wailed. "Explain your father's death! Who killed him?
+Tell me that, and I'll tear them with my nails. But is he dead? Did
+that hussy lie to me? You all tell me lies because you think I am a
+fool. Let me alone, Sylvia. I <i>will</i> go to my husband. Let me alone,
+or I'll strike you!" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>By sheer weight she forced herself free from the girl's hands, and
+tottered down the stairs. At the half landing she fell to her knees,
+and Sylvia ran to pick her up. Then Hilton Fenley seemed to arouse
+himself from a stupor. Flinging a command at the servants, he rushed
+to Sylvia's assistance, and, helped by Tomlinson and a couple of
+footmen, half carried the screaming and fighting woman up the stairs
+and along a corridor.</p>
+
+<p>Thus it happened that Robert Fenley was left in the hall with the dead
+body of his father. He stood stock still, and seemed to follow with
+disapproval the manner of the disappearance of the poor creature whom
+he called mother. Her shrieks redoubled in volume as she understood
+that she would not be allowed to see her husband's corpse, and her son
+added to the uproar by shouting loudly:</p>
+
+<p>"Hi, there! Don't ill-treat her, or I'll break all your &mdash;&mdash; necks!
+Confound you, be gentle with her!"</p>
+
+<p>He listened till a door slammed, and a sudden cessation of the tumult
+showed that some one, in sheer self-defense, had given her morphia,
+the only sedative that could have any real effect. Then he turned, and
+became aware of the presence of the two detectives.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," he said furiously, "who are you, and what the blazes do you
+want here? Get out, both of you, or I'll have you chucked out!" </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Wherein Furneaux Seeks Inspiration From <br />
+Literature and Art</span></h3>
+
+<p>The head of the Criminal Investigation Department was not the sort of
+man to accept meekly whatsoever coarse commands Robert Fenley chose to
+fling at him. He met the newcomer's angry stare with a cold and steady
+eye.</p>
+
+<p>"You should moderate your language in the presence of death, Mr.
+Fenley," he said. "We are here because it is our duty. You, on your
+part, would have acted more discreetly had you gone to your mother's
+assistance instead of swearing at those who were acting for the best
+under trying conditions."</p>
+
+<p>"Damn your eyes, are you speaking to me?" came the wrathful cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely you have been told that your father is lying there dead!" went
+on Winter sternly. "Mrs. Fenley might have yielded readily to your
+persuasion, but your help took the form of threatening people who
+adopted the only other course possible. Calm yourself, sir, and try to
+remember that the father from whom you parted in anger has been
+murdered. My colleague and I represent Scotland Yard; we were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>brought
+here by your brother. See that you meet us in the dining-room in a
+quarter of an hour. Come, Furneaux!"</p>
+
+<p>And, stirred for once to a feeling of deep annoyance, the big man
+strode out into the open air, with a sublime disregard for either the
+anger or the alarm struggling for mastery in Robert Fenley's sullen
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"Phew!" he said, drawing a deep breath before descending the steps.
+"What an unlicked cub! And they wanted to marry that girl to him!"</p>
+
+<p>"It sha'n't be done, James," said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"I actually lost my temper," puffed the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell you what! Let's put the Inspector on to him. Tell the local
+sleuths half what we know, and they'll run him in like a shot."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh! He's all talk. Tomlinson is right. The neurotic Hilton has more
+nerve in his little finger than that dolt in the whole of his body."</p>
+
+<p>"What did you think of his boots?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shall be surprised if they don't fit those footprints exactly."</p>
+
+<p>"They will. The left heel is evenly worn, but the right bears on the
+outer edge. Let's cool our fevered brows under the greenwood tree till
+this hearse is out of the way."</p>
+
+<p>The butler, who had asked the undertaker's assistants to suspend
+operations when Robert Fenley arrived, now appeared at the door and
+signaled the men that they were free to proceed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>with their work. The
+detectives strolled into the wood, and soon were bending over some
+curious blotchy marks which somehow suggested the passage of a
+pad-footed animal rather than a human being. Bates, of course, would
+have noted them had he not been on the alert for footprints alone, but
+they had stared at Winter and Furneaux from the instant their
+regularity became apparent. They represented a stride considerably
+shorter than the average length of a man's pace, and were strongly
+marked when the surface was spongy enough to receive an impression.
+Except, however, in the slight hollow already described, the ground
+was so dry that traces of every sort were lost. In the vicinity of the
+rock, too, the only marks left were the scratches in the moss adhering
+to the steep sides of the bowlder itself.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you make of 'em, Charles?" inquired Winter, when both had
+puzzled for some minutes over the uncommon signs.</p>
+
+<p>"Some one has thought out the footprint as a clue pretty thoroughly,"
+said Furneaux. "He not only took care to leave a working model of one
+set, but was extremely anxious not to provide any data as to his own
+tootsies, so he fastened a bundle of rags under each boot, and walked
+like a cat on walnut shells."</p>
+
+<p>Winter nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"When we find the gun, too&mdash;it's somewhere in this wood&mdash;you'll see
+that the fingerprints <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>won't help," he replied thoughtfully. "The man
+who remembered to safeguard his feet would not forget his hands. We're
+up against a tough proposition, young fellow-me-lad."</p>
+
+<p>"Your way of thinking reminds me of Herbert Spencer's reason for not
+learning Latin grammar as a youth," grinned Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"It would be a pity to spoil one of your high-class jokes; so what was
+the reason?"</p>
+
+<p>"He refused to accept any statement unaccompanied by proof. The
+agreement of an adjective with its noun displeased him, because an
+arbitrary rule merely said it was so."</p>
+
+<p>"An ingenious excuse for not learning a lesson, but I don't see&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Consider. Mortimer Fenley was shot dead at nine thirty this morning,
+and the bullet which killed him came from the neighborhood of the rock
+above our heads. One shot was fired. It was so certain, so true of
+aim, that the murderer made sure of hitting him&mdash;at a fairly long
+range, too. How many men were there in Roxton and Easton this
+morning&mdash;was there even one woman?&mdash;capable of sighting a rifle with
+such calm confidence of success? Mind you, Fenley had to be killed
+dead. No bungling. A severe wound from which he might recover would
+not meet the case at all. Again, how many rifles are there in the
+united parishes of Roxton and Easton of the type which fires expanding
+bullets?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p><p>"Of course, those vital facts narrow down the field, but Hilton Fenley
+was unquestionably in the house."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux cackled shrilly.</p>
+
+<p>"You're in Herbert's class, Charles," he cried, delighted at having
+trapped his big friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon me, gentlemen," said a voice from among the leaves, "but I
+thought you might like to know that Mr. Robert Fenley is starting off
+again on his motor bike."</p>
+
+<p>Even as Police Constable Farrow spoke they heard the loud snorting of
+an exhaust, marking the initial efforts of a motor bicycle's engine to
+get under way. In a few seconds came the rhythmic beat of the machine
+as it gathered speed; the two men looked at each other and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Master Robert defies the majesty of the law," said Winter dryly.
+"Perhaps, taking one consideration with another, it's the best thing
+he could have done."</p>
+
+<p>"He is almost bound to enter London by the Edgware Road," said
+Furneaux instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Just so. I noticed the make and number of his machine. A
+plain-clothes man on an ordinary bicycle can follow him easily from
+Brondesbury onwards. Time him, and get on the telephone while I keep
+Hilton in talk. If we're mistaken we'll ring up Brondesbury again." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>Winter was curtly official in tone when Hilton Fenley came downstairs
+at his request.</p>
+
+<p>"Why did your brother rush off in such an extraordinary hurry?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"How can I tell you?" was the reply, given offhandedly, as if the
+matter was of no importance. "He comes and goes without consulting my
+wishes, I assure you."</p>
+
+<p>"But I requested him to meet me here at this very hour. There are
+questions he has to answer, and it would have been best in his own
+interests had he not shirked them."</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with you fully. I hadn't the least notion he meant going
+until I looked out on hearing the bicycle, and saw him racing down the
+avenue."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think, sir, he is making for London?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so. That is where he came from. He says he heard of his
+father's death through the newspapers, and it would not surprise me in
+the least if I did not see him again until after the funeral."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I bothered you, but I imagined or hoped he
+had given you some explanation. His conduct calls for it."</p>
+
+<p>The Superintendent's manner had gradually become more suave. He
+realized that these Fenleys were queer folk. Like the Pharisee, "they
+were not as other men," but whether the difference between them and
+the ordinary <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>mortal arose from pride or folly or fear it was hard to
+say.</p>
+
+<p>Hilton Fenley smiled wanly.</p>
+
+<p>"Bob is adopting the supposed tactics of the ostrich when pursued," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>"But no one is pursuing him."</p>
+
+<p>"I am speaking metaphorically, of course. He is in distress, and hides
+behind the first bush. He has no moral force&mdash;never had. Physically he
+doesn't know what fear is, but the specters of the mind loom large in
+his eyes. And now, Superintendent, I am just on the point of leaving
+for London. I shall return about six thirty. Do you remain?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. I shall return to town almost immediately. Mr. Furneaux will
+stop here. Can he have a bedroom in the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. Tomlinson will look after him. You are not going cityward,
+I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. But if you care to have a seat in my car&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks. The train is quicker and takes me direct to London
+Bridge. Much obliged."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley hurried to the cloakroom, which was situated under the stairs,
+but on a lower level than the hall. The telephone box was placed
+there, and Furneaux emerged as the other ran down a few steps. The
+little man hailed him cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose, now," he said, "that hot headed brother of yours thinks he
+has dodged Scotland <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>Yard till it suits his convenience to be
+interviewed. Strange how people insist on regarding us as novices in
+our own particular line. Now you wouldn't make that mistake, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"What mistake? I wouldn't run away, if that is what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure of that, sir. But Mr. Robert has committed the additional
+folly, from his point of view, of letting us know why he was so
+desperately anxious to get back to London."</p>
+
+<p>"But he didn't say a word!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, words, idle words!</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">"Words are like leaves; and where they most abound<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"It is actions that count, sir. Deeds, not words. Now, Mr. Robert has
+been kind enough to give us the eloquent facts, because he will be
+followed from the suburbs and his whereabouts watched most carefully."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me! I hadn't thought of that," said Hilton Fenley slowly. Two
+ideas were probably warring in his brain at that moment. One classed
+Furneaux as a garrulous idiot; the other suggested that there might be
+method in such folly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a clever simile of Pope's about dense leaves betokening
+scarcity of fruit," went on Furneaux. "Of course, it might be pushed
+too far. Think what a poisonous Dead Sea apple the Quarry Wood
+contained. Your father's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>murder might not have been possible today
+but for the cover given by the trees."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley selected a dark overcoat and derby hat. He wore a black tie,
+but had made no other change in his costume.</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite a literary detective, Mr. Furneaux," he commented.</p>
+
+<p>"More literal than literary, sir. I have little leisure for reading,
+but I own an excellent memory. Nothing to boast of in that. It's
+indispensable in my profession."</p>
+
+<p>"Obviously. Well, I must hurry away now. See you later."</p>
+
+<p>He hastened out. His manner seemed to hint an annoyance; it conveyed
+indefinitely but subtly a suggestion that his father's death was far
+too serious a thing to be treated with such levity.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux sauntered slowly to the front door. By that time the Fenley
+car was speeding rapidly down the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>"With luck," he said to Winter, who had joined him, "with any sort of
+luck both brothers should pass their father's body on the way to the
+mortuary. Sometimes, O worthy chief, I find myself regretting the ways
+and means of the days of old, when men believed in the Judicium Dei.</p>
+
+<p>"Neither of those sons went near his dead father. If one of them had
+dared I wonder whether the blood would have liquefied. Do you
+remember, in the 'Nibelungenlied,' that Hagen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>is forced to prove his
+innocence by touching Siegfried's corpse&mdash;and fails? That is the
+point&mdash;he fails. Our own Shakespeare knew the dodge. When Henry VI was
+being borne to Chertsey in an open coffin, the Lady Anne made Gloster
+squirm by her cry:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">"O gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Why then did those sons fight shy of touching their father's body?
+Had it been your father or mine who was beaten down by a murderer's
+spite, we would surely have given him one fare-well clasp of the
+hand."</p>
+
+<p>Winter recognized the symptoms. His diminutive friend was examining
+the embryo of a theory already established in his mind. It was a mere
+shadow, something vague and dark and uncertain in outline. But it
+existed, and would assume recognizable shape when an active
+imagination had fitted some shreds of proof to that which was yet
+without form and void. At that crisis, contradiction was a tonic.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're in error in one respect," said Winter quietly. "Hilton
+Fenley went to his father's assistance, and we don't know whether or
+not Robert did not approach the body."</p>
+
+<p>"You're wrong, most sapient one. Before telephoning Brondesbury I
+asked Harris to tell me exactly what happened after the banker dropped
+at his feet. Harris shouted and knelt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>over him. Miss Manning ran and
+lifted his head. Tomlinson, Harris and Brodie carried him to the
+settee. Hilton Fenley never touched him."</p>
+
+<p>"What of Robert? We cleared out, leaving him there alone."</p>
+
+<p>"I watched him until the undertaker's men were called back. Up to that
+time he hadn't moved. Bet you a new hat the men will tell you he never
+went nearer."</p>
+
+<p>"You buy your own new hats," said Winter. "Do you want me to stand you
+two a day? I'm off to the Yard. I'll look up two lines in town. 'Phone
+through if you want help and I'll come. You sleep here tonight if you
+care to. Tomlinson will provide. How about the wood?"</p>
+
+<p>"Leave it."</p>
+
+<p>"You'll see that artist, Trenholme?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"And the bedrooms?"</p>
+
+<p>"Going there now."</p>
+
+<p>"So long! Sorry I must quit, but I'm keen to clear up that telephone
+call."</p>
+
+<p>"If you're in the office about six I'll tell you the whole story."</p>
+
+<p>"Charles," said Winter earnestly, placing a hand on his colleague's
+shoulder, "we gain nothing by rushing our fences. This is the toughest
+job we've handled this year; there's a hard road to travel before we
+sit down and prepare a brief for counsel." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>"Of course, I meant the story up to the six o'clock instalment."</p>
+
+<p>Winter smiled. He sprang into the car, the chauffeur having already
+started the engine in obedience to a word from the Superintendent.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop at the Brondesbury police station," was the order, and Furneaux
+was left alone. He re&euml;ntered the house and crooked a finger at the
+butler, who had not summoned up courage to retire to his own sanctum,
+though a midday meal was awaiting him.</p>
+
+<p>"Take me upstairs," said the detective. "I shall not detain you many
+minutes. Then you and I will have a snack together and you'll borrow a
+bicycle for me, and I sha'n't trouble you any more till a late hour."</p>
+
+<p>"No trouble at all, sir," Tomlinson assured him. "If I could advance
+your inquiry in the least degree I'd fast cheerfully all day."</p>
+
+<p>"What I like about you, Tomlinson, is your restraint," said Furneaux.
+"Many a man would have offered to fast a week, not meaning to deny
+himself a toothful five minutes longer than was avoidable. Now you
+really mean what you say&mdash;&mdash;Ah, this is Mr. Robert's den. And that is
+his bedroom, with dressing-room adjoining. Very cozy, to be sure. Of
+course, the rooms have been dusted regularly since he disappeared on
+Saturday?"</p>
+
+<p>"Every day, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hate prying into people's rooms. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>Beastly liberty, I call it.
+Now for Mr. Hilton's."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all, sir?" inquired the butler, manifestly surprised by the
+cursory glance which the detective had given around the suite of
+apartments.</p>
+
+<p>"All at present, thank you. Like the Danites' messengers, I'm only
+spying out the lie of the land. Ah, each brother occupied a corner of
+the east wing. Robert, north, Hilton, south&mdash;a most equitable
+arrangement. Now these rooms show signs of tenancy, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>They were standing in Hilton Fenley's sitting-room, having traversed
+the whole of the gallery around the hall to reach it. The remains of a
+fire in the grate caught Furneaux's eye, and the butler coughed
+apologetically.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton won't have his rooms touched, sir, until he leaves home of
+a morning," he said. "He likes to find his papers, et cetera, where he
+put them overnight. As a rule the housemaid comes here soon after
+breakfast, but this morning&mdash;naturally&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, of course," assented the other promptly. "Everything is at
+sixes and sevens. Would you mind sending the girl here? I'd like to
+have a word with her."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson moved ponderously towards an electric bell.</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Furneaux. "Don't ring. Just ask her to come. Then she can
+bring me to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>your place and we'll nibble something. Meanwhile I'll
+enjoy this view."</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, sir. That will suit me admirably."</p>
+
+<p>Tomlinson walked out with stately tread. His broad back was scarcely
+turned before the detective's nimble feet had carried him into the
+bedroom, which stood in the southeast angle. He seemed to fly around
+the room like one possessed of a fiend of unrest. Picking up a glass
+tumbler, he sniffed it and put it in a pocket. He peered at the bed,
+the dressing-table, the carpet; opened drawers and wardrobe doors,
+examined towels in the bathroom, and stuffed one beneath his
+waistcoat.</p>
+
+<p>Running back to the sitting-room, he found a torn envelope, and began
+picking up some specks of grit from the carpet, each of which went
+into a corner of the envelope, which he folded and stowed away. Then
+he bent over the fireplace and rummaged among the cinders. Three
+calcined lumps, not wholly consumed, appeared to interest him. A
+newspaper was handy; he wrapped the grimy treasure trove in a sheet,
+and that small parcel also went into a pocket.</p>
+
+<p>When a swish of skirts on the stairs announced the housemaid he
+retreated to the bedroom, and the girl found him standing at a south
+window, gazing out over the fair vista of the Italian terraces and the
+rolling parkland. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, sir," said the girl timidly.</p>
+
+<p>He turned, as if he had not heard her approach. She was pale, and her
+eyes were red, for the feminine portion of the household was in a
+state of collapse.</p>
+
+<p>"I only wanted to ask why a fire is laid in the sitting-room in such
+fine weather," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton sits up late, sir, and if the evening is at all chilly, he
+puts a match to the grate himself."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, a silly question. Don't tell anybody I spoke of it or they'll
+think me a funny detective, won't they?"</p>
+
+<p>He smiled genially, and the girl's face brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see that, sir," she said. "I don't know why Mr. Hilton wanted
+a fire last night. It was quite hot. I slept with my window wide
+open."</p>
+
+<p>"A very healthy habit, too. Do you attend to Mr. Robert's suite?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Does <i>he</i> have a fire?"</p>
+
+<p>"Never in the summer, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a warmer-blooded creature than Mr. Hilton, I fancy."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect so, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, there's nothing here. But we detectives have to nose
+around everywhere. I'm sure you are terribly upset by your master's
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>death. Everybody gives him a good word."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, he deserved it, sir. We all liked him. He was strict but very
+generous."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux chatted with her while they descended the stairs and
+traversed devious passages till the butler's room was gained. By that
+time the housemaid was convinced that Mr. Furneaux was "a very nice
+man." When she "did" Hilton Fenley's rooms she missed the glass, but
+gave no heed to its absence. Who would bother about a glass in a house
+where murder had been done? She simply replaced it by another of the
+same pattern.</p>
+
+<p>"May I inquire, sir," said Tomlinson, when Furneaux had washed face
+and hands and was seated at a table laid for two, "may I inquire if
+you have any preference as to a luncheon wine?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think," said Furneaux with due solemnity, "that a still wine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with you, sir. At this time of the day a Sauterne or a
+Johannisberger&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"To my taste, a Ch&acirc;teau Yquem, with that delicate flavor which leaves
+the palate fresh&mdash;Frenchmen call it the <i>s&egrave;ve</i>&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, I perceive that you have a taste. Singularly enough, I have a
+bottle of Ch&acirc;teau Yquem in my sideboard."</p>
+
+<p>So the meal was a success.</p>
+
+<p>An under gardener lent Furneaux a bicycle. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>After a chat with Farrow,
+to whom he conveyed some sandwiches and a bottle of beer, the
+detective rode to Easton. He sent a rather long telegram to his own
+quarters, called at a chemist's, and reached the White Horse at Roxton
+about two o'clock.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Now the imp of mischance had contrived that John Trenholme should hear
+no word of the murder until he came downstairs for luncheon after a
+morning's steady work.</p>
+
+<p>The stout Eliza, fearful lest Mary should forestall her with the news,
+bounced out from the kitchen when his step sounded on the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>"There was fine goin's on in the park this morning, Mr. Trenholme,"
+she began breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>He reddened at once, and avoided her fiery eye. Of course, it had been
+discovered that he had watched that girl bathing. Dash it all, his
+action was unintentional! What a bore!</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep," continued Eliza. She
+gave proper emphasis to the concluding words. That a man should be
+murdered "on his own doorstep" was a feature of the crime that
+enhanced the tragedy in the public mind. The shooting was bad enough
+in itself, for rural England is happily free from such horrors; but
+swift and brutal death dealt out on one's own doorstep was a thing at
+once monstrous and awe-compelling. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>Eliza, perhaps, wondered why Mr.
+Trenholme flushed, but she fully understood the sudden blanching of
+his face at her tidings, for all Roxton was shaken to its foundations
+when the facts slowly percolated in that direction.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Lord!" cried he. "Could that be the shot I heard?"</p>
+
+<p>"He was killed at half past nine, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Then it was! A keeper heard it, too&mdash;and a policeman&mdash;our Roxton
+policeman."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be Farrow," said Eliza. "What was <i>he</i> doin', the
+lazy-bones, that he couldn't catch the villain?"</p>
+
+<p>"What villain?"</p>
+
+<p>"The man who killed poor Mr. Fenley."</p>
+
+<p>"They know who did it, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, no. There's all sorts o' tales flyin' about, but you can't
+believe any of 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"But why are you blaming Farrow? He's a good fellow. He sings. No real
+scoundrel can sing. Read any novel, any newspaper report. 'The
+prisoner's voice was harsh and unmusical.' You've seen those words
+scores of times."</p>
+
+<p>In his relief at learning that his own escapade was not published
+broadcast, Trenholme had momentarily forgotten the dreadful nature of
+Eliza's statement. She followed him into the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be a witness, I suppose," she said, anxious to secure details
+of the shot-firing. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>"A witness!" he repeated blankly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. There can't be a deal o' folk who heard the gun go off."</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove, Eliza, I believe you're right," he said, gazing at her in
+dismay. "Now that I come to think of it, I am probably the only person
+in existence who can say where that shot came from. It was a rifle,
+too. I spoke of it to the keeper and Farrow."</p>
+
+<p>"I was sure something would happen when I dreamed of suffrigettes this
+mornin'. An' that comes of playin' pranks, Mr. Trenholme. If it wasn't
+for that alarm clock&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come, Eliza," he broke in. "An alarm clock isn't a Gatling gun.
+Your association of ideas is faulty. There is much in common between
+the clatter of an alarm clock and the suffragist cause, but all the
+ladies promised not to endanger life, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Anyhow, Mr. Fenley is dead as a doornail," said Eliza firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"Too bad. I take back all the hard things I said about him, and I'm
+sure you do the same."</p>
+
+<p>"Me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Didn't you say all the Fenleys were rubbish? One of them, at any
+rate, was wrongly classified."</p>
+
+<p>"Which one?"</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme bethought himself in time.</p>
+
+<p>"This unfortunate banker, of course," he said. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"I'd a notion you meant Miss Sylvia. She's pretty as a
+picter&mdash;prettier than some picters I've seen&mdash;and folk speak well of
+her. But she's not a Fenley."</p>
+
+<p>At any other time the artist would have received that thrust <i>en
+tierce</i> with a <i>riposte</i>; at present, Eliza's facts were more
+interesting than her wit.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is the lady you are speaking of?" he asked guardedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley's ward, Miss Sylvia Manning. They say she's rich. Pore
+young thing! Some schemin' man will turn her head, I'll go bail, an'
+all for the sake of her brass."</p>
+
+<p>"Most likely a one-legged gunner, name of Jim."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it won't be a two-legged painter, name of Jack!" And Eliza
+bounced out.</p>
+
+<p>Now, Mary of the curl papers, having occasion to go upstairs while
+Trenholme was eating, peeped through the open door of the room which
+he had converted into a studio. She saw a picture on the easel, and
+the insatiable curiosity of her class led her to examine it. Even a
+country kitchen maid came under its spell instantly. After a pause of
+mingled admiration and shocked prudery, she sped to the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"Seein' is believin'," quoted Eliza, mounting the stairs in her turn.
+She gazed at the drawing brazenly, with hands resting on hips and head
+cocked sidewise like an inquisitive hen's. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>"Well, I never did!" was her verdict.</p>
+
+<p>Back in the kitchen again, she announced firmly to Mary&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I'll</i> take in the cheese."</p>
+
+<p>She put the Stilton on the table with a determined air.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know anything about Miss Sylvia Manning, don't you?" she
+said, with calm guile.</p>
+
+<p>"Never heard the lady's name before you mentioned it," said Trenholme.</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe not, but it strikes me you've <i>seen</i> more of her than most
+folk."</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza," he cried, without any pretense at smiling good humor, "you've
+been sneaking!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sneakin', you call it? I 'appened to pass your room, an' who could
+help lookin' in? I was never so taken aback in me life. You could ha'
+knocked me down with a feather."</p>
+
+<p>"An ostrich feather with an ostrich's leg behind it," was the angry
+retort.</p>
+
+<p>Eliza's eyes glinted with the fire of battle.</p>
+
+<p>"The shameless ways of girls nowadays!" she breathed. "To let any
+young man gaze at her in them sort of clothes, if you can call 'em
+clothes!"</p>
+
+<p>"It was an accident. She didn't know I was there. Anyhow, you dare
+utter another word about that picture, even hint at its existence, and
+I'll paint you without any clothes at all. I mean that, so beware!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to interrupt," said a high-pitched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>voice from the doorway.
+"You are Mr. John Trenholme, I take it? May I come in? My name's
+Furneaux."</p>
+
+<p>"Jim, of the Royal Artillery?" demanded Trenholme angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Charles Fran&ccedil;ois, of Scotland Yard."</p>
+
+<p>Eliza fled, completely cowed. She began to weep, in noisy gulps.</p>
+
+<p>"I've dud-dud-done it!" she explained to agitated curl papers. "That
+pup-pup-pore Mr. Trenholme. They've cuc-cuc-come for him. He'll be
+lul-lul-locked up, an' all along o' my wu-wu-wicked tongue!" </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Some Side Issues</span></h3>
+
+<p>Trenholme, rather interested than otherwise, did not blanch at mention
+of Scotland Yard.</p>
+
+<p>"Walk right in, Mr. Furneaux," he said; he had picked up a few tricks
+of speech from Transatlantic brethren of the brush met at Julien's.
+"Have you lunched?"</p>
+
+<p>"Excellently," was the reply.</p>
+
+<p>"Not in Roxton. I defy you to produce a cook in this village that
+shall compare with our Eliza of the White Horse."</p>
+
+<p>"Sir, my thoughts do not dwell on viands. True, I ate with a butler,
+but I drank wine with a connoisseur. It was a Ch&acirc;teau Yquem of the
+eighties."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you should be in expansive mood. Before you demand with a scowl
+why I shot Mr. Fenley you might tell me why the headquarters of the
+London Police is named Scotland Yard."</p>
+
+<p>"Because it was first housed in a street of that name near Trafalgar
+Square. Scotland Yard was a palace at one time, built in a spirit of
+mistaken hospitality for the reception of prominent Scots visiting
+London. We entertained <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>so many and so lavishly that 'Gang Sooth' has
+become a proverb beyond the Tweed."</p>
+
+<p>"There is virtue, I perceive, in a bottle of Ch&acirc;teau Yquem&mdash;or was it
+two?"</p>
+
+<p>"In one there is light, but two might produce fireworks. Now, sir, if
+you have finished luncheon, kindly take me to your room and show me
+the sketches you made this morning."</p>
+
+<p>The artist raised an inquiring eyebrow.</p>
+
+<p>"I have the highest respect for your profession in the abstract, but
+it is new to find it dabbling in art criticism," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"I assure you, Mr. Trenholme, that any drawings of yours made in the
+neighborhood of The Towers before half past nine o'clock today will be
+most valuable pieces of evidence&mdash;if nothing more."</p>
+
+<p>Though Furneaux's manner was grave as an owl's, a certain gleam in his
+eye gave the requisite sting to the concluding words. Trenholme, at
+any other time, would have delighted in him, but dropped his bantering
+air forthwith.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind exhibiting my work," he said. "It will not be a novel
+experience. Come this way."</p>
+
+<p>Watched by two awe-stricken women from the passage leading to the
+kitchen, the artist and his visitor ascended the stairs. Trenholme
+walked straight to the easel, took off the drawing of Sylvia Manning
+and the Aphrodite, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>placed it on the floor face to the wall, and
+staged the sketch of the Elizabethan house. Furneaux screwed his
+eyelids to secure a half light; then, making a cylinder of his right
+hand, peered through it with one eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Admirable!" he said. "Corot, with some of the breadth of Constable.
+Forgive the comparisons, Mr. Trenholme. Of course, the style is your
+own, but one uses the names of accepted masters largely as adjectives
+to explain one's meaning. You are a true impressionist. You paint
+Nature as you see her, not as she is, yet your technique is superb and
+your observation just. For instance, every shadow in this lovely
+drawing shows that the hour was about eight o'clock. But, in painting
+figures, I have no doubt you sink the impressionist in the realist....
+The other sketch, please."</p>
+
+<p>"The other sketch is a mere color note for future guidance," said
+Trenholme offhandedly.</p>
+
+<p>"It happens also to be a recognizable portrait of Miss Sylvia Manning.
+I'm sorry, but I must see it."</p>
+
+<p>"Suppose I refuse?"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be obtained by other methods than a polite request."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I shall have to run the risk."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you won't." And the detective's tone became eminently friendly.
+"You'll just produce it within the next half minute. You are not the
+sort of man who would care to drag a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>lady's name into a police-court
+wrangle, which can be the only outcome of present stubbornness on your
+part. I know you were hidden among those cedars between, say, eight
+o'clock and half past nine. I know that Miss Manning bathed in a lake
+well within your view. I know, too, that you sketched her, because I
+saw the canvas a moment ago&mdash;an oil, not a water color. These things
+may or may not be relevant to an inquiry into a crime, but they will
+certainly loom large in the public mind if the police have to explain
+why they needed a warrant to search your apartments."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux had gauged the artistic temperament accurately. Without
+another word of protest Trenholme placed the disputed canvas on the
+easel.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you smoke?" inquired the detective suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. What the deuce has my smoking got to do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I fancied that, perhaps, you might like to have a pipe while I
+examine this gem at leisure. One does not gabble the common-places of
+life when in the presence of the supreme in art. I find that a really
+fine picture induces a feeling of reverence, an emotion akin to the
+influence of a mountain range, or a dim cathedral. Pray burn incense.
+I am almost tempted to regret being a non-smoker."</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme had heard no man talk in that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>strain since last he sat
+outside the Caf&eacute; Margery and watched the stream of life flowing along
+the Grand Boulevard. Almost unconsciously he yielded to the spell of a
+familiar jargon, well knowing he had been inspired in every touch
+while striving frenziedly to give permanence to a fleeting vision. He
+filled his pipe, and surveyed the detective with a quickened interest.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux gazed long and earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>"Perfect!" he murmured, after that rapt pause. "Such a portrait, too,
+without any apparent effort! Just compare the cold sunlight on the
+statue with the same light falling on wet skin. Of course, Mr.
+Trenholme, you'll send this to the Salon. Burlington House finds
+satiety in Mayors and Masters of Fox Hounds."</p>
+
+<p>"Good, isn't it?" agreed Trenholme. "What a cursed spite that it must
+be consumed in flame!"</p>
+
+<p>"But why?" cried Furneaux, unfeignedly horrified.</p>
+
+<p>"Dash it all, man, I can never copy it. And you wouldn't have me
+blazon that girl's face in a gallery after today's tragedy!"</p>
+
+<p>The detective snapped his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Poof!" he said. "I shall have Mr. Fenley's murderer hanged long
+before your picture is hung. London provides one front-rank tragedy a
+week, but not another such masterpiece in ten years. Burn it because
+of a sentiment! Perish the thought." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>"If I had guessed you were coming here so promptly it would have been
+in ashes an hour ago," said Trenholme, grimly insistent on sacrifice.</p>
+
+<p>With a disconcerting change of manner the detective promptly assumed a
+dryly official attitude.</p>
+
+<p>"A mighty good job for you that nothing of the sort occurred," he
+said. "Your picture is your excuse, Mr. Trenholme. What plea could you
+have urged for spying on a lady in an open-air bath if deprived of the
+only valid one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Look here!" came the angry retort. "You seem to be a pretty fair
+judge of a drawing, but you choose your words rather carelessly. Just
+now you described me as 'hidden' behind that clump of trees, and again
+you accuse me of 'spying.' I won't stand that sort of thing from
+Scotland Yard, nor from Buckingham Palace, if it comes to that."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux instantly reverted to his French vein. His shrug was
+eminently Parisian.</p>
+
+<p>"You misunderstand me. I allege neither hiding nor spying on your
+part. Name of a good little gray man! The President of the Royal
+Academy would hide and spy for a month if he could palliate his
+conduct by that picture. But, given no picture, what is the answer?
+Reflect calmly, Mr. Trenholme, and you'll see that mine are words of
+wisdom. Burn that canvas, and you cut a sorry figure in the witness
+box. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>Moreover, suppose you treat the law with disdain, how do you
+propose explaining your actions to Miss Sylvia Manning?"</p>
+
+<p>"In all probability, I shall never meet the lady."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, won't you, indeed! I have the honor to request you to meet her
+tomorrow morning by the shore of that sylvan lake at nine fifteen,
+sharp. And kindly bring both sketches with you. Only, for goodness'
+sake, keep this one covered with a water-proof wrap if the weather
+breaks, which it doesn't look like doing at this moment. Now, Mr.
+Trenholme, take the advice of a dried-up chip of experience like me,
+and be sensible. One word as to actualities. I'm told you didn't see
+anything in the park which led you to believe that a crime had been
+committed?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not a thing. I heard the gunshot, and noted where it came from, but
+so far as I could ascertain, the only creatures it disturbed were some
+rabbits, rooks and pheasants."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Where did the pheasants show up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Out of the wood, close to the spot where the rifle was fired."</p>
+
+<p>"How many?"</p>
+
+<p>"How many what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pheasants."</p>
+
+<p>"A brace. They flew right across the south front of the house to a
+covert on the west side. Is that an important detail?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"When you hear the evidence you may find it so," commented Furneaux.
+"Why do you say 'rifle'? Why not plain 'gun'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because any one who has handled both a rifle and a shotgun can
+recognize the difference in sound. The explosive force of the one is
+many times greater than that of the other."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you, too, an expert marksman?"</p>
+
+<p>"I can shoot a bit. Hardly an expert, perhaps, seeing that I haven't
+used a gun during the past five years. If you know France, Mr.
+Furneaux, you'll agree that British ideas of sport&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I do know France," broke in the detective. "There isn't a cock robin
+or a jenny wren left in the country.... As a mere formality, what
+magazine are you working for?"</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme told him, and Furneaux hurried away, halting for an instant
+in the doorway to raise a warning finger.</p>
+
+<p>"Tomorrow, at the cedars, nine fifteen," he said. "And, mind you, no
+holocausts, or you're up a gum tree. You were either painting a pretty
+girl or gloating over her. Prove the one and people won't think the
+other, which they will be only too ready to do, this being a cynical
+and suspicious world."</p>
+
+<p>He left a bewildered artist glaring after him. Trenholme's
+acquaintance with the police, either of England or France, was of the
+slightest. Sometimes, when overexcited by the discovery <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>of some new
+and entrancing upland in the domain of art, he had bought or borrowed
+a volume of light fiction in order to read himself to sleep, and a
+detective figured occasionally in such pages. Usually, the official
+was a pig-headed idiot, whose blunders and narrow-mindedness served as
+admirable whetstones for the preternaturally sharp intelligence of an
+amateur investigator of crime.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme, like the average reader, did not know that such
+self-appointed sleuths are snubbed and despised by Scotland Yard, that
+they seldom or never base their fantastic theories on facts, or that,
+in fiction, they act in a way which would entail their own speedy
+appearance in the dock if practiced in real life. Furneaux came as a
+positive revelation. A small, wiry individual who looked like a
+comedian and spouted the truisms of the studio, a wizened little
+whippersnapper who put hardly one direct question to a prospective
+witness, but whose caustic comments had placed a new and vastly
+disagreeable aspect on the morning's adventure&mdash;such a man to be the
+representative of staid and heavy-footed Scotland Yard! Well, wonders
+would never cease. It was not for a bewildered artist yet to know that
+Furneaux's genius alone excused his eccentricities.</p>
+
+<p>And he, Trenholme, was to meet the girl! He turned to the easel and
+looked at the picture. A few hours ago he had reviled the fate that
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>seemed to forbid their meeting. Now he was to be brought to her,
+though somewhat after the fashion of a felon with gyves on his wrists,
+since Furneaux's request for the morrow's rendezvous rang ominously
+like a command. Indeed, indeed, it was a mad world!</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, he did not, as he had intended, tear the canvas from its
+stretcher and apply a match to it in the grate. Thus far, then, had
+Furneaux's queer method been justified. He had hit on the one certain
+means of restraint on an act of vandalism. The picture now stood
+between Trenholme and the scoffing multitude. It was his buckler
+against the shafts of innuendo. Rather than lose it before his actions
+were vindicated he would suffer the depletion to the last penny of a
+not altogether meager bank account.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, this open-souled youngster never dreamed that the detective
+had read his style and attributes in one lightning-swift glance of
+intuition. Before ever Trenholme was aware of a stranger standing in
+the open doorway of the dining-room Furneaux had taken his measure.</p>
+
+<p>"English, a gentleman, art-trained in Paris. Thinks the loss of La
+Giaconde a far more serious event than a revolution, and regards the
+Futurist school pretty much as the Home Secretary regards the militant
+suffragists. Knows as much about the murder as I do about the rings of
+Saturn. But he ought to provide a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>touch of humor in an affair that
+promises little else than heavy tragedy. And it will do Miss Sylvia
+Manning some good if she is made to see that there are others than
+Fenleys in the world. So, have at him!"</p>
+
+<p>While going downstairs, the detective became aware of some sniffing in
+the back passage. Eliza red-eyed now from distress, stood there,
+dabbing her cheeks with a corner of her apron.</p>
+
+<p>"Pup-pup-please, sir," she began, but quailed under a sudden and
+penetrating look from those beady eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what is it?" inquired Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>A violent nudge from curl papers stirred the cook's wits.</p>
+
+<p>"I do hope you dud-dud-didn't pay any heed to anythink I was a-sayin'
+of," she stammered. "Mr. Trenholme wouldn't hurt a fuf-fuf-fly. I
+sus-sus-saw the picter, an' was on'y a-teasin' of 'im, like a
+sus-sus-silly woman."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly. Yet he heaps coals of fire on your head by declaring that
+you are the best cook in Hertfordshire! Is that true?"</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux's impish grin was a tonic in itself. Eliza dropped the apron
+and squared her elbows.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know about bein' the best in Hertfordshire," she cried, "but
+I can hold me own no matter where the other one comes from, provided
+we start fair."</p>
+
+<p>"Take warning, then, that if I bring a man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>here tomorrow evening&mdash;a
+big man, with a round head and bulging blue eyes&mdash;a man who looks as
+though he can use a carving-knife with discretion&mdash;you prepare a
+dinner worthy of the reputation of the White Horse! In that way, and
+in none other, can you rehabilitate your character."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux was gone before Eliza recovered her breath. Then she turned
+on the kitchen maid.</p>
+
+<p>"Wot was it he said about my char-ac-ter?" she demanded warmly. "An'
+wot are <i>you</i> grinnin' at? If it wasn't for <i>your</i> peepin' an' pryin'
+I'd never ha' set eyes on that blessed picter. You go an' put on a
+black dress, an' do yer hair respectable, an' mind yer don't spend
+half an hour perkin' an' preenin' in front of a lookin'-glass."</p>
+
+<p>Mary fled, and Eliza bustled into the kitchen.</p>
+
+<p>"A big man, with a round head an' bulgin' blue eyes!" she muttered
+wrathfully. "Does he think I'm afraid of that sort of brewer's
+drayman, or of a little man with eyes like a ferret, either? If he
+does, he's very much mistaken. I don't believe he's a real 'tec. I
+wouldn't be a bit surprised if he wasn't a reporter. They've cheek
+enough for ten, as a rule. Talkin' about my char-ac-ter, an' before
+that hussy of a girl, too! Wait till I see him tomorrow, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Furneaux had not held the second <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>glass of Ch&acirc;teau Yquem to
+the light in Tomlinson's sanctum before Winter's car was halting
+outside Brondesbury police station. An Inspector assured the
+Superintendent that a constable was on the track of Robert Fenley, and
+had instructions to report direct to Scotland Yard. Then Winter
+re&euml;ntered the car, and was driven to Headquarters.</p>
+
+<p>He was lunching in his own room, frugally but well, on bread and
+cheese and beer, when the Assistant Commissioner came in.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Mr. Winter," he said. "I was told you had returned. That
+telephone call came from a call office in Shaftesbury Avenue. A lady,
+name unknown, but the youth in charge knows her well by sight, and
+thinks she lives in a set of flats near by. I thought the information
+sufficient for your purpose, so suspended inquiries till I heard from
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Just what I wanted, sir," said Winter. "There may be nothing in it,
+but I was curious to know why Hilton Fenley took the trouble to fib
+about such a trivial matter. His brother, too, is behaving in a way
+that invites criticism. I don't imagine that either of the sons shot
+his father&mdash;most certainly, Hilton Fenley could not have done it, and
+Robert, I think, was in London at the time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" broke in the other, a man of quiet, self-contained manner,
+on whose lips that mild exclamation betokened the maximum of
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>surprise. "Is there any reason whatsoever for believing that one of
+these young men may be a parricide?"</p>
+
+<p>"So many reasons, sir, and so convincing in some respects, that the
+local police would be seriously considering the arrest of Robert
+Fenley if they had the ascertained facts in their possession."</p>
+
+<p>The Assistant Commissioner sat down.</p>
+
+<p>"I hear you keep a sound brand of cigars here, Mr. Winter," he said.
+"I've just lunched in the St. Stephen's Club, so, if you can spare the
+time&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the Superintendent's recital the Chief offered no
+comment. He arose, went to the window, and seemed to seek inspiration
+from busy Westminster Bridge and a river dancing in sunshine. After a
+long pause he turned, and threw the unconsumed half of a cigar into
+the fireplace.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a pity to waste such a perfect Havana," he said mournfully, "but
+I make it a rule not to smoke while passing along the corridors.
+And&mdash;you'll be busy. Keep me posted."</p>
+
+<p>Winter smiled. When the door had closed on his visitor he even
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove!" he said to himself. "A heart to heart talk with the guv'nor
+is always most illuminative. Now many another boss would have said he
+was puzzled, or bothered, or have given me some silly advice such as
+that I must <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>be discreet, look into affairs closely, and not act
+precipitately. Not so our excellent A. C. He's clean bowled, and
+admits it, without speaking a word. He's a tonic; he really is!"</p>
+
+<p>He touched an electric bell. When the policeman attendant, Johnston,
+appeared, he asked if Detective Sergeant Sheldon was in the building,
+and Sheldon came. The Superintendent had met him in a Yorkshire town
+during a protracted and difficult inquiry into the death of a wealthy
+recluse; although the man was merely an ordinary constable he had
+shown such resourcefulness, such ability of a rare order, that he was
+invited to join the staff of the Criminal Investigation Department,
+and had warranted Winter's judgment by earning rapid promotion.</p>
+
+<p>Though tall, and of athletic build, he had none of the distinctive
+traits of the average policeman. He dressed quietly and in good taste,
+and carried himself easily; a peculiarity of his thoughtful, somewhat
+lawyer-like face was that the left eye was noticeably smaller than the
+right. Among other qualifications, he ranked as the best amateur
+photographer in the "Yard," and was famous as a rock climber in the
+Lake District.</p>
+
+<p>Winter plunged at once into the business in hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Sheldon," he said, "I'm going out, and may be absent an hour or
+longer. If a telephone <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>message comes through from Mr. Furneaux tell
+him I have located the doubtful call made to The Towers this morning.
+Have you read the report of the Fenley murder in the evening papers?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. <i>Is</i> it a murder?"</p>
+
+<p>"What else could it be?"</p>
+
+<p>"An extraordinary accident."</p>
+
+<p>Winter weighed the point, which had not occurred to him previously.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said. "It was no accident. I incline to the belief that it
+was the best-planned crime I've tackled during the past few years.
+That is my present opinion, at any rate. Now, a man from the
+Brondesbury police station is following one of the dead man's sons, a
+Mr. Robert Fenley, who bolted back to London on a motor cycle as soon
+as I threatened to question him.</p>
+
+<p>"Robert Fenley is twenty-four, fresh-complexioned, clean-shaven, about
+five feet nine inches in height, stoutish, and of sporty appearance.
+He had his hair cut yesterday or the day before. His hands and feet
+are rather small. He talks aggressively, and looks what he is, a
+pampered youth, very much spoiled by his parents. His clothes&mdash;all
+that I have seen&mdash;are a motorist's overalls. If the Brondesbury man
+reports here during my absence act as you think fit. I want Robert
+Fenley located, followed, and watched unobtrusively, especially in
+such matters <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>as the houses he visits and the people he meets. If you
+need help get it."</p>
+
+<p>"Till what time, sir?" was the laconic question.</p>
+
+<p>"That depends. Try and 'phone me here about five o'clock. But if you
+are otherwise engaged let the telephone go. Should Fenley seem to
+leave London by the Edgware Road, which leads to Roxton, have him
+checked on the way. Here is the number of his cycle," and Winter
+jotted a memorandum on the back of an envelope.</p>
+
+<p>"What about Mr. Furneaux if I am called out almost immediately?"</p>
+
+<p>"Give the message to Johnston."</p>
+
+<p>Then Winter hurried away, and, repressing the inclination to hail a
+taxi, walked up Whitehall and crossed Trafalgar Square <i>en route</i> to
+the Shaftesbury Avenue address supplied by the Assistant Commissioner.</p>
+
+<p>He found a sharp-featured youth in charge of the telephone, which was
+lodged in an estate agent's office. The boy grinned when the
+Superintendent explained his errand.</p>
+
+<p>"Excuse <i>me</i>," he said, with the pert assurance of the born Cockney,
+"but we aren't allowed to give information about customers."</p>
+
+<p>"You've broken your rules already, young man," said Winter. "You
+answered a similar inquiry made by Scotland Yard some hours since." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"Oh, was <i>that</i> it? Gerrard rang me up, and I thought there was
+something funny going on. Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Winter proffered a card, and the boy's eyes opened wide.</p>
+
+<p>"Crikey!" he said. "I've read about you, sir. Well, I've been doing a
+bit of detective work of my own. At lunch time I strolled past the set
+of flats where I thought the lady lived, and had the luck to see her
+getting out of a cab at the door. I followed her upstairs, pretending
+I had business somewhere, and saw her go into No. Eleven. Her name is
+Miss Eileen Garth&mdash;at least, that's the name opposite No. Eleven in
+the list in the hall."</p>
+
+<p>"When you're a bit older you'll make a detective," said Winter.
+"You've learned the first trick of the job, and that is to keep your
+eyes open. Now, to encourage you, I'll tell you the second. Keep your
+mouth shut. If this lady is Miss Garth she is not the person we want,
+but it would annoy her if she heard the police were inquiring about
+her; so here is half a crown for your trouble."</p>
+
+<p>"Can I do anything else for you, sir?" came the eager demand.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing. I'm on the wrong scent, evidently, but you have saved me
+from wasting time. This Miss Eileen Garth is English, of course?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir; very good-looking, but rather snappy." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p><p>Winter sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"That just shows how easy it is to blunder," he said. "I'm looking for
+a Polish Jewess, whose chief feature is her nose, and who wears big
+gold earrings."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Miss Garth is quite different," said the disappointed youth.
+"She's tall and slim&mdash;a regular dasher, big black hat, swell togs,
+black and white, and smart boots with white spats. She wore pearls in
+her ears, too, because I noticed 'em."</p>
+
+<p>Winter sighed again.</p>
+
+<p>"Another half day lost," he murmured, and went out.</p>
+
+<p>Knowing well that the boy would note the direction he took, he turned
+away from the block of flats and made for Soho, where he smoked a
+thin, raffish Italian cigar with an Anarchist of his acquaintance who
+kept a restaurant famous for its <i>risotto</i>. Then, by other streets, he
+approached Gloucester Mansions, and soon was pressing the electric
+bell of No. Eleven.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Garth in?" he said to an elderly, hatchet-faced woman who opened
+the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you want Miss Garth?" was the non-committal reply, given in
+the tone of one who meant the stranger to understand that he was not
+addressing a servant.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall explain my errand to the lady herself," said Winter civilly.
+"Kindly tell her that Superintendent Winter, of the Criminal
+Investigation <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>Department, Scotland Yard, wishes to see her."</p>
+
+<p>To him it was no new thing that his name and description should bring
+dismay, even terror, to the cheeks of one to whom he made himself
+known professionally, but unless he was addressing some desperate
+criminal, he did not expect to be assaulted. For once, therefore, he
+was thoroughly surprised when a bony hand shot out and pushed him
+backward; the door was slammed in his face; the latch clicked, and he
+was left staring at a small brass plate bearing the legend: "Ring. Do
+not knock."</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, this bold maneuver could not have succeeded had he a right
+of entry. A woman's physical strength was unequal to the task of
+disturbing his burly frame, and a foot thrust between door and jamb
+would have done the rest. As matters stood, however, he was obliged to
+abandon any present hope of an interview with the mysterious Miss
+Eileen Garth.</p>
+
+<p>He remained stock still for some seconds, listening to the retreating
+footsteps of the strong-minded person who had beaten him. It was his
+habit to visualize for future reference the features and demeanor of
+people in whom he was interested, and of whom circumstances permitted
+only the merest glimpse. This woman's face had revealed annoyance
+rather than fear. "Scotland Yard" was not an ogre but a nuisance. She
+held, or, at any rate, she had exercised, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>a definite power of
+rejecting visitors whom she considered undesirable. Therefore, she was
+a relative, probably Eileen Garth's mother or aunt.</p>
+
+<p>Eileen Garth was "tall and slim," "good-looking, but rather snappy."
+Well, twenty years ago, the description would have applied to the
+woman he had just seen. Her voice, heard under admittedly adverse
+conditions, was correct in accent and fairly cultured. Before the
+world had hardened it its tones might have been soft and dulcet. But
+above all, there was the presumable discovery that Eileen Garth was as
+decidedly opposed as Robert Fenley to full and free discussion of that
+morning's crime.</p>
+
+<p>"Furneaux will jeer at me when he hears of this little episode,"
+thought Winter, smiling as he turned to descend the stairs. Furneaux
+did jeer, but it was at his colleague's phenomenal luck.</p>
+
+<p>The door of No. Twelve, the only other flat on the same landing,
+opened, and a man appeared. Recognition was prompt on Winter's side.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Drake!" he said genially. "Are <i>you</i> Signor Maselli? Well met,
+anyhow! Can you give me a friendly word?"</p>
+
+<p>The occupant of flat No. Twelve, an undersized, slightly built man of
+middle age, seemed to have received the shock of his life. His
+sallow-complexioned face assumed a greenish-yellow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>tint, and his
+deep-set eyes glistened like those of a hunted animal.</p>
+
+<p>"Friendly?" he contrived to gasp, giving a ghastly look over his
+shoulder to ascertain whether any one in the interior of the flat had
+heard that name "Drake."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I mean it. Strictly on the q. t.," said Winter, sinking his
+voice to a confidential pitch. Signor Giovanni Maselli, since that was
+the name modestly displayed on No. Twelve's card in the hall beneath,
+closed the door carefully. He appeared to trust Winter, up to a point,
+but evidently found it hard to regain self-control.</p>
+
+<p>"Not here!" he whispered. "In five minutes&mdash;at the Regency Caf&eacute;,
+Piccadilly. Let me go alone."</p>
+
+<p>Winter nodded, and the other darted downstairs. The detective followed
+slowly. Crossing the street at an angle, he looked up at the
+smoke-stained elevation of Gloucester Mansions.</p>
+
+<p>"A well-filled nest," he communed, "and a nice lot of prize birds in
+it, upon my word!"</p>
+
+<p>The last time he had set eyes on a certain notably expert forger and
+counterfeiter a judge was passing sentence of five years' penal
+servitude and three years' police supervision on a felon; and the
+judge had not addressed the prisoner as Giovanni Maselli, but as John
+Christopher Drake! </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Coincidences</span></h3>
+
+<p>Winter was blessed with an unfailing memory for dates and faces.
+Before he had emerged from the main exit of Gloucester Mansions he had
+fixed Drake as committed from the Old Bailey during the Summer assizes
+four years earlier, released from Portland on ticket of leave at the
+beginning of the current year, and marked in the "failure to report"
+list.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor devil!" he said to himself. "The very man for my purpose!"</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, seeing his way clearly, his glance was not so encouraging
+nor his voice so pleasant when he found the ex-convict awaiting him in
+the Regency Caf&eacute;. Nevertheless, obeying the curious code which links
+the police and noted criminals in a sort of <i>camaraderie</i>, he asked
+the man what he would drink, and ordered cigarettes as well.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, Maselli," he said, when they were seated at a marble-topped
+table in a corner of a well-filled room, "since we know each other so
+well we can converse plainly, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, but I'm done for now. I've been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>trying to earn an honest
+living, and have succeeded, but now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The man spoke brokenly. His spirit was crushed. He saw in his mind's
+eye the frowning portals of a convict settlement, and heard the boom
+of a giant knocker reverberating through gaunt aisles of despair.</p>
+
+<p>"If you reflect that I am calling you Maselli, you'll drink that
+whisky and soda, and listen to what I have to say," broke in Winter
+severely.</p>
+
+<p>The other looked up at him, and a gleam of hope illumined the pallid
+cheeks. He drank eagerly, and lighted a cigarette with trembling
+fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"If only I am given a chance&mdash;&mdash;" he began, but the detective
+interfered again.</p>
+
+<p>"If only you would shut up!" he said emphatically. "I want your help,
+and I'm not in the habit of rewarding my assistants by sending them
+back to prison."</p>
+
+<p>Maselli (as he may remain in this record) was so excited that he
+literally could not obey.</p>
+
+<p>"I've cut completely adrift from the old crowd, sir," he pleaded
+wistfully. "I'm an engraver now, and in good work. Heaven help me, I'm
+married, too. She doesn't know. She thinks I was stranded in America,
+and that I changed my name because Italians are thought more of than
+Englishmen in my line."</p>
+
+<p>"Giovanni Maselli, may I ask what you are talking about?" said Winter,
+stiffening visibly. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p><p>At last the hunted and haunted wretch persuaded himself that "the
+Yard" meant to be merciful. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he
+finished the whisky and soda and remained silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" said Winter more cheerfully. "I sha'n't call you Maselli again
+if you don't behave. Now, how long have you lived in Gloucester
+Mansions?"</p>
+
+<p>"Four months, sir. Ever since my marriage."</p>
+
+<p>Winter smiled. The man had gone straight from the gates of Portland to
+some woman who was waiting for him! He was an old offender, but had
+proved slippery as an eel&mdash;hence a stiff sentence when caught; but
+penal servitude had conquered him.</p>
+
+<p>"Has Miss Eileen Garth lived in No. Eleven during those four months?"
+was the next question.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir&mdash;two years or more, I believe. Her mother mentioned
+something of it to my wife one day."</p>
+
+<p>"Her mother? Same name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Mrs. Garth."</p>
+
+<p>"How do they live?"</p>
+
+<p>"The daughter was learning to be a stage dancer; but they've come into
+a settled income, and that idea is given up."</p>
+
+<p>"Any male relations?"</p>
+
+<p>"None that I know of, sir. Eileen is engaged <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>to be married. I haven't
+heard the gentleman's name, but I've seen him scores of times."</p>
+
+<p>"Scores of times&mdash;in four months?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, every second or third day. That is, I either meet him or
+know he is there because Mrs. Maselli and Mrs. Garth are friendly, and
+there is constant coming and going across the landing."</p>
+
+<p>"Is he a man of about thirty, middle height, lanky black hair, smooth
+dark face, sunken eyes, high cheek bones&mdash;rather, shall I say, Italian
+in appearance?"</p>
+
+<p>Maselli was surprised, and showed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, sir, you've described him to a nicety," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well. Next time he is there to your absolute knowledge, slip out
+and telephone the fact to me at Scotland Yard. If I'm not in, ask for
+Mr. Furneaux. You remember Mr. Furneaux?"</p>
+
+<p>A sickly smile admitted the acquaintance. Furneaux had recognized the
+same artist's hand in each of many realistic forgeries, and it was
+this fact which led to the man's capture and conviction.</p>
+
+<p>"If neither of us is at home, inquire for Mr. Sheldon," went on
+Winter. "Note him. He's a stranger to you. If you fail to get hold of
+any of us, say simply that Signor Maselli would like to have a word at
+our convenience. It will be understood. We sha'n't bother you. Give
+another <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>call next time the visitor is in Mrs. Garth's flat, and keep
+on doing this until you find one of the three on the line. Don't use
+the telephone in Shaftesbury Avenue near the Mansions, because the boy
+in charge there might be suspicious, and blab. That is all. You are
+not doing Mrs. Garth or her daughter an ill turn, so far as I can
+judge. Keep a still tongue. Silence on your part will meet with
+silence on mine.... Oh, dash it, have another drink! Where's your
+nerve?"</p>
+
+<p>Signor Giovanni Maselli was crying. A phantom had brushed close, but
+was passing; nevertheless, its shadow had chilled him to the bone.</p>
+
+<p>Winter walked back to Scotland Yard, and found that Sheldon had gone,
+leaving a note which read: "Mr. Robert Fenley is at 104, Hendon Road,
+Battersea Park." He was tempted to have a word with Furneaux, but
+forbore, and tackled some other departmental business. It was a day
+fated, however, to evolve the unexpected. About a quarter to four the
+telephone bell rang, and Maselli informed him that Miss Garth's fianc&eacute;
+had just arrived at Gloucester Mansions.</p>
+
+<p>"Excellent," said Winter. "In future, devote your energies to
+legitimate engraving. Good-by!"</p>
+
+<p>He rushed out and leaped into a taxi; within five minutes he was at
+the door of No. Eleven <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>once more. Let it not be imagined that he had
+not weighed the possible consequences of thrusting himself in this
+fashion into Hilton Fenley's private affairs. Although the man had
+summoned the assistance of Scotland Yard to elucidate the mystery of
+his father's death, that fact alone could not secure him immunity from
+the law's all-embracing glance. Winter agreed with Furneaux that the
+profession of a private banker combined with company promotion is too
+often a cloak for roguery in the City of London, and the little he
+knew of the Fenley history did not tend to dissipate a certain
+nebulous suspicion that their record might not be wholly clean.</p>
+
+<p>The theft of the bonds had been hushed up in a way that savored of
+unwillingness on Mortimer Fenley's part to permit the police to take
+action. The man's tragic death might well be a sequel to the robbery,
+and, granted the impossibility of his elder son having committed the
+murder, there was nothing fantastic in the notion that he might be a
+party to it.</p>
+
+<p>Again, Hilton Fenley had deliberately misled Scotland Yard in regard
+to the seemingly trivial incident of the telephone call. Had he told
+the truth, and grumbled at the lack of discretion on some woman's part
+in breaking in on a period of acute distress in the household,
+Winter's subsequent discovery would have lost its point. As matters
+stood, however, it was one of a large <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>number of minor circumstances
+which demanded full examination, and the Superintendent decided that
+the person really responsible for any seeming excess of zeal on his
+part should be given an opportunity to clear the air in the place best
+fitted for the purpose; namely, the address from which the call
+emanated.</p>
+
+<p>Therefore, when the door was opened again by Mrs. Garth, she found
+that the Napoleonic tactics of an earlier hour were no longer
+practicable, for the enemy instantly occupied the terrain by leaning
+inward.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see Mr. Hilton Fenley," he said suavely. "You know my name
+already, Mrs. Garth, so I need not repeat it."</p>
+
+<p>The sharp-featured woman was evidently sharp-witted also. Finding that
+the door might not be closed, she threw it wide.</p>
+
+<p>"I have no objection to your seeing Mr. Fenley," she said. "I am at a
+loss to understand why you follow him here, but that does not concern
+me in the least. Come this way."</p>
+
+<p>Latching the door, she led him to a room on the right of the entrance
+hall, which formed the central artery of the flat. The place had no
+direct daylight. At night, when an electric lamp was switched on, its
+contents would be far more distinct than at this hour, when the only
+light came from a transverse passage at the end, or was borrowed
+through any door that happened to remain open. Still, Winter could
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>use his eyes, even in the momentary gloom, and he used them so well
+on this occasion that he noted two trunks, one on top of the other,
+and standing close to the wall.</p>
+
+<p>They were well plastered with hotel and railway labels, and when a
+flood of light poured in from the room to which Mrs. Garth ushered
+him, he deciphered two of the freshest, and presumably the most
+recent. They were "Hotel d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris," and a
+baggage number, "517." Not much, perhaps, in the way of information,
+but something; and Winter could trust his memory.</p>
+
+<p>He found himself in a well-furnished room, and hoped that Mrs. Garth
+might leave him there, even for a few seconds, when he would be free
+to examine the apartment without her supervision. But she treated him
+as if he might steal the spoons. Remaining in the doorway, she called
+loudly:</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Fenley! The person I told you of is here again. Will you kindly
+come? He is in the dining-room."</p>
+
+<p>A door opened, a hurried step sounded on a linoleum floor-covering,
+and Hilton Fenley appeared.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr.&mdash;Mr. Winter, isn't it?" he said, with a fine air of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the Superintendent composedly. "You hardly expected to
+meet me here, I suppose?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p><p>"Well, Mrs. Garth mentioned your earlier visit, but I am at a loss to
+understand&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is easily explained. We of the Yard take nothing for granted,
+Mr. Fenley. I learned by chance that a young lady who lives here rang
+you up at Roxton this morning, and knowing that you took the trouble
+to conceal the fact, I thought it advisable&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Garth was a woman of discretion. She closed the door on the two
+men. Fenley did not wait for Winter to conclude.</p>
+
+<p>"That was foolish of me, I admit," he said, readily enough. "One does
+not wish all one's private affairs to be canvassed, even by the
+police. The moment Mrs. Garth mentioned your name I saw my error. You
+checked the telephone calls to The Towers, I suppose, and thus learned
+I had misled you."</p>
+
+<p>"Something of the sort. Miss Garth is a lady not difficult of
+recognition."</p>
+
+<p>"She and her mother are very dear friends. It was natural they should
+be shocked by the paragraphs in the newspapers and wish to ascertain
+the truth."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so. I'm sorry if my pertinacity has annoyed them, or you."</p>
+
+<p>"I think they will rather be pleased by such proof of your
+thoroughness. Certainly I, for my part, do not resent it."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, sir. Since I am here, I may inquire <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>if you know any one
+living at 104, Hendon Road, Battersea Park?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now that you mention the address, I recall it as the residence of the
+lady in whom my brother is interested. This morning I had forgotten
+it, but you have refreshed my memory."</p>
+
+<p>"You're a tolerably self-possessed person," was the detective's
+unspoken thought, for Fenley was a different man now from the nervous,
+distrait son who had clamored for vengeance on his father's murderer.
+"You own up to the facts candidly when it is useless to do anything
+else, and you never fail to hammer a nail into Robert's coffin when
+the opportunity offers."</p>
+
+<p>But aloud he said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"You really don't know the lady's name, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley hesitated a fraction of a second.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I do know it, though I withheld the information this morning,"
+he replied. "But, I ask you, is it quite fair to make me a witness
+against my brother?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some one must explain Mr. Robert's movements, and, since he declines
+the task, I look to you," was the straightforward answer.</p>
+
+<p>"She is a Mrs. Lisle," said Fenley, after another pause&mdash;a calculated
+pause this time.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you visited your City office today?"</p>
+
+<p>"I went straight there from The Towers. I told you I was going there.
+What object could I have in deceiving you?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>"None that I can see, Mr. Fenley. But I have been wondering if any new
+light has been shed on the motive which might have led to the crime.
+Have you examined Mr. Mortimer Fenley's papers, for instance? There
+may be documents, letters, memoranda secreted in some private drawer
+or dispatch case."</p>
+
+<p>The other shook his head. He appeared not to resent the detective's
+tone. It seemed as if regret for the morning's lack of confidence had
+rendered him apologetic.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said. "I have not had time yet to go through my father's
+papers. This afternoon I was taken up wholly with business. You see,
+Mr. Winter, I can not allow my personal suffering to cost other men
+thousands of pounds, and that must be the outcome if certain
+undertakings now in hand are not completed. But my father was most
+methodical, and his affairs are sure to be thoroughly in order. Within
+the next few days, when I have time to make a proper search, I'll do
+it. Meanwhile, I can practically assure you that he had no reason to
+anticipate anything in the nature of a personal attack from any
+quarter whatsoever."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you care to discuss your brother's extraordinary behavior?"</p>
+
+<p>"In what respect?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he virtually bolted from Roxton today, though I had warned him
+that his presence was imperative." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p><p>"My brother is self-willed and impetuous, and he was dreadfully
+shocked at finding his father dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he tell you he meant returning to London at once?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. When I came downstairs, after the distressing scene with Mrs.
+Fenley, he had gone."</p>
+
+<p>The Superintendent was aware already that he was dealing with a man
+cast in no ordinary mold, but he did not expect this continued
+meekness. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred would have grown restive
+under such cross-examination, and betrayed their annoyance by word or
+look; not so Hilton Fenley, who behaved as if it were the most natural
+thing in the world that he should be tracked to his friends' residence
+and made to explain his comings and goings during the day. Swayed by a
+subconscious desire to nettle his victim into protest, Winter tried a
+new tack.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose, Mr. Fenley, you have seen your father's solicitors today?"
+he said suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"If you mean that question in the ordinary sense, I must tell you that
+my father employed no firm of solicitors for family purposes. Of
+course, at one time or another, he has availed himself of the services
+of nearly every leading firm of lawyers in the City, but each
+transaction was complete in itself. For instance, his will is a
+holograph will, if that is what you are hinting at. He told me its
+provisions at the time it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>signed and witnessed, and I shall
+surely find it in his private safe at the office."</p>
+
+<p>"You have not looked for it today?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Why should I?"</p>
+
+<p>Feeling distinctly nonplussed, for there was no denying that Fenley
+had chosen the best possible way of carrying off a delicate situation,
+Winter turned, walked slowly to a window and gazed down into the
+street. He was perturbed, almost irritated, by a novel sense of
+failure not often associated with the day's work. He had to confess
+now that he had made no material stride in an inquiry the solution of
+which did not seem, at the outset, to offer any abnormal difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>True, there were circumstances which might serve to incriminate Robert
+Fenley; but if that young man were really responsible for the crime,
+he was what "the Yard" classes privately as a monumental idiot, since
+his subsequent conduct was well calculated to arouse the suspicion
+which the instinct of self-preservation would try to avert. A long
+experience of the methods of criminals warned Winter of the folly of
+jumping at conclusions, but he would be slow to admit and hard to be
+convinced that Robert Fenley took any active part in his father's
+murder.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, it was not with a view toward indulging in a reverie that
+he approached the window. He was setting a simple trap, into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>which
+many a man and woman had fallen. Any one of moderately strong
+character can control face and eyes when the need of such discipline
+is urgent, but howsoever impregnable the mask, the strain of wearing
+it is felt, and relief shows itself in an unguarded moment. At the
+farther end of the room there was a mirror above the fireplace, and as
+he turned his back on Fenley, by a hardly perceptible inclination of
+his head he could catch the reflection of his companion's face.</p>
+
+<p>The maneuver succeeded, but its result was negative. Hilton Fenley's
+eyes were downcast. He had lifted a hand to his chin in one of those
+nervous gestures which had been so noticeable during the morning's
+tumult. His face wore an expression of deep thought. Indeed, he might
+be weighing each word he had heard and uttered, and calculating its
+effect on his own fortunes.</p>
+
+<p>Still obeying that unworthy instinct which bade him sting Fenley into
+defiance, Winter tossed a question over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"May I have a word with Miss Garth?" he said suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" was the calm answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Just to settle that telephone incident once and for all."</p>
+
+<p>"But if you imagine it might not have been Miss Garth who made the
+call, why are you here?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>Then the detective laughed. His wonted air of cheerful good humor
+smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead. He was beaten, completely
+discomfited, and he might as well confess it and betake himself to
+some quarter where a likelier trail could be followed.</p>
+
+<p>"True," he said affably. "I need not bother the young lady. Perhaps
+you will make my excuses and tell her that I ran you to earth in
+Gloucester Mansions merely to save time. By the way, I led the youth
+at the call office to believe that I was searching for an undersized
+Polish Jewess, all nose and gold earrings, a description which hardly
+applies to Miss Garth. And one last question&mdash;do you return to Roxton
+tonight?"</p>
+
+<p>"Within the hour."</p>
+
+<p>So Winter descended the stone stairs a second time, a prey to a
+feeling of failure. What had he gained by his impetuous actions? He
+had ascertained that Hilton Fenley was on terms of close intimacy with
+a pretty girl and her mother. Nothing very remarkable in that. He had
+secured a Paris address and the number of a baggage registration
+label. But similar information might be gleaned from a hundred
+thousand boxes and portmanteaux in London that day. He had been told
+that Mortimer Fenley had made a holograph will. Such procedure was by
+no means rare. Millions sterling have been disposed of on half sheets
+of note paper. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>Even his Majesty's judges have written similar wills,
+and blundered, with the result that a brother learned in the law has
+had to decide what the testator really meant. He wondered whether or
+not Mortimer Fenley had committed some technical error, such as the
+common one of creating a trust without appointing trustees. That would
+be seen in due course, when the will was probated.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, he grinned at his own expense.</p>
+
+<p>"The only individual who has scored today," he said to himself, "is
+John Christopher Drake, alias Giovanni Maselli. I must keep mum about
+him. By gad, I believe I've compounded a felony!"</p>
+
+<p>But because he had not scored inside Gloucester Mansions there was no
+valid reason why he should not accomplish something in their immediate
+neighborhood. For instance, who and what were the Garths, mother and
+daughter? He looked in on a well-known dramatic agent, and raised the
+point. Reference to a ledger showed that Eileen Garth, age eighteen,
+tall, good-looking, no previous experience, had been a candidate for
+musical comedy, London engagement alone accepted; the almost certain
+sequel being that she had kept her name six months on the books
+without an offer to secure her valuable services.</p>
+
+<p>"I remember the girl well," said the agent. "She had the makings of a
+coryph&eacute;e, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>lacked training. She could sing a little, so I advised
+her to take dancing lessons. I believe she began them, with a teacher
+I recommended, but I've seen nothing of her for a year or more."</p>
+
+<p>"Again has Giovanni filled the bill," mused Winter as he made for his
+office. "I wish now I had curbed my impulsiveness and kept away from
+Gloucester Mansions&mdash;the second time, anyhow."</p>
+
+<p>Though chastened in spirit, the fact that no news of any sort awaited
+him at Scotland Yard, did not help to restore his customary poise.</p>
+
+<p>"Dash it all!" he growled. "I'm losing grip. The next thing I'll hear
+is that Sheldon is enjoying himself at Earl's Court and that Furneaux
+has gone fishing."</p>
+
+<p>Restless and ill at ease, he decided to ring up The Towers, Roxton. A
+footman answered the telephone, and announced that Mr. Furneaux had
+"just come in."</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Charles," said Winter, when a thin voice squeaked along the
+line. "Any luck?"</p>
+
+<p>"Superb!"</p>
+
+<p>"Good! I've drawn blanks, regular round O's, except three probably
+useless addresses."</p>
+
+<p>"Addresses are never useless, friend. The mere knowing of a number in
+a street picks out that street from all the other streets where one
+knows no numbers." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>"Tell me things, you rat, if conditions permit."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I've hit on two facts of profound importance. First, Roxton
+contains an artist of rare genius, and, second, it holds a cook of
+admitted excellence."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm listening here, which is all that science can achieve at
+present."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm in no mood for ill timed pleasantries."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'm not joking, 'pon me honor. The cook, name of Eliza, does
+really exist, and is sworn to surprise even your jaded appetite. The
+artist is John Trenholme. In years to come you'll boast of having met
+him before he was famous."</p>
+
+<p>"So you, like me, have done nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, I note the bitterness of defeat in your tone. It has warped your
+judgment, too, as you will agree when a certain dinner I have arranged
+for tomorrow night touches the spot."</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you put matters more plainly?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm guessing and planning and contriving. Like Galileo, I am
+convinced that the world moves." Then Furneaux broke into French.
+"Regarding those addresses you speak of, what are they?"</p>
+
+<p>Using the same language, Winter told him, substituting "the Eurasian"
+and "the motorcyclist" for names, and adding that he was writing
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>Jacques Faure, the Paris detective, with reference to the hotel and
+the label, the figures on the latter being of the long, thin, French
+variety.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you coming here tonight?" went on Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm only a little chap, and I'd like to have you near when it is
+dark."</p>
+
+<p>Winter sighed, but it was with relief. He knew now that Furneaux had
+not failed.</p>
+
+<p>"Very well," he said. "I'll arrive by the next convenient train."</p>
+
+<p>"The point is," continued Furneaux, who delighted in keeping his chief
+on tenterhooks when some new development in the chase was imminent,
+"that the position here requires handling by a man of your weight and
+authority. The motor cyclist came back an hour ago, and is now walking
+in the garden with the girl."</p>
+
+<p>"The deuce! Why hasn't Sheldon reported?" blurted out Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Because, in all likelihood, he is watching the other girl. Isn't that
+what you were doing? Isn't half the battle won when we find the
+woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't set eyes on <i>my</i> woman."</p>
+
+<p>"You surprise me. That kind of modest self-effacement isn't your usual
+style, at all, at all, as they say in Cork."</p>
+
+<p>"Probably you're right about Sheldon. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>is a worker, not a talker
+like some people I know," retorted Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"What very dull acquaintances you must possess! Workers are the small
+fry who put spouters into Parliament, and pay them &pound;400 a year, and
+make them Cabinet Ministers."</p>
+
+<p>"Evidently things have happened at Roxton, or you wouldn't be so
+chirpy. Well, so long! See you later."</p>
+
+<p>Having ascertained that an express train was timed to leave St.
+Pancras for Roxton at six <span class="smcap">p. m.</span>, he was packing a suitcase when a
+telegram arrived. It had been handed in at Folkestone at four thirty,
+and read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Decided to follow lady instead of motor cyclist. Will explain
+reasons verbally. Reaching London seven o'clock.</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+<span class="smcap">Sheldon.</span>
+</p></div>
+
+<p>"I'm the only one of the three who has accomplished nothing," was
+Winter's rueful comment. Nor could any critic have gainsaid him, for
+he seemed to have been wasting precious hours while his subordinates
+were making history in the Fenley case.</p>
+
+<p>He left instructions with Johnston that Mr. Sheldon was to write
+fully, care of the Roxton police station, and took a cab for St.
+Pancras. He was passing along the platform when he caught sight of
+Hilton Fenley seated on the far side of a first-class carriage, which
+was otherwise untenanted. An open dispatch box <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>lay beside him, and he
+was so engrossed in the perusal of some document that he gave no heed
+to externals. Winter threw wide the door, and entered.</p>
+
+<p>"We are fated to meet today, Mr. Fenley," he said pleasantly. "First,
+you send for me; then I hunt you, and now we come together by chance.
+I don't think coincidence can arrange any fourth way of bringing us in
+touch today."</p>
+
+<p>But he was mistaken. Coincidence had already done far more than he
+imagined in providing unseen clues to the ultimate clearing up of a
+ghastly crime, and the same subtle law of chance was fated to assist
+the authorities once more before the sun rose again over the trees
+from whose cover Mortimer Fenley's murderer had fired the fatal shot.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Wherein an Artist Becomes a Man of Action</span></h3>
+
+<p>Furneaux's visit left Trenholme in no happy frame of mind. The man who
+that morning had not a care in the world was now a prey to disquieting
+thought. The knowledge that he had been close to the scene of a
+dastardly murder at the moment it was committed, that he was in a
+sense a witness of the crime, was depressing in itself, for his was a
+kindly nature; and the mere fact that circumstances had rendered him
+impotent when his presence might have acted as a deterrent was
+saddening.</p>
+
+<p>Then, again, he was worried by the reflection that, no matter how
+discriminating the police might prove with regard to his sketch of
+Sylvia Manning, he would undoubtedly be called as a witness, both at
+the inquest and at the trial of any person arrested for the crime. It
+was asking too much of editorial human nature to expect that the
+magazine which had commissioned the illustrated article on Roxton
+would not make capital of the fact that its special artist was
+actually sketching the house while Mr. Fenley's murderer was skulking
+among the trees surrounding it. Thus there was no escape for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>John
+Trenholme. He was doomed to become notorious. At any hour the evening
+newspapers might be publishing his portrait and biography!</p>
+
+<p>On going downstairs he was cheered a little by meeting an apologetic
+Eliza.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope I didn't do any reel 'arm, sir," she said, dropping an
+aspirate in sheer emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>"Any harm to whom, or what?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"By talkin' as I did afore that 'tec, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"All depends on what you said to him. If you told him, for instance,
+that I carry Browning pistols in each pocket, and that my easel is a
+portable Maxim gun, of course&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, sir, I never try to be funny. I mean about the picter."</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens! You, too!"</p>
+
+<p>Eliza failed to understand this, but she was too subdued to inquire
+his meaning.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, sir, he must ha' heerd what I said about it, an' him
+skulkin' there in the passage. Do you reelly think a hop-o'-me-thumb
+like that can be a Scotland Yard man? It's my belief he's a
+himpostor."</p>
+
+<p>It had not dawned on Trenholme that Furneaux's complete fund of
+information regarding the sketches had been obtained so recently. He
+imagined that Police Constable Farrow and Gamekeeper Bates had
+supplied details, so his reply cheered Eliza.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry about unnecessary trifles," he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>said. "Mr. Furneaux is
+not only a genuine detective, but a remarkably clever one. You ought
+to have heard him praising the picture you despised."</p>
+
+<p>"I never did," came the vehement protest. "The picter is fine. It was
+the young lady's clothes, or the want of 'em, that I was condemnin'."</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen four thousand ladies walking about the sands at Trouville
+in far scantier attire."</p>
+
+<p>"That's in France, isn't it?" inquired Eliza.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but France is a more civilized country than England."</p>
+
+<p>Eliza sniffed, sure sign of battle.</p>
+
+<p>"Not it," she vowed. "I've read things about the carryin' on there as
+made me blood boil. Horse-racin' on Sundays, an' folks goin' to
+theaters instead of church. France more civilized than England,
+indeed! What'll you be sayin' next?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be saying that if our little friend behaves himself I shall ask
+him to dine here tomorrow."</p>
+
+<p>"He's axed himself, Mr. Trenholme, an' he's bringing another one, a
+big fellow, who knows how to use a carvin'-knife, he says. What would
+you like for dinner?"</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme fled. That question was becoming a daily torment. The
+appearance of Furneaux had alone saved him from being put on the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>culinary rack after luncheon; having partaken of one good meal, he
+never had the remotest notion as to his requirements for the next.</p>
+
+<p>He wandered through the village, calling at a tobacconist's, and
+looking in on his friend the barber. All tongues were agog with
+wonder. The Fenley family, known to that district of Hertfordshire
+during the greater part of a generation, was subjected to merciless
+criticism. He heard gossip of Mr. Robert, of Mr. Hilton, even of the
+recluse wife, now a widow; but every one had a good word for "Miss
+Sylvia."</p>
+
+<p>"We don't see enough of her, an' that's a fact," said the barber. "She
+must find life rather dull, cooped up there as she is, for all that
+it's a grand house an' a fine park. They never had company like the
+other big houses. A few bald-headed City men an' their wives for an
+occasional week end in the summer or when the coverts were shot in
+October&mdash;never any nice young people. Miss Sylvia wept when the
+rector's daughter got married last year, an' well I knew why&mdash;she was
+losin' her only chum."</p>
+
+<p>"Surely there are scores of good families in this neighborhood?"</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty, sir, but nearly all county. The toffs never did take on the
+Fenleys, an', to be fair, I don't believe the poor man who's dead ever
+bothered his head about them."</p>
+
+<p>"But Miss Manning can not have lived here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>all her life? She must have
+been abroad, at school, for instance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, yes, sir. I remember her comin' home from Brussels two years
+ago. But school ain't society. The likes of her, with all her money,
+should mix with her own sort."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she so wealthy, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's Mr. Fenley's ward, an' the servants at The Towers say she'll
+come in for a heap when she's twenty-one, which will be next year."</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, this item of gossip, confirming Eliza's statement, was
+displeasing. Sylvia Manning, nymph of the lake, receded to some dim
+altitude where the high and mighty are enthroned. Biting his pipe
+viciously, Trenholme sought the solitude of a woodland footpath, and
+tried to find distraction in studying the effects of diffused light.</p>
+
+<p>Returning to the inn about tea time, he was angered anew by a telegram
+from the magazine editor. It read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p><i>News in Pictures</i> wants sketches and photographs of Fenley case
+and surroundings. Have suggested you for commission. Why not pick
+up a tenner? Rush drawings by train. </p></div>
+
+<p>"That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out,
+bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor
+mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of <i>News in Pictures</i> with
+his compliments. Coming <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>back from the station, he passed the Easton
+lodge of The Towers. A daring notion seized him, and he proceeded to
+put it into practice forthwith. He presented himself at the gate, and
+was faced by Mrs. Bates and a policeman. Taught by experience to
+beware of strangers that day, the keeper's wife gazed at him through
+an insurmountable iron palisade. The constable merely surveyed him
+with a professional air, as one who would interfere if needful.</p>
+
+<p>"I am calling on Miss Sylvia Manning," announced Trenholme promptly.</p>
+
+<p>"By appointment, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I have reason to believe that she would wish to see me."</p>
+
+<p>"My orders are that nobody is to be admitted to the house without
+written instructions, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"How can Miss Manning give written instructions unless she knows I am
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Them's my orders," said Mrs. Bates firmly.</p>
+
+<p>"But," he persisted, "it really amounts to this&mdash;that you decide
+whether or not Miss Manning wishes to receive me, or any other
+visitor."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Bates found the point of view novel. Moreover, she liked this
+young man's smile. She hesitated, and temporized.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't mind waitin' a minute till I telephone&mdash;&mdash;" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. Say that Mr. John Trenholme, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>who was sketching in the
+park this morning, asks the favor of a few words."</p>
+
+<p>The guardian of the gate disappeared; soon she came out again, and
+unlocked the gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Manning is just leavin' the house," she said. "If you walk up
+the avenue you'll meet her, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Now, it happened that Trenholme's request for an interview reached
+Sylvia Manning at a peculiar moment. She had been shocked and
+distressed beyond measure by the morning's tragedy. Mortimer Fenley
+was one of those men whom riches render morose, but his manner had
+always been kind to his ward. A pleasant fiction enabled the girl to
+regard Mr. and Mrs. Fenley as her "uncle" and "aunt," and the tacit
+relationship thus established served to place the financier and his
+"niece" on a footing of affectionate intimacy. Of late, however,
+Sylvia had been aware of a splitting up of the family into armed
+camps, and the discovery, or intuition, that she was the cause of the
+rupture had proved irksome and even annoying.</p>
+
+<p>Mortimer Fenley had made no secret of his desire that she should marry
+his younger son. When both young people, excellent friends though they
+were, seemed to shirk the suggestion, though by no means actively
+opposing it, Fenley was angered, and did not scruple to throw out
+hints of coercion. Again, the girl knew that Hilton Fenley was a rival
+suitor, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>meant to defy his father's intent with regard to Robert.
