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diff --git a/75209-h/75209-h.htm b/75209-h/75209-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a173ae4 --- /dev/null +++ b/75209-h/75209-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10656 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>The Case of the Black Twenty-Two</title> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> +body { + margin: 1em auto; + max-width: 40em; +} +p { + margin: 0; + text-indent: 1.5em; + text-align: justify; +} +hr { + width: 40%; + margin: 1em 30%; +} +h1 { + margin: 2em 0; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +h2 { + margin-top: 2em; + text-align: center; +} +blockquote { margin: 1em; } +figure { text-align: center; } +img { max-width: 95%; } +#titlepage { padding: 10% 0; } +.authorprefix { + font-style: italic; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 1em 0; +} +.author { + font-size: x-large; + font-weight: bold; + margin-bottom: 2em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publisher1 { + font-size: large; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.publisher2 { + font-size: small; + margin-bottom: 1em; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +.copyright { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +td.n { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: top; +} +td.t { font-variant: small-caps; } +.noindent { text-indent: 0; } +.sc { font-variant: small-caps; } +.letter .dateline1 { + padding-right: 1em; + text-align: right; +} +.letter .dateline2 { + padding-right: 5em; + text-align: right; +} +.letter .dateline3 { + padding-right: 9em; + text-align: right; +} +.letter .salutation { + font-variant: small-caps; + text-indent: 0; +} +.letter .valediction { + padding-right: 6em; + text-align: right; +} +.letter .signature { + font-variant: small-caps; + padding-right: 1em; + text-align: right; +} +.letter .footer1 { text-indent: 0; } +.letter .footer2 { text-indent: 1em; } +.catalogue p { + font-size: 90%; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +.displaytext { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; + margin: 1em auto; +} +.finis { + font-size: 90%; + margin: 3em auto; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +div.chapter { page-break-before: always; } +div.section { page-break-before: always; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75209 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>The Case of the Black Twenty-Two</h1> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Brian Flynn</p> + +<p class="publisher1">Grosset & Dunlap</p> +<p class="publisher2">New York</p> + +<p class="copyright">First published in the United States, January, 1929</p> +<p class="copyright">Second printing, February, 1929</p> +<p class="copyright">Copyright, 1929, by Macrae Smith Company</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table> +<tr> + <td class="n">I</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch01">Mr. Daventry Receives a Commission</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">II</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch02">Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">III</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch03">The Hanover Galleries Murder</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch04">Peter Daventry Is Mindful of Mr. Bathurst</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">V</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch05">The Assynton Lodge Murder</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch06">Marjorie Lennox Doesn’t Mince Matters</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch07">Butterworth Is Apprehensive of the Future</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">VIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch08">The 6:55 Carries a Trio of Distinction</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">IX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch09">Mr. Bathurst Opens His Bedroom Door</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">X</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch10">The Incident of the Boot-Boy’s Bicycle</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch11">With a Given Center, Mr. Bathurst Describes a Circle</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch12">The Second Screen of Mary Stuart</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch13">Colonel Leach-Fletcher Is at Home to Visitors</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch14">Mr. Bathurst Takes a Book from the Bookcase</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch15">Mr. Daventry Gets His Feet Wet</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch16">Mr. Bathurst Again Samples the Bookcase</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch17">The Memoirs of Réné de St. Maure</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XVIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch18">The Room at Blanchard’s Hotel</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XIX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch19">Inspector Goodall Is Entertained</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XX</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch20">Mr. Bathurst Brushes Up His History</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXI</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch21">Mr. Ferguson of New York</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch22">Mr. Bathurst Baits the Hook</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIII</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch23">When the Cat’s Away</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXIV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch24">The Secret of the Screens</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="n">XXV</td> + <td class="t"><a href="#ch25">The Riddle of the Black Twenty-Two</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>CHAPTER I. <br> Mr. Daventry Receives a Commission</h2> + +<p>The fact that it was an unusually sunny morning +for an English summer day had not put Peter +Daventry in the mood that it undoubtedly should have +done. A riotous evening—during which he had +dined not wisely but too well with a number of men +who had been at Oxford with him—is not perhaps +the best preparation for work on the following day, +and Peter heartily cursed the relentless and +inexorable fate that had made him junior partner of +“Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry—Solicitors.” +He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked to +the window of his room, gazing disconsolately at the +street below.</p> + +<p>“Cornhill!” he muttered. “And it might be anywhere +else for all it means to me, or for all I care. +It’s a dull old world nowadays and devilish difficult +to get thrills out of a business like this. After a +night with the lads it gets me ‘on the raw’ more +than ever.”</p> + +<p>He looked down at London scurrying and hurrying. +Men, women, young and old, treading their +way quickly, decisively and imperturbably on the +various errands and ventures that Life had chosen +for them. “Poor devils!” he thought. “Day in +and day out the same old grind! I sometimes wonder +how they stand it. I certainly don’t know how I +do.” He walked back to the chair by his desk, +carefully selected a cigarette and pressed the bell.</p> + +<p>A middle-aged, black-coated clerk appeared in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>“You rang, Mr. Daventry? You want me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, Plunkett! Not for a moment! What +on earth gave you that extraordinary idea?”</p> + +<p>“The bell——” He indicated the table with a +sort of hopeless resignation.</p> + +<p>“Merely a matter of ‘physical jerks’ on my part, +Plunkett. I’ve been standing on my head on the +desk, and in the process I inadvertently butted the +bell and caused you——”</p> + +<p>Plunkett smiled feebly. He was the kind of man +that always did—thirty-five years’ service for the +firm had made him afraid to do anything too +vigorously—even to a smile. But he knew Peter +Daventry and knew his little whims and ways—“he will +have his little joke,” he would inform his friends +and acquaintances, “and till he’s had it, it’s best to +lie low and keep quiet.” It will be observed, +therefore, that he had <em>not</em> encountered “Brer Rabbit.”</p> + +<p>“You wanted——?”</p> + +<p>“This morning’s post, Plunkett! Neither more +nor less! Stay though—when you bring it in, you +might also bring me all the papers and correspondence +relating to the Langley Case.” He drew at his +cigarette and watched the smoke rising. Then +smiled. “Breach of promise is a God-send, +Plunkett! Manna from the heights of Heaven.”</p> + +<p>Plunkett stared at him it might be said, +sorrowfully—and withdrew unobtrusively. At his second +appearance he placed the unopened letters and the +required papers on Peter’s desk.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Plunkett!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Daventry. Mr. Linnell asked +me to tell you he would like to see you in his room +as soon as possible, sir. At your convenience that is +to say, sir.”</p> + +<p>Peter ran the paper-knife along the back of an +envelope and nodded acquiescence. “All right, +Plunkett. Tell Mr. Linnell I’ll blow along to him +shortly.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Merryweather, the founder of the firm, had +been gathered to his fathers seven years before the +date of the opening of this history; but his name +had been retained. As Peter remarked to his more +intimate friends, “the name of ‘Merryweather’ +had a cheerful ring about it and therefore was +worth keeping!”</p> + +<p>David Linnell was a medium-sized, clean-shaven, +spare man of fifty-eight years. He had been born in +Lancashire and was a firm believer in the men of +the Red Rose. He fully subscribed to the theory +that “what Manchester thinks to-day—the rest of +the world thinks to-morrow.” In conjunction with +the departed Merryweather, he had built up an +eminently satisfactory business in London, had attracted +to it a sound and rapidly-growing “clientèle,” +and when the question arose of Peter Daventry coming +in as a partner, he had seen with all a Northerner’s +shrewdness and acumen that this young Oxonian +would bring to the firm new business and new +clients from a hitherto unexplored source.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Peter!” he said as Daventry +entered his room.</p> + +<p>“Good morning! Plunkett tells me you want to +see me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Linnell looked up from his seat and motioned +Peter to a chair beside him.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Peter! And listen attentively! Ever +heard of Laurence P. Stewart?” Peter had, and +said so immediately.</p> + +<p>“Naturally! The American millionaire you mean, +I presume?”</p> + +<p>“The same. Know anything about +him—anything special?”</p> + +<p>Peter thought for a moment. “Can’t say that I +do—beyond what all the world knows. Made his +money first in Chicago and afterwards on Wall +Street—I fancy he’s a widower.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right. With one son—about two and +twenty. I’ll tell you more! About three months ago +Stewart came to England. At the time Assynton +Lodge was in the market. He bought it and, I +believe, paid a pretty stiff figure for it. It’s a very +fine place—not very far from Wantage—and right +in the heart of the Berkshire Downs. I understand +that he intends spending the remainder of his days +in this country.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t think I should, if I had his money,” +contributed Peter. “Still—there’s no accounting for +taste, I suppose. What’s his pet ambition—to win +the Derby or become an O. B. E.?”</p> + +<p>“Neither,” replied Linnell a trifle testily. “But +your question, flippant though it may have been, +brings me to his association with this conversation +of ours this morning.” He leaned forward to pick +up a letter from the desk in front of him. Then +turned again towards his partner. “He has one +overpowering interest in life. He is a +collector——”</p> + +<p>“Horrible word,” interrupted Peter. “Makes +me think of Rates and Income Tax.”</p> + +<p>“He is a collector,” repeated the elder man, +ignoring the interruption. “For many years now, +his one hobby has been his priceless and almost +unique collection of articles of what may be termed, +paramount historical interest and association.”</p> + +<p>Peter began to show signs of increased attention. +This sounded better! Linnell continued. “I am +informed, from a source that is certainly above +reproach, that Stewart is the proud possessor of over +two thousand articles of great historical significance. +He claims to include in his—er Museum—if I may +so describe it—a Musk-Ball used by Henry VIII for +instance. He has a peculiar passion it seems for +objects that are supposed to have Royal +associations! Which last fact brings me to the Mary, +Queen of Scots business!”</p> + +<p>Peter raised his eyebrows—then helped himself to +his third cigarette. “We’re apparently moving in +exalted circles,” he ventured.</p> + +<p>“And a great compliment to us, as a firm—Peter. +But I will proceed. If he may be said to have a +passion for collecting these objects that I have +mentioned of Royal association—then I can tell you that +he has a perfect mania—an overwhelming obsession +would be perhaps a happier phrase—for anything +connected with Mary, Queen of Scots.” He paused. +Then looked at Peter. “Laurence P. <em>Stewart</em>, +Peter! Note the name—he has got it into his head—or +had it put there possibly—that he is a legitimate +descendant of that ill-fated lady. Every relic +of hers at all possible of acquisition—he acquires. +Now look at this letter.”</p> + +<p>He pushed the letter that he had picked up from +his table, across to Peter.</p> + +<p>“Read it!” he said authoritatively.</p> + +<p>Peter obeyed the instruction with more than +ordinary alacrity.</p> + +<blockquote class="letter"> + + <p class="dateline3">Assynton Lodge,</p> + <p class="dateline2">Assynton, Berkshire,</p> + <p class="dateline1">June 7th, 192–.</p> + + <p class="salutation">Sir,</p> + + <p>I am a man of few words. Your firm has + been highly recommended to me by Colonel + Leach-Fletcher, for whom you have acted many times in + the past in matters of extreme discretion. He + speaks in the highest possible terms of your + integrity and efficiency. For reasons of my own I wish + you to act for me at the Sale taking place on the + 10th inst. at “Day, Forshaw and Palmers’.” You + will purchase for me the articles scheduled in their + catalogue as follows:</p> + + <p>(No. 37) “Collar of Pearls.”</p> + + <p>(No. 38) “Antique Tapestry Fire-screen.”</p> + + <p>(No. 39) “Rosary of Amber Beads.”</p> + + <p class="noindent">“all having been indisputably the property of Mary, + Queen of Scots.”</p> + + <p>The purchases completed, you will bring them or + cause them to be brought to the above address at + your earliest convenience, when your own account + will be settled by</p> + + <p class="valediction">Yours faithfully,</p> + <p class="signature">Laurence P. Stewart.</p> + + <p class="footer1">David Linnell, Esq.,</p> + <p class="footer2">Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry.</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Peter looked up at his companion. “H’m,” he +remarked, “seems to know what he wants. No +limit I suppose, as to price?”</p> + +<p>“None! As far as I can see! He simply says, +‘You will purchase——’ ” Peter glanced at the +letter again.</p> + +<p>“And we charge him what we like!”</p> + +<p>“Money’s no object to Stewart, Peter,” replied +Linnell. “If he’s set his mind upon getting the +three articles in question—nothing short of a miracle +will stop him.”</p> + +<p>“Why is he employing a firm of solicitors for a +job of this kind?” asked Peter.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say! But I suggest Colonel Leach-Fletcher +has impressed him that we are thoroughly +‘safe and sound’—and he’s out taking no risks.”</p> + +<p>“Very possibly you’re right,” Peter commented. +“I certainly can’t think of any other reason. Have +you seen a catalogue of the sale?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve sent for one. Immediately upon receipt of +this letter! Collins has gone round to Day, Forshaw +and Palmers’ offices. He should be back very +shortly!”</p> + +<p>Peter walked to the window and looked out.</p> + +<p>“Here is Collins,” he said, turning to his senior, +“with catalogue complete.”</p> + +<p>In a few minutes they were examining it. It was +headed as follows:</p> + +<blockquote class="catalogue"> + + <p>“At Messrs. Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ Rooms,</p> + <p>The Hanover Galleries, W.1.</p> + <p>On Friday, June 10th, 192–, at one o’clock</p> + <p>precisely.</p> + <p>Sale of Old English and French Furniture,</p> + <p>Pictures, Porcelain, Jewelry, and</p> + <p>Objects of Art,</p> + <p>Formerly the property of Lord Clavering,</p> + <p>deceased, late of Clavering Court,</p> + <p>Warwickshire.”</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Linnell and Peter ran their eyes down its contents. +They were many and varied. Linnell read them +quickly. “A William and Mary Marqueterie Walnut +Cabinet, a Chippendale Wine-Cooler, a pair of +Boulle Cabinets of Regency Design, Portraits by +Hoppner, Paintings by De Ribera, Romney, Van +Der Velde and Sir Peter Lely, Derby and Nantgarw +Porcelain, Chinese Porcelain of the Sung and Ming +periods, Jewelry, a Cromwellian chalice with the +Hull hall-mark, a George II octofoil salver, a +Georgian Epergne, an unusually large King’s Pattern +service, several Sèvres vases—here we are, Peter, 37, +38 and 39 . . . h’m—h’m . . . exactly +as described by our client in his letter.” He looked +up from the catalogue.</p> + +<p>Peter pointed to a sentence at the end of the list. +“May be viewed the two days preceding the Sale +from 10 to 5 o’clock. That’s to-day and to-morrow. +What do you say to me running along and having a +glance at the particular stuff Stewart wants?”</p> + +<p>“Just what I was on the point of suggesting, +Peter. You’ve taken the very words from my +mouth.”</p> + +<p>“To-day or to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“Please yourself—but it’s a nice morning—why +not take advantage of it—have an early lunch and +pop up West afterwards?”</p> + +<p>“A pleasing prospect,” exclaimed Peter. “Life +seems a little brighter.”</p> + +<p>Linnell smiled—then waved him away. “That’s +settled then.”</p> + +<p>He strolled back to his own room and looked at +his watch. “Don’t see any just cause or impediment +why I shouldn’t get along at once and see about that +lunch,” he said to himself. “Plunkett!” He went +to his door and called down the corridor.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Daventry.” Plunkett appeared in the +distance and laboriously made his way to answer to +the call.</p> + +<p>“I’m going out, Plunkett. Mr. Linnell will be +here if anything should be wanted. That’s all. You +needn’t trouble to come in.”</p> + +<p>Plunkett bowed his understanding and reëntered +his daily cell.</p> + +<p>Once outside, Peter hailed a passing taxi. “Oxford +Street,” he announced curtly. “The Violette.” +It was where he habitually lunched whenever he +happened to be in its vicinity. He made for his +customary table and beamed upon the waiter who came +forward solicitously.</p> + +<p>Now Peter prided himself upon the quality of his +gastronomic inclinations. He scanned the menu +with a fine and fitting discrimination.</p> + +<p>“A Dry Martini, Gustave.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Thick white soup, Sole au Colbert—and Roast +Duck—that will do nicely to be getting on with.” +He smiled in anticipatory relish. Gustave did +likewise before disappearing. To appear again very +quickly with the Dry Martini!</p> + +<p>Peter raised it to his lips—after all Life wasn’t so +very unsatisfactory when there was good food and +welcome drink to be had. He sipped his cocktail +appraisingly. The place was comparatively empty—it +was early. At the next table sat a man and +woman. They were talking eagerly and with much +animation. The man was doing most of it, with +the woman listening attentively and punctuating his +remarks at rapid and regular intervals with a curious +little vigorous inclination of her head. Peter fell +to wondering about them—“a lower middle-class +couple on a shopping expedition” was his +verdict—arrived at simultaneously with the advent of +Gustave and the soup. The fish quickly followed, and +he was awaiting the coming of the “appetizing +Aylesbury” as he termed it to himself when a +familiar voice broke on his ears.</p> + +<p>“Hullo, Daventry! What’s brought you up this +end so early in the morning?”</p> + +<p>Peter looked up. Then he grinned cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Marriott! An unexpected pleasure!”</p> + +<p>The newcomer sank into the proffered seat, and +languidly stretched out a hand for the menu. Peter +had met him several times in the Law Courts and +had dined with him two or three times recently.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t answered my question,” said Marriott. +“What brings you up here at this time of +day?”</p> + +<p>“Business, my boy, purely business. Give +Gustave your order.”</p> + +<p>Marriott smiled, rattled off his desires, and turned +again to Peter.</p> + +<p>“Glad to see an improvement in you. The other +day you were talking about ‘chucking’ it all and +going out to ‘God’s own Country’ or somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Wish I could, Marriott, but I can’t. I’m afraid +the improvement about which you are babbling so +delightfully will be short-lived. These peas are +really excellent—you’ll enjoy them!”</p> + +<p>“Good! Any news of importance?”</p> + +<p>“Only that the next Coal Strike is expected to +last twenty-two years or thereabouts.”</p> + +<p>“Really,” grinned Marriott. “Tell me +something fresh. Say Queen Anne’s dead!”</p> + +<p>Peter pushed back his plate with an air of complete +satisfaction and made a reply that seemed to +leap to his tongue without his brain having undergone +any preliminary process of thinking. It seemed +to be entirely spontaneous and at the same time to +him as he sat there, peculiarly appropriate. It fitted +in with the morning so happily.</p> + +<p>“So’s Mary, Queen of Scots!” He blew a ring +of smoke to the ceiling. As he spoke, there happened +to be a lull pervading the whole room. A lull +that was violently and almost instantaneously +shattered! The man at the next table turned sharply as +the words tingled through the air, and as he turned, +with his body for the brief moment excitedly +uncontrolled, his arm abruptly swept the cruet from the +table to the floor.</p> + +<p>Two waiters dashed heroically to the work of +rescue and salvage. The culprit muttered a few +words of apology. The lady was heard to remark +something about the bad luck attendant upon spilling +the salt, smiled upon the two diligent waiters, but +flashed a quick look at her companion. It was a look +that possessed more than one quality. It contained a +suggestion of warning, a hint of rebuke and a touch +of fierce annoyance. The man sat sullenly in his +seat, and Peter’s eyes never left his face. For +exactly what reason he didn’t quite know—he felt +almost compelled to it. His senses seemed to be +jingling a refrain to him. It rang repeatedly +through his brain and its purpose was, “Well—I’m +damned.” At the same time he tried to persuade +himself that it was just an ordinary case of +carelessness and that he had drawn liberally upon his +imagination to connect the incident with the words he +had used.</p> + +<p>“What’s amiss, Daventry?” broke in Marriott, +cutting his reverie abruptly short. “You look as +though you have seen a ghost!”</p> + +<p>Peter jerked himself back to the normal with a +tremendous effort.</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “That little +incident surprised me—that was all.”</p> + +<p>But his eyes strayed back to the other table, and +as they did so the eyes of the man there met his and +held them for a brief moment truculently and +challengingly. The woman appeared to be urging her +companion to do something that he apparently did +not favor. He shook his head doubtfully, as though +he were questioning the wisdom of what she said. +Peter turned to Marriott. “I’ll be getting along +now, if you don’t mind. Gustave! Bring me my +bill! What’s the damage?”</p> + +<p>“I’m nearly through myself,” responded Marriott. +“I’m coming along too! Which way are you +going?”</p> + +<p>“Up West. And you aren’t, probably! Thank +you, Gustave!”</p> + +<p>“No! I’m bound in the other direction—you’ve +said it! Cheerio!”</p> + +<p>Peter waved a hand to his retreating figure and +collected his change. As he did so, the couple from +the other table made their way past his table on their +journey out. The man was in front—the woman +followed closely on his heels. As they passed, for +some reason almost unknown to himself, Peter +strained his ears to catch, if at all possible, any stray +fragment of their conversation. He was successful. +The woman was speaking in a low-toned voice, but +it was not too low to carry to his ears.</p> + +<p>“Take my advice,” Peter heard her say—“let’s +go to-morrow—not to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t see it makes much difference”—her +companion’s reply floated back to him. They passed +down the restaurant—out of sight!</p> + +<p>Peter rose to his feet and crammed his hat on his +head.</p> + +<p>“I’m a silly ass,” he said to himself. “Letting +my imagination run riot—magnifying trivial +incidents—giving way to distorted ideas.”</p> + +<p>He hailed his second taxi-cab that day, and settled +down comfortably. “Best thing I can do,” he +thought, “is to go and have that look at those +antiquities I’m going to buy on Friday.”</p> + +<p>Wherein he erred—for he never bought them +after all.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>CHAPTER II. <br> Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39</h2> + +<p>When Peter entered the Galleries there were +comparatively few people present. A knot of +interested art-enthusiasts had gathered in front of a +superb “Reynolds” dated 1765. It was described +as the “Portrait of a Lady.” She held a lute in her +hand and wore a satin dress cut low and edged with +pearls. Although Peter was no expert in these matters, +it did not take him long to realize that he was +gazing at a masterpiece. But he passed on. The +Galleries held other attractions that interested him +more. Schedule Numbers 37, 38 and 39 were easily +to be found. The three objects that had brought +him to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ almost jostled +each other on the left of the room as you entered. +The screen stood on the floor, the Pearl Collar and +Rosary lay on a small Sheraton Inlaid Mahogany +side table right against it. Their only visible +protection from covetous hands was a rail that barriered +them from the public, about four feet high. But as +Peter looked at the three things for which he had +been commissioned by Mr. Laurence P. Stewart, he +became acutely aware and very definitely conscious, +that he in his turn was being watched. Two men of +medium height were lounging near . . . their +profession was obvious to him. He had come into +contact with their kind too many times before in the +course of his own business not to recognize them +when he saw them. “Plain-clothes,” he told +himself. He walked across to the barrier and took a +close inspection of the objects in which he was +interested. As he did so he fancied the two men edged +a little more closely to him. But he realized, upon +looking round, that with the exception of the men to +whom reference has been made, he was the only person +in that particular part of the room; hence their +keener interest in his movements. “Hang it all,” +he said to himself—“this shadowing business gets +on my nerves—I’ll establish my ‘bona-fides.’ ”</p> + +<p>He walked back to the entrance to the Galleries. +A middle-aged man was superintending the transportation +of what was evidently a valuable picture. He +paused in his directions as Peter came up. “Anything +I can do for you, sir?” Peter caught him by +the arm.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Look here! Here’s my card! I’m +Daventry—of ‘Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry.’ +I want to examine items Nos. 37, 38 and 39 in the +published catalogue of your sale on Friday.”</p> + +<p>The man scratched his chin—thoughtfully. Then +looked again at the proffered card.</p> + +<p>“Young Mr. Forshaw’s here, sir. You’re Mr. +Daventry, I think you said, sir.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell the young governor, sir! Can I say +you’ve a mind to purchase?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes!” cut in Peter impetuously. “I’m +representing my firm on behalf of a very——”</p> + +<p>He checked himself—suddenly. It occurred to +him that there was absolutely no need to mention +Stewart’s name at this juncture and perhaps more +than one excellent reason for withholding it. He +thought of Stewart’s phrase concerning discretion.</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir,” said the man. “I’ll bring +young Mr. Forshaw along to you in half a minute.”</p> + +<p>He was as good as his word. A young man +bustled up, wiping his hands upon a duster.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Daventry?” queried Forshaw. Peter +bowed!</p> + +<p>“You wished to have a look at something included +in to-morrow’s sale? What is it exactly?”</p> + +<p>“It’s not an ‘it,’ ” responded Peter jocularly. +And then with scant regard for the inclination of the +verb “to be”—“it’s a ‘them.’ ”</p> + +<p>“More than <em>one</em>, sir?”</p> + +<p>“To be precise—three—the numbers are 37, 38 +and 39 in your catalogue.”</p> + +<p>“Come this way.” He escorted Peter to the +handrail from which he had so recently come. Then +slipped underneath with ease and handed him the +Collar and the Rosary. It was impossible for Peter +to form any adequate idea of the value of either. +His experience of jewels was very limited, and the +Rosary appeared to him to possess little value apart +from its historical association. However, for the +sake of appearances he feigned to make a very +careful study of each.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t your people afraid of having some of +these things stolen?” he ventured to Forshaw.</p> + +<p>“We take certain precautions, Mr. Daventry,” +was the answer. “Close watch is maintained all +day and all night. Anybody attempting any +‘jiggery-pokery’ would get the surprise of his life.”</p> + +<p>Peter glanced at the two representatives of the +Law. They lounged in a corner. Forshaw followed +the direction of his eyes and smiled. “Exactly! +And well armed too!” He replaced the Pearl Collar +and the Rosary as Peter handed them across to +him. Then lifted up the screen and handed it over.</p> + +<p>“I see that you advertise these three articles as +having belonged to Mary, Queen of Scots,” +remarked Peter.</p> + +<p>“That is so!” replied Forshaw. “They formed +part of the late Lord Clavering’s collection. Had +been in his family, I believe, for over two hundred +years. No doubt whatever on that point,” he +concluded decisively.</p> + +<p>Peter looked at the screen with some interest. It +stood approximately from three and a half to four +feet high he estimated—on a carved-wood pedestal. +Upon the tapestry, which was covered with thick +glass, he could see a number of brightly colored +beads. They were, to all appearances, arranged in +the form of letters. Peter inspected them carefully. +Then quickly grasped their meaning. The beads +formed words and the words were—</p> + +<p class="displaytext">“JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND SAVIOUR.”</p> + +<p>In the top left-hand corner of the tapestry was +worked the Scots Queen’s Royal Lion and in the +right could be discerned the “fleur-de-lis.” The +corners at the bottom showed the Leopards and +Lilies of England.</p> + +<p>“Of more ornament than use, I’m afraid, Mr. +Daventry,” said Forshaw with a smile.</p> + +<p>“I agree.” He bent down to examine it more +closely.</p> + +<p>“I expect some pretty brisk bidding for that on +Friday! Just the kind of thing to appeal to a +collector of antiques.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” replied Peter. He handed it +back to its temporary guardian.</p> + +<p>“Thank you—Mr. Forshaw. I’m very much +obliged to you, I’m sure, for showing me round as +you have. I’ll be getting along now.”</p> + +<p>Then he was suddenly impelled to ask a question. +“I suppose a good many people have had a good +look at these three articles already?”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary—you’re the first, Mr. Daventry. +That is, of course, up to the moment. They +haven’t been on show very long.”</p> + +<p>Peter shook hands and laughed. “My remarks +seem to miss fire every time.”</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon.” He passed by the middle-aged +man at the entrance and pushed something into +his hand. The man looked at it and smiled—then +put his finger to his forehead in salute.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir. You’re a gentleman. +Still—there was no necessity——”</p> + +<p>Peter waved a sympathetic hand and departed.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later saw him back at the office in +Cornhill.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Linnell as he entered the room, +“everything satisfactory?”</p> + +<p>Peter sat on the corner of the table and swung his +leg.</p> + +<p>“I went up there, as we arranged, and I had a +look at the stuff we’ve been asked to get.” He +paused.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” interrogated Linnell. “What did you +think of it?”</p> + +<p>“Hard to say. The Pearl Collar is really +magnificent, and the screen I should say will prove a +tremendous attraction for the ‘genus’ collector—the +species that we are deputed to represent—the +Rosary, in my opinion, won’t fetch anything like so +much.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Linnell reflectively. He traced a +pattern on his blotting-paper with his pen. Then he +looked up at his companion.</p> + +<p>“Has it struck you, Daventry—that we may possibly +be running a big risk over this business?”</p> + +<p>Peter looked startled. “How do you mean?”</p> + +<p>Linnell opened a drawer and handed over a letter. +“Supposing that letter hadn’t come from Stewart; +supposing that signature—purporting to be +Stewart’s——was a forgery?”</p> + +<p>Peter’s eyes opened even wider. “That’s +interesting. Go on!”</p> + +<p>Linnell from Lancashire went on. And emphasized +his points with quick jerks of the head. “We +are instructed to <em>purchase</em>! That is to say Stewart +in no way restricts us. He mentions no limit. +Supposing we pay, for argument’s sake, £25,000—thinking +we’re acting for Stewart—and then Stewart +repudiates ever having commissioned us! And +then, after that, we find our £25,000 worth of stuff +is worth say—only £15,000. Where are we then, +Daventry? I’ve inflated the figures purposely.”</p> + +<p>“Down the mine, Daddy,” declared Peter. “But +what’s the Big Idea—who would ever——?”</p> + +<p>“Who would? Seems to me Day, Forshaw and +Palmers might find it a very healthy proposition,” +replied Linnell.</p> + +<p>“And that’s what you really think?” asked Peter +incredulously.</p> + +<p>“No—I don’t!” said Linnell grimly. “But I’m +damned well going to find out.”</p> + +<p>“How? Go and see Stewart?” Peter was all +alertness now.</p> + +<p>“No! I’ve telegraphed to him—this morning. +The answer should be here at any moment! That +should be sufficient.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>Peter selected a cigarette—then handed his case +to Linnell.</p> + +<p>“Thanks! I don’t mind if I do.”</p> + +<p>Before Peter had had time to take his eyes from +the match with which he lit his companion’s +cigarette——there was a tap at the door—Plunkett entered. +Linnell tore open the telegram that was handed to +him. Then he smiled. Peter looked over his +shoulder. Then he smiled in his turn, and read +aloud what he saw.</p> + +<p>“Say! What the hell’s biting you—when I say +Buy—then Buy. Got that? Stewart.”</p> + +<p>That was the intelligent rendering of the message. +A message which looked and sounded even cruder +and terser in the unpunctuated word-arrangement of +telegrams.</p> + +<p>Linnell’s smile developed into a ringing laugh. +“I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, after all, +Peter. Still—one can’t be too careful. You’ll go +along then on Friday and——”</p> + +<p>Plunkett reappeared in the doorway. “Another +telegram, sir.” Linnell looked surprised. Then +read the second message.</p> + +<p>“Say—you don’t <em>look</em> before you leap—you take +a magnifying glass. Same name as before.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart has a decided sense of humor,” +commented David Linnell. “But I’d sooner he took +liberties with my ‘<i>amour propre</i>’ than with my +pocket.”</p> + +<p>Peter laughed.</p> + +<p>“Some people wouldn’t,” continued Linnell, +determined to justify himself, “but I <em>would</em>. And +even if he is a millionaire—to put four words where +he could have used one—should have used one in +fact, is just a piece of reckless and shameless +waste—and that’s all there is to it.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Daventry, proudly conscious that he +was safeguarding an important principle.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go myself and have a glance at the +stuff to-morrow, Peter—after all he’s a millionaire—and +business is business. Where did you lunch?”</p> + +<p>“At the ‘Violette,’ ” was the reply. “And, by the +by, whatever you do—don’t upset the cruet.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” Linnell looked at him +curiously.</p> + +<p>Peter recounted the incident that had occurred +earlier in the day.</p> + +<p>“Probably quite an accident,” he concluded, “and +a coincidence—still it took my breath away, as it +were, for just the moment.”</p> + +<p>Linnell thought for a moment or two. “Probably +nothing in it, Peter. You had the thing on your +mind and were over-imaginative. What are you +doing to-night? Anything special?”</p> + +<p>“I’m dining at the Club. And I may have a +rubber or two afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“Good. I sha’n’t be in, in the morning. I may +run down to Berkshire this evening, and in any case +I’ll go straight on to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ +first thing to-morrow. I’m really very anxious to +see the actual objects of this extraordinary +commission of ours!”</p> + +<p>But just as Peter was destined never to buy them, +so Linnell was fated not to see them on the morrow.</p> + +<p>For when he arrived at Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ +next morning he found a condition of extreme +excitement and agitation. Detective-Inspector Goodall +was in charge of the case—a case that had cost +Day, Forshaw and Palmers Schedule Nos. 37, 38 and +39 in their sale catalogue, and their night-watchman +his life. Linnell’s hand shook when he heard what +had happened. The conviction came to him that he +was connected with the affair. Acting upon a sudden +impulse, he went in.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>CHAPTER III. <br> The Hanover Galleries Murder</h2> + +<p>Just inside the room he was stopped. Two six-feet +members of the Metropolitan Police barred his +further entrance.</p> + +<p>“Sorry, sir,” said one of them, “but our orders +are to admit nobody.”</p> + +<p>Linnell paused—then under the influence of a +sudden idea—he produced his card.</p> + +<p>“Give that to the Inspector who has the case in +hand, will you?” he said; “it’s just possible I may +be able to help him.” He looked straight at the +officer.</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir,” rejoined the latter. “I’ll see +what I can do for you.” He spoke to his colleague. +“You stay here—I’ll go and have a word with the +Chief about this gentleman.”</p> + +<p>He was soon back. “Detective-Inspector Goodall +will see you, sir! This way, if you please!”</p> + +<p>He piloted Linnell down the lengthy room. A +group of men were standing at the far end. Goodall +was in the center of the group. Linnell saw a +clean-shaven man of medium height and stoutish +build—dressed in a double-breasted blue serge suit. He +awaited Linnell’s approach with uplifted eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Linnell?” he interrogated—quickly and +decisively. “Of——?”</p> + +<p>“Merryweather, Linnell and Daventry—Cornhill,” +replied Linnell—to the point as always. “I +am the senior partner of the firm.”</p> + +<p>“You have important information for me, I +understand,” cut in Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Information,” corrected Linnell. “You must +be the judge of its importance.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m listening, Mr. Linnell. Go ahead!”</p> + +<p>“Before I tell you what I know—would you, in +your turn, be good enough to tell me if the rumors +that are traveling round outside—are correct? Are +you investigating a case of murder and robbery?”</p> + +<p>“I am! A robbery has taken place here since +shutting-up hours last evening—and a poor devil of +a watchman been bashed on the head—he’s as dead +as mutton. Where do you come in?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe not at all, Inspector. But my firm had a +rather peculiar commission entrusted to it yesterday +in relation to the sale that was to have taken place +here to-morrow. And it struck me when I +heard——”</p> + +<p>“Aren’t you a bit imaginative, Mr. Linnell?” +demanded Goodall. “How could anything +you—still—let’s hear all about it.”</p> + +<p>“I was going to,” remonstrated Linnell mildly. +“We were commissioned to buy three articles that +were advertised as having belonged to Mary, Queen +of——”</p> + +<p>“What?” blazed Goodall. “The devil you were. +They’re the only three articles we can trace to have +been stolen. Who commissioned you?”</p> + +<p>Although Linnell was really surprised at this +announcement—yet in one way he was not. His mind +seemed prepared for it—some sixth and subtle sense +had been pounding at his brain ever since his arrival +at this place that Stewart’s instructions and the +tragedy that confronted him were in some manner +connected with each other. It was the shadowy belief +in this that had prompted him to try to +interview the Inspector.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Laurence P. Stewart of Assynton, +Berkshire,” he replied quietly.</p> + +<p>“The millionaire?” exclaimed a tall man from +the group.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Linnell.</p> + +<p>“You know this man Stewart, Mr. Day?” asked +Goodall, turning to the speaker.</p> + +<p>“Only by reputation,” rejoined Day. “It’s the +American millionaire—you must have heard of him, +Inspector! Forshaw here, met him once or twice +over in the States—I never have.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” intervened Forshaw with a positive +movement of the head. “I met him in New York +a year or two after the War.”</p> + +<p>“Go on, Mr. Linnell,” said the Inspector. “You +said his instructions to your firm were ‘peculiar’—that +was the adjective you used. I reckon you’ve +some more to tell us.”</p> + +<p>Here young Forshaw broke in. “The gentleman +who called here yesterday—a Mr. Daventry—he +was a representative of your firm, I think?”</p> + +<p>“Quite correct,” affirmed Linnell. “My partner! +My only partner, I should have said.”</p> + +<p>Goodall swung round on to Forshaw Junior. +“Called here yesterday? What about?” he +grumbled in his deep voice.</p> + +<p>“The Mary, Queen of Scots’ stuff.” Goodall +looked a trifle annoyed.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t tell me,” he muttered. “Why didn’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“I simply haven’t had a chance yet,” came the +reply with just a hint of rebellious obstinacy, +“you’ve been doing best part of the talking. I +should have told you though before you’d finished.” +Forshaw shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Goodall glared—then reverted to Linnell. “Fire +away, Mr. Linnell. What exactly were your +instructions?”</p> + +<p>“Yesterday morning I received a letter from the +gentleman I just mentioned—Laurence P. +Stewart—authorizing me to buy the three articles that you +have just informed me have been stolen—er—numbers +37, 38 and 39 in the sale catalogue.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” rapped Goodall—“I can’t see anything . . .”</p> + +<p>Linnell went on. “The whole thing was peculiar +in this respect. I was entirely unacquainted with the +gentleman—the commission was right out of our +usual type of business—no price was mentioned—I +was given <i>carte blanche</i>—I know absolutely nothing +about this particular species of—er—antiques—and +what is more”—here he paused and looked Goodall +straight in the eyes—“I had no absolute proof that +the affair was genuine.”</p> + +<p>Goodall nodded approvingly. “You took steps, +of course, to——”</p> + +<p>“I wired to Berkshire and the reply was +satisfactory—at all events——”</p> + +<p>“What reply did you get?” Goodall was +showing signs of impatience.</p> + +<p>“It came by telegram—you shall see it. It’s at +my office.”</p> + +<p>“You were satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Inspector.”</p> + +<p>“One little point, Mr. Linnell, before you proceed +any farther. Why did Mr. Stewart select your +firm to carry out this commission? Any idea?”</p> + +<p>“He explained that in his letter. He said he had +been told of us by a very respected and esteemed +client of ours—a Colonel Leach-Fletcher.”</p> + +<p>“Was that true?” demanded Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Colonel Leach-Fletcher is a client of +ours—certainly—I can say nothing as to the alleged +recommendation. You can see the letter with the +telegram.”</p> + +<p>“I will. Anything else?”</p> + +<p>“Not very much. The telegram reassured me—Mr. +Daventry, my partner, came and had a look +over here yesterday—and I had come with similar +purpose this morning—only to find this trouble.”</p> + +<p>“How did you know, Mr. Linnell?”—Goodall’s +voice sounded very distinctly, almost as though he +were launching an accusation—“that these three +particular objects had been stolen? It seems to +me——”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t,” replied Linnell in an almost aggrieved +manner. “I thought you understood that when I +entered. I had no knowledge of it whatever. I only +obeyed my instincts.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” grunted the Inspector. “Yes, Doctor?” +This last remark was addressed to a gentleman who +had come authoritatively down the room.</p> + +<p>“The poor fellow’s quite dead, of course. Been +dead, I should say, about eight hours when I +examined him. Four particularly savage blows on the +skull I think—part of the brain actually +protruding—whoever did it—meant doing it.”</p> + +<p>“Struck from behind, do you think, Doctor?” +queried Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Very probably—the parietal bone is badly +smashed.”</p> + +<p>Goodall turned to Day. “What time did this +night-watchman come on duty, Mr. Day?”</p> + +<p>“At midnight, Inspector! The first watchman is +on duty from six o’clock—when we close—till +twelve, when poor Mason relieved him. I’ve sent +for Druce—that’s the other watchman—he should +be along here in a few moments.”</p> + +<p>“Well, this poor fellow in the other room can’t +tell us anything—so we shall have to rely on Druce. +I hope he will be of some help.”</p> + +<p>“Was he found dead in this room, Inspector?” +asked Linnell—“or——”</p> + +<p>“Just over there”—pointed Goodall to a spot +about a dozen yards away—“right in front of the +handrail. Doctor Archer examined him first down +there—then we had him taken into Mr. Day’s +private office.”</p> + +<p>“Where the rug is?” interrogated Linnell. He +looked at the rug on the floor.</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” answered Goodall. “There’s a +nasty mess underneath—that’s why the rug’s +there!”</p> + +<p>“How did they get in and out?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Linnell—as to that—they got out +with the night-watchman’s keys—we can’t find them +anywhere—how they got in is a matter of +conjecture—that’s what I want to see this other +watchman, Druce, about.”</p> + +<p>“But I presume you’ve formed some conclusions? +There must be some——”</p> + +<p>“There’s very little,” replied Goodall. “Very +little indeed. No forced entrance at all. Not even +a foot mark or finger-print. Three articles stolen—a +night-watchman dead on the floor. Motive—burglary! +Which makes the murder a subordinate +factor in the crime. Which makes the murdered man +almost impersonal! And I’m supposed to put my +hands on this murderer in less than twenty-four +hours—and that out of a little matter of six millions +of people.”</p> + +<p>“You’re supposed——”</p> + +<p>Goodall shrugged his shoulders. “If I don’t—my +wife or some other damned good-natured friend will +confront me with an article in the London press +shrieking ‘the decadence of Scotland Yard.’ ”</p> + +<p>Linnell looked at him curiously. To say the least +he was impressed. That this sturdy and efficient +police-representative would prove no mean +antagonist he felt sure.</p> + +<p>Mr. Day came bustling forward. “Druce is here, +Inspector,” he announced.</p> + +<p>“Bring him along here, Mr. Day.” Goodall’s +eyes brightened perceptibly.</p> + +<p>Druce came slowly forward—nervously plucking +with his fingers at the cap he held in his hand. He +was a wizened-faced man—of about sixty years of +age. He had had no encounters with the Police +before—all his life he had “kept honest”—and this +new experience, therefore, had had a somewhat +unsettling effect upon him.</p> + +<p>“You are Edward Druce—one of the +night-watchmen here?” commenced Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you worked here?”</p> + +<p>Druce hesitated and half-turned towards Mr. +Day. “Is it five or——?”</p> + +<p>“Six years, Druce, you’ve been with us,” +supplemented his employer, “six years last Easter.”</p> + +<p>Druce nodded. “That’s it, sir. And I hope I’ve +always given satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>A glint of humor shot through Goodall’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“What time were you relieved last night?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“About five to twelve, sir, or thereabouts.”</p> + +<p>“Mason came on then? Was that about his usual +time?”</p> + +<p>“It were, sir,” replied Druce. “He never varied +much, sir, did Mason—steady and reliable he +were—always. What’s come to him, sir?”</p> + +<p>“He’s dead, Druce,” came the relentless reply, +“murdered in the night.”</p> + +<p>Druce went ashen pale. He licked his lips as the +horror of the news struck home to him. +“Murdered?” he managed to gasp.</p> + +<p>“Now tell me, Druce,” proceeded Goodall, +“did anything about Mason last night strike you as +peculiar or—extraordinary?”</p> + +<p>Druce shook his head. “No, sir—nothing.” +This decisively! “He ’ad a joke on his lips, sir, +when he came up the stairs with me—just as he +usually had. Told me I could go ’ome and do some +gardenin’—before I went to ‘Kip.’ Twelve o’clock +at night, sir, that was.”</p> + +<p>“You went downstairs to open the doors to let +him in?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. He always give three loud sharp +knocks.”</p> + +<p>“And you noticed nothing then—or at any other +time during the evening that you regarded as +unusual or abnormal? Think carefully!”</p> + +<p>Druce pondered over the question. “No—I can’t +say as how”—then a sudden reminiscence seemed to +awake in him—“well, sir—now you mention it, +there was an incident, so to speak, when Jim Mason +come to the—nothing at all important, sir——” he +spoke deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>“Let’s hear it,” rapped Goodall. “Every word +of it!”