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diff --git a/26447.txt b/26447.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6bf991 --- /dev/null +++ b/26447.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10039 @@ +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--_ + + +--including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & 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 & Dunlap book wrapper. + +You will find more than five hundred titles to choose from--books for +every mood and every taste and every pocketbook. + +_Don't forget the other side, but in case the wrapper is lost, write +to the publishers for a complete catalog._ + +_There is a Grosset & Dunlap Book for every mood and for every taste_ + + + + +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= + =THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB= + =GREEN INK= + =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= + =THE SAFETY PIN= + =THE SECRET WAY= + =THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN= + +_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK + + + + +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= + +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." + +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 + 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 + GODS OF MARS, THE + WARLORD OF MARS, THE + THUVIA, MAID OF MARS + CHESSMEN OF MARS, THE + +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= + =THE COUNTRY BEYOND= + =THE FLAMING FOREST= + =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= + =THE GOLD HUNTERS= + =THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE= + =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 + 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. 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