+Oddly enough, neither of the young men had indulged in overt
+love-making. According to their reckoning, Sylvia's personal choice
+counted for little in the matter. Robert seemed to assume that his
+"cousin" was merely waiting to be asked, while Hilton's attitude was
+that of a man biding his time to snatch a prize when opportunity
+served.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia herself hated the very thought of matrimony. The only married
+couples of her acquaintance were either hopelessly detached, like
+Fenley and his wife, or uninteresting people of the type which the
+village barber had etched so clearly for Trenholme's benefit.
+Whatsoever quickening of romance might have crept into such lives had
+long yielded to atrophy. Marriage, to the girl's imaginative mind, was
+synonymous with a dull and prosy middle age. Most certainly the vague
+day-dreams evoked by her reading of books and converted into alluring
+vistas by an ever-widening horizon were not sated by the prospect of
+becoming the wife of either of the only two young men she knew.</p>
+
+<p>There was a big world beyond the confines of Roxton Park. There were
+interests in life that called with increasing insistence. In her heart
+of hearts she had decided, quite unmistakably, to decline any
+matrimonial project for several years, and while shrinking from a
+downright <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>avowal of her intentions, which her "uncle" would have
+resented very strongly, the fact that father and sons were at daggers
+drawn concerning her was the cause of no slight feeling of dismay,
+even of occasional moments of unhappiness.</p>
+
+<p>She had no one to confide in. For reasons beyond her ken Mortimer
+Fenley had set his face against any of her school friends being
+invited to the house, while Mrs. Fenley, by reason of an unfortunate
+failing, was a wretched automaton that ate and drank and slept, and
+alternated between brief fits of delirium and prolonged periods of
+stupor induced by drugs.</p>
+
+<p>Still, until a murderous gunshot had torn away the veil of unreality
+which enshrouded the household, Sylvia had contrived to avoid a
+crisis. All day, during six days of the week, she was free in her own
+realm. She had books and music, the woods, the park, and the gardens
+to occupy busy hours. Unknown to any, her favorite amusement was the
+planning of extensive foreign tours by such simple means as an atlas
+and a set of guide books. She had a talent for sketching in water
+color, and her own sanctum contained a dozen or more copious records
+of imaginary journeys illustrated with singular accuracy of detail.</p>
+
+<p>She was athletic in her tastes, too. She had fitted up a small
+gymnasium, which she used daily. At her request, Mortimer Fenley had
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>laid out a nine-hole links in the park, and in her second golfing
+year (the current one) Sylvia had gone around in bogey. She would have
+excelled in tennis, but Robert Fenley was so much away from home that
+she seldom got a game, while Hilton professed to be too tired for
+strenuous exercise after long days in the City. She could ride and
+drive, though forbidden to follow any of the local packs of
+fox-hounds, and it has been seen that she was a first-rate swimmer.
+Brodie, too, had taught her to drive a motor car, and she could
+discourse learnedly on silencers and the Otto cycle.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, then, she was content, and hugged the conceit that when
+she came of age she would be her own mistress and order her life as
+she chose. The solitary defect of any real importance in the scheme of
+things was Mortimer Fenley's growing insistence on her marriage to
+Robert.</p>
+
+<p>It was astounding, therefore, and quite bewildering, that Robert
+Fenley should have hit on the day of his father's death to declare his
+prosaic passion. He had motored back from London about four o'clock.
+Hurrying to change his clothing for the attire demanded by convention
+in hours of mourning, he sent a message to Sylvia asking her to meet
+him at tea. Afterwards he took her into the garden, on the pretext
+that she was looking pale and needed fresh air. There, without the
+least preamble, he informed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>her that the day's occurrences had caused
+him to fall in unreservedly with his father's wishes. He urged her to
+agree to a quiet wedding at the earliest possible date, and pointed
+out that a prompt announcement of their pact would stifle any
+opposition on Hilton's part.</p>
+
+<p>Evidently he took it for granted that if Barkis was willing, Peggotty
+had no option in the matter. He forgot to mention such a trivial
+element as love. Their marriage had been planned by the arbiter of
+their destinies, and who were they that they should gainsay that
+august decision? Why, his father's death had made it a duty that they
+owed to a sacred memory!</p>
+
+<p>Though Sylvia's experience of the world was slight, and knowledge of
+her fellow creatures rather less, Cousin Robert's eagerness, as
+compared with his deficiencies as a wooer, warned her that some hidden
+but powerful motive was egging him on now. She tried to temporize, but
+the more she eluded him the more insistent he became.</p>
+
+<p>At last, she spoke plainly, and with some heat.</p>
+
+<p>"If you press for my answer today it is 'No,'" she said, and a wave of
+color flooded her pale cheeks. "I think you can hardly have considered
+your actions. It is monstrous to talk of marriage when my uncle has
+only been dead <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>a few hours. I refuse to listen to another word."</p>
+
+<p>Perforce, Robert had left it at that. He had the sense to bottle up
+his anger, at any rate in her hearing; perhaps he reflected that the
+breaking of the ice would facilitate the subsequent plunge.</p>
+
+<p>Far more disturbed in spirit than her dignified repulse of Fenley had
+shown, Sylvia re&euml;ntered the house, passing the odd-looking little
+detective as she crossed the hall. She took refuge in her own suite,
+but determined forthwith to go out of doors again and seek shelter
+among her beloved trees. Through a window, as her rooms faced south,
+she saw Robert Fenley pacing moodily in the garden, where he was
+presently joined by the detective.</p>
+
+<p>Apparently, Fenley was as ungracious and surly of manner as he knew
+how to be, but Furneaux continued to chat with careless affability;
+soon the two walked off in the direction of the lake. That was
+Sylvia's chance. She ran downstairs and was at the door when a footman
+came and said that Mrs. Bates wanted her on the telephone.</p>
+
+<p>At first she was astounded by Trenholme's message. Then sheer
+irritation at the crassness of things, and perhaps some spice of
+feminine curiosity, led her to give the order which opened the gates
+of Roxton Park to a man she had never seen. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>The two met a few hundred yards down the avenue. Police Constable
+Farrow, who had been replaced by another constable while he went home
+for a meal, was on guard in the Quarry Wood again until the night men
+came on duty, and noticed Miss Manning leaving the house. He descended
+from his rock and strolled toward the avenue, with no other motive
+than a desire to stretch his legs; his perplexity was unbounded when
+he discovered Mortimer Fenley's ward deep in conversation with the
+artist.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm jiggered!" he said, dodging behind a giant rhododendron.
+Whipping out a notebook and consulting his watch, he solemnly noted
+time and names in a laboriously accurate round hand. Then he nibbled
+his chin strap and dug both thumbs into his belt. His luck was in that
+day. He knew something now that was withheld from the Scotland Yard
+swells. Sylvia Manning and John Trenholme were acquaintances. Nay,
+more; they must be old friends; under his very eyes they went off
+together into the park.</p>
+
+<p>Back to his rock went Police Constable Farrow, puzzled but elated. Was
+he not a repository of secrets? And that funny little detective had
+betaken himself in the opposite direction! Fate was kind indeed.</p>
+
+<p>He would have been still more surprised had Fate permitted him to be
+also an eavesdropper, if listeners ever do drop from eaves. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>Sylvia was by no means flurried when she came face to face with
+Trenholme. The female of the species invariably shows her superiority
+on such occasions. Trenholme knew he was blushing and rather
+breathless. Sylvia was cool and distant.</p>
+
+<p>"You are Mr. Trenholme, I suppose?" she said, her blue eyes meeting
+his brown ones in calm scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said, trying desperately to collect his wits. The
+well-balanced phrases conned while walking up the avenue had vanished
+in a hopeless blur at the instant they were needed. His mind was in a
+whirl.</p>
+
+<p>"I am Miss Manning," she continued. "It is hardly possible to receive
+visitors at the house this afternoon, and as I happened to be coming
+out when Mrs. Bates telephoned from the lodge, I thought you would
+have no objection to telling me here why you wish to see me."</p>
+
+<p>"I have come to apologize for my action this morning," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"What action?"</p>
+
+<p>"I sketched you without your knowledge, and, of course, without your
+permission."</p>
+
+<p>"You sketched me? Where?"</p>
+
+<p>"When you were swimming in the lake."</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't dare!"</p>
+
+<p>"I did. I'm sorry now, though you inspired <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>the best picture I have
+ever painted, or shall ever paint."</p>
+
+<p>For an instant Sylvia forgot her personal troubles in sheer
+wonderment, and a ghost of a smile brightened her white cheeks. John
+Trenholme was a person who inspired confidence at sight, and her first
+definite emotion was one of surprise that he should look so
+disconsolate.</p>
+
+<p>"I really don't understand," she said. "The quality of your picture
+has no special interest for me. What I fail to grasp is your motive in
+trespassing in a private park and watching me, or any lady, bathing."</p>
+
+<p>"Put that way, my conduct needs correcting with a horsewhip; but
+happily there are other points of view. That is&mdash;I mean&mdash;&mdash;Really,
+Miss Manning, I am absurdly tongue-tied, but I do beg of you to hear
+my explanation."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you one?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It might convince any one but you. You will be a severe judge,
+and I hardly know how to find words to seek your forgiveness, but I&mdash;I
+was the victim of circumstances."</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't regard me as a judge. At present, I am trying to guess
+what happened."</p>
+
+<p>Then John squared his shoulders and tackled the greatest difficulty he
+had grappled with for years.</p>
+
+<p>"The simple truth should at least sound convincing," he said. "I came
+to Roxton three <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>days ago on a commission to sketch the village and
+its environment. This house and grounds are historical, and I applied
+for permission to visit them, but was refused. By chance, I heard of a
+public footpath which crosses the park close to the lake&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia nodded. She, too, had heard much of that footpath. Its
+existence had annoyed Mortimer Fenley as long as she could remember
+anything. That friendly little nod encouraged Trenholme. His voice
+came under better control, and he contrived to smile.</p>
+
+<p>"I was told it was a bone of contention," he said, "but that didn't
+trouble me a bit, since the right of way opened the forbidden area. I
+meant no disturbance or intrusion. I rose early this morning, and
+would have made my sketches and got away without seeing you if it were
+not for a delightful pair of wrought iron gates passed <i>en route</i>.
+They detained me three quarters of an hour. Instead of reaching the
+clump of cedars at a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I arrived at
+half past seven.</p>
+
+<p>"I sketched the house and lawns and then turned to the lake. When you
+appeared I imagined at first you were coming to pitch into me for
+entering your domain. But, as I was partly hidden by some briers
+beneath the cedars, you never saw me, and, before I realized what was
+taking place, you threw off your wraps and were in the water." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>"Oh!" gasped Sylvia.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, I ask you to regard the situation impersonally," said Trenholme,
+sinking his eyes humbly to the ground and keeping them there. "I had
+either to reveal my presence and startle you greatly, or remain where
+I was and wait until you went off again.</p>
+
+<p>"Whether it was wise or not, I elected for the easier course. I think
+I would act similarly if placed in the like predicament tomorrow or
+next day. After all, there is nothing so very remarkable in a lady
+taking a morning swim that an involuntary onlooker should be shocked
+or scandalized by it. You and I were strangers to each other. Were we
+friends, we might have been swimming in company."</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia uttered some incoherent sound, but Trenholme, once launched in
+his recital, meant to persevere with it to the bitter end.</p>
+
+<p>"I still hold that I chose the more judicious way out of a difficult
+situation," he said. "Had I left it at that, all would have been well.
+But the woman tempted me, and I did eat."</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed, the woman did nothing of the sort," came the vehement
+protest.</p>
+
+<p>"I speak in the artistic sense. You can not imagine, you will never
+know, what an exquisite picture you and the statue of Aphrodite made
+when mirrored in that shining water. I forgot every consideration but
+the call of art, which, when it is genuine, is irresistible,
+overwhelming. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>Fearing only that you might take one plunge and go, I
+grabbed my palette and a canvas and began to work.</p>
+
+<p>"I used pure color, and painted as one reads of the fierce labor of
+genius. For once in my life I was inspired. I had caught an effect
+which I might have sought in vain during the remainder of my life. I
+painted real flesh, real water. Even the reeds and shrubs by the side
+of the lake were veritable glimpses of actuality. Then, when I had
+given some species of immortality to a fleeting moment, you returned
+to the house, and I was left alone with a dream made permanent, a
+memory transfixed on canvas, a picture which would have created a
+sensation in the Salon&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, surely, you would not exhibit me&mdash;it&mdash;&mdash;" breathed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said grimly. "That conceit is dead and buried. But I want you
+to realize that during those few minutes I was not John Trenholme, an
+artist struggling for foothold on the steep crags of the painter's
+rock of endeavor, but a master of the craft gazing from some high
+pinnacle at a territory he had won. If you know anything of painting,
+Miss Manning, you will go with me so far as to admit that my
+indiscretion was impersonal. I, a poet who expressed his emotions in
+terms of color, was alone with Aphrodite and a nymph, on a June
+morning, in a leafy English park. I don't think I should <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>be blamed,
+but envied. I should not be confessing a fault, but claiming
+recognition as one favored of the gods."</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme was speaking in earnest now, and Sylvia thrilled to the
+music of his voice. But if her heart throbbed and a strange fluttering
+made itself felt in her heart, her utterance, by force of repression,
+was so cold and unmoved that Trenholme became more downcast than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"I do paint a little," she said, "and I can understand that
+the&mdash;er&mdash;statue and the lake offer a charming subject; but I am still
+at a loss to know why you have thought fit to come here and tell me
+these things."</p>
+
+<p>"It is my wretched task to make that clear, at least," he cried
+contritely, forcing himself to turn and look through the trees at a
+landscape now glowing in the mellow light of a declining sun. "When
+you had gone I sat there, working hard for a time, but finally
+yielding to the spell of an unexpected and, therefore, a most
+delightful romance. A vision of rare beauty had come into my life and
+gone from it, all in the course of a magic hour. Is it strange that I
+should linger in the shrine?</p>
+
+<p>"I was aroused by a gunshot, but little dreamed that grim Death was
+stalking through Fairyland. Still, I came to my everyday senses,
+packed up my sketches and color box, and tramped off to Roxton,
+singing as I went. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>Hours afterward, I learned of the tragedy which
+had taken place so near the place where I had snatched a glimpse of
+the Hesperides. It was known that I had been in the park at the time.
+I had met and spoken to Bates, your head keeper, and the local
+policeman, Farrow.</p>
+
+<p>"A detective came, a man named Furneaux; a jolly clever chap, too, but
+a most disturbing reasoner. He showed me that my drawings&mdash;the one
+sketch, at any rate, which I held sacred&mdash;would prove my sheet anchor
+when I was brought into the stormy waters of inquest and law courts.
+It is obvious that every person who was in that locality at half past
+nine this morning must explain his or her presence beyond all doubt or
+questioning. I shall be obliged to say, of course, that I was in the
+park fully two hours, from seven thirty <span class="smcap">a. m.</span> onward. What was I
+doing? Painting. Very well; where is the result? Is it such that any
+artist will testify that I was busily engaged? Don't you see, Miss
+Manning? I must either produce that sketch or stand convicted of the
+mean offense you yourself imputed to me instantly when you heard of my
+whereabouts."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I didn't really imply that," said Sylvia, and a new note of
+sympathy crept into her voice. "It would be horrid if&mdash;if you couldn't
+explain; and&mdash;it seems to me that the sketches&mdash;you made more than
+one, didn't you?&mdash;should be shown to the authorities." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>Trenholme's face lit with gratitude because of her ready tact. He was
+sorely impelled to leave matters on their present footing, but whipped
+himself to the final stage.</p>
+
+<p>"There is worse to come," he said miserably.</p>
+
+<p>"Goodness me! What else <i>can</i> there be?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr Furneaux has asked me&mdash;ordered me, in fact&mdash;to meet you by the
+side of the lake tomorrow morning at a quarter past nine and bring the
+drawings. Now you know why I have ventured to call this afternoon. I
+simply could not wait till I was brought before you like a collared
+thief with the loot in his possession. I <i>had</i> to meet you without the
+intervention of a grinning policeman. When you heard my plea I
+thought, I hoped, that you might incline to a less severe view than
+would be possible if the matter came to your notice without warning."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped abruptly. A curiously introspective look had come into the
+girl's eyes, for he had summoned up courage to glance at her again,
+and snatch one last impression of her winsome loveliness before she
+bade him be gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you staying in Roxton, Mr. Trenholme?" she asked. The
+unexpected nature of the question almost took his breath away.</p>
+
+<p>"At the White Horse Inn," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She pointed across the park.</p>
+
+<p>"That farm there, Mr. Jackson's, lies nearly opposite the inn. I
+suppose the detective has not impounded your sketch?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>"No," he murmured, quite at a loss to follow her intent.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Mr. Jackson will let you go and come through his farmyard to
+oblige me. It will be a short cut for you, too. If you have no
+objection, I'll walk with you to the boundary wall, which you can
+climb easily.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you might bring this debatable picture, and let me see it&mdash;the
+others as well, if you wish. Wouldn't that be a good idea? I mightn't
+get quite such a shock in the morning, when the detective man parades
+you before me. It is not very late. I have plenty of time to stroll
+that far before dinner."</p>
+
+<p>Hardly believing his ears, Trenholme walked off by her side. No wonder
+Police Constable Farrow was surprised. And still less room was there
+for wonder that Hilton Fenley, driving with Winter from the station,
+should shout an imperative order to Brodie to stop the car when he saw
+the couple in the distance.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't that Miss Sylvia?" he said harshly, well knowing there could be
+only one answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said the chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is the man with her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trenholme, the artist, from the White Horse, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you sure?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. I've seen him several times hereabouts."</p>
+
+<p>Fenley was in a rare temper already, for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>Winter had told him Brother
+Robert was at home, a development on which he had by no means counted.
+Now his sallow face darkened with anger.</p>
+
+<p>"Drive on!" he said. "I gave orders, at your request, Mr Winter, that
+no strangers were to be admitted. I must see to it that I am obeyed in
+future. It is surprising, too, that the police are so remiss in such
+an important matter."</p>
+
+<p>For once, Winter was perforce silent. In his heart of hearts he blamed
+Detective Inspector Furneaux. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Furneaux States Some Facts and Certain <br />
+Fancies</span></h3>
+
+<p>This record of a day remarkable beyond any other in the history of
+secluded Roxton might strike a more cheerful note if it followed the
+two young people across the park. It is doubtful whether or not Sylvia
+Manning's unpremeditated action in accompanying Trenholme was inspired
+by a sudden interest in art or by revolt against the tribulations
+which had befallen her. Of course there is some probability that a
+full and true account of the conversation between man and maid as they
+walked the half mile to Jackson's farm might throw a flood of light on
+this minor problem. Be that as it may, stern necessity demands that
+the chronicle should revert for a time to the sayings and doings of
+the Fenleys and the detectives.</p>
+
+<p>Despite a roundabout route, Furneaux had merely led Robert Fenley
+through the gardens to the Quarry Wood. Somewhat to the detective's
+surprise, the rock was unguarded. The two were standing there,
+discussing the crime, when Police Constable Farrow returned to his
+post. Furneaux said nothing&mdash;for some reason <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>he did not emphasize the
+fact to his companion that a sentry should have been found stationed
+there&mdash;but a sharp glance at the policeman warned the latter that he
+ran considerable risk of a subsequent reprimand.</p>
+
+<p>Conscious of rectitude, Farrow saluted, and produced his notebook.</p>
+
+<p>"I've just made a memo of this, sir," he said, pointing to an entry.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Miss Sylvia Manning left home 6.45 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> Met Mr. John Trenholme,
+artist, White Horse Inn, in avenue 6.47 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> The two held close
+conversation, and went off together across park in direction of
+Roxton 6.54 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span> Lady wore no hat. Regarded incident as unusual,
+so observed exact times. </p></div>
+
+<p>"I note what the Inspector says, and will discuss the point later,"
+said Furneaux, returning the book. The policeman grinned. As between
+Scotland Yard and himself a complete understanding was established.</p>
+
+<p>"Have the local police discovered anything of importance?" inquired
+Fenley, who, now that his own affairs called for no immediate
+attention, seemed to give more heed to the manner of his father's
+death. At first, his manner to Furneaux had been churlish in the
+extreme. Evidently he thought he could treat the representative of the
+Criminal Investigation Department just as he pleased. At this moment
+he elected to be gruffly civil in tone. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>"They are making full inquiries, of course," replied the detective,
+"but I think the investigation will be conducted in the main by my
+Department&mdash;&mdash;As I was saying, Mr. Fenley, undoubtedly the shot was
+fired from this locality. Dr. Stern, who is an authority on bullet
+wounds, is convinced of that, even if there was no other evidence,
+such as the chauffeur's and the artist's I told you of, together with
+the impressions formed by Bates and others."</p>
+
+<p>"Were there no footprints?" was the next question, and Fenley eyed the
+ground critically. He deemed those Scotland Yard Johnnies thickheaded
+chaps, at the best.</p>
+
+<p>"None of any value. Since ten o'clock, however, dozens of new ones
+have been made. That is why the policeman is keeping an eye on the
+place&mdash;chiefly to warn off intruders. Shall we return to the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a strange business," said Fenley, striding down the slope by
+Furneaux's side. "Why in the world should any one want to shoot my
+poor old guv'nor? He was straight as a die, and I don't know a soul
+who had any real grievance against him."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux did not appear to be listening. The two were approaching the
+patch of moist earth which bore the impress of Robert Fenley's boots.
+"By the way," he said suddenly, "are you aware that there is a sort of
+a theory that your father was shot by a rifle belonging to you?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>"What?" roared the other, and it was hard to say whether rage or
+astonishment predominated in his voice. "Is that one of Hilton's
+dodges to get me into trouble?"</p>
+
+<p>"But you do own an Express rifle, which you keep in your sitting-room.
+Where is it now?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the place where it always is. Standing in a corner behind the
+bookcase."</p>
+
+<p>"When did you see it last, Mr. Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"How the deuce do I know? I give it a run through with an oiled rag
+about once a month. It must be nearly a month since I cleaned it."</p>
+
+<p>"It has gone."</p>
+
+<p>"Gone where?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I knew."</p>
+
+<p>"But who the devil could have taken it?"</p>
+
+<p>If ever a man was floundering in a morass of wrath and amazement it
+was this loud-voiced youngster. He was a slow-witted lout, but the
+veriest dullard must have perceived that the disappearance of the
+weapon which presumably killed his father was a serious matter for its
+owner.</p>
+
+<p>In order to grasp this new phase of the tragedy in its proper bearings
+he stood stock still, and gazed blankly into the serious face of the
+detective. Furneaux knew he would do that. It was a mannerism. Some
+men can not think and move at the same moment, and Robert Fenley was
+one.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, young Fenley did not know that he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>was leaving a new set of
+footprints by the side of the others already attributed to him. Having
+done that, he was no longer wanted.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll solve every part of the puzzle in time," said Furneaux slowly,
+moistening his thin lips with his tongue as if he were about to taste
+another glass of rare old-vintage wine.</p>
+
+<p>"I mentioned the fact of the gun being missing to show you how unwise
+you were this morning. You shouldn't have bolted off as you did when
+Mr. Winter requested you to remain. I haven't the least doubt, Mr.
+Fenley, that you can prove you were in London at the time the murder
+was committed, and during some days prior to it, but the police like
+these matters to be cleared up; if I may give you a hint, you'll tell
+the Superintendent that you regret your behavior, and show you mean
+what you say by giving him all the information he asks for. Here he is
+now. I hear Mr. Hilton's car, and Mr. Winter is coming with him from
+town."</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton's car? It's no more his car than mine. You mark my words,
+there will be trouble in the family if my brother starts bossing
+things. He hates me, and would do me an ill turn if he could. Was it
+Hilton who spread this story about my gun?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Rather the reverse. He kept your name studiously out of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Who was it, then? I have a right to know."</p>
+
+<p>"I fail to recollect just how the matter <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>cropped up. It was the
+direct outcome of the common observation of several persons who heard
+the report, and who were able to discriminate between one class of gun
+and another. Anyhow, there is no occasion for you to squeal before you
+are hurt. You acted like a fool this morning. Try and behave yourself
+more reputably now."</p>
+
+<p>The prophet Balaam was not more taken aback when rebuked by his ass
+than Robert Fenley when Furneaux turned and rent him in this fashion.
+Hitherto the detective's manner had been mildness itself, so this
+change of front was all the more staggering.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I say!" came the blustering protest. "I don't allow any of you
+fellows to talk to me like that. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll hear worse in another second if you really annoy me," said
+Furneaux. "Heretofore no one seems to have troubled to inform you what
+a special sort of idiot you are. Though your last words to your father
+were a threat that you were inclined to shoot him and your precious
+self, when you saw him lying dead you thought of nothing but your own
+wretched follies, and bolted off to Hendon Road, Battersea, instead of
+remaining here and trying to help the police.</p>
+
+<p>"When I tell you your gun is missing you yelp about your brother's
+animosity. Before your father is laid in his grave you threaten to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>upset the household because your brother acts as its master. Why
+shouldn't he? Are you fitted to take the reins or share his
+responsibility? If you were at your right job, Robert Fenley, you'd be
+carrying bricks and mortar in a hod; for you haven't brains enough to
+lay a brick or use a trowel."</p>
+
+<p>The victim of this outburst thought that the little detective had gone
+mad, though the reference to Hendon Road had startled him, and a
+scared expression had come into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Look here&mdash;&mdash;" he began, but Furneaux checked him again instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I've looked at you long enough to sum you up as a sulky puppy," he
+said. "If you had any sort of gumption you would realize that you
+occupy a singularly precarious position. Were it not for the lucky
+accident that my colleague and I were on the spot this morning it is
+more than likely that the county police would have arrested you at
+sight. Don't give us any more trouble, or you'll be left to stew in
+your own juice. I have warned you, once and for all. If you care to
+swallow your spleen and amend your manners, I shall try to believe you
+are more idiot than knave. At present I am doubtful which way the
+balance tips."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux stalked off rapidly, leaving the other to fume with
+indignation as he followed. With his almost uncanny gift of
+imaginative reasoning, the Jersey man had guessed the purport <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>of
+Fenley's talk with Sylvia in the garden. He had watched the two from a
+window of the dining-room, and had read correctly the girl's
+ill-concealed scorn, not quite devoid of dread, as revealed by face
+and gesture. To make sure, he waylaid her in the hall while she was
+hurrying to her own apartments. Then he sauntered after Robert Fenley,
+and only bided his time to empty upon him the vials of his wrath.</p>
+
+<p>He had taken the oaf's measure with a nice exactitude. To trounce him
+without frightening him also was only inviting a complaint to the
+Commissioner, but Furneaux was well aware that the longer Robert
+Fenley's dull brain dwelt on the significance of that address in
+Battersea being known to the police, the less ready would he be to
+stir a hornets' nest into activity by showing his resentment.
+Obviously, Furneaux's methods were not those advocated in the Police
+Manual. Any other man who practiced them would risk dismissal, but the
+"Little 'Un" of the Yard was a law unto himself.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, he was hurrying after the "Big 'Un," (such, it will be
+recalled, were the respective nicknames Furneaux and Winter had
+received in the Department) who had alighted from the car, and was
+listening to Hilton Fenley berating a servant for having permitted
+Trenholme to make known his presence to Miss Manning. The man,
+however, protested that he had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>done nothing of the sort. Miss Sylvia
+had been called to the lodge telephone, and the footman's acquaintance
+with the facts went no farther. Smothering his annoyance as best he
+could, Fenley rang up Mrs. Bates and asked for particulars. When the
+woman explained what had happened, he rejoined Winter in the hall,
+paying no heed to Furneaux, who was entering at the moment.</p>
+
+<p>"That artist fellow who was trespassing in the park this morning&mdash;if
+nothing worse is proved against him&mdash;must have a superb cheek," he
+said angrily. "He actually had the impertinence to ask Miss Manning to
+meet him, no doubt offering some plausible yarn as an excuse. I hope
+you'll test his story thoroughly, Mr. Winter. At the least, he should
+be forced to say what he was doing in these grounds at such an unusual
+hour."</p>
+
+<p>"He is putting himself right with Miss Manning now," broke in
+Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Putting himself right with Miss Manning? What the deuce do you mean,
+sir?" Fenley could snarl effectively when in the mood, and none might
+deny his present state of irritation, be the cause what it might.</p>
+
+<p>"That young lady is the only person to whom he owes an explanation. He
+is giving it to her now."</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kindly be more explicit?"</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux glanced from his infuriated questioner <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>to Winter, his face
+one note of mild interrogation and non-comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Mr. Fenley, I have said the same thing in two different
+ways," he cried. "As a rule I contrive to be tolerably lucid in my
+remarks&mdash;don't I, Mr. Robert?" for the younger Fenley had just come
+in.</p>
+
+<p>"What's up now?" was Robert's non-committal answer.</p>
+
+<p>For some reason his brother did not reply, but Furneaux suddenly grew
+voluble.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you haven't heard that an artist named Trenholme was
+painting near the lake this morning when your father was killed," he
+said. "Fortunately, he was there before and after the shot was fired.
+He can prove, almost to a yard, the locality where the murderer was
+concealed. In fact, he is coming here tomorrow, at my request, to go
+over the ground with me.</p>
+
+<p>"An interesting feature of the affair is that Mr. Trenholme is a
+genius. I have never seen better work. One of his drawings, a water
+color, has all the brilliancy and light of a David Cox, but another,
+in oil, is a positive masterpiece. It must have been done in a few
+minutes, because Miss Manning did not know he was sitting beneath the
+cedars, and it is unreasonable to suppose that she would preserve the
+same pose for any length of time&mdash;sufficiently long, that is&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Did the bounder paint a picture of Sylvia <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>bathing?" broke in Robert,
+his red face purple with rage.</p>
+
+<p>"Allow me to remind you that you are speaking of a painter of
+transcendent merit," said Furneaux suavely.</p>
+
+<p>"When <i>I</i> meet him I'll give him a damned good hiding."</p>
+
+<p>"He's rather tall and strongly built."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care how big he is, I'll down him."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, stop this pothouse talk," put in Hilton, giving the blusterer a
+contemptuous glance. "Mr. Furneaux, you seem primed with information.
+Why should Mr. Trenholme, if that is his name, have the audacity to
+call on Miss Manning? He might have the impudence to skulk among the
+shrubs and watch a lady bathing, but I fail to see any motive for his
+visit to The Towers this evening."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux shook his head. Evidently the point did not appeal to him.</p>
+
+<p>"There is no set formula that expresses the artistic temperament," he
+said. "The man who passes whole years in studying the nude is often
+endowed with a very high moral sense. Mr. Trenholme, though carried
+away by enthusiasm this morning, may be consumed with remorse tonight
+if he imagines that the lady who formed the subject of his sketch is
+likely to be distressed because of it.</p>
+
+<p>"I fear I am to blame. I stopped Mr. Trenholme <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>from destroying the
+picture today. He meant burning it, since he had the sense to realize
+that he would be summoned as a witness, not only at tomorrow's
+inquest, but when the affair comes before the courts. I was bound to
+point out that the drawings supplied his solitary excuse for being in
+the locality at all. He saw that&mdash;unwillingly, it is true, but with
+painful clearness&mdash;so I assume that his visit to Miss Manning was
+expiatory, a sort of humble obeisance to a goddess whom he had
+offended unwittingly. I assume, too, that his plea for mercy has not
+proved wholly unsuccessful or Miss Manning would not now be walking
+with him across the park."</p>
+
+<p>"What!" roared Robert. He turned to the gaping footman, for the whole
+conversation had taken place in the hall. "Which way did Miss Sylvia
+go?" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"Down the avenue, sir," said the man. "I saw Miss Sylvia meet the
+gentleman, and after some talk they went through the trees to the
+right."</p>
+
+<p>Robert raced off. Winter, who had not interfered hitherto, because
+Furneaux always had a valid excuse for his indiscretions, made as if
+he would follow and restrain the younger Fenley; but Furneaux caught
+his eye and winked. That sufficed. The Superintendent contented
+himself with gazing after Robert Fenley, who ran along the avenue
+until clear of the Quarry Wood, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>when he, too, plunged through the
+line of elms and was lost to sight.</p>
+
+<p>Hilton watched his impetuous brother with a brooding underlook. He
+still held in his hand a leather portfolio bulging with papers, some
+of which he had placed there when Winter opened the door of the
+railway coach in St. Pancras station. The footman offered to relieve
+him of it, but was swept aside with a gesture.</p>
+
+<p>"I have never known Robert so excited and erratic in his movements as
+he has been today," he said at last. "I hope he will not engage in a
+vulgar quarrel with this Mr. Trenholme, especially in Miss Manning's
+presence."</p>
+
+<p>Apparently he could not quite control his voice, in which a sense of
+unctuous amusement revealed itself. Furneaux could not resist such an
+opportunity. He had pierced Robert's thick skin; now he undertook a
+more delicate operation.</p>
+
+<p>"That would be doubly unfortunate," he said, chuckling quietly. "If I
+am any judge of men, Mr. Robert Fenley would meet more than his match
+in our artist friend, while he would certainly undo all the good
+effect of an earlier and most serious and convincing conversation with
+the young lady."</p>
+
+<p>Hilton swung around on him.</p>
+
+<p>"When did my brother return from London?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Shortly before five o'clock. He and Miss <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>Manning had tea together,
+and afterward strolled in the gardens. I don't wonder at any artist
+wishing to sketch Miss Manning? Do you? If I may be allowed to say it,
+I have never seen a more graceful and charming girl."</p>
+
+<p>"May I inquire if you have made any progress in the particular inquiry
+for which I brought you here?"</p>
+
+<p>Hilton Fenley spoke savagely. He meant to be offensive, since the
+innuendo was unmistakable. Apparently Furneaux's remarks had achieved
+some hypodermic effect.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes," was the offhand answer. "I have every reason to believe
+that Mr. Winter and I will make an arrest without undue loss of time."</p>
+
+<p>"I am glad to hear it. Thus far your methods have not inspired the
+confidence I, as a member of the public, was inclined to repose in
+Scotland Yard. I am going to my rooms now, and dine at a quarter to
+eight. About nine o'clock I wish to go into matters thoroughly with
+Mr. Winter and you. At present, I think it only fair to say that I am
+not satisfied with the measures, whatever they may be, you have seen
+fit to adopt."</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to await a retort, but none came, so he strode across the
+hall and hurried up the stairs. Furneaux continued to gaze blankly
+down the long, straight avenue, nor did he utter a word till a door
+opened and closed on the first floor in the southeast corner. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p><p>Then he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Some people are very hard to please," he said plaintively.</p>
+
+<p>Winter beckoned to the footman.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mind asking Mr. Tomlinson if he can come here for a moment?"
+he said. When the man disappeared he muttered&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why are you stroking everybody's fur the wrong way, Charles?"</p>
+
+<p>"A useful simile, James. If they resemble cats we may see sparks, and
+each of those young men has something of the tiger in him."</p>
+
+<p>"But things have gone horribly wrong all day&mdash;after a highly promising
+start, too. I don't see that we are any nearer laying hands on a
+murderer because we have unearthed various little scandals in the
+lives of Mortimer Fenley's sons. And what game are you playing with
+this artist, Trenholme?"</p>
+
+<p>"The supremely interesting problem just now is the game which he is
+playing with Robert Fenley. If that young ass attacks him he'll get
+the licking he wants, and if you're in any doubt about my
+pronouns&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, dash you and your pronouns! Here's Tomlinson. Quick! Have you a
+plan of any sort?"</p>
+
+<p>"Three! Three separate lines of attack, each deadly. But there are
+folk whose mental equipment renders them incapable of understanding
+plain English. Now, my friend Tomlinson will <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>show you what I mean.
+I'll ask him a simple question, and he will give you a perfect example
+of a direct answer. Tomlinson, can you tell me what the extrados of a
+voussoir is?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Mr. Furneaux, I can not," said the butler, smiling at what he
+regarded as the little man's humor.</p>
+
+<p>"There!" cried Furneaux delightedly. "Ain't I a prophet? No evasions
+about Tomlinson, are there?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're cracked," growled Winter, picking up his suitcase. "If
+I'm to stay here tonight, I shall want a room of some sort. Mr.
+Tomlinson, can you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Share mine," broke in Furneaux. "I'm the quietest sleeper living. Our
+friend here is sure to have at disposal a room with two beds in it."</p>
+
+<p>"The principal guest room is unoccupied," said the butler.</p>
+
+<p>"Where is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"On the first floor, sir, facing south."</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't be better. The very thing. Ah! Here comes my baggage." And
+the others saw a policeman bicycling up the avenue, with a small
+portmanteau balanced precariously between the handlebars and the front
+buttons of his tunic.</p>
+
+<p>"You gentlemen will dine in my room, I hope?" said Tomlinson, when he
+had escorted them upstairs. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>"We are not invited to the family circle, at any rate," said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you will not suffer on that account," announced Tomlinson
+genially. "Of course, I shall not have the pleasure of sharing the
+meal with you, but dinner will be served at a quarter to eight. Mr.
+Furneaux knows his way about the house, so, with your permission, I'll
+leave you at present. If you're disengaged at nine thirty I'll be glad
+to see you in my sanctum."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't he a gem?" cried Furneaux, when the door had closed, and he and
+Winter were alone.</p>
+
+<p>Winter sat down on the side of a bed. He was worried, and did not
+strive to hide it. For the first time in his life he felt distrustful
+of himself, and he suspected, too, that Furneaux was only covering
+abject failure by a display of high spirits.</p>
+
+<p>"Why so pensive an attitude, James?" inquired the other softly. "Are
+you still wondering what the extrados of a voussoir is?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care a tuppenny damn what it is."</p>
+
+<p>"But that's where you're wrong. That's where you're crass and
+pig-headed. The extrados of a voussoir&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, kill it, and let it die happy&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"&mdash;is the outer curve of a wedge-shaped stone used for building an
+arch. Now, mark you, those are words of merit. Wedge, arch&mdash;wedges of
+fact which shall construct the arch of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>evidence. We'll have our man
+in the dock across that bridge before we are much older."</p>
+
+<p>"Confound it, how? He couldn't be in his bedroom and in the Quarry
+Wood, four hundred yards away, at one and the same moment."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux gazed fixedly at his friend's forehead, presumably the seat
+of reason.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes, James, you make me gasp with an amazed admiration," he
+cooed. "You do, really. You arrive at the same conclusion as I, a
+thinker, without any semblance of thought process on your part. How do
+you manage it! Is it through association with me? You know, there's
+such a thing as inductive electricity. A current passing through a
+highly charged wire can excite another wire, even a common iron one,
+without actual contact."</p>
+
+<p>"I've had a rotten afternoon, and don't feel up to your far-fetched
+jokes just now; so if you have nothing to report, shut up," said the
+Superintendent crossly.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I'll cheer your melancholy with a bit of real news brightened by
+imagination," answered Furneaux promptly. "Hilton Fenley couldn't have
+fired the rifle himself, except by certain bizarre means which I shall
+lay before the court later; but he planned and contrived the murder,
+down to the smallest detail. He wore Brother Robert's boots when
+available; from appearances Brother Robert is now wearing the
+identical pair which made those footprints <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>we saw, but I shall know
+in the morning, for that fiery young sprig obligingly left another
+well-marked set of prints in the same place twenty minutes ago. When
+circumstances compelled Hilton to walk that way in his own boots, he
+slipped on two roughly made moccasins, which he burned last night,
+having no further use for them. Therefore, he knew the murder would
+take place this morning.</p>
+
+<p>"I've secured shreds of the sacking out of which he made the pads to
+cover his feet; and an under gardener remembers seeing Mr. Hilton
+making off with an empty potato sack one day last week, and wondering
+why he wanted it. During some mornings recently Hilton Fenley
+breakfasted early and went out, but invariably had an excuse for not
+accompanying his father to the City. He was then studying the details
+of the crime, making sure that an expert, armed with a modern rifle,
+could not possibly miss such a target as a man standing outside a
+doorway, and elevated above the ground level by some five feet or
+more.</p>
+
+<p>"No servant could possibly observe that Mr. Hilton was wearing Mr.
+Robert's boots, because they do not differ greatly in size; but
+luckily for us, a criminal always commits an error of some sort, and
+Hilton blundered badly when he made those careful imprints of his
+brother's feet, as the weather has been fine recently, and the only
+mud in this locality lies in that hollow of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>Quarry Wood. It
+happens that some particles of that identical mud were imbedded in the
+carpet of Hilton Fenley's sitting-room. I'm sorry to have to say it,
+because the housemaid is a nice girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind the housemaid. Go on."</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly what the housemaid would remark if she heard me; only she
+would giggle, and you look infernally serious. Next item: Hilton
+Fenley, like most high-class scoundrels, has the nerves of a cat, with
+all a cat's fiendish brutality. He could plan and carry out a callous
+crime and lay a subtle trail which must lead to that cry baby, Robert,
+but he was unable to control his emotions when he saw his father's
+corpse. That is where the murderer nearly always fails. He can never
+picture in death that which he hated and doomed in life. There is an
+element in death&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Chuck it!" said Winter unfeelingly.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux winced, and affected to be deeply hurt.</p>
+
+<p>"The worst feature of service in Scotland Yard is its demoralizing
+effect on the finer sentiments," he said sadly. "Men lose all human
+instincts when they become detectives or newspaper reporters. Now the
+ordinary policeman ofttimes remains quite soft-hearted. For instance,
+Police Constable Farrow, though preening himself on being the pivot on
+which this case revolves, was much affected by Hilton Fenley's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>first
+heart-broken words to him. 'Poor young gentleman,' said Farrow, when
+we were discussing the affair this afternoon, 'he was cut up somethink
+orful. I didn't think he had it in him, s'elp me, I didn't. Tole me to
+act for the best. Said some one had fired a bullet which nearly tore
+his father to pieces.'</p>
+
+<p>"There was more of the same sort of thing, and I got Farrow to jot
+down the very words in his notebook. Of course, he doesn't guess
+why.... Now, I wonder how Hilton Fenley knew the effect of that bullet
+on his father's body. The doctor had not arrived. There had been only
+a superficial examination by Tomlinson of the orifice of the wound.
+What other mind in Roxton would picture to itself the havoc caused by
+an expanding bullet? The man who uttered those words <i>knew</i> what sort
+of bullet had been used. He <i>knew</i> it would tear his father's body to
+pieces. A neurotic imagination was at work, and that cry of horror was
+the soul's unconscious protest against the very fiendishness of its
+own deed....</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Let these Fenleys quarrel about that girl, and we'll see
+Hilton marching steadily toward the Old Bailey. Of course, we'll
+assist him. We'll make certain he doesn't deviate or falter on the
+road. But he'll follow it, and of his own accord; and the first long
+stride will be taken when he goes to the Quarry Wood to retrieve the
+rifle which lies hidden there." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p><p>Winter whistled softly. Then he looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove! Turned half past seven," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha!" cackled Furneaux. "James is himself again. We have hardly a
+scrap of evidence, but that doesn't trouble our worthy Superintendent
+a little bit, and he'll enjoy his dinner far better than he thought
+possible ten minutes ago. <i>Sacr&eacute; nom d'une pipe!</i> By the time you've
+tasted a bottle from Tomlinson's favorite bin you'll be preparing a
+brief for the Treasury solicitor!" </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Some Preliminary Skirmishing</span></h3>
+
+<p>Now, perhaps, taking advantage of an interval while the
+representatives of Scotland Yard sought the aid of soap and water as a
+preliminary to a meal, it is permissible to wander in the gloaming
+with Sylvia Manning and her escort. To speak of the gloaming is a
+poetic license, it is true. Seven o'clock on a fine summer evening in
+England is still broad daylight, but daylight of a quality that lends
+itself admirably to the exigencies of romance. There is a species of
+dreaminess in the air. The landscape assumes soft tints unknown to a
+fiery sun. Tender shadows steal from undiscovered realms. It is
+permissible to believe that every night on Parnassus is a night in
+June.</p>
+
+<p>At first these two young people were at a loss to know what to talk
+about. By tacit consent they ignored the morning's tragedy, yet they
+might not indulge in the irresponsible chatter which would have
+provided a ready resource under normal conditions. Luckily Trenholme
+remembered that the girl said she painted.</p>
+
+<p>"It is a relief to find that you also are of the elect," he said. "An
+artist will look at my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>pictures with the artist's eye. There are
+other sorts of eyes&mdash;Eliza's, for instance. Do you know Eliza, of the
+White Horse?"</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia collected her wits, which were wool-gathering.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I have met her at village bazaars and tea fights," she said.
+"Is she a stout, red-faced woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Both, to excess; but her chief attribute is her tongue, which has
+solved the secret of perpetual motion. Had it kept silent even for a
+few seconds at lunch time today, that sharp-eyed and rabbit-eared
+detective would never have known of the second picture&mdash;your
+picture&mdash;because I can eke out my exhibits by a half finished sketch
+of the lake and a pencil note of the gates. But putting the bits of
+the puzzle together afterwards, I came to the conclusion that Mary,
+our kitchen maid, passed my room, saw the picture on the easel and was
+scandalized. She of course told Eliza, who went to be shocked on her
+own account, and then came downstairs and pitched into me. At that
+moment the Scotland Yard man turned up."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it so very&mdash;dreadful, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dreadful! It may fall far short of the standard set by my own vanity;
+but given any sort of skill in the painter, how can a charming study
+of a girl in a bathing costume, standing by the side of a statue of
+Aphrodite, be dreadful? Of course, Miss Manning, you can <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>hardly
+understand the way in which a certain section of the public regards
+art. In studio jargon we call it the 'Oh, ma!' crowd, that being the
+favorite exclamation of the young ladies who peep and condemn. These
+people are the hopeless Philistines who argue about the sex of angels,
+and demand that nude statues shall be draped. But my picture must
+speak for itself. Tell me something about your own work. Are you
+taking up painting seriously?"</p>
+
+<p>Now, to be candid, Sylvia herself was not wholly emancipated from the
+state of Philistinism which Trenholme was railing at. Had he been less
+eager to secure a favorable verdict, or even less agitated by the
+unlooked-for condescension she was showing, he would have seen the
+absurdity of classing a girl of twenty with the lovers of art for
+art's sake, those earnest-eyed enthusiasts who regard a perfect curve
+or an inimitable flesh tint as of vastly greater importance than the
+squeamishness of the young person. Painters have their limitations as
+well as Mrs. Grundy, and John Trenholme did not suffer a fool gladly.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia, however, had the good sense to realize that she was listening
+to a man whose finer instincts had never been trammeled by conventions
+which might be wholesome in an academy for young ladies. Certainly she
+wondered what sort of figure she cut in this much debated picture, but
+that interesting point would be determined <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>shortly. Meanwhile she
+answered demurely enough:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you have taken me too seriously. I have hardly progressed
+beyond the stage where one discovers, with a sort of gasp, that trees
+may be blue or red, and skies green. Though I am going to look at your
+pictures, Mr. Trenholme, it by no means follows that I shall ever dare
+to show you any of mine."</p>
+
+<p>"Still, I think you must have the artistic soul," he said
+thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"There was more than mere physical delight in your swimming this
+morning. You reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents
+of trees and shrubs and flowering grass. First-rate swimmer as you
+are, you would not have enjoyed that dip half as much if it were taken
+in a covered bath, where your eyes dwelt only on white tiles and
+dressing-booths."</p>
+
+<p>The girl, subtly aware of a new element in life, was alarmed by its
+piercing sweetness, and with ruthless logic brought their talk back to
+a commonplace level.</p>
+
+<p>"Roxton seems to be a rather quaint place to find you in, Mr.
+Trenholme," she said. "How did you happen on our tiny village? Though
+so far from London, we are quite a byway. Why did you pay us a visit?"</p>
+
+<p>So Trenholme dropped to earth again, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>they spoke of matters of
+slight import till the boundary wall was reached.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia hailed a man attending cattle in the farmyard, and the artist
+vaulted the wall, which was breast high. The girl wondered if she
+could do that. When opportunity served she would try. Resting her
+elbows on the coping-stones, she watched Trenholme as he hurried away
+among the buildings and made for the village. She had never before met
+such a man or any one even remotely like him. He differed essentially
+from the Fenleys, greatly as the brothers themselves differed. Without
+conscious effort to please, he had qualities that appealed strongly to
+women, and Sylvia knew now that no consideration would induce her to
+marry either of her "cousins."</p>
+
+<p>If asked to put her thought into words, she would have boggled at the
+task, for intuition is not to be defined in set speech. In her own
+way, she had summed up the characteristics of the two men with one of
+whom marriage had been at least a possibility. Hilton she feared and
+Robert she despised, so if either was to become her husband, it would
+be Hilton. But five minutes of John Trenholme's companionship had
+given her a standard by which to measure her suitors, and both fell
+wofully short of its demands. She saw with startling clearness of
+vision that Hilton, the schemer, and Robert, the wastrel, led selfish
+lives. Souls they must possess, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>but souls starved by lack of
+spirituality, souls pent in dun prisons of their own contriving.</p>
+
+<p>She was so lost in thought, thought that strayed from crystal-bright
+imageries to nebulous shapes at once dark and terrifying, that the
+first intimation she received of Robert Fenley's approach was his
+stertorous breathing. From a rapid walk he had broken into a jog trot
+when he saw Trenholme vanish over the wall. Of late he seldom walked
+or rode a horse, and he was slightly out of condition, so his heavy
+face was flushed and perspiring, and his utterance somewhat labored
+when the girl turned at his cry:</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Sylvia&mdash;you've given me such a chase! Who the deuce is that
+fellow, an' what are you doing here?"</p>
+
+<p>Robert had appeared at an inauspicious moment. Sylvia eyed him with a
+new disfavor. He was decidedly gross, both in manner and language. She
+was sure he could not have vaulted the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not aware that I called for any chasing on your part," she said,
+with an aloofness perilously akin to disdain.</p>
+
+<p>He halted, panting, and eyed her sulkily.</p>
+
+<p>"No, but dash it all! You can't go walking around with any rotten
+outsider who forces himself into your company," was the most amiable
+reply he could frame on the spur of the moment. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>"You are short of breath," she said, smiling in a curiously impersonal
+way. "Run back to the house. It will do you good."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. You run with me. The first gong will go any minute, and
+we've got to eat, you know, even though the pater <i>is</i> dead."</p>
+
+<p>It was an unhappy allusion. Sylvia stiffened.</p>
+
+<p>"My poor uncle's death did not seem to trouble you greatly this
+morning," she said. "Kindly leave me now. I'll follow soon. I am
+waiting for Mr. Trenholme, who wants to show me some sketches."</p>
+
+<p>"A nice time to look at sketches, upon my word! And who's Trenholme,
+I'd like to know?"</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia bethought herself. Certainly an explanation was needful, and
+her feminine wit supplied one instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Trenholme was sent here by the Scotland Yard people," she said, a
+trifle less frigidly. "I suppose we shall all be mixed up in the
+inquiry the detectives are holding, and it seems that Mr. Trenholme
+was at work in the park this morning when that awful affair took
+place. Unknown to me, I was near the spot where he was sketching
+before breakfast, and one of the detectives, the little one, says it
+is important that&mdash;that the fact should be proved. Mr. Trenholme
+called to tell me just what happened. So you see there is nothing in
+his action that should annoy any one&mdash;you least of any, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>since you
+were away from home at the time."</p>
+
+<p>"But why has he mizzled over the wall?"</p>
+
+<p>"He is staying at the White Horse Inn, and has gone to fetch the
+drawings."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I didn't understand. If that's it, I'll wait till he turns up.
+You'll soon get rid of him."</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia had no valid reason to urge against this decision, but she did
+not desire Robert's company, and chose a feminine method of resenting
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think Mr. Trenholme will be anxious to meet you," she said
+coolly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"You are such a transparent person in your likes and dislikes. You
+have never even seen him, in the ordinary sense of the word, yet you
+speak of him in a way so unwarranted, so ridiculously untrue, that
+your manner might annoy him."</p>
+
+<p>"My manner, indeed! Is he so precious then? By gad, it'll be
+interesting to look this rare bird over."</p>
+
+<p>She turned her back on him and leaned on the wall again. Her slight,
+lissome figure acquired a new elegance from her black dress. Robert
+had never set eyes on Sylvia in such a costume before that day.
+Hitherto she had been a schoolgirl, a flapper, a straight-limbed,
+boyish young person in long frocks; but today she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>seemed to have put
+on a new air of womanliness, and he found it strangely attractive.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no sense in our quarreling about the chap anyhow," he said
+with a gruff attempt to smooth away difficulties. "Of course, I
+sh'an't let on I followed you. Just spotted you in the distance and
+joined you by chance, don't you know."</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia did not answer. She was comparing Robert Fenley's
+conversational style with John Trenholme's, and the comparison was
+unflattering to Robert.</p>
+
+<p>So he, too, came and leaned on the wall.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry if I annoyed you just now, Syl," he said. "That dashed
+little detective is to blame. He does put things in such a beastly
+unpleasant way."</p>
+
+<p>"What things?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, about you and me and all of us. Gave me a regular lecture
+because I went back to town this morning. I couldn't help it, old
+girl. I really couldn't. I had to settle some urgent business, but
+that's all ended now. The pater's death has steadied me. No more
+gallivanting off to London for me. Settle down in Roxton, Board of
+Guardians on Saturdays, church on Sunday, tea and tennis at the
+vicarage, and 'you-come-to-our-place-tomorrow.' You know the sort of
+thing&mdash;old-fashioned, respectable and comfy. I'll sell my motor bike
+and start a car. Motor bikes make a fellow a bit of a vagabond&mdash;eh,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>what? They <i>will</i> go the pace. You can't stop 'em. Fifty per, and be
+hanged to the police, that's their motto."</p>
+
+<p>"It sounds idyllic," the girl forced herself to say lightly, but her
+teeth met with a snap, and her fingers gripped the rough surface of
+the stones, for she remembered how Trenholme had said of her that she
+"reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents of trees
+and shrubs and flowering grasses."</p>
+
+<p>There was a musical cadence in her voice that restored Robert's surly
+good humor; he was of that peculiar type of spoiled youth whose laugh
+is a guffaw and whose mirth ever holds a snarl.</p>
+
+<p>"Here comes your paint slinger," he said. "Wonder if he really can
+stage a decent picture. If so, when the present fuss is ended we'll
+get him to do a group. You and me and the keepers and dogs in front of
+the Warren Covert, next October, after a big drive. How would that
+be?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure Mr. Trenholme will feel flattered."</p>
+
+<p>When Trenholme approached he was not too well pleased to find Miss
+Manning in charge of a new cavalier.</p>
+
+<p>From items gathered earlier in the village he guessed the newcomer's
+identity. Perhaps he expected that the girl would offer an
+introduction, but she only smiled pleasantly and said: </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p><p>"You must have hurried. I do hope I haven't put you to any
+inconvenience?"</p>
+
+<p>"Eliza informed me that she had just popped my chicken in the oven, so
+there is plenty of time," he said. "I suppose it makes one hot to be
+constantly popping things into ovens. In the course of years one
+should become a sort of salamander. Have you ever read the
+autobiography of that great artist and very complete rascal, Benvenuto
+Cellini? He is the last person reputed to have seen a real salamander
+in the fire, and he only remembered the fact because his father beat
+him lest he should forget it."</p>
+
+<p>"Ben who?" broke in Robert cheerfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Benvenuto Cellini."</p>
+
+<p>"Never heard of him.... Well, let's have a peep-o. Miss Manning and I
+dine at a quarter to eight. You've been taking some snapshots in the
+park, I'm told. If they've got any ginger in them&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Probably you will describe them as hot stuff," said Trenholme, laying
+a portfolio on the wall in front of Sylvia and opening it.</p>
+
+<p>"This is a pencil drawing of the great gates," he went on, ignoring
+Fenley. "Of course, they're Wren's, and therefore beautiful. Roxton
+Park holds a real treasure in those gates, Miss Manning. Here is a
+water-color sketch of the house and grounds. Do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it is exquisite! Why, you have caught <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>the very glint of sunshine
+on the walls and roofs, and it is shimmering in the leaves of that
+copper beech. Ah me! It looks so easy."</p>
+
+<p>Robert peered over her shoulder. Sylvia's gasp of admiration annoyed
+him; but he looked and said nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"This," continued Trenholme, "is an unfinished study of the lake. I
+was so busily occupied that I was not aware of your presence until you
+were quite near at hand. Then when you dived into the water I grabbed
+a canvas and some tubes of paint. Here is the result&mdash;completed, to a
+large extent, in my room at the inn."</p>
+
+<p>He took a picture out of a compartment of the portfolio specially
+constructed to protect an undried surface, and placed it at an angle
+that suited the light. His tone was unconcerned, for he had steeled
+himself against this crucial moment. Would she be angered? Would those
+limpid blue eyes, violet now in shadow, be raised to his in protest
+and vexed dismay? During the brief walk to and from the inn he had
+recollected the girl's age, her surroundings, the cramping influences
+of existence in a society of middle-class City folk. He felt like a
+prisoner awaiting a verdict when the issue was doubtful, and a wave of
+impulse might sway the jury one way or the other.</p>
+
+<p>But he held his head high, and his face flushed slightly, for there
+could be no gainsaying the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>message glowing from that cunning brush
+work. There were two goddesses, one in marble and one palpitating with
+life. The likeness, too, was undeniable. If one was a replica of Greek
+art at its zenith, the other was unmistakably Sylvia Manning.</p>
+
+<p>The girl gazed long and earnestly. Her pale cheeks had reddened for an
+instant, but the flood of surprise and emotion ebbed as quickly as it
+flowed, and left her wan, with parted lips.</p>
+
+<p>At last she looked at Trenholme and spoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you!" she said, and their eyes met.</p>
+
+<p>The artist understood; and he in turn, blanched somewhat. Rather
+hastily he replaced the picture in its receptacle.</p>
+
+<p>Robert Fenley coughed and grinned, and the spell was broken.</p>
+
+<p>"You said I'd call it hot stuff," he said. "Well, you sized my opinion
+up to a T. Of course, it's jolly clever&mdash;any fellow can see that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Good night, Mr. Trenholme," said Sylvia, and she made off at a rapid
+pace. Robert grinned again.</p>
+
+<p>"No young lady would stand that sort of thing," he chuckled. "You
+didn't really think she would&mdash;eh, what? But look here, I'll buy it.
+Send me a line later."</p>
+
+<p>He hurried after Sylvia, running to overtake her. Trenholme stood
+there a long time; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>in fact, until the two were hidden by the distant
+line of trees. Then he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"So you are Robert Fenley," he communed, packing the portfolio
+leisurely. "Well, if Sylvia Manning marries you, I'll be a bachelor
+all my days, for I'll never dare imagine I know anything about a
+woman's soul; though I'm prepared at this hour of grace to stake my
+career that that girl's soul is worthy of her very perfect body."</p>
+
+<p>Puffing a good deal, Fenley contrived to overhaul his "cousin."</p>
+
+<p>"By jing, Sylvia, you can step out a bit," he said. "And you change
+your mind mighty quick. Five minutes ago you were ready to wait any
+length of time till that Johnny turned up, and now you're doing more
+than five per. What's the rush? It's only half past seven, and we
+don't dress tonight."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not dining downstairs," she answered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I say, I can't stand Hilton all alone."</p>
+
+<p>"Nor can I stand either of you," she was tempted to retort, but
+contented herself by saying that she had arranged for a meal to be
+served in her aunt's room. Grumble and growl as he might, Robert could
+not shake her resolve; he was in a vile temper when he reached the
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p>His brother had not arrived, so he braced himself for an ordeal by
+drinking a stiff whisky and soda. When Hilton came in the pair nodded
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>to each other but ate in silence. At last Robert glanced up at
+Tomlinson.</p>
+
+<p>"Just shove the stuff on the table and clear out," he said. "We'll
+help ourselves. Mr. Hilton and I want to have a quiet talk."</p>
+
+<p>Hilton gave him a quick underlook but did not interfere. Perhaps
+purposely, when the servants had left the room he opened the battle
+with a sneer.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you didn't make a fool of yourself this evening," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"As how?" queried Robert, wondrously subdued to all appearance, though
+aching to give the other what he called "a bit of his mind."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand you made after Sylvia and the artist, meaning to
+chastise somebody."</p>
+
+<p>"You were wrong," said Robert slowly. "You nearly always are. I make
+mistakes myself, but I own up handsomely. You don't. That's where we
+differ, see?"</p>
+
+<p>"I see differences," and Hilton helped himself to a glass of claret.</p>
+
+<p>"Trenholme, the artist Johnny, is a clever chap&mdash;slightly cracked, as
+they all are, but dashed clever. By gad, you ought to see the picture
+he's painted of Sylvia. Anyhow, you <i>will</i> see it. I've bought it."</p>
+
+<p>"Really?"</p>
+
+<p>"I said I'd buy it&mdash;same thing. He'll jump at the offer. It'll hang in
+my dressing-room. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>I don't suppose Sylvia will kick about a trifle
+like that when we're married."</p>
+
+<p>Hilton was holding the glass of wine to his lips. His hand shook, and
+he spilled a little, but he drank the remainder.</p>
+
+<p>"When did you decide to marry Sylvia?" he inquired, after a pause
+which might have been needed to gain control of his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"It's been decided for a long time," said Robert doggedly, himself
+showing some signs of enforced restraint. "It was the pater's wish, as
+you know. I'm sorry now I didn't fix matters before he died; but
+'better late than never.' I asked Sylvia today, and we've arranged to
+get married quite soon."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you by any chance telling the truth?"</p>
+
+<p>"What the blazes do you mean?" and Robert's fist pounded the table
+heavily.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly what I say. You say that you and Sylvia have arranged to get
+married quite soon. Those were your words. Is that true?"</p>
+
+<p>"Confound you, of course it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia has actually agreed to that?"</p>
+
+<p>"I asked her. What more do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>"I am merely inquiring civilly what she said."</p>
+
+<p>"Dash it, you know what girls are like. You ought to. Isn't Eileen
+Garth a bit coy at times?"</p>
+
+<p>"One might remark that Mrs. Lisle also was coy." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>"Look here&mdash;&mdash;" began the other furiously, but the other checked him.</p>
+
+<p>"Let us stop bickering like a couple of counter jumpers," he said, and
+a shrewder man than Robert might have been warned by the slow,
+incisive utterance. "You make an astonishing announcement on an
+occasion when it might least be expected, yet resent any doubt being
+thrown on its accuracy. Did or did not Sylvia accept you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she said something about not wishing to talk of marriage so
+soon after the old man's death, but that was just her way of putting
+it. I mean to marry her; and when a fellow has made up his mind on a
+thing like that it's best to say so and have done with it. Sylvia's a
+jolly nice girl, and has plenty of tin. I'm first in the field, so I'm
+warning off any other candidates. See?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I see," said Hilton, pouring out another glass of wine. This
+time his hand was quite steady, and he drank without mishap.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't you going to wish me luck?" said Robert, eying him viciously.</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with Sylvia. The day we have lost our father is hardly a
+fitting time for such a discussion; or shall I say ceremony?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can say what the devil you like. And you can do what you like.
+Only keep off my corns and I won't tread on yours."</p>
+
+<p>Having, as he fancied, struck a decisive blow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>in the struggle for
+that rare prize, Sylvia, Robert Fenley pushed back his chair, arose,
+waited a second for an answer which came not, and strode out,
+muttering something about being "fed up."</p>
+
+<p>Hilton's face was lowered, and one nervous hand shaded his brows.
+Robert thought he had scored, but he could not see the inhuman rage
+blazing in those hidden eyes. The discovery, had he made it, might not
+have distressed him, but he would surely have been puzzled by the
+strange smile which wrinkled Hilton's sallow cheeks when the door
+closed and the Eurasian was left alone in the dining-room. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Wherein Scotland Yard is Dined and Wined</span></h3>
+
+<p>Three dinners for two were in progress in The Towers at one and the
+same hour. One feast had been shortened by the ill-concealed hatred of
+each brother for the other. At the second, brooding care found
+unwonted lodging in the charming personality of Sylvia Manning&mdash;care,
+almost foreboding, heightened by the demented mutterings of her
+"aunt." At the third, with the detectives, sat responsibility; but
+light-heartedly withal, since these seasoned man-hunters could cast
+off their day's work like a garment.</p>
+
+<p>The first and second meals were of the high quality associated with
+English country houses of a superior class; the third was a spread for
+epicures. Tomlinson saw to that. He was catering for a gourmet in
+Furneaux, and rose to the requisite height.</p>
+
+<p>The little man sighed as he tasted the soup.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it now?" inquired Winter, whose glance was dwelling
+appreciatively on a dusty bottle labeled "Clos Vosgeot, 1879."</p>
+
+<p>"I hate eating the food of a man whom I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>mean to produce as a star
+turn at the Old Bailey," was the despondent answer.</p>
+
+<p>"So do I, if it comes to that," said Winter briskly. "But this
+appetizing menu comes out of another larder. I shall be vastly
+mistaken if we're not actually the guests of a certain pretty young
+lady. Finance of the Fenley order is not in good odor in the City.</p>
+
+<p>"Have no scruples, my boy. We may be vultures at the feast; but before
+we see the end of the Fenley case there'll be a smash in Bishopsgate
+Street, and Miss Sylvia Manning will be lucky if some sharp lawyer is
+able to grab some part of the wreckage for her benefit."</p>
+
+<p>"Clear logic, at any rate." And Furneaux brightened visibly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you what it's based on. Our swarthy friend was examining
+lists of securities in the train. He didn't lift his head quickly
+enough&mdash;took me for a ticket puncher, I expect&mdash;so I had time to twig
+what he was doing. I'd like to run my eye over the papers in that
+leather portfolio."</p>
+
+<p>"You may manage it. You're the luckiest fellow breathing. Such
+opportunities come your way. <i>I</i> have to make them."</p>
+
+<p>After an interlude played by sole Colbert, Winter shot an amused
+question at his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"What's at the back of your head with regard to the artist and Miss
+Sylvia?" he said. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>"It's high time she spoke to a real man. These Fenleys are animals,
+all of 'em. John Trenholme is a genius, and a good-looking one."</p>
+
+<p>"I met the girl in a corridor a while ago, and she was rather
+disconsolate, I thought."</p>
+
+<p>"And with good reason. You've noticed how each brother eyes her.
+They'll fight like jackals before this night is out. I hope Sylvia
+will indulge in what women call a good cry. That will be Trenholme's
+golden hour. Some Frenchman&mdash;of course he was clever, being
+French&mdash;says that a man should beware when a woman smiles but he may
+dare all when she weeps."</p>
+
+<p>"Are we marriage brokers, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"We must set the Fenleys at each other's throats."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," mused Winter aloud, when a <i>ris de veau bonne maman</i> had passed
+like a dream, "this affair is becoming decidedly interesting. But
+every why hath a wherefore, according to Shakespeare. Tell me"&mdash;and
+his voice sank to a whisper&mdash;"tell me why you believe Hilton Fenley
+killed his father."</p>
+
+<p>"You nosed your way into that problem this afternoon. Between his
+mother and that girl, Eileen Garth, he was in a tight place. He stole
+those bonds. I fancied it at the time, but I know it now. They were
+negotiated in Paris by a woman who occupied a room in the Hotel
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris, and one of her registered boxes bore
+the rail number, 517."</p>
+
+<p>"You little devil!" blazed out Winter. "And you never said a word when
+I told you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Astonishment has rendered you incoherent. You mean, of course, when
+you told me you had seen in Gloucester Mansions a box labeled in
+accordance with the facts I have just retailed. But I yield that minor
+point. It is a purist's, at the best. I have supplied a motive, one
+motive, for the crime; the plotter feared discovery. But there are
+dozens of others. He was impatient of the old man's rigid control.
+Hilton is sharp and shrewd, and he guessed things were going wrong
+financially. He knew that his father's methods were out of date, and
+believed he could straighten the tangle if the reins of power were not
+withheld too long.</p>
+
+<p>"He saw that Sylvia Manning's gold was in the melting-pot, and
+appreciated precisely the cause of the elder Fenley's anxiety that she
+should marry Robert. Once in the family, you know, her fortunes were
+bound up with theirs; while any 'cute lawyer could dish her in the
+marriage settlements if sufficiently well paid for a nasty job. When
+Sylvia was Mrs. Robert Fenley, and perhaps mother of a squalling
+Fenley, the head of the business could face the future if not with
+confidence, at least with safety. But where would Hilton be then? The
+girl lost, the money in jeopardy, and he himself steadily elbowed
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>out. <i>'Cr&eacute; nom!</i> I've known men murdered for less convincing
+reasons."</p>
+
+<p>"Men, yes; not fathers."</p>
+
+<p>"Some sons are the offspring of Beelzebub. Consider the parentage in
+this instance. Fenley, a groom and horse coper on the one hand, and
+the dark daughter of a Calcutta merchant on the other. If the progeny
+of such a union escaped a hereditary taint it would be a miracle.
+Cremate Hilton Fenley and his very dust will contain evil germs."</p>
+
+<p>"You're strong in theory but weak in proof."</p>
+
+<p>That style of argument invariably nettled Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"You must butt into a few more mysterious suites of apartments in
+London and elsewhere, and you'll supply proof in bucketfuls," he
+snapped.</p>
+
+<p>"But was there an accomplice? Squirm as you like, you can't get over
+the fact that Hilton was in his room when the bullet that killed his
+father came from the wood."</p>
+
+<p>"He is not the sort of person likely to trust his liberty, his
+life even, to the keeping of any other human being. I start from
+the hypothesis that he alone planned and carried out the crime,
+so I do not lift my hand and cry 'Impossible,' but I ask myself,
+'How was it done?' Well, there are several methods worthy of
+consideration&mdash;clockwork, electricity, even a time fuse attached
+to the proper mechanism. I haven't <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>really bothered myself yet to
+determine the means, because when that knowledge becomes indispensable
+we must have our man under lock and key."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, the rifle is securely fixed in that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The door opened. Tomlinson came in, smiling blandly.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you are enjoying your dinner, gentlemen both?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You have made your cook an artist," said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you are happier here than in a big London restaurant," said
+Winter.</p>
+
+<p>The butler appreciated such subtle compliments, and beamed on them.</p>
+
+<p>"With a little encouragement and advice, our chef can prepare a very
+eatable dinner," he said. "As for my own ambitions, I have had them,
+like every man worth his salt; but I fill a comfortable chair here&mdash;no
+worry, no grumbling, not a soul to say <i>nem</i> or <i>con</i>, so long as
+things go smoothly."</p>
+
+<p>"It must have been <i>nem</i> all the time," giggled Furneaux, and Winter
+was so afflicted by a desire to sneeze that he buried his face in a
+napkin.</p>
+
+<p>"And how was the wine?" went on Tomlinson, with an eye on the little
+man. Furneaux's features were crinkled in a Japanese smile. He wanted
+to kick Winter, who was quivering with suppressed laughter. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>"I never expected to find such vintages in a house of the <i>mauvais
+riches</i>," he said. "Perhaps you don't speak French, Mr. Tomlinson, so
+allow me to explain that I am alluding to men of wealth not born in
+the purple."</p>
+
+<p>"Precisely&mdash;self-made. Well sir, poor Mr. Fenley left the stocking of
+his cellar entirely to me. I gave the matter much thought. When my
+knowledge was at fault I consulted experts, and the result&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That is the result," cried Furneaux, seizing the empty claret bottle,
+and planting it so firmly on the table that the cutlery danced.</p>
+
+<p>A shoulder of lamb, served <i>&agrave; la Soubise</i>, appeared; and Tomlinson,
+announcing that his presence in the dining-room had been dispensed
+with, thought he would join them in a snack. Being a hospitable
+creature, he opened another bottle of the Clos Vosgeot, but his guests
+were not to be tempted.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then," he said, "in a few minutes you must try our port. It is
+not Alto Douro, Mr. Furneaux, but it has body and bowket."</p>
+
+<p>Winter was better prepared this time. Moreover he was carving, and
+aware of a master's criticism, and there are occult problems connected
+with even such a simple joint as a shoulder of lamb. Furneaux, too,
+was momentarily subdued. He seemed to be reflecting sadly that statues
+of gold, silver and bronze may have feet of clay. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>"I have often thought, gentlemen," said the butler, "that yours must
+be a most interesting profession. You meet all sorts and conditions of
+men and women."</p>
+
+<p>"We consort with the noblest malefactors," agreed Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me, sir, you do use the queerest words. Now, I should never
+dream of describing a criminal as noble."</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the generally accepted sense, perhaps. But you, I take it,
+have not had the opportunity of attending a really remarkable trial,
+when, say, some intellectual giant among murderers is fighting for his
+life. Believe me, no drama of the stage can rival that tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>"The chief actor, remote, solitary, fenced away from the world he is
+hoping to re&euml;nter, sits there in state. Every eye is on him, yet he
+faces judge, jury, counsel, witnesses and audience with a calm dignity
+worthy of an emperor. He listens imperturbably to facts which may hang
+him, to lies which may lend color to the facts, to well-meaning
+guesses which are wide of the mark. Truthful and false evidence is
+equally prone to err when guilt or innocence must be determined by
+circumstances alone.</p>
+
+<p>"But the prisoner <i>knows</i>. He is the one man able to discriminate
+between truth and falsity, yet he must not reveal the cruel stab
+of fact or the harmless buffet of fiction by so much as a flicker
+of an eyelid. He surveys the honest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>blunderer and the perjured
+ruffian&mdash;I mean the counsel for the defense and the prosecution
+respectively&mdash;with impartial scrutiny. If he is a sublime villain,
+he will call on Heaven to testify that he is innocent with a
+solemnity not surpassed by the judge who sentences him to death....
+Yes, please, a bit off the knuckle end."</p>
+
+<p>The concluding words were addressed to Winter, and Tomlinson started,
+for he was wrapped up in the scene Furneaux was depicting.</p>
+
+<p>"That point of view had not occurred to me," he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll appreciate it fully when you see Mr. Fenley's murderer in the
+dock," said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, sir. That brings your illustration home, indeed. But shall we
+ever know who killed him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly. Look at that high dome of intelligence glistening at you
+across the table. But that it is forbid to tell the secrets of the
+prison house, it could a tale unfold whose slightest word would harrow
+up thy soul&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Harris, the footman, entered, carrying a decanter.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton Fenley's compliments, gentlemen, and will you try this
+port? He says Mr. Tomlinson will recommend it, because Mr. Fenley
+himself seldom takes wine. Mr. Fenley will not trouble you to meet him
+again this evening. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Fenley wants you for a
+moment."</p>
+
+<p>The butler rose.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the very wine I spoke of," he said. "If Mr. Hilton did not
+touch it, Mr. Robert evidently appreciated it."</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at Harris, but the footman did not even suspect that his
+character was at stake. The decanter was nearly full when placed on
+the sideboard; now it was half empty.</p>
+
+<p>Singularly enough, both Winter and Furneaux had intercepted that
+questioning glance, and had acquitted Harris simultaneously.</p>
+
+<p>"Are the gentlemen still in the dining-room?" inquired Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton is there, sir, but Mr. Robert went out some time since."</p>
+
+<p>"Please convey our thanks to Mr. Hilton. I'm sure we shall enjoy the
+wine."</p>
+
+<p>When Tomlinson and Harris had gone, the eyes of the two detectives
+met. They said nothing at first, and it may be remembered that they
+were reputedly most dangerous to a pursued criminal when working
+together silently. Winter took the decanter, poured out a small
+quantity into two glasses, and gave Furneaux one. Then they smelled,
+and tasted, and examined the wine critically. The rich red liquid
+might have been a poisonous decoction for the care they devoted to its
+analysis.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux began. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>"I have so many sleepless nights that I recognize bromide, no matter
+how it is disguised," he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"Comparatively harmless, though a strong dose," said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"If one has to swallow twenty grains or so of potassium bromide I can
+not conceive any pleasanter way of taking them than mixed with a sound
+port."</p>
+
+<p>Winter filled one of the glasses four times, pouring each amount into
+a tumbler. Furneaux looked into a cupboard, and found an empty beer
+bottle, which he rinsed with water. Meanwhile Winter was fashioning a
+funnel out of a torn envelope, and in a few seconds the tumblerful of
+wine was in the bottle, and the bottle in Winter's pocket. This done,
+the big man lit a cigar and the little one sniffed the smoke, which
+was his peculiar way of enjoying the weed.</p>
+
+<p>"It was most thoughtful of Mr. Hilton Fenley to try and secure us a
+long night's uninterrupted sleep," said Winter between puffs.</p>
+
+<p>"But what a vitiated taste in wine he must attribute to Scotland
+Yard," said Furneaux bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"Still, we should be grateful to him for supplying a gill of real
+evidence."</p>
+
+<p>"I may forgive him later. At present, I want to dilate his eyes with
+atropine, so that he may see weird shapes and be tortured of ghouls."</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>"Poor devil! He won't need atropine for that."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't believe it, James. In some respects he's cold-blooded as a
+fish. Besides, he carries bromide tablets for his own use. He simply
+couldn't have arranged beforehand to dope us."</p>
+
+<p>"He's getting scared."</p>
+
+<p>"I should think so, indeed&mdash;in the Fenley sense, that is. His plot
+against Robert has miscarried in one essential. The rifle has not been
+found in the wood. Now, I'm in chastened mood, because the hour for
+action approaches; so I'll own up. I've been keeping something up my
+sleeve, just for the joy of watching you floundering 'midst deep
+waters. Of course, you chose the right channel. I knew you would, but
+it's a treat to see your elephantine struggles. For all that, it's a
+sheer impossibility that you should guess who put a sprag in the wheel
+of Hilton's chariot. Give you three tries, for a new hat."</p>
+
+<p>"You're desperately keen today on touching me for a new hat."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, this time you have an outside chance. The others were
+certs&mdash;for me."</p>
+
+<p>Winter smoked in silence for a space.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll take you," he said. "The artist?"</p>
+
+<p>"No." The Jerseyman shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"Police Constable Farrow?" ventured Winter again. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p><p>Furneaux's dismay was so comical that his colleague shook with mirth.</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted a new silk topper," wheezed Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Silk topper be hanged. I meant a straw, and that's what you'll get.
+But how the deuce did you manage to hit upon Farrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"He closed the Quarry Wood at the psychological moment."</p>
+
+<p>"You're sucking my brains, that's what you're doing," grumbled
+Furneaux. "Anyhow, you're right. Hilton had the scheme perfected to
+the last detail, but he didn't count on Farrow. After a proper display
+of agitation&mdash;not all assumed, either, because he was more shaken than
+he expected to be&mdash;he 'phoned the Yard and the doctor. We couldn't
+arrive for nearly an hour, and the doctor starts on his rounds at nine
+o'clock sharp. What so easy, therefore, as to wander out in a welter
+of grief and anger, and search the wood for the murderer on his own
+account? One solitary minute would enable him to put the rifle in a
+hiding-place where it would surely be discovered.</p>
+
+<p>"But Farrow stopped him. I wormed the whole thing out of our sentry
+this afternoon. Fenley tried hard to send Farrow and Bates off on a
+wild-goose chase, but Farrow, quite mistakenly, saw the chance of his
+life and clung on to it. Had Farrow budged we could never have hanged
+Hilton. Don't you see how the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>scheme works? He had some reason for
+believing that Robert will refuse to give a full account of his
+whereabouts this morning. Therefore, he must contrive that the rifle
+shall be found. Put the two damning facts together, and Robert is tied
+in a knot. Of course, he would be forced to prove an alibi, but by
+that time all England would be yelping, 'Thou art the man.' In any
+event, Hilton's trail would be hopelessly lost."</p>
+
+<p>"The true bowket of our port and bromide begins to tickle my
+nostrils."</p>
+
+<p>A good-looking maid brought coffee, and Furneaux grinned at her.</p>
+
+<p>"How do you think he'd look in a nice straw hat?" he asked, jerking
+his head toward Winter. The girl smiled. The little man's reputation
+had reached the kitchen. She glanced demurely at the Superintendent's
+bullet head.</p>
+
+<p>"Not an ordinary straw. You mean a Panama," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," laughed Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing of the sort," howled Furneaux. "Just run your eye over him.
+He isn't an isthmus&mdash;he's a continent."</p>
+
+<p>"A common straw wouldn't suit him," persisted the girl. "He's too big
+a gentleman."</p>
+
+<p>"How little you know him!" said Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>The girl blushed and giggled.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on!" she said, and bounced out.</p>
+
+<p>"This inquiry will cost you a bit, my boy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>if you're not careful,"
+sniggered Winter. "I'll compound on a straw; but take my advice, and
+curb your sporting propensities. Now, if this coffee isn't doctored,
+let's drink it, and interview Robert before the bromide begins to
+act."</p>
+
+<p>Robert Fenley received them in his own room. He strove to appear at
+ease and business-like, but, as Furneaux had surmised, was emphatic in
+his refusal to give any clear statement as to his proceedings in
+London. He admitted the visit to Hendon Road, which, he said, was
+necessitated by a promise to a friend who was going abroad, but he
+failed to see why the police should inquire into his private affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Winter did not press him. There was no need. A scapegrace's record
+could always be laid bare when occasion served. But one question he
+was bound to put.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you any theory, however remote or far-fetched, that will account
+for your father's death in such a way?" he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The younger Fenley was smoking a cigarette. A half consumed whisky and
+soda stood on a table; a bottle of whisky and a siphon promised
+refreshers. He was not quite sober, but could speak lucidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally, I've been thinking a lot about that," he said, wrinkling
+his forehead in the effort to concentrate his mind and express himself
+with due solemnity. "It's funny, isn't it, that my rifle should be
+missing?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>"Well, yes."</p>
+
+<p>Some sarcastic inflection in Winter's voice seemed to reach a rather
+torpid brain. Fenley looked up sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, funny isn't the right word," he said. "I mean it's odd, a
+bit of a mystery. Why should anybody take my gun if they wanted to
+shoot my poor old guv'nor? That beats me. It's a licker&mdash;eh, what?"</p>
+
+<p>"It is more important to know why any one should want to shoot your
+father."</p>
+
+<p>"That's it. Who benefits? Well, I suppose Hilton and I will be better
+off&mdash;no one else. And I didn't do it. It's silly even to say so."</p>
+
+<p>"But there is only your brother left in your summary."</p>
+
+<p>"By Jove, yes. That's been runnin' in my head. It's nonsense, anyhow,
+because Hilton was in the house. I wouldn't believe a word he said,
+but Sylvia, and Tomlinson, and Brodie, and Harris all tell the same
+yarn. No; Hilton couldn't have done it. He's ripe for any mischief, is
+Hilton, but he can't be in this hole; now, can he?"</p>
+
+<p>They could extract nothing of value out of Robert, and left him after
+a brief visit.</p>
+
+<p>In the interim, Hilton Fenley had kept Tomlinson talking about the
+crime. The dining-room door was ajar, and he knew when the detectives
+had gone to Robert's room. Then he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>glanced around the table, and
+affected to remember the decanter of port.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," he said, "I feel as if a glass of that wine would be a
+good notion tonight. I don't suppose the Scotland Yard men have
+finished the lot. Just send for it, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>Harris brought the decanter, and Tomlinson was gratified by seeing
+that his favorite beverage had been duly appraised.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry if I've detained you," said Fenley, and the butler went out.
+Rising, Fenley strolled to the door and closed it. Instantly he became
+energetic, and his actions bore a curious similitude to those of
+Winter a little while earlier. Pouring the wine into a tumbler, he
+rinsed the decanter with water, and partly refilled it with the
+contents of another tumbler previously secreted in the sideboard,
+stopping rather short of the amount of wine returned from the butler's
+room. He drank the remainder, washed the glass, and put a few drops of
+whisky into it.</p>
+
+<p>Carrying the other tumbler to an open window, he threw the medicated
+wine into a drain under a water spout, and making assurance doubly
+sure, douched the same locality with water; also, he rinsed this
+second glass. He seemed to be rather pleased at his own thoroughness.</p>
+
+<p>As Furneaux had said, Hilton Fenley was cold-blooded as a fish. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Close Quarters</span></h3>
+
+<p>Human affairs are peculiarly dependent on the weather. It is not easy
+to lay down a law governing this postulate, which, indeed, may be
+scoffed at by the superficial reasoner, and the progression from cause
+to effect is often obscured by contradictory facts. For instance, a
+fine summer means a good harvest, much traveling, the prolongation of
+holiday periods, a free circulation of money, and the consequent
+enhanced prosperity and happiness of millions of men and women. But
+there are more suicides in June and July than in December and January.