</p> + +<p>Every vestige of blood went from the night-watchman’s +face. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before, +sir,” he muttered, “I hope there’s no harm +done——”</p> + +<p>“Let’s have it,” bellowed Goodall, “every +second’s of importance!”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Druce—“it was like this. +When I ’eard Jim Mason knock—he give his three +knocks just as usual—I went downstairs to let ’im in. +When I opened the door he was standin’ there just +in the ordinary way—when a female comes up to us. +Wanted to know what time the Galleries opened the +next morning—that was all she enquired, sir! I +told her ‘ten o’clock.’ Then she pointed down the +street and asked if that way was the right direction +for the Marble Arch.”</p> + +<p>“And was it?” snapped Goodall eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Druce with some surprise. “That’s +so, sir!”</p> + +<p>“What did Mason do while this conversation was +taking place?”</p> + +<p>“Mason, sir? He showed ’er the way the same +as wot I did.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he did,” cut in Goodall with decision. +“And I expect she wanted a deal of showing, didn’t +she?”</p> + +<p>“She did seem a bit mazed-like,” murmured +Druce.</p> + +<p>“I’ll warrant she did,” said the Inspector. “Just +long enough for the murderer to slip in behind your +backs and up the stairs in front of Mason.”</p> + +<p>Druce went goggle-eyed. “Gosh! Who’d ’ave +thought of that?”</p> + +<p>“Not you, evidently,” returned Goodall. “If +you had have done, your mate might still be alive. +It’s no use, though, wasting time on regrets or +recriminations.”</p> + +<p>He stepped into the private room used by Day as +his office.</p> + +<p>“Is this door locked of an evening when the place +closes?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Always,” responded Day. “Or, at least, it +should be!”</p> + +<p>“Who was in charge here yesterday evening?” +queried the Inspector swiftly.</p> + +<p>“I was.” Young Forshaw stepped forward.</p> + +<p>“Did you lock this door when you left?”</p> + +<p>“To the best of my memory—yes. But it’s a +mechanical sort of job—you know, Inspector—the +kind of thing you do so often from mere force of +habit—that the doing it leaves no very clear +impression on your mind.”</p> + +<p>Goodall nodded in acceptance. He knew exactly +what the speaker meant.</p> + +<p>“Still,” went on Forshaw, “I’m fairly certain +I did it.” He thought it over carefully.</p> + +<p>“How many keys are there?” broke in the +Inspector.</p> + +<p>Day took it upon himself to answer. “Four. +Each of the partners has one—and Ronald Forshaw +here also. He’s more often in charge here of an +evening than anybody—he has to have a key.”</p> + +<p>“Now tell me again,” interjected Goodall, “who +gave the alarm? The cleaner, you said, didn’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” replied Day. “The watchman on +duty between twelve midnight and seven <span class="sc">a. m.</span> is +always relieved by a Mrs. Turner—she sweeps and +cleans the place up generally. When she arrived she +got no answer, of course. Couldn’t get in! So she +got into touch with the people next door, who +’phoned me. I came down post-haste. I guessed +there was trouble because I knew we had some +valuable things here.”</p> + +<p>Goodall pursed his lips. “The door of your office +was locked when you arrived?”</p> + +<p>Day knitted his brows. Then a sudden flush of +color welled and broke into the ordinary paleness of +his face. “Inspector,” he said, “write me down a +dunderhead. The door of my office was closed but +not locked. I remember it distinctly now. I brought +the keys of the front door along—my own keys—we +all came in together—my partners and I—we found +poor Mason on the floor there and I rushed to the +’phone for you and Doctor Archer. I never gave a +thought to the fact that the door of my office wasn’t +locked. The idea of the murder drove it completely +from my mind.”</p> + +<p>He paused—a little crestfallen and apologetic.</p> + +<p>Goodall turned to the group of listeners somewhat +dramatically. “That’s how the murderer got in and +managed the job,” he declared. “Got in while the +attention of the two watchmen was being distracted +by the woman ‘decoy’—made his way quickly up +here—picked the lock of that door”—he pointed to +the door of the private office—“hid in the office till +the time came for action—then pounced on Mason +from behind.”</p> + +<p>Linnell interposed. “Would he have sufficient +time, do you think, Inspector, to pick the lock before +Mason and Druce could get up here?”</p> + +<p>“Depends on Mason and Druce and the time +they spent downstairs,” replied Goodall. He swung +round like lightning on the man concerned. Druce +reddened. “How long were you before you and +Mason came upstairs?”</p> + +<p>Druce shifted his feet uneasily. “Not more than +a matter of a few minutes, sir. Say five minutes!”</p> + +<p>Goodall flashed a look of understanding at him. +“I suppose you stayed at the foot of the staircase +for a ‘few draws,’ eh?” He turned on his heel to +Mr. Day. “Smoking forbidden here during the +watchmen’s shifts, Mr. Day?”</p> + +<p>Day inclined his head in assent.</p> + +<p>“Thought so. Well, Druce, am I right?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, Mason certainly did have a puff or +two—only for a few minutes though.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you come back with him—upstairs +again—when you were going home?”</p> + +<p>“For my things, sir. I never collected ’em +together when I ’eard ’im knock. I always went +straight down to ’im.”</p> + +<p>Goodall nodded. “You and Mason were certainly +long enough absent from the room to give this +fellow his chance and Mason paid for his mistake +with his life, poor chap. Now—about this woman, +Druce—what was she like? Describe her!”</p> + +<p>Druce shook his head with evident misgiving. +“I’m afraid I can’t ’elp you much there, sir. I ain’t +much of a ’and at descriptions—my daughter Poppy +now—if she were ’ere she’d be able to——”</p> + +<p>“Describe a woman she’d never seen, I suppose,” +snapped Goodall. “Come now.”</p> + +<p>Druce pulled up with a jerk. “Well, she ’ad on +dark clothes and some sort of an ’at—and was about +middle height.” He concluded hopefully.</p> + +<p>Goodall turned away with a gesture of dismay.</p> + +<p>“And yet we’re informed that all undiscovered +crimes are the fault of the Police,” he said bitterly. +“When we get civilian help like this.”</p> + +<p>“What age would you say the woman was, +Druce?” asked Mr. Day.</p> + +<p>Druce hesitated. He seemed to find this another +poser. Then he committed himself.</p> + +<p>“Well, I ain’t certain, sir, not by no manner of +means, but I should say somewhere between thirty +and forty.”</p> + +<p>“Dark or fair?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t see, sir. Honest, I couldn’t—so it’s +no use askin’ me, sir.”</p> + +<p>Day turned in Goodall’s direction. “I’m afraid +that’s about all we shall get, Inspector,” he declared +semi-humorously. “Do you want to ask him any +more?”</p> + +<p>“I’m thirsting to,” drawled Goodall. “He’s +such a mine of information. Let him go,” he +muttered with a tinge of disgust.</p> + +<p>Druce turned with relief written on every line of +his face. “Thank you, sir. Thank you, gentlemen. +I’m glad to ’ave been of assistance to you.” He +made his way to the door. Then he turned to the +group again.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what I <em>did</em> notice about that woman, +now I come to think of it,” he announced with an +air of extreme wisdom.</p> + +<p>“You don’t say!” declared Goodall. “Don’t tell +me she walked with one shoulder lower than the +other—all suspected persons do.”</p> + +<p>“No!” replied Druce with disappointment in his +tone. “Nothink so important as that, sir. But +when she walked away up the street, sir, she sneezed +several times. That’s what I’ve just thought of, +sir.”</p> + +<p>Goodall threw his head up hopelessly. “Can you +beat that?” he said plaintively. “The stiff!” He +heard Druce slowly descending the stairs, proudly +aware no doubt of a very perfect piece of Pelmanism.</p> + +<p>“There you are,” asserted Goodall, “there you +have——”</p> + +<p>His remarks were interrupted by a ring of the +telephone from the private office. Mr. Day went +into his room and picked up the receiver.</p> + +<p>The others outside heard him say, “Yes! He’s +here now. I’ll bring him to the ’phone.”</p> + +<p>He came out. “Mr. Linnell,” he announced, +“Mr. Daventry, your partner, would like to speak +to you on the telephone.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Linnell. He entered and took +the message.</p> + +<p>“What?” he said. “Good God, Peter—you +can’t mean it. It’s impossible.”</p> + +<p>He stayed a minute or two longer—then replaced +the receiver with trembling finger. For the moment +he had a hard task to control himself. Then he +pulled himself together and reëntered the Gallery.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” he said very gravely, “Mr. +Laurence P. Stewart was murdered last night in his +library at Assynton. He was found with his skull +battered in!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV. <br> Peter Daventry Is Mindful of Mr. Bathurst</h2> + +<p>To say that Goodall and his companions were +dumbfounded is no exaggeration. Events were +crowding upon them this morning with a vengeance. +The announcement of this second murder took their +breath away. It startled them and threw them off +their balance much more effectively than the first +calamity had done. Mason was a night-watchman! +Stewart was a millionaire! The former could be +very easily replaced—the latter’s death was a +tragedy in more senses than one. Goodall knew +perfectly well that any failure on his part to find the +murderer of Mason would occasion no questions in +Parliament and would cause the Home Secretary no +loss of sleep. But now that Laurence P. Stewart +was caught in the wheels of the murder-machinery +he was painfully conscious that he must be “up and +doing.” The case might be his, too!</p> + +<p>“How did that news reach you, Mr. Linnell?” +was his first question.</p> + +<p>“From my partner, Mr. Daventry. He has just +had a ’phone-call from Stewart’s home in +Berkshire—from Stewart’s son, I understood him to say.”</p> + +<p>“What made Stewart’s son telephone so quickly +to your office?”</p> + +<p>Linnell rubbed his cheek with his fingers. “He +didn’t explain the reason to me just now—Daventry +didn’t, I mean. I can only surmise that young +Stewart knew that we had received instructions from +his father concerning the sale of those antiques and +wished possibly to countermand them—considering +the fresh and tragic circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” muttered the Inspector. “I suppose +that’s possible. When was Stewart murdered, did +you say?”</p> + +<p>“They believe—some time last night. Naturally, +I wasn’t able to glean extensive details—even if my +partner had been in a position to give them to me. +But from what he did tell me, I imagine that the +body was discovered early this morning.”</p> + +<p>Goodall looked thoughtful. “Hardly looks like +the same people! Assynton must be a matter of +seventy miles from London—getting on for a couple +of hours’ journey at least—that means they would +have to leave there somewhere about nine-thirty, +assuming Stewart to have been killed first, and +accepting Druce’s evidence as reliable—h’m—possible +but not probable—have to find out when +Stewart was last seen alive.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Linnell. “Extremely useful your +turning up here, Mr. Linnell. There does seem to +be a connection between the two affairs—difficult +though it may be to discover it. I’ll come and see +your Mr. Daventry later on.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be delighted. There’s our address.” +He handed his card to the Inspector.</p> + +<p>Goodall fingered it, thinking carefully. “Mr. +Forshaw!” he called. “Mr. Forshaw, Junior!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Inspector!”</p> + +<p>“You stated just now that you interviewed Mr. +Linnell’s partner yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“That’s so, Inspector. Yesterday afternoon, to +be precise.”</p> + +<p>“What happened exactly—tell me?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was like this! This gentleman, Mr. +Daventry, asked to be allowed to have a look at the +Stuart stuff—the three articles that have been stolen. +I showed them to him. He examined them rather +carefully . . . that’s all I think . . . oh . . . +he commented on the possibility of them +being stolen . . . I remember that fact, because +I took the trouble to explain the precautions +that were always taken to safeguard our property.”</p> + +<p>“You had a watch on the stuff then?” queried +Goodall.</p> + +<p>Day intervened and took up the thread from Forshaw. +“Two of your people were here, Inspector. +During the hours the Galleries were open to the +public! In ‘plain-clothes’ of course, and armed! +It’s our usual plan when we have sales of anything +at all valuable. It’s been our practice for many +years now.”</p> + +<p>Goodall signified that he understood. Then he +turned to young Forshaw again. “What else did +this Daventry do?”</p> + +<p>Forshaw passed his hands across his brow in an +attempt at recollection.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, I think! That is to say—oh, I +remember—he asked how many other people had been to +examine the three articles he was handling.”</p> + +<p>“What was your answer? That question +interests me too.”</p> + +<p>“My answer was ‘nobody’ . . . It was +true,” Forshaw replied simply.</p> + +<p>Goodall looked across at Linnell.</p> + +<p>“Now I wonder what made your partner——”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Inspector,” broke in Linnell with a +gesture of annoyance, “for goodness sake don’t +start imagining things. Daventry was interested in +Stuart articles purely from the standpoint of a +competitive purchaser, about to act on behalf of a +client—surely you don’t——”</p> + +<p>Goodall patted him on the arm. “Don’t get a +‘peeve,’ Mr. Linnell. It’s my job to ask questions +and very often a random sort of question hits a target +quite unexpectedly. Don’t forget that the presence +of both you and your partner in this affair is +downright queer. Right from the beginning—to +the point we’ve reached now—you admitted as much +yourself when you came in.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Linnell’s professional dignity had been +touched—he remained quite silent under the Inspector’s +attempt at justification. He walked across to +the others. “I think I’ll go, gentlemen. My partner +will, no doubt, desire to discuss matters with me +as soon as possible. You know where to find me if +you should want me.”</p> + +<p>He bowed to the company and made his exit.</p> + +<p>Upon arrival at his offices in Cornhill he found +Peter awaiting him with anxious impatience.</p> + +<p>“I’m jolly glad to see you,” was his greeting. +“There’s been a second message from Assynton—young +Stewart was particularly anxious to talk to +you—he seemed quite annoyed when I told him you +were still away from the office.”</p> + +<p>“Peter,” said Linnell, “we’ve been caught in a +most curious set of circumstances. When you +’phoned me just now, at Day, Forshaw and Palmers’, +what do you imagine I was doing?”</p> + +<p>Peter looked at him blankly. “Doing? Why—having +a look round of course—the same as I had. +What are you driving at?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not driving at anything, Peter. I’m just +giving you some information. When I arrived at +the show-rooms this morning I had rather a ‘jolt.’ +The police were there—the Galleries had been +robbed during the night—and what is even more +dreadful than that, a night-watchman employed +there had been brutally murdered.”</p> + +<p>Peter gasped. “Good Lord! My telephone +message to you must have been a shock.”</p> + +<p>“It was! I could hardly believe my ears! I +decided not to say anything to you over the ’phone +but to come back here.”</p> + +<p>Peter thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets. +“Funny thing—we seem in it both ends—don’t we? +The whole thing is very queer. Both here and in +Berkshire.”</p> + +<p>Linnell shook his head. “Not really. We just +happened to be in at the Galleries end because +Stewart sent us there—but I haven’t finished yet.”</p> + +<p>Peter uttered a cry of amazement. “Don’t say +there are any more——”</p> + +<p>Linnell cut into his remarks. “I told you the +Galleries had been robbed during the night. I didn’t +tell you what had actually been stolen. As far as the +police could tell when I left them, the only three +things that had been taken were <em>the very three that +Stewart commissioned us to buy</em>!”</p> + +<p>He paused and walked to the window. Then +turned and confronted Peter.</p> + +<p>“What do you make of that? Extraordinary, +isn’t it? To say the least!”</p> + +<p>Peter whistled softly. “I said we seemed to be +well in it. I feel sure now. And what’s more, +Linnell, I’ve got a feeling we haven’t heard or seen +the last of it either, by a long way. You mark my +words.”</p> + +<p>Linnell smiled. “I agree with you! As a matter +of fact, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if +Detective-Inspector Goodall hasn’t already got a certain Peter +Daventry on his list of ‘suspects.’ I hope your +alibi’s good.”</p> + +<p>“What on earth are you gibbering about?” +demanded Peter. “And who the hell’s +Detective-Inspector Goodall?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not gibbering, my dear fellow. Detective-Inspector +Goodall is the gentleman from Scotland +Yard that is investigating the Galleries murder, and +he has, of course, been informed of your interest in +the Stuart relics and of your call there yesterday. +Young Forshaw told him. Then there was my call +to-day—I got in ‘at the death’ as you might say—I +could see he thought it was damned suspicious +conduct—all of it—I explained our connection with the +affair——”</p> + +<p>“You told him of Stewart’s commission? Was +that wise? Yet awhile?”</p> + +<p>“I think so, Peter! My professional experience +has taught me the value of frankness and truth—even +as a solicitor—that is why I never entered +Parliament.”</p> + +<p>“But why suspect <em>me</em>?” reiterated Peter. “Is +every intending purchaser on the——?”</p> + +<p>“The police <em>must</em> suspect <em>somebody</em>. Why not +flatter yourself at their attention? But tell me all +you’ve heard about the Berkshire end of the tangle.”</p> + +<p>Peter swung his legs as he sat . . . somewhat +petulantly. “The message came through +about half-past ten—the first message, I mean—Stewart’s +secretary put it through—I think he said +his name was Morgan or Llewellyn—I’m not sure. +He asked if you were in—I told him ‘no’—then +he asked for me. I said it was all right and he told +me that young Mr. Stewart wanted me. The poor +chap seemed very agitated—his father had been +found dead in the library that morning. Murdered—his +head beaten in! Would we cancel our instructions +about the sale to-morrow? As far as he was +able he was getting into touch with all his father’s +immediate business activities . . . in the case +of a millionaire, he explained, it was of the utmost +importance . . . affected the money market so. +That was about all, I fancy. Then I ’phoned the +news on to you—I knew I should find you there. By +the way, did you run down to Assynton last night?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t have time. When was the second +telephone message?”</p> + +<p>“About twenty minutes before you returned,” +said Peter.</p> + +<p>“What did he want?”</p> + +<p>“He asked for you, again. It seems he isn’t too +satisfied with the quality of the local Police +Force—he’s asking for Scotland Yard to send a man +down—says he’s prepared to pay anything to get at the truth +and arrest the murderer. Also he wanted your +advice. Could you recommend an efficient, discreet, +and trustworthy private detective? They were the +three adjectives he used.”</p> + +<p>“Why does he appeal to me, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>“I asked him that. He says he hasn’t been in +England more than a few months and it occurred to +him that we might help him. He also wants one of +us to go down—his father’s solicitors, I understand, +are in New York.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” muttered Linnell. “I can appreciate his +position. But I’m afraid I’m no use to him in the +matter of the private detective. I don’t know +anybody I should care to send down there—it isn’t as +though it were a case of keeping a person under +observation.” He shook his head doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Nor I, either,” supplemented Peter. “What +about his idea of one of us going down there—shall +I go? What do you think yourself?”</p> + +<p>“I think you might go,” replied Linnell. “It +should be more in your line than mine—you’re +younger to begin with. Can’t you do a bit of +‘sleuthing’ on your own account? Sherlock Holmes +has had many imitators!”</p> + +<p>“I might. It will make quite an interesting and +‘piquant’ situation—a ‘suspect’ one moment—a +‘sleuth’ the next. I remember my brother Gerald—by +Jove, Linnell, I’ve got it—Anthony Bathurst! +Why on earth didn’t I think of him before?”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Why, if you want a man to act for young +Stewart, you couldn’t possibly find a better!”</p> + +<p>“What is he—a private inquiry agent?”</p> + +<p>“Not on your life—he’s a sort of free lance—tinkers +about at a good many things. He was up at +Oxford about the same time as Gerald. That is to +say, about three years after me. Can you remember +the Considine Manor affair?”</p> + +<p>“Considine Manor? Wasn’t it a murder down in +Sussex somewhere?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got it. Well, old Gerald was actually +stopping in the house at the time. He always +regards Bathurst as an absolute marvel. Cleared up +the case when it had got the Police absolutely ‘stone +cold.’ He never tires of singing Bathurst’s praises!”</p> + +<p>“Where is he now? Do you know?”</p> + +<p>Peter stroked his chin. Hadn’t Gerald told him +Bathurst was living in London somewhere?</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t. There you’ve got me! Still—old +Gerald may know. I’ll give him a ring.” He +unhooked the receiver. “Give me ‘Wedderburn and +Rathbone,’ will you—the Accountants—Devonshire +Place—will you <em>please</em>—I’ve forgotten the number. +Oh! Thank you!”</p> + +<p>He waited for a moment or two. “Yes. Mr. +Gerald Daventry, that’s it! Oh—hallo, Gerald—Peter +speaking. Could you possibly put me into +touch with Anthony Bathurst? Eh? . . . Yes, +something after his own heart, where . . . +Leyton . . . thanks very much.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Linnell. “Gerald says we shall +probably find him at Leyton this afternoon, on the +members’ pavilion. Middlesex are playing Essex, +and he rarely misses any of the Middlesex games. +He’ll come down himself—Gerald, I mean—and if +Bathurst is there—he’ll introduce us.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then, Peter. You get along—and if it +can be arranged satisfactorily, we’ll ’phone Stewart +when you return.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you come along too? Come and see your +adopted shire!”</p> + +<p>“No. I’ll stay here. I’ve had enough excitement +for one day.”</p> + +<p>Peter grinned! “You’re a superlative optimist,” +he exclaimed, “I must introduce you to a friend of +mine who’s a baseball ‘fan.’ He’d be tickled to +death to hear you connect cricket with excitement.”</p> + +<p>A step sounded in the corridor outside. Linnell +and Peter glanced quickly in the direction of the +door. Then Linnell heard a voice that he +recognized only too well.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Inspector,” he announced. “I was +half expecting you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Linnell. I thought no harm +would be done if I came along and dropped in on +you as I suggested. This gentleman, I presume, is +Mr. Daventry?” His keen eyes ran Peter up and +down.</p> + +<p>Peter bowed. “Quite right, Inspector. The man +in whom you are interested, I believe.”</p> + +<p>Goodall shot a quick glance at him—then laughed +quietly. “Mr. Linnell’s been talking, I suppose! I +certainly got a bit curious—but there—curiosity’s +part of my job—and I can’t afford to take anything +for granted.”</p> + +<p>“Any more news, Inspector?” intervened Linnell +affably.</p> + +<p>“Up to the moment—no! I came straight on +here. I want to have a look at one or two things! +That letter from Stewart—may I see it?”</p> + +<p>Linnell opened a drawer and handed the letter to +him.</p> + +<p>“H’m,” muttered Goodall. “Assynton postmark—June +7th.” He read it. “I fancy you gave me to +understand that you knew nothing about Stewart, till +you got this letter. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“That is so, Inspector. My only knowledge of +him was just ordinary public knowledge.”</p> + +<p>“I see. What did you do after you got the +letter?”</p> + +<p>“I thought it over and wired back. To get +confirmation, as it were!”</p> + +<p>“And you got a reply?”</p> + +<p>“This!”</p> + +<p>Linnell gave him the extravagant telegram—then +waited for the smile to ripple over Goodall’s face.</p> + +<p>“Seems to be a man who knew his own mind. +Doesn’t seem possible the man’s dead.” His eyes +narrowed as he stood thinking.</p> + +<p>“Tell Inspector Goodall what you’ve just told +me, Peter! About young Stewart ’phoning here.”</p> + +<p>Goodall became all attention. “That +interesting! Fire away, Mr. Daventry!”</p> + +<p>Peter repeated the information he had previously +given Linnell, taking care, however, to suppress any +reference to the Berkshire police or the desire for a +private detective.</p> + +<p>Goodall listened carefully. “It doesn’t help me +much,” he commented when Peter had finished. +Then looked him straight between the eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Mr. Daventry!” Goodall spoke as though +an afterthought had struck him. “After you visited +the Galleries yesterday—where did you go?”</p> + +<p>Peter’s cheeks went a dull red—it seemed to him +he was being humiliated.</p> + +<p>“Came back here! Mr. Linnell can confirm +that—if you doubt my word.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you! And after that?” He fingered +his note-book.</p> + +<p>“I dined at my club—then went to a show.”</p> + +<p>“Thank—you—your club is—and the show +was——?”</p> + +<p>“The Isthmian—Piccadilly—and ‘On +Approval’! Anything more, Mr. Inspector?”</p> + +<p>“That will do for the present.” Goodall closed +his note-book with a snap.</p> + +<p>Peter’s eyes blazed at him angrily. “And if +you’re interested in any more of my comings and +goings—I may as well tell you that I’m just off +down to Leyton to put in an hour or two at the +Middlesex and Essex match.”</p> + +<p>But Goodall remained imperturbable under the +shaft of sarcasm. “Wish I could come with you! +I like watching cricket—particularly Lancashire and +Glamorganshire—they always seem to me to lack +supporters so—it means such a terrible lot of +traveling, you see, for their relations to go to watch +them.” The Inspector grinned.</p> + +<p>Peter’s ill-temper vanished instantaneously at +Goodall’s sally. He held out his hand and shook +the Inspector’s. Goodall took it—crossed to +Linnell—and departed.</p> + +<p>“I’ll bring Bathurst along, then, as arranged—if +I’m lucky enough to find him.”</p> + +<p>Linnell made a gesture of assent. “If he’ll come! +Then we’ll get on to Assynton and tell them.”</p> + +<p>Daventry soon motored down to the ground and +quickly found his brother. Together they made +their way onto the pavilion, Gerald being a member +of the M.C.C. and of the three Metropolitan +counties. But all attempts to unearth the man for +whom they were searching proved unavailing.</p> + +<p>Then Gerald met a kindred spirit. “Bathurst?” +he said. “Yes—I can help you—he won’t be here +to-day at all—he told me—now, why the devil was +it?—I’ve a cursed rotten memory”—he assumed an +air of painful mental effort—then suddenly his face +cleared. “Oh, I know—he’s playing ‘Squash’ at +‘Princes’ this afternoon—you’ll see him if you pop +along up there. Is it anything important?”</p> + +<p>“It is rather,” replied Gerald. “And I’m +awfully obliged to you.”</p> + +<p>“Pleasure, old son. Shall we drift along and +have one off the ice?”</p> + +<p>They drifted and after the one had multiplied +considerably the two Daventrys motored back up to +Knightsbridge.</p> + +<p>“The uninitiated would never dream of a club +like ‘Princes’ hiding here, would they, Peter?” +queried his brother as they entered. “I remember +being very interested the first time I came.”</p> + +<p>Bathurst was soon run to earth.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t seen you for nearly a year, Daventry! +Your brother? Delighted! Fit?”</p> + +<p>“Very fit—thanks—and you?”</p> + +<p>“Never better!” His words did not belie him. +Anthony Bathurst, in whatever company of men he +found himself, was usually the fittest of the lot. He +excelled at nearly all ball games and took extraordinary +pains to keep thoroughly “trained.” And his +mental powers were equally outstanding. Peter +Daventry speedily realized something of the admiration +that he knew his brother felt for the man to +whom he had just been introduced. He was aware +of that atmosphere of “personality” that +distinguishes a select company.</p> + +<p>“What brings you along here?” queried +Anthony. “Playing—are you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” responded Gerald. “I’ve brought Peter +here to see you! It’s his funeral.”</p> + +<p>Anthony waved them into a couple of deck-chairs. +“What about?”</p> + +<p>“He’s got a story for you that you may possibly +find interesting. Have a cigarette, lie back in your +chair, and listen. Now, Peter—say your mouthful.”</p> + +<p>Peter complied with his brother’s request. +Bathurst lay listening—apparently lazily—but Peter +quickly discovered that his faculties were acutely +alert. When he reached the murder of Mason—the +night-watchman, Anthony’s eyes betrayed +understanding.</p> + +<p>“I read a short account in the early editions +to-day. Seemed just an interrupted robbery case to me +then . . . of course . . . you say the +identical <em>three</em> things . . . go on.”</p> + +<p>At the point when Peter told of the death of +Stewart, Bathurst listened most attentively. +“Extraordinary,” he commented at the finish of Peter’s +narrative. “Quite a fascinating little problem. +And you say Stewart’s son would like me to have a +look at it for him—eh?”</p> + +<p>“He wants me to bring somebody down with me +and I suddenly thought of you—I had heard so +much of you from Gerald.”</p> + +<p>Anthony took a cigarette and lit up carefully. +“I’ve nothing pressing at the moment. I’m your +man if you’re sure you want me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s great. When can you come along?”</p> + +<p>Anthony looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>“I should have liked to commence my little +investigations at this end. But I suppose I can’t—I +must get down to Assynton to see Stewart—that’s +evident—there’s a train at Paddington at five +minutes to seven. That will get us down before nine. +I’ll meet you on the platform, Daventry.”</p> + +<p>“Right!” declared Peter, “6:55 then.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—and Daventry—I think you’d better bring +a revolver.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>CHAPTER V. <br> The Assynton Lodge Murder</h2> + +<p>Sergeant Clegg assumed an air of profound +sagacity, which did not altogether become him too +well. At the moment he was a prey to conflicting +emotions. A police-officer’s career in an obscure +Berkshire village doesn’t get too many chances for +personal “spot-light.” And although he felt that +his big chance had come, he had a nasty feeling +somewhere at the back of his mind that the case was +going to prove <em>too</em> big. However, he turned to the +son of the murdered man and to the Doctor who +had accompanied him into the library and made +his preliminary announcement—importantly!</p> + +<p>“Nothing in here must be touched. +Nothing—whatever.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing has been disturbed, Sergeant Clegg. +Doctor Gunner arrived only a few minutes in front +of you.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, then, Mr. Stewart! You might +make your examination, Doctor, with as little +disturbance of the corpse as possible—will you? I +haven’t got a photographer handy—that business +will have to come later.”</p> + +<p>The murdered man was seated in a chair at his +desk—the cause of death being painfully visible to +all. He had received a heavy blow or blows from +behind—the back of his skull was smashed like an +egg-shell. He had apparently been in the act of +writing when killed—for his pen had almost entirely +fallen from his grasp—the butt being just retained +between thumb and forefinger. He was dressed in +a dark-blue dressing-gown and on his feet were +bedroom slippers. The dressing-gown had been put on +over his pajama sleeping suit and he gave every +appearance of having come downstairs from his +bedroom. The doctor busied himself for a few +moments over his gruesome task. Meanwhile the +Sergeant turned to the young man who found himself +so suddenly bereaved. He cleared his throat—twice.</p> + +<p>“Tell me the details, Mr. Stewart, as far as you +are able.” Stewart shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I know very little. The maid who does the +library every morning was amazed this morning to +find the door locked. She couldn’t understand it, so +she informed Butterworth, the butler. He went +along and found that what she had reported was +correct. He sought me out and we found Mr. +Llewellyn, my father’s secretary. We went to my +father’s bedroom. It was empty—the bed had not +been slept in. So we decided to burst open the +library door. You can see for yourselves how we +found my father. I immediately telephoned for you +and for Doctor Gunner.”</p> + +<p>“The door was locked, you say. Where was the +key?”</p> + +<p>“In the lock—on the inside.”</p> + +<p>Clegg strolled across to the French doors that +opened on to the garden. “These are fastened all +right. All the bolts are shot.” He stooped down +and examined them.</p> + +<p>“By gum—that’s funny. How did the murderer +escape? Bit of a puzzle—eh?”</p> + +<p>Stewart saw the drift of his remarks. +“Extraordinary, isn’t it?” he ventured.</p> + +<p>Clegg walked over to the desk and looked at it +carefully. Beside the dead man’s hand there rested +a sheet of notepaper. The Sergeant took it up. +“Looks as though this is what he was writing when +the blow fell,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>Scrawled on the paper were the words, “Urgent +in the morning! M. L.” “This your father’s +handwriting, Mr. Stewart?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The young man looked over his shoulder. “Yes,” +he said. “Without a doubt—although it looks to +me as though it had been written very hurriedly or +in a moment of extreme agitation—it isn’t as firm +as usual.”</p> + +<p>Clegg leaned over the dead man and felt in the +pockets of his dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>The right-hand pocket was empty. He gave a +sharp exclamation when he took from the left—a +revolver. He looked at it carefully. “Loaded in +five chambers,” he declared—“the sixth has been +discharged.” His eyes traveled slowly round the +room. Then they came back to Stewart. “Did you +hear anything like a shot any time last evening or +during the night?”</p> + +<p>Stewart shook his head in dissent. “Nothing at +all!”</p> + +<p>“Is this your father’s revolver?”</p> + +<p>“It looks like it—though it’s a common pattern.”</p> + +<p>Clegg turned to the Doctor. “Finished your +little investigation, Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the reply. “Been dead about twelve +hours, I should say, and received three blows I +think! I’ll leave him as nearly as possible as he +was when I came in. I’ll make arrangements for +moving him later.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Doctor!” Clegg returned to young +Stewart. “I suppose your father had had no recent +quarrel with anybody?”</p> + +<p>“N—no. Not that I’m aware of! Of course a +man with his vast financial interests didn’t go +through life without making some enemies—and +pretty vindictive ones at that—but I can think of +nothing special—certainly not recently.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with deep feeling in his voice, and Clegg +wasn’t absolutely sure that there hadn’t been just a +trace of hesitation in the first part of his answer.</p> + +<p>“How old was your father, Mr. Stewart?” he +continued.</p> + +<p>“Fifty-three in July—on the twenty-second of +next month. We have been in England only a +matter of a few months.”</p> + +<p>“From America, wasn’t it? I remember your +coming here.”</p> + +<p>“New York—previously we had lived at +Washington and Chicago.”</p> + +<p>“You the only member of the family living +here?”</p> + +<p>“My father’s ward, Miss Lennox, lives here +also. She is like a member of the family.”</p> + +<p>“Who else is in the house?”</p> + +<p>“My father’s private secretary—a Mr. Morgan +Llewellyn—Butterworth, the butler, and his wife, +who acts as housekeeper, and the servants.”</p> + +<p>“Any idea, Mr. Stewart, who was the last person +to see your father alive?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that I can answer that question +with certainty. I had been out during the evening—playing +tennis. I returned about a quarter to ten. +My father was in here with Colonel Leach-Fletcher—that’s +a neighbor of ours—I simply put my head +round the door and said ‘Good-night.’ ”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you go in and speak to the Colonel?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! He’s a constant visitor here, has been +on very friendly terms with my father ever since +we came here. I never feel on ‘company manners’ +with him.”</p> + +<p>“Any idea what time the Colonel left?”</p> + +<p>“No—Butterworth could probably tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Butterworth’s the butler, isn’t he? And the +secretary’s name is Llewellyn? How long have they +been with you?”</p> + +<p>“Butterworth came into my father’s service when +we were living at Washington. He was butler to +Sir Julian Kennedy, the British Ambassador at +Washington at that time. When Sir Julian +died—about fifteen years ago I should say—speaking +from memory—my father offered him employment. +My father”—his voice broke a trifle—the realization +that his father was dead was becoming more +poignant to him as time passed—“regarded him as +invaluable.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Llewellyn? How long has he been +with your father?”</p> + +<p>“About two years. He came to us when we were +in New York.”</p> + +<p>“The butler’s wife—you said just now, I +think—acts as housekeeper?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. There are four maids here, also.”</p> + +<p>“Any comments to make on them?” The Sergeant +puffed out his cheeks and endeavored to look +impressive.</p> + +<p>“I have nothing against any of them.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll forgive me, I hope, putting the question, +Mr. Stewart—especially at a time like this—had +your father any entanglements as you might say +with the opposite sex?” The indelicacy of his +query affected the Sergeant so profoundly as to +produce a superfluous aspirate.</p> + +<p>But once again he was destined to draw a blank.</p> + +<p>“You can make your mind easy on that point, +Sergeant. My mother died ten years ago when I +was twelve. It was a great blow to my father—they +idolized each other—I don’t think the thought of +another woman since has ever entered my father’s +mind.” He kept his gaze resolutely averted from +the still figure at the desk. Doctor Gunner, before +he had slipped out, had reverently laid a white towel +over the head and face. But the boy’s nerves were +rapidly getting on edge, and he felt he would be +unable to endure this phlegmatic policeman very +much longer. Clegg, however, was nothing if not +“thorough.” His favorite philosophy was to +contemplate the epic struggle of the hare and the +tortoise and whenever he was tempted to hitch his +personal wagon to a star he always took excessive +care to see it was well secured. “I don’t believe in +taking a lot of risks,” he was wont to say to his staff +at Assynton. “Care may have killed the cat, but it’s +never been known to have killed a policeman.”</p> + +<p>This case that Fate had tossed so unexpectedly +into his lap was beginning to worry him a trifle. It +was so much bigger than anything he had previously +handled. Once again the conviction was borne upon +him that in all likelihood it would prove eventually +to be too much for him. However, “sufficient unto +the day is the evil thereof” might have been his +uppermost thought as he squared his ponderous +shoulders and walked across the room. As you entered, +the desk stood on the left with its back to the +left-hand wall. The leathern arm-chair in which the +dead man sat was drawn up to the desk in the usual +way. A person seated in this arm-chair would therefore +show the left-hand side of his face to anybody +entering by the door. Facing the door stood a +bookcase—sectional. It was of many more sections than +is usual. Stewart was evidently a lover of +books—the “standard” authors jostled each other and +Coventry Patmore rubbed shoulders with Renan, +Baudelaire and Verlaine. On the right were French +windows commanding the garden. No part of it, +however, brought Sergeant Clegg his badly needed +“inspiration.” Nothing in the room seemed to him +to tell any story other than its natural one. He +walked back to the door. That door worried him. +“Key in the lock on the inside,” he muttered—“bolts +on the French doors shot—top and +bottom—and a dead man inside the room.”</p> + +<p>He made his disconsolate way to the fireplace—on +the bookcase’s right. Bending down, he stepped +into the hearth and attempted to look up the +chimney. The attempt proved completely unsuccessful +as a source of inspiration. It was speedily made +plain to the Sergeant that the murderer of Laurence +P. Stewart had not escaped in that direction. Then +an idea struck him.</p> + +<p>“Have you communicated with your father’s +solicitors, Mr. Stewart?”</p> + +<p>Stewart shook his head. “No, my father’s +solicitors are Crake and Ferguson—New York. I’m +going to get Mr. Llewellyn to cable them as soon as +possible.”</p> + +<p>“New York’s a long way away. It’s a pity you +haven’t somebody nearer.”</p> + +<p>“I may be able to get into touch with somebody +who may assist me—till Crake and Ferguson move +in the matter. I had considered that possibility +myself.”</p> + +<p>Clegg concurred with a heavy shake of the head.</p> + +<p>“Good. Now I must get a move on, too. I had +better have an interview with some of these others.” +He consulted his note-book with judicial gravity. +“Ring for this Mr. Llewellyn—will you, Mr. +Stewart—please?”</p> + +<p>Within a few minutes the summons was answered. +The secretary was a man somewhere in the early +thirties. Of good height and slim, with the hair +thinning considerably on the front of his head, his +general appearance, aided by the pince-nez that he +wore, suggested what may be termed not unkindly +an academic superciliousness. His eyes were a rather +unusual shade of reddish-brown and gave an acute +observer an impression of brooding watchfulness. +He entered the room quietly, yet perhaps warily.</p> + +<p>“You wished to see me, I believe?”</p> + +<p>Sergeant Clegg grunted a somewhat reluctant +affirmative.</p> + +<p>“I am conducting a preliminary investigation, +Mr. Llewellyn, into the death of your employer, +Mr. Laurence Stewart. If it lies in your power at +all to help me, I want you to do so.”</p> + +<p>“I am perfectly willing to tell you all I +know—which I’m afraid isn’t very much.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. When were you first informed of +the tragedy?”</p> + +<p>“This morning—about eight o’clock—just about +an hour and a half ago. I was in my bedroom dressing +when Mr. Charles Stewart came to my door and +told me he feared something was amiss with his +father. I finished my toilet hastily and joined him +and the butler, Butterworth. The maid, it appeared, +had been unable to get into the library—the door +was locked. The three of us burst down the door +and were horrified to find Mr. Stewart as he is.” +He inclined his head in the direction of the +motionless body.</p> + +<p>“What did you do then?”</p> + +<p>“Well, we rushed up to him—but it didn’t take +us very long to realize that he was dead.”</p> + +<p>“And then——?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Charles Stewart gave me certain orders to +convey to the servants while he telephoned for you +and for the doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I am told, Mr. Llewellyn, that after you three +gentlemen burst the door open—you found the key +in the lock on the inside.”</p> + +<p>“That is true. Mr. Charles Stewart called my +attention to it specially.”</p> + +<p>“And the French doors were also fastened—all +the bolts firm in the slots?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“When did you last see your employer alive?”</p> + +<p>“At dinner, last night.”</p> + +<p>“Was it your custom to dine with him?”</p> + +<p>“Usually I did. Our dinner party generally +consisted of Mr. Stewart, his son, Miss Lennox, and +me.”</p> + +<p>“Was that the case last evening?”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart intervened. “I did not dine here +last evening. I was out. I think I told you. I was +playing tennis.”</p> + +<p>Clegg nodded his head. “That’s all right, sir! +I understand!”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn proceeded. “Colonel Leach-Fletcher +completed our party last evening—but really, I don’t +see——”</p> + +<p>“Had this Colonel any particular reason for +dining here last evening?”</p> + +<p>Stewart allowed a faint smile to illumine his +features. “What on earth do you mean, Sergeant? +Colonel Leach-Fletcher dined here at my poor +father’s invitation—he didn’t suddenly announce +that he intended to stop for dinner.”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn’s brooding eyes seemed to smoulder for +a brief instant—then they flickered back to their +habitual watchfulness. He allowed himself the +vestige of a smile. His smile broadened as the +Sergeant made a clumsy attempt at extrication.</p> + +<p>“Naturally, naturally, gentlemen. Exactly what +I meant.” He followed the secretary’s eyes and +observed them rest on the desk-table in front of the +dead man. “It seems that Mr. Stewart was writing +a message of some kind when he was struck down?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” came Llewellyn’s quick response, almost +automatically. “Mr. Charles Stewart and I noticed +that when we first found the body.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think its meaning is?”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn raised his eyebrows in interrogation. +The poise of his head and the somewhat peremptory +significance contained in his gesture, accentuated his +suggestion of superciliousness.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. “May I see it again? I +hardly——”</p> + +<p>Clegg took the paper from beneath the dead +man’s hand. “Not much to go on, I admit! But +Mr. Stewart had evidently received important news +of some kind that he regarded as very urgent. To +sit down to write it there and then——” he stopped +abruptly. “M. L.” he quoted. “They might be a +person’s initials even,” he declared.</p> + +<p>Stewart felt a flood of sudden excitement run +through his veins. He watched Llewellyn’s face +keenly and could not avoid seeing the sudden glint +flash through the striking eyes. But once again the +flame was but momentary and died down as quickly +as it had been born.</p> + +<p>When the secretary answered he was coolness +personified. “They might. It’s very probable. They +might even be mine. I am called Morgan +Llewellyn.”</p> + +<p>He paused and watched the effect of his declaration +upon his questioner. Then continued, even +cooler than he had appeared before, “But I can +suggest no good reason to make me think that they +are.”</p> + +<p>Both Clegg and Charles Stewart watched him +very closely. And to each of them there came the +feeling—in the first case, slowly and of deliberation, +and in the second case, quickly and instinctively—that +his coolness was assumed and his seemingly +frank indifference something of a calculated pose.</p> + +<p>Clegg harked back. “Going back a little way, +Mr. Llewellyn, you stated that you last saw Mr. +Stewart at dinner. What happened after dinner?”</p> + +<p>Again Llewellyn’s answer came quickly. “After +dinner, Mr. Stewart intimated to me that he was +going into the library with Colonel Leach-Fletcher—and +that he wouldn’t require anything further from +me. I think that he had something to discuss with +the Colonel, who is a keen collector like Mr. +Stewart—was. I was free to do as I pleased.”</p> + +<p>“What did you do?”</p> + +<p>“I spent the rest of the evening with Miss +Lennox in the music-room.”</p> + +<p>“What time would that be?”</p> + +<p>“From about half-past eight till ten o’clock, I +should say!”</p> + +<p>Clegg made a note of the times. “One more +question, Mr. Llewellyn! Did you go straight to +bed after that?”</p> + +<p>“I did. I was in bed, I should think, by half-past +ten.”</p> + +<p>“Now think very carefully, Mr. Llewellyn. Did +you at any time during the evening or during the +night hear anything like a revolver shot?”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn started up in his chair, stung by +surprise. “Certainly not!”</p> + +<p>Clegg glanced at Stewart. “Confirms your statement, +Mr. Stewart. I can’t think myself that the +shot was fired in here. The fact of the revolver +being in your father’s pocket—not in his hand—the +fact that there is a complete absence of any signs of +a struggle—both those facts seem to me to point to +the shot having been fired elsewhere—at some other +time.”</p> + +<p>Stewart appeared to agree. “I heard nothing. I +told you I didn’t.”</p> + +<p>The Sergeant thought for a moment. “How far +away are your bedrooms?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Mine is on the floor above this,” answered +Charles Stewart. “Llewellyn’s is above that.”</p> + +<p>“Where is your father’s?”</p> + +<p>“Next to mine! The only other bedroom on that +floor is used by Miss Lennox.”</p> + +<p>“And the servants?”</p> + +<p>“On the same floor as Llewellyn’s. On the other +wing.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Stewart. I don’t think I shall +need Mr. Llewellyn any more for the present. +Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn.”</p> + +<p>The secretary bowed and thanked the Sergeant, +not without a touch of irony.</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart turned to him as he walked to the +door.</p> + +<p>“You might get that cable off to New York, that +I mentioned to you previously, and also ’phone to +that firm in Cornhill who were acting for my father +to-morrow, will you? Explain the circumstances and +tell them to consider their instructions cancelled. I +can’t see any reason why I should go ahead with +those purchases now. Stay, though, a minute—get +them for me and I’ll speak to them—I’ll tell them +all about the whole affair. Probably that will avoid +any misunderstanding.”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn took his instructions quietly and went +out. Charles Stewart gestured to the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>“My father intended to purchase two or three +more very special antiques—he was always anxious +to add to his collection. Now that this dreadful +thing has happened—I don’t care to go on with it.”</p> + +<p>“I understand exactly how you feel, sir. It does +you credit.”</p> + +<p>“Whom will you see next, Sergeant? Or have +you finished for the time being?”</p> + +<p>Clegg looked at his note-book—then wetted the +point of his pencil, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“I should like a few words with the lady that’s +been mentioned, Mr. Stewart. This ward of your +father’s—Miss Lennox.”</p> + +<p>Stewart turned quickly. “I don’t think she’ll be +able to——”</p> + +<p>The door moved and Llewellyn entered. Charles +Stewart frowned.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got through to Cornhill, Mr. Stewart. If +you would come along—they’re holding the line. +Mr. Linnell is out—Mr. Daventry, the junior +partner, is speaking.”</p> + +<p>“Right.” He turned again towards Clegg. +“Pardon me for a minute or two, Sergeant. I’ll +just transact this little piece of business and on my +way back I’ll tell Miss Lennox you would like to +speak to her. You will see her in another room, of +course.” He looked across at the desk significantly. +Clegg showed his agreement. The glorious June +sunshine flooded through the French doors and +bathed the room with its shimmering shafts. It +seemed completely incongruous in that room where +so recently tragedy had dwelt. Shadows would have +become it more fittingly than sunshine. The presence +of the dead man stirred an emotional chord in +Clegg’s being and he shivered. He walked away +from the desk beside which he had been standing +towards the French doors and looked out into the +garden. For a moment or two he stood there thinking—his +shivery feeling vanishing under the warming +and comforting influence of the summer sun. He +glanced down at the curtains that hung, one at the +side of each door—then started. Bending down +quickly, he picked out something that had been lying +hidden there—something that nestled a pure white +against the creamy-white of the curtains. It was a +lady’s handkerchief—fragrant, fragile and delicate. +Holding it somewhat gingerly, he opened it! In +the corner were embroidered initials—“M. L.”</p> + +<p>“By Gum!” said Sergeant Clegg.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI. <br> Marjorie Lennox Doesn’t Mince Matters</h2> + +<p>The Sergeant felt hope surging in his breast. Up +to this moment his investigations had yielded little, +but this sudden discovery, he felt, had at last set him +moving. This “M. L.,” whoever it might be, had +undoubtedly an important bearing on the case. +Twice this morning previously these initials had +confronted him. He subjected the handkerchief to a +most careful scrutiny. It was a lace square of about +six inches and exhaled a dainty fragrance that in +other circumstances even the Sergeant might have +found distinctly alluring. For he was something of +a Romantic! And in consequence had an inclination +towards a leniency to what he himself always described +as “the fair sex.” He heard Stewart’s voice +outside and hastily pocketed the delicate trifle that +the curtains had concealed. When Stewart entered +he found the Sergeant engaged in a careful +examination of the bookcase.</p> + +<p>“I have arranged that you see Miss Lennox in the +music-room. Will that suit you, Sergeant?”</p> + +<p>Clegg thanked him, but stayed where he was. +“That will do very nicely, Mr. Stewart,” he replied. +“But would you mind telling the constable on duty +at the front entrance to report to me for just a +moment—or sending somebody with a message to +that effect? Thank you.”</p> + +<p>“I want you for a little while, Potter,” he said to +the man when he came in. “You’re to keep at this +door here and to see that nobody enters! You +understand—<em>nobody</em>! If you have any trouble over +it—send for me. I shall only be the other side of +the hall.”</p> + +<p>P. C. Potter saluted smartly. “Right—Sergeant. +Is the body in here?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve said it! Now you understand.” The +constable assumed a bearing of importance. Clegg +walked across the hall and entered the music-room. +He felt somehow that the approaching interview +might prove disturbing. All the same he was +anxious to meet the lady in question, for he felt sure +that the handkerchief was hers. The possession of +this gave him an advantage, he considered. He +started with something in his favor—otherwise he +might have viewed the position with less complacency. +For he had yet to make the acquaintance of +the lady in question.</p> + +<p>“This is Sergeant Clegg, Marjorie,” announced +Charles Stewart as he entered. “He wants to ask +you one or two things about my father to see if you +can help him in any way to discover the truth of +what happened last night—he won’t worry you for +long I am sure.”</p> + +<p>Marjorie Lennox rose quietly from the low chair +upon which she had been seated.</p> + +<p>“I am ready to tell the Sergeant anything.”</p> + +<p>And at that moment the truth came home to +Sergeant Clegg—unerringly—that unless he “watched +his step” very carefully he would be as wax in the +hands of the highly-capable Miss Lennox. He found +himself fervently wishing that he belonged to the +ranks of the “strong, silent men”—certainly not to +the Romantics. For Marjorie Lennox had a delicate +beauty and a dainty charm that were instantly +arresting. She was “petite,” it is true, but she had +that semi-disdainful, semi-challenging roguishness +that many men find so hard to resist. It was easy to +find fault with her features, for her nose was +appreciably “retroussé”—but this very tip-tiltedness +only served, if anything, to enhance her +attractiveness. She had glorious blue eyes—twin pools of +pure cornflower, and a complexion that made one +immediately think of roses and cream. Added to +this she possessed a demure gracefulness that almost +perfected her, giving her a Dresden china sort of +setting—from the depths of which she was destined +to play havoc with the hearts of men. And of +course she fulfilled that destiny to the limit of her +dainty power! Sergeant Clegg threw an inexorable +rein over his romanticism and did his duty. A little +throat clearing once again prefaced his first remark.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Miss——” he hesitated +momentarily.</p> + +<p>“Lennox,” she broke in quickly. “Marjorie +Lennox. I am—or rather, I was—Mr. Stewart’s +ward.” She sank back in her chair again.</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss. I understand that much. How long +have you lived with Mr. Stewart?”</p> + +<p>“Ever since I was a little girl of three. My +father was a very old friend of Uncle Laurence’s—I +always called Mr. Stewart ‘uncle’ ”—she explained +with engaging candor—“and when my father died +I came to Uncle Laurence to live. My mother died +when I was born,” she added simply.</p> + +<p>“Was your father in good circumstances when he +died—can you remember?”</p> + +<p>Marjorie Lennox flushed. “I believe not. Certainly +his circumstances were quite different from +those of Uncle Laurence. What has that to +do——?”</p> + +<p>Clegg wagged his head half apologetically. “I +see! I see! Now, coming to the events of last +night—I’ve no wish to distress you, Miss Lennox, +but there’s just this. You dined, I believe, with Mr. +Stewart, Colonel Leach-Fletcher and Mr. Morgan. +Is that so?” He ticked the three names off on his +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Yes. There were just the four of us. Charles +did not return for dinner.”</p> + +<p>“And after dinner?”</p> + +<p>Marjorie flashed him a searching—penetrating +glance. “Do you mean what did I do after dinner +or——”</p> + +<p>“If you please, miss.” The Sergeant became +acutely aware of his constitutional chivalry, but +sternly suppressed it.</p> + +<p>“I came in here. It is my usual practice after +dinner. Uncle Laurence used to like me to play to +him—he was passionately fond of music. But last +night he went into the library.”</p> + +<p>“Did you stay in here for the rest of the +evening?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—no—no, I’m wrong! It was about nine +o’clock when I left here.”</p> + +<p>She amended her statement with the utmost composure +and Clegg couldn’t be sure if she had made a +genuine mistake or was desirous of concealing +something. But he remembered Llewellyn’s story and the +two didn’t tally! Llewellyn had made no mention +of Miss Lennox having left the music-room at nine +o’clock! He had stated that he spent the <em>remainder</em> +of the evening with her. Now—according to Marjorie +Lennox—he had been alone for an hour. That +is to say there was at least one hour of his time for +which he had not accounted. Now Clegg was slow-moving +and inspiration visited him but seldom, but +he took <em>care</em>, and he quickly came to the conclusion +that hereabouts in his inquiry extreme care would be +necessary if he were to achieve any success. He +decided to hasten slowly.</p> + +<p>“Where did you go then, Miss Lennox?” he +followed up.</p> + +<p>“To my room. My uncle was still engaged with +Colonel Leach-Fletcher in the library, and I didn’t +wish to disturb them.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see Mr. Stewart again before you +retired for the night?”</p> + +<p>“No—I was tired. It had been a rather hot day, +down here, as you probably know yourself. And I +seem to mind the heat. I thought I would go to +bed early.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite certain you didn’t go into the +library?”</p> + +<p>“Positive.” Miss Lennox flicked an imaginary +speck of dust from her sleeve.</p> + +<p>“When did you last go in there?”</p> + +<p>“To the library? I didn’t go in at any time +yesterday. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>She was lying! Clegg knew it! But he wasn’t +certain why he knew it. His knowledge didn’t emanate +altogether from the fact of the lace handkerchief +lying in his pocket. It came rather from the +lady herself. Nonchalant, despite her grief, utterly +self-controlled, she nevertheless failed to impress +him with the quality of simple sincerity. He was +fairly certain that she was acting a part. His +present and immediate task was to discover “why”! +He had half intended to tax her here and now with +the handkerchief, but in the later light of what she +had just told him—he decided to keep quiet—for a +time at least.</p> + +<p>“I fancied I was told by Mr. Stewart here that +he saw you in there.”</p> + +<p>“No, Sergeant. Your memory has failed you! I +said nothing of the kind.” Charles Stewart +appeared anxious to clear up this misunderstanding. +It seemed to him that Marjorie needed protection.</p> + +<p>“Sorry, sir.” Sergeant Clegg made his apology.</p> + +<p>But it didn’t deceive Miss Lennox. Just as Clegg +had realized her insincerity, so she in her turn knew +that this rather lame explanation of his question to +her had not been the truth. She immediately put +herself on the defensive. Inclined as she had been +in the first place to under-rate this policeman, she +effected a mental readjustment.</p> + +<p>She awaited his next question—outwardly unchanged, +but inwardly more vigilant. When it came +it surprised her.</p> + +<p>“Did you hear anything unusual in the night, +Miss Lennox?” Somewhat relieved, she breathed +more freely, but her defensive tension remained +unrelaxed.</p> + +<p>“Nothing! I slept like a top.” The blue eyes +regarded him ingenuously.</p> + +<p>“Thank you. One last question, Miss Lennox. +You have lived a long time with Mr. Laurence +Stewart, almost as long I suppose as Mr. Charles +Stewart here—and ladies, if you’ll excuse me saying +such a thing, are very often more in a man’s +confidence than gentlemen! For instance, you were as a +daughter to the poor gentleman”—he broke off +suddenly—and Marjorie Lennox began to sob quietly—her +handkerchief pressed to her eyes. There was +genuine sorrow here—Sergeant Clegg had sufficient +sense to recognize it when it came his way—and it +was reflected in young Stewart as well. His white +face grew whiter—the ordeal of this dreadful day +was oppressing him more and more—and Marjorie’s +convulsive sobbing tore his heart-strings. He knew +he must have help. He would get it as soon as he +could. This was too much. Sergeant Clegg felt his +courage sink into his boots. This sobbing was more +than a Romantic could stand—the more so because +he himself had provoked it. He must do something +to stop it. He placed his hand on her shoulder—an +act that he was always to remember.</p> + +<p>“Come, come. What I mean is this. If Mr. +Stewart regarded you in the light of a daughter—did +he ever <em>confide</em> in you? Any secret? Any +trouble? Had he any enemies that might have +wanted to do him harm?”</p> + +<p>She looked up. “He had no secrets at all. He +wasn’t the kind. But since you’ve asked me—I’ll +tell you—something.”</p> + +<p>She sprang to her feet. Her eyes shone like stars +and her hands were clenched together. Her whole +manner altered.</p> + +<p>“There <em>is</em> a man who wanted to do him harm. A +man none of you would ever suspect. He’s in the +house now—why should I shield him?”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart threw out his hand and attempted +to restrain her. But she flung the proffered hand +away imperiously, while Stewart looked at her +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“Sergeant Clegg asked me,” she asserted vehemently. +“Sergeant Clegg shall know. The man is +Morgan Llewellyn!!!”</p> + +<p>Clegg received the announcement stolidly—he was +progressing! Charles Stewart gave a gasp of +astonishment and turned to her with an air of +remonstrance.</p> + +<p>“You’re mad, Marjorie! You’ve no right to +bring an accusation of that kind. Why should +Llewellyn have harmed my father?”</p> + +<p>Clegg waited eagerly for the answer. He even +got his note-book ready.</p> + +<p>Marjorie Lennox faced her so-called cousin +defiantly—her blue eyes challenging his grey ones. For +a moment there was a silent battle for the mastery. +Then before either of the men could stop her, she +swept majestically from the room!</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII. <br> Butterworth Is Apprehensive of the Future</h2> + +<p>For the second time on that eventful morning Sergeant +Clegg felt at loggerheads with circumstances. +For the second time he felt that the Law had +received a set-back—that he, its accredited +representative, had been flouted!</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart looked at him somewhat +anxiously. How was he going to take this feminine +outburst? Stewart attempted to smooth things +over. “A trifle hysterical, I fancy, Sergeant, and +it’s scarcely to be wondered at. She’s had a trying +time—I know what it’s been like to me—it must be +a thousand times worse for her.”</p> + +<p>Clegg nodded. “H’m. Now that’s most extraordinary. +There’s an ‘M. L.’ on the paper under +your father’s hand—then there turns up a ‘Morgan +Llewellyn’—then I find a ‘Marjorie Lennox’ and +a——” he pulled himself up. He would keep the +handkerchief incident absolutely to himself. “And +to crown all—one of the ‘M. L.’s’ finishes up by +accusing the other ‘M. L.’ ” He sighed and then +gave expression to the point that had been his +constant worry since his arrival. “What was the +weapon the murderer used?”</p> + +<p>Stewart broke in upon him. “With all deference, +Sergeant, I shouldn’t place any reliance at all on +what Miss Lennox said. She’s distraught.”</p> + +<p>“She’s not, Mr. Stewart. She’s not the kind. +She meant <em>something</em>—I’ll take my Bible oath on +that.”</p> + +<p>Stewart shook his head as though unconvinced. +“Women are whimsical, Sergeant.”</p> + +<p>“I know. None better. I’ve been married seventeen +years and I’m still learning things—but there +you are! I’d like to see this butler of yours +now—what’s his name, Butterworth?”</p> + +<p>“Right! In here?”</p> + +<p>“No—in the library. I’ll get along in there +again. Bring Butterworth, will you, Mr. Stewart?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Potter,” said the Sergeant as he regained +the library door, “everything O. K.?”</p> + +<p>Potter touched his helmet—satisfaction oozing +from his finger-tips. “Yes, Sergeant—nobody’s +crossed the threshold since you left, Sergeant. A +young lady came across the corridor just now and +wanted me to let her pull down the blinds or +something—she said the sun ruined the carpet at this time +of the day—but I explained as genteelly as I could +about orders being orders.” He beamed at this +account of his devotion to duty. Clegg scratched his +chin. The plot was getting thicker!</p> + +<p>“What sort of a young lady, Potter?”</p> + +<p>“On the small side, Sergeant. A regular dainty +piece she was and no mistake!”</p> + +<p>“How long ago was this?”</p> + +<p>“Only a few minutes, Sergeant. You only just +missed her.”</p> + +<p>“Now what does she want in here,” thought Clegg +as he entered. Her handkerchief? Something else? +Or both? His musings were cut abruptly short by +the entrance of Stewart with the butler. +Butterworth was a man with a presence. Tall and well +set-up, he carried his sixty odd years with impressive +dignity. When he had left the service of Sir Julian +Kennedy for that of the man whom they were now +mourning, it had not been without a certain amount +of misgiving. After all, as he was fond of relating +to a carefully chosen circle, the British aristocracy +was a thing apart. Sir Julian had been a diplomat +of the old school, and in the words of Butterworth, +“we were ‘looked up to’ by the ‘élite’ of +Washington.” He had accepted Stewart’s offer of +employment with a certain suggestion of condescension—and +after he had turned down two less remunerative +offers, it was a tribute to his strength of +character that this apparent condescension still +remained obvious in the manner of his acceptance. +Certainly it was sufficiently manifest to impress +Laurence Stewart. But the Butterworth of this +morning was not the Butterworth that had lamented +Sir Julian Kennedy. Fifteen years had made a +considerable difference in him, and a man who has +turned sixty, fears the “menace of the years” more +than the man turned forty. He had hoped to finish +his days with this rich American. Last night’s +tragedy had definitely closured that idea. Butterworth +loved England—the English countryside; he loved +“breathing English air” and “suns of home,” and +it was extremely improbable that Charles Stewart +would continue the establishment on his father’s +lines. The boy had spent most of his life in America +and in all probability he would return there. +Therefore Butterworth was not free from anxiety this +morning. He was face to face with upheaval—and +he disliked change exceedingly.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Sergeant,” he said, on his +entrance. “I understand you wish to speak to me.”</p> + +<p>Clegg was visibly impressed. He realized that he +was in close touch with a “personage.” +Butterworth had intended that he should.</p> + +<p>“Yes—Mr.—Butterworth. It would help me +considerably in my investigations”—Clegg was at +pains to do at least some share of the “impressing” +business—“if you could tell me for certain when +you last saw Mr. Stewart alive.”</p> + +<p>“I can do that without any difficulty. I showed +Colonel Leach-Fletcher out a few minutes after ten. +My master told me that it was not his intention to +sit up late—would I lock up at half-past ten. At +ten-thirty precisely I came in here, as was my usual +practice, Sergeant Clegg, to lock up for the night. +My master had retired, as he had previously said +that he should. I bolted the French doors—replaced +the tantalus—and locked the library door. I +then attended to the other living rooms down here, +and shortly afterwards retired to rest myself. It +was Mr. Stewart’s special orders that I should +always personally perform the locking up duty every +night. He was extremely particular with regard to +it.”</p> + +<p>Clegg nodded gravely to express his complete +understanding.</p> + +<p>“How long did it take you?” he asked, knitting +his brows.</p> + +<p>“I was in bed by ten-forty and asleep almost +immediately. I am a sound sleeper, Sergeant.”</p> + +<p>“And nothing awakened you?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing whatever! The first intimation that I +had that anything unusual had occurred was early +this morning. Barton—one of the maids—was unable +to gain admission to the library. She referred +the matter to me—I came and tried the door—it was +locked and the key gone. I went to Mr. Charles at +once. We got Mr. Llewellyn and came down here +together. We eventually burst the door open.”</p> + +<p>“One moment, Butterworth! Are you perfectly +certain that the key was in the lock on the <em>inside</em> and +that the French doors were bolted when you +entered?”</p> + +<p>Butterworth paused for a brief moment to assimilate +thoroughly the full significance of the question. +Then he nodded in agreement.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am. Mr. Charles called our attention to +the key, and I can swear to the bolts on the French +doors having been shot tight. I saw them—you can +rely on both those facts.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart interposed. “I can vouch for +that too, Clegg! Also Llewellyn. Rest easy on that +point.” Clegg stroked his chin between thumb and +forefinger, seemingly disinclined to accept this piece +of soothing advice. There was no denying, however, +the vital importance of what the butler had +stated.</p> + +<p>“Anything else, Butterworth?”</p> + +<p>“We found my master dead, Mr. Clegg. Exactly +as I can see him sitting now.” His voice broke. +“It was a great blow to me. For all of us, no +doubt; but one describes one’s own feelings best. +No servant ever worked for a better master. I +loved Mr. Stewart and I’m pleased and proud to +think that he had a little affection for me. I don’t +quite know what will happen to me now—I’m not a +young man——”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart put a hand on his shoulder. +“There is no need to worry, Butterworth. I should +be sorry to fail <em>one</em> of my father’s servants.”</p> + +<p>Butterworth’s eyes clouded with sorrow. “Thank +you, Mr. Charles—thank you.”</p> + +<p>He rose from the chair he had been occupying. +Then turned with unmistakable dignity to Clegg. +“Is there anything further you want of me?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t any idea, Butterworth, I suppose, +of anybody likely to have done this?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Sergeant?”</p> + +<p>“I mean this.” Clegg breathed heavily in his +desire to do justice to the dignity and importance of +the Law. “Did Mr. Stewart have any enemies?”</p> + +<p>“If he had, I didn’t know them. He never +confided such an idea to me.”</p> + +<p>“How was Mr. Stewart when you last saw him? +Bright and cheery like?”</p> + +<p>“Just as usual. Nothing different from the +ordinary.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t appear to have anything on his mind?” +asked Clegg.</p> + +<p>“Not to worry him. I think he was a bit eager +about the sale that was taking place.”</p> + +<p>“Sale?” Clegg seemed momentarily at a loss.</p> + +<p>“I told you, Sergeant,” Charles interposed. “My +father intended to purchase some——”</p> + +<p>“Quite right, sir,” apologized the Sergeant. “It +was the use of the word ‘sale’ that sent me astray +for the moment. He seemed ‘eager’—you say?”</p> + +<p>“That is the word. It describes my master’s +feelings exactly—that is, if I am any judge. +Anything fresh towards a gratification of his hobby +always made him like a schoolboy on a +half-holiday.”</p> + +<p>The Sergeant understood perfectly. But Charles +Stewart, as though in doubt about this, stepped +forward with an offer of assistance. “You can have +access to all the correspondence relative to the +intended purchases, Sergeant—with the greatest +pleasure. Mr. Llewellyn will let you see it—I will +instruct him to do so.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Charles! I should certainly +like to glance over it.”</p> + +<p>“You shall. Do you want Butterworth any +more?”</p> + +<p>Clegg considered the matter. It was evidently a +weighty one, for it occasioned much frowning and +facial contortion. At last a reply was forthcoming.</p> + +<p>“The servants, Butterworth; the other servants +here—anything suspicious about any of them?” he +said slowly.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, Sergeant Clegg! There’s my wife, +who acts as housekeeper—I can speak for her—I’ve +been married thirty-seven years and I’m perfectly +satisfied. There are four maids, Barton, Regan, +Evans and Winter—the cook, Mrs. Briggs—and +Maidment the gardener. Then there’s O’Connor—he +assists the gardener—does odd jobs. We call +him the boot-boy. Of course the last two—O’Connor +and Maidment—don’t sleep here—they live in +the village.”</p> + +<p>Clegg noted the personnel and the additional +information thereto with becoming solemnity. Then +he deliberately closed his note-book. The gesture +seemed to convey to his two companions that the +preliminary investigation was finished. A nod from +the Sergeant confirmed this conviction and +Butterworth withdrew—gravely and silently—the perfect +butler to the last.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to get another ’phone message +through to London, Sergeant,” exclaimed Charles +Stewart. Clegg detected a note of anxiety in his +tone. He scanned the young man’s face interrogatively. +Stewart flushed, but quickly came to the +point. “Look here, Sergeant Clegg—frankly I +think we’re up against it. There seems to me to be +some dark mystery here that will need the best brains +of your profession to solve. I’m not slighting +you—in any way, when I say that, either.”</p> + +<p>Clegg sucked his pencil. “I wouldn’t say that you +weren’t right. Still—we’ll be doing our best.”</p> + +<p>He walked to the door—then turned. “I’ll make +arrangements about your father”—he nodded +towards the body—“and then get down to make my +report. Good morning, sir! I’m very sorry, sir.”</p> + +<p>He stepped into the corridor—then started. +Butterworth was waiting there and caught him by the +arm. He seemed to be laboring under some tremendous +excitement. “Something I didn’t tell you, +Sergeant, I <em>last saw</em> Mr. Stewart at <em>ten o’clock</em>, but I +<em>heard</em> his <em>voice</em> about <em>ten minutes after that—in that +room</em>!” He stabbed with his finger at the library. +“And I heard another voice, too! I heard the voice +of Miss Lennox, I’m <em>certain</em>!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII. <br> The 6:55 Carries a Trio of Distinction</h2> + +<p>Peter Daventry glanced at the clock on Paddington +platform. He saw with undisguised relief +that he was a good quarter of an hour to the good. +“Curse this beastly wrist-watch,” he muttered to +himself—“it gets worse every day—fairly put the +wind up me that time.” He walked to the platform +indicator—digested the information thereon +applicable to the 6:55—“Didcot, Wantage Rd., +Assynton”—and drifted over to the appropriate +platform. Arrived there, he scanned the horizon +for Anthony Bathurst. The platform was pretty +crowded and he could not see the man he wanted. +It was unlike Bathurst to arrive at 6:45 for 6:55. +He argued that it was a sheer waste of very valuable +minutes. Daventry commenced his second tour up +the platform when a voice at his shoulder jolted his +equilibrium and suddenly brought him to a standstill.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Mr. Daventry.” Detective-Inspector +Goodall smiled genially and extended what +looked like an amicable hand. “Going to try the +Berkshire air?”</p> + +<p>Peter gasped feebly but retained sufficient presence +of mind to grasp the extended hand—mechanically +it must be admitted. Goodall clasped it warmly, but +Peter could almost feel the handcuffs on his wrists. +“Y—es. I’m going down to Assynton.” Then his +indignation mastered his surprise and his resentment. +“But why the devil are you trailing <em>me</em>, Inspector—for +it’s pretty evident you <em>are</em> trailing me,” he +concluded with asperity.</p> + +<p>“Not on your life, Mr. Daventry,” replied Goodall—the +picture of unruffled imperturbability. “You +mustn’t get jumpy like that—or I shall begin to +suspect you after all.” He smiled again.</p> + +<p>“Well then, it’s a wonderful coincidence to meet +you here,” remarked Peter ruefully.</p> + +<p>“Not so wonderful—if you think for a moment.” +Peter’s face cleared magically.</p> + +<p>“Ass that I am,” he declared. “You’re bound +for the same destination, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Now we’re talking,” said Goodall. “The local +people down at Assynton have asked ‘the Yard’ to +take a look at things down there—just at the very +moment, too, when we at ‘the Yard’ were trying to +piece the two murders together, somehow! I’m +going down. But what about you, Mr. Daventry?”</p> + +<p>“I’m representing my firm—Mr. Stewart’s son +has asked me to run down.”</p> + +<p>“How about a nice compartment, then, with a +couple of corner seats? This train isn’t a ‘corridor,’ +worse luck.”</p> + +<p>“Well—as a matter of fact”—temporized +Peter—“I’m waiting for somebody!”</p> + +<p>Goodall instantly became all interest. “Really? +I had no idea—you wish to be alone?”</p> + +<p>Peter denied the idea strenuously—feeling all the +time that he was heading straight for the Valley of +Suspicion again. “Not at all. Only too pleased to +travel with you, Inspector. I’m sure my friend will +be——”</p> + +<p>“Delighted,” said Anthony Bathurst. “Introduce +me, Daventry, will you?”</p> + +<p>Peter accepted the invitation gladly. He was +downright pleased that Bathurst had turned up +when he did. This fellow Goodall seemed to know a +jolly sight more about a chap than was thoroughly +comfortable. He was curious to see how Anthony +Bathurst would be affected by Detective-Inspector +Goodall. He made the introduction.</p> + +<p>“I am honored,” remarked Bathurst. “Scotland +Yard must consider the Assynton Lodge murder as +extremely ‘difficult’ for it to engage the attention of +Inspector Goodall.”</p> + +<p>He bowed to the Inspector, who, however, seemed +impervious to the compliment.</p> + +<p>“You flatter me, Mr. Bathurst,” was his +rejoinder. He turned to Daventry. “We’d better +get in—if we don’t want to be left behind.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary,” smiled Bathurst—entering +the compartment last of the three—“I paid you a +compliment. Flattery is merely a counterfeit +business. A flatterer usually seeks to gain favor—a +compliment is a tribute made to ability by reason of +recognition.”</p> + +<p>Goodall melted a trifle. “Thank you,” he yielded. +The train glided out of the station and they settled +down more comfortably. The flamboyant beauty of +the June day was dying hard in a glorious evening. +As they approached the first fringes of the countryside +and caught the wonderful streaks of the westering +sun flung over copse, wood and water—flooding +the tranquillity of green and white with red-gold +radiance—the tragic nature of their journey seemed +to grow more remote in the minds of the three of +them. Anthony waved his hand at the country +decorated so beautifully.</p> + +<p>“Look at it, gentlemen,” he exclaimed. “We +shall be too busy during the next two or three days +to think of beauty—murder’s a soul-destroying +business—let us enjoy it while we may!”</p> + +<p>Goodall looked across the carriage with raised +eyebrows. “We?”—he questioned.</p> + +<p>Peter dashed in courageously. “Mr. Bathurst is +also coming down at young Stewart’s request,” he +volunteered. “He’s in a bit of a fix, I think, new +to England and all that, you know—he feels he +wants a sort of steadying hand.” He beamed at +Goodall—guilelessly.</p> + +<p>But it was unnecessary. “The usual term, I +believe, Mr. Daventry, is to watch a person’s +interests.” Goodall appeared to be on the frigid side.</p> + +<p>“I would have preferred to have had a look at +the case from the Galleries murder end, Inspector, +but Fate has decreed otherwise—however, it may be +all for the best.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s face again registered surprise. “You +seem remarkably well informed, Mr. Bathurst——”</p> + +<p>Anthony raised an explanatory hand. “Mr. +Daventry has posted me pretty soundly, thank you. +He interviewed me this afternoon. I understand the +main facts of the case are these.” He gave a brief +but explicit resumé of the affair as it had been +presented to him. “That’s about all, I fancy, +Inspector?” He looked at Goodall for corroboration.</p> + +<p>Now Goodall could have supplemented Bathurst’s +information with one or two additional facts, which +was precisely what Mr. Bathurst intended should +happen. But the Inspector was not yet quite certain +of his bearings and Mr. Bathurst’s exposition of the +facts had been sufficiently masterly to prompt him to +refrain. He gave Bathurst a confirmatory nod and +said nothing.</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” proceeded Anthony—“we are fortunate +in one respect—that is to say from the standpoint +of investigation. With regard to the first +murder we do know the motive.”</p> + +<p>“The first murder?” queried Goodall. “Which +of the two was that—I should be pleased to know?”</p> + +<p>Anthony smiled. “I was not referring to the +order in which the two men were murdered—although +I appreciate your point. At the moment I +don’t know when Stewart was killed. All I know is +that he was found dead this morning. By the term +‘the first murder’ I meant the murder of Mason, +the night-watchman. It was the first of which I +heard. It was the first of which you heard. It +happened in London, where we live. Cigarette, +Inspector? You, Daventry?” They accepted his +invitation—Goodall a little nettled. He had provoked +an encounter and chosen his weapons, but had not +been brilliantly successful. But he had the sense to +accept what Anthony had said.</p> + +<p>“Quite right, Mr. Bathurst. I just wanted to +make sure. I rather believe in making sure, you +know—I tested <em>your</em> alibi, by the way, Mr. +Daventry, this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Peter grinned. “Well—and how was it? I’ll +guarantee you couldn’t shake it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not going to arrest you—sit still!” He +leaned over to Bathurst with his elbows on his knees.</p> + +<p>“You reckon then we know the motive for the +Hanover Galleries job?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s pretty plain, I should say. Possession +of the Stuart antiques—robbery! Which makes it a +clean-cut case! This end we aren’t so well off.” He +looked at Goodall with that humorous twist to his +mouth that his friends knew so well. When they +saw it they knew that things were running pretty +smoothly. “To know the motive of any crime gives +you a flying start, Inspector.” He tossed his cigarette +end through the window.</p> + +<p>Goodall scratched his chin, reflectively. “That’s +all very well, as far as it goes. Robbery—you say, +for possession of the Stuart antiques. Worth what? +I’m not an expert—but for the sake of argument +we’ll put it at a matter of hundreds. And we sha’n’t +be so very far out, at that! Now, Mr. Bathurst, +what was there so peculiarly attractive about these +antiques—or about one of them—to spell Mason’s +murder?” He leaned forward still further in his +seat and his voice cut across the compartment quietly +insistent and definitely certain. “To kill Laurence +Stewart? To send you—and you—and me, to +Assynton, on a summer evening—<em>wondering</em>! Eh, Mr. +Bathurst—tell me that!” His eyes blazed with a +mingled excitement and determination, as he watched +his <i>vis-à-vis</i>. Bathurst rubbed his hands, +appreciatively!</p> + +<p>“Excellent, Inspector, excellent. That’s a +question that I should very much like to be able to +answer.”</p> + +<p>“Which of the antiques, Mr. Bathurst? Which +one? And not a clue that you can call a clue as to +where they’ve gone—except a sneezing woman,” he +remarked semi-humorously.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” said Anthony, “I’m interested.” He +listened carefully while Goodall—despite his opposite +intention when the journey started—related the +trenchant evidence of Edward +Druce—night-watchman.</p> + +<p>“So they were at the Hanover Galleries at midnight, +were they? That’s important! That gives us +a definite time-anchor.” He spoke to Goodall with +decision. “I think with you, Inspector Goodall, +that the two cases are connected without a doubt. +But it’s a mistake to theorize without data—let’s +wait till we pick up the threads a bit this end. As +you say—which one of the three antiques were they +after? It’s as bad as ‘finding the lady’—with +Mary, Queen of Scots, as the lady.”</p> + +<p>He grinned at Daventry, who had been following +the interchange of ideas with the keenest possible +attention. Suddenly Peter slapped his thigh with +excitement.</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” he cried, “Mary, Queen of Scots—that +reminds me—what an idiot I’ve been not to tell +you before.”</p> + +<p>Then he paused with a hint of apology. “So +much has happened since, that it has been driven +completely out of my mind.”</p> + +<p>“You become more interesting hourly, Daventry,” +remarked Anthony. “Out with it, whatever +it is—before you forget it again.” Peter waved the +sarcasm aside.</p> + +<p>“It’s a pretty trivial matter,” he commenced, +“but I know you ‘sleuth’ people always like to hear +full particulars about everything—the usual phraseology +is ‘no matter how unimportant it may seem’ ”—he +grinned—then went on again. “You observe, +of course, that I have read several detective +stories!” Goodall wrinkled his nose somewhat +contemptuously. But Peter was perfectly hardened +against that kind of discouragement. “When Linnell +and I first heard from Stewart about the purchase +of these antiques it was arranged between the +two of us that I should pop along to Day, Forshaw +and Palmers’ to have a squint at the stuff. Well, I +did so—on my way I blew in to the ‘Violette’ for a +mouthful of grub. While I was there I ran into a +pal of mine—Marriott, by name—we got gassing +to each other about the usual thousand and one +things. Well—I’m afraid I’m telling this pretty +badly”—Goodall’s face was a study—“but sitting at +the next table were a man and a woman. I noticed +them particularly for two reasons. Firstly the +‘Violette’ was comparatively deserted—it was early, you +see—and secondly they seemed to be having a +‘powwow’ of some importance to them. They were just +an ordinary looking couple—scarcely anything +distinctive about them—no help for you there, +Inspector. Well, I made an inane sort of remark to old +Marriott and he replied—as idiots will—‘Queen +Anne’s dead.’ Then I did a mad sort of thing—I’d +been thinking of Mary, Queen of Scots, all the +morning—at any rate since getting Stewart’s jolly old +letter—and some inexplicable imp of mischief made +me say, ‘So’s Mary, Queen of Scots.’ ” He stopped +again to see the effect he was producing upon his +companions. Each was listening in his own way. +Goodall’s slightly cavalier attitude had relaxed +somewhat, and Anthony was giving him that nonchalant +attention that he employed to mask unusual mental +activity. Peter let his words sink in. “Directly I +said it, the chap at the next table seemed—mind you, +I only say ‘seemed’—to give a sudden sort of start. +He swept round in his chair and sent the cruet and +all its contents flying on to the floor—three bags +full.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course I +can’t swear that it was what I said that had poked +the gust up him, but it did seem like it to me, +gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“What happened then?” cut in Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Nothing much,” answered Peter—“the waiters +rushed to repair the damage—that was all.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” commented the Inspector. “I know +Lironi, the proprietor of the ‘Violette,’ pretty well. +If I think it important enough I could see him—he +might know something about them—they might be +fairly regular customers of his. It depends on what +I strike down here in Berkshire.” He looked across +at Bathurst, who was sitting with his head sunk on +one shoulder. Suddenly the latter sat up.</p> + +<p>“What did the woman do, Daventry—anything +noticeable?”</p> + +<p>“Well, there again—it’s hard to say, definitely. +But in my opinion she was pretty savage about the +incident. She certainly tried to joke it off to the +waiters, but I’m fairly confident she chewed the +merchant’s ear off a bit—looked to me like it,” he +affirmed.</p> + +<p>Bathurst nodded. “I thought perhaps the truest +indication of the value of the incident might be +supplied by the conduct of the woman.” He spoke +to Inspector Goodall. “Sherlock Holmes has laid it +down, Inspector, that in moments of sudden alarm +and anxiety, a single woman rushes for her jewel +case—a married woman for her baby. This incident +throws a further light on the question. It may be +added now that the married woman on occasion +gives her husband wordy castigation—as the present-day +‘argot’ would put it—she ‘ticks him off’!” He +smiled. “Don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that this particular pair represented +husband and wife, Mr. Bathurst,” protested Goodall.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t bank on the marriage certificate, +myself, Inspector,” returned Anthony. “But there is +just this to be said for what Daventry has told us. +A woman crops up in two of our little scenes. +There’s a woman in this incident and there’s the +woman whose thirst for information took her to +Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ at the identical moment +when Mason and Druce, the two night-watchmen, +were changing shifts.” He thought for a moment +or two. “It’s certainly a point to be considered,” +he concluded.</p> + +<p>“There aren’t many ‘crooks’ that haven’t a +woman in tow, nowadays,” declared Goodall. +“The equality of the sexes has become very +far-reaching. Still it’s deuced smart work for the same +gang to have pulled off both these jobs—I can’t +quite take that in myself—not yet.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s in charge of the case down here?” +queried Anthony. “Anybody you’ve run against +before?”</p> + +<p>Goodall shook his head. “A Sergeant Clegg was +called to Assynton Lodge this morning—he’s the +local man—he’s at Assynton. They ’phoned to ‘the +Yard’ this afternoon—felt the case was a nasty +one—likely to prove too big for friend Clegg. When +the news reached me I told our people of Mr. +Linnell’s information which seemed to link up the two +cases, and it was decided then and there that I +should come down.” He rubbed his cheek with his +forefinger. “About twenty-four hours late,” he +murmured as a kind of afterthought. “The scent +cold—another man—possibly with an assistant or two—done +his best to destroy most of the things that +might help one—talk about ‘locking the door behind +the stolen steed’—can you beat it?”</p> + +<p>“Not too helpful, I admit, Inspector,” argued +Anthony. “Still, even now there may be something +to pick up—you never know—there’s always the +‘human element’ to be considered in every case.”</p> + +<p>“All murderers don’t make glaring mistakes, Mr. +Bathurst, don’t you run away with that idea—if they +did—Scotland Yard would have precious few +failures to record. Take my advice—don’t you go +relying on the human element for mistakes—<em>always</em>.” +He took his hat from the rack and put it on his head. +“I fancy we’re running into Assynton.” He looked +at his watch. “A little matter of four minutes late!”</p> + +<p>Anthony uncoiled his length from the seat. “I +didn’t mean that, Inspector! By the ‘human +element’ I meant the people in the case—the circle +round the dead man—the people we shall +encounter—there’s always the factor of their personal +psychologies. Do you follow me?”</p> + +<p>Goodall grunted as the train drew up. Darkness +was beginning to suggest itself. A heavy figure +emerged from the recesses of the booking office and +presented itself to them—semi-important, yet at the +same time—semi-apologetic.</p> + +<p>“Detective-Inspector Goodall?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“That’s me,” replied Goodall. “And you?” He +peered forward at the man that had met him.</p> + +<p>“Sergeant Clegg, Inspector.” He saluted. “And +downright glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Inspector Goodall.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX. <br> Mr. Bathurst Opens His Bedroom Door</h2> + +<p>Inspector Goodall motioned towards Anthony +and Peter. “These two gentlemen have traveled +down with me, Sergeant Clegg. They have been +sent for by Mr. Charles Stewart.”</p> + +<p>He introduced them. Sergeant Clegg was visibly +impressed. “Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” he +announced—“though it’s a sad business, to be sure, +that has thrown us together.” He turned to the +Inspector. “I’ve taken the trouble to book a room +for you, Inspector, at the ‘Red Dolphin’—quite an +excellent place. What will you do—go straight +there for now, and start work in the morning, or +would you prefer to get into your stride at once?” +He looked somewhat anxiously at Goodall as though +he attached very great importance to his decision.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, first of all, what you’ve done, Clegg,” +said the Inspector.</p> + +<p>“I was called to the case this morning, Inspector, +and I interviewed everybody that might be termed +‘principals’—you shall have their facts almost +verbatim—I’ve been polishing ’em up from my note-book. +I’ve had ‘photos’ taken this afternoon of +the body and of the library generally, so that poor +Mr. Stewart could be taken away—and I’ve had the +room fixed and fastened so that nobody can get into +it.” He breathed heavily—weighed down with an +acute sense of his responsibility. Goodall’s reply +transported him.</p> + +<p>“Excellent, Clegg,” he declared, “excellent. I’m +for the ‘Red Dolphin’ and supper, bed and +breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Inspector! What time shall I see +you in the morning, then?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be along directly after breakfast—say about +half-past nine. I shall probably do much better if I +approach the case in the first place with a mind +refreshed from a good night’s rest than if I were to +commence right now—make it half-past nine, then, +Clegg.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Anthony and Peter Daventry. +“You two gentlemen are going to the Lodge now, +of course. Good-night. I shall see you in the +morning, too.”</p> + +<p>The three shook hands, and Goodall and Clegg +swung off to the delights afforded by the hospitality +of the “Red Dolphin.” Bathurst pointed to a smart +car that was drawn up in the station-yard.</p> + +<p>“Ours—I think, Daventry,” he said. An equally +smart chauffeur swung from the driver’s seat and +touched his cap.</p> + +<p>“Assynton Lodge, sir?” he inquired of Bathurst.</p> + +<p>They entered and the car purred its way to its +destination. It was not long before they found +themselves sweeping up the drive that took them to +the main entrance.</p> + +<p>“Nine minutes’ run,” announced Bathurst. +Charles Stewart met them in the hall.</p> + +<p>“I got your telegram, Mr. Daventry,” he said, +“and I’ve arranged for dinner to be served for you +directly you are ready.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks—that’s extremely good of you,” +responded Peter, “and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to +hear that I’ve been able to bring somebody with +me—as you suggested—this gentleman is Mr. Anthony +Bathurst. He will be pleased to help you in any way +whatever.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a great relief to know that,” replied Stewart. +“Butterworth”—he turned to the butler—“show +these gentlemen to their rooms—you’re on the second +floor,” he explained. Butterworth carried out +his instructions quietly and efficiently. “Dinner will +be served in half an hour, gentlemen,” he announced.</p> + +<p>“I have arranged that we three dine alone,” said +Stewart upon their return. “Miss Lennox—my late +father’s ward—has a bad headache and begs to be +excused, and Mr. Llewellyn, my father’s secretary, +dined earlier as he is very busy. My father’s sudden +and tragic death has entailed, as you may guess, a +tremendous amount of important correspondence.” +His fingers drummed on the table-cloth. “My +father’s solicitors are Messrs. Crake and Ferguson, +of New York. I have had a cable sent to them +to-day—till I hear from them I don’t exactly know how +matters altogether stand financially.”</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry expressed his sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart,” said Bathurst, “I am delighted +to take this case for you—though, of course, very +sincerely deploring the sad circumstances and your +own personal loss. If it isn’t asking too much of +you—would you be good enough to tell me all you +know of the facts of the case—take your own time +and tell me entirely in your own way?”</p> + +<p>“Before you start, Mr. Stewart,” intervened +Peter, impetuously, “have you heard of the +other——” but a well-directed kick on the shin +from Bathurst under the table dried up the torrent +of his information quite abruptly but most +effectively.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry Mr. Stewart, Daventry,” said Anthony +gravely. “Let him tell us as I suggested.”</p> + +<p>Stewart proceeded to tell the story of his father’s +death. Soon came Bathurst’s first interruption.</p> + +<p>“You say that when you burst open the door the +key was in the lock on the inside and also that the +French doors were shut and bolted?” Anthony +leaned forward across the dinner table and pointed +his query with keen interest.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Bathurst. Extraordinary though it +may sound—the facts were so.”</p> + +<p>Anthony rubbed his hands together. “Most +interesting,” he muttered, “most interesting. Go on.”</p> + +<p>“My poor father,” continued Stewart with evident +distress, “was seated in his chair at his +desk-table—his head on his hands—his skull badly +smashed—he had been dead some hours—struck +down in some foul, dastardly way from behind.” +He stopped and tried to control his feelings, which +were obviously beginning to master him. After a +short interval of silence—sympathetically observed +by the two others—he continued again. “Apparently +he had been writing when he was attacked, for +a pen had almost fallen from his hand and on the +desk in front of him lay a sheet of note-paper. On +it had been written the words, ‘Urgent in the +morning, M. L.’ ”</p> + +<p>Anthony shot his second question across to the +speaker. “In your father’s handwriting, Mr. +Stewart?”</p> + +<p>“Beyond doubt, Mr. Bathurst.” Anthony waved +to him to proceed.</p> + +<p>“In the left-hand pocket of my father’s dressing-gown +was his revolver—loaded in five chambers +only. None of us can remember hearing a shot during +the night, so that we don’t know when the one +shot was fired—in the night or on some previous +occasion.”</p> + +<p>Anthony stopped him with his hand uplifted.</p> + +<p>“One minute, Mr. Stewart. Was it your father’s +habit to carry firearms in the pocket of his +dressing-gown? Have you ever known him to do it? Think +carefully—this is most important.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course, naturally, I don’t sleep with my +father—I rarely see him after he has retired for the +night—but I certainly wasn’t aware that he made a +habit of carrying a revolver. It doesn’t surprise me, +though, to know that he had a revolver pretty +handy, because we house a number of very valuable +things here—still—I’ll say this—I’ve never seen him +with a revolver in his hand.”</p> + +<p>Anthony accepted the statement—then followed +up with another question. “Your father was a +right-handed man, of course, Mr. Stewart?