+On the one hand, fine weather improves humanity's lot; on the other,
+it depresses the individual.</p>
+
+<p>Let the logician explain these curiously divergent issues as he may;
+there can be no question that the quality of the night which closed a
+day eventful beyond any other in the annals of Roxton exercised a
+remarkable influence on the lives of five people. It was a perfect
+night in June. There was no moon; the stars shone dimly through a
+slight haze; but the sun had set late and would rise early, and his
+complete disappearance <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>followed so small a chord of the diurnal
+circle that his light was never wholly absent. A gentle westerly
+breeze was so zephyr-like that it hardly stirred the leaves of the
+trees, but it wafted the scent of flowers and meadow land into open
+windows, and was grateful alike to the just and the unjust.</p>
+
+<p>Thus to romantic minds it was redolent of romance; and as Sylvia
+Manning's room faced south and John Trenholme's faced north, and lay
+nearly opposite each other, though separated by a rolling mile of
+park, woodland, tillage and pasture, it is not altogether incredible
+that those two, gazing out at the same hour, should bridge the void
+with the eyes of the soul.</p>
+
+<p>It was a night, too, that invited to the open.</p>
+
+<p>In some favored lands, where the almanac is an infallible Clerk of the
+Weather, fine nights succeed each other with the monotonous regularity
+of kings in an Amurath dynasty. But the British climate, a slave to no
+such ordered sequence, scatters or withholds these magic hours almost
+impartially throughout the seasons, so that June may demand overcoats
+and umbrellas, and October invite Summer raiment.</p>
+
+<p>Hence this superb Summer's night found certain folk in Roxton
+disinclined to forego its enchantments. Trenholme, trying to persuade
+himself that his brooding gaze rested on the Elizabethan roofs and
+gables rising above the trees because of some rarely spiritual quality
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>in the atmosphere, suddenly awoke to the fact that the hour was
+eleven.</p>
+
+<p>Some men issued from the bar parlor and "snug" beneath, and there were
+sounds of bolts being shot home and keys turned in recognition of the
+curfew imposed by the licensing laws. Then the artistic temperament
+arose in revolt. Chafing already against the narrow confines of the
+best room the White Horse Inn could provide, it burst all bounds when
+a tired potman attempted unconsciously to lock it in.</p>
+
+<p>Grabbing a pipe and tobacco pouch, Trenholme ran downstairs, meeting
+the potman in the passage.</p>
+
+<p>"Get me a key, Bill," he said. "I simply can't endure the notion of
+bed just yet, so I'm off for a stroll. I don't want to keep any one
+waiting up, and I suppose I can have a key of sorts."</p>
+
+<p>Now it happened that the proprietor of the inn was absent at a race
+meeting, and Eliza was in charge. Trenholme's request was passed on to
+her, and a key was forthcoming.</p>
+
+<p>Hatless, pipe in mouth, and hands in pockets, Trenholme sauntered into
+the village street. Romance was either a dull jade or growing old and
+sedate in Roxton. Nearly every house was in darkness, and more than
+one dog barked because of a passing footstep.</p>
+
+<p>About half past eleven, Sylvia Manning, sitting in melancholy near her
+window after an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>hour of musing, heard a light tap on the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," she said, recognizing the reason of this late intrusion. An
+elderly woman entered. She was an attendant charged with special care
+of Mrs. Fenley. A trained nurse would have refused to adopt the
+lenient treatment of the patient enjoined by the late head of the
+family, so this woman was engaged because she was honest, faithful,
+rather stupid and obeyed orders.</p>
+
+<p>"She has quieted down now, miss, and is fast asleep," she said in a
+low tone. "You may feel sure she won't wake before six or seven. She
+never does."</p>
+
+<p>The "she" of this message was Mrs. Fenley. Rural England does not
+encourage unnecessary courtesy nor harbor such foreign intruders as
+"madam." The reiterated pronoun grated on Sylvia; she was disinclined
+for further talk.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Parker," she said. "I am glad to know that. Good night."</p>
+
+<p>But Parker had something to say, and this was a favorable opportunity.</p>
+
+<p>"She's been awful bad today, miss. It can't go on."</p>
+
+<p>"That is hardly surprising, taking into account the shock Mrs. Fenley
+received this morning."</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I have in me mind, miss. She's changed." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>"How changed? You need not close the door. Never mind the light. It is
+hardly dark when the eyes become used to the gloom."</p>
+
+<p>Parker drew nearer. Obeying the instincts of her class, she assumed a
+confidential tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, miss, you know why you went out?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sylvia rather curtly. She had left the invalid when the
+use of a hypodermic syringe became essential if an imminent outburst
+of hysteria was to be prevented. The girl had no power to interfere,
+and was too young and inexperienced to make an effective protest; but
+she was convinced that to encourage a vice was not the best method of
+treating it. More than once she had spoken of the matter to Mortimer
+Fenley; but he merely said that he had tried every known means to cure
+his wife, short of immuring her in an asylum, and had failed. "She is
+happy in a sort of a way," he would add, with a certain softening of
+voice and manner. "Let her continue so." Thus a minor tragedy was
+drifting to its close when Fenley himself was so rudely robbed of
+life.</p>
+
+<p>"As a rule, miss," went on the attendant, "she soon settles after a
+dose, but this time she seemed to pass into a sort of a trance.
+Gen'rally her words are broken-like an' wild, an' I pays no heed to
+'em; but tonight she talked wonderful clear, all about India at first,
+an' of a band playin', with sogers marchin' past. Then she spoke about
+some people called coolies. There <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>was a lot about them, in lines an'
+tea gardens. An' she seemed to be speakin' to another Mrs. Fenley."</p>
+
+<p>The woman's voice sank to an awe-stricken whisper, and Sylvia shivered
+somewhat in sympathy. "Another Mrs. Fenley!" It was common knowledge
+in the household that Fenley had married a second time, but the belief
+was settled that the first wife was dead; Parker, by an unrehearsed
+dramatic touch, conveyed the notion that the unhappy creature in a
+neighboring room had been conversing with a ghost.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat shaken and perturbed, Sylvia wished more than ever to be
+alone, so she brought her informant back to the matter in hand.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see that Mrs. Fenley's rambling utterances give rise to any
+fear of immediate collapse," she said, striving to speak composedly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, miss. That isn't it at all. I was just tellin' you what happened.
+There was a lot more. She might ha' been givin' the story of her life.
+But&mdash;please forgive me, miss, for what I'm goin' to say. I think some
+one ought to know&mdash;I do, reelly&mdash;an' you're the only one I dare tell
+it to."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what is it?"</p>
+
+<p>The cry was wrung from the girl's heart. She had borne a good deal
+that day, and feared some sinister revelation now. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p><p>"She remembered that poor Mr. Fenley was dead, but didn't appear so
+greatly upset. She was more puzzled-like&mdash;kep' on mutterin': 'Who did
+it? Who could have the cool darin' to shoot him dead in broad
+daylight, at his own door, before his servants?' She was sort of
+forcin' herself to think, to find out, just as if it was a riddle, an'
+the right answer was on the tip of her tongue. An' then, all at once,
+she gev a queer little laugh. 'Why, of course, it was Hilton,' she
+said."</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia, relieved and vastly indignant, rose impetuously.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you trouble to bring such nonsense to my ears?" she cried.</p>
+
+<p>But Parker was stolid and dogged.</p>
+
+<p>"I had to tell some one," she vowed, determined to put herself
+straight with one of her own sex. "I know her ways. If that's in her
+mind she'll be shoutin' it out to every maid who comes near her
+tomorrow; an' I reelly thought, miss, it was wise to tell you tonight,
+because such a thing would soon cause a scandal, an' it should be
+stopped."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you are right, and I ought to be obliged to you for being so
+considerate. But no one would pay heed to my aunt's ravings. Every
+person in the house knows that the statement is absurd. Mr. Hilton was
+in his room. I myself saw him go upstairs after exchanging a few words
+with his father in the hall, and he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>came down again instantly when
+Harris ran to fetch him."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand that, miss, an' I'm not so silly as to think there is
+any sense in her blamin' Mr. Hilton. But it made my flesh creep to
+hear all the rest so clear an' straightforward, an' then that she
+should say: 'Hilton did it, the black beast. He always hated Bob an'
+me, because we were white, an' the jungle strain has come out at
+last.' Oh, it was somethink dreadful to hear her laughin' at her
+cleverness. I&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Please, please, don't repeat any more of these horrible things,"
+cried the girl, for the strain was becoming unbearable.</p>
+
+<p>"I agree with you, miss. They aren't fit to be spoke of; an' I say,
+with all due respec', that they shouldn't be allowed to leak out. You
+know what young maid servants are like. They're bound to chatter. My
+idee is that another nurse should be engaged tomorrow, a woman old
+enough to hold her tongue an' mind her own business; then the two of
+us can take turns at duty, so as to keep them housemaids out of the
+way altogether."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm sure you are right. I'll speak to Mr. Hilton in the morning.
+Thank you, Parker. I see now that you meant well, and I'm sorry if I
+spoke sharply."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not surprised, miss. It was not a pleasant thing to have to say,
+nor for you to hear, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>duty is duty. Good night, miss, I hope
+you'll sleep well."</p>
+
+<p>Sleep! Parker should not have conjured up a new apparition if Sylvia
+were to seek the solace of untroubled rest. At present the girl felt
+that she had never before been so distressfully awake. Splendidly
+vital in mind and body as she was, she almost yielded now to a morbid
+horror of her environment. Generations of men and women had lived and
+died in that ancient house, and tonight dim shapes seemed to throng
+its chambers and corridors. Physically fearless, she owned to a
+feminine dread of the unknown. It would be a relief to get away from
+this abode of grief and mystery. The fantastic dreaming of the unhappy
+creature crooning memories of a past life and a lost husband had
+unnerved her. She resolved to seek the fresh air, and wander through
+gardens and park until the fever in her mind had abated.</p>
+
+<p>Now a rule of the house ordained that all doors should be locked and
+lower windows latched at midnight. A night watchman made certain
+rounds each hour, pressing a key into indicating-clocks at various
+points to show that he had been alert. Mortimer Fenley had been afraid
+of fire; there was so much old woodwork in the building that it would
+burn readily, and a short circuit in the electrical installation was
+always possible, though every device had been adopted to render it not
+only improbable but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>harmless. After midnight the door bells and
+others communicated with a switchboard in the watchman's room; and a
+burglary alarm, which the man adjusted during his first round, rang
+there continuously if disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia, leaving the door of her bedroom ajar, went to the servants'
+quarters by a back staircase. There she found MacBain, the watchman,
+eating his supper.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't feel as though I could sleep," she explained, "so I am going
+out into the park for a while. I'll unlatch one of the drawing-room
+windows and disconnect the alarm; and when I come in again I'll tell
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Very well, miss," said MacBain. "It's a fine night, and you'll take
+no harm."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not afraid of rabbits, if that is what you mean," she said
+lightly, for the very sound of the man's voice had dispelled vapors.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, there's more than rabbits in the park tonight, miss. Two
+policemen are stationed in the Quarry Wood."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" she said, with some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"They don't know themselves, miss. The Inspector ordered it. I met
+them coming on duty at ten o'clock. They'll be relieved at four. They
+have instructions to allow no one to enter the wood. That's all they
+know."</p>
+
+<p>"If I go there, then, shall I be locked up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so bad as that, miss," smiled MacBain. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>"But I'd keep away from
+it if I was you. 'Let sleeping dogs lie' is a good motto."</p>
+
+<p>"But these are not sleeping dogs. They're wide-awake policemen."</p>
+
+<p>"Mebbe, miss. They have a soft job, I'm thinking. Of course&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The man checked himself, but Sylvia guessed what was passing in his
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>"You were going to say that the wretch who killed my uncle hid in that
+wood?" she prompted him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, miss, I was."</p>
+
+<p>"He is not there now. He must have run away while we were too
+terrified to take any steps to capture him. Who in the world could
+have wished to kill Mr. Fenley?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, miss, there's no knowing. Those you'd least suspect are often the
+worst."</p>
+
+<p>MacBain shook his head over this cryptic remark; he glanced at a
+clock. It was five minutes to twelve.</p>
+
+<p>"It's rather late, miss," he hinted. Sylvia agreed with him, but she
+was young enough to be headstrong.</p>
+
+<p>"I sha'n't remain out very long," she said. "I ought to feel tired,
+but I don't; and I hope the fresh air will make me sleepy."</p>
+
+<p>To reach the drawing-room, she had to cross the hall. Its parquet
+floor creaked under her rapid tread. A single lamp among a cluster in
+the ceiling burned there all night, and she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>could not help giving one
+quick look at the oaken settle which stood under the cross gallery;
+she was glad when the drawing-room door closed behind her.</p>
+
+<p>She had no difficulty with the window, but the outer shutters creaked
+when she opened them. Then she passed on to the first of the Italian
+terraces, and stood there irresolutely a few minutes, gazing
+alternately at the sky and the black masses of the trees. At first she
+was a trifle nervous. The air was so still, the park so solemn in its
+utter quietude, that the sense of adventure was absent, and the
+funeral silence that prevailed was almost oppressive.</p>
+
+<p>Half inclined to go back, woman-like she went forward. Then the sweet,
+clinging scent of a rose bed drew her like a magnet. She descended a
+flight of steps and gained the second terrace. She thought of
+Trenholme and the picture, and the impulse to stroll as far as the
+lake seized her irresistibly. Why not! The grass was short, and the
+dew would not be heavy. Even if she wetted her feet, what did it
+matter, as she would undress promptly on returning to her room?
+Besides, she had never seen the statue on just such a night, though
+she had often visited it by moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>La Rochefoucauld is responsible for the oft quoted epigram that the
+woman who hesitates is lost, and Sylvia had certainly hesitated. At
+any rate, after a brief debate in which the arguments <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>were distinctly
+one-sided, she resolved that she might as well have an object in view
+as stroll aimlessly in any other direction; so, gathering her skirts
+to keep them dry, she set off across the park.</p>
+
+<p>She might have been halfway to the lake when a man emerged from the
+same window of the drawing-room, ran to the terrace steps, stumbled
+down them so awkwardly that he nearly fell, and swore at his own
+clumsiness in so doing. He negotiated the next flight more carefully,
+but quickened his pace again into a run when he reached the open. The
+girl's figure was hardly visible, but he knew she was there, and the
+distance between pursued and pursuer soon lessened.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia, wholly unaware of being followed, did not hurry; but she was
+constitutionally incapable of loitering, and moved over the rustling
+grass with a swiftness that brought her to the edge of the lake while
+the second inmate of The Towers abroad that night was yet a couple of
+hundred yards distant.</p>
+
+<p>In the dim light the statue assumed a lifelike semblance that was at
+once startling and wonderful. Color flies with the sun, and the white
+marble did not depend now on tint alone to differentiate it from flesh
+and blood. Seen thus indistinctly, it might almost be a graceful and
+nearly nude woman standing there, and some display of will power on
+the girl's part was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>called for before she approached nearer and
+stifled the first breath of apprehension. Then, delighted by the vague
+beauty of the scene, with senses soothed by the soft plash of the
+cascade, she decided to walk around the lake to the spot where
+Trenholme must have been hidden when he painted that astonishingly
+vivid picture. Its bold treatment and simplicity of note rendered it
+an easy subject to carry in the mind's eye, and Sylvia thought it
+would be rather nice to conjure up the same effect in the prevailing
+conditions of semi-darkness and mystery. She need not risk tearing her
+dress among the briers which clung to the hillside. Knowing every inch
+of the ground, she could follow the shore of the lake until nearly
+opposite the statue, and then climb a few feet among the bushes at a
+point where a zigzag path, seldom used and nearly obliterated by
+undergrowth, led to the clump of cedars.</p>
+
+<p>She was still speeding along the farther bank when a man's form loomed
+in sight in the park, and her heart throbbed tumultuously with a new
+and real terror. Who could it be? Had some one seen her leaving the
+house? That was the explanation she hoped for at first, but her breath
+came in sharp gusts and her breast heaved when she remembered how one
+deadly intruder at least had broken into that quiet haven during the
+early hours of the past day.</p>
+
+<p>Whoever the oncomer might prove to be, he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>was losing no time, and he
+was yet some twenty yards or more away from the statue&mdash;itself
+separated from Sylvia by about the same width of water&mdash;when she
+recognized, with a sigh of relief, the somewhat cumbrous form and
+grampus-like puffing of Robert Fenley.</p>
+
+<p>Evidently he was rather blear-eyed, since he seemed to mistake the
+white marble Aphrodite for a girl in a black dress; or perhaps he
+assumed that Sylvia was there, and thought he would see her at any
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Sylvia!" he cried. "I say, old girl, what the deuce are you
+doin'&mdash;in the park&mdash;at this time o' night?"</p>
+
+<p>The words were clear enough, but there was a suspicious thickness in
+the voice. Robert had been drinking, and Sylvia had learned already to
+abhor and shun a man under the influence of intoxicants more than
+anything else in the wide world. She did not fear her "cousin." For
+years she had tolerated him, and that day she had come to dislike him
+actively, but she had not the least intention of entering into an
+explanation of her actions with him at that hour and under existing
+circumstances. She had recovered from her sudden fright, and was
+merely annoyed now, and bent her wits to the combined problems of
+escape and regaining the house unseen.</p>
+
+<p>Remembering that her white face and hands might reveal her whereabouts
+she turned, bent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>and crept up the slope until a bush afforded welcome
+concealment. Some thorns scratched her ankles, but she gave no heed to
+such trivial mishaps. A rabbit jumped out from under her feet, and it
+cost something of an effort to repress a slight scream; but&mdash;to her
+credit be it said&mdash;she set her lips tightly, and was almost amused by
+the game of hide and seek thus unexpectedly thrust on her.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Robert had reached the little promontory on which the statue
+was poised, and no Sylvia was in sight.</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia!" he cried again. "Where are you? No use hidin', because I
+know you're here! Dash it all, if you wanted a bit of a stroll why
+didn't you send for me? You knew I'd come like a shot&mdash;eh, what?"</p>
+
+<p>He listened and peered, but might as well have been deaf and blind for
+aught he could distinguish of the girl he sought.</p>
+
+<p>Then he laughed; and a peculiar quality in that chuckle of mirth
+struck a new note of anxiety, even of fear, in Sylvia's laboring
+heart.</p>
+
+<p>"So you won't be good!" he guffawed thickly. "Playin' Puss in the
+Corner, I suppose? Very well, I give you fair warnin'. I mean to catch
+you, an' when I do I'll claim forfeit.... <i>I</i> don't mind. Fact is, I
+like it. It's rather fun chasin' one's best girl in the dark....
+Dashed if it isn't better'n a bit out of a French farce.... Puss!
+Puss!... I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>see you.... Hidin' there among the bushy bushes.... Gad!
+How's that for a test after a big night? Bushy bushes! I must not
+forget that. Try it on one of the b-boys.... Now, come out of it!...
+Naughty puss! I'll get you in a tick, see if I don't!"</p>
+
+<p>He was keeping to the track Sylvia herself had taken, since the lie of
+the land was familiar to him as to her. Talking to himself, cackling
+at his own flashes of wit, halting after each few paces to search the
+immediate neighborhood and detect any guiding sound, he was now on the
+same side of the lake as the girl, and coming perilously near. At each
+step, apparently, he found the growing obscurity more tantalizing. He
+still continued calling aloud: "Sylvia! Sylvia, I say! Chuck it, can't
+you? You must give in, you know. I'll be grabbin' you in a minute."
+There were not lacking muttered ejaculations, which showed that he was
+losing his temper.</p>
+
+<p>Once he swore so emphatically that she thought he was acknowledging
+himself beaten; but some glimmering notion that she was crouching
+almost within reach, and would have the laugh of him in the morning,
+flogged him to fresh endeavor. Now he was within ten yards, eight,
+five! In another few seconds his hand might touch her, and she
+quivered at the thought. If concealment could not save her she must
+seek refuge in flight, since therein lay a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>sure means of escape. Not
+daring to delay, she tried to stand upright, but felt a pull on her
+dress as if a hand were detaining her. It was only a brier,
+insidiously entangled in a fold of her skirt; but she was rather
+excited now, and there was little to be gained by excess of caution,
+for any rapid movement must betray her. Stooping, she caught the
+thorn-laden branch and tore it out of the soft material.</p>
+
+<p>Fenley heard the ripping sound instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! There you are, my beauty! Got you this time!" he cried, and
+plunged forward.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia sprang from her hiding-place like a frightened fawn and
+valiantly essayed the steep embankment. Therein she erred. She would
+have succeeded in evading her pursuer had she leaped down to the open
+strip of turf close to the water, dodging him before he realized what
+was happening. As it was, the briers spread a hundred cruel claws
+against her; with each upward step she encountered greater resistance;
+desperation only added to her panic, and she struggled frenziedly.</p>
+
+<p>The man, unhampered by garments such as clogged each inch of Sylvia's
+path, pushed on with renewed ardor. He no longer spoke, for his
+hearing alone could help him now, the girl's black-robed form being
+utterly merged in the dense shadow cast by brushwood and cedars. He,
+however, was silhouetted against the luminous gray of the park, and
+Sylvia, casting a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>frantic glance over her shoulder, saw him
+distinctly. In her distress she fancied she could feel his hot breath
+on her neck; and when some unusually venomous branch clutched her
+across the knees, and rendered farther movement impossible until her
+dress was extricated, she wailed aloud in anger and dismay.</p>
+
+<p>"How dare you!" she cried, and her voice was tremulous and broken. "I
+warn you that if you persist in following me I shall strike you!"</p>
+
+<p>"Will you, by Jove!" cried Robert elatedly. "I'd risk more than that,
+my dear! A kiss for every blow! Only fair, you know! Eh, what!"</p>
+
+<p>On he came. He was so near that in one active bound he would be upon
+her, but he advanced warily, with hands outstretched.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what shall I do!" she sobbed. "Go back, you brute! I&mdash;I hate you.
+There are policemen in the wood. I'll scream for help!"</p>
+
+<p>"No need, Miss Manning," said a calm voice which seemed to come from
+the circumambient air. "Don't cry out or be alarmed, no matter what
+happens!"</p>
+
+<p>A hand, not Robert Fenley's caught her shoulder in a reassuring grip.
+A tall figure brushed by, and she heard a curious sound that had a
+certain smack in it&mdash;a hard smack, combined with a thudding effect, as
+if some one had smitten a pillow with a fist. A fist it was assuredly,
+and a hard one; but it smote no pillow. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>With a gurgling cough, Robert
+Fenley toppled headlong to the edge of the lake, and lay there
+probably some minutes, for the man who had hit him knew how and where
+to strike.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia did not scream. She had recognized Trenholme's voice, but she
+felt absurdly like fainting. Perhaps she swayed slightly, and her
+rescuer was aware of it, for he gathered her up in his arms as he
+might carry a scared child, nor did he set her on her feet when they
+were clear of the trees and in the open park.</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite safe now," he said soothingly. "You are greatly upset,
+of course, and you need a minute or two to pull yourself together; but
+no one will hurt you while I am here. When you feel able to speak,
+you'll tell me where to take you, and I'll be your escort."</p>
+
+<p>"I can speak now, thank you," said Sylvia, with a composure that was
+somewhat remarkable. "Please put me down!"</p>
+
+<p>He obeyed, but she imagined he gave her a silent hug before his clasp
+relaxed. Even then his left hand still rested on her shoulder in a
+protective way. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Spreading of the Net</span></h3>
+
+<p>That John Trenholme should be in the right place at the right moment,
+and that the place should happen to be one where his presence was
+urgently required in Sylvia Manning's behalf, was not such a
+far-fetched coincidence as it might be deemed, for instance, by a
+jury. Juries are composed mainly of bald-headed men, men whose shining
+pates have been denuded of hair by years and experience, and these
+factors dry the heart as surely as they impoverish the scalp.
+Consequently, juries (in bulk, be it understood; individual jurors
+may, perhaps, retain the emotional equipment of a Chatterton) are
+skeptical when asked to accept the vagaries of the artistic
+temperament in extenuation of some so-called irrational action.</p>
+
+<p>In the present case counsel for the defense would plead that his
+clients (Sylvia would undoubtedly figure in the charge) were moved by
+an overwhelming impulse shared in common. It was a glorious night, he
+might urge; each had been thinking of the other; each elected to
+stroll forth under the stars; their sympathies were linked by the
+strange circumstances which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>had led to the production of a noteworthy
+picture&mdash;what more likely than that they should visit the scene to
+which that picture owed its genesis?</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme, it might be held, had not knowingly reached that stage of
+soul-sickness which brings the passionate cry to <i>Valentine's</i> lips:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">Except I be by Sylvia in the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">There is no music in the nightingale;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Unless I look on Sylvia in the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">There is no day for me to look upon.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"But, gentlemen," the wily one would continue, "that indefinable
+excitation of the nervous system which is summed up in the one small
+word 'love' must have a beginning; and whether that beginning springs
+from spore or germ, it is admittedly capable of amazingly rapid
+growth. The male defendant may not even have been aware of its
+existence, but subsequent events establish the diagnosis beyond cavil;
+and I would remind you that the melodious lines I have just quoted
+could not have been written by our immortal bard, Shakespeare, if two
+gentlemen of Verona, and two Veronese ladies as well, had not yielded
+to influences not altogether unlike those which governed my clients on
+this memorable occasion."</p>
+
+<p>Juries invariably treat Shakespeare's opinions with profound respect.
+They know they ought to be well acquainted with his "works," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>but they
+are not, and hope to conceal their ignorance by accepting the poet's
+philosophy without reservation.</p>
+
+<p>If, however, owing to the forensic skill of an advocate, romance might
+be held accountable for the wanderings of John and Sylvia, what of
+Robert? He, at least, was not under its magic spell. He, when the
+fateful hour struck, was merely drinking himself drowsy. To explain
+<i>him</i>, witnesses would be needed, and who more credible than a
+Superintendent and Detective Inspector of the Criminal Investigation
+Department?</p>
+
+<p>When Winter had smoked, and Furneaux had contributed some personal
+reminiscences the whole aim and object of which was the perplexing and
+mystification of that discreet person, Tomlinson, the two retired to
+their room at an early hour. The butler pressed them hospitably to try
+the house's special blend of Scotch whisky, but they had declined
+resolutely. Both acknowledged to an unwonted lassitude and
+sleepiness&mdash;symptoms which Hilton Fenley might expect and inquire
+about. When they were gone, the major domo sat down to review the
+day's doings.</p>
+
+<p>His master's death at the hands of a murderer had shocked and saddened
+him far more than his manner betrayed. If some fantastic chain of
+events brought Tomlinson to the scaffold he would still retain the
+demeanor of an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>exemplary butler. But beneath the externals of his
+office he had a heart and a brain; and his heart grieved for a
+respected employer, and his brain told him that Scotland Yard was no
+wiser than he when it came to suspecting a likely person of having
+committed the crime, let alone arresting the suspect and proving his
+guilt.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, therein Tomlinson was in error. Even butlers of renown have
+their limitations, and his stopped far short of the peculiar science
+of felon-hunting in which Winter and Furneaux were geniuses, each in
+his own line.</p>
+
+<p>Assuredly he would have been vastly astonished could he have seen
+their movements when the bedroom door closed on them. In fact, his
+trained ear might have found some new quality in such a commonplace
+thing as the closing of the door. Every lock and bolt and catch in The
+Towers was in perfect working order, yet the lock of this door failed
+to click, for the excellent reason that it was jammed by a tiny wedge.
+Hence, it could be opened noiselessly if need be; and lest a hinge
+might squeak each hinge was forthwith drenched with vaseline. Further,
+a tiny circlet of India rubber, equipped with a small spike, was
+placed between door and jamb.</p>
+
+<p>Then, murmuring in undertones when they spoke, the detectives unpacked
+their portmanteaux. Winter produced no article out of the ordinary
+run, but Furneaux unrolled a knotted contrivance which proved to be a
+rope ladder. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p><p>"One or both of us may have to go out by the window," he said. "At any
+rate, we have Wellington's authority for the military axiom that a
+good leader always provides a line of retreat."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what became of the rest of that wine?" said Winter, rolling
+the beer bottle in a shirt and stowing it away.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't dare ask. Tomlinson can put two and two together rather
+cleverly. He <i>almost</i> interfered when Harris brought the decanter, so
+I dropped the wine question like a hot potato."</p>
+
+<p>"It had gone, though, when we came back from Robert's room. Hilton
+sent for it. Bet you another new hat he emptied&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll get no more new hats out of me," growled Furneaux savagely,
+giving an extra pressure to a pair of sharp hooks which gripped the
+window sill, and from which the rope ladder could be dropped to the
+ground instantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry. Where did you retrieve that dirty towel?" For the little man
+had taken from a pocket an object which merited the description, and
+was placing it in his bag.</p>
+
+<p>"It's one of Hilton's. He used it to wipe bark moss off his clothes.
+Queer thing that such rascals always omit some trivial precaution. He
+should have burned the towel with the moccasins; but he don't. This
+towel will help to strangle him."</p>
+
+<p>"You're becoming a bloodthirsty detective," <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>mused Winter aloud. "I've
+seldom seen you so vindictive. Why is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I dislike snakes, and this fellow is a poisonous specimen. If there
+were no snakes in the world, we should all be so happy!"</p>
+
+<p>"Blessed if I see that."</p>
+
+<p>"I have always suspected that your religious education had been
+neglected. Read the Bible and Milton. Then you'll understand; and
+incidentally speak and write better English."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you suggest any means whereby I can grasp your jokes without
+being bored to weariness? They're more soporific than bromide. Anyhow,
+it's time we undressed."</p>
+
+<p>Though the blind was drawn the window was open; there was no knowing
+who might be watching from the garden, so they went through all the
+motions of undressing and placed their boots outside the door.</p>
+
+<p>Then the light was switched off, the blind raised, and they dressed
+again rapidly, donning other boots. Each pocketed an automatic pistol
+and an electric torch and, by preconcerted plan, Winter sat by the
+window and Furneaux by the door. It was then a quarter to eleven, and
+they hardly looked for any developments until a much later hour, but
+they neglected no precaution. Unquestionably it would be difficult for
+any one to move about in that part of the house, or cross the gardens
+without attracting their attention. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p><p>Their room was situated on the south front, two doors from Sylvia's,
+and two from Hilton Fenley's bedroom. The door lay in shadow beyond
+the range of the light burning in the hall. Sylvia's room was farther
+along the corridor. The door of Hilton's bedroom occupied the same
+plane; the door of his sitting-room faced the end of the corridor.</p>
+
+<p>The walls were massive, as in all Tudor houses, and the doors so
+deeply recessed that there was space for a small mat in front of each.
+Ordinarily boots placed there were not visible in the line of the
+corridor, but the detectives' footgear stood well in view. There were
+two reasons for this. In the first place, Hilton Fenley might like to
+see them, so his highly probable if modest desire was gratified;
+secondly, when Parker visited Sylvia and quitted her, and when Sylvia
+went downstairs, Furneaux's head, lying between two pairs of boots,
+could scarcely be distinguished, while his scope of vision was only
+slightly, if at all, diminished.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the girl's footsteps could be heard crossing the hall, and the
+raising of the drawing-room window and opening of the shutters were
+clearly audible. Winter, whose office had been a sinecure hitherto,
+now came into the scheme.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Sylvia's slight form standing beneath, marked her hesitancy,
+and watched her slow progress down the terraces and into the park.
+This nocturnal enterprise on her part <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>was rather perplexing, and he
+was in two minds whether or not to cross the room and consult with
+Furneaux, when the latter suddenly withdrew his head, closed the door,
+and hissed "Snore!"</p>
+
+<p>Winter crept to a bed, and put up an artistic performance, a duet,
+musical, regular, not too loud. In a little while his colleague's
+"S-s-t!" stopped him, and a slight crack of a finger against a thumb
+called him to the door, which was open again.</p>
+
+<p>Explanation was needless. Hilton Fenley, like the other watchers,
+hearing the creaking of window and shutters, had looked out from his
+own darkened room. In all likelihood, thanking his stars for the happy
+chance given thus unexpectedly, he noted the direction the girl was
+taking, and acted as if prepared for this very development; the truth
+being, of course, that he was merely adapting his own plans to
+immediate and more favorable conditions.</p>
+
+<p>Coming out into the corridor, he consulted his watch. Then he glanced
+in the direction of the room which held the two men he had cause to
+fear&mdash;such ample cause as he little dreamed of at that moment. To make
+assurance doubly sure, he walked that way, not secretly, but boldly,
+since it was part of his project now to court observation&mdash;by others,
+at any rate, if not by the drugged emissaries of Scotland Yard. He
+waited outside the closed door and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>heard what he expected to hear,
+the snoring of two men sound asleep.</p>
+
+<p>Returning, he did not re&euml;nter his own room, but crossed the head of
+the staircase to Robert's. He knocked lightly, and his brother's
+"Hello, there! Come in!" reached Furneaux's ears. Not a word of the
+remainder of the colloquy that ensued was lost on either of the
+detectives.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry to disturb you, Bob," said Hilton, speaking from the doorway,
+"but I thought you might not be in bed, and I've come to tell you that
+Sylvia has just gone out by way of the drawing-room and is wandering
+about the park."</p>
+
+<p>"Sylvia! On her lonesome?" was Robert's astounded cry.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It isn't right. I can't understand her behavior. I would have
+followed her myself; but in view of your statement at dinner tonight,
+I fancied it would save some annoyance if I entrusted that duty to
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Look here, Hilton, old chap, are you really in earnest?"</p>
+
+<p>"About Sylvia? Yes. I actually saw her. At this moment she is heading
+for the lake. If you hurry you'll see her yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"I say, it's awfully decent of you ... I take back a lot of what I
+said tonight.... Of course, as matters stand, this is <i>my</i> job....
+Tell MacBain not to lock us out." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p><p>"I'll attend to that, if necessary. But don't mention me to Sylvia.
+She might resent the notion of being spied on. Say that you, too, were
+strolling about. You see, I heard the window being opened, and looked
+out, naturally. Anyhow, drop me, and run this affair on your own."</p>
+
+<p>Robert was slightly obfuscated&mdash;the fresh air quickly made him
+worse&mdash;but he was sensible of having grossly misjudged Hilton.</p>
+
+<p>"Right-O," he said, hurrying downstairs. "We'll have a talk in the
+mornin'. Dash it! It's twelve o'clock. That silly kid! What's she
+after, I'd like to know?"</p>
+
+<p>Robert gone, Hilton returned to his own room and rang a bell. MacBain
+came, and was asked if he was aware that Miss Sylvia had quitted the
+house. MacBain gave his version of the story, and Fenley remarked that
+he might leave the window unfastened until he made his rounds at one
+o'clock.</p>
+
+<p>Seemingly as an afterthought, Hilton mentioned his brother's open
+door, and MacBain discovered that Mr. Robert was missing also.</p>
+
+<p>By that time the detectives, without exchanging a word, had each
+arrived at the same opinion as to the trend of events. Hilton Fenley
+was remodeling his projects to suit an unforeseen development. No
+matter what motive inspired Sylvia Manning's midnight ramble, there
+could be no disputing the influence which dominated <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>Robert Fenley. He
+was his brother's catspaw. When his rifle was found next day MacBain's
+testimony would be a tremendous addition to the weight of evidence
+against him, since any unprejudiced judgment must decide that the
+pursuit of his "cousin" was a mere pretense to enable him to go out
+and search for the weapon he had foolishly left in the wood.</p>
+
+<p>Hilton might or might not admit that he told Robert of the girl's
+escapade. If he did admit it, he might be trusted to give the incident
+the requisite kink to turn the scale against Robert. Surveying the
+facts with cold impartiality afterwards, Scotland Yard decided that
+while Hilton could not hope that Robert would be convicted of the
+murder, the latter would assuredly be suspected of it, perhaps
+arrested and tried; and in any event his marriage with Sylvia Manning
+would become a sheer impossibility.</p>
+
+<p>Moreover, once the rifle was found by the police, the only reasonable
+prospect of connecting Hilton himself with the crime would have
+vanished into thin air. If that weapon were picked up in the Quarry
+Wood, or for that matter in any other part of the estate, the hounds
+of the law were beaten. Winter's level-headed shrewdness and
+Furneaux's almost uncanny intuition might have saddled Hilton with
+blood guiltiness, but a wide chasm must be bridged before they could
+provide the requisite proof of their theory. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>In fact, thus far they dared not even hint at bringing a charge
+against him. To succeed, they had to show that the incredible was
+credible, that a murderer could be in a room within a few feet of his
+victim and in a wood distant fully four hundred yards. It was a
+baffling problem, not wholly incapable of solution by circumstantial
+evidence, but best left to be elucidated by Hilton Fenley himself.
+They believed now that he was about to oblige them by supplying that
+corroborative detail which, in the words of Poohbah, "lends artistic
+verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative."</p>
+
+<p>Winter drew Furneaux into the room, and breathed the words into his
+ear:</p>
+
+<p>"You go. You stand less chance of being seen. I'll search his room."</p>
+
+<p>"If there is a misfire, show a signal after five minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"Right!"</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux, standing back from the window, but in such a position that a
+light would be visible to any one perched on the rock in the wood,
+pressed the button of an electric torch three times rapidly. Then he
+lowered the rope ladder and clambered down with the nimbleness of a
+sailor. In all probability, Hilton Fenley was still talking to MacBain
+and creating the illusion that the last thing he would think of was a
+stroll out of doors at that late hour. But <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>the little man took no
+chances. Having surveyed the ground carefully during the day, he was
+not bothered now by doubts as to the most practicable path.</p>
+
+<p>Creeping close to the house till he reached the yew hedge, and then
+passing through an arch, he remained in the shadow of the hedge till
+it turned at a right angle in front of the Italian garden. From that
+point to the edge of the Quarry Wood was not a stone's throw, and
+clumps of rhododendrons and other flowering shrubs gave shelter in
+plenty. Arrived at the mouth of the footpath, which he had marked by
+counting the trees in the avenue, he halted and listened intently.
+There was no sound of rustling grass or crunched gravel. Hilton was
+taking matters leisurely. Fifteen minutes would give him ample time
+for the business he had in hand. Even if Robert and Sylvia reached
+home before him, which was unlikely&mdash;far more unlikely even than he
+imagined&mdash;he could say that he thought it advisable to follow his
+brother and help in the search for the girl. The same excuse would
+serve if he met any of those pestilential police prowling about the
+grounds. Indeed, he could dispatch the alert and intelligent ones on
+the trail of the wanderers, especially on Robert's. In a word, matters
+were going well for Hilton, so well that Furneaux laughed as he turned
+into the wood.</p>
+
+<p>Here the detective had to advance with care. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>Beneath the trees the
+darkness was now so complete that it had that peculiar quality of
+density which everyday speech likens to a wall. Cats, gamekeepers,
+poachers, and other creatures of predatory and nocturnal habits can
+find and follow a definite track under such conditions; but detectives
+are nearly human, and Furneaux was compelled to use the torch more
+than once. He ran no risk in doing this. Hilton Fenley could not yet
+be in a position to catch the gleam of light among the trees. The one
+thing to avoid was delay, and Furneaux had gained rather than lost
+time, unless Fenley was running at top speed.</p>
+
+<p>After crossing the damp hollow the Jerseyman had no further
+difficulty; he breasted the hill and kept a hand extended so as to
+avoid colliding with a tree trunk. Expecting at any instant to have a
+bull's-eye lantern flashed in his eyes, which he did not want to
+happen, he said softly:</p>
+
+<p>"Hi! You two! Don't show a light! How near are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's you, sir!" said a voice. "We thought it would be. We saw the
+signal, and you said you might be the first to arrive."</p>
+
+<p>"Any second signal?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux recognized the pungent scent of the colza oil used in
+policemen's lamps.</p>
+
+<p>"By gad," he said, "if the average criminal <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>had the nose of the
+veriest cur dog he'd smell that oil a mile away. Now, where are you?
+There." He had butted into a constable's solid bulk. "Take me to the
+rock&mdash;quick. We must hide behind it, on the lower side.... Is this the
+place? Right! Squat down, both of you, and make yourselves
+comfortable, so that you won't feel your position irksome, and move
+perhaps at the wrong moment. When you feel me crawling away, follow to
+the upper foot of the rock&mdash;no farther.</p>
+
+<p>"Stand upright then, and try to keep your joints from cracking. There
+must be no creaking of belts or boots. Absolute silence is the order.
+Not a word spoken. No matter what you hear, don't move again until you
+see the light of my electric torch. Then run to me, turning on your
+own lamps, and help in arresting any one I may be holding. Use your
+handcuffs if necessary, and don't hesitate to grab hard if there is a
+struggle. Remember, you are to arrest <i>any one</i>, no matter who it may
+be. Got that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," came two eager voices.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be excited. It will be an easy thing. If we make a mistake, I
+bear the responsibility. Now, keep still as mice when they hear a
+cat."</p>
+
+<p>One of the men giggled. Both constables had met Furneaux in the local
+police station that afternoon, as he had asked the Inspector to parade
+the pair who would be on duty during <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>the night. It was then that he
+had arranged a simple code of flash signals, and warned them to look
+out for Winter or himself during the night. Any other person who
+turned up was not to be challenged until he reached the higher ground
+beyond the rock, but that instruction was to be acted on only in the
+unavoidable absence of one of the Scotland Yard officers. Privately,
+the constables hoped Furneaux would be their leader. They deemed him
+"a funny little josser," and marveled greatly at his manner and
+appearance. Still, they had heard of his reputation; the Inspector, in
+an expansive moment, had observed that "Monkey Face was sharper than
+he looked."</p>
+
+<p>Thinking example better than precept, Furneaux did not reprove the
+giggler. Lying there, screened even in broad daylight by the bulk of
+the rock and some hazels growing vigorously in that restricted area
+owing to the absence of foliage overhead, he listened to the voices of
+the night, never dumb in a large wood. Birds fluttered uneasily on the
+upper branches of the trees&mdash;indeed, Furneaux was lucky in that the
+occasional gleam of the torch had not sent a pheasant hurtling off
+with frantic clamor ere ever the rendezvous was reached&mdash;and some
+winged creature, probably an owl, swept over the rock in stealthy
+flight. The rabbits were all out in the open, nibbling grass and crops
+at leisure, but there were other tiny forms rustling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>among the shrubs
+and scampering across the soft carpet of fallen leaves.</p>
+
+<p>Twitterings, and subdued squeaks, and sudden rushes of pattering feet,
+the murmuring of myriad fronds in the placid breeze, the whispering of
+the neighboring elms, even the steady chant of the distant
+cascade&mdash;all swelled into a soft and continuous chorus, hardly heard
+by the country policemen, accustomed as they were to the sounds of a
+woodland at night, but of surprising volume and variety to the man
+whose forests lay in the paved wilderness of London.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a twig cracked sharply and a match was struck. It was of the
+safety type and made little noise, but it was too much for the nerves
+of a bird, which flew away noisily. Furneaux pursed his lips and
+wanted to whistle. He realized now what an escape he had earlier. But
+the intruder seemed to care less about attracting attention than
+making rapid progress. He came on swiftly, striking other matches when
+required, until he stood on the bare ground near the rock. Not daring
+to lift a head, none of the three watchers could see the newcomer, and
+in that respect their hiding-place was almost too well chosen. Whoever
+it was, he needed no more matches to guide his footsteps. They heard
+him advancing a few paces; then he halted again. After a marked
+interval, punctuated by a soft, whirring noise hard to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>interpret,
+there were irregular scrapings and the creaking of a branch.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux arose. Keeping a hand on the rock until he was clear of the
+shrubs, he crept forward on thievish feet. His assistants, moving more
+clumsily to their allotted station, were audible enough to him, but to
+a man unconscious of their presence, and actively climbing a tree,
+they were remote and still as Uranus and Saturn.</p>
+
+<p>The scraping of feet and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the prompt
+flight of several birds, led the detective unerringly to the trunk of
+a lofty chestnut which he had already fixed on as the cover whence the
+shot that killed Mortimer Fenley was fired. He was convinced also that
+the rifle was yet hidden there, and his thin lips parted in a smile
+now that his theory was about to be justified.</p>
+
+<p>He could follow the panting efforts of the climber quite easily. He
+knew when the weapon was unlashed from the limb to which it was bound,
+and when the descent was begun. He could measure almost the exact
+distance of his prey from the ground, and was awaiting the final drop
+before flashing the torch on his prisoner, when something rapped him
+smartly on the forehead. It was a rope, doubled and twisted, and
+subsequent investigation showed that it must have been thrown in a
+coil over the lowermost branch in order to facilitate the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>only
+difficult part of the climb offered by ten feet of straight bole.</p>
+
+<p>That trivial incident changed the whole course of events. Taken by
+surprise, since he did not know what had struck him, Furneaux pressed
+the governor of the torch a second too soon, and his eyes, raised
+instantaneously, met those of Hilton Fenley, who was on the point of
+letting go the branch and swinging himself down.</p>
+
+<p>During a thrilling moment they gazed at each other, the detective cool
+and seemingly unconcerned, the self-avowed murderer livid with mortal
+fear. Then Furneaux caught the rope and held it.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you'd go climbing tonight, Fenley," he said. "Let me assist
+you. Tricky things, ropes. You're at the wrong end of this one."</p>
+
+<p>Even Homer nods, but Furneaux had erred three times in as many
+seconds. He had switched on the light prematurely, and his ready
+banter had warned the parricide that a well-built scheme was crumbling
+to irretrievable ruin. Moreover, he had underrated the nervous forces
+of the man thus trapped and outwitted. Fenley knew that when his feet
+touched the earth he would begin a ghastly pilgrimage to the scaffold.
+Two yellow orbs of light were already springing up the slight incline
+from the rock, betokening the presence of captors in overwhelming
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>number. What was to be done? Nothing, in reason, yet Furneaux had
+likened him to a snake, and he displayed now the primal instinct of
+the snake to fight when cornered. Thrusting the heavy gun he was
+carrying straight downward, he delivered a vicious and unerring blow.</p>
+
+<p>The stock caught the detective on the crown of the head, and he fell
+to his knees, dropping the torch, which of course went out as soon as
+the thumb relaxed its pressure. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Some Stage Effects</span></h3>
+
+<p>Fenley himself dropped almost simultaneously with the rifle, landing
+with both feet on Furneaux's back, and thus completing the little
+man's discomfiture. By that time the two policemen were nearly upon
+him, but he was lithe and fierce as a cobra, and had seized the rifle
+again before they could close with him. Jabbing the nearer adversary
+with the muzzle, he smashed a lamp and sent its owner sprawling
+backward. Then, swinging the weapon, he aimed a murderous blow at the
+second constable.</p>
+
+<p>The man contrived to avoid it to a certain extent, but it glanced off
+his left arm and caught the side of his head; and he, too, measured
+his length. All three, detective and police, were on their feet
+promptly, for none was seriously injured; but Furneaux was dazed and
+had to grope for the torch, and the second constable's lamp had gone
+out owing to a rush of oil from the cistern. Thus, during some
+precious seconds, they were in total darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Fenley had escaped. Luck, after deserting him, had come to
+his rescue in the nick <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>of time. He had blundered into the path, and
+managed to keep to it, and the somewhat strong language in which
+Furneaux expressed his feelings anent the Hertfordshire Constabulary,
+and the no less lurid comments of two angry members of the force,
+helped to conceal the sounds which would otherwise have indicated the
+direction taken by the fugitive.</p>
+
+<p>At last, having found the torch, Furneaux collected his scattered
+wits.</p>
+
+<p>"Now don't be scared and run away, you two," he said sarcastically,
+producing an automatic pistol. "I'm only going to tell Mr. Winter that
+we've bungled the job."</p>
+
+<p>He fired twice in the air, and two vivid spurts of flame rose high
+among the branches of the chestnut; but the loud reports of the
+shooting were as nothing compared with the din that followed. Every
+rook within a mile flew from its eyrie and cawed strenuously.
+Pheasants clucked and clattered in all directions, owls hooted, and
+dogs barked in the kennels, in the stable yard, and in nearly every
+house of the two neighboring villages.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see what good that'll do, sir," was the rueful comment of the
+policeman who had, in his own phrase, "collected a thick ear," and was
+now feeling the spot tenderly. "He hasn't shinned up the tree again;
+that's a positive certainty."</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought that a really clever <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>fellow like you would
+guess that I wanted to raise a row," said Furneaux. "Have you breath
+enough left to blow your whistles?"</p>
+
+<p>"But, sir, your orders were&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Blow, and be damned to you. Don't I know the fault is mine! Blow, and
+crack your cheeks! Blow wild peals, my Roberts, else we are copped
+coppers!"</p>
+
+<p>The mild radiance of the torch showed that the detective's face was
+white with fury and his eyes gleaming red. To think that a dangling
+rope's end should have spoiled his finest capture, undone a flawless
+piece of imaginative reasoning which his own full record had never
+before equaled! It was humiliating, maddening. No wonder the policemen
+thought him crazy!</p>
+
+<p>But they whistled with a will. Winter heard them, and was stirred to
+strange activities. Robert Fenley, recovering from an ague and
+sickness, heard and marveled at the pandemonium which had broken loose
+in the park. The household at The Towers was aroused, heads were
+craned out of windows, women screamed, and men dressed hastily.
+Keepers, estate hands, and stablemen tumbled into their garments and
+hurried out, armed with guns and cudgels. An unhappy woman, tossing in
+the fitful dreams of drug-induced sleep, was awakened by the pistol
+shots and terrified by the noise of slamming doors and hurrying feet.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p><p>She struggled out of bed and screamed for an attendant, but none came.
+She pressed an electric bell, which rang continuously in the night
+watchman's room; but he had run to the front of the house and was
+unlocking the front door, where a squad of willing men soon awaited
+Winter's instructions. For the Superintendent, after rushing to the
+telephone, had shouted an order to MacBain before he made off in the
+direction of the Quarry Wood.</p>
+
+<p>The one tocsin which exercises a dread significance in a peaceful and
+law-abiding English community at the present day struck a new and
+awful note in Hilton Fenley's brain. Fool that he was, why had he
+fought? Why was he flying? Had he brazened it out, the police would
+not have dared arrest him. His brain was as acute as the best of
+theirs. He could have evolved a theory of the crime as subtle as any
+detective's, and who so keen-witted as a son eager to avenge a
+father's murder? But he had thrown away a gambler's chance by a moment
+of frenzied struggle. He was doomed now. No plausible explanation
+would serve his need. He was hunted. The pack was after him. The fox
+had broken cover, and the hounds were in full cry.</p>
+
+<p>Whither should he go? He knew not. Still clutching the empty gun&mdash;for
+which he had not even one cartridge in his pockets&mdash;he made hopelessly
+for the open park. Already some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>glimmer of light showed that he was
+winning free of these accursed trees, which had stretched forth a
+thousand hands to tear his flesh and trip his uncertain feet. That
+way, at least, lay the world. In the wood he might have circled
+blindly until captured.</p>
+
+<p>Now a drawback of such roaring maelstroms of alarm and uncertainty is
+their knack of submerging earlier and less dramatic passages in the
+lives of those whom Fate drags into their sweeping currents. Lest,
+therefore, the strangely contrived meeting between Sylvia and her
+knight errant should be neglected by the chronicler, it is well to
+return to those two young people at the moment when Sylvia was
+declaring her unimpaired power of standing without support.</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme was disposed to take everything for the best in a magic
+world. "Whatever is, is right" is a doctrine which appeals to the
+artistic temperament, inasmuch as it blends fatalism and the action of
+Providence in proportions so admirably adjusted that no philosopher
+yet born has succeeded in reducing them to a formula. But Eve did not
+bite the apple in that spirit. It was forbidden: she wanted to know
+why. Sylvia's first thought was to discover a reasonable reason for
+Trenholme's presence. Of course, there was one that jumped to the eye,
+but it was too absurd to suppose that he had come to the tryst in
+obedience to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>foolish vagaries which accounted for her own
+actions. She blushed to the nape of her neck at the conceit, which
+called for instant and severe repression, and her voice reflected the
+passing mood.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't wish to underrate the great service you have rendered me,"
+she said coldly, "and I shall always be your debtor for it; but I can
+not help asking how you came to be standing under the cedars at this
+hour of the night?"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," he said.</p>
+
+<p>She wriggled her shoulder slightly, as a polite intimation that his
+hand need not rest there any longer, but he seemed to misinterpret the
+movement, and drew her an inch or so nearer, whereupon the wriggling
+ceased.</p>
+
+<p>"But that is no answer at all," she murmured, aware of a species of
+fear of this big, masterful man: a fear rather fascinating in its
+tremors, like a novice's cringing to the vibration of electricity in a
+mildly pleasant form; a fear as opposed to her loathing of Robert
+Fenley as the song of a thrush to the purr of a tiger.</p>
+
+<p>"I can tell you, in a disconnected sort of way," he said, evidently
+trying to focus his thoughts on a problem set by the gods, and which,
+in consequence, was incapable of logical solution by a mere mortal.
+"It was a fine night. I felt restless. The four walls of a room were
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>prison-like. I strolled out. I was thinking of you. I am here."</p>
+
+<p>She trembled a little. Blushing even more deeply than before, she
+fancied he must be able to feel her skin hot through silk and linen.
+For all that, she contrived to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"It sounds convincing, but there is something missing in the
+argument," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Most likely," he admitted. "A woman analyzes emotion far more
+intimately than a man. Perhaps, if you were to tell me why <i>you</i> were
+drawn to cross the park at midnight, you might supply a clue to my own
+moon madness."</p>
+
+<p>"But there isn't any moon, and I think I ought to be returning to the
+house."</p>
+
+<p>He knew quite well that she had evaded his question, and, so readily
+does the heart respond to the whisperings of hope, he was aware of a
+sudden tumult in that which doctors call the cardiac region. She, too,
+had come forth to tell her longings to the stars! That thrice blessed
+picture had drawn them together by a force as unseen and irresistible
+as the law of gravitation! Then he became aware of a dreadful qualm.
+Had he any right to place on her slim shoulders the weight of an
+avowal from which he had flinched? He dropped that protecting hand as
+if it had been struck sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"I have annoyed you by my stupid word-fencing," he said contritely.</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed," she said, and, reveling in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>new sense of power, her
+tone grew very gentle. "Why should we seek far-fetched theories for so
+simple a thing as a stroll out of doors on a night like this? I am not
+surprised that you, at any rate, should wish to visit the place where
+that delightful picture sprang into being. It was my exceeding good
+fortune that you happened to be close at hand when I needed help. I
+must explain that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"My explanation comes first," he broke in. "I saw you crossing the
+park. A second time in the course of one day I had to decide whether
+to remain hidden or make a bolt for it. Again I determined to stand
+fast; for had you seen and heard a man vanishing among the trees you
+would certainly have been alarmed, not only because of the hour but
+owing to today's extraordinary events. Moreover, I felt sure you were
+coming to the lake, and I did not wish to stop you. That was a bit of
+pure selfishness on my part. I wanted you to come. If ever a man was
+vouchsafed the realization of an unspoken prayer, I am that man
+tonight."</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme had never before made love to any woman, but lack of
+experience did not seem to trouble him greatly. Sylvia, however,
+though very much alive to that element in his words, bethought herself
+of something else which they implied.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you heard what my cousin Robert said?" she commented. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>"Every syllable. When the chance of an effectual reply offered, I
+recalled his disjointed remarks collectively."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you hit him very hard?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just hard enough to stop him from annoying you further tonight."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose he deserved it. He was horrid. But I don't wish you to meet
+him again just now. He is no coward, and he might attack you."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be most unfortunate," he agreed.</p>
+
+<p>"So, if you don't mind, we'll take a roundabout way. By skirting the
+Quarry Wood we can reach the avenue, near the place where we met this
+evening. Do you remember?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly. I shall be very old before I forget."</p>
+
+<p>"But I mean the place where we met. Of course, you could hardly
+pretend that you had forgotten meeting me."</p>
+
+<p>"As soon would the daffodil forget where last it bloomed.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">"Daffodils,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">That come before the swallow dares, and take<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The winds of March with beauty.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Not that I should quote you 'A Winter's Tale,' but rather search my
+poor store for apter lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream': </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Quite over-canopied with luxurious woodbine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">There sleeps Titania.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>"Believe me, I have an excellent memory&mdash;for some things."</p>
+
+<p>They walked together in silence a little way, and dreamed, perchance,
+that they were wandering in Oberon's realm with Hermia and Lysander.
+Then Sylvia, stealing a shy glance at the tall figure by her side,
+acknowledged that once she filled the r&ocirc;le of Titania in a schoolroom
+version of the play.</p>
+
+<p>"We had no man," she said, "but the masks and costumes served us well.
+After a day's study I could be a Fairy Queen once more.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">"I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;</span>
+<span class="i10">Mine ear is much enraptured of thy note&mdash;&mdash;"</span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>She stopped suddenly. The next lines were distinctly amorous. He
+laughed with ready appreciation of her difficulty, but generously
+provided a way out.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor mortal!" he tittered. "And must I wear an ass's head to be in
+character?"</p>
+
+<p>A loud report, and then another, brought them back rudely from a
+make-believe wood near Athens to a peril-haunted park in an English
+county. For the second time that night Sylvia knew what fear meant.
+Intuitively, she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>shrank close to the strong man who seemed destined
+to be her protector; and when an arm clasped her again, she cowered
+close to its sheltering embrace.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what is it?" she wailed in terror.</p>
+
+<p>"It is hard to say," he answered quietly, and the confidence in his
+voice was the best assurance of safety he could have given. "Those
+shots were fired from some sort of rifle, not of the same caliber as
+that which was used this morning, but unquestionably a rifle. Perhaps
+it is one of these modern pistols. I don't wish to alarm you
+needlessly, Miss Manning, but there is some probability that the
+police have discovered the man who killed Mr. Fenley, and there is a
+struggle going on. At any rate, let us remain out here in the open. We
+shall be as safe here as anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia, who had not been afraid to venture alone into the park at
+midnight, was now in a quite feminine state of fright. She clung to
+Trenholme without any pretense of other feeling than one of unbounded
+trust. Her heart was pounding frantically, and she was trembling from
+head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>The police whistles were shrilling their insistent summons for help,
+and Trenholme knew that the commotion had arisen in the exact part of
+the Quarry Wood whence the murderous bullet had sped that morning. He
+was unarmed, of course, being devoid of even such a mildly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>aggressive
+weapon as a walking-stick, but there was doubt in his mind that the
+best thing to do was to stand fast. He was not blind to the
+possibility of imminent danger, for the very spot they had reached lay
+in a likely line of retreat for any desperado whom the police might
+have discovered and be pursuing. Naturally he took it for granted that
+the criminal had fired the two shots, and the fact that the whistles
+were still in full blast showed that the chase had not been abandoned.</p>
+
+<p>Still, the only course open was to take such chances as came their
+way. He could always shield the girl with his own body, or tell her to
+lie flat on the ground while he closed with an assailant if
+opportunity served. Being a level-headed, plucky youngster, he was by
+no means desirous of indulging in deeds of derring-do. The one
+paramount consideration was the safe conduct of Sylvia to the house,
+and he hoped sincerely that if a miscreant were trying to escape, he
+would choose any route save that which led from the wood to Roxton
+village.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hesitate if I bid you throw yourself down at full length," he
+said, unconsciously stroking Sylvia's hair with his free hand. "In a
+minute or two we'll make for the avenue. Meanwhile, let us listen. If
+any one is coming in this direction we ought to hear him, and
+forewarned is forearmed."</p>
+
+<p>Choking back a broken question, she strove <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>submissively to check her
+distressed sobbing. Were it not for the hubbub of thousands of rooks
+and pheasants they would assuredly have caught the sounds of Hilton
+Fenley's panic-stricken onrush through the trees. As it was, he saw
+them first, and, even in his rabid frenzy, recognized Sylvia. It was
+only to be expected that he should mistake Trenholme for his brother,
+and in a new spasm of fright, he recollected he was carrying the
+rifle. Robert Fenley, of course, would identify it at a glance, and
+could hardly fail to be more than suspicious at sight of it. With an
+oath, he threw the telltale weapon back among the undergrowth, and,
+summoning the last shreds of his shattered nerves to lend some degree
+of self-control, walked rapidly out into the open park.</p>
+
+<p>Sylvia saw him and shrieked. Trenholme was about to thrust her behind
+him, when some familiar attribute about the outline of the approaching
+figure caused her to cry&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's Hilton!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Sylvia," came the breathless answer. "You heard the firing, of
+course? The police have found some fellow in the wood. You and Bob
+make for the avenue. I'm going this way in case he breaks cover for
+the Roxton gate. Hurry! You'll find some of the men there. Never mind
+about me. I'll be all right!"</p>
+
+<p>He was running while he talked, edging away toward the group of
+cedars; and, under the conditions, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>it was not for Trenholme to
+undeceive him as to the mistake in regarding the artist as Robert
+Fenley. In any event, the appearance of Hilton from that part of the
+wood seemed to prove that the man whom the law was seeking could not
+be in the same locality, so Trenholme did not hesitate to urge Sylvia
+to fall in with her "cousin's" instructions.</p>
+
+<p>For the time, then, they may be left to progress uninterruptedly to
+safety and not very prompt enlightenment; the flight of the
+self-confessed murderer calls for more immediate attention. Probably,
+after the first moment of suspense, and when he was sure that escape
+was still not utterly impracticable, he intended to cross the park to
+the northwest and climb the boundary wall. But a glimpse of the black
+line of trees daunted him. He simply dared not face those pitiless
+sentinels again. He pictured himself forcing a way through the
+undergrowth in the dense gloom and failing perhaps; for the vegetation
+was wilder there than in any other portion of the estate. So, making a
+d&eacute;tour, he headed for the unencumbered parkland once more, and gained
+the wall near Jackson's farm about the time that Trenholme and Sylvia
+entered the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>He was unquestionably in a parlous state. Bare-headed, unarmed, he
+could not fail to attract attention in a district where every resident
+knew the other, nor could he resist capture <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>when the hue and cry went
+forth. What to do he knew not. Even if he managed to reach the railway
+station unchallenged, the last train of the day had left for London
+soon after eleven, and the earliest next morning was timed for five
+o'clock, too late by many hours to serve his desperate need.</p>
+
+<p>Could he hire a motor car or bicycle? The effort was fraught with
+every variety of risk. There was a small garage at Easton, but those
+cunning detectives would be raising the countryside already, and the
+telephone would close every outlet. For the first time in his life
+Hilton Fenley realized that the world is too small to hold a murderer.
+He was free, would soon have the choice of a network of main roads and
+lanes in a rural district at the dead hour of the night, yet he felt
+himself securely caged as some creature of the jungle trapped in a
+pit.</p>
+
+<p>Crossing Jackson's farmyard, not without disturbing a dog just
+quieting down after the preceding racket, he hurried into the village
+street, having made up his mind to face the inevitable and arouse the
+garage keeper. By the irony of fate he passed the cottage in which
+Police Constable Farrow was lying asleep and utterly unaware of the
+prevalent excitement, to join in which he would have kept awake all
+that night and the next.</p>
+
+<p>Then the turn of Fortune's wheel befriended Fenley again. Outside a
+house stood Dr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>Stern's car, a closed-in runabout in which both the
+doctor and his chauffeur were sheltered from inclement weather. The
+chauffeur was lounging on the pavement, smoking a cigarette, and
+Fenley, of course, recognized him. His heart leaped. Let him be bold
+now, and he might win through. A handkerchief wiped some of the blood
+off his face where the skin had been broken by the trees, and he
+avoided the glare of the lamps.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Tom," he said, "where is the doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Inside, sir," with a glance toward an upper room where a light shone.
+"What's happened at The Towers, sir? Was it shooting I heard a while
+since?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. A false alarm, though. The police thought they had found some
+suspicious character in the grounds."</p>
+
+<p>"By jing, sir, did they fire at him?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley saw that the story was weak, and hastened to correct it.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no," he said. "The police don't shoot first. That was my brother,
+Robert. You know what a harebrained fellow he is. Said he fired in
+order to make the man double back. But that is a small matter. Can I
+have one word with Dr. Stern?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll see, sir," and the chauffeur went to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux had estimated Hilton Fenley correctly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>in ascribing to him
+the quality of cold-bloodedness. Ninety-nine men among a hundred would
+have appropriated the motor car then and there, but Fenley saw by
+waiting a minute and displaying the requisite coolness he might
+succeed in throwing his pursuers off the trail for some hours.</p>
+
+<p>Stern came. It chanced that he was watching a good patient through a
+crisis, and would be detained until daybreak.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, Hilton," he cried. "What's up now, and what's the racket in
+the park?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley explained, but hurried to the vital matter.</p>
+
+<p>"My car is out of action," he said. "I was going to the Easton garage
+to hire one when I saw yours standing here. Lend it to me for a couple
+of hours; there's a good fellow. I'll pay well for the use of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Pay? Nonsense! Jump in! Take Mr. Fenley where he wants to go, Tom.
+Where to first, Hilton?"</p>
+
+<p>"St. Albans. I'm exceedingly obliged. And look here, Stern, I insist
+on paying."</p>
+
+<p>"We can settle that afterwards. Off with you. I'll walk home, Tom."</p>
+
+<p>Away sped the car. Running through Easton, Fenley saw two policemen
+stationed at a cross-road. They signaled the car to stop, and his
+blood curdled, but, in the same instant, they saw the chauffeur's
+face; the other occupant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>was cowering as far back in the shadow as
+possible.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's Dr. Stern," said one. "Right, Tom. By the way, have you seen
+anything of&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Go on, do!" growled Fenley, drowning the man's voice. "I'm in a vile
+hurry."</p>
+
+<p>That was his last real hairbreadth escape&mdash;for that night, at any
+rate, though other thrills were in store. The chauffeur was greatly
+surprised when bidden to go on from St. Albans to London, and take the
+High Barnet road to the City; but Fenley produced a five-pound note at
+the right moment, and the man reflected that his master would not
+hesitate to oblige a wealthy client, who evidently meant to make good
+the wear and tear on the car.</p>
+
+<p>In about an hour Fenley alighted on the pavement opposite the firm's
+premises in Bishopsgate Street. If a policeman had chanced to be
+standing there the fugitive would have known that the game was up, but
+the only wayfarers in that part of the thoroughfare were some street
+cleaners.</p>
+
+<p>Now that he saw a glimmer of light where hitherto all was darkness, he
+was absolutely clear-brained and cool in manner.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait five minutes," he said. "I sha'n't detain you longer."</p>
+
+<p>He let himself in with a master key, taken from his dead father's
+pockets earlier by Tomlinson. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>Going to the banker's private office,
+he ransacked a safe and a cabinet with hasty method. He secured a hat,
+an overcoat, an umbrella and a packed suitcase, left there for
+emergency journeys in connection with the business, and was back in
+the street again within less than the specified time.</p>
+
+<p>His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth when he found a policeman
+chatting with the chauffeur, but the man saluted him with a civil
+"Good morning!"</p>
+
+<p>In the City of London, which is deserted as a cemetery from ten
+o'clock at night till six in the morning, the police keep a sharp eye
+on waiting cabs and automobiles between these hours, and invariably
+inquire their business.</p>
+
+<p>This constable was quite satisfied that all was well when he saw Mr.
+Hilton Fenley, whom he knew by sight. In any event, the flying
+murderer was safer than he dared hope in that place and at that time.
+The Roxton telephonic system was temporarily useless in so far as it
+affected his movements; for a fire had broken out at The Towers, and
+the flames of the burning roof had been as a beacon for miles around
+during the whole of the time consumed by the run to London. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Close of a Tragedy</span></h3>
+
+<p>Winter was in the Quarry Wood and feeling his way but trusting to
+hands and feet when he heard, and soon saw, Furneaux and the two
+constables coming toward him. The little detective held the electric
+torch above his head, and was striding on without looking to right or
+left. The bitterness of defeat was in his face. Life had turned to
+gall and wormwood. As the expressive American phrase has it, he was
+chewing mud.</p>
+
+<p>The Superintendent smiled. He knew what torment his friend was
+suffering.</p>
+
+<p>"Hello, there!" he said gruffly, and the three men jumped, for their
+nerves were on edge.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's you, Napoleon," yelped Furneaux. "Behold Soult and his army
+corps, come to explain how Sir John Moore dodged him at Corunna."</p>
+
+<p>"You've lost your man, then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Botched the job at the moment of victory. And all through a rope
+end."</p>
+
+<p>"Tush! That isn't in your line."</p>
+
+<p>"Must I be lashed by your wit, too? The rope was applied to me, not to
+Fenley." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>"You don't mean to say, sir," broke in one of the astounded policemen,
+"that you think Mr. Hilton killed his own father!"</p>
+
+<p>"Was it you who got that punch in the tummy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, save your breath. You'll want it when the muscles stiffen.
+<i>'Cr&eacute; nom d'un pipe!</i> To think that I, Furneaux of the Yard, should
+queer the finest pitch I ever stood on."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, come now, Charles," said Winter. "Don't cry over spilt milk.
+You'll catch Fenley all right before the weather changes. What really
+happened?"</p>
+
+<p>Aware of the paramount necessity of suppressing his personal woes,
+Furneaux at once gave a graphic and succinct account of Fenley's
+imminent capture and escape. He was scrupulously fair, and exonerated
+his assistants from any share of the blame&mdash;if indeed any one could be
+held accountable for the singular accident which precipitated matters
+by a few vital seconds.</p>
+
+<p>Had Fenley reached the ground before the torch revealed the
+detective's presence, the latter would have closed with him instantly,
+throwing the torch aside, and thus taking the prisoner at the
+disadvantage which the fortune of war had brought to bear against the
+law. Furneaux was wiry though slight, and he could certainly have held
+his man until re&euml;nforcements <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>came; nor would the constables' lamps
+have been extinguished during the <i>m&ecirc;l&eacute;e</i>.</p>
+
+<p>"Then he has vanished, rifle and all," said Winter, when Furneaux had
+made an end.</p>
+
+<p>"As though the earth had swallowed him. A thousand years ago it would
+have done so," was the humiliated confession.</p>
+
+<p>"None of you have any notion which direction he took?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> received such a whack on the skull that I believe he disappeared
+in fire," said Furneaux. "My friend here," turning to the policeman
+who had voiced his amazement at the suggestion that Hilton Fenley was
+a murderer, "was in the position of Bret Harte's negro lecturer on
+geology, while this other stalwart thought he had been kicked by a
+horse. We soon recovered, but had to grope for each other. Then I
+called the heavens to witness that I was dished."</p>
+
+<p>"That gave us a chance of salvage, anyhow," said Winter. "I 'phoned
+the Roxton Inspector, and he will block the roads. When he has
+communicated with St. Albans and some other centers we should have a
+fairly wide net spread. Bates is coming from the lodge to take charge
+of a search party to scour the woods. We want that rifle. He must have
+dropped it somewhere. He'll make for a station in the early morning.
+He daren't tramp the country without a hat and in a black suit." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p><p>Winter was trying to put heart into his colleague, but Furneaux was
+not to be comforted. The truth was that the blow on the head had been
+a very severe one. Unfortunately, he had changed his hard straw hat
+for a soft cap which gave hardly any protection. Had Fenley's perch
+been a few inches lower when he delivered that vindictive thrust,
+Scotland Yard would probably have lost one of its most zealous
+officers.</p>
+
+<p>So the Jerseyman said nothing, having nothing to say that was fit for
+the ears of the local constabulary, and Winter suggested that they
+should return to the mansion and give Bates instructions. Then he,
+Winter, would telephone Headquarters, have the main roads watched, and
+the early Continental trains kept under surveillance.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux, torch in hand, at once led the way. Thus the party was
+visible before it entered the avenue, and two young people who had
+bridged months of ordinary acquaintance in one moment of tragedy,
+being then on the roadway, saw the gleam of light and waited.</p>
+
+<p>"Good!" cackled the little detective when his glance fell on them.
+"I'm glad to see there's one live man in the bunch. I presume you've
+disposed of Mr. Robert Fenley, Mr. Trenholme?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the artist. "His affairs seem to be common property. His
+brother evidently <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>knew he was out of doors, and now you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux woke up at that.</p>
+
+<p>"His brother! How can <i>you</i> know what his brother knew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton Fenley saw Miss Manning and myself, and mistook me
+for&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Saw you? When?"</p>
+
+<p>"About five minutes ago, on the other side of the wood."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say? Quick!"</p>
+
+<p>"He told us that the shooting was the outcome of your efforts to catch
+some man hiding among the trees."</p>
+
+<p>"Of my efforts?"</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't mention you by name. The words he used were 'the police.'
+He was taking part in the chase, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"Which way did he go?"</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme hesitated. Not only was he not quite conversant with the
+locality, but his shrewd wits had reached a certain conclusion, and he
+did not wish to be too outspoken before Sylvia. Surely she had borne
+sufficient for one day.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon the girl herself broke in.</p>
+
+<p>"Hilton went toward the cedars. He may be making for the Easton gate.
+Have you caught any man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet, Miss Manning," said Winter, assuming control of the
+situation with a firm hand. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>"I advise you to go straight to your
+room, and not stir out again tonight. There will be no more
+disturbance&mdash;I promise you that."</p>
+
+<p>Even the chief of the C. I. D. can err when he prophesies. At that
+instant the two lines of trees lost their impenetrable blackness.
+Their foliage sprang into red-tinted life as if the witches of the
+Brocken had chosen a new meeting-place, and a crackling, tearing sound
+rent the air.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" screamed Sylvia, who chanced to be facing the mansion. "The
+house is on fire!"</p>
+
+<p>They were standing in a group, almost where Police Constable Farrow
+had stood at ten minutes past ten the previous morning. Hence they
+were aware of this addition to the day's horrors before the house
+servants, who, headed by Tomlinson, were gathered on and near the
+flight of steps at the entrance. Every female servant in the
+establishment was there as well, not outside the door, but quaking in
+the hall. MacBain was the first among the men to realize what was
+happening. He caught the loud clang of an automatic fire alarm ringing
+in his room, and at once called the house fire brigade to run out the
+hose while he dashed upstairs into the north corridor, from which a
+volume of smoke was pouring.</p>
+
+<p>"Good Heavens!" he cried, on reaching the cross gallery. "It's in Mr.
+Fenley's rooms!" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Fenley's rooms! No need to tell the horrified staff which rooms he
+meant. A fire was raging in the private suite of the dead man!</p>
+
+<p>The residence was singularly well equipped with fire-extinguishing
+appliances. Mortimer Fenley had seen to that. Hand grenades, producing
+carbonic acid gas generated by mixing water with acid and alkali, were
+stored in convenient places, and there was a plentiful supply of water
+from many hose pipes. The north and south galleries looked on to an
+internal courtyard, so there was every chance of isolating the
+outbreak if it were tackled vigorously; and no fault could be found
+with either the spirit or training of the amateur brigade.
+Consequently, only two rooms, a bedroom and adjoining dressing-room,
+were well alight; these were burned out completely. A sitting-room on
+one side was badly scorched, as was a spare room on the other; but the
+men soon knew that they had checked the further progress of the
+flames, and were speculating, while they worked, as to the cause of a
+fire originating in a set of empty apartments, when Parker, Mrs.
+Fenley's personal attendant, came sobbing and distraught to Sylvia.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, miss!" she cried. "Oh, miss! Where is your aunt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't Mrs. Fenley in her room?" asked the girl, yielding to a sense
+of neglect in not having <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>gone to see if Mrs. Fenley was alarmed,
+though the older woman was not in the slightest danger. The two main
+sections of the building were separated by an open space of forty
+feet, and The Towers had exceedingly thick walls.</p>
+
+<p>"No, miss. I can't find her anywhere!" said the woman, well aware that
+if any one was at fault it was herself. "You know when I saw you. I
+went back then, and she was sleeping, so I thought I could leave her
+safely. Oh, miss, what has become of her? Maybe she was aroused by the
+shooting!"</p>
+
+<p>All hands that could be spared from the fire-fighting operations
+engaged instantly in an active search, but there was no clue to Mrs.
+Fenley's disappearance beyond an open door and a missing night light.
+The electric current was shut off at the main at midnight, except on a
+special circuit communicating with the hall, the courtyard, and
+MacBain's den, where he had control of these things.</p>
+
+<p>High and low they hunted without avail, until MacBain himself stumbled
+over a calcinated body in the murdered banker's bedroom. The poor
+creature had waked to some sense of disaster. Vague memories of the
+morning's horror had led her, night light in hand, to the spot where
+she fancied she would find the one person on earth in whom she placed
+confidence, for Mortimer Fenley had always treated her with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>kindness,
+even if his methods were not in accord with the commonly accepted
+moral code.</p>
+
+<p>Presumably, on discovering that the rooms were empty, some further
+glimmering knowledge had stirred her benumbed consciousness. She may
+have flung herself on the bed in a paroxysm of weeping, heedless of
+the overturned night light and the havoc it caused. That, of course,
+is sheer guesswork, though the glass dish which held the light was
+found later on the charred floor, which was protected, to some extent,
+by a thick carpet.</p>
+
+<p>At any rate, she had not long survived the husband who had given her a
+pomp and circumstance for which she was ill fitted. They were buried
+in the same grave, and Hertfordshire sent its thousands to the
+funeral.</p>
+
+<p>Soon after her fate became known, Winter wanted Furneaux, but his
+colleague was not in the house. The telephone having broken down,
+owing to the collapse of a standard, and the necessity of subduing the
+fire having put a stop to any immediate search being made in the park,
+Winter thought that the pair of them would be better employed if they
+transferred their energies to the local police station.</p>
+
+<p>He found Furneaux seated on the lowermost step at the entrance; the
+Jerseyman was crying as if his heart would break, and Trenholme was
+trying to comfort him, but in vain. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p><p>"What's up now?" inquired the Superintendent, thinking at the moment
+that his friend and comrade was giving way to hysteria indirectly
+owing to the blow he had received.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux looked up. It was the darkest hour of the night, and his
+chief could not see the distraught features wrung with pain.</p>
+
+<p>"James," he said, mastering his voice by a fierce effort, "my mad
+antics killed that unfortunate woman! She was aroused by the shots.
+She would cry for help, and none came. Heavens! I can hear her now!
+Then she ran for refuge to the man who had been everything to her
+since she was a barrack room kid in India. I'm done, old fellow. I
+resign. I can never show my face in the Yard again."</p>
+
+<p>"It'll do you a world of good if you talk," said Winter, meaning to
+console, but unconsciously wounding by cruel sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll be dumb enough after this night's work," said Furneaux, in a
+tone of such utter dejection that Winter began to take him seriously.</p>
+
+<p>"If you fail me now, Charles," he said, and his utterance was thick
+with anger at the crassness of things, "I'll consider the advisability
+of sending in my own papers. Dash it!" He said something quite
+different, but his friends may read this record, and they would
+repudiate an exact version with scorn and disbelief. "Are we going to
+admit ourselves beaten by a half-bred <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>hound like Hilton Fenley? Not
+if I know it, or I know you. We've got the noose 'round his neck, and
+you and I will pull it tight if we have to follow him to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," said a voice. "I was called out
+o' bed to come to the fire, an' took a short cut across the park. Blow
+me if I didn't kick my foot against this!"</p>
+
+<p>And Police Constable Farrow, who had approached unnoticed, held out an
+object which seemed to be a rifle. Owing to his being seated
+Furneaux's eyes were on a level with it, and he could see more clearly
+than the others. He struck a match; then there could be no doubt that
+the policeman had actually picked up the weapon which had set in
+motion so many and such varied vicissitudes.</p>
+
+<p>But Farrow had more to say. It had been his happy lot during many
+hours to figure bravely in the Fenley case, and he carried himself as
+a valiant man and true to the end.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I heard you mention Mr. Hilton," he went on. "I met Dr. Stern
+in the village, an' he tol' me Mr. Hilton had borrowed his car."</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux stood up.</p>
+
+<p>"Continue, Solomon," he said, and Winter sighed with relief; the
+little man was himself again.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all, gentlemen, or practically all. It struck me as unusual,
+but Dr. Stern said Mr. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>Hilton's motor was out o' gear, an' he wanted
+a car in a desp'rit hurry."</p>
+
+<p>"He did, indeed!" growled Furneaux. "You're quite sure there is no
+mistake?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mistake, sir? How could there be? The doctor was walkin' home. That's
+an unusual thing. He never walks a yard if he can help it. Mr. Hilton
+borrowed the car to go to St. Albans."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he, indeed? Just how did he come to find the car waiting for
+him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, that's the queer part of it. Dr. Stern is lookin' after poor old
+Joe Bland, who's mighty bad with&mdash;there, now, if I haven't gone and
+forgotten the name; something-itis&mdash;and Mr. Hilton must have seen the
+car standin' outside Bland's house. But what was he doin' in Roxton at
+arf past twelve? That's wot beats me. And then, just fancy me stubbin'
+my toe against this!"</p>
+
+<p>Again he displayed the rifle as if it were an exhibit and he were
+giving evidence.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go inside and get a light," said Winter, and the four mounted
+the steps into the hall. Robert Fenley was there&mdash;red-faced as ever,
+for he had helped in putting out the fire, but quite sober, since he
+had been very sick.</p>
+
+<p>Some lamps and candles gave a fair amount of light, and Robert eyed
+Trenholme viciously.</p>
+
+<p>"So it was you!" he said. "I thought it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>was. Well, my father and
+mother are both dead, and this is no time for settlin' matters; but
+I'll look you up when this business is all over."</p>
+
+<p>"If you do, you'll get hurt," said Winter brusquely. "Is that your
+rifle?" and he pointed to the weapon in Farrow's hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Where was it found?"</p>
+
+<p>"In the Quarry Wood, sir, but a'most in the park," said the policeman.</p>
+
+<p>"Has it been used recently?"</p>
+
+<p>Fenley could hardly have put a question better calculated to prove his
+own innocence of any complicity in the crime.</p>
+
+<p>Winter took the gun, meaning to open the breech, but he and Furneaux
+simultaneously noticed a bit of black thread tied to one of the
+triggers. It had been broken, and the two loose ends were some inches
+in length.</p>
+
+<p>"That settles it," muttered Furneaux. "The scoundrel fixed it to a
+thick branch, aimed it carefully on more than one occasion&mdash;look at
+the sights, set for four hundred yards&mdash;and fired it by pulling a cord
+from his bedroom window when he saw his father occupying the exact
+position where the sighting practiced on Monday and Tuesday showed
+that a fatal wound would be inflicted. The remaining length of cord
+was stronger than this packing thread, which was bound to give way
+first when force was applied.... Well, that side of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>question
+didn't bother us much, did it, Winter?"</p>
+
+<p>"May I ask who you're talking about?" inquired Robert Fenley hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>"About that precious rogue, your half brother," was the answer. "That
+is why he went to his bedroom, one window of which looks out on the
+park and the other on the east front, where he watched his father
+standing to light a cigar before entering the motor. He laid the cord
+before breakfast, knowing that Miss Manning's habit of bathing in the
+lake would keep gardeners and others from that part of the grounds.
+When the shot was fired he pulled in the cord&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw him doing that," interrupted Trenholme, who, after one glance
+at the signs of his handiwork on Robert Fenley's left jaw, had devoted
+his attention to the extraordinary story revealed by the detectives.</p>
+
+<p>"You <i>saw</i> him!" And Furneaux wheeled round in sudden wrath. "Why the
+deuce didn't you tell me that?"</p>
+
+<p>"You never asked me."</p>
+
+<p>"How could I ask you such a thing? Am I a necromancer, a wizard, or
+eke a thought reader?"</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme favored the vexed little man with a contemplative look.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are all those, and a jolly clever art critic as well," he
+said. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p><p>Furneaux was discomfited, and Winter nearly laughed. But the matter at
+issue was too important to be treated with levity.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell us now what you saw, Mr. Trenholme," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"When the shot was fired, I recognized it as coming from a
+high-velocity rifle," said the artist. "I was surprised that such a
+weapon should be used in an enclosed park of this nature, and looked
+toward the house to discover whether or not any heed would be given to
+the incident there. From where I was seated I could see the whole of
+the south front, but not the east side, where the brass fittings of
+the automobile alone were visible, glinting through and slightly above
+a yew hedge.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, when Miss Manning returned to the house and entered by way of a
+window on the ground floor, I noticed that no other window was open.