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Always. Doctor Gunner gave it as his +opinion that he had been dead about twelve hours. +That wasn’t quite possible, as he was alive at ten +o’clock last night.”</p> + +<p>“Who saw him?”</p> + +<p>Stewart hesitated for a moment. “Two of us +here can prove that my father was alive round about +ten o’clock last night. I spoke to him about a quarter +to ten, and Butterworth, the butler, spoke to him +a few minutes after ten. My father gave Butterworth +instructions to lock up about that time.” +Bathurst nodded.</p> + +<p>“I see. So Butterworth was the last person to +see your father alive—as far as is known?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. A Colonel Leach-Fletcher dined here with +my father last night. Butterworth saw him out +about ten. When I spoke to my father at nine-forty-five +the Colonel was with him then, in the library.”</p> + +<p>“An old friend of your father’s, I presume—I +understand from Mr. Daventry here that it was on +Colonel Leach-Fletcher’s recommendation that your +father got into touch with his firm?”</p> + +<p>“I believe that is so, Mr. Bathurst—but I should +hesitate before I described the Colonel as an old +friend of my father’s—his friendship only dates +back to the time when we first came here.”</p> + +<p>Anthony pulled at his lower lip with his thumb +and forefinger. Had Daventry known him better he +would have understood from this gesture that +certain features of the problem were worrying him. +Then suddenly his face betrayed eagerness.</p> + +<p>“Three more questions, Mr. Stewart, if you’ll +pardon me. This sheet of note-paper found under +your father’s hand—the writing on it—if my memory +serves me correctly—was ‘Urgent in the +morning—M. L.’—I am right, am I not?” He looked +at Stewart. The latter nodded. Anthony went +straight on. “This ‘M. L.’—the initials probably +of somebody or something—I’ve been wondering +about them. You mentioned just now, Mr. Stewart, +two other members of your father’s household—a +Miss Lennox, his ward, and a Mr. Llewellyn, his +secretary. I feel bound to ask you if the Christian +name of either of these two people begins with +‘M’—yes.” He fingered the stem of his champagne +glass with undisguised approval—then carefully +watched the face of his young host while he +awaited his answer.</p> + +<p>“Very curiously, Mr. Bathurst, both Mr. Llewellyn +and Miss Lennox have those initials—Miss Lennox +is ‘Marjorie’ and Llewellyn is ‘Morgan.’ ” He +spoke with apparent composure, but Peter +Daventry—most interested of spectators—was not quite +sure that some, at least, of the unconcern was not +deliberately assumed. He began to wonder why. +Who was who in this house upon which such a tragic +shadow had been cast? What dark passions had +been loosed but a few hours since that had meant +death, sudden and terrible, for an unsuspecting +victim? What was Bathurst’s opinion? What was he +thinking? Had he noticed Stewart’s counterfeit +composure? Bathurst, however, appeared to be +tremendously interested. He lifted his eyebrows at +the piquancy of the situation as revealed to him.</p> + +<p>“Really?” he said. “We are confronted with +two ‘M. L.’s’ then. Now that’s distinctly fascinating.” +He paused. “Was it a message, Mr. Stewart, +do you think, to either of them—or even——” he +stopped and pondered—eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>“A message or an instruction, Mr. Bathurst, +would almost certainly affect Llewellyn, Mr. +Bathurst—I think we may safely discard any idea of +Miss Lennox being implicated.” He spoke quite +quietly, but yet Peter Daventry fell to introspection +once again. He felt certain that he was able to +detect a tinge of anxiety in the voice—almost, in +fact, that in what Stewart had said the wish had +been father to the thought. But Bathurst, to all +appearances, accepted the situation as Stewart had +presented it. He went to another question.</p> + +<p>“You stated a little while since that your father +had a number of valuable things in the house. Quite +a natural thing for a man of his wealth, of course. +Has anything been stolen? Anything missed?”</p> + +<p>Stewart shook his head in denial of the idea. “As +far as we know, Mr. Bathurst—<em>nothing</em> has been +taken. Certainly no money has been stolen. My +father’s personal jewelry is in his +bedroom—untouched—just where he left it.”</p> + +<p>Anthony thought for a moment. “Papers! +Documents! Was there any evidence that anything of +that nature had been taken from the library? Did +any drawers appear to have been ransacked?”</p> + +<p>“There were no signs of disorder in the library +at all. Everything there seemed quite normal.”</p> + +<p>But Bathurst persisted. “Your father’s collection, +Mr. Stewart—that was very valuable, I believe. +Have steps been taken to see that this is +intact? Where is the collection kept?”</p> + +<p>“In what we call the Museum Room—next to the +library. I don’t know that it occurred to me—or +even to any of us—to go in there—there was no +connection you see.” He looked across at Anthony.</p> + +<p>“Is the Museum Room kept locked?” demanded +the latter.</p> + +<p>“Not necessarily during the day,” came the +answer. “My father might be in and out several +times during an ordinary day—he might even have +been in there last night with Colonel Leach-Fletcher +for all we know. Butterworth will be able to tell +us,” he concluded, rather lamely, Daventry thought, +“we can ask Butterworth if he locked the Museum +Room when he locked up last night.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mind if I smoke?” put in Bathurst. +“The key of this Museum Room now—where +would it be kept—in the door?” He lit his cigarette, +and tossed the match into an ash-tray.</p> + +<p>“No—I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure not. +The key of a room like that would be hung up each +night in Butterworth’s service-room. He would +unlock the room some time during the following +morning.”</p> + +<p>“So that we may say—anybody had access to +it—knowing that the key was kept there?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” replied Stewart. “But I’m quite +certain the Museum Room door was shut all right +when the alarm was given this morning.” He sat +back in his chair firmly as though to give point to +his words.</p> + +<p>“That’s pretty conclusive then,” admitted +Anthony. “Still—I think we’ll have a look at this +Museum Room—nevertheless! You see it might +supply that motive I’m looking for.” He rubbed +his chin with his finger. “Otherwise——”</p> + +<p>Stewart rose from his chair at the head of the +table. “Would you care to come and look now, +Mr. Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>Anthony motioned him back again. “In the +morning, Mr. Stewart, in the morning. That will be +time enough. Tell me—I’m rather curious to know—the +point is of extreme importance—have you any +list or catalogue of your father’s collection?”</p> + +<p>Stewart looked somewhat surprised. “It would +be some task for you to go through all the things in +the Museum Room, Mr. Bathurst—but I believe I +am right in saying that Llewellyn has compiled +something in the way of a catalogue. You shall see a +copy in the morning, if you would care to.”</p> + +<p>“I should—very much,” responded Anthony. “I +have just the glimmering of an idea—that’s all—and +I think it’s just possible the catalogue may help me.” +He looked at Daventry, who had been trying hard +to follow him—unsuccessfully.</p> + +<p>“What started you off?” inquired Peter—“that +key of the Museum Room business? Personally, I +can’t see anything much——”</p> + +<p>Bathurst interrupted. “No—not that, Daventry. +I happened to be thinking about ‘M. L.’—that was +all.” He rubbed his hands as the idea took shape. +“And I’ll lay a guinea to a gooseberry,” he +proceeded, “that I’m ‘warm’ as the youngsters say. +If I’m not—well, then, we shall have to start all +over again.”</p> + +<p>He smiled at his two companions. “But we +sha’n’t have to. You see.”</p> + +<p>Stewart did not appear to share this piece of +optimism—he shook his head rather hopelessly, but +Peter Daventry remembered the judgment of his +brother Gerald and was able to catch something of +the Bathurst tradition.</p> + +<p>“One last question,” said Anthony. “What was +the opinion of the Sergeant who came along this +morning about the weapon with which the crime was +committed? Did he have any ideas about that, do +you know? Did he seem confident of making any +arrest?”</p> + +<p>Stewart dismissed the suggestion immediately it +was made. “I was quite unimpressed by him. In +fact that was the chief reason why I asked Mr. +Daventry’s people to help me and why I suggested +Scotland Yard could do worse than have a look at +things. I don’t think he formed any ideas about +the crime at all! The question you have just raised +about the weapon that was used puzzled the +Sergeant, I should say, from my observation of him, +pretty considerably. There wasn’t a trace of +anything!” He seemed to have almost reached his +limit of physical endurance, and Anthony was quick +to detect it.</p> + +<p>“Daventry,” he said, “I’m afraid I haven’t +shown Mr. Stewart too much consideration—he’s +worn out, and I must leave any further questions till +to-morrow morning.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. +“It’s well past ten and we’re all tired. A +good night’s rest will do us all good.” He rose and +walked across to his young host with outstretched +hand. “Good-night, Mr. Stewart, and my most +sincere sympathy! I know it’s easy to say that, but +I’ll say something else as well.” He paused for a +second and his jaw set with the lines of indomitable +purpose. “I have every hope, even at this early +stage of the case, of getting the handcuffs on the +right wrists—which should comfort you a little!”</p> + +<p>Stewart was very pale when he answered, and his +answer was brief. “Thank you, Mr. Bathurst. +Good-night!”</p> + +<p>Peter added his salutations and they made their +way upstairs.</p> + +<p>“No need to trouble Butterworth,” exclaimed +Anthony, “we know our rooms. Here’s +mine—there’s yours, Daventry. Good-night!”</p> + +<p>Anthony walked to the window and opened it. +He was fond of darkness and it was just beginning +to get dark. Darkness and its attendant tranquillity +he always found invaluable conditions for the process +of concentration—he had often discovered the solution +to a mystifying problem out of this communion. +He smoked a cigarette through and lit another. +“What was it,” he said to himself as he stood there +by the open window, “that caused Stewart to come +downstairs and enter the library? What happened +in the library to make him scrawl the message that +he described as ‘urgent’?” He commenced a +third cigarette. “And who trod softly behind as he +sat there writing—and killed him?” He undressed +and got into bed. “A pretty little problem—especially +when we think of the Hanover Galleries affair +on top.” That was his last conscious thought before +he slept. He had the knack of getting to sleep +almost instantaneously and also the complementary +faculty of awaking at the slightest sound. He was +destined to awake suddenly that night. And he +knew instantly and instinctively what had awakened +him—a stealthy step had gone past his bedroom +door—he was certain of it! He looked at the +luminous face of his wrist-watch. “Twenty-two +minutes past one,” he muttered. “Not an ordinary +time for legitimate night-wanderings.” He tiptoed +to his bedroom door and drew it very slightly ajar; +then listened intently for what seemed like ages. It +was very quiet beneath him. Had the step been on +its way back? Suddenly he heard a sound that sent +his heart racing perilously—somebody was ascending +the stairs! He shut the door silently and held the +handle tight. The step passed—almost noiselessly. +Anthony waited a second, then pulled his door gently +open, and looked out on to the corridor. He was +just able to distinguish the figure of a man, entering +the room next but one. A man—slim and of good +height. Judged by his walk—comparatively young. +Anthony whistled very softly, as he sat on the side +of his bed to think things over. “Now, who the +devil was that?” he muttered, “and why does he +wander o’ nights?” In the morning at breakfast +his first query was answered.</p> + +<p>“Let me introduce you,” said Charles Stewart. +“Mr. Bathurst—Mr. Morgan Llewellyn—my late +father’s secretary.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>CHAPTER X. <br> The Incident of the Boot-Boy’s Bicycle</h2> + +<p>Mr. Bathurst bowed his acknowledgment. And +at the same time felt that matters were progressing. +Progressing, perhaps, a trifle <em>too</em> quickly, and at a +rate that, to a less alert intelligence than Mr. +Bathurst’s, might prove extremely disconcerting. +Under cover of a few casual and perfunctory +remarks he studied Llewellyn carefully and at the +same time reviewed the events of the morning. For +Mr. Bathurst had been up betimes. The music of +the Berkshire birds had been his first consciousness +of this glorious morning. He had risen to the “Te +Deum” of the bird-choir and had joined with them +in a thanksgiving for “the immaculate hours”; and +when he found himself downstairs his watch showed +the time to be a few minutes past seven. He made +his way into the garden and marveled at the magic +of the morning. What was the geography of the +library in relation to the garden? Passing through +a charming rockery with a fountain plashing +deliciously in the center of a clear-watered pool, he +came on to a stretch of perfectly kept grass that +stretched almost to the French doors of the library +itself. Under the morning sun this patch of exquisite +emerald seemed fit for the flying feet of angels. +Anthony retraced his steps—he would leave the +library question till he could get inside to have a +look properly. He strolled through the rockery, +then turned and came out on to the road. He would +have a walk before breakfast, for a thought was +beginning to take shape within his brain. He cut +along briskly and soon discovered that he was +descending the hill to Assynton village. At the foot +of the hill on the fringe of Assynton itself, he +stopped. It was an iron foundry that claimed his +attention, for Mr. Bathurst had always been +intrigued by the industry of the early morning. The +clang of the hammers was as music to his ear. To +him it represented one of the real essences of +England—there were others—a barge moving steadily +on a canal—the scraping of a bricklayer’s trowel—a +fishing fleet standing in to the harbor heavy with the +fruit of its toil—all of them tingling as it +were—with the impetus of the newness of the morning. +These things to Anthony Bathurst meant much. He +listened as the clanging quivered incessantly on the +almost virgin stillness of the June air. Suddenly he +noticed a man signaling to him from the open door. +Bathurst turned into the yard and approached him. +A magnificent man, with a sweeping breadth of +shoulder, came out of the foundry and stood waiting. +His black eyes sparkled genially and he pulled +at a bushy black beard as Anthony came up. He +must have stood at least six feet two, and his +leathern apron became him handsomely. He +touched his forehead.</p> + +<p>“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, for takin’ what may +appear a liberty. But I should like a word with you, +sir.” He looked behind him somewhat anxiously, +then drew Bathurst a few yards farther away from +the foundry door. “If I’m not mistaken, sir, aren’t +you one of the gentlemen what’s lookin’ into matters +up at the Lodge?” He jerked with his thumb in +the direction of “up the hill.”</p> + +<p>Anthony regarded the black-bearded giant with +curious interest. “I haven’t the least idea how you +know that,” he replied, “but you’re quite right—I +am! News seems to travel quickly in these parts.”</p> + +<p>Blackbeard’s teeth flashed in a smile. “No great +mystery about that, sir,” he explained. “I saw you +in the company of Sergeant Clegg last night with +another gentleman that looked uncommonly like a +police-detective. And I ain’t too bad at puttin’ two +and two together.” He grinned again.</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Anthony. “And what was it you +wanted to tell me? I take it that there <em>is</em> +something—you haven’t called me in here merely to wish me +good morning?” He eyed the foundry-man +quizzically.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I haven’t, and that’s a fact! And what +I’ve got to say, I’d sooner say to you than to the +police, for I’ve no love for that fraternity—you can +take it from me.” He spat with some vigor as a +garnish to his remark; then proceeded to embellish +what he had said. “Especially for Sergeant Amos +Clegg. But I like the look of you, sir, and when +my boy told me what he told me yesterday midday +I advised him to keep a still tongue in his head till +I told him to loosen it. When I spotted you last +night, sir—I made up my mind that <em>I’d</em> do the tellin’ +and to <em>you</em>!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you for the compliment,” returned Anthony +smiling. “I appreciate it, I assure you. I +shall be very pleased to hear what you wish to tell +me. Fire away!” The giant glanced round, then +lowered his voice appreciably. “My name’s Michael +O’Connor and I’m the father of Patrick O’Connor—him +as they call boot-boy up at the Lodge—Mr. +Stewart’s place. Patrick was eighteen on the 17th +of March and has worked for poor Mr. Stewart for +three or four months now. He does lots of odd jobs +about the place and gives the gardener a hand—I’m +tellin’ you this just to give you a rough idea of who +he is—so to speak. Now Patrick’s a good lad—though +he’s mine and say it I shouldn’t—honest and +willin’. He gets sent out a good deal, so Mr. +Stewart provided him with a bicycle to run his +errands on. He don’t sleep up at the Lodge and +he’s supposed to leave the bicycle there when he gets +away of an evening—which is usually about seven. +The machine goes into old Maidment’s potting-shed. +Maidment’s the gardener. That’s where Patrick +put it the night before last.” He stroked his beard +and pushed his face nearer to Bathurst. “When he +went to the Lodge yesterday mornin’ and heard all +about the murder there wasn’t much work for him, +as you may well guess—so he thought he’d give his +bicycle a bit of a clean-up. What does he find when +he looks at it?” He paused dramatically and drew +himself to his full height. “That it had been used +by somebody since my Patrick left it in the shed.” +He spat again. “And how do you think he knew?” +he chuckled—then without giving Bathurst time to +venture an opinion, continued, “Look down there, +sir,” he said, pointing down the road that wound +into Assynton village. “See the steam-roller?” +Bathurst both saw and heard it—puffing and grinding +after the manner of steam-rollers and flaunting the +White Horse of Kent. “The road into Assynton is +bein’ done up,” continued O’Connor—“with tarred +macadam. The sun for two or three days now has +been melting the new stuff that’s been put down—it +sticks to your boots if you walk in it. And my +Patrick tells me that <em>the tires of his bicycle were all</em> +marked with it.” He concluded on a note of +triumph. Then looked at Bathurst with an +invitation for approval.</p> + +<p>“Good lad,” contributed Anthony. “He’s told +nobody besides you?” O’Connor shook his leonine +head.</p> + +<p>“He was a bit frightened-like, I think, sir, so he +brought his troubles to his father—I teach my +young’uns to do that! But it proves this, sir, +<em>somebody used the bicycle the night of the murder</em>.”</p> + +<p>Anthony nodded in corroboration. “I suppose +he’s sure he didn’t pick the stuff up himself on some +errand?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely, sir. He says he came into the village +twice the day before yesterday, and took great +care to miss the part of the road that’s been tarred. +But a person riding in the dark, sir, wouldn’t notice +it—’specially if he had somethin’ on his mind.” He +sniffed—and the sniff carried a wealth of meaning.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly true,” agreed Anthony, “and I’m +much obliged to you for the information—this road +into the village leads straight to the station, doesn’t +it—it was getting dark when I drove up last +night?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, sir,” replied O’Connor—“straight +up through Assynton.”</p> + +<p>Bathurst pushed a Treasury note into his hand, +which, after some demur, he accepted.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be getting back now, O’Connor, and I’ll +have a quiet chat with Patrick at the first +opportunity. I’ll tell him you’ve seen me—that will +establish my credentials.”</p> + +<p>He swung back in the direction of the Lodge—musing +over the encounter, and over the incident of +the footsteps during the night. When Stewart +introduced Morgan Llewellyn and he was able to identify +the gentleman as the wanderer who had disturbed +his sleep, he concluded that he had quite enough to +think over for his first morning. Peter greeted him +at the breakfast-table.</p> + +<p>“Been out, Bathurst? So early?”</p> + +<p>“Just a short stroll, Daventry. I was anxious to +have a look round and I hadn’t the heart to rout you +out, old man! I went across the downs a bit and +worked down towards the village.” He turned to +Stewart. “The birds were simply wonderful. I +even enjoyed those melancholy ‘pee-wits’!”</p> + +<p>“We’ll get breakfast over as soon as we possibly +can, gentlemen,” exclaimed Stewart. “I expect the +Scotland Yard representative will be up here pretty +early. I should like you to be present, Mr. Bathurst, +when he enters the library—Sergeant Clegg closed +the room up, you know, when he left yesterday.”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn sniffed contemptuously. “A brilliant +piece of work—that! One of us might have wanted +to use the room—for a legitimate purpose, I mean.” +He wiped the glasses of his pince-nez with his silk +handkerchief. As he did so, Bathurst observed the +peculiar quality of his eyes and at the same time +formed the opinion that Mr. Morgan Llewellyn +might very well prove to be a dangerous customer +if things didn’t please him over-well.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart,” said Anthony, addressing his +host, “what sort of a lad is Patrick O’Connor—the +boot-boy?”</p> + +<p>Stewart stared at him with a certain strain of +amazement on his face.</p> + +<p>“Really,” he said, “I didn’t know that you were +sufficiently acquainted with our staff here to be able +to ask that question! I suppose it’s a case of the +early bird, eh?”</p> + +<p>Anthony’s grey eyes twinkled delightfully! “We +all have our little secrets, Mr. Stewart,” he +responded. “You mustn’t probe me too thoroughly—tell +me rather of Master O’Connor.” He looked +round at Peter Daventry—“He’s got a fine name, +you know, Daventry—‘Patrick O’Connor’—hark +to the music of the ‘r’ and the ‘n’!”</p> + +<p>“Quite a reliable lad,” came Stewart’s answer. +“As far as I know. Certainly I know nothing +unfavorable.”</p> + +<p>“What time does he get here in the morning?” +asked Anthony.</p> + +<p>“About half-past six, I believe,” replied Stewart. +“You should know—you’ve seen him, I take it, this +morning?”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary—I’ve never set eyes on him.” +Bathurst smiled gravely.</p> + +<p>He felt the glances of the three men fixed intently +on him.</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ve certainly wasted no time,” declared +Llewellyn, “though how exactly you’ve been to +work, I can’t guess.”</p> + +<p>“I sha’n’t ask you to,” laughed Anthony. “It +might be trying you too highly, and I mustn’t do +that.”</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry began to wish that he hadn’t slept +so soundly—Mr. Bathurst’s methods were beginning +to fascinate him. Breakfast over, he came across +and joined Anthony. The latter went up and spoke +quietly to Charles Stewart.</p> + +<p>“By all means,” was Stewart’s reply, “I’ll let you +know directly I want you.”</p> + +<p>“Come and have a breath of air, Daventry,” said +Anthony. “It’s a perfectly wonderful morning.”</p> + +<p>They strolled out into the garden; Anthony took +a cigarette and handed his case to his companion. +“I want a few minutes’ conversation with this +boot-boy, Patrick O’Connor—I have a fancy that it may +prove to be somewhat enlightening—and don’t +forget, Daventry, anything we may hear, either now +or later on, we’ll keep to ourselves, unless we decide +otherwise.”</p> + +<p>Peter saluted with mock gravity. “I’ll be the +soul of tacit discretion,” he exclaimed. “Have you +really stumbled across a clue already?”</p> + +<p>Bathurst’s face relaxed into a smile. “Clues are +tumbling over each other—I’ve really had the luck +of the old gentleman himself up to the moment. +The ball’s running altogether too kindly—doubtless +I shall get a rude awakening soon. Come over on +the grass there and I’ll tell you something!”</p> + +<p>Peter accepted his bidding with alacrity. Anthony +carefully chose another cigarette. “I’ll tell you +this,” he said, speaking in low tones, “before we go +across to find O’Connor. But first—a question! +How did you sleep last night? Anything disturb +you?”</p> + +<p>Peter knitted his brows. “No! Nothing! But +I was dog-tired and slept like a top—whichever way +that may actually be.”</p> + +<p>Anthony pointed across to the wall of the garden +against which could be seen nestling a burden of +magnificent nectarines. “Be interested—apparently——in +something that I’m showing you—I don’t want +anybody in the house to think I’m discussing the case +with you—for all I know we are being watched.”</p> + +<p>Peter grimaced, but began to play his part as per +instructions. “The situation is becoming decidedly +interesting,” he muttered. “Why do you ask me +about how I slept?”</p> + +<p>Anthony made a gesture with his arm towards +another part of the garden before he answered. +“At twenty-two minutes past one this morning I +awoke very suddenly. I’m a very light sleeper and +the slightest sound is sufficient to wake me. What I +had heard was a step passing my bedroom door. Of +course I couldn’t be sure which direction the steps +had taken. But I slipped out of bed and opened my +door. I stood listening for some time and then I +heard the steps coming back. Whoever it was, was +coming upstairs again. Naturally I had to bolt back +into my bedroom, but I held the door handle so that +I could open it quickly and noiselessly immediately +the prowler had passed. I just had time to see the +gentleman disappear into the room next to yours. +You may guess that I went back to bed and did a +little bit of quiet thinking.”</p> + +<p>“By Jove!” exclaimed Peter. “The plot +thickens! Who the blazes was it—any idea?”</p> + +<p>“I know who it was,” replied Anthony. “It was +the gentleman who had ‘brekker’ with us this +morning—Mr. Morgan Llewellyn! You may remember +what he thought about the library being shut up.”</p> + +<p>Peter whistled softly. “You mean that he was +trying to get in there, in the night?”</p> + +<p>“I think it extremely probable,” declared Anthony. +“And the question is what is it that’s attracting +him there? That’s what we’ve got to find +out—that’s why I’ve told you.”</p> + +<p>“Did he get in do you think?” queried Peter, +“because if he did, the mischief’s done.”</p> + +<p>“Not he,” grinned Anthony. “Sergeant Clegg +saw to that, quite thoroughly. Now come along +over to the other side. We’ll see if we can run +across Patrick O’Connor.”</p> + +<p>Maidment, the gardener, was earthing up potatoes +in the kitchen garden as they approached. He +straightened himself as he wished them “Good +morning.”</p> + +<p>“O’Connor,” he said, in answer to Anthony’s +question. “You’ll find him up there in the +potting-shed.” He pointed past the cucumber frames that +lay on his right to a shed at the end of the path. +“Perhaps you’d like me to be accompanying you?” +he continued. “Maybe I’ll be able to help you?”</p> + +<p>Anthony waved his offer on one side. +“Thanks—but we’ll see him alone—you stay here.”</p> + +<p>As they reached the shed, a tall lad stepped out, +and Bathurst immediately recognized that here was +a case of inherited physique. He seemed surprised +to see his visitors and made as though to turn back +into the potting-shed.</p> + +<p>Anthony touched him on the arm—then bent +down and whispered something into his ear. The +lad’s face cleared and he beckoned them inside.</p> + +<p>“You gentlemen gave me a bit of a start,” he +declared. “I’m a bit jumpy I suppose since yesterday. +This sort of thing gets on your nerves, you +know, sir—you can’t help it.”</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry wondered what the message was +that Bathurst had passed on. What possible +connection could there be between the two of them? +But his wonderings were summarily cut short. +Anthony’s next remark showed that he was speedily +getting to business.</p> + +<p>“Where is the bicycle, O’Connor?”</p> + +<p>O’Connor walked across to the farther corner and +wheeled the machine down to them. He pointed to +both front and back tires. “There you are, sir! +You can see for yourself!”</p> + +<p>Anthony went down on his haunches and smelt +the tires. “Quite certain you didn’t pick it up +yourself, O’Connor—on another part of the road, for +instance?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take my dyin’ oath I never did, sir. The +day before the murder was discovered I went down +into Assynton twice—once just before lunch time +and the second time about a quarter-past four. I +was extry careful about riding over the new road +because I hates my bike all messed and mucked up, +so I jumped off when I came to it and wheeled it +along the path. As for pickin’ it up anywhere else, +sir—there ain’t no other part of the road round +here, sir, what’s bein’ done up.” His eyes flashed, +and Anthony realized again that here stood the son +of his father.</p> + +<p>“Do you always keep the machine in this shed?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>Patrick O’Connor nodded an affirmative. +“Always, sir!”</p> + +<p>Anthony threw a critical glance round the +potting-shed. “When you came in yesterday morning and +found your bicycle like that—was there anything +else here that caught your attention—was the shed +just as usual—everything in its place—nothing +touched or disturbed?”</p> + +<p>O’Connor thought for a moment—then shook his +head. “Not that I noticed, sir.”</p> + +<p>Anthony walked to the door and looked out; then +he retraced his steps. “Re bicycles, O’Connor! +Are there any other bicycles kept at Assynton +Lodge—or is this the only one on the premises?”</p> + +<p>O’Connor flung his head back with decision. +“This is the only cycle here, sir, so that whoever +used it on the night of the murder either struck lucky +or <em>knew that it was in here</em>.” He lowered his voice +on the last few words. Peter saw Anthony’s face as +O’Connor spoke—then he turned sharply. Maidment, +arriving apparently from the clouds, was +framed against the doorway of the potting-shed. +His approach had been noiseless and unexpected, for +even Bathurst seemed slightly taken off his guard!</p> + +<p>“Mr. Charles’s compliments,” announced the +gardener, “and he will be glad to see you two +gentlemen in the library.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI. <br> With a Given Center, Mr. Bathurst Describes a Circle</h2> + +<p>Stewart met them at the French doors. +“Inspector Goodall and Sergeant Clegg are here +already. We shall have to postpone our visit to the +Museum Room till later. Come in, will you?” +Clegg and Goodall had already got to work.</p> + +<p>“Nothing has been touched, sir,” said the former, +“since I was first called in. Except for the removal +of the dead man, the room is exactly as it was +yesterday morning.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” replied Goodall. “I’ve read all your +notes on the case—the key was in the lock on the +inside when the door was burst open, and the bolts +of the French doors were securely shot. Darned +peculiar!”</p> + +<p>Stewart made as if to offer an explanation of +something, but the Inspector checked him. “I’m +fully acquainted with all the circumstances of the +case, sir! I’ve read Sergeant Clegg’s notes +thoroughly—not only those concerning the crime itself +but also those dealing with the interviews he had +with the various people when he was here—so you +can write me down thoroughly <i>au fait</i> with the +whole business.” Stewart bowed. Goodall took a +tape measure from his pocket and walked to the +chair where Laurence Stewart had been murdered. +“Is this chair exactly in position?” he queried of +the Sergeant. Clegg came and surveyed the +situation gravely. Then announced his opinion.</p> + +<p>“As near as makes no odds, Inspector.”</p> + +<p>Goodall first of all measured from the chair to +the library door and then from the chair to the +French doors. He then examined the lock of the +door and the bolts of the other two doors.</p> + +<p>“H’m,” he said—then scratched his chin +thoughtfully. “The Doctor’s report”—he drew a +document from his breast-pocket and perused it for a +moment or two—“states that your father was +struck three times, Mr. Stewart. The first blow +rendered him unconscious, in all probability, Doctor +Gunner thinks, and the second and third finished him +completely. Mr. Bathurst—you might help me in +a little experiment. I’m going to try to reconstruct +the crime.” He looked at Anthony and did not wait +for his reply. “Sit here, will you, as Mr. Stewart +sat. Now you’re Mr. Stewart and I’m the murderer.” +He walked back to the French doors, which +he opened, and then went outside, pulling them +together. He then opened them noiselessly and tiptoed +across the heavy pile carpet. He reached Bathurst +and raised his hand as though to strike. “Did +you hear me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not your steps—I heard you breathing—that +was all—but of course I was aware that you were +advancing on me. I can quite believe the murdered +man was taken by surprise in that way and heard +nothing.” He rose from the chair. +“Congratulations, Inspector.”</p> + +<p>Goodall came up to the desk. “Is this the piece +of note-paper, Clegg? Just where you found it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Inspector!” Bathurst joined the Inspector. +The message was there just as it had been +written by the dead man. Bathurst let the Inspector +read it—then extended his hand for it. “May I +see it?”</p> + +<p>Goodall passed it over. Anthony produced his +magnifying glass and then covered all the writing +with another sheet of paper—that is to say, from +“urgent” to “M. L.” Then he carefully examined +with his glass the part of the paper immediately +following the letter “L.” Peter Daventry watched +him curiously. After a moment or two he put down +the sheet of paper and replaced his magnifying glass. +Clegg’s eyelid flickered as he caught a glance from +Goodall, but the latter gave no other sign of +interest. He clasped his hands behind his back and +walked to the bookcase—then suddenly turned on +his heel.</p> + +<p>“Where’s that revolver you mentioned, Clegg—let’s +have a look at it.” The Sergeant took it from +the right-hand drawer of the desk.</p> + +<p>“This was in Mr. Stewart’s left-hand pocket,” he +declared—“and one shot has been fired.” He +passed it across to the Inspector. “That’s not to +say it was fired at the time of the murder,” rejoined +his superior. “All the evidence you’ve collected is +absolutely contrary.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that nobody admits having heard +it?” intervened Anthony.</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Goodall.</p> + +<p>“With your permission, Inspector—not quite the +same thing,” came the reply.</p> + +<p>Goodall fingered his cheek. “No sign of the +bullet, Mr. Bathurst, if you’re suggesting that a shot +was fired in here.”</p> + +<p>Clegg smiled broadly. There was no gainsaying +the Inspector’s last remark. Anthony shrugged his +shoulders good-humoredly and went back to the +desk again. Peter noticed that his eyes were +sweeping backwards and forwards over that particular +part of it directly in front of where Stewart’s head +had rested. Suddenly he picked up the ink-bowl and +held it up carefully to the light. He swirled the ink +round and round in the bowl three or four times and +watched its black eddy with the greatest keenness. +Apparently what he saw gave him entire +satisfaction—which his face showed when he replaced the +ink-bowl on the desk. He rubbed the palms of his +hands together. “You were quite right, Inspector, +regarding your theory of the crime. I hope to put +my hand on the——”</p> + +<p>“Criminal, Mr. Bathurst?” broke in Charles +Stewart. “What makes you so optimistic?”</p> + +<p>“No! I was about to say ‘on the weapon,’ Mr. +Stewart. But the other will naturally follow.”</p> + +<p>“I’m rather curious to follow you, Mr. Bathurst,” +said Goodall. He walked to the desk and +picked up the ink-bowl. “Ah!” he muttered, after +a moment—“I think I see your drift.” He nodded +his head two or three times—then came back to +Charles Stewart again. “I’m going into the garden +for a few moments—when I return I should like to +see Miss Lennox and Mr. Llewellyn, your father’s +secretary. Perhaps you would be good enough to +tell them.” He passed through the French doors—the +indefatigable Clegg at his heels. Anthony and +Peter watched them go through the rockery and +disappear out of sight. “Where’s he gone now?” +questioned Peter.</p> + +<p>“He’s bound to have a look outside,” was +Anthony’s reply. “He may pick up the O’Connor +information—he should do—he’s a pretty shrewd +fellow.”</p> + +<p>Out of sight of the library, Clegg touched the +Inspector on the coat-sleeve. “What I wanted to +tell you was this. I wanted you to come into it +fresh—with no suspicions so to speak—so I didn’t +tell you everything till you’d had a bit of a look +round.” He gazed round warily to make sure that +they were not overlooked or overheard. Then he +thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his tunic +and handed Goodall a dainty lace handkerchief. “I +found that caught in the curtains hanging by those +French doors yesterday morning,” he explained +breathlessly. “Do you see the initials? That +belongs to the dead man’s ward—Miss Lennox.”</p> + +<p>Goodall handled it with great interest. “Now +that’s very curious, Clegg,” he observed. “Miss +Lennox—eh? And I understand that Butterworth, +the butler, accuses her of having been with the dead +man at ten minutes past ten on the night of the +murder—h’m. She, in her turn, puts the rough edge +of her tongue round Mr. Morgan Llewellyn—h’m! +Clegg—where the hell are we getting to?”</p> + +<p>Clegg coughed discreetly. “There was the other +point I mentioned, Inspector, on top of all that,” he +pointed out steadfastly. Goodall considered for a +second. Then he remembered what Clegg meant.</p> + +<p>“She attempted to get into the library you mean, +don’t you, when you left your man on duty there?”</p> + +<p>“Not a doubt about it,” replied the Sergeant.</p> + +<p>“Before I see her or this secretary fellow—I’m +going to have a few words with some of the +servants——come along with me—we may perhaps pick +something up that may be valuable.”</p> + +<p>Clegg fell into step. Goodall went on to outline +his difficulties. “There’s one feature of the case +that’s rather strange, Clegg. Nothing appears to +have been stolen from here at all—no search seems +to have been made for anything—there’s not a +drawer ransacked or disturbed. Now in this other +affair that I told you about—this Hanover Galleries +murder—three objects that the dead man here was +desperately keen on getting hold of were stolen—they +were apparently the motive for the murder. +Yet nothing’s gone from here.” He turned to Clegg +somewhat impatiently. The Sergeant wagged his +big head solemnly.</p> + +<p>“Aye,” he conceded—“that’s the very identical +point that struck me. But”—he thrust his face +very close to Goodall’s—“is it certain that the two +murders <em>are</em> connected—have you never heard tell of +the long arm of coincidence?” He pronounced the +last word to rhyme with “guidance,” much to +Goodall’s professional disgust.</p> + +<p>“No,” affirmed the latter, “there’s no doubt in +my own mind that there is a connection somewhere, +and it’s up to me to find it—I can’t agree with your +coincidence theory, Clegg.”</p> + +<p>The latter pushed his chest out and accepted +Goodall’s statement as final, registering at the same +time a mental resolution that for the future he would +emit no theories. He would listen!</p> + +<p>Anthony, meanwhile, was still at work in the +library, finding Peter Daventry a highly appreciative +audience. “The important features of the case as +I see them are these, Daventry. (a) The one shot +fired from Stewart’s revolver and the taking of that +revolver by Clegg from the <em>left-hand</em> pocket of +Stewart’s dressing-gown. (b) The use of Patrick +O’Connor’s bicycle some time during the evening or +some time during the night. (c) The message left +by the dead man with its reference to ‘M. L.’ (d) +The dirty condition of the ink in the ink-bowl. (e) +The apparently impossible conditions under which +the murder was committed—the room is locked on +the inside at both exits.” He blew a cloud of smoke +from his cigarette. “Add to that the somewhat +unusual and rather absorbing detail—the fascination +for Stuart antiques, themselves associated with a +particularly brutal murder in London almost +contemporaneously—and we have all the ingredients for as +pretty a problem as ever was.” Then suddenly a +thought seemed to strike him. “By Jove,” he said, +“that coal cabinet, Daventry. I wonder if it’s worth +while looking in there—it’s just possible the +murderer may have——” He dashed across to the +coal cabinet. It was of the type that swung +outwards on a hinge. He pulled it towards him. Then +he knelt down in front of it. Taking a sheet of +note-paper from his pocket, he very carefully picked +out some objects from the contents of the scuttle. +Daventry wasn’t able to see what they were as +Anthony placed them on the piece of paper. He +couldn’t restrain his curiosity any longer. “What +is it, Bathurst? What have you found in there?”</p> + +<p>“A long shot,” chuckled Anthony, “but it’s +happened to have come off.” He held the paper out to +his companion. “It struck me when I looked at +that coal-scuttle just now, that a person clearing +little pieces of dirt and mud from the surface of that +table”—he pointed to the desk where Stewart had +been found dead—“might very easily dispose of +them in the scuttle—it might well be the handiest +and most convenient place—look here then!” +Daventry looked at the paper held out on the +palm of Anthony’s hand. There were seven or eight +dried pellets of mud and four small light brown +stones such as may be found in any garden. Anthony +went on with his explanation. “There isn’t +very much coal there—as you may see if you look—fires +have been discontinued for some time now, I +expect—so it didn’t give me very much trouble to +find these chaps.” He smiled with infinite satisfaction, +but Peter Daventry wasn’t too clear at all. “I +can understand that part of the business,” he +conceded—“where I’m floundering is over the part of +the affair before we come to that. I haven’t the +foggiest notion how you ever deduced their +existence!”</p> + +<p>“When I get the chance,” replied Anthony, “I +think I shall be able to show you at least one other +stone just like these four little fellows that I’ve taken +from the coal-scuttle—I can’t now—the Inspector +and Clegg may be back at any minute.” He walked +to the French doors and looked out—then turned +back to Daventry. “There they come,” he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“That stone, Bathurst,” cut in Peter hastily.</p> + +<p>“Is <em>in this room</em>,” replied Anthony, “but not a +word for the time being.”</p> + +<p>Clegg stepped into the room, immediately +followed by Goodall. To Daventry’s amazement, +Anthony went straight over to them. “Well, +Inspector, what did you make of the matter of O’Connor’s +bicycle?”</p> + +<p>“You rather take my breath away, Mr. Bathurst,” +said Goodall very quietly. “Permit me to +return your question—what did you?”</p> + +<p>“I had no doubt you would pick it up,” he said, +“and I’ll answer your question quite frankly.” He +walked across to the bookcase, and standing with +his back to it had his three hearers in front of him, +Peter on his right, and the two officers on his left. +“O’Connor’s bicycle, gentlemen, was used last night +to carry somebody from this house into Assynton. +In my opinion it carried the murderer of Stewart—if +not the murderer, certainly his or her accomplice—but +I fancy the murderer.” He watched the three +faces to see the effect of his opinion. Goodall +became critical at once.</p> + +<p>“Who placed the bicycle in the shed then?” he +asked cautiously.</p> + +<p>Bathurst’s reply came just as quickly. “The +murderer, of course.”</p> + +<p>Goodall screwed up his face as though unconvinced. +“You mean, then, that the murderer +returned—that the murderer lives——”</p> + +<p>Anthony interrupted him. “I mean that if my +theory holds good—that the <em>murderer</em> used the +machine and not an accomplice—he is either in this +house now or very near it. He or <em>she</em>.”</p> + +<p>But Goodall stuck to his guns. “But why go +away to come back again?—that’s what beats me.”</p> + +<p>“More than one reason might supply a reasonable +answer to that question, Inspector. The murderer +may have wished to hide something, for instance. +He may have gone to meet somebody even. +Thirdly, he may have gone to deliver an important +message.” He paused to consider the three +possibilities he had named. Then looked straight across +to Goodall. “I am inclined to the third suggestion +myself, Inspector. Rather strongly as a matter of +fact.” He came away from the bookcase, giving +Peter Daventry an impression—vague +perhaps—that the final word had been spoken.</p> + +<p>Goodall shook his head rather doubtfully. +“Theories are all very well in their way, Mr. +Bathurst—but if I were to go chasing after all the +theories I have put in front of me—I should be well +set to work—can’t you give me something more +definite on which your theories have been +based—something more tangible?”</p> + +<p>Anthony thrust his hands into his pockets with a +gesture of impatience. “Of course I can, Inspector. +Surely you don’t think I make statements of this +kind irresponsibly? ’Pon my soul, I feel rather like +picking up your challenge and being much more +explicit than I had intended to be.” He paced to the +bookcase and then came back again. “That bicycle +was almost certainly ridden into Assynton after the +murder had been committed. For the reason, in my +opinion, that immediate communication had to be +established between this end of the tangle and the +other—or if you prefer it—between Assynton +Lodge and the <em>people that murdered Mason at the +Hanover Galleries the same night</em>.” He paused, +and Peter Daventry noticed that Inspector Goodall +was listening keenly and critically—punctuating +Anthony’s remarks with sharp, quick movements of the +head. “I deduce an urgent telephone message,” +continued Anthony, “something had happened here +that made instantaneous action <em>imperative</em>—the +’phone was the only way. Obviously the ’phone in +the house itself must not be used—the nearest is in +Assynton village—the nearest that would also be +safest. If you like, I will embroider my theory +somewhat.” He smiled as he sensed the improvement in +his “atmosphere.” He was beginning to “get +over!” “I deduce also, Inspector, that this urgent +telephone message was very probably to an hotel. I +think that we are dealing with a dangerous set of +criminals who mean to stick at nothing to gain their +ends and who in all likelihood had prepared their +plans very thoroughly to meet all emergencies. If +quick telephone communication formed a link in their +connection system those of them who are conducting +the operations from the other end were probably +stopping at a quiet hotel. They don’t appeal to me +as likely to be permanent residents in the West End +of London, so I incline to the probability of an +hotel.” He turned to Inspector Goodall decisively. +“Let me make a suggestion, Inspector! Try to +trace a telephone message from Assynton about +11:20 on the night before last.” Goodall broke in +with an exclamation of incredulity. But Bathurst +held up his hand and went straight on. “A message +to an hotel—I’ll give you a list that I fancy will +contain the identical one.”</p> + +<p>Goodall raised his hands. “You travel a darned +sight too fast, Mr. Bathurst. Hold hard a +minute—there’s a pretty wide gulf of difference between +outlining your suggestions and putting them into +solid practice. For instance, you assert quite +confidently that the time was 11:20. How——”</p> + +<p>“Tut-tut, man,” broke in Anthony—“that +shouldn’t surprise you. Your mysterious woman +arrived at the Hanover Galleries at twelve o’clock or +thereabouts—I’ve endeavored to fill in the time with +what happened here between ten o’clock and then—I +put the murder at eleven o’clock approximately, +and I’ve allowed twenty minutes for the cycle ride.”</p> + +<p>Goodall nodded slowly as Anthony made his +points. “Granted all that—Mr. Bathurst—I don’t +say I accept it all—how about that list of hotels you +talk about drawing up and handing to me—there +isn’t exactly a famine in hotels in London—it seems +to me it will be ‘some list.’ ” He smiled at Anthony +with just a tinge of sarcasm.</p> + +<p>“Just a little matter of geometry, Inspector,” +came the somewhat baffling answer.</p> + +<p>“Geometry?” queried Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Anthony, “with a given center and a +radius say of one mile—describe a circle—the hotel +will be found within that circle—the lady was at +work on the real business by midnight—remember.” +The Inspector’s face cleared.</p> + +<p>“Of course! I see now what you mean. Your +center will be the Hanover Galleries?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” replied Mr. Bathurst.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII. <br> The Second Screen of Mary Stuart</h2> + +<p>Goodall turned to Clegg and fired off a rapid +fusillade of instructions to which that worthy gave +the most respectful attention. “At once, +Inspector?” he questioned.</p> + +<p>“Quicker than that,” snapped Goodall, “and +stand no nonsense from anybody.”</p> + +<p>Anthony gave him a glance of approval. Then +watched Clegg depart with heavy and important +tread. “Tell Mr. Charles Stewart we should like +to speak to him for a moment,” he called to the +Sergeant as he made his way towards the hall—“you’ll +find him close handy.” Goodall then came forward. +“I want Mr. Stewart,” he said. “He promised +that I should interview Miss Lennox and the late +Mr. Stewart’s secretary—also I’m afraid I’ve been +keeping him waiting.”</p> + +<p>“Would you mind postponing the interviews for +a little while, Inspector?” asked Anthony. “I’ve +another suggestion to make.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hear it then.”</p> + +<p>“Please yourself, of course,” proceeded Anthony—“have +them in now by all means if you consider it +very important. But what I was going to suggest +was this. I should very much like to have a look +at this Museum Room of Mr. Stewart’s. I’ve got a +shrewd idea that it won’t prove to be entirely +unprofitable.”</p> + +<p>Goodall thought for a moment and then signified +his agreement. “Very well, Mr. Bathurst—that +will suit me very well—I can see the others later.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke Charles Stewart returned.</p> + +<p>“That trifling matter of the Museum Room, Mr. +Stewart,” exclaimed Anthony. “Did you remember +to get that little catalogue from Mr. Llewellyn that +you promised me? If you did I should like to go +in there and have that tour of inspection I discussed +with you last evening.”