+But after the report of the gun, I saw the end window of the first
+floor on the southeast side slightly raised&mdash;say six inches; and some
+one in the room was, as I regarded it, gesticulating, or making signs.
+That continued nearly half a minute and then ceased. I don't know
+whether the person behind the glass was a man or a woman, but some one
+was there, and engaged in the way I have described. If your theory is
+correct, the motions would be precisely those you suggest, similar to
+those of a fisherman reeling in a line." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>"Your simile happens to be exact," said Winter. "While Hilton Fenley
+and my friend here were having a dust-up in the Quarry Wood I searched
+his rooms; and among other things I came upon a salmon reel carrying
+an exceptional quantity of line. So our case is fairly complete. I'm
+sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Fenley, that not only did your half
+brother kill your father, but he tried his level best to put the crime
+on your shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"He overreached himself in sending for Scotland Yard men. We have seen
+too much of the seamy side of life to accept as Gospel truth the first
+story we hear. The very fact that Hilton Fenley was attacking you in
+your absence prejudiced us against him at the outset. There were other
+matters, which I need not go into now, which converted our dislike
+into active suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>"But it is only fair that you should understand how narrow was your
+escape from arrest. Had the local police been in sole charge I am
+bound to say you would have passed this night in a cell. Luckily for
+you, Mr. Furneaux and I set our faces against the notion of your guilt
+from the beginning. Long before we saw you, we were keeping an eye on
+the real criminal. When you did appear, your conduct only confirmed
+our belief in your innocence."</p>
+
+<p>"I told you why, you will remember," piped Furneaux. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p><p>But Robert Fenley said no word. He was stunned. He began to feel ill
+again, and made for his room. Sylvia had not been seen since she heard
+of Mrs. Fenley's death. The detectives collected their belongings,
+which with the gun and a bag packed with various articles taken from
+Hilton Fenley's suite&mdash;the reel, for instance, a suit of clothes
+bearing marks, possibly of moss, and the leather portfolio of
+papers&mdash;were entrusted to Farrow and another constable for safe
+conveyance. Accompanied by Trenholme, they walked to Easton. On the
+way the artist supplied sufficient details of his two meetings with
+Sylvia to put them in possession of the main incidents. Furneaux,
+though suffering from a splitting headache, had recovered the use of a
+vinegary tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"I was mistaken in you," he chuckled. "You're a rank impressionist.
+Indeed, you're a neo-impressionist, a get-busy-and-do-it-now master of
+art.... But she's a mighty nice girl, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Meaning Miss Manning?" said Trenholme coldly.</p>
+
+<p>"No. Eliza."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry. I misunderstood."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>'Cr&eacute; nom!</i> You've got it bad."</p>
+
+<p>"Got what bad?"</p>
+
+<p>"The matrimonial measles. You're sickening for them now. One of the
+worst symptoms in the man is his curt refusal to permit anybody <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>else
+to admire one bright particular star of womanhood. If the girl hears
+another girl gushing over the young man, she's ready to scratch her
+eyes out. By Jove! It'll be many a day before you forget your visit to
+Roxton Park this morning, or yesterday morning, or whenever it was.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm mixed. Life has been very strenuous during the past fifteen
+hours. If you love me, James, put my poor head under a pump, or I'll
+be dreaming that our lightning sketch performer here, long John
+Trenholme, late candidate for the P. R. A., but now devoted to the
+cult of Hymen, is going to marry Eliza, of the White Horse, and that
+the fair Sylvia is pledged to cook us a dinner tomorrow night&mdash;or is
+it tonight? Oh, Gemini, how my head aches!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't mind a word he's saying, Mr. Trenholme," put in Winter. "Hilton
+Fenley hit him a smack with that rifle, and it developed certain
+cracks already well marked. But he's a marvelously 'cute little codger
+when you make due allowance for his peculiar ways, and he has a queer
+trick of guessing at future events with an accuracy which has
+surprised me more times than I can keep track of."</p>
+
+<p>Trenholme was too good a fellow not to put up with a little mild chaff
+of that sort. He looked at the horizon, where the faint streaks of
+another dawn were beginning to show in the northeast. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p><p>"Please God," he said piously, "if I'm deemed worthy of such a boon,
+I'll marry Sylvia Manning, or no other woman. And, when the chance
+offers, Eliza of the White Horse shall cook you a dinner to make your
+mouth water. Thus will Mr. Furneaux's dream come true, because dreams
+go by contraries!" </p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">The Settlement</span></h3>
+
+<p>Winter tried to persuade his mercurial-spirited friend to snatch a few
+hours' rest. The Police Inspector obligingly offered a bed; but short
+of a positive order, which the Superintendent did not care to give,
+nothing would induce Furneaux to let go his grip on the Fenley case.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait till the doctor's car comes back," he urged. "The chauffeur will
+carry the story a few pages farther. At any rate, we shall know where
+he dropped Fenley, and that is something."</p>
+
+<p>Winter produced a big cigar, and Trenholme felt in his pockets for
+pipe and tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you don't, young man," said the big man firmly. "You're going
+straight to your room in the White Horse. And I'll tell you why. From
+what I have heard about the Fenleys, they were a lonely crowd. Their
+friends were business associates and they seem to own no relatives;
+while Miss Manning, if ever she possessed any, has been carefully shut
+away from them. The position of affairs in The Towers will be strained
+tomorrow. The elder Fenleys are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>dead; one son may be in jail&mdash;or, if
+he isn't, might as well be&mdash;and the other, as soon as he feels his
+feet, will be giving himself airs. Now, haven't you a mother or an
+aunt who would come to Roxton and meet Miss Manning, and perhaps help
+her to get away from a house which is no fit place for her to live in
+at present?"</p>
+
+<p>"My mother can be here within an hour of the opening of the telegraph
+office," said Trenholme.</p>
+
+<p>"Write the telegram now, and the constable on night duty will attend
+to it. When your mother arrives, tell her the whole story, and send
+her to Miss Manning. Don't go yourself. You might meet Robert Fenley,
+and he would certainly be cantankerous. If your mother resembles you,
+she will have no difficulty in arranging matters with the young lady."</p>
+
+<p>"If I resemble my mother, I am a very fortunate man," said the artist
+simply.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it would be that way," was the smiling comment. "One other
+thing: I don't suppose for a minute that Miss Manning is acquainted
+with a reputable firm of solicitors. If she is, tell her to consult
+them, and get them to communicate with Scotland Yard, where I shall
+supply or leave with others certain information which should be acted
+on promptly in her behalf. If, as I expect, she knows no lawyer, see
+that she takes this card to the address <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>on it and give Messrs. Gibb,
+Morris &amp; Gibb my message. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Finally, she must be warned to say nothing of this to Robert Fenley.
+In fact, the less that young spark knows about her affairs the better.
+After tonight's adventure that hint is hardly needed, perhaps; but it
+is always well to be explicit. Now off with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not tired. Can I be of any service?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I want you to be ready for a long day's work in Miss Manning's
+interests. Mr. Furneaux and I may be busy elsewhere. Unquestionably we
+shall not be in Roxton; we may even be far from London. Miss Manning
+will want a friend. See to it that you start the day refreshed by some
+hours of sleep."'</p>
+
+<p>"Good-by," said Trenholme promptly. "Sorry you two will miss Eliza's
+dinner. But that is only a feast deferred. By the way, if I leave
+Roxton I'll send you my address."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry about that," smiled the Superintendent. "Our friend the
+Inspector here will keep tab on you. Before you're finished with
+inquests, police courts and assizes you'll wish you'd never heard the
+name of Fenley.... By Jove, I nearly forgot to caution you. Not a word
+to the press.... Phi-ew!" he whistled. "If they get on to this story
+in its entirety, won't they publish chapter and verse!"</p>
+
+<p>So Trenholme went out into the village street <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>and walked to his
+quarters in the White Horse Inn. It was not yet two o'clock, but dawn
+had already silvered the northeast arc of the horizon. Just twenty
+hours earlier an alarm clock had waked him into such a day as few have
+experienced. Many a man has been brought unexpectedly into intimate
+touch with a tragedy of no personal concern, but seldom indeed do the
+Fates contrive that death and love and high adventure should be so
+closely bound, and packed pellmell into one long day.</p>
+
+<p>Only to think of it! When he stole upstairs with the clock to play a
+trick on Eliza, he had never seen Sylvia nor so much as heard her name
+spoken. When he sang of love and the dawn while striding homeward
+through the park, he had seen her, yet did not know her, and had no
+hope of ever seeing her again. When he worked at her picture, he had
+labored at the idealization of a dream which bade fair to remain a
+dream. And now by some magic jugglery of ordinary events, each well
+within the bounds of credibility, yet so overwhelmingly incredible in
+their sequence and completeness, he was Sylvia's lover, her defender,
+her trusted knight-errant.</p>
+
+<p>Even the concluding words of that big, round-headed, sensible
+detective had brought a fantasy nearer attainment. If Sylvia were
+rich, why then a youngster who painted pictures for a living <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>would
+hardly dare think of marrying her. But if Sylvia were poor&mdash;and
+Winter's comments seemed to show that these financiers had been
+financing themselves at her expense&mdash;what earthly reason was there
+that she should not become Mrs. John Trenholme at the earliest
+practicable date? None that he could conceive. Why, a fellow would
+have to be a fool indeed who did not know when he had met the one
+woman in the world! He had often laughed at other fellows who spoke in
+that way about the chosen one. Now he understood that they had been
+wise and he foolish.</p>
+
+<p>But suppose Sylvia&mdash;oh, dash it, no need to spoil one's brief rest by
+allowing a beastly doubt like that to rear its ugly head! One thing he
+was sure of&mdash;Robert Fenley could never be a rival; and Fenley, churl
+that he was, had known her for years, and could hardly be pestering
+her with his attentions if she were pledged to another man. Moreover
+he, John, newly in love and tingling with the thrill of it, fancied
+that Sylvia would not have clung to him with such complete confidence
+when the uproar arose in the park if&mdash;&mdash;Well, well&mdash;the history of the
+Fenley case will never be brought to an end if any attempt is made to
+analyze the effects of love's first vigorous growth in the artistic
+temperament.</p>
+
+<p>About a quarter past three Dr. Stern's little landaulet was halted at
+the same cross-road <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>where a policeman had stopped it nearly three
+hours earlier.</p>
+
+<p>"That you, Tom?" said the constable. "You're wanted at the station."</p>
+
+<p>"What station?" inquired the chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>"The police station."</p>
+
+<p>"Am I, by gum? What's up?"</p>
+
+<p>"The Scotland Yard men want you."</p>
+
+<p>"But what for? I haven't run over so much as a hen."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, it's all right. You're wanted as a witness. Never mind why.
+<i>They</i>'ll tell you. The doctor is there, smoking a cigar till you turn
+up."</p>
+
+<p>"I left him at Joe Bland's."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe Bland has left Boxton for Kingdom Come. And The Towers is half
+burnt down. Things haven't been happening while you were away, have
+they?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not half," said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"No, nor quarter," grinned the policeman to himself when the car moved
+on. "Wait till you know who you took on that trip, and why, and <i>your</i>
+sparkin'-plug'll be out of order for a week."</p>
+
+<p>It was as well that the chauffeur had not the slightest notion that he
+had conveyed a murderer to London when he began to tell his tale to
+his employer and the detectives. They wanted a plain, unvarnished
+story, and got it. On leaving the offices in Bishopsgate Street,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>Fenley asked to be driven to Gloucester Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue.
+Tom had seen the last of him standing on the pavement, with a suitcase
+on the ground at his feet. He was wearing an overcoat and a derby hat,
+and was pressing an electric bell.</p>
+
+<p>"He tol' me I needn't wait, so I made for the Edgware Road; an' that's
+all," said Tom.</p>
+
+<p>"Cool as a fish!" commented Furneaux.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, sir, I didn't get hot over it," said the surprised chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not talking about you. Could you manage another run to town? Are
+you too tired?"</p>
+
+<p>The mystified Tom looked at his employer. Dr. Stern laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Go right ahead!" he cried. "I'm thinking of buying a new car. A
+hundred and twenty miles in one night should settle the matter so far
+as this old rattletrap is concerned."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course we'll pay you, doctor," said Winter.</p>
+
+<p>"That's more than Hilton Fenley will ever do, I'm afraid."</p>
+
+<p>Tom tickled his scalp under his cap.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hilton gemme a fiver," he said rather sheepishly. There was
+something going on that he did not understand, but he thought it
+advisable to own up with regard to that lordly tip.</p>
+
+<p>"You're a lucky fellow," said the doctor. "What about petrol? And do
+you feel able to take these gentlemen to London?" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p><p>Tom was a wiry person. In five minutes he was on the road again bound
+for Scotland Yard this time. As a matter of form a detective was sent
+to Gloucester Mansions, and came back with the not unforeseen news
+that Mrs. Garth was very angry at being disturbed at such an unearthly
+hour. No; she had seen nothing of Mr. Hilton Fenley since the
+preceding afternoon. Some one had rung the bell about two o'clock that
+morning, but the summons was not repeated; and she had not inquired
+into it, thinking that a mistake had been made and discovered by the
+blunderer.</p>
+
+<p>Sheldon was brought from his residence. He had a very complete report
+concerning Mrs. Lisle; but that lady's shadowy form need not flit
+across the screen, since Robert Fenley's intrigues cease to be of
+interest. He had dispatched her to France, urging that he must be
+given a free hand until the upset caused by his father's death was put
+straight. Suffice it to say that when he secured some few hundreds a
+year out of the residue of the estate, he married Mrs. Lisle, and
+possibly became a henpecked husband. The Garths, too, mother and
+daughter, may be dropped. There was no getting any restitution by them
+of any share of the proceeds of the robbery. They vowed they were
+innocent agents and received no share of the plunder. Miss Eileen
+Garth has taken up musical comedy, if not seriously at least
+zealously, and commenced <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>in the chorus with quite a decent show of
+diamonds.</p>
+
+<p>London was scoured next morning for traces of Hilton Fenley, but with
+no result. This again fell in with anticipation. The brain that could
+plan the brutal murder of a father was not likely to fail when
+contriving its own safety. Somehow both Winter and Furneaux were
+convinced that Fenley would make for Paris, and that once there it
+would be difficult to lay hands on him. Furneaux, be it remembered,
+had gone very thoroughly into the bond robbery, and had reached
+certain conclusions when Mortimer Fenley stopped the inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>In pursuance of this notion they resolved to watch the likeliest
+ports. Furneaux took Dover, Winter Newhaven and Sheldon Folkestone.
+They did not even trouble to search the outgoing trains at the London
+termini, though a detailed description of the fugitive was circulated
+in the ordinary way. Each man traveled by the earliest train to his
+destination and, having secured the aid of the local police, mounted
+guard over the gangways.</p>
+
+<p>Furneaux drew the prize, which was only a just compensation for a sore
+head and sorer feelings. He had changed his clothing, but adopted no
+other disguise than a traveling-cap pulled well down over his eyes. He
+took it for granted that Fenley, like every other intelligent person
+going abroad, was aware that all persons <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>leaving the country are
+subjected to close if unobtrusive scrutiny as they step from pier to
+ship. Fenley, therefore, would have a sharp eye for the quietly
+dressed men who stand close to the steamer officials at the head of
+the gangway, but would hardly expect to find Nemesis hidden in the
+purser's cabin. Through a porthole Furneaux saw every face and, on the
+third essay, while the fashionable crowd which elects to pay higher
+rates for the eleven o'clock express from Victoria was struggling like
+less exalted people to be on board quickly, he found his man in the
+thick of the press.</p>
+
+<p>Fenley had procured a new suit, a Homburg hat, and some baggage. In
+fact, it was learned afterwards that he hired a taxi at Charing Cross,
+breakfasted at Canterbury, and made his purchases there at leisure,
+before driving on to Dover.</p>
+
+<p>He passed between two uniformed policemen with the utmost
+self-possession, even pausing there momentarily to give some
+instruction to a porter about the disposition of his portmanteaux.
+That was a piece of pure bravado, perhaps a final test of his own
+highly strung nerves. The men, of course, were not watching him or any
+other individual in the hurrying throng. They had a sharp eye for
+Furneaux, however, and when he nodded and hurried from his lair one of
+them grabbed Fenley by the shoulder. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>At that instant a burly German, careless of any one's comfort but his
+own, and somewhat irritated by Fenley's halt at the mouth of the
+gangway, brushed forward. His weight, and Fenley's quick flinching
+from that ominous clutch, loosed the policeman's hold, and the
+murderer was free once more for a few fleeting seconds.</p>
+
+<p>The constable pressed on, shoving the other man against the rail.</p>
+
+<p>"Here. I want you," he said, and the quietly spoken words rang in
+Fenley's ears as if they had been bellowed through a megaphone. Owing
+to his own delay, there was a clear space in front. He took that way
+of escape instinctively, though he knew he was doomed, since the
+ship's officers would seize him at the policeman's call.</p>
+
+<p>Then he saw Furneaux, whose foot was already on the lower end of the
+gangway. That, then, was the end! He was done for now. All that was
+left of life was the ghastly progress of the law's ceremonial until he
+was brought to the scaffold and hanged amidst a whole nation's
+loathing. His eyes met Furneaux's in a glare of deadly malice. Then he
+looked into eternity with daring despair, and dived headlong over the
+railing into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>That awesome plunge created tremendous excitement among the bystanders
+on quay and ship. It was seen by hundreds. Men shouted, women
+screamed, not a few fainted. A sailor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>on the lower deck ran with a
+life belt, but Fenley never rose. His body was carried out by the
+tide, and was cast ashore some days later at the foot of Shakespeare's
+Cliff. Then the poor mortal husk made some amends for the misdeeds of
+a warped soul. In the pockets were found a large amount of negotiable
+scrip, and no small sum in notes and gold, with the result that
+Messrs. Gibb, Morris &amp; Gibb were enabled to recover the whole of
+Sylvia Manning's fortune, while the sale of the estate provided
+sufficiently for Robert Fenley's future.</p>
+
+<p>The course of true love never ran smoother than for John and Sylvia.
+They were so obviously made for each other, they had so determinedly
+flown to each other's arms, that it did not matter tuppence to either
+whether Sylvia were rich or poor. But it mattered a great deal when
+they came to make plans for a glorious future. What a big, grand world
+it was, to be sure! And how much there was to see in it! The
+Continent, America, the gorgeous East! They mapped out tours that
+would find them middle-aged before they neared England again. Does
+life consist then, in flitting from hotel to hotel, from train to
+steamship? Not it. German Kultur took care to upset that theory. John
+Trenholme is now a war-worn major in the Gunners, and Sylvia has only
+recently returned to her home nest after four years' service with the
+Red Cross in France. </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p><p>But these things came later. One evening in the Autumn, Winter and
+Furneaux took Sheldon over to Roxton and dined with Dr. Stern and
+Tomlinson at the White Horse. Tomlinson had bought the White Horse and
+secured Eliza with the fixtures. Of course, there was talk of the
+Fenleys, and Winter told how Hilton Fenley's mother had been unearthed
+in Paris. She was a spiteful and wizened half-caste; but she held her
+son dear, as mothers will, be they black or white or
+chocolate-colored, and it was to maintain her in an establishment of
+some style that he had begun to steal. She had married again, and the
+man had gone through all her money, dying when there was none left.
+She retained his name, however, and Fenley adopted it, too, during
+frequent visits to Paris. Hence he was known there by a good many
+people, and could have sunk his own personality had he made good his
+escape. The mother's hatred of Mortimer Fenley had probably
+communicated itself to her son. When she was told of Hilton's suicide
+and its cause, she said that if anything could console her for his
+death it was the fact that he had avenged her wrongs on his father.</p>
+
+<p>"What was her grievance against poor Mortimer Fenley?" inquired the
+doctor. "I knew him well, and he was a decent sort of fellow&mdash;rather
+blustering and dictatorial but not bad-hearted." </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>"His success, I believe," said Winter. "They disagreed, and she
+divorced him, thinking he would remain poor. The whirligig of time
+changed their relative positions, and to a jealous-minded woman that
+was unforgivable."</p>
+
+<p>"The affair made a rare stir here anyhow," went on the doctor. "The
+people who have taken The Towers have not only changed the name of the
+place, but they have commissioned a friend of mine, an architect, to
+alter the entrance. There will be two flights of steps and a covered
+porch, so the exact spot where Fenley fell dead will be built over."</p>
+
+<p>"Gentlemen," said Tomlinson, "talking is dry work. I haven't my old
+cellar to select from, but I can recommend the brands you see on the
+table. Mr. Furneaux, I'm sure you have not forgotten that Ch&acirc;teau
+Yquem?"</p>
+
+<p>Then, and not until then, did the ex-butler hear that the detectives
+had never tasted his famous port. His benign features were wrung with
+pain, for it was a wine of rare "bowket," and hard to replace.</p>
+
+<p>But Furneaux restored his wonted geniality by opening a parcel
+hitherto reposing on the sideboard.</p>
+
+<p>"I never sent you that bottle of Alto Douro," he cried. "Here it is&mdash;a
+crusted quart for your own drinking. Lest you should be tempted to be
+too generous tonight, I've brought another. Now&mdash;a cradle and a
+corkscrew!" </p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p><p>So, after a dirge, and before the world shook in war, the story ends
+on a lively note, for what is there to compare with good wine and good
+cheer, each in moderation? And one bottle among five is reasonable
+enough in all conscience. </p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="centerbox bbox2">
+
+<p class="center"><i>"The Books You Like to Read<br />
+at the Price You Like to Pay"</i></p>
+
+<hr class="huge" />
+
+<h2><i>There Are Two Sides<br />
+ to Everything&mdash;</i></h2>
+
+<p>&mdash;including the wrapper which covers every Grosset &amp; Dunlap book. When
+you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully
+selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by
+prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every
+Grosset &amp; Dunlap book wrapper.</p>
+
+<p>You will find more than five hundred titles to choose from&mdash;books for
+every mood and every taste and every pocketbook.</p>
+
+<p><i>Don't forget the other side, but in case the wrapper is lost, write
+to the publishers for a complete catalog.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="huge" />
+
+<p class="center"><i>There is a Grosset &amp; Dunlap Book<br />
+ for every mood and for every taste</i></p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset &amp; Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<dl>
+<dt><span class="u">THE SECRET OF THE BARBICAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE ANNEXATION SOCIETY</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">GREEN INK</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE KING versus WARGRAVE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">RAVENSDENE COURT</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE SAFETY PIN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE SECRET WAY</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN</span></dt></dl>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. &amp; D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>RAFAEL SABATINI'S NOVELS</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p>Jesi, a diminutive city of the Italian Marches, was the birthplace of
+Rafael Sabatini, and here he spent his early youth. The city is
+glamorous with those centuries the author makes live again in his
+novels with all their violence and beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Sabatini first went to school in Switzerland and from there to
+Lycee of Oporto, Portugal, and like Joseph Conrad, he has never
+attended an English school. But English is hardly an adopted language
+for him, as he learned it from his mother, an English woman who
+married the Maestro-Cavaliere Vincenzo Sabatini.</p>
+
+<p>Today Rafael Sabatini is regarded as "The Alexandre Dumas of Modern
+Fiction."</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="u">MISTRESS WILDING</span><br />
+<br />
+A romance of the days of Monmouth's rebellion. The action is rapid,
+its style is spirited, and its plot is convincing.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">FORTUNE'S FOOL</span><br />
+<br />
+All who enjoyed the lurid lights of the French Revolution with
+Scaramouche, or the brilliant buccaneering days of Peter Blood, or the
+adventures of the Sea-Hawk, the corsair, will now welcome with delight
+a turn in Restoration London with the always masterful Col. Randall
+Holles.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT</span><br />
+<br />
+An absorbing story of love and adventure in France of the early
+seventeenth century.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE SNARE</span><br />
+<br />
+It is a story in which fact and fiction are delightfully blended
+and one that is entertaining in high degree from first to last.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">CAPTAIN BLOOD</span><br />
+<br />
+The story has glamor and beauty, and it is told with an easy
+confidence. As for Blood himself, he is a superman, compounded of
+sardonic humor, cold nerves, and hot temper. Both the story and the
+man are masterpieces. A great figure, a great epoch, a great story.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE SEA-HAWK</span><br />
+<br />
+"The Sea-Hawk" is a book of fierce bright color and amazing adventure
+through which stalks one of the truly great and masterful figures of
+romance.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">SCARAMOUCHE</span><br />
+<br />
+Never will the reader forget the sardonic Scaramouche, who fights
+equally well with tongue and rapier, who was "born with the gift of
+laughter and a sense that the world was mad."</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset &amp; Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<dl>
+<dt>THE MAD KING</dt>
+<dt>THE MOON MAID</dt>
+<dt>THE ETERNAL LOVER</dt>
+<dt>BANDIT OF HELL'S BEND, THE</dt>
+<dt>CAVE GIRL, THE</dt>
+<dt>LAND THAT TIME FORGOT, THE</dt>
+<dt>TARZAN OF THE APES</dt>
+<dt>TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR</dt>
+<dt>TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN</dt>
+<dt>TARZAN THE TERRIBLE</dt>
+<dt>TARZAN THE UNTAMED</dt>
+<dt>BEASTS OF TARZAN, THE</dt>
+<dt>RETURN OF TARZAN, THE</dt>
+<dt>SON OF TARZAN, THE</dt>
+<dt>JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN</dt>
+<dt>AT THE EARTH'S CORE</dt>
+<dt>PELLUCIDAR</dt>
+<dt>THE MUCKER</dt>
+<dt>A PRINCESS OF MARS</dt>
+<dt>GODS OF MARS, THE</dt>
+<dt>WARLORD OF MARS, THE</dt>
+<dt>THUVIA, MAID OF MARS</dt>
+<dt>CHESSMEN OF MARS, THE</dt>
+</dl>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="centerbox bblox">
+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S</h2>
+
+<h3>STORIES OF ADVENTURE</h3>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset &amp; Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<dl>
+<dt><span class="u">A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE ALASKAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE COUNTRY BEYOND</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE FLAMING FOREST</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE RIVER'S END</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE GOLDEN SNARE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">NOMADS OF THE NORTH</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">KAZAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">BAREE, SON OF KAZAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE DANGER TRAIL</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE HUNTED WOMAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE GRIZZLY KING</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">ISOBEL</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE WOLF HUNTERS</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE GOLD HUNTERS</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY</span></dt></dl>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+
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+
+<hr class="large" />
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+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>ZANE GREY'S NOVELS</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset &amp; Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<dl>
+<dt>TAPPAN'S BURRO</dt>
+<dt>THE VANISHING AMERICAN</dt>
+<dt>THE THUNDERING HERD</dt>
+<dt>THE CALL OF THE CANYON</dt>
+<dt>WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND</dt>
+<dt>TO THE LAST MAN</dt>
+<dt>THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER</dt>
+<dt>THE MAN OF THE FOREST</dt>
+<dt>THE DESERT OF WHEAT</dt>
+<dt>THE U.P. TRAIL</dt>
+<dt>WILDFIRE</dt>
+<dt>THE BORDER LEGION</dt>
+<dt>THE RAINBOW TRAIL</dt>
+<dt>THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT</dt>
+<dt>RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</dt>
+<dt>THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS</dt>
+<dt>THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN</dt>
+<dt>THE LONE STAR RANGER</dt>
+<dt>DESERT GOLD</dt>
+<dt>BETTY ZANE</dt>
+<dt>THE DAY OF THE BEAST</dt>
+</dl>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS<br />
+<br />
+The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore,<br />
+with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.</p>
+
+<h3>ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS</h3>
+
+<dl>
+<dt>ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON</dt>
+<dt>KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE</dt>
+<dt>THE YOUNG LION HUNTER</dt>
+<dt>THE YOUNG FORESTER</dt>
+<dt>THE YOUNG PITCHER</dt>
+<dt>THE SHORT STOP</dt>
+<dt>THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER<br />
+ BASEBALL STORIES</dt>
+</dl>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>JACKSON GREGORY'S NOVELS</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset &amp; Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p>
+<span class="u">THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN</span><br />
+<br />
+A thrilling story, centering about a lovely and original girl who
+flees to the mountains to avoid an obnoxious suitor&mdash;and finds herself
+suspected of murder.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">DAUGHTER OF THE SUN</span><br />
+<br />
+A tale of Aztec treasure&mdash;of American adventurers who seek it&mdash;of
+Zoraida, who hides it.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">TIMBER-WOLF</span><br />
+<br />
+This is a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always by
+the heroic figure of Timber-Wolf.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE EVERLASTING WHISPER</span><br />
+<br />
+The story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and
+humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child
+of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">DESERT VALLEY</span><br />
+<br />
+A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. They meet
+a rancher who loses his heart, and becomes involved in a feud.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">MAN TO MAN</span><br />
+<br />
+How Steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story filled with
+breathless situations.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN</span><br />
+<br />
+Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey
+into the strongholds of a lawless band.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH</span><br />
+<br />
+Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being
+robbed by her foreman. With the help of Bud Lee, she checkmates
+Trevor's scheme.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE SHORT CUT</span><br />
+<br />
+Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel. Financial
+complications, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, make up a thrilling
+romance.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER</span><br />
+<br />
+A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her
+chagrin. There is "another man" who complicates matters.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">SIX FEET FOUR</span><br />
+<br />
+Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck
+Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty.<br />
+<br />
+<span class="u">WOLF BREED</span><br />
+<br />
+No Luck Drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a match in
+Ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "Lone
+Wolf."</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<div class="bt"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<h2>EMERSON HOUGH'S NOVELS</h2>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.</p>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<dl>
+<dt><span class="u">THE SHIP OF SOULS</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">MOTHER OF GOLD</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE COVERED WAGON</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">NORTH OF 36</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE WAY OF A MAN</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE SAGEBRUSHER</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE WAY OUT</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE MAN NEXT DOOR</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE BROKEN GATE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE STORY OF THE COWBOY</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">54-40 OR FIGHT</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE</span></dt>
+<dt><span class="u">THE PURCHASE PRICE</span></dt>
+</dl>
+
+<div class="bt2"></div>
+<div class="bb"></div>
+
+<p class="center">GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP, <i>Publishers</i>, NEW YORK</p>
+<div class="bt4"></div>
+<div class="bt3"></div></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</h3>
+
+<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain faithful to the
+author's words and intent.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY ***
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+</body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley
+
+Author: Louis Tracy
+
+Release Date: August 28, 2008 [EBook #26447]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE STRANGE CASE OF
+ MORTIMER FENLEY
+
+ BY LOUIS TRACY
+
+ AUTHOR OF
+
+ THE WINGS OF THE MORNING,
+ NUMBER SEVENTEEN, ETC.
+
+ GROSSET & DUNLAP
+ PUBLISHERS   NEW YORK
+
+ Made in the United States of America
+
+ COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
+ EDWARD J. CLODE
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+ CHAPTER                                                     PAGE
+
+
+    I. THE WATER NYMPHS                                        1
+
+   II. "WHO HATH DONE THIS THING?"                            19
+
+  III. THE HOUNDS                                             39
+
+   IV. BREAKING COVER                                         59
+
+    V. A FAMILY GATHERING                                     79
+
+   VI. WHEREIN FURNEAUX SEEKS INSPIRATION                    101
+
+  VII. SOME SIDE ISSUES                                      123
+
+ VIII. COINCIDENCES                                          145
+
+   IX. WHEREIN AN ARTIST BECOMES A MAN OF ACTION             166
+
+    X. FURNEAUX STATES SOME FACTS                            189
+
+   XI. SOME PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHING                          211
+
+  XII. WHEREIN SCOTLAND YARD IS DINED AND WINED              229
+
+ XIII. CLOSE QUARTERS                                        246
+
+  XIV. THE SPREADING OF THE NET                              266
+
+   XV. SOME STAGE EFFECTS                                    286
+
+  XVI. THE CLOSE OF A TRAGEDY                                305
+
+ XVII. THE SETTLEMENT                                        324
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WATER NYMPHS
+
+
+Does an evil deed cast a shadow in advance? Does premeditated crime
+spread a baleful aura which affects certain highly-strung temperaments
+just as the sensation of a wave of cold air rising from the spine to
+the head may be a forewarning of epilepsy or hysteria? John Trenholme
+had cause to think so one bright June morning in 1912, and he has
+never ceased to believe it, though the events which made him an
+outstanding figure in the "Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley," as the
+murder of a prominent man in the City of London came to be known, have
+long since been swept into oblivion by nearly five years of war. Even
+the sun became a prime agent of the occult that morning. It found a
+chink in a blind and threw a bar of vivid light across the face of a
+young man lying asleep in the front bedroom of the "White Horse Inn"
+at Roxton. It crept onward from a firm, well-molded chin to lips now
+tight set, though not lacking signs that they would open readily in a
+smile and perhaps reveal two rows of strong, white, even teeth.
+Indeed, when that strip of sunshine touched and warmed them, the
+smile came; so the sleeper was dreaming, and pleasantly.
+
+But the earth stays not for men, no matter what their dreams. In a few
+minutes the radiant line reached the sleeper's eyes, and he awoke.
+Naturally, he stared straight at the disturber of his slumbers; and
+being a mere man, who emulated not the ways of eagles, was routed at
+the first glance.
+
+More than that, he was thoroughly aroused, and sprang out of bed with
+a celerity that would have given many another young man a headache
+during the remainder of the day.
+
+But John Trenholme, artist by profession, was somewhat of a
+light-hearted vagabond by instinct; if the artist was ready to be
+annoyed because of an imaginary loss of precious daylight, the
+vagabond laughed cheerily when he blinked at a clock and learned that
+the hour still lacked some minutes of half past five in the morning.
+
+"By gad," he grinned, pulling up the blind, "I was scared stiff. I
+thought the blessed alarm had missed fire, and that I had been lying
+here like a hog during the best part of the finest day England has
+seen this year."
+
+Evidently he was still young enough to deal in superlatives, for there
+had been other fine days that Summer; moreover, in likening himself to
+a pig, he was ridiculously unfair to six feet of athletic symmetry in
+which it would be difficult to detect any marked resemblance to the
+animal whose name is a synonym for laziness.
+
+On the way to the bathroom he stopped to listen for sounds of an
+aroused household, but the inmates of the White Horse Inn were still
+taking life easily.
+
+"Eliza vows she can hear that alarm in her room," he communed. "Well,
+suppose we assist nature, always a laudable thing in itself, and
+peculiarly excellent when breakfast is thereby advanced a quarter of
+an hour."
+
+Eliza was the inn's stout and voluble cook-housekeeper, and her attic
+lay directly above Trenholme's room. He went back for the clock, crept
+swiftly upstairs, opened a door a few inches, and put the infernal
+machine inside, close to the wall. He was splashing in the bath when a
+harsh and penetrating din jarred through the house, and a slight
+scream showed that Eliza had been duly "alarmed."
+
+A few minutes later came a heavy thump on the bathroom door.
+
+"All right, Mr. Trenholme!" cried an irate female voice. "You've been
+up to your tricks, have you? It'll be my turn when I make your coffee;
+I'll pepper an' salt it!"
+
+"Why, what's the matter, Eliza?" he shouted.
+
+"Matter! Frightenin' a body like that! I thought a lot o' suffrigettes
+were smashin' the windows of the snug."
+
+Eliza was still touchy when Trenholme ventured to peep into the
+kitchen.
+
+"I don't know how you dare show your face," she cried wrathfully. "The
+impidence of men nowadays! Just fancy you comin' an' openin' my door!"
+
+"But, _cherie_, what have I done?" he inquired, his brown eyes wide
+with astonishment.
+
+"I'm not your cherry, nor your peach, neither. Who put that clock in
+my room?"
+
+"What clock, _ma belle_?"
+
+Eliza picked up an egg, and bent so fiery a glance on the intruder
+that he dodged out of sight for a second.
+
+"Listen, _carissima_," he pleaded, peering round the jamb of the door
+again. "If the alarm found its way upstairs I must have been walking
+in my sleep. While you were dreaming of suffragettes I may have been
+dreaming of you."
+
+"Stop there a bit longer, chatterin' and callin' me names, an' your
+bacon will be frizzled to a cinder," she retorted.
+
+"But I really hoped to save you some trouble by carrying in the
+breakfast tray myself. I hate to see a jolly, good-tempered woman of
+your splendid physique working yourself to a shadow."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Eliza squared her elbows as a preliminary to another outburst, when
+the stairs creaked. Mary, the "help," was arriving hurriedly, in curl
+papers.
+
+"Oh, _you_'ve condescended to get up, have you?" was the greeting Mary
+received.
+
+"Why, it's on'y ten minutes to six!" cried the astonished girl, gazing
+at a grandfather's clock as if it were bewitched.
+
+"You've never had such a shock since you were born," went on the
+sarcastic Eliza. "But don't thank _me_, my girl. Thank Mr. Trenholme,
+the gentleman stannin' there grinnin' like a Cheshire cat. Talk to him
+nicely, an' p'raps he'll paint your picter, an' then your special
+butcher boy will see how beautiful you reelly are."
+
+"Jim don't need tellin' anything about that," said the girl, smiling,
+for Eliza's bark was notoriously worse than her bite.
+
+"Jim!" came the snorting comment. "The first man who ever axed me to
+marry him was called Jim, an' when, like a wise woman, I said 'No,' he
+went away an' 'listed in the Royal Artillery an' lost his leg in a
+war--that's what Jim did."
+
+"What a piece of luck you didn't accept him!" put on Trenholme.
+
+"An' why, I'd like to know?"
+
+"Because he began by losing his head over you. If a leg was missing,
+too, there wasn't much of Jim left, was there?"
+
+Mary giggled, and Eliza seized the egg again; so Trenholme ran to his
+sitting-room. Within half an hour he was passing through the High
+Street, bidding an affable "Good morning" to such early risers as he
+met, and evidently well content with himself and the world in general.
+His artist's kit revealed his profession even to the uncritical eye,
+but no student of men could have failed to guess his bent were he
+habited in the garb of a costermonger. The painter and the poet are
+the last of the Bohemians, and John Trenholme was a Bohemian to the
+tips of his fingers.
+
+He carried himself like a cavalier, but the divine flame of art
+kindled in his eye. He had learned how to paint in Julien's studio,
+and that same school had taught him to despise convention. He looked
+on nature as a series of exquisite pictures, and regarded men and
+women in the mass as creatures that occasionally fitted into the
+landscape. He was heart whole and fancy free. At twenty-five he had
+already exhibited three times in the Salon, and was spoken of by the
+critics as a painter of much promise, which is the critical method of
+waiting to see how the cat jumps when an artist of genius and
+originality arrests attention.
+
+He had peculiarly luminous brown eyes set well apart in a face which
+won the prompt confidence of women, children and dogs. He was
+splendidly built for an out-door life, and moved with a long, supple
+stride, a gait which people mistook for lounging until they walked
+with him, and found that the pace was something over four miles an
+hour. Add to these personal traits the fact that he had dwelt in
+Roxton exactly two days and a half, and was already on speaking terms
+with most of the inhabitants, and you have a fair notion of John
+Trenholme's appearance and ways.
+
+There remains but to add that he was commissioned by a magazine to
+visit this old-world Hertfordshire village and depict some of its
+beauties before a projected railway introduced the jerry-builder and a
+sewerage scheme, and his presence in the White Horse Inn is explained.
+He had sketched the straggling High Street, the green, the inn itself,
+boasting a license six hundred years old, the undulating common, the
+church with its lych gate, the ivy-clad ruin known as "The Castle,"
+with its square Norman keep still frowning at an English countryside,
+and there was left only an Elizabethan mansion, curiously misnamed
+"The Towers," to be transferred to his portfolio. Here, oddly enough,
+he had been rebuffed. A note to the owner, Mortimer Fenley, banker and
+super City man, asking permission to enter the park of an afternoon,
+had met with a curt refusal.
+
+Trenholme, of course, was surprised, since he was paying the man a
+rare compliment; he had expressed in the inn his full and free opinion
+concerning all money grubbers, and the Fenley species thereof in
+particular; whereupon the stout Eliza, who classed the Fenley family
+as "rubbish," informed him that there was a right of way through the
+park, and that from a certain point near a lake he could sketch the
+grand old manor house to his heart's content, let the Fenleys and
+their keepers scowl as they chose.
+
+The village barber, too, bore out Eliza's statement.
+
+"A rare old row there was in Roxton twenty year ago, when Fenley fust
+kem here, an' tried to close the path," said the barber. "But we beat
+him, we did, an' well he knows it. Not many folk use it nowadays,
+'coss the artful ole dodger opened a new road to the station; but some
+of us makes a point of strollin' that way on a Sunday afternoon, just
+to look at the pheasants an' rabbits, an' it's a treat to see the head
+keeper's face when we go through the lodge gates at the Easton end,
+for that is the line the path takes."
+
+Here followed a detailed description, for the Roxton barber, like
+every other barber, could chatter like a magpie; it was in this wise
+that Trenholme was able to defy the laws forbidding trespass, and
+score off the seemingly uncivil owner of a historical dwelling.
+
+He little imagined, that glorious June morning, that he was entering
+on a road of strange adventure. He had chosen an early hour purposely.
+Not only were the lights and shadows perfect for water color, but it
+was highly probable that he would be able to come and go without
+attracting attention. He had no wish to annoy Fenley, or quarrel with
+the man's myrmidons. Indeed, he would not have visited the estate at
+all if the magazine editor had not specially stipulated for a
+full-page drawing of the house.
+
+Now, all would have been well had the barber's directions proved as
+bald in spirit as they were in letter.
+
+"After passin' 'The Waggoner's Rest,' you'll come to a pair of iron
+gates on the right," he had said. "On one side there's a swing gate.
+Go through, an' make straight for a clump of cedars on top of a little
+hill. There mayn't be much of a path, but that's it. It's reelly a
+short cut to the Easton gate on the London road."
+
+Yet who could guess what a snare for an artist's feet lay in those few
+words? How could Trenholme realize that "a pair of iron gates" would
+prove to be an almost perfect example of Christopher Wren's genius as
+a designer of wrought iron? Trenholme's eyes sparkled when he beheld
+this prize, with its acanthus leaves and roses beaten out with
+wonderful freedom and beauty of curve. A careful drawing was the
+result. Another result, uncounted by him, but of singular importance
+in its outcome was the delay of forty minutes thus entailed.
+
+He crossed an undulating park, and had no difficulty in tracing an
+almost disused path in certain grass-grown furrows leading past the
+group of cedars. On reaching this point he obtained a fair view of the
+mansion; but the sun was directly behind him, as the house faced
+southeast, and he decided to encroach some few yards on private
+property. A brier-laden slope fell from the other side of the trees to
+a delightful-looking lake fed by a tiny cascade on the east side. An
+ideal spot, he thought.
+
+This, then, was the stage setting: Trenholme, screened by black cedars
+and luxuriant brushwood, was seated about fifty feet above the level
+of the lake and some forty yards from its nearest sedges. The lake
+itself, largely artificial, lay at the foot of the waterfall, which
+gurgled and splashed down a miniature precipice of moss-covered
+bowlders. Here and there a rock, a copper beech, a silver larch, or a
+few flowering shrubs cast strong shadows on the dark, pellucid mirror
+beneath. On a cunningly contrived promontory of brown rock stood a
+white marble statue of Venus Aphrodite, and the ripples from the
+cascade seemed to endow with life the shimmering reflection of the
+goddess.
+
+Beyond the lake a smooth lawn, dotted with fine old oaks and
+chestnuts, rose gently for a quarter of a mile to the Italian gardens
+in front of the house. To the left, the park was bounded by woods. To
+the right was another wood, partly concealing a series of ravines and
+disused quarries. Altogether a charming setting for an Elizabethan
+manor, pastoral, peaceful, quite English, and seeming on that placid
+June morning so remote from the crowded mart that it was hard to
+believe the nearest milestone, with its "London, 30 miles."
+
+Had Trenholme glanced at his watch he would have discovered that the
+hour was now half past seven, or nearly an hour later than he had
+planned. But Art, which is long-lived, recks little of Time, an
+evanescent thing. He was enthusiastic over his subject. He would make
+not one sketch, but two. That lake, like the gates, was worthy of
+immortality. Of course, the house must come first. He unpacked a
+canvas hold-all, and soon was busy.
+
+He worked with the speed and assured confidence of a master. By years
+of patient industry he had wrested from Nature the secrets of her
+tints and tone values. Quickly there grew into being an exquisitely
+bright and well balanced drawing, impressionist, but true; a harmony
+of color and atmosphere. Leaving subtleties to the quiet thought of
+the studio, he turned to the lake. Here the lights and shadows were
+bolder. They demanded the accurate appraisement of the half closed
+eye. He was so absorbed in his task that he was blithely unconscious
+of the approach of a girl from the house, and his first glimpse of
+her was forthcoming when she crossed the last spread of velvet sward
+which separated a cluster of rhododendrons in the middle distance from
+the farther edge of the lake.
+
+It was not altogether surprising that he had not seen her earlier. She
+wore a green coat and skirt and a most curiously shaped hat of the
+same hue, so that her colors blended with the landscape. Moreover, she
+was walking rapidly, and had covered the intervening quarter of a mile
+in four minutes or less.
+
+He thought at first that she was heading straight for his lofty perch,
+and was perhaps bent on questioning his right to be there at all. But
+he was promptly undeceived. Her mind was set on one object, and her
+eyes did not travel beyond it. She no more suspected that an artist
+was lurking in the shade of the cedars than she did that the man in
+the moon was gazing blandly at her above their close-packed foliage.
+She came on with rapid, graceful strides, stood for a moment by the
+side of the Venus, and then, while Trenholme literally gasped for
+breath, shed coat, skirt and shoes, revealing a slim form clad in a
+dark blue bathing costume, and dived into the lake.
+
+Trenholme had never felt more surprised. The change of costume was so
+unexpected, the girl's complete ignorance of his presence so obvious,
+that he regarded himself as a confessed intruder, somewhat akin to
+Peeping Tom of Coventry. He was utterly at a loss how to act. If he
+stood up and essayed a hurried retreat, the girl might be frightened,
+and would unquestionably be annoyed. It was impossible to creep away
+unseen. He was well below the crest of the slope crowned by the trees,
+and the nymph now disporting in the lake could hardly fail to discover
+him, no matter how deftly he crouched and twisted.
+
+At this crisis, the artistic instinct triumphed. He became aware that
+the one element lacking hitherto, the element that lent magic to the
+beauty of the lake and its vivid environment of color, was the touch
+of life brought by the swimmer. He caught the flash of her limbs as
+they moved rhythmically through the dark, clear water, and it seemed
+almost as if the gods had striven to be kind in sending this naiad to
+complete a perfect setting. With stealthy hands he drew forth a small
+canvas. Oil, not mild water color, was the fitting medium to portray
+this Eden. Shrinking back under cover of a leafy brier, he began a
+third sketch in which the dominant note was the contrast between the
+living woman and the marble Venus.
+
+For fifteen minutes the girl disported herself like a dolphin.
+Evidently she was a practiced swimmer, and had at her command all the
+resources of the art. At last she climbed out, and stood dripping on
+the sun-laved rock beside the statue. Trenholme had foreseen this
+attitude--had, in fact, painted with feverish energy in anticipation
+of it. The comparison was too striking to be missed by an artist. Were
+it not for the tightly clinging garments, the pair would have provided
+a charming representation of Galatea in stone and Galatea after
+Pygmalion's frenzy had warmed her into life.
+
+Trenholme was absolutely deaf now to any consideration save that of
+artistic endeavor. With a swift accuracy that was nearly marvelous he
+put on the canvas the sheen of faultless limbs and slender neck. He
+even secured the spun-gold glint of hair tightly coifed under a
+bathing cap--a species of head-dress which had puzzled him at the
+first glance--and there was more than a suggestion of a veritable
+portrait of the regular, lively and delicately beautiful features
+which belonged to a type differing in every essential from the cold,
+classic loveliness of the statue, yet vastly more appealing in its
+sheer femininity.
+
+Then the spell was broken. The girl slipped on her shoes, dressed
+herself in a few seconds, and was hurrying back to the house, almost
+before Trenholme dared to breathe normally.
+
+"Well," he muttered, watching the swaying of the green skirt as its
+owner traversed the park, "this is something like an adventure! By
+Jove, I've been lucky this morning! I've got my picture for next
+year's Salon!"
+
+He had got far more, if only he were gifted to peer into the future;
+but that is a privilege denied to men, even to artists. Soon, when he
+was calmer, and the embryo sketch had assumed its requisite color
+notes for subsequent elaboration, he smiled a trifle dubiously.
+
+"If that girl's temperament is as attractive as her looks I'd throw
+over the Salon for the sake of meeting her," he mused. "But that's
+frankly impossible, I suppose. At the best, she would not forgive me
+if she knew I had watched her in this thievish way. I could never
+explain it, never! She wouldn't even listen. Well, it's better to have
+dreamed and lost than never to have dreamed at all."
+
+And yet he dreamed. His eyes followed the fair unknown while she
+entered the garden through a gateway of dense yews, and sped lightly
+up the steps of a terrace adorned with other statues in marble and
+bronze. No doorway broke the pleasing uniformity of the south front,
+but she disappeared through an open window, swinging herself lightly
+over the low sill. He went with her in imagination. Now she was
+crossing a pretty drawing-room, now running upstairs to her room, now
+dressing, possibly in white muslin, which, if Trenholme had the
+choosing of it, would be powdered with tiny _fleurs de lys_, now
+arranging her hair with keen eye for effect, and now tripping down
+again in obedience to a gong summoning the household to breakfast.
+
+He sighed.
+
+"If I had the luck of a decent French poodle, this plutocrat Fenley
+would eke have invited me to lunch," he grumbled.
+
+Then his eyes sought the sketch, and he forgot the girl in her
+counterfeit. By Jove, this _would_ be a picture! "The Water Nymphs."
+But he must change the composition a little--losing none of its
+character; only altering its accessories to such an extent that none
+would recognize the exact setting.
+
+"Luck!" he chortled, with mercurial rise of spirits. "I'm the luckiest
+dog in England today. Happy chance has beaten all the tricks of the
+studio. O ye goddesses, inspire me to heights worthy of you!"
+
+His visions were rudely dispelled by a gunshot, sharp, insistent,
+a tocsin of death in that sylvan solitude. A host of rooks arose
+from some tall elms near the house; a couple of cock pheasants flew
+with startled chuckling out of the wood on the right; the white
+tails of rabbits previously unseen revealed their owners' whereabouts
+as they scampered to cover. But Trenholme was sportsman enough to
+realize that the weapon fired was a rifle; no toy, but of high velocity,
+and he wondered how any one dared risk its dangerous use in such a
+locality. He fixed the sound definitely as coming from the wood to
+the right--the cover quitted so hurriedly by the pheasants--and
+instinctively his glance turned to the house, in the half formed
+thought that some one there might hear the shot, and look out.
+
+The ground floor window by which the girl had entered still remained
+open, but now another window, the most easterly one on the first
+floor, had been raised slightly. The light was peculiarly strong and
+the air so clear that even at the distance he fancied he could
+distinguish some one gesticulating, or so it seemed, behind the glass.
+This went on for a minute or more. Then the window was closed. At the
+same time he noticed a sparkling of glass and brasswork behind the
+clipped yew hedge which extended beyond the east wing. After some
+puzzling, he made out that a motor car was waiting there.
+
+That was all. The clamor of the rooks soon subsided. A couple of
+rabbits skipped from the bushes to resume an interrupted meal on
+tender grass shoots. A robin trilled a roundelay from some neighboring
+branch. Trenholme looked at his watch. Half past nine! Why, he must
+have been mooning there a good half hour!
+
+He gathered his traps, and as the result of seeing the automobile,
+which had not moved yet, determined to forego his earlier project of
+walking out of the park by the Easton gate.
+
+He had just emerged from the trees when a gruff voice hailed him.
+
+"Hi!" it cried. "Who're you, an' what are you doin' here!"
+
+A man, carrying a shotgun and accompanied by a dog, strode up with
+determined air.
+
+Trenholme explained civilly, since the keeper was clearly within
+his rights. Moreover, the stranger was so patently a gentleman
+that Velveteens adopted a less imperative tone.
+
+"Did you hear a shot fired somewhere?" he asked.
+
+"Yes. Among those trees." And Trenholme pointed. "It was a rifle,
+too," he added, with an eye at the twelve-bore.
+
+"So _I_ thought," agreed the keeper.
+
+"Rather risky, isn't it, firing bullets in a place like this?"
+
+"I just want to find out who the ijiot is that did it. Excuse me, sir,
+I must be off." And man and dog hurried away.
+
+And Trenholme, not knowing that death had answered the shot, took
+his own departure, singing as he walked, his thoughts altogether on
+life, and more especially on life as revealed by the limbs of a girl
+gleaming in the dark waters of a pool.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+"WHO HATH DONE THIS THING?"
+
+
+Trenholme's baritone was strong and tuneful--for the Muses, if
+kind, are often lavish of their gifts--so the final refrain of an
+impassioned love song traveled far that placid morning. Thus, when he
+reached the iron gates, he found the Roxton policeman standing there,
+grinning.
+
+"Hello!" said the artist cheerily. Of course he knew the policeman. In
+a week he would have known every man and dog in the village by name.
+
+"Good mornin', sir," said the Law, which was nibbling its chin strap
+and had both thumbs stuck in its belt. "That's a fine thing you was
+singin'. May I arsk wot it was? I do a bit in that line meself."
+
+"It's the _cantabile_ from Saint-Saens' _Samson et Dalila_," replied
+Trenholme. "Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix!"
+
+"Is it now? An' wot may that be, sir?"
+
+The policeman's humor was infectious. Trenholme laughed, too.
+Realizing that the words and accent of Paris had no great vogue in
+Hertfordshire, he explained, and added that he possessed a copy of
+the song, which was at the service of the force. The man thanked him
+warmly, and promised to call at the inn during the afternoon.
+
+"By the way, sir," he added, when Trenholme had passed through the
+wicket, "did you hear a shot fired while you was in the park?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Jer see anybody?"
+
+"A keeper, who seemed rather annoyed about the shooting. Some one had
+fired a rifle."
+
+"It sounded like that to me, sir, and it's an unusual thing at this
+time of the year."
+
+"A heavy-caliber rifle must sound unusual at any time of the year in
+an enclosed estate near London," commented Trenholme.
+
+"My idee exactly," said the policeman. "I think I'll go that way. I
+may meet Bates."
+
+"If Bates is a bandy-legged person with suspicious eyes, a red tie,
+many pockets, brown leggings, and a yellow dog, you'll find him
+searching the wood beyond the lake, which is the direction the shot
+came from."
+
+The policeman laughed.
+
+"That's Bates, to a tick," he said. "If he was 'wanted,' your
+description would do for the _Police Gazette_."
+
+They parted. Since Trenholme's subsequent history is bound up more
+closely with the policeman's movements during the next hour than with
+his own unhindered return to the White Horse Inn, it is well to trace
+the exact course of events as they presented themselves to the ken of
+a music-loving member of the Hertfordshire constabulary.
+
+Police Constable Farrow did not hurry. Why should he? A gunshot in a
+gentleman's park at half past nine on a June morning might be, as he
+had put it, "unusual," but it was obviously a matter capable of the
+simplest explanation. Such a sound heard at midnight would be
+sinister, ominous, replete with those elements of mystery and dread
+which cause even a policeman's heart to beat faster than the
+regulation pace. Under the conditions, when he met Bates, he would
+probably be told that Jenkins, underkeeper and Territorial lance
+corporal, had resolved to end the vicious career of a hoodie crow, and
+had not scrupled to reach the wily robber with a bullet.
+
+So Police Constable Farrow took fifteen minutes to cover the ground
+which Trenholme's longer stride had traversed in ten. Allow another
+fifteen for the artist's packing of his sketching materials, his
+conversation with gamekeeper and policeman, and the leisurely progress
+of the latter through the wood, and it will be found that Farrow
+reached the long straight avenue leading from the lodge at Easton to
+the main entrance of the house about forty minutes after the firing of
+the shot.
+
+He halted on the grass by the side of the well-kept drive, and looked
+at the waiting motor car. The chauffeur was not visible. He had seen
+neither Bates nor Jenkins. His passing among the trees had not
+disturbed even a pheasant, though the estate was alive with game. The
+door of The Towers was open, but no stately manservant was stationed
+there. A yellow dog sat in the sunshine. Farrow and the dog exchanged
+long-range glances: the policeman consulted his watch, bit his chin
+strap, and dug his thumbs into his belt.
+
+"Mr. Fenley is late today," he said to himself. "He catches the nine
+forty-five. As a rule, he's as reliable as Greenwich. I'll wait here
+till he passes, an' then call round an' see Smith."
+
+Now, Smith was the head gardener; evidently Police Constable Farrow
+was not only well acquainted with the various inmates of the mansion,
+but could have prepared a list of the out-door employees as well. He
+stood there, calm and impassive as Fate, and, without knowing it,
+represented Fate in her most inexorable mood; for had he betaken
+himself elsewhere, the shrewdest brains of Scotland Yard might have
+been defeated by the enigma they were asked to solve before Mortimer
+Fenley's murderer was discovered.
+
+Indeed, it is reasonable to suppose that if chance had not brought the
+village constable to that identical spot, and at that very hour, the
+precise method of the crime might never have been revealed. Moreover,
+Farrow himself may climb slowly to an inspectorship, and pass into the
+dignified ease of a pension, without being aware of the part he played
+in a tragedy that morning. Of course, in his own estimation, he filled
+a highly important role as soon as the hue and cry began, but a great
+deal of water would flow under London Bridge before the true effect of
+his walk through the wood and emergence into sight in the avenue began
+to dawn on other minds.
+
+His appearance there was a vital fact. It changed the trend of
+circumstances much as the path of a comet is deflected by encountering
+a heavy planet. Presumably, neither comet nor planet is aware of the
+disturbance. That deduction is left to the brooding eye of science.
+
+Be that as it may, Police Constable Farrow's serenity was not
+disturbed until a doctor's motor car panted along the avenue from
+Easton and pulled up with a jerk in front of him. The doctor, frowning
+with anxiety, looked out, and recognition was mutual.
+
+"Have you got the man?" he asked, and the words were jerked out rather
+than spoken.
+
+"What man, sir?" inquired Farrows, saluting.
+
+"The man who shot Mr. Fenley."
+
+"The man who shot Mr. Fenley!" Farrow could only repeat each word in a
+crescendo of amazement. Being a singer, he understood the use of a
+crescendo, and gave full scope to it.
+
+"Good Heavens!" cried the doctor. "Haven't you been told? Why are you
+here? Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep nearly an hour ago.
+At least that is the message telephoned by his son. Unfortunately I
+was out. Right ahead, Tom!"
+
+The chauffeur threw in the clutch, and the car darted on again. Farrow
+followed, a quite alert and horrified policeman now. But it was not
+ordained that he should enter the house. He was distant yet a hundred
+yards, or more, when three men came through the doorway. They were
+Bates, the keeper, Tomlinson, the butler, and Mr. Hilton Fenley, elder
+son of the man now reported dead. All were bareheaded. The arrival of
+the doctor, at the instant alighting from his car, prevented them from
+noticing Farrow's rapid approach. When Hilton Fenley saw the doctor he
+threw up his hands with the gesture of one who has plumbed the depths
+of misery. Farrow could, and did, fit in the accompanying words quite
+accurately.
+
+"Nothing can be done, Stern! My father is dead!"
+
+The two clasped each other's hand, and Hilton Fenley staggered
+slightly. He was overcome with emotion. The shock of a terrible crime
+had taxed his self-control to its uttermost bounds. He placed a hand
+over his eyes and said brokenly to the butler:
+
+"You take Dr. Stern inside, Tomlinson. I'll join you in a few minutes.
+I must have a breath of air, or I'll choke!"
+
+Doctor and butler hurried into the house; then, but not until then,
+Hilton Fenley and the keeper became aware of Farrow, now within a few
+yards. At sight of him, Fenley seemed to recover his faculties; the
+mere possibility of taking some definite action brought a tinge of
+color to a pallid and somewhat sallow face.
+
+"Ah! Here is the constable," he cried. "Go with him, Bates, and have
+that artist fellow arrested!"
+
+"Meaning Mr. Trenholme, sir?" inquired the policeman, startled anew by
+this unexpected reference to the man he had parted from so recently.
+
+"I don't know his name; but Bates met him in the park, near the lake,
+just after the shot was fired that killed my father."
+
+"But I met him, too, sir. He didn't fire any shot. He hadn't a gun. In
+fact, he spoke about the shootin', and was surprised at it."
+
+"Look here, Farrow, I am incapable of thinking clearly; so you must
+act for the best. Some one fired that bullet. It nearly tore my father
+to pieces. I never saw anything like it. It was ghastly--oh, ghastly!
+The murderer must be found. Why are you losing time? Jump into the
+car, and Brodie will take you anywhere you want to go. The roads, the
+railway stations, must be scoured, searched. Oh, do something, or I
+shall go mad!"
+
+Hilton Fenley did, indeed, wear the semblance of a man distraught.
+Horror stared from his deep-set eyes and lurked in the corners of his
+mouth. His father had been struck dead within a few seconds after they
+had separated in the entrance hall, both having quitted the breakfast
+room together, and the awful discovery which followed the cry of an
+alarmed servant had almost shaken the son's reason.
+
+Farrow was hardly fitted to deal with a crisis of such magnitude, but
+he acted promptly and with fixed purpose--qualities which form the
+greater part of generalship.
+
+"Bates," he said, turning a determined eye on the keeper, "where was
+you when you heard the shot?"
+
+"In the kennels, back of the lodge," came the instant answer.
+
+"And you kem this way at once?"
+
+"Straight. Didn't lose 'arf a minute."
+
+"So no one could have left by the Easton gate without meeting you?"
+
+"That's right."
+
+"And you found Mr. Trenholme--where?"
+
+"Comin' away from the cedars, above the lake."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"Tole me about the shot, an' pointed out the Quarry Wood as the place
+it kem from."
+
+"Was he upset at all in his manner?"
+
+"Not a bit. Spoke quite nateral-like."
+
+"Well, between the three of us, you an' me an' Mr. Trenholme, we
+account for both gates an' the best part of two miles of park. Where
+is Jenkins?"
+
+"I left him at the kennels."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The policeman was momentarily nonplussed. He had formed a theory in
+which Jenkins, that young Territorial spark, figured either as a fool
+or a criminal.
+
+"What's the use of holding a sort of inquiry on the doorstep?" broke
+in Hilton Fenley shrilly. His utterance was nearly hysterical.
+Farrow's judicial calm appeared to stir him to frenzy. He clamored for
+action, for zealous scouting, and this orderly investigation by mere
+words was absolutely maddening.
+
+"I'm not wastin' time, sir," said Farrow respectfully. "It's as
+certain as anything can be that the murderer, if murder has been done,
+has not got away by either of the gates."
+
+"If murder has been done!" cried Fenley. "What do you mean? Go and
+look at my poor father's corpse----"
+
+"Of course, Mr. Fenley is dead, sir, an' sorry I am to hear of it; but
+the affair may turn out to be an accident."
+
+"Accident! Farrow, you're talking like an idiot. A man is shot dead at
+his own front door, in a house standing in the midst of a big estate,
+and you tell me it's an accident!"
+
+"No, sir. I on'y mentioned that on the off chance. Queer things do
+happen, an' one shouldn't lose sight of that fact just because it's
+unusual. Now, sir, with your permission, I want Brodie, an' Smith, an'
+all the men servants you can spare for the next half hour."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Brodie can motor to the Inspector's office, an' tell him wot he
+knows, stoppin' on the way to send Jenkins here. Some of us must
+search the woods thoroughly, while others watch the open park, to make
+sure no one escapes without bein' seen. It's my firm belief that the
+man who fired that rifle is still hidin' among those trees. He may be
+sneakin' off now, but we'd see him if we're quick in reachin' the
+other side. Will you do as I ask, sir?"
+
+Farrow was already in motion when Fenley's dazed mind recalled
+something the policeman ought to know.
+
+"I've telephoned to Scotland Yard half an hour ago," he said.
+
+"That's all right, sir. The main thing now is to search every inch of
+the woods. If nothing else, we may find footprints."
+
+"And make plenty of new ones."
+
+"Not if the helpers do as I tell 'em, sir."
+
+"I can't argue. I'm not fit for it. Still, some instinct warns me you
+are not adopting the best course. I think you ought to go in the car
+and put the police into combined action."
+
+"What are they to do, sir? The murderer won't carry a rifle through
+the village, or along the open road. I fancy we'll come across the
+weapon itself in the wood. Besides, the Inspector will do all that is
+necessary when Brodie sees him. Reelly, sir, I _know_ I'm right."
+
+"But should that artist be questioned?"
+
+"Of course he will, sir. He won't run away. If he does, we'll soon nab
+him. He's been stayin' at the White Horse Inn the last two days, an'
+is quite a nice-spoken young gentleman. Why should _he_ want to shoot
+Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"He is annoyed with my father, for one thing."
+
+"Eh? Wot, sir?"
+
+Farrow, hitherto eager to be off on the hunt, stopped as if he heard a
+statement of real importance.
+
+Hilton Fenley pressed a hand to his eyes.
+
+"It was nothing to speak of," he muttered. "He wrote asking permission
+to sketch the house, and my father refused--just why I don't know;
+some business matter had vexed him that day, I fancy, and he dashed
+off the refusal on the spur of the moment. But a man does not commit a
+terrible crime for so slight a cause.... Oh, if only my head would
+cease throbbing!... Do as you like. Bates, see that every assistance
+is given."
+
+Fenley walked a few paces unsteadily. Obviously he was incapable of
+lucid thought, and the mere effort at sustained conversation was a
+torture. He turned through a yew arch into the Italian garden, and
+threw himself wearily into a seat.
+
+"Poor young fellow! He's fair off his nut," whispered Bates.
+
+"What can one expect?" said Farrow. "But we must get busy. Where's
+Brodie? Do go an' find him."
+
+Bates jerked a thumb toward the house.
+
+"He's in there," he said. "He helped to carry in the Gov'nor. Hasn't
+left him since."
+
+"He must come at once. He can't do any good now, an' we've lost nearly
+an hour as it is."
+
+The chauffeur appeared, red-eyed and white-faced. But he understood
+the urgency of his mission, and soon had the car in movement. Others
+came--the butler, some gardeners, and men engaged in stables and
+garage, for the dead banker maintained a large establishment. Farrow
+explained his plan. They would beat the woods methodically, and the
+searcher who noted anything "unusual"--the word was often on the
+policeman's lips--was not to touch or disturb the object or sign in
+any way, but its whereabouts should be marked by a broken branch
+stuck in the ground. Of course, if a stranger was seen, an alarm
+should be raised instantly.
+
+The little party was making for the Quarry Wood, when Jenkins arrived
+on a bicycle. The first intimation he had received of the murder was
+the chauffeur's message. There was a telephone between house and
+lodge, but no one had thought of using it.
+
+"Now, Bates," said Farrow, when the squad of men had spread out in
+line, "you an' me will take the likeliest line. You ought to know
+every spot in the covert where it's possible to aim a gun at any one
+stannin' on top of the steps at The Towers. There can't be many such
+places. Is there even one? I don't suppose the barefaced scoundrel
+would dare come out into the open drive. Brodie said Mr. Fenley was
+shot through the right side while facin' the car, so he bears out both
+your notion an' Mr. Trenholme's that the bullet kem from the Quarry
+Wood. What's _your_ idea about it? Have you one, or are you just as
+much in the dark as the rest of us?"
+
+Bates was sour-faced with perplexity. The killing of his employer was
+already crystallizing in his thoughts into an irrevocable thing, for
+the butler had lifted aside the dead man's coat and waistcoat, and
+this had shown him the ghastly evidences of a wound which must have
+been instantly fatal. Now, a shrewd if narrow intelligence was
+concentrated on the one tremendous question, "Who hath done this
+thing?" He looked so worried that the yellow dog, watching him, and
+quick to interpret his moods, slouched warily at heel; and Farrow,
+though agog with excitement, saw that his crony was ill at ease
+because of some twinge of fear or suspicion.
+
+"Speak out, Jim," he urged, dropping his voice to a confidential
+pitch, lest one of the others might overhear. "Gimme the straight tip,
+if you can. It need never be known that it kem from you."
+
+"I've a good berth here," muttered the keeper, with seeming
+irrelevance.
+
+"Tell me something fresh," said Farrow, quickening with grateful
+memories of many a pheasant and brace of rabbits reposing a brief
+space in his modest larder.
+
+"So, if I tell you things in confidence like----"
+
+"I've heard 'em from any one but you."
+
+Bates drew a deep breath, only to expel it fiercely between puffed
+lips.
+
+"It's this way," he growled. "Mr. Robert an' the ol' man didn't hit
+off, an' there was a deuce of a row between 'em the other day,
+Saturday it was. My niece, Mary, was a-dustin' the banisters when the
+two kem out from breakfast, an' she heerd the Gov'nor say: 'That's my
+last word on the subjec'. I mean to be obeyed this time.'
+
+"'But, look here, pater,' said Mr. Robert--he always calls his father
+pater, ye know--'I reelly can't arrange matters in that offhand way.
+You must give me time.' 'Not another minute,' said Mr. Fenley. 'Oh,
+dash it all,' said Mr. Robert, 'you're enough to drive a fellow crazy.
+At times I almost forget that I'm your son. Some fellows would be
+tempted to blow their brains out, an' yours, too.'
+
+"At that, Tomlinson broke in, an' grabbed Mr. Robert's arm, an' the
+Gov'nor went off in the car in a fine ol' temper. Mr. Robert left The
+Towers on his motor bike soon afterward, an' he hasn't been back
+since."
+
+Although the fount of information temporarily ran dry, Farrow felt
+that there was more to come if its secret springs were tapped.
+
+"Did Mary drop a hint as to what the row was about?" he inquired.
+
+"She guessed it had something to do with Miss Sylvia."
+
+"Why Miss Sylvia?"
+
+"She an' Mr. Robert are pretty good friends, you see."
+
+"I see." The policeman saw little, but each scrap of news might fit
+into its place presently.
+
+"Is that all?" he went on. They were nearing that part of the wood
+where care must be exercised, and he wanted Bates to talk while in
+the vein.
+
+"No, not by a long way," burst out the keeper, seemingly unable to
+contain any longer the deadly knowledge weighing on his conscience.
+"Don't you try an' hold me to it, Farrow, or I'll swear black an' blue
+I never said it; but I knew the ring of the shot that killed my poor
+ol' guv'nor. It was fired from an express rifle, an' there's on'y one
+of the sort in Roxton, so far as _I've_ ever seen. An' it is, or ought
+to be, in Mr. Robert's sittin'-room at this very minute. There! Now
+you've got it. Do as you like. Get Tomlinson to talk, or anybody else,
+but keep me out of it--d'ye hear?"
+
+"I hear," said Farrow, thrilling with the consciousness that when some
+dandy detective arrived from the "Yard," he would receive an
+eye-opener from a certain humble member of the Hertfordshire
+constabulary. Not that he quite brought himself to believe Robert
+Fenley his father's murderer. That was going rather far. That would,
+indeed, be a monstrous assumption as matters stood. But as clues the
+quarrel and the rifle were excellent, and Scotland Yard must recognize
+them in that light.
+
+Certainly, this _was_ an unusual case; most unusual. He was well aware
+of the reputation attached to Robert Fenley, the banker's younger son,
+who differed from his brother in every essential. Hilton was
+steady-going, business-like, his father's secretary and right hand in
+affairs, both in the bank and in matters affecting the estate. Robert,
+almost unmanageable as a youth, had grown into an exceedingly rapid
+young man about town. But Roxton folk feared Hilton and liked Robert;
+and local gossip had deplored Robert's wildness, which might erect an
+insurmountable barrier against an obviously suitable match between him
+and Mr. Mortimer Fenley's ward, the rich and beautiful Sylvia Manning.
+
+These things were vivid in the policeman's mind, and he was wondering
+how the puzzle would explain itself in the long run, when an
+exclamation from Bates brought his vagrom speculations sharply back to
+the problem of the moment.
+
+The keeper, of course, as Farrow had said, was making straight for the
+one place in the Quarry Wood which commanded a clear view of the
+entrance to the mansion. The two men were skirting the disused quarry,
+now a rabbit warren, which gave the locality its name; they followed
+the rising edge of the excavation, treading on a broad strip of turf,
+purposely freed of encroaching briers lest any wandering stranger
+might plunge headlong into the pit. Near the highest part of the rock
+wall there was a slight depression in the ground; and here, except
+during the height of a phenomenally dry Summer, the surface was always
+moist.
+
+Bates, who was leading, had halted suddenly. He pointed to three well
+marked footprints.
+
+"Who's been here, an' not so long ago, neither?" he said, darting
+ferret eyes now at the telltale marks and now into the quarry beneath
+or through the solemn aisle of trees.
+
+"Stick in some twigs, an' let's hurry on," said Farrow. "Footprints
+are first rate, but they'll keep for an hour or two."
+
+Thirty yards away, and somewhat to the right, a hump of rock formed
+the Mont Blanc of that tiny Alp. From its summit, and from no other
+part of the wood, they could see the east front of The Towers. In
+fact, while perched there, having climbed its shoulder with great
+care lest certain definite tokens of a recent intruder should be
+obliterated, they discovered a dusty motor car ranged between the
+doctor's runabout and the Fenley limousine, which had returned.
+
+The doctor and Miss Sylvia Manning were standing on the broad mosaic
+which adorned the landing above the steps, standing exactly where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood when he was stricken to death. With them
+were two strangers: one tall, burly and official-looking; the other a
+shrunken little man, whose straw hat, short jacket, and clean-shaven
+face conveyed, at the distance, a curiously juvenile aspect.
+
+Halfway down the steps were Hilton Fenley and Brodie, and all were
+gazing fixedly at that part of the wood where the keeper and the
+policeman had popped into view.
+
+"Hello!" said Bates. "Who is that little lot?"
+
+Clearly, he meant the big man and his diminutive companion. Farrow
+coughed importantly.
+
+"That's Scotland Yard," he said.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Detectives from the Yard. Mr. Hilton telephoned for 'em. An' wot's
+more, they're signalin' to us."
+
+"They want us to go back," said Bates.
+
+"Mebbe."
+
+"There can't be any doubt about it." And, indeed, only a blind man
+could have been skeptical as to the wishes of the group near the door.
+
+"I'm goin' through this wood first," announced Farrow firmly. "Mind
+how you get down. Them marks may be useful. I'm almost sure the
+scoundrel fired from this very spot."
+
+"Looks like it," agreed Bates, and they descended.
+
+Five minutes later they were in the open park, where their assistant
+scouts awaited them. None of the others had found any indication of a
+stranger's presence, and Farrow led them to the house in Indian file,
+by a path.
+
+"Scotland Yard is on the job," he announced. "Now we'll be told just
+wot we reelly ought to have done!"
+
+He did not even exchange a furtive glance with Bates, but, for the
+life of him he could not restrain a note of triumph from creeping into
+his voice. He noticed, too, that Tomlinson, the butler, not only
+looked white and shaken, which was natural under the circumstances,
+but had the haggard aspect of a stout man who may soon become thin by
+stress of fearsome imaginings.
+
+Farrow did not put it that way.
+
+"Bates is right," he said to himself. "Tomlinson has something on his
+chest. By jingo, this affair _is_ a one-er an' no mistake!"
+
+At any rate, local talent had no intention of kowtowing too deeply
+before the majesty of the "Yard," for the Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department himself could have achieved no more in the
+time than Police Constable Farrow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE HOUNDS
+
+
+Superintendent James Leander Winter, Chief of the Criminal
+Investigation Department at Scotland Yard, had just opened the
+morning's letters, and was virtuously resisting the placid charms of
+an open box of cigars, when the telephone bell rang. The speaker was
+the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+"Leave everything else, and motor to Roxton," said the calm voice of
+authority. "Mr. Mortimer Fenley, a private banker in the City, was
+shot dead about nine thirty at his own front door. His place is The
+Towers, which stands in a park between the villages of Roxton and
+Easton, in Hertfordshire. His son, who has just telephoned here,
+believes that a rifle was fired from a neighboring wood, but several
+minutes elapsed before any one realized that the banker was shot, the
+first impression of the servants who ran to his assistance when he
+staggered and fell being that he was suffering from apoplexy. By the
+time the cause of death was discovered the murderer could have
+escaped, so no immediate search was organized. Mr. Hilton Fenley, a
+son, who spoke with difficulty, explained that he thought it best to
+'phone here after summoning a doctor. The dead man is of some
+importance in the City, so I want you to take personal charge of the
+inquiry."
+
+The voice ceased. Mr. Winter, while listening, had glanced at a clock.
+
+"Nine thirty this morning, sir?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes. The son lost no time. The affair happened a quarter of an hour
+ago."
+
+"I'll start in five minutes."
+
+"Good. By the way, who will go with you?"
+
+"Mr. Furneaux."
+
+"Excellent. I leave matters in your hands, Superintendent. Let me hear
+the facts if you return to town before six."
+
+Evidently the Roxton murder was one of the year's big events. It
+loomed large already in the official mind. Winter called up various
+departments in quick succession, gave a series of orders, sorted his
+letters hastily, thrusting some into a drawer and others into a basket
+on the table, and was lighting a cigar when the door opened and his
+trusted aide, Detective Inspector Furneaux, entered.
+
+"Ha!" cackled the newcomer; for Winter had confided to him, only the
+day before, certain reasons why the habit of smoking to excess was
+injurious, and his (Winter's) resolve to cut down the day's cigars to
+three, one after each principal meal.
+
+"Circumstances alter cases," said the Superintendent blandly,
+scrutinizing the Havana to make sure that the outer leaf was burning
+evenly. "You and I are off for a jaunt in the country, Charles, and
+the sternest disciplinarian unbends during holiday time."
+
+"Scotland Yard, as well as the other place, is paved with good
+intentions," said Furneaux.
+
+Winter stooped, and took a couple of automatic pistols from a drawer
+in the desk at which he was seated.
+
+"Put one of those in your pocket," he said.
+
+Again did his colleague smile derisively.
+
+"So it is only a 'bus driver's holiday?" he cried.
+
+"One never knows. Some prominent banker, name of Fenley, has been
+shot. There may be more shooting."
+
+"Fenley? Not Mortimer Fenley?"
+
+"Yes. Do you know him?"
+
+"Better than I know you; because you often puzzle me, whereas he
+struck me as a respectable swindler. Don't you remember those bonds
+which disappeared so mysteriously two months ago from the safe of the
+Mortgage and Discount Bank, and were all sold in Paris before the loss
+was discovered?"
+
+"By Jove! Is that the Fenley?"
+
+"None other. Of course, you were hob-nobbing with royalty at the time,
+so such a trifle as the theft of ten thousand pounds' worth of
+negotiable securities didn't trouble you a bit. I see you're wearing
+the pin today."
+
+"So would you wear it, if an Emperor deigned to take notice of such a
+shrimp."
+
+"Shrimp you call me! Imagine a lobster sticking rubies and diamonds
+into a heliotrope tie!"
+
+Winter winked solemnly.
+
+"I picked up some wrinkles in color blends at the Futurist
+Exhibition," he said. "But here's Johnston to tell us the car is
+ready."
+
+The oddly assorted pair followed the constable in uniform, now
+hurrying ahead to ring for the elevator. The big, bluff, bullet-headed
+Superintendent was physically well fitted for his responsible
+position, though he combined with the official demeanor some of the
+easy-going characteristics of a country squire; but Charles Francois
+Furneaux was so unlike the detective of romance and the stage that he
+often found it difficult to persuade strangers that he was really the
+famous detective inspector they had heard of in connection with many a
+celebrated trial.
+
+On the other hand, if one were told that he hailed from the Comedie
+Francaise, the legend would be accepted without demur. He had the
+clean-shaven, wrinkled face of the comedian; his black eyes sparkled
+with an active intelligence; an expressive mouth bespoke clear and
+fluent speech; his quick, alert movements were those of the mimetic
+actor. Winter stood six feet in height, and weighed two hundred and
+ten pounds; Furneaux was six inches shorter and eighty pounds lighter.
+The one was a typical John Bull, the other a Channel Islander of pure
+French descent, and never did more curiously assorted couple follow
+the trail of a criminal.
+
+Yet, if noteworthy when acting apart, they were almost infallible in
+combination. More than one eminent scoundrel had either blown out his
+brains or given himself up to the law when he knew that the Big 'Un
+and Little 'Un of the Yard were hot on his track. Winter seldom failed
+to arrive at the only sound conclusion from ascertained facts, whereas
+Furneaux had an almost uncanny knowledge of the kinks and obliquities
+of the criminal mind. In the phraseology of logic, Winter applied the
+deductive method and Furneaux the inductive; when both fastened on to
+the same "suspect" the unlucky wight was in parlous state.
+
+It may be taken for granted, therefore, that the Assistant
+Commissioner knew what he was about in uttering his satisfaction at
+the Superintendent's choice of an assistant. Possibly he had the
+earlier bond robbery in mind, and expected now that another "mystery"
+would be solved. Scotland Yard guards many secrets which shirk the
+glare of publicity. Some may never be explained; but by far the larger
+proportion are cleared up unexpectedly by incidents which may occur
+months or years afterward, and whose connection with the original
+crime is indiscernible until some chance discovery lays bare the
+hidden clue.
+
+One queer feature of the partnership between the two was their habit
+of chaffing and bickering at each other during the early stages of a
+joint hunt. They were like hounds giving tongue joyously when laid on
+the scent; dangerous then, they became mute and deadly when the quarry
+was in sight. In private life they were firm friends; officially,
+Furneaux was Winter's subordinate, but that fact neither silenced the
+Jersey man's sarcastic tongue nor stopped Winter from roasting his
+assistant unmercifully if an opportunity offered.
+
+Their chauffeur took the line through the parks to the Edgware Road,
+and they talked of anything save "shop" until the speed limit was off
+and the car was responding gayly to the accelerator. Then Winter threw
+away the last inch of a good cigar, involuntarily put his hand to a
+well-filled case for its successor, sighed, and dropped his hand
+again.
+
+"Force of habit," he said, finding Furneaux's eye on him.
+
+"I didn't even think evil," was the reply.
+
+"I really mustn't smoke so much," said Winter plaintively.
+
+"Oh, for goodness' sake light up and be happy. If you sit there
+nursing your self-righteousness you'll be like a bear with a sore
+head before we pass Stanmore. Besides, consider me. I like the smell
+of tobacco, though my finer nervous system will not endure its use."
+
+"Finer fiddlesticks," said Winter, cutting the end off a fresh Havana.
+"Now tell me about Fenley and the ten thousand. What's his other name?
+I forget--Alexander, is it?"
+
+"No, nor Xenophon. Just Mortimer. He ran a private bank in Bishopsgate
+Street, and that, as you know, generally hides a company promoter.
+Frankly, I was bothered by Fenley at first. I believe he lost the
+bonds right enough, for he gave the numbers, and was horribly upset
+when it was found they had been sold in Paris. But, to my idea, he
+either stole them himself and was relieved of them later or was
+victimized by one of his sons.
+
+"The only other person who could have taken them was the cashier, a
+hoary-headed old boy who resides at Epping, and has not changed his
+method of living since he first wore a silk hat and caught the
+eight-forty to the City one morning fifty years ago. I followed him
+home on a Saturday afternoon. The bookstall clerk at Liverpool Street
+handed him _The Amateur Gardener_, and the old boy read it in the
+train. Five minutes after he had reached his house he was out on the
+lawn with a daisy fork. No; the cashier didn't arrange the Paris
+sale."
+
+"What of the sons?"
+
+"The elder, Hilton Fenley, is a neurotic, like myself, so he
+would shine with equal luster as a saint, or a detective, or a
+dyed-in-the-wool thief. The younger, Robert, ought to be an explorer,
+or a steeplechase jockey, or an airman. In reality, he is a first-rate
+wastrel. In my distress I harked back to the old man, to whom the loss
+of the bonds represented something considerably less than a year's
+expenditure. He is mixed up in all sorts of enterprises--rubber, tea,
+picture palaces, breweries and automobile finance. He lent fifty
+thousand pounds on five per cent. first mortgage bonds to one firm at
+Coventry, and half that amount to a rival show in West London. So he
+has the stuff, and plenty of it. Yet----"
+
+Winter nodded.
+
+"I know the sort of man. Dealing in millions today; tomorrow in the
+dock at the Old Bailey."
+
+"The point is that Fenley has never dealt in millions, and has
+kept his head high for twenty years. Just twenty years, by the way.
+Before that he was unknown. He began by the amalgamation of some tea
+plantations in Assam. Fine word, 'amalgamation.' It means money, all
+the time. Can't we amalgamate something, or somebody?"
+
+"In Fenley's case it led to assassination."
+
+"Perhaps. I have a feeling in my bones that if I knew who touched the
+proceeds of those bonds I might understand why some one shot Fenley
+this morning."
+
+"I'll soon tell you a trivial thing like that," said Winter, affecting
+a close interest in the landscape.
+
+"I shouldn't be at all surprised if you did," said Furneaux. "You have
+the luck of a Carnegie. Look at the way you bungled that affair of
+Lady Morris's diamonds, until you happened to see her maid meeting
+Gentleman George at the White City."
+
+Winter smoked complacently.
+
+"Smartest thing I ever did," he chortled. "Fixed on the thief within
+half an hour, and never lost touch till I knew how she had worked the
+job."
+
+"The Bow Street method."
+
+"Why didn't you try something of the sort with regard to Fenley's
+bonds?"
+
+"I couldn't be crude, even with a City financier. I put it gently that
+the money was in the family; he blinked at me like an owl, said that
+he would give thought to the suggestion, and shut down the inquiry by
+telephone before I reached the Yard from his office."
+
+"Oh, he did, did he? It seems to me you've made a pretty good guess in
+associating the bonds and the murder. You've seen both sons, of
+course?"
+
+"Yes, often."
+
+"Are there other members of the family?"
+
+"An invalid wife, never away from The Towers; and a young lady, Miss
+Sylvia Manning--a ward, and worth a pile. By the way, she's twenty.
+Mortimer Fenley, had he lived, was appointed her guardian and trustee
+till she reached twenty-one."
+
+"Twenty!" mused Winter.
+
+"Yes, twice ten," snapped Furneaux.
+
+"And Fenley has cut a figure in the City for twenty years."
+
+"I was sure your gray matter would be stimulated by its favorite
+poison."
+
+"Charles, this should be an easy thing."
+
+"I'm not so sure. Dead men tell no tales, and Fenley himself could
+probably supply many chapters of an exciting story. They will be
+missing. Look at the repeated failures of eminent authors to complete
+'Edwin Drood.' How would they have fared if asked to produce the
+beginning?"
+
+"Still, I'm glad you attended to those bonds. Who had charge of the
+Paris end?"
+
+"Jacques Faure."
+
+"Ah, a good man."
+
+"Pretty fair, for a Frenchman."
+
+Winter laughed.
+
+"You born frog!" he cried.... "Hello, there's a Roxton sign post. Now
+let's compose our features. We are near The Towers."
+
+The estate figured on the county map, so the chauffeur pulled up at
+the right gate. A woman came from the lodge to inquire their
+business, and admitted the car when told that its occupants had been
+summoned by Mr. Hilton Fenley.
+
+"By the way," said Furneaux carelessly, "is Mr. Robert at home?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"When did he leave?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know, sir."
+
+Mrs. Bates knew quite well, and Furneaux knew that she knew.
+
+"The country domestic is the detective's aversion," he said as the car
+whirred into the avenue. "The lady of the lodge will be a sufficiently
+tough proposition if we try to drag information out of her, but the
+real tug of war will come when we tackle the family butler."
+
+"Her husband is also the head keeper," said Winter.
+
+"Name of Bates," added Furneaux.
+
+"Oh, you've been here before, then?"
+
+"No. While you were taking stock of the kennels generally, I was
+deciphering a printed label on a box of dog biscuit."
+
+"I hardly feel that I've begun this inquiry yet," said Winter airily.
+
+"You'd better pull yourself together. The dead man's limousine is
+still waiting at the door, and the local doctor is in attendance."
+
+"Walter J. Stern, M.D."
+
+"Probably. That brass plate on the Georgian house in the center of
+the village positively glistened."
+
+They were received by Hilton Fenley himself, all the available men
+servants having been transferred to the cohort organized and directed
+by Police Constable Farrow.
+
+"Good morning, Mr. Furneaux," said Fenley. "I little thought, when
+last we met, that I should be compelled to seek your help so soon
+again, and under such dreadful circumstances."
+
+Furneaux, whose face could display at will a Japanese liveliness of
+expression or become a mask of Indian gravity, surveyed the speaker
+with inscrutable eyes.
+
+"This is Superintendent Winter, Chief of my Department," he said.
+
+"The Assistant Commissioner told me to take charge of the inquiry
+without delay, sir," explained Winter. He glanced at his watch. "We
+have not been long on the road. It is only twenty minutes to eleven."
+
+Fenley led them through a spacious hall into a dining-room on the
+left. On an oak settee at the back of the hall the outline of a white
+sheet was eloquent of the grim object beneath. In the dining-room were
+an elderly man and a slim, white-faced girl. Had Trenholme been
+present he would have noted with interest that her dress was of white
+muslin dotted with tiny blue spots--not _fleurs de lys_, but rather
+resembling them.
+
+"Dr. Stern, and Miss Sylvia Manning," said Fenley to the newcomers.
+Then he introduced the Scotland Yard men in turn. By this time the
+young head of the family had schooled himself to a degree of
+self-control. His sallow skin held a greenish pallor, and as if to
+satisfy some instinct that demanded movement he took an occasional
+slow stride across the parquet floor or brushed a hand wearily over
+his eyes. Otherwise he had mastered his voice, and spoke without the
+gasping pauses which had made distressful his words to Farrow.
+
+"Ours is a sad errand, Mr. Fenley," began Winter, after a hasty glance
+at the table, which still bore the disordered array of breakfast.
+"But, if you feel equal to the task, you might tell us exactly what
+happened."
+
+Fenley nodded.
+
+"Of course, of course," he said quietly. "That is essential. We
+three, my father, Miss Manning and myself, breakfasted together. The
+second gong goes every morning at eight forty-five, and we were
+fairly punctual today. My father and Sylvia, Miss Manning, came in
+together--they had been talking in the hall previously. I saw them
+entering the room as I came downstairs. During the meal we chatted
+about affairs in the East; that is, my father and I did, and Syl--Miss
+Manning--gave us some news of a church bazaar in which she is taking
+part.
+
+"My father rose first and went to his room, to collect papers brought
+from the City overnight. I met him on the stairs, and he gave me some
+instructions about a prospectus. (Let me interpolate that I was going
+to Victoria by a later train, having an appointment at eleven o'clock
+with Lord Ventnor, chairman of a company we are bringing out.) I stood
+on the stairs, saying something, while my father crossed the hall and
+took his hat and gloves from Harris, the footman. As I passed along
+the gallery to my own room I saw him standing on the landing at the
+top of the steps.
+
+"He was cutting the end off a cigar, and Harris was just behind him
+and a little to the left, striking a match. Every fine morning my
+father lighted a cigar there. In rain or high wind he would light up
+inside the house. By the way, my mother is an invalid, and dislikes
+the smell of tobacco, so unless we have guests we don't smoke indoors.
+
+"Well, I had reached my room, a sitting-room adjoining my bedroom,
+when I heard a gunshot. Apparently it came from the Quarry Wood, and I
+was surprised, because there is no shooting at this season. A little
+later--some few seconds--I heard Sylvia scream. I did not rush out
+instantly to discover the cause. Young ladies sometimes scream at
+wasps and caterpillars. Then I heard Tomlinson say, 'Fetch Mr. Hilton
+at once,' and I ran into Harris, who blurted out, 'Mr. Fenley has been
+shot, sir.'
+
+"After that, I scarcely know what I said or how I acted. I remember
+running downstairs, and finding my father lying outside the front
+door, with Sylvia supporting his head and Tomlinson and Brodie trying
+to lift him. I think--in fact, I am sure now from what Dr. Stern tells
+me--that my father was dead before I reached him. We all thought at
+first that he had yielded to some awfully sudden form of paralysis,
+but some one--Tomlinson, I believe--noticed a hole through the right
+side of his coat and waistcoat. Then Sylvia--oh, perhaps that is
+matterless----"
+
+"Every incident, however slight, is of importance in a case of this
+sort," Winter encouraged him.
+
+"Well, she said--what was it, exactly? Do you remember, Sylvia?"
+
+"Certainly," said the girl, unhesitatingly. "I said that I thought I
+recognized the sound of Bob's .450. Why shouldn't I say it? Poor Bob
+didn't shoot his father."
+
+Her voice, though singularly musical, had a tearful ring which became
+almost hysterical in the vehemence of the question and its disclaimer.
+
+Fenley moved uneasily, and raised his right hand to his eyes, while
+the left grasped the back of a chair.
+
+"Bob is my brother Robert, who is away from home at this moment," he
+said, and his tone deprecated the mere allusion to the rifle owned by
+the absentee. "I only mentioned Miss Manning's words to show how
+completely at a loss we all were to account for my father's wound. I
+helped Tomlinson and Brodie to carry him to the settee in the hall.
+Then we--Tomlinson, that is--opened his waistcoat and shirt. Tomlinson
+cut the shirt with a scissors, and we saw the wound. Dr. Stern says
+there are indications that an expanding bullet was used, so the
+injuries must have been something appalling.... Sylvia, don't you
+think----"
+
+"I'll not faint, or make a scene, if that is what you are afraid of,
+Hilton," said the girl bravely.
+
+"That is all, then, or nearly all," went on Fenley, in the same
+dreary, monotonous voice. "I telephoned to Dr. Stern, and to Scotland
+Yard, deeming it better to communicate with you than with the local
+police. But it seems that Bates, our head keeper hurrying to
+investigate the cause of the shot, met some artist coming away from
+the other side of the wood. The Roxton police constable too, met and
+spoke with the same man, who told both Bates and the policeman that he
+heard the shot fired. The policeman, Farrow, refused to arrest the
+artist, and is now searching the wood with a number of our men----"
+
+"Can't they be stopped?" broke in Furneaux, speaking for the first
+time.
+
+"Yes, of course," and Hilton Fenley became a trifle more animated. "I
+wanted Farrow to wait till you came, but he insisted--said the
+murderer might be hiding there."
+
+"When did Farrow arrive?"
+
+"Oh, more than half an hour after my father was shot. I forgot to
+mention that my mother knows nothing of the tragedy yet. That is why
+we did not carry my poor father's body upstairs. She might overhear
+the shuffling of feet, and ask the cause."
+
+"One thing more, Mr. Fenley," said Winter, seeing that the other had
+made an end. "Have you the remotest reason to believe that any person
+harbored a grievance against your father such as might lead to the
+commission of a crime of this nature?"
+
+"I've been torturing my mind with that problem since I realized that
+my father was dead, and I can say candidly that he had no enemies. Of
+course, in business, one interferes occasionally with other men's
+projects, but people in the City do not shoot successful opponents."
+
+"No private feud? No dismissed servant, sent off because of theft or
+drunkenness?"
+
+"Absolutely none, to my knowledge. The youngest man on the estate has
+been employed here five or six years."
+
+"It is a very extraordinary crime, Mr. Fenley."
+
+For answer, the other sank into a chair and buried his face in his
+hands.
+
+"How can we get those clodhoppers out of the wood?" said Furneaux. His
+thin, high-pitched voice dispelled the tension, and Fenley dropped his
+hands.
+
+"Bates is certain to make for a rock which commands a view of the
+house," he said. "Perhaps, if we go to the door, we may see them."
+
+He arose with obvious effort, but walked steadily enough. Winter
+followed with the doctor, and inquired in an undertone--
+
+"Are you sure about the soft-nosed bullet, doctor?"
+
+"Quite," was the answer. "I was in the Tirah campaign, and saw
+hundreds of such wounds."
+
+Furneaux, too, had something to say to Miss Manning.
+
+"How were you seated during breakfast?" he asked.
+
+She showed him. It was a large room. Two windows looked down the
+avenue, and three into the garden, with its background of timber and
+park. Mr. Mortimer Fenley could have commanded both views; his son sat
+with his back to the park; the girl had faced it.
+
+"I need hardly put it to you, but you saw no one in or near the
+trees?" said Furneaux.
+
+"Not a soul. I bathe in a little lake below those cedars every
+morning, and it is an estate order that the men do not go in that
+direction between eight and nine o'clock. Of course, a keeper might
+have passed at nine thirty, but it is most unlikely."
+
+"Did you bathe this morning?"
+
+"Yes, soon after eight."
+
+"Did you see the artist of whom Mr. Fenley spoke?"
+
+"No. This is the first I have heard of any artist. Bates must have
+mentioned him while I was with Dr. Stern."
+
+When Farrow arrived at the head of his legion he was just in time to
+salute his Inspector, who had cycled from Easton after receiving the
+news left by the chauffeur at the police station. Farrow was bursting
+with impatience to reveal the discoveries he had made, though resolved
+to keep locked in his own breast the secret confided by Bates. He was
+thoroughly nonplussed, therefore, when Winter, after listening in
+silence to the account of the footprints and scratches on the
+moss-covered surface of the rock, turned to Hilton Fenley.
+
+"With reference to the rifle which has been mentioned--where is it
+kept?" he said.
+
+"In my brother's room. He bought it nearly a year ago, when he was
+planning an expedition to Somaliland."
+
+"May I see it?"
+
+Fenley signed to the butler, who was standing with the others at a
+little distance.
+
+"You know the .450 Express which is in the gun rack in Mr. Robert's
+den?" he said. "Bring it to the Superintendent."
+
+Tomlinson, shaken but dignified, and rather purple of face as the
+result of the tramp through the trees, went indoors. Soon he came
+back, and the rich tint had faded again from his complexion.
+
+"Sorry, sir," he said huskily, "but the rifle is not there."
+
+"Not there!"
+
+It was Sylvia Manning who spoke; the others received this sinister
+fact in silence.
+
+"No, miss."
+
+"Are you quite sure?" asked Fenley.
+
+"It is not in the gun rack, sir, nor in any of the corners."
+
+There was a pause. Fenley clearly forced the next words.
+
+"That's all right. Bates may have it in the gun room. We'll ask him.
+Or Mr. Robert may have taken it to the makers. I remember now he spoke
+of having the sight fitted with some new appliance."
+
+He called Bates. No, the missing rifle was not in the gun room.
+Somehow the notion was forming in certain minds that it could not be
+there. Indeed, the keeper's confusion was so marked that Furneaux's
+glance dwelt on him for a contemplative second.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+BREAKING COVER
+
+
+Winter drew the local Inspector aside. "This inquiry rests with you in
+the first instance," he said. "Mr. Furneaux and I are here only to
+assist. Mr. Fenley telephoned to the Commissioner, mainly because
+Scotland Yard was called in to investigate a bond robbery which took
+place in the Fenley Bank some two months ago. Probably you never heard
+of it. Will you kindly explain our position to your Chief Constable?
+Of course, we shall work with you and through you, but my colleague
+has reason to believe that the theft of the bonds may have some
+bearing on this murder, and, as the securities were disposed of in
+Paris, it is more than likely that the Yard may be helpful."
+
+"I fully understand, sir," said the Inspector, secretly delighted at
+the prospect of joining in the hunt with two such renowned detectives.
+The combined parishes of Easton and Roxton seldom produced a crime of
+greater magnitude than the theft of a duck. The arrest of a burglar
+who broke into a villa, found a decanter of whisky, and got so
+hopelessly drunk that he woke up in a cell at the police station, was
+an event of such magnitude that its memory was still lively, though
+the leading personage was now out on ticket of leave after serving
+five years in various penal settlements.
+
+"You will prepare and give the formal evidence at the inquest, which
+will be opened tomorrow," went on Winter. "All that is really
+necessary is identification and a brief statement by the doctor. Then
+the coroner will issue the burial certificate, and the inquiry should
+be adjourned for a fortnight. I would recommend discretion in choosing
+a jury. Avoid busybodies like the plague. Summons only sensible men,
+who will do as they are told and ask no questions."
+
+"Exactly," said the Inspector; he found Machiavellian art in these
+simple instructions. How it broadened the horizon to be brought in
+touch with London!
+
+Winter turned to look for Furneaux. The little man was standing where
+Mortimer Fenley had stood in the last moment of his life. His eyes
+were fixed on the wood. He seemed to be dreaming, but his friend well
+knew how much clarity and almost supernatural vision was associated
+with Furneaux's dreams.
+
+"Charles!" said the Superintendent softly.
+
+Furneaux awoke, and ran down the steps. In his straw hat and light
+Summer suit he looked absurdly boyish, but the Inspector, who had
+formed an erroneous first impression, was positively startled when he
+met those blazing black eyes.
+
+"Mr. Fenley should warn all his servants to speak fully and candidly,"
+said Winter. "Then we shall question the witnesses separately. What do
+you think? Shall we start now?"
+
+"First, the boots," cried Furneaux, seemingly voicing a thought. "We
+want a worn pair of boots belonging to each person in the house and
+employed on the estate, men and women, no exceptions, including the
+dead man's. Then we'll visit that wood. After that, the inquiry."
+
+Winter nodded. When Furneaux and he were in pursuit of a criminal they
+dropped all nice distinctions of rank. If one made a suggestion the
+other adopted it without comment unless he could urge some convincing
+argument against it.
+
+"Mr. Fenley should give his orders now," added Furneaux.
+
+Winter explained his wishes to the nominal head of the household, and
+Fenley's compliance was ready and explicit.
+
+"These gentlemen from Scotland Yard are acting in behalf of Mrs.
+Fenley, my brother and myself," he said to the assembled servants.
+"You must obey them as you would obey me. I place matters unreservedly
+in their hands."
+
+"And our questions should be answered without reserve," put in Winter.
+
+"Yes, of course. I implied that. At any rate, it is clear now."
+
+"Brodie," said Furneaux, seeming to pounce on the chauffeur, "you were
+seated at the wheel when the shot was fired?"
+
+"Ye--yes, sir," stuttered Brodie, rather taken aback by the little
+man's suddenness.
+
+"Were you looking at the wood?"
+
+"In a sort of a way, sir."
+
+"Did you see any one among the trees?"
+
+"No, sir, that I didn't." This more confidently.
+
+"Place your car where it was stationed then. Take your seat, and try
+to imagine that you are waiting for your master. Start the engine, and
+behave exactly as though you expected him to enter the car. Don't
+watch the wood. I mean that you are not to avoid looking at it, but
+just throw yourself back to the condition of mind you were in at nine
+twenty-five this morning. Can you manage that?"
+
+"I think so, sir."
+
+"No chatting with others, you know. Fancy you are about to take Mr.
+Fenley to the station. If you should happen to see me, wave your hand.
+Then you can get down and stop the engine. You understand you are not
+to keep a sharp lookout for me?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+The butler thought it would take a quarter of an hour to collect
+sample pairs of boots from the house and outlying cottages. Police
+Constable Farrow was instructed to bring the butler and the array of
+boots to the place where the footprints were found, and Bates led the
+detectives and the Inspector thither at once.
+
+Soon the four men were gazing at the telltale marks, and the
+Inspector, of course, was ready with a shrewd comment.
+
+"Whoever it was that came this way, he didn't take much trouble to
+hide his tracks," he said.
+
+The Scotland Yard experts were so obviously impressed that the
+Inspector tried a higher flight.
+
+"They're a man's boots," he continued. "We needn't have worried
+Tomlinson to gather the maids' footgear."
+
+Furneaux left two neat imprints in the damp soil.
+
+"Bet you a penny whistle there are at least two women in The Towers
+who will make bigger blobs than these," he said.
+
+A penny whistle, as a wager, is what Police Constable Farrow would
+term "unusual."
+
+"Quite so," said the Inspector thoughtfully.
+
+Winter caught Furneaux's eye, and frowned. There was nothing to be
+gained by taking a rise out of the local constabulary. Still, he gave
+one sharp glance at both sets of footprints. Then he looked at
+Furneaux again, this time with a smile.
+
+The party passed on to the rock on the higher ground. Bates pointed
+out the old scratches, and those made by Farrow and himself.
+
+"Me first!" cried Furneaux, darting nimbly to the summit. He was not
+there a second before he signaled to some one invisible from beneath.
+Winter joined him, and the east front of the house burst into view.
+Brodie was in the act of descending from the car. The doctor had gone.
+A small group of men were gazing at the wood, but Hilton Fenley and
+Sylvia Manning were not to be seen.
+
+Neither man uttered a word. They looked at the rock under their feet,
+at the surrounding trees, oak and ash, elm and larch, all of mature
+growth, and towering thirty to forty feet above their heads, while the
+rock itself rose some twelve feet from the general level of the
+sloping ground.
+
+Bates was watching them.
+
+"The fact is, gentlemen, that if an oak an' a couple o' spruce first
+hadn't been cut down you wouldn't see the house even from where you
+are," he said. "Mr. Fenley had an idee of buildin' a shelter on this
+rock, but he let it alone 'coss o' the birds. Ladies would be comin'
+here, an' a-disturbin' of 'em."
+
+The detectives came down. Furneaux, meaning to put the Inspector in
+the right frame of mind, said confidentially--
+
+"Brodie saw me instantly."
+
+"Did he, now? It follows that he would have seen any one who fired at
+Mr. Fenley from that spot."
+
+"It almost follows. We must guard against assuming a chance as a
+certainty."
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"And we must also try to avoid fitting facts into preconceived
+notions. Now, while the butler is gathering old boots, let us spend a
+few profitable minutes in this locality."
+
+After that, any trace of soreness in the inspectorial breast was
+completely obliterated.
+
+Both Winter and Furneaux produced strong magnifying-glasses, and
+scrutinized the scratches and impressions on the bare rock and moss.
+Bates, skilled in wood lore, was quick to note what they had discerned
+at a glance.
+
+"Beg pardon, gentlemen both, but may I put in a word?" he muttered
+awkwardly.
+
+"As many as you like," Winter assured him.
+
+"Well, these here marks was made by Farrow an' meself, say about ten
+forty, or a trifle over an hour after the murder; an' I have no sort
+o' doubt as these other marks are a day or two days older."
+
+"You might even put it at three days," agreed Winter.
+
+"Then it follows----" began the Inspector, but checked himself. He was
+becoming slightly mixed as to the exact sequence of events.
+
+"Come, now, Bates," said Furneaux, "you can tell us the day Mr. Robert
+Fenley left home recently? There is no harm in mentioning his name. It
+can't help being in our thoughts, since it was discovered that his gun
+was missing."
+
+"He went off on a motor bicycle last Saturday mornin', sir."
+
+"Can you fix the hour?"
+
+"About half past ten."
+
+"You have not seen him since?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"You would be likely to know if he had returned?"
+
+"Certain, sir, unless he kem by the Roxton gate."
+
+"Oh, is there another entrance?"
+
+"Yes, but it can't be used, 'cept by people on foot. The big gates are
+always locked, and the road has been grassed over, an' not so many
+folk know of a right of way. Of course, Mr. Robert knows."
+
+Bates was disturbed. He expected to be cross-examined farther, but, to
+his manifest relief, the ordeal was postponed. Winter and Furneaux
+commenced a careful scrutiny of the ground behind the rock. They
+struck off on different paths, but came together at a little distance.
+
+"The trees," murmured Winter.
+
+"Yes, when we are alone."
+
+"Have you noticed----"
+
+"These curious pads. They mean a lot. It's not so easy, James."
+
+"I'm growing interested, I admit."
+
+They rejoined the others.
+
+"Did you tell me that only you and Police Constable Farrow visited
+this part of the wood?" said Furneaux to Bates.
+
+"I don't remember tellin' you, sir, but that's the fact," said the
+keeper.
+
+"Well, warn all the estate hands to keep away from this section during
+the next few days. You will give orders to Farrow to that effect,
+Inspector?"
+
+"Yes. If they go trampling all over, you won't know where you are when
+it comes to a close search," was the cheerful answer. "Now, about that
+gun--it must be hidden somewhere in the undergrowth. The man who fired
+it would never dare to carry it along an open road on a fine morning
+like this, when everybody is astir."
+
+"You're undoubtedly right," said Winter. "But here come assorted
+boots. They may help us a bit."
+
+Tomlinson was a man of method. He and Farrow had brought two wicker
+baskets, such as are used in laundry work. He was rather breathless.
+
+"House--and estate," he wheezed, pointing to each basket in turn.
+
+"Go ahead, Furneaux," said Winter. "Because I ought to stoop, I
+don't."
+
+The little man choked back some gibe; the presence of strangers
+enforced respect to his chief. He took a thin folding rule of aluminum
+from a waistcoat pocket, and applied it to the most clearly defined of
+the three footprints. Then beginning at the "house" basket, he ran
+over the contents rapidly. One pair of boots he set aside. After
+testing the "estate" basket without success, he seized one of the
+selected pair, and pressed it into the earth close to an original
+print. He looked up at Tomlinson, who was in a violent perspiration.
+
+"Whose boot is this?" he asked.
+
+"God help us, sir, it's Mr. Robert's!" said Tomlinson in an agonized
+tone.
+
+The Inspector, Farrow and Bates were visibly thrilled; but Furneaux
+only sank back on his heels, and peered at the boot.
+
+"I don't understand why any one should feel upset because these
+footprints (which, by the way, were not made by this pair of boots)
+happen to resemble marks which may have been made by Mr. Robert
+Fenley," he said, apparently talking to himself. "These marks are
+three or four days old. Mr. Robert Fenley went away on Saturday. Today
+is Wednesday. He may have been here on Saturday morning. What does it
+matter if he was? The man who murdered his father must have been here
+two hours ago."
+
+Sensation! Tomlinson mopped his forehead with a handkerchief already a
+wet rag; Farrow, not daring to interfere, nibbled his chin strap;
+Bates scowled with relief. But the Inspector, after a husky cough,
+spoke.
+
+"Would you mind telling me, Mr. Furneaux, why you are so sure?" he
+said.
+
+"Now, Professor Bates, you tell him," cackled Furneaux.
+
+The keeper dropped on his knees by the side of the detective, and
+gazed critically at the marks.
+
+"At this time o' year, gentlemen, things do grow wonderful," he said
+slowly. "In this sort o' ground, where there's wet an' shade, there's
+a kind o' constant movement. This here new print is clean, an' the
+broken grass an' crushed leaves haven't had time to straighten
+themselves, as one might say. But, in this other lot, the shoots are
+commencin' to perk up, an' insec's have stirred the mold. It's just
+the difference atween a new run for rabbits and an old 'un."
+
+"Thank you, Bates," broke in Winter sharply. "Now, we must not waste
+any more time in demonstrations. Mr. Furneaux explained this thing
+purposely, to show the folly of jumping at conclusions. Innocent men
+have been hanged before today on just such evidence as this. We
+should deem ourselves lucky that these footprints were found so soon
+after the crime was committed. Tomorrow, or next day, there might have
+been a doubt in our minds. Luckily there is none. The man who shot Mr.
+Fenley this morning--" he paused; Furneaux alone appreciated his
+difficulty--"could not possibly have left those marks today."
+
+It was a lame ending, but it sufficed. Four of his hearers took him to
+mean that the unknown, whose feet had left their impress in the soil
+could not have been the murderer; but Furneaux growled in French--
+
+"You tripped badly that time, my friend. You need another cigar!"
+
+Seemingly, he was soliloquizing, and none understood except the one
+person for whose benefit the sarcasm was intended.
+
+Winter felt the spur, but because he was a really great detective it
+only stimulated him. Nothing more was said until the little procession
+reached the avenue. During their brief disappearance in the leafy
+depths two cars and three motor cycles had arrived at The Towers. A
+glance sufficed. The newspapers had heard of the murder; this was the
+advance guard of an army of reporters and photographers. Winter
+buttonholed the Inspector.
+
+"I'll tell you the most valuable service you can render at this
+moment," he said. "Arrange that a constable shall mount guard at the
+rock till nightfall. Then place two on duty. With four men you can
+provide the necessary reliefs, but I want that place watched
+continuously, and intruders warned off till further notice. This man
+who happens to be here might go on duty immediately. Then you can make
+your plans at leisure."
+
+Thus, by the quaint contriving of chance, Police Constable Farrow,
+whose stalwart form and stubborn zeal had blocked the path to the
+Quarry Wood since a few minutes after ten o'clock, was deputed to
+continue that particular duty till a comrade took his place.
+
+His face fell when he heard that he was condemned to solitude, shut
+out from all the excitement of the hour, debarred even, as he
+imagined, from standing on the rock and watching the comings and
+goings at the mansion. But Winter was a kindly if far-seeing student
+of human nature.
+
+"It will be a bit slow for you," he said, when the Inspector had given
+Farrow his orders. "But you can amuse yourself by an occasional peep
+at the landscape, and there is no reason why you shouldn't smoke."
+
+Farrow saluted.
+
+"Do you mean, sir, that I can show myself?"
+
+"Why not? The mere fact that your presence is known will warn off
+priers. Remember--no one, absolutely no one except the police, is to
+be allowed to pass the quarry, or approach from any side within
+hailing distance."
+
+"Not even from the house, sir?"
+
+"Exactly. Mr. Fenley and Miss Manning may be told, if necessary, why
+you are there, and I am sure they will respect my wishes."
+
+Farrow turned back. It was not so bad, then. These Scotland Yard
+fellows had chosen him for an important post, and that hint about a
+pipe was distinctly human. Odd thing, too, that Mr. Robert Fenley was
+not expected to put in an appearance, or the Superintendent would have
+mentioned him with the others.
+
+On reaching the house there were evidences of disturbance. Hilton
+Fenley stood in the doorway, and was haranguing the newspaper men in a
+voice harsh with anger. This intrusion was unwarranted, illegal,
+impudent. He would have them expelled by force. When he caught sight
+of the Inspector he demanded fiercely that names and addresses should
+be taken, so that his solicitors might issue summonses for trespass.
+
+All this, of course, made excellent copy, and Winter put an end to the
+scene by drawing the reporters aside and giving them a fairly complete
+account of the murder. Incidentally, he sent off the Inspector post
+haste on his bicycle to station a constable at each gate, and stop the
+coming invasion. The house telephone, too, closed the main gate
+effectually, so when the earliest scouts had rushed away to connect
+with Fleet Street order was restored.
+
+Winter was puzzled by Fenley's display of passion. It was only to be
+expected that the newspapers would break out in a rash of black
+headlines over the murder of a prominent London financier. By hook or
+by crook, journalism would triumph. He had often been amazed at the
+extent and accuracy of news items concerning the most secret
+inquiries. Of course the reporters sometimes missed the heart of an
+intricate case. In this instance, they had never heard of the bond
+robbery, though the numbers of the stolen securities had been
+advertised widely. Moreover, he was free to admit that if every fact
+known to the police were published broadcast, no one would be a penny
+the worse; for thus far the crime was singularly lacking in motive.
+
+Meanwhile Furneaux had fastened on to Brodie again.
+
+"You saw me at once?" he began.
+
+"I couldn't miss you, sir," said the chauffeur, a solid, stolid
+mechanic, who understood his engine and a road map thoroughly, and
+left the rest to Providence. "I wasn't payin' particular attention,
+yet I twigged you the minute you popped up."
+
+"So it is reasonable to suppose that if any one had appeared in that
+same place this morning and taken steady aim at Mr. Fenley, you would
+have twigged him, too."
+
+"It strikes me that way, sir."
+
+"Did you see nothing--not even a puff of smoke? You must certainly
+have looked at the wood when you heard the shot."
+
+"I did, sir. Not a leaf moved. Just a couple of pheasants flew out,
+and the rooks around the house kicked up such a row that I didn't know
+the Guv'nor was down till Harris shouted."
+
+"Where did the pheasants fly from?"
+
+"They kem out a bit below the rock; but they were risin' birds, an'
+may have started from the ground higher up."
+
+"No birds were startled before the shot was fired?"
+
+"Not to my knowledge, sir. But June pheasants are very tame, and they
+lie marvelous close. A pheasant would just as soon run as fly."
+
+The detectives began a detailed inquiry almost at once. It covered the
+ground already traversed, and the only new incident happened when
+Hilton Fenley, at the moment repeating his evidence, was called to the
+telephone.
+
+"If either of you cares to smoke there are cigars and Virginia
+cigarettes on the sideboard," he said. "Or, if you prefer Turkish,
+here are some," and he laid a gold case on the table. Furneaux grabbed
+it when the door had closed.
+
+"All neurotics use Turkish cigarettes," he said solemnly. "Ah, I
+guessed it! A strong, vile, scented brand!"
+
+"Sometimes, my dear Charles, you talk rubbish," sighed Winter.
+
+"Maybe. I never think or smoke it. 'Language was given us to conceal
+our thoughts,' said Talleyrand. I have always admired Talleyrand,
+'that rather middling bishop but very eminent knave,' as de Quincey
+called him. '_Cre nom!_ I wonder what de Quincey meant by 'middling.'
+A man who could keep in the front rank under the Bourbons, during the
+Revolution, with Napoleon, and back again under the Bourbons, and yet
+die in bed, must have been superhuman. St. Peter, in his stead, would
+have lost his napper at least four times."
+
+Winter stirred uneasily, and gazed out across the Italian garden and
+park, for the detectives were again installed in the dining-room.
+
+"What about that artist, Trenholme?" he said after a pause.
+
+"We'll look him up. Before leaving this house I want to peep into
+various rooms. And there's Tomlinson. Tomlinson is a rich mine. Do
+leave him to me. I'll dig into him deep, and extract ore of high
+percentage--see if I don't."
+
+"Do you know, Charles, I've a notion that we shall get closer to
+bed-rock in London than here."
+
+Furneaux pretended to look for an invisible halo surrounding his
+chief's close-cropped bullet head.
+
+"Sometimes," he said reverently, "you frighten me when you bring off a
+brilliant remark like that. I seem to see lightning zigzagging round
+Jove's dome."
+
+Fenley returned.
+
+"It was a call from the bank," he announced. "They have just seen the
+newspapers. I told them I would run up to town this afternoon."
+
+"Then you did not telephone Bishopsgate Street earlier?" inquired
+Winter, permitting himself to be surprised.
+
+"No. I had other things to bother me."
+
+"Now, Mr. Fenley, can you tell me where your brother is?"
+
+"I can not."
+
+He placed a rather unnecessary emphasis on the negative. The question
+seemed to disturb him. Evidently, if he could consult his own wishes,
+he would prefer not to discuss his brother.
+
+"I take it he has not been home since leaving here on Saturday?"
+persisted Winter.
+
+"That is so."
+
+"Had he quarreled with your father?"
+
+"There was a dispute. Really, Mr. Winter, I must decline to go into
+family affairs."
+
+"But the probability is that the more we know the less our knowledge
+will affect your brother."
+
+The door opened again. Mr. Winter was wanted on the telephone. Then
+there happened one of those strange coincidences which Furneaux's
+caustic wit had christened "Winter's Yorkers," being a quaint play on
+the lines:
+
+          Now is the Winter of our discontent
+          Made glorious Summer by this sun of York.
+
+For the Superintendent had scarcely squeezed his big body into the
+telephone box when he became aware of a mixup on the line; a querulous
+voice was saying:
+
+"I insist on being put through. I am speaking from Mr. Fenley's bank,
+and it is monstrous that I should be kept waiting. I've been trying
+for twenty minutes----"
+
+Buzz. The protest was squelched.
+
+"Are you there?" came the calm accents of the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Winter.
+
+"Any progress?"
+
+"A little. Oddly enough, you are in the nick of time to help
+materially. Will you ring off, and find out from the exchange who
+'phoned here two minutes ago? I don't mean Fenley's Bank, which is
+just trying to get through. I want to know who made the preceding
+call, which was effective."
+
+"I understand. Good-by."
+
+Winter explained in the dining-room that the Assistant Commissioner
+was anxious for news. He had hardly finished when the footman
+reappeared. A call for Mr. Hilton Fenley.
+
+"Confound the telephone," snapped Fenley. "We won't have a moment's
+peace all day, I suppose."
+
+Winter winked heavily at Furneaux. He waited until Fenley's hurried
+footsteps across a creaking parquet floor had died away.
+
+"This is the bank's call," he murmured. "The other was from the Lord
+knows who. I've put the Yard on the track. I wonder why he lied about
+it."
+
+"He's a queer sort of brother, too," said Furneaux. "It strikes me he
+wants to put Robert in the cart."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A FAMILY GATHERING
+
+
+Fenley was frowning when he reappeared.
+
+"Another call from the Bank," he said gruffly. "Everything there is at
+sixes and sevens since the news was howled through the City. That is
+why I really must go to town later. I'm not altogether sorry. The
+necessity of bringing my mind to bear on business will leaven the
+surfeit of horrors I've borne this morning....
+
+"Now, about my brother, Mr. Winter. While listening to Mr. Brown's
+condolences--you remember Brown, the cashier, Mr. Furneaux--I was
+thinking of more vital matters. A policy of concealment often defeats
+its own object, and I have come to the conclusion that you ought to
+know of a dispute between my father and Robert. There's a woman in the
+case, of course. It's a rather unpleasant story, too. Poor Bob got
+entangled with a married woman some months ago. He was infatuated at
+first, but would have broken it off recently were it not for fear of
+divorce proceedings."
+
+"Would you make the position a little clearer, sir?" said Winter, who
+also was listening and thinking. He was quite certain that when he
+met Mr. Brown he would meet the man who had been worrying a telephone
+exchange "during the last twenty minutes."
+
+"I--I can't." And Fenley's hand brushed away some imaginary film from
+before his eyes. "Bob and I never hit it off very well. We're only
+half brothers, you see."
+
+"Was your father married twice?"
+
+"Am I to reopen a forgotten history?"
+
+"Some person, or persons, may not have forgotten it."
+
+"Well, you must have the full story, if at all. My father was not a
+well-born man. Thirty years ago he was a trainer in the service of a
+rich East Indian merchant, Anthony Drummond, of Calcutta, who owned
+racehorses, and one of Drummond's daughters fell in love with him.
+They ran away and got married, but the marriage was a failure. She
+divorced him--by mutual consent, I fancy. Anyhow, _I_ was left on his
+hands.
+
+"He went to Assam, and fell in with a tea planter named Manning, who
+had a big estate, but neglected it for racing. My father suddenly
+developed business instincts and Manning made him a partner.
+Unfortunately--well, that is a hard word, but it applies--my father
+married again--a girl of his own class; rather beneath it, in fact.
+Then Bob was born.
+
+"The old man made money, heaps of it. Manning married, but lost
+his wife when Sylvia came into the world. That broke him up; he
+drank himself to death, leaving his partner as trustee and guardian
+for the infant. There was a boom in tea estates; my father sold on
+the crest of the wave and came to London. He progressed, but Mrs.
+Fenley--didn't. She was just a Tommy's daughter, and never seemed to
+try and rise above the level of 'married quarters'.
+
+"I had to mind my p's and q's as a boy, I can assure you. My mother
+was always thrown in my teeth. Mrs. Fenley called her 'black.' It was
+a ---- lie. She was dark-skinned, as I am, but there are Cornish and
+Welsh folk of much darker complexion. My father, too, shared something
+of the same prejudice. I had to be the good boy of the family.
+Otherwise, I should have been turned out, neck and crop.
+
+"As I behaved well, he was forced to depend on me, because Bob did
+as he liked, with his mother always ready to aid and abet him. Then
+came this scrape I've spoken of. I believe Bob was being blackmailed.
+That's the long and the short of it. Now you know the plain, ungarbled
+facts. Better that they should come from me than reach you with the
+decorations of gossip and servants' tittle-tattle."
+
+The somewhat strained and metallic voice ceased. Fenley was seated at
+the corner of the table near the door. Seemingly yielding to that
+ever-present desire for movement, he pushed with his foot an armchair
+out of its place at the head of the table.
+
+Sylvia Manning had pointed out that chair to Furneaux as the one
+occupied by Mortimer Fenley at breakfast.
+
+"Is the first Mrs. Fenley dead?" said Furneaux suddenly.
+
+"I don't think so," said Fenley, after a pause.
+
+"You are not sure?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you ever tried to find out?"
+
+"No, I dare not."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"If it were discovered that my mother and I were in communication I
+would have been given short shrift in the bank."
+
+"Did she marry again?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+Again there was silence. Furneaux seemed to be satisfied that he was
+following a blind alley, and Winter became the inquisitor.
+
+"What is the name of the woman with whom your brother is mixed up?"
+
+"I can not tell you, but my father knew."
+
+"What leads you to form that opinion?"
+
+"Some words that passed between Bob and him last Saturday morning."
+
+"Where? Here?"
+
+"Yes, in the hall. Tomlinson heard more distinctly than I. I saw there
+was trouble brewing, and kept out of it--hung back, on the pretense
+of reading a newspaper."
+
+"As to the missing rifle--can you help us there?"
+
+"Not in the least. I wish to Heaven Bob had gone to Africa, as he was
+planning. Then all this misery would have been avoided."
+
+"Do you mean your father's death?"
+
+Fenley started. He had not weighed his words.
+
+"Oh, no, no!" he cried hurriedly. "Don't try to trip me into
+admissions, Mr. Winter. I can't stand that, damned if I can."
+
+He jumped up, went to the sideboard and mixed himself a weak brandy
+and soda, which he swallowed as if his throat were afire with thirst.
+
+"I am not treating you as a hostile witness, sir," answered Winter
+calmly. "Mr. Furneaux and I are merely clearing the ground. Soon we
+shall know, or believe that we know, what line to avoid and what to
+follow."
+
+"Is Miss Sylvia Manning engaged to be married?" put in Furneaux.
+Fenley gave him a fiendish look.
+
+"What the devil has Miss Manning's matrimonial prospects got to do
+with this inquiry?" he said, and the venom in his tone was hardly to
+be accounted for by Furneaux's harmless-sounding query.
+
+"One never knows," said the little man, taking the unexpected attack
+with bland indifference. "You don't appreciate our position in this
+matter. We are not judges, but guessers. We sit in the stalls of a
+theater, watching people on the stage of real life playing four acts
+of a tragedy, and it is our business to construct the fifth, which is
+produced in court. Let me give you a wildly supposititious version of
+that fifth act now. Suppose some neurotic fool was in love with Miss
+Manning, or her money, and Mr. Mortimer Fenley opposed the project.
+That would supply a motive for the murder. Do you take the point?"
+
+"I'm sorry I blazed out at you. Miss Manning is not engaged to be
+married, nor likely to be for many a day."
+
+Now, the obvious question was, "Why, she being such an attractive
+young lady?" But Furneaux never put obvious questions. He turned to
+Winter with the air of one who had nothing more to say. His colleague
+was evidently perplexed, and showed it, but extricated the others from
+an awkward situation with the tact for which he was noted.
+
+"I am much obliged to you for your candor in supplying such a clear
+summary of the family history, Mr. Fenley," he said. "Of course, we
+shall be meeting you frequently during the next few days, and
+developments can be discussed as they arise."
+
+His manner, more than his words, conveyed an intimation that when the
+opportunity served he would trounce Furneaux for an indiscretion.
+Fenley was mollified.
+
+"Command me in every way," he said.
+
+"There is one more question, the last and the gravest," said Winter
+seriously. "Do you suspect any one of committing this murder?"
+
+"No! On my soul and honor, no!"
+
+"Thank you, sir. We'll tackle the butler now, if you please."
+
+"I'll send him," said Fenley. Probably in nervous forgetfulness, he
+lighted a cigarette and went out, blowing two long columns of smoke
+through his nostrils. He might, or might not, have been pleased had he
+heard the reprimanding of Furneaux.
+
+"Good stroke, that about the stage, Charles," mumbled Winter. Furneaux
+threw out his hands with a gesture of disgust.
+
+"What an actor the man is!" he almost hissed, owing to the need there
+was of subduing his piping voice to a whisper. "Every word thought
+out, but allowed to be dragged forth reluctantly. Putting brother Bob
+into the tureen, isn't he? 'On my soul and honor,' too! Don't you
+remember, some French blighter said that when an innocent man was
+being made a political scapegoat?... Of course, the mother is a
+Eurasian, and he has met her. A nice dish he served up! A salad of
+easily ascertainable facts with a dressing of lying innuendo. Name of
+a pipe! If Master Hilton hadn't been in the house----"
+
+A knock, and the door opened.
+
+"You want me, gentlemen, I am informed by Mr. Hilton Fenley," said
+Tomlinson.
+
+There spoke the butler, discreet, precise, incapable of error.
+Tomlinson had recovered his breath and his dignity. He was in his own
+domain. The very sight of the Mid-Victorian furniture gave him
+confidence. His skilled glance traveled to the decanter and the empty
+glass. He knew to a minim how much brandy had evaporated since his
+last survey of the sideboard.
+
+"Sit down, Tomlinson," said Winter pleasantly. "You must have been
+dreadfully shocked by this morning's occurrence."
+
+Tomlinson sat down. He drew the chair somewhat apart from the table,
+knowing better than to place his elbows on that sacred spread of
+polished mahogany.
+
+"I was, sir," he admitted. "Indeed, I may say I shall always be
+shocked by the remembrance of it."
+
+"Mr. Mortimer Fenley was a kindly employer?"
+
+"One of the best, sir. He liked things done just so, and could be
+sharp if there was any laxity, but I have never received a cross word
+from him."
+
+"Known him long?"
+
+"Ever since he come to The Towers; nearly twenty years."
+
+"And Mrs. Fenley?"
+
+"Mrs. Fenley leaves the household entirely under my control, sir. She
+never interferes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"She is an invalid."
+
+"Is she so ill that she can not be seen?"
+
+"Practically that, sir."
+
+"Been so for twenty years?"
+
+Tomlinson coughed. He was prepared with an ample statement as to the
+catastrophe which took place at nine thirty A. M., but this delving
+into bygone decades was unexpected and decidedly distasteful, it would
+seem.
+
+"Mrs. Fenley is unhappily addicted to the drug habit, sir," he said
+severely, plainly hinting that there were bounds, even for detectives.
+
+"I fancied so," was the dry response. "However, I can understand and
+honor your reluctance to reveal Mrs. Fenley's failings. Now, please
+tell us exactly what Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert said to each other in
+the hall last Saturday morning."
+
+How poor Farrow, immured in his jungle, would have gloated over
+Tomlinson's collapse when he heard those fatal words! To his credit be
+it said, the butler had not breathed a word to a soul concerning the
+scene between father and son. He knew nothing of an inquisitive
+housemaid, and his tortured brain fastened on Hilton Fenley as the
+Paul Pry. Unconsciously, he felt bitter against his new master from
+that moment.
+
+"Must I go into these delicate matters, sir?" he bleated.
+
+"Most certainly. The man whom you respected so greatly has been
+killed, not in the course of a heated dispute, but as the outcome of a
+brutal and well-conceived plan. Bear that in mind, and you will see
+that concealment of vital facts is not only unwise but disloyal."
+
+Winter rather let himself go in his earnestness. He flushed slightly,
+and dared not look at Furneaux lest he should encounter an admiring
+glance.
+
+The butler, however, was far too worried to pay heed to his
+questioner's florid turn of speech. He sighed deeply. He felt like a
+timid swimmer in a choppy sea, knowing he was out of his depth yet
+compelled to struggle blindly.
+
+So, with broken utterance, he repeated the words which a rabbit-eared
+housemaid had carried to Bates. Nevertheless, even while he labored
+on, he fancied that the detectives did not attach such weight to the
+recital as he feared. He anticipated that Winter would write each
+syllable in a notebook, and show an exceeding gravity of appreciation.
+To his great relief, nothing of the kind happened. Winter's comment
+was distinctly helpful.
+
+"It must have been rather disconcerting for you to hear father and
+son quarreling openly," he said.
+
+"Sir, it was most unpleasant."
+
+"Now, did you form any opinion as to the cause of this bickering? For
+instance, did you imagine that Mr. Fenley wished his son to break off
+relations with an undesirable acquaintance?"
+
+"I did, sir."
+
+"Is either Mr. Hilton or Mr. Robert engaged to be married? Or, I had
+better put it, had their father expressed any views as to either of
+his sons marrying suitably?"
+
+"We, in the house, sir, had a notion that Mr. Fenley would like Mr.
+Robert to marry Miss Sylvia."
+
+"Exactly. I expected that. Were these two young people of the same way
+of thinking?"
+
+"They were friendly, sir, but more like brother and sister. You see,
+they were reared together. It often happens that way when a young
+gentleman and young lady grow up from childhood in each other's
+company. They never think of marriage, whereas the same young
+gentleman would probably fall head over heels in love with the same
+young lady if he met her elsewhere."
+
+"Good!" broke in Furneaux. "Tomlinson, do you drink port?"
+
+The butler looked his astonishment, but answered readily enough--
+
+"My favorite wine, sir."
+
+"I thought so. Taken in moderation, port induces sound reasoning. I
+have some Alto Douro of '61. I'll bring you a bottle."
+
+Tomlinson was mystified, a trifle scandalized perhaps; but he bowed
+his acknowledgments.
+
+"Sir, I will appreciate it greatly."
+
+"I know you will. My Alto Douro goes down no gullet but a
+connoisseur's."
+
+Even in his agitation, Tomlinson smiled.
+
+What a queer little man this undersized detective was, to be sure, and
+how oddly he expressed himself!
+
+"I ask this just as a matter of form, but did Mr. Robert Fenley take
+his .450 Express rifle when he went away on Saturday?" said Winter.
+
+"No, sir. He had only a valise strapped to the carrier. But I do
+happen to know that the gun was in his room on Friday, because Friday
+is my day for house inspection."
+
+"Any cartridges?"
+
+"I can't say, sir. They would be in a drawer, or, more likely, in the
+gun room."
+
+"Where is this gun room?"
+
+"Next to the harness room, sir--second door to the right in the
+courtyard."
+
+"Speaking absolutely in confidence, have you formed a theory as to
+this murder?"
+
+"No, sir. But if any sort of evidence is piled up against Mr. Robert I
+shall not credit it. No power on earth could make me believe that he
+would kill his father in cold blood. He respected his father, sir.
+He's a bit wild, as young men with too much money are apt to be, but
+he was good-hearted and genuine."
+
+"Yet he did speak of blowing his own brains out, and his father's."
+
+"That was his silly way of talking, sir. He would say, 'Tomlinson, if
+you tell the pater what time I came home last night I'll stab you to
+the heart.' When there was a bit of a family squabble he would
+threaten to mix a gallon of weed-killer and drink every drop.
+Everything was rotten, or beastly, or awfully ripping. He was not so
+well educated as he ought to have been--Mrs. Fenley's fault entirely;
+and he hadn't the--the words----"
+
+"The vocabulary."
+
+"That's it, sir. I see you understand."
+
+"Tomlinson," interrupted Furneaux, "a famous American writer, Oliver
+Wendell Holmes, described adjectives of that class as the blank checks
+of intellectual bankruptcy. You have hit on the same great thought."
+
+The butler smiled again. He was beginning to like Furneaux.
+
+"You have never heard, I suppose, of Mr. Fenley receiving any
+threatening letters?" continued Winter.
+
+"No, sir. Some stupid postcards were sent when he tried to close a
+right of way through the park; but they were merely ridiculous, and
+that occurred years ago."
+
+"So you, like the rest of us, feel utterly unable to assign a motive
+for this crime?"
+
+"Sir, it's like a thunderbolt from a clear sky."
+
+"Were the brothers, or half brothers, on good terms with each other?"
+
+Tomlinson started at those words, "or half brothers." He was not
+prepared for the Superintendent's close acquaintance with the Fenley
+records.
+
+"They're as different as chalk and cheese, sir," he said, after a
+pause to collect his wits. "Mr. Hilton is clever and well read, and
+cares nothing about sport, though he has a wonderful steady nerve.
+Yes, I mean that----" for Winter's prominent eyes showed surprise at
+the statement. "He's a strange mixture, is Mr. Hilton. He's a fair
+nailer with a revolver. I've seen him hit a penny three times straight
+off at twelve paces, and, when in the mind, he would bowl over running
+rabbits with a rook rifle. Yet he never joined the shooting parties in
+October. Said it made him ill to see graceful birds shattered by
+clumsy folk. All the same, he would ill-treat a horse something
+shameful. I----"
+
+The butler bethought himself, and pulled up with a jerk. But Winter
+smiled encouragingly.
+
+"Say what you had in mind," he said. "You are not giving evidence.
+You may rely on our discretion."
+
+"Well, sir, he's that sort of man who must have his own way, and when
+things went against him at home, he'd take it out of any servant or
+animal that vexed him afterwards."
+
+"It was not an ideally happy household, I take it?"
+
+"Things went along very smoothly, sir, all things considered. They
+have been rather better since Miss Sylvia came home from Brussels. She
+was worried about Mrs. Fenley at first, but gave it up as a bad job;
+and Mr. Fenley and the young gentlemen used to hide their differences
+before her. That was why Mr. Fenley and Mr. Robert blazed up in the
+hall on Saturday. They couldn't say a word in front of Miss Sylvia at
+the breakfast table."
+
+"The four always met at breakfast, then?"
+
+"Almost without fail, sir. On Monday and Tuesday mornings Mr. Hilton
+breakfasted early, and his father was joking about it, for if any one
+was late it would be him--or should I say 'he', sir?"
+
+Furneaux cackled.
+
+"I wouldn't have you alter your speech on any account," he grinned.
+"Why did Mr. Hilton turn over these new leaves on Monday and Tuesday?"
+
+"He said he had work to do. What it was I don't know, sir. But he
+managed to miss the nine forty-five, and Mr. Fenley was vexed about
+it. Of course, I don't know why I am telling you these small things.
+Mr. Hilton might be angry----"
+
+Some one knocked. Harris, the footman, entered, a scared look on his
+face.
+
+"Can you come a moment, Mr. Tomlinson?" he said. "The undertaker is
+here for the body."
+
+"What is that?" cried Winter sharply.
+
+The butler arose.
+
+"Didn't Mr. Hilton mention it, sir?" he said. "Dr. Stern must hold a
+post mortem before the inquest, and he suggested that it could be
+carried through more easily in the mortuary attached to the Cottage
+Hospital. Isn't that all right, sir?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I didn't understand. Go, by all means. We'll wait
+here."
+
+When they were alone, the two detectives remained silent for a long
+minute. Winter arose and looked through a window at the scene outside.
+A closed hearse had arrived; some men were carrying in a rough coffin
+and three trestles. There was none of the gorgeous trappings which
+lend dignity to such transits in public. Polished oak and gleaming
+brass and rare flowers would add pageantry later; this was the livery
+of the dissecting-room.
+
+"Queer case!" growled Winter over his shoulder.
+
+"If only Hilton had breakfasted early _this_ morning!" said Furneaux.
+
+"If the dog hadn't stopped to scratch himself he would have caught the
+hare," was the irritable answer.
+
+"Aren't you pleased with Tomlinson, then?"
+
+"The more he opened up the more puzzled I became. By the way, you
+hardly asked him a thing, though you were keen on tackling him
+yourself."
+
+"James, I'm an artist. You handled him so neatly that I stood by and
+appreciated. It would be mean to suggest that the prospect of a bottle
+of Alto Douro quickened his imagination. I----"
+
+Winter's hands were crossed behind his back, and his fingers worked in
+expressive pantomime. Furneaux was by his side in an instant. Hilton
+Fenley was standing on the steps, a little below and to the left of
+the window. He was gazing with a curiously set stare at the bust of
+Police Constable Farrow perched high among the trees to the right. The
+observers in the room had then an excellent opportunity to study him
+at leisure.
+
+"More of Asia than of Europe in that face and figure," murmured
+Furneaux.
+
+"The odd thing is that he should be more interested in our sentinel
+than in the disposal of his father's body," commented Winter.
+
+"A live donkey is always more valuable than a dead lion."
+
+"We shall have to go to that wood soon, Charles."
+
+"Your only failing is that you can't see the forest for the trees."
+
+They were bickering, an ominous sign for some one yet unknown.
+Suddenly, far down the avenue, they saw a motor bicycle traveling
+fast. Hilton Fenley saw it at the same moment and screened his eyes
+with a hand, for he was bareheaded and the sun was now blazing with
+noonday intensity.
+
+"Brother Bob!" hissed Furneaux.
+
+Winter thought the other had recognized the man crouched over the
+handlebar.
+
+"Gee!" he said. "Your sight must be good."
+
+"I'm not using eyes, but brains. Who else can it be? This is the
+psychological moment which never fails. Bet you a new hat I'm right."
+
+"I'm not buying you any new hats," said Winter. "Look at Hilton. He
+knows. Now, I wonder if the other one telephoned. No. He'd have told
+us. He'd guess it would crop up in talk some time or other. Yes, the
+motorist is waving to him. There! You can see his face. It _is_
+Robert, isn't it?"
+
+"O sapient one!" snapped Furneaux.
+
+The meeting between the brothers was orthodox in its tragic
+friendliness. The onlookers could supply the words they were unable to
+hear. Robert Fenley, bigger, heavier, altogether more British in build
+and semblance than Hilton, was evidently asking breathlessly if the
+news he had read in London was true, and Hilton was volubly explaining
+what had happened, pointing to the wood, the doorway, the hearse,
+emphasizing with many gestures the painful story he had to tell.
+
+Then the two young men mounted the steps, the inference being that
+Robert Fenley wished to see his father's body before it was removed. A
+pallor was spreading beneath the glow on the younger Fenley's
+perspiring face. He was obviously shocked beyond measure. Grief and
+horror had imparted a certain strength to somewhat sullen features. He
+might be a ne'er-do-well, a loose liver, a good deal of a fool,
+perhaps, but he was learning one of life's sharpest lessons; in time,
+it might bring out what was best in his character. The detectives
+understood now why the butler, who knew the boy even better than his
+own father, deemed it impossible that he should be a parricide. Some
+men are constitutionally incapable of committing certain crimes. At
+least, the public thinks so; Scotland Yard knows better, and studies
+criminology with an open mind.
+
+The brothers had hardly crossed the threshold of the house when an
+eldritch scream rang through the lofty hall. The detectives hastened
+from the dining-room, and forthwith witnessed a tableau which would
+have received the envious approval of a skilled producer of melodrama.
+The hall measured some thirty-five feet square, and was nearly as
+lofty, its ceiling forming the second floor. The staircase was on the
+right, starting from curved steps in the inner right angle and making
+a complete turn from a half landing to reach a gallery which ran
+around three sides of the first floor. The fourth contained the
+doorway, with a window on each hand and four windows above.
+
+The stairs and the well of the hall were of oak, polished as to
+parquet and steps, but left to age and color naturally as to wainscot,
+balusters and rails. The walls of the upper floor were decorated in
+shades of dull gold and amber. The general effect was superb, either
+in daylight or when a great Venetian luster in the center of the
+ceiling blazed with electric lights.
+
+The body of the unfortunate banker had not been removed from the oaken
+settee at the back of the hall, and was still covered with a white
+sheet. An enormously stout woman, clothed in a dressing-gown of black
+lace, was standing in the cross gallery and resisting the gentle
+efforts of Sylvia Manning, now attired in black, to take her away. The
+stout woman's face was deathly white, and her distended eyes were
+gazing dully at the ominous figure stretched beneath. Two podgy
+hands, with rings gleaming on every finger, were clutching the carved
+railing, and the tenacity of their grip caused the knuckles to stand
+out in white spots on the ivory-tinted skin.
+
+This, then, was Mrs. Fenley, in whom some vague stirring of the spirit
+had induced a consciousness that all was not well in the household
+with which she "never interfered."
+
+It was she who had uttered that ringing shriek when some flustered
+maid blurted out that "the master" was dead, and her dazed brain had
+realized what the sheet covered. She lifted her eyes from that
+terrifying object when her son entered with Hilton Fenley.
+
+"Oh, Bob!" she wailed. "They've killed your father! Why did you let
+them do it?"
+
+Even in the agony of the moment the distraught young man was aware
+that his mother was in no fit state to appear thus openly.
+
+"Mother," he said roughly, "you oughtn't to be here, you know. Do go
+to your room with Sylvia. I'll come soon, and explain everything."
+
+"Explain!" she wailed. "Explain your father's death! Who killed him?
+Tell me that, and I'll tear them with my nails. But is he dead? Did
+that hussy lie to me? You all tell me lies because you think I am a
+fool. Let me alone, Sylvia. I _will_ go to my husband. Let me alone,
+or I'll strike you!"
+
+By sheer weight she forced herself free from the girl's hands, and
+tottered down the stairs. At the half landing she fell to her knees,
+and Sylvia ran to pick her up. Then Hilton Fenley seemed to arouse
+himself from a stupor. Flinging a command at the servants, he rushed
+to Sylvia's assistance, and, helped by Tomlinson and a couple of
+footmen, half carried the screaming and fighting woman up the stairs
+and along a corridor.
+
+Thus it happened that Robert Fenley was left in the hall with the dead
+body of his father. He stood stock still, and seemed to follow with
+disapproval the manner of the disappearance of the poor creature whom
+he called mother. Her shrieks redoubled in volume as she understood
+that she would not be allowed to see her husband's corpse, and her son
+added to the uproar by shouting loudly:
+
+"Hi, there! Don't ill-treat her, or I'll break all your ---- necks!
+Confound you, be gentle with her!"
+
+He listened till a door slammed, and a sudden cessation of the tumult
+showed that some one, in sheer self-defense, had given her morphia,
+the only sedative that could have any real effect. Then he turned, and
+became aware of the presence of the two detectives.
+
+"Well," he said furiously, "who are you, and what the blazes do you
+want here? Get out, both of you, or I'll have you chucked out!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+ WHEREIN FURNEAUX SEEKS INSPIRATION FROM
+ LITERATURE AND ART
+
+
+The head of the Criminal Investigation Department was not the sort of
+man to accept meekly whatsoever coarse commands Robert Fenley chose to
+fling at him. He met the newcomer's angry stare with a cold and steady
+eye.
+
+"You should moderate your language in the presence of death, Mr.
+Fenley," he said. "We are here because it is our duty. You, on your
+part, would have acted more discreetly had you gone to your mother's
+assistance instead of swearing at those who were acting for the best
+under trying conditions."
+
+"Damn your eyes, are you speaking to me?" came the wrathful cry.
+
+"Surely you have been told that your father is lying there dead!" went
+on Winter sternly. "Mrs. Fenley might have yielded readily to your
+persuasion, but your help took the form of threatening people who
+adopted the only other course possible. Calm yourself, sir, and try to
+remember that the father from whom you parted in anger has been
+murdered. My colleague and I represent Scotland Yard; we were brought
+here by your brother. See that you meet us in the dining-room in a
+quarter of an hour. Come, Furneaux!"
+
+And, stirred for once to a feeling of deep annoyance, the big man
+strode out into the open air, with a sublime disregard for either the
+anger or the alarm struggling for mastery in Robert Fenley's sullen
+face.
+
+"Phew!" he said, drawing a deep breath before descending the steps.
+"What an unlicked cub! And they wanted to marry that girl to him!"
+
+"It sha'n't be done, James," said Furneaux.
+
+"I actually lost my temper," puffed the other.
+
+"Tell you what! Let's put the Inspector on to him. Tell the local
+sleuths half what we know, and they'll run him in like a shot."
+
+"Pooh! He's all talk. Tomlinson is right. The neurotic Hilton has more
+nerve in his little finger than that dolt in the whole of his body."
+
+"What did you think of his boots?"
+
+"I shall be surprised if they don't fit those footprints exactly."
+
+"They will. The left heel is evenly worn, but the right bears on the
+outer edge. Let's cool our fevered brows under the greenwood tree till
+this hearse is out of the way."
+
+The butler, who had asked the undertaker's assistants to suspend
+operations when Robert Fenley arrived, now appeared at the door and
+signaled the men that they were free to proceed with their work. The
+detectives strolled into the wood, and soon were bending over some
+curious blotchy marks which somehow suggested the passage of a
+pad-footed animal rather than a human being. Bates, of course, would
+have noted them had he not been on the alert for footprints alone, but
+they had stared at Winter and Furneaux from the instant their
+regularity became apparent. They represented a stride considerably
+shorter than the average length of a man's pace, and were strongly
+marked when the surface was spongy enough to receive an impression.
+Except, however, in the slight hollow already described, the ground
+was so dry that traces of every sort were lost. In the vicinity of the
+rock, too, the only marks left were the scratches in the moss adhering
+to the steep sides of the bowlder itself.
+
+"What do you make of 'em, Charles?" inquired Winter, when both had
+puzzled for some minutes over the uncommon signs.
+
+"Some one has thought out the footprint as a clue pretty thoroughly,"
+said Furneaux. "He not only took care to leave a working model of one
+set, but was extremely anxious not to provide any data as to his own
+tootsies, so he fastened a bundle of rags under each boot, and walked
+like a cat on walnut shells."
+
+Winter nodded.
+
+"When we find the gun, too--it's somewhere in this wood--you'll see
+that the fingerprints won't help," he replied thoughtfully. "The man
+who remembered to safeguard his feet would not forget his hands. We're
+up against a tough proposition, young fellow-me-lad."
+
+"Your way of thinking reminds me of Herbert Spencer's reason for not
+learning Latin grammar as a youth," grinned Furneaux.
+
+"It would be a pity to spoil one of your high-class jokes; so what was
+the reason?"
+
+"He refused to accept any statement unaccompanied by proof. The
+agreement of an adjective with its noun displeased him, because an
+arbitrary rule merely said it was so."
+
+"An ingenious excuse for not learning a lesson, but I don't see----"
+
+"Consider. Mortimer Fenley was shot dead at nine thirty this morning,
+and the bullet which killed him came from the neighborhood of the rock
+above our heads. One shot was fired. It was so certain, so true of
+aim, that the murderer made sure of hitting him--at a fairly long
+range, too. How many men were there in Roxton and Easton this
+morning--was there even one woman?--capable of sighting a rifle with
+such calm confidence of success? Mind you, Fenley had to be killed
+dead. No bungling. A severe wound from which he might recover would
+not meet the case at all. Again, how many rifles are there in the
+united parishes of Roxton and Easton of the type which fires expanding
+bullets?"
+
+"Of course, those vital facts narrow down the field, but Hilton Fenley
+was unquestionably in the house."
+
+Furneaux cackled shrilly.
+
+"You're in Herbert's class, Charles," he cried, delighted at having
+trapped his big friend.
+
+"Pardon me, gentlemen," said a voice from among the leaves, "but I
+thought you might like to know that Mr. Robert Fenley is starting off
+again on his motor bike."
+
+Even as Police Constable Farrow spoke they heard the loud snorting of
+an exhaust, marking the initial efforts of a motor bicycle's engine to
+get under way. In a few seconds came the rhythmic beat of the machine
+as it gathered speed; the two men looked at each other and laughed.
+
+"Master Robert defies the majesty of the law," said Winter dryly.
+"Perhaps, taking one consideration with another, it's the best thing
+he could have done."
+
+"He is almost bound to enter London by the Edgware Road," said
+Furneaux instantly.
+
+"Just so. I noticed the make and number of his machine. A
+plain-clothes man on an ordinary bicycle can follow him easily from
+Brondesbury onwards. Time him, and get on the telephone while I keep
+Hilton in talk. If we're mistaken we'll ring up Brondesbury again."
+
+Winter was curtly official in tone when Hilton Fenley came downstairs
+at his request.
+
+"Why did your brother rush off in such an extraordinary hurry?" he
+asked.
+
+"How can I tell you?" was the reply, given offhandedly, as if the
+matter was of no importance. "He comes and goes without consulting my
+wishes, I assure you."
+
+"But I requested him to meet me here at this very hour. There are
+questions he has to answer, and it would have been best in his own
+interests had he not shirked them."
+
+"I agree with you fully. I hadn't the least notion he meant going
+until I looked out on hearing the bicycle, and saw him racing down the
+avenue."
+
+"Do you think, sir, he is making for London?"
+
+"I suppose so. That is where he came from. He says he heard of his
+father's death through the newspapers, and it would not surprise me in
+the least if I did not see him again until after the funeral."
+
+"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I bothered you, but I imagined or hoped he
+had given you some explanation. His conduct calls for it."
+
+The Superintendent's manner had gradually become more suave. He
+realized that these Fenleys were queer folk. Like the Pharisee, "they
+were not as other men," but whether the difference between them and
+the ordinary mortal arose from pride or folly or fear it was hard to
+say.
+
+Hilton Fenley smiled wanly.
+
+"Bob is adopting the supposed tactics of the ostrich when pursued," he
+said.
+
+"But no one is pursuing him."
+
+"I am speaking metaphorically, of course. He is in distress, and hides
+behind the first bush. He has no moral force--never had. Physically he
+doesn't know what fear is, but the specters of the mind loom large in
+his eyes. And now, Superintendent, I am just on the point of leaving
+for London. I shall return about six thirty. Do you remain?"
+
+"No, sir. I shall return to town almost immediately. Mr. Furneaux will
+stop here. Can he have a bedroom in the house?"
+
+"Certainly. Tomlinson will look after him. You are not going cityward,
+I suppose?"
+
+"No, sir. But if you care to have a seat in my car----"
+
+"No, thanks. The train is quicker and takes me direct to London
+Bridge. Much obliged."
+
+Fenley hurried to the cloakroom, which was situated under the stairs,
+but on a lower level than the hall. The telephone box was placed
+there, and Furneaux emerged as the other ran down a few steps. The
+little man hailed him cheerfully.
+
+"I suppose, now," he said, "that hot headed brother of yours thinks he
+has dodged Scotland Yard till it suits his convenience to be
+interviewed. Strange how people insist on regarding us as novices in
+our own particular line. Now you wouldn't make that mistake, sir."
+
+"What mistake? I wouldn't run away, if that is what you mean."
+
+"I'm sure of that, sir. But Mr. Robert has committed the additional
+folly, from his point of view, of letting us know why he was so
+desperately anxious to get back to London."
+
+"But he didn't say a word!"
+
+"Ah, words, idle words!
+
+          "Words are like leaves; and where they most abound
+          Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
+
+"It is actions that count, sir. Deeds, not words. Now, Mr. Robert has
+been kind enough to give us the eloquent facts, because he will be
+followed from the suburbs and his whereabouts watched most carefully."
+
+"Dear me! I hadn't thought of that," said Hilton Fenley slowly. Two
+ideas were probably warring in his brain at that moment. One classed
+Furneaux as a garrulous idiot; the other suggested that there might be
+method in such folly.
+
+"That's a clever simile of Pope's about dense leaves betokening
+scarcity of fruit," went on Furneaux. "Of course, it might be pushed
+too far. Think what a poisonous Dead Sea apple the Quarry Wood
+contained. Your father's murder might not have been possible today
+but for the cover given by the trees."
+
+Fenley selected a dark overcoat and derby hat. He wore a black tie,
+but had made no other change in his costume.
+
+"You are quite a literary detective, Mr. Furneaux," he commented.
+
+"More literal than literary, sir. I have little leisure for reading,
+but I own an excellent memory. Nothing to boast of in that. It's
+indispensable in my profession."
+
+"Obviously. Well, I must hurry away now. See you later."
+
+He hastened out. His manner seemed to hint an annoyance; it conveyed
+indefinitely but subtly a suggestion that his father's death was far
+too serious a thing to be treated with such levity.
+
+Furneaux sauntered slowly to the front door. By that time the Fenley
+car was speeding rapidly down the avenue.
+
+"With luck," he said to Winter, who had joined him, "with any sort of
+luck both brothers should pass their father's body on the way to the
+mortuary. Sometimes, O worthy chief, I find myself regretting the ways
+and means of the days of old, when men believed in the Judicium Dei.
+
+"Neither of those sons went near his dead father. If one of them had
+dared I wonder whether the blood would have liquefied. Do you
+remember, in the 'Nibelungenlied,' that Hagen is forced to prove his
+innocence by touching Siegfried's corpse--and fails? That is the
+point--he fails. Our own Shakespeare knew the dodge. When Henry VI was
+being borne to Chertsey in an open coffin, the Lady Anne made Gloster
+squirm by her cry:
+
+          "O gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds
+          Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh.
+
+"Why then did those sons fight shy of touching their father's body?
+Had it been your father or mine who was beaten down by a murderer's
+spite, we would surely have given him one fare-well clasp of the
+hand."
+
+Winter recognized the symptoms. His diminutive friend was examining
+the embryo of a theory already established in his mind. It was a
+mere shadow, something vague and dark and uncertain in outline. But
+it existed, and would assume recognizable shape when an active
+imagination had fitted some shreds of proof to that which was yet
+without form and void. At that crisis, contradiction was a tonic.
+
+"I think you're in error in one respect," said Winter quietly. "Hilton
+Fenley went to his father's assistance, and we don't know whether or
+not Robert did not approach the body."
+
+"You're wrong, most sapient one. Before telephoning Brondesbury I
+asked Harris to tell me exactly what happened after the banker dropped
+at his feet. Harris shouted and knelt over him. Miss Manning ran and
+lifted his head. Tomlinson, Harris and Brodie carried him to the
+settee. Hilton Fenley never touched him."
+
+"What of Robert? We cleared out, leaving him there alone."
+
+"I watched him until the undertaker's men were called back. Up to that
+time he hadn't moved. Bet you a new hat the men will tell you he never
+went nearer."
+
+"You buy your own new hats," said Winter. "Do you want me to stand you
+two a day? I'm off to the Yard. I'll look up two lines in town. 'Phone
+through if you want help and I'll come. You sleep here tonight if you
+care to. Tomlinson will provide. How about the wood?"
+
+"Leave it."
+
+"You'll see that artist, Trenholme?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the bedrooms?"
+
+"Going there now."
+
+"So long! Sorry I must quit, but I'm keen to clear up that telephone
+call."
+
+"If you're in the office about six I'll tell you the whole story."
+
+"Charles," said Winter earnestly, placing a hand on his colleague's
+shoulder, "we gain nothing by rushing our fences. This is the toughest
+job we've handled this year; there's a hard road to travel before we
+sit down and prepare a brief for counsel."
+
+"Of course, I meant the story up to the six o'clock instalment."
+
+Winter smiled. He sprang into the car, the chauffeur having already
+started the engine in obedience to a word from the Superintendent.
+
+"Stop at the Brondesbury police station," was the order, and Furneaux
+was left alone. He reentered the house and crooked a finger at the
+butler, who had not summoned up courage to retire to his own sanctum,
+though a midday meal was awaiting him.
+
+"Take me upstairs," said the detective. "I shall not detain you many
+minutes. Then you and I will have a snack together and you'll borrow a
+bicycle for me, and I sha'n't trouble you any more till a late hour."
+
+"No trouble at all, sir," Tomlinson assured him. "If I could advance
+your inquiry in the least degree I'd fast cheerfully all day."
+
+"What I like about you, Tomlinson, is your restraint," said Furneaux.
+"Many a man would have offered to fast a week, not meaning to deny
+himself a toothful five minutes longer than was avoidable. Now you
+really mean what you say----Ah, this is Mr. Robert's den. And that is
+his bedroom, with dressing-room adjoining. Very cozy, to be sure. Of
+course, the rooms have been dusted regularly since he disappeared on
+Saturday?"
+
+"Every day, sir."
+
+"Well, I hate prying into people's rooms. Beastly liberty, I call it.
+Now for Mr. Hilton's."
+
+"Is that all, sir?" inquired the butler, manifestly surprised by the
+cursory glance which the detective had given around the suite of
+apartments.
+
+"All at present, thank you. Like the Danites' messengers, I'm only
+spying out the lie of the land. Ah, each brother occupied a corner of
+the east wing. Robert, north, Hilton, south--a most equitable
+arrangement. Now these rooms show signs of tenancy, eh?"
+
+They were standing in Hilton Fenley's sitting-room, having traversed
+the whole of the gallery around the hall to reach it. The remains of a
+fire in the grate caught Furneaux's eye, and the butler coughed
+apologetically.
+
+"Mr. Hilton won't have his rooms touched, sir, until he leaves home of
+a morning," he said. "He likes to find his papers, et cetera, where he
+put them overnight. As a rule the housemaid comes here soon after
+breakfast, but this morning--naturally----"
+
+"Of course, of course," assented the other promptly. "Everything is at
+sixes and sevens. Would you mind sending the girl here? I'd like to
+have a word with her."
+
+Tomlinson moved ponderously towards an electric bell.
+
+"No," said Furneaux. "Don't ring. Just ask her to come. Then she can
+bring me to your place and we'll nibble something. Meanwhile I'll
+enjoy this view."
+
+"Certainly, sir. That will suit me admirably."
+
+Tomlinson walked out with stately tread. His broad back was scarcely
+turned before the detective's nimble feet had carried him into the
+bedroom, which stood in the southeast angle. He seemed to fly around
+the room like one possessed of a fiend of unrest. Picking up a glass
+tumbler, he sniffed it and put it in a pocket. He peered at the bed,
+the dressing-table, the carpet; opened drawers and wardrobe doors,
+examined towels in the bathroom, and stuffed one beneath his
+waistcoat.
+
+Running back to the sitting-room, he found a torn envelope, and began
+picking up some specks of grit from the carpet, each of which went
+into a corner of the envelope, which he folded and stowed away. Then
+he bent over the fireplace and rummaged among the cinders. Three
+calcined lumps, not wholly consumed, appeared to interest him. A
+newspaper was handy; he wrapped the grimy treasure trove in a sheet,
+and that small parcel also went into a pocket.
+
+When a swish of skirts on the stairs announced the housemaid he
+retreated to the bedroom, and the girl found him standing at a south
+window, gazing out over the fair vista of the Italian terraces and the
+rolling parkland.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the girl timidly.
+
+He turned, as if he had not heard her approach. She was pale, and her
+eyes were red, for the feminine portion of the household was in a
+state of collapse.
+
+"I only wanted to ask why a fire is laid in the sitting-room in such
+fine weather," he said.
+
+"Mr. Hilton sits up late, sir, and if the evening is at all chilly, he
+puts a match to the grate himself."
+
+"Ah, a silly question. Don't tell anybody I spoke of it or they'll
+think me a funny detective, won't they?"
+
+He smiled genially, and the girl's face brightened.
+
+"I don't see that, sir," she said. "I don't know why Mr. Hilton wanted
+a fire last night. It was quite hot. I slept with my window wide
+open."
+
+"A very healthy habit, too. Do you attend to Mr. Robert's suite?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Does _he_ have a fire?"
+
+"Never in the summer, sir."
+
+"He's a warmer-blooded creature than Mr. Hilton, I fancy."
+
+"I expect so, sir."
+
+"Well, now, there's nothing here. But we detectives have to nose
+around everywhere. I'm sure you are terribly upset by your master's
+death. Everybody gives him a good word."
+
+"Indeed, he deserved it, sir. We all liked him. He was strict but very
+generous."
+
+Furneaux chatted with her while they descended the stairs and
+traversed devious passages till the butler's room was gained. By that
+time the housemaid was convinced that Mr. Furneaux was "a very nice
+man." When she "did" Hilton Fenley's rooms she missed the glass, but
+gave no heed to its absence. Who would bother about a glass in a house
+where murder had been done? She simply replaced it by another of the
+same pattern.
+
+"May I inquire, sir," said Tomlinson, when Furneaux had washed face
+and hands and was seated at a table laid for two, "may I inquire if
+you have any preference as to a luncheon wine?"
+
+"I think," said Furneaux with due solemnity, "that a still wine----"
+
+"I agree with you, sir. At this time of the day a Sauterne or a
+Johannisberger----"
+
+"To my taste, a Chateau Yquem, with that delicate flavor which leaves
+the palate fresh--Frenchmen call it the _seve_----"
+
+"Sir, I perceive that you have a taste. Singularly enough, I have a
+bottle of Chateau Yquem in my sideboard."
+
+So the meal was a success.
+
+An under gardener lent Furneaux a bicycle. After a chat with Farrow,
+to whom he conveyed some sandwiches and a bottle of beer, the
+detective rode to Easton. He sent a rather long telegram to his own
+quarters, called at a chemist's, and reached the White Horse at Roxton
+about two o'clock.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now the imp of mischance had contrived that John Trenholme should hear
+no word of the murder until he came downstairs for luncheon after a
+morning's steady work.
+
+The stout Eliza, fearful lest Mary should forestall her with the news,
+bounced out from the kitchen when his step sounded on the stairs.
+
+"There was fine goin's on in the park this morning, Mr. Trenholme,"
+she began breathlessly.
+
+He reddened at once, and avoided her fiery eye. Of course, it had been
+discovered that he had watched that girl bathing. Dash it all, his
+action was unintentional! What a bore!
+
+"Mr. Fenley was shot dead on his own doorstep," continued Eliza.
+She gave proper emphasis to the concluding words. That a man should
+be murdered "on his own doorstep" was a feature of the crime that
+enhanced the tragedy in the public mind. The shooting was bad enough
+in itself, for rural England is happily free from such horrors; but
+swift and brutal death dealt out on one's own doorstep was a thing at
+once monstrous and awe-compelling. Eliza, perhaps, wondered why Mr.
+Trenholme flushed, but she fully understood the sudden blanching of
+his face at her tidings, for all Roxton was shaken to its foundations
+when the facts slowly percolated in that direction.
+
+"Good Lord!" cried he. "Could that be the shot I heard?"
+
+"He was killed at half past nine, sir."
+
+"Then it was! A keeper heard it, too--and a policeman--our Roxton
+policeman."
+
+"That would be Farrow," said Eliza. "What was _he_ doin', the
+lazy-bones, that he couldn't catch the villain?"
+
+"What villain?"
+
+"The man who killed poor Mr. Fenley."
+
+"They know who did it, then?"
+
+"Well, no. There's all sorts o' tales flyin' about, but you can't
+believe any of 'em."
+
+"But why are you blaming Farrow? He's a good fellow. He sings. No real
+scoundrel can sing. Read any novel, any newspaper report. 'The
+prisoner's voice was harsh and unmusical.' You've seen those words
+scores of times."
+
+In his relief at learning that his own escapade was not published
+broadcast, Trenholme had momentarily forgotten the dreadful nature of
+Eliza's statement. She followed him into the dining-room.
+
+"You'll be a witness, I suppose," she said, anxious to secure details
+of the shot-firing.
+
+"A witness!" he repeated blankly.
+
+"Yes, sir. There can't be a deal o' folk who heard the gun go off."
+
+"By Jove, Eliza, I believe you're right," he said, gazing at her in
+dismay. "Now that I come to think of it, I am probably the only person
+in existence who can say where that shot came from. It was a rifle,
+too. I spoke of it to the keeper and Farrow."
+
+"I was sure something would happen when I dreamed of suffrigettes this
+mornin'. An' that comes of playin' pranks, Mr. Trenholme. If it wasn't
+for that alarm clock----"
+
+"Oh, come, Eliza," he broke in. "An alarm clock isn't a Gatling gun.
+Your association of ideas is faulty. There is much in common between
+the clatter of an alarm clock and the suffragist cause, but all the
+ladies promised not to endanger life, you know."
+
+"Anyhow, Mr. Fenley is dead as a doornail," said Eliza firmly.
+
+"Too bad. I take back all the hard things I said about him, and I'm
+sure you do the same."
+
+"Me!"
+
+"Yes. Didn't you say all the Fenleys were rubbish? One of them, at any
+rate, was wrongly classified."
+
+"Which one?"
+
+Trenholme bethought himself in time.
+
+"This unfortunate banker, of course," he said.
+
+"I'd a notion you meant Miss Sylvia. She's pretty as a
+picter--prettier than some picters I've seen--and folk speak well of
+her. But she's not a Fenley."
+
+At any other time the artist would have received that thrust _en
+tierce_ with a _riposte_; at present, Eliza's facts were more
+interesting than her wit.
+
+"Who is the lady you are speaking of?" he asked guardedly.
+
+"Mr. Fenley's ward, Miss Sylvia Manning. They say she's rich. Pore
+young thing! Some schemin' man will turn her head, I'll go bail, an'
+all for the sake of her brass."
+
+"Most likely a one-legged gunner, name of Jim."
+
+"Well, it won't be a two-legged painter, name of Jack!" And Eliza
+bounced out.
+
+Now, Mary of the curl papers, having occasion to go upstairs while
+Trenholme was eating, peeped through the open door of the room which
+he had converted into a studio. She saw a picture on the easel, and
+the insatiable curiosity of her class led her to examine it. Even a
+country kitchen maid came under its spell instantly. After a pause of
+mingled admiration and shocked prudery, she sped to the kitchen.