</p> + +<p>Stewart made an exclamation of regret. “My +apologies, Mr. Bathurst, it slipped my memory—but +I’ll soon rectify that.” He touched the bell. +“Mr. Llewellyn,” he said as the secretary appeared, +“didn’t you compile for my father some time ago a +catalogue of the contents of the Museum Room?”</p> + +<p>Anthony watched the secretary’s face with the +utmost intentness as he replied. “Yes, Mr. Charles. +That is so! Your father was very keen on having +it done.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart nodded eagerly. “Bring me a +copy, will you, please? In here—at once!”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn left quite imperturbably and Stewart +offered a hint of explanation to the others. “My +father thought a tremendous lot of Llewellyn, +gentlemen—and one of the reasons of his great +confidence in him was because of Llewellyn’s keen +interest in <em>all</em> of my father’s concerns. He wasn’t a +chap who just did his bare duty and no more—he +seemed able to identify himself intimately with each +one of my father’s many interests—and not least +with his mania for collecting.”</p> + +<p>Anthony stopped him. “Is Llewellyn a ‘devotee’ +of the ‘antique artistic’?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“My father found him a most zealous assistant +in it, Mr. Bathurst,” replied Charles Stewart, +“that’s all I can tell you. I’m afraid I was much +less interested myself.”</p> + +<p>A tap on the library door heralded the secretary’s +reappearance. “There is a copy of what you +wanted, Mr. Charles,” he declared. Stewart took it +and rapidly glanced over it. “That is a list,” +continued Llewellyn, “of every single article in your +father’s collection.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart handed the list to Anthony. +“Here you are, Mr. Bathurst! Would you like a +copy, too, Inspector?”</p> + +<p>Goodall declined with a shake of the head. “All +I want I can get from Mr. Bathurst,” he answered. +“Remember—this is more his ‘stunt’ than mine. I +haven’t yet been informed that anything has been +stolen from the room in question”—he looked hard +at his questioner. Stewart’s reply came with just the +slightest touch of asperity.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bathurst doesn’t get any inspired information +from me, Inspector, if that’s what you’re hinting +at. He knows that I rather disagree with his +idea. The room was closed when the alarm was +given, and I’ve never suggested to anybody that +anything has been stolen.”</p> + +<p>Goodall partly shifted his ground. “Why then +is our friend here so insistent on the point?”</p> + +<p>Anthony made an attempt at explanation. “I’m +not exactly insistent, Inspector,” he explained, +“don’t misunderstand me! I haven’t perhaps very +much reason at the back of my idea, but I’m just +curious to get a look at these treasures that the late +Mr. Stewart valued so highly. I have a strong +feeling that the visit may help us considerably.”</p> + +<p>Here Goodall’s gesture stopped him.</p> + +<p>“Your theory, of course, Mr. Bathurst, if I may +call it such, being based on the Hanover Galleries +murder—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Anthony quickly, “it seems to +me that the whole case revolves round the Stuart +heirlooms—if you can so describe them.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” intervened Stewart, “the matter can +very soon be settled—we’ll go to the room. Get the +key, Mr. Llewellyn, will you—you’ll probably find +it hanging up in the service-room. Come along, +gentlemen.” It was the work of a moment for Llewellyn +to get the key and for Stewart to unlock the +door of the room. The five men entered. As far +as could be seen the room presented an appearance +of complete order. A more heterogeneous collection +it would have been impossible to imagine. +Tables of old and exquisite workmanship supported +the smaller articles—the larger finding their place +on the floor and against the four walls. Four glass +cases protected other treasures. Manuscripts, missals, +musical instruments of all ages, weapons, rings, +snuff-boxes, furniture of all kinds were to be found, +with suits of ancient armor and specimens of fragile +glass.</p> + +<p>“There are over two thousand articles in this +room, gentlemen,” announced Morgan Llewellyn, +“and the catalogue that I was privileged to compile +lists and partly describes every one of the two +thousand odd. If you look at the end of the catalogue, +Mr. Bathurst, you’ll see the exact number there +are.” Bathurst turned to the end. “Two thousand +and forty-four,” he declared. Goodall smiled at +Llewellyn and Stewart.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s pretty evident that no burglarious +entry was made here, gentlemen. Nothing here +appears to have been disturbed.” He turned to the +others for corroboration of his opinion.</p> + +<p>Stewart shook his head doubtfully. “It would +be most difficult, gentlemen, to trace anything that +<em>had</em> been stolen. My father doubtless would have +been able to tell at once, but I fear that now——” +He stopped and shook his head again.</p> + +<p>“I appreciate what Mr. Stewart says entirely,” +supported Llewellyn. “I was intimately connected +with this particular side of Mr. Stewart, senior, but +I should hesitate to assert that I could say that +anything was missing. Of course, I could tell if some +of the things had been taken—some of the more +special objects for instance. For example”—he +walked to a table that stood to the left of the door. +On it lay what looked like a circlet of dull and +twisted metal. Llewellyn picked it up. “The +ancient Crown of the Kings of England—believed to +have last graced the head of Charles the First. +Mr. Stewart paid a tremendous price for this—and +the sale was secret. It was purchased by him from +one of the most famous names in England. I should +have known at once, for example, if this had been +missing.” He replaced it on the table, and his eyes +smouldered with the covetous zeal of the collector. +Laurence Stewart’s enthusiasm had apparently been +infectious. Bathurst found himself pondering over +it. Llewellyn crossed to the wall and unhooked a +piece of armor that had been hanging there. “Look +at this! This is a gorget. Who do you think is +supposed to have worn it?” Goodall took it and +examined it curiously.</p> + +<p>“No idea,” he said. It was a species of +breastplate shaped like a half-moon.</p> + +<p>“That,” continued Llewellyn, well launched now +on a subject close to his heart, “is supposed to have +been worn by the Black Prince at the Battle of +Creçy. That is a second thing that I should have +missed instantly.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Goodall cut in. “Let’s put it like this, +Mr. Llewellyn, or you, Mr. Stewart! Do either of +you miss anything at all—that’s the quickest way to +get to grips with the question?”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn made a tour of the room. “I miss +nothing, Inspector.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart shook his head rather despondently. +“I can’t help you and that’s a fact, Inspector. +You must leave it at that.” He looked at Anthony +Bathurst, who was, however, busy at the moment +turning over the leaves of Llewellyn’s catalogue.</p> + +<p>“Well then, if that’s the case,” rejoined Goodall, +“no particularly good purpose will be served by us +stopping in here any longer. I’m afraid Mr. +Bathurst has given us a ‘stunner’ this time.”</p> + +<p>“Half a minute,” interposed Anthony quietly. +“You’ve all had an innings, now it’s my turn. Listen +to me for two minutes. Mr. Llewellyn”—he +turned to the secretary—“consider for a moment +item number eight hundred and sixty-six in the +catalogue, will you?”</p> + +<p>Apparently the number conveyed nothing to +Llewellyn, for his face was unchanged.</p> + +<p>“Eight—six—six?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“I’ll read you the description I find here,” +proceeded Anthony. “Antique fire-screen, of beaten +metal-work—about four feet high. Originally the +property of Mary, Queen of Scots.” He tucked the +catalogue under his arm. “I’d like to have a look +at that,” he said, “I’m interested.”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn raised his forefinger. “You shall, Mr. +Bathurst, I do know it now you mention it—it’s in +this corner—behind this collection of Waterford +glass.” He crossed to the right-hand corner of the +room. Anthony scratched the back of his neck—watching +Llewellyn pick his way between the tables. +Suddenly the secretary stopped, and although his +back was towards them, more than one of the four +detected an anxiety in the manner of his stopping. +Then he turned—his face white and working with +excitement. “It’s gone, gentlemen,” he cried. “It’s +not here—come and look yourself, Mr. Stewart.” +Charles Stewart walked quickly to the corner.</p> + +<p>“There’s no screen here,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“Mightn’t it be somewhere else?” asked the +Inspector. “Are these things always kept in precisely +the same spot?”</p> + +<p>“Always, Inspector,” replied Morgan Llewellyn +promptly. “Mr. Stewart was most particular about +that.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it possible that Mr. Stewart himself may +have removed it—on the eve of his intended +purchases—for comparison or something?” suggested +Daventry.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Llewellyn. “I think not. I’m certain +Mr. Stewart would have told me if he had done +so.”</p> + +<p>“Goodall,” said Anthony, with a suspicion of the +didactic in his manner, “I can now assure you of at +least one thing! Mason, the night-watchman, was +murdered for possession of the other Stuart +screen!”</p> + +<p>“And my father——” broke in Charles Stewart +with emotion.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure,” replied Anthony with his hand +on Stewart’s shoulder, “yet! Time is precious,” +he continued, “we’re moving at last. Who can give +me a more detailed description of this screen that +was kept here—I am anxious to know more about +it? Can you, Mr. Llewellyn?”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn hesitated. But Peter was unable to +decide what it was that was passing through his +mind. He seemed to be considering something, but +nevertheless gave no apparent hint of embarrassment +or agitation. Then his answer came, but it +was not quite in the form that Peter had anticipated.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Bathurst. I +certainly remember the screen, as I said just now. +It was of some kind of beaten metal-work and about +the size stated in the catalogue. When I compiled +the catalogue I had some notes of Mr. Stewart’s to +assist me in my classification—I remember I used +his own description wherever possible, when it came +to making up my own list. There were some objects +in the collection that I was forced to raise certain +questions about through lack of information in the +notes, but this screen wasn’t one of those. Mr. +Stewart himself, I may add, approved the +description in the catalogue in every instance.”</p> + +<p>Anthony had followed him very carefully as he +furnished this explanation. “Did Mr. Stewart +mention the matter of this screen to you in connection +with his projected purchase of the other one?”</p> + +<p>Llewellyn shook his head vigorously. “Never!” +was his emphatic reply. “I knew that he was adding +to his collection, but he never referred in any +way to this screen that he already had in his +possession. I’m absolutely sure on the point.”</p> + +<p>“Forgive me, Mr. Llewellyn, if I appear insistent, +but I’ve understood since I’ve been here that +you were a very zealous assistant to Mr. Stewart in +this particular branch of his work. Is that true?”</p> + +<p>Here Goodall intervened abruptly. “Yes, Mr. +Llewellyn, how was it, if you were so intimate with +Mr. Stewart in all his collecting work, that he didn’t +mention the fact of these two screens to you?” But +Llewellyn was not to be so easily shaken.</p> + +<p>“Without appearing to be disrespectful, I would +suggest that Mr. Stewart would have been in a +better position to answer that than I, Inspector,” he +replied smoothly.</p> + +<p>Goodall flushed, but Llewellyn went on. “All I +can say is that he <em>didn’t</em> mention them.”</p> + +<p>Then Anthony countered with another question. +“Had Mr. Stewart confided in you at any +time—before—had he discussed similar purchases on +previous occasions?”</p> + +<p>“Many times,” responded Llewellyn with +absolute candor.</p> + +<p>“Can you then account for a seeming lack of +confidence on his part in this instance?”</p> + +<p>“Frankly, Mr. Bathurst, I can’t! But Mr. +Stewart, if his son will pardon my outspokenness at +such a time as this, was a man of quick impulses. +He was very impetuous and utterly impatient—caught +by this whim and influenced by that wave of +feeling—therefore not exactly a man that you could +call a model of consistency. Not that I have any +reason or desire to find fault with him as an +employer. He was always just and always generous—I +cannot complain of his treatment of me.” He +looked up and caught Inspector Goodall’s eye and +he was quick enough to sense its disapproval. For +Goodall’s brain was considering several elements of +doubt. “Why,” said the Inspector to himself, +“why does this young man talk like this when Miss +Marjorie Lennox accuses him of harboring revengeful +feelings against the man of whom he speaks?” +He decided that the solution to this little problem +might possibly be more speedily forthcoming if he +showed a little craft. So he affected an air of +ingenuousness.</p> + +<p>“The sentiments do you credit,” he declared. +“It’s the fashion of the world nowadays to run +down your employers as much as you can. Well, +Mr. Bathurst, what about this screen of yours? I’m +afraid there’s nobody here that can help you with +those details you asked for. You’ll have to remain +content with the description in the catalogue—‘an +antique metal-work screen.’ I expect the only +person that could have supplied more information was +Mr. Stewart himself.”</p> + +<p>“That’s not quite true!” A musical voice from +the doorway tinkled across to the group of men. +They all turned instantaneously as Marjorie Lennox +picked her dainty way towards them. “No! +That’s not true,” she reaffirmed. “Because I can! +Charles—introduce me to these gentlemen.” She +spoke imperiously.</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry realized when he bowed to this +charming interruption that life had discovered for +him an additional interest. He murmured a few +words to a magical smile and thanked God for +another blessing. Anthony expressed his intense +satisfaction that Miss Lennox was able to help them +so materially, in which statement he was gallantly +seconded by Detective-Inspector Goodall, whose +thoughts at the same time reverted to Sergeant Clegg +and a lady’s handkerchief!</p> + +<p>“I overheard what was being said,” exclaimed +Miss Lennox demurely, “and I realized at once that +I could help you. The night before he died, poor +Uncle Laurence brought me in here specially to look +at that screen. He was very excited about it and +he explained to me that Lord Clavering’s death and +the sale of his property had given him the chance to +get the two screens that had belonged to Mary, +Queen of Scots, before the débacle at Carbery Hill +and her subsequent imprisonment. We looked at it +together—I can describe it very fully.”</p> + +<p>“Just what I want, Miss Lennox,” exclaimed +Anthony. “As fully as you can, please—you will help +me a lot.”</p> + +<p>Marjorie puckered her brow. Peter instantly +formed the opinion that it made her distinctly more +lovely than ever. “It stood about so high,” she +declared with an appropriate gesture, “and was +made as far as I could judge of some kind of +metal—copper I should imagine from the color. Of +course, being over 300 years old it was much darker +and blacker than the beaten copper work that we +see now.” Here came more brow-puckering, to +Peter’s secret delight—Mr. Daventry, it must be +remembered, had a keen eye and the soundest of +discriminating tastes. “The next part is harder to +remember,” continued the charming chronicler, “but +I think I’m right.” She thought for a moment and +then went on. “In the top left-hand corner there +was Mary’s Lion and in the right-hand corner the +‘fleur-de-lis.’ At the bottom of the screen—on the +right——”</p> + +<p>“Forgive me, Miss Lennox,” said Peter under the +influence of a sudden impulse, “it’s awfully rude of +me, I know, but let me see if I can finish the +description for you—just a fancy of mine—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Miss Lennox looked very surprised and a little +disdainful, but, “Go on then,” was all she permitted +herself to say. Thus encouraged, Peter did so.</p> + +<p>“At the bottom,” he declared oracularly, “were +the Leopards and Lilies of England.”</p> + +<p>A pair of wonderful blue eyes seemed suddenly to +become more wonderful. With the wonder of +amazement.</p> + +<p>“You’re right—absolutely right,” she said. +“Where and when did you see Uncle’s screen?”</p> + +<p>But Peter proceeded with the assurance of the +conqueror. “In the center,” he said, “were the +words, ‘Jesus Christ, God and Saviour.’ ” He +paused and with his eyes invited her corroboration. +But this time Marjorie corrected him—<em>very</em> +disdainfully.</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” she remarked—“in the center were +two words in Latin. They had been scratched, or +inscribed perhaps is the happier word, with a +sharp-pointed instrument—at least that’s what it looked +like. The two words were ‘<i>Timeo Danaos</i>.’ ” Here +she stopped as all good story-tellers should when +they have scored a good point.</p> + +<p>“Translate, Mr. Bathurst,” said Goodall with +the suggestion of a grin, “my classics are rusty.”</p> + +<p>“ ‘<i>Timeo Danaos</i>,’ ” repeated Anthony, “ ‘<i>et +dona ferentes</i>’—which being interpreted means, ‘I +fear the Greeks especially when they bring gifts.’ ”</p> + +<p>“What the deuce are Greeks doing on this +screen?” grumbled Goodall.</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head. “Can’t see for the +moment, I admit. Anything else, Miss Lennox?”</p> + +<p>Marjorie nodded her little head in the affirmative. +“Yes,” she said, “right underneath the two +words—almost exactly in the center of the screen—was a +big fish.”</p> + +<p>“A fish?” queried Anthony, wrinkling his +forehead, “what sort of a fish?”</p> + +<p>Marjorie shook her head. “Just an ordinary fish—that’s +all I could say about it. All the animals—the +Lion, and the Leopards and the Fish—and the +flowers too, were done in a kind of repoussé +work—you know what I mean—they stood out as it were +away from the surface of the screen itself.”</p> + +<p>Anthony nodded that he understood what she +meant.</p> + +<p>“You’ve been of tremendous assistance to me, +Miss Lennox,” he declared. “The case becomes +more complicated than ever, but all the same I feel +it in my bones that we shall solve it. Inspector +Goodall here will confirm my opinion.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector smiled grimly, but whatever remark +he may have been about to make was stifled +by the reappearance of Sergeant Clegg at the door +of the Museum Room. Clegg saluted smartly.</p> + +<p>“A word with you, Inspector, if you please.”</p> + +<p>Goodall turned to Charles Stewart. “Mr. Stewart,” +he said, “I should be obliged if you would take +Miss Lennox and Mr. Llewellyn into the library—I +will join you in a few moments—I want to have a +little chat with them—thank you.”</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry had been half hoping that the +Inspector would dismiss him too, but his luck failed. +He was more reconciled, however, when he listened +to Clegg’s report.</p> + +<p>“A trunk-call was put through on the night of the +murder, Inspector, to Blanchard’s Hotel, Clifford +Street, W. I worked on the lines this gentleman +suggested—although as it happened he was a good +bit out in his reckoning as regards the time.” This +last remark left his lips triumphantly.</p> + +<p>Anthony looked up—puzzled. “How much, +Sergeant?” he inquired promptly.</p> + +<p>“Eleven minutes,” Clegg announced judicially.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, Sergeant,” said Anthony, “I was +afraid you meant hours”—he broke off and +shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>The Sergeant looked aggrieved. “Eleven minutes +is a long time, if I may say so,” he urged—defending +his position—“you try and catch a train +when you’re eleven minutes late.”</p> + +<p>“Come, Clegg,” exclaimed Goodall impatiently, +“what do they say at Blanchard’s Hotel?”</p> + +<p>Clegg resumed his narrative with an air of injury. +“I ’phoned the Hotel and I’ve been able to trace +that it was to a gentleman who was staying there +with his wife. When the ’phone call had been +answered they asked for the manager—immediately. +They informed him that owing to the sudden serious +illness of a near relative they were obliged to leave +the hotel at once. They paid their bill, collected +their luggage and departed.”</p> + +<p>“On foot?” cut in Goodall peremptorily.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t inquire,” murmured Clegg, “I was +too—er—taken aback with what I heard next. This +gentleman and his wife had registered at the hotel +in the names of Mr. and Mrs. Laurence Charles +Stewart!”</p> + +<p>Goodall whistled in amazement.</p> + +<p>“From where?” flashed Anthony.</p> + +<p>“From New York,” replied the Sergeant.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII. <br> Colonel Leach-Fletcher Is at Home to Visitors</h2> + +<p>“Stewart!” echoed Goodall. “Great Scott! +Where on earth are we getting to? Did you get a +description of these people, Clegg?”</p> + +<p>“I did, sir. According to my information the +man was between thirty and forty—his wife about +the same. They had been at Blanchard’s Hotel +about a week—I didn’t wait for any more details—I +was anxious to get back to you with the information +I had got!”</p> + +<p>Goodall gave him a quick nod of praise, then +turned to Anthony. “Do you know what I’m thinking, +Mr. Bathurst?” he said. “I’m thinking that +this lady and gentleman who left this hotel so +suddenly are the identical pair that lunched with Mr. +Daventry. What do you think, yourself?”</p> + +<p>Anthony considered for a brief moment. “Yes, +Inspector, I’m inclined to agree with you—I <em>was</em> +thinking the same, myself. And when you get them +you’ll clap your hands on the murderer of poor +Mason, the night-watchman—you can bet your +bottom dollar on that.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s jaw set tight. “Well, I <em>shall</em> clap my +hands on them—if it means chasing them over two +continents. At the same time—I’ve got precious +little to go upon—two people from New York that +put up at an hotel for a week and then walk out of +it suddenly. It’s a needle in a haystack job, very +probably,” he concluded pessimistically.</p> + +<p>“You have two other facts besides that, +Inspector,” added Anthony. “They possess a tapestry +fire-screen, stolen from Day, Forshaw and Palmers’, +and the lady sneezes.”</p> + +<p>Goodall snapped his fingers impatiently.</p> + +<p>“All the same, Mr. Bathurst—that won’t help me +overmuch. But with regard to what you just said +about the screen—have they one screen or two?”</p> + +<p>“That’s difficult to say, Inspector. I don’t know +what to think—upon reflection, perhaps two.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I think,” agreed Goodall, “and +when I’ve had my little interview with Miss Lennox +and Llewellyn—I’ll decide upon a plan of action.”</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he joined Anthony and Peter. +“I’m running up to Blanchard’s Hotel,” he announced. +“It’s imperative that I should have a look +round there—there may be a most valuable clue left +behind—you never know. What will you do, Mr. +Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>“I’m calling on a gentleman whose name has been +mentioned more than once in connection with this +case, Inspector—a gentleman who lives very +near—Colonel Leach-Fletcher.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s face brightened. “Exactly my own +idea,” he exclaimed, “it was just on the cards that +I called on him myself before getting my train up to +town.” He stopped and thought—then swung round +quickly on the two men. “And I will, Mr. Bathurst,” +he declared, “I’ll come with you—if anybody can +tell us anything it’s this Colonel chap.”</p> + +<p>“Right‑o, there’s no time like the present. What +about getting away now?”</p> + +<p>“Delighted—I’ll just run back and tell Clegg.” +Goodall dashed back and within a couple of minutes +had made a start. “The address is ‘Neuve +Chapelle’—it’s a charming bungalow, I’m given to +understand, on the road to Rockinge—a matter of +about four miles. The gallant Colonel, I presume, +judging from the name he has given his bungalow, +saw service in the European War—I expect Stewart +found him an interesting and delightful neighbor.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt,” agreed the Inspector, “I hear from +Clegg that they were pretty close cronies.”</p> + +<p>“Neuve Chapelle” was reached in an hour, and +the smart maid-servant who answered their ring +showed some signs of surprise at the number of the +visitors. The Colonel evidently didn’t have many +friends who called upon him of mornings. Goodall +took upon himself the post of spokesman.</p> + +<p>“My compliments to Colonel Leach-Fletcher,” he +said, “and will you please tell him that +Detective-Inspector Goodall, of Scotland Yard, would like to +see him for a moment or two?”</p> + +<p>The maid-servant looked scared and her rosy +cheeks whitened a trifle. “Will you please step +inside, I’ll tell my master.”</p> + +<p>An interval of a few moments saw them ushered +into what was evidently the lounge. It was altogether +a charming room, furnished in irreproachable +taste. A man in the early sixties was standing in the +center of the room—facing them as they entered. +Colonel Leach-Fletcher was a man of fine physique——round +about five feet ten and weighing as far as +Anthony could judge from a quick glance, somewhere +in the region of fourteen stone. His manner +was very decisive—some people might have +described it as curt.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said rather +abruptly. “I understand you wish to see me—about +poor Stewart I presume?”</p> + +<p>Goodall bowed. “These gentlemen are Mr. +Anthony Bathurst and Mr. Peter Daventry—they +represent Mr. Charles Stewart’s interests.”</p> + +<p>Colonel Leach-Fletcher acknowledged the introduction +with a quick inclination of the head—and a +rather cavalier one, at that. “I am ready to tell you +anything you think necessary—but really, I’m afraid +you will find it of small consequence—sit down, +gentlemen!” The Colonel took up his position in +front of the mantelpiece as his self-invited guests +accepted his invitation.</p> + +<p>“In the first place, Colonel,” said Goodall, opening +the interview, “I am informed that you dined +with the murdered man on the evening of the +murder, and left Assynton Lodge somewhere about ten +o’clock.” Goodall looked up for the Colonel’s +corroboration. It came immediately.</p> + +<p>“Quite correct!” Goodall waited to see if the +Colonel purposed adding anything to his reply, but +the Colonel didn’t—he waited for Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Was Mr. Stewart in normally good spirits +during the evening, Colonel?”</p> + +<p>Colonel Leach-Fletcher twirled his white moustache. +Then he thrust his two hands deep into his +trouser-pockets and stood still. “Look here, +Inspector—what name did you say—Goodall?—look +here, Inspector Goodall—I’m utterly opposed to +beating about the bush, so I’ll tell you straight to +your face without any embroidery that I hate your +infernal trade and all its tricks and practices. But +I’m a man that realizes the exigencies of duty—so +I’ll waive my personal inclinations that prompt me +to send you to the Devil—and I’ll answer your +question—even though I feel within me that I’m +betraying a dead man’s confidence. Mr. Stewart was <em>not</em> +exactly in his ordinary cheerful frame of mind on the +evening in question.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Goodall, “perhaps you will explain +more fully.”</p> + +<p>Anthony’s eyes never left the Colonel now—he +realized that he might be on the point of hearing +something that touched the crime very closely. The +Colonel’s steely-blue eyes were full of resolution and +determination. He had made a decision, and though +he found its carrying-out irksome and unpleasant, he +was determined to see it through.</p> + +<p>“You must understand that Stewart and I had +become very friendly and were on very intimate +terms. We had a number of common interests and +we were almost neighbors, four miles isn’t a great +distance in the country. I am not sure that, when +he invited me to dine with him that evening, he +hadn’t a special reason for so doing. If I may be +permitted to say so—he valued my opinion on most +things and regarded himself as privileged to consider +me a friend. During the evening—<em>after</em> dinner—he +took me into the library and told me of two +matters that were causing him a good deal of +uneasiness. The first was rather a surprising one. He +told me that there was underhand work going on at +Assynton Lodge.”</p> + +<p>Anthony, with a quick glance at Goodall, cut in. +“Did he actually use the word ‘underhand,’ +Colonel?”</p> + +<p>The latter pursed his lips. “Upon reflection, I +believe he used the word ‘treacherous,’ but I’m not +absolutely certain on the point. Is it very +important?”</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head. “Tell us more, Colonel——this +is most illuminating.” The Colonel appeared +gratified at this testimony to his narrative powers. +He proceeded.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart went on to tell me that more than +once he had found that his private papers and +documents had been interfered with. This fact was +worrying him considerably and causing him great +concern. It wasn’t so much the espionage that +troubled him, but the idea that there was somebody +near to him that was acting treacherously. I +gathered from his conversation with me that evening +that he was determined to take the bull by the horns +and endeavor to put a stop to it, if at all possible.”</p> + +<p>“Did he suspect anybody?” questioned Goodall.</p> + +<p>“I think not,” replied the Colonel, “at any rate, +if he did, he refrained from taking me into his +confidence to that extent.”</p> + +<p>“One point that strikes me as important, Colonel,” +interposed Anthony, “did Mr. Stewart give +you any idea as to how long this had been going +on?”</p> + +<p>“Only for a matter of months at the most—that +at all events is certain—it commenced, he told me, +some time after he came to England.”</p> + +<p>“Had he mentioned it to you before?” Anthony +watched the Colonel very keenly as he put this +question to him.</p> + +<p>“Not in actual terms,” came the reply, “he had +hinted once or twice very recently that he was +disturbed about something, but he never gave me any +actual details till that last night of his life.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece +and put his head in his hand.</p> + +<p>“What was the second matter that Mr. Stewart +spoke about?” queried Goodall.</p> + +<p>The Colonel deliberated for a moment or two +before he answered.</p> + +<p>“There, gentlemen, you approach me on much +more delicate ground. And in some ways, I regret +having made the admission to you and the promise to +tell you all I know. The dead man, if he still possesses +a spiritual consciousness in some other sphere, +will, I hope, understand. I can only hope also that +the living man will understand too. Gentlemen, Mr. +Stewart was extremely upset about the conduct of his +son—Charles Stewart.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s body became all attention. It seemed +to him that he was beginning to emerge into the +light at last.</p> + +<p>“What had Charles Stewart done to offend his +father?” he demanded. The Colonel extended his +hands towards them—palms upwards. It was a gesture +of deprecation and at the same time seemed to +contain a tinge of disappointment. “That is a +question I cannot answer! Mr. Stewart did not enlighten +me. He told me that he was grievously disappointed +over something Charles had done. He said that it +would make a difference to his whole life.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Whose</em> life?” Anthony shot the question at +him. “His own life or his son’s?”</p> + +<p>“I understood him to mean his <em>own</em> life,” +rejoined the Colonel very quietly.</p> + +<p>“And he gave you no inkling as to what this +conduct was?”</p> + +<p>“None at all!” The Colonel shook his head +slowly, “and I didn’t press him for any more +information on the point. It would have been a breach +of courtesy on my part to have appeared unwarrantably +inquisitive. I let Mr. Stewart tell me as much +as it pleased him—and I sympathized with him. He +was deeply attached to Charles and felt the +misunderstanding or whatever it was very keenly. +There is just one more piece of information that I +am in a position to give. Mr. Stewart intended having +an interview with his son after I left that evening. +Of course, I can’t say that the interview ever +took place.” The Colonel caressed his moustache +again.</p> + +<p>Goodall sprang to his feet. “Good heavens, +Colonel! Do you realize the gravity of this last +statement? Do you know at what time Mr. +Stewart’s murder has been put at—pretty well +<em>fixed</em>?”</p> + +<p>“I do not, Inspector,” responded the Colonel. +“I have only heard the bare facts.” He looked at +Goodall with an invitation for information. The +Inspector gave it to him.</p> + +<p>“As far as we are able to judge—we who have +been looking into the case—the late Mr. Stewart +met his death somewhere about eleven o’clock—just +about an hour after Butterworth saw you out.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel shrugged his square shoulders. “An +hour is a long time, gentlemen, I would remind you! +And Charles Stewart may not have been with his +father after all. Events may have conspired to +prevent it—there’s no knowing. You are working more +or less in the dark.”</p> + +<p>Anthony ranged himself with the Colonel. “I +quite agree with you, sir. Half-a-dozen people +might have been in the library with Mr. Stewart +between ten and eleven o’clock that night—there is no +evidence to the contrary—that’s certain. But this +interview that you mention, Colonel! Are you +convinced that it was to be on the subject that had +caused Mr. Stewart such displeasure? That seems +to me to matter a great deal.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t be certain with regard to that,” was the +Colonel’s reply. “Mr. Stewart didn’t tell me so +exactly—but I think that I should be perfectly +justified in assuming so—coming as it did after what +he had just previously told me.”</p> + +<p>Goodall took a hand again. “Coming back to +the details of your own visit, Colonel—I’m sure +you won’t mind answering a few more questions. +How did you travel over to Assynton Lodge on that +particular evening?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel’s reply came quickly with a touch of +annoyance in his voice. “By car, of course, my +own car. What’s your point in asking a question +like that?”</p> + +<p>Goodall affected not to hear the question—he +made no immediate answer. “So that I presume,” +he continued, “that you were home here by +ten-fifteen easily?”</p> + +<p>“I should imagine that would be about the time,” +said Colonel Leach-Fletcher testily, “though what +the blazes all this has to do with the affair——”</p> + +<p>Goodall intervened again. “In that quarter of an +hour’s journey—did you pass anybody or notice +anybody on the road?”</p> + +<p>“I did not,” snapped the Colonel. “It was a perfectly +glorious night, and if I had passed anybody, I +probably shouldn’t have seen them—my attention is +always too much taken up in driving my car.”</p> + +<p>Anthony flashed him a cordial smile. “Fond of +motoring, Colonel?”</p> + +<p>“I am that. It’s one of my hobbies—the roads +are pretty good down this way, and I go for some +fast spins.”</p> + +<p>Anthony rubbed his hands. “You’re another like +myself,” he chuckled. “What’s your car?”</p> + +<p>“A Bentley—latest model,” said the Colonel—“real +beauty—I can knock an easy seventy-five out +of her.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’ve seen the latest model,” said +Anthony reflectively, “I don’t fancy——”</p> + +<p>The Colonel broke in on his musings enthusiastically. +“Come out to the garage then and have a +look at mine. It won’t take a moment.”</p> + +<p>They followed the Colonel, who explained the +car’s fine points with the eagerness of a schoolboy. +Goodall looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, Colonel,” he said, “I must be going! +Many thanks for your kindness. You know where +I’m off to, Mr. Bathurst—don’t quite know when I +shall be back—if you want me, ’phone ‘the Yard.’ ”</p> + +<p>The Colonel’s eyes followed his retreating figure +for some distance. “We must be going too, +Colonel,” exclaimed Anthony, “but there’s one little +point before I go. That last evening you spent with +Mr. Stewart—did he refer to any book while you +were there—was he reading any book at any time +during the evening? Try to remember if you +possibly can!”</p> + +<p>The Colonel knitted his brows. “There was a +book open on his desk, now you come to mention +it—I remember seeing it there—what was it called +now?” he searched his mind in the effort of +remembrance—“I know—it was Renan’s <i>Vie de Jésus</i>.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV. <br> Mr. Bathurst Takes a Book From the Bookcase</h2> + +<p>The Colonel made this announcement with an +air! “By Gad!” it seemed to say—“I’ll show +these police fellers and detective Johnnies that they +aren’t the only people that can use their eyes or their +memories!” Then Mr. Bathurst jerked him back +from his ecstatic contemplation to stern reality.</p> + +<p>“Now Colonel,” he said, “think very carefully—when +did you see this book lying on Mr. Stewart’s +desk—when you entered the library after dinner—or +when you left him at ten o’clock?”</p> + +<p>The Colonel frowned. “Damn it all, sir,” he +muttered, “you expect a man to remember a devil +of a lot—had I known there was going to be a murder, +I might have taken more particular notice,” he +glared at his questioner with growing impatience.</p> + +<p>Anthony smiled. “As a matter of fact, sir—I +wouldn’t have troubled to ask that question of +ninety-nine persons out of a hundred—because I +know I should get no satisfaction. The ordinary +person is very unobservant. But I have been so +impressed with the various points that you have +remembered.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel grunted his satisfaction—he was a +soldier and therefore not unmoved by flattery. +“Thank you—thank you,” he muttered. “Now let +me see if I <em>can</em> help you in this particular instance.” +He closed his eyes for a few seconds seeking either +concentration or inspiration—perhaps both. “The +book was lying open on poor Stewart’s desk when he +took me into the library—I’m certain of that now +I cast my mind back—and I’m almost equally certain +that it was in exactly the same position when I +said ‘Good-bye’—I can’t remember him closing it +or putting it away—he was talking pretty seriously +to me virtually the entire evening. Yes”—he +reflected, giving himself a species of mental +check—“I’m confident that’s right.” Anthony held out his +hand.</p> + +<p>“That’s excellent, Colonel.”</p> + +<p>Colonel Leach-Fletcher took it in his. “Must +you be going?”</p> + +<p>“Afraid so, Colonel—we’ve a heap of things to +see to, Mr. Daventry and I—and we haven’t too +much time at our disposal—coming over to see you +has helped us no end—no doubt I shall see you again +before the affair is finally settled.”</p> + +<p>“When is the inquest fixed for?” queried the +Colonel.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t been told yet,” answered Anthony, +“but in all probability it will only be formal at the +first inquiry. The Police will probably take evidence +of identification and then ask the Coroner for an +adjournment. I’ll make arrangements for you to know +as soon as we get the news at Assynton Lodge—still +you’ll be wanted yourself—I was forgetting that.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’re right—it’s a bad business and a +nuisance—still it can’t be helped now—what’s done +can’t be undone. Good-bye, gentlemen.” The Colonel +waved his hand in dismissal. For a few minutes +Anthony remained silent, and Peter Daventry was +beginning to know him sufficiently well to realize +that it was a thoroughly sound investment to let him +alone during those moments. After a time his mood +passed and Daventry saw his face break into a smile.</p> + +<p>“Cigarette, Daventry?” he exclaimed, “and I’ll +join you in smoking the health of a very pretty little +problem indeed. I am deeply in your debt, Daventry, +for my introduction to it. I wouldn’t have +missed it for the world.”</p> + +<p>Peter took the cigarette and they lit up. “Glad +to hear you say that, Bathurst,” he rejoined, “but +the question is will you be able to let daylight into +it?”</p> + +<p>Anthony rubbed his chin with his fingers. “As to +that, Daventry,” he said, “I am extremely +confident—although I always try to school myself to remember +that ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’ ” He grinned.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Bathurst,” remarked Daventry, “I +know in cases of this kind the Doctor Watson of the +business is always a thick-headed sort of arrangement, +and I don’t suppose I’m any more brilliant +than the majority.” He stopped for a +second—shamefaced and apologetic.</p> + +<p>But he found Anthony the reverse of inaccessible. +“Unload, Daventry,” he said sympathetically, +“what precisely is troubling you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s like this,” responded Peter, “everything +points as far as I can see to this Assynton +Lodge murder being an inside job—and yet everybody +there seems unaffected—I’m afraid I’m not +making myself too clear—everybody seems +normal—nobody’s bolted with the screen, for instance!”</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head. “I know what you +mean, but what you put forward is very easily +explained, isn’t it? The screen may have been handed +to a confederate, or again, it may be more profitable +for the criminal to hold up his activities for a while.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Peter, as he thought over what his +companion said. “I see your point—but I’m not +altogether satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you are for a moment,” was the +rejoinder, “the case, as a whole, bristles with +extremely puzzling details—and you don’t know them +all, Daventry, take it from me.”</p> + +<p>Peter looked at him incredulously. “Why—what +do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I got one or two pieces of evidence from Sergeant +Clegg that he collected before we arrived at +the scene—I haven’t told you of all of them yet.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me now,” said Peter anxiously, “don’t +leave me in the dark.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s take the case as a whole then, without +stopping to attempt to think of what you know and +what you don’t know. Stewart is murdered, I’m +confident I’m right here, about eleven <span class="sc">p. m.</span> Colonel +Leach-Fletcher left at ten o’clock, Butterworth can +give unimpeachable confirmation of <em>that</em>. The +Colonel tells us that Stewart intended interviewing +his son about some matter that was causing friction +between them. We’ll call it friction—although it +may have been of more serious consequence. It is a +significant fact that Charles Stewart, although +calling you and me into the case, has maintained an +eloquent silence concerning it, whatever it was. +Now we arrive at a further complication. Butterworth +tells Sergeant Clegg that he heard Stewart—<em>Laurence</em> +Stewart—in conversation with somebody +else in the library at <em>ten minutes past ten</em>!” He +paused and watched Peter intently.</p> + +<p>“You don’t say so,” exclaimed the latter. “Can +he tell who it was?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes,” murmured Anthony negligently, “he +recognized the person’s voice.”</p> + +<p>“Then who was it?” demanded Peter eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Marjorie Lennox!” Anthony dropped the +name daintily and delicately—he must have been +thinking of the little lady herself.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lie,” cried Peter. “The butler’s lying—I +refuse to believe it—it’s not feasible—it’s——”</p> + +<p>“My dear Peter,” cooed Anthony, “I am sorely +afraid that I diagnosed your complaint a few hours +ago—when Miss Lennox made her dramatic entrance +into the Museum Room. I feel doubly sure +now that I was right.”</p> + +<p>Peter looked somewhat sheepish.</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately the excellent Butterworth’s story +has strong support.”</p> + +<p>“From whom?” asked Peter sullenly.</p> + +<p>“Support of a peculiar and convincing nature,” +continued Mr. Bathurst nonchalantly. “When the +Sergeant first examined the library—<em>the actual scene +of the crime</em>, Daventry—he found a lady’s handkerchief +caught in the curtains that hang at the French +doors.” He took another cigarette with evident +enjoyment.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t necessarily belong to Miss Lennox,” +countered Peter.</p> + +<p>“N—no,” replied Anthony, calculatingly, “no, +I admit that. But it has initials on it, in the corner, +I believe—and those initials are ‘M. L.’—perhaps +it belongs to Mr. Morgan Llewellyn!”</p> + +<p>Peter gasped.</p> + +<p>“Is that a fact, Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely, my boy—everything exactly as I’ve +told you!”</p> + +<p>“Well, all I can say,” replied Peter, exercising his +full powers of recovery, “I don’t believe Miss +Lennox has <em>anything</em> to do with the dreadful business +and that she can give a perfectly reasonable account +of how her handkerchief got there.” He seemed +very dogged as he made this last remark. But +Anthony had not finished with him yet awhile.</p> + +<p>“But she <em>won’t</em>,” he proceeded airily. “She was +approached about having been in the library. And +she <em>lied</em> about it, Daventry. It’s no use disguising +the fact, she <em>lied</em> about it—<em>and then made an +attempt to get into the library</em>—presumably to look +for her handkerchief.”</p> + +<p>“Do they suspect her—do <em>you</em> suspect her, +Bathurst?” demanded Peter, “it seems impossible——that +girl—mixed up in a monstrous affair of this +sort”—he stopped at a loss for words to express his +indignation adequately.</p> + +<p>“I can’t answer your first question—I can’t +answer for them,” said Anthony, “but I certainly +suspect her of knowing more than she has told us. +For instance—why has she deliberately accused +Morgan Llewellyn?”</p> + +<p>“What?” muttered Peter again. “When?”</p> + +<p>“To Sergeant Clegg when he first spoke to her—what +do you make of that, Daventry?” Peter was +non-committal. “Again,” continued Bathurst relentlessly, +“why were her initials in front of the dead +man—scrawled by the dead man in his last conscious +moments?”</p> + +<p>“They mightn’t have been intended for +hers—you can’t be certain,” defended Peter.</p> + +<p>“Of course not!” Anthony slapped him on the +back. “<em>As a matter of fact they weren’t!</em>”</p> + +<p>Peter could hardly believe his ears at this sudden +revelation. “How can you know that?” he +demanded.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know, Daventry,” came the +prompt reply, “but all the same, I’m pretty sure.”</p> + +<p>They were nearing their destination, and the edges +of the grounds of Assynton Lodge were already +coming into sight. Anthony became grave again.</p> + +<p>“But there’s one thing I don’t know,” he muttered. +“What is the secret of these Stuart screens? +What do they hold to make men murder for their +possession? Why does one bear the first two words +of a line from Virgil? ‘I fear the Greeks’—why +the Greeks?—there were no Greeks round Mary +surely”—he turned to his companion. “Tell me +again—what was the inscription on the tapestry +screen at the Hanover Galleries?”</p> + +<p>“It was done in colored beads—the beads spelled +the words, ‘Jesus Christ, God and Saviour.’ ”</p> + +<p>“Made by a monk, I suppose,” murmured Anthony, +“their work was usually dedicated in that +way—still——”</p> + +<p>Peter cut in. “I know! There’s one thing I +wanted to ask you—it slipped my mind just now. +What made you suspect Colonel Leach-Fletcher?”</p> + +<p>Anthony showed signs of amusement. “Who +says I suspect him?”</p> + +<p>“I could see you did,” replied Peter, “dash it +all, I’m not so blind as all that.”</p> + +<p>“You’re forgetting something, Daventry,” said +Anthony. “Leach-Fletcher’s stay was from seven +to ten, you know—three hours he spent with the +murdered man!”</p> + +<p>Peter looked blank. “Don’t get you,” he +exclaimed. “If you want to suspect anybody—suspect +that lying Butterworth. He must have some ulterior +motive for hatching up that yarn about Miss +Lennox.”</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head in denial. “Butterworth +told the truth, Daventry. What he said about Miss +Lennox is entirely accurate.”</p> + +<p>They entered the gate and walked round to the +back of the house, Peter growing moodier and more +despondent. His championship of Miss Lennox, +together with his denunciation of the butler, had +proved profitless—his words had fallen on barren +soil. Whereat he was distinctly crestfallen! He +refused to harbor the idea for a mere moment that +Miss Lennox could be implicated in the crime that he +was helping to investigate. It was ridiculous! When +he considered that only a couple of days ago he was +craving for something exciting to turn up and now +that “something exciting” <em>had</em> turned up—he found +the whole thing extremely difficult to believe.</p> + +<p>“When do you expect Goodall back?” he +questioned as they entered the house.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say definitely,” said Anthony, “it depends +on how he gets on up in Clifford Street. London’s +a big place—he may have a ticklish job to +trace ‘Mr. and Mrs. Laurence Charles Stewart.’ +You can’t tell.”</p> + +<p>Peter assented. “That’s just what I’m thinking,” +he declared, “rather neat that, don’t you think, to +register in those names?”</p> + +<p>Anthony turned to him—a serious look on his +face. “You feel certain then—that they are +assumed names, Daventry, and not their own?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” replied Peter, with a certain amount of +hesitation, “I’m afraid I took that for granted—I +hadn’t been considering them as possible members of +Stewart’s family—do you really think they are?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know quite what to think about it—I’ve +nothing sound to work upon—I reserve my opinion +till I know more—it’s a habit of mine.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart came forward to greet them. +“So Goodall’s gone to town—eh? What about +some lunch—you must be ready for some by now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, to both questions,” laughed Anthony. +“The Inspector thinks he can do better up in town +for the time being than down here.”</p> + +<p>Stewart seemed disinclined for conversation at +lunch, and with Llewellyn relapsing into taciturnity, +Anthony was left to contemplate the <i>entente cordiale</i> +that had so speedily arisen between Peter Daventry +and Marjorie Lennox. It possessed several features +of attraction for him. At the same time he realized +that it might conceivably place Daventry in an +awkward position as Charles Stewart’s solicitor and +indirectly affect himself. When they rose from the +table he slipped his arm into Peter’s.</p> + +<p>“I want you for a moment, Daventry—I want to +get into the library while the coast is reasonably +clear, and I want you to help me.”</p> + +<p>Peter was pleased to hear this—action stimulated +him just as much as passivity galled him. He cast +one more adoring glance in the direction of the +exquisite Marjorie and fell in at Anthony’s side.</p> + +<p>“It’s just possible that I’m too late,” remarked +the latter, “that the bird has flown—or rather ‘has +been flown with’—still, we’ll see.”</p> + +<p>Peter nodded in agreement, although of course he +didn’t see.</p> + +<p>“Come in and close the door quietly,” said +Anthony, “and now you’re in, sit down and make +yourself comfortable—you’re going to stay in here +some little time.” Peter found himself wondering +what was coming. “I’m going to speak very quietly, +Daventry, because something sinister is going on in +this house—and as events have already shown—the +persons concerned stick at nothing. I am particularly +anxious not to be overheard or even overlooked. +So we’ll pretend, as far as we are able, to +be indulging in just an ordinary conversation. +Remember how careful I was first thing after breakfast +this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Bank on me,” came Peter’s reply. This sort of +thing rather appealed to him, it served to put him on +his mettle.</p> + +<p>“You will remember also,” commenced Anthony, +“that my rest was disturbed last night, or to be +precise, this morning, by a gentleman who was +indulging in a little walking exercise past my bedroom +door and down the corridor to his own! You and I +know that gentleman, my dear Daventry, as a Mr. +Morgan Llewellyn. I formed the opinion that it +must be a fairly strong motive that lures a man from +his bed to promenade the house at night—what do +you think, Daventry?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” said Peter decisively, “I know it +would have to be for me.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll proceed then”—Anthony lit a cigarette +and tossed his case to Peter. “From other symptoms +that very quickly manifested themselves, I concluded +that the gentleman in question was seeking +something that he had dropped—or left by mistake, +possibly—in this room—he was annoyed, you will +remember, that he found his entrance barred by +Clegg’s arrangements. And he was so annoyed that +he was indiscreet enough to <em>express</em> his annoyance. +Of course I ought to mention that there’s just one +other possibility”—here Anthony glanced slyly at +the attentive Daventry—“Mr. Llewellyn <em>may</em> have +been worried about something that somebody else +had left in here.” He blew a cloud of smoke from +his nostrils. “A lady’s handkerchief, for example. +What do you say to that—impossible?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it’s possible,” conceded Peter +grudgingly, “I’ll grant you that much.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very sporting of you,” declared Anthony. +“But somehow I don’t think that’s the true +explanation—Miss Lennox, Clegg tells me, was working +on her own to recover the lost handkerchief—so +I don’t think she employed Mr. Llewellyn. +Now—listen. I watched our gentleman very carefully +when we were all in here this morning—when +Stewart sent for him and also afterwards—and I’m +pretty confident that he’s uneasy about something in +this library. From the way in which he used his eyes +on this desk—I deduce a document or paper of some +kind. I may be wrong, of course. This is where I +come to the remark I made when we came in just +now. During our absence at Colonel +Leach-Fletcher’s—Goodall came as well, remember—he +may have made hay while the sun shone. But I +think not, my dear Daventry, I think not.” He +crossed to Stewart’s bookcase. “You may have +noticed more than once in your experience that a +man will very often put an important paper handed +to him unexpectedly into a receptacle that he has +handy at the moment. As I see the facts of the case +after Colonel Leach-Fletcher said his ‘good-bye’ to +Laurence Stewart, Stewart returned to the book that +he had been reading. The Colonel was good enough +to remember its title. It was Renan’s ‘<i>Vie de +Jésus</i>.’ ” Anthony stopped and pondered for a minute +or two. Peter wondered what was troubling him. +Whatever it was, it soon passed. He lifted up the +glass front of the bookcase and sought the book he +had just mentioned. “A singularly beautiful piece +of work, this, Daventry,” he declared. “But I +expect you’ve read it.” He brought it over to +Peter—then held it by the two sides of the cover and +fluttered its leaves together quickly. A paper fell on +the carpet. Peter’s hand, disengaged and therefore +at an advantage, beat Anthony’s in its descent, by +the merest fraction. He ran his eye over it with +eager excitement.</p> + +<p>“It’s a letter,” he cried—“from Morgan +Llewellyn.”</p> + +<p>“Really,” said Anthony—“and to whom?”</p> + +<p>Peter’s eyes searched for the information. “To +Miss Lennox,” he gasped.</p> + +<p>“<i>Voilà!</i>” murmured Mr. Bathurst.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV. <br> Mr. Daventry Gets His Feet Wet</h2> + +<p>“Read it to me, Daventry,” said Anthony. +“Upon what precisely does Mr. Llewellyn find time +to write to Miss Lennox? For the sake of her +‘<i>beaux yeux</i>’?”</p> + +<p>Peter tossed it to him—rather ungraciously let it +be said. “Read it yourself, though it seems to me +to concern Miss Lennox herself and Miss Lennox +only.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and +strode to the bookcase—where he stood, moodily, +with his back to his companion.</p> + +<p>“ ‘Dear Incomparable Marjorie’ ”—read Mr. +Bathurst—“ ‘At the risk of punishing myself far too +severely to contemplate, by driving the smile from +your two wonderful eyes’—Mr. Llewellyn wields a +pretty pen, Daventry—you’d better listen to this—‘I +once again write to you to ask you to reconsider +the answer you gave me a little while ago to a very +important question. A question that affects +me—body and soul. For, dear, peerless Marjorie, +monotonous though it may sound to you—I love +you! To say that I worship the ground that you +walk upon is by no means an exaggeration—judge +then how much more I worship <em>you</em>! When you are +away from me life is most unutterably empty—the +sun ceases to shine—the flower to bloom—the bird +to sing—everything is bitter emptiness and desperate +waste. Marjorie—marry me! I refuse to accept +your previous answers as final! And if your +guardian endeavors to interfere between us, as you +threaten will happen—his blood be upon his own +head! I am a desperate man—desperate with love +for you, Marjorie—and desperate men have a habit +of using desperate remedies. Let me know your +answer after dinner to-night, and may that answer +bring mad joy to the heart of—Morgan Llewellyn.’ ” +Anthony whistled, “Dear me, Daventry, do you +know I hardly suspected anything quite so ardent as +this!” He looked up, and although his tone still +contained a hint of raillery, there was at the same +time a strong hint of gravity also. But Peter was in +no mood for banter and in none too good a temper +for serious discussion.</p> + +<p>“After all, say what you like,” he muttered, +“that letter was written to Miss Marjorie Lennox, +and it hardly seems decent to me for us to have read +it—that’s the worst of this investigation business.”</p> + +<p>“You feel this particular instance rather too +acutely, I fear, Daventry,” said Anthony gaily, “it +touches you on a tender spot.” Peter’s sole reply +was inarticulate—a grunt. Anthony tried a different +tack. “I had hoped,” he chided gently, “that a +rather effective piece of work on my part might have +received some measure of congratulation.”</p> + +<p>Peter swung round—instant with shamefaced +apology. “I say, I’m frightfully sorry, Bathurst. +It was too bad of me altogether. Really I do +congratulate you on a topping shot—forgive my +discourtesy—it was inexcusable on my part.”</p> + +<p>Anthony grinned—pleased nevertheless at the +unmistakable sincerity of the compliment. “Thank +you—it wasn’t too bad a shot—although I candidly +admit the actual result has surprised me.” He +tapped the letter with his forefinger. “At the same +time we must realize that this is most important. +It explains a good deal that was previously +somewhat puzzling. We know now for certain why Miss +Lennox was in here with her guardian after the +Colonel’s departure.”</p> + +<p>Peter raised his eyebrows. “Why—exactly?”</p> + +<p>“To show him this letter! Don’t be alarmed—the +lady does not eye Llewellyn’s suit with any +favor. She has threatened him doubtless that if he +continued to pester her with his attentions, she +would report the whole affair to Stewart. +Somewhere about five minutes past ten on the fatal +night—she did so.”</p> + +<p>“What happened after that?” queried Peter, +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“That, of course, I can’t answer,” replied +Anthony. “I can only enter and subsequently explore +the realm of conjecture. I assume that Stewart +found this to be yet another trouble to add to his +worries. He was probably incensed at what he +would naturally term his secretary’s effrontery. I +think his interview with his ward was short—he +would deal with Mr. Llewellyn in the morning. I +imagine also that Miss Lennox left by the French +doors and made her way into the garden.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” demanded Peter quickly.</p> + +<p>“That was when I suggest she dropped her +handkerchief.”</p> + +<p>“Of course—I should have remembered.”</p> + +<p>“We know now,” continued Anthony, “the reason +underlying her accusation of Llewellyn. Which +you observe was a merely <em>general-indefinite</em> sort of +accusation. She wouldn’t give a definite reason for +it—she kept silent about his attitude towards +her—even to denying that she had been in this room.”</p> + +<p>“But why did she do that?” questioned Peter +again.</p> + +<p>Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “Most women +are different about their love affairs in matters of +this kind—after all Llewellyn found her attractive—she +would probably forgive him that much more +quickly than indifference—for instance. All women +like to be liked—you know!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think Miss Lennox is a girl of that +type,” asserted Peter vigorously. “I think she has +proved that by——”</p> + +<p>“Of course you don’t,” chaffed Anthony. “But +whether you do or you don’t is of no +consequence—take it from me.”</p> + +<p>Peter relapsed into a chair. It was gradually +being driven home to him that he was not showing +himself to the best advantage this afternoon. +“What are you going to do now?” he asked. Anthony +carefully put the letter into his breast pocket.</p> + +<p>“This certainly places Llewellyn in an unfavorable +light,” he remarked. “He threatens the dead +man—he’s Welsh, too—and has struck me throughout +as a man who might make a dangerous enemy—still”—he +pointed to the desk at the side of which +Peter had seated himself. “Give me that bowl of +ink,” he commanded. Peter obeyed—wondering +again. Anthony held it up to the light. “Remember +what Goodall said when he looked at this?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Peter. “Something about +understanding what you meant.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right—though I’m not absolutely sure +that friend Goodall really did.” He glanced quickly +round the room as though in search of something—“hand +me that glass, will you, Daventry?” Holding +the glass in his left hand, he carefully poured the +ink from the bowl into it—very slowly—almost as +though measuring it drop by drop. At last the bowl +appeared empty—of ink. He handed it back to +Peter. “<em>The other tiny stone</em> I mentioned a little +time ago—see it at the bottom there—I knew it was +there—I could hear it the first time I shook up the +ink!”</p> + +<p>Peter gazed into the ink-bowl with a feeling that +he had gone back to school once more and was +being confronted again with mathematical mysteries +that he had never been too successful in solving. +“A similar stone, Daventry, to those we found in +the coal-scuttle.”</p> + +<p>The use of the plural pronoun stimulated Peter +immensely. “Yes—yes, of course,” he contributed.</p> + +<p>Anthony continued with the expression of his +theory. “The murderer cleared the table to the +best of his ability—but he—(or she)—forgot the +ink. And as it happened he had dropped some dirt +<em>into the bowl where the ink was</em>.”</p> + +<p>Peter’s wonderment increased. “Really, I don’t +altogether follow you,” he declared. “What did he +do to make the table dirty—I don’t know?”</p> + +<p>Anthony poured the ink back into the bowl—after +carefully removing the tell-tale stone. “I’ll retrace +my steps then a trifle,” he remarked. “First of all, +I am fairly confident that this murder was not a +premeditated one. It was deliberate and brutal, but +as I read the case, something unexpected happened +that forced the murderer into what he considered +was an impossible situation and one that called for +the murder of Stewart—<em>quickly</em>.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that Stewart fired at him and he +killed Stewart in a sort of self-defence?”</p> + +<p>Anthony thought over that for a moment—then +shook his head. “No—not that exactly—Stewart +was murdered treacherously—as he sat there,” he +pointed to the seat by the desk—“killed from +behind—but I think you’re right in your assumption +that Stewart fired at him—we’ll look into that +question in a moment.”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean, then, that the murderer +was <em>forced</em> into killing Stewart?”</p> + +<p>“Dead men tell no tales,” replied Anthony +gravely.</p> + +<p>Peter nodded. “I see what you mean. But I’ll +tell you something that I can’t quite get the hang +of!”</p> + +<p>“I’m listening,” said Anthony. “Fire away.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s like this—all the way through the +case—the tendency has been for all of you to take the +view that somebody in the house was implicated—everything +seems to me to point in that direction! +Well”—he stopped for a moment at a loss for +words. Anthony said nothing, but waited interestedly +for him to continue. Bathurst’s attention, +and silent attention at that, gave Peter +encouragement. “Well—if that’s so—what made Stewart +fire his revolver—as you suggest he did?—it seems +to me he would hardly fire a shot at somebody whom +he <em>knew</em>—somebody with whom he was familiar!”</p> + +<p>Anthony considered his statement very carefully. +“Supposing he suddenly found that particular +somebody acting dishonestly or treacherously towards +him—mightn’t he fire then—what do you think?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he would even then,” contended +Peter, “unless they attacked him, of course!”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” muttered Anthony, “I’m inclined to +appreciate your point, Daventry—you’ve given me +something to think over.”</p> + +<p>He paced up and down the room turning over this +new aspect of the case that had just been presented +to him. Suddenly he turned quickly. “We’ll look +into that point a bit later on, Daventry—in the +meantime, I want you to accompany me—I’m going +to look for something else—come along.” He +opened the French doors and stepped out—Peter +immediately following him. A moment’s walk +brought them to the rockery garden. The fountain, +continually throwing up its sparkling cascade, to +fall in widening ripples into the water of the pool +that surrounded it, brought a delicious touch of +coolness to the warmth of the June afternoon. The +rock garden had been built all around it—the pieces +of crazy paving, with the green blades of grass +peeping inquisitively between them—lying around it +on all sides and in all shapes and sizes. Bathurst’s +eyes took it all in quickly and alertly. The larger +pieces formed the floor of the rockery, the smaller +pieces having doubtless been selected for building +and banking up the sides. Anthony scrambled to the +top and stood there for a second or two—astraddle +almost—one foot poised on the top—the other on a +pointed stone a trifle lower down. He called to +Peter Daventry. “Come up here a minute, +Daventry—will you?” Peter scrambled up behind him. +Anthony pointed to the spaces between the pieces of +stone and rock. “Look in there,” he said. Peter +looked! “See those little brown stones? Seen +anything like them before?”</p> + +<p>“Of course—from Stewart’s table—in the +coal-scuttle.”</p> + +<p>They stepped down. “That’s right, Daventry—that’s +where you saw them—and I’ve one in my +pocket as well—that I took from the ink-bowl.” He +started to walk round the rockery—his eyes searching +everywhere—keenly alert but apparently anxious +as well. “I can do with half a dozen of these pieces +of paving,” he called over his shoulder to Peter. +“Half a dozen of the smaller pieces—the size that I +could pick up pretty comfortably—get them for me, +will you—you’ll probably find the kind I want round +the top of the garden.” Peter made his second +undignified scramble to the summit of the rockery. +He quickly collected a few and tossed them one by +one down to Anthony below. He watched the latter +pick them up and in turn examine them with the +greatest care. Peter noticed that he paid particular +attention to the underneath part of each piece that +he looked at. Then he shook his head doubtfully as +though dissatisfied with the turn that events were +taking. Picking the rocky pieces up again, he +subjected them to a further examination. “You +command the back of the house from where you’re +standing, Daventry——or at any rate part of it—is +there anybody about?”</p> + +<p>Peter looked across—and then back over the +stretch of grass that ran to the doors of the library, +and saw no one. “Not a soul,” he called with +cheerful assurance.</p> + +<p>“Good man,” said Anthony, “I’m rather keen +that we shouldn’t be observed at this particular +moment.” Then an idea seemed to strike him suddenly. +With his eyes on the path of the rock garden +he began to walk around—keeping the fountain in +the center. He had almost completed the entire +circle when he came to an abrupt stop. “Quick, +Daventry—come down here.” Peter picked his way +down. “Look at the side of this path—the side +nearest the pool—does anything suggest itself to +you?”</p> + +<p>Peter adjusted his thinking-cap. He gazed carefully +at the side that Anthony indicated—there was +a slight declivity where the path made its natural +shelving towards the pool. The meaning of what +he saw was instantaneously obvious to the most +elementary powers of observation. There was the +impression of a stone—but there was no stone near +anything like the shape delineated in the soft soil. +Anthony rubbed his hands. Peter knew the gesture +to signify pleasure and success.</p> + +<p>“I see what you mean,” said the latter, “there’s +a piece of paving missing!”</p> + +<p>Anthony looked all round. Then came to a +decision. “Daventry,” he said, “I’m going to ask +you to do me a favor. Somewhere in that pool lies +the missing stone—you know its shape.” He bent +down and inspected the impression at the side of the +path. “It’s roughly the shape of a magnum of +champagne—about fourteen inches in length and at +its widest part—the part corresponding to the +bottom of the bottle—about half that size.”</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to do?” inquired Peter.</p> + +<p>Anthony grinned. “I want you to go paddling.”</p> + +<p>Peter looked into the water. “Not deep,” he +remarked. He pulled off his shoes and socks, hitched +up his trousers, and waded in.</p> + +<p>“Don’t move round too quickly,” called Anthony. +“It won’t be healthy for bare toes when you do +find it.”</p> + +<p>Peter trudged round treading the mud at the bottom +with the utmost respect. Step by step he circled +the water-pool—then suddenly Bathurst saw him +bend down. When he straightened himself he held +a longish piece of stone just as had been described +to him. One end resembled the neck of a bottle and +it broadened out towards its other end to a width of +about seven inches. This end had sharp jagged +edges. Anthony took it from Peter’s outstretched +hand.</p> + +<p>“As I thought, Daventry,” he declared, as Peter +made the path again, “a short time ago this piece +of stone formed part of the path that we are now +standing upon—you know what it is of course?”</p> + +<p>Peter replied very promptly. “I’ve a very +shrewd idea,” he declared. “I’m just beginning to +see daylight—your theory is that that piece of +jagged stone——”</p> + +<p>“Was used to kill Laurence Stewart,” said Anthony, +“and then thrown into that pool—and it’s +more than a theory—it’s a fact.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI. <br> Mr. Bathurst Again Samples the Bookcase</h2> + +<p>Peter whistled. “You seem pretty sure of it. +But all the same——”</p> + +<p>Anthony interrupted him a trifle impatiently. +“Those little mud pellets and small stones told me +an unmistakable story. It seemed to me a most +important factor in the case—remember no weapon +was found near the body. It was obvious that +Stewart had been struck from behind—I immediately +deduced a sharp and heavy piece of stone. But +if it hadn’t been for the proximity of the ink-bowl to +the dead man’s head, the true significance would +probably have escaped me. For the wound on the +head was clean—I inquired of the doctor through +Goodall. The murderer held the piece of stone by +the ‘neck’ end—soil side uppermost—and struck +Stewart with the comparatively clean part, and the +force of the blows caused the small stones underneath +(as they lay originally) to be dislodged.” He +held out the weapon to Daventry. “Of course the +water in the pool has cleaned it, but I daresay a +thorough and scientific examination may yield us +some little evidences to support my theory. Time +will tell—we’ll take it back to the library and hand +it over to Goodall upon his return from London, as +a souvenir.” He turned to Peter. “But not a word +till I say when.”</p> + +<p>Back in the library, Anthony got to work again +very quickly. “Stay here a moment, Daventry,” he +said, “while I have a word with young Stewart—I +won’t keep you waiting long—put this in a safe +place”—he handed over the recent discovery. A +matter of ten minutes saw him back, and then Peter +was destined to receive yet another surprise. “Get +that revolver of yours, will you, Daventry—I told +you to bring one down here with you, didn’t I?”</p> + +<p>“It’s upstairs in my bedroom—I shall have to go +to get it.”</p> + +<p>“Do—and load it—in all six chambers—I +suppose you haven’t brought any ‘blanks’?”</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head. “Sorry—I haven’t!”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” muttered Anthony, “never mind. We +shall have to take care—that’s all!”</p> + +<p>It was the work of a few moments that brought +Peter back to the library with his revolver.</p> + +<p>“Now listen,” directed Anthony, “I want you to +fire two separate shots—you’ll have to fire of course +out into the garden—fire in the direction of the +fountain, for instance—that will do—make sure +there’s nobody about—stand in the center of the +room when you fire.”</p> + +<p>He walked to the library door.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going?” questioned Peter. +“Aren’t you going to stop to enjoy the +performance?”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to shut this door, which I want you +to <em>keep</em> shut—then I’m going upstairs to my own +bedroom—look at your watch—in five minutes’ +time fire one shot—then wait till you hear from +me—clear on everything?”</p> + +<p>“Right‑o,” murmured Peter. “I understand +perfectly.”</p> + +<p>Anthony closed the door. Peter watched the +hand of his watch travel the five appointed minutes. +Then he walked to the French doors and opened +them. The coast was clear—the walk to the rockery +entirely deserted. He returned to the center +of the room as he had been directed and pulled the +trigger. Then he grinned to himself. “Expect the +inhabitants of Assynton Lodge that hear that will +be scared stiff unless old Bathurst tipped them the +bright idea just now.” The door opened behind +him.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Bathurst.</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Peter.</p> + +<p>“I lay on my bed just as I should if I were there +in the ordinary way, and although I was <em>listening</em>, +old son, <em>I never heard a sound</em>.” His face showed +obvious signs of pleasure.</p> + +<p>“What makes you so pleased about that?” +queried Peter.</p> + +<p>“What makes me pleased?” echoed Anthony. +“Why, it fits in with my theory beautifully—that’s +what pleases me. Now I’m going again—wait another +five minutes and then fire a second shot exactly +similar to the previous one.”</p> + +<p>He slipped out again noiselessly. Peter waited +patiently for the second spell of five minutes to pass. +Taking care again that all was in order in the +garden, he walked back to the center of the library +as before and for the second time discharged his +revolver. “Where did that one go to?” he murmured +reminiscently—then sat on the table till the +arrival of Bathurst.</p> + +<p>“Just the same as before,” announced the latter. +“I took the liberty of using Charles Stewart’s +bedroom for that little experiment—it’s on the floor +below ours, you know—I asked him if I might just +now—and once again, Daventry, <em>I heard nothing +at all</em>.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and +walked to the bookcase. “That experiment that we +have just conducted,” he continued, “proves to me +conclusively that the shot that we know had <em>at some +time</em> been fired from Stewart’s revolver <em>had been +fired by him on the night of the murder</em>, but +why—why?” He paced backwards and forwards three +or four times.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the shot was fired by the murderer +after Stewart was dead,” volunteered Peter.</p> + +<p>“Why?” demanded Anthony immediately. +“Why should the murderer fire a shot that for all he +knew might awaken the whole house?”</p> + +<p>“Well—as a blind,” supplemented Peter +somewhat feebly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think so—it doesn’t fit,” said Anthony, in +summary dismissal of the theory. “The shot is +fired,” reflected Anthony, “by Stewart, who +has—according to his dress at the moment—come down +to the library from his bedroom in a hurry—why +does he fire—he doesn’t seem to have been attacked +<em>then</em>, but afterwards—as you said earlier, the +treachery and the attack appear to come from inside his +own ménage and yet he <em>fires</em>—why?” His eyes +wandered round the room—intent and purposeful. +“Also, my dear Daventry, if he fires, as I’m out to +assert that he <em>did</em>—where’s the bullet—eh—tell me +that?” He stood with his left hand caressing his +chin. “Supposing he didn’t know—supposing he +wasn’t sure—that’s certainly an idea—that would +account for the pocketing of his revolver +<em>subsequently</em>—a feeling of safety—of security that came +to him—false as it eventually turned out to be—but +yet conveyed to him temporarily by the conditions.” +He came across to Peter full of this latest piece of +theorizing. “Look here, Daventry—let’s remember +what Colonel Leach-Fletcher told us. He was +Stewart’s friend—his evidence should be reliable. +He was insistent that Stewart was worried about +something that was going on in his house. The +word that Stewart used, according to the Colonel, +imputed <em>treachery</em> on the part of somebody here! +Now do you remember what the Colonel went on to +say? He stated that in his opinion Stewart had +come to a decision ‘to take the bull by the horns’ in +an attempt to put a stop to whatever was +happening. Remember that?”</p> + +<p>Peter agreed. “Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well now,” continued Anthony, “let’s assume +that Stewart was thoroughly on the <i>qui vive</i> that +night, and succeeded in identifying this disturber of +his peace. He comes hurriedly downstairs—armed—ready +to defend himself if necessary—prepared +to see the thing through to the bitter end—as he +comes down”—he swung round on to Peter in +violent enthusiasm—“I deserve to be kicked, +Daventry, I’ve been painfully slow to appreciate what +actually happened—but I think I’m clear now. Go +and stand at the door, will you—just where you +would be if you had just opened it and entered.” +Peter stared wonderingly but obeyed him. Anthony +went to the side of the bookcase and faced the +opening door.</p> + +<p>“This is where the murderer stood,” he declared +gravely, “when Stewart opened the door. +He came here from that chair.” He indicated the +chair by the desk—the chair in which the dead man +had been discovered.</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” demanded Peter.</p> + +<p>“Never mind for the time being—but if you look +carefully at where I’m standing—you’ll be able to +see for yourself.” Peter looked—but saw nothing +to solve his own difficulty. He shook his head, as +though to give point to his failure to grasp +Anthony’s idea. The next words the latter spoke +rather startled him. “Stewart stood where you are +standing and fired in the direction of where I am +standing—then something happened that caused him +to put his revolver back in the pocket of his +dressing-gown—the left-hand pocket, remember—and to +take a rather changed view of the situation in which +he found himself.”</p> + +<p>“What was that?” demanded Peter.</p> + +<p>“<em>He recognized the interloper—the interloper +who afterwards murdered him.</em>”</p> + +<p>“Why then,” countered Peter instantly, “didn’t +he recognize him at first—before he fired the +shot? You either know or don’t know a person—it +isn’t as though Stewart fired from a distance—you +say yourself that he fired from the doorway only a +few feet away—when he entered the room—the fact +that he <em>did</em> fire in that way seems to me to show +conclusively that he <em>didn’t</em> know the person—that he +fired at a stranger. You don’t blaze away with a +revolver at anybody you happen to see—regardless +of consequences.” He lit a cigarette with the air of +a man that defies contradiction.</p> + +<p>“An excellent piece of reasoning on your part,” +smiled Anthony, “but there’s one little possibility +that I fear you may have been tempted to +overlook.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” retorted Peter.</p> + +<p>“I’m not blaming you, my dear chap. I overlooked +it myself in the first place; <em>supposing the +conditions changed</em>.”</p> + +<p>Peter wrinkled his brow. “Conditions,” he said, +in a puzzled kind of way, “what conditions do you +mean?”</p> + +<p>“The conditions of the room!” Anthony +watched Peter’s mystified expression. “As I said +just now, Daventry, I was slow myself to pick up +the crucial point. When Stewart fired his shot—he +fired <em>in the dark</em>. When the intruder disclosed his +identity, Stewart put his revolver away—he felt +safe. So safe that he put it away in his left-hand +pocket—a right-handed man doesn’t do that if he +wants to use it again. And unhappily, events proved +that his faith in the situation brought about his +death—that was why I told you to look where I +was standing.”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the wall to the right of the bookcase +directly facing the doorway. Peter’s eyes +followed the direction of his finger.</p> + +<p>“The electric light switch?” he queried.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I think,” exclaimed Anthony. “It +seems to me that whoever was in here heard Stewart +coming down from his bedroom and just had time +to get over there and switch off the light. Stewart +probably challenged from the doorway, and either at +some movement on the part of the intruder or out of +intense anxiety—he had been worrying, you know—he +fired. Then I suggest that the burglar disclosed +his identity deliberately to safeguard his own skin +or that something happened that caused Stewart to +discover it. That’s the reason, Daventry, why I +say that we ought to find a bullet somewhere in +here.”</p> + +<p>Peter grunted. “Might be in the burglar’s body +for all you know!”</p> + +<p>“A thousand to one against that,” returned +Anthony, as he came to the middle of the room. “It +should be somewhere in the vicinity of that electric +light switch,” he asserted. “The intruder would be +standing there when Stewart fired.”</p> + +<p>But the wall was untouched—not a vestige of a +scratch upon it anywhere. His eyes traveled to the +bookcase. “What about the bookcase, Daventry?”</p> + +<p>“It’s sectional,” replied Peter, “and every section +is protected by a glass shutter—no bullet can +possibly have touched any of them—look for +yourself—they’re all sound.” He motioned towards +them with his hand.</p> + +<p>“Quite true,” said Anthony. “Then where the +devil”—he paused for a second; “supposing one +of the glass fronts was up—eh—what then?”</p> + +<p>“Then the bullet would hit the back of one of the +books, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Supposing there were blank spaces—where +books were missing from their places on the +shelves?”</p> + +<p>Peter scratched his chin. “Then the bullet would +go through the back of the bookcase—but it’s +tremendous odds on a shot fired like this one was +finding such a space as you describe—it would border +on the miraculous.”</p> + +<p>Anthony nodded in acquiescence. “I agree.” +Then he broke out again. “Damn it all, Daventry, +I’m certain I’m right in my conclusion—that bullet +must be somewhere about. Take down the books +on the top shelves—that’s the nearest height, I +should say, to where Stewart would have fired—and +start with the top shelf nearest to the switch.”</p> + +<p>Peter somewhat reluctantly moved about three +dozen volumes, tossing each one on to the floor as he +did so. The woodwork at the back of the shelf +was clean and unimpaired—no bullet had torn its +destructive way through there. “Nothing here,” he +declared over his shoulder to Anthony. But the +latter was studying the books that Peter had just +moved. One in particular seemed to be affording +him particular interest. It was the thickest and +bulkiest of them all.</p> + +<p>“Come here, Daventry, will you?” said Anthony. +Peter strolled across. Anthony pointed to a hole +neatly drilled in the back of the cover. He opened +the book at a page near the beginning. “There’s +our bullet—embedded in this book. The thickness +of the paper and the size of the book—848 pages +to be exact—were sufficient to arrest its further +progress—it was the only possible solution that +remained to us.”</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry gasped! “By Jove,” he +muttered, “who’d have thought it?”</p> + +<p>“Also, my dear Daventry,” remarked Mr. Bathurst, +“let me call your attention to the title—‘The +Memoirs of Réné de St. Maure—one-time Page to +Mary Stuart.’ Altogether a most fascinating work, +I should imagine.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII. <br> The Memoirs of Réné de St. Maure</h2> + +<p>Anthony took out his pocket-knife and carefully +extracted the bullet from its paper bed. “I think +that Goodall will have little difficulty in fitting this +to Stewart’s own revolver,” he declared. He turned +to Peter. “It’s easier to piece the affair together +now. When the burglar—the murderer if you +prefer to call him so—cut across the room to put +out the light he was holding this book in his +hand—<em>so</em>.” He placed the fingers of his left hand on the +switch and held the book in his right—with the back +of the cover facing the door. Peter nodded—the +scene was now becoming plainer to him, and its +visualization most intriguing. “Stewart entered in the +dark as I told you—and challenged the person he +knew was facing him. At first he got no reply, but +the intruder <em>attempted to replace the book on its +shelf in the bookcase at his side</em>—he was familiar +with its location because he had replaced it <em>on many +occasions before</em>. Stewart detected the movement +and instantly fired <em>in the direction of the sound</em>. +Then the gentleman concerned so closely with historical +research considered his safest plan was to disclose +his identity—it might save his life for one +thing. You know the result!”</p> + +<p>“Wonderful—Bathurst!” said Peter. “I can +see the whole thing as you depict it—there isn’t a +weak link in your chain.”</p> + +<p>Anthony flushed with pleasure. “A closer study +of M. Réné will, I think, more than repay us for any +little trouble we have taken”—he tapped the cover +of the book playfully.</p> + +<p>“I’ve been thinking, Bathurst,” said Peter, “if +this book is so important, if, for example, it holds +the key to the entire mystery, why on earth did the +murderer leave it behind—especially as it held the +tell-tale evidence of the bullet?”</p> + +<p>“There may be several answers to that question. +The right one may be difficult to name. When the +revolver was fired the book was sent spinning from +the murderer’s hand! Possibly Stewart himself +replaced it on the shelf in the bookcase. Also—after +the murder, the paramount question was to get +away, remember!” He opened the book and +examined it with some care. “There’s one thing, +Daventry, if this book has been in constant use +recently, and I’m convinced it has—there shouldn’t be +too much difficulty in discovering the particular page +or pages that have been pored over so many times +so very assiduously. Remarkable how the Stuart +connection keeps cropping up, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to know what we’re on the track of,” +interjected Peter. “It’s a positive strain to keep on +wondering like we do—or like <em>I</em> do—to be properly +precise.”</p> + +<p>Anthony smiled at him. “Include me, Daventry——for +the time being at least.” He walked to the +chair by the desk and sat down. “The question of +‘how long’ depends on what success I have with the +estimable de St. Maure—let’s have a preliminary +look.”</p> + +<p>Peter went to his side and sprawled on the table—his +elbows supporting his head. It was a ponderous +and bulky book, and the ravages made by the passage +of the bullet only served to make its +examination more awkward.</p> + +<p>“M. Réné was blessed with an unusually prodigal +fund of reminiscence,” remarked Mr. Bathurst—“what +has he handed down in the pages of this +dainty little treatise that has turned men’s minds to +murder—I wonder?” He turned to Peter. “I’m +going to try a little experiment—yet another one.”</p> + +<p>Peter still watched him with interest. He inserted +the forefinger of each hand at the back of +the book—between the binding and the massed +pages—the left finger holding the top and the right +the bottom. The book, of course, hung down +loosely—the pages swinging a trifle and presenting +openings in three or four places. “Put a thin slip +of paper where you see the pages separating,” said +Anthony, “a book invariably opens at the places +where it has been well used. See that they hold, +Daventry.” When the book was turned over, the +first two marked places yielded nothing that seemed +to have the slightest bearing on their quest. At the +third, Anthony let go a whoop of triumph. Peter +bent over him and read the printed matter with +avidity. The passage that was pointed out to him +read as follows: “Now in these days the knowledge +came to my Queen-Mistress that her Cause +had been betrayed, and that nothing short of a +miracle from High Heaven could succor it. +Whereupon there was much secret to-do and conniving +amongst her chief adherents. I happened more +times than once to find the Queen in her Seton’s +arms or whispering to Mary Fleming. At four +o’clock of the tenth day of the six month the +Queen-Mistress sent for Thibaut Girardier—he that had +been her Chief Armorer since she left my beloved +country—and it was bruited abroad in the household +both that night and during the days that followed +that much wealth had been very secretly disposed of +in many secret places of Wild Scotland. Messengers +that carried her full faith and trust were employed +and despatched to many of these secret spots. But +Girardier was summoned so it was whispered by +them that should have known, in the matter of the +Cardinal’s great gift—‘the Black Twenty-Two.’ +I know not, for it was never my practice to seek out +or spy, what handiwork it was that he did. Sufficient +be it to say that he made the Queen-Mistress +two screens—one of Tapestrie and one of some +specimen of beaten metal—and they twain shall tell +the generations that are to come all that is deemed +necessary of the ‘Black Twenty-Two.’ But the +riddle of this message cannot be read from one of +the twain alone. Thibaut had special audience of +the Queen for many of these days.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” inquired Anthony—“and what do you +make of all that?”</p> + +<p>“Dashed if I know,” replied Peter. “Who is +this St. Maure Johnny anyway, and what is it that +he’s gassing about?”</p> + +<p>Anthony pointed to the title page again. “ ‘One-time +Page to Mary Stuart,’ ” he quoted; “I +presume he escaped from the wreck of that lady’s fortunes +and lived to a ripe old age to inflict these +memories on us.”</p> + +<p>“What the hell does he mean by the ‘Black +Twenty-Two’?” questioned Peter irreverently.</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head. “I can’t answer that, +Daventry—my history’s too rusty altogether. I +shall have to undertake a little research on my own +before I can properly tell you that—but at any rate, +I promise you, it sha’n’t be long.” He rubbed his +hands. “Make a copy of that for me, will you—and +then we’ll put the message back on the bookshelf. +It won’t be the first time that that particular +piece has been copied.”</p> + +<p>Peter set to work on his task.</p> + +<p>“When Goodall comes back,” continued Anthony, +“we shall have several little things to show him. +Daventry, I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude. I +wouldn’t have missed this case for worlds—this time +next week I shall be bored stiff—I shall have nothing +exciting to occupy my mind.”</p> + +<p>Peter stared. “What exactly do you mean—what +about this affair—aren’t you going to stick to +it and see it out?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” responded Anthony, “but it will +be all over by then—because in about three days at +the most, I shall have much pleasure in the performance +of three duties. Firstly, I shall introduce the +police to the murderer of Mason the night-watchman—secondly, +I shall introduce the police and you +yourself to the murderer of Laurence P. Stewart, +and thirdly, I have high hopes of reading to a +distinguished audience <em>the secret of the screens</em>.”</p> + +<p>Peter handed him the copy for which he had +asked. Words failed him. But he permitted +himself one exclamation—unhappily it was not +altogether free from profanity. A little failing of +Mr. Daventry!</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII. <br> The Room at Blanchard’s Hotel</h2> + +<p>Outside the library Anthony ran into Charles +Stewart. “With your permission, Mr. Stewart,” he +said, “I should like to run up to town this evening +on an urgent matter. I’ve just telephoned Goodall +and made arrangements to see him this side of nine +o’clock to-night.” Stewart lifted his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Any startling discoveries, Mr. Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly startling—but I want to look into +one or two things that have suggested themselves to +me, at the London end of the tangle—I’m sure you +understand.”</p> + +<p>Stewart bowed. “I presume you are accompanying +Mr. Bathurst, Mr. Daventry—I had hoped that +we could have——”</p> + +<p>Before Peter could frame an affirmative reply, +Anthony had spoken for him. “Mr. Daventry will +be remaining here until I return,” he intervened.</p> + +<p>Stewart’s face showed a certain amount of surprise, +but he accepted Anthony’s statement without +demur.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get Llewellyn to look up a train for you, +Bathurst, and get one of the cars ordered for you.”</p> + +<p>Anthony thanked him and turned away. “I’m +afraid he’s a trifle disappointed in your choice of me +as an investigator,” he murmured to Peter, “but +perhaps in a few days I shall be able to rehabilitate +myself in his good graces—or perhaps not—you +never know, do you, Daventry?”</p> + +<p>“I’m rather hipped at having to stay behind,” +responded the latter.</p> + +<p>Anthony caught his arm lightly and spoke in a +low-toned voice. “You’re staying behind on special +service. You’re on guard—and you must watch +everybody without them having the ghost of an idea +that you <em>are</em> watching them. Particularly you must +see that <em>nobody leaves this house on a journey to +London without you follow him or her</em>. If that +does occur, let me know at once—understand?”</p> + +<p>“Where shall I find you?”</p> + +<p>“Telephone Goodall at the ‘Yard’—he’ll put +you in touch with me.”</p> + +<p>Peter nodded with understanding. Then an idea +came to him. “You say ‘a journey to London.’ +Why London? Supposing I find somebody leaving +for Stow-on-the-Wold? Or Husband’s Bosworth?” +He grinned in appreciation of his poser.</p> + +<p>Anthony stood still a moment and thought. +“Everybody here must be watched by <em>you</em>,” he +declared. “If anyone tries to leave here you must +follow him and get the news through to me at once. +You’ll find the destination will be London, though, +should the contingency occur. It’s what the racing +fraternity describe as a ‘stone-ginger.’ ”</p> + +<p>Peter indulged in a burlesque salute. “Very good, +Sergeant. I’m your man!”</p> + +<p>Anthony shook him by the hand. “I know I can +rely on you implicitly, Daventry—that’s why I feel +safe in leaving you here—if you weren’t here I +couldn’t undertake this journey to town, I don’t +mind telling you that. I want to see Goodall, I want +to put in a quiet hour or two at the British Museum, +and I also desire to have a look at the hotel in +Clifford Street. When you see me again I have high +hopes that my case will be complete—good-bye, old +chap.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I come down to the station with you?” +asked Peter.</p> + +<p>“Better not, I think, in the circumstances—I shall +feel easier in my mind to think that you will be here +on the spot all the time. What I’m relying on you +to prevent is the one thing that might cause my plans +to miscarry. I’ll tell you one more thing that will +make you realize how important your job is.” He +bent forward and whispered in Peter’s ear. “The +key to the secret is still in Assynton Lodge—I want +it to stay there—get me?”</p> + +<p>Peter’s expression grew serious, although he felt +more reconciled to staying behind now that he had +a job of work to do. He whistled—the situation +was a little clearer to him and more attractive of +acceptance. He watched Anthony’s car purr down +the drive, turn the corner and go over the crest of +the hill. And he wondered when he would welcome +him back.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Paddington, Anthony entered a public +telephone box and was connected with Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t sure that I should catch you, Inspector,” +he opened. “I’m speaking from Paddington—I’ve +come up myself you see—close on your heels too! +What’s that? No—not exactly—what I wanted to +know was this. Have you had time to go over to +Blanchard’s Hotel yet? To-night? Good man—I’ll +come with you—if you don’t mind—I’ll meet +you in Clifford Street at nine o’clock. Right‑o—I’ll +have a little light refreshment and come round.” +Punctually to the time arranged he turned the corner +of Clifford Street from New Bond Street, to walk +into the arms almost of Detective-Inspector Goodall +and a plain clothes officer. The Inspector greeted +him cordially.</p> + +<p>“Good evening, Mr. Bathurst—I’ve been engaged +on following up a clue in connection with +these two Stewarts from America—that’s why I’ve +left this job round here till now.”</p> + +<p>“Any luck, Inspector?”</p> + +<p>“Not up to the moment, Mr. Bathurst. They +seem to have walked out of this hotel and been +swallowed up—but I’ll get ’em—you can rest assured +on that. When I got back to the ‘Yard’ this +afternoon, I was sent hot-foot to a house in +Wimbledon where they were supposed to be—not a doubt +about it, I was informed! That’s the worst of our +game, Mr. Bathurst—we have to listen to all sorts +of information that can’t be tested till <em>we</em> test it. +And it often means the waste of valuable time.” He +clicked his tongue in emphasis of his dissatisfaction. +“But I’ll comb ’em out—if it takes me six months—the +teeth of my comb will pick ’em up somewhere—Scotland +Yard may be slow but it’s sure—and +remarkably patient. Here we are, Mr. +Bathurst—they’re expecting me here.”</p> + +<p>The reception clerk telephoned news of their +arrival.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Blanchard says will you please go up to his +private room. Atkins! Show these gentlemen up +to the governor’s room, will you?”</p> + +<p>Atkins, a uniformed attendant, quickly piloted +them to the proper quarters.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Inspector! Good evening, gentlemen. +I’ve been expecting you ever since your telephone +inquiry of this morning.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard was a fair, stout man, somewhere, at +a glance, in the early fifties. His eyelashes and +eyebrows were so fair as to be almost invisible—giving +his eyes a strange protruding tendency. He had a +nervous habit of throwing his eyes down to the floor, +immediately after he addressed a remark to +anybody, which gave him a bird-like appearance.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, gentlemen.” He waved a pudgy +hand—much be-ringed—towards an arm-chair and a +comfortable looking settee. Anthony selected the +former.</p> + +<p>“This gentleman is Mr. Bathurst—he is acting +for Mr. Charles Stewart, of Assynton Lodge, Berkshire. +Doubtless you have heard of the tragedy that +has taken place down there?” The Inspector made +the introduction.</p> + +<p>“I read of it in this evening’s paper, Inspector,” +replied Blanchard. He looked at Anthony. “Good +evening, sir. I’m sorry that we haven’t met under +more pleasant circumstances. Now, Inspector, what +is it you want of me?”</p> + +<p>Inspector Goodall leaned forward in his chair and +fixed his eyes intently on Blanchard. The latter +fluttered his lids and became more ornithological +than ever.</p> + +<p>“You will remember, I think,” commenced Goodall, +“that my inquiries this morning elicited the +fact that a lady and gentleman stopping here, +under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Laurence Charles +Stewart, received a telephone call late on Wednesday +evening. The call was answered in all probability +by the man.” Blanchard intervened. “Quite +correct, Inspector! I was downstairs at the time +when the ’phone rang. Mr. Stewart went into the +smoke-room to answer it.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” rapped Goodall. “What happened +after that?”</p> + +<p>“Directly afterwards, Mr. Stewart came to me +and asked for his bill. He said that he had just +received bad news concerning a near relation. Serious +illness of some kind—they would have to leave at +once. They paid the bill and went off at once.”</p> + +<p>“H’m,” said Goodall. “Now a few questions, +Mr. Blanchard. I may as well tell you that this pair +that we’ve been discussing are strongly suspected in +connection with the Hanover Galleries murder, so +I’ll trouble you to be as careful and explicit in +answering as possible.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard’s fat face paled. Such things were not +good advertisements for his hotel!</p> + +<p>“Count on me, Inspector,” he fluttered. “Ask +me your questions!”</p> + +<p>“How long had they been stopping here?”