+
+"Seein' is believin'," quoted Eliza, mounting the stairs in her turn.
+She gazed at the drawing brazenly, with hands resting on hips and head
+cocked sidewise like an inquisitive hen's.
+
+"Well, I never did!" was her verdict.
+
+Back in the kitchen again, she announced firmly to Mary--
+
+"_I'll_ take in the cheese."
+
+She put the Stilton on the table with a determined air.
+
+"You don't know anything about Miss Sylvia Manning, don't you?" she
+said, with calm guile.
+
+"Never heard the lady's name before you mentioned it," said Trenholme.
+
+"Mebbe not, but it strikes me you've _seen_ more of her than most
+folk."
+
+"Eliza," he cried, without any pretense at smiling good humor, "you've
+been sneaking!"
+
+"Sneakin', you call it? I 'appened to pass your room, an' who could
+help lookin' in? I was never so taken aback in me life. You could ha'
+knocked me down with a feather."
+
+"An ostrich feather with an ostrich's leg behind it," was the angry
+retort.
+
+Eliza's eyes glinted with the fire of battle.
+
+"The shameless ways of girls nowadays!" she breathed. "To let any
+young man gaze at her in them sort of clothes, if you can call 'em
+clothes!"
+
+"It was an accident. She didn't know I was there. Anyhow, you dare
+utter another word about that picture, even hint at its existence, and
+I'll paint you without any clothes at all. I mean that, so beware!"
+
+"Sorry to interrupt," said a high-pitched voice from the doorway.
+"You are Mr. John Trenholme, I take it? May I come in? My name's
+Furneaux."
+
+"Jim, of the Royal Artillery?" demanded Trenholme angrily.
+
+"No. Charles Francois, of Scotland Yard."
+
+Eliza fled, completely cowed. She began to weep, in noisy gulps.
+
+"I've dud-dud-done it!" she explained to agitated curl papers. "That
+pup-pup-pore Mr. Trenholme. They've cuc-cuc-come for him. He'll be
+lul-lul-locked up, an' all along o' my wu-wu-wicked tongue!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+SOME SIDE ISSUES
+
+
+Trenholme, rather interested than otherwise, did not blanch at mention
+of Scotland Yard.
+
+"Walk right in, Mr. Furneaux," he said; he had picked up a few tricks
+of speech from Transatlantic brethren of the brush met at Julien's.
+"Have you lunched?"
+
+"Excellently," was the reply.
+
+"Not in Roxton. I defy you to produce a cook in this village that
+shall compare with our Eliza of the White Horse."
+
+"Sir, my thoughts do not dwell on viands. True, I ate with a butler,
+but I drank wine with a connoisseur. It was a Chateau Yquem of the
+eighties."
+
+"Then you should be in expansive mood. Before you demand with a scowl
+why I shot Mr. Fenley you might tell me why the headquarters of the
+London Police is named Scotland Yard."
+
+"Because it was first housed in a street of that name near Trafalgar
+Square. Scotland Yard was a palace at one time, built in a spirit of
+mistaken hospitality for the reception of prominent Scots visiting
+London. We entertained so many and so lavishly that 'Gang Sooth' has
+become a proverb beyond the Tweed."
+
+"There is virtue, I perceive, in a bottle of Chateau Yquem--or was it
+two?"
+
+"In one there is light, but two might produce fireworks. Now, sir, if
+you have finished luncheon, kindly take me to your room and show me
+the sketches you made this morning."
+
+The artist raised an inquiring eyebrow.
+
+"I have the highest respect for your profession in the abstract, but
+it is new to find it dabbling in art criticism," he said.
+
+"I assure you, Mr. Trenholme, that any drawings of yours made in the
+neighborhood of The Towers before half past nine o'clock today will be
+most valuable pieces of evidence--if nothing more."
+
+Though Furneaux's manner was grave as an owl's, a certain gleam in his
+eye gave the requisite sting to the concluding words. Trenholme, at
+any other time, would have delighted in him, but dropped his bantering
+air forthwith.
+
+"I don't mind exhibiting my work," he said. "It will not be a novel
+experience. Come this way."
+
+Watched by two awe-stricken women from the passage leading to the
+kitchen, the artist and his visitor ascended the stairs. Trenholme
+walked straight to the easel, took off the drawing of Sylvia Manning
+and the Aphrodite, placed it on the floor face to the wall, and
+staged the sketch of the Elizabethan house. Furneaux screwed his
+eyelids to secure a half light; then, making a cylinder of his right
+hand, peered through it with one eye.
+
+"Admirable!" he said. "Corot, with some of the breadth of Constable.
+Forgive the comparisons, Mr. Trenholme. Of course, the style is your
+own, but one uses the names of accepted masters largely as adjectives
+to explain one's meaning. You are a true impressionist. You paint
+Nature as you see her, not as she is, yet your technique is superb and
+your observation just. For instance, every shadow in this lovely
+drawing shows that the hour was about eight o'clock. But, in painting
+figures, I have no doubt you sink the impressionist in the realist....
+The other sketch, please."
+
+"The other sketch is a mere color note for future guidance," said
+Trenholme offhandedly.
+
+"It happens also to be a recognizable portrait of Miss Sylvia Manning.
+I'm sorry, but I must see it."
+
+"Suppose I refuse?"
+
+"It will be obtained by other methods than a polite request."
+
+"I'm afraid I shall have to run the risk."
+
+"No, you won't." And the detective's tone became eminently friendly.
+"You'll just produce it within the next half minute. You are not the
+sort of man who would care to drag a lady's name into a police-court
+wrangle, which can be the only outcome of present stubbornness on your
+part. I know you were hidden among those cedars between, say, eight
+o'clock and half past nine. I know that Miss Manning bathed in a lake
+well within your view. I know, too, that you sketched her, because I
+saw the canvas a moment ago--an oil, not a water color. These things
+may or may not be relevant to an inquiry into a crime, but they will
+certainly loom large in the public mind if the police have to explain
+why they needed a warrant to search your apartments."
+
+Furneaux had gauged the artistic temperament accurately. Without
+another word of protest Trenholme placed the disputed canvas on the
+easel.
+
+"Do you smoke?" inquired the detective suddenly.
+
+"Yes. What the deuce has my smoking got to do with it?"
+
+"I fancied that, perhaps, you might like to have a pipe while I
+examine this gem at leisure. One does not gabble the common-places of
+life when in the presence of the supreme in art. I find that a really
+fine picture induces a feeling of reverence, an emotion akin to the
+influence of a mountain range, or a dim cathedral. Pray burn incense.
+I am almost tempted to regret being a non-smoker."
+
+Trenholme had heard no man talk in that strain since last he sat
+outside the Cafe Margery and watched the stream of life flowing along
+the Grand Boulevard. Almost unconsciously he yielded to the spell of a
+familiar jargon, well knowing he had been inspired in every touch
+while striving frenziedly to give permanence to a fleeting vision. He
+filled his pipe, and surveyed the detective with a quickened interest.
+
+Furneaux gazed long and earnestly.
+
+"Perfect!" he murmured, after that rapt pause. "Such a portrait, too,
+without any apparent effort! Just compare the cold sunlight on the
+statue with the same light falling on wet skin. Of course, Mr.
+Trenholme, you'll send this to the Salon. Burlington House finds
+satiety in Mayors and Masters of Fox Hounds."
+
+"Good, isn't it?" agreed Trenholme. "What a cursed spite that it must
+be consumed in flame!"
+
+"But why?" cried Furneaux, unfeignedly horrified.
+
+"Dash it all, man, I can never copy it. And you wouldn't have me
+blazon that girl's face in a gallery after today's tragedy!"
+
+The detective snapped his fingers.
+
+"Poof!" he said. "I shall have Mr. Fenley's murderer hanged long
+before your picture is hung. London provides one front-rank tragedy a
+week, but not another such masterpiece in ten years. Burn it because
+of a sentiment! Perish the thought."
+
+"If I had guessed you were coming here so promptly it would have been
+in ashes an hour ago," said Trenholme, grimly insistent on sacrifice.
+
+With a disconcerting change of manner the detective promptly assumed a
+dryly official attitude.
+
+"A mighty good job for you that nothing of the sort occurred," he
+said. "Your picture is your excuse, Mr. Trenholme. What plea could you
+have urged for spying on a lady in an open-air bath if deprived of the
+only valid one?"
+
+"Look here!" came the angry retort. "You seem to be a pretty fair
+judge of a drawing, but you choose your words rather carelessly. Just
+now you described me as 'hidden' behind that clump of trees, and again
+you accuse me of 'spying.' I won't stand that sort of thing from
+Scotland Yard, nor from Buckingham Palace, if it comes to that."
+
+Furneaux instantly reverted to his French vein. His shrug was
+eminently Parisian.
+
+"You misunderstand me. I allege neither hiding nor spying on your
+part. Name of a good little gray man! The President of the Royal
+Academy would hide and spy for a month if he could palliate his
+conduct by that picture. But, given no picture, what is the answer?
+Reflect calmly, Mr. Trenholme, and you'll see that mine are words of
+wisdom. Burn that canvas, and you cut a sorry figure in the witness
+box. Moreover, suppose you treat the law with disdain, how do you
+propose explaining your actions to Miss Sylvia Manning?"
+
+"In all probability, I shall never meet the lady."
+
+"Oh, won't you, indeed! I have the honor to request you to meet her
+tomorrow morning by the shore of that sylvan lake at nine fifteen,
+sharp. And kindly bring both sketches with you. Only, for goodness'
+sake, keep this one covered with a water-proof wrap if the weather
+breaks, which it doesn't look like doing at this moment. Now, Mr.
+Trenholme, take the advice of a dried-up chip of experience like me,
+and be sensible. One word as to actualities. I'm told you didn't see
+anything in the park which led you to believe that a crime had been
+committed?"
+
+"Not a thing. I heard the gunshot, and noted where it came from, but
+so far as I could ascertain, the only creatures it disturbed were some
+rabbits, rooks and pheasants."
+
+"Ah! Where did the pheasants show up?"
+
+"Out of the wood, close to the spot where the rifle was fired."
+
+"How many?"
+
+"How many what?"
+
+"Pheasants."
+
+"A brace. They flew right across the south front of the house to a
+covert on the west side. Is that an important detail?"
+
+"When you hear the evidence you may find it so," commented Furneaux.
+"Why do you say 'rifle'? Why not plain 'gun'?"
+
+"Because any one who has handled both a rifle and a shotgun can
+recognize the difference in sound. The explosive force of the one is
+many times greater than that of the other."
+
+"Are you, too, an expert marksman?"
+
+"I can shoot a bit. Hardly an expert, perhaps, seeing that I haven't
+used a gun during the past five years. If you know France, Mr.
+Furneaux, you'll agree that British ideas of sport----"
+
+"I do know France," broke in the detective. "There isn't a cock robin
+or a jenny wren left in the country.... As a mere formality, what
+magazine are you working for?"
+
+Trenholme told him, and Furneaux hurried away, halting for an instant
+in the doorway to raise a warning finger.
+
+"Tomorrow, at the cedars, nine fifteen," he said. "And, mind you, no
+holocausts, or you're up a gum tree. You were either painting a pretty
+girl or gloating over her. Prove the one and people won't think the
+other, which they will be only too ready to do, this being a cynical
+and suspicious world."
+
+He left a bewildered artist glaring after him. Trenholme's
+acquaintance with the police, either of England or France, was of the
+slightest. Sometimes, when overexcited by the discovery of some new
+and entrancing upland in the domain of art, he had bought or borrowed
+a volume of light fiction in order to read himself to sleep, and a
+detective figured occasionally in such pages. Usually, the official
+was a pig-headed idiot, whose blunders and narrow-mindedness served as
+admirable whetstones for the preternaturally sharp intelligence of an
+amateur investigator of crime.
+
+Trenholme, like the average reader, did not know that such
+self-appointed sleuths are snubbed and despised by Scotland Yard, that
+they seldom or never base their fantastic theories on facts, or that,
+in fiction, they act in a way which would entail their own speedy
+appearance in the dock if practiced in real life. Furneaux came as a
+positive revelation. A small, wiry individual who looked like a
+comedian and spouted the truisms of the studio, a wizened little
+whippersnapper who put hardly one direct question to a prospective
+witness, but whose caustic comments had placed a new and vastly
+disagreeable aspect on the morning's adventure--such a man to be the
+representative of staid and heavy-footed Scotland Yard! Well, wonders
+would never cease. It was not for a bewildered artist yet to know that
+Furneaux's genius alone excused his eccentricities.
+
+And he, Trenholme, was to meet the girl! He turned to the easel and
+looked at the picture. A few hours ago he had reviled the fate that
+seemed to forbid their meeting. Now he was to be brought to her,
+though somewhat after the fashion of a felon with gyves on his wrists,
+since Furneaux's request for the morrow's rendezvous rang ominously
+like a command. Indeed, indeed, it was a mad world!
+
+At any rate, he did not, as he had intended, tear the canvas from its
+stretcher and apply a match to it in the grate. Thus far, then, had
+Furneaux's queer method been justified. He had hit on the one certain
+means of restraint on an act of vandalism. The picture now stood
+between Trenholme and the scoffing multitude. It was his buckler
+against the shafts of innuendo. Rather than lose it before his actions
+were vindicated he would suffer the depletion to the last penny of a
+not altogether meager bank account.
+
+Of course, this open-souled youngster never dreamed that the detective
+had read his style and attributes in one lightning-swift glance of
+intuition. Before ever Trenholme was aware of a stranger standing in
+the open doorway of the dining-room Furneaux had taken his measure.
+
+"English, a gentleman, art-trained in Paris. Thinks the loss of La
+Giaconde a far more serious event than a revolution, and regards the
+Futurist school pretty much as the Home Secretary regards the militant
+suffragists. Knows as much about the murder as I do about the rings of
+Saturn. But he ought to provide a touch of humor in an affair that
+promises little else than heavy tragedy. And it will do Miss Sylvia
+Manning some good if she is made to see that there are others than
+Fenleys in the world. So, have at him!"
+
+While going downstairs, the detective became aware of some sniffing in
+the back passage. Eliza red-eyed now from distress, stood there,
+dabbing her cheeks with a corner of her apron.
+
+"Pup-pup-please, sir," she began, but quailed under a sudden and
+penetrating look from those beady eyes.
+
+"Well, what is it?" inquired Furneaux.
+
+A violent nudge from curl papers stirred the cook's wits.
+
+"I do hope you dud-dud-didn't pay any heed to anythink I was a-sayin'
+of," she stammered. "Mr. Trenholme wouldn't hurt a fuf-fuf-fly. I
+sus-sus-saw the picter, an' was on'y a-teasin' of 'im, like a
+sus-sus-silly woman."
+
+"Exactly. Yet he heaps coals of fire on your head by declaring that
+you are the best cook in Hertfordshire! Is that true?"
+
+Furneaux's impish grin was a tonic in itself. Eliza dropped the apron
+and squared her elbows.
+
+"I don't know about bein' the best in Hertfordshire," she cried, "but
+I can hold me own no matter where the other one comes from, provided
+we start fair."
+
+"Take warning, then, that if I bring a man here tomorrow evening--a
+big man, with a round head and bulging blue eyes--a man who looks as
+though he can use a carving-knife with discretion--you prepare a
+dinner worthy of the reputation of the White Horse! In that way, and
+in none other, can you rehabilitate your character."
+
+Furneaux was gone before Eliza recovered her breath. Then she turned
+on the kitchen maid.
+
+"Wot was it he said about my char-ac-ter?" she demanded warmly. "An'
+wot are _you_ grinnin' at? If it wasn't for _your_ peepin' an' pryin'
+I'd never ha' set eyes on that blessed picter. You go an' put on a
+black dress, an' do yer hair respectable, an' mind yer don't spend
+half an hour perkin' an' preenin' in front of a lookin'-glass."
+
+Mary fled, and Eliza bustled into the kitchen.
+
+"A big man, with a round head an' bulgin' blue eyes!" she muttered
+wrathfully. "Does he think I'm afraid of that sort of brewer's
+drayman, or of a little man with eyes like a ferret, either? If he
+does, he's very much mistaken. I don't believe he's a real 'tec. I
+wouldn't be a bit surprised if he wasn't a reporter. They've cheek
+enough for ten, as a rule. Talkin' about my char-ac-ter, an' before
+that hussy of a girl, too! Wait till I see him tomorrow, that's all."
+
+Meanwhile, Furneaux had not held the second glass of Chateau Yquem to
+the light in Tomlinson's sanctum before Winter's car was halting
+outside Brondesbury police station. An Inspector assured the
+Superintendent that a constable was on the track of Robert Fenley, and
+had instructions to report direct to Scotland Yard. Then Winter
+reentered the car, and was driven to Headquarters.
+
+He was lunching in his own room, frugally but well, on bread and
+cheese and beer, when the Assistant Commissioner came in.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Winter," he said. "I was told you had returned. That
+telephone call came from a call office in Shaftesbury Avenue. A lady,
+name unknown, but the youth in charge knows her well by sight, and
+thinks she lives in a set of flats near by. I thought the information
+sufficient for your purpose, so suspended inquiries till I heard from
+you."
+
+"Just what I wanted, sir," said Winter. "There may be nothing in it,
+but I was curious to know why Hilton Fenley took the trouble to fib
+about such a trivial matter. His brother, too, is behaving in a way
+that invites criticism. I don't imagine that either of the sons shot
+his father--most certainly, Hilton Fenley could not have done it, and
+Robert, I think, was in London at the time----"
+
+"Dear me!" broke in the other, a man of quiet, self-contained manner,
+on whose lips that mild exclamation betokened the maximum of
+surprise. "Is there any reason whatsoever for believing that one of
+these young men may be a parricide?"
+
+"So many reasons, sir, and so convincing in some respects, that the
+local police would be seriously considering the arrest of Robert
+Fenley if they had the ascertained facts in their possession."
+
+The Assistant Commissioner sat down.
+
+"I hear you keep a sound brand of cigars here, Mr. Winter," he said.
+"I've just lunched in the St. Stephen's Club, so, if you can spare the
+time----"
+
+At the end of the Superintendent's recital the Chief offered no
+comment. He arose, went to the window, and seemed to seek inspiration
+from busy Westminster Bridge and a river dancing in sunshine. After a
+long pause he turned, and threw the unconsumed half of a cigar into
+the fireplace.
+
+"It's a pity to waste such a perfect Havana," he said mournfully, "but
+I make it a rule not to smoke while passing along the corridors.
+And--you'll be busy. Keep me posted."
+
+Winter smiled. When the door had closed on his visitor he even
+laughed.
+
+"By Jove!" he said to himself. "A heart to heart talk with the guv'nor
+is always most illuminative. Now many another boss would have said he
+was puzzled, or bothered, or have given me some silly advice such as
+that I must be discreet, look into affairs closely, and not act
+precipitately. Not so our excellent A. C. He's clean bowled, and
+admits it, without speaking a word. He's a tonic; he really is!"
+
+He touched an electric bell. When the policeman attendant, Johnston,
+appeared, he asked if Detective Sergeant Sheldon was in the building,
+and Sheldon came. The Superintendent had met him in a Yorkshire town
+during a protracted and difficult inquiry into the death of a wealthy
+recluse; although the man was merely an ordinary constable he had
+shown such resourcefulness, such ability of a rare order, that he was
+invited to join the staff of the Criminal Investigation Department,
+and had warranted Winter's judgment by earning rapid promotion.
+
+Though tall, and of athletic build, he had none of the distinctive
+traits of the average policeman. He dressed quietly and in good taste,
+and carried himself easily; a peculiarity of his thoughtful, somewhat
+lawyer-like face was that the left eye was noticeably smaller than the
+right. Among other qualifications, he ranked as the best amateur
+photographer in the "Yard," and was famous as a rock climber in the
+Lake District.
+
+Winter plunged at once into the business in hand.
+
+"Sheldon," he said, "I'm going out, and may be absent an hour or
+longer. If a telephone message comes through from Mr. Furneaux tell
+him I have located the doubtful call made to The Towers this morning.
+Have you read the report of the Fenley murder in the evening papers?"
+
+"Yes, sir. _Is_ it a murder?"
+
+"What else could it be?"
+
+"An extraordinary accident."
+
+Winter weighed the point, which had not occurred to him previously.
+
+"No," he said. "It was no accident. I incline to the belief that it
+was the best-planned crime I've tackled during the past few years.
+That is my present opinion, at any rate. Now, a man from the
+Brondesbury police station is following one of the dead man's sons, a
+Mr. Robert Fenley, who bolted back to London on a motor cycle as soon
+as I threatened to question him.
+
+"Robert Fenley is twenty-four, fresh-complexioned, clean-shaven, about
+five feet nine inches in height, stoutish, and of sporty appearance.
+He had his hair cut yesterday or the day before. His hands and feet
+are rather small. He talks aggressively, and looks what he is, a
+pampered youth, very much spoiled by his parents. His clothes--all
+that I have seen--are a motorist's overalls. If the Brondesbury man
+reports here during my absence act as you think fit. I want Robert
+Fenley located, followed, and watched unobtrusively, especially in
+such matters as the houses he visits and the people he meets. If you
+need help get it."
+
+"Till what time, sir?" was the laconic question.
+
+"That depends. Try and 'phone me here about five o'clock. But if you
+are otherwise engaged let the telephone go. Should Fenley seem to
+leave London by the Edgware Road, which leads to Roxton, have him
+checked on the way. Here is the number of his cycle," and Winter
+jotted a memorandum on the back of an envelope.
+
+"What about Mr. Furneaux if I am called out almost immediately?"
+
+"Give the message to Johnston."
+
+Then Winter hurried away, and, repressing the inclination to hail a
+taxi, walked up Whitehall and crossed Trafalgar Square _en route_ to
+the Shaftesbury Avenue address supplied by the Assistant Commissioner.
+
+He found a sharp-featured youth in charge of the telephone, which was
+lodged in an estate agent's office. The boy grinned when the
+Superintendent explained his errand.
+
+"Excuse _me_," he said, with the pert assurance of the born Cockney,
+"but we aren't allowed to give information about customers."
+
+"You've broken your rules already, young man," said Winter. "You
+answered a similar inquiry made by Scotland Yard some hours since."
+
+"Oh, was _that_ it? Gerrard rang me up, and I thought there was
+something funny going on. Are you from Scotland Yard, sir?"
+
+Winter proffered a card, and the boy's eyes opened wide.
+
+"Crikey!" he said. "I've read about you, sir. Well, I've been doing a
+bit of detective work of my own. At lunch time I strolled past the set
+of flats where I thought the lady lived, and had the luck to see her
+getting out of a cab at the door. I followed her upstairs, pretending
+I had business somewhere, and saw her go into No. Eleven. Her name is
+Miss Eileen Garth--at least, that's the name opposite No. Eleven in
+the list in the hall."
+
+"When you're a bit older you'll make a detective," said Winter.
+"You've learned the first trick of the job, and that is to keep your
+eyes open. Now, to encourage you, I'll tell you the second. Keep your
+mouth shut. If this lady is Miss Garth she is not the person we want,
+but it would annoy her if she heard the police were inquiring about
+her; so here is half a crown for your trouble."
+
+"Can I do anything else for you, sir?" came the eager demand.
+
+"Nothing. I'm on the wrong scent, evidently, but you have saved me
+from wasting time. This Miss Eileen Garth is English, of course?"
+
+"Yes, sir; very good-looking, but rather snappy."
+
+Winter sighed.
+
+"That just shows how easy it is to blunder," he said. "I'm looking for
+a Polish Jewess, whose chief feature is her nose, and who wears big
+gold earrings."
+
+"Oh, Miss Garth is quite different," said the disappointed youth.
+"She's tall and slim--a regular dasher, big black hat, swell togs,
+black and white, and smart boots with white spats. She wore pearls in
+her ears, too, because I noticed 'em."
+
+Winter sighed again.
+
+"Another half day lost," he murmured, and went out.
+
+Knowing well that the boy would note the direction he took, he turned
+away from the block of flats and made for Soho, where he smoked a
+thin, raffish Italian cigar with an Anarchist of his acquaintance who
+kept a restaurant famous for its _risotto_. Then, by other streets, he
+approached Gloucester Mansions, and soon was pressing the electric
+bell of No. Eleven.
+
+"Miss Garth in?" he said to an elderly, hatchet-faced woman who opened
+the door.
+
+"Why do you want Miss Garth?" was the non-committal reply, given in
+the tone of one who meant the stranger to understand that he was not
+addressing a servant.
+
+"I shall explain my errand to the lady herself," said Winter civilly.
+"Kindly tell her that Superintendent Winter, of the Criminal
+Investigation Department, Scotland Yard, wishes to see her."
+
+To him it was no new thing that his name and description should bring
+dismay, even terror, to the cheeks of one to whom he made himself
+known professionally, but unless he was addressing some desperate
+criminal, he did not expect to be assaulted. For once, therefore, he
+was thoroughly surprised when a bony hand shot out and pushed him
+backward; the door was slammed in his face; the latch clicked, and he
+was left staring at a small brass plate bearing the legend: "Ring. Do
+not knock."
+
+Naturally, this bold maneuver could not have succeeded had he a right
+of entry. A woman's physical strength was unequal to the task of
+disturbing his burly frame, and a foot thrust between door and jamb
+would have done the rest. As matters stood, however, he was obliged to
+abandon any present hope of an interview with the mysterious Miss
+Eileen Garth.
+
+He remained stock still for some seconds, listening to the retreating
+footsteps of the strong-minded person who had beaten him. It was his
+habit to visualize for future reference the features and demeanor of
+people in whom he was interested, and of whom circumstances permitted
+only the merest glimpse. This woman's face had revealed annoyance
+rather than fear. "Scotland Yard" was not an ogre but a nuisance. She
+held, or, at any rate, she had exercised, a definite power of
+rejecting visitors whom she considered undesirable. Therefore, she was
+a relative, probably Eileen Garth's mother or aunt.
+
+Eileen Garth was "tall and slim," "good-looking, but rather snappy."
+Well, twenty years ago, the description would have applied to the
+woman he had just seen. Her voice, heard under admittedly adverse
+conditions, was correct in accent and fairly cultured. Before the
+world had hardened it its tones might have been soft and dulcet. But
+above all, there was the presumable discovery that Eileen Garth was as
+decidedly opposed as Robert Fenley to full and free discussion of that
+morning's crime.
+
+"Furneaux will jeer at me when he hears of this little episode,"
+thought Winter, smiling as he turned to descend the stairs. Furneaux
+did jeer, but it was at his colleague's phenomenal luck.
+
+The door of No. Twelve, the only other flat on the same landing,
+opened, and a man appeared. Recognition was prompt on Winter's side.
+
+"Hello, Drake!" he said genially. "Are _you_ Signor Maselli? Well met,
+anyhow! Can you give me a friendly word?"
+
+The occupant of flat No. Twelve, an undersized, slightly built man of
+middle age, seemed to have received the shock of his life. His
+sallow-complexioned face assumed a greenish-yellow tint, and his
+deep-set eyes glistened like those of a hunted animal.
+
+"Friendly?" he contrived to gasp, giving a ghastly look over his
+shoulder to ascertain whether any one in the interior of the flat had
+heard that name "Drake."
+
+"Yes. I mean it. Strictly on the q. t.," said Winter, sinking his
+voice to a confidential pitch. Signor Giovanni Maselli, since that was
+the name modestly displayed on No. Twelve's card in the hall beneath,
+closed the door carefully. He appeared to trust Winter, up to a point,
+but evidently found it hard to regain self-control.
+
+"Not here!" he whispered. "In five minutes--at the Regency Cafe,
+Piccadilly. Let me go alone."
+
+Winter nodded, and the other darted downstairs. The detective followed
+slowly. Crossing the street at an angle, he looked up at the
+smoke-stained elevation of Gloucester Mansions.
+
+"A well-filled nest," he communed, "and a nice lot of prize birds in
+it, upon my word!"
+
+The last time he had set eyes on a certain notably expert forger and
+counterfeiter a judge was passing sentence of five years' penal
+servitude and three years' police supervision on a felon; and the
+judge had not addressed the prisoner as Giovanni Maselli, but as John
+Christopher Drake!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+COINCIDENCES
+
+
+Winter was blessed with an unfailing memory for dates and faces.
+Before he had emerged from the main exit of Gloucester Mansions he had
+fixed Drake as committed from the Old Bailey during the Summer assizes
+four years earlier, released from Portland on ticket of leave at the
+beginning of the current year, and marked in the "failure to report"
+list.
+
+"Poor devil!" he said to himself. "The very man for my purpose!"
+
+Therefore, seeing his way clearly, his glance was not so encouraging
+nor his voice so pleasant when he found the ex-convict awaiting him in
+the Regency Cafe. Nevertheless, obeying the curious code which links
+the police and noted criminals in a sort of _camaraderie_, he asked
+the man what he would drink, and ordered cigarettes as well.
+
+"Now, Maselli," he said, when they were seated at a marble-topped
+table in a corner of a well-filled room, "since we know each other so
+well we can converse plainly, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir, but I'm done for now. I've been trying to earn an honest
+living, and have succeeded, but now----"
+
+The man spoke brokenly. His spirit was crushed. He saw in his mind's
+eye the frowning portals of a convict settlement, and heard the boom
+of a giant knocker reverberating through gaunt aisles of despair.
+
+"If you reflect that I am calling you Maselli, you'll drink that
+whisky and soda, and listen to what I have to say," broke in Winter
+severely.
+
+The other looked up at him, and a gleam of hope illumined the pallid
+cheeks. He drank eagerly, and lighted a cigarette with trembling
+fingers.
+
+"If only I am given a chance----" he began, but the detective
+interfered again.
+
+"If only you would shut up!" he said emphatically. "I want your help,
+and I'm not in the habit of rewarding my assistants by sending them
+back to prison."
+
+Maselli (as he may remain in this record) was so excited that he
+literally could not obey.
+
+"I've cut completely adrift from the old crowd, sir," he pleaded
+wistfully. "I'm an engraver now, and in good work. Heaven help me, I'm
+married, too. She doesn't know. She thinks I was stranded in America,
+and that I changed my name because Italians are thought more of than
+Englishmen in my line."
+
+"Giovanni Maselli, may I ask what you are talking about?" said Winter,
+stiffening visibly.
+
+At last the hunted and haunted wretch persuaded himself that "the
+Yard" meant to be merciful. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he
+finished the whisky and soda and remained silent.
+
+"Good!" said Winter more cheerfully. "I sha'n't call you Maselli again
+if you don't behave. Now, how long have you lived in Gloucester
+Mansions?"
+
+"Four months, sir. Ever since my marriage."
+
+Winter smiled. The man had gone straight from the gates of Portland to
+some woman who was waiting for him! He was an old offender, but had
+proved slippery as an eel--hence a stiff sentence when caught; but
+penal servitude had conquered him.
+
+"Has Miss Eileen Garth lived in No. Eleven during those four months?"
+was the next question.
+
+"Yes, sir--two years or more, I believe. Her mother mentioned
+something of it to my wife one day."
+
+"Her mother? Same name?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Garth."
+
+"How do they live?"
+
+"The daughter was learning to be a stage dancer; but they've come into
+a settled income, and that idea is given up."
+
+"Any male relations?"
+
+"None that I know of, sir. Eileen is engaged to be married. I haven't
+heard the gentleman's name, but I've seen him scores of times."
+
+"Scores of times--in four months?"
+
+"Yes, sir, every second or third day. That is, I either meet him or
+know he is there because Mrs. Maselli and Mrs. Garth are friendly, and
+there is constant coming and going across the landing."
+
+"Is he a man of about thirty, middle height, lanky black hair, smooth
+dark face, sunken eyes, high cheek bones--rather, shall I say, Italian
+in appearance?"
+
+Maselli was surprised, and showed it.
+
+"Why, sir, you've described him to a nicety," he said.
+
+"Very well. Next time he is there to your absolute knowledge, slip out
+and telephone the fact to me at Scotland Yard. If I'm not in, ask for
+Mr. Furneaux. You remember Mr. Furneaux?"
+
+A sickly smile admitted the acquaintance. Furneaux had recognized the
+same artist's hand in each of many realistic forgeries, and it was
+this fact which led to the man's capture and conviction.
+
+"If neither of us is at home, inquire for Mr. Sheldon," went on
+Winter. "Note him. He's a stranger to you. If you fail to get hold of
+any of us, say simply that Signor Maselli would like to have a word at
+our convenience. It will be understood. We sha'n't bother you. Give
+another call next time the visitor is in Mrs. Garth's flat, and keep
+on doing this until you find one of the three on the line. Don't use
+the telephone in Shaftesbury Avenue near the Mansions, because the boy
+in charge there might be suspicious, and blab. That is all. You are
+not doing Mrs. Garth or her daughter an ill turn, so far as I can
+judge. Keep a still tongue. Silence on your part will meet with
+silence on mine.... Oh, dash it, have another drink! Where's your
+nerve?"
+
+Signor Giovanni Maselli was crying. A phantom had brushed close, but
+was passing; nevertheless, its shadow had chilled him to the bone.
+
+Winter walked back to Scotland Yard, and found that Sheldon had gone,
+leaving a note which read: "Mr. Robert Fenley is at 104, Hendon Road,
+Battersea Park." He was tempted to have a word with Furneaux, but
+forbore, and tackled some other departmental business. It was a day
+fated, however, to evolve the unexpected. About a quarter to four the
+telephone bell rang, and Maselli informed him that Miss Garth's fiance
+had just arrived at Gloucester Mansions.
+
+"Excellent," said Winter. "In future, devote your energies to
+legitimate engraving. Good-by!"
+
+He rushed out and leaped into a taxi; within five minutes he was at
+the door of No. Eleven once more. Let it not be imagined that he had
+not weighed the possible consequences of thrusting himself in this
+fashion into Hilton Fenley's private affairs. Although the man had
+summoned the assistance of Scotland Yard to elucidate the mystery of
+his father's death, that fact alone could not secure him immunity from
+the law's all-embracing glance. Winter agreed with Furneaux that the
+profession of a private banker combined with company promotion is too
+often a cloak for roguery in the City of London, and the little he
+knew of the Fenley history did not tend to dissipate a certain
+nebulous suspicion that their record might not be wholly clean.
+
+The theft of the bonds had been hushed up in a way that savored of
+unwillingness on Mortimer Fenley's part to permit the police to take
+action. The man's tragic death might well be a sequel to the robbery,
+and, granted the impossibility of his elder son having committed the
+murder, there was nothing fantastic in the notion that he might be a
+party to it.
+
+Again, Hilton Fenley had deliberately misled Scotland Yard in regard
+to the seemingly trivial incident of the telephone call. Had he told
+the truth, and grumbled at the lack of discretion on some woman's part
+in breaking in on a period of acute distress in the household,
+Winter's subsequent discovery would have lost its point. As matters
+stood, however, it was one of a large number of minor circumstances
+which demanded full examination, and the Superintendent decided that
+the person really responsible for any seeming excess of zeal on his
+part should be given an opportunity to clear the air in the place best
+fitted for the purpose; namely, the address from which the call
+emanated.
+
+Therefore, when the door was opened again by Mrs. Garth, she found
+that the Napoleonic tactics of an earlier hour were no longer
+practicable, for the enemy instantly occupied the terrain by leaning
+inward.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Hilton Fenley," he said suavely. "You know my name
+already, Mrs. Garth, so I need not repeat it."
+
+The sharp-featured woman was evidently sharp-witted also. Finding that
+the door might not be closed, she threw it wide.
+
+"I have no objection to your seeing Mr. Fenley," she said. "I am at a
+loss to understand why you follow him here, but that does not concern
+me in the least. Come this way."
+
+Latching the door, she led him to a room on the right of the entrance
+hall, which formed the central artery of the flat. The place had no
+direct daylight. At night, when an electric lamp was switched on, its
+contents would be far more distinct than at this hour, when the only
+light came from a transverse passage at the end, or was borrowed
+through any door that happened to remain open. Still, Winter could
+use his eyes, even in the momentary gloom, and he used them so well
+on this occasion that he noted two trunks, one on top of the other,
+and standing close to the wall.
+
+They were well plastered with hotel and railway labels, and when a
+flood of light poured in from the room to which Mrs. Garth ushered
+him, he deciphered two of the freshest, and presumably the most
+recent. They were "Hotel d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris," and a
+baggage number, "517." Not much, perhaps, in the way of information,
+but something; and Winter could trust his memory.
+
+He found himself in a well-furnished room, and hoped that Mrs. Garth
+might leave him there, even for a few seconds, when he would be free
+to examine the apartment without her supervision. But she treated him
+as if he might steal the spoons. Remaining in the doorway, she called
+loudly:
+
+"Mr. Fenley! The person I told you of is here again. Will you kindly
+come? He is in the dining-room."
+
+A door opened, a hurried step sounded on a linoleum floor-covering,
+and Hilton Fenley appeared.
+
+"Mr.--Mr. Winter, isn't it?" he said, with a fine air of surprise.
+
+"Yes," said the Superintendent composedly. "You hardly expected to
+meet me here, I suppose?"
+
+"Well, Mrs. Garth mentioned your earlier visit, but I am at a loss to
+understand----"
+
+"Oh, it is easily explained. We of the Yard take nothing for granted,
+Mr. Fenley. I learned by chance that a young lady who lives here rang
+you up at Roxton this morning, and knowing that you took the trouble
+to conceal the fact, I thought it advisable----"
+
+Mrs. Garth was a woman of discretion. She closed the door on the two
+men. Fenley did not wait for Winter to conclude.
+
+"That was foolish of me, I admit," he said, readily enough. "One does
+not wish all one's private affairs to be canvassed, even by the
+police. The moment Mrs. Garth mentioned your name I saw my error. You
+checked the telephone calls to The Towers, I suppose, and thus learned
+I had misled you."
+
+"Something of the sort. Miss Garth is a lady not difficult of
+recognition."
+
+"She and her mother are very dear friends. It was natural they should
+be shocked by the paragraphs in the newspapers and wish to ascertain
+the truth."
+
+"Quite so. I'm sorry if my pertinacity has annoyed them, or you."
+
+"I think they will rather be pleased by such proof of your
+thoroughness. Certainly I, for my part, do not resent it."
+
+"Very well, sir. Since I am here, I may inquire if you know any one
+living at 104, Hendon Road, Battersea Park?"
+
+"Now that you mention the address, I recall it as the residence of the
+lady in whom my brother is interested. This morning I had forgotten
+it, but you have refreshed my memory."
+
+"You're a tolerably self-possessed person," was the detective's
+unspoken thought, for Fenley was a different man now from the nervous,
+distrait son who had clamored for vengeance on his father's murderer.
+"You own up to the facts candidly when it is useless to do anything
+else, and you never fail to hammer a nail into Robert's coffin when
+the opportunity offers."
+
+But aloud he said--
+
+"You really don't know the lady's name, I suppose?"
+
+Fenley hesitated a fraction of a second.
+
+"Yes, I do know it, though I withheld the information this morning,"
+he replied. "But, I ask you, is it quite fair to make me a witness
+against my brother?"
+
+"Some one must explain Mr. Robert's movements, and, since he declines
+the task, I look to you," was the straightforward answer.
+
+"She is a Mrs. Lisle," said Fenley, after another pause--a calculated
+pause this time.
+
+"Have you visited your City office today?"
+
+"I went straight there from The Towers. I told you I was going there.
+What object could I have in deceiving you?"
+
+"None that I can see, Mr. Fenley. But I have been wondering if any new
+light has been shed on the motive which might have led to the crime.
+Have you examined Mr. Mortimer Fenley's papers, for instance? There
+may be documents, letters, memoranda secreted in some private drawer
+or dispatch case."
+
+The other shook his head. He appeared not to resent the detective's
+tone. It seemed as if regret for the morning's lack of confidence had
+rendered him apologetic.
+
+"No," he said. "I have not had time yet to go through my father's
+papers. This afternoon I was taken up wholly with business. You see,
+Mr. Winter, I can not allow my personal suffering to cost other men
+thousands of pounds, and that must be the outcome if certain
+undertakings now in hand are not completed. But my father was most
+methodical, and his affairs are sure to be thoroughly in order. Within
+the next few days, when I have time to make a proper search, I'll do
+it. Meanwhile, I can practically assure you that he had no reason to
+anticipate anything in the nature of a personal attack from any
+quarter whatsoever."
+
+"Do you care to discuss your brother's extraordinary behavior?"
+
+"In what respect?"
+
+"Well, he virtually bolted from Roxton today, though I had warned him
+that his presence was imperative."
+
+"My brother is self-willed and impetuous, and he was dreadfully
+shocked at finding his father dead."
+
+"Did he tell you he meant returning to London at once?"
+
+"No. When I came downstairs, after the distressing scene with Mrs.
+Fenley, he had gone."
+
+The Superintendent was aware already that he was dealing with a man
+cast in no ordinary mold, but he did not expect this continued
+meekness. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred would have grown restive
+under such cross-examination, and betrayed their annoyance by word or
+look; not so Hilton Fenley, who behaved as if it were the most natural
+thing in the world that he should be tracked to his friends' residence
+and made to explain his comings and goings during the day. Swayed by a
+subconscious desire to nettle his victim into protest, Winter tried a
+new tack.
+
+"I suppose, Mr. Fenley, you have seen your father's solicitors today?"
+he said suddenly.
+
+"If you mean that question in the ordinary sense, I must tell you that
+my father employed no firm of solicitors for family purposes. Of
+course, at one time or another, he has availed himself of the services
+of nearly every leading firm of lawyers in the City, but each
+transaction was complete in itself. For instance, his will is a
+holograph will, if that is what you are hinting at. He told me its
+provisions at the time it was signed and witnessed, and I shall
+surely find it in his private safe at the office."
+
+"You have not looked for it today?"
+
+"No. Why should I?"
+
+Feeling distinctly nonplussed, for there was no denying that Fenley
+had chosen the best possible way of carrying off a delicate situation,
+Winter turned, walked slowly to a window and gazed down into the
+street. He was perturbed, almost irritated, by a novel sense of
+failure not often associated with the day's work. He had to confess
+now that he had made no material stride in an inquiry the solution of
+which did not seem, at the outset, to offer any abnormal difficulty.
+
+True, there were circumstances which might serve to incriminate Robert
+Fenley; but if that young man were really responsible for the crime,
+he was what "the Yard" classes privately as a monumental idiot, since
+his subsequent conduct was well calculated to arouse the suspicion
+which the instinct of self-preservation would try to avert. A long
+experience of the methods of criminals warned Winter of the folly of
+jumping at conclusions, but he would be slow to admit and hard to be
+convinced that Robert Fenley took any active part in his father's
+murder.
+
+Of course, it was not with a view toward indulging in a reverie that
+he approached the window. He was setting a simple trap, into which
+many a man and woman had fallen. Any one of moderately strong
+character can control face and eyes when the need of such discipline
+is urgent, but howsoever impregnable the mask, the strain of wearing
+it is felt, and relief shows itself in an unguarded moment. At the
+farther end of the room there was a mirror above the fireplace, and as
+he turned his back on Fenley, by a hardly perceptible inclination of
+his head he could catch the reflection of his companion's face.
+
+The maneuver succeeded, but its result was negative. Hilton Fenley's
+eyes were downcast. He had lifted a hand to his chin in one of those
+nervous gestures which had been so noticeable during the morning's
+tumult. His face wore an expression of deep thought. Indeed, he might
+be weighing each word he had heard and uttered, and calculating its
+effect on his own fortunes.
+
+Still obeying that unworthy instinct which bade him sting Fenley into
+defiance, Winter tossed a question over his shoulder.
+
+"May I have a word with Miss Garth?" he said suddenly.
+
+"Why?" was the calm answer.
+
+"Just to settle that telephone incident once and for all."
+
+"But if you imagine it might not have been Miss Garth who made the
+call, why are you here?"
+
+Then the detective laughed. His wonted air of cheerful good humor
+smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead. He was beaten, completely
+discomfited, and he might as well confess it and betake himself to
+some quarter where a likelier trail could be followed.
+
+"True," he said affably. "I need not bother the young lady. Perhaps
+you will make my excuses and tell her that I ran you to earth in
+Gloucester Mansions merely to save time. By the way, I led the youth
+at the call office to believe that I was searching for an undersized
+Polish Jewess, all nose and gold earrings, a description which hardly
+applies to Miss Garth. And one last question--do you return to Roxton
+tonight?"
+
+"Within the hour."
+
+So Winter descended the stone stairs a second time, a prey to a
+feeling of failure. What had he gained by his impetuous actions? He
+had ascertained that Hilton Fenley was on terms of close intimacy with
+a pretty girl and her mother. Nothing very remarkable in that. He had
+secured a Paris address and the number of a baggage registration
+label. But similar information might be gleaned from a hundred
+thousand boxes and portmanteaux in London that day. He had been told
+that Mortimer Fenley had made a holograph will. Such procedure was by
+no means rare. Millions sterling have been disposed of on half sheets
+of note paper. Even his Majesty's judges have written similar wills,
+and blundered, with the result that a brother learned in the law has
+had to decide what the testator really meant. He wondered whether or
+not Mortimer Fenley had committed some technical error, such as the
+common one of creating a trust without appointing trustees. That would
+be seen in due course, when the will was probated.
+
+At any rate, he grinned at his own expense.
+
+"The only individual who has scored today," he said to himself, "is
+John Christopher Drake, alias Giovanni Maselli. I must keep mum about
+him. By gad, I believe I've compounded a felony!"
+
+But because he had not scored inside Gloucester Mansions there was no
+valid reason why he should not accomplish something in their immediate
+neighborhood. For instance, who and what were the Garths, mother and
+daughter? He looked in on a well-known dramatic agent, and raised the
+point. Reference to a ledger showed that Eileen Garth, age eighteen,
+tall, good-looking, no previous experience, had been a candidate for
+musical comedy, London engagement alone accepted; the almost certain
+sequel being that she had kept her name six months on the books
+without an offer to secure her valuable services.
+
+"I remember the girl well," said the agent. "She had the makings of a
+coryphee, but lacked training. She could sing a little, so I advised
+her to take dancing lessons. I believe she began them, with a teacher
+I recommended, but I've seen nothing of her for a year or more."
+
+"Again has Giovanni filled the bill," mused Winter as he made for his
+office. "I wish now I had curbed my impulsiveness and kept away from
+Gloucester Mansions--the second time, anyhow."
+
+Though chastened in spirit, the fact that no news of any sort awaited
+him at Scotland Yard, did not help to restore his customary poise.
+
+"Dash it all!" he growled. "I'm losing grip. The next thing I'll hear
+is that Sheldon is enjoying himself at Earl's Court and that Furneaux
+has gone fishing."
+
+Restless and ill at ease, he decided to ring up The Towers, Roxton. A
+footman answered the telephone, and announced that Mr. Furneaux had
+"just come in."
+
+"Hello, Charles," said Winter, when a thin voice squeaked along the
+line. "Any luck?"
+
+"Superb!"
+
+"Good! I've drawn blanks, regular round O's, except three probably
+useless addresses."
+
+"Addresses are never useless, friend. The mere knowing of a number in
+a street picks out that street from all the other streets where one
+knows no numbers."
+
+"Tell me things, you rat, if conditions permit."
+
+"Well, I've hit on two facts of profound importance. First, Roxton
+contains an artist of rare genius, and, second, it holds a cook of
+admitted excellence."
+
+"Look here----"
+
+"I'm listening here, which is all that science can achieve at
+present."
+
+"I'm in no mood for ill timed pleasantries."
+
+"But I'm not joking, 'pon me honor. The cook, name of Eliza, does
+really exist, and is sworn to surprise even your jaded appetite. The
+artist is John Trenholme. In years to come you'll boast of having met
+him before he was famous."
+
+"So you, like me, have done nothing?"
+
+"Ah, I note the bitterness of defeat in your tone. It has warped your
+judgment, too, as you will agree when a certain dinner I have arranged
+for tomorrow night touches the spot."
+
+"Can't you put matters more plainly?"
+
+"I'm guessing and planning and contriving. Like Galileo, I am
+convinced that the world moves." Then Furneaux broke into French.
+"Regarding those addresses you speak of, what are they?"
+
+Using the same language, Winter told him, substituting "the Eurasian"
+and "the motorcyclist" for names, and adding that he was writing
+Jacques Faure, the Paris detective, with reference to the hotel and
+the label, the figures on the latter being of the long, thin, French
+variety.
+
+"Are you coming here tonight?" went on Furneaux.
+
+"Do you want me?"
+
+"I'm only a little chap, and I'd like to have you near when it is
+dark."
+
+Winter sighed, but it was with relief. He knew now that Furneaux had
+not failed.
+
+"Very well," he said. "I'll arrive by the next convenient train."
+
+"The point is," continued Furneaux, who delighted in keeping his chief
+on tenterhooks when some new development in the chase was imminent,
+"that the position here requires handling by a man of your weight and
+authority. The motor cyclist came back an hour ago, and is now walking
+in the garden with the girl."
+
+"The deuce! Why hasn't Sheldon reported?" blurted out Winter.
+
+"Because, in all likelihood, he is watching the other girl. Isn't that
+what you were doing? Isn't half the battle won when we find the
+woman?"
+
+"I haven't set eyes on _my_ woman."
+
+"You surprise me. That kind of modest self-effacement isn't your usual
+style, at all, at all, as they say in Cork."
+
+"Probably you're right about Sheldon. He is a worker, not a talker
+like some people I know," retorted Winter.
+
+"What very dull acquaintances you must possess! Workers are the small
+fry who put spouters into Parliament, and pay them L400 a year, and
+make them Cabinet Ministers."
+
+"Evidently things have happened at Roxton, or you wouldn't be so
+chirpy. Well, so long! See you later."
+
+Having ascertained that an express train was timed to leave St.
+Pancras for Roxton at six P. M., he was packing a suitcase when a
+telegram arrived. It had been handed in at Folkestone at four thirty,
+and read:
+
+     Decided to follow lady instead of motor cyclist. Will explain
+     reasons verbally. Reaching London seven o'clock.
+
+                         SHELDON.
+
+"I'm the only one of the three who has accomplished nothing," was
+Winter's rueful comment. Nor could any critic have gainsaid him, for
+he seemed to have been wasting precious hours while his subordinates
+were making history in the Fenley case.
+
+He left instructions with Johnston that Mr. Sheldon was to write
+fully, care of the Roxton police station, and took a cab for St.
+Pancras. He was passing along the platform when he caught sight of
+Hilton Fenley seated on the far side of a first-class carriage, which
+was otherwise untenanted. An open dispatch box lay beside him, and he
+was so engrossed in the perusal of some document that he gave no heed
+to externals. Winter threw wide the door, and entered.
+
+"We are fated to meet today, Mr. Fenley," he said pleasantly. "First,
+you send for me; then I hunt you, and now we come together by chance.
+I don't think coincidence can arrange any fourth way of bringing us in
+touch today."
+
+But he was mistaken. Coincidence had already done far more than he
+imagined in providing unseen clues to the ultimate clearing up of a
+ghastly crime, and the same subtle law of chance was fated to assist
+the authorities once more before the sun rose again over the trees
+from whose cover Mortimer Fenley's murderer had fired the fatal shot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+WHEREIN AN ARTIST BECOMES A MAN OF ACTION
+
+
+Furneaux's visit left Trenholme in no happy frame of mind. The man who
+that morning had not a care in the world was now a prey to disquieting
+thought. The knowledge that he had been close to the scene of a
+dastardly murder at the moment it was committed, that he was in a
+sense a witness of the crime, was depressing in itself, for his was a
+kindly nature; and the mere fact that circumstances had rendered him
+impotent when his presence might have acted as a deterrent was
+saddening.
+
+Then, again, he was worried by the reflection that, no matter how
+discriminating the police might prove with regard to his sketch of
+Sylvia Manning, he would undoubtedly be called as a witness, both at
+the inquest and at the trial of any person arrested for the crime. It
+was asking too much of editorial human nature to expect that the
+magazine which had commissioned the illustrated article on Roxton
+would not make capital of the fact that its special artist was
+actually sketching the house while Mr. Fenley's murderer was skulking
+among the trees surrounding it. Thus there was no escape for John
+Trenholme. He was doomed to become notorious. At any hour the evening
+newspapers might be publishing his portrait and biography!
+
+On going downstairs he was cheered a little by meeting an apologetic
+Eliza.
+
+"I hope I didn't do any reel 'arm, sir," she said, dropping an
+aspirate in sheer emphasis.
+
+"Any harm to whom, or what?" he asked.
+
+"By talkin' as I did afore that 'tec, sir."
+
+"All depends on what you said to him. If you told him, for instance,
+that I carry Browning pistols in each pocket, and that my easel is a
+portable Maxim gun, of course----"
+
+"Oh, sir, I never try to be funny. I mean about the picter."
+
+"Good Heavens! You, too!"
+
+Eliza failed to understand this, but she was too subdued to inquire
+his meaning.
+
+"You see, sir, he must ha' heerd what I said about it, an' him
+skulkin' there in the passage. Do you reelly think a hop-o'-me-thumb
+like that can be a Scotland Yard man? It's my belief he's a
+himpostor."
+
+It had not dawned on Trenholme that Furneaux's complete fund of
+information regarding the sketches had been obtained so recently. He
+imagined that Police Constable Farrow and Gamekeeper Bates had
+supplied details, so his reply cheered Eliza.
+
+"Don't worry about unnecessary trifles," he said. "Mr. Furneaux is
+not only a genuine detective, but a remarkably clever one. You ought
+to have heard him praising the picture you despised."
+
+"I never did," came the vehement protest. "The picter is fine. It was
+the young lady's clothes, or the want of 'em, that I was condemnin'."
+
+"I've seen four thousand ladies walking about the sands at Trouville
+in far scantier attire."
+
+"That's in France, isn't it?" inquired Eliza.
+
+"Yes, but France is a more civilized country than England."
+
+Eliza sniffed, sure sign of battle.
+
+"Not it," she vowed. "I've read things about the carryin' on there as
+made me blood boil. Horse-racin' on Sundays, an' folks goin' to
+theaters instead of church. France more civilized than England,
+indeed! What'll you be sayin' next?"
+
+"I'll be saying that if our little friend behaves himself I shall ask
+him to dine here tomorrow."
+
+"He's axed himself, Mr. Trenholme, an' he's bringing another one, a
+big fellow, who knows how to use a carvin'-knife, he says. What would
+you like for dinner?"
+
+Trenholme fled. That question was becoming a daily torment. The
+appearance of Furneaux had alone saved him from being put on the
+culinary rack after luncheon; having partaken of one good meal, he
+never had the remotest notion as to his requirements for the next.
+
+He wandered through the village, calling at a tobacconist's, and
+looking in on his friend the barber. All tongues were agog with
+wonder. The Fenley family, known to that district of Hertfordshire
+during the greater part of a generation, was subjected to merciless
+criticism. He heard gossip of Mr. Robert, of Mr. Hilton, even of the
+recluse wife, now a widow; but every one had a good word for "Miss
+Sylvia."
+
+"We don't see enough of her, an' that's a fact," said the barber. "She
+must find life rather dull, cooped up there as she is, for all that
+it's a grand house an' a fine park. They never had company like the
+other big houses. A few bald-headed City men an' their wives for an
+occasional week end in the summer or when the coverts were shot in
+October--never any nice young people. Miss Sylvia wept when the
+rector's daughter got married last year, an' well I knew why--she was
+losin' her only chum."
+
+"Surely there are scores of good families in this neighborhood?"
+
+"Plenty, sir, but nearly all county. The toffs never did take on the
+Fenleys, an', to be fair, I don't believe the poor man who's dead ever
+bothered his head about them."
+
+"But Miss Manning can not have lived here all her life? She must have
+been abroad, at school, for instance?"
+
+"Well, yes, sir. I remember her comin' home from Brussels two years
+ago. But school ain't society. The likes of her, with all her money,
+should mix with her own sort."
+
+"Is she so wealthy, then?"
+
+"She's Mr. Fenley's ward, an' the servants at The Towers say she'll
+come in for a heap when she's twenty-one, which will be next year."
+
+Somehow, this item of gossip, confirming Eliza's statement, was
+displeasing. Sylvia Manning, nymph of the lake, receded to some dim
+altitude where the high and mighty are enthroned. Biting his pipe
+viciously, Trenholme sought the solitude of a woodland footpath, and
+tried to find distraction in studying the effects of diffused light.
+
+Returning to the inn about tea time, he was angered anew by a telegram
+from the magazine editor. It read:
+
+     _News in Pictures_ wants sketches and photographs of Fenley case
+     and surroundings. Have suggested you for commission. Why not pick
+     up a tenner? Rush drawings by train.
+
+"That's the last straw," growled Trenholme fiercely. He raced out,
+bought a set of picture postcards showing the village and the Tudor
+mansion, and dispatched them to the editor of _News in Pictures_ with
+his compliments. Coming back from the station, he passed the Easton
+lodge of The Towers. A daring notion seized him, and he proceeded to
+put it into practice forthwith. He presented himself at the gate, and
+was faced by Mrs. Bates and a policeman. Taught by experience to
+beware of strangers that day, the keeper's wife gazed at him through
+an insurmountable iron palisade. The constable merely surveyed him
+with a professional air, as one who would interfere if needful.
+
+"I am calling on Miss Sylvia Manning," announced Trenholme promptly.
+
+"By appointment, sir?"
+
+"No, but I have reason to believe that she would wish to see me."
+
+"My orders are that nobody is to be admitted to the house without
+written instructions, sir."
+
+"How can Miss Manning give written instructions unless she knows I am
+here?"
+
+"Them's my orders," said Mrs. Bates firmly.
+
+"But," he persisted, "it really amounts to this--that you decide
+whether or not Miss Manning wishes to receive me, or any other
+visitor."
+
+Mrs. Bates found the point of view novel. Moreover, she liked this
+young man's smile. She hesitated, and temporized.
+
+"If you don't mind waitin' a minute till I telephone----" she said.
+
+"Certainly. Say that Mr. John Trenholme, who was sketching in the
+park this morning, asks the favor of a few words."
+
+The guardian of the gate disappeared; soon she came out again, and
+unlocked the gate.
+
+"Miss Manning is just leavin' the house," she said. "If you walk up
+the avenue you'll meet her, sir."
+
+Now, it happened that Trenholme's request for an interview reached
+Sylvia Manning at a peculiar moment. She had been shocked and
+distressed beyond measure by the morning's tragedy. Mortimer Fenley
+was one of those men whom riches render morose, but his manner had
+always been kind to his ward. A pleasant fiction enabled the girl to
+regard Mr. and Mrs. Fenley as her "uncle" and "aunt," and the tacit
+relationship thus established served to place the financier and his
+"niece" on a footing of affectionate intimacy. Of late, however,
+Sylvia had been aware of a splitting up of the family into armed
+camps, and the discovery, or intuition, that she was the cause of the
+rupture had proved irksome and even annoying.
+
+Mortimer Fenley had made no secret of his desire that she should marry
+his younger son. When both young people, excellent friends though they
+were, seemed to shirk the suggestion, though by no means actively
+opposing it, Fenley was angered, and did not scruple to throw out
+hints of coercion. Again, the girl knew that Hilton Fenley was a rival
+suitor, and meant to defy his father's intent with regard to Robert.
+Oddly enough, neither of the young men had indulged in overt
+love-making. According to their reckoning, Sylvia's personal choice
+counted for little in the matter. Robert seemed to assume that his
+"cousin" was merely waiting to be asked, while Hilton's attitude was
+that of a man biding his time to snatch a prize when opportunity
+served.
+
+Sylvia herself hated the very thought of matrimony. The only married
+couples of her acquaintance were either hopelessly detached, like
+Fenley and his wife, or uninteresting people of the type which the
+village barber had etched so clearly for Trenholme's benefit.
+Whatsoever quickening of romance might have crept into such lives had
+long yielded to atrophy. Marriage, to the girl's imaginative mind, was
+synonymous with a dull and prosy middle age. Most certainly the vague
+day-dreams evoked by her reading of books and converted into alluring
+vistas by an ever-widening horizon were not sated by the prospect of
+becoming the wife of either of the only two young men she knew.
+
+There was a big world beyond the confines of Roxton Park. There were
+interests in life that called with increasing insistence. In her heart
+of hearts she had decided, quite unmistakably, to decline any
+matrimonial project for several years, and while shrinking from a
+downright avowal of her intentions, which her "uncle" would have
+resented very strongly, the fact that father and sons were at daggers
+drawn concerning her was the cause of no slight feeling of dismay,
+even of occasional moments of unhappiness.
+
+She had no one to confide in. For reasons beyond her ken Mortimer
+Fenley had set his face against any of her school friends being
+invited to the house, while Mrs. Fenley, by reason of an unfortunate
+failing, was a wretched automaton that ate and drank and slept, and
+alternated between brief fits of delirium and prolonged periods of
+stupor induced by drugs.
+
+Still, until a murderous gunshot had torn away the veil of unreality
+which enshrouded the household, Sylvia had contrived to avoid a
+crisis. All day, during six days of the week, she was free in her own
+realm. She had books and music, the woods, the park, and the gardens
+to occupy busy hours. Unknown to any, her favorite amusement was the
+planning of extensive foreign tours by such simple means as an atlas
+and a set of guide books. She had a talent for sketching in water
+color, and her own sanctum contained a dozen or more copious records
+of imaginary journeys illustrated with singular accuracy of detail.
+
+She was athletic in her tastes, too. She had fitted up a small
+gymnasium, which she used daily. At her request, Mortimer Fenley
+had laid out a nine-hole links in the park, and in her second golfing
+year (the current one) Sylvia had gone around in bogey. She would
+have excelled in tennis, but Robert Fenley was so much away from home
+that she seldom got a game, while Hilton professed to be too tired
+for strenuous exercise after long days in the City. She could ride
+and drive, though forbidden to follow any of the local packs of
+fox-hounds, and it has been seen that she was a first-rate swimmer.
+Brodie, too, had taught her to drive a motor car, and she could
+discourse learnedly on silencers and the Otto cycle.
+
+On the whole, then, she was content, and hugged the conceit that when
+she came of age she would be her own mistress and order her life as
+she chose. The solitary defect of any real importance in the scheme of
+things was Mortimer Fenley's growing insistence on her marriage to
+Robert.
+
+It was astounding, therefore, and quite bewildering, that Robert
+Fenley should have hit on the day of his father's death to declare his
+prosaic passion. He had motored back from London about four o'clock.
+Hurrying to change his clothing for the attire demanded by convention
+in hours of mourning, he sent a message to Sylvia asking her to meet
+him at tea. Afterwards he took her into the garden, on the pretext
+that she was looking pale and needed fresh air. There, without the
+least preamble, he informed her that the day's occurrences had caused
+him to fall in unreservedly with his father's wishes. He urged her to
+agree to a quiet wedding at the earliest possible date, and pointed
+out that a prompt announcement of their pact would stifle any
+opposition on Hilton's part.
+
+Evidently he took it for granted that if Barkis was willing, Peggotty
+had no option in the matter. He forgot to mention such a trivial
+element as love. Their marriage had been planned by the arbiter of
+their destinies, and who were they that they should gainsay that
+august decision? Why, his father's death had made it a duty that they
+owed to a sacred memory!
+
+Though Sylvia's experience of the world was slight, and knowledge of
+her fellow creatures rather less, Cousin Robert's eagerness, as
+compared with his deficiencies as a wooer, warned her that some hidden
+but powerful motive was egging him on now. She tried to temporize, but
+the more she eluded him the more insistent he became.
+
+At last, she spoke plainly, and with some heat.
+
+"If you press for my answer today it is 'No,'" she said, and a wave of
+color flooded her pale cheeks. "I think you can hardly have considered
+your actions. It is monstrous to talk of marriage when my uncle has
+only been dead a few hours. I refuse to listen to another word."
+
+Perforce, Robert had left it at that. He had the sense to bottle up
+his anger, at any rate in her hearing; perhaps he reflected that the
+breaking of the ice would facilitate the subsequent plunge.
+
+Far more disturbed in spirit than her dignified repulse of Fenley had
+shown, Sylvia reentered the house, passing the odd-looking little
+detective as she crossed the hall. She took refuge in her own suite,
+but determined forthwith to go out of doors again and seek shelter
+among her beloved trees. Through a window, as her rooms faced south,
+she saw Robert Fenley pacing moodily in the garden, where he was
+presently joined by the detective.
+
+Apparently, Fenley was as ungracious and surly of manner as he knew
+how to be, but Furneaux continued to chat with careless affability;
+soon the two walked off in the direction of the lake. That was
+Sylvia's chance. She ran downstairs and was at the door when a footman
+came and said that Mrs. Bates wanted her on the telephone.
+
+At first she was astounded by Trenholme's message. Then sheer
+irritation at the crassness of things, and perhaps some spice of
+feminine curiosity, led her to give the order which opened the gates
+of Roxton Park to a man she had never seen.
+
+The two met a few hundred yards down the avenue. Police Constable
+Farrow, who had been replaced by another constable while he went home
+for a meal, was on guard in the Quarry Wood again until the night men
+came on duty, and noticed Miss Manning leaving the house. He descended
+from his rock and strolled toward the avenue, with no other motive
+than a desire to stretch his legs; his perplexity was unbounded when
+he discovered Mortimer Fenley's ward deep in conversation with the
+artist.
+
+"Well, I'm jiggered!" he said, dodging behind a giant rhododendron.
+Whipping out a notebook and consulting his watch, he solemnly noted
+time and names in a laboriously accurate round hand. Then he nibbled
+his chin strap and dug both thumbs into his belt. His luck was in that
+day. He knew something now that was withheld from the Scotland Yard
+swells. Sylvia Manning and John Trenholme were acquaintances. Nay,
+more; they must be old friends; under his very eyes they went off
+together into the park.
+
+Back to his rock went Police Constable Farrow, puzzled but elated. Was
+he not a repository of secrets? And that funny little detective had
+betaken himself in the opposite direction! Fate was kind indeed.
+
+He would have been still more surprised had Fate permitted him to be
+also an eavesdropper, if listeners ever do drop from eaves.
+
+Sylvia was by no means flurried when she came face to face with
+Trenholme. The female of the species invariably shows her superiority
+on such occasions. Trenholme knew he was blushing and rather
+breathless. Sylvia was cool and distant.
+
+"You are Mr. Trenholme, I suppose?" she said, her blue eyes meeting
+his brown ones in calm scrutiny.
+
+"Yes," he said, trying desperately to collect his wits. The
+well-balanced phrases conned while walking up the avenue had vanished
+in a hopeless blur at the instant they were needed. His mind was in a
+whirl.
+
+"I am Miss Manning," she continued. "It is hardly possible to receive
+visitors at the house this afternoon, and as I happened to be coming
+out when Mrs. Bates telephoned from the lodge, I thought you would
+have no objection to telling me here why you wish to see me."
+
+"I have come to apologize for my action this morning," he said.
+
+"What action?"
+
+"I sketched you without your knowledge, and, of course, without your
+permission."
+
+"You sketched me? Where?"
+
+"When you were swimming in the lake."
+
+"You didn't dare!"
+
+"I did. I'm sorry now, though you inspired the best picture I have
+ever painted, or shall ever paint."
+
+For an instant Sylvia forgot her personal troubles in sheer
+wonderment, and a ghost of a smile brightened her white cheeks. John
+Trenholme was a person who inspired confidence at sight, and her first
+definite emotion was one of surprise that he should look so
+disconsolate.
+
+"I really don't understand," she said. "The quality of your picture
+has no special interest for me. What I fail to grasp is your motive in
+trespassing in a private park and watching me, or any lady, bathing."
+
+"Put that way, my conduct needs correcting with a horsewhip; but
+happily there are other points of view. That is--I mean----Really,
+Miss Manning, I am absurdly tongue-tied, but I do beg of you to hear
+my explanation."
+
+"Have you one?"
+
+"Yes. It might convince any one but you. You will be a severe judge,
+and I hardly know how to find words to seek your forgiveness, but I--I
+was the victim of circumstances."
+
+"Please don't regard me as a judge. At present, I am trying to guess
+what happened."
+
+Then John squared his shoulders and tackled the greatest difficulty he
+had grappled with for years.
+
+"The simple truth should at least sound convincing," he said. "I came
+to Roxton three days ago on a commission to sketch the village and
+its environment. This house and grounds are historical, and I applied
+for permission to visit them, but was refused. By chance, I heard of a
+public footpath which crosses the park close to the lake----"
+
+Sylvia nodded. She, too, had heard much of that footpath. Its
+existence had annoyed Mortimer Fenley as long as she could remember
+anything. That friendly little nod encouraged Trenholme. His voice
+came under better control, and he contrived to smile.
+
+"I was told it was a bone of contention," he said, "but that didn't
+trouble me a bit, since the right of way opened the forbidden area. I
+meant no disturbance or intrusion. I rose early this morning, and
+would have made my sketches and got away without seeing you if it were
+not for a delightful pair of wrought iron gates passed _en route_.
+They detained me three quarters of an hour. Instead of reaching the
+clump of cedars at a quarter to seven or thereabouts, I arrived at
+half past seven.
+
+"I sketched the house and lawns and then turned to the lake. When you
+appeared I imagined at first you were coming to pitch into me for
+entering your domain. But, as I was partly hidden by some briers
+beneath the cedars, you never saw me, and, before I realized what was
+taking place, you threw off your wraps and were in the water."
+
+"Oh!" gasped Sylvia.
+
+"Now, I ask you to regard the situation impersonally," said Trenholme,
+sinking his eyes humbly to the ground and keeping them there. "I had
+either to reveal my presence and startle you greatly, or remain where
+I was and wait until you went off again.
+
+"Whether it was wise or not, I elected for the easier course. I think
+I would act similarly if placed in the like predicament tomorrow or
+next day. After all, there is nothing so very remarkable in a lady
+taking a morning swim that an involuntary onlooker should be shocked
+or scandalized by it. You and I were strangers to each other. Were we
+friends, we might have been swimming in company."
+
+Sylvia uttered some incoherent sound, but Trenholme, once launched in
+his recital, meant to persevere with it to the bitter end.
+
+"I still hold that I chose the more judicious way out of a difficult
+situation," he said. "Had I left it at that, all would have been well.
+But the woman tempted me, and I did eat."
+
+"Indeed, the woman did nothing of the sort," came the vehement
+protest.
+
+"I speak in the artistic sense. You can not imagine, you will never
+know, what an exquisite picture you and the statue of Aphrodite made
+when mirrored in that shining water. I forgot every consideration but
+the call of art, which, when it is genuine, is irresistible,
+overwhelming. Fearing only that you might take one plunge and go, I
+grabbed my palette and a canvas and began to work.
+
+"I used pure color, and painted as one reads of the fierce labor of
+genius. For once in my life I was inspired. I had caught an effect
+which I might have sought in vain during the remainder of my life. I
+painted real flesh, real water. Even the reeds and shrubs by the side
+of the lake were veritable glimpses of actuality. Then, when I had
+given some species of immortality to a fleeting moment, you returned
+to the house, and I was left alone with a dream made permanent, a
+memory transfixed on canvas, a picture which would have created a
+sensation in the Salon----"
+
+"Oh, surely, you would not exhibit me--it----" breathed the girl.
+
+"No," he said grimly. "That conceit is dead and buried. But I want you
+to realize that during those few minutes I was not John Trenholme, an
+artist struggling for foothold on the steep crags of the painter's
+rock of endeavor, but a master of the craft gazing from some high
+pinnacle at a territory he had won. If you know anything of painting,
+Miss Manning, you will go with me so far as to admit that my
+indiscretion was impersonal. I, a poet who expressed his emotions in
+terms of color, was alone with Aphrodite and a nymph, on a June
+morning, in a leafy English park. I don't think I should be blamed,
+but envied. I should not be confessing a fault, but claiming
+recognition as one favored of the gods."
+
+Trenholme was speaking in earnest now, and Sylvia thrilled to the
+music of his voice. But if her heart throbbed and a strange fluttering
+made itself felt in her heart, her utterance, by force of repression,
+was so cold and unmoved that Trenholme became more downcast than ever.
+
+"I do paint a little," she said, "and I can understand that
+the--er--statue and the lake offer a charming subject; but I am still
+at a loss to know why you have thought fit to come here and tell me
+these things."
+
+"It is my wretched task to make that clear, at least," he cried
+contritely, forcing himself to turn and look through the trees at a
+landscape now glowing in the mellow light of a declining sun. "When
+you had gone I sat there, working hard for a time, but finally
+yielding to the spell of an unexpected and, therefore, a most
+delightful romance. A vision of rare beauty had come into my life and
+gone from it, all in the course of a magic hour. Is it strange that I
+should linger in the shrine?
+
+"I was aroused by a gunshot, but little dreamed that grim Death was
+stalking through Fairyland. Still, I came to my everyday senses,
+packed up my sketches and color box, and tramped off to Roxton,
+singing as I went. Hours afterward, I learned of the tragedy which
+had taken place so near the place where I had snatched a glimpse of
+the Hesperides. It was known that I had been in the park at the time.
+I had met and spoken to Bates, your head keeper, and the local
+policeman, Farrow.
+
+"A detective came, a man named Furneaux; a jolly clever chap, too, but
+a most disturbing reasoner. He showed me that my drawings--the one
+sketch, at any rate, which I held sacred--would prove my sheet anchor
+when I was brought into the stormy waters of inquest and law courts.
+It is obvious that every person who was in that locality at half past
+nine this morning must explain his or her presence beyond all doubt or
+questioning. I shall be obliged to say, of course, that I was in the
+park fully two hours, from seven thirty A. M. onward. What was I
+doing? Painting. Very well; where is the result? Is it such that any
+artist will testify that I was busily engaged? Don't you see, Miss
+Manning? I must either produce that sketch or stand convicted of the
+mean offense you yourself imputed to me instantly when you heard of my
+whereabouts."
+
+"Oh, I didn't really imply that," said Sylvia, and a new note of
+sympathy crept into her voice. "It would be horrid if--if you couldn't
+explain; and--it seems to me that the sketches--you made more than
+one, didn't you?--should be shown to the authorities."
+
+Trenholme's face lit with gratitude because of her ready tact. He was
+sorely impelled to leave matters on their present footing, but whipped
+himself to the final stage.
+
+"There is worse to come," he said miserably.
+
+"Goodness me! What else _can_ there be?"
+
+"Mr Furneaux has asked me--ordered me, in fact--to meet you by the
+side of the lake tomorrow morning at a quarter past nine and bring the
+drawings. Now you know why I have ventured to call this afternoon. I
+simply could not wait till I was brought before you like a collared
+thief with the loot in his possession. I _had_ to meet you without the
+intervention of a grinning policeman. When you heard my plea I
+thought, I hoped, that you might incline to a less severe view than
+would be possible if the matter came to your notice without warning."
+
+He stopped abruptly. A curiously introspective look had come into the
+girl's eyes, for he had summoned up courage to glance at her again,
+and snatch one last impression of her winsome loveliness before she
+bade him be gone.
+
+"Where are you staying in Roxton, Mr. Trenholme?" she asked. The
+unexpected nature of the question almost took his breath away.
+
+"At the White Horse Inn," he said.
+
+She pointed across the park.
+
+"That farm there, Mr. Jackson's, lies nearly opposite the inn. I
+suppose the detective has not impounded your sketch?"
+
+"No," he murmured, quite at a loss to follow her intent.
+
+"Well, Mr. Jackson will let you go and come through his farmyard to
+oblige me. It will be a short cut for you, too. If you have no
+objection, I'll walk with you to the boundary wall, which you can
+climb easily.
+
+"Then you might bring this debatable picture, and let me see it--the
+others as well, if you wish. Wouldn't that be a good idea? I mightn't
+get quite such a shock in the morning, when the detective man parades
+you before me. It is not very late. I have plenty of time to stroll
+that far before dinner."
+
+Hardly believing his ears, Trenholme walked off by her side. No wonder
+Police Constable Farrow was surprised. And still less room was there
+for wonder that Hilton Fenley, driving with Winter from the station,
+should shout an imperative order to Brodie to stop the car when he saw
+the couple in the distance.
+
+"Isn't that Miss Sylvia?" he said harshly, well knowing there could be
+only one answer.
+
+"Yes, sir," said the chauffeur.
+
+"Who is the man with her?"
+
+"Mr. Trenholme, the artist, from the White Horse, sir."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I've seen him several times hereabouts."
+
+Fenley was in a rare temper already, for Winter had told him Brother
+Robert was at home, a development on which he had by no means counted.
+Now his sallow face darkened with anger.
+
+"Drive on!" he said. "I gave orders, at your request, Mr Winter, that
+no strangers were to be admitted. I must see to it that I am obeyed in
+future. It is surprising, too, that the police are so remiss in such
+an important matter."
+
+For once, Winter was perforce silent. In his heart of hearts he blamed
+Detective Inspector Furneaux.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+FURNEAUX STATES SOME FACTS AND CERTAIN FANCIES
+
+
+This record of a day remarkable beyond any other in the history of
+secluded Roxton might strike a more cheerful note if it followed the
+two young people across the park. It is doubtful whether or not Sylvia
+Manning's unpremeditated action in accompanying Trenholme was inspired
+by a sudden interest in art or by revolt against the tribulations
+which had befallen her. Of course there is some probability that a
+full and true account of the conversation between man and maid as they
+walked the half mile to Jackson's farm might throw a flood of light on
+this minor problem. Be that as it may, stern necessity demands that
+the chronicle should revert for a time to the sayings and doings of
+the Fenleys and the detectives.
+
+Despite a roundabout route, Furneaux had merely led Robert Fenley
+through the gardens to the Quarry Wood. Somewhat to the detective's
+surprise, the rock was unguarded. The two were standing there,
+discussing the crime, when Police Constable Farrow returned to his
+post. Furneaux said nothing--for some reason he did not emphasize the
+fact to his companion that a sentry should have been found stationed
+there--but a sharp glance at the policeman warned the latter that he
+ran considerable risk of a subsequent reprimand.
+
+Conscious of rectitude, Farrow saluted, and produced his notebook.
+
+"I've just made a memo of this, sir," he said, pointing to an entry.
+
+Furneaux read:
+
+     Miss Sylvia Manning left home 6.45 P. M. Met Mr. John Trenholme,
+     artist, White Horse Inn, in avenue 6.47 P. M. The two held close
+     conversation, and went off together across park in direction of
+     Roxton 6.54 P. M. Lady wore no hat. Regarded incident as unusual,
+     so observed exact times.
+
+"I note what the Inspector says, and will discuss the point later,"
+said Furneaux, returning the book. The policeman grinned. As between
+Scotland Yard and himself a complete understanding was established.
+
+"Have the local police discovered anything of importance?" inquired
+Fenley, who, now that his own affairs called for no immediate
+attention, seemed to give more heed to the manner of his father's
+death. At first, his manner to Furneaux had been churlish in the
+extreme. Evidently he thought he could treat the representative of the
+Criminal Investigation Department just as he pleased. At this moment
+he elected to be gruffly civil in tone.
+
+"They are making full inquiries, of course," replied the detective,
+"but I think the investigation will be conducted in the main by my
+Department----As I was saying, Mr. Fenley, undoubtedly the shot was
+fired from this locality. Dr. Stern, who is an authority on bullet
+wounds, is convinced of that, even if there was no other evidence,
+such as the chauffeur's and the artist's I told you of, together with
+the impressions formed by Bates and others."
+
+"Were there no footprints?" was the next question, and Fenley eyed the
+ground critically. He deemed those Scotland Yard Johnnies thickheaded
+chaps, at the best.
+
+"None of any value. Since ten o'clock, however, dozens of new ones
+have been made. That is why the policeman is keeping an eye on the
+place--chiefly to warn off intruders. Shall we return to the house?"
+
+"It's a strange business," said Fenley, striding down the slope by
+Furneaux's side. "Why in the world should any one want to shoot my
+poor old guv'nor? He was straight as a die, and I don't know a soul
+who had any real grievance against him."
+
+Furneaux did not appear to be listening. The two were approaching the
+patch of moist earth which bore the impress of Robert Fenley's boots.
+"By the way," he said suddenly, "are you aware that there is a sort of
+a theory that your father was shot by a rifle belonging to you?"
+
+"What?" roared the other, and it was hard to say whether rage or
+astonishment predominated in his voice. "Is that one of Hilton's
+dodges to get me into trouble?"
+
+"But you do own an Express rifle, which you keep in your sitting-room.
+Where is it now?"
+
+"In the place where it always is. Standing in a corner behind the
+bookcase."
+
+"When did you see it last, Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"How the deuce do I know? I give it a run through with an oiled rag
+about once a month. It must be nearly a month since I cleaned it."
+
+"It has gone."
+
+"Gone where?"
+
+"I wish I knew."
+
+"But who the devil could have taken it?"
+
+If ever a man was floundering in a morass of wrath and amazement it
+was this loud-voiced youngster. He was a slow-witted lout, but the
+veriest dullard must have perceived that the disappearance of the
+weapon which presumably killed his father was a serious matter for its
+owner.
+
+In order to grasp this new phase of the tragedy in its proper bearings
+he stood stock still, and gazed blankly into the serious face of the
+detective. Furneaux knew he would do that. It was a mannerism. Some
+men can not think and move at the same moment, and Robert Fenley was
+one.
+
+Naturally, young Fenley did not know that he was leaving a new set of
+footprints by the side of the others already attributed to him. Having
+done that, he was no longer wanted.
+
+"We'll solve every part of the puzzle in time," said Furneaux slowly,
+moistening his thin lips with his tongue as if he were about to taste
+another glass of rare old-vintage wine.
+
+"I mentioned the fact of the gun being missing to show you how unwise
+you were this morning. You shouldn't have bolted off as you did when
+Mr. Winter requested you to remain. I haven't the least doubt, Mr.
+Fenley, that you can prove you were in London at the time the murder
+was committed, and during some days prior to it, but the police like
+these matters to be cleared up; if I may give you a hint, you'll tell
+the Superintendent that you regret your behavior, and show you mean
+what you say by giving him all the information he asks for. Here he is
+now. I hear Mr. Hilton's car, and Mr. Winter is coming with him from
+town."
+
+"Mr. Hilton's car? It's no more his car than mine. You mark my words,
+there will be trouble in the family if my brother starts bossing
+things. He hates me, and would do me an ill turn if he could. Was it
+Hilton who spread this story about my gun?"
+
+"No. Rather the reverse. He kept your name studiously out of it."
+
+"Who was it, then? I have a right to know."
+
+"I fail to recollect just how the matter cropped up. It was the
+direct outcome of the common observation of several persons who heard
+the report, and who were able to discriminate between one class of gun
+and another. Anyhow, there is no occasion for you to squeal before you
+are hurt. You acted like a fool this morning. Try and behave yourself
+more reputably now."
+
+The prophet Balaam was not more taken aback when rebuked by his ass
+than Robert Fenley when Furneaux turned and rent him in this fashion.
+Hitherto the detective's manner had been mildness itself, so this
+change of front was all the more staggering.
+
+"Oh, I say!" came the blustering protest. "I don't allow any of you
+fellows to talk to me like that. I----"
+
+"You'll hear worse in another second if you really annoy me," said
+Furneaux. "Heretofore no one seems to have troubled to inform you what
+a special sort of idiot you are. Though your last words to your father
+were a threat that you were inclined to shoot him and your precious
+self, when you saw him lying dead you thought of nothing but your own
+wretched follies, and bolted off to Hendon Road, Battersea, instead of
+remaining here and trying to help the police.
+
+"When I tell you your gun is missing you yelp about your brother's
+animosity. Before your father is laid in his grave you threaten
+to upset the household because your brother acts as its master.
+Why shouldn't he? Are you fitted to take the reins or share his
+responsibility? If you were at your right job, Robert Fenley, you'd
+be carrying bricks and mortar in a hod; for you haven't brains enough
+to lay a brick or use a trowel."
+
+The victim of this outburst thought that the little detective had gone
+mad, though the reference to Hendon Road had startled him, and a
+scared expression had come into his eyes.
+
+"Look here----" he began, but Furneaux checked him again instantly.
+
+"I've looked at you long enough to sum you up as a sulky puppy," he
+said. "If you had any sort of gumption you would realize that you
+occupy a singularly precarious position. Were it not for the lucky
+accident that my colleague and I were on the spot this morning it is
+more than likely that the county police would have arrested you at
+sight. Don't give us any more trouble, or you'll be left to stew in
+your own juice. I have warned you, once and for all. If you care to
+swallow your spleen and amend your manners, I shall try to believe you
+are more idiot than knave. At present I am doubtful which way the
+balance tips."
+
+Furneaux stalked off rapidly, leaving the other to fume with
+indignation as he followed. With his almost uncanny gift of
+imaginative reasoning, the Jersey man had guessed the purport of
+Fenley's talk with Sylvia in the garden. He had watched the two from
+a window of the dining-room, and had read correctly the girl's
+ill-concealed scorn, not quite devoid of dread, as revealed by face
+and gesture. To make sure, he waylaid her in the hall while she was
+hurrying to her own apartments. Then he sauntered after Robert Fenley,
+and only bided his time to empty upon him the vials of his wrath.
+
+He had taken the oaf's measure with a nice exactitude. To trounce him
+without frightening him also was only inviting a complaint to the
+Commissioner, but Furneaux was well aware that the longer Robert
+Fenley's dull brain dwelt on the significance of that address in
+Battersea being known to the police, the less ready would he be
+to stir a hornets' nest into activity by showing his resentment.
+Obviously, Furneaux's methods were not those advocated in the Police
+Manual. Any other man who practiced them would risk dismissal, but the
+"Little 'Un" of the Yard was a law unto himself.
+
+Meanwhile, he was hurrying after the "Big 'Un," (such, it will be
+recalled, were the respective nicknames Furneaux and Winter had
+received in the Department) who had alighted from the car, and was
+listening to Hilton Fenley berating a servant for having permitted
+Trenholme to make known his presence to Miss Manning. The man,
+however, protested that he had done nothing of the sort. Miss Sylvia
+had been called to the lodge telephone, and the footman's acquaintance
+with the facts went no farther. Smothering his annoyance as best he
+could, Fenley rang up Mrs. Bates and asked for particulars. When the
+woman explained what had happened, he rejoined Winter in the hall,
+paying no heed to Furneaux, who was entering at the moment.
+
+"That artist fellow who was trespassing in the park this morning--if
+nothing worse is proved against him--must have a superb cheek," he
+said angrily. "He actually had the impertinence to ask Miss Manning to
+meet him, no doubt offering some plausible yarn as an excuse. I hope
+you'll test his story thoroughly, Mr. Winter. At the least, he should
+be forced to say what he was doing in these grounds at such an unusual
+hour."
+
+"He is putting himself right with Miss Manning now," broke in
+Furneaux.
+
+"Putting himself right with Miss Manning? What the deuce do you mean,
+sir?" Fenley could snarl effectively when in the mood, and none might
+deny his present state of irritation, be the cause what it might.
+
+"That young lady is the only person to whom he owes an explanation. He
+is giving it to her now."
+
+"Will you kindly be more explicit?"
+
+Furneaux glanced from his infuriated questioner to Winter, his face
+one note of mild interrogation and non-comprehension.
+
+"Really, Mr. Fenley, I have said the same thing in two different
+ways," he cried. "As a rule I contrive to be tolerably lucid in my
+remarks--don't I, Mr. Robert?" for the younger Fenley had just come
+in.
+
+"What's up now?" was Robert's non-committal answer.
+
+For some reason his brother did not reply, but Furneaux suddenly grew
+voluble.
+
+"Of course, you haven't heard that an artist named Trenholme was
+painting near the lake this morning when your father was killed," he
+said. "Fortunately, he was there before and after the shot was fired.
+He can prove, almost to a yard, the locality where the murderer was
+concealed. In fact, he is coming here tomorrow, at my request, to go
+over the ground with me.
+
+"An interesting feature of the affair is that Mr. Trenholme is a
+genius. I have never seen better work. One of his drawings, a water
+color, has all the brilliancy and light of a David Cox, but another,
+in oil, is a positive masterpiece. It must have been done in a few
+minutes, because Miss Manning did not know he was sitting beneath the
+cedars, and it is unreasonable to suppose that she would preserve the
+same pose for any length of time--sufficiently long, that is----"
+
+"Did the bounder paint a picture of Sylvia bathing?" broke in Robert,
+his red face purple with rage.
+
+"Allow me to remind you that you are speaking of a painter of
+transcendent merit," said Furneaux suavely.
+
+"When _I_ meet him I'll give him a damned good hiding."
+
+"He's rather tall and strongly built."
+
+"I don't care how big he is, I'll down him."
+
+"Oh, stop this pothouse talk," put in Hilton, giving the blusterer a
+contemptuous glance. "Mr. Furneaux, you seem primed with information.
+Why should Mr. Trenholme, if that is his name, have the audacity to
+call on Miss Manning? He might have the impudence to skulk among the
+shrubs and watch a lady bathing, but I fail to see any motive for his
+visit to The Towers this evening."
+
+Furneaux shook his head. Evidently the point did not appeal to him.
+
+"There is no set formula that expresses the artistic temperament," he
+said. "The man who passes whole years in studying the nude is often
+endowed with a very high moral sense. Mr. Trenholme, though carried
+away by enthusiasm this morning, may be consumed with remorse tonight
+if he imagines that the lady who formed the subject of his sketch is
+likely to be distressed because of it.
+
+"I fear I am to blame. I stopped Mr. Trenholme from destroying the
+picture today. He meant burning it, since he had the sense to realize
+that he would be summoned as a witness, not only at tomorrow's
+inquest, but when the affair comes before the courts. I was bound
+to point out that the drawings supplied his solitary excuse for being
+in the locality at all. He saw that--unwillingly, it is true, but
+with painful clearness--so I assume that his visit to Miss Manning
+was expiatory, a sort of humble obeisance to a goddess whom he had
+offended unwittingly. I assume, too, that his plea for mercy has not
+proved wholly unsuccessful or Miss Manning would not now be walking
+with him across the park."
+
+"What!" roared Robert. He turned to the gaping footman, for the whole
+conversation had taken place in the hall. "Which way did Miss Sylvia
+go?" he cried.
+
+"Down the avenue, sir," said the man. "I saw Miss Sylvia meet the
+gentleman, and after some talk they went through the trees to the
+right."
+
+Robert raced off. Winter, who had not interfered hitherto, because
+Furneaux always had a valid excuse for his indiscretions, made as if
+he would follow and restrain the younger Fenley; but Furneaux caught
+his eye and winked. That sufficed. The Superintendent contented
+himself with gazing after Robert Fenley, who ran along the avenue
+until clear of the Quarry Wood, when he, too, plunged through the
+line of elms and was lost to sight.
+
+Hilton watched his impetuous brother with a brooding underlook. He
+still held in his hand a leather portfolio bulging with papers, some
+of which he had placed there when Winter opened the door of the
+railway coach in St. Pancras station. The footman offered to relieve
+him of it, but was swept aside with a gesture.
+
+"I have never known Robert so excited and erratic in his movements as
+he has been today," he said at last. "I hope he will not engage in a
+vulgar quarrel with this Mr. Trenholme, especially in Miss Manning's
+presence."
+
+Apparently he could not quite control his voice, in which a sense of
+unctuous amusement revealed itself. Furneaux could not resist such an
+opportunity. He had pierced Robert's thick skin; now he undertook a
+more delicate operation.
+
+"That would be doubly unfortunate," he said, chuckling quietly. "If I
+am any judge of men, Mr. Robert Fenley would meet more than his match
+in our artist friend, while he would certainly undo all the good
+effect of an earlier and most serious and convincing conversation with
+the young lady."
+
+Hilton swung around on him.
+
+"When did my brother return from London?" he asked.
+
+"Shortly before five o'clock. He and Miss Manning had tea together,
+and afterward strolled in the gardens. I don't wonder at any artist
+wishing to sketch Miss Manning? Do you? If I may be allowed to say it,
+I have never seen a more graceful and charming girl."
+
+"May I inquire if you have made any progress in the particular inquiry
+for which I brought you here?"
+
+Hilton Fenley spoke savagely. He meant to be offensive, since the
+innuendo was unmistakable. Apparently Furneaux's remarks had achieved
+some hypodermic effect.
+
+"Oh, yes," was the offhand answer. "I have every reason to believe
+that Mr. Winter and I will make an arrest without undue loss of time."
+
+"I am glad to hear it. Thus far your methods have not inspired the
+confidence I, as a member of the public, was inclined to repose in
+Scotland Yard. I am going to my rooms now, and dine at a quarter to
+eight. About nine o'clock I wish to go into matters thoroughly with
+Mr. Winter and you. At present, I think it only fair to say that I am
+not satisfied with the measures, whatever they may be, you have seen
+fit to adopt."
+
+He seemed to await a retort, but none came, so he strode across the
+hall and hurried up the stairs. Furneaux continued to gaze blankly
+down the long, straight avenue, nor did he utter a word till a door
+opened and closed on the first floor in the southeast corner.
+
+Then he spoke.
+
+"Some people are very hard to please," he said plaintively.
+
+Winter beckoned to the footman.
+
+"Do you mind asking Mr. Tomlinson if he can come here for a moment?"
+he said. When the man disappeared he muttered--
+
+"Why are you stroking everybody's fur the wrong way, Charles?"
+
+"A useful simile, James. If they resemble cats we may see sparks, and
+each of those young men has something of the tiger in him."
+
+"But things have gone horribly wrong all day--after a highly promising
+start, too. I don't see that we are any nearer laying hands on a
+murderer because we have unearthed various little scandals in the
+lives of Mortimer Fenley's sons. And what game are you playing with
+this artist, Trenholme?"
+
+"The supremely interesting problem just now is the game which he is
+playing with Robert Fenley. If that young ass attacks him he'll get
+the licking he wants, and if you're in any doubt about my
+pronouns----"
+
+"Oh, dash you and your pronouns! Here's Tomlinson. Quick! Have you a
+plan of any sort?"
+
+"Three! Three separate lines of attack, each deadly. But there are
+folk whose mental equipment renders them incapable of understanding
+plain English. Now, my friend Tomlinson will show you what I mean.
+I'll ask him a simple question, and he will give you a perfect example
+of a direct answer. Tomlinson, can you tell me what the extrados of a
+voussoir is?"
+
+"No, Mr. Furneaux, I can not," said the butler, smiling at what he
+regarded as the little man's humor.
+
+"There!" cried Furneaux delightedly. "Ain't I a prophet? No evasions
+about Tomlinson, are there?"
+
+"I think you're cracked," growled Winter, picking up his suitcase. "If
+I'm to stay here tonight, I shall want a room of some sort. Mr.
+Tomlinson, can you----"
+
+"Share mine," broke in Furneaux. "I'm the quietest sleeper living. Our
+friend here is sure to have at disposal a room with two beds in it."
+
+"The principal guest room is unoccupied," said the butler.
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+"On the first floor, sir, facing south."
+
+"Couldn't be better. The very thing. Ah! Here comes my baggage." And
+the others saw a policeman bicycling up the avenue, with a small
+portmanteau balanced precariously between the handlebars and the front
+buttons of his tunic.
+
+"You gentlemen will dine in my room, I hope?" said Tomlinson, when he
+had escorted them upstairs.
+
+"We are not invited to the family circle, at any rate," said Winter.
+
+"Well, you will not suffer on that account," announced Tomlinson
+genially. "Of course, I shall not have the pleasure of sharing the
+meal with you, but dinner will be served at a quarter to eight. Mr.
+Furneaux knows his way about the house, so, with your permission, I'll
+leave you at present. If you're disengaged at nine thirty I'll be glad
+to see you in my sanctum."
+
+"Isn't he a gem?" cried Furneaux, when the door had closed, and he and
+Winter were alone.
+
+Winter sat down on the side of a bed. He was worried, and did not
+strive to hide it. For the first time in his life he felt distrustful
+of himself, and he suspected, too, that Furneaux was only covering
+abject failure by a display of high spirits.
+
+"Why so pensive an attitude, James?" inquired the other softly. "Are
+you still wondering what the extrados of a voussoir is?"
+
+"I don't care a tuppenny damn what it is."
+
+"But that's where you're wrong. That's where you're crass and
+pig-headed. The extrados of a voussoir----"
+
+"Oh, kill it, and let it die happy----"
+
+"--is the outer curve of a wedge-shaped stone used for building an
+arch. Now, mark you, those are words of merit. Wedge, arch--wedges of
+fact which shall construct the arch of evidence. We'll have our man
+in the dock across that bridge before we are much older."
+
+"Confound it, how? He couldn't be in his bedroom and in the Quarry
+Wood, four hundred yards away, at one and the same moment."
+
+Furneaux gazed fixedly at his friend's forehead, presumably the seat
+of reason.
+
+"Sometimes, James, you make me gasp with an amazed admiration," he
+cooed. "You do, really. You arrive at the same conclusion as I, a
+thinker, without any semblance of thought process on your part. How do
+you manage it! Is it through association with me? You know, there's
+such a thing as inductive electricity. A current passing through a
+highly charged wire can excite another wire, even a common iron one,
+without actual contact."
+
+"I've had a rotten afternoon, and don't feel up to your far-fetched
+jokes just now; so if you have nothing to report, shut up," said the
+Superintendent crossly.
+
+"Then I'll cheer your melancholy with a bit of real news brightened
+by imagination," answered Furneaux promptly. "Hilton Fenley couldn't
+have fired the rifle himself, except by certain bizarre means which I
+shall lay before the court later; but he planned and contrived the
+murder, down to the smallest detail. He wore Brother Robert's boots
+when available; from appearances Brother Robert is now wearing the
+identical pair which made those footprints we saw, but I shall know
+in the morning, for that fiery young sprig obligingly left another
+well-marked set of prints in the same place twenty minutes ago. When
+circumstances compelled Hilton to walk that way in his own boots, he
+slipped on two roughly made moccasins, which he burned last night,
+having no further use for them. Therefore, he knew the murder would
+take place this morning.
+
+"I've secured shreds of the sacking out of which he made the pads to
+cover his feet; and an under gardener remembers seeing Mr. Hilton
+making off with an empty potato sack one day last week, and wondering
+why he wanted it. During some mornings recently Hilton Fenley
+breakfasted early and went out, but invariably had an excuse for not
+accompanying his father to the City. He was then studying the details
+of the crime, making sure that an expert, armed with a modern rifle,
+could not possibly miss such a target as a man standing outside a
+doorway, and elevated above the ground level by some five feet or
+more.
+
+"No servant could possibly observe that Mr. Hilton was wearing Mr.
+Robert's boots, because they do not differ greatly in size; but
+luckily for us, a criminal always commits an error of some sort, and
+Hilton blundered badly when he made those careful imprints of his
+brother's feet, as the weather has been fine recently, and the only
+mud in this locality lies in that hollow of the Quarry Wood. It
+happens that some particles of that identical mud were imbedded in the
+carpet of Hilton Fenley's sitting-room. I'm sorry to have to say it,
+because the housemaid is a nice girl."
+
+"Never mind the housemaid. Go on."
+
+"Exactly what the housemaid would remark if she heard me; only she
+would giggle, and you look infernally serious. Next item: Hilton
+Fenley, like most high-class scoundrels, has the nerves of a cat, with
+all a cat's fiendish brutality. He could plan and carry out a callous
+crime and lay a subtle trail which must lead to that cry baby, Robert,
+but he was unable to control his emotions when he saw his father's
+corpse. That is where the murderer nearly always fails. He can never
+picture in death that which he hated and doomed in life. There is an
+element in death----"
+
+"Chuck it!" said Winter unfeelingly.
+
+Furneaux winced, and affected to be deeply hurt.
+
+"The worst feature of service in Scotland Yard is its demoralizing
+effect on the finer sentiments," he said sadly. "Men lose all human
+instincts when they become detectives or newspaper reporters. Now the
+ordinary policeman ofttimes remains quite soft-hearted. For instance,
+Police Constable Farrow, though preening himself on being the pivot on
+which this case revolves, was much affected by Hilton Fenley's first
+heart-broken words to him. 'Poor young gentleman,' said Farrow, when
+we were discussing the affair this afternoon, 'he was cut up somethink
+orful. I didn't think he had it in him, s'elp me, I didn't. Tole me to
+act for the best. Said some one had fired a bullet which nearly tore
+his father to pieces.'
+
+"There was more of the same sort of thing, and I got Farrow to jot
+down the very words in his notebook. Of course, he doesn't guess
+why.... Now, I wonder how Hilton Fenley knew the effect of that bullet
+on his father's body. The doctor had not arrived. There had been only
+a superficial examination by Tomlinson of the orifice of the wound.
+What other mind in Roxton would picture to itself the havoc caused by
+an expanding bullet? The man who uttered those words _knew_ what sort
+of bullet had been used. He _knew_ it would tear his father's body to
+pieces. A neurotic imagination was at work, and that cry of horror was
+the soul's unconscious protest against the very fiendishness of its
+own deed....
+
+"Oh, yes. Let these Fenleys quarrel about that girl, and we'll see
+Hilton marching steadily toward the Old Bailey. Of course, we'll
+assist him. We'll make certain he doesn't deviate or falter on the
+road. But he'll follow it, and of his own accord; and the first long
+stride will be taken when he goes to the Quarry Wood to retrieve the
+rifle which lies hidden there."
+
+Winter whistled softly. Then he looked at his watch.
+
+"By Jove! Turned half past seven," he said.
+
+"Ha!" cackled Furneaux. "James is himself again. We have hardly a
+scrap of evidence, but that doesn't trouble our worthy Superintendent
+a little bit, and he'll enjoy his dinner far better than he thought
+possible ten minutes ago. _Sacre nom d'une pipe!_ By the time you've
+tasted a bottle from Tomlinson's favorite bin you'll be preparing a
+brief for the Treasury solicitor!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+SOME PRELIMINARY SKIRMISHING
+
+
+Now, perhaps, taking advantage of an interval while the
+representatives of Scotland Yard sought the aid of soap and water as
+a preliminary to a meal, it is permissible to wander in the gloaming
+with Sylvia Manning and her escort. To speak of the gloaming is a
+poetic license, it is true. Seven o'clock on a fine summer evening in
+England is still broad daylight, but daylight of a quality that lends
+itself admirably to the exigencies of romance. There is a species of
+dreaminess in the air. The landscape assumes soft tints unknown to
+a fiery sun. Tender shadows steal from undiscovered realms. It is
+permissible to believe that every night on Parnassus is a night in
+June.
+
+At first these two young people were at a loss to know what to talk
+about. By tacit consent they ignored the morning's tragedy, yet they
+might not indulge in the irresponsible chatter which would have
+provided a ready resource under normal conditions. Luckily Trenholme
+remembered that the girl said she painted.
+
+"It is a relief to find that you also are of the elect," he said. "An
+artist will look at my pictures with the artist's eye. There are
+other sorts of eyes--Eliza's, for instance. Do you know Eliza, of the
+White Horse?"
+
+Sylvia collected her wits, which were wool-gathering.
+
+"I think I have met her at village bazaars and tea fights," she said.
+"Is she a stout, red-faced woman?"
+
+"Both, to excess; but her chief attribute is her tongue, which has
+solved the secret of perpetual motion. Had it kept silent even for
+a few seconds at lunch time today, that sharp-eyed and rabbit-eared
+detective would never have known of the second picture--your
+picture--because I can eke out my exhibits by a half finished sketch
+of the lake and a pencil note of the gates. But putting the bits of
+the puzzle together afterwards, I came to the conclusion that Mary,
+our kitchen maid, passed my room, saw the picture on the easel and was
+scandalized. She of course told Eliza, who went to be shocked on her
+own account, and then came downstairs and pitched into me. At that
+moment the Scotland Yard man turned up."
+
+"Is it so very--dreadful, then?"
+
+"Dreadful! It may fall far short of the standard set by my own vanity;
+but given any sort of skill in the painter, how can a charming study
+of a girl in a bathing costume, standing by the side of a statue of
+Aphrodite, be dreadful? Of course, Miss Manning, you can hardly
+understand the way in which a certain section of the public regards
+art. In studio jargon we call it the 'Oh, ma!' crowd, that being the
+favorite exclamation of the young ladies who peep and condemn. These
+people are the hopeless Philistines who argue about the sex of angels,
+and demand that nude statues shall be draped. But my picture must
+speak for itself. Tell me something about your own work. Are you
+taking up painting seriously?"
+
+Now, to be candid, Sylvia herself was not wholly emancipated from the
+state of Philistinism which Trenholme was railing at. Had he been less
+eager to secure a favorable verdict, or even less agitated by the
+unlooked-for condescension she was showing, he would have seen the
+absurdity of classing a girl of twenty with the lovers of art for
+art's sake, those earnest-eyed enthusiasts who regard a perfect curve
+or an inimitable flesh tint as of vastly greater importance than the
+squeamishness of the young person. Painters have their limitations as
+well as Mrs. Grundy, and John Trenholme did not suffer a fool gladly.
+
+Sylvia, however, had the good sense to realize that she was listening
+to a man whose finer instincts had never been trammeled by conventions
+which might be wholesome in an academy for young ladies. Certainly she
+wondered what sort of figure she cut in this much debated picture, but
+that interesting point would be determined shortly. Meanwhile she
+answered demurely enough:
+
+"I'm afraid you have taken me too seriously. I have hardly progressed
+beyond the stage where one discovers, with a sort of gasp, that trees
+may be blue or red, and skies green. Though I am going to look at your
+pictures, Mr. Trenholme, it by no means follows that I shall ever dare
+to show you any of mine."
+
+"Still, I think you must have the artistic soul," he said
+thoughtfully.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There was more than mere physical delight in your swimming this
+morning. You reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents
+of trees and shrubs and flowering grass. First-rate swimmer as you
+are, you would not have enjoyed that dip half as much if it were taken
+in a covered bath, where your eyes dwelt only on white tiles and
+dressing-booths."
+
+The girl, subtly aware of a new element in life, was alarmed by its
+piercing sweetness, and with ruthless logic brought their talk back to
+a commonplace level.
+
+"Roxton seems to be a rather quaint place to find you in, Mr.
+Trenholme," she said. "How did you happen on our tiny village? Though
+so far from London, we are quite a byway. Why did you pay us a visit?"
+
+So Trenholme dropped to earth again, and they spoke of matters of
+slight import till the boundary wall was reached.
+
+Sylvia hailed a man attending cattle in the farmyard, and the artist
+vaulted the wall, which was breast high. The girl wondered if she
+could do that. When opportunity served she would try. Resting her
+elbows on the coping-stones, she watched Trenholme as he hurried away
+among the buildings and made for the village. She had never before met
+such a man or any one even remotely like him. He differed essentially
+from the Fenleys, greatly as the brothers themselves differed. Without
+conscious effort to please, he had qualities that appealed strongly to
+women, and Sylvia knew now that no consideration would induce her to
+marry either of her "cousins."
+
+If asked to put her thought into words, she would have boggled at the
+task, for intuition is not to be defined in set speech. In her own
+way, she had summed up the characteristics of the two men with one of
+whom marriage had been at least a possibility. Hilton she feared and
+Robert she despised, so if either was to become her husband, it would
+be Hilton. But five minutes of John Trenholme's companionship had
+given her a standard by which to measure her suitors, and both fell
+wofully short of its demands. She saw with startling clearness of
+vision that Hilton, the schemer, and Robert, the wastrel, led selfish
+lives. Souls they must possess, but souls starved by lack of
+spirituality, souls pent in dun prisons of their own contriving.
+
+She was so lost in thought, thought that strayed from crystal-bright
+imageries to nebulous shapes at once dark and terrifying, that the
+first intimation she received of Robert Fenley's approach was his
+stertorous breathing. From a rapid walk he had broken into a jog trot
+when he saw Trenholme vanish over the wall. Of late he seldom walked
+or rode a horse, and he was slightly out of condition, so his heavy
+face was flushed and perspiring, and his utterance somewhat labored
+when the girl turned at his cry:
+
+"I say, Sylvia--you've given me such a chase! Who the deuce is that
+fellow, an' what are you doing here?"
+
+Robert had appeared at an inauspicious moment. Sylvia eyed him with a
+new disfavor. He was decidedly gross, both in manner and language. She
+was sure he could not have vaulted the wall.
+
+"I'm not aware that I called for any chasing on your part," she said,
+with an aloofness perilously akin to disdain.
+
+He halted, panting, and eyed her sulkily.
+
+"No, but dash it all! You can't go walking around with any rotten
+outsider who forces himself into your company," was the most amiable
+reply he could frame on the spur of the moment.
+
+"You are short of breath," she said, smiling in a curiously impersonal
+way. "Run back to the house. It will do you good."
+
+"All right. You run with me. The first gong will go any minute, and
+we've got to eat, you know, even though the pater _is_ dead."
+
+It was an unhappy allusion. Sylvia stiffened.
+
+"My poor uncle's death did not seem to trouble you greatly this
+morning," she said. "Kindly leave me now. I'll follow soon. I am
+waiting for Mr. Trenholme, who wants to show me some sketches."
+
+"A nice time to look at sketches, upon my word! And who's Trenholme,
+I'd like to know?"
+
+Sylvia bethought herself. Certainly an explanation was needful, and
+her feminine wit supplied one instantly.
+
+"Mr. Trenholme was sent here by the Scotland Yard people," she said,
+a trifle less frigidly. "I suppose we shall all be mixed up in the
+inquiry the detectives are holding, and it seems that Mr. Trenholme
+was at work in the park this morning when that awful affair took
+place. Unknown to me, I was near the spot where he was sketching
+before breakfast, and one of the detectives, the little one, says it
+is important that--that the fact should be proved. Mr. Trenholme
+called to tell me just what happened. So you see there is nothing in
+his action that should annoy any one--you least of any, since you
+were away from home at the time."
+
+"But why has he mizzled over the wall?"
+
+"He is staying at the White Horse Inn, and has gone to fetch the
+drawings."
+
+"Oh, I didn't understand. If that's it, I'll wait till he turns up.
+You'll soon get rid of him."
+
+Sylvia had no valid reason to urge against this decision, but she did
+not desire Robert's company, and chose a feminine method of resenting
+it.
+
+"I don't think Mr. Trenholme will be anxious to meet you," she said
+coolly.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"You are such a transparent person in your likes and dislikes. You
+have never even seen him, in the ordinary sense of the word, yet you
+speak of him in a way so unwarranted, so ridiculously untrue, that
+your manner might annoy him."
+
+"My manner, indeed! Is he so precious then? By gad, it'll be
+interesting to look this rare bird over."
+
+She turned her back on him and leaned on the wall again. Her slight,
+lissome figure acquired a new elegance from her black dress. Robert
+had never set eyes on Sylvia in such a costume before that day.
+Hitherto she had been a schoolgirl, a flapper, a straight-limbed,
+boyish young person in long frocks; but today she seemed to have put
+on a new air of womanliness, and he found it strangely attractive.
+
+"There's no sense in our quarreling about the chap anyhow," he said
+with a gruff attempt to smooth away difficulties. "Of course, I
+sh'an't let on I followed you. Just spotted you in the distance and
+joined you by chance, don't you know."
+
+Sylvia did not answer. She was comparing Robert Fenley's
+conversational style with John Trenholme's, and the comparison was
+unflattering to Robert.
+
+So he, too, came and leaned on the wall.
+
+"I'm sorry if I annoyed you just now, Syl," he said. "That dashed
+little detective is to blame. He does put things in such a beastly
+unpleasant way."
+
+"What things?"
+
+"Why, about you and me and all of us. Gave me a regular lecture
+because I went back to town this morning. I couldn't help it, old
+girl. I really couldn't. I had to settle some urgent business, but
+that's all ended now. The pater's death has steadied me. No more
+gallivanting off to London for me. Settle down in Roxton, Board of
+Guardians on Saturdays, church on Sunday, tea and tennis at the
+vicarage, and 'you-come-to-our-place-tomorrow.' You know the sort of
+thing--old-fashioned, respectable and comfy. I'll sell my motor bike
+and start a car. Motor bikes make a fellow a bit of a vagabond--eh,
+what? They _will_ go the pace. You can't stop 'em. Fifty per, and be
+hanged to the police, that's their motto."
+
+"It sounds idyllic," the girl forced herself to say lightly, but her
+teeth met with a snap, and her fingers gripped the rough surface of
+the stones, for she remembered how Trenholme had said of her that she
+"reveled in the sunlight, in the golden air, in the scents of trees
+and shrubs and flowering grasses."
+
+There was a musical cadence in her voice that restored Robert's surly
+good humor; he was of that peculiar type of spoiled youth whose laugh
+is a guffaw and whose mirth ever holds a snarl.
+
+"Here comes your paint slinger," he said. "Wonder if he really can
+stage a decent picture. If so, when the present fuss is ended we'll
+get him to do a group. You and me and the keepers and dogs in front
+of the Warren Covert, next October, after a big drive. How would that
+be?"
+
+"I'm sure Mr. Trenholme will feel flattered."
+
+When Trenholme approached he was not too well pleased to find Miss
+Manning in charge of a new cavalier.
+
+From items gathered earlier in the village he guessed the newcomer's
+identity. Perhaps he expected that the girl would offer an
+introduction, but she only smiled pleasantly and said:
+
+"You must have hurried. I do hope I haven't put you to any
+inconvenience?"
+
+"Eliza informed me that she had just popped my chicken in the oven,
+so there is plenty of time," he said. "I suppose it makes one hot
+to be constantly popping things into ovens. In the course of years
+one should become a sort of salamander. Have you ever read the
+autobiography of that great artist and very complete rascal, Benvenuto
+Cellini? He is the last person reputed to have seen a real salamander
+in the fire, and he only remembered the fact because his father beat
+him lest he should forget it."
+
+"Ben who?" broke in Robert cheerfully.
+
+"Benvenuto Cellini."
+
+"Never heard of him.... Well, let's have a peep-o. Miss Manning and I
+dine at a quarter to eight. You've been taking some snapshots in the
+park, I'm told. If they've got any ginger in them----"
+
+"Probably you will describe them as hot stuff," said Trenholme, laying
+a portfolio on the wall in front of Sylvia and opening it.
+
+"This is a pencil drawing of the great gates," he went on, ignoring
+Fenley. "Of course, they're Wren's, and therefore beautiful. Roxton
+Park holds a real treasure in those gates, Miss Manning. Here is a
+water-color sketch of the house and grounds. Do you like it?"
+
+"Oh, it is exquisite! Why, you have caught the very glint of sunshine
+on the walls and roofs, and it is shimmering in the leaves of that
+copper beech. Ah me! It looks so easy."
+
+Robert peered over her shoulder. Sylvia's gasp of admiration annoyed
+him; but he looked and said nothing.
+
+"This," continued Trenholme, "is an unfinished study of the lake. I
+was so busily occupied that I was not aware of your presence until you
+were quite near at hand. Then when you dived into the water I grabbed
+a canvas and some tubes of paint. Here is the result--completed, to a
+large extent, in my room at the inn."
+
+He took a picture out of a compartment of the portfolio specially
+constructed to protect an undried surface, and placed it at an angle
+that suited the light. His tone was unconcerned, for he had steeled
+himself against this crucial moment. Would she be angered? Would those
+limpid blue eyes, violet now in shadow, be raised to his in protest
+and vexed dismay? During the brief walk to and from the inn he had
+recollected the girl's age, her surroundings, the cramping influences
+of existence in a society of middle-class City folk. He felt like a
+prisoner awaiting a verdict when the issue was doubtful, and a wave of
+impulse might sway the jury one way or the other.
+
+But he held his head high, and his face flushed slightly, for there
+could be no gainsaying the message glowing from that cunning brush
+work. There were two goddesses, one in marble and one palpitating with
+life. The likeness, too, was undeniable. If one was a replica of Greek
+art at its zenith, the other was unmistakably Sylvia Manning.
+
+The girl gazed long and earnestly. Her pale cheeks had reddened for an
+instant, but the flood of surprise and emotion ebbed as quickly as it
+flowed, and left her wan, with parted lips.
+
+At last she looked at Trenholme and spoke.
+
+"Thank you!" she said, and their eyes met.
+
+The artist understood; and he in turn, blanched somewhat. Rather
+hastily he replaced the picture in its receptacle.
+
+Robert Fenley coughed and grinned, and the spell was broken.
+
+"You said I'd call it hot stuff," he said. "Well, you sized my opinion
+up to a T. Of course, it's jolly clever--any fellow can see that----"
+
+"Good night, Mr. Trenholme," said Sylvia, and she made off at a rapid
+pace. Robert grinned again.
+
+"No young lady would stand that sort of thing," he chuckled. "You
+didn't really think she would--eh, what? But look here, I'll buy it.
+Send me a line later."
+
+He hurried after Sylvia, running to overtake her. Trenholme stood
+there a long time; in fact, until the two were hidden by the distant
+line of trees. Then he smiled.
+
+"So you are Robert Fenley," he communed, packing the portfolio
+leisurely. "Well, if Sylvia Manning marries you, I'll be a bachelor
+all my days, for I'll never dare imagine I know anything about a
+woman's soul; though I'm prepared at this hour of grace to stake my
+career that that girl's soul is worthy of her very perfect body."
+
+Puffing a good deal, Fenley contrived to overhaul his "cousin."
+
+"By jing, Sylvia, you can step out a bit," he said. "And you change
+your mind mighty quick. Five minutes ago you were ready to wait any
+length of time till that Johnny turned up, and now you're doing more
+than five per. What's the rush? It's only half past seven, and we
+don't dress tonight."
+
+"I'm not dining downstairs," she answered.
+
+"Oh, I say, I can't stand Hilton all alone."
+
+"Nor can I stand either of you," she was tempted to retort, but
+contented herself by saying that she had arranged for a meal to be
+served in her aunt's room. Grumble and growl as he might, Robert could
+not shake her resolve; he was in a vile temper when he reached the
+dining-room.
+
+His brother had not arrived, so he braced himself for an ordeal by
+drinking a stiff whisky and soda. When Hilton came in the pair nodded
+to each other but ate in silence. At last Robert glanced up at
+Tomlinson.
+
+"Just shove the stuff on the table and clear out," he said. "We'll
+help ourselves. Mr. Hilton and I want to have a quiet talk."
+
+Hilton gave him a quick underlook but did not interfere. Perhaps
+purposely, when the servants had left the room he opened the battle
+with a sneer.
+
+"I hope you didn't make a fool of yourself this evening," he said.
+
+"As how?" queried Robert, wondrously subdued to all appearance, though
+aching to give the other what he called "a bit of his mind."
+
+"I understand you made after Sylvia and the artist, meaning to
+chastise somebody."
+
+"You were wrong," said Robert slowly. "You nearly always are. I make
+mistakes myself, but I own up handsomely. You don't. That's where we
+differ, see?"
+
+"I see differences," and Hilton helped himself to a glass of claret.
+
+"Trenholme, the artist Johnny, is a clever chap--slightly cracked, as
+they all are, but dashed clever. By gad, you ought to see the picture
+he's painted of Sylvia. Anyhow, you _will_ see it. I've bought it."
+
+"Really?"
+
+"I said I'd buy it--same thing. He'll jump at the offer. It'll hang in
+my dressing-room. I don't suppose Sylvia will kick about a trifle
+like that when we're married."
+
+Hilton was holding the glass of wine to his lips. His hand shook, and
+he spilled a little, but he drank the remainder.
+
+"When did you decide to marry Sylvia?" he inquired, after a pause
+which might have been needed to gain control of his voice.
+
+"It's been decided for a long time," said Robert doggedly, himself
+showing some signs of enforced restraint. "It was the pater's wish, as
+you know. I'm sorry now I didn't fix matters before he died; but
+'better late than never.' I asked Sylvia today, and we've arranged to
+get married quite soon."
+
+"Are you by any chance telling the truth?"
+
+"What the blazes do you mean?" and Robert's fist pounded the table
+heavily.
+
+"Exactly what I say. You say that you and Sylvia have arranged to get
+married quite soon. Those were your words. Is that true?"
+
+"Confound you, of course it is."
+
+"Sylvia has actually agreed to that?"
+
+"I asked her. What more do you want?"
+
+"I am merely inquiring civilly what she said."
+
+"Dash it, you know what girls are like. You ought to. Isn't Eileen
+Garth a bit coy at times?"
+
+"One might remark that Mrs. Lisle also was coy."
+
+"Look here----" began the other furiously, but the other checked him.
+
+"Let us stop bickering like a couple of counter jumpers," he said, and
+a shrewder man than Robert might have been warned by the slow,
+incisive utterance. "You make an astonishing announcement on an
+occasion when it might least be expected, yet resent any doubt being
+thrown on its accuracy. Did or did not Sylvia accept you?"
+
+"Well, she said something about not wishing to talk of marriage so
+soon after the old man's death, but that was just her way of putting
+it. I mean to marry her; and when a fellow has made up his mind on a
+thing like that it's best to say so and have done with it. Sylvia's a
+jolly nice girl, and has plenty of tin. I'm first in the field, so I'm
+warning off any other candidates. See?"
+
+"Yes, I see," said Hilton, pouring out another glass of wine. This
+time his hand was quite steady, and he drank without mishap.
+
+"Ain't you going to wish me luck?" said Robert, eying him viciously.
+
+"I agree with Sylvia. The day we have lost our father is hardly a
+fitting time for such a discussion; or shall I say ceremony?"
+
+"You can say what the devil you like. And you can do what you like.
+Only keep off my corns and I won't tread on yours."
+
+Having, as he fancied, struck a decisive blow in the struggle for
+that rare prize, Sylvia, Robert Fenley pushed back his chair, arose,
+waited a second for an answer which came not, and strode out,
+muttering something about being "fed up."
+
+Hilton's face was lowered, and one nervous hand shaded his brows.
+Robert thought he had scored, but he could not see the inhuman rage
+blazing in those hidden eyes. The discovery, had he made it, might not
+have distressed him, but he would surely have been puzzled by the
+strange smile which wrinkled Hilton's sallow cheeks when the door
+closed and the Eurasian was left alone in the dining-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+WHEREIN SCOTLAND YARD IS DINED AND WINED
+
+
+Three dinners for two were in progress in The Towers at one and the
+same hour. One feast had been shortened by the ill-concealed hatred of
+each brother for the other. At the second, brooding care found
+unwonted lodging in the charming personality of Sylvia Manning--care,
+almost foreboding, heightened by the demented mutterings of her
+"aunt." At the third, with the detectives, sat responsibility; but
+light-heartedly withal, since these seasoned man-hunters could cast
+off their day's work like a garment.
+
+The first and second meals were of the high quality associated with
+English country houses of a superior class; the third was a spread for
+epicures. Tomlinson saw to that. He was catering for a gourmet in
+Furneaux, and rose to the requisite height.
+
+The little man sighed as he tasted the soup.
+
+"What is it now?" inquired Winter, whose glance was dwelling
+appreciatively on a dusty bottle labeled "Clos Vosgeot, 1879."
+
+"I hate eating the food of a man whom I mean to produce as a star
+turn at the Old Bailey," was the despondent answer.
+
+"So do I, if it comes to that," said Winter briskly. "But this
+appetizing menu comes out of another larder. I shall be vastly
+mistaken if we're not actually the guests of a certain pretty young
+lady. Finance of the Fenley order is not in good odor in the City.
+
+"Have no scruples, my boy. We may be vultures at the feast; but before
+we see the end of the Fenley case there'll be a smash in Bishopsgate
+Street, and Miss Sylvia Manning will be lucky if some sharp lawyer is
+able to grab some part of the wreckage for her benefit."
+
+"Clear logic, at any rate." And Furneaux brightened visibly.
+
+"I'll tell you what it's based on. Our swarthy friend was examining
+lists of securities in the train. He didn't lift his head quickly
+enough--took me for a ticket puncher, I expect--so I had time to twig
+what he was doing. I'd like to run my eye over the papers in that
+leather portfolio."
+
+"You may manage it. You're the luckiest fellow breathing. Such
+opportunities come your way. _I_ have to make them."
+
+After an interlude played by sole Colbert, Winter shot an amused
+question at his companion.
+
+"What's at the back of your head with regard to the artist and Miss
+Sylvia?" he said.
+
+"It's high time she spoke to a real man. These Fenleys are animals,
+all of 'em. John Trenholme is a genius, and a good-looking one."
+
+"I met the girl in a corridor a while ago, and she was rather
+disconsolate, I thought."
+
+"And with good reason. You've noticed how each brother eyes her.
+They'll fight like jackals before this night is out. I hope Sylvia
+will indulge in what women call a good cry. That will be Trenholme's
+golden hour. Some Frenchman--of course he was clever, being
+French--says that a man should beware when a woman smiles but he may
+dare all when she weeps."
+
+"Are we marriage brokers, then?"
+
+"We must set the Fenleys at each other's throats."
+
+"Yes," mused Winter aloud, when a _ris de veau bonne maman_ had passed
+like a dream, "this affair is becoming decidedly interesting. But
+every why hath a wherefore, according to Shakespeare. Tell me"--and
+his voice sank to a whisper--"tell me why you believe Hilton Fenley
+killed his father."
+
+"You nosed your way into that problem this afternoon. Between his
+mother and that girl, Eileen Garth, he was in a tight place. He stole
+those bonds. I fancied it at the time, but I know it now. They were
+negotiated in Paris by a woman who occupied a room in the Hotel
+d'Italie, Rue Caumartin, Paris, and one of her registered boxes bore
+the rail number, 517."
+
+"You little devil!" blazed out Winter. "And you never said a word when
+I told you!"
+
+"Astonishment has rendered you incoherent. You mean, of course, when
+you told me you had seen in Gloucester Mansions a box labeled in
+accordance with the facts I have just retailed. But I yield that minor
+point. It is a purist's, at the best. I have supplied a motive, one
+motive, for the crime; the plotter feared discovery. But there are
+dozens of others. He was impatient of the old man's rigid control.
+Hilton is sharp and shrewd, and he guessed things were going wrong
+financially. He knew that his father's methods were out of date, and
+believed he could straighten the tangle if the reins of power were not
+withheld too long.
+
+"He saw that Sylvia Manning's gold was in the melting-pot, and
+appreciated precisely the cause of the elder Fenley's anxiety that she
+should marry Robert. Once in the family, you know, her fortunes were
+bound up with theirs; while any 'cute lawyer could dish her in the
+marriage settlements if sufficiently well paid for a nasty job. When
+Sylvia was Mrs. Robert Fenley, and perhaps mother of a squalling
+Fenley, the head of the business could face the future if not with
+confidence, at least with safety. But where would Hilton be then? The
+girl lost, the money in jeopardy, and he himself steadily elbowed
+out. _'Cre nom!_ I've known men murdered for less convincing
+reasons."
+
+"Men, yes; not fathers."
+
+"Some sons are the offspring of Beelzebub. Consider the parentage in
+this instance. Fenley, a groom and horse coper on the one hand, and
+the dark daughter of a Calcutta merchant on the other. If the progeny
+of such a union escaped a hereditary taint it would be a miracle.
+Cremate Hilton Fenley and his very dust will contain evil germs."
+
+"You're strong in theory but weak in proof."
+
+That style of argument invariably nettled Furneaux.
+
+"You must butt into a few more mysterious suites of apartments in
+London and elsewhere, and you'll supply proof in bucketfuls," he
+snapped.
+
+"But was there an accomplice? Squirm as you like, you can't get over
+the fact that Hilton was in his room when the bullet that killed his
+father came from the wood."
+
+"He is not the sort of person likely to trust his liberty, his
+life even, to the keeping of any other human being. I start from
+the hypothesis that he alone planned and carried out the crime,
+so I do not lift my hand and cry 'Impossible,' but I ask myself,
+'How was it done?' Well, there are several methods worthy of
+consideration--clockwork, electricity, even a time fuse attached
+to the proper mechanism. I haven't really bothered myself yet to
+determine the means, because when that knowledge becomes indispensable
+we must have our man under lock and key."
+
+"Of course, the rifle is securely fixed in that----"
+
+The door opened. Tomlinson came in, smiling blandly.
+
+"I hope you are enjoying your dinner, gentlemen both?" he said.
+
+"You have made your cook an artist," said Furneaux.
+
+"I suppose you are happier here than in a big London restaurant," said
+Winter.
+
+The butler appreciated such subtle compliments, and beamed on them.
+
+"With a little encouragement and advice, our chef can prepare a very
+eatable dinner," he said. "As for my own ambitions, I have had them,
+like every man worth his salt; but I fill a comfortable chair here--no
+worry, no grumbling, not a soul to say _nem_ or _con_, so long as
+things go smoothly."
+
+"It must have been _nem_ all the time," giggled Furneaux, and Winter
+was so afflicted by a desire to sneeze that he buried his face in a
+napkin.
+
+"And how was the wine?" went on Tomlinson, with an eye on the little
+man. Furneaux's features were crinkled in a Japanese smile. He wanted
+to kick Winter, who was quivering with suppressed laughter.
+
+"I never expected to find such vintages in a house of the _mauvais
+riches_," he said. "Perhaps you don't speak French, Mr. Tomlinson, so
+allow me to explain that I am alluding to men of wealth not born in
+the purple."
+
+"Precisely--self-made. Well sir, poor Mr. Fenley left the stocking of
+his cellar entirely to me. I gave the matter much thought. When my
+knowledge was at fault I consulted experts, and the result----"
+
+"That is the result," cried Furneaux, seizing the empty claret bottle,
+and planting it so firmly on the table that the cutlery danced.
+
+A shoulder of lamb, served _a la Soubise_, appeared; and Tomlinson,
+announcing that his presence in the dining-room had been dispensed
+with, thought he would join them in a snack. Being a hospitable
+creature, he opened another bottle of the Clos Vosgeot, but his guests
+were not to be tempted.
+
+"Well, then," he said, "in a few minutes you must try our port. It is
+not Alto Douro, Mr. Furneaux, but it has body and bowket."
+
+Winter was better prepared this time. Moreover he was carving, and
+aware of a master's criticism, and there are occult problems connected
+with even such a simple joint as a shoulder of lamb. Furneaux, too,
+was momentarily subdued. He seemed to be reflecting sadly that statues
+of gold, silver and bronze may have feet of clay.
+
+"I have often thought, gentlemen," said the butler, "that yours must
+be a most interesting profession. You meet all sorts and conditions of
+men and women."
+
+"We consort with the noblest malefactors," agreed Furneaux.
+
+"Dear me, sir, you do use the queerest words. Now, I should never
+dream of describing a criminal as noble."
+
+"Not in the generally accepted sense, perhaps. But you, I take it,
+have not had the opportunity of attending a really remarkable trial,
+when, say, some intellectual giant among murderers is fighting for his
+life. Believe me, no drama of the stage can rival that tragedy.
+
+"The chief actor, remote, solitary, fenced away from the world he is
+hoping to reenter, sits there in state. Every eye is on him, yet he
+faces judge, jury, counsel, witnesses and audience with a calm dignity
+worthy of an emperor. He listens imperturbably to facts which may hang
+him, to lies which may lend color to the facts, to well-meaning
+guesses which are wide of the mark. Truthful and false evidence is
+equally prone to err when guilt or innocence must be determined by
+circumstances alone.
+
+"But the prisoner _knows_. He is the one man able to discriminate
+between truth and falsity, yet he must not reveal the cruel stab
+of fact or the harmless buffet of fiction by so much as a flicker
+of an eyelid. He surveys the honest blunderer and the perjured
+ruffian--I mean the counsel for the defense and the prosecution
+respectively--with impartial scrutiny. If he is a sublime villain,
+he will call on Heaven to testify that he is innocent with a
+solemnity not surpassed by the judge who sentences him to death....
+Yes, please, a bit off the knuckle end."
+
+The concluding words were addressed to Winter, and Tomlinson started,
+for he was wrapped up in the scene Furneaux was depicting.
+
+"That point of view had not occurred to me," he admitted.
+
+"You'll appreciate it fully when you see Mr. Fenley's murderer in the
+dock," said Furneaux.
+
+"Ah, sir. That brings your illustration home, indeed. But shall we
+ever know who killed him?"
+
+"Certainly. Look at that high dome of intelligence glistening at you
+across the table. But that it is forbid to tell the secrets of the
+prison house, it could a tale unfold whose slightest word would harrow
+up thy soul----"
+
+Harris, the footman, entered, carrying a decanter.
+
+"Mr. Hilton Fenley's compliments, gentlemen, and will you try this
+port? He says Mr. Tomlinson will recommend it, because Mr. Fenley
+himself seldom takes wine. Mr. Fenley will not trouble you to meet him
+again this evening. Mr. Tomlinson, Mr. Fenley wants you for a
+moment."
+
+The butler rose.
+
+"That is the very wine I spoke of," he said. "If Mr. Hilton did not
+touch it, Mr. Robert evidently appreciated it."
+
+He glanced at Harris, but the footman did not even suspect that his
+character was at stake. The decanter was nearly full when placed on
+the sideboard; now it was half empty.
+
+Singularly enough, both Winter and Furneaux had intercepted that
+questioning glance, and had acquitted Harris simultaneously.
+
+"Are the gentlemen still in the dining-room?" inquired Winter.
+
+"Mr. Hilton is there, sir, but Mr. Robert went out some time since."
+
+"Please convey our thanks to Mr. Hilton. I'm sure we shall enjoy the
+wine."
+
+When Tomlinson and Harris had gone, the eyes of the two detectives
+met. They said nothing at first, and it may be remembered that they
+were reputedly most dangerous to a pursued criminal when working
+together silently. Winter took the decanter, poured out a small
+quantity into two glasses, and gave Furneaux one. Then they smelled,
+and tasted, and examined the wine critically. The rich red liquid
+might have been a poisonous decoction for the care they devoted to its
+analysis.
+
+Furneaux began.
+
+"I have so many sleepless nights that I recognize bromide, no matter
+how it is disguised," he murmured.
+
+"Comparatively harmless, though a strong dose," said Winter.
+
+"If one has to swallow twenty grains or so of potassium bromide I can
+not conceive any pleasanter way of taking them than mixed with a sound
+port."
+
+Winter filled one of the glasses four times, pouring each amount into
+a tumbler. Furneaux looked into a cupboard, and found an empty beer
+bottle, which he rinsed with water. Meanwhile Winter was fashioning a
+funnel out of a torn envelope, and in a few seconds the tumblerful of
+wine was in the bottle, and the bottle in Winter's pocket. This done,
+the big man lit a cigar and the little one sniffed the smoke, which
+was his peculiar way of enjoying the weed.
+
+"It was most thoughtful of Mr. Hilton Fenley to try and secure us a
+long night's uninterrupted sleep," said Winter between puffs.
+
+"But what a vitiated taste in wine he must attribute to Scotland
+Yard," said Furneaux bitterly.
+
+"Still, we should be grateful to him for supplying a gill of real
+evidence."
+
+"I may forgive him later. At present, I want to dilate his eyes with
+atropine, so that he may see weird shapes and be tortured of ghouls."
+
+"Poor devil! He won't need atropine for that."
+
+"Don't believe it, James. In some respects he's cold-blooded as a
+fish. Besides, he carries bromide tablets for his own use. He simply
+couldn't have arranged beforehand to dope us."
+
+"He's getting scared."
+
+"I should think so, indeed--in the Fenley sense, that is. His plot
+against Robert has miscarried in one essential. The rifle has not been
+found in the wood. Now, I'm in chastened mood, because the hour for
+action approaches; so I'll own up. I've been keeping something up my
+sleeve, just for the joy of watching you floundering 'midst deep
+waters. Of course, you chose the right channel. I knew you would, but
+it's a treat to see your elephantine struggles. For all that, it's a
+sheer impossibility that you should guess who put a sprag in the wheel
+of Hilton's chariot. Give you three tries, for a new hat."
+
+"You're desperately keen today on touching me for a new hat."
+
+"Well, this time you have an outside chance. The others were
+certs--for me."
+
+Winter smoked in silence for a space.
+
+"I'll take you," he said. "The artist?"
+
+"No." The Jerseyman shook his head.
+
+"Police Constable Farrow?" ventured Winter again.
+
+Furneaux's dismay was so comical that his colleague shook with mirth.
+
+"I wanted a new silk topper," wheezed Winter.
+
+"Silk topper be hanged. I meant a straw, and that's what you'll get.
+But how the deuce did you manage to hit upon Farrow?"
+
+"He closed the Quarry Wood at the psychological moment."
+
+"You're sucking my brains, that's what you're doing," grumbled
+Furneaux. "Anyhow, you're right. Hilton had the scheme perfected to
+the last detail, but he didn't count on Farrow. After a proper display
+of agitation--not all assumed, either, because he was more shaken than
+he expected to be--he 'phoned the Yard and the doctor. We couldn't
+arrive for nearly an hour, and the doctor starts on his rounds at nine
+o'clock sharp. What so easy, therefore, as to wander out in a welter
+of grief and anger, and search the wood for the murderer on his own
+account? One solitary minute would enable him to put the rifle in a
+hiding-place where it would surely be discovered.
+
+"But Farrow stopped him. I wormed the whole thing out of our sentry
+this afternoon. Fenley tried hard to send Farrow and Bates off on a
+wild-goose chase, but Farrow, quite mistakenly, saw the chance of his
+life and clung on to it. Had Farrow budged we could never have hanged
+Hilton. Don't you see how the scheme works? He had some reason for
+believing that Robert will refuse to give a full account of his
+whereabouts this morning. Therefore, he must contrive that the rifle
+shall be found. Put the two damning facts together, and Robert is tied
+in a knot. Of course, he would be forced to prove an alibi, but by
+that time all England would be yelping, 'Thou art the man.' In any
+event, Hilton's trail would be hopelessly lost."
+
+"The true bowket of our port and bromide begins to tickle my
+nostrils."
+
+A good-looking maid brought coffee, and Furneaux grinned at her.
+
+"How do you think he'd look in a nice straw hat?" he asked, jerking
+his head toward Winter. The girl smiled. The little man's reputation
+had reached the kitchen. She glanced demurely at the Superintendent's
+bullet head.
+
+"Not an ordinary straw. You mean a Panama," she said.
+
+"Certainly," laughed Winter.
+
+"Nothing of the sort," howled Furneaux. "Just run your eye over him.
+He isn't an isthmus--he's a continent."
+
+"A common straw wouldn't suit him," persisted the girl. "He's too big
+a gentleman."
+
+"How little you know him!" said Furneaux.
+
+The girl blushed and giggled.
+
+"Go on!" she said, and bounced out.
+
+"This inquiry will cost you a bit, my boy, if you're not careful,"
+sniggered Winter. "I'll compound on a straw; but take my advice, and
+curb your sporting propensities. Now, if this coffee isn't doctored,
+let's drink it, and interview Robert before the bromide begins to
+act."
+
+Robert Fenley received them in his own room. He strove to appear at
+ease and business-like, but, as Furneaux had surmised, was emphatic in
+his refusal to give any clear statement as to his proceedings in
+London. He admitted the visit to Hendon Road, which, he said, was
+necessitated by a promise to a friend who was going abroad, but he
+failed to see why the police should inquire into his private affairs.
+
+Winter did not press him. There was no need. A scapegrace's record
+could always be laid bare when occasion served. But one question he
+was bound to put.
+
+"Have you any theory, however remote or far-fetched, that will account
+for your father's death in such a way?" he inquired.
+
+The younger Fenley was smoking a cigarette. A half consumed whisky and
+soda stood on a table; a bottle of whisky and a siphon promised
+refreshers. He was not quite sober, but could speak lucidly.
+
+"Naturally, I've been thinking a lot about that," he said, wrinkling
+his forehead in the effort to concentrate his mind and express himself
+with due solemnity. "It's funny, isn't it, that my rifle should be
+missing?"
+
+"Well, yes."
+
+Some sarcastic inflection in Winter's voice seemed to reach a rather
+torpid brain. Fenley looked up sharply.
+
+"Of course, funny isn't the right word," he said. "I mean it's odd, a
+bit of a mystery. Why should anybody take my gun if they wanted to
+shoot my poor old guv'nor? That beats me. It's a licker--eh, what?"
+
+"It is more important to know why any one should want to shoot your
+father."
+
+"That's it. Who benefits? Well, I suppose Hilton and I will be better
+off--no one else. And I didn't do it. It's silly even to say so."
+
+"But there is only your brother left in your summary."
+
+"By Jove, yes. That's been runnin' in my head. It's nonsense, anyhow,
+because Hilton was in the house. I wouldn't believe a word he said,
+but Sylvia, and Tomlinson, and Brodie, and Harris all tell the same
+yarn. No; Hilton couldn't have done it. He's ripe for any mischief, is
+Hilton, but he can't be in this hole; now, can he?"
+
+They could extract nothing of value out of Robert, and left him after
+a brief visit.
+
+In the interim, Hilton Fenley had kept Tomlinson talking about the
+crime. The dining-room door was ajar, and he knew when the detectives
+had gone to Robert's room. Then he glanced around the table, and
+affected to remember the decanter of port.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I feel as if a glass of that wine would be a
+good notion tonight. I don't suppose the Scotland Yard men have
+finished the lot. Just send for it, will you?"
+
+Harris brought the decanter, and Tomlinson was gratified by seeing
+that his favorite beverage had been duly appraised.
+
+"Sorry if I've detained you," said Fenley, and the butler went out.
+Rising, Fenley strolled to the door and closed it. Instantly he became
+energetic, and his actions bore a curious similitude to those of
+Winter a little while earlier. Pouring the wine into a tumbler, he
+rinsed the decanter with water, and partly refilled it with the
+contents of another tumbler previously secreted in the sideboard,
+stopping rather short of the amount of wine returned from the butler's
+room. He drank the remainder, washed the glass, and put a few drops of
+whisky into it.
+
+Carrying the other tumbler to an open window, he threw the medicated
+wine into a drain under a water spout, and making assurance doubly
+sure, douched the same locality with water; also, he rinsed this
+second glass. He seemed to be rather pleased at his own thoroughness.
+
+As Furneaux had said, Hilton Fenley was cold-blooded as a fish.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+CLOSE QUARTERS
+
+
+Human affairs are peculiarly dependent on the weather. It is not easy
+to lay down a law governing this postulate, which, indeed, may be
+scoffed at by the superficial reasoner, and the progression from cause
+to effect is often obscured by contradictory facts. For instance, a
+fine summer means a good harvest, much traveling, the prolongation of
+holiday periods, a free circulation of money, and the consequent
+enhanced prosperity and happiness of millions of men and women. But
+there are more suicides in June and July than in December and January.
+On the one hand, fine weather improves humanity's lot; on the other,
+it depresses the individual.
+
+Let the logician explain these curiously divergent issues as he may;
+there can be no question that the quality of the night which closed a
+day eventful beyond any other in the annals of Roxton exercised a
+remarkable influence on the lives of five people. It was a perfect
+night in June. There was no moon; the stars shone dimly through a
+slight haze; but the sun had set late and would rise early, and his
+complete disappearance followed so small a chord of the diurnal
+circle that his light was never wholly absent. A gentle westerly
+breeze was so zephyr-like that it hardly stirred the leaves of the
+trees, but it wafted the scent of flowers and meadow land into open
+windows, and was grateful alike to the just and the unjust.
+
+Thus to romantic minds it was redolent of romance; and as Sylvia
+Manning's room faced south and John Trenholme's faced north, and lay
+nearly opposite each other, though separated by a rolling mile of
+park, woodland, tillage and pasture, it is not altogether incredible
+that those two, gazing out at the same hour, should bridge the void
+with the eyes of the soul.
+
+It was a night, too, that invited to the open.
+
+In some favored lands, where the almanac is an infallible Clerk of the
+Weather, fine nights succeed each other with the monotonous regularity
+of kings in an Amurath dynasty. But the British climate, a slave to no
+such ordered sequence, scatters or withholds these magic hours almost
+impartially throughout the seasons, so that June may demand overcoats
+and umbrellas, and October invite Summer raiment.
+
+Hence this superb Summer's night found certain folk in Roxton
+disinclined to forego its enchantments. Trenholme, trying to persuade
+himself that his brooding gaze rested on the Elizabethan roofs and
+gables rising above the trees because of some rarely spiritual quality
+in the atmosphere, suddenly awoke to the fact that the hour was
+eleven.
+
+Some men issued from the bar parlor and "snug" beneath, and there were
+sounds of bolts being shot home and keys turned in recognition of the
+curfew imposed by the licensing laws. Then the artistic temperament
+arose in revolt. Chafing already against the narrow confines of the
+best room the White Horse Inn could provide, it burst all bounds when
+a tired potman attempted unconsciously to lock it in.
+
+Grabbing a pipe and tobacco pouch, Trenholme ran downstairs, meeting
+the potman in the passage.
+
+"Get me a key, Bill," he said. "I simply can't endure the notion of
+bed just yet, so I'm off for a stroll. I don't want to keep any one
+waiting up, and I suppose I can have a key of sorts."
+
+Now it happened that the proprietor of the inn was absent at a race
+meeting, and Eliza was in charge. Trenholme's request was passed on to
+her, and a key was forthcoming.
+
+Hatless, pipe in mouth, and hands in pockets, Trenholme sauntered into
+the village street. Romance was either a dull jade or growing old and
+sedate in Roxton. Nearly every house was in darkness, and more than
+one dog barked because of a passing footstep.
+
+About half past eleven, Sylvia Manning, sitting in melancholy near her
+window after an hour of musing, heard a light tap on the door.
+
+"Come in," she said, recognizing the reason of this late intrusion. An
+elderly woman entered. She was an attendant charged with special care
+of Mrs. Fenley. A trained nurse would have refused to adopt the
+lenient treatment of the patient enjoined by the late head of the
+family, so this woman was engaged because she was honest, faithful,
+rather stupid and obeyed orders.
+
+"She has quieted down now, miss, and is fast asleep," she said in a
+low tone. "You may feel sure she won't wake before six or seven. She
+never does."
+
+The "she" of this message was Mrs. Fenley. Rural England does not
+encourage unnecessary courtesy nor harbor such foreign intruders as
+"madam." The reiterated pronoun grated on Sylvia; she was disinclined
+for further talk.
+
+"Thank you, Parker," she said. "I am glad to know that. Good night."
+
+But Parker had something to say, and this was a favorable opportunity.
+
+"She's been awful bad today, miss. It can't go on."
+
+"That is hardly surprising, taking into account the shock Mrs. Fenley
+received this morning."
+
+"That's what I have in me mind, miss. She's changed."
+
+"How changed? You need not close the door. Never mind the light. It is
+hardly dark when the eyes become used to the gloom."
+
+Parker drew nearer. Obeying the instincts of her class, she assumed a
+confidential tone.
+
+"Well, miss, you know why you went out?"
+
+"Yes," said Sylvia rather curtly. She had left the invalid when the
+use of a hypodermic syringe became essential if an imminent outburst
+of hysteria was to be prevented. The girl had no power to interfere,
+and was too young and inexperienced to make an effective protest; but
+she was convinced that to encourage a vice was not the best method of
+treating it. More than once she had spoken of the matter to Mortimer
+Fenley; but he merely said that he had tried every known means to cure
+his wife, short of immuring her in an asylum, and had failed. "She is
+happy in a sort of a way," he would add, with a certain softening of
+voice and manner. "Let her continue so." Thus a minor tragedy was
+drifting to its close when Fenley himself was so rudely robbed of
+life.
+
+"As a rule, miss," went on the attendant, "she soon settles after a
+dose, but this time she seemed to pass into a sort of a trance.
+Gen'rally her words are broken-like an' wild, an' I pays no heed to
+'em; but tonight she talked wonderful clear, all about India at first,
+an' of a band playin', with sogers marchin' past. Then she spoke about
+some people called coolies. There was a lot about them, in lines an'
+tea gardens. An' she seemed to be speakin' to another Mrs. Fenley."
+
+The woman's voice sank to an awe-stricken whisper, and Sylvia shivered
+somewhat in sympathy. "Another Mrs. Fenley!" It was common knowledge
+in the household that Fenley had married a second time, but the belief
+was settled that the first wife was dead; Parker, by an unrehearsed
+dramatic touch, conveyed the notion that the unhappy creature in a
+neighboring room had been conversing with a ghost.
+
+Somewhat shaken and perturbed, Sylvia wished more than ever to be
+alone, so she brought her informant back to the matter in hand.
+
+"I don't see that Mrs. Fenley's rambling utterances give rise to any
+fear of immediate collapse," she said, striving to speak composedly.
+
+"No, miss. That isn't it at all. I was just tellin' you what happened.
+There was a lot more. She might ha' been givin' the story of her life.
+But--please forgive me, miss, for what I'm goin' to say. I think some
+one ought to know--I do, reelly--an' you're the only one I dare tell
+it to."
+
+"Oh, what is it?"
+
+The cry was wrung from the girl's heart. She had borne a good deal
+that day, and feared some sinister revelation now.
+
+"She remembered that poor Mr. Fenley was dead, but didn't appear so
+greatly upset. She was more puzzled-like--kep' on mutterin': 'Who did
+it? Who could have the cool darin' to shoot him dead in broad
+daylight, at his own door, before his servants?' She was sort of
+forcin' herself to think, to find out, just as if it was a riddle, an'
+the right answer was on the tip of her tongue. An' then, all at once,
+she gev a queer little laugh. 'Why, of course, it was Hilton,' she
+said."
+
+Sylvia, relieved and vastly indignant, rose impetuously.
+
+"Why do you trouble to bring such nonsense to my ears?" she cried.
+
+But Parker was stolid and dogged.
+
+"I had to tell some one," she vowed, determined to put herself
+straight with one of her own sex. "I know her ways. If that's in her
+mind she'll be shoutin' it out to every maid who comes near her
+tomorrow; an' I reelly thought, miss, it was wise to tell you tonight,
+because such a thing would soon cause a scandal, an' it should be
+stopped."
+
+"Perhaps you are right, and I ought to be obliged to you for being so
+considerate. But no one would pay heed to my aunt's ravings. Every
+person in the house knows that the statement is absurd. Mr. Hilton was
+in his room. I myself saw him go upstairs after exchanging a few words
+with his father in the hall, and he came down again instantly when
+Harris ran to fetch him."
+
+"I understand that, miss, an' I'm not so silly as to think there is
+any sense in her blamin' Mr. Hilton. But it made my flesh creep to
+hear all the rest so clear an' straightforward, an' then that she
+should say: 'Hilton did it, the black beast. He always hated Bob an'
+me, because we were white, an' the jungle strain has come out at
+last.' Oh, it was somethink dreadful to hear her laughin' at her
+cleverness. I----"
+
+"Please, please, don't repeat any more of these horrible things,"
+cried the girl, for the strain was becoming unbearable.
+
+"I agree with you, miss. They aren't fit to be spoke of; an' I say,
+with all due respec', that they shouldn't be allowed to leak out. You
+know what young maid servants are like. They're bound to chatter. My
+idee is that another nurse should be engaged tomorrow, a woman old
+enough to hold her tongue an' mind her own business; then the two of
+us can take turns at duty, so as to keep them housemaids out of the
+way altogether."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure you are right. I'll speak to Mr. Hilton in the morning.
+Thank you, Parker. I see now that you meant well, and I'm sorry if I
+spoke sharply."
+
+"I'm not surprised, miss. It was not a pleasant thing to have to say,
+nor for you to hear, but duty is duty. Good night, miss, I hope
+you'll sleep well."
+
+Sleep! Parker should not have conjured up a new apparition if Sylvia
+were to seek the solace of untroubled rest. At present the girl felt
+that she had never before been so distressfully awake. Splendidly
+vital in mind and body as she was, she almost yielded now to a morbid
+horror of her environment. Generations of men and women had lived and
+died in that ancient house, and tonight dim shapes seemed to throng
+its chambers and corridors. Physically fearless, she owned to a
+feminine dread of the unknown. It would be a relief to get away from
+this abode of grief and mystery. The fantastic dreaming of the unhappy
+creature crooning memories of a past life and a lost husband had
+unnerved her. She resolved to seek the fresh air, and wander through
+gardens and park until the fever in her mind had abated.
+
+Now a rule of the house ordained that all doors should be locked and
+lower windows latched at midnight. A night watchman made certain
+rounds each hour, pressing a key into indicating-clocks at various
+points to show that he had been alert. Mortimer Fenley had been afraid
+of fire; there was so much old woodwork in the building that it would
+burn readily, and a short circuit in the electrical installation was
+always possible, though every device had been adopted to render it not
+only improbable but harmless. After midnight the door bells and
+others communicated with a switchboard in the watchman's room; and a
+burglary alarm, which the man adjusted during his first round, rang
+there continuously if disturbed.
+
+Sylvia, leaving the door of her bedroom ajar, went to the servants'
+quarters by a back staircase. There she found MacBain, the watchman,
+eating his supper.
+
+"I don't feel as though I could sleep," she explained, "so I am going
+out into the park for a while. I'll unlatch one of the drawing-room
+windows and disconnect the alarm; and when I come in again I'll tell
+you."
+
+"Very well, miss," said MacBain. "It's a fine night, and you'll take
+no harm."
+
+"I'm not afraid of rabbits, if that is what you mean," she said
+lightly, for the very sound of the man's voice had dispelled vapors.
+
+"Oh, there's more than rabbits in the park tonight, miss. Two
+policemen are stationed in the Quarry Wood."
+
+"Why?" she said, with some surprise.
+
+"They don't know themselves, miss. The Inspector ordered it. I met
+them coming on duty at ten o'clock. They'll be relieved at four. They
+have instructions to allow no one to enter the wood. That's all they
+know."
+
+"If I go there, then, shall I be locked up?"
+
+"Not so bad as that, miss," smiled MacBain. "But I'd keep away from
+it if I was you. 'Let sleeping dogs lie' is a good motto."
+
+"But these are not sleeping dogs. They're wide-awake policemen."
+
+"Mebbe, miss. They have a soft job, I'm thinking. Of course----"
+
+The man checked himself, but Sylvia guessed what was passing in his
+mind.
+
+"You were going to say that the wretch who killed my uncle hid in that
+wood?" she prompted him.
+
+"Yes, miss, I was."
+
+"He is not there now. He must have run away while we were too
+terrified to take any steps to capture him. Who in the world could
+have wished to kill Mr. Fenley?"
+
+"Ah, miss, there's no knowing. Those you'd least suspect are often the
+worst."
+
+MacBain shook his head over this cryptic remark; he glanced at a
+clock. It was five minutes to twelve.
+
+"It's rather late, miss," he hinted. Sylvia agreed with him, but she
+was young enough to be headstrong.
+
+"I sha'n't remain out very long," she said. "I ought to feel tired,
+but I don't; and I hope the fresh air will make me sleepy."
+
+To reach the drawing-room, she had to cross the hall. Its parquet
+floor creaked under her rapid tread. A single lamp among a cluster in
+the ceiling burned there all night, and she could not help giving one
+quick look at the oaken settle which stood under the cross gallery;
+she was glad when the drawing-room door closed behind her.
+
+She had no difficulty with the window, but the outer shutters creaked
+when she opened them. Then she passed on to the first of the Italian
+terraces, and stood there irresolutely a few minutes, gazing
+alternately at the sky and the black masses of the trees. At first she
+was a trifle nervous. The air was so still, the park so solemn in its
+utter quietude, that the sense of adventure was absent, and the
+funeral silence that prevailed was almost oppressive.
+
+Half inclined to go back, woman-like she went forward. Then the sweet,
+clinging scent of a rose bed drew her like a magnet. She descended a
+flight of steps and gained the second terrace. She thought of
+Trenholme and the picture, and the impulse to stroll as far as the
+lake seized her irresistibly. Why not! The grass was short, and the
+dew would not be heavy. Even if she wetted her feet, what did it
+matter, as she would undress promptly on returning to her room?
+Besides, she had never seen the statue on just such a night, though
+she had often visited it by moonlight.
+
+La Rochefoucauld is responsible for the oft quoted epigram that the
+woman who hesitates is lost, and Sylvia had certainly hesitated. At
+any rate, after a brief debate in which the arguments were distinctly
+one-sided, she resolved that she might as well have an object in view
+as stroll aimlessly in any other direction; so, gathering her skirts
+to keep them dry, she set off across the park.
+
+She might have been halfway to the lake when a man emerged from the
+same window of the drawing-room, ran to the terrace steps, stumbled
+down them so awkwardly that he nearly fell, and swore at his own
+clumsiness in so doing. He negotiated the next flight more carefully,
+but quickened his pace again into a run when he reached the open. The
+girl's figure was hardly visible, but he knew she was there, and the
+distance between pursued and pursuer soon lessened.
+
+Sylvia, wholly unaware of being followed, did not hurry; but she was
+constitutionally incapable of loitering, and moved over the rustling
+grass with a swiftness that brought her to the edge of the lake while
+the second inmate of The Towers abroad that night was yet a couple of
+hundred yards distant.
+
+In the dim light the statue assumed a lifelike semblance that was at
+once startling and wonderful. Color flies with the sun, and the white
+marble did not depend now on tint alone to differentiate it from flesh
+and blood. Seen thus indistinctly, it might almost be a graceful and
+nearly nude woman standing there, and some display of will power on
+the girl's part was called for before she approached nearer and
+stifled the first breath of apprehension. Then, delighted by the vague
+beauty of the scene, with senses soothed by the soft plash of the
+cascade, she decided to walk around the lake to the spot where
+Trenholme must have been hidden when he painted that astonishingly
+vivid picture. Its bold treatment and simplicity of note rendered it
+an easy subject to carry in the mind's eye, and Sylvia thought it
+would be rather nice to conjure up the same effect in the prevailing
+conditions of semi-darkness and mystery. She need not risk tearing her
+dress among the briers which clung to the hillside. Knowing every inch
+of the ground, she could follow the shore of the lake until nearly
+opposite the statue, and then climb a few feet among the bushes at a
+point where a zigzag path, seldom used and nearly obliterated by
+undergrowth, led to the clump of cedars.
+
+She was still speeding along the farther bank when a man's form loomed
+in sight in the park, and her heart throbbed tumultuously with a new
+and real terror. Who could it be? Had some one seen her leaving the
+house? That was the explanation she hoped for at first, but her breath
+came in sharp gusts and her breast heaved when she remembered how one
+deadly intruder at least had broken into that quiet haven during the
+early hours of the past day.
+
+Whoever the oncomer might prove to be, he was losing no time, and he
+was yet some twenty yards or more away from the statue--itself
+separated from Sylvia by about the same width of water--when she
+recognized, with a sigh of relief, the somewhat cumbrous form and
+grampus-like puffing of Robert Fenley.
+
+Evidently he was rather blear-eyed, since he seemed to mistake the
+white marble Aphrodite for a girl in a black dress; or perhaps he
+assumed that Sylvia was there, and thought he would see her at any
+moment.
+
+"I say, Sylvia!" he cried. "I say, old girl, what the deuce are you
+doin'--in the park--at this time o' night?"
+
+The words were clear enough, but there was a suspicious thickness in
+the voice. Robert had been drinking, and Sylvia had learned already to
+abhor and shun a man under the influence of intoxicants more than
+anything else in the wide world. She did not fear her "cousin." For
+years she had tolerated him, and that day she had come to dislike him
+actively, but she had not the least intention of entering into an
+explanation of her actions with him at that hour and under existing
+circumstances. She had recovered from her sudden fright, and was
+merely annoyed now, and bent her wits to the combined problems of
+escape and regaining the house unseen.
+
+Remembering that her white face and hands might reveal her whereabouts
+she turned, bent and crept up the slope until a bush afforded welcome
+concealment. Some thorns scratched her ankles, but she gave no heed to
+such trivial mishaps. A rabbit jumped out from under her feet, and it
+cost something of an effort to repress a slight scream; but--to her
+credit be it said--she set her lips tightly, and was almost amused by
+the game of hide and seek thus unexpectedly thrust on her.
+
+Meanwhile Robert had reached the little promontory on which the statue
+was poised, and no Sylvia was in sight.
+
+"Sylvia!" he cried again. "Where are you? No use hidin', because I
+know you're here! Dash it all, if you wanted a bit of a stroll why
+didn't you send for me? You knew I'd come like a shot--eh, what?"
+
+He listened and peered, but might as well have been deaf and blind for
+aught he could distinguish of the girl he sought.
+
+Then he laughed; and a peculiar quality in that chuckle of mirth
+struck a new note of anxiety, even of fear, in Sylvia's laboring
+heart.
+
+"So you won't be good!" he guffawed thickly. "Playin' Puss in the
+Corner, I suppose? Very well, I give you fair warnin'. I mean to catch
+you, an' when I do I'll claim forfeit.... _I_ don't mind. Fact is, I
+like it. It's rather fun chasin' one's best girl in the dark....
+Dashed if it isn't better'n a bit out of a French farce.... Puss!
+Puss!... I see you.... Hidin' there among the bushy bushes.... Gad!
+How's that for a test after a big night? Bushy bushes! I must not
+forget that. Try it on one of the b-boys.... Now, come out of it!...
+Naughty puss! I'll get you in a tick, see if I don't!"
+
+He was keeping to the track Sylvia herself had taken, since the lie of
+the land was familiar to him as to her. Talking to himself, cackling
+at his own flashes of wit, halting after each few paces to search the
+immediate neighborhood and detect any guiding sound, he was now on the
+same side of the lake as the girl, and coming perilously near. At each
+step, apparently, he found the growing obscurity more tantalizing. He
+still continued calling aloud: "Sylvia! Sylvia, I say! Chuck it, can't
+you? You must give in, you know. I'll be grabbin' you in a minute."
+There were not lacking muttered ejaculations, which showed that he was
+losing his temper.
+
+Once he swore so emphatically that she thought he was acknowledging
+himself beaten; but some glimmering notion that she was crouching
+almost within reach, and would have the laugh of him in the morning,
+flogged him to fresh endeavor. Now he was within ten yards, eight,
+five! In another few seconds his hand might touch her, and she
+quivered at the thought. If concealment could not save her she must
+seek refuge in flight, since therein lay a sure means of escape. Not
+daring to delay, she tried to stand upright, but felt a pull on her
+dress as if a hand were detaining her. It was only a brier,
+insidiously entangled in a fold of her skirt; but she was rather
+excited now, and there was little to be gained by excess of caution,
+for any rapid movement must betray her. Stooping, she caught the
+thorn-laden branch and tore it out of the soft material.
+
+Fenley heard the ripping sound instantly.
+
+"Ha! There you are, my beauty! Got you this time!" he cried, and
+plunged forward.
+
+Sylvia sprang from her hiding-place like a frightened fawn and
+valiantly essayed the steep embankment. Therein she erred. She would
+have succeeded in evading her pursuer had she leaped down to the open
+strip of turf close to the water, dodging him before he realized what
+was happening. As it was, the briers spread a hundred cruel claws
+against her; with each upward step she encountered greater resistance;
+desperation only added to her panic, and she struggled frenziedly.
+
+The man, unhampered by garments such as clogged each inch of Sylvia's
+path, pushed on with renewed ardor. He no longer spoke, for his
+hearing alone could help him now, the girl's black-robed form being
+utterly merged in the dense shadow cast by brushwood and cedars. He,
+however, was silhouetted against the luminous gray of the park, and
+Sylvia, casting a frantic glance over her shoulder, saw him
+distinctly. In her distress she fancied she could feel his hot breath
+on her neck; and when some unusually venomous branch clutched her
+across the knees, and rendered farther movement impossible until her
+dress was extricated, she wailed aloud in anger and dismay.
+
+"How dare you!" she cried, and her voice was tremulous and broken. "I
+warn you that if you persist in following me I shall strike you!"
+
+"Will you, by Jove!" cried Robert elatedly. "I'd risk more than that,
+my dear! A kiss for every blow! Only fair, you know! Eh, what!"
+
+On he came. He was so near that in one active bound he would be upon
+her, but he advanced warily, with hands outstretched.
+
+"Oh, what shall I do!" she sobbed. "Go back, you brute! I--I hate you.
+There are policemen in the wood. I'll scream for help!"
+
+"No need, Miss Manning," said a calm voice which seemed to come from
+the circumambient air. "Don't cry out or be alarmed, no matter what
+happens!"
+
+A hand, not Robert Fenley's caught her shoulder in a reassuring grip.
+A tall figure brushed by, and she heard a curious sound that had a
+certain smack in it--a hard smack, combined with a thudding effect, as
+if some one had smitten a pillow with a fist. A fist it was assuredly,
+and a hard one; but it smote no pillow. With a gurgling cough, Robert
+Fenley toppled headlong to the edge of the lake, and lay there
+probably some minutes, for the man who had hit him knew how and where
+to strike.
+
+Sylvia did not scream. She had recognized Trenholme's voice, but she
+felt absurdly like fainting. Perhaps she swayed slightly, and her
+rescuer was aware of it, for he gathered her up in his arms as he
+might carry a scared child, nor did he set her on her feet when they
+were clear of the trees and in the open park.
+
+"You are quite safe now," he said soothingly. "You are greatly upset,
+of course, and you need a minute or two to pull yourself together; but
+no one will hurt you while I am here. When you feel able to speak,
+you'll tell me where to take you, and I'll be your escort."
+
+"I can speak now, thank you," said Sylvia, with a composure that was
+somewhat remarkable. "Please put me down!"
+
+He obeyed, but she imagined he gave her a silent hug before his clasp
+relaxed. Even then his left hand still rested on her shoulder in a
+protective way.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE SPREADING OF THE NET
+
+
+That John Trenholme should be in the right place at the right
+moment, and that the place should happen to be one where his presence
+was urgently required in Sylvia Manning's behalf, was not such a
+far-fetched coincidence as it might be deemed, for instance, by a
+jury. Juries are composed mainly of bald-headed men, men whose shining
+pates have been denuded of hair by years and experience, and these
+factors dry the heart as surely as they impoverish the scalp.
+Consequently, juries (in bulk, be it understood; individual jurors
+may, perhaps, retain the emotional equipment of a Chatterton) are
+skeptical when asked to accept the vagaries of the artistic
+temperament in extenuation of some so-called irrational action.
+
+In the present case counsel for the defense would plead that his
+clients (Sylvia would undoubtedly figure in the charge) were moved by
+an overwhelming impulse shared in common. It was a glorious night, he
+might urge; each had been thinking of the other; each elected to
+stroll forth under the stars; their sympathies were linked by the
+strange circumstances which had led to the production of a noteworthy
+picture--what more likely than that they should visit the scene to
+which that picture owed its genesis?
+
+Trenholme, it might be held, had not knowingly reached that stage of
+soul-sickness which brings the passionate cry to _Valentine's_ lips:
+
+          Except I be by Sylvia in the night,
+          There is no music in the nightingale;
+          Unless I look on Sylvia in the day,
+          There is no day for me to look upon.
+
+"But, gentlemen," the wily one would continue, "that indefinable
+excitation of the nervous system which is summed up in the one small
+word 'love' must have a beginning; and whether that beginning springs
+from spore or germ, it is admittedly capable of amazingly rapid
+growth. The male defendant may not even have been aware of its
+existence, but subsequent events establish the diagnosis beyond cavil;
+and I would remind you that the melodious lines I have just quoted
+could not have been written by our immortal bard, Shakespeare, if two
+gentlemen of Verona, and two Veronese ladies as well, had not yielded
+to influences not altogether unlike those which governed my clients on
+this memorable occasion."
+
+Juries invariably treat Shakespeare's opinions with profound respect.
+They know they ought to be well acquainted with his "works," but they
+are not, and hope to conceal their ignorance by accepting the poet's
+philosophy without reservation.
+
+If, however, owing to the forensic skill of an advocate, romance might
+be held accountable for the wanderings of John and Sylvia, what of
+Robert? He, at least, was not under its magic spell. He, when the
+fateful hour struck, was merely drinking himself drowsy. To explain
+_him_, witnesses would be needed, and who more credible than a
+Superintendent and Detective Inspector of the Criminal Investigation
+Department?
+
+When Winter had smoked, and Furneaux had contributed some personal
+reminiscences the whole aim and object of which was the perplexing
+and mystification of that discreet person, Tomlinson, the two retired
+to their room at an early hour. The butler pressed them hospitably
+to try the house's special blend of Scotch whisky, but they had
+declined resolutely. Both acknowledged to an unwonted lassitude and
+sleepiness--symptoms which Hilton Fenley might expect and inquire
+about. When they were gone, the major domo sat down to review the
+day's doings.
+
+His master's death at the hands of a murderer had shocked and saddened
+him far more than his manner betrayed. If some fantastic chain of
+events brought Tomlinson to the scaffold he would still retain the
+demeanor of an exemplary butler. But beneath the externals of his
+office he had a heart and a brain; and his heart grieved for a
+respected employer, and his brain told him that Scotland Yard was no
+wiser than he when it came to suspecting a likely person of having
+committed the crime, let alone arresting the suspect and proving his
+guilt.
+
+Of course, therein Tomlinson was in error. Even butlers of renown have
+their limitations, and his stopped far short of the peculiar science
+of felon-hunting in which Winter and Furneaux were geniuses, each in
+his own line.
+
+Assuredly he would have been vastly astonished could he have seen
+their movements when the bedroom door closed on them. In fact, his
+trained ear might have found some new quality in such a commonplace
+thing as the closing of the door. Every lock and bolt and catch in The
+Towers was in perfect working order, yet the lock of this door failed
+to click, for the excellent reason that it was jammed by a tiny wedge.
+Hence, it could be opened noiselessly if need be; and lest a hinge
+might squeak each hinge was forthwith drenched with vaseline. Further,
+a tiny circlet of India rubber, equipped with a small spike, was
+placed between door and jamb.
+
+Then, murmuring in undertones when they spoke, the detectives unpacked
+their portmanteaux. Winter produced no article out of the ordinary
+run, but Furneaux unrolled a knotted contrivance which proved to be a
+rope ladder.
+
+"One or both of us may have to go out by the window," he said. "At any
+rate, we have Wellington's authority for the military axiom that a
+good leader always provides a line of retreat."
+
+"I wonder what became of the rest of that wine?" said Winter, rolling
+the beer bottle in a shirt and stowing it away.
+
+"I didn't dare ask. Tomlinson can put two and two together rather
+cleverly. He _almost_ interfered when Harris brought the decanter, so
+I dropped the wine question like a hot potato."
+
+"It had gone, though, when we came back from Robert's room. Hilton
+sent for it. Bet you another new hat he emptied----"
+
+"You'll get no more new hats out of me," growled Furneaux savagely,
+giving an extra pressure to a pair of sharp hooks which gripped the
+window sill, and from which the rope ladder could be dropped to the
+ground instantly.
+
+"Sorry. Where did you retrieve that dirty towel?" For the little man
+had taken from a pocket an object which merited the description, and
+was placing it in his bag.
+
+"It's one of Hilton's. He used it to wipe bark moss off his clothes.
+Queer thing that such rascals always omit some trivial precaution. He
+should have burned the towel with the moccasins; but he don't. This
+towel will help to strangle him."
+
+"You're becoming a bloodthirsty detective," mused Winter aloud. "I've
+seldom seen you so vindictive. Why is it?"
+
+"I dislike snakes, and this fellow is a poisonous specimen. If there
+were no snakes in the world, we should all be so happy!"
+
+"Blessed if I see that."
+
+"I have always suspected that your religious education had been
+neglected. Read the Bible and Milton. Then you'll understand; and
+incidentally speak and write better English."
+
+"Can you suggest any means whereby I can grasp your jokes without
+being bored to weariness? They're more soporific than bromide. Anyhow,
+it's time we undressed."
+
+Though the blind was drawn the window was open; there was no knowing
+who might be watching from the garden, so they went through all the
+motions of undressing and placed their boots outside the door.
+
+Then the light was switched off, the blind raised, and they dressed
+again rapidly, donning other boots. Each pocketed an automatic pistol
+and an electric torch and, by preconcerted plan, Winter sat by the
+window and Furneaux by the door. It was then a quarter to eleven, and
+they hardly looked for any developments until a much later hour, but
+they neglected no precaution. Unquestionably it would be difficult for
+any one to move about in that part of the house, or cross the gardens
+without attracting their attention.
+
+Their room was situated on the south front, two doors from Sylvia's,
+and two from Hilton Fenley's bedroom. The door lay in shadow beyond
+the range of the light burning in the hall. Sylvia's room was farther
+along the corridor. The door of Hilton's bedroom occupied the same
+plane; the door of his sitting-room faced the end of the corridor.
+
+The walls were massive, as in all Tudor houses, and the doors so
+deeply recessed that there was space for a small mat in front of each.
+Ordinarily boots placed there were not visible in the line of the
+corridor, but the detectives' footgear stood well in view. There were
+two reasons for this. In the first place, Hilton Fenley might like to
+see them, so his highly probable if modest desire was gratified;
+secondly, when Parker visited Sylvia and quitted her, and when Sylvia
+went downstairs, Furneaux's head, lying between two pairs of boots,
+could scarcely be distinguished, while his scope of vision was only
+slightly, if at all, diminished.
+
+Soon the girl's footsteps could be heard crossing the hall, and the
+raising of the drawing-room window and opening of the shutters were
+clearly audible. Winter, whose office had been a sinecure hitherto,
+now came into the scheme.
+
+He saw Sylvia's slight form standing beneath, marked her hesitancy,
+and watched her slow progress down the terraces and into the park.
+This nocturnal enterprise on her part was rather perplexing, and he
+was in two minds whether or not to cross the room and consult with
+Furneaux, when the latter suddenly withdrew his head, closed the door,
+and hissed "Snore!"
+
+Winter crept to a bed, and put up an artistic performance, a duet,
+musical, regular, not too loud. In a little while his colleague's
+"S-s-t!" stopped him, and a slight crack of a finger against a thumb
+called him to the door, which was open again.
+
+Explanation was needless. Hilton Fenley, like the other watchers,
+hearing the creaking of window and shutters, had looked out from his
+own darkened room. In all likelihood, thanking his stars for the happy
+chance given thus unexpectedly, he noted the direction the girl was
+taking, and acted as if prepared for this very development; the truth
+being, of course, that he was merely adapting his own plans to
+immediate and more favorable conditions.
+
+Coming out into the corridor, he consulted his watch. Then he glanced
+in the direction of the room which held the two men he had cause to
+fear--such ample cause as he little dreamed of at that moment. To make
+assurance doubly sure, he walked that way, not secretly, but boldly,
+since it was part of his project now to court observation--by others,
+at any rate, if not by the drugged emissaries of Scotland Yard. He
+waited outside the closed door and heard what he expected to hear,
+the snoring of two men sound asleep.
+
+Returning, he did not reenter his own room, but crossed the head of
+the staircase to Robert's. He knocked lightly, and his brother's
+"Hello, there! Come in!" reached Furneaux's ears. Not a word of the
+remainder of the colloquy that ensued was lost on either of the
+detectives.
+
+"Sorry to disturb you, Bob," said Hilton, speaking from the doorway,
+"but I thought you might not be in bed, and I've come to tell you that
+Sylvia has just gone out by way of the drawing-room and is wandering
+about the park."
+
+"Sylvia! On her lonesome?" was Robert's astounded cry.
+
+"Yes. It isn't right. I can't understand her behavior. I would have
+followed her myself; but in view of your statement at dinner tonight,
+I fancied it would save some annoyance if I entrusted that duty to
+you."
+
+"Look here, Hilton, old chap, are you really in earnest?"
+
+"About Sylvia? Yes. I actually saw her. At this moment she is heading
+for the lake. If you hurry you'll see her yourself."
+
+"I say, it's awfully decent of you ... I take back a lot of what I
+said tonight.... Of course, as matters stand, this is _my_ job....
+Tell MacBain not to lock us out."
+
+"I'll attend to that, if necessary. But don't mention me to Sylvia.
+She might resent the notion of being spied on. Say that you, too, were
+strolling about. You see, I heard the window being opened, and looked
+out, naturally. Anyhow, drop me, and run this affair on your own."
+
+Robert was slightly obfuscated--the fresh air quickly made him
+worse--but he was sensible of having grossly misjudged Hilton.
+
+"Right-O," he said, hurrying downstairs. "We'll have a talk in the
+mornin'. Dash it! It's twelve o'clock. That silly kid! What's she
+after, I'd like to know?"
+
+Robert gone, Hilton returned to his own room and rang a bell. MacBain
+came, and was asked if he was aware that Miss Sylvia had quitted the
+house. MacBain gave his version of the story, and Fenley remarked that
+he might leave the window unfastened until he made his rounds at one
+o'clock.
+
+Seemingly as an afterthought, Hilton mentioned his brother's open
+door, and MacBain discovered that Mr. Robert was missing also.
+
+By that time the detectives, without exchanging a word, had each
+arrived at the same opinion as to the trend of events. Hilton Fenley
+was remodeling his projects to suit an unforeseen development. No
+matter what motive inspired Sylvia Manning's midnight ramble, there
+could be no disputing the influence which dominated Robert Fenley. He
+was his brother's catspaw. When his rifle was found next day MacBain's
+testimony would be a tremendous addition to the weight of evidence
+against him, since any unprejudiced judgment must decide that the
+pursuit of his "cousin" was a mere pretense to enable him to go out
+and search for the weapon he had foolishly left in the wood.
+
+Hilton might or might not admit that he told Robert of the girl's
+escapade. If he did admit it, he might be trusted to give the incident
+the requisite kink to turn the scale against Robert. Surveying the
+facts with cold impartiality afterwards, Scotland Yard decided that
+while Hilton could not hope that Robert would be convicted of the
+murder, the latter would assuredly be suspected of it, perhaps
+arrested and tried; and in any event his marriage with Sylvia Manning
+would become a sheer impossibility.
+
+Moreover, once the rifle was found by the police, the only reasonable
+prospect of connecting Hilton himself with the crime would have
+vanished into thin air. If that weapon were picked up in the Quarry
+Wood, or for that matter in any other part of the estate, the hounds
+of the law were beaten. Winter's level-headed shrewdness and
+Furneaux's almost uncanny intuition might have saddled Hilton with
+blood guiltiness, but a wide chasm must be bridged before they could
+provide the requisite proof of their theory.
+
+In fact, thus far they dared not even hint at bringing a charge
+against him. To succeed, they had to show that the incredible was
+credible, that a murderer could be in a room within a few feet of his
+victim and in a wood distant fully four hundred yards. It was a
+baffling problem, not wholly incapable of solution by circumstantial
+evidence, but best left to be elucidated by Hilton Fenley himself.
+They believed now that he was about to oblige them by supplying that
+corroborative detail which, in the words of Poohbah, "lends artistic
+verisimilitude to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative."
+
+Winter drew Furneaux into the room, and breathed the words into his
+ear:
+
+"You go. You stand less chance of being seen. I'll search his room."
+
+"If there is a misfire, show a signal after five minutes."
+
+"Right!"
+
+Furneaux, standing back from the window, but in such a position that a
+light would be visible to any one perched on the rock in the wood,
+pressed the button of an electric torch three times rapidly. Then he
+lowered the rope ladder and clambered down with the nimbleness of a
+sailor. In all probability, Hilton Fenley was still talking to MacBain
+and creating the illusion that the last thing he would think of was a
+stroll out of doors at that late hour. But the little man took no
+chances. Having surveyed the ground carefully during the day, he was
+not bothered now by doubts as to the most practicable path.
+
+Creeping close to the house till he reached the yew hedge, and then
+passing through an arch, he remained in the shadow of the hedge till
+it turned at a right angle in front of the Italian garden. From that
+point to the edge of the Quarry Wood was not a stone's throw, and
+clumps of rhododendrons and other flowering shrubs gave shelter in
+plenty. Arrived at the mouth of the footpath, which he had marked by
+counting the trees in the avenue, he halted and listened intently.
+There was no sound of rustling grass or crunched gravel. Hilton was
+taking matters leisurely. Fifteen minutes would give him ample time
+for the business he had in hand. Even if Robert and Sylvia reached
+home before him, which was unlikely--far more unlikely even than he
+imagined--he could say that he thought it advisable to follow his
+brother and help in the search for the girl. The same excuse would
+serve if he met any of those pestilential police prowling about the
+grounds. Indeed, he could dispatch the alert and intelligent ones on
+the trail of the wanderers, especially on Robert's. In a word, matters
+were going well for Hilton, so well that Furneaux laughed as he turned
+into the wood.
+
+Here the detective had to advance with care. Beneath the trees the
+darkness was now so complete that it had that peculiar quality of
+density which everyday speech likens to a wall. Cats, gamekeepers,
+poachers, and other creatures of predatory and nocturnal habits can
+find and follow a definite track under such conditions; but detectives
+are nearly human, and Furneaux was compelled to use the torch more
+than once. He ran no risk in doing this. Hilton Fenley could not yet
+be in a position to catch the gleam of light among the trees. The one
+thing to avoid was delay, and Furneaux had gained rather than lost
+time, unless Fenley was running at top speed.
+
+After crossing the damp hollow the Jerseyman had no further
+difficulty; he breasted the hill and kept a hand extended so as to
+avoid colliding with a tree trunk. Expecting at any instant to have a
+bull's-eye lantern flashed in his eyes, which he did not want to
+happen, he said softly:
+
+"Hi! You two! Don't show a light! How near are you?"
+
+"Oh, it's you, sir!" said a voice. "We thought it would be. We saw the
+signal, and you said you might be the first to arrive."
+
+"Any second signal?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Furneaux recognized the pungent scent of the colza oil used in
+policemen's lamps.
+
+"By gad," he said, "if the average criminal had the nose of the
+veriest cur dog he'd smell that oil a mile away. Now, where are
+you? There." He had butted into a constable's solid bulk. "Take me
+to the rock--quick. We must hide behind it, on the lower side.... Is
+this the place? Right! Squat down, both of you, and make yourselves
+comfortable, so that you won't feel your position irksome, and move
+perhaps at the wrong moment. When you feel me crawling away, follow to
+the upper foot of the rock--no farther.
+
+"Stand upright then, and try to keep your joints from cracking. There
+must be no creaking of belts or boots. Absolute silence is the order.
+Not a word spoken. No matter what you hear, don't move again until you
+see the light of my electric torch. Then run to me, turning on your
+own lamps, and help in arresting any one I may be holding. Use your
+handcuffs if necessary, and don't hesitate to grab hard if there is a
+struggle. Remember, you are to arrest _any one_, no matter who it may
+be. Got that?"
+
+"Yes, sir," came two eager voices.
+
+"Don't be excited. It will be an easy thing. If we make a mistake, I
+bear the responsibility. Now, keep still as mice when they hear a
+cat."
+
+One of the men giggled. Both constables had met Furneaux in the local
+police station that afternoon, as he had asked the Inspector to parade
+the pair who would be on duty during the night. It was then that he
+had arranged a simple code of flash signals, and warned them to look
+out for Winter or himself during the night. Any other person who
+turned up was not to be challenged until he reached the higher ground
+beyond the rock, but that instruction was to be acted on only in the
+unavoidable absence of one of the Scotland Yard officers. Privately,
+the constables hoped Furneaux would be their leader. They deemed him
+"a funny little josser," and marveled greatly at his manner and
+appearance. Still, they had heard of his reputation; the Inspector, in
+an expansive moment, had observed that "Monkey Face was sharper than
+he looked."
+
+Thinking example better than precept, Furneaux did not reprove the
+giggler. Lying there, screened even in broad daylight by the bulk of
+the rock and some hazels growing vigorously in that restricted area
+owing to the absence of foliage overhead, he listened to the voices of
+the night, never dumb in a large wood. Birds fluttered uneasily on the
+upper branches of the trees--indeed, Furneaux was lucky in that the
+occasional gleam of the torch had not sent a pheasant hurtling off
+with frantic clamor ere ever the rendezvous was reached--and some
+winged creature, probably an owl, swept over the rock in stealthy
+flight. The rabbits were all out in the open, nibbling grass and crops
+at leisure, but there were other tiny forms rustling among the shrubs
+and scampering across the soft carpet of fallen leaves.
+
+Twitterings, and subdued squeaks, and sudden rushes of pattering feet,
+the murmuring of myriad fronds in the placid breeze, the whispering
+of the neighboring elms, even the steady chant of the distant
+cascade--all swelled into a soft and continuous chorus, hardly heard
+by the country policemen, accustomed as they were to the sounds of a
+woodland at night, but of surprising volume and variety to the man
+whose forests lay in the paved wilderness of London.
+
+Suddenly a twig cracked sharply and a match was struck. It was of the
+safety type and made little noise, but it was too much for the nerves
+of a bird, which flew away noisily. Furneaux pursed his lips and
+wanted to whistle. He realized now what an escape he had earlier. But
+the intruder seemed to care less about attracting attention than
+making rapid progress. He came on swiftly, striking other matches when
+required, until he stood on the bare ground near the rock. Not daring
+to lift a head, none of the three watchers could see the newcomer, and
+in that respect their hiding-place was almost too well chosen. Whoever
+it was, he needed no more matches to guide his footsteps. They heard
+him advancing a few paces; then he halted again. After a marked
+interval, punctuated by a soft, whirring noise hard to interpret,
+there were irregular scrapings and the creaking of a branch.
+
+Furneaux arose. Keeping a hand on the rock until he was clear of the
+shrubs, he crept forward on thievish feet. His assistants, moving more
+clumsily to their allotted station, were audible enough to him, but to
+a man unconscious of their presence, and actively climbing a tree,
+they were remote and still as Uranus and Saturn.
+
+The scraping of feet and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the prompt
+flight of several birds, led the detective unerringly to the trunk of
+a lofty chestnut which he had already fixed on as the cover whence the
+shot that killed Mortimer Fenley was fired. He was convinced also that
+the rifle was yet hidden there, and his thin lips parted in a smile
+now that his theory was about to be justified.
+
+He could follow the panting efforts of the climber quite easily. He
+knew when the weapon was unlashed from the limb to which it was bound,
+and when the descent was begun. He could measure almost the exact
+distance of his prey from the ground, and was awaiting the final drop
+before flashing the torch on his prisoner, when something rapped him
+smartly on the forehead. It was a rope, doubled and twisted, and
+subsequent investigation showed that it must have been thrown in a
+coil over the lowermost branch in order to facilitate the only
+difficult part of the climb offered by ten feet of straight bole.
+
+That trivial incident changed the whole course of events. Taken by
+surprise, since he did not know what had struck him, Furneaux pressed
+the governor of the torch a second too soon, and his eyes, raised
+instantaneously, met those of Hilton Fenley, who was on the point of
+letting go the branch and swinging himself down.
+
+During a thrilling moment they gazed at each other, the detective cool
+and seemingly unconcerned, the self-avowed murderer livid with mortal
+fear. Then Furneaux caught the rope and held it.
+
+"I thought you'd go climbing tonight, Fenley," he said. "Let me assist
+you. Tricky things, ropes. You're at the wrong end of this one."
+
+Even Homer nods, but Furneaux had erred three times in as many
+seconds. He had switched on the light prematurely, and his ready
+banter had warned the parricide that a well-built scheme was crumbling
+to irretrievable ruin. Moreover, he had underrated the nervous forces
+of the man thus trapped and outwitted. Fenley knew that when his feet
+touched the earth he would begin a ghastly pilgrimage to the scaffold.
+Two yellow orbs of light were already springing up the slight incline
+from the rock, betokening the presence of captors in overwhelming
+number. What was to be done? Nothing, in reason, yet Furneaux had
+likened him to a snake, and he displayed now the primal instinct of
+the snake to fight when cornered. Thrusting the heavy gun he was
+carrying straight downward, he delivered a vicious and unerring blow.
+
+The stock caught the detective on the crown of the head, and he fell
+to his knees, dropping the torch, which of course went out as soon as
+the thumb relaxed its pressure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+SOME STAGE EFFECTS
+
+
+Fenley himself dropped almost simultaneously with the rifle, landing
+with both feet on Furneaux's back, and thus completing the little
+man's discomfiture. By that time the two policemen were nearly upon
+him, but he was lithe and fierce as a cobra, and had seized the rifle
+again before they could close with him. Jabbing the nearer adversary
+with the muzzle, he smashed a lamp and sent its owner sprawling
+backward. Then, swinging the weapon, he aimed a murderous blow at the
+second constable.
+
+The man contrived to avoid it to a certain extent, but it glanced off
+his left arm and caught the side of his head; and he, too, measured
+his length. All three, detective and police, were on their feet
+promptly, for none was seriously injured; but Furneaux was dazed and
+had to grope for the torch, and the second constable's lamp had gone
+out owing to a rush of oil from the cistern. Thus, during some
+precious seconds, they were in total darkness.
+
+Meanwhile Fenley had escaped. Luck, after deserting him, had come to
+his rescue in the nick of time. He had blundered into the path, and
+managed to keep to it, and the somewhat strong language in which
+Furneaux expressed his feelings anent the Hertfordshire Constabulary,
+and the no less lurid comments of two angry members of the force,
+helped to conceal the sounds which would otherwise have indicated the
+direction taken by the fugitive.
+
+At last, having found the torch, Furneaux collected his scattered
+wits.
+
+"Now don't be scared and run away, you two," he said sarcastically,
+producing an automatic pistol. "I'm only going to tell Mr. Winter that
+we've bungled the job."
+
+He fired twice in the air, and two vivid spurts of flame rose high
+among the branches of the chestnut; but the loud reports of the
+shooting were as nothing compared with the din that followed. Every
+rook within a mile flew from its eyrie and cawed strenuously.
+Pheasants clucked and clattered in all directions, owls hooted, and
+dogs barked in the kennels, in the stable yard, and in nearly every
+house of the two neighboring villages.
+
+"I don't see what good that'll do, sir," was the rueful comment of the
+policeman who had, in his own phrase, "collected a thick ear," and was
+now feeling the spot tenderly. "He hasn't shinned up the tree again;
+that's a positive certainty."
+
+"I should have thought that a really clever fellow like you would
+guess that I wanted to raise a row," said Furneaux. "Have you breath
+enough left to blow your whistles?"
+
+"But, sir, your orders were----"
+
+"Blow, and be damned to you. Don't I know the fault is mine! Blow, and
+crack your cheeks! Blow wild peals, my Roberts, else we are copped
+coppers!"
+
+The mild radiance of the torch showed that the detective's face was
+white with fury and his eyes gleaming red. To think that a dangling
+rope's end should have spoiled his finest capture, undone a flawless
+piece of imaginative reasoning which his own full record had never
+before equaled! It was humiliating, maddening. No wonder the policemen
+thought him crazy!
+
+But they whistled with a will. Winter heard them, and was stirred to
+strange activities. Robert Fenley, recovering from an ague and
+sickness, heard and marveled at the pandemonium which had broken loose
+in the park. The household at The Towers was aroused, heads were
+craned out of windows, women screamed, and men dressed hastily.
+Keepers, estate hands, and stablemen tumbled into their garments and
+hurried out, armed with guns and cudgels. An unhappy woman, tossing in
+the fitful dreams of drug-induced sleep, was awakened by the pistol
+shots and terrified by the noise of slamming doors and hurrying feet.
+
+She struggled out of bed and screamed for an attendant, but none came.
+She pressed an electric bell, which rang continuously in the night
+watchman's room; but he had run to the front of the house and was
+unlocking the front door, where a squad of willing men soon awaited
+Winter's instructions. For the Superintendent, after rushing to the
+telephone, had shouted an order to MacBain before he made off in the
+direction of the Quarry Wood.
+
+The one tocsin which exercises a dread significance in a peaceful and
+law-abiding English community at the present day struck a new and
+awful note in Hilton Fenley's brain. Fool that he was, why had he
+fought? Why was he flying? Had he brazened it out, the police would
+not have dared arrest him. His brain was as acute as the best of
+theirs. He could have evolved a theory of the crime as subtle as any
+detective's, and who so keen-witted as a son eager to avenge a
+father's murder? But he had thrown away a gambler's chance by a moment
+of frenzied struggle. He was doomed now. No plausible explanation
+would serve his need. He was hunted. The pack was after him. The fox
+had broken cover, and the hounds were in full cry.
+
+Whither should he go? He knew not. Still clutching the empty gun--for
+which he had not even one cartridge in his pockets--he made hopelessly
+for the open park. Already some glimmer of light showed that he was
+winning free of these accursed trees, which had stretched forth a
+thousand hands to tear his flesh and trip his uncertain feet. That
+way, at least, lay the world. In the wood he might have circled
+blindly until captured.
+
+Now a drawback of such roaring maelstroms of alarm and uncertainty is
+their knack of submerging earlier and less dramatic passages in the
+lives of those whom Fate drags into their sweeping currents. Lest,
+therefore, the strangely contrived meeting between Sylvia and her
+knight errant should be neglected by the chronicler, it is well to
+return to those two young people at the moment when Sylvia was
+declaring her unimpaired power of standing without support.
+
+Trenholme was disposed to take everything for the best in a magic
+world. "Whatever is, is right" is a doctrine which appeals to the
+artistic temperament, inasmuch as it blends fatalism and the action of
+Providence in proportions so admirably adjusted that no philosopher
+yet born has succeeded in reducing them to a formula. But Eve did not
+bite the apple in that spirit. It was forbidden: she wanted to know
+why. Sylvia's first thought was to discover a reasonable reason for
+Trenholme's presence. Of course, there was one that jumped to the eye,
+but it was too absurd to suppose that he had come to the tryst in
+obedience to the foolish vagaries which accounted for her own
+actions. She blushed to the nape of her neck at the conceit, which
+called for instant and severe repression, and her voice reflected the
+passing mood.
+
+"I don't wish to underrate the great service you have rendered me,"
+she said coldly, "and I shall always be your debtor for it; but I can
+not help asking how you came to be standing under the cedars at this
+hour of the night?"
+
+"I wonder," he said.
+
+She wriggled her shoulder slightly, as a polite intimation that his
+hand need not rest there any longer, but he seemed to misinterpret the
+movement, and drew her an inch or so nearer, whereupon the wriggling
+ceased.
+
+"But that is no answer at all," she murmured, aware of a species of
+fear of this big, masterful man: a fear rather fascinating in its
+tremors, like a novice's cringing to the vibration of electricity in a
+mildly pleasant form; a fear as opposed to her loathing of Robert
+Fenley as the song of a thrush to the purr of a tiger.
+
+"I can tell you, in a disconnected sort of way," he said, evidently
+trying to focus his thoughts on a problem set by the gods, and which,
+in consequence, was incapable of logical solution by a mere mortal.
+"It was a fine night. I felt restless. The four walls of a room were
+prison-like. I strolled out. I was thinking of you. I am here."
+
+She trembled a little. Blushing even more deeply than before, she
+fancied he must be able to feel her skin hot through silk and linen.
+For all that, she contrived to laugh.
+
+"It sounds convincing, but there is something missing in the
+argument," she said.
+
+"Most likely," he admitted. "A woman analyzes emotion far more
+intimately than a man. Perhaps, if you were to tell me why _you_ were
+drawn to cross the park at midnight, you might supply a clue to my own
+moon madness."
+
+"But there isn't any moon, and I think I ought to be returning to the
+house."
+
+He knew quite well that she had evaded his question, and, so readily
+does the heart respond to the whisperings of hope, he was aware of a
+sudden tumult in that which doctors call the cardiac region. She, too,
+had come forth to tell her longings to the stars! That thrice blessed
+picture had drawn them together by a force as unseen and irresistible
+as the law of gravitation! Then he became aware of a dreadful qualm.
+Had he any right to place on her slim shoulders the weight of an
+avowal from which he had flinched? He dropped that protecting hand as
+if it had been struck sharply.
+
+"I have annoyed you by my stupid word-fencing," he said contritely.
+
+"No, indeed," she said, and, reveling in a new sense of power, her
+tone grew very gentle. "Why should we seek far-fetched theories for so
+simple a thing as a stroll out of doors on a night like this? I am not
+surprised that you, at any rate, should wish to visit the place where
+that delightful picture sprang into being. It was my exceeding good
+fortune that you happened to be close at hand when I needed help. I
+must explain that----"
+
+"My explanation comes first," he broke in. "I saw you crossing the
+park. A second time in the course of one day I had to decide whether
+to remain hidden or make a bolt for it. Again I determined to stand
+fast; for had you seen and heard a man vanishing among the trees you
+would certainly have been alarmed, not only because of the hour but
+owing to today's extraordinary events. Moreover, I felt sure you were
+coming to the lake, and I did not wish to stop you. That was a bit of
+pure selfishness on my part. I wanted you to come. If ever a man was
+vouchsafed the realization of an unspoken prayer, I am that man
+tonight."
+
+Trenholme had never before made love to any woman, but lack of
+experience did not seem to trouble him greatly. Sylvia, however,
+though very much alive to that element in his words, bethought herself
+of something else which they implied.
+
+"Then you heard what my cousin Robert said?" she commented.
+
+"Every syllable. When the chance of an effectual reply offered, I
+recalled his disjointed remarks collectively."
+
+"Did you hit him very hard?"
+
+"Just hard enough to stop him from annoying you further tonight."
+
+"I suppose he deserved it. He was horrid. But I don't wish you to meet
+him again just now. He is no coward, and he might attack you."
+
+"That would be most unfortunate," he agreed.
+
+"So, if you don't mind, we'll take a roundabout way. By skirting the
+Quarry Wood we can reach the avenue, near the place where we met this
+evening. Do you remember?"
+
+"Perfectly. I shall be very old before I forget."
+
+"But I mean the place where we met. Of course, you could hardly
+pretend that you had forgotten meeting me."
+
+"As soon would the daffodil forget where last it bloomed.
+
+          "Daffodils,
+          That come before the swallow dares, and take
+          The winds of March with beauty.
+
+"Not that I should quote you 'A Winter's Tale,' but rather search my
+poor store for apter lines from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream':
+
+          "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
+          Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows;
+          Quite over-canopied with luxurious woodbine,
+          With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine:
+          There sleeps Titania.
+
+"Believe me, I have an excellent memory--for some things."
+
+They walked together in silence a little way, and dreamed, perchance,
+that they were wandering in Oberon's realm with Hermia and Lysander.
+Then Sylvia, stealing a shy glance at the tall figure by her side,
+acknowledged that once she filled the role of Titania in a schoolroom
+version of the play.
+
+"We had no man," she said, "but the masks and costumes served us well.
+After a day's study I could be a Fairy Queen once more.
+
+          "I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;
+          Mine ear is much enraptured of thy note----"
+
+She stopped suddenly. The next lines were distinctly amorous. He
+laughed with ready appreciation of her difficulty, but generously
+provided a way out.
+
+"Poor mortal!" he tittered. "And must I wear an ass's head to be in
+character?"
+
+A loud report, and then another, brought them back rudely from a
+make-believe wood near Athens to a peril-haunted park in an English
+county. For the second time that night Sylvia knew what fear meant.
+Intuitively, she shrank close to the strong man who seemed destined
+to be her protector; and when an arm clasped her again, she cowered
+close to its sheltering embrace.
+
+"Oh, what is it?" she wailed in terror.
+
+"It is hard to say," he answered quietly, and the confidence in his
+voice was the best assurance of safety he could have given. "Those
+shots were fired from some sort of rifle, not of the same caliber as
+that which was used this morning, but unquestionably a rifle. Perhaps
+it is one of these modern pistols. I don't wish to alarm you
+needlessly, Miss Manning, but there is some probability that the
+police have discovered the man who killed Mr. Fenley, and there is a
+struggle going on. At any rate, let us remain out here in the open. We
+shall be as safe here as anywhere."
+
+Sylvia, who had not been afraid to venture alone into the park at
+midnight, was now in a quite feminine state of fright. She clung to
+Trenholme without any pretense of other feeling than one of unbounded
+trust. Her heart was pounding frantically, and she was trembling from
+head to foot.
+
+The police whistles were shrilling their insistent summons for help,
+and Trenholme knew that the commotion had arisen in the exact part of
+the Quarry Wood whence the murderous bullet had sped that morning. He
+was unarmed, of course, being devoid of even such a mildly aggressive
+weapon as a walking-stick, but there was doubt in his mind that the
+best thing to do was to stand fast. He was not blind to the
+possibility of imminent danger, for the very spot they had reached lay
+in a likely line of retreat for any desperado whom the police might
+have discovered and be pursuing. Naturally he took it for granted that
+the criminal had fired the two shots, and the fact that the whistles
+were still in full blast showed that the chase had not been abandoned.
+
+Still, the only course open was to take such chances as came their
+way. He could always shield the girl with his own body, or tell her to
+lie flat on the ground while he closed with an assailant if
+opportunity served. Being a level-headed, plucky youngster, he was by
+no means desirous of indulging in deeds of derring-do. The one
+paramount consideration was the safe conduct of Sylvia to the house,
+and he hoped sincerely that if a miscreant were trying to escape, he
+would choose any route save that which led from the wood to Roxton
+village.
+
+"Don't hesitate if I bid you throw yourself down at full length," he
+said, unconsciously stroking Sylvia's hair with his free hand. "In a
+minute or two we'll make for the avenue. Meanwhile, let us listen. If
+any one is coming in this direction we ought to hear him, and
+forewarned is forearmed."
+
+Choking back a broken question, she strove submissively to check her
+distressed sobbing. Were it not for the hubbub of thousands of rooks
+and pheasants they would assuredly have caught the sounds of Hilton
+Fenley's panic-stricken onrush through the trees. As it was, he saw
+them first, and, even in his rabid frenzy, recognized Sylvia. It was
+only to be expected that he should mistake Trenholme for his brother,
+and in a new spasm of fright, he recollected he was carrying the
+rifle. Robert Fenley, of course, would identify it at a glance, and
+could hardly fail to be more than suspicious at sight of it. With an
+oath, he threw the telltale weapon back among the undergrowth, and,
+summoning the last shreds of his shattered nerves to lend some degree
+of self-control, walked rapidly out into the open park.
+
+Sylvia saw him and shrieked. Trenholme was about to thrust her behind
+him, when some familiar attribute about the outline of the approaching
+figure caused her to cry--
+
+"Why, it's Hilton!"
+
+"Yes, Sylvia," came the breathless answer. "You heard the firing, of
+course? The police have found some fellow in the wood. You and Bob
+make for the avenue. I'm going this way in case he breaks cover for
+the Roxton gate. Hurry! You'll find some of the men there. Never mind
+about me. I'll be all right!"
+
+He was running while he talked, edging away toward the group of
+cedars; and, under the conditions, it was not for Trenholme to
+undeceive him as to the mistake in regarding the artist as Robert
+Fenley. In any event, the appearance of Hilton from that part of the
+wood seemed to prove that the man whom the law was seeking could not
+be in the same locality, so Trenholme did not hesitate to urge Sylvia
+to fall in with her "cousin's" instructions.
+
+For the time, then, they may be left to progress uninterruptedly
+to safety and not very prompt enlightenment; the flight of the
+self-confessed murderer calls for more immediate attention. Probably,
+after the first moment of suspense, and when he was sure that escape
+was still not utterly impracticable, he intended to cross the park to
+the northwest and climb the boundary wall. But a glimpse of the black
+line of trees daunted him. He simply dared not face those pitiless
+sentinels again. He pictured himself forcing a way through the
+undergrowth in the dense gloom and failing perhaps; for the vegetation
+was wilder there than in any other portion of the estate. So, making a
+detour, he headed for the unencumbered parkland once more, and gained
+the wall near Jackson's farm about the time that Trenholme and Sylvia
+entered the avenue.
+
+He was unquestionably in a parlous state. Bare-headed, unarmed, he
+could not fail to attract attention in a district where every resident
+knew the other, nor could he resist capture when the hue and cry went
+forth. What to do he knew not. Even if he managed to reach the railway
+station unchallenged, the last train of the day had left for London
+soon after eleven, and the earliest next morning was timed for five
+o'clock, too late by many hours to serve his desperate need.
+
+Could he hire a motor car or bicycle? The effort was fraught with
+every variety of risk. There was a small garage at Easton, but those
+cunning detectives would be raising the countryside already, and the
+telephone would close every outlet. For the first time in his life
+Hilton Fenley realized that the world is too small to hold a murderer.
+He was free, would soon have the choice of a network of main roads and
+lanes in a rural district at the dead hour of the night, yet he felt
+himself securely caged as some creature of the jungle trapped in a
+pit.
+
+Crossing Jackson's farmyard, not without disturbing a dog just
+quieting down after the preceding racket, he hurried into the village
+street, having made up his mind to face the inevitable and arouse the
+garage keeper. By the irony of fate he passed the cottage in which
+Police Constable Farrow was lying asleep and utterly unaware of the
+prevalent excitement, to join in which he would have kept awake all
+that night and the next.
+
+Then the turn of Fortune's wheel befriended Fenley again. Outside a
+house stood Dr. Stern's car, a closed-in runabout in which both the
+doctor and his chauffeur were sheltered from inclement weather. The
+chauffeur was lounging on the pavement, smoking a cigarette, and
+Fenley, of course, recognized him. His heart leaped. Let him be bold
+now, and he might win through. A handkerchief wiped some of the blood
+off his face where the skin had been broken by the trees, and he
+avoided the glare of the lamps.
+
+"Hello, Tom," he said, "where is the doctor?"
+
+"Inside, sir," with a glance toward an upper room where a light shone.
+"What's happened at The Towers, sir? Was it shooting I heard a while
+since?"
+
+"Yes. A false alarm, though. The police thought they had found some
+suspicious character in the grounds."
+
+"By jing, sir, did they fire at him?"
+
+Fenley saw that the story was weak, and hastened to correct it.
+
+"No, no," he said. "The police don't shoot first. That was my brother,
+Robert. You know what a harebrained fellow he is. Said he fired in
+order to make the man double back. But that is a small matter. Can I
+have one word with Dr. Stern?"
+
+"I'll see, sir," and the chauffeur went to the house.
+
+Furneaux had estimated Hilton Fenley correctly in ascribing to him
+the quality of cold-bloodedness. Ninety-nine men among a hundred would
+have appropriated the motor car then and there, but Fenley saw by
+waiting a minute and displaying the requisite coolness he might
+succeed in throwing his pursuers off the trail for some hours.
+
+Stern came. It chanced that he was watching a good patient through a
+crisis, and would be detained until daybreak.
+
+"Hello, Hilton," he cried. "What's up now, and what's the racket in
+the park?"
+
+Fenley explained, but hurried to the vital matter.
+
+"My car is out of action," he said. "I was going to the Easton garage
+to hire one when I saw yours standing here. Lend it to me for a couple
+of hours; there's a good fellow. I'll pay well for the use of it."
+
+"Pay? Nonsense! Jump in! Take Mr. Fenley where he wants to go, Tom.
+Where to first, Hilton?"
+
+"St. Albans. I'm exceedingly obliged. And look here, Stern, I insist
+on paying."
+
+"We can settle that afterwards. Off with you. I'll walk home, Tom."
+
+Away sped the car. Running through Easton, Fenley saw two policemen
+stationed at a cross-road. They signaled the car to stop, and his
+blood curdled, but, in the same instant, they saw the chauffeur's
+face; the other occupant was cowering as far back in the shadow as
+possible.
+
+"Oh, it's Dr. Stern," said one. "Right, Tom. By the way, have you seen
+anything of----"
+
+"Go on, do!" growled Fenley, drowning the man's voice. "I'm in a vile
+hurry."
+
+That was his last real hairbreadth escape--for that night, at any
+rate, though other thrills were in store. The chauffeur was greatly
+surprised when bidden to go on from St. Albans to London, and take the
+High Barnet road to the City; but Fenley produced a five-pound note at
+the right moment, and the man reflected that his master would not
+hesitate to oblige a wealthy client, who evidently meant to make good
+the wear and tear on the car.
+
+In about an hour Fenley alighted on the pavement opposite the firm's
+premises in Bishopsgate Street. If a policeman had chanced to be
+standing there the fugitive would have known that the game was up, but
+the only wayfarers in that part of the thoroughfare were some street
+cleaners.
+
+Now that he saw a glimmer of light where hitherto all was darkness, he
+was absolutely clear-brained and cool in manner.
+
+"Wait five minutes," he said. "I sha'n't detain you longer."
+
+He let himself in with a master key, taken from his dead father's
+pockets earlier by Tomlinson. Going to the banker's private office,
+he ransacked a safe and a cabinet with hasty method. He secured a hat,
+an overcoat, an umbrella and a packed suitcase, left there for
+emergency journeys in connection with the business, and was back in
+the street again within less than the specified time.
+
+His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth when he found a policeman
+chatting with the chauffeur, but the man saluted him with a civil
+"Good morning!"
+
+In the City of London, which is deserted as a cemetery from ten
+o'clock at night till six in the morning, the police keep a sharp eye
+on waiting cabs and automobiles between these hours, and invariably
+inquire their business.
+
+This constable was quite satisfied that all was well when he saw Mr.
+Hilton Fenley, whom he knew by sight. In any event, the flying
+murderer was safer than he dared hope in that place and at that time.
+The Roxton telephonic system was temporarily useless in so far as it
+affected his movements; for a fire had broken out at The Towers, and
+the flames of the burning roof had been as a beacon for miles around
+during the whole of the time consumed by the run to London.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE CLOSE OF A TRAGEDY
+
+
+Winter was in the Quarry Wood and feeling his way but trusting to
+hands and feet when he heard, and soon saw, Furneaux and the two
+constables coming toward him. The little detective held the electric
+torch above his head, and was striding on without looking to right or
+left. The bitterness of defeat was in his face. Life had turned to
+gall and wormwood. As the expressive American phrase has it, he was
+chewing mud.
+
+The Superintendent smiled. He knew what torment his friend was
+suffering.
+
+"Hello, there!" he said gruffly, and the three men jumped, for their
+nerves were on edge.
+
+"Oh, it's you, Napoleon," yelped Furneaux. "Behold Soult and his army
+corps, come to explain how Sir John Moore dodged him at Corunna."
+
+"You've lost your man, then?"
+
+"Botched the job at the moment of victory. And all through a rope
+end."
+
+"Tush! That isn't in your line."
+
+"Must I be lashed by your wit, too? The rope was applied to me, not to
+Fenley."
+
+"You don't mean to say, sir," broke in one of the astounded policemen,
+"that you think Mr. Hilton killed his own father!"
+
+"Was it you who got that punch in the tummy?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Well, save your breath. You'll want it when the muscles stiffen.
+_'Cre nom d'un pipe!_ To think that I, Furneaux of the Yard, should
+queer the finest pitch I ever stood on."
+
+"Oh, come now, Charles," said Winter. "Don't cry over spilt milk.
+You'll catch Fenley all right before the weather changes. What really
+happened?"
+
+Aware of the paramount necessity of suppressing his personal woes,
+Furneaux at once gave a graphic and succinct account of Fenley's
+imminent capture and escape. He was scrupulously fair, and exonerated
+his assistants from any share of the blame--if indeed any one could be
+held accountable for the singular accident which precipitated matters
+by a few vital seconds.
+
+Had Fenley reached the ground before the torch revealed the
+detective's presence, the latter would have closed with him instantly,
+throwing the torch aside, and thus taking the prisoner at the
+disadvantage which the fortune of war had brought to bear against the
+law. Furneaux was wiry though slight, and he could certainly have held
+his man until reenforcements came; nor would the constables' lamps
+have been extinguished during the _melee_.
+
+"Then he has vanished, rifle and all," said Winter, when Furneaux had
+made an end.
+
+"As though the earth had swallowed him. A thousand years ago it would
+have done so," was the humiliated confession.
+
+"None of you have any notion which direction he took?"
+
+"_I_ received such a whack on the skull that I believe he disappeared
+in fire," said Furneaux. "My friend here," turning to the policeman
+who had voiced his amazement at the suggestion that Hilton Fenley was
+a murderer, "was in the position of Bret Harte's negro lecturer on
+geology, while this other stalwart thought he had been kicked by a
+horse. We soon recovered, but had to grope for each other. Then I
+called the heavens to witness that I was dished."
+
+"That gave us a chance of salvage, anyhow," said Winter. "I 'phoned
+the Roxton Inspector, and he will block the roads. When he has
+communicated with St. Albans and some other centers we should have a
+fairly wide net spread. Bates is coming from the lodge to take charge
+of a search party to scour the woods. We want that rifle. He must have
+dropped it somewhere. He'll make for a station in the early morning.
+He daren't tramp the country without a hat and in a black suit."
+
+Winter was trying to put heart into his colleague, but Furneaux was
+not to be comforted. The truth was that the blow on the head had been
+a very severe one. Unfortunately, he had changed his hard straw hat
+for a soft cap which gave hardly any protection. Had Fenley's perch
+been a few inches lower when he delivered that vindictive thrust,
+Scotland Yard would probably have lost one of its most zealous
+officers.
+
+So the Jerseyman said nothing, having nothing to say that was fit for
+the ears of the local constabulary, and Winter suggested that they
+should return to the mansion and give Bates instructions. Then he,
+Winter, would telephone Headquarters, have the main roads watched, and
+the early Continental trains kept under surveillance.
+
+Furneaux, torch in hand, at once led the way. Thus the party was
+visible before it entered the avenue, and two young people who had
+bridged months of ordinary acquaintance in one moment of tragedy,
+being then on the roadway, saw the gleam of light and waited.
+
+"Good!" cackled the little detective when his glance fell on them.
+"I'm glad to see there's one live man in the bunch. I presume you've
+disposed of Mr. Robert Fenley, Mr. Trenholme?"
+
+"Yes," said the artist. "His affairs seem to be common property. His
+brother evidently knew he was out of doors, and now you----"
+
+Furneaux woke up at that.
+
+"His brother! How can _you_ know what his brother knew?"
+
+"Mr. Hilton Fenley saw Miss Manning and myself, and mistook me
+for----"
+
+"Saw you? When?"
+
+"About five minutes ago, on the other side of the wood."
+
+"What did he say? Quick!"
+
+"He told us that the shooting was the outcome of your efforts to catch
+some man hiding among the trees."
+
+"Of my efforts?"
+
+"He didn't mention you by name. The words he used were 'the police.'
+He was taking part in the chase, I suppose."
+
+"Which way did he go?"
+
+Trenholme hesitated. Not only was he not quite conversant with the
+locality, but his shrewd wits had reached a certain conclusion, and he
+did not wish to be too outspoken before Sylvia. Surely she had borne
+sufficient for one day.
+
+Thereupon the girl herself broke in.
+
+"Hilton went toward the cedars. He may be making for the Easton gate.
+Have you caught any man?"
+
+"Not yet, Miss Manning," said Winter, assuming control of the
+situation with a firm hand. "I advise you to go straight to your
+room, and not stir out again tonight. There will be no more
+disturbance--I promise you that."
+
+Even the chief of the C. I. D. can err when he prophesies. At that
+instant the two lines of trees lost their impenetrable blackness.
+Their foliage sprang into red-tinted life as if the witches of the
+Brocken had chosen a new meeting-place, and a crackling, tearing sound
+rent the air.
+
+"Oh!" screamed Sylvia, who chanced to be facing the mansion. "The
+house is on fire!"
+
+They were standing in a group, almost where Police Constable Farrow
+had stood at ten minutes past ten the previous morning. Hence they
+were aware of this addition to the day's horrors before the house
+servants, who, headed by Tomlinson, were gathered on and near the
+flight of steps at the entrance. Every female servant in the
+establishment was there as well, not outside the door, but quaking in
+the hall. MacBain was the first among the men to realize what was
+happening. He caught the loud clang of an automatic fire alarm ringing
+in his room, and at once called the house fire brigade to run out the
+hose while he dashed upstairs into the north corridor, from which a
+volume of smoke was pouring.
+
+"Good Heavens!" he cried, on reaching the cross gallery. "It's in Mr.
+Fenley's rooms!"
+
+Mr. Fenley's rooms! No need to tell the horrified staff which rooms he
+meant. A fire was raging in the private suite of the dead man!
+
+The residence was singularly well equipped with fire-extinguishing
+appliances. Mortimer Fenley had seen to that. Hand grenades, producing
+carbonic acid gas generated by mixing water with acid and alkali,
+were stored in convenient places, and there was a plentiful supply of
+water from many hose pipes. The north and south galleries looked on
+to an internal courtyard, so there was every chance of isolating
+the outbreak if it were tackled vigorously; and no fault could be
+found with either the spirit or training of the amateur brigade.
+Consequently, only two rooms, a bedroom and adjoining dressing-room,
+were well alight; these were burned out completely. A sitting-room on
+one side was badly scorched, as was a spare room on the other; but the
+men soon knew that they had checked the further progress of the
+flames, and were speculating, while they worked, as to the cause of a
+fire originating in a set of empty apartments, when Parker, Mrs.
+Fenley's personal attendant, came sobbing and distraught to Sylvia.
+
+"Oh, miss!" she cried. "Oh, miss! Where is your aunt?"
+
+"Isn't Mrs. Fenley in her room?" asked the girl, yielding to a sense
+of neglect in not having gone to see if Mrs. Fenley was alarmed,
+though the older woman was not in the slightest danger. The two main
+sections of the building were separated by an open space of forty
+feet, and The Towers had exceedingly thick walls.
+
+"No, miss. I can't find her anywhere!" said the woman, well aware that
+if any one was at fault it was herself. "You know when I saw you. I
+went back then, and she was sleeping, so I thought I could leave her
+safely. Oh, miss, what has become of her? Maybe she was aroused by the
+shooting!"
+
+All hands that could be spared from the fire-fighting operations
+engaged instantly in an active search, but there was no clue to Mrs.
+Fenley's disappearance beyond an open door and a missing night light.
+The electric current was shut off at the main at midnight, except on a
+special circuit communicating with the hall, the courtyard, and
+MacBain's den, where he had control of these things.
+
+High and low they hunted without avail, until MacBain himself stumbled
+over a calcinated body in the murdered banker's bedroom. The poor
+creature had waked to some sense of disaster. Vague memories of the
+morning's horror had led her, night light in hand, to the spot where
+she fancied she would find the one person on earth in whom she placed
+confidence, for Mortimer Fenley had always treated her with kindness,
+even if his methods were not in accord with the commonly accepted
+moral code.
+
+Presumably, on discovering that the rooms were empty, some further
+glimmering knowledge had stirred her benumbed consciousness. She may
+have flung herself on the bed in a paroxysm of weeping, heedless of
+the overturned night light and the havoc it caused. That, of course,
+is sheer guesswork, though the glass dish which held the light was
+found later on the charred floor, which was protected, to some extent,
+by a thick carpet.
+
+At any rate, she had not long survived the husband who had given her a
+pomp and circumstance for which she was ill fitted. They were buried
+in the same grave, and Hertfordshire sent its thousands to the
+funeral.
+
+Soon after her fate became known, Winter wanted Furneaux, but his
+colleague was not in the house. The telephone having broken down,
+owing to the collapse of a standard, and the necessity of subduing the
+fire having put a stop to any immediate search being made in the park,
+Winter thought that the pair of them would be better employed if they
+transferred their energies to the local police station.
+
+He found Furneaux seated on the lowermost step at the entrance; the
+Jerseyman was crying as if his heart would break, and Trenholme was
+trying to comfort him, but in vain.
+
+"What's up now?" inquired the Superintendent, thinking at the moment
+that his friend and comrade was giving way to hysteria indirectly
+owing to the blow he had received.
+
+Furneaux looked up. It was the darkest hour of the night, and his
+chief could not see the distraught features wrung with pain.
+
+"James," he said, mastering his voice by a fierce effort, "my mad
+antics killed that unfortunate woman! She was aroused by the shots.
+She would cry for help, and none came. Heavens! I can hear her now!
+Then she ran for refuge to the man who had been everything to her
+since she was a barrack room kid in India. I'm done, old fellow. I
+resign. I can never show my face in the Yard again."
+
+"It'll do you a world of good if you talk," said Winter, meaning to
+console, but unconsciously wounding by cruel sarcasm.
+
+"I'll be dumb enough after this night's work," said Furneaux, in a
+tone of such utter dejection that Winter began to take him seriously.
+
+"If you fail me now, Charles," he said, and his utterance was thick
+with anger at the crassness of things, "I'll consider the advisability
+of sending in my own papers. Dash it!" He said something quite
+different, but his friends may read this record, and they would
+repudiate an exact version with scorn and disbelief. "Are we going to
+admit ourselves beaten by a half-bred hound like Hilton Fenley? Not
+if I know it, or I know you. We've got the noose 'round his neck, and
+you and I will pull it tight if we have to follow him to----"
+
+"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," said a voice. "I was called out
+o' bed to come to the fire, an' took a short cut across the park. Blow
+me if I didn't kick my foot against this!"
+
+And Police Constable Farrow, who had approached unnoticed, held out
+an object which seemed to be a rifle. Owing to his being seated
+Furneaux's eyes were on a level with it, and he could see more clearly
+than the others. He struck a match; then there could be no doubt that
+the policeman had actually picked up the weapon which had set in
+motion so many and such varied vicissitudes.
+
+But Farrow had more to say. It had been his happy lot during many
+hours to figure bravely in the Fenley case, and he carried himself
+as a valiant man and true to the end.
+
+"I think I heard you mention Mr. Hilton," he went on. "I met Dr. Stern
+in the village, an' he tol' me Mr. Hilton had borrowed his car."
+
+Furneaux stood up.
+
+"Continue, Solomon," he said, and Winter sighed with relief; the
+little man was himself again.
+
+"That's all, gentlemen, or practically all. It struck me as unusual,
+but Dr. Stern said Mr. Hilton's motor was out o' gear, an' he wanted
+a car in a desp'rit hurry."
+
+"He did, indeed!" growled Furneaux. "You're quite sure there is no
+mistake?"
+
+"Mistake, sir? How could there be? The doctor was walkin' home. That's
+an unusual thing. He never walks a yard if he can help it. Mr. Hilton
+borrowed the car to go to St. Albans."
+
+"Did he, indeed? Just how did he come to find the car waiting for
+him?"
+
+"Oh, that's the queer part of it. Dr. Stern is lookin' after poor old
+Joe Bland, who's mighty bad with--there, now, if I haven't gone and
+forgotten the name; something-itis--and Mr. Hilton must have seen the
+car standin' outside Bland's house. But what was he doin' in Roxton at
+arf past twelve? That's wot beats me. And then, just fancy me stubbin'
+my toe against this!"
+
+Again he displayed the rifle as if it were an exhibit and he were
+giving evidence.
+
+"Let's go inside and get a light," said Winter, and the four mounted
+the steps into the hall. Robert Fenley was there--red-faced as ever,
+for he had helped in putting out the fire, but quite sober, since he
+had been very sick.
+
+Some lamps and candles gave a fair amount of light, and Robert eyed
+Trenholme viciously.
+
+"So it was you!" he said. "I thought it was. Well, my father and
+mother are both dead, and this is no time for settlin' matters; but
+I'll look you up when this business is all over."
+
+"If you do, you'll get hurt," said Winter brusquely. "Is that your
+rifle?" and he pointed to the weapon in Farrow's hands.
+
+"Yes. Where was it found?"
+
+"In the Quarry Wood, sir, but a'most in the park," said the policeman.
+
+"Has it been used recently?"
+
+Fenley could hardly have put a question better calculated to prove his
+own innocence of any complicity in the crime.
+
+Winter took the gun, meaning to open the breech, but he and Furneaux
+simultaneously noticed a bit of black thread tied to one of the
+triggers. It had been broken, and the two loose ends were some inches
+in length.
+
+"That settles it," muttered Furneaux. "The scoundrel fixed it to a
+thick branch, aimed it carefully on more than one occasion--look at
+the sights, set for four hundred yards--and fired it by pulling a cord
+from his bedroom window when he saw his father occupying the exact
+position where the sighting practiced on Monday and Tuesday showed
+that a fatal wound would be inflicted. The remaining length of cord
+was stronger than this packing thread, which was bound to give way
+first when force was applied.... Well, that side of the question
+didn't bother us much, did it, Winter?"
+
+"May I ask who you're talking about?" inquired Robert Fenley hoarsely.
+
+"About that precious rogue, your half brother," was the answer. "That
+is why he went to his bedroom, one window of which looks out on the
+park and the other on the east front, where he watched his father
+standing to light a cigar before entering the motor. He laid the cord
+before breakfast, knowing that Miss Manning's habit of bathing in the
+lake would keep gardeners and others from that part of the grounds.
+When the shot was fired he pulled in the cord----"
+
+"I saw him doing that," interrupted Trenholme, who, after one glance
+at the signs of his handiwork on Robert Fenley's left jaw, had devoted
+his attention to the extraordinary story revealed by the detectives.
+
+"You _saw_ him!" And Furneaux wheeled round in sudden wrath. "Why the
+deuce didn't you tell me that?"
+
+"You never asked me."
+
+"How could I ask you such a thing? Am I a necromancer, a wizard, or
+eke a thought reader?"
+
+Trenholme favored the vexed little man with a contemplative look.
+
+"I think you are all those, and a jolly clever art critic as well," he
+said.
+
+Furneaux was discomfited, and Winter nearly laughed. But the matter at
+issue was too important to be treated with levity.
+
+"Tell us now what you saw, Mr. Trenholme," he said.
+
+"When the shot was fired, I recognized it as coming from a
+high-velocity rifle," said the artist. "I was surprised that such a
+weapon should be used in an enclosed park of this nature, and looked
+toward the house to discover whether or not any heed would be given to
+the incident there. From where I was seated I could see the whole of
+the south front, but not the east side, where the brass fittings of
+the automobile alone were visible, glinting through and slightly above
+a yew hedge.
+
+"Now, when Miss Manning returned to the house and entered by way of a
+window on the ground floor, I noticed that no other window was open.
+But after the report of the gun, I saw the end window of the first
+floor on the southeast side slightly raised--say six inches; and some
+one in the room was, as I regarded it, gesticulating, or making signs.
+That continued nearly half a minute and then ceased. I don't know
+whether the person behind the glass was a man or a woman, but some one
+was there, and engaged in the way I have described. If your theory is
+correct, the motions would be precisely those you suggest, similar to
+those of a fisherman reeling in a line."
+
+"Your simile happens to be exact," said Winter. "While Hilton Fenley
+and my friend here were having a dust-up in the Quarry Wood I searched
+his rooms; and among other things I came upon a salmon reel carrying
+an exceptional quantity of line. So our case is fairly complete. I'm
+sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Fenley, that not only did your half
+brother kill your father, but he tried his level best to put the crime
+on your shoulders.
+
+"He overreached himself in sending for Scotland Yard men. We have seen
+too much of the seamy side of life to accept as Gospel truth the first
+story we hear. The very fact that Hilton Fenley was attacking you in
+your absence prejudiced us against him at the outset. There were other
+matters, which I need not go into now, which converted our dislike
+into active suspicion.
+
+"But it is only fair that you should understand how narrow was your
+escape from arrest. Had the local police been in sole charge I am
+bound to say you would have passed this night in a cell. Luckily for
+you, Mr. Furneaux and I set our faces against the notion of your guilt
+from the beginning. Long before we saw you, we were keeping an eye on
+the real criminal. When you did appear, your conduct only confirmed
+our belief in your innocence."
+
+"I told you why, you will remember," piped Furneaux.
+
+But Robert Fenley said no word. He was stunned. He began to feel ill
+again, and made for his room. Sylvia had not been seen since she heard
+of Mrs. Fenley's death. The detectives collected their belongings,
+which with the gun and a bag packed with various articles taken from
+Hilton Fenley's suite--the reel, for instance, a suit of clothes
+bearing marks, possibly of moss, and the leather portfolio of
+papers--were entrusted to Farrow and another constable for safe
+conveyance. Accompanied by Trenholme, they walked to Easton. On the
+way the artist supplied sufficient details of his two meetings with
+Sylvia to put them in possession of the main incidents. Furneaux,
+though suffering from a splitting headache, had recovered the use of a
+vinegary tongue.
+
+"I was mistaken in you," he chuckled. "You're a rank impressionist.
+Indeed, you're a neo-impressionist, a get-busy-and-do-it-now master of
+art.... But she's a mighty nice girl, isn't she?"
+
+"Meaning Miss Manning?" said Trenholme coldly.
+
+"No. Eliza."
+
+"Sorry. I misunderstood."
+
+"_'Cre nom!_ You've got it bad."
+
+"Got what bad?"
+
+"The matrimonial measles. You're sickening for them now. One of the
+worst symptoms in the man is his curt refusal to permit anybody else
+to admire one bright particular star of womanhood. If the girl hears
+another girl gushing over the young man, she's ready to scratch her
+eyes out. By Jove! It'll be many a day before you forget your visit to
+Roxton Park this morning, or yesterday morning, or whenever it was.
+
+"I'm mixed. Life has been very strenuous during the past fifteen
+hours. If you love me, James, put my poor head under a pump, or I'll
+be dreaming that our lightning sketch performer here, long John
+Trenholme, late candidate for the P. R. A., but now devoted to the
+cult of Hymen, is going to marry Eliza, of the White Horse, and that
+the fair Sylvia is pledged to cook us a dinner tomorrow night--or is
+it tonight? Oh, Gemini, how my head aches!"
+
+"Don't mind a word he's saying, Mr. Trenholme," put in Winter. "Hilton
+Fenley hit him a smack with that rifle, and it developed certain
+cracks already well marked. But he's a marvelously 'cute little codger
+when you make due allowance for his peculiar ways, and he has a queer
+trick of guessing at future events with an accuracy which has
+surprised me more times than I can keep track of."
+
+Trenholme was too good a fellow not to put up with a little mild chaff
+of that sort. He looked at the horizon, where the faint streaks of
+another dawn were beginning to show in the northeast.
+
+"Please God," he said piously, "if I'm deemed worthy of such a boon,
+I'll marry Sylvia Manning, or no other woman. And, when the chance
+offers, Eliza of the White Horse shall cook you a dinner to make your
+mouth water. Thus will Mr. Furneaux's dream come true, because dreams
+go by contraries!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE SETTLEMENT
+
+
+Winter tried to persuade his mercurial-spirited friend to snatch a few
+hours' rest. The Police Inspector obligingly offered a bed; but short
+of a positive order, which the Superintendent did not care to give,
+nothing would induce Furneaux to let go his grip on the Fenley case.
+
+"Wait till the doctor's car comes back," he urged. "The chauffeur will
+carry the story a few pages farther. At any rate, we shall know where
+he dropped Fenley, and that is something."
+
+Winter produced a big cigar, and Trenholme felt in his pockets for
+pipe and tobacco.
+
+"No, you don't, young man," said the big man firmly. "You're going
+straight to your room in the White Horse. And I'll tell you why. From
+what I have heard about the Fenleys, they were a lonely crowd. Their
+friends were business associates and they seem to own no relatives;
+while Miss Manning, if ever she possessed any, has been carefully shut
+away from them. The position of affairs in The Towers will be strained
+tomorrow. The elder Fenleys are dead; one son may be in jail--or, if
+he isn't, might as well be--and the other, as soon as he feels his
+feet, will be giving himself airs. Now, haven't you a mother or an
+aunt who would come to Roxton and meet Miss Manning, and perhaps help
+her to get away from a house which is no fit place for her to live in
+at present?"
+
+"My mother can be here within an hour of the opening of the telegraph
+office," said Trenholme.
+
+"Write the telegram now, and the constable on night duty will attend
+to it. When your mother arrives, tell her the whole story, and send
+her to Miss Manning. Don't go yourself. You might meet Robert Fenley,
+and he would certainly be cantankerous. If your mother resembles you,
+she will have no difficulty in arranging matters with the young lady."
+
+"If I resemble my mother, I am a very fortunate man," said the artist
+simply.
+
+"I thought it would be that way," was the smiling comment. "One other
+thing: I don't suppose for a minute that Miss Manning is acquainted
+with a reputable firm of solicitors. If she is, tell her to consult
+them, and get them to communicate with Scotland Yard, where I shall
+supply or leave with others certain information which should be acted
+on promptly in her behalf. If, as I expect, she knows no lawyer, see
+that she takes this card to the address on it and give Messrs. Gibb,
+Morris & Gibb my message. You understand?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Finally, she must be warned to say nothing of this to Robert Fenley.
+In fact, the less that young spark knows about her affairs the better.
+After tonight's adventure that hint is hardly needed, perhaps; but it
+is always well to be explicit. Now off with you."
+
+"I'm not tired. Can I be of any service?"
+
+"Yes. I want you to be ready for a long day's work in Miss Manning's
+interests. Mr. Furneaux and I may be busy elsewhere. Unquestionably we
+shall not be in Roxton; we may even be far from London. Miss Manning
+will want a friend. See to it that you start the day refreshed by some
+hours of sleep."'
+
+"Good-by," said Trenholme promptly. "Sorry you two will miss Eliza's
+dinner. But that is only a feast deferred. By the way, if I leave
+Roxton I'll send you my address."
+
+"Don't worry about that," smiled the Superintendent. "Our friend the
+Inspector here will keep tab on you. Before you're finished with
+inquests, police courts and assizes you'll wish you'd never heard the
+name of Fenley.... By Jove, I nearly forgot to caution you. Not a word
+to the press.... Phi-ew!" he whistled. "If they get on to this story
+in its entirety, won't they publish chapter and verse!"
+
+So Trenholme went out into the village street and walked to his
+quarters in the White Horse Inn. It was not yet two o'clock, but dawn
+had already silvered the northeast arc of the horizon. Just twenty
+hours earlier an alarm clock had waked him into such a day as few have
+experienced. Many a man has been brought unexpectedly into intimate
+touch with a tragedy of no personal concern, but seldom indeed do the
+Fates contrive that death and love and high adventure should be so
+closely bound, and packed pellmell into one long day.
+
+Only to think of it! When he stole upstairs with the clock to play a
+trick on Eliza, he had never seen Sylvia nor so much as heard her name
+spoken. When he sang of love and the dawn while striding homeward
+through the park, he had seen her, yet did not know her, and had no
+hope of ever seeing her again. When he worked at her picture, he had
+labored at the idealization of a dream which bade fair to remain a
+dream. And now by some magic jugglery of ordinary events, each well
+within the bounds of credibility, yet so overwhelmingly incredible in
+their sequence and completeness, he was Sylvia's lover, her defender,
+her trusted knight-errant.
+
+Even the concluding words of that big, round-headed, sensible
+detective had brought a fantasy nearer attainment. If Sylvia were
+rich, why then a youngster who painted pictures for a living would
+hardly dare think of marrying her. But if Sylvia were poor--and
+Winter's comments seemed to show that these financiers had been
+financing themselves at her expense--what earthly reason was there
+that she should not become Mrs. John Trenholme at the earliest
+practicable date? None that he could conceive. Why, a fellow would
+have to be a fool indeed who did not know when he had met the one
+woman in the world! He had often laughed at other fellows who spoke in
+that way about the chosen one. Now he understood that they had been
+wise and he foolish.
+
+But suppose Sylvia--oh, dash it, no need to spoil one's brief rest by
+allowing a beastly doubt like that to rear its ugly head! One thing he
+was sure of--Robert Fenley could never be a rival; and Fenley, churl
+that he was, had known her for years, and could hardly be pestering
+her with his attentions if she were pledged to another man. Moreover
+he, John, newly in love and tingling with the thrill of it, fancied
+that Sylvia would not have clung to him with such complete confidence
+when the uproar arose in the park if----Well, well--the history of the
+Fenley case will never be brought to an end if any attempt is made to
+analyze the effects of love's first vigorous growth in the artistic
+temperament.
+
+About a quarter past three Dr. Stern's little landaulet was halted at
+the same cross-road where a policeman had stopped it nearly three
+hours earlier.
+
+"That you, Tom?" said the constable. "You're wanted at the station."
+
+"What station?" inquired the chauffeur.
+
+"The police station."
+
+"Am I, by gum? What's up?"
+
+"The Scotland Yard men want you."
+
+"But what for? I haven't run over so much as a hen."
+
+"Oh, it's all right. You're wanted as a witness. Never mind why.
+_They_'ll tell you. The doctor is there, smoking a cigar till you turn
+up."
+
+"I left him at Joe Bland's."
+
+"Joe Bland has left Boxton for Kingdom Come. And The Towers is half
+burnt down. Things haven't been happening while you were away, have
+they?"
+
+"Not half," said Tom.
+
+"No, nor quarter," grinned the policeman to himself when the car moved
+on. "Wait till you know who you took on that trip, and why, and _your_
+sparkin'-plug'll be out of order for a week."
+
+It was as well that the chauffeur had not the slightest notion that
+he had conveyed a murderer to London when he began to tell his tale
+to his employer and the detectives. They wanted a plain, unvarnished
+story, and got it. On leaving the offices in Bishopsgate Street,
+Fenley asked to be driven to Gloucester Mansions, Shaftesbury Avenue.
+Tom had seen the last of him standing on the pavement, with a suitcase
+on the ground at his feet. He was wearing an overcoat and a derby hat,
+and was pressing an electric bell.
+
+"He tol' me I needn't wait, so I made for the Edgware Road; an' that's
+all," said Tom.
+
+"Cool as a fish!" commented Furneaux.
+
+"Well, sir, I didn't get hot over it," said the surprised chauffeur.
+
+"I'm not talking about you. Could you manage another run to town? Are
+you too tired?"
+
+The mystified Tom looked at his employer. Dr. Stern laughed.
+
+"Go right ahead!" he cried. "I'm thinking of buying a new car. A
+hundred and twenty miles in one night should settle the matter so
+far as this old rattletrap is concerned."
+
+"Of course we'll pay you, doctor," said Winter.
+
+"That's more than Hilton Fenley will ever do, I'm afraid."
+
+Tom tickled his scalp under his cap.
+
+"Mr. Hilton gemme a fiver," he said rather sheepishly. There was
+something going on that he did not understand, but he thought it
+advisable to own up with regard to that lordly tip.
+
+"You're a lucky fellow," said the doctor. "What about petrol? And do
+you feel able to take these gentlemen to London?"
+
+Tom was a wiry person. In five minutes he was on the road again bound
+for Scotland Yard this time. As a matter of form a detective was sent
+to Gloucester Mansions, and came back with the not unforeseen news
+that Mrs. Garth was very angry at being disturbed at such an unearthly
+hour. No; she had seen nothing of Mr. Hilton Fenley since the
+preceding afternoon. Some one had rung the bell about two o'clock that
+morning, but the summons was not repeated; and she had not inquired
+into it, thinking that a mistake had been made and discovered by the
+blunderer.
+
+Sheldon was brought from his residence. He had a very complete report
+concerning Mrs. Lisle; but that lady's shadowy form need not flit
+across the screen, since Robert Fenley's intrigues cease to be of
+interest. He had dispatched her to France, urging that he must be
+given a free hand until the upset caused by his father's death was put
+straight. Suffice it to say that when he secured some few hundreds a
+year out of the residue of the estate, he married Mrs. Lisle, and
+possibly became a henpecked husband. The Garths, too, mother and
+daughter, may be dropped. There was no getting any restitution by them
+of any share of the proceeds of the robbery. They vowed they were
+innocent agents and received no share of the plunder. Miss Eileen
+Garth has taken up musical comedy, if not seriously at least
+zealously, and commenced in the chorus with quite a decent show of
+diamonds.
+
+London was scoured next morning for traces of Hilton Fenley, but with
+no result. This again fell in with anticipation. The brain that could
+plan the brutal murder of a father was not likely to fail when
+contriving its own safety. Somehow both Winter and Furneaux were
+convinced that Fenley would make for Paris, and that once there it
+would be difficult to lay hands on him. Furneaux, be it remembered,
+had gone very thoroughly into the bond robbery, and had reached
+certain conclusions when Mortimer Fenley stopped the inquiry.
+
+In pursuance of this notion they resolved to watch the likeliest
+ports. Furneaux took Dover, Winter Newhaven and Sheldon Folkestone.
+They did not even trouble to search the outgoing trains at the London
+termini, though a detailed description of the fugitive was circulated
+in the ordinary way. Each man traveled by the earliest train to his
+destination and, having secured the aid of the local police, mounted
+guard over the gangways.
+
+Furneaux drew the prize, which was only a just compensation for a sore
+head and sorer feelings. He had changed his clothing, but adopted no
+other disguise than a traveling-cap pulled well down over his eyes.
+He took it for granted that Fenley, like every other intelligent
+person going abroad, was aware that all persons leaving the country
+are subjected to close if unobtrusive scrutiny as they step from pier
+to ship. Fenley, therefore, would have a sharp eye for the quietly
+dressed men who stand close to the steamer officials at the head of
+the gangway, but would hardly expect to find Nemesis hidden in the
+purser's cabin. Through a porthole Furneaux saw every face and, on the
+third essay, while the fashionable crowd which elects to pay higher
+rates for the eleven o'clock express from Victoria was struggling like
+less exalted people to be on board quickly, he found his man in the
+thick of the press.
+
+Fenley had procured a new suit, a Homburg hat, and some baggage. In
+fact, it was learned afterwards that he hired a taxi at Charing Cross,
+breakfasted at Canterbury, and made his purchases there at leisure,
+before driving on to Dover.
+
+He passed between two uniformed policemen with the utmost
+self-possession, even pausing there momentarily to give some
+instruction to a porter about the disposition of his portmanteaux.
+That was a piece of pure bravado, perhaps a final test of his own
+highly strung nerves. The men, of course, were not watching him or any
+other individual in the hurrying throng. They had a sharp eye for
+Furneaux, however, and when he nodded and hurried from his lair one of
+them grabbed Fenley by the shoulder.
+
+At that instant a burly German, careless of any one's comfort but
+his own, and somewhat irritated by Fenley's halt at the mouth of
+the gangway, brushed forward. His weight, and Fenley's quick flinching
+from that ominous clutch, loosed the policeman's hold, and the
+murderer was free once more for a few fleeting seconds.
+
+The constable pressed on, shoving the other man against the rail.
+
+"Here. I want you," he said, and the quietly spoken words rang in
+Fenley's ears as if they had been bellowed through a megaphone. Owing
+to his own delay, there was a clear space in front. He took that way
+of escape instinctively, though he knew he was doomed, since the
+ship's officers would seize him at the policeman's call.
+
+Then he saw Furneaux, whose foot was already on the lower end of the
+gangway. That, then, was the end! He was done for now. All that was
+left of life was the ghastly progress of the law's ceremonial until
+he was brought to the scaffold and hanged amidst a whole nation's
+loathing. His eyes met Furneaux's in a glare of deadly malice. Then he
+looked into eternity with daring despair, and dived headlong over the
+railing into the sea.
+
+That awesome plunge created tremendous excitement among the bystanders
+on quay and ship. It was seen by hundreds. Men shouted, women
+screamed, not a few fainted. A sailor on the lower deck ran with a
+life belt, but Fenley never rose. His body was carried out by the
+tide, and was cast ashore some days later at the foot of Shakespeare's
+Cliff. Then the poor mortal husk made some amends for the misdeeds of
+a warped soul. In the pockets were found a large amount of negotiable
+scrip, and no small sum in notes and gold, with the result that
+Messrs. Gibb, Morris & Gibb were enabled to recover the whole of
+Sylvia Manning's fortune, while the sale of the estate provided
+sufficiently for Robert Fenley's future.
+
+The course of true love never ran smoother than for John and Sylvia.
+They were so obviously made for each other, they had so determinedly
+flown to each other's arms, that it did not matter tuppence to either
+whether Sylvia were rich or poor. But it mattered a great deal when
+they came to make plans for a glorious future. What a big, grand
+world it was, to be sure! And how much there was to see in it! The
+Continent, America, the gorgeous East! They mapped out tours that
+would find them middle-aged before they neared England again. Does
+life consist then, in flitting from hotel to hotel, from train to
+steamship? Not it. German Kultur took care to upset that theory. John
+Trenholme is now a war-worn major in the Gunners, and Sylvia has only
+recently returned to her home nest after four years' service with the
+Red Cross in France.
+
+But these things came later. One evening in the Autumn, Winter and
+Furneaux took Sheldon over to Roxton and dined with Dr. Stern and
+Tomlinson at the White Horse. Tomlinson had bought the White Horse
+and secured Eliza with the fixtures. Of course, there was talk of
+the Fenleys, and Winter told how Hilton Fenley's mother had been
+unearthed in Paris. She was a spiteful and wizened half-caste; but she
+held her son dear, as mothers will, be they black or white or
+chocolate-colored, and it was to maintain her in an establishment of
+some style that he had begun to steal. She had married again, and the
+man had gone through all her money, dying when there was none left.
+She retained his name, however, and Fenley adopted it, too, during
+frequent visits to Paris. Hence he was known there by a good many
+people, and could have sunk his own personality had he made good
+his escape. The mother's hatred of Mortimer Fenley had probably
+communicated itself to her son. When she was told of Hilton's suicide
+and its cause, she said that if anything could console her for his
+death it was the fact that he had avenged her wrongs on his father.
+
+"What was her grievance against poor Mortimer Fenley?" inquired the
+doctor. "I knew him well, and he was a decent sort of fellow--rather
+blustering and dictatorial but not bad-hearted."
+
+"His success, I believe," said Winter. "They disagreed, and she
+divorced him, thinking he would remain poor. The whirligig of time
+changed their relative positions, and to a jealous-minded woman that
+was unforgivable."
+
+"The affair made a rare stir here anyhow," went on the doctor. "The
+people who have taken The Towers have not only changed the name of the
+place, but they have commissioned a friend of mine, an architect, to
+alter the entrance. There will be two flights of steps and a covered
+porch, so the exact spot where Fenley fell dead will be built over."
+
+"Gentlemen," said Tomlinson, "talking is dry work. I haven't my old
+cellar to select from, but I can recommend the brands you see on the
+table. Mr. Furneaux, I'm sure you have not forgotten that Chateau
+Yquem?"
+
+Then, and not until then, did the ex-butler hear that the detectives
+had never tasted his famous port. His benign features were wrung with
+pain, for it was a wine of rare "bowket," and hard to replace.
+
+But Furneaux restored his wonted geniality by opening a parcel
+hitherto reposing on the sideboard.
+
+"I never sent you that bottle of Alto Douro," he cried. "Here it is--a
+crusted quart for your own drinking. Lest you should be tempted to be
+too generous tonight, I've brought another. Now--a cradle and a
+corkscrew!"
+
+So, after a dirge, and before the world shook in war, the story ends
+on a lively note, for what is there to compare with good wine and good
+cheer, each in moderation? And one bottle among five is reasonable
+enough in all conscience.
+
+
+
+
+_"The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay"_
+
+_There Are Two Sides to Everything--_
+
+
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+prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every
+Grosset & Dunlap book wrapper.
+
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+
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+
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+DETECTIVE STORIES BY J. S. FLETCHER
+
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+
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+     =THE KING versus WARGRAVE=
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+     =THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS=
+     =THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL=
+     =THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER=
+     =RAVENSDENE COURT=
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+
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+RAFAEL SABATINI'S NOVELS
+
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+Jesi, a diminutive city of the Italian Marches, was the birthplace of
+Rafael Sabatini, and here he spent his early youth. The city is
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+novels with all their violence and beauty.
+
+Mr. Sabatini first went to school in Switzerland and from there to
+Lycee of Oporto, Portugal, and like Joseph Conrad, he has never
+attended an English school. But English is hardly an adopted language
+for him, as he learned it from his mother, an English woman who
+married the Maestro-Cavaliere Vincenzo Sabatini.
+
+Today Rafael Sabatini is regarded as "The Alexandre Dumas of Modern
+Fiction."
+
+=MISTRESS WILDING=
+
+A romance of the days of Monmouth's rebellion. The action is rapid,
+its style is spirited, and its plot is convincing.
+
+=FORTUNE'S FOOL=
+
+All who enjoyed the lurid lights of the French Revolution with
+Scaramouche, or the brilliant buccaneering days of Peter Blood, or the
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+a turn in Restoration London with the always masterful Col. Randall
+Holles.
+
+=BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT=
+
+An absorbing story of love and adventure in France of the early
+seventeenth century.
+
+=THE SNARE=
+
+It is a story in which fact and fiction are delightfully blended and
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+
+=CAPTAIN BLOOD=
+
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+
+=THE SEA-HAWK=
+
+"The Sea-Hawk" is a book of fierce bright color and amazing adventure
+through which stalks one of the truly great and masterful figures of
+romance.
+
+=SCARAMOUCHE=
+
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+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
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+
+
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+EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
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+     THE MAD KING
+     THE MOON MAID
+     THE ETERNAL LOVER
+     BANDIT OF HELL'S BEND, THE
+     CAVE GIRL, THE
+     LAND THAT TIME FORGOT, THE
+     TARZAN OF THE APES
+     TARZAN AND THE JEWELS OF OPAR
+     TARZAN AND THE ANT MEN
+     TARZAN THE TERRIBLE
+     TARZAN THE UNTAMED
+     BEASTS OF TARZAN, THE
+     RETURN OF TARZAN, THE
+     SON OF TARZAN, THE
+     JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
+     AT THE EARTH'S CORE
+     PELLUCIDAR
+     THE MUCKER
+     A PRINCESS OF MARS
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+     WARLORD OF MARS, THE
+     THUVIA, MAID OF MARS
+     CHESSMEN OF MARS, THE
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
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+
+
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+ JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S
+ STORIES OF ADVENTURE
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
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+     =A GENTLEMAN OF COURAGE=
+     =THE ALASKAN=
+     =THE COUNTRY BEYOND=
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+     =THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN=
+     =THE RIVER'S END=
+     =THE GOLDEN SNARE=
+     =NOMADS OF THE NORTH=
+     =KAZAN=
+     =BAREE, SON OF KAZAN=
+     =THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM=
+     =THE DANGER TRAIL=
+     =THE HUNTED WOMAN=
+     =THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH=
+     =THE GRIZZLY KING=
+     =ISOBEL=
+     =THE WOLF HUNTERS=
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+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
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+ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
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+     TAPPAN'S BURRO
+     THE VANISHING AMERICAN
+     THE THUNDERING HERD
+     THE CALL OF THE CANYON
+     WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND
+     TO THE LAST MAN
+     THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER
+     THE MAN OF THE FOREST
+     THE DESERT OF WHEAT
+     THE U.P. TRAIL
+     WILDFIRE
+     THE BORDER LEGION
+     THE RAINBOW TRAIL
+     THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
+     RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
+     THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
+     THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
+     THE LONE STAR RANGER
+     DESERT GOLD
+     BETTY ZANE
+     THE DAY OF THE BEAST
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
+
+    The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore,
+    with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.
+
+ ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS
+
+     ROPING LIONS IN THE GRAND CANYON
+     KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
+     THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
+     THE YOUNG FORESTER
+     THE YOUNG PITCHER
+     THE SHORT STOP
+     THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+JACKSON GREGORY'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+
+=THE MAID OF THE MOUNTAIN=
+
+A thrilling story, centering about a lovely and original girl who
+flees to the mountains to avoid an obnoxious suitor--and finds herself
+suspected of murder.
+
+=DAUGHTER OF THE SUN=
+
+A tale of Aztec treasure--of American adventurers who seek it--of
+Zoraida, who hides it.
+
+=TIMBER-WOLF=
+
+This is a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always by
+the heroic figure of Timber-Wolf.
+
+=THE EVERLASTING WHISPER=
+
+The story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and
+humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child
+of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.
+
+=DESERT VALLEY=
+
+A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. They meet
+a rancher who loses his heart, and becomes involved in a feud.
+
+=MAN TO MAN=
+
+How Steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story filled with
+breathless situations.
+
+=THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN=
+
+Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey
+into the strongholds of a lawless band.
+
+=JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH=
+
+Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being
+robbed by her foreman. With the help of Bud Lee, she checkmates
+Trevor's scheme.
+
+=THE SHORT CUT=
+
+Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel. Financial
+complications, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, make up a thrilling
+romance.
+
+=THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER=
+
+A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her
+chagrin. There is "another man" who complicates matters.
+
+=SIX FEET FOUR=
+
+Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck
+Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty.
+
+=WOLF BREED=
+
+No Luck Drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a match in
+Ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "Lone
+Wolf."
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+EMERSON HOUGH'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
+
+
+     =THE SHIP OF SOULS=
+     =MOTHER OF GOLD=
+     =THE COVERED WAGON=
+     =NORTH OF 36=
+     =THE WAY OF A MAN=
+     =THE SAGEBRUSHER=
+     =THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE=
+     =THE WAY OUT=
+     =THE MAN NEXT DOOR=
+     =THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE=
+     =THE BROKEN GATE=
+     =THE STORY OF THE COWBOY=
+     =54-40 OR FIGHT=
+     =THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE=
+     =THE PURCHASE PRICE=
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
+
+
+1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain faithful to the
+author's words and intent.
+
+2. In the advertising pages at the end of the book, many of the book
+titles were underlined; for this e-text, this has been noted with a
+"=" at the beginning and end of the underlined text.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Strange Case of Mortimer Fenley, by Louis Tracy
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STRANGE CASE OF MORTIMER FENLEY ***
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