</p> + +<p>Blanchard picked up the receiver and pressed a +button. “That you, Miss Fortescue? Bring me +up the reception register, at once, please. Ask +Atkins to stand by till you get back!” Blanchard +opened the register; ran his finger down two or three +pages—then looked up. “Here you are, Inspector——came +in on the 28th May—the last Saturday of +the month.” He pushed the book across to Goodall.</p> + +<p>“From New York, I see,” said the Inspector. +“Did they strike you as being American?”</p> + +<p>Blanchard nodded. “Yes, I should have put +them down as American anywhere had I been +asked—not knowing!”</p> + +<p>“How did he pay you when he left that night?”</p> + +<p>“Let me think—the bill was a little over fourteen +pounds, I remember—he gave me the exact money +in Treasury notes and silver!”</p> + +<p>“A man between thirty and forty, you say—and +wife about the same—anything distinctive about +either of them?”</p> + +<p>Blanchard hesitated. “Possibly some of my +chaps here could answer that more satisfactorily +than I can. I can’t say that I noticed anything.”</p> + +<p>“How many rooms did they have?”</p> + +<p>“Only one—their bedroom—they took all the +meals that they had here in the hotel dining-room.”</p> + +<p>“Can you remember any letters coming here for +them?”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t answer that either—my clerk +downstairs might be able to remember.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard’s fat fingers stroked his cheek as he +answered. Then he continued quickly. “There’s +one thing I am in a position to tell you—they were +out of the hotel a good deal during the day—I do +know that.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector nodded. “Sight-seeing, I +suppose—eh?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I thought myself,” responded +Blanchard.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” interposed Anthony, “when Mr. +and Mrs. Stewart, to grant them temporarily the +name they gave themselves, left here in a hurry—do +you happen to remember if they went by taxi?”</p> + +<p>“Atkins might know—would you care to ask +him?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” replied Anthony.</p> + +<p>Blanchard repeated his previous business with the +telephone and in ready response the porter arrived.</p> + +<p>“You remember Mr. and Mrs. Stewart, Atkins, +the lady and gentleman that left in such an almighty +hurry on Wednesday night?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir—very well, sir—I was on duty down +below, sir, when they went out.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then—you’ll be able to answer what +this gentleman wishes to know—did you call a taxi +for them?”</p> + +<p>Atkins shook his head. “No, sir! They went on +foot—each of ’em carrying a suitcase.”</p> + +<p>“Another piece of bad luck,” muttered Goodall +to Anthony. “We always seem to run up against a +brick wall!”</p> + +<p>Anthony plied the porter with another question. +“Any special points about either of them, Atkins, +during their stay here?”</p> + +<p>The porter’s shrewd face wrinkled in thought. +“Well, sir,” he said, after a few seconds’ consideration, +“you mightn’t call it a <em>special</em> point—and +there again, you <em>might</em>, but I did spot something you +might call peculiar on the part of the lady—Mrs. +Stewart as we called her.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s hear it,” exclaimed Anthony—“little +things count in cases of this description. Try to +remember carefully.”</p> + +<p>Atkins rubbed his fingers across his nose. “Well, +sir—it was like this ’ere. I happened to be on duty +in the ‘foyer’ when Mr. and Mrs. Stewart first +arrived. And I noticed that Mrs. Stewart was able +to tell the time from the clock that hangs right at +the other end of the vestibule. I remember ’er +saying to ’im—‘Look—we’re late—it’s nearly half-past +six.’ Now, you can take it from me, sir, a woman’s +got to ’ave blinkin’ good sight to see the time that +distance—you ’ave a look yourself, sir, when you go +out.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Anthony encouragingly. “Go on, +Atkins.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, two days after that little incident and +almost what you might call regular ever since—Mrs. +Stewart went about wearing black glasses—in fact, +she was wearing ’em when ’er husband was in the +smoke-room answering that telephone call that +caused ’em to skip out so quick.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know that?” rapped Goodall.</p> + +<p>Atkins turned to him and answered him—unperturbed +and unabashed. “I was in there, sir, when +Mr. Stewart came in and his wife followed on +be’ind. They ’ad the call put through from +downstairs. A gent sent for me to ’ave a word with me +about getting his luggage orf—that’s ’ow I came to +be in there.”</p> + +<p>“This gets better and better,” declared Anthony. +“Did you happen by any chance to overhear any of +the Stewarts’ conversation?”</p> + +<p>Atkins rubbed his nose again—possibly as an +incentive to remembrance. “Nothing to speak of, +sir—but I heard the lady say something about her +father.”</p> + +<p>Anthony interrupted him promptly. “What do +you mean, Atkins—did she say ‘my father’ or ‘her +father’—you appreciate the difference, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Atkins regarded him with an air of pained +surprise. “The words she used, sir, were ‘my +father’! I took it as ’ow she was alludin’ to ’er +own male parent.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Atkins.” He discovered the exact +position of the palm of the porter’s right hand. +“You’ve been a great help to me.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir. It’s been a real pleasure.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Goodall chewed the end of his cigarette. +“Some relation of the murdered man, Mr. Bathurst, +without a doubt. Fits in with my own theory, too—born +the wrong side of the blanket perhaps over in +the States somewhere—used the black glasses as a +disguise. Worked the two jobs I shouldn’t wonder, +in a way that we can’t quite fathom at the +moment—there’s a missing link somewhere. Also—where +does Mr. <em>Charles</em> Stewart come in?”—he leaned +right across in Anthony’s direction—“supposing it +affects his inheritance—eh?”</p> + +<p>Anthony waved his hand and harked back to the +proprietor of Blanchard’s hotel. “Mr. +Blanchard—would you be good enough to turn up Mr. and +Mrs. Stewart’s account—the one they settled when +they went?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go down and get it for you,” said Blanchard. +“A matter of a few moments only.”</p> + +<p>“After he’s brought you that,” interjected the +Inspector, “we’ll go and have a look at the room +they occupied.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard was as good as his word. “I have +what you asked for, sir! What was it in particular +you wanted?”</p> + +<p>“Refer to the last day of their stay here, will +you, Mr. Blanchard—did they lunch here?”</p> + +<p>Blanchard’s eyes traveled down the columns of +the account. Then he shook his head. “No, sir, +apparently they did not—it must have been one of the +days when they were out—one of the days I +mentioned!”</p> + +<p>Anthony looked across at Goodall. The latter +smiled. “Testing Mr. Daventry’s theory, aren’t +you—and it holds good—eh?”</p> + +<p>“What about that bedroom, Goodall?”</p> + +<p>“Just what I was thinking,” said the latter, rising +from his seat. “Mr. Blanchard, we should like to +have a look at the bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. +Stewart occupied while they were staying here—I +hope no newcomer is in it.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard was all attention. “Nobody at all, +Inspector. The room is as they left it—except that +the chambermaid may have tidied it up.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I was afraid of,” groaned Goodall. +“That gentle little operation known as ‘tidying +up’—however, we’ll hope for the best.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard referred to a book. “Number +fifty-four,” he announced. “I’ll take you up.”</p> + +<p>Goodall turned to his assistant. “Stay here, +Waring—I don’t expect to be very long”—then +followed the other two upstairs. It was a large room, +furnished with wardrobe, dressing-table, wash-hand +stand, double bed—half a dozen chairs, one wicker +arm-chair and a box-divan. Every piece of furniture +was subjected by Goodall to a thorough investigation. +But they yielded nothing. He then went to +the various ornaments of the china trinket-set that +stood on the dressing-table. They were all empty—as +was the grate. Anthony went to the wardrobe.</p> + +<p>“Nothing here, either, Inspector,” he declared. +The Inspector came and tried the lower drawers. +They also were all empty.</p> + +<p>“Drawn a proper blank—as I thought,” +muttered Goodall. “Everything that might have +whispered the words of the chorus to us has been +‘tidied up.’ What have you got there, Mr. +Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>Anthony was standing by the fireplace examining +something on the mantelpiece. “What do you make +of that, Inspector?” he asked. Holding his right +hand to the edge of the mantel, he very carefully +swept something into it with his left.</p> + +<p>Goodall looked at it curiously. “Looks like a +few grains of dust of some kind,” he said. “Sort of +dried grass—what do you think?”</p> + +<p>Anthony put his nose to it and smelled it. +“Pungent,” he exclaimed. “Not exactly aromatic.” He +blew it away from the palm of his hand, Goodall +watching him.</p> + +<p>“Would you care to have a chat with the +chambermaid that attends to this room?” inquired +Blanchard.</p> + +<p>“That’s an idea, certainly,” said Goodall. +“Have her up, by all means.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard went out and called down the +speaking-tube.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think we shall find anything more, +Inspector,” said Anthony. “I expect——”</p> + +<p>“<em>More!</em>” exclaimed Goodall with evident disgust. +“I like the ‘<em>more</em>,’ Mr. Bathurst. It seems +to me we’ve run across precious little—I don’t know +what you think about it.” Anthony grinned, as they +both turned to welcome Rabjohns, the chambermaid.</p> + +<p>“I’m a Police Inspector,” announced Goodall +terrifyingly, “so be careful what you say! When you +‘tidied up’ this room after Mr. and Mrs. Stewart +left it—did you destroy any papers or letters that +you found here?”</p> + +<p>Rabjohns slowly wiped her hands on her apron. +“No, sir—that I didn’t. There was nothing left in +here, Mr. Inspector, not even a ‘bob’ on the +dressing-table.”</p> + +<p>Blanchard frowned at her—after all, he thought, +it was not seemly that she should obtrude her trivial +personal “grouses” at a critical time such as this.</p> + +<p>“You’re sure of that,” barked the Inspector. +“Certain you found and destroyed nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Positive, sir. You can rely on what I’m tellin’ +yer, sir—you can put your shirt—sorry, sir!” She +caught Blanchard’s eye and amended her ways.</p> + +<p>“One question I’d like to ask you before you go,” +intervened Anthony. She turned and faced him. +“Yes, sir?”</p> + +<p>“When you have entered this room, first thing in +the morning—during Mr. and Mrs. Stewart’s stay +here I mean—have you ever detected a peculiar +odor in the room?”</p> + +<p>Rabjohns dropped her hands in astonishment. +“That I have, sir! Not one morning, but <em>every</em> +morning—I even mentioned it down in the kitchen. +Smelt like something burning, it did, sir—but +however did you know about it, sir?”</p> + +<p>Anthony turned to Goodall. “We all have our +little secrets, haven’t we, Inspector? As I’ve +reminded people before.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector coughed. What exactly did Mr. +Bathurst mean?</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch19"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX. <br> Inspector Goodall Is Entertained</h2> + +<p>When they left Blanchard’s, Anthony decided to +have a few additional words with Goodall. “What +do you say to a little supper with me, Inspector?”</p> + +<p>Goodall caught eagerly at the idea. “Waring,” +he said to his subordinate—“you can get along now. +Report to me at the ‘Yard’ in the morning—I’m +going along with Mr. Bathurst here.”</p> + +<p>Waring saluted and quickly made himself scarce.</p> + +<p>“I know a nice quiet little place in Soho,” said +Anthony, “where I can give you Omelette Espagnol, +Homard Americaine, a delicious piece of Stilton and +a really excellent Burgundy—you will be my guest, +of course, Inspector!”</p> + +<p>“I shall be delighted, Mr. Bathurst—may I ask +what else you intend to give me?” His eyes +twinkled shrewdly.</p> + +<p>“Patience, Inspector—there are one or two +things I want to tell you, but Ricardo’s will be a +better setting for them than the street we are in +now.”</p> + +<p>Ricardo’s was all that Anthony had claimed for it. +Inspector Goodall warmed under its cheering influence, +and with his fourth glass of the really excellent +Burgundy toasted Mr. Bathurst almost hilariously, +and Mr. Bathurst was pleased to reciprocate. +Eventually the latter pushed his chair back and +recalled Goodall to the business of life.</p> + +<p>“Before you tell me what you thought of to-night’s +jaunt, Inspector, I’ll tell you briefly what I +did at Assynton after you left us at Colonel +Leach-Fletcher’s—try one of these cigars, Goodall—they’ll +suit your palate.”</p> + +<p>Goodall lit up, leaned back and prepared to listen.</p> + +<p>“I conducted a series of little experiments,” +continued Anthony. Goodall nodded complacently. +The cigar really <em>was</em> intended for a man of +discernment. “First of all,” proceeded Anthony, “I was +able to trace a letter that had been lying in the +library since the fatal evening.” He took the letter +from his breast pocket. “Read that, Goodall, will +you?”</p> + +<p>The effect was electrical—Goodall’s complacency +became a thing of the past. “Morgan Llewellyn,” +he muttered grimly. “I had a pretty shrewd idea +that he was interested in that little baggage that +treated old Clegg so contemptuously.” He tapped +the letter with his forefinger. “I don’t know that +I’m altogether too pleased to get hold of this.”</p> + +<p>Anthony appeared to disregard the last remark +and went on. “Then I set to work on another point. +You remember the condition of the ink in front of +where the dead man was found?” Goodall frowned +an affirmative. “I had a strong impression, Inspector, +that I should find some weapon—near at hand—in +the garden in all probability, from which that +débris had come. <em>I was right in that impression.</em>”</p> + +<p>Goodall sat up straight in his chair. “You don’t +mean to say——”</p> + +<p>Anthony knocked the ash from the end of his +cigar. “I’m confident that I have found the weapon +with which Mr. Stewart was killed. It’s a sharp +jagged piece of stone that once formed part of the +path leading from the Assynton Lodge rockery. At +the present moment, I believe, it resides somewhere +in the library where Daventry has concealed it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s risky, Mr. Bathurst, supposing——!”</p> + +<p>“It’s quite safe there, Inspector. Daventry fished +it up from the pool where the murderer had slung +it. Acting upon my instructions, of course—I +showed him where to look for it.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s eyes widened with amazement and +incredulity. “But where’s all this leading to—I’m +getting bewildered!”</p> + +<p>“Sit still, Inspector,” went on Anthony, “I +haven’t quite finished yet. The curtain isn’t up for +the third act yet—then there’s still the fourth to +come.” He pushed his fingers into the left-hand +pocket of his waistcoat. “The bullet that Stewart +fired at his murderer, Inspector—take a good look +at it!” He tossed it across, nonchalantly.</p> + +<p>Goodall’s eyes almost started from his head as he +handled the little messenger of Death. “And how +the hell did you find this, Mr. Bathurst, and +where?”</p> + +<p>Anthony smiled at the Inspector’s astonishment. +“I was convinced that Stewart <em>had</em> fired his revolver +on the fatal night, so it was fairly conclusive to me +that the bullet should be in the library somewhere. +I tried to reconstruct the whole scene as I had +imagined it! The result of this little attempt at +reconstruction brought me round about the bookcase. +Eventually, Daventry and I found a book—embedded +in this particular book was the bullet you are +now holding.”</p> + +<p>Goodall sank back in his chair with the appearance +of a man who, after repeated and ineffectual +struggling and striving, at last reluctantly bows to +Fate and accepts the inevitable. “You’ll tell me +you’ve arrested the murderer next, Mr. Bathurst! +When are you starting on the Hanover Galleries +case?” His mouth might have been described as +cynical.</p> + +<p>Anthony leaned across the table. “Not yet, +Inspector! I told you the fourth act was still to come! +I must ask you to give me another forty-eight hours +say—then I hope to put the entire threads of the +case in your hands. You will then proceed to make +your arrests.” His grey eyes danced, and even his +hard-bitten companion caught something of the +domination of his personality. “The following day +we shall read with our early morning cup of +tea—‘Dramatic Double Arrest—Police Swoop in +Hanover Galleries’ and ‘Assynton Lodge +Murders—Triumph of Detective-Inspector Goodall.’ ” His +mouth twisted into a smile. “Does the prospect +please you, Inspector?”</p> + +<p>“That’s a hard question to answer,” grunted +Goodall. “I feel that I’d rather see my way than +have somebody hold my hand—with all due respect, +Mr. Bathurst.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, Inspector—any man would! I +promise you, you shall see every step of the way, +before I ask you to take the <em>final</em> steps—there’s my +hand on it.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector grasped his hand warmly. “You’ve +made me feel easier,” he conceded. “I’ve only +known you a couple of days, and yet I seem to have +known you all my life.”</p> + +<p>“One point I want to mention now, Inspector—before +I forget it. I’ve left Mr. Daventry in charge +down at Assynton. I’ve told him, if he wants me in +a hurry—and it’s just possible, in the circumstances, +that he may—to ring you up at ‘the Yard.’ I +sha’n’t be wanted to-night—I’m certain of that. If +he should ring you to-morrow or Sunday—that address +will find me”—he scribbled an address on his +visiting card and pushed it across to the Inspector. +Goodall transferred it to his pocket-book.</p> + +<p>“All Sir Garnet, Mr. Bathurst. That shall be +attended to, if required!”</p> + +<p>Anthony called their waiter and settled the bill. +“Perhaps you’ll be good enough to return to +Assynton with me when I go back—will you, Inspector? +Don’t worry about this end of the tangle—it will +solve itself with the other, take it from me. I’ve +another difficulty, unfortunately, at the moment—I +have to solve a third mystery.” He rose to go and +Goodall followed his example.</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite understand, Mr. Bathurst.”</p> + +<p>Anthony’s eyes glinted. “I have to solve ‘the +riddle of the screens,’ or in the picturesque language +of M. Réné de St. Maure—the problem of the +‘Black Twenty-Two’—but that, Inspector, is +another story.” He took the Inspector by the arm. +“The British Museum is going to be my H.Q. for +to-morrow, Inspector—if that interests you at +all—don’t forget—if you should want me at the address +I just gave you.”</p> + +<p>They passed out into the street. “There’s one +thing I forgot to tell you,” remarked Anthony. +“There’s a woman in the case, as I expect you know. +But here’s something you may not know—she suffers +a good deal from hay fever—and although I can’t +tell you her name—I could tell you what it was +before she married—good-night, Goodall.”</p> + +<p>Goodall turned quickly at the surprising intelligence, +but all he could see was Mr. Bathurst’s retreating +figure. Which, as may be guessed, afforded +him no enlightenment.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch20"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX. <br> Mr. Bathurst Brushes Up His History</h2> + +<p>An observer of discernment would have formed +the opinion that Mr. Bathurst had fallen a victim to +the fascination of the history of the Stuarts. At +least half a dozen volumes were ranged round him; +and the same discerning observer, had he been +sufficiently discourteous to peer over Mr. Bathurst’s +shoulder as he read, would have discovered that the +life of Mary, Queen of Scots, appeared to present +special features of absorbing interest. “Before we +begin looking for anything”—murmured Mr. Bathurst +to himself—“it will probably be as well if +we attempt to satisfy ourselves as to what exactly +we are looking for.” He took from his pocket-book +a copy of the paragraph from “The Memoirs of +M. Réné de St. Maure” that Peter Daventry had +made, and read it through carefully more than once. +“If these memoirs are in any way reliable and +authentic,” he reasoned, “two screens were used in +some special way towards the temporary disposal, +at least, of part of Mary’s possessions. My task +then, is to discover (a) what particular part this +was? (b) are the two screens mentioned by M. de +St. Maure the two that have figured so prominently +in the Hanover Galleries and Assynton Lodge murders? +and (c) if so, what is the secret the screens +contain that affects the hiding-place of whatever was +hidden?” He turned again, to the paragraph. At +any rate, there was a distinct reference within it that +bore unmistakably on the query he had designated +as (a)—“The Cardinal’s great gift”! So far so +good—but which Cardinal? Mr. Bathurst had a +shrewd suspicion that more than one gentleman +entitled to the description of “His Eminence” had +figured in the life of the tragic Mary. That was +certainly one point upon which it would be necessary +for him to reassure himself. “If I had the wretched +screens in front of me, it wouldn’t be so bad,” he +mused—“as it is I’m working with a couple of +second-hand descriptions of them.” He tapped his +front teeth with the butt of his fountain-pen; Peter +Daventry in the one instance and Miss Lennox in +the other, might have missed vital points in their +descriptions. He looked through two of the +histories that seemed to deal more closely with the +minute details of Mary’s career than any of the +others and was successful after a time in finding +three references to the Chief Armorer—Thibaut +Girardier. But no mention could be discovered +concerning Girardier’s special work in connection with +the two screens. “Many secret places of Wild +Scotland,” he quoted—“would give us a pretty +extensive field to cover—‘O Caledonia, stern and +wild!’ ” Then his thoughts reverted again to the +one bizarre description that he did possess of “The +Cardinal’s great gift”—“The Black Twenty-Two!” +What was meant exactly by that? “Might +be a couple of football elevens,” he muttered with a +shade of sarcastic bitterness. “Only one thing for +it,” he concluded after seven abortive attempts to +extract any pertinent information from a number of +dead and gone historians—“only one thing for it, +and that is to work systematically and methodically +right through the incidents of Mary’s life as I find +them recorded here.” He arranged all the volumes +he had requisitioned, side by side, and started to go +through them, as far as possible, simultaneously. +An hour and a half’s arduous exertion yielded him +nothing, and even his own inexhaustible supply of +patience combined with intellectual optimism began +to feel the strain. But it is the darkest hour before +the dawn—suddenly a sentence from the fourth of +his arranged books seemed to leap from the page +upon which it was printed! Anthony’s eyes +glistened—he read on with feverish excitement—he felt +certain in his mind that at last he had run to earth +his first clue to the identification of “The Cardinal’s +great gift.” At least, here was a definite start and +a start of the right kind! Fortified with this piece +of knowledge, he ransacked every book for additional +data. Fruitlessly! Here all success ended—not +a single page told him anything more. He +worked on for another hour; then he began to tell +himself that he was ploughing the sands. “After +all,” he soliloquized, “what more can I really +reasonably expect to find? If Réné de St. Maure +knew what he did know and yet remained ignorant +of the real secret of Girardier’s work—how can I +expect to find any trace of this knowledge in other +historians who were probably nothing like so well +placed for knowledge as de St. Maure himself? +This part of the problem I shall have to solve by +my own ingenuity.” He pushed his chair back from +the table—and thought the whole question over very +carefully, omitting nothing and giving every possible +point the fullest examination and consideration. +Suddenly he came to a decision. He returned the +books he had requisitioned to the appropriate +attendant, at the same time requesting access to recent +files of “The Times” and “The Daily Telegraph.” +“Those two will do for a start,” he said to +himself—“it’s only an idea on my part and it may lead +nowhere, but I should like to test my theory before +relinquishing it.” Starting with “The Times,” he +ran his eye down the “Personal” column on the +front page—day by day—six copies to each week—till +he had worked back as far as the 1st January. +Nothing caught his eye as being likely to be what +he wanted. He paused at several—considering +them with the utmost discrimination—but eventually, +occasionally perhaps with a certain amount of +reluctance, decided to discard them as inappropriate. +He then commenced on the file of the “Daily +Telegraph.” The first few days were quickly disposed +of. But at the second item of the “Personal” +column of the copy for Monday, May 30th, he +paused. The message ran as follows:—“M. S. +Ring Regent 9999 till further notice. Both well!” +His eyes narrowed as he reread this—weighing +every syllable. “ ‘M. S.’ might very well be ‘Mary +Stewart,’ which in itself might very well be a ‘code +word’ used to convey messages relative to this +particular little conspiracy;” his thoughts raced +on—“then we get a telephone number which is of course +the pith of the message that is required to be +communicated and an intimation that two people are in +good health.” He thought for a moment and then +the truth leaped to his brain. “By Jove—nothing +of the kind—idiot that I was—‘both well’ is simply +‘Bothwell’—the other code word—just a word I +might have looked for in relation to the ‘Mary +Stuart’!” He searched the remaining papers +through rapidly, in case there were other previous +communications of a similar nature. To no effect! +This was the only one! Anthony surrendered the +files, conscious of an excellent morning’s work—he +had started badly, but had finished well. At the first +opportunity he walked into a public telephone callbox. +He lifted the dog’s-eared Directory that swung +at the side of the receiver, true to the tradition of +such Directories, and opened it at the “B’s.” His +finger traced the names down till he came to the +particular one he desired. “Blanchard’s +Hotel—Regent 9999.” Mr. Bathurst replaced the Directory +and allowed himself the satisfaction of a smile. +“But Regent 9999 doesn’t harbor Mr. and Mrs. +Bothwell now—if it did once, when they preferred +to call themselves Mr. and Mrs. Laurence C. +Stewart.” He walked to his flat. “Any message +come for me while I’ve been out, Emily?” he +inquired of a girl who met him as he entered—a maid +on the housekeeper’s staff.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Bathurst! A telephone message came +through for you about eleven o’clock this morning—I +said you were out and that I didn’t know when +you would be back—it’s a gentleman that rang +up—he’s promised to ring up again in the afternoon—he +told me to tell you not to worry about not +getting the message in the first place.”</p> + +<p>Anthony heaved a sigh of relief. Emily’s +statement meant that Peter Daventry had telephoned +Scotland Yard as he had arranged with him and +through the offices of Inspector Goodall had been +put through to the flat. He had realized that failure +to deliver his message might conceivably be a source +of anxiety to Anthony and had very sensibly +endeavored to allay possible fears by the injunction +not to worry. It was simply a question now of +waiting for the promised ring and hearing what Peter +had to tell him. Meanwhile he would seek the +seclusion of an easy chair, fill his pipe, and +concentrate on the secret of the screens. “The riddle +cannot be read from one of the twain—alone.” As +far as he could see only the screen stolen from +Stewart’s museum room contained anything in the +nature of a message. “<i>Timeo Danaos</i>,” he +reflected. “ ‘I fear the Greeks’—once again, ‘why +the Greeks’?” His mind went back to his +Uppingham days and groped for the Virgil context. +He was delighted to find that his memory didn’t +fail him. “<i>Quid quid id est, timeo Danaos et dona +ferentes, sic fatus validis ingentem viribus hastam</i>” . . . +what the blazes came next—anyhow it +didn’t matter much that was evident—none of it +seemed to have any intelligent bearing on Thibaut +Girardier . . . yet he had put “<i>Timeo +Danaos</i>” on the one screen . . . what was it +Daventry had said was on the other . . . the +two would have to be taken together if any sense +was to be knocked out of them . . . those +animals . . . he could understand the Lion, and +the Leopards . . . and the fleur-de-lis . . . +why the devil was the Fish there . . . he had +read enough that morning to authenticate most of +it . . . but that Fish . . . “I fear the +Greeks” . . . what was that he had read . . . +The telephone bell rang peremptorily. He +lifted the receiver. “Speaking, Daventry! What +is it?”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch21"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI. <br> Mr. Ferguson of New York</h2> + +<p>Anthony listened. “Yes—that’s all right, old +man. I got your message and of course I knew +from that that everything was O. K. down at +Assynton . . . What . . . When? . . . +Monday? You say Stewart would like me to come +down . . . well I should rather like it myself . . . +it will suit me all right, too . . . I +had intended returning on Monday in any case . . . +Goodall will be coming too . . . Ferguson, +you said . . . he’s been pretty quick over +it, hasn’t he? . . . don’t quite see how it’s been +possible . . . right‑o then . . . be very +careful over the week-end, won’t you? . . . +keep your eyes skinned on every man Jack of ’em . . . +Good-bye.” He sank back in his chair. +Ferguson of Crake and Ferguson, New York! +Laurence Stewart’s solicitors! But how Mr. Ferguson +could have arrived in England so quickly after +the murder wasn’t clear to him—“he must have +flown over,” he remarked to himself somewhat +jocularly. His train of thought, however, didn’t +last for long. His mind was soon back to the +problem of the screens. Where was he when that +confounded telephone rang? He closed his eyes in an +attempt to recapture his concentration and the exact +point to which he had arrived. He had been +wondering about two things—he remarked. The Latin +tag and the Fish in the center of the screen. It +was becoming increasingly plain to him that he +would have to get into touch with the Hanover +Galleries screen! Without that, he was merely beating +the air. He decided to speak to Goodall at once. +He was instantly put through. Goodall seemed +anxious for news. “We are no nearer a solution +this end, Mr. Bathurst,” he announced rather +gloomily, “every clue seems to lead nowhere—the +pretty pair I’m after seem to have been spirited off +the face of the earth.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to speak to you about them, Goodall, +among other things,” replied Anthony. “Get +into touch with the New York police as quickly as +you possibly can—I have a strong presentiment that +the gentleman we’re after has a considerable +reputation as a ‘crook’ over the other side. Who is he? +Haven’t the least idea, Goodall—ask them if any +particularly promising specimen of the unsavory sort +has slipped out of the States recently—from little +old New York, in all probability. You can give +them a rough description of the man you want.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” answered Goodall, “although I +think you’re drawing a bow at a venture—still I’ll +try it! What else did you want to say?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve two more pieces of news for you, +Inspector—the first will make you sit up a bit.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been doing quite a lot of that lately, Mr. +Bathurst—what’s the latest development?”</p> + +<p>“Have a glance at the Personal Column of the +‘Telegraph’ for the 30th of last month—see what +you make of it!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” assented the Inspector. “What +else?”</p> + +<p>“I want you to come down to Assynton with me +on Monday morning. There’s a train at a quarter +to eleven. I’ve just heard from Mr. Daventry that +Mr. Stewart’s solicitor from New York is expected +down there and I’m required to be there as well. It +isn’t putting me out at all, because it was my +intention to return then—I dare not delay action much +longer. I’ll meet you then at Paddington.”</p> + +<p>“I hope to be in a position to report some +progress this end by that time,” declared Goodall, in +a tone of voice not exactly distinguished by +hopefulness.</p> + +<p>“I hope so too, Goodall,” added Anthony, “but +never mind if you aren’t. I forgot to tell you +something! When you come down on Monday—bring +a couple of pairs of handcuffs, will you?” He +chuckled, and put the receiver back with the fervent +wish that he could have witnessed the expression on +the Inspector’s face. It was during the week-end +that followed that an idea began to take very definite +shape in Mr. Bathurst’s brain. In fact, so definite +did it become that he was sorely tempted more than +once to put a telephone call through to Assynton. +But he desisted—there would be plenty of time on +the morrow—and there was more important work +to be done than the solving of the problem of the +“Black Twenty-Two”! Goodall was straining at +the leash, eager and impatient to land his man—to +land his <em>men</em> in both affairs. Goodall should be +satisfied!</p> + +<p>When he met him in the morning at Paddington, +Anthony could see that the Inspector was looking +very finely-drawn. Anthony touched him on the arm. +“Don’t worry, Inspector,” he exclaimed with a note +of gaiety in his voice, “the curtain is just going up +for those third and fourth acts I mentioned, and you +and I are not going to miss any of it. Also, Inspector,” +he grinned broadly, “the bouquets will be for +you when it goes down—so possess your soul in +patience and wait for that ‘soothsome’ +moment—that ‘fragrant minute.’ ”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s eyes twinkled—not necessarily in +anticipation of the coming event as depicted by Mr. +Bathurst. “Bouquets aren’t much in my line! Still, +I’ve brought what you asked me.” He patted his +left-hand pocket with the palm of his hand. +“Optimist—aren’t I?”</p> + +<p>“Good man,” said Anthony, “for you’ll certainly +want them. By the way—any news from New +York yet?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got on to them, but there’s no news as yet!”</p> + +<p>The journey down was comparatively uneventful.</p> + +<p>“It’s been an interesting little problem, Goodall,” +said Anthony as they ran into the drab station at +Assynton, “and not the least interesting part is yet +to come. I hope you are thoroughly prepared for a +rather dramatic <i>dénouement</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I shall be there,” retorted Goodall with grim +determination, “whatever the <i>dénouement</i> is! +Whenever! And <em>wherever</em>!” He stepped into the +car that was waiting for them.</p> + +<p>Peter Daventry met them in the hall immediately +upon their arrival. Anthony put his finger to his +lips.</p> + +<p>“All serene, Daventry?” he whispered.</p> + +<p>Peter nodded briskly and elevated his two thumbs. +“The entire household is as you left it—the people +indoors and the outside staff as well—you need have +no qualms.”</p> + +<p>Anthony patted him on the shoulder. “Excellent, +Daventry—I felt I could rely upon you.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart came from the library with +outstretched hand. “I’m glad you’re back, Bathurst. +I suppose it’s too much to ask you if there have been +any developments?” He rattled on without giving +Anthony a chance to reply. “Good morning, +Inspector! You look a trifle tired! Mr. Ferguson +hasn’t arrived yet, but I’m expecting him any minute +now. I’m pleased you’re both back with us—I feel +that you should be here to hear what Ferguson has +to say—come into the library!” The three men +followed him in. “The inquest is this afternoon,” +continued Stewart, “and we are burying my father +early to-morrow morning—it will be very quiet—we +have very few friends in this country—we haven’t +been here long enough to make many. Colonel +Leach-Fletcher will be present—it is very +considerate of him.”</p> + +<p>He went across to the French doors and looked +out on to the garden. It was an easy matter to see +that the tragic events of the last week had left their +mark upon him. He was over-young to bear alone +the burden of the blow that had befallen his house. +It seemed unfair that it should rest entirely upon his +own shoulders. Anthony walked over to him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart,” he said very quietly, “immediately +the inquest is over this afternoon I should like +to have a talk with you. There are one or two +little matters that I should like to settle as soon as +possible. Will it be convenient?” Charles Stewart +paled a little.</p> + +<p>“Only too pleased, Bathurst,” came his reply. +“Let me know when you want me—will in here do?”</p> + +<p>“Excellently!”</p> + +<p>As Anthony spoke the word, the noise of a car +was heard humming up the gravel approach to +Assynton Lodge. The door opened to admit a stout, +clean-shaven man—dressed in a fashionable lounge-suit +of light-grey—double-breasted. Holding his +grey Homburg to his chest he bowed to Charles +Stewart, at the same time making his own +introduction.</p> + +<p>“My dear Mr. Stewart,” he said in a pleasantly +modulated voice, with just a touch of American +accent, “I am Andrew Ferguson, of Crake and +Ferguson, of New York. I am grieved beyond +measure that our first meeting should be taking place +under such heart-breaking circumstances. My very +sincerest sympathy—Mr. Stewart.” He clasped the +young man’s hand warmly in his own. “These +gentlemen”—he inquired, raising his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Peter Daventry, representing a London +firm, similar to your own—Mr. Anthony Bathurst, +whom I’ve called in to watch my interests, and +Detective-Inspector Goodall, of Scotland Yard.” +Stewart motioned towards the three in turn. +Ferguson bowed again. “Come to the library, Mr. +Ferguson, will you?” said Stewart, “and no doubt, +you will stay for lunch.”</p> + +<p>“As a matter of fact,” said the lawyer, “my +presence here to-day is rather remarkable. When +you cabled last Thursday to our New York offices—I +had already sailed for London. We have some very +important business to transact over here in connection +with one of our most esteemed clients, and Mr. +Crake and I decided that I had better run over +myself. So I sailed on the <i>Mauretania</i>. I was, +naturally, most distressed and shocked to get a +wireless message from my partner, Crake, late last +Friday, informing me of the sad news of Mr. Laurence +Stewart’s death—and asking me if I would call down +here to see you immediately upon my landing. My +dear Mr. Stewart—I have lost no time!” He +beamed on the assembled company. “By the way, +Inspector, has the inquest been held yet?” He +turned towards Goodall.</p> + +<p>“Not yet—it is to be held this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“H’m—pardon any—er—possible—er—laceration +of your feelings, Mr. Stewart—I am sure—in +the circumstances you will understand thoroughly +my motive in asking—but I presume that there is +no possible doubt that my unfortunate client was +murdered?” He removed his glasses and wiped +them nervously.</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart looked across at the Inspector. +The latter took it as his cue to reply to Andrew +Ferguson’s question. “Unfortunately—no—Mr. +Ferguson—as far as I can see at the moment—there +is not the vestige of a doubt.” Ferguson replaced +his glasses on his nose and blinked at Goodall. +“Have the police any——”</p> + +<p>Goodall cut him short, breaking in abruptly. “As +far as the inquest this afternoon is concerned—the +police will content themselves with offering merely +formal evidence of identification and then asking for +an adjournment.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so—I see,” responded the lawyer. He +paused for a moment. “Well, what I was about +to say was this. Mr. Crake in his message—sent +me in our own private professional code, of course—the +major provisions of your father’s will. Have +I your permission to make them public here and +now, Mr. Stewart?”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart waved his hand in assent. +“Certainly—I shall be rather glad if you will. I had +intended to ask you.”</p> + +<p>Ferguson took a document from his pocket. “As +you know, your father was a very rich man. His +investments, which were many and varied, have +almost, without exception, turned out to be +excessively lucrative. He had with him very much more +than a mere touch of financial genius.” He looked +up. “You will understand that I have only, at this +juncture, received from my partner what I termed +the <em>major</em> provisions. Legacies are left to all +members of the late Mr. Stewart’s household who had +been in his service for any length of time—I can +safely say that nobody with any claim at all has been +forgotten. Mr. Stewart was always most generous. +For example,” he broke off and referred to his +paper—“Mr. Morgan Llewellyn receives an annuity of +£300—John Butterworth £500 per annum, ‘in +recognition of many years’ faithful and devoted +service’—several other servants have been remembered +very kindly. The rest of the will is rather +surprising.” He wiped his glasses and blinked at +the company again. “£250,000 is devised and +bequeathed to Miss Marjorie Lennox—Mr. Stewart’s +ward—and the whole of the residue of the estate to +Mr. Charles Stewart—in respect of both real and +personal property. But there are important +conditions attached to each of these two bequests. In +Miss Lennox’s case, the capital sum is to be held in +trust until she reaches the age of forty, and in Mr. +Stewart’s case similar conditions apply till the age +of forty-five, unless they marry each other, when +the capital sums pass into their respective +possessions immediately upon such marriage. Should, +however, either Miss Lennox or Mr. Stewart marry +a third party—when marriage to the other principal +legatee is possible and legal—the contractor of such +marriage forfeits his or her bequest under this will +and the said bequest passes to various charitable +institutions.” He waved his hands with a gesture of +semi-apology. “It was pointed out to Mr. Stewart +when he first outlined these provisions that there +might be several flaws in the disposition, but”—he +shrugged his ample shoulders—“he was absolutely +determined upon the matter.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart was very white and kept biting +at his underlip in nervous excitement. “You will be +a very rich man, Mr. Stewart,” said Mr. Ferguson +of New York—“provided, of course—but there.” +He smiled somewhat fatuously—“I know how +perfectly charming the lady is—I have no doubt——”</p> + +<p>“Come in and have some lunch, Mr. Ferguson, +will you?” responded Mr. Charles Stewart. It will +be noticed that Mr. Ferguson’s remark provoked +in him no particular enthusiasm. Certainly Mr. +Bathurst noticed the fact!</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch22"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII. <br> Mr. Bathurst Baits the Hook</h2> + +<p>The inquest that afternoon took its course as +Inspector Goodall had foreshadowed. Formal +identification of the body was taken by the Coroner, and +almost immediately afterwards, Sergeant Clegg +asked for an adjournment. The Coroner granted +the Sergeant’s request without demur. Goodall +attended—he told Anthony that he always made a +special point of attending inquests—he had more +than once during his career picked up an hitherto +elusive trail from some unexpected turn an inquest +had taken, and he also liked to have a good look at +all the people who made it their business to be +present—but Peter stayed in the house with +Anthony. The latter’s first remark after lunch was +surprising. “What daily papers come to +Assynton Lodge, Daventry, any idea?”</p> + +<p>“You bet I have,” replied Peter. “I was only +too glad of them during my enforced term of +Sentinel-in-Chief—‘The Times,’ ‘The Telegraph,’ +and ‘The Morning Post’—also a financial paper +of some kind—I didn’t look at it.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” said Anthony—it flashed through his +mind that Goodall had never informed him whether +the “Telegraph” for the 30th ultimo had afforded +him any special information. He would have to ask +him that when he came in.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” said Peter, “I haven’t had a chance +of speaking to you quietly—how did you get +on—what are the latest developments—what’s been +doing?”</p> + +<p>“Matters have gone very well,” rejoined Anthony. +“There is still one little point upon which I +am not yet quite clear, but I hope to clear that up +before many hours have passed. I also wish to +amend with all apologies a statement that I +made—rather carelessly perhaps—to you!” He swung one +leg over the other and clasped the knee with his +two hands. “I told you, Daventry, that I would +introduce the police to the murderer of Mason the +night-watchman—and you yourself to the murderer +of Laurence P. Stewart! I was wrong!” He +paused, and Peter looked up! What had gone +wrong to cause Anthony Bathurst to retract a statement +like that? Disillusionment on that score came +quickly. “I was wrong,” repeated Anthony, +“inasmuch as I shall have the pleasure, my dear +Daventry, of introducing <em>you to both murderers</em>.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I shall be charmed,” murmured Peter, +responsively. “But before that happens I should +like to be enlightened a bit. What do you make of +that wretched will?”</p> + +<p>“You shall see, Daventry,” responded Anthony, +ignoring the last question, “my final plans are not +quite complete—they will be to-night—when they +are—you shall know more. I shall have to take +Goodall into my confidence, too—I’ve promised him +as much.” His words coincided with the sound of +the latter’s voice outside the door. Anthony went +to the door and beckoned to him. The Inspector +came, scratching his head thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“That will—Mr. Bathurst! You must have +noticed how young Stewart kept away from it all the +time during lunch—yet I’ll swear it was the only +thing that he was really thinking about. I can’t help +feeling that that will contains the key to the whole +business!” He made the statement emphatically, +and watched Anthony’s face carefully to see the +effect of his words.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Bathurst’s face remained impassive. +“What do you think, yourself?” persisted +Goodall—definitely putting the opinion to the test.</p> + +<p>“I think it certainly had something to do with the +<em>second</em> murder,” conceded Anthony. “But possibly +not altogether in the way you think.” He turned +the subject. “What about that Personal message +in the ‘Telegraph,’ Goodall? You never told me +what you made of it.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector fished out a newspaper cutting. “I +certainly must congratulate you again over that, Mr. +Bathurst,” he declared. “The telephone number +mentioned is assuredly that of Blanchard’s +Hotel—though I don’t altogether see how you got on to +it—the ‘M. S.’ <em>could</em> also be linked up with the +affair to read ‘Mary Stuart,’ but even there——”</p> + +<p>Anthony cut in. “I was actually looking for +something of the sort,” he confessed. “I had +thought previously that the ‘Agony Column’ might +very probably prove to be one of their most likely +means of communication! The combination of +‘M. S.’ and ‘Both-well’ was too strong a coincidence +to be passed over without investigation.” He +paused to see how the Inspector would take this last +remark.</p> + +<p>Goodall’s eyes opened! “Well, I’m blessed,” he +exclaimed. “I see now what you mean—I’m afraid +I missed the second point—that was real smart +now.”</p> + +<p>Peter held out his hand for the paragraph, which +he read with interest. Interest which was all the +more intense on account of the explanation that had +preceded it. Anthony’s next words brought both +him and the Inspector to a keener alertness. “Make +sure your revolver’s in working order, Daventry, +and you, Inspector, keep those handcuffs close to +you. I sha’n’t ask you to wait very much longer now. +I want to have a chat with Stewart this evening +before the funeral to-morrow morning—then all we +shall have to do will be to await events. Somehow I +don’t think we shall be kept in suspense very long. +Our birds are a bit impatient <em>now</em> I fancy.” The +door opened suddenly to admit Morgan Llewellyn.</p> + +<p>“You’re wanted on the telephone, Inspector +Goodall,” he announced. “In the hall.” Goodall +disappeared quickly.</p> + +<p>Anthony motioned to Peter to await his return. +Five minutes saw the Inspector back. “From the +‘Yard,’ gentlemen! In answer to the inquiry I put +through at your instigation, Mr. Bathurst. New +York has sent a message through that I fancy +identifies our ‘Mr. Laurence C. Stewart the second’ of +Blanchard’s Hotel and the Hanover Galleries. In +the opinion of the New York Police, he’s no less a +person than ‘Snoop’ Mortimer—otherwise known +as ‘Flash Alf’—they’ve been after him for months +in connection with some very cute jobs over the other +side—he slipped out of the country about a month +ago—they’re pretty certain that he’s our man.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s manner was becoming more jaunty—he +felt he was “getting hold” at last. Anthony weighed +the information over in his mind. It tallied with +what he had been expecting. She had met him in +New York—no doubt—when Stewart had moved +there from Washington. That would account for +the entry of Mr. Mortimer into the cast. “Is Mr. +Charles Stewart back yet, Inspector?”</p> + +<p>“He should be by now, Mr. Bathurst. I left him +talking to Mr. Llewellyn—but no doubt he came up +by car. Very likely he passed me on the road—I +walked up.”</p> + +<p>Anthony nodded in an understanding manner. +“I’m going to see him—you stay and talk to the +Inspector—Daventry!”</p> + +<p>The two latter looked at each other in some +amusement as Anthony slipped from the room. +“He’s actually arranging my amusements now,” +commented Goodall ruefully. “I shall be thundering +glad when we clear the decks for action.”</p> + +<p>Anthony found Charles Stewart in Llewellyn’s +room—the secretary was busy writing. He glanced +at Stewart, who rose to greet him. “I hadn’t +forgotten I promised to have a word with you, Mr. +Bathurst. I’ll come along now.” He pushed some +papers into his pocket and accompanied Anthony +down the corridor. “In the library?” he suggested.</p> + +<p>Anthony declined. “Daventry and Inspector +Goodall are in there—come in the Museum +Room—is it unlocked?”</p> + +<p>Stewart pushed open the door of the room in +question and waved Anthony to a seat. He chose a +Chippendale chair—his host followed his example. +Anthony cut no time to waste and speedily got to +grips with what he wanted to do.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart,” he said, leaning across with a +mixture of interest and sympathy, “I am going to +ask you one or two more questions that possibly may +border upon the personal. You will, I am sure, +pardon any seeming directness—but I am <em>nearing the +end of my case</em>, and I wish to handle all the facts +firmly and confidently.”</p> + +<p>Stewart’s cheeks flushed quickly. “I don’t quite +understand——”</p> + +<p>Anthony extended a protesting hand. “I think +you will. Who is the lady you wish to marry?”</p> + +<p>Stewart half rose in his chair. Then he sank back, +as though resigned to anything that might come +next.</p> + +<p>“I think I am able, Mr. Stewart,” continued Anthony, +“to put my finger on the subject of the interview +that you had with your father, not long before +he was killed—it concerned a lady—the lady you are +desirous of marrying—who is she?”</p> + +<p>Stewart’s emotion got the better of him for a +brief period. Then he made a big effort and +succeeded in pulling himself together. “That’s been +one of the hardest things I’ve had to bear, Mr. +Bathurst,” he stated. “The thought that my last +words with my father had been bitter ones. Ever +since that awful morning when I realized that I +should never speak to him again—that I should +never again hear his voice speaking to me, that +thought haunted me—every moment almost. And +another thought has accompanied it. This! If by +any miracle I could bring my father back to life and +have that interview over again, I don’t see that I +could conscientiously end it or even carry it on, in +any other way.” He looked pathetically at +Anthony.</p> + +<p>“You have my very profound sympathy, Mr. +Stewart. But you mustn’t upset yourself needlessly. +Tell me all about it.” He put his arm on the young +man’s shoulder. Stewart drew his hand across his +forehead and tossed his hair back from his brow.</p> + +<p>“Well, of course, Mr. Bathurst, you have been +able to see, from what Ferguson has told us +to-day—exactly how the land lay. My father was fond of +me as a man is of his only son, but he was also +passionately attached to Marjorie—Miss Lennox! I +think, perhaps, he was the type of man that prefers +girls to boys, and although she was his ward—he +always regarded her as a daughter. <em>More</em> than as a +daughter.” He brought his fist down in the palm +of his other hand. “<em>More</em>—because he cherished +the idea that one day she and I would marry. But I +don’t think either of us care for the other in that +way. We’ve always been tremendous pals and all +that—but there it ended! Somehow we didn’t want +to marry. I’m speaking more for myself than I +possibly can for Marjorie—naturally—but I don’t +think she has ever wanted to marry me any more +than I have ever wanted to marry her. How the +idea obsessed my father’s mind you can judge after +hearing what Ferguson told us with regard to his +will. My father couldn’t bear to be thwarted in +anything.” He stopped, and once again the color +flaunted its red banner in his cheeks. “Soon after +we came to Assynton, I met a lady to whom I was +instantly attracted, and now I am very happy to say +there is a complete understanding between us. She +is a Miss Rosemary Armitage, of ‘The Towers’—seven +miles from here. I had been playing tennis +there the night Colonel Leach-Fletcher dined with +my father. I don’t know if anything was said during +the evening, but when the Colonel went, my father +sent for me and in his own words—‘had it out with +me.’ He had heard of my admiration for Miss +Armitage and it had upset him.”</p> + +<p>“What time was that?” interjected Anthony.</p> + +<p>“At a quarter-past ten—I looked at my wrist-watch +as I entered the library! I wondered what it +was my father wanted to see me about so late—he +sent for me—you see.”</p> + +<p>Anthony thought for a second. “That leaves a +quarter of an hour between the Colonel’s departure +and his sending for you. Whom did he send for +you?”</p> + +<p>“Marjorie,” replied Stewart listlessly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Lennox has made no mention, as far as +my knowledge and memory go, of having been in +here after Colonel Leach-Fletcher went. Yet I am +certain she came in, and I am equally certain of the +reason that brought her. When she left your father, +he sent her to fetch you.” Anthony made this statement +very confidently and went straight on to invest +it with more significance. “It was <em>because</em> of what +Miss Lennox told your father that he <em>immediately</em> +sent for you—she went to him to complain of the +lover-like attentions of his secretary.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” burst out Stewart, “you can’t be +sure of that—you’re speculating somewhat, aren’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, Mr. Stewart,” came Anthony’s +reply, “I have been able to obtain conclusive proof +of what I have just said!”</p> + +<p>“What sort of proof?” demanded Stewart.</p> + +<p>“Proof about which there isn’t a shadow of a +doubt—<em>proof in Morgan Llewellyn’s own +handwriting</em>.”</p> + +<p>Stewart let a look of complete astonishment pass +over his face. “Honestly, I hadn’t the least idea.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose you had! Now I want to talk +about another matter. And I want you to give me +your absolute confidence again, and eventually, your +entire obedience. I want this house to be shut up +after to-morrow morning’s ceremony!”</p> + +<p>“What?” muttered Stewart.</p> + +<p>Anthony leaned over to him and spoke in very +quiet tones.</p> + +<p>“I want you to announce this evening to all your +staff that Assynton Lodge is to be left empty from +say to-morrow midday. Tell Llewellyn to take a +month’s leave—tell all the servants the same thing. +Send Miss Lennox to friends or to an hotel in town, +and tell her you will join her in a few days. I shall +want you with me. Let Colonel Leach-Fletcher +know—let the whole world know—make it as public +as you possibly can—and leave the place as soon as is +convenient to you, to-morrow afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Stewart looked dumbfounded. “But I must leave +somebody here. How about all the valuables—I +shouldn’t care to lose them all.”</p> + +<p>Anthony considered the point that he raised. “I +see your point. Very well, then—leave Butterworth +and his wife here—he’s the best to stay behind—<em>but +nobody else</em>!”</p> + +<p>Stewart still looked at him in amazement. +“Where am I to go myself?” he questioned.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you to-morrow midday,” answered +Anthony. “Meanwhile will you do as I suggest?”</p> + +<p>Stewart’s answer came a trifle wearily. “I’ve +placed myself in your hands, Mr. Bathurst—I must +be content to leave the matter entirely to you.” Then +he seemed to think of something. “What about +Mr. Daventry and Inspector Goodall?”</p> + +<p>“Leave them to me—and answer me one more +question. When your father had that interview with +you—did he by any chance mention to you the +peculiar provisions of his will?”</p> + +<p>Stewart hesitated for just the fraction of a second +before his answer came. “Certainly not, Mr. +Bathurst—when Ferguson told me the provisions of +the will this morning nobody was more surprised +than I. My father was angry at my not falling in +with this supreme desire of his—furiously angry I +may say! He so far forgot himself to say things +about Miss Armitage which were as absurd as they +were untrue, to anybody that knew her—he even +threatened me in a way—a vague sort of way. +But——”</p> + +<p>“How do you mean?” interrupted Anthony +abruptly. “How did he threaten you?”</p> + +<p>Stewart gnawed at his lower lip. “As I +said—vaguely! That it would be the worse for me if I +persisted in acting in opposition to his wishes—just +that—nothing more. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“The point occurred to me—that’s all—go on!”</p> + +<p>“Well—that’s all,” concluded Stewart. “The +word ‘will’ was never mentioned—I left my father +hoping that he would cool down and see things +eventually from my point of view—and Marjorie’s.”</p> + +<p>“When Miss Lennox came to tell you your father +wanted you, did she seem upset or distressed at all?”</p> + +<p>Stewart reflected for a second or two. “No,” he +declared. “But I’ll tell you what I did notice about +her—her cheeks were very flushed—as though she +were laboring under great excitement—I certainly +did notice that.”</p> + +<p>Anthony rose and walked across to one of the +tables. He picked up a dainty piece of glass—almost +gossamer-like in its texture and quality.</p> + +<p>“You understand, don’t you? I want that +announcement about closing the house up to be made +<em>to-night</em>. Inform all the servants—arrange with +Llewellyn and Miss Lennox on the lines that I +suggested—see Butterworth about taking charge during +the time you will be away—’phone Colonel +Leach-Fletcher—in short make all the necessary +arrangements as soon as possible. If it could be +managed—don’t come back to the house after the funeral. +What a lovely piece of glass this is!” He rang his +finger nail against its edge.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Stewart. “I will do exactly as +you wish.”</p> + +<p>“I’m obliged,” returned Anthony. He walked to +the door—then stopped and looked back at Stewart. +“By the way,” he exclaimed, “would you kindly +arrange for me to have a word with young O’Connor +before he goes for his unexpected month’s holiday?”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch23"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII. <br> When the Cat’s Away</h2> + +<p>“Goodall,” murmured Anthony, “I shall never +be able to forget entirely the look on your face this +afternoon when I asked you to fall in with my +arrangements. It was an education on its own—really +in some ways I regard it as sufficient reward +in itself for the trouble I have taken over the matter. +Have another slice of this cold lamb. You too, +Daventry!”</p> + +<p>The two people addressed pushed their plates +towards him, the Inspector grinning somewhat feebly.</p> + +<p>“It might even have been a better education for +you had you felt disposed to tell me a bit more—even +now you haven’t put me wise to all that’s going +on—thanks, Mr. Bathurst.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Inspector, you do know more than I do,” +grumbled Peter. “If anybody’s got a real legitimate +‘grouse’ it’s little Peter—that’s enough—thanks—I +haven’t got an appetite like the Inspector here.” +Anthony drained the contents of his tankard and +surveyed his two companions with an almost fatherly +air of condescension and regard.</p> + +<p>“You must allow me to stage-manage the show +in the way I think best. Really—I could charge you +both with downright ingratitude! I procure a topping +car for you—if you prefer the word ‘procure’ +to borrow—I drive you out into some most charming +country—and I carefully select an inn that provides +you with delicious cold lamb, admirable new +potatoes, delightful green peas, singularly delectable +mint-sauce, excellent Cheddar—all washed down +with cooling draughts of the wine of the country. +In exchange for all this—you censure me for what +you both appear to consider excessive reticence.”</p> + +<p>Goodall looked intently at him. “ ‘Borrow,’ did +you say? Now I thought I’d seen that car before—now +I know where it was—that’s Colonel Leach-Fletcher’s +‘Bentley’ we’ve been joy-riding in!” He +slapped his hand on his thigh.</p> + +<p>“Quite right, Inspector,” exclaimed Anthony. +“I thought you would spot its identity when I +invited you to get in and be seated!”</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t thinking of it then—I was wondering +where you were taking us to and what was the big +idea!”</p> + +<p>Daventry handed round the cigarettes. “Why +were you so anxious to get off the main road?” he +queried.</p> + +<p>“ ‘Journeys end in lovers meeting,’ ” quoth Mr. +Bathurst—“I didn’t want to meet people—two in +particular.” He looked at his watch. “It’s +half-past eight, Goodall,” he announced; “I asked +Stewart to be here at nine.”</p> + +<p>“Stewart?” questioned the Inspector.</p> + +<p>“Yes—he’s coming back, according to my intentions, +with the three of us to Assynton Lodge—and +we’re going via ‘Neuve Chapelle’—Colonel +Leach-Fletcher’s house is the Rockinge side of +Assynton—that’s why we’re going round that way. It will be +safer!” Goodall nodded an assent. “Of course,” +continued Anthony—“it’s just on the cards that we +shall draw a complete blank—but as I said before, I +don’t think so. Impatience is a tyrannical +taskmaster—ask any woman! Come into the smoke-room!” +They made themselves comfortable. “I +calculate that it will be dark about a quarter-past +ten—we have three-quarters of an hour’s journey +from here by car—let alone the walk from the Colonel’s. +We should leave here, to be on the safe side, +directly Stewart comes.”</p> + +<p>“You think it’s certain that nothing will happen +before dark?” asked Goodall.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think any attempt will be made,” +answered Anthony, “<em>before midnight</em>! They will wait +until it’s really dark—still we mustn’t give any +chances away. Now, Daventry—I want to talk to +you! That screen you saw at the Hanover Galleries! +If my memory isn’t faulty, it was covered +with the words, ‘Jesus Christ, God and Saviour,’ in +beads. Am I right?” Peter nodded.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” he admitted cheerfully; “I can +see it now. Brightly-colored beads they +were—under a kind of glass covering.”</p> + +<p>“Was the word ‘and’ shown in full—with its +full complement of letters—that is?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Just this! In the present day, ‘and’ is often +expressed by a kind of hieroglyphic—you know what +I mean—I don’t quite know how old the practice +is—but counting ‘and’ as one—if it had been shown +like that—there would have been just twenty-two +letters in the inscription—see what I’m getting at?”</p> + +<p>Peter shook his head. “That theory goes ‘phut,’ +old man,” he declared, “ ‘and’ was depicted in +full—the three letters, a—n—d.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” replied Anthony somewhat surprisingly +cheerfully. “I’m rather glad, as a matter +of fact, to hear you say that—it rather strengthens +my belief in my other theory.” Goodall looked up +at the clock anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Stewart should be here, Mr. Bathurst—I +don’t want to stay in here too long, you know. I +shall be getting uneasy.”</p> + +<p>“Neither do I. Let’s go and have a look +outside!”</p> + +<p>They scanned the white stretch of road that +wound its serpentine-like way through the green of +the countryside. For the moment their eyes saw +nothing—then Anthony spoke to his companions. +“Our man—I fancy!” He pointed in the reverse +direction to that in which they had been looking.</p> + +<p>“Traveling pretty fast, too,” muttered Goodall.</p> + +<p>“He’s a trifle late—that’s why,” replied Anthony. +In a few moments the big car spun into the +inn-yard with Charles Stewart at the wheel. His +face seemed set and anxious.</p> + +<p>“Sorry if I’m a bit behind time, Bathurst,” he +apologized, “I miscalculated the distance this place +was away—I hope it hasn’t inconvenienced you at +all.”</p> + +<p>Anthony got into the car and sat next to him. +“We were getting a bit worried about you—that was +all. I’ll travel back with you! Daventry—you +drive the Inspector in the Colonel’s car. Make +straight for ‘Neuve Chapelle’!”</p> + +<p>The two cars swung out on to the road—Peter in +the “Bentley” leading.</p> + +<p>“I should like to get back to the Colonel’s by ten +to ten at the latest,” exclaimed Anthony. “Can we +do it?”</p> + +<p>“Easy,” said Stewart. “I’ll let her out when we +get on to the Rockinge road—it’s bound to be pretty +clear there—it always is.”</p> + +<p>“What about O’Connor, Bathurst?” he continued. +“Did you see him all right as you desired?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—thanks! I’ve arranged all that I wanted.” +He paused and looked at his companion. “I’m +rather afraid that events have crowded upon us very +quickly, Mr. Stewart, and that coming so soon after +this morning they may have proved a severe strain +upon you—but there is this much to be said, I hope +to clear up the whole business within the next few +hours.”</p> + +<p>Stewart nodded. “It will be a great relief—perhaps +in time I may school myself to forget it all . . . +except that wretched will, though . . . +that’s likely to be a permanent obstacle.”</p> + +<p>“Nine-fifty-two,” he announced eventually as they +drew up outside Colonel Leach-Fletcher’s. “Not +bad going that.”</p> + +<p>The Colonel was not in, the maid-servant +informed them. He had gone out after ten on foot +and had not yet returned. Mr. Bathurst thanked +her, and in the circumstances would put the +“Bentley” into the garage if she would see that it was +unlocked for him! Peter ran it in as smoothly and +in as businesslike a manner as possible.</p> + +<p>“Yours too, Mr. Stewart,” instructed Anthony. +“You’re leaving it here to-night—you know—and +completing the rest of the journey with us on foot!”</p> + +<p>Stewart looked a little bewildered, but by this time +had become quite prepared to obey Mr. Bathurst’s +orders without asking too many questions.</p> + +<p>“If we walk smartly,” declared Goodall, “we +ought to be there by a quarter to eleven, and that’s +quite late enough in my opinion. . . . Step it +out, gentlemen, until I give the word to stop you.”</p> + +<p>The four were quickly into their stride—Peter +Daventry wondering where it was all going to end. +He put his hand in the pocket of his coat and felt +the butt of his revolver. He was prepared, at any +rate, should it turn out to be a “rough house.” Old +Bathurst evidently thought it might by his references +to the revolver. He jerked at Anthony’s sleeve. +“That’s the second mile-stone since we started—another +quarter of an hour or so ought to bring us +pretty close to the Lodge.”</p> + +<p>Anthony nodded, and for the next ten minutes or +thereabouts the little party walked in silence. +Suddenly Goodall, who was leading, stopped, and +turning in his tracks, approached the others. “We’re +just on there,” he whispered, “and we must all +keep very quiet. Is there anything more you want +seen to, Mr. Bathurst?”</p> + +<p>“How many men have you posted round the +house, Goodall?” asked Anthony.</p> + +<p>“Half a dozen. Every point is well +watched—I’ve seen to that!”</p> + +<p>“Better make sure they’re there before we do +anything,” suggested Anthony.</p> + +<p>“Wait, then,” snapped Goodall. He was soon +back. “All O. K.,” he declared very quietly.</p> + +<p>“What I propose, then, is this—we four will keep +well away from the entrance that leads to the front +of the house on the Assynton side. We’ll climb the +garden wall at the back—we shall come to it first, +approaching from this direction, and once inside the +grounds we’ll take cover—somewhere near the rock +garden say. We oughtn’t to stand much chance of +being spotted round there.” He looked up at the +sky. “The moon’s in our favor!” Goodall appeared +to be considering the plan very carefully. +“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “I don’t think we can +do very much better than that. I’ll go and have +another word with Sergeant Clegg and wait for you +under the shadow of the wall.” He was as good as +his word, and shortly afterwards the four figures +dropped silently from the wall and stealthily made +their way nearer to the house. Not a glimmer of +light showed, and the dim foreboding that the night +was destined to produce nothing sensational smote +Anthony for a brief moment. Then his reason reasserted +itself and he shook off the idea of failure.</p> + +<p>“Deuced peculiar way of entering my own +garden,” muttered Charles Stewart.</p> + +<p>Goodall put his fingers to his lips. +“Silence—everybody—please—not a syllable—gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly a figure flitted out from behind a bush. +Peter quivered with excitement. Anthony caught it +by the arm. “That you, Patrick?” he whispered +softly.</p> + +<p>Goodall turned round again angrily, but Anthony +held up his finger with a gesture that betokened +silence.</p> + +<p>“Ay, sir, it’s Patrick O’Connor. I fixed that little +job for you—and father’s up near the window—as +you told him, sir. Nothing’s happened yet, +sir—I’ve watched since the time you mentioned.” +Anthony expressed approval. “Fall in with us, +Patrick—and as quietly as you know how.”</p> + +<p>Two or three minutes later came another order +from the Inspector. “Now sort yourselves out—and +keep within half a dozen yards of one another—and +nobody’s to move forward after taking up position +unless ordered by me or Mr. Bathurst here.” As +he spoke a light suddenly flashed and lit up one of +the rooms. Peter started as he saw it. “Which +room’s that?” he queried of Anthony in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Not sure—watch the house carefully—get away +to my right—three yards will be ample.”</p> + +<p>For a long time nothing happened—till just as +suddenly as previously a second room flashed into +light. Anthony tiptoed over to Daventry. “One +of the bedrooms now—on the second floor—I really +think things are moving. I’m going forward a bit +to have a word with Goodall.”</p> + +<p>The Inspector listened sagely and was on the +point of making his reply when Anthony gripped his +arm.</p> + +<p>“Listen, Goodall, listen. Hear that? A car! +It’s driven up to the house—it’s going up the drive +now—can’t you hear it?”</p> + +<p>Goodall cocked his head in the darkness—then +turned swiftly and silently.</p> + +<p>“Get the men to their places, Mr. Bathurst—we +haven’t long to wait now, I’ll lay any odds.”</p> + +<p>Goodall’s instructions were instantly obeyed, and +Peter Daventry was perfectly certain in his own +mind that everybody could hear plainly the sound of +his heart beating. But nobody appeared to—nobody +turned on him angrily with an order to stop the +noise his heart was making—so he concluded after a +time that the noise wasn’t anything like as bad as he +imagined and that his fears were exaggerated.</p> + +<p>Anthony flitted noiselessly across to the Inspector. +“Stay here—all of you—I’m going forward a +bit—don’t do anything till I come back and give you +the word.” He slipped away in the darkness. +Keeping well in the shadow, he silently approached +the library. A figure suddenly materialized, peering +at him for a brief moment of palpitating suspense. +Suddenly Anthony felt his hand gripped in a grasp +that would have made many a man wince.</p> + +<p>“All right, O’Connor,” he whispered, “be careful +not to make the slightest sound—<em>they’re somewhere +in the house</em>.” The giant flashed back a +smile, white teeth gleaming in the darkness. +Simultaneously the library flooded into light! Anthony in +the stress of his excitement dug his fingers into the +foundryman’s shoulder. “I’m going right up to the +French doors,” he whispered again, “in a very few +minutes from now—get well back for a moment or +two in case they open them and come out.” They +crouched together in the darkest patch they could +find. The few minutes seemed an eternity. O’Connor’s +breath came in short sharp gasps—inactivity +fretted him and he found this period of waiting and +suspense well-nigh intolerable. Then his heart went +to his mouth as he saw Anthony go forward, very +slowly and silently—on the grass as much as +possible—step by step—and reach the doors of the +lighted library. He saw Bathurst’s body worm to +one side, seeking a favorable chink of vantage—he +saw it stiffen to rigid attention as this chink was +apparently gained . . . the rest he had to leave +to the flights of his imagination. Then as he looked +he saw Bathurst drop down from his full height and +begin to tiptoe again on his return journey. +Anthony answered his companion’s unspoken question. +“Couldn’t be better—stay here while I go back to +get Goodall and the others.” O’Connor could just +see that the speaker’s face was shining with a +mixture of excitement and elation. Goodall heard +Anthony’s news with quiet satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Good,” was all he permitted himself. He collected +Peter and Charles Stewart, sent young O’Connor +down to Sergeant Clegg and issued his final +instructions. “Your revolver, Mr. Daventry? +Right! You’re perfectly certain about the doors, +Mr. Bathurst, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“They’ve been attended to, Inspector—be easy +on that point.” The four men crept forward and +joined the elder O’Connor. And at last they reached +the point they wanted. Anthony listened for a single +tense moment—then beckoned to Goodall, who stole +silently to his side. “Look through there,” he +whispered. Goodall peered into the room. Two men +were standing with their backs to the French doors, +but the form of one of them was vaguely familiar +to him. A woman was kneeling on the floor in front +of two objects the exact shape of which her body hid +from the watchers’ sight. Anthony caught at +Goodall’s arm and pulled him away—then he whispered a +few words into the Inspector’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Good God!” muttered Goodall. Then he made +a sign to Peter and the others, and with a sudden +sharp movement of his hands pulled open the doors. +The woman sprang to her feet with a scream that +rang in Peter’s ears as he leveled his revolver. +Goodall was at his side, and Peter could see a second +automatic gleaming in the Inspector’s hand. The +two men in the library pivoted round in amazement, +and the smaller man’s hand dropped like lightning +to his hip pocket.</p> + +<p>“Put your hands up,” roared Goodall, “or, by +God, I’ll let daylight through you.”</p> + +<p>Four hands went sullenly up, while the woman +sank quivering to the floor. Goodall walked to the +man that was armed and quietly took the revolver +from his hip pocket. “ ‘Snoop’ Mortimer and +Alice Mortimer,” he said deliberately, “I arrest you +on the charge of murdering James Mason at the +Hanover Galleries on the morning of June 9th last.”</p> + +<p>Sergeant Clegg came out of the circle of light by +the doors and clicked the handcuffs on the man’s +wrists. The woman lay prostrate on the floor. +Goodall administered the usual caution. He then +walked to the elder man who stood grey and ashen +by the library table, completely paralyzed at the +dramatic interruption. “I also arrest you, John +Butterworth,” he said, “for the murder of your +master, Laurence P. Stewart, on the night of June +8th!” Butterworth reeled and swayed like a tree +shaken in the wind—then held out his hands +mechanically for the handcuffs—the bracelets from +which, for murderers, there is no escape.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch24"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV. <br> The Secret of the Screens</h2> + +<p>The library door closed upon the three prisoners. +Goodall’s mouth was set in lines that were grim and +hard—the man-hunting game is no occupation for +the squeamish. “Clegg and his men will have them +in the cells in no time,” he declared. “And the +papers will sell well to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>But his remark evoked no response from the +others—all eyes had gone to Charles Stewart. He +had sunk into a chair—the very chair, as it +happened, where his father had been sitting when he +had met his death—thoroughly overcome by the +events of the evening. “Butterworth,” he muttered +incredulously in a broken voice—“Butterworth! A +man that my father would have trusted with +anything”—he put his head into his hands and his +shoulders shook in his emotion.</p> + +<p>“Come—come,” said Anthony, “you mustn’t +break down like this—personally I was somewhat +relieved to find that it was Butterworth whom we +were trailing and not anybody else.”</p> + +<p>Stewart lifted up his face and looked at Anthony +searchingly. “You were <em>relieved</em>?” he queried. +“Didn’t you know then till to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Some time before to-night, Mr. Stewart,” replied +Bathurst with a sympathetic movement of the +head. “You see I had some occasion to suspect him +from the very first.”</p> + +<p>Stewart looked at him again blankly and a trifle +doubtfully. “To me,” he continued, “it has come +as a very great shock. I don’t think I shall ever be +able to forget it.”</p> + +<p>Anthony patted him on the shoulder and went +across to the others in the room. Goodall picked up +the two screens—the two objects that had been +engaging the attention of Alice Mortimer as she knelt +upon the floor just prior to the arrest. He placed +them on the table—in its center—Anthony removing +everything else to obtain clear room-space. Then he +looked carefully at the screens. There they +stood——the one that had come back to the house from +which it had been removed—the other just as Peter +Daventry had seen it in the Hanover Galleries +before the murders. The first had been the property +of Laurence P. Stewart, who had been murdered. +The second had been the property of Lord Clavering, +who had died in his bed. The screens were as +they had been for over three hundred years—they +had defied Time, and up to now had defied also the +challenging and predatory lusts of men. Stewart’s +screen was of the dark bronze-like metal work that +Marjorie Lennox had described. It stood about +four feet high, with the Queen’s Lion in the top +left-hand corner and the “fleur-de-lis” in the +corresponding position on the right. In the middle could +be read the two words from Virgil—“<i>Timeo +Danaos</i>”—they had been scratched on with infinite +care and patience. Below them swam the fish just +as Miss Lennox had pictured it. At the bottom, in +the two corners, were the Leopards and Lilies of +England—the Leopards directly beneath the Lion +and the Lilies below the “fleur-de-lis.” Lord +Clavering’s screen, that had traveled to Day, +Forshaw and Palmers’ and thence to Mr. and Mrs. +“Snoop” Mortimer, stood perhaps an inch or two +higher—upon a carved wood pedestal. The +glass-shielded tapestry was just as Peter Daventry +remembered it. It was the counterpart of the other as +regards decoration and ornament, save for its +centerpiece. The colored beads took the place of the +Latin words—they were all that there was +there—“JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND SAVIOUR.” +Peter pointed to the fourth word, “It is written in +full,” he exclaimed, “just as I told you.” Anthony +nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes—that’s all right. I’ve abandoned that particular +theory.” He turned to the others, who were +beginning to be infected with his strange +combination of eagerness, enthusiasm and excitement. +“Judging from the faces of the little gathering that +we were discourteous enough just recently to interrupt,” +he declared, “I don’t fancy that the lady had +successfully interpreted the riddle that her father +had put in front of her.”</p> + +<p>“Her father,” interjected Goodall, “you mean +her husband, Mr. Bathurst!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t,” smiled Anthony, “I mean her father, +as I said—you will find that Alice Mortimer was +<i>née</i> Butterworth—she met her esteemed husband in +the States.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart gasped and Peter Daventry +raised his eyes in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Assuming therefore,” continued Anthony, “that +the secret of the screens still remains unsolved, +I purpose putting a little idea of mine to the +test—I think you will find it interesting, gentlemen.” +He walked to the French doors. “O’Connor,” he +called. The black-bearded giant stepped smartly +into the room.</p> + +<p>“At your service, Mr. Bathurst—what is it that +you’re wantin’ of me?”</p> + +<p>Anthony pointed to the smaller of the two screens. +“You know a good deal about metal work, O’Connor,” +he exclaimed, “have a look over here, will +you?” Michael O’Connor strode across to the +table. “What would be the effect, O’Connor, of +heavy blows upon this metal work?”</p> + +<p>O’Connor ran his fingers over the embossed surface +of the screen. Then he ran them through his +hair. “Would it be with a hammer that you +mean?” he questioned doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Yes—something of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“Well”—he scratched his head still more +doubtfully—“you could beat it and beat it and kape on +beatin’ it. You could knock it into all shapes and +that ’ud be about all you could do—you couldn’t +knock holes into it. It’s old and hard that metal +work is—and it ’ud stand all the banging you could +give it. That’s my opinion, sir.” He paused and +looked round at them, as though inviting either a +criticism or a confirmation of what he had stated.</p> + +<p>From Anthony there came the latter. “Just my +own opinion, O’Connor,” he declared, “it would +stand as much hammering as you chose to give it.” +He walked up to the table and inspected the two +screens intently. Goodall and Peter Daventry joined +him, while Charles Stewart came round to the other +side of them. Suddenly Bathurst put his finger on +the point of the metal work that comprised the eye +of the swimming fish. But to no purpose—and his +circle of spectators saw something like a gleam of +disappointment cross his face. Then he tried a +second time—the forefinger of his left hand pushing +on the fish’s eye and the forefinger of his right +pressing on its tail! There was a sudden clicking sound +and a sharp exclamation of amazement from Charles +Stewart. As though by magic the embossed body of +the fish on the reverse side of the screen to which +Bathurst had pressed, swung away—revealing a +cavity in the metal work the size of a man’s hand. +Anthony plunged his hand into it and drew out what +looked like a wad of discolored cotton wool.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” he cried, with dramatic triumph, +“allow me to introduce you to the ‘Twenty-Two +Black Pearls of Lorraine.’ ”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch25"> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV. <br> The Riddle of the Black Twenty-Two</h2> + +<p>He laid the dirty padded mass on the library +table, and started to pull the soft fleecy substance to +pieces. From the first corner he extracted a +magnificent specimen of a black pearl. Then the others +came to his assistance with exclamations of delight, +wonder and incredulity. In a few moments the +twenty-two black pearls lay on the table in front of +them—none the worse to all appearances for their +three hundred odd years’ concealment. Every one +was a truly magnificent specimen. Goodall, Peter +and Charles Stewart handled them in a kind of +amazed bewilderment, marveling at their size and +beauty. Michael O’Connor’s two eyes were nearly +falling from his head. This would make a story for +many future generations of O’Connors to smack +their lips over. After a time the reason of the other +three reasserted itself, and they turned to +Bathurst—their questions in their eyes.</p> + +<p>“Hadn’t you better tell us all about it, Mr. +Bathurst,” suggested the Inspector, “it’s the nearest +approach to the Arabian Nights that ever I’ve run +up against.”</p> + +<p>Anthony selected a comfortable corner of the +table and swung himself on to it. The others seated +themselves round him. “I had better begin at the +beginning,” he said. “Although the case appeared +very involved and complicated in its initial +stages—one of the points that seemed to border upon the +impossible and which seemed also to be perhaps the +most difficult one to surmount—actually simplified +matters enormously and gave me my starting-point. +I refer to the fact that when you, Mr. Stewart, +accompanied by Llewellyn and Butterworth, broke +down the library door on the morning when you +discovered the body of your father—the key was in +the door on the inside and the bolts of the French +doors were firmly shot in their sockets. All three of +you were agreed on the matter. Inasmuch as these +were the only two exits from the room by which the +murderer <em>could possibly have escaped</em>—this evidence +must have been false—faked if you like. One of the +three people had been quick enough and clever +enough on his entry to <em>impose</em> this piece of evidence +upon the minds of the other two. Quite easily done, +too, when their attention was so distracted. It was +the only possible solution to the mystery, and when +you find the only possible solution, gentlemen, you +hang on to it. The question then arose which one +of the three was it? I made up my mind to await +events a bit before deciding prematurely and to +preserve an open mind. The next important step in +my investigations was the letter found on the +murdered man’s desk—the few words that had been +scribbled by him just before he met his death. They +were, you will remember—‘Urgent—in the morning. +M. L.’ Now I suggest, gentlemen, that most +of you—perhaps all of you—were inclined to associate +either Mr. Morgan Llewellyn or Miss Marjorie +Lennox with the initials there written—I considered +those possibilities very carefully, but after a +time I rejected them. If it were in the nature of an +instruction—then it would almost certainly be +intended for Llewellyn—and he would scarcely be +reminded in that particular way of anything about +<em>himself</em>. Also would Stewart put initials if he were +referring to the lady whom he looked upon as a +daughter? Surely she would be ‘Marjorie’ to him, +without any surname? No, gentlemen! I came to +the conclusion that ‘M. L.’ stood for the +abbreviated and incompleted form of ‘Merryweather, +Linnell and Daventry.’ ” He paused and looked +across at Peter, who allowed an exclamation of “By +Jove!” to escape his lips. Goodall said laconically, +“Go on!” Anthony proceeded. “Assuming this to +be a sound theory, then—what had happened in the +library that night to cause Stewart to scrawl the +words? That was what I had to find out. It +seemed to me pretty conclusive that if Merryweather, +Linnell and Daventry were coming into the +picture, then what I had suspected for some time +was true—<em>that the kernel of the matter lay in the +screen that I discovered to be missing from the +Museum Room and in the strange coincidence of the +murder at the Hanover Galleries with yet another +missing screen</em>. I was indebted to Colonel Leach-Fletcher +for the next important piece of assistance. +Stewart, he informed us—you remember, Goodall—was +very troubled about what he described as some +treachery happening in his house. Private papers +and documents were being tampered with. Was this +the same trouble that he was feeling over his son? +I decided no! Mr. Charles Stewart here had no +reason to acquire information from his father by +stealth or underhand methods. He could have +obtained it in the open—in many ways. I then began +to center my suspicions upon two people—Llewellyn +and Butterworth. Also, I considered the evidence +of Patrick O’Connor’s bicycle. I was able to +establish—with your help, Inspector, that communication +had undoubtedly passed on the night of the crime +between the murderer this end and Blanchard’s +Hotel. Something had happened suddenly down +here that made the immediate acquisition of the +tapestry screen imperative—it was to be obtained at +any cost! Then I reconstructed the crime—finding +the missing bullet and the weapon that the murderer +had used. The location of the bullet was most +interesting—but of that more later. Also I found +the answer to my question as to what was making +Llewellyn so uneasy. It was a love-interest—concerned +at the moment with a love-letter! I began +to think seriously then about Butterworth—John +Butterworth, the trusted butler. ‘Treachery,’ you +will agree, is a good interpretation of betrayed +trust. This is what I think happened on the night +of the murder.” He stopped again to light a +cigarette. “We know that Stewart had confided to +the Colonel that he intended to take immediate steps +to probe the treachery that he imagined was going +on around him. In my opinion he had formed certain +suspicions and intended to take action, that +very night. But something happened directly after +his guest left that he hadn’t been expecting. Marjorie +Lennox had been waiting for Colonel Leach-Fletcher +to leave to get into the library and to put +before her ‘Uncle’ documentary evidence of the +unwelcome attentions to which she was being +subjected by Llewellyn. We know that she had +threatened to do so, by the terms of Llewellyn’s +letter. We can only conjecture what happened—but it +is plain that the question of Marjorie’s affections +caused your father, Mr. Stewart, to send for you +directly after she left him—in the hope of arranging +matters more on the lines of what he desired.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart nodded his head in acquiescence. +“That is so—Mr. Bathurst.”</p> + +<p>“After your talk with your father finished—your +father went to bed—but only ostensibly. He was on +the <i>qui vive</i> that night—he undressed—slipped a +dressing-gown over his pajamas—a revolver into +the right-hand pocket——”</p> + +<p>“Left,” cut in Peter Daventry crisply. Anthony +ignored the interruption.</p> + +<p>“——And waited until something happened that +brought him downstairs. To the library—for this +was the room where he had previously discovered +signs of interference with his private papers. +Butterworth was in there—engaged on a book of +French memoirs to which I shall refer again. +Like ‘John Shand,’ he had always been a natural +scholar—with an unusual aptitude for learning and +culture—this aptitude unhappily has brought him, +finally, to what I believe is sometimes described as +‘the nine o’clock walk.’ But I digress! Butterworth +heard his master’s footsteps—sprang to the +light switch and snapped out the light. Stewart +fired at the unknown intruder—we know where the +bullet went. Butterworth then disclosed his +identity—probably with an instinct for self-preservation. +Shocked at the perfidy of the man he trusted implicitly, +but at the same time realizing that he surely +would not need the revolver again, Stewart then +replaced it in his left-hand pocket. Do you agree, +Daventry?” Peter nodded rather shamefacedly +and could have kicked himself for his recent +interruption. Anthony smiled. “Stewart wrested part +of the truth from him, in all probability, and then +heaped rebuke and scathing censure on his head. +And I think—although perhaps it’s largely +guesswork—that he let Butterworth know that the +provision that he had made for him in his will would be +immediately negatived. Then the butler was +dismissed and Stewart sat down to think things over. +He didn’t notice that Butterworth had <em>made his exit +by the French doors into the garden and not by the +door</em>. Stewart scrawled his few words—intended +for Llewellyn—I suggest it would have read had it +been completed—‘urgent in the morning. M. L. +and Co. to act re’—well—what shall we say—perhaps +a new will—perhaps they were to receive more +explicit instructions re the tapestry screen that had +now been invested with an intrinsic value +concerning which his curiosity had been considerably +whetted. But Butterworth, with his half-share in the +proceeds of the ‘Twenty-Two Black Pearls of +Lorraine’ greatly imperiled, to say nothing of an +immediate pension of five hundred pounds a year at +stake, <em>came back</em> from the garden with murder in +his heart. Fate had placed his weapon handy. He +struck! As we know, he cleaned as much of the +dirt from the table as he could see—he forgot the +proximity of the bowl of ink. He then collected +the Museum Room screen, locked the library door +on the inside, went out by the French doors, +borrowed O’Connor’s bicycle and ’phoned his daughter +at Blanchard’s Hotel. Her precious husband—a +real product of the Bowery—went on with her to +the Hanover Galleries and completed the job. +Meanwhile, Butterworth returned, disposed of the +screen somewhere, and went to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Just a minute, Mr. Bathurst,” interposed +Goodall. “Why did Butterworth replace the book he +was at work on—I can’t understand that?”</p> + +<p>“It’s hard to say—I question very much if he +knew that the bullet was embedded in it—he was +probably obsessed with the idea of leaving the room +quite normal. Alternatively, Stewart may have +replaced it.”</p> + +<p>“I think it was a mistake,” declared the Inspector.</p> + +<p>“We all make ’em,” continued Anthony. “That’s +why we’re waiting for the perfect crime. Where +was I? Oh, I remember. Well, I now began to +consider what it was that lay behind it all. M. +Réné, Daventry, please?” He pointed to the +bookcase. Mr. Daventry took down once again “The +Memoirs of Réné de St. Maure” and handed it to +him. Anthony read the paragraph to them. Goodall’s +face was a study, and Michael O’Connor’s black +eyes gleamed with excitement.</p> + +<p>“Pretty vague,” commented Charles Stewart.</p> + +<p>“Vague, certainly,” said Anthony, “but it told +me conclusively that they were after something +valuable—the clue to which lay in some way in these +two screens. Butterworth no doubt had got on the +track of it through his delvings into your father’s +library, had realized that the late Lord Clavering’s +screen—advertised for sale—would give him the +evidence that he had been wanting and had brought +his choice specimen of a son-in-law over from the +States to take a hand in the game. A morning’s +research gave me a hint as to what the query might +very well be. Perhaps you would care to listen to a +little history. Mary, Queen of Scots, besides being +Queen of Scotland, was Dowager of France, the +widow of the little King Francis. She was also the +niece of His Eminence the Cardinal of Lorraine. He +showered upon her a much greater measure of +affection than was usual in those days, and when she +eventually sailed for Scotland he made her a ‘great +gift’ of twenty-two black pearls—you’ve handled +some of them to-night, gentlemen. When Mary suffered +her defeat years afterwards at Carbery Hill, +which meant the complete overthrow of her fortunes, +she took the steps about which you have just heard +to preserve many of her treasures—the Cardinal’s +gift among them. First of all I anticipated that they +were buried somewhere in Scotland and the clue to +their hiding-place was contained somewhere on the +screens. So I set to work to read the riddle.” He +walked up to the two screens and beckoned up the +others. They crowded round. “Look at them,” +he exclaimed. “What strikes you as strange about +either of them?”</p> + +<p>“A good many things,” muttered Goodall. “But +I don’t know that I can pick out anything in +particular!”</p> + +<p>“Go on, Bathurst,” prompted Peter. “Put us +out of our misery.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Anthony. “There is this. There +is one thing—on the metal-work screen—that appeals +to me as extraordinary. By extraordinary, I +mean out of place—something you wouldn’t expect +to be there. The inscription to Our Lord—the +fleur-de-lis, the Lilies—the Leopards—all these +are historically sound—normal—but what about +the Latin words ‘<i>Timeo Danaos</i>’—‘I fear the +<em>Greeks</em>’? It struck me that the word ‘Greek’ +might contain an important significance. I toyed +with the idea for some time—trying this and that +attempt at solution. Then I began to dwell on the +other inscription—‘JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND +SAVIOUR.’ I turned it into Greek form—thus +‘<i>Ιησοῦς Χριστός Θεός Σωτἡρ</i>.’</p> + +<p>“I knew then that I had solved the puzzle! Take +the initial letters of each word—I’ll put them in +English form to help you—I—CH—TH—S. You +have there four of the five Greek letters that make +up the Greek word for ‘Fish’! ’ICHTHUS! In +relation to that—the Early Christians in the agonizing +days of their first bitter persecutions used to +signify their secret allegiance to the Christ by +drawing a fish upon the ground when they encountered a +stranger of whose Faith they were doubtful. He +was tested by that sign. When I thought of that +fish on the other screen I knew I was home at last. +It then remained for me to entice the murdering +devils here—I thought the empty house would lure +them—it was all so beautifully convenient with +Butterworth left behind. Mortimer brought the tapestry +screen down by car, and Butterworth, who induced +him down, of course, had the other in safe hiding +somewhere. They were desperately impatient to +turn their knowledge to account and profit. The +rest you know! When I saw the screens for the +first time to-night I guessed the fish had a secret +cavity somewhere—luckily at the second attempt I +found it.”</p> + +<p>Stewart and Goodall advanced to him with +outstretched hands. “A wonderful piece of work, Mr. +Bathurst,” said the former, “and worthy of the +heartiest congratulations.”</p> + +<p>“Mine also,” grunted the Inspector. “I’m very +much in your debt—like Mr. Stewart here.”</p> + +<p>Anthony, flushed with triumph, waved their praise +on one side.</p> + +<p>“There’s one thing I <em>can</em> take credit for,” added +Peter. “I told you he was a liar when he tried to +implicate Miss Lennox—I was certain of it.”</p> + +<p>Goodall laughed at Daventry’s plea for +recognition—then turned to Anthony.</p> + +<p>“One last point, Mr. Bathurst. What made you +state to me that the woman we were looking for +suffered from hay fever?”</p> + +<p>“Come, Goodall,” replied Mr. Bathurst. +“Remember Druce’s evidence—continuous +sneezing—Atkins’ evidence—the occasional use of dark +spectacles by a woman possessed of excellent sight—a +few fragments of ‘Asthma Cure’ on the mantelpiece +of the room at Blanchard’s Hotel—Rabjohns’ story +of the odor in the bedroom—the time of the year, +June—it was a comparatively easy matter to deduce +a hay-fever patient—any more questions?”</p> + +<p>“No more,” said the Inspector promptly and +decisively. “I’m perfectly satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“There’s still that awkward will,” put in Charles +Stewart. “That’s got to be faced.”</p> + +<p>“Quite easy, Mr. Stewart,” said Anthony. “Miss +Lennox will marry a very rich man, so that forfeiting +her share of your father’s money will matter +little to her. That will leave you free and +unhampered to marry Miss Armitage—I think that’s +the lady’s name, isn’t it? And when we remember +that the metal-work screen—<em>your</em> property, Mr. +Stewart—was the one that contained the +‘Cardinal’s Great Gift’—what better wedding present +could you give Miss Marjorie Lennox than the +‘Black Twenty-Two’?” He pointed to the table. +“Splendid compensation—you know.”</p> + +<p>Charles Stewart smiled a little sadly—then shook +him by the hand again.</p> + +<p>“I’m jolly glad,” he exclaimed, “that old Thibaut +Girardier picked the right screen in which to hide +them.”</p> + +<p>“So am I,” responded Mr. Bathurst.</p> + +<p class="finis">The End</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber Notes</h2> + +<p>This transcription follows the text of the second printing of the +US edition published by Grosset & Dunlap in February, 1929. However, +the following alterations have been made to correct what are believed +to be unambiguous errors in the text:</p> + +<ul> + <li>“Lawrence” has been corrected to “Laurence” (Chapter I);</li> + <li>“propertly” has been corrected to “property” (Chapter I);</li> + <li>an omitted em dash has been restored (Chapter V);</li> + <li>“<i>vis-a-vis</i>” has been corrected to “<i>vis-à-vis</i>” + (Chapter VIII);</li> + <li>“mènage” has been corrected to “ménage” (Chapter XVI);</li> + <li>two missing quotation marks have been restored (Chapters XIX + & XX).</li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75209 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |