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diff --git a/75307-h/75307-h.htm b/75307-h/75307-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7b9e8b --- /dev/null +++ b/75307-h/75307-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10568 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title>The Crow's Inn Tragedy</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, h2 { + margin: 2em auto; + text-align: center; + text-transform: uppercase; +} +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; +} +.copyright1 { + font-size: small; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +.copyright2 { + font-size: small; + font-variant: small-caps; + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; +} +.toc { + font-variant: small-caps; + margin: 1em auto; +} +.toc td { padding: 0; } +.finis { + font-size: small; + margin-top: 3em; + 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 75307 ***</div> + +<figure> + <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<div class="section" id="titlepage"> + +<h1>The Crow's Inn Tragedy</h1> +<p class="authorprefix">by</p> +<p class="author">Annie Haynes</p> + +<p class="copyright1">Copyright, 1927, by</p> +<p class="copyright2">Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="contents"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table class="toc"> +<tr><td><a href="#ch01">Chapter I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch02">Chapter II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch03">Chapter III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch04">Chapter IV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch05">Chapter V</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch06">Chapter VI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch07">Chapter VII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch08">Chapter VIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch09">Chapter IX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch10">Chapter X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch11">Chapter XI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch12">Chapter XII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch13">Chapter XIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch14">Chapter XIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch15">Chapter XV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch16">Chapter XVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch17">Chapter XVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch18">Chapter XVIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch19">Chapter XIX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch20">Chapter XX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch21">Chapter XXI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch22">Chapter XXII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch23">Chapter XXIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ch24">Chapter XXIV</a></td></tr> +</table> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch01"> + +<h2>Chapter I</h2> + +<p>The offices of Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner took +up the whole of the first floor of the corner house of +Crow's Inn Square. Bechcombe and Turner was one +of the oldest legal firms in London. Their offices were +dingy, not to say grimy-looking. The doors and windows +had evidently not had a coat of paint for years. +There were no lifts in Crow's Inn. Any such modern +innovation would have been out of place in the tall, +narrow-casemented houses that stood square round the +grass—grass which was bound and crossed by stone +flagged walks. The front door of the corner house +stood open; the tessellated floor of the hall was dulled +by the passing of numberless footsteps. The narrow, +uncarpeted stairs went up just opposite the door.</p> + +<p>A tall, grey-haired clergyman, who was carefully +scrutinizing the almost illegible doorplate, glanced +round in some distaste as he went up the worn stairs. +At the top he was faced by a door with the legend +“Inquiries” written large upon it. After a moment's +hesitation he knocked loudly. Instantly a panel in +the middle of the door shot aside and a small, curiously +wrinkled face looked out inquisitively.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bechcombe?” the caller said inquiringly. +“Please tell him that Mr. Collyer has called, but that +he will wait.”</p> + +<p>The message was repeated by a boyish voice, the +panel was pushed into its place again, a door by the +side opened and Mr. Collyer was beckoned in. He +found himself in a small ante-room; a door before him +stood open and he could see into an office containing +a row of desks on each side and several clerks +apparently writing busily away. Nearer to him was +another open door evidently leading into a waiting-room, +furnished with a round centre-table and heavy leather +chairs—all with the same indescribable air of gloom +that seemed to pervade Messrs. Bechcombe and +Turner's establishment.</p> + +<p>The boy who had admitted Mr. Collyer now stood +aside for him to pass in, and then departed, +vouchsafing the information that Mr. Bechcombe would be +at leisure in a few minutes.</p> + +<p>With a sigh of relief the clergyman let himself +down into one of the capacious arm-chairs, moving +stiffly like a man afflicted with chronic rheumatism. +Then he laid his head against the back of it as if +thoroughly tired out. Seen thus in repose, the deep +lines graven on his clean-shaven face were very +noticeable, his mouth had a weary droop, and his kind, +grey eyes with the tiny network of wrinkles round +them were sad and worried.</p> + +<p>The minutes were very few indeed before a bell +rang close at hand, a door sprang open as if by magic +and the same boy beckoned him into a farther room.</p> + +<p>Luke Bechcombe was standing on the hearthrug +with his back to the open fireplace. The head, and in +fact the sole representative, of the firm of Bechcombe +and Turner, since Turner had retired to a villa at +Streatham, Luke Bechcombe was a small, spare man +with grey hair already growing very thin near the +temples and on the crown, and a small, neatly trimmed, +grey beard. His keen, pale eyes were hidden from +sight by a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. His +general appearance was remarkably spick and span.</p> + +<p>He came forward with outstretched hand as the +clergyman entered somewhat hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“Why, Jim, this is an unexpected pleasure! What +has brought you up to town?”</p> + +<p>The clergyman looked at him doubtfully as their +hands met.</p> + +<p>“The usual thing—worry! I came up to consult +you, to ask if you could help me.”</p> + +<p>The solicitor glanced at him keenly, then he turned +to the revolving chair before his desk and motioned +his visitor to the one opposite.</p> + +<p>“Tony again?” he questioned, as his visitor seated +himself.</p> + +<p>The clergyman waited a minute, twirling his soft hat +about in his hands as he held it between his knees.</p> + +<p>“Tony again!” he assented at last. “It isn't the +lad's fault, Luke, I truly believe. He can't get a job +that suits him. Those two years at the War played +ruination with the young men just beginning life. +Tony would make a good soldier. But he doesn't +seem to fit in anywhere else.”</p> + +<p>“Then why doesn't he enlist?” Luke Bechcombe +snapped out.</p> + +<p>“His mother,” Mr. Collyer said quietly. “She would +never have a moment's peace.”</p> + +<p>Luke Bechcombe pushed back his glasses and stared +at his brother-in-law for a moment. Then he nodded +his head slowly. The Rev. James Collyer's statement +was true enough he knew—none better. Mrs. Collyer +was his sister; the terrible anxiety of those last +dreadful days of the Great War, when her only son had been +reported wounded and missing for months, had played +havoc with her heart. Tony Collyer had had a hot +time of it in one of the prisoners' camps in Germany; +he had been gassed as well as badly wounded, and he +had come back a shadow of his old self. His mother +had nursed him back to health and sanity, but the +price had been the invalid couch that had stood ever +since in the Rectory morning-room. No. Tony Collyer +could never enlist in his mother's lifetime. The +same applied to emigration. Tony must get a job at +home, and England, the home of heroes, had no use +for her heroes now.</p> + +<p>There had been times when Tony envied those comrades +of his whose graves lay in Flanders' soil. They, +at any rate, had not lived to know that they were +little better than nuisances in the land for which they +had fought and died. He had had several jobs, but +in every one of them he had been a square peg in a +round hole. They had all been clerkships of one kind +or another and Tony had hated them all. Nevertheless +he had conscientiously done his best for some time. +Latterly, however, Tony had taken to slacking. He +had met with some of his old companions of the Great +War and had spent more money than he could afford. +Three times already his father had paid his debts, +taxing his resources to the utmost to do so. Each time +Tony had promised reformation and amendment, but +each time the result had been the same. Small wonder +that the rector's hair was rapidly whitening, that every +day seemed to make new lines on his fresh-coloured, +pleasant face.</p> + +<p>His brother-in-law glanced at him sympathetically +now.</p> + +<p>“What is Tony doing just at present?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, most of the time,” his father said bitterly. +“But I hear this morning that he has been offered a +post as bear leader to the younger brother of a friend +of his. I gather the lad is a trifle defective.”</p> + +<p>“Must be, I should think. His friends too, I +imagine,” Luke Bechcombe barked gruffly.</p> + +<p>The implication was unmistakable. The rector +sighed uneasily.</p> + +<p>“I have faith, you know, Luke, that the boy will +come right in the end. He is the child of many +prayers.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” Mr. Bechcombe sat drumming his fingers +on the writing-pad before him. “Why don't you let +him pay his debts out of his salary?”</p> + +<p>The clergyman stirred uneasily.</p> + +<p>“He couldn't. And there are things that must be +met at once—debts of honour, he calls them. But +that is enough, Luke. I mean to give the boy a clean +start this time, and I think he will go straight. He +has an inducement now that he has never had before.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! Not a girl?” Luke Bechcombe +ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer bent his head.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I hope so. A very charming girl too, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“Who is she?”</p> + +<p>“I do not suppose I shall be betraying confidence +if I tell you,” the clergyman debated. “You will have +to know soon, I expect. Her name is Cecily Hoyle.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!” The lawyer sat back and stared +at him. “Do you mean my secretary?”</p> + +<p>“Your secretary,” Mr. Collyer acquiesced. “She +is a nice girl, isn't she, Luke?”</p> + +<p>“Niceness doesn't matter in a secretary,” the lawyer +said gruffly. “She types and takes shorthand notes +very satisfactorily. As for looks she is nothing +particular. Madeline took care of that—always does! In +fact she engaged her for me. Still, she is a taking little +thing. How the deuce did Tony get hold of her?”</p> + +<p>The clergyman shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. He only spoke of her the other day. +But it will be good for the lad, Luke. I believe it is +the genuine thing.”</p> + +<p>“Genuine thing! Good for the lad!” Luke Bechcombe +repeated scornfully. “Tony can't keep himself. +How is he going to keep my secretary?”</p> + +<p>“Tony can work if he likes,” his father maintained +stoutly. “And if he has someone to work for I think +he will.”</p> + +<p>“Girl won't take him. She has too much sense,” +growled the lawyer.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I think she has given Tony some reason to +hope.”</p> + +<p>“She is as big a fool as he is then,” Mr. Bechcombe +said with asperity. “But Tony isn't the only one of +the family on matrimony bent. What do you think of +Aubrey Todmarsh?”</p> + +<p>“Aubrey Todmarsh!” repeated the rector of +Wexbridge in amazed accents. “I should have thought +matrimony would have been the last thing to enter his +head. His whole life seems to be bound up in that +community of his.”</p> + +<p>“Not so bound up but that he still has a very good +eye to the main chance,” retorted Luke Bechcombe. +“He is not thinking of a penniless secretary! He's +after money, is Mr. Aubrey. What do you think of +Mrs. Phillimore?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Phillimore! The rich American widow! She +must be much too old for him.”</p> + +<p>“Old enough to be his mother, I dare say. She is +pretty well made up, though, and that doesn't matter +to Aubrey as long as she has got the money. She has +been financing these wildcat schemes of his lately. But +I suppose he thinks the whole would suit him better +than part.”</p> + +<p>“But are they really engaged?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing quite so definite yet. But I am expecting +the announcement every day. Hello!”—as an +intermittent clicking made itself heard—“there's your +future daughter-in-law at work. That's the +typewriter.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer started.</p> + +<p>“You don't mean that she has been able to hear +what we have been saying?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe laughed.</p> + +<p>“Hardly! That would be delightful in a solicitor's +office. She sits in that little room at the side, but there +is no communicating door and of course she can't hear +what goes on here. The door is in the top passage, past +my private entrance. I didn't expect to hear her +machine, but there is something particularly penetrating +about a typewriter. However, it is really very faint +and I have got quite used to it. Would you like to see +her?”</p> + +<p>The clergyman looked undecided for a moment; then +he shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No, I shouldn't care to do anything that might look +like spying. Time enough for me to see her when there +is anything decided.”</p> + +<p>“Please yourself!” Luke Bechcombe said gruffly. +“Anyway if I had to choose between Tony and Aubrey +Todmarsh I should take Tony.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn't,” Tony's father said. “The lad is a +good lad when he is away from these friends of his. +But he is weak—terribly weak. Now Aubrey +Todmarsh—though I haven't always approved of him—is +doing wonderful work in that East End settlement +of his. He is marvellously successful in dealing with +a class of men that we clergy are seldom able to reach.”</p> + +<p>“Umph! Well, he is always out for money for something,” +said the solicitor. “He invades this office sometimes +almost demanding subscriptions. Will he expect +his wife to go and live down at this Community house, I +wonder? However, I believe the settlement is an +attraction to some silly women, and to my mind he will +want all the attraction he can get. I can't stand +Aubrey myself. I have no use for conscientious +objectors—never had!”</p> + +<p>“There I am with you,” assented the clergyman. +“But I think Aubrey is hardly to be judged by ordinary +standards. He is a visionary, an enthusiast. Of course +I hold him to have been mistaken about the War, but +honestly mistaken. With his dreams of reforming +mankind I can understand——”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe snorted.</p> + +<p>“Can you? I can't! I am jolly glad your Tony +didn't dream such dreams. Two conscientious objectors +in the family would have been too much for me. +I never could stand old Todmarsh. Aubrey is the very +spit of him, as we used to say in Leicestershire.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don't see any resemblance between Aubrey +and his father,” the rector dissented. “Old Aubrey +Todmarsh was a thoroughly self-indulgent man. I +don't believe he ever gave a thought to anyone else in +the world. Now Aubrey with his visions and his +dreams——”</p> + +<p>“Which he does his best to get other people to pay +for,” the solicitor interposed. “No use. You won't +get me to enthuse over Aubrey, James. I remember +him too well as a boy—a selfish, self-seeking little +beast.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was not fond of him as a child. But I believe +it to be a case of genuine conversion. He spends +himself and his little patrimony for others. Next week +he goes to Geneva, he tells me, to attend a sitting of +the League of Nations, to explain the workings of——”</p> + +<p>“Damn the League of Nations!” uttered the solicitor, +banging his fist upon his writing-pad with an energy +that rattled his inkstand. “I beg your pardon, James. +Not but what it went out of fashion to apologize to +parsons for swearing in the War. Most of them do it +themselves nowadays—eh, what?” with a chuckle at +his own wit that threatened to choke him.</p> + +<p>The rector did not smile.</p> + +<p>“I look upon the League of Nations as our great +hope for the future.”</p> + +<p>“Do you? I don't,” contradicted his brother-in-law +flatly. “I look to a largely augmented Air Force with +plenty of practice in bomb-throwing as my hope for +the future. It will be worth fifty of that rotten League +of Nations. Aubrey Todmarsh addressing the League +of Nations! It makes me sick. I suppose they will +knight <em>him</em> next. No, no more of that, please, James. +When I think of the League of Nations I get excited +and that is bad for my heart. But now to business. +You say you want money for Tony—how do you propose +to get it? I should say you have exhausted all +ways of doing it by now.”</p> + +<p>“How about a further mortgage on my little farm at +Halvers?”</p> + +<p>The solicitor shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No use thinking of it. Farm is mortgaged up to +the hilt already—rather past it, in fact.”</p> + +<p>“And I can't raise any more on my life insurance.” +Mr. Collyer sighed. “Well, it must be—there is +nothing else—the emerald cross.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but that would be a thousand pities—an heirloom +with a history such as that. Oh, you can't part +with it.”</p> + +<p>“What else am I to do?” questioned the clergyman. +“You said yourself that I had exhausted all my +resources. No. I had practically made up my mind to +it when I came here. I had just a forlorn hope that +you might be able to suggest something else, though as +a matter of fact I want your assistance still. I am +deplorably ignorant on such matters. How does one set +about selling jewellery? Can you tell me a good place +to go to?”</p> + +<p>“Um!” The solicitor pursed up his lips. “If you +have really made up your mind, how would you like +to put the matter in my hands? First, of course, I +must have the emeralds valued—then I can see what +offers we get, and you can decide which, if any, you +care to accept. Not but what I think you are quite +wrong, mind you!”</p> + +<p>“I shall be enormously obliged to you,” the clergyman +said haltingly. “But do you know anything of +selling jewellery yourself, Luke?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe smiled. “A man in my position and +profession has to know a bit of everything. As a +matter of fact I have a job of this kind on hand just +now, and I might work the two together. I will do my +best if you like to entrust me with the emeralds.”</p> + +<p>The clergyman rose.</p> + +<p>“You are very good, Luke. All my life long you +have been the one to help me out of any difficulty. +Here are the emeralds,” fumbling in his breast pocket. +“I brought them with me in case of any emergency +such as this that has arisen.”</p> + +<p>“You surely don't mean that you have put them in +your pocket?” exclaimed the solicitor.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer looked surprised.</p> + +<p>“They are quite safe. See, I button my coat when +I am outside. No one could possibly take them from +me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe coughed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, James, nothing will ever alter you! Don't +you know that there have been as many jewels stolen +in the past year in London as in twenty years +previously? People say there is a regular gang at work—they +call it the Yellow Gang, and the head of it goes by +the name of the Yellow Dog. If it had been known +you were carrying the emeralds in that careless fashion +they would never have got here. However, all's well +that ends well. You had better leave them in my safe.”</p> + +<p>The rector brought an ancient leather case out of +his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Here it is.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe held his hand out for the case.</p> + +<p>“So this is the Collyer cross! I haven't seen it for +years.” He was opening the case as he spoke. Inside +the cross lay on its satin bed, gleaming with baleful, +green fire. As Mr. Bechcombe looked at it his +expression changed. “Where have you kept the cross, +James?”</p> + +<p>The rector blinked.</p> + +<p>“In the secret drawer in my writing-table. Why +do you ask?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Bechcombe groaned.</p> + +<p>“A secret drawer that is no secret at all, since all the +household, not to say the parish, knows it. As for +why I asked, I know enough about precious stones to +see”—he raised the cross and peered at it in a ray +of sunlight that slanted in through the dust-dimmed +window—“to fear that these so-called emeralds are +only paste.”</p> + +<p>“What!” The rector stared at him. “The Collyer +emeralds—paste! Why, they have been admired by +experts!”</p> + +<p>“No. Not the Collyer emeralds,” Mr. Bechcombe +contradicted. “The Collyer emeralds were magnificent +gems. This worthless paste has been substituted.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible! Who would do such a thing?” Mr. +Collyer asked.</p> + +<p>“Ah! That,” said Luke Bechcombe grimly, “we +have got to find out.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch02"> + +<h2>Chapter II</h2> + +<p>The Settlement of the Confraternity of St. Philip was +situated in one of the most unsavoury districts in South +London. It faced the river, but between it and the +water lay a dreary waste of debatable land, strewn with +the wreckage and rubbish thrown out by the small +boat-building firms that existed on either side.</p> + +<p>Originally the Settlement had been two or three +tenement houses that had remained as a relic of the days +when some better class folk had lived there to be near +the river, then one of London's great highways. At +the back the Settlement had annexed a big barnlike +building formerly used as a storehouse. It made a +capital room for the meetings that Aubrey Todmarsh +and his assistants were continually organizing. In the +matter of cleanliness, even externally, the Settlement +set an example to the neighbourhood. No dingy paint +or glass there. The windows literally shone, the front +was washed over as soon as there was the faintest +suspicion of grime by some of Todmarsh's numerous +protégés. The door plate, inscribed “South London +Settlement of the Confraternity of St. Philip,” was as +bright as polish and willing hands could make it.</p> + +<p>The Rev. James Collyer looked at it approvingly as +he stood on the doorstep.</p> + +<p>“Just the sort of work I should have loved when I +was young,” he soliloquized as he rang the door bell.</p> + +<p>It was answered at once by a man who wore the dark +blue serge short coat and plus fours with blue bone +buttons, which was the uniform of the Confraternity. +In addition he had on the white overall which was +<i>de rigueur</i> for those members of the Community who +did the housework. This was generally understood to +be undertaken by all the members in turn.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Collyer did not feel much impressed with +this particular member. He was a rather short man +with coal-black hair contrasting oddly with his +unhealthily white face, deep-set dark eyes that seemed to +look away from the rector and yet to give him a quick, +furtive glance every now and then from beneath his +lowered lids. He was clean-shaven, showing an +abnormally large chin, and he had a curious habit of +opening and shutting his mouth silently in fish-like +fashion.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Todmarsh?” the rector inquired.</p> + +<p>The man held the door wider open and stood aside. +Interpreting this as an invitation to enter, Mr. Collyer +walked in. The man closed the door and with a silent +gesture invited the clergyman to follow him.</p> + +<p>The Community House of St. Philip was just as +conspicuously clean inside as out. Mr. Collyer had +time to note that the stone floor of the hall had just +been cleaned, that the scanty furniture, consisting of +a big oak chest under the window and a couple of +Windsor chairs at the ends, was as clean as furniture +polish and elbow-grease could make it. His guide +opened a door at the side and motioned him in.</p> + +<p>A man who was writing at the long centre table got +up quickly to meet him and came forward with +outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>“My dear uncle, this is a pleasure!”</p> + +<p>“One to which I have long been looking forward,” +Mr. Collyer responded warmly. “My dear Aubrey, +the reports I have heard of the Settlement have been +in no way exaggerated. And so far as I can see this +is an ideal Community house.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh held his uncle's hand for a minute in his +firm clasp, looking the elder man squarely in the eyes +the while.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing ideal about us, Uncle James. We +are just a handful of very ordinary men, all trying to +make our own bit of the world brighter and happier. +It sounds very simple, but it isn't always easy to do +things. Sometimes life is nothing but disappointments. +But I know you realize just how it feels when one +spends everything in striving to cleanse one's own bit +of this great Augean mass that is called London—and +fails.”</p> + +<p>His voice dropped as he spoke, and the bright look +of enthusiasm faded from his face, leaving it prematurely +old and tired. For it was above all things his +enthusiasm, a sort of exalted look as of one who +dreamed dreams and saw visions not vouchsafed to +ordinary men, that made Aubrey Todmarsh's face +attractive. Momentarily stripped of its bright expression +it was merely a thin, rather overjowled face, with +deep-set, dark eyes, noticeably low forehead, and thick +dark hair brushed sleekly backwards, hair that was +worn rather longer than most men's.</p> + +<p>The clergyman looked at him pityingly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear Aubrey, this is only nerves, a very +natural depression. We parsons know it only too well. +It is especially liable to recur when we are beginning +work. Later one learns that all one can do is to sow +in faith, and then be content to wait the issue in +patience, leaving everything to Him whose gracious +powers can alone give the increase.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh did not speak for a moment, then he drew +a long breath and, laying his hand on the rector's +shoulder, looked at him with the bright smile with +which his friends were familiar.</p> + +<p>“You always give me comfort, Uncle James. Somehow +you always know just what to say to heal when +one has been stricken sorely. That idea of sowing and +waiting—somehow one gets hold of that.”</p> + +<p>“It isn't original, dear Aubrey,” his uncle said +modestly. “But for all Christian work I have found it +most helpful. But you, my dear Aubrey, the founder +of this—er—splendid effort—might rather have cause +for—er—spiritual exaltation than depression.”</p> + +<p>“There is cause enough for depression sometimes, +I assure you,” Aubrey returned gloomily. “Much of +our work is done among the discharged prisoners, you +know, Uncle James. Different members of our +Community look after those bound over under the First +Offenders' Act, and those undergoing short terms of +imprisonment. With those who have had longer sentences +and the habitual offenders I try to deal as much +as possible myself with the valuable help of my +second-in-command.”</p> + +<p>“I know. I have heard how you attend at police +courts and meet the prisoners when they come out. I +can hardly imagine a more saintly work or one more +certain to carry with it a blessing.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn't seem to,” Todmarsh said, his face clouding +over again. “There is this man, Michael Farmore, +the case I was speaking of. He was convicted of +burglary and served his five years. We got hold of +him when he came out and brought him here. In time +he became one of our most trusted members. If ever +there was a case of genuine conversion I believed his +to be one. Yet——”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” Mr. Collyer prompted as he paused.</p> + +<p>“Yet last night he was arrested attempting to break +into General Craven's house in Mortimer Square.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh blew his nose vigorously. His voice was +distinctly shaky as he broke off. His uncle glanced at +him sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“You must not take it too much to heart, my dear +Aubrey. Think of your many successes, and even in +this case that seems so terrible I feel sure that your +labour has not really been wasted. You have cast your +bread upon the waters, and you will assuredly find it +again. You are fighting against the forces of the +arch-enemy, remember.”</p> + +<p>“We are fighting against a gang of criminals,” +Aubrey said shortly. “We hear of them every now and +then in our work. The Yellow Gang they call them in +the underworld—they form regular organizations of +their own, working on a system, and appear to carry +out the orders of one man. Sometimes I think he is +the arch-fiend himself, for it seems impossible to +circumvent him.”</p> + +<p>“But who is he?” the rector inquired innocently.</p> + +<p>Aubrey Todmarsh permitted himself a slight smile.</p> + +<p>“If we knew that, my dear uncle, it wouldn't be long +before this wave of crime that is sweeping over the +Metropolis was checked. But I have heard that even +the rank and file of his own followers do not know who +he is, though he is spoken of sometimes as the Yellow +Dog. Anyway, he has a genius for organization. But +now we must think of something more cheerful, Uncle +James. I want you to see our refectory and the +recreation rooms, and our little rooms, cells, kitchens. +Through here”—throwing open a glass door—“we go +to our playground as you see.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer peered forth. In front of him was a +wide, open space, partly grass, partly concrete. On the +grass a game of cricket was proceeding, the players +being youths apparently all under twenty. On the +concrete older men were having a game at racquets. All +round the open space at the foot of the high wall that +surrounded the Community grounds there ran a flower +border, just now gay with crocuses and great clumps +of arabis—white and purple and gold. The walls +themselves were covered with creepers that later on +would blossom into sweetness. Here and there men +were at work. It was a pleasant and a peaceful scene +and the Rev. James Collyer's eyes rested on it +approvingly.</p> + +<p>“There are always some of us at play,” Aubrey +smiled. “These men have been on night work—porters, +etc. You know we undertake all sorts of things +and our record is such—we have never had a case of +our trust being betrayed—that our men are in constant +request.”</p> + +<p>“I do not wonder,” his uncle said cordially. “It is—I +must say it again, Aubrey—wonderful work that you +are carrying on. Now what have these men been +before they came to you?”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh was leading the way to the other part of +the house.</p> + +<p>“Wastrels; drunkards most of them,” he said +shortly. “Discharged prisoners, sentenced for some +minor offence. I told you that we meet prisoners on +their release. Many of them are the wreckage—the +aftermath of the War.”</p> + +<p>The rector sighed.</p> + +<p>“I know. It is deplorable. That terrible +War—and yet, a most righteous War.”</p> + +<p>“No war is righteous,” Aubrey said quickly. Then +his expression changed, the rapt look came back to his +eyes. They looked right over his uncle's head. “No +war can be anything but cruel and wicked. That is +why we have made up our minds that war shall stop.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer shook his head.</p> + +<p>“War will never stop, my boy, while men and women +remain what they are—while human nature remains +what it is, I should say.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh's eyes looked right in front of him over +the Community playing fields.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it will! Quarrelling there will be—must be +while the world shall last. But all disputes shall be +settled not by bloodshed and horrible carnage, but by +arbitration. Every day the League of Nations' labours +are being quietly and ceaselessly directed to this end, +and I think very few people realize how enormously +the world is progressing.”</p> + +<p>“Your Uncle Luke does not think so. He does not +believe in the League of Nations,” Mr. Collyer +dissented. “He, I regret to say, used a lamentably strong +expression—‘damned rot,’ he called it!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Uncle Luke is hopeless,” Aubrey returned, +shrugging his shoulders. “The League of Nations +means nothing to him. He is one of the regular fire-eating, +jingo-shouting Britons that plunged us all into +that horrible carnage of 1914. But his type is becoming +scarcer every day as the world grows nearer the +Christian ideal, thank Heaven!”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes it seems to me to be growing farther +from the Christian ideal instead of nearer.” The +clergyman sighed. “I am going through a terrible +experience now, Aubrey. I must confess it is a great +trial to my faith.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Todmarsh's face assumed its most +sympathetic expression.</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry to hear it, Uncle James. Do tell +me about it, if it would be any relief to you. Sit +down”—as they entered the refectory—“what is it? +Tony?”</p> + +<p>But the rector put aside the proffered chair.</p> + +<p>“No, no. I must see all I can of the Settlement. +No, it has nothing to do with Tony, I am thankful to +say. He is to the full as much bewildered as I am +myself. It is the emeralds—the cross!”</p> + +<p>“The Collyer cross?” Aubrey exclaimed. “What of +that?”</p> + +<p>“Well—er, circumstances arose that made it—er—desirable +that I should ascertain its value. I took it +to your Uncle Luke, thinking that he might be able to +help me, and he discovered that the stones were paste.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” Aubrey stared at his uncle. “I cannot +believe it. But, pardon me, Uncle James, I don't +think that either you or Uncle Luke are very learned +with regard to precious stones. I expect it is all a +mistake. The Collyer emeralds are genuine enough!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there is no mistake,” Mr. Collyer said +positively. “I had them examined by a well-known expert +this morning. They are paste—not particularly good +paste, either. If I had known rather more about such +things, I might have discovered the substitution sooner. +Not that it would have made much difference! You +are wrong about your Uncle Luke, though, Aubrey. +He has an immense fund of information about precious +stones. He told me that he was about to dispose +of——”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Don't mention it!” Aubrey interrupted +sharply. “I beg your pardon, Uncle James, but it is +so much safer not to mention names, especially in a +place like this. But what in the world can have become +of the emeralds? One would have been inclined to +think it was the work of the Yellow Gang. But they +seem to confine their activities to London. And how +could it have been effected in peaceful little +Wexbridge? Now—what is that?” as a loud knock and +ring resounded simultaneously through the house. +“Tony, I declare!” as after a pause they heard voices +in the hall outside.</p> + +<p>A moment later Hopkins opened the door and +announced “Mr. Anthony Collyer.”</p> + +<p>“Hello, dad, I guessed I should find you here,” the +new-comer began genially. “Aubrey, old chap, is the +gentleman who announced me one of your hopefuls? +Because if so I can't congratulate you on his phiz. +Sort of thing the late Madame Tussaud would have +loved for her Chamber of Horrors, don't you know!”</p> + +<p>“Hopkins is a most worthy fellow,” Aubrey returned +impressively. “One of the most absolutely trustworthy +men I have. There is nothing more unsafe than taking +a prejudice at first sight, Tony. If you would +only——”</p> + +<p>“Dare say there isn't,” Tony returned nonchalantly. +“You needn't pull up your socks over the chap, Aubrey. +I'll take your word for it that he possesses all +the virtues under the sun. I only say, he don't look +it! Come along, dad, I have ordered a morsel of lunch +at a little pub I know of, and while you are eating it +I will a scheme unfold that I know will meet with your +approval.”</p> + +<p>The rector did not look as if he shared this +conviction.</p> + +<p>“Well, my boy, I have been telling my troubles to +Aubrey. The emeralds——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother the emeralds, dad! It is the business +of the police to find them, not yours and mine or +Aubrey's.”</p> + +<p>Anthony Collyer was just a very ordinary type of +the young Englishman of to-day, well-groomed, well +set up. There was little likeness to his father about +his clear-cut features, his merry, blue eyes or his lithe, +active form. The pity of it was that the last few years +of idleness had blurred the clearness of his skin, had +dulled his eyes and added just a suspicion of heaviness +to the figure which ought to have been in the very pink +of condition. Tony Collyer had let himself run to seed +of late and looked it and knew it. To-day, however, +there was a new look of purpose about his face. His +mouth was set in fresh, strong lines, and his eyes met +his father's firmly.</p> + +<p>“I hoped you would both lunch with me,” Aubrey +interposed hastily. “I am sure if you could throw your +trouble aside you would enjoy one of our Community +meals, Uncle James. The fare is plain, but abundant, +and the spirit that prevails seems to bless it all. You +would find it truly interesting.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I should, my boy. I really think, +Tony——”</p> + +<p>“That is all very well, Aubrey,” Tony interrupted. +“I'm jolly well sure your meals are interesting. But +it isn't exactly the sort of feast I mean to set the Dad +down to when he does get a few days off from his little +old parish. No, I think we will stick to my +pub—thank you all the same, Aubrey.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if you put it that way——” Todmarsh +shook hands with his visitors.</p> + +<p>The rector's expression was rather wistful as they +went out. He would have liked to share the simple +meal Aubrey had spoken of. But Tony wanted him +and Tony came first.</p> + +<p>At the front door they paused a minute. Tony +looked at his cousin with a wicked snigger.</p> + +<p>“I'm really taking the Dad away out of kindness, +Aubrey. There is a car standing a little way down the +road, and a certain bewitching widow is leaning out +talking to a couple of interesting-looking gentlemen. +Converts of yours, recent ones, I should say by the cut +of them.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Phillimore!” Aubrey came to the door and +looked out. “It is her day for visiting our laundry just +down the road.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer smiled.</p> + +<p>“Well, she is a good woman, Aubrey. We are dining +with your Uncle Luke to-night. Shall we meet you +there?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no! My time for dining out is strictly +limited,” Aubrey responded. “Besides, I do not think +that Uncle Luke and I are in much sympathy. It is +months since I saw him.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch03"> + +<h2>Chapter III</h2> + +<p>For a wonder the clerks in Messrs. Bechcombe and +Turner's offices were all hard at work. The articled +clerks were in a smaller office to the right of the large +one with a partition partly glass between. Through it +their heads could be seen bent over their work, their +pens flying over their paper with commendable celerity.</p> + +<p>The managing clerk had left his desk and was standing +in the gangway in the larger office opposite the +door leading into the ante-room. Beyond that again +was the door opening into the principal's particular +sanctum. Most unusually his door stood open this +morning. Through the doorway the principal could +plainly be seen bending over his letters and papers on +the writing-table, while a little farther back stood his +secretary, apparently waiting his instructions. +Presently he spoke a few words to her in an undertone, +pushed his papers all away together and came into the +outer office.</p> + +<p>“I find it is as I thought, Thompson. I have only +two appointments this morning—Mr. Geary and Mr. +Pound. The last is for 11.45. After Mr. Pound has +been shown out you will admit no one until I ring, +which will probably be about one o'clock. Then, hold +yourself in readiness to accompany me to the Bank.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>The managing clerk at Messrs. Bechcombe and +Turner's glanced keenly at his chief as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“It is quite possible that a special messenger from +the Bank may be sent here in the course of the +morning,” Mr. Bechcombe pursued. “Unless he comes before +twelve he will have to wait until one o'clock as no +one—<em>no one</em> is to disturb me until then. You +understand this, Thompson?” He turned back sharply to +his office.</p> + +<p>“Quite so, sir.”</p> + +<p>The managing clerk had a curious, puzzled look as +he glanced after the principal. Amos Thompson had +been many years with Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner, +and it was said that he enjoyed Mr. Bechcombe's +confidence to the fullest degree. Be that as it may, it +was evident that he knew nothing of the special +business of this morning. He was a thin man of middle +height with a reddish-grey beard, sunken-looking, grey +eyes, like those of his principal usually concealed by a +pair of horn-rimmed, smoke-coloured glasses; his teeth +were irregular—one or two in front were missing. He +had the habitual stoop of a man whose life is spent +bending over a desk, and his faintly grey hair was +already thinning at the top. As he went back to his +desk both communicating doors in turn banged loudly +behind Mr. Bechcombe. Instantly a change passed +over his clerks; as if moved by one spring all the heads +were raised, the pens slackened, most of them were +thrown hastily on the desk.</p> + +<p>Percy Johnson, one of the articled pupils, emitted a +low whistle.</p> + +<p>“What is the governor up to, Mr. Thompson?” he +questioned daringly. “Casting the glad eye on some +fair lady; not to be disturbed for an hour will give +them plenty of time for—er—endearments.”</p> + +<p>Thompson turned his severe eyes upon him.</p> + +<p>“This is neither the place nor the subject for such +jokes, Mr. Johnson. May I trouble you to get on with +your work? We are waiting for that deed.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson applied himself to his labours afresh.</p> + +<p>“It is nice to know that one is really useful!”</p> + +<p>The morning wore on. The two clients mentioned +by Mr. Bechcombe—Mr. Geary and Mr. Pound—duly +arrived and were shown in to Mr. Bechcombe, in each +case remaining only a short time. Then there came a +few minutes' quiet. The eyes of the clerks wandered +to the clock. At twelve o'clock the first batch of them +would depart to luncheon.</p> + +<p>Amos Thompson's thoughts were busy with his chief. +Some very important business must be about to be +transacted in Mr. Bechcombe's private room, and the +managing clerk, though usually fully cognizant of all +the ins and outs of the affairs of the firm, had no notion +what it might be. He would have been more or less +than mortal if his speculations with regard to the +mysterious visitor had not risen high. Just as the clock +struck twelve there was a knock and ring at the outer +door, and he heard a loud colloquy going on with the +office boy. In a minute Tony Collyer came through +into the clerks' office. It showed the upset to the +general aspect of the managing clerk's ideas that he +should go forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Anthony. I am sorry that Mr. +Bechcombe is engaged.”</p> + +<p>“So am I,” said Tony, shaking him heartily by the +hand. “Because I want to see him particularly and +my time is limited this morning. But I suppose I must +wait a bit. Get me in as soon as you can, there's a +good old chap!”</p> + +<p>Thompson shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It won't be any good your waiting this morning, +Mr. Anthony. We have orders that no one is to +disturb Mr. Bechcombe. It would be as much as my +place is worth to knock at the door.”</p> + +<p>“And how much is your place worth, old boy?” +Tony questioned with a laugh, at the same time bringing +down his hand with friendly heartiness on the +managing clerk's back. “Come, I tell you I must see my +uncle—honour bright, it is important.”</p> + +<p>“It's no use, Mr. Anthony,” Thompson said firmly. +“You can't see Mr. Bechcombe this morning. And, +pardon me, but it may be as well in your own interests +that you should wait until later in the day.”</p> + +<p>Anthony laughed.</p> + +<p>“What a quaint old bird you are, Thompson! Well, +since my business is important, and I don't want you +to lose your berth—wouldn't miss the chance of seeing +your old phiz for anything—I shall go round and try +what I can make of my uncle at his private door. I'll +bet the old sport has some game on that he don't want +you to know about, but he may be pleased to see his +dear nephew.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Anthony—you must not, indeed—I cannot +allow——”</p> + +<p>Anthony put up his hand.</p> + +<p>“Hush—sh! You will know nothing about it! +Keep your hair on, Thompson!” With a laughing nod +round at the grinning clerks he vanished, pulling the +door to behind him with a cheerful bang.</p> + +<p>A titter ran round the office. Anthony Collyer with +his D.S.O. and his gay, irresponsible manners was +somewhat of a hero to the younger clerks.</p> + +<p>Amos Thompson looked grave. He knew that Luke +Bechcombe had been intensely proud of his nephew's +prowess in the War, he guessed that his patience had +been sorely tried of late, and he feared that the young +man might be doing himself serious harm with his uncle +this morning. But he was powerless. There was no +holding Tony Collyer back in this mood. Presently +Thompson, listening intently, caught the sound of a +distant knocking at his chief's door, twice repeated, +then there was silence.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders, imagining Mr. Bechcombe's +wrath at the intrusion. After a smothered +laugh or two the clerks applied themselves to their +work again and silence reigned in the office. The +managing clerk watched the clock anxiously. He +could imagine Mr. Bechcombe's reception of his +nephew, but, knowing Tony as he did, he felt surprised +that he had not returned to report proceedings. Then +just as the office clock was nearing the half-hour a +messenger from the Bank arrived. The waiting-room +was reserved for clients, so the Bank clerk was shown +into a little office that Amos Thompson used sometimes +when there was a press of work, and the managing +clerk went to him there.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do? Mr. Bechcombe is +unfortunately engaged until one o'clock.”</p> + +<p>“No, thank you!” the young man returned. “I was +charged most particularly to give my message to no +one but Mr. Bechcombe himself. I suppose I must +wait till one o'clock if you are sure I cannot see him +before.”</p> + +<p>The managing clerk looked undecided. His eyes +wandered from side to side beneath his horn-rimmed +spectacles.</p> + +<p>“I will see what I can do,” he said at last.</p> + +<p>He went back to his own desk, selected a couple of +papers, put them in his pocket, and went through the +outer office. In the lobby he picked up his hat, then +after one long backward glance he went towards the +outer door.</p> + +<p>The time wore on. The first contingent of clerks +returned from their luncheon. Their place was taken +by a second band. The clock struck half-past one; +and still there was no sign of either the principal or +his managing clerk. The messenger from the Bank +went away, came back, and waited.</p> + +<p>At last the senior clerks began to look uncomfortable. +John Walls, the second in command, went over +to one of his confrères.</p> + +<p>“I understood the governor said he was not to be +disturbed, until one o'clock, Spencer, but it's a good +bit after two now, and Mr. Thompson isn't here either. +The waiting-room is full and here's this man from the +Bank back again. What are we to do?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Spencer rubbed the side of his nose reflectively.</p> + +<p>“How would it be to knock at the governor's door, +Walls? He couldn't be annoyed after all this time.”</p> + +<p>John Walls was of the opinion that he couldn't, +either. Together they made up their minds to beard +the lion in his den. They went through the ante-room +and knocked gently at Mr. Bechcombe's door. There +came no response.</p> + +<p>After a moment's pause Mr. Walls applied his +knuckles more loudly, again without reply.</p> + +<p>He turned to his companion.</p> + +<p>“He must have gone out.”</p> + +<p>The fact seemed obvious, and yet Spencer +hesitated.</p> + +<p>“You didn't hear any one moving about when you +first knocked?”</p> + +<p>“No, I didn't,” responded John Walls, staring at +him. “Did you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I expect it was just fancy, because why +shouldn't the governor answer if he was there? But +I did think I heard a slight sound—a sort of stealthy +movement just on the other side of the door,” Spencer +said slowly.</p> + +<p>“I don't believe you could hear any movement except +a pretty loud one through that door,” the other +said unbelievingly. “But it is very awkward, Mr. +Thompson going out too. I don't know what to do.”</p> + +<p>“The governor did say something about Mr. Thompson +going to the Bank with him,” Spencer went on. +“I wonder now if Mr. Bechcombe went out by the +private door, and Mr. Thompson and he met in the +passage and they went off to the Bank together.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” John Walls said slowly. “It is a +funny sort of thing anyway. I tell you what, Spencer, +I shall go round and knock at the private door.”</p> + +<p>“What's the good of that?” Spencer objected sensibly. +“If he's out it will make no difference. And if +he is in and won't answer at one door he won't at the +other.”</p> + +<p>“Well, anyway, I shall try,” John Walls persisted. +His rather florid face was several degrees paler than +usual as he went through the clerks' office. Man and +boy, all his working life had been spent in the +Bechcombes' office, and he had become through long years +of association personally attached to Luke Bechcombe. +Within the last few minutes, though there seemed no +tangible ground for it, he had become oppressed by a +strange feeling, a prevision of some evil, a certainty +that all was not well with his chief.</p> + +<p>The private door into Mr. Bechcombe's office opened +into a passage at right angles with the door by which +clients were admitted to the waiting-rooms and to the +clerks' offices.</p> + +<p>John Walls knocked first tentatively, then louder, +still without the slightest response.</p> + +<p>By this time he had been joined by Spencer, who +seemed to have caught the infection of the elder man's +pallor. He looked at the keyhole.</p> + +<p>“Of course the governor has gone out. But I +wonder whether the key is in its place?”</p> + +<p>He stooped and somewhat gingerly applied his eye +to the hole. Then he jerked his head up with an +inaudible exclamation.</p> + +<p>“What—what do you see?” Walls questioned with +unconscious impatience. Then as he gazed at the bent +back of his junior that queer foreboding of his grew +stronger.</p> + +<p>At last Spencer raised himself.</p> + +<p>“No, the key isn't in its hole,” he said slowly. “But +I thought—I thought——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; you thought what?”</p> + +<p>Both men's voices had instinctively sunk to a +whisper.</p> + +<p>Spencer was shorter than his senior. As he looked +up his eyes were dark with fear, his words came with an +odd little stutter between them.</p> + +<p>“I—I expect I was mistaken—I must have been. +You look yourself, Walls. But I thought I saw a +queer-looking heap over there by the window.”</p> + +<p>“A queer-looking heap!” Without further ado the +other man pushed him aside.</p> + +<p>As he knelt down Spencer went on:</p> + +<p>“It—there is something sticking out at the side—it +looks like a leg—a leg in a grey trouser—do you +see?”</p> + +<p>There was a moment's tense silence. Then Mr. +Walls raised himself.</p> + +<p>“It is a leg. Suppose—suppose it is the governor's +leg! Suppose that heap is the governor! He may +have had a fit. We shall have to break into the room. +Just see if Thompson has come back. If he hasn't +get hold of two of the juniors quietly. Send another +as fast as he can go to the nearest doctor, and get some +brandy ready. It's a strong door, but together we +ought to manage it.”</p> + +<p>There was no sign of Thompson in the office, but +one of the articled pupils was a Rugby half back. +Spencer returned with him and one of his fellows and +the Rugby man attacked the door with a vigour that +had brought him through many a scrum. It soon +yielded to their combined efforts, and then with one +accord all the men stood back. There was something +at first sight about the everyday aspect of the room +into which they gazed that seemed oddly at variance +with their fears. Then slowly all their eyes turned +from Mr. Bechcombe's writing-table with his own chair +standing before it, just as they had seen it hundreds of +times, to that ominous heap near the window.</p> + +<p>John Walls bent over it, then he looked up with +shocked eyes.</p> + +<p>“He—I am afraid it is all over.”</p> + +<p>“Not dead!” Spencer ejaculated; but one look at +that ghastly face upon the floor, at the staring eyes, +and wide open mouth with the protruding tongue, +drove every drop of colour from his face. He turned +to Walls with chattering teeth. “It—it must have been +a fit, Walls. He looks terrible.”</p> + +<p>“Is there anything wrong?”</p> + +<p>It was a woman's voice. With one consent the men +moved nearer the private door so as to shut out the +sight of that ghastly heap.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything wrong?” There was an +undertone of fear about the voice now.</p> + +<p>John Walls turned.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bechcombe has been taken ill, Miss +Hoyle—very ill, I am afraid.”</p> + +<p>The sight of his white, stricken face was more eloquent +than his words. Cecily Hoyle's own colour faded +slowly.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” she questioned, looking from one to +the other. She was a tall, thin slip of a girl with clear +brown eyes, a nose that turned up and a mouth that +was too wide, a reasonably fair complexion and a +quantity of pretty, curly, nut-brown hair that waved all +over her head and low down over her ears, and that +somehow conveyed the impression of being bobbed +when it wasn't. Ordinarily it was a winsome, attractive +little face, but just now, catching the fear in Walls's +voice, the brown eyes were full of dread and the +mobile lips were twitching. “Can't I do anything?” +she questioned. “It must be something very sudden. +Mr. Bechcombe was quite well when I went out.”</p> + +<p>John Walls laid his hand on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“You can't do anything, Miss Hoyle. We can none +of us do anything. It is too late.”</p> + +<p>Cecily shrank from him with a cry.</p> + +<p>“No, no! He can't be—dead!”</p> + +<p>A strong hand put both her and John Walls aside.</p> + +<p>“Let me pass. I am a doctor. What is the matter +here?”</p> + +<p>John Walls recognized the speaker as a medical +man who had rooms close at hand.</p> + +<p>“I think Mr. Bechcombe has had a fit, sir. I am +afraid it is all over.”</p> + +<p>“Stand aside, please. Let us have all the air we +can.”</p> + +<p>The doctor bent over the man on the floor, but one +look was sufficient. He touched the wrist, laid his hand +over the heart. Then he stood up quickly.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to be done here. He has been +dead, I should say, an hour or more. We must ring up +the police, at once. You will understand that nothing +is to be moved until their arrival.”</p> + +<p>“Police!” echoed John Walls with shaking lips.</p> + +<p>“Yes, police!” the doctor said impatiently. “My +good man, can't you see that this is no natural death? +Mr. Bechcombe has been murdered—strangled!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch04"> + +<h2>Chapter IV</h2> + +<p>The first floor of 21 Crow's Inn was entirely in the +hands of the police. Two plain-clothes men guarded +the entrance of the corridor, others were stationed +farther along. Both the big waiting-rooms were filled, +one with indignant clients anxious to go home, the other +with the clerks and employés of the firm.</p> + +<p>Two men came slowly down the passage. Inspector +Furnival of Scotland Yard was a man of middle height +with a keen, foxy-looking face, at present clean-shaven, +and sharp grey eyes whose clearness of vision had +earned him in the Force the sobriquet of “The Ferret.” +His companion, Dr. Hackett, carried his occupation +writ plain on his large-featured face and his strictly +professional attire.</p> + +<p>Both men were looking grave and preoccupied as +they entered the smaller office which had been little +used since Mr. Bechcombe's partner retired. Inspector +Furnival took the revolving chair and drew it up +to the office table in the middle of the room. Then he +produced a notebook.</p> + +<p>“Now, Dr. Hackett, will you give me the details of +this affair as far as you know them?”</p> + +<p>“I can only tell you that I was summoned about +two o'clock this afternoon by a clerk—Winter, I fancy +his name is. He told me that his employer was locked +up in his office, that they thought he had had a fit and +were breaking the door open, and wanted me to be +there in readiness as soon as they had forced their way +in. I hastily put a few things that I thought might be +wanted into my bag and hurried here. I arrived just +as the door gave way and found matters as you know.”</p> + +<p>The inspector scratched the side of his nose +reflectively with the handle of his fountain pen.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bechcombe was quite dead?”</p> + +<p>“Quite dead. Had been dead at least two hours, +I should say,” Dr. Hackett assented.</p> + +<p>“And the cause?” the inspector continued, +suspending his pen over the paper.</p> + +<p>“You will understand that you will have to wait +until after the post-mortem for a definitely full and +detailed opinion. But, as far as I can tell you after +the examination which was all I could make this +afternoon, I feel no doubt that the cause of death was +strangulation.”</p> + +<p>“It seems inconceivable that a man should be +strangled in his own office, within earshot of his own +clerks,” debated the inspector. “Still, it is quite +evident even at a casual glance that it has been done +here. But I cannot understand why Mr. Bechcombe +apparently offered no resistance. His hand-bell, his +speaking-tube, the telephone—all were close at hand. +It looks as though he had recognized his assassin and +had no fear of him.”</p> + +<p>“I think on the contrary that it was a sudden attack,” +Dr. Hackett dissented. “Probably Mr. Bechcombe +had no opportunity of recognizing his murderer. +The assassin sprang forward and—did you notice a +sweet sickly smell that seemed to emanate from the +body?”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded.</p> + +<p>“That was the first thing I noticed. Chloroform, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the doctor slowly. “I should say the +assassin sprang forward with the chloroform, or +perhaps approached his victim unobserved, and attempted +to stupefy him, and then strangled him. That is how +it looks to me. For anything more definite we must +wait for the post-mortem.”</p> + +<p>The inspector made a few hieroglyphics in his +notebook, then he looked up.</p> + +<p>“You say that death took place probably about two +hours before you saw the body, doctor? and you were +called in about two o'clock. Therefore, Mr. +Bechcombe must have died about twelve o'clock. You +are quite definite about this?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot be more exact as to the time,” Dr. Hackett +said slowly. “I should say about twelve o'clock—certainly +not much after. More probably a little before.”</p> + +<p>The inspector stroked his clean-shaven chin and +glanced over his notes.</p> + +<p>“Just one more question, Dr. Hackett. Can you tell +me just who was in the room when you got there?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Hackett hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>“Well, there was Mr. Walls, who seems to be managing +things in Thompson's absence, and three other +men whose names I do not of course know, and the +late Mr. Bechcombe's secretary, whose name I +understand to be Hoyle—Miss Hoyle.”</p> + +<p>The inspector pricked up his ears.</p> + +<p>“I have not seen Miss Hoyle. What sort of a +woman?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, just a girl,” the doctor said vaguely. “Just an +ordinary-looking girl. I did not notice her much, +except that I thought she looked white and shocked, as +no doubt she was, poor girl!”</p> + +<p>“No doubt!” the inspector assented. “How was +she dressed, doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Dressed?” the doctor echoed in some surprise. +“Well, I don't take much notice of dress myself. Just +a dark gown, I think.”</p> + +<p>“No hat?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't think so. No, I am sure she hadn't.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know where she works?”</p> + +<p>“Didn't know such a person existed until this +afternoon. I know nothing about her,” the doctor said, +shaking his head.</p> + +<p>The inspector coughed.</p> + +<p>“Um! Well, that will be all for the present, doctor. +It is probable that you may be wanted later, and of +course possible that Mrs. Bechcombe may wish to see +you.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she has been told?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” the inspector assented. “We phoned +to the house at once, and I gather she was informed +of the death, not of course of the cause, by a relative +who was there—a Mr. Collyer, a clergyman. I shall +go round to see her when I have finished here. I hear +that she collapsed altogether on hearing of her loss.”</p> + +<p>“Poor thing! Poor thing!” the doctor murmured. +“Well, inspector, I shall hold myself at your disposal.”</p> + +<p>Left alone, the inspector looked over his notes once +more and then sounded the electric bell twice. One of +his subordinates opened the door at once.</p> + +<p>“Tell Moore and Carter to take the names and +addresses of all the clients. Verify them on the phone +and then allow them to go home. If any of them are +not capable of verification, have them shadowed. Now +send John Walls to me.”</p> + +<p>The clerk did not keep Inspector Furnival waiting. +He came in hesitatingly, dragging his feet like a man +who has had a stroke. His face was colourless, his +eyes were dark with fear.</p> + +<p>“You sent for me, inspector?” he said, his teeth +chattering as if with ague.</p> + +<p>“Naturally!” the inspector assented, glancing at him +keenly. “I want to hear all you know about Mr. +Bechcombe's death. But, first, has Amos Thompson +returned?”</p> + +<p>“N—o!” quavered Walls.</p> + +<p>“Can you account for his absence in any way?” the +inspector questioned shortly.</p> + +<p>“No, I have no idea where he is,” Walls answered, +gathering up his courage. “But then he is the +managing clerk. I am not. I very seldom know anything +of his work.”</p> + +<p>The inspector did not answer this. He drew his +brows together.</p> + +<p>“When did you see him last?”</p> + +<p>“About half-past twelve, it would be. He went out +of the office. I have not seen him since. But he did go +out to lunch early sometimes. And he may have gone +somewhere on business for Mr. Bechcombe.” Walls +wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke.</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at him.</p> + +<p>“I understand that Mr. Bechcombe was heard to tell +him to be in readiness to go with him to the Bank at +one o'clock?”</p> + +<p>“I—I believe Spencer said something about that,” +Walls stammered. “But I did not hear what Mr. +Bechcombe said myself. My desk is farther away than +Spencer's and I was busy with my work. All I heard +was that Mr. Bechcombe was not to be disturbed on +any account. He slightly raised his voice when he +said that.”</p> + +<p>“Did you gather that Mr. Bechcombe had business +of an important nature with a mysterious client?”</p> + +<p>“I didn't gather anything,” said Walls with some +warmth. “It wasn't my business to. If Mr. Bechcombe +did have an important client he must have admitted +him himself by the private door. The last one +that went to him in an ordinary way came out in a +very few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Before twelve o'clock?” questioned the inspector +sharply.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. Some minutes before the clock struck—about +a quarter to, I should say. I noticed that.”</p> + +<p>“Because——” Inspector Furnival prompted.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, because I heard it strike afterwards, I +suppose,” Walls answered lamely. “There are days +when I don't notice it.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” the inspector glanced at him. “Do you know +the name of the last client who saw Mr. Bechcombe?”</p> + +<p>“Pounds—Mr. Pounds, of Gosforth and Pounds, +the big haberdashers. He came about the lease of +some fresh premises they are taking. I happen to know +that.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes.” The inspector looked him full in the +face. “But you don't happen to know why Mr. +Anthony Collyer wanted to see his uncle, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>The sweat broke out afresh on Mr. Walls's forehead.</p> + +<p>“I don't know anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“You know that Mr. Collyer came,” the inspector +said with some asperity. “Why did you not mention +it?”</p> + +<p>Walls glanced at him doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“There wasn't anything to mention. Mr. Anthony +wanted to see Mr. Bechcombe, and he couldn't, so he +went away. He talked to Mr. Thompson, not to me.”</p> + +<p>“You did not hear what he said when he went away? +Your desk seems to be most inconveniently placed, Mr. +Walls.”</p> + +<p>“I heard him talking a lot of nonsense to Mr. +Thompson.”</p> + +<p>“Such as——” The inspector paused.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, he said he must see Mr. Bechcombe and +he said he would, and Mr. Thompson——”</p> + +<p>“Be careful!” warned the inspector. “Don't make +any mistakes, Mr. Walls, I want to know what Mr. +Anthony Collyer said.”</p> + +<p>“He said—he said—if Mr. Thompson didn't let him +in he would go round to Mr. Bechcombe's private +door,” the man said, then hesitated. “But it—it was +just nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Did he try to get into the room through the private +door?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” Walls said helplessly. “I didn't see +him any more.”</p> + +<p>The inspector drew a small parcel wrapped in tissue +paper from his breast pocket and, opening it, displayed +to the clerk's astonished eyes a long, white <i>suède</i> glove.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever seen this before?”</p> + +<p>John Walls peered at it.</p> + +<p>“No. I can't say that I have. It—it is a lady's +glove, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> a lady's glove,” the inspector assented. +“Where do you imagine it was found, Mr. Walls?”</p> + +<p>“I'm sure I don't know,” Walls said, staring at him. +“It—I think a good many ladies wear gloves like that +nowadays, Mr. Furnival. I know Mrs. Walls——”</p> + +<p>“This particular glove,” the inspector went on, “I +found beside Mr. Bechcombe's writing-table this +afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” Mr. Walls looked amazed. “Well, I +don't know how it came there. All Mr. Bechcombe's +clients were men that came to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Except perhaps the one that came to the private +door,” suggested the inspector.</p> + +<p>“I don't know anything about that,” Walls said in a +puzzled tone. “I never heard anything of a lady +coming to-day.”</p> + +<p>The inspector folded the glove up and put it away +again.</p> + +<p>“That will do for the present, Mr. Walls. I should +like to see Mr. Thompson if he returns, and now please +send Miss Hoyle to me.”</p> + +<p>Walls looked uncomfortably surprised.</p> + +<p>“Miss Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Hoyle—Mr. Bechcombe's secretary!” +the inspector said sharply. “I suppose you know her, +Mr. Walls?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” Walls stammered. “At least, I couldn't +say I know her. I have spoken to her once or twice. +But she didn't make any friends among us. And her +office was quite apart. She didn't come through our +door, or anything. She is a lady—quite a lady, you +understand, and her office is next to Mr. Bechcombe's +own.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” For once the inspector looked really +interested. “Well, I should like to see Miss Hoyle +without delay, Mr. Walls.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I will tell her at once.”</p> + +<p>Miss Hoyle did not keep the inspector waiting. He +glanced at her keenly as he placed a chair for her.</p> + +<p>“Your name, please?”</p> + +<p>“Cecily Frances Hoyle.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you been with Mr. Bechcombe?”</p> + +<p>“Just over a month.”</p> + +<p>“Where were you previously?”</p> + +<p>“At school. Miss Arnold Watson's at Putney. I +stayed there until I was nineteen as a governess-pupil. +Then—I hadn't any real gift for teaching—I took a +course in shorthand and typing. Mr. Bechcombe +wanted a secretary and I was fortunate enough to get +the job.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” The inspector turned over a new page in +his notebook. “Now will you tell me all you know +about Mr. Bechcombe's death?”</p> + +<p>Cecily stared at him.</p> + +<p>“But I don't know anything,” she said helplessly. +“I never saw Mr. Bechcombe after he called me into +his office about a quarter to twelve.”</p> + +<p>“At a quarter to twelve!” The inspector pricked up +his ears. “You saw Mr. Bechcombe at a quarter to +twelve?”</p> + +<p>“At a quarter to twelve,” she confirmed. “He +sounded the electric bell which rings in my office, and +I went in to him. He told me that he should have some +important work for me later in the day, but that at +present there was nothing and that I could go out to +lunch when I liked. When I came back there were +some letters to be attended to, and then he said I was +to wait until he rang for me. That was all.”</p> + +<p>“You saw and heard nothing more of Mr. Bechcombe +until you came on the scene when the door was +broken open by the clerks?”</p> + +<p>“I did not see anything.”</p> + +<p>The slight emphasis on the verb did not escape the +inspector.</p> + +<p>“Or hear anything?” he demanded sharply. “Be +very careful please, Miss Hoyle.”</p> + +<p>“I heard him speak to some one outside very soon +after I had gone back to my office, and I heard him +moving about his room after I came from lunch,” +Cecily said, her colour rising a little.</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at her searchingly. “To whom +did you hear Mr. Bechcombe speak?”</p> + +<p>Cecily hesitated, the colour that was creeping back +slowly into her cheeks deepening perceptibly.</p> + +<p>“Someone was knocking at the door,” she +stammered. “I think Mr. Bechcombe spoke to him. I +heard him say he was engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Who was he speaking to?”</p> + +<p>The girl twisted her hands together.</p> + +<p>“It was his nephew, Mr. Anthony Collyer.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” The inspector fired his questions +at her rather as if they had been pistol shots.</p> + +<p>Cecily looked round her in an agony of confusion.</p> + +<p>“He came to my office—Mr. Anthony, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Why should he come to your office?”</p> + +<p>“He asked me to go out to lunch with him,” Cecily +faltered. Then seeing the look on the inspector's face, +she gathered up her courage with both hands and faced +him with sudden resolution. “We are engaged,” she +said simply. “We—I mean it hasn't been announced +yet, but his father knows; and we shall tell mine as +soon as he comes home—he is abroad now—we are +engaged, Anthony Collyer and I.”</p> + +<p>The inspector might have smiled but that the thing +was too serious.</p> + +<p>“Did Mr. Bechcombe know?”</p> + +<p>The girl hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>“I think he guessed. From the way he smiled when +he mentioned Mr. Collyer in the morning.”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked over his notes. He was inclined +to think that Cecily Hoyle's evidence, if it could +be relied on, would put Anthony Collyer off his list +of suspects. Still, he was not going to take any +chances.</p> + +<p>“I see. So you went out with Mr. Anthony Collyer. +Where did you lunch?”</p> + +<p>“I said he asked me,” Cecily corrected. “But I +didn't say I would go. However, we were talking about +it and walking down the passage together when Mr. +Bechcombe called Tony back—‘I want to see you a +minute, Tony,’ he said.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” the inspector prompted as she paused.</p> + +<p>“Tony did not want to go back,” the girl said slowly. +“But I persuaded him. ‘I will wait for you in St. +Philip's Field of Rest,’ I said. He ran back, promising +not to keep me waiting for a minute.”</p> + +<p>“Field of Rest,” the inspector repeated. “What is a +Field of Rest?”</p> + +<p>“At the back of St. Philip's Church—just over the +way. It is the old graveyard really, you know,” Cecily +explained. “But they have levelled the stones and put +seats there, and it is a sort of quiet recreation ground. +I often take sandwiches with me and eat them there.”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded. There were many such places +in London he knew.</p> + +<p>“And I suppose Mr. Anthony Collyer soon overtook +you?”</p> + +<p>“No. He didn't. He—I had to wait in the Field of +Rest.”</p> + +<p>“How long?”</p> + +<p>“I don't really know,” Cecily said uncertainly. +“Perhaps it wasn't very long. But it seemed a long +time to me.”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at her.</p> + +<p>“This is important. Please think, Miss Hoyle. This +is very important. How long approximately do you +think it was before Mr. Anthony Collyer joined you in +the Field of Rest?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty minutes perhaps—or it might have been +half an hour.”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked surprised.</p> + +<p>“Half an hour! But that's a long time. What +excuse did Mr. Collyer make for being so long?”</p> + +<p>“He said he couldn't find the Field of Rest. He +hadn't been there before, you know.”</p> + +<p>The inspector made no rejoinder. He turned back +to his notes.</p> + +<p>“What time did you come back to the office, Miss +Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>“We were a little over an hour,” Cecily confessed. +“After half-past one, it would be.”</p> + +<p>“Did Mr. Collyer go back with you?”</p> + +<p>Cecily shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. He walked as far as Crow's Inn—up to +the archway with me.”</p> + +<p>The inspector was drawing a small parcel from his +pocket. Laying back the tissue paper he slowly shook +out the white glove he had shown to John Walls.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever seen this before, Miss Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>The girl leaned forward and looked at it more +closely.</p> + +<p>“No, I am sure I have not.”</p> + +<p>“It is not yours?”</p> + +<p>Cecily shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I could not afford anything like that. It is a very +expensive glove—French I should say.”</p> + +<p>“That glove was found beside the writing-table in +Mr. Bechcombe's private room this afternoon,” the +inspector said impressively.</p> + +<p>Cecily looked amazed.</p> + +<p>“What an extraordinary thing! I don't believe it +was there when I was in this morning. I wonder who +could have dropped it?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly the murderer or murderess,” the inspector +suggested dryly.</p> + +<p>Cecily shivered back in her chair with a little cry.</p> + +<p>“It cannot be true! Who would hurt Mr. +Bechcombe? He must have had a fit!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Hoyle”—the inspector leaned forward—“it +was no fit. Mr. Bechcombe was certainly murdered, +and Dr. Hackett says that death must have overtaken +him either a few minutes before twelve or a few minutes +after.”</p> + +<p>“What!” Cecily's face became ghastly as the full +significance of the words dawned upon her. “It +couldn't——” she said, catching her breath in a sob. +“He—he was quite well at twelve o'clock, and when +I came back from my lunch I heard him moving +about.”</p> + +<p>“Could you hear what went on in his room in yours?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. Absolutely nothing. But as I passed his +door when I came back from lunch I distinctly heard +him moving about. I was rather surprised at this, +because I don't remember ever hearing any sound from +Mr. Bechcombe's room before.”</p> + +<p>“What did you do after you went back?”</p> + +<p>“I finished some letters that had to be ready for Mr. +Bechcombe's signature before he went home. I was +still busy with them when I heard them breaking into +Mr. Bechcombe's room.”</p> + +<p>“Now one more question, Miss Hoyle. Did you +notice anything particular about Mr. Anthony Collyer's +hands when you first saw him?”</p> + +<p>Cecily stared.</p> + +<p>“Certainly I did not. Why?”</p> + +<p>“He did not wear gloves?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no!” Cecily almost smiled. “I should +certainly have noticed if he had. I have never seen +Tony in gloves since I knew him.”</p> + +<p>The inspector's stylo was moving quickly in his +notebook.</p> + +<p>“You are prepared to swear to all this, Miss Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I am!” Cecily said at once. “It is +absolutely true.”</p> + +<p>“Your address, please.”</p> + +<p>“Hobart Residence, Windover Square. It is a club +for girls,” she added.</p> + +<p>“But your permanent home address,” the detective +went on.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. The girl's long eyelashes +flickered.</p> + +<p>“I—really I haven't a settled home at present. My +father is away on some business abroad; when he +comes back we shall look for a cottage in the country.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” The inspector asked no more questions, but +there was a curious look in his eyes as he scrawled +another entry in his book.</p> + +<p>“That is all for the present, then, Miss Hoyle. The +inquest will be opened to-morrow, and you may be +wanted. I cannot say.”</p> + +<p>He rose. Cecily got up at once and with a little +farewell bow went out of the room.</p> + +<p>The inspector stood still for a minute or two, then he +opened the door again.</p> + +<p>“Call Mr. William Spencer, please.”</p> + +<p>Ordinarily Mr. Spencer was a jaunty, self-satisfied +young man, but to-day both the jauntiness and the +self-satisfaction were gone and it was with a very white +and subdued face that he came up to the inspector.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Spencer, and what have you to tell me +about this terrible affair?” the inspector began +conversationally.</p> + +<p>“Nothing; except what you know. I heard the governor +tell Mr. Thompson not to let anyone into his +room, and I heard no more until Mr. Walls asked me +to go round to the private door.”</p> + +<p>“You were the first to see the body, I understand.”</p> + +<p>“Well, looking through the keyhole, I saw a heap +and I told Mr. Walls I thought it was the governor.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” The inspector looked at his notes. +“You were right, unfortunately. Now, Mr. Spencer, +have you ever seen this?” suddenly displaying the +white glove he had previously shown.</p> + +<p>Mr. Spencer's eyes grew round.</p> + +<p>“I—I don't know.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by that?” the inspector +questioned. “Have you any reason to suppose you have +done so?”</p> + +<p>Spencer stared at it.</p> + +<p>“I met a lady with long gloves like that coming up +the stairs when I went out to lunch.”</p> + +<p>“What time was that?”</p> + +<p>“About half-past twelve, it would be, or a little later, +I think,” debated Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” the inspector made a note in his book. “What +was she like—the woman you met?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she was tall with rather bright yellow hair +and—and she had powder all over her face. The +curious thing about her was,” Spencer went on +meditatively, “that I had an odd feeling that in some way +her face was familiar. Yet I couldn't remember +having seen her before.”</p> + +<p>“Did you notice where she went?”</p> + +<p>“No, I couldn't. It was just where the stairs turn +that I stood aside to let her pass, and you can't see +much from there. But I thought I heard——”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I did think at the time that I heard her stop on our +landing and go along the passage——”</p> + +<p>“To Mr. Bechcombe's room?” said the inspector +quickly.</p> + +<p>“Well, it would be to his room, of course,” Spencer +said, his face paling again. “But I dare say I was +wrong about her going down the passage. I didn't +listen particularly.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know that I found this glove beside Mr. +Bechcombe's writing-table when I went into the +room?” questioned the inspector.</p> + +<p>Spencer shivered.</p> + +<p>“No. I didn't see it.”</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless it was there,” said the inspector. “Mr. +Spencer, I think you will have to try to remember why +that lady's face was familiar to you. Had you ever +seen her here before?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't think so. I seem to——” Spencer was +beginning when there was an interruption, a loud knock +at the door. Spencer turned to it eagerly. “Mr. +Thompson has come back, I expect.”</p> + +<p>The inspector was before him, but it was not Amos +Thompson who stood outside, or any messenger from +the offices; it was a tall, thin clergyman with a white, +shocked face—the rector of Wexbridge to wit. He +stepped aside.</p> + +<p>“I must apologize for interrupting you, Mr. Inspector. +But I represent my sister-in-law, Mrs. Luke +Bechcombe. I had just called and was present when the +sad news was broken to her. I came here to make inquiries +and also to arrange for the removal of the body. +And here I was met by these terrible tidings. Is it—can +it be really true that my unfortunate brother-in-law +has been murdered?”</p> + +<p>“Quite true,” the inspector confirmed in a matter-of-fact +fashion in contrast with the clergyman's agitated +tone.</p> + +<p>“But how and by whom?” Mr. Collyer demanded.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bechcombe appears to have been attacked, +possibly chloroformed, deliberately, and strangled. +His body was found in his private office.”</p> + +<p>The rector subsided into the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>“I cannot believe it. Poor Luke had not an enemy +in the world. What could have been the motive for +so horrible a crime?”</p> + +<p>“That I am endeavouring to find out,” the inspector +said quietly.</p> + +<p>“I can't understand it,” the clergyman said, raising +his hand to his head. “Nobody would wilfully have +hurt poor Luke, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“It is tolerably evident that somebody did,” the +inspector commented dryly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer was silent for a minute; putting his +elbow on the table, he rested his aching head upon his +hand.</p> + +<p>“But who could have done it?” he questioned +brokenly at last.</p> + +<p>The inspector coughed.</p> + +<p>“That also I am trying to discover, sir. When did +you see Mr. Bechcombe last, Mr. Collyer?”</p> + +<p>“Last night. I dined with him at his house in +Carlsford Square. Just a few hours ago, and poor Luke +seemed so well and happy with us all, making jokes. +And now—I can't believe it.”</p> + +<p>He blew his nose vigorously.</p> + +<p>“Was your son one of the dinner party?” the +inspector questioned.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer looked surprised.</p> + +<p>“Oh, er—yes, of course Tony was there. He is a +favourite with his uncle and aunt.”</p> + +<p>“Did you know that he was here this morning?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer's astonishment appeared to increase.</p> + +<p>“Certainly I did not. I do not think he has been. +I fancy you are making a mistake.”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” the inspector said firmly. “Your son +was here this morning just before twelve o'clock. He +appears to have caused quite a commotion, demanding +to see his uncle and announcing his intention of going +to the private door and knocking at it himself.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer dropped his arm upon the table.</p> + +<p>“But—— Good—good heavens! Did he go?”</p> + +<p>“He did. He also saw his uncle,” said the inspector. +“And now I am rather anxious to hear your son's +account of that interview, Mr. Collyer.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch05"> + +<h2>Chapter V</h2> + +<p>“It is the aftermath of the War,” said Aubrey +Todmarsh, shaking his head. “You take a man away from +his usual occupation and for four years you let him do +nothing but kill other men and try to kill other men, +and then you are surprised when he comes home and +still goes on killing.”</p> + +<p>“Don't you think, Aubrey, that you had better say +straight out that you believe I killed Uncle Luke?” +Tony Collyer inquired very quietly, yet with a look in +his eyes that his men had known well in the Great War, +and had labelled dangerous.</p> + +<p>Instinctively Aubrey drew back. “My dear Tony,” +he said, with what was meant to be an indulgent smile +and only succeeded in looking distinctly scared, “why +will you turn everything into personalities? I was +speaking generally.”</p> + +<p>“Well, as I happen to be the only man who went to +the War and who profits by my uncle's will, and who +was at the office the day he was murdered, I will thank +you not to speak generally in that fashion,” retorted +Anthony.</p> + +<p>His father lifted up his hand.</p> + +<p>“Boys, boys! This terrible crime is no time for +unseemly bickering,” he said, in much the same tone as +he would have used to them twenty years ago at +Wexbridge Rectory.</p> + +<p>The three were in the dining-room of Mr. +Bechcombe's house in Carlsford Square. They had been +brought there by an urgent summons from the widow +of the dead man. Mrs. Bechcombe, prostrated at first +by the news of her husband's death, had been roused +by learning how that death had been brought about, +and, in her determination that it should be +immediately avenged, she had insisted on her husband's +brother-in-law and his two nephews coming together to +consult with her as to the best steps to be taken to +discover the assassin.</p> + +<p>In appearance the last twenty-four hours had aged +the rector by as many years. His shoulders were bent +as he leaned forward in his chair—the very chair in +which Luke Bechcombe had sat at the bottom of his +table only the night before last. There were new lines +that sorrow and horror had scored upon James Collyer's +face, even his hair looked whiter. Glancing round +the familiar room it seemed to him impossible that he +could never see again the brother-in-law upon whose +advice he had unconsciously leaned all his married life. +He was just about to speak when the door opened and +Mrs. Bechcombe entered. She was a tall, almost a +regal-looking woman, with flashing dark eyes and +regular, aquiline features. To-day her beautiful formed +lips were closely compressed and there was a very +sombre light in the dark eyes, and there were great blue +marks under them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer got up, raising himself slowly. “My +dear Madeline, I wish I could help you,” he said, +taking her hands in his, “but only Our Heavenly Father +can do that, and since it is His Will——”</p> + +<p>“It was not His Will!” Mrs. Bechcombe contradicted +passionately. She tore her hands from his. +“My husband was murdered. He did not die by the +Will of God, but by the wickedness of man.”</p> + +<p>“My dear aunt, nothing happens but by the Will of +God——” Aubrey Todmarsh was beginning, when +the door opened to admit a spare, short, altogether +undistinguished-looking man of middle age.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe turned to him eagerly.</p> + +<p>“This is my cousin, John Steadman. You have +heard me speak of him, I know, James. He is a +barrister, and, though he does not practise now, he is a +great criminologist. And I know if anyone can help +us it will be he.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so, I am sure,” Mr. Steadman said as he +shook hands. “This is a most terrible and mysterious +crime, but there are several valuable clues. I do not +think it should remain undiscovered long.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not!” the rector sighed. “And yet we +cannot bring poor Luke back, we can only punish his +murderer.”</p> + +<p>“And that I mean to do!” Mrs. Bechcombe said +passionately. “I have sworn to devote every penny of my +money and every moment of my life to avenging my +husband.”</p> + +<p>“Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” murmured +Aubrey Todmarsh.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I never professed to be of your way of +thinking,” Mrs. Bechcombe returned with unveiled +contempt. “I prefer to undertake the vengeance myself, +thank you.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman looked at Anthony. “I understand +that you called at the office yesterday morning.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did,” returned Anthony defiantly. “And, +when old Thompson told me I couldn't see Mr. +Bechcombe, I was fool enough to say I would go round to +the private door and get in to him that way.”</p> + +<p>“And did you?” questioned Mr. Steadman quietly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did, but I did not go in and murder my +uncle,” returned Anthony in the same loud, passionate +tone.</p> + +<p>“Did you see him?” Mr. Steadman inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes. He came to the door and told me to go away. +He was expecting an important client.”</p> + +<p>“Tony, you did not ask him for money?” his father +said piteously.</p> + +<p>Anthony's face softened as he looked at him. “I +was going to, but I didn't get the chance. He wouldn't +listen to me. I went on to ask a friend of mine in the +next room to come out to lunch with me. As we were +passing my uncle's room he came to the door. ‘I want +you, Tony,’ he said sharply. My friend went on, telling +me to follow to the Field of Rest. Uncle Luke kept +me a few minutes talking. He told me that if I had a +really good opening he would go into it, if it were +really promising the lack of money should not stand +in the way. He said I was to come and see him that +night and talk things over. I meant to go, of course. +But then I heard this——” and Anthony gulped down +something in his throat.</p> + +<p>“Did you keep your friend waiting?” inquired Mr. +Steadman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did!” Tony answered, staring at him. +“Uncle Luke kept me a minute or two. But then I +missed my way to the Field of Rest, and was wandering +about the best part of half an hour. I suppose you +don't call that a very satisfactory alibi,” he added +truculently.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don't be silly, Tony!” Mrs. Bechcombe interposed +fretfully. “Of course we are all sure that you +would not have hurt your uncle. We want to know if +you saw anyone—if you met this wicked woman——”</p> + +<p>Tony stared at her.</p> + +<p>“What wicked woman? What do you mean, Aunt +Madeline?”</p> + +<p>“The woman who left her glove in his room, the +woman who killed my husband,” Mrs. Bechcombe returned, +her breath coming quickly and nervously, her +hands clenching and unclenching themselves.</p> + +<p>“My dear Madeline,” Mr. Steadman interrupted +her, “I do not think it possible that the crime could +have been committed by a woman.”</p> + +<p>“And I am sure that it was,” she contradicted +stormily. “Women are as powerful as men nowadays +and Luke was not strong. He had a weak heart.” +And with the last words she burst into a very tempest +of tears.</p> + +<p>Her cousin looked at her pityingly.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, my dear girl! At any rate the police +are searching everywhere for this woman. The finding +her can only be a matter of a few days now. I am +going to send your maid to you.” He signed to the +other men and they followed him out of the room. +“Do her all the good in the world to cry it out,” he +remarked confidentially when he had closed the door. +“I haven't seen her shed a tear yet. Now I am going +to see Inspector Furnival before the inquest opens. +That, of course, will be absolutely formal, at first. Can +I give any of you a lift?”</p> + +<p>“I think not, thank you,” Mr. Collyer responded. +“There must be some—er—arrangements to be made +here and it is quite possible we may be of some real +service.”</p> + +<p>Both young men looked inclined to dissent, but the +barrister proffered no further invitation and a minute +or two later they saw him drive off.</p> + +<p>He was shown in at once to Inspector Furnival, who +was writing at his office table, briskly making notes in +a large parchment-bound book. He got up as the door +opened.</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman shook hands. “You haven't forgotten +me, I hope, inspector?”</p> + +<p>The inspector permitted himself a slight smile. “I +haven't forgotten how you helped me to catch John +Bassil.”</p> + +<p>“Um! Well, my cousin—Mrs. Bechcombe is my +cousin, you know—has insisted on my coming to you +this morning,” Mr. Steadman went on, taking the chair +the inspector placed by the table. “This is a terrible +business, inspector. It looks fairly plain sailing at first +sight, but I don't know.”</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced at him. “You think it looks +like plain sailing, sir? Well, it may be, but I confess +I don't see it quite in that way myself.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman met the detective's eyes with a +curious look in his own. “What of Thompson's +disappearance?”</p> + +<p>The inspector blotted the page in his ledger at which +he had been writing and left the blotting-paper on.</p> + +<p>“Ay, as usual you have put your finger on the spot, +Mr. Steadman. What has become of Thompson? He +walked out of the office and apparently disappeared +into space. For from that moment we have not been +able to find anyone who has seen him.”</p> + +<p>“The inference being——?” Mr. Steadman raised +his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>The inspector laid his hand on a parcel of papers +lying on the table at his elbow.</p> + +<p>“There wasn't much about the case in the papers +this morning,” he said, replying indirectly to the +barrister's question, “but the one that comes out at ten +o'clock—Racing Special they call it: selections on the +back page, don't you know—in almost every case gives +a large space on its front page to ‘The Murder of a +Solicitor in his Office,’ and every one of them mentions +the disappearance of his managing clerk. The inference, +though the paragraphs are naturally guarded in +the extreme, is unmistakable.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman reached over for one of the papers.</p> + +<p>“Don't take any notice of these things myself; they +have to write up the sensation. Um! Yes! No doubt +what they're hinting at, but they're generally wrong. +What should Thompson want to kill his employer for, +unless——”</p> + +<p>“Ay, exactly; unless——” the inspector said dryly. +“That was one of my first thoughts, sir. John Walls +is going through the books with an auditor this +morning. And Mr. Turner, who was in the firm until last +year, is going over the contents of the safe. When we +get their reports we shall know more.”</p> + +<p>The barrister nodded. “Thompson had been with +the firm for many years.”</p> + +<p>“Eighteen, I believe,” assented the inspector. “He +seems to have been a great favourite with Mr. Bechcombe, +but it is astonishing how little his fellow-clerks +know of him. Only two of them have ever seen him +out of the office, and none of them appear to have the +least idea where he lives.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman did not speak for a moment, then he +said slowly:</p> + +<p>“The fact that so little is known seems in itself +curious. Is there no way of ascertaining his address?”</p> + +<p>“One would imagine that there must be a note of it +somewhere at the office,” the inspector remarked, “but +so far we have not been able to find it.”</p> + +<p>“How about the woman visitor?” the barrister +inquired, changing the subject suddenly.</p> + +<p>“We haven't been able to identify her at present.” +The inspector opened the top drawer at his right hand, +and took the white glove that had been found by the +murdered man's desk from its wrapping of tissue paper. +The most cursory glance showed that it was an +expensive glove, even if the maker's name had not been +known as one of the most famous in London and Paris. +About it there still clung the vague elusive scent that +always seems to linger about the belongings of a woman +who is attracted by and attractive to the other sex.</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman handled it carefully and inspected it +thoroughly through his eyeglasses. “Yes. We ought +to be able to find the mysterious woman with the aid +of this.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes. We shall find the wearer,” the inspector +said confidently. “But will that be very much help in +solving the mystery of Luke Bechcombe's death?”</p> + +<p>The barrister looked at him.</p> + +<p>“I don't know that it will. Still, why doesn't she +come forward and say, ‘I saw Mr. Bechcombe the +morning he was murdered. My business with him was +urgent and I saw him by special appointment.’ She is +much more likely to be suspected of the crime if she +refuses to come forward. Mrs. Bechcombe seems +certain of her guilt, and women do have intuitions.”</p> + +<p>“I'm not much of a believer in them myself,” +remarked Inspector Furnival, shrugging his shoulders. +“I would rather have a penn'orth of direct evidence +than a pound's worth of intuition. And I don't believe +that Mr. Bechcombe was murdered by a woman. A +woman doesn't spring at a man and strangle him. She +may stab him or shoot him, the weapons being to hand, +but strangle him with her hands—no. Besides, this +was a premeditated crime. There was an unmistakable +smell of chloroform about the body, faint, I grant you, +but unmistakable. No, no! It wasn't a woman. As +to why she doesn't speak—well, there may be a dozen +reasons. In the first place she may not have heard of +the murder at all. It doesn't occupy a very conspicuous +place in the morning's papers. It will be a different +matter to-night. Then, she might not want her +business known. And, above all, many a woman—and man +too—hates to be mixed up in a murder case, and won't +speak out till she is driven to it.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so!”</p> + +<p>The barrister sat silent for a minute or two, his eyes +staring straight in front of him at nothing in particular. +Inspector Furnival took another glance at his notes.</p> + +<p>“Spencer, the only person we have been able to trace +so far who has seen this mysterious woman, fancies that +her face is familiar to him, but does not know in what +connexion. I have suggested to him that she is possibly +an actress, and he is inclined to think that it may +be so. I have sent him up a quantity of photographs +to see if he can identify any of them. But don't you +see, Mr. Steadman, Mr. Spencer's evidence tends rather +to exonerate Thompson. Spencer went out after +Thompson and met this woman on the stairs. It +therefore appears probable that Thompson was off the +premises before the woman came on.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman shook his head.</p> + +<p>“It isn't safe to assume anything in a case of this +kind. We do not know that Thompson went off the +premises. We do not know where he went or where +he is.”</p> + +<p>“Very true! I wish we did,” asserted the inspector. +“At the same time——”</p> + +<p>The telephone bell was ringing sharply over his desk. +He took up the receiver.</p> + +<p>“That you, Jones? Yes, what is it? Inspector +Furnival speaking.”</p> + +<p>“Thompson's address has been found in one of Mr. +Bechcombe's books. There are several other of the +clerks' addresses there all entered in Mr. Bechcombe's +writing, and all the others we have verified.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Number 10 Brooklyn Terrace, North Kensington.”</p> + +<p>“Um! I will see to it at once.” And the inspector +rang off sharply.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch06"> + +<h2>Chapter VI</h2> + +<p>“Can't hear of Brooklyn Terrace anywhere, sir.” The +speaker was Mr. Steadman's chauffeur.</p> + +<p>He had been going slowly the last few minutes, +making ineffectual inquiries of the passers-by. Inside +the car Mr. Steadman had Inspector Furnival seated +beside him.</p> + +<p>“Better drive to the nearest post-office and ask there. +They will be sure to know.”</p> + +<p>“Call this North Kensington, do they?” the barrister +grumbled, as the car started again. “Seems to me in +my young days it used to be called Notting Hill.”</p> + +<p>The inspector laughed. “Think North Kensington +sounds a bit more classy, I expect. Not but what +there are some very decent old houses hereabouts. +Oh, by Jove! Is this Brooklyn Terrace?” as the car +turned into a side street that had apparently fallen on +evil days. Each house evidently contained several +tenants. In some cases slatternly women stood on the +doorsteps, shouting remarks to their neighbours, while +grubby-faced children played about in the gutter or +crawled about on the doorsteps of their different +establishments. It scarcely seemed the place in which would +be found the missing managing clerk of Messrs. +Bechcombe and Turner's establishment.</p> + +<p>No. 10 was a little tidier than its neighbours, that +is to say the door was shut and there were no children +on the doorstep.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur pulled up.</p> + +<p>“This is it, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman eyed it doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Well, inspector, I expect this really is the place.”</p> + +<p>“It is the address in Mr. Bechcombe's book right +enough, sir. As to whether Mr. Amos Thompson lives +here—well, we shall soon see.”</p> + +<p>He got out first and knocked at the door, the +barrister following meekly. The car waiting at the side +was the object of enormous interest to the denizens of +the street. There was no response to the knock for +some time. At last a small child in the next area called +out:</p> + +<p>“You'll have to go down, they don't never come to +that there door!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman put up his glass and peered over the +palings. A slatternly-looking woman was just looking +out of the back door.</p> + +<p>“Can you let us in, my good woman?” the barrister +called out. “We want Mr. Thompson.”</p> + +<p>The woman muttered something, probably scenting +a tip, and presently they heard her clattering along the +passage.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thompson, is it?” she said as she admitted +them. “His room is up at the top.”</p> + +<p>“Is he at home?” Inspector Furnival questioned.</p> + +<p>The woman stared at him. “I don't know. If you +just like to walk up you will find out.”</p> + +<p>The stairs were wide, for the house had seen better +days, but indescribably dirty. Up at the very top it +was a little cleaner. There were several doors on the +landing but nothing to show which, if any, was +Thompson's. As they stood there, wondering which it could +be, an old man came up behind them.</p> + +<p>“Were you looking for anyone, gentlemen?” he +asked, in a weak, quavering voice that told that, like +the house, he had fallen on evil times.</p> + +<p>The inspector turned to him. “I want Mr. Amos +Thompson.”</p> + +<p>The old man pointed to the door just in front of +them.</p> + +<p>“That is his door, but I doubt if you will find him in. +I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. I don't +think he slept here.”</p> + +<p>“Do you often see him?” the inspector questioned +as he applied his knuckles to the door.</p> + +<p>The old man looked surprised at the question. +“Why, yes, sir, I have only been here a month, but +I have found Mr. Thompson a remarkably pleasant +gentleman. He always passes the time of day with me +and often stops for a word over the day's news. An +uncommonly nice man is Mr. Thompson. It has often +crossed my mind to wonder why he stayed here, where +there is no comfort to speak of for the likes of him.”</p> + +<p>The inspector and Mr. Steadman wondered too, as +they waited there, while no answer came to the former's +repeated knocking.</p> + +<p>A room in No. 10 Brooklyn Terrace certainly seemed +no fitting home for Amos Thompson with his +handsome salary.</p> + +<p>“We must get in somehow,” the inspector said to +Mr. Steadman. Then he turned to the old man +opposite who was watching them with frightened eyes. +“Has anyone else a key to these rooms, a charwoman +or anybody?”</p> + +<p>The man shook his head.</p> + +<p>“We all do for ourselves, here, sir. We don't afford +charwomen and such-like. As for getting in—well, I +expect the landlord has keys. He is on the first floor. +But I do not think he would open Mr. Thompson's door +without——”</p> + +<p>“Is this landlord likely to be at home now?” the +inspector interrupted.</p> + +<p>“He is at home, sir. I saw him as I came upstairs.”</p> + +<p>The inspector took out his card. “Will you show +him this and say that Mr. Thompson cannot be found. +He disappeared under peculiar circumstances yesterday +and, since he is not here, we must enter his room +to see whether we can find any clue to his whereabouts.”</p> + +<p>The man visibly paled as he read the name on the +card. Then he rapidly disappeared down the stairs. +Mr. Steadman looked across at the inspector.</p> + +<p>“Queer affair this! What the deuce does the fellow +mean by putting up at a place like this?”</p> + +<p>“Well, he isn't extravagant in the living line!” the +inspector said with a grin.</p> + +<p>John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “Not here!”</p> + +<p>At this moment the landlord arrived with the keys. +Quite evidently his curiosity had been excited by the +advent of the visitors to his lodger. Probably he had +been expecting his summons. He held Inspector +Furnival's card in his hand.</p> + +<p>“I understand I have no choice, gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>“None!” the inspector said grimly.</p> + +<p>The landlord made no further demur, but unlocking +the door he flung it open and stood back. The others +waited for a minute in the doorway and looked round. +At first sight nothing could have been less likely to give +away the occupier's secrets than this room. It was +quite a good size with a couple of windows, and a small +bed in a recess with a curtain hung over it; an oil lamp +stood before the fireplace. The floor was covered with +linoleum, there was no carpet, not even a rug. A solid +square oak table stood in the middle of the room and +there were three equally solid-looking chairs. The only +other piece of furniture in the room was a movable +corner cupboard standing at the side of the window. +The inspector went over and threw the door open. +Inside there was a cup and saucer, a teapot and +tea-caddy, a bottle of ink, and a book upon which the +inspector immediately pounced. He went through it +from end to end, he shook it, he banged it on the table; +a post card fell from it; the inspector stared at it, then +with a puzzled frown he handed it to Mr. Steadman. +The barrister glanced at it curiously. On the back was +a portrait of a girl—evidently the work of an amateur.</p> + +<p>“Do you know who that is?” questioned the +inspector.</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman shook his head. “It is no one that I +have ever seen before. Do you mean that you do?”</p> + +<p>“That is a likeness—very badly taken, I grant you—but +an unmistakable likeness of Miss Hoyle, the late +Mr. Bechcombe's secretary.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman was startled for once. “Good Lord! +Do you mean that he was in love with her too?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don't know,” said the inspector, taking +possession of the post card once more. “Elderly men take +queer fancies sometimes, but I haven't had any hint of +this hitherto. However, I will make a few inquiries +with a view to ascertaining whether Mr. Tony Collyer +has a rival.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Tony!” said the barrister indulgently.</p> + +<p>He took up the book which the inspector had thrown +down. It was a detective novel of the lightest and most +lurid kind, and it bore the label of a big and +fashionable library. He made a note of it at once. The +inspector went on with his survey. Beside the bedstead, +behind the curtain, there stood a small tripod washing-stand +with the usual apparatus. The bed in itself was +enough to arouse their curiosity. Upon the chain +mattress lay one of hard flock with one hard pillow, and +an eiderdown quilt rolled up at the bottom. Of other +bedclothing there was not a vestige, neither was there +any sign of any clothing found about the room, with +the exception of a pair of very old slippers originally +worked in cross stitch, the pattern of which was now +indecipherable. The inspector peered round everywhere. +He turned over the top mattress, he felt it all +over. He moved the wash-stand and the corner cupboard, +he looked in the open fireplace which apparently +had not been used for years, but not so much as the +very tiniest scrap of paper rewarded him. At last he +turned to the barrister.</p> + +<p>“Nothing more to be done here, I think, sir.” He +took up the book and the slippers and moved to the +door.</p> + +<p>John Steadman followed him silently. His strong +face bore a very worried, harassed expression.</p> + +<p>Outside the landlord stopped them.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, I hope it is understood that I have no +responsibility with regard to this raid on Mr. +Thompson's property?”</p> + +<p>“Quite, quite!” assented the inspector. “Refer Mr. +Thompson to me if you should see him again.”</p> + +<p>“Which I hope I shall,” the landlord pursued, +following them down the stairs. “For a better tenant I +never had; punctual with his rent, and always quiet +and quite the gentleman.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Furnival stopped short. “How long has +he lived with you?”</p> + +<p>The man scratched his head. “A matter of four +years or more, and always brought the rent to me, I +never had to ask for it. I wish there were more like +him.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see much of him?”</p> + +<p>“Only passing the time of day on the stairs, and +when he came to pay his rent which he did regularly +every Saturday morning.”</p> + +<p>“That room does not look as if it had been slept in or +eaten in,” John Steadman said abruptly.</p> + +<p>The landlord stared at him.</p> + +<p>“Well, we don't bother about our neighbour's business +in Brooklyn Terrace, sir. But, if he didn't want +the room to sleep in or live in, why did he rent it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said the barrister warily, “that is just what +we should like to know.”</p> + +<p>With a nod of farewell the two men went on. They +got into the waiting car in silence. With a glance at +the inspector John Steadman gave the address of the +library from which Thompson's book had been procured. +Then as the car started and he threw himself +back on his seat he observed:</p> + +<p>“Admirably stage-managed!”</p> + +<p>The inspector raised his eyebrows. “As how?”</p> + +<p>“Do you imagine those people know no more than +they say of Thompson?”</p> + +<p>“They may. On the other hand it is quite possible +they do not,” the inspector answered doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“That room had been arranged for some such +emergency as has arisen,” Steadman went on. “Thompson +has never lived there. But he came there for letters +or something. He has some place of concealment very +likely quite near. I have no doubt that either of those +men could have told us more. I expect they will give +the show away if a reward is offered.”</p> + +<p>“If——” the inspector repeated. “I don't quite +agree with you, Mr. Steadman. I think those men were +speaking the truth, and I doubt whether they knew any +more of Thompson than they said. The man, who as +you say, has so admirably stage-managed that room +would hardly be likely to give himself away by making +unnecessary confidants. But now I wonder for whose +benefit this scene was originally staged?”</p> + +<p>The barrister drew in his lips. “Don't you think +Luke Bechcombe's murder answers your question?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don't!” said the inspector bluntly. “Thompson +was a wrong 'un, but at present I do not see any +connexion with the murder at all! They are at it now, +full swing!” For as they neared Notting Hill Gate +they could hear the voices of the newsboys calling out +their papers—“Murder of a well-known Solicitor. +Missing Clerk!” Up by the station the newsboys +exhibited lurid headlines.</p> + +<p>They bought a handful of papers and unfolded them +as they bowled swiftly across to the library. In most +cases the murder of the solicitor occupied the greater +part of the front page. The disappearance of the +managing clerk was made the most of. But in several there +were hints of the mysterious visitor, veiled surmises as +to her business and identity. Altogether the Crow's +Inn Tragedy, as the papers were beginning to call it, +seemed to contain all the materials for a modern +sensational drama.</p> + +<p>At the library they both got out. The section devoted +to T's was at the farther end. A pleasant-looking +girl was handing out books. Seizing his opportunity +the inspector went forward and held out the +volume.</p> + +<p>“I have found this book under rather peculiar +circumstances. Can you tell me by whom it was +borrowed?”</p> + +<p>For a moment the girl seemed undecided; then, +murmuring a few unintelligible words, she went round +to the manager's desk. That functionary came back +with her.</p> + +<p>“I hear you want to know who borrowed this book, +but it is not our custom to give particulars——”</p> + +<p>“I know it is not.” The inspector held out his card. +“But I think you will have to make an exception in my +case.”</p> + +<p>The manager put up his pince-nez and glanced at +the card, and then at the inspector. Then he signed to +an assistant to bring him the book in which subscribers' +names were entered, and spoke to her in a low tone. +She looked frightened as she glanced at the inspector.</p> + +<p>“It was borrowed by a Mr. Thompson, sir, address +10 Brooklyn Terrace, North Kensington. He is an +old subscriber.”</p> + +<p>“Did he come for the books himself?” the inspector +questioned. “Can you describe him?”</p> + +<p>“There—there wasn't much to describe,” the girl +faltered. “He had a brown beard and some of his +front teeth were missing, and he nearly always wore +those big, horn-rimmed glasses.”</p> + +<p>“Height?” questioned the inspector sharply.</p> + +<p>“Well, he wasn't very tall nor very short,” was the +unsatisfactory reply.</p> + +<p>“Thin or stout?”</p> + +<p>“Not much of either!” The girl twisted her hands +about, evidently wishing herself far away.</p> + +<p>The inspector deserted the topic of Mr. Thompson's +appearance. He held up the book.</p> + +<p>“When was this taken out?”</p> + +<p>The manager glanced at a list of volumes opposite +the subscribers' names.</p> + +<p>“Last Thursday. I may say that Mr. Thompson +always wanted books of this class—detective fiction, +and he literally devoured them. He always expected +a new one to be ready for him, and he was inclined to +be unpleasant if he had for the time being exhausted +the supply. He generally called here every day. This +is an unusually long interval if he has not called since +Thursday.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” The inspector glanced at Mr. Steadman. +Then he turned back to the manager. “I am obliged +by your courtesy, sir. Would you add to it, should +Mr. Thompson call or send again, by ringing me up +at Scotland Yard? The book we will leave with you.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch07"> + +<h2>Chapter VII</h2> + +<p>“Extensive defalcations. A system of fraud that +must have been carried on for many years,” repeated +Aubrey Todmarsh. “Well, that pretty well settles the +matter as far as Thompson is concerned.”</p> + +<p>“I don't see it,” contradicted Tony Collyer. +“Thompson is a defaulter. That doesn't prove he is +a murderer. I don't believe he is. Old chap didn't +look like a murderer.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Tony, don't be childish!” responded +Todmarsh. “A man that commits a murder never does +look like a murderer. He wouldn't be so successful if +he did.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway, if Thompson is guilty, it pretty well +knocks the stuffing out of your pet theory,” retorted +Tony. “Thompson didn't go to the War.”</p> + +<p>“No, but the lust for killing spread over the entire +country,” Todmarsh went on, his face assuming a rapt +expression as he gazed over Anthony's head at the +little clouds scudding across the patch of sky which he +could see through the windows above. “Besides, there +were murders before the War, and there will be murders +when, if ever, it is forgotten. But I do maintain +that there have been many more brutal crimes since the +War than ever before in the history of the country. +Teach a man through all the most impressionable years +of his life that there is nothing worth doing but killing +his fellow-creatures and trying to kill them, and he +will——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, stow that—we have heard it all before,” Tony +interrupted irritably. “According to your own showing +the murder might just as well have been committed +by one of your own dear conchies as anyone else. +Anyway, I don't believe Thompson killed Uncle Luke. +Why should he? He had got the money. He had only +to make off with it. Why should he kill the old chap?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Uncle Luke may have taxed him with his +shortcomings and threatened to prosecute him, perhaps +he tried to phone or something of that sort. And +Thompson may have sprung at him and throttled him.”</p> + +<p>“Don't believe it!” Tony said obstinately.</p> + +<p>Todmarsh's eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn't proclaim my faith in Thompson's +innocence quite so loudly if I were you, Tony. I +imagine you have no idea who the world is saying must +be guilty if Thompson is innocent.”</p> + +<p>“I imagine I have,” Tony returned, his tone growing +violent. “I am quite aware that the world”—laying +stress on the noun—“is saying that, if Thompson didn't +murder Uncle Luke, I did, to gain the money my uncle +left. But I am not going to try to hang Thompson to +save my own neck. By the way, I come into some +more money when Aunt Madeline dies. You will be +expecting me to murder her next! You had something +left you too. You may have done it to get that!”</p> + +<p>Aubrey Todmarsh shook his head.</p> + +<p>“My legacy is a mere flea-bite compared with yours. +And I trust that my life and aims are sufficiently well +known——”</p> + +<p>Tony turned his back on him deliberately.</p> + +<p>“Bosh! Don't trouble to put it on for me, Aubrey. +I have known your life and aims fairly well for a good +while. Take care of your own skin, and let everything +else go to the wall. That's your aim.”</p> + +<p>His cousin's dark eyes held no spark of resentment.</p> + +<p>“You do not think that, I know, Tony. But, if the +world should misjudge my motives, I cannot help it.”</p> + +<p>The cousins were standing in the smaller of the two +adjoining waiting-rooms in the late Luke Bechcombe's +flat offices. The inquest had been held that morning +and the auditors' report on the books that had been in +Thompson's charge and the contents of the safe had +been taken. Their statement that there had been a +system of fraud carried on probably for years had not +come as a surprise. The public had from the first +decided that Thompson's disappearance could only be +accounted for as a flight from the charge of embezzlement +that was hanging over him. Ever logical, rumour +did not trouble to account for the chloroform and the +covered finger-prints or the lady with the white gloves.</p> + +<p>The auditors' report had brought both Aubrey Todmarsh +and Tony to the office this afternoon, and as +usual the cousins could not meet without contradicting +one another or quarrelling. Inspector Furnival and +Mr. Steadman had also given their account of their +visit to Thompson's room and the mystery mongers +were more than ever intrigued thereby. There could +be no doubt that, whatever might be their opinion of +his guilt, Thompson's disappearance was becoming +more and more of an enigma to the police. Not the +faintest trace of him could be discovered. When he +left the clerks' office in Crow's Inn, he apparently +disappeared from the face of the earth; no one had met +him on the stairs, no one had seen him in the vicinity +of the square. After an enormous amount of inquiry +the police had at last discovered a small restaurant +where he generally lunched, but he had neither been +there on the day of the murder nor since, and the +railway stations had been watched so far without success. +In fact, Inspector Furnival had been heard to state that +but that they could not find the body he would have +thought that Thompson had been murdered as well +as his chief.</p> + +<p>Thompson was described at the restaurant as always +taking his meals by himself and speaking to no one, +and always at the same table. Then the waitress who +had waited on him for the last two years had never +heard him say more than good morning, or good afternoon. +He always lunched <i>à la carte</i>, so that there was +no ordering to be done. Still with the precautions +taken, with his description circulated through the country, +it seemed that his capture could only be a matter of +time.</p> + +<p>But the inspector was frankly puzzled. At every +point he was baffled in his attempt to discover anything +of the real man. The very mystery about him was in +itself suspicious.</p> + +<p>The inspector and Mr. Steadman were in Mr. Bechcombe's +private room this afternoon. Everything remained +just as it had been when the murder was discovered, +except that the body had been removed to +the nearest mortuary now that the inquest had been +adjourned, and the funeral was to take place at once.</p> + +<p>The inspector had been over the room already with +the most meticulous care. To-day he was trying to +reconstruct the crime. The dead man's writing-table +was opposite the door into the ante-room, which opened +into the clerks' room. The door into the passage +opened upon Mr. Bechcombe's usual seat. Supposing +that to have been unlocked, it seemed to the inspector +that, when Mr. Bechcombe had received his expected +visitor, he might have been thinking over some +communication that had been made to him, and the assassin +might have entered the room silently from behind, and +strangled him before he was aware of his danger. But +there seemed no motive for such a crime, and the +inspector was frankly puzzled. There was no view from +the window, the lower panes being of frosted glass, the +upper looking straight across to a blank wall. The +safe was locked again now as it had been in Mr. +Bechcombe's lifetime. Mr. Turner had finished his +examination. But, try as the inspector would to +reconstruct the crime, he could not build up any hypothesis +which could not be instantly demolished, or so it +seemed to him. Mr. Steadman stood on the hearthrug +with his back to the ashes of Luke Bechcombe's last +fire. For the lawyer had been old-fashioned—he had +disliked central heating and gas and electric +contrivances. In spite of strikes and increasing prices he +had adhered to coal fires.</p> + +<p>At last the silence was broken by Mr. Steadman:</p> + +<p>“You have the experts' opinion of the fingerprints, I +presume?”</p> + +<p>The inspector bent his head.</p> + +<p>“It came this morning. It was not put in at the inquest, +for it is just as well not to take all the world +into our confidence at first, you know, Mr. Steadman.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” the barrister assented. “Do you mean +that you were able to identify them?”</p> + +<p>“No,” growled the inspector. “They will never be +identified. The murderer wore those thin rubber gloves +that some of the first-class crooks have taken to of +late.”</p> + +<p>“Phew!” Mr. Steadman gave a low whistle. “That—that +puts a very different complexion on the matter.”</p> + +<p>The inspector raised his eyebrows. “As how?”</p> + +<p>“Well, for one thing it settles the question of +premeditation.”</p> + +<p>The inspector coughed.</p> + +<p>“I have never believed Mr. Bechcombe's murder to +have been unpremeditated. Neither have you, I think, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no,” the other conceded. “The crime has always +looked to me like a carefully planned and +skilfully executed murder. And yet—I don't know.”</p> + +<p>“It is the most absolutely baffling affair I have come +across for years,” Inspector Furnival observed slowly. +“It is the question of motive that is so puzzling. Once +we have discovered that I do not think the identity of +the murderer will remain a secret long.”</p> + +<p>“The public seems to have made up its mind that +Thompson is guilty.”</p> + +<p>“I know.” Inspector Furnival stroked his clean-shaven +chin thoughtfully. “But why should Thompson, +having robbed his master systematically for years, +suddenly make up his mind to murder him? For he +didn't have the rubber gloves and the chloroform by +accident you know, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Obviously not.” Mr. Steadman studied his finger +nails in silence for a minute, then he looked up +suddenly. “Inspector, to my mind absolute frankness is +always best. Now, we do not know that Thompson +went to Mr. Bechcombe's room at all on the morning +of the murder. But there is another whose name is +being freely canvassed who certainly did go to the +room.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, Mr. Tony Collyer,” the inspector said, frowning +as he looked over his notes again. “The obvious +suspect. Motive and opportunity—neither lacking. +But here the question of premeditation comes in again. +Young Collyer would not have known he would have +the excellent opportunity that really did occur. Would +he have come on chance provided with chloroform and +rubber gloves? Would he not have fixed up an opportunity +when he could have been certain of finding Mr. +Bechcombe in? And also when his fiancée, Miss Cecily +Hoyle, was out of the way? Then, when he did put his +rubber gloves on is a question. According to Miss +Hoyle's testimony he had not got them on when she +left him. He could hardly bring them out while Mr. +Bechcombe was talking to him. No, so far as I can +see nothing conclusive with regard to either of these +two is to be found, Mr. Steadman. What do you think +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Personally I shall find it always a very difficult +matter to believe Tony Collyer guilty, strong though +the evidence seems against him,” Mr. Steadman said +frankly. “Thompson, I must confess, seems a very +different proposition. Then we must remember the +third person in the case, the lady of the white gloves.”</p> + +<p>“The owner of the white glove did not strangle Mr. +Bechcombe,” Inspector Furnival said positively. +“Though she may have been an accomplice. The experts' +evidence decided that the fingers of the hand that +killed Mr. Bechcombe were considerably too large to +have gone into that white glove.”</p> + +<p>“So that's that!” said the barrister. “Well, it is a +curious case. It seemed bristling with clues at first. +And yet they all seem to lead nowhere.”</p> + +<p>“One of them will in time, though,” the inspector +remarked confidently. “The thread is in our hands +right enough, Mr. Steadman. We shall find the other +end before long.”</p> + +<p>“You don't mean——” the barrister was beginning +when there was an interruption.</p> + +<p>There was a knock at the door. Mr. Steadman put +up his pince-nez as the inspector opened the door. To +their surprise Aubrey Todmarsh stood in the passage. +He stepped inside, his face paling as he glanced round +the room in which his uncle had met his death.</p> + +<p>“Ugh!” He shivered. “There is a terrible atmosphere +about this room, inspector. Even if one did +not know it, I think one would unconsciously sense the +fact that some horrible crime had been committed +here.”</p> + +<p>“Um, I am not much of a believer in that sort of +thing,” Mr. Steadman answered. “It is easy enough +to sense crime, as you call it, when you know that it +has been committed.”</p> + +<p>Aubrey shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't know. You may be right, but I shall +stick to my convictions. There are subtler emotions +that cannot be shared by anyone. But I am here on +business to-day. One of my men, my most trusted +men—Hopkins by name—has been doing some work +in the East End up by the docks. He met with a man +whom he believes to have been Thompson.”</p> + +<p>“When?” Mr. Steadman questioned sharply.</p> + +<p>“Two days ago.”</p> + +<p>“Then why didn't he speak out sooner?”</p> + +<p>“He did not see any description of Thompson until +this morning. Then he saw one outside a +police-station and he remembered.”</p> + +<p>“Remembered what?”</p> + +<p>“This man,” Aubrey responded impatiently. “A +man that answered to Thompson's description. He +came down to the docks and tried to get a job on some +distant cargo boat. Said he could do anything; but +Hopkins noticed that his hands were smooth and +carefully manicured. Like a gentleman's hands, Hopkins +described them.”</p> + +<p>“Did he get his job on the cargo boat?”</p> + +<p>“Hopkins thinks that he did, or, at any rate, if not +that he managed to get taken as a passenger. He went +off somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Where was the cargo boat bound for?” Mr. Steadman +seemed more interested than the inspector who +was making notes in a desultory fashion.</p> + +<p>Aubrey shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Hopkins doesn't know. You see he had no particular +reason to notice anything about the man. He +would not have done so at all but for the hands, I +think.”</p> + +<p>“You said just now that Hopkins recognized him +from the description when he saw it,” Mr. Steadman +pursued. “I must say I thought it delightfully vague. +A study in negatives, I should call it.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn't very definite, of course. And Hopkins +may have been entirely mistaken. But he said he +particularly noticed the short brown beard and the +defective teeth.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” Mr. Steadman stuck his hands in his +pockets. “I am inclined to think Hopkins' identification +a flight of the imagination. The police-station +description tells what Thompson was like when he left +here. I should look out for a clean-shaven man with +regular teeth now.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh did not look pleased.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I am particularly stupid, but I really fail +to understand why the police should circulate a +description when they want something entirely opposite.”</p> + +<p>“My dear man, you don't imagine that a man who +could hide his traces as Thompson did would be +foolish enough to leave his personal appearance +unprovided for? No. We must have every cargo boat that +left the docks overhauled at its first stopping-place, +but I don't fancy we shall find Thompson on any of +them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he has managed to get away somehow, and I +thought you might be glad to hear of something that +is a possible clue,” Todmarsh said sulkily.</p> + +<p>At this moment the telephone bell, Mr. Luke +Bechcombe's own telephone bell, rang sharply. Todmarsh +stopped and started violently, staring at the telephone +as if he expected to see his uncle answer it.</p> + +<p>The inspector took up the receiver; the other men +watched him breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, Inspector Furnival speaking,” they heard +him say. “Yes, I will be with you as soon as it is +possible. Detain her at all hazards until I come.”</p> + +<p>He rang off and turned.</p> + +<p>“What do you think that was?”</p> + +<p>“Thompson caught at the docks,” Aubrey Todmarsh +suggested.</p> + +<p>Mr. Steadman said nothing, but a faint smile crossed +his lips as he glanced at the inspector.</p> + +<p>“The message is that a lady is at Scotland Yard asking +to see the official who is in charge of the Bechcombe +case,” Inspector Furnival said, glancing from one +to the other of his auditors as if to note the effect of +his words on them. “A lady, who refused to give her +name, but who says that she saw the late Mr. Luke +Bechcombe on the day of his death.”</p> + +<p>His words had the force of a bombshell thrown +between the others.</p> + +<p>Aubrey Todmarsh did not speak, but his face turned +visibly whiter. He moistened his lips with his tongue. +Even the impassive Mr. Steadman started violently.</p> + +<p>“The lady of the glove!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The inspector caught up his hat.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I must ascertain without delay, Mr. +Steadman.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch08"> + +<h2>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<p>Dismissing his taxi at the Archway, Inspector Furnival +made the best of his way to his office. Outside a +man was standing. He touched his forehead +respectfully.</p> + +<p>“Glad to see you, sir. The lady has just been to +the door to say she can't wait more than five minutes +longer.”</p> + +<p>The inspector paused.</p> + +<p>“What is her name, Jones?”</p> + +<p>The man shook his head.</p> + +<p>“She wouldn't give one, sir. She said her business +was with the detective in charge of the Bechcombe +case, and with him alone. I was on tenterhooks all +the time, sir, fearing that she would be gone before +you came.”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded and went on.</p> + +<p>He turned the handle of his door quietly and entered +the room as quickly and noiselessly as possible. If he +had hoped to surprise his visitor, however, he found +himself disappointed.</p> + +<p>She was standing immediately opposite the door +with her back to the window. She did not wait for him +to speak.</p> + +<p>“Are you in charge of the Bechcombe case?” she +demanded, and he noticed that her voice was powerful +and rather hard in tone.</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced keenly at her as he walked +to the chair behind his office table. Standing thus with +her back to the light he could see little of his visitor's +face, which was also concealed by the hat which was +crushed down upon her forehead and overshadowed +by an uncurled feather mount. But he could tell that +she was fashionably gowned, that the furs she had +thrown back from her shoulders were costly.</p> + +<p>He answered her question and asked another.</p> + +<p>“I am Inspector Furnival, and I am inquiring into +the circumstances of Mr. Bechcombe's death. May I +ask why you want to know?”</p> + +<p>His interlocutor took a few steps forward, clasping +her hands nervously together.</p> + +<p>“You know that a white glove was found by Mr. +Bechcombe's desk?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“It was my glove. I left it there!”</p> + +<p>The inspector did not speak for a minute. He unlocked +a drawer and took out an official-looking +notebook.</p> + +<p>“Your name and address, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Is that necessary?” There was a quiver in the +clear tones. “I have told you that I was there—that +the glove is mine. Is not that enough?”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely, madam. But”—waiving the subject of +the name for a moment—“why have you not spoken +before?”</p> + +<p>“I didn't hear at first.” She hesitated a moment, +her foot tapping the floor impatiently.</p> + +<p>And now she was nearer to him he could see that +her make-up was extensive, that complexion and eyes +owed much of their brilliancy to art, and that the +red-gold hair probably came off entirely. But it was a +handsome face, though not that of a woman in her first +youth. The features, though large, were well formed, +and the big blue eyes would have been more beautiful +without the black lines with which they were +embellished.</p> + +<p>“I don't read the papers much, at least only the +society news and about the theatres—never murders +or horrors of that kind, and it was not until I heard +some people talking about it, and they mentioned Mr. +Bechcombe's name, that I knew what had happened. +I did not realize at first that it—the murder had taken +place on the very day which I had been to the office, +and that it was my glove that had been found beside +the desk. Even then I made up my mind not to speak +out if I could help it. Mr. Bechcombe was alive and +well when I saw him. I couldn't tell you anything +about the murder. And I couldn't have my name +mixed up in a murder trial, or let the papers, or +certain—er—people get to know what I had been doing +at Mr. Bechcombe's office.”</p> + +<p>“Then why have you come to us now?”</p> + +<p>“Because I thought, if I didn't tell you, you would +be sure to find out,” was the candid reply. “And—and +if I came myself I thought you might call me +Madame X, or something like that. They do, you +know, and then perhaps—er—people might never +know.”</p> + +<p>The inspector smiled.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you are too well known and the illustrated +papers are too ubiquitous for that, Mrs. +Carnthwacke.”</p> + +<p>She emitted a slight scream.</p> + +<p>“Oh! How did you know?”</p> + +<p>The inspector's smile became more apparent.</p> + +<p>“I was a great admirer of Miss Bella Laymond on +the Variety stage. I had the pleasure of ‘assisting’ at +her marriage with the American millionaire, Cyril B. +Carnthwacke—that is to say, I was passing a fashionable +church, saw a large waiting crowd, and was lucky +enough to get in the first rank and obtain a good view +of the beautiful bride. I could not help remembering a +face like that, Mrs. Carnthwacke. And now I want +you to forget that I am a detective, and just think +that I am a friend who is anxious to help you, and tell +me all the story of your visit to Mr. Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>He pushed forward a chair as he spoke.</p> + +<p>She looked from it to him undecidedly for a minute. +Then, as if coming to a sudden resolution, she sat down +and pulled the chair nearer to his desk.</p> + +<p>“You promise not to tell my—husband what I am +going to tell you?”</p> + +<p>“I promise,” the inspector said reassuringly. “Now, +first please, why did you come to Luke Bechcombe's +office on the day of his death?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I dare say you know my husband is very +rich?”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded. Cyril B. Carnthwacke's +name and his millions were well known to the man in +the street.</p> + +<p>“When we were married he gave the most gorgeous +jewels,” Mrs. Carnthwacke went on. “And he made +me an enormous allowance. Americans are always +generous—bless you, I thought I was going to have the +time of my life. But I—I had never been rich. Even +when I got on on the stage and had a big salary I was +always in debt. I suppose I am extravagant by nature. +Anyway, when I was married it seemed to me that I +had an inexhaustible store to fall back upon. I spent +money like water with the result that after a time I +had to go for more to my husband. He gave it to me, +but I could see that he was astonished and displeased. +Still, I could not change my nature. I gambled at +cards, on the racecourse, on the Stock Exchange, and +I staked high to give myself a new excitement. +Sometimes I won, but more often I lost and my husband +helped me again and again. But more and more I +could see I was disappointing him. At last he told me +that he would pay no more for me; he hated and +mistrusted all gambling and I must make my huge allowance +do. I couldn't—I mean I couldn't give up gambling. +It was in my blood. And just as I was in a +horrible hole the worst happened. A—a man who +had been my lover years ago began to blackmail me. +I gave him all I could but nothing satisfied him.” She +stopped and passed a tiny lace-trimmed handkerchief +over her lips.</p> + +<p>“Why did you not tell your husband?” the inspector +inquired. “I guess Mr. Carnthwacke would have +settled him pretty soon.”</p> + +<p>“I—I daren't,” she confessed. “And I have been +an awful ass. He—this man—had letters. They were +silly enough, goodness knows, and they might have +been read to mean more than they did, and my husband +is jealous—terribly, wickedly jealous of my past. +At last he—the man—said that if I would pay him a +large, an enormous sum, he would go abroad and I +should never hear of him again. If I did not he swore +he would send the letters to my husband in such a +fashion that the worst construction would be placed +upon them. What was I to do? I hadn't any money. +I dared not tell my husband. I made several attempts +to pull off a grand <i>coup</i>, and only got worse in the mire. +I made up my mind to sell my diamonds and substitute +paste. A friend of mine had done so and apparently +had never been suspected. But I couldn't take them to +the shop myself—we were too well known in London. +And, when I was at my wit's end to know what to do +with them, I happened to hear a woman saying how +she had disposed of hers quite legitimately and openly +through a solicitor, Mr. Luke Bechcombe. I thought +perhaps he might do something for me, and I rang +him up.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” the detective said interrogatively; his face +was as expressionless as ever, but there was a veiled +eagerness in his deep-set eyes as they watched Mrs. +Carnthwacke's every movement.</p> + +<p>“I told him what I wanted. And he said it would +be necessary to have them valued. We talked it over +and made an appointment for two days later, the very +day he was murdered. I was to take them to him +myself. And he told me to go down the passage to his +private door so that none of his clients should see me, +because I explained that it must be kept a real dead +secret.”</p> + +<p>“What time was your appointment for?” the +inspector asked.</p> + +<p>“A quarter past twelve,” Mrs. Carnthwacke +answered. “But I was late—it must have been quite +half-past when I got there. He looked at the diamonds +and said that they were very fine and he would have +them valued at once and get them disposed of for me if +I approved of the price. He was to ring me up at +twelve o'clock the next day. But of course he didn't, +and I couldn't think what had happened, until I saw +this dreadful thing in the papers. Oh, you will keep +my name out of it, won't you?”</p> + +<p>She broke off and looked appealingly at the +inspector. He did not answer. For once in his long +experience he was thoroughly taken aback. The woman +had told her story calmly and convincingly enough, +but—and as the inspector looked at her he wondered +if she had no idea of the horrible danger in which she +stood.</p> + +<p>“I will do my best for you in every way,” he said at +last. “But you must first answer all my questions +straightforwardly. You have at least done the right +thing in coming to us now, though it might have been +better if you had come earlier. Now first will you tell +me exactly what time you reached Mr. Bechcombe's +office?”</p> + +<p>“Well, as I say, I ought to have been there at a +quarter past twelve, but I dare say it was half-past, or +it might have been a quarter to one.”</p> + +<p>The inspector kept his keen eyes upon her face; not +one change in her expression could escape him.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke, do you know that the doctors +have stated that Mr. Bechcombe died about twelve +o'clock—sooner rather than later?”</p> + +<p>“Twelve o'clock!” Her face turned almost livid +in spite of its make-up, but her blue eyes met the +inspector's steadily. “It's no use, inspector. I suppose +doctors make mistakes like other folks sometimes. +Luke Bechcombe was alive, very much alive, when I +went in about half-past twelve.”</p> + +<p>The inspector did not argue the question, but his +eyes did not relax their watchful gaze for one second +as he went on.</p> + +<p>“How did Mr. Bechcombe seem when you saw him? +Did you notice anything peculiar about his manner?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I had never seen him before, so I couldn't +notice any difference. He just seemed an ordinary, +pleasant sort of man. He admired my diamonds very +much and said we ought to get a high price for them. +He was to have had them valued the next day. Now—now +I am in pressing need of money and I want to have +them valued myself if you will give them back to me.”</p> + +<p>For once Inspector Furnival was shaken out of his +usual passivity.</p> + +<p>“You—do you mean that you left the diamonds +there?”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course! Haven't I been telling you so +all this time?” Mrs. Carnthwacke said impatiently. +“Mr. Bechcombe gave me a receipt for them, and +locked them up in his safe—like that one!”</p> + +<p>She pointed to the wall where a large cupboard was +built into it.</p> + +<p>“The—the executors will give them to me, won't +they?”</p> + +<p>The inspector went over and stood near the door.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke, when the door of the safe was +opened in the presence of Mr. Bechcombe's executors +and of the police, there were no diamonds there.”</p> + +<p>“What! You do not—you cannot mean that my +diamonds are lost!” Mrs. Carnthwacke started to +her feet. “Mr. Bechcombe put them in the safe +himself, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>“That was not a safe. It is just an ordinary cupboard +in which papers and documents of no particular +importance were kept. And when the safe was opened +there was no sign of diamonds there,” the inspector said +positively. “It may be possible that Mr. Bechcombe +moved them before, otherwise——”</p> + +<p>“Otherwise what?” she demanded. “Heavens, man, +speak out! My diamonds are worth thousands of +pounds. Otherwise what?”</p> + +<p>“Otherwise they may have provided a motive for +the crime,” the inspector said slowly. “But no—that +is impossible, if you saw him lock them up.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I did, you may bet I watched that.” +Mrs. Carnthwacke calmed down a little. “Besides, I +have got the receipt. That makes him, or his +executors liable for the diamonds, doesn't it?”</p> + +<p>“Have you the receipt here?” the inspector asked +quickly.</p> + +<p>“Of course. I thought it might be wanted to get +back my diamonds. The fact that your firm might +deny having them never entered my head.”</p> + +<p>She opened the vanity bag which hung at her side +and took out a piece of paper crushed with much +folding.</p> + +<p>“There! You can't get away from that!”</p> + +<p>The inspector read it.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke has entrusted her diamonds to +me for valuation and I have deposited them in my safe. +Signed—Luke Francis Bechcombe,” he read.</p> + +<p>The paper on which it was written was Luke +Bechcombe's. There was no doubt of that. The inspector +had seen its counterpart in Mr. Bechcombe's private +room. But his face altered curiously as he looked at +it.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, if this receipt was given you by Mr. +Bechcombe, the estate is liable for the value of the +diamonds,” he finished up.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Bechcombe gave it me, safe enough,” +Mrs. Carnthwacke declared. “I put it in this same +little bag and went off, little thinking what was going to +happen. It struck one as I came out.”</p> + +<p>“One o'clock!” The inspector was looking puzzled. +If Mrs. Carnthwacke's story was true it was in direct +contradiction to the doctors'. “Did you meet anyone +on the stairs?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnthwacke looked undecided.</p> + +<p>“I don't remember. Yes, I think I did—some young +man or another. I didn't notice him much.”</p> + +<p>“And you didn't notice anything peculiar in Mr. +Bechcombe's manner?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing much,” Mrs. Carnthwacke said, holding +out her hand for the receipt. “I'll have that back, +please. You bet I don't part with it till I have got my +diamonds back. The only thing I thought was that +Mr. Bechcombe seemed in rather a hurry—sort of +wanted me to quit.”</p> + +<p>The inspector felt inclined to smile. Half an hour +in the busiest time of the day seemed a fairly liberal +allowance even for a millionaire's wife.</p> + +<p>“Now, can you tell me how many people know that +you were bringing the diamonds to Mr. Bechcombe?”</p> + +<p>“Not one. What do you take me for? A first-class +idiot?” Mrs. Carnthwacke demanded indignantly. +“Nobody knew that I had the diamonds at all—not +even my maid. I kept them in a little safe in my +bedroom—one my husband had specially made for me. +Great Scott, I was a bit too anxious to keep the whole +business quiet to go talking about it.”</p> + +<p>“Not even to the friend that told you that Mr. +Bechcombe had helped her out of a similar difficulty?”</p> + +<p>“No, not a word! I didn't think of asking Mr. +Bechcombe while she was with me, and the next day +she went off to Cannes and I haven't seen her since. +The receipt, please?”</p> + +<p>The inspector did not relax his hold.</p> + +<p>“You will understand that this is a most valuable +piece of evidence, madam. You will have to entrust it +to me. I will of course give you a written +acknowledgment that I have it.”</p> + +<p>The colour flashed into Mrs. Carnthwacke's face.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that you will not let me have it +back?”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I cannot, madam.”</p> + +<p>She sprang forward with outstretched hands—just +missed it by half an inch. The inspector quietly put +it in his notebook and, snapping the elastic round it, +returned it to his pocket.</p> + +<p>“You may rely upon me to do my best for you, +madam. I shall make every possible search for the +diamonds and will communicate with the executors, +who will of course recognize their responsibility if the +jewels are not found. And now will you let me give +you one piece of advice?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I guess I am not a good person to +give advice to.”</p> + +<p>Evidently Mrs. Carnthwacke was not to be placated. +Her eyes flashed, and one foot beat an impatient tattoo +on the floor.</p> + +<p>The inspector was unruffled.</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless, I think I will venture upon it. Tell +your husband yourself what has happened. He will +help you more efficiently than anyone else in the whole +world can. And Mr. Carnthwacke's advice is worth +having.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch09"> + +<h2>Chapter IX</h2> + +<p>“Good morning, Miss Hoyle.” Inspector Furnival rose +and placed a chair for the girl, scrutinizing her pale +face keenly as he did so.</p> + +<p>Cecily sat down.</p> + +<p>“You sent for me,” she said nervously.</p> + +<p>The inspector took the chair at the top of the table +that had been Luke Bechcombe's favourite seat.</p> + +<p>His interview with Cecily Hoyle was taking place +by special arrangement in the library of the murdered +man's private house, where, by special desire of Mrs. +Bechcombe, Cecily was now installed as secretary to +her late employer's widow.</p> + +<p>The canny inspector had taken care to place the +girl's chair so that the light from the near window +fell full upon her face. As he drew his papers towards +him and opened a capacious notebook he was thinking +how white and worn the girl was looking, and there +was a frightened glance in her brown eyes as she sat +down that did not escape him.</p> + +<p>The door opened to admit John Steadman. After a +slight bow to Cecily he sat down at the inspector's +right.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the inspector said, glancing across at Cecily, +“I want to ask you a few questions, Miss Hoyle. It +may make matters easier for you at the adjourned +inquest if you answer them now.”</p> + +<p>“I will do my best,” Cecily said, looking at him with +big, alarmed eyes. “But, really, I have told you +everything I know.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman watched her from his lowered +eyes. She would be a good witness with the jury, +he thought, this slim, pale girl, with her great +appealing eyes and her pathetic, trembling lips.</p> + +<p>“A few curious sidelights have arisen in connexion +with Mr. Bechcombe's death,” the inspector pursued. +“And I think you may be able to help me more than +you realize. First, you recognize this, of course?” +He took from its envelope of tissue paper the picture +post card he had found in Amos Thompson's room in +Brooklyn Terrace and handed it to her.</p> + +<p>Cecily gazed at it in growing amazement.</p> + +<p>“It—it looks like me! It <em>is</em> me, I believe,” she said +ungrammatically. “But how in the world did you get +it?”</p> + +<p>“I found it,” the inspector said slowly, watching +every change in her mobile face as he spoke, “in Amos +Thompson's room in Brooklyn Terrace.”</p> + +<p>Cecily stared at him.</p> + +<p>“Impossible! You couldn't have! Why should Mr. +Thompson have my photograph? And where was this +taken, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“That is what I am hoping you may tell us.”</p> + +<p>“But I can't! I don't know!” Cecily said, still gazing +in a species of stupefaction at her presentment. +“It—it is a snapshot, of course, but I never saw it +before, I never knew when it was taken.”</p> + +<p>“You did not give it to Amos Thompson, then?” +the inspector questioned.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens, no! I knew nothing about Mr. +Thompson. I have just seen him at a distance in the +office. But I have never spoken to him in my life. I +should not have known him had I met him in the +street.”</p> + +<p>“You can give no explanation of his treasuring your +photograph then?”</p> + +<p>Cecily shook her head. “I can't indeed. I should +have thought it a most unlikely thing to happen. I +cannot bring myself to believe that it did. This +thing”—flicking the card with her forefinger—“must +have got into his room by accident.”</p> + +<p>The inspector permitted himself a slight smile.</p> + +<p>“I really do not think so.”</p> + +<p>Cecily shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I give it up. +Unless—unless”—an accent of fear creeping into her +voice—“he wanted to implicate me, to make you think +that I had been helping him to rob Mr. Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>“In that case he would surely have thought of some +rather more sure plan than leaving your photograph +about in his room,” said the inspector. “You do not +think it likely that seeing you so much in the office, he +has taken a fancy to you—fallen in love with you, in +fact, as people say.”</p> + +<p>“I do not, indeed!” Cecily said impatiently. “As I +tell you, I know nothing of Mr. Thompson, and he did +not see much of me in the office. I never went in to +Mr. Bechcombe's room through the clerks' office. I +never had occasion to go there at all. My business +concerned Mr. Bechcombe, and Mr. Bechcombe only, and +by his wish I always went to him by the private door.”</p> + +<p>“I see.” The inspector studied the photograph in +silence. “You know where this was taken?” he said at +last.</p> + +<p>Cecily looked at it again.</p> + +<p>“It looks—I believe I am sitting in my favourite +seat in the Field of Rest. I suppose I must have been +snapshotted without my knowing it—by some amateur +probably.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Thompson?” the inspector suggested.</p> + +<p>“I do not know!” Cecily tip-tilted her chin +scornfully. “It was a mean thing to do, anyway.”</p> + +<p>The inspector wrapped the photograph in its paper.</p> + +<p>“No use bothering about that any more,” he said +somewhat contradictorily putting it away carefully in +his pocket as he did so. “Now, Miss Hoyle, once more, +you adhere to your statement that you heard someone +moving about in Mr. Bechcombe's room when you +passed the door on your return from lunch—that +return being some little time after one o'clock.”</p> + +<p>“Half-past one, I dare say,” Cecily corrected. “As +I came down the passage I heard the door into Mr. +Bechcombe's room close rather softly, as I have heard +Mr. Bechcombe close it heaps of times. Then just as +I passed I heard someone move inside the room +distinctly. It was a sound like a chair being moved and +catching against something hard—table leg or +something of that sort.”</p> + +<p>“And you are aware that the doctors say that Mr. +Bechcombe's death must have occurred about twelve +o'clock?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard so. You told me so,” Cecily murmured, +then gathering up her courage, “but doctors +make mistakes very often.”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely over a thing of this kind,” the inspector +remarked. “I suppose you realize the inference that +will be drawn from your testimony?” he went on.</p> + +<p>A little frown came between Cecily's straight +eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Inference? No, I don't!” she said bluntly.</p> + +<p>“If Mr. Bechcombe died at twelve o'clock, and you +heard someone moving about when you came back +about half-past one o'clock,” the inspector said very +slowly, giving due weight to each word, “the inference +is that the person you heard moving about when you +came back was the murderer.”</p> + +<p>Cecily shivered as she stared at him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no, surely it could not have been! I do not +believe it could!”</p> + +<p>The inspector made no rejoinder. He glanced at his +notebook again.</p> + +<p>“Most probably you will be among the first witnesses +called at the adjourned inquest on Friday, Miss Hoyle. +I think that is all for to-day. Your name and address, +please.”</p> + +<p>“Cecily Frances Hoyle, Hobart Residence, Windover +Square.”</p> + +<p>The detective wrote it down.</p> + +<p>“I think that is only a temporary address, though, +you said, Miss Hoyle. Will you let me have your +permanent one, please?”</p> + +<p>Cecily hesitated in obvious confusion.</p> + +<p>“I—I—that is my only address—the only one I have +at present. I came to Mr. Bechcombe straight from +school.”</p> + +<p>The inspector scratched the side of his nose with his +pencil.</p> + +<p>“That is rather awkward. It will be necessary that +we should be in touch with you for some time. And +you might leave Hobart Residence at any moment.”</p> + +<p>“Then I could let you know,” Cecily suggested.</p> + +<p>“That would not quite do,” the inspector said mildly. +“No. Just give me some address from which letters +could be forwarded to you. Some relatives, perhaps!”</p> + +<p>“I don't know any of my relatives—yet,” Cecily +faltered, a streak of red coming in her pale cheeks. +“But Miss Cochrane, Morley House, Beesford, +Meadshire, would always forward letters.”</p> + +<p>The inspector wrote the address down without +further comment.</p> + +<p>Cecily got up. “If that is all, I think Mrs. +Bechcombe wants me, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, thank you.” The inspector and Mr. Steadman +rose too. John Steadman moved to the door.</p> + +<p>“I must introduce myself, Miss Hoyle,” he said +courteously. “I am the late Mr. Bechcombe's cousin +and, as your post with Mrs. Bechcombe is of course +only temporary, it has struck me that you might +possibly be looking out for another engagement. Now, a +friend of mine is in urgent need of a secretary, and we +thought you might like the post.”</p> + +<p>The red streak in Cecily's cheeks deepened to +crimson.</p> + +<p>“I—I don't mean to do anything else at present, +thank you.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman looked disappointed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well! Then there is no more to be said. +Should you change your mind perhaps you will let us +know,” he said politely.</p> + +<p>When he had closed the door behind Cecily he +looked across at the inspector.</p> + +<p>“Well, you were right.”</p> + +<p>“I was pretty sure of my ground,” returned the +inspector. “What do you think of young Mr. Collyer's +choice, Mr. Steadman?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she looks a nice girl enough,” the barrister +returned somewhat dubiously.</p> + +<p>“It is easier to look nice than to be nice nowadays,” +the inspector returned enigmatically. “What do you +make of this, Mr. Steadman?” throwing a torn telegram +form on the table. “And this, and this,” placing +several odd pieces of writing paper beside it.</p> + +<p>The barrister bent over them. The used telegraph +form had been torn across and crumpled, but as the +inspector smoothed it out the writing was perfectly +legible.</p> + +<p>“Do not mention home address. Father.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” John Steadman drew in his lips. “Handed +in at Edgware Road Post-Office at 12.30, March 4th,” +he said. “Well!”</p> + +<p>He turned to the scraps of paper. The inspector +leaned forward and pieced them together. The whole +made part of a letter.</p> + +<p>“Will see you as soon as possible. In the meantime +be very careful. A chance word of yours may do +untold harm. Say as little as possible—all will be +explained later. Further instructions will reach you +soon.” Then came a piece that was torn away, and +it ended in the corner—“5 o'clock, Physical Energy.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman's face was very stern as he looked +up.</p> + +<p>“It is obvious the girl knows—something. How +did you get these scraps of paper, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“One of our most trustworthy women agents has +been doing casual work in Hobart Residence,” said +Inspector Furnival with a quiet smile. “These were +found in Miss Cecily Hoyle's room there, in the +waste-paper-basket.”</p> + +<p>“Have you taken any steps in the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet! Of course we have had ‘Physical Energy’—the +statue in Kensington Gardens, you know—watched +since yesterday morning, but so far there has +been no sign of Miss Cecily Hoyle, or of anyone who +could be identified as the writer of that letter.”</p> + +<p>“Have you any idea who that is likely to be?”</p> + +<p>“Well, ideas are not much use, are they, sir? It is +not young Mr. Collyer's writing, so much is certain, I +think.”</p> + +<p>Was the inspector's reply evasive? Used to weighing +evidence, John Steadman decided that it was. He +made no comment, however, but bent his brows over +the paper once more.</p> + +<p>“Of course the temporary help has been chatting +with the regular staff at Hobart Residence,” the +inspector pursued. “But there is little enough to be +learned of Miss Hoyle there. Hobart Residence is a +sort of hostel, you know, sir; all the inmates are +supposed to be ladies in some sort of a job. They have a +bedroom varying in price according to its position, and +there is a general dining-room in which meals are +served at a very reasonable price. Miss Hoyle usually +took her breakfast and dinner there and was very +seldom absent from either meal. She was looked upon as +a very quiet, well-conducted girl, but she made no +friends—and nothing was known of her private life. +It was impossible to get at her home address there. +Then I rang up Miss Watson, her old schoolmistress, +but found that Cecily Hoyle's father had always paid +her school bills in advance. He is an artist and has +never given any settled address; sometimes he took his +daughter away in the vacation. If he did not Miss +Watson was asked to arrange a seaside or country +holiday for her. Miss Watson only knew the Hobart +Residence address.”</p> + +<p>“Extraordinary! I should have thought Cecily +Hoyle one of the last girls about whom there would be +any mystery,” was the barrister's comment.</p> + +<p>“Well, having drawn both those coverts blank, +yesterday I made an exhaustive search of her room at +Mr. Bechcombe's offices,” the inspector proceeded. +“For a long time I thought I was going to have no +better luck there. There were no letters; no private +papers of any kind. Then just at the last I had a bit +of luck. Right down at the bottom of the drawer in +Miss Hoyle's desk I found a time-table. I ran through +it, not expecting to discover anything there when I +noticed that one leaf was turned down. It was a London +and South Western Railway Guide, I may mention, and +it was one of the ‘B’ pages that was turned down. I +ran down it and saw in a minute that some one had +been doing so with a lead pencil—there were several +marks down the page—and one name, that of Burford +in the New Forest, was underlined.”</p> + +<p>“Burford, Burford!” John Steadman repeated reflectively. +“Why, of course I have been there for golf. +There are some very decent links. My friend, Captain +Horbsham, rented a house in the neighbourhood, and +I have been over the course with him.”</p> + +<p>“Many burglaries down there?” the inspector said +abruptly.</p> + +<p>The barrister emitted a short laugh. “None that I +ever heard of. Why, do you suspect Miss Hoyle——?”</p> + +<p>“I don't suspect anybody,” the inspector returned. +“It isn't my place to, you know, sir. But I am going +down to Burford to-morrow morning. Do you feel +inclined to come with me?”</p> + +<p>“I don't mind if I do,” said the barrister cheerfully. +“I can always do with a day in the country. We will +drive down in the car, and I might take my clubs.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch10"> + +<h2>Chapter X</h2> + +<p>“Just one o'clock. We have come down in very +decent time. Tidy old bus, isn't it?” John Steadman +replaced his watch and looked round with interest as +his car slowed down before the “Royal Arms” at +Burford. Rather a dilapidated “Royal Arms” to judge +by the signboard swaying in the breeze, but quite a +picturesque-looking village inn for all that. There was +no station within five miles of Burford, which so far +had preserved it from trippers. Of late, however, two +or three of the ubiquitous chars-à-bancs had strayed +through the village and there appeared every prospect +of its being eventually opened up. This, with other +scraps of information, was imparted by the garrulous +landlord to Mr. Steadman and his companion, Inspector +Furnival. But, though he talked much of the village +and its inhabitants, the inspector did not catch the +name for which he was listening. At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>“I used to know a man named Hoyle who lived +somewhere in this part. I wonder if he is still here?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I should think that would be Mr. Hoyle of +Rose Cottage,” the landlord said at once. “A very +nice gentleman. He has been here some years. He is +an artist, as no doubt you know, sir. And I have heard +that some of his paintings have been exhibited in +London in the Royal Academy. Oh, we are very proud of +Mr. Hoyle down here.”</p> + +<p>“He is a good deal away on his sketching expeditions, +though, isn't he?” the inspector ventured.</p> + +<p>“Well, naturally he is,” the landlord agreed. “Sometimes +he's away weeks at a time. But he is generally +here on a Sunday to take the collection in church. He +is a sidesman and takes a great interest in parish +matters. I did hear that he was far away the biggest +subscriber to the new parish hall that our vicar is +having built. Oh, a very nice gentleman is Mr. Hoyle. +Mrs. Wye, his housekeeper, can't say so often enough.”</p> + +<p>“I think that must be the man I used to know,” +said the inspector mendaciously. “I think we must +drive up and pay him a visit, Mr. Steadman. It isn't +far, you said, I think, landlord?”</p> + +<p>“Get there in ten minutes in the car, sir. Rose +Cottage, straight up by the church. You can't miss it. +But, there, I doubt if you will find Mr. Hoyle at home. +I was at church on Sunday morning and I noticed he +wasn't. He usually is when he is at home. I can't +always say the same myself!” And the landlord shook +his fat sides at his own pleasantry.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think we will try anyway,” the inspector +concluded. “Perhaps Miss Hoyle may be at home if +he isn't.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Hoyle?” The landlord looked puzzled for a +moment then his face cleared. “Oh, Mr. Hoyle's +daughter you mean, sir. No. She is away at school, +though Mr. Hoyle did say she would be coming home +‘for keeps’ this year.”</p> + +<p>“Anyhow I shall leave a message and Mr. Hoyle +will know I have looked him up,” said the inspector +pleasantly. “I expect he would think me a good deal +altered, for we haven't met for something like twelve +years, and we none of us grow younger, you know, +landlord.”</p> + +<p>“We don't, sir, that's a fact. Not but what Mr. +Hoyle is as little changed as anybody I know. Just +the same pleasant-looking gentleman he is as he was +the first time I saw him. A nice cheerful gentleman is +Mr. Hoyle—always ready with his joke.”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded.</p> + +<p>“Oh, ay. Just the same, I see. Well, well, we will +be off. As likely as not we shall come in here on our +way back. Anyhow, I shall not forget your Stilton +in a hurry, landlord. I haven't had a cut from a cheese +like that since I was a boy in Leicestershire. By the +way, what was that I heard of a burglary down this +way last week?”</p> + +<p>The landlord scratched his head.</p> + +<p>“It is funny you should ask that, sir. I haven't +heard of anything lately. I was talking to a couple of +gents this morning about a robbery there was about +this time a year ago—a couple of robberies I might say. +Squire Morpeth over at the Park, and Sir John Lington +at Lillinghurst were both broken into and hundreds +of pounds' worth of goods—silver and what not—taken. +Nobody was ever brought to account for it +either, though there were big rewards offered.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear! One doesn't expect to hear of such +things in a quiet little place like Burford,” the +inspector observed contradictorily. “Well, so long, +landlord. See you again later.”</p> + +<p>It did not take long, following the landlord's instruction, +to run the car up to Rose Cottage, but just as they +were nearing it John Steadman looked at his +companion.</p> + +<p>“I think you're running off on a side track, you +know, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“I'm sure I am!” the other returned cheerfully. +“But, when the straight track takes you nowhere, one +is inclined to make a little excursion down a side path, +right or wrong.”</p> + +<p>Rose Cottage looked quite an ideal dwelling for an +artist. It was a black and white timbered cottage +standing back from the road, its garden for the most +part surrounded by a high hedge. Over the walls +creepers were running riot. Later on there would be +a wealth of colour, but to-day only the pyrus japonica +was putting forth adventurous rosy blossoms. A +wicket gate gave access to the gravelled path running +up to the rustic porch between borders gay with +crocuses—purple and white and gold.</p> + +<p>“Evidently cars are not expected here,” John Steadman +remarked as he and the inspector alighted and +walked up to the front door.</p> + +<p>There was apparently no bell, but there was a shining +brass knocker. Inspector Furnival applied himself +to it with great energy.</p> + +<p>The door was opened by a pleasant-looking woman, +who was hastily donning a white apron.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hoyle?” the inspector queried.</p> + +<p>“Not at home,” the woman said at once.</p> + +<p>The inspector hesitated. “Can you tell me when +he will be at home?”</p> + +<p>The woman shook her head. “I cannot indeed. He +is away on a sketching expedition, and one never knows +when he will be back. It may be a week or a month +or longer.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” The inspector looked at Mr. Steadman. +“This is most unfortunate! I was particularly +anxious to see him to-day. However, I suppose I must +write. I wonder if you would let me just scribble a line +here? I should esteem it a great favour if you would.”</p> + +<p>For a moment the woman looked doubtful, then +after a keen glance at the two men she led the way to +a sitting-room that apparently ran from back to front +of the house. She indicated a writing-table.</p> + +<p>“You will find pens and ink there, sir.”</p> + +<p>The inspector sat down. “A very pretty room this,” +he began conversationally. “I wonder if I am right in +thinking that you are Mrs. Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no, sir.” The woman laughed. “I am +only Mr. Hoyle's housekeeper. I have lived with him +ever since he came to Burford.”</p> + +<p>“And that must be a dozen years or more ago now. +And I haven't seen him a dozen times, I should say,” +the inspector went on. “Dear, dear, how time flies! +His daughter must be grown up, I suppose,” he went +on, examining the pens before him with meticulous +care.</p> + +<p>“Miss Cecily? Oh, yes; a fine-looking young lady +too. She will be here for good very soon.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile John Steadman, standing near the door, +was glancing appraisingly round the room. It was +essentially a man's room. The chairs, square solid +table, sideboard and writing-table were all of oak, very +strong, the few easy chairs were leather covered and +capacious, there was nothing unnecessary in the room. +Near the French window looking on to the garden at +the back of the house there stood an easel with an untidy +pile of sketches piled one on top of the other upon +it. A table close at hand held more sketches, tubes of +paint, a palette and various paint brushes. Steadman +walked across and took one of the water-colours from +the easel.</p> + +<p>“I like this,” he said, holding it from him at arm's +length. “It is a charming little view of one of the +forest glades near here, taken at sunset. Is there any +possibility of this being for sale?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don't rightly know, sir,” the housekeeper +said, coming over to him. “Mr. Hoyle do sell some of +his pictures, I know. But it is always in London. I +have never known him do it down here.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman smiled.</p> + +<p>“Well, I shouldn't think there would be many +customers down here. But I could do with a couple. +This one—and another to make a pair with it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, perhaps you will write to Mr. Hoyle +about it,” the housekeeper suggested. “I couldn't say +anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” the barrister assented. He looked +very closely at the picture for a minute, and then put +it back on the easel. “Well, I must leave it at that; +and hope to persuade Mr. Hoyle to part with it when +he comes back.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke there came a loud knock at the door. +He looked at the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>“It's all right, sir,” she said composedly. “It is +only the baker's man for orders, and my niece will go +to the door. She always comes up twice a week to +give me a hand with the work. Me not being so young +as I might be.”</p> + +<p>“We none of us are, ma'am,” the inspector said with +a chuckle as he sealed his letter and placed it in a +conspicuous place on the writing-table. “Not that you +have much to complain about,” he added gallantly as +he rose.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper smiled complacently as she saw +them off to the little garden. The inspector was in an +expansive mood and stopped to admire the crocuses +as they passed.</p> + +<p>“Well?” Mr. Steadman said as they seated +themselves in the car before starting.</p> + +<p>The inspector waited until they had started before +he replied, then he said quietly:</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Steadman, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Well?” the barrister echoed. “I hope you have +found what you expected, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know what I did expect,” the inspector +said candidly. “Except that, if matters are as I +suspect, Hoyle is certainly not the man to give himself +away.”</p> + +<p>The barrister coughed.</p> + +<p>“And yet I noticed one small thing that may help +you, inspector. You saw that water-colour sketch?”</p> + +<p>“The one you are going to buy,” the inspector +assented with a grin. “Ay. I should like to have had +a good look round at those drawings. But that blessed +housekeeper wasn't giving us any chances.”</p> + +<p>“Not that she knew of,” John Steadman said quietly. +“Did you notice the big ‘Christopher Hoyle’ in the +left-hand corner of the painting, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“I saw it,” said the inspector, “but it didn't tell me +much.”</p> + +<p>“No. That alone did not,” John Steadman went on. +“But I looked at that and I looked at several of the +others. And I am as sure as I can be without subjecting +them to a test that in each case that big flourishing +Christopher Hoyle has been scrawled with a paint +brush on the top of another signature. One, moreover, +that from the little I could see of it bore no sort of +resemblance to Christopher Hoyle. What do you make +of that, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Christopher Hoyle a man with two names?” +the inspector questioned. “Or has he some reason to +wish to appear to be an artist in simple Burford +society when in reality he is nothing of the kind?”</p> + +<p>“The latter, I imagine,” John Steadman said after +a pause. “Because—I don't know whether you know +anything of painting, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“Bless you, not a thing!” the inspector said +energetically. “If I have to do with a picture case, I have +to call in experts! But you mean——”</p> + +<p>“Judging from the three or four sketches I was able +to examine I should say that none of them—no two of +them were done by the same hand. There is as much +difference in painting as in handwriting, you know, +inspector.”</p> + +<p>“I see!” The detective sat silent for a minute, his +eyes scanning the flying landscape. “Well, it is pretty +much what I expected to hear,” he said at last. “It +strengthens my suspicions so far——”</p> + +<p>“I can't understand your suspicions,” John Steadman +said impatiently. “This man Hoyle is a bit of a +humbug, evidently, but what connexion can there be +between him and Luke Bechcombe's murder?”</p> + +<p>“His daughter?” the inspector suggested without +looking round.</p> + +<p>The barrister shrugged his shoulders. “That girl is +no murderess.”</p> + +<p>“No,” agreed the inspector. “But she is helping the +guilty to escape.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “Who is the +guilty?”</p> + +<p>For answer Inspector Furnival's keen, ferret eyes +looked back at him, focused themselves on the barrister's +face as though they would wring some truth from +it.</p> + +<p>But John Steadman's face would never give him +away. In his day he had been one of the keenest cross +examiners at the bar. His eyes had never been more +blandly expressionless than now as they met the +inspector's inquiringly.</p> + +<p>Defeated, the detective sank back in his corner of +the car with a deep breath, whether of relief or +disappointment John Steadman could not tell.</p> + +<p>They were just entering Burford again. Before the +car stopped the inspector said quietly:</p> + +<p>“Don't you know, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I do not!” said John Steadman, looking him +squarely in the face.</p> + +<p>“Don't you guess?”</p> + +<p>“Guessing,” said the barrister sententiously, “is a +most unprofitable employment. One I never indulge +in.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well!” said the inspector as the car stopped +before the door of the inn. “I don't know, sir. And +you don't guess. We will leave it at that. Well, +landlord”—as that worthy came to the door rubbing his +hands—“we are back upon your hands for tea. Mr. +Hoyle was out.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch11"> + +<h2>Chapter XI</h2> + +<p>Anthony Collyer got out of his bus at Lancaster +Gate Tube. He looked round, but there was no sign +of the figure he was hoping to see. He crossed the +road and entered Kensington Gardens, stopping at the +gate to buy some chocolates of the kind that Cecily +particularly affected.</p> + +<p>Near the little sweet-stall a small ragged figure was +skulking. In his preoccupation Anthony did not even +see him. Inside the Gardens he turned into a sheltered +walk on the right flanked on either side by clumps of +evergreens. There was a touch of chill in the wind, +but the sun was shining brightly and through the short +grass the daffodils were already adventurously poking +their gay yellow heads. The urchin who had been +lurking by the palings followed slowly. He got over +on the grass in a leisurely fashion and ensconced +himself out of sight in the shadow of the evergreens.</p> + +<p>Anthony had time to glance at his watch more than +once and even to grow a little impatient before Cecily +appeared.</p> + +<p>Then one glance was enough to show him that there +was something amiss with the girl. There were big +blue half-circles beneath her eyes, and the eyes +themselves were dim and sunken. All her pretty colouring +looked blurred as she gave her hand to Anthony, and +he saw that it was trembling and felt that it was cold +even through her glove. He held it in both of his and +chafed it.</p> + +<p>“You are cold, dear,” he said solicitously. “Are +your furs warm enough? The wind is treacherous +to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don't know. Yes, of course I am warm +enough—I mean it does not matter,” Cecily said +incoherently. “I—I wrote to you—you know—because +I wanted to see you.”</p> + +<p>Tony looked round. No one was in sight. He drew +her to a seat beside the path, knowing nothing of the +unseen watcher hidden in the rhododendrons.</p> + +<p>“I hoped you did. I always want to see you, +Cecily,” he said simply.</p> + +<p>Cecily shivered away from him. “You—you must +not.”</p> + +<p>Anthony stared at her.</p> + +<p>“Must not—what?” he said blankly. “Want to see +you, do you mean?”</p> + +<p>Cecily nodded.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but it is no use telling me not to do that,” +Anthony said quaintly, “I shall want to see you every day +as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>“You will not be able to,” Cecily said desperately. +“Because now—to-day—I am going right out of your +life—you will never see me again.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” For a time Anthony said no more. His clasp +of her hand relaxed. Very quietly he returned to her +the possession of it. “I see,” he said at last. “You +are giving me the chuck, are you not?”</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him with frightened, miserable +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Tony, I can't help it.”</p> + +<p>“Naturally you can't,” Tony assented moodily. +“You couldn't be expected to. I never was anything +but a wretched match at the best of times—even with +the money Uncle Luke left me—but now, now that +every damned rag of a paper in the country is saying +out as plainly as they dare that I am a murderer, it +settles the matter, of course.”</p> + +<p>Cecily interrupted him with a little cry.</p> + +<p>“Tony! You know it isn't that!”</p> + +<p>A gleam of hope brightened Anthony Collyer's eyes.</p> + +<p>“Not that? Is it just that you are sick of me then? +Heaven knows I wouldn't blame you for that. I was +always a dull sort of chap. But I love you, Cecily.”</p> + +<p>The girl's big tragic eyes looked at his bent head +with a sudden wave of tenderness in their brown depths. +“And I love you, Tony,” she said beneath her breath. +“But that does not matter.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn't it?” A sudden fire leaped into Anthony's +deep-set eyes. “Why, that is just the one thing that +matters—the only thing that does matter. If you love +me, I shall never go out of your life, Cecily.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, you will,” the girl said, putting his warm +outstretched hand back determinedly. “And it doesn't +matter that we love one another, not one bit. Because +I am not going to marry anyone.”</p> + +<p>“Of course you are!” said Anthony, staring at her. +“You are going to marry me. Do you really think I +am going to let you back out of it now?”</p> + +<p>“You can't help yourself,” Cecily said, still with that +miserable note of finality in her voice. “It is no use, +Tony. You have just got to forget me.”</p> + +<p>“Forget you!” Anthony said scornfully. “That is so +likely, isn't it? Now, dear, what is this bogy that you +have conjured up that is going to separate us? You +say it has nothing to do with me?”</p> + +<p>“No, no! Of course it hasn't!”</p> + +<p>“And you haven't fallen in love with anyone else?”</p> + +<p>“Don't be silly, Tony!” There was a momentary +irritation in the clear tones. But something in the +accent, even in the homely words themselves roused fresh +hopes in Anthony's heart.</p> + +<p>“Then it is something someone else has said,” he +hazarded, “or done.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Cecily did not answer. She pressed +her lips very closely together. At last she said slowly:</p> + +<p>“That is all that I can tell you, Tony. I just wanted +to say that and—good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye!” Tony repeated scoffingly. “Nonsense, +dear! You say that this mysterious something has +nothing to do with you or with me personally. And +for the rest of the world what does it matter? +Nothing counts but just you and me, sweetheart.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but it does!” Cecily contradicted firmly. “We—we +can't think only of ourselves. It—it is no use, +Tony. My mind is made up.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am going to unmake it,” Tony said with +equal decision. “And, if you won't tell me what you +fancy is going to separate us, I am going to find out +for myself.”</p> + +<p>Then for the first time Cecily's self-possession really +deserted her.</p> + +<p>“No, no! You must not!” she cried feverishly. +“Tony, you must not—you do not know what harm—what +terrible harm you might do if you did. Promise +me—promise me you will not!” She caught at his +arm with trembling hands, as though to stop his threatened +action by actual physical force. If ever fear had +looked out of human eyes, stark, tragic fear, Anthony +saw it then as he met her terrified gaze.</p> + +<p>Some shadow of it communicated itself to him. He +felt suddenly cold, his face turned a sickly grey +beneath its tan. In that moment he realized fully that he +was up against some very real and tangible obstacle +that stood definitely between Cecily and himself.</p> + +<p>“Cecily!” he said hoarsely. “Cecily!”</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him a moment, her lips twitching; +then, as if coming to some sudden resolution, she +bent forward and whispered a few words in his ear.</p> + +<p>As he heard them he started back.</p> + +<p>“What do you say, Cecily? That you—that you +know—— But you are mad—mad!”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” the girl looked round fearfully. “No, I am +not mad, Anthony,” she said beneath her breath. “God +knows I often wish I were.”</p> + +<p>Then Anthony looked at her.</p> + +<p>“Cecily! I can't believe it. You didn't——”</p> + +<p>“Did you never suspect—that?” she questioned +beneath her breath.</p> + +<p>“Never! Before Heaven, never! How should I? +It is inconceivable! But the horrible danger——” +His eyes voiced the dread he dared not put into words, +and with a stifled cry the girl turned from him.</p> + +<p>Tony took off his hat and wiped away the sweat +that was standing in great drops on his forehead.</p> + +<p>“It—it isn't possible! Cecily!” he murmured +hoarsely. “It—it is a lie!”</p> + +<p>“I—I wish it was!” the girl said beneath her breath. +“Oh, Tony, Tony, I wish it was all a dream—a dreadful +horrible dream. Last night I woke and thought it +was, and then I remembered. Oh, Tony, Tony!” She +shivered from head to foot. “I wish I were +dead—oh, I wish I were dead!”</p> + +<p>Anthony mopped his forehead again. “In God's +name what are we to do?”</p> + +<p>Cecily's mouth twisted in something like a wry +smile.</p> + +<p>“It is not ‘we’ Tony. It never will be ‘we’ again. +And I—I cannot tell what I shall do yet. I must stay +at the Residence of course until the police——” She +stopped, her throat working. “Until I am free to go +away,” she finished forlornly. “Then—then God +knows what will become of me! I—I expect I shall +live out of England if—if I can.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Anthony slowly. “Yes. But that will not +be for ever. We are both young, and we can wait. +And some day I will come and fetch you home again.”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” The horror in the girl's eyes deepened. +“Won't you understand, Tony? I shall never come +back. I shall never be safe. From to-day I shall be +dead to you! But—but wait, Tony. Sometimes I do +not think that I shall get away—that I shall escape. +For everywhere they follow me. Always I know that +I am being watched. They will never let me go away. +It is like a cat playing with a mouse. Just when the +poor little mouse thinks at last it is safe, the blow falls. +Even to-day—to-day—— Oh, Tony, look!” As she +spoke, she sprang to her feet.</p> + +<p>Anthony turned. At first sight there seemed nothing +to account for her agitation—just a very ordinary-looking +man coming towards them from the direction +of the Broad Walk.</p> + +<p>But as Tony looked he caught his breath sharply.</p> + +<p>Cecily did not wait for him to speak.</p> + +<p>“Stop him! Stop him!” she cried feverishly. “Don't +let him come after me. Keep him here until I have +got away!”</p> + +<p>She sped down the path towards Lancaster Gate.</p> + +<p>Anthony went forward to meet the new-comer.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Steadman,” he said, endeavouring +to make his voice sound as natural as possible.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Tony.” John Steadman shook +hands with him warmly, his keen eyes taking in all +the tokens of disturbance on the young man's face. +“I am afraid my appearance is rather inopportune,” +he went on. “Isn't that your young woman beating a +hasty retreat down there?” In the distance Cecily's +scurrying figure could plainly be seen.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is in a hurry,” Anthony said lamely.</p> + +<p>“Obviously!” The barrister smiled. “But I am +glad to have this opportunity of seeing you, Tony. I +have been hoping to meet you.”</p> + +<p>Mindful of Cecily's parting injunction Tony turned +to the seat behind.</p> + +<p>“Have a cigarette, sir?”</p> + +<p>The barrister shook his head as he glanced at the +open cigarette case.</p> + +<p>“De Reszke! No, thanks! You are a bit too +extravagant for me, young man! I always smoke gaspers +myself.” He sat down and took out his own case. +“You of course don't condescend to Gold Flake,” he +went on. “I am rather glad of this opportunity of +having a chat with you, Tony.”</p> + +<p>Tony lighted his cigarette and threw the match away +before he spoke, then he turned and looked John +Steadman squarely in the face.</p> + +<p>“I dare say you are, Mr. Steadman. So is your +friend, Inspector Furnival, whenever I meet him, I +notice.”</p> + +<p>The barrister paused in the act of lighting his match.</p> + +<p>“You mean——?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that, if folks think I murdered my uncle, I +would just as soon they said so straight out, as come +poking around asking questions and trying to trap me,” +Anthony retorted bitterly.</p> + +<p>John Steadman finished lighting his cigarette and +blew a couple of spirals in the clear air before he spoke, +then he said slowly:</p> + +<p>“The thought that you murdered your Uncle Luke +is about the last that would enter my head, Tony. No. +What I wanted to ask you was, does that job of yours +stand—bear-leader to the young brother of a friend of +yours, I mean. The last time I saw you, you spoke as +if it were off.”</p> + +<p>“So it is!” Anthony returned moodily. “People don't +want a man who is as good as accused of murdering his +own uncle to look after their children. I might strangle +the kid if he got tiresome.”</p> + +<p>The barrister paid no attention to this outburst.</p> + +<p>“Then I think I heard of something yesterday that +may suit you. A friend of mine has a son who was +frightfully injured in the War. Both his legs have been +amputated and one wrist is practically helpless. Now +he wants some one to act as his secretary, for he has +taken to writing novels, passes the time for him, you +know, and folks need not read them if they don't want +to.”</p> + +<p>“It is very good of you to think of me,” Anthony +said gratefully. “But I don't know that I should make +much hand at secretarial work. And probably he +wouldn't look at me if he knew.”</p> + +<p>“He does know,” contradicted John Steadman. “And +he is quite anxious to have you. It won't be all +secretarial work, though you will be called a secretary. +But you will be wanted to motor with him, to go with +him to race meetings; he is a great motoring +enthusiast—keeps two touring cars. Before the War he was one +of our finest amateur jockeys, and they say he never +misses a meeting under N.H. rules now. I believe he +even has a couple of hurdlers at one of the big trainers. +You will have to go with him wherever he wants you. +How does it strike you?”</p> + +<p>“The question is, how shall I strike him?” Tony +countered. “Will he think he is safe with me?”</p> + +<p>“Tony, my lad, you must not get morbid,” reproved +the barrister. “My friends know all about your +connexion with the Bechcombes, and are quite prepared +to take you on my recommendation. You would not +be required to live in, and there is a nice little cottage +on the estate near the house that will be placed at your +disposal. Your salary will be good, and with what +your uncle left you will make matrimony quite possible. +Now what do you say?”</p> + +<p>“Say? What can I say but take it and be thankful,” +Tony responded, trying to make his tones sound as +grateful as he could. “Would it be far from +town—this cottage?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not far!” the barrister said at once. “At Bramley +Hall, near Burford, in the New Forest. It is young +Bramley, Sir John's eldest son, you are wanted for.”</p> + +<p>“Bramley Hall,” Tony repeated musingly. “I seem +to know the name. Wasn't there a burglary there a +little while ago?”</p> + +<p>“About eighteen months ago,” the barrister assented. +“The house was practically cleared of valuables in one +night. Even Sir John's safe, which he had deemed +impregnable, was rifled. Oh, yes, it made quite a stir. +It was said to be the work of this Yellow Gang that +folks are always talking about, you know.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch12"> + +<h2>Chapter XII</h2> + +<p>“I guess you are Inspector Furnival, sir.”</p> + +<p>The inspector, with Mr. Steadman, was just about to +enter New Scotland Yard. He glanced keenly at his +interlocutor. He saw a tall, lantern-jawed, +lean-shanked man who seemed in some indescribable way +to carry Yankee writ large all over him.</p> + +<p>The detective's face cleared.</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly, I am William Furnival, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And you are in charge of the Bechcombe case?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I may say I am,” the inspector agreed. “And +I think you are Mr. Cyril B. Carnthwacke.”</p> + +<p>“Sure thing! And no reason to be ashamed of my +name either,” the other said truculently, rather as if he +expected the inspector to challenge his statement.</p> + +<p>The inspector, however, was looking his blandest.</p> + +<p>“The name of Cyril B. Carnthwacke is one to conjure +with not only in your own country but in ours,” he +said politely. “Did you wish to speak to me, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I did, very particularly,” responded Mr. +Carnthwacke. “But”—with a glance at Mr. Steadman—“this +gentleman——?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Steadman, sir, the late Mr. Bechcombe's +cousin, and at one time one of the best-known criminal +lawyers practising at the bar. He has been kind +enough to place his experience at our disposal in this +most perplexing case. Will you come into my office, +Mr. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>“Of course, we can't stand out in the street,” +responded the millionaire.</p> + +<p>The inspector led the way to his private room and +then clearing a lot of papers from the nearest chair +set it forward.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carnthwacke sat down with a word of thanks. +John Steadman took up his position with his back to the +fireplace, the inspector dropped into his revolving chair +and looked at his visitor.</p> + +<p>“I am at your service, sir.”</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke settled himself in his chair and looked +back.</p> + +<p>“I guess you two gentlemen know pretty well what +has brought me here. Mrs. Carnthwacke is at home +laid up in bed with the worry of the past few days. I +calculate she isn't exactly the stuff criminals are made +of. So here I have come in her place for a straight talk +face to face. She has told me all about her doings on +the day Mr. Bechcombe was murdered. And she told +me that she had been to you on the same subject. So +I guess you fairly well know what I have come to talk +about.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mrs. Carnthwacke did come to us,” the +inspector assented. “It would have been wiser to have +come earlier.”</p> + +<p>“It would,” agreed Mr. Carnthwacke. “But women +ain't the wisest of creatures, even if they are not scared +out of their wits as Mrs. Carnthwacke was when she +realized that she was the ‘lady of the glove,’ that every +newspaper in the kingdom was making such a clamour +about.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it was a good thing for her that she was,” +remarked the inspector enigmatically.</p> + +<p>Cyril B. Carnthwacke stared at him.</p> + +<p>“I don't comprehend. I wasn't aware you dealt in +conundrums, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“No,” the inspector said as he opened a drawer and +began to rummage in it. “Ah, here we are! This is +the report of the expert in finger-prints and it shows +that it was impossible for the fingers that fitted into +this glove to have made the prints on Mr. Bechcombe's +throat. They were much too small.”</p> + +<p>“I grasp your meaning.” Mr. Carnthwacke sat back +in his chair and put his elbows on the arms, joining the +tips of his fingers together and surveying them with +much interest. “But I reckon I didn't need this +corroboration. My wife's word is the goods for me. I +guess you gentlemen have tumbled to it that it is to +make some inquiries about the diamonds that I have +come butting in this morning.”</p> + +<p>The inspector bowed. “I thought it quite likely.”</p> + +<p>“Now, I have made certain that by your laws as well +as ours the late Mr. Bechcombe's estate is liable for +the value of Mrs. Carnthwacke's jewels since he gave +my wife a receipt for them, which I believe is held by +you gentlemen now,” the American said, speaking with +a strong nasal accent.</p> + +<p>Again the inspector nodded his assent.</p> + +<p>“Certainly it is. What do you suppose to be the +value of the diamonds, Mr. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I couldn't figure it off in a minute,” the +millionaire said in a considering tone. “But a good many +thousands of dollars anyway. I did not buy them all +at once, but picked up a few good ones when I got a +chance. Thought to myself diamonds were always an +investment. The gem of the whole lot was the necklace; +it was part of the Russian crown jewels and had +been worn by the ill-fated Czarina herself. But +anyhow I guess my wife's diamonds were pretty well +known in London and they were valuable enough to +excite the cupidity of this gang of criminals that have +been so busy about London of late. You see, I suppose, +that it was in order to get them that they broke +in to Mr. Bechcombe's office and strangled him.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman raised his eyebrows as he looked +across at the inspector. That worthy coughed.</p> + +<p>“You are rather jumping to conclusions, it seems to +me, Mr. Carnthwacke. In the first place Mr. +Bechcombe's office was not broken into. The murderer, +whoever he might have been, entered in the usual +fashion and apparently in no way alarmed Mr. Bechcombe. +In fact all the indications go to prove that the assassin +was some one known to Mr. Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>“I don't figure that out.” Carnthwacke hunched his +shoulders and looked obstinate. “I will take what odds +you like that my wife was followed and that, unable +to get what he wanted without, the thief strangled Mr. +Bechcombe and walked off with the diamonds.”</p> + +<p>“The diamonds certainly provide a very adequate +motive,” John Steadman said slowly, taking part in the +conversation for the first time. “But there are some +very weak points in your story, Mr. Carnthwacke. +You must remember that the rubber gloves worn by the +assassin as well as the chloroform used seem to prove +conclusively that the murder was planned beforehand.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>“That may be, but I don't see that it precludes the +motive being the theft of my wife's diamonds,” said +Carnthwacke truculently.</p> + +<p>“You spoke of Mrs. Carnthwacke's being followed, +and of the ‘follower’ assaulting Mr. Bechcombe and +strangling him in the struggle. That rather suggests an +accidental discovery of Mrs. Carnthwacke's errand +to me,” John Steadman hazarded mildly.</p> + +<p>“It doesn't suggest anything of the kind to me,” the +American contradicted obstinately. “Of course somebody +had discovered my wife's errand, what it was and +what time she was to be there, and followed her there +for the express purpose of getting them.”</p> + +<p>“I should have thought it would have been easier to +snatch them from Mrs. Carnthwacke than to get them +from Mr. Bechcombe,” John Steadman went on, his +eyes watching every change of expression in the other's +face.</p> + +<p>“You wouldn't have if you had heard the strength of +Mrs. Carnthwacke's lungs,” Mr. Carnthwacke contradicted. +“It would have been devilish difficult to get +the diamonds from her. She only left the car at the +archway, too, and she carried the jewels concealed +beneath her coat. It would have been a bold thief who +would have attacked her, crossing that bit of a square +in front or coming up the steps to the office. No. It +was a wiser plan to wait and take them from Mr. +Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>“I don't think so, and I think you are wrong,” John +Steadman dissented. “The most probable thing would +have been for Mr. Bechcombe to have deposited the +diamonds in the safe while Mrs. Carnthwacke was +there. That he did not do so is one of the minor +puzzles of the case. I cannot understand why he +should put them in the cupboard pointed out by Mrs. +Carnthwacke, and why he should call it his safe I +cannot imagine. He might almost have intended to make +things easy for the thief.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether he did,” Carnthwacke said very +deliberately.</p> + +<p>His words had all the force of a bombshell. The +other two men stared at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>“I do not understand you,” John Steadman said at +last, his tone haughty in its repressive surprise.</p> + +<p>But Cyril B. Carnthwacke was not to be easily +repressed.</p> + +<p>“Weel, I reckoned I might as well mention the +idea—which is an idea that has occurred to more than me. +But then I didn't want to put up the dander of you two +gentlemen, and you in particular”—with a polite +inclination in the direction of Mr. Steadman—“being a +cousin of the late Mr. Bechcombe. But I was at a +man's dinner last night, and it was pretty freely +canvassed. It is hinted that Mr. Bechcombe might have +been in difficulties in his accounts—I understand that +there are pretty considerable deficiencies in his balance. +And though they are all put down by the police to that +clerk that can't be found—well, doesn't it pretty well +jump to your eye that the late Mr. Bechcombe himself +knew all about them, and that it might have suited +his book to have my wife's jewels stolen, perhaps by a +confederate—the clerk Thompson or another——”</p> + +<p>“And arranged to get himself murdered to get +suspicion thrown off himself?” Mr. Steadman inquired +satirically as the other paused for breath.</p> + +<p>“No, not that exactly, though I guess he was pretty +slick,” returned Carnthwacke equably. “But I am inclined +to size it up that the two had a quarrel and that +the other one killed Mr. Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>“Are you indeed?” questioned John Steadman, a +glitter in his eye that would have warned his juniors +that the old man was going to be nasty. But the K.C. +had rarely lost his temper so completely as to-day. +“I can tell you at once that your idea is nothing but +a lie—a lie, moreover, that has its foundation in your +own foul imagination!” he said very deliberately. +“Luke Bechcombe was the soul of honour. I would +answer for him as I would for myself.”</p> + +<p>“That is vurry satisfactory,” drawled Carnthwacke. +“Most satisfactory, I am sure. Weel, since that +question is settled I will ask another. Was Mr. +Bechcombe's face injured at all?”</p> + +<p>The other two looked surprised at this question.</p> + +<p>“Why, no,” the inspector answered. “There was not +even a scratch upon it. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“Another idea!” responded Mr. Carnthwacke cheerfully. +“Another idea. But my last wasn't a success. +I guess I will keep this to myself for a time.”</p> + +<p>“One cannot help seeing that the rubber gloves and +the chloroform pretty well dispose of your idea, as they +have disposed of a good many others,” the inspector +remarked. “No, I believe the murder to have been +deliberately planned, but I don't think it was the work +of one man alone. There have been more jewel robberies +in London in the past year than I ever remember +and I am inclined to believe that most of them may +be set down to the same gang.”</p> + +<p>“The Yellow Gang!” interjected the millionaire. “I +have heard of it.”</p> + +<p>“The Yellow Gang, if you like to call it so,” +acquiesced the inspector. “But then there comes up the +question, how should they know that Mrs. Carnthwacke +was taking her jewels to Mr. Bechcombe that +morning?”</p> + +<p>“And why does that puzzle you?” Mr. Carnthwacke +inquired blandly.</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced at him keenly.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke informed me that no one at all +knew that she was thinking of parting with her jewels, +and that her visit to Mr. Bechcombe that morning had +been kept a profound secret.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carnthwacke threw himself back in his chair +and gave vent to a short, sharp laugh.</p> + +<p>“I guess you are not a married man, inspector, or +you would talk in a different fashion to that! Is there +a woman alive who could keep a secret? If there is, it +isn't Mrs. Cyril B. Carnthwacke. Nobody knew. Bless +your life, I knew well enough she was in debt and had +made up her mind to sell her jewels to Bechcombe. I +didn't know the exact time certainly. But that was +because I didn't take the trouble to find out. Bless your +life, there are no flies on Cyril B. Carnthwacke. When +she brought the empty cases to me to put away in the +safe after she'd worn her diamonds the other day, she +saw me lock them up in the safe and was quite contented, +bless her heart. But I guess I was slick enough +to look in the cases afterwards, and when I found them +empty I pretty well guessed what was up. Then I +took the liberty of listening one day when she was +talking on the telephone and after that she hadn't many +secrets from me. As for nobody else knowing”—with +another of those dry laughs—“it would take a cleverer +woman than Mrs. Cyril B. Carnthwacke to keep it +from her maid.”</p> + +<p>“That may be,” the inspector said, smiling in his +turn. “But to be as frank with you as you have been +with us, Mr. Carnthwacke, we have taken steps to find +out what the maid knows, with the result that we are +inclined to think Mrs. Carnthwacke's statement +practically correct.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” Mr. Carnthwacke inquired with a +satiric emphasis that made John Steadman look at him +more closely. “Weel, I came out on the open and +tackled Mrs. Carnthwacke myself this morning; we +had a lot of trouble, but the upshot of it all was that I +got it out of her at last that she had told nobody, but +that she had just mentioned it to Fédora.”</p> + +<p>“Fédora, the fortune teller!” Steadman exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“The Soothsayer—the Modern Witch,” Mr. Carnthwacke +explained. “All these Society women are just +crazed about her of late. They consult her about +everything. And I feel real ashamed to say Mrs. +Carnthwacke is as silly as anyone. I taxed her with +it and made her own up. ‘You'd ask that fortune-telling +woman's advice I know,’ I said. And at last she +burst out crying and the game was up. She swore she +didn't mention names. But there, it is my opinion she +don't know whether she did or not. Anyhow, +gentlemen, I have given you something to go upon. You +look up Madame Fédora and her clients. It's there +you will find the clue to Luke Bechcombe's death if +it took place as you think.” He got up leisurely. “If +there is nothing more I can do for you gentlemen——”</p> + +<p>The inspector rose too.</p> + +<p>“I am much obliged for your frankness. If all the +witnesses in this most unhappy tangle were Mr. +Carnthwackes, we should soon find ourselves out in +the open, I fancy.”</p> + +<p>The millionaire looked pleased at this compliment.</p> + +<p>“I know one can't do better than lay all one's cards +on the table when one is dealing with the English +police,” he remarked. “Well, so long, gentlemen. +Later on I want to take Mrs. Carnthwacke for a cruise +to get over all this worry and trouble. But I guess we +will have to stop here awhile in case you want her as +a witness. And so if you want either of us any +time,—I reckon you know my number—you can ring us up +or come round.”</p> + +<p>With a curiously ungraceful bow he turned to the +door. A minute or two later they saw him drive off in +his limousine.</p> + +<p>John Steadman drew a long breath.</p> + +<p>“Well, inspector?”</p> + +<p>For answer the inspector handed him his notebook. +The last entry was: “Inquire into C.B.C.'s movements +on the day.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman glanced curiously at the inspector as +he handed it back.</p> + +<p>“Do you think he did not realize? Or is he trying +to screen some one?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” the inspector said slowly. “With +regard to your second question, that is to say. With +regard to your first, to use his own phraseology, I don't +think there are any flies on Cyril B. Carnthwacke.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch13"> + +<h2>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<p>“Twelve minutes to one.” Anthony Collyer turned +into the Tube station. He was lunching with Mrs. +Luke Bechcombe and the Tube would get him there in +time and be cheaper than a taxi. Anthony was inclined +to be economical these days. He paused at the +bookstall to buy a paper.</p> + +<p>The tragic death of a London solicitor was beginning +to be crowded out. A foreign potentate was ill. There +were daily bulletins in the paper. There were rumours +of a royal engagement. A great race meeting was +impending, the man in the street was much occupied in +trying to spot the winners. Altogether the general +public was a great deal too busy to have time to spare +for speculations as to the identity of Luke Bechcombe's +assassin. Still, every few days there would be +a paragraph stating that the police were in possession +of fresh evidence, and that an arrest was hourly +expected; so far, however, there had been no result. +Still, the very mention of the Crow's Inn Tragedy held +a morbid fascination for Anthony Collyer. The heading +caught his eye now and he paused to turn the paper +over.</p> + +<p>Standing thus by the bookstall he was hidden from +the sight of the passers-by. For his part he was +thinking of nothing but his paper, when two sentences +caught his ear.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, you will have to go to Burford.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose I am followed?”</p> + +<p>Both voices—a man's and a woman's—sounded +familiar to Anthony Collyer. The former he could not +place at the moment, the latter—the blood ran rapidly +to his head, as he gazed after the retreating couple who +were now walking quickly in the direction of the ticket +office—surely, he said to himself, it was Cecily Hoyle's +voice!</p> + +<p>Cecily Hoyle it undoubtedly was. He recognized her +tall, slim figure and her big grey coat with its square +squirrel collar. Her companion was a man at whom +Tony could only get a glance; of medium height wearing +rather shabby-looking clothes, and with grey hair +worn much longer than usual, his face, as he turned it +to his companion, was clean-shaven and rosy as of a +man who lived out of doors.</p> + +<p>Anthony had not seen Cecily since their meeting in +Kensington Gardens now more than a week ago. It +was evident that she intended to abide by her words; +she had not answered any of Tony's impassioned +letters, she had refused to see him when he had called +at Hobart Residence, he had asked for her when +visiting Mrs. Bechcombe. Now it seemed to him that Fate +had put in his hands the clue to the tangled mass of +contradictions that Cecily had become.</p> + +<p>Hastily thrusting his paper in his pocket he hurried +after the couple. But, short as the time was since they +passed him, already a queue had formed before the +ticket office. As he reached it Cecily and her +companion turned away and walked through the barrier. +It was hopeless to think of going after them without a +ticket. Anthony chafed impatiently as he waited. +When at last he was free to follow them they were out +of sight and he ran up to the lift just in time to hear +the door close and to see the lift itself vanish slowly +out of sight. For a moment he felt inclined to run +down the steps and then he realized that there was +nothing to be gained by such a proceeding and nothing +for him to do but wait for the next lift with what +patience he could. It seemed to him that he had never +had to wait so long before; when at last it did come and +he had raced along the passage and down the few +remaining steps to the platform, it was only to find the +gate slammed before him. Standing there, he had the +satisfaction of seeing Cecily's face at the window of the +train gliding out of the station while beside her he +caught a vision of the silvery locks of her companion.</p> + +<p>As he stood there realizing the utter futility of +endeavouring to overtake Cecily now, a voice only too +well known of late sounded in his ear.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Mr. Collyer. Too late, like myself.”</p> + +<p>He turned to find Inspector Furnival beside him. A +spasm of fear shot through Tony. Was this man +ubiquitous? And what was he doing here?</p> + +<p>“Going to Mrs. Luke Bechcombe's, sir?” the +inspector went on. “Mr. Steadman has just left me to +go on there in his car. A family party to celebrate Mr. +Aubrey Todmarsh's engagement.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, to Mrs. Phillimore,” Tony assented.</p> + +<p>The gate was thrust aside now, the inspector and +Tony found themselves pushed along by the people +behind. They went on the platform together, the +inspector keeping closely by Tony's side.</p> + +<p>“Wonderful man, Mr. Todmarsh,” he began conversationally. +“We in the police see a lot of his work. +Mrs. Phillimore too, supports practically every +philanthropic work in the East End. Yes, this engagement +will be good news to many a poor outcast, Mr. +Anthony.”</p> + +<p>Tony mechanically acquiesced. As a matter of fact +mention of Aubrey Todmarsh's good works left him +cold. He had no great liking for Mrs. Phillimore +either, though the rich American had rather gone out +of her way to be amiable to him. This morning, +however, he was too much occupied in wondering what was +the ulterior motive for the inspector's friendliness to +have any thought to spare for his cousin's engagement. +He was anxious to ascertain whether the inspector, like +himself, had caught sight of Cecily Hoyle and followed +her, though he could not form any idea as to the +inspector's object in doing so. Still one never knew +where the clues spoken of by the papers might lead the +police. Thinking of Cecily as the inspector's possible +objective a cold sweat broke out on Anthony's brow.</p> + +<p>When the train came in the inspector stood aside for +Anthony to enter and followed him in. The carriage +was full. Anthony had an uncomfortable feeling that +people were looking at him. Possibly, he thought, they +were pointing him out to one another as Luke +Bechcombe's nephew, the one who stood to benefit largely +by the murdered man's death, and still more largely at +the death of the widow, were wondering possibly what +he was doing in that half-hour on the day of the murder +which he could only account for by saying he was +wandering about looking for the Field of Rest. That +the general public had at first looked upon him as +suspect on this account Anthony knew, but he knew also +that the discovery of the clerk Thompson's dishonesty +and later on of the loss of Mrs. Carnthwacke's +diamonds had been taken as clearing him to a great +extent. Until the mystery surrounding the death of Luke +Bechcombe had been solved, however, he recognized +that he would remain a potential murderer in the eyes +of at least a section of the public. Possibly, he reflected +grimly, seeing him with the inspector this morning they +thought he was in custody.</p> + +<p>“Going far, inspector?” he asked at the first +stopping-place.</p> + +<p>“Same station as yourself, sir,” the inspector returned +affably. “Matter of fact I am going to the same +house too. A message came along for Mr. Steadman +just after he had started, and as it seemed to be of +some importance I thought I would come after him +with it myself. I am hoping to be in time to have a +word with him before luncheon. Perhaps you could +help me, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if I can,” Anthony said doubtfully. “There +won't be much time to spare, though.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if I am too late I am too late,” the inspector +remarked philosophically. “It was just a chance. We +don't seem to hear of Thompson, sir.”</p> + +<p>“We don't,” Anthony assented. “And I expect he is +taking care we shouldn't. You'll forgive me, inspector, +but the way Thompson has managed to disappear +doesn't seem to me to reflect much credit on the police.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I know that is the sort of thing folks are saying,” +the inspector commented with apparent placidity. +“And it is a great deal easier to say it about the police +methods than to improve upon them. However, like +some others, Thompson may find himself caught in +time. One of our great difficulties is that so little is +known about him, his friends, habits, etc. Even you +don't seem able to help us there, Mr. Anthony.” The +inspector shot a lightning glance at the young man's +unconscious face.</p> + +<p>Anthony shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Always was a decent sort of chap, old Thompson, +or he seemed so—I always had a bit of a rag with him +when I went to the office. Known him there years, of +course. But, if you come to ask me about his friends, +I never saw the old chap in mufti, as you might say, +in my life. Still, I don't think Thompson had any hand +in murdering Uncle Luke.”</p> + +<p>“I know. You have said so all along,” the inspector +remarked. “But, if you don't think he had anything +to do with the murder, what do you think of his +disappearance?”</p> + +<p>“Suppose the old chap had been helping himself to +what wasn't his, and got frightened and bolted.”</p> + +<p>“Um, yes!” The inspector stroked his chin thoughtfully. +“Do you think you would recognize Thompson +in the street, Mr. Anthony?”</p> + +<p>“Should think I was a blithering idiot if I didn't,” +Anthony responded. “Never saw him with a hat on +certainly, but a hat don't matter—it can't alter a man +beyond recognition.”</p> + +<p>“Not much of a disguise, certainly,” the inspector +admitted, looking round him consideringly as they +entered Carlsford Square. “Still, I wonder——”</p> + +<p>Anthony came to a standstill.</p> + +<p>“Now <em>I</em> wonder what you are getting at. Do you +think I have seen Thompson anywhere?”</p> + +<p>The inspector did not answer for a minute, then he +said slowly:</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't be surprised if a good many of us had +seen him, Mr. Anthony.”</p> + +<p>Anthony stared. “Then we must be a set of fools.”</p> + +<p>“A good many of us are fools,” Inspector Furnival +acquiesced as they came to a standstill.</p> + +<p>Anthony applied himself to the knocker on the door +of the Bechcombes' house. There were a couple of cars +in the street, one John Steadman's, the other a luxurious +Daimler evidently fitted with the latest +improvements.</p> + +<p>“You will have time for your talk, old chap,” said +Anthony, looking at his watch as the door opened.</p> + +<p>Somewhat to his surprise Steadman came out. The +barrister for once was not looking as immaculately +neat as usual. His coat was dusty and he was carrying +his right arm stiffly. He held out a note to his +chauffeur.</p> + +<p>“There. It's quite close to Stepney Causeway. Get +the woman to the hospital as soon as possible. Hello, +inspector—a word with you.”</p> + +<p>He was turning with the inspector when Tony +interrupted.</p> + +<p>“You look as if you had been in the wars, sir. Have +you had an accident?”</p> + +<p>“No,” responded the barrister curtly. Then with a +jerk of his head in the direction of the other car. “That +fellow, Mrs. Phillimore's man, isn't fit to drive a +donkey cart. Nearly ran over a child just now. All we +could do to get her out alive save with a broken arm. +I took her to the Middlesex Hospital and now I'm +sending for her mother. Mrs. Phillimore doesn't seem +very helpful except in the matter of weeping. Well, +so long, my boy—see you again in a minute or two.”</p> + +<p>He turned off with the inspector. Anthony went +through the hall to the drawing-room where he found +his father talking to Mrs. Bechcombe and a small, fair, +handsomely dressed woman with brilliant blue +eyes—his cousin's American fiancée, Mrs. Phillimore.</p> + +<p>Anthony was no stranger to her. He had met her on +several occasions and while admitting her undoubted +charm he was conscious that somehow or other he did +not quite like Mrs. Phillimore, the Butterfly, as he had +named her. Apparently the feeling was not mutual, for +Mrs. Phillimore always seemed to go out of the way to +be gracious to her fiancé's cousin.</p> + +<p>To-day, however, he did not receive his usual smile, +and he saw that in spite of her make-up she was looking +pale and worried.</p> + +<p>“Where is Aubrey?” he inquired, as he shook hands. +“Got a holiday from his blessed Community to-day, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” she returned. “He was to have brought +me here, but he was sent for, I couldn't quite +understand by whom. But he said he should not be long +after me.”</p> + +<p>“Nor has he,” interposed Mrs. Bechcombe at this +juncture. “He is coming up the steps now with John +Steadman.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Phillimore's relief was apparent in her +countenance. Anthony felt a touch of momentary wonder +as to why his cousin's temporary absence should cause +her so much apparent anxiety.</p> + +<p>Aubrey was talking to Mr. Steadman in a quick, +nervous fashion as they entered the room together.</p> + +<p>The first glance was enough to show every one that +something had seriously disturbed Aubrey Todmarsh. +His face was white, his eyes were bloodshot, he was +biting his lips nervously. Altogether he looked +strangely unlike the enthusiastic young head of the +Community of St. Philip.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>“Aubrey, my dear boy, is anything the matter?”</p> + +<p>Apparently Todmarsh only brought himself to speak +with difficulty. Twice he opened his lips, but no words +came. At last he said hoarsely:</p> + +<p>“Hopkins!”</p> + +<p>The name conveyed nothing to the majority of his +hearers, only the rector of Wexbridge twisted up his +face into a curious resemblance to a note of interrogation, +and Mrs. Phillimore uttered a sharp little cry.</p> + +<p>“Hopkins! Oh, Aubrey!”</p> + +<p>“Hopkins!” he repeated. “He—he is my right hand, +you know, Uncle James. I—I would have staked my +life on Hopkins.”</p> + +<p>The clergyman pushed a chair up to his nephew.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, my dear boy. What is this about +Hopkins? I remember him well. Has he——?”</p> + +<p>“He has been away for a few days' holiday. He said +his sister was ill and he must go to see her. In the +early hours of this morning”—Todmarsh's voice grew +increasingly husky—“he was arrested with two other +men breaking into Sir Thomas Wreford's house, Whistone +Hall in the New Forest. I—I can't believe it!” +His head fell forward on his hands.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Phillimore drew a long breath, and for a +moment nobody spoke. Then the rector said slowly:</p> + +<p>“My dear boy, I can hardly believe this is true. Is +there no possibility of a mistake? A false report or +something of that kind?”</p> + +<p>Aubrey shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No. The telegram came from Wreford Hall Post +Office—Hopkins sent it himself to me at the +Community House and it was brought to me here.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear! I wish I could help you. But you +must remember, my dear Aubrey, that we workers for +others must be prepared to meet trouble and +disappointment, ay, even in those of whom we have felt most +sure.” The rector laid his hand on the young man's +shoulder. “Pull yourself together, my dear Aubrey. +Remember the many signal causes of thankfulness that +have been granted to you. The many other lives that +you have brightened and saved from shame.”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell who will be the next?” Todmarsh +groaned. “I tell you, I would have staked my life on +Hopkins.”</p> + +<p>“We cannot answer for our brothers, any of us,” Mr. +Collyer went on. “But now, my boy, you must make +an effort. You must think of your Aunt Madeline, of +Mrs. Phillimore.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence, then Todmarsh raised +his head.</p> + +<p>“You are right. You always do me more good than +anyone else, Uncle James. But here I am keeping +you all waiting. I beg your pardon, Aunt Madeline. +And after lunch there is much to be done. I must see +about getting Hopkins bailed out.”</p> + +<p>“Where is Hopkins?” questioned Anthony, taking +part in the conversation for the first time.</p> + +<p>“At a place called Burchester,” Aubrey answered. +“I fancy it is quite a small place. Probably it is the +nearest police court to Whistone Hall.”</p> + +<p>“Whistone Hall, in the New Forest, you said, didn't +you?” Anthony went on. “Is it near Burford, do you +know?”</p> + +<p>He hardly knew what made him ask the question. +John Steadman glanced at him sharply.</p> + +<p>Aubrey Todmarsh turned a surprised face towards +him.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I don't know anything about the +place. And I never heard of Burford.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch14"> + +<h2>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<p>Luncheon, not a particularly cheerful meal, was over. +Mrs. Phillimore's jewelled cigarette case lay on the +table beside her, but her cigarette had gone out in its +amber holder, and her eyes were furtively watching her +fiancé as she chatted with Mr. Collyer, who sat +opposite.</p> + +<p>Aubrey Todmarsh had taken his uncle's advice and +pulled himself together. He was talking much as usual +now, but John Steadman watching him from his seat +opposite thought that his face looked queer and +strained. His eyes no longer seemed to see visions, but +were bloodshot and weary. His high cheekbones had +the skin drawn tightly across them to-day and gave +him almost a Mongolian look; his usually sleek, dark +hair was ruffled across his forehead.</p> + +<p>John Steadman had not hitherto felt particularly +attracted by the young head of the Community of St. +Philip. Apart from the natural contempt of the ordinary +man for a conscientious objector, there always to +Steadman appeared something wild and ridiculous +about Todmarsh's visionary speeches and ideas. +To-day, however, his sympathies were aroused by the +young man's obviously very great disappointment over +Hopkins's defection. He felt sorry for Mrs. Phillimore +too. The poor little widow was evidently sharing +her lover's depression, and, though she did her best +to appear bright and cheerful, was watching him +anxiously while she talked to her hostess or to Steadman +himself.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Steadman that he had never realized +how protracted a meal luncheon could be until to-day, +and he was on the point of making some excuse to Mrs. +Bechcombe for effecting an early retreat when the +parlourmaid entered the room with two cards—on one of +which a few words were written—upon her silver +salver.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe took them up with a murmured +excuse. She glanced at them carelessly, then her +expression changed. She looked round in indecision then +turned to Steadman.</p> + +<p>“I—I don't know what to do. That woman——”</p> + +<p>The momentary lull in the conversation had passed; +every one was talking busily. Under cover of the hum, +Steadman edged himself a little nearer his hostess.</p> + +<p>“What woman?”</p> + +<p>For answer she handed him the larger of the two +cards.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Cyril B. Carnthwacke,” he read. He glanced +at Mrs. Bechcombe. “What does this mean?”</p> + +<p>“That woman—I have always felt certain she was +responsible for Luke's death,” Mrs. Bechcombe +returned incoherently. “Oh, yes”—as Steadman made a +movement of dissent—“if she did not actually kill him +herself she took her horrid diamonds to him and let the +murderer know and follow her. Oh, yes, I shall always +hold her responsible. But to-day you see she—I mean +he—the man says their business is important. Perhaps +he has found out—something. What am I to do?”</p> + +<p>“Why not ask them to come in here?” John Steadman +suggested. “We are all members of the family,” +glancing round the room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe hesitated. Aubrey Todmarsh +sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>“I must go, Aunt Madeline. I have to see about +bail for Hopkins, and that he is legally represented. +And, besides, I don't really feel that I can stand any +more to-day.”</p> + +<p>His face was working as he spoke, and they all +looked at him sympathetically as he hurriedly shook +hands with Mrs. Bechcombe. His absorption in Hopkins's +backsliding was so evidently of first consideration, +rendering him oblivious even of his fiancée. As +for the poor little Butterfly, her spirits, which had been +gradually rising, seemed to be finally damped by this +last contretemps. She raised no objection to her lover's +abrupt departure, but sat silent and depressed until the +Carnthwackes were ushered into the room.</p> + +<p>One glance was enough to show John Steadman that +both the American and his wife were looking strangely +disturbed. They went straight up to Mrs. +Bechcombe.</p> + +<p>“I am obliged to you, ma'am, for receiving us,” +Carnthwacke began, while his wife laid her hand on +Aubrey Todmarsh's vacant chair as though to steady +herself.</p> + +<p>“You said it was important,” Mrs. Bechcombe's +manner was distant. She did not glance at Mrs. +Carnthwacke.</p> + +<p>“So it is, ma'am, very important!” the American +assented. “Sure thing that, else I wouldn't have +ventured to butt in this morning. Though if I had +gathered your guests were so numerous”—looking +round comprehensively and making a slight courteous +bow to Steadman and Collyer—“but I don't know. It +is best that a thing of this importance should be settled +at once.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke he was slowly removing the brown paper +covering from a small parcel he had taken from his +breast pocket. Watching him curiously Steadman saw +to his amazement that when the contents were finally +extracted they appeared to be nothing more important +than the day's issue of an illustrated paper.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke spread it out. Then he looked back +at Mrs. Bechcombe.</p> + +<p>“I don't want to hurt your feelings, ma'am. And +it may be that some one else belonging to the house, +perhaps that gentleman I saw down at the Yard”—with +a gesture in Steadman's direction—“would just +look at this picture.”</p> + +<p>Steadman stepped forward. But Mrs. Bechcombe's +curiosity had been aroused. She leaned across.</p> + +<p>“I will see it myself, please.”</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke laid it on the table before the +astonished eyes of the company.</p> + +<p>A glance showed John Steadman that the centre +print was a quite recognizable portrait of Luke +Bechcombe. There were also pictures of the offices in +Crow's Inn, both inside and out, an obviously fancy +likeness of Thompson “the absconding manager,” and +of Miss Cecily Hoyle, the dead man's secretary.</p> + +<p>Steadman half expected to find Mrs. Cyril B. +Carnthwacke figuring largely, but so far as he could +see there was nothing to account for that lady's +excessive agitation.</p> + +<p>She passed her handkerchief over her lips now as +she sat down sideways on the chair that Tony Collyer +placed for her, and he noticed that she was trembling +all over and that every drop of colour seemed to have +receded from her cheeks and lips. Her admirers on the +variety stage would not have recognized their idol now.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke cleared a space on the table and spread +out his paper carefully, smoothing out the creases with +meticulous attention. Then he pointed his carefully +manicured forefinger at the portrait of Luke +Bechcombe in the middle.</p> + +<p>“Would you call that a reasonably good picture of +your late husband, ma'am?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe drew her eyebrows together as she +bent over it.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is—very,” she said decidedly. “I should +say unusually good for this class of paper. It is copied +from one of the last photographs he had taken, one he +sat for when we were staying with his sister in the +country. You remember, James?” appealing to the +rector.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>“Indeed I do. We were all sitting on the lawn and +that friend of Tony's, Leonard Barnes, insisted on +taking us all. Poor Luke's was particularly good. +Why are you asking, Mr. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke wagged his yellow forefinger +reprovingly in the direction of the rector.</p> + +<p>“One moment, reverend sir. It may be, ma'am, that +you have another portrait of your lamented husband +that you could let us glimpse?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe hesitated a moment and glanced +nervously at John Steadman. In spite of all her +preconceived notions, the American was beginning to impress +her. There was something in his manner, restrained +yet with a sinister undercurrent, that filled her +with a sense of some hitherto unguessed-at, unnamable +dread. At last, moving like a woman in a dream, she +went across to the writing-table that stood between the +two tall windows overlooking the square, and +unlocking a drawer took out a cabinet photograph.</p> + +<p>“There, that is the most recent, and I think the best +we have. It was taken at Frank and Burrows, the big +photographers in Baker Street.”</p> + +<p>“Allow me, ma'am.” Cyril B. Carnthwacke held out +his hand. He studied the photograph silently for a +minute or two, laying it beside the paper and +apparently comparing the two. Everybody in the room +watched him with curious, interested eyes. His wife +sat crouching against the table, leaning over it, her +handkerchief, crushed into a hard little ball, pressed +against her lips.</p> + +<p>At last Carnthwacke laid both the portraits down +together and stood up with an air of finality.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke, I rather fancy the moment to +speak has come. Now, don't fuss yourself, but just +tell these ladies and gentlemen what you have to say +simply, same way as you did to me.”</p> + +<p>It seemed at first, as Mrs. Carnthwacke appeared to +struggle for breath and caught convulsively at her +husband's hand, that she would not be able to speak at all. +But his firm clasp drew her up. The magnetism of his +gaze compelled her words.</p> + +<p>“If that is Mr. Bechcombe,” she said very slowly, +“that portrait, I mean, and if it is a really good +likeness of him, I can only say”—she paused again and +gulped something down in her throat—“that that is not +the man I saw at the office, not the man to whom I gave +my diamonds.”</p> + +<p>A tense silence followed this avowal—a silence that +was broken at last by a moan from Mrs. Bechcombe.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? What does she mean?”</p> + +<p>There was another momentary silence, broken this +time by John Steadman. He had remained standing +since the Carnthwackes came in, on the other side of +the table. He came round towards them now.</p> + +<p>“I think you must give us a little further explanation, +Mrs. Carnthwacke,” he said courteously.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnthwacke was pressing the little ball that +had been her handkerchief to her lips again. She +turned from him with a quick gesture as though to shut +him, the other guests, the whole room, out of her sight.</p> + +<p>Her husband laid his hand on her shoulder, heavily +yet with a certain comfort in its very contact.</p> + +<p>“That is all right, old girl. You just keep quiet and +leave it to me. She can't give you any explanation. +That is just all she can say,” he went on in a determined, +almost a hostile voice. “As soon as she saw that +portrait, she knew, if that was Luke Bechcombe, that +she never saw him at all on the day of his death—that +she gave the diamonds to some one else, some one +impersonating him.”</p> + +<p>“And who,” inquired John Steadman in that quiet, +lazy voice of his, “do you imagine could have +impersonated Luke Bechcombe?”</p> + +<p>The American looked him squarely in the eyes.</p> + +<p>“That's for you legal gentlemen to decide. It is not +for me to come butting in. But I can put you wise on +one thing that stares one right in the face, so to speak, +that I can say before I quit. I don't guess who it was +who impersonated Luke Bechcombe, or where he came +from or how he got right there. But there is only one +man it could have been, and that is the murderer!”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch15"> + +<h2>Chapter XV</h2> + +<p>He looked from one to another as he spoke and as he +met John Steadman's glance his grey eyes were as hard +as steel and his thin lips were drawn and pinched +together like a trap.</p> + +<p>The horror in his hearers' faces grew and +strengthened. Mrs. Bechcombe alone tried to speak; she +leaned forward; in some inscrutable fashion her figure +seemed to have shrunk in the last few minutes. She +looked bent and worn and old, ten years older than +Luke Bechcombe's handsome wife had done. Her face +was white and rigid and set like a death-mask. Only +her eyes, vivid, burning, looked alive. No sound came +from her parted lips for a moment, then with a hoarse +croak she threw up her hands to her throat as though +she would tear the very words out:</p> + +<p>“What was he like?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnthwacke cast one glance at her and began +to tremble all over, then she clutched violently at her +husband's hand.</p> + +<p>“It—it is easier to say that he wasn't like that +portrait,” she confessed, “than to tell you what he really +was like. He gave me the impression that he was a +bigger man; his beard too was not neat and trimmed +like that—short, stubby and untidy-looking. His hair +grew low down on his forehead. That—that man's +hair,” pointing with shaking fingers to the paper portrait, +“grows far back. He is even a little bald. I don't +know that I can point out any other differences, but +the two faces are not a bit alike really. Oh, if I had +only known Mr. Bechcombe by sight this dreadful +thing might never have happened!” She leaned back +in her chair trembling violently.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke placed himself very deliberately between +her and the rest of the room. His clasp of her +cold hands tightened.</p> + +<p>“Now, now, be a sensible girl!” he admonished, giving +her a little shake as he spoke, yet with a very real +tenderness in his gruff tones. “Quit crying and shaking +and just say what you have to say as quietly as +possible. Nobody can hurt you for that. And if they do +try to, they will have to reckon with Cyril B. +Carnthwacke. Now, sir.” He looked at John Steadman. “I +guess there will be other questions you will have to +ask, and it may be as well to get as much as we can +over at once.”</p> + +<p>The barrister cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid it will be impossible to do that here. +The very first thing to be done is to inform Scotland +Yard of Mrs. Carnthwacke's tragic discovery.”</p> + +<p>The American bent over his wife for a minute then +drew aside.</p> + +<p>“I guess it will have to be as the gentleman says, +Mrs. Carnthwacke. Now just as plain as you can put +it, and remember that I am standing beside you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnthwacke drew one of her hands from his +and passed her handkerchief over her parched lips. +Then she looked at Steadman.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that it was only by a supreme effort +that she became articulate at all.</p> + +<p>“I knocked at the door—I knew how to find it, Mr. +Bechcombe had told me how on the phone. Down the +passage to the right, past the clerks' office. It—it +wasn't opened at once—I heard some one moving about +rather stumblingly, and I was just going to knock again +when the door was opened and——” She stopped, +shivering violently.</p> + +<p>“Now then, now then!” admonished her husband. +“You just quit thinking of what you are wise about +now, and tell us just what took place as quickly as you +can.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carnthwacke appeared anxious to obey him.</p> + +<p>“He—he opened the door, the man I—I told you +about. ‘Come in, Mrs. Carnthwacke,’ he said. I +never doubted its being Mr. Bechcombe—why should +I? He knew my name and my errand. Certainly I +thought he had an unpleasant voice, husky—not like +what I had heard when I rang him up. But he said +he had a cold.” She stopped again.</p> + +<p>This time John Steadman interposed.</p> + +<p>“Now the details of your interview you have told us +before——”</p> + +<p>“Ever so many times,” she sobbed. “I can't say +anything but what I told you at the inquest.”</p> + +<p>“But, now that this extraordinary new light has been +thrown upon everything, do you recollect +anything—anything that may help us? You know the veriest +trifles sometimes provide the most successful +clues—a mark on hands or face, for example.”</p> + +<p>“There wasn't any,” Mrs. Carnthwacke answered, +shaking visibly. “Or if there was, I didn't see it. But +my eyesight isn't what it was, and the room was very +dark, so I couldn't see very well.”</p> + +<p>“Dark! I shouldn't call it a dark room,” contradicted +John Steadman. “And the day was a clear one, +I know.”</p> + +<p>“The room itself mightn't be dark,” Mrs. Carnthwacke +said obstinately. “But the blinds were drawn +partly down and that heavy screen before the window +nearest the desk would darken any room.”</p> + +<p>“Screen!” John Steadman repeated in a puzzled tone. +“I have seen no screen near the window.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but there is one,” Mrs. Carnthwacke affirmed +positively. “A big heavy screen, stamped leather it +looked like. It was opened out, and stood right in front +of the window nearest the desk. I remember wondering +he should have it there. It blocked out so much +of the light.”</p> + +<p>“What a very curious thing!” The rector interjected. +“Often as I have been in to see my lamented +brother-in-law, I have seen no screen. Nor have I +found him with drawn blinds.”</p> + +<p>“It was not Mr. Bechcombe who was so found by +Mrs. Carnthwacke,” John Steadman corrected. “Of +course the semi-darkness of the room was purposely +contrived for one of two reasons, either that the +murderer should not be recognized or that his disguise +should not be suspected.”</p> + +<p>“Your two reasons seem to me to mean the same +thing, my dear sir,” Carnthwacke drawled. “But there, +if that is all——”</p> + +<p>“They do not mean the same thing at all,” John +Steadman retorted. “Anybody might suspect a person +of being disguised. But only some one who was +personally acquainted with the murderer could recognize +him. Now what we have to discover is which of these +reasons was operating in this case. Or whether, as is +possible, we have to reckon with both.”</p> + +<p>Cyril B. Carnthwacke's sleepy-looking eyes were +opened sharply for once.</p> + +<p>“I don't understand you,” he drawled. “But I can +put you wise on one of your points. Mrs. Carnthwacke +ain't acquainted with any murderers. So she could not +have recognized the man.”</p> + +<p>The barrister did not appear to be impressed.</p> + +<p>“Nobody is aware that he is acquainted with murderers +until the murderer is found out,” he remarked +with a certain air of stubbornness. “Besides, it might +not have been from Mrs. Carnthwacke that this +murderer had to fear recognition. He may have been +known by sight to lots of people who might possibly +have encountered him on his way to and from the room. +All the clerks for example, the messengers, office boys, +tenants of the neighbouring offices. Other people might +have come to Mr. Bechcombe's private room too. Mrs. +Carnthwacke may not have been the only expected +client. But one thing is certain: this new evidence of +Mrs. Carnthwacke's does throw a good deal of light on +the much vexed question of the time at which the +murder took place.”</p> + +<p>“As how?” Carnthwacke's voice did not sound as +though he would be easily placated.</p> + +<p>Steadman shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Don't you realize that the medical testimony that +Luke Bechcombe met his death soon after twelve +o'clock has always been at variance with Mrs. +Carnthwacke's statement that she saw him alive and well at +one o'clock, and afterwards Miss Hoyle too heard some +one moving about in Mr. Bechcombe's room when she +returned from lunch? Now we realize that the doctors +were right and that Mrs. Carnthwacke's interview took +place with the murderer and that Miss Hoyle——”</p> + +<p>The last word was interrupted by a hoarse, muffled +shriek from Mrs. Carnthwacke. “I can't bear it, Cyril. +If you don't take me away I shall die.”</p> + +<p>The American looked round doubtfully, then he drew +her to her feet and supported her with one arm.</p> + +<p>“Guess there is nothing to be gained by staying any +longer,” he said, a certain note of truculence in his +voice as he met Steadman's eyes. “You know where +to find us if you want us. Come then, little woman, we +will just say good morning.”</p> + +<p>No one made any effort to detain them as they went +towards the door. John Steadman followed them into +the hall.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke was bending over his wife and saying +something to her in a low, earnest voice. As John +Steadman came up to them he turned.</p> + +<p>“Guess that little fair lady on your side the table is +some one you know well, sir?”</p> + +<p>Steadman looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>“Well, fairly well. She is engaged to Luke +Bechcombe's nephew. She is a compatriot of yours too—a +Mrs. Phillimore.”</p> + +<p>“Gee whiz!” ejaculated the American. “And is that +Mrs. Phillimore?”</p> + +<p>“You have heard of her?” Steadman questioned.</p> + +<p>“Reckon I have,” Carnthwacke assented, “and seen +her too. Though it don't seem to me she was called +Phillimore then.”</p> + +<p>“Before she was married perhaps,” suggested +Steadman.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps,” drawled the American. “Anyway I have +glimpsed the lady somewhere. Americans mostly know +one another by sight you know,” a faint twinkle in his +eye as he glanced over his wife's head at the barrister.</p> + +<p>When Steadman went back to the dining-room Mrs. +Bechcombe was lying back in her chair apparently in +a state of collapse. Mrs. Phillimore was bending over +her, looking very little better herself. All her little +butterfly airs and graces had fallen from her. Her +make-up could not disguise the extreme pallor of her +cheeks, the great blue eyes were full of horror and of +dread. She was trying to persuade Mrs. Bechcombe +to drink a glass of wine which Mr. Collyer had poured +out for her.</p> + +<p>But as Steadman re-entered the room Mrs. Bechcombe +sprang up, pushing Mrs. Phillimore aside and +throwing the wine over the table cloth.</p> + +<p>“Have you let her go?”</p> + +<p>Steadman looked at her.</p> + +<p>“Control yourself, my dear Madeline. Let who +go?”</p> + +<p>“That—that woman. That Mrs. Carnthwacke,” +Mrs. Bechcombe stormed hysterically. “I thought at +least that you could see through her, that you had gone +with her to make sure that she was arrested, that——”</p> + +<p>A gleam of pity shone in Steadman's eyes as he +watched her—pity that was oddly mingled with some +other feeling.</p> + +<p>“There is not the slightest ground for arresting Mrs. +Carnthwacke, Madeline. I have told you so before. +Less than ever now.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you say less than ever now?” demanded +Mrs. Bechcombe. “Are you blind, John Steadman? +Or are you wilfully deceiving yourself? Do you not +know that that woman was telling lies? I can see—I +should think anyone with sense could see—what happened +that dreadful day in Luke's office. She took her +jewels there, her husband followed her—I believe he +is in it too. Probably he has lost his money—Americans +are like that, up one day and down the next. He +didn't want it to be known that his wife was selling her +jewels. Yes. Yes. That is how it must have been. +He sent her with the diamonds to Luke and followed +her to get them back and make it look as if Luke had +been robbed. Luke resisted and he was killed in the +struggle. Oh, yes. That was how it was! And this +cock and bull story of theirs——” She paused, +literally for breath.</p> + +<p>Steadman looked pityingly at her wide, staring eyes, +at her twitching mouth and the thin, nervous hands +that never ceased clasping and unclasping themselves, +working up and down.</p> + +<p>“Madeline, this suspicion of Mrs. Carnthwacke is +becoming a monomania with you. It is making you +unjust and cruel,” he said, then waited a minute while +she apparently tried to gather strength to answer him. +Then he went on, “There is not the slightest ground for +this new idea. Cyril B. Carnthwacke's name is one to +conjure with in Wall Street as well as on the Stock +Exchange here. Do you imagine that the police have +neglected so very ordinary a precaution as an inquiry +into his circumstances?”</p> + +<p>With a desperate struggle Mrs. Bechcombe regained +her power of speech.</p> + +<p>“The police—the police are fools!” she cried +passionately. “If a crime of this kind had been committed +in Paris or New York, the murderer would have been +discovered long ago, but in London—Scotland Yard +cannot see what the merest tyro in such matters would +recognize at once.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think so?” John Steadman's clean-cut, +humorous mouth relaxed into a faint half-smile. “I +can tell you, Madeline, that both in New York and +Paris it is recognized that our Criminal Investigation +Department is the finest in the world. But your +feeling towards Mrs. Carnthwacke is becoming an +obsession. When the mystery surrounding Luke's death is +cleared up, and somehow I do not think it will be long +now before it is, I prophesy that you will repent your +injustice.”</p> + +<p>“I prophesy that you will repent your folly in not +listening to me,” retorted Madeline Bechcombe +obstinately. “That woman was lying. Ah, you may not +have thought so. It takes a woman to find a woman +out. If I had my way I would have women +detectives——”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose we haven't?” John Steadman +interposed gently. “Dear Madeline, no stone is being +left unturned in our endeavours to bring Luke's +murderer to justice. Have patience a little longer!”</p> + +<p>“Patience, patience! I have no patience!” Mrs. +Bechcombe pushed Steadman's outstretched hand away +wrathfully and turned to Mrs. Phillimore. “Sadie, you +thought the same—you said you did just now!”</p> + +<p>In spite of her pallor Steadman fancied that the +Butterfly looked considerably taken aback.</p> + +<p>“I don't think I said quite that,” she hesitated, “I +don't know what to think. I feel that I can't—daren't +think—anything.”</p> + +<p>“What?” Mrs. Bechcombe raised her hand.</p> + +<p>For one moment Steadman thought she was about to +strike her guest, and with some instinct of protection +he stepped to the Butterfly's side.</p> + +<p>The Butterfly visibly flinched. “I—I think I said +more than I ought,” she acknowledged frankly. +“When you said she was telling lies, I—I didn't know +what to say.”</p> + +<p>“What did you say?” Steadman inquired quietly. +“Did you say anything that could be misinterpreted?”</p> + +<p>The Butterfly raised a fragment of cambric, widely +edged with real lace. Apparently it did duty as a +pocket-handkerchief. She pressed it to her eyes, taking +care, as Steadman noticed, not to touch her +carefully pencilled eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“I said I didn't think Mrs. Carnthwacke was telling +us all she knew,” she confessed. “I cannot tell what +made me feel that, but I did. She—she was keeping +something back, I am sure, and her husband knew that +she was.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether you are right,” said John +Steadman slowly.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch16"> + +<h2>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<p>“I hear you are very busy, Aubrey, and I am very +sorry to interrupt you. But I thought perhaps you +would spare me a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>The head of the Confraternity of St. Philip was +sitting at his writing-table apparently absorbed in some +abstruse calculations. He looked up with a furrowed +brow and without his usual smile as the rector of +Wexbridge advanced into the room.</p> + +<p>“I can't spare very long, Uncle James. This +enforced absence of Hopkins is throwing double work +on my shoulders.”</p> + +<p>“I know, I know!” assented Mr. Collyer. “You +must realize how sincerely I sympathize with you, my +dear Aubrey. But I bring some news that I feel sure +will interest you. The police have found some of the +emeralds.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” There was no doubting the interest in +Todmarsh's voice now. “Where? And why only +some? Why not all?” He sprang up as he spoke and +took up a position with his back to the fire, one elbow +resting on the high wooden mantelpiece. “My dear +Uncle James, this is good news indeed! And I am +sure we all need some!”</p> + +<p>“We do!” assented Mr. Collyer. “As to your questions, +my dear Aubrey, the police preserve a reticence +that I find extremely trying. They have just told me +that they have found them, not when or where. The +only thing they will say is that they believe they were +stolen by the Yellow Gang. It may retard developments +to say much of their find now, they say.”</p> + +<p>“But how?” questioned Todmarsh.</p> + +<p>The rector shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I don't know how they can even be +sure that the ones they have are my emeralds. They +all look alike to me. However, they seem very certain. +But what I came in for now, my dear Aubrey, is to +ask if you can come to Scotland Yard with me. I don't +seem much good alone and Anthony went away for the +week-end last night. And I do know you would be +more useful in identifying the jewels than he would.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder whether I could,” debated Aubrey. “Perhaps +if we took a taxi and I came straight back——. +Stolen by the Yellow Gang, you say, Uncle James?”</p> + +<p>“Well, the police seem to think so,” Mr. Collyer +assented. “But I doubt it myself. What should the +Yellow Gang be doing at quiet little Wexbridge?”</p> + +<p>Aubrey smiled in a melancholy fashion that was +strangely unlike his old bright look.</p> + +<p>“The Yellow Gang infests the whole country. They +brought off a big <i>coup</i> at a country house in the north +of Scotland a week or two ago. That they should be +able to do so and escape unpunished shows the absolute +inefficiency of the police system. The Yellow Dog, as +they call him, sets the whole authority of the country +at defiance. Personally I find myself up against him +at every turn.”</p> + +<p>“How?” the rector questioned.</p> + +<p>“Why, all this.” Todmarsh made a comprehensive +gesture with his arm that seemed to include not only +the Community House but the men playing squash +racquets and cricket outside. “All this is a direct +challenge to the Yellow Dog. We get hold not only of +those who have already gone astray, but of the potential +young criminals who are his raw material, and do +our best to turn them into decent members of society.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer looked at him.</p> + +<p>“But do you mean that any of your community men +were ever members of the Yellow Gang?”</p> + +<p>“Many of them—Hopkins himself and at least two +more of my best workers.”</p> + +<p>“Then I should have thought it would have been a +comparatively easy matter to get such information +from them as would enable you to have broken up the +Yellow Gang,” argued Mr. Collyer shrewdly.</p> + +<p>Todmarsh shook his head.</p> + +<p>“One would think so on the face of it. But, as a +matter of fact, not one of them has ever seen the Yellow +Dog. His instructions have always reached them in +some mysterious fashion and they have known nothing +of the headquarters of the gang. We have never been +able to get hold of anyone who knows anything of the +inner workings.”</p> + +<p>“Extraordinary!” said the rector. “Still, I can't +believe that they took my emeralds. With regard to your +Uncle Luke, it is a very different matter. What do +you think?”</p> + +<p>“I have not had time to think lately,” Aubrey Todmarsh +said dully. “This terrible affair of Hopkins +obsesses me, Uncle James. I cannot help thinking that +I am responsible for the whole thing.”</p> + +<p>The rector looked at him pityingly.</p> + +<p>“I know you do, my dear Aubrey. But you have +described this idea of yours rightly when you call it +an obsession—you are not struggling against it as you +ought. No. That is not quite what I mean—you +can't struggle against an idea. What I mean is that +you should try to realize, as your friends do, how very +much you did for Hopkins, and how entirely blameless +you are in the matter of his downfall.”</p> + +<p>This was rather in the rector's best pulpit style, and +the young head of the Community House of St. Philip +moved his shoulders restlessly.</p> + +<p>“You see we don't look at the matter from the same +standpoint, Uncle James. I do not acknowledge that +Hopkins has fallen.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer stared.</p> + +<p>“I don't understand you, my dear Aubrey.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Todmarsh, speaking very rapidly. “I +don't suppose you do. But I saw Hopkins yesterday +and heard his story. It made me feel both thankful +and ashamed,” pausing to blow his nose vigorously. +“Uncle James, when you know it, I am certain you will +feel as I do, that it bears the stamp of truth. Hopkins +has been working of late among some of the plague +spots of the East End, and has been most marvellously +successful. By some means he learned of the intended +burglary at Whistone Hall, and also that one of the +men engaged was one whom he had regarded as a most +promising convert. He came to ask my advice, but I +was out with Sadie and he couldn't reach me. I shall +never cease to regret that I failed him then. In his +anxiety to stop the plot he could think of no better plan +than going down to Whistone himself and reasoning +with the men. Only in the event of their very obstinate +refusal did he intend to give the alarm. However, +when he reached the scene of action, he found that +operations had begun sooner than he expected and +that they had already effected an entrance. Hopkins +went after them. He pleaded, he argued and just as +he thought he was on the point of success he found that +they were surrounded. Then, it is a moot point what +he ought to have done. So conscious was he of his +own integrity that the idea of making his escape never +occurred to him; and, when he found himself arrested +with the others, he thought he only had to explain +matters. His amazement when he was disbelieved was +pathetic—so pathetic that I lost my own composure +when listening to him.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” The rector raised his eyebrows. “But, my +dear Aubrey, in the account in the papers it said that +he was evidently the ringleader and that he was caught +red-handed with a revolver in his possession.”</p> + +<p>Aubrey cast a strange glance at his uncle from +beneath his lowered eyelids.</p> + +<p>“The papers will say anything, Uncle James. +Though as a matter of fact Hopkins had a revolver. +He had just persuaded one of the more reckless men +to give it up to him. Uncle James, in another minute +Hopkins believes and I believe he would have got them +safely out of the house. He has wonderful powers of +persuasion.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer did not speak. Remembering Hopkins's +gloomy countenance and pleasing habit of opening and +shutting his mouth silently, he was inclined to think +that Hopkins's powers of persuasion if effective must +be little short of marvellous. His defence too did not +strike him in the same light as it apparently did Aubrey. +He was inclined to think it as lame a tale as he had +ever heard.</p> + +<p>Presently Todmarsh resumed.</p> + +<p>“Keith and Swinnerton are taking up the case. They +are the keenest solicitors I know and they are briefing +Arnold Wynter for the defence. Oh, we shall get Hopkins +off all right at the assizes. But it is the thought +of what the poor old chap is going through now, locked +up there alone and knowing how the world is misjudging +him that bowls me over.” He stopped and blew his +nose again.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear boy, you cannot be held responsible +for that. And I am certain that nobody could have +done more for him than you, if as you say he is to be +defended by Arnold Wynter. But I am afraid, my +dear Aubrey, that it is likely to prove an expensive +matter for you, for it is absurd to suppose that +Hopkins——”</p> + +<p>“I shall not allow Hopkins to pay a penny if it costs +the last one I possess,” Todmarsh interrupted, a dull +shade of red streaking his sallow face as he spoke. +“You can have no idea what Hopkins was to me. To +speak to a crowd of all sorts of men, and to have Hopkins +sitting in the front with his wonderfully responsive +face was like an inspiration. You who preach must +know what I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Um! Well, I hope you may soon have him back,” +the rector said slowly.</p> + +<p>Todmarsh smiled for the first time that day.</p> + +<p>“Uncle James, I do not believe you appreciate my +poor Hopkins any more than those people at Burchester +do.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer twisted himself about impatiently.</p> + +<p>“I really did not know Hopkins at all, Aubrey. I +did not take to him, I must confess. Burchester? I +did not think that was the name of the place where he +was taken.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course he was taken at Whistone. I suppose +Burchester was the nearest gaol,” Aubrey said +carelessly. Then with a little more appearance of +interest, “Why, do you know Burchester, Uncle James?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No. My interest has always lain in the North or +the Midlands. But Mr. Steadman has got Tony the +offer of a post near there. He went down somewhere +there the other day with Inspector Furnival. I thought +them rather mysterious about it, I must say. I should +have enjoyed the ride, for they went down in the car, +and it was a lovely day. But I soon found that they +did not want a companion.”</p> + +<p>“Business, perhaps,” Todmarsh suggested. His face +was dull and uninterested now: the enthusiasm so +remarkable when he spoke of Hopkins had died out.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shouldn't think so!” Mr. Collyer dissented. +“What connexion could there be between your Uncle +Luke's death and a quiet little country town such as +Burchester? No, Burford was the place they went to.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, as we don't know who the murderer was, +or where he came from, he may just as well have been +connected with Burford as anywhere else. Uncle +James, who do you think killed Uncle Luke?”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy!” The sudden question seemed to +embarrass the rector. He took off his pince-nez and +rubbed them, replacing them with fingers that visibly +trembled. “How can we tell? How can any of us +hazard an opinion? Heaven forbid that I should judge +any man! The only idea I have formed on the subject +can hardly be called original since I know it is shared +by your Aunt Madeline, who has been voicing it much +more vehemently than I should ever do.”</p> + +<p>“Aunt Madeline!” Todmarsh looked up quickly. +“What does she say? I have not seen her since the +interrupted luncheon party. I have called, but she was +out. But what can she know?”</p> + +<p>“She does not know anything, of course.” The rector +hesitated, his face looking troubled and disturbed. +“But like myself, dear Aubrey, she was listening very +intently to Mrs. Carnthwacke. I may say that my +attention was fixed entirely on the lady; and it may be +that my profession makes me particularly critical and +observant. I dare say you have noticed that it does?”</p> + +<p>“Naturally!” Todmarsh assented. But as he spoke +the fingers of his right hand clenched themselves with a +quick involuntary movement of impatience. Observant +as Mr. Collyer had just proclaimed himself to be he +did not notice how his nephew's fingers tightened until +the knuckles shone white beneath the skin.</p> + +<p>“Yes. We parsons so often have to form our own +judgments on men and women quite independently of +all external things,” the Rev. James Collyer prattled +on, while only something in the restrained immobility +of his nephew's attitude might have made a close +observer guess at impatience resolutely held in check. +“Therefore, as I said, I watched Mrs. Carnthwacke +very closely, and I formed the opinion—the very strong +opinion that, though she was undoubtedly speaking +the truth as far as she went, she was not telling us the +whole truth. So far I agree with your Aunt Madeline. +But I feel sure that—I will not say she recognized the +murderer, the man who was impersonating your Uncle +Luke, but I think that she saw something that might +give us a clue to him, put the police on his track. And +in fact I know that this opinion is that of Mr. Steadman +if not of the police. It is from Mrs. Carnthwacke +that the identification of the murderer will come, I feel +sure. Still, I may be wrong. You, my dear boy——”</p> + +<p>A sharp cry from Todmarsh interrupted him. The +penknife with which he had been sharpening a pencil +had slipped, inflicting for so slight a thing quite a deep +gash in his wrist. The blood spurted out.</p> + +<p>His uncle looked at him aghast.</p> + +<p>“My dear Aubrey! You must have cut an artery. +What shall we do? A doctor——”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh wrapped his handkerchief hurriedly round +his wrist and tied it. He held one end out to the +clergyman.</p> + +<p>“Pull as tight as you can. I must have cut a vein. +Excuse me, Uncle James. I will just get Johnson to +make a tourniquet. He is as good as a doctor. I must +apologize for making such a mess. If you will just +have a look at the papers; you will find them over +there,” jerking his head in the direction of the table at +which he had been writing when his uncle came in. “I +won't be a minute, and then I shall be quite at your +service.” He hurried out of the room.</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer walked over to the writing-table and +took up a paper. But he was feeling too restless and +excited to read. Events were moving too quickly for +the rector of Wexbridge. Hitherto, except for his +anxiety over Tony, his had been a calmly ordered life. +Now, with his journey to London and subsequent discovery +of the loss of the emeralds, he had been plunged +into a veritable vortex of horror and bewilderment. +Two things alone he held to through all: his faith in +Heaven and his faith in Tony. Whoever else might +distrust Tony Collyer and think that he had had far more +opportunities than anyone else in the world of +possessing himself of the emeralds, his father had never +doubted him. He had seen a gleam of pity in the eyes +of the detective who had brought him the news that +the emeralds had been traced, which had told him who +was suspected of having taken them. He was thinking +of it now, and asking himself for the hundredth time +who the culprit could have been, as at last he seated +himself in Todmarsh's chair and reached out for a +paper which lay folded at the back of the inkstand. +But he drew back with an exclamation of distaste.</p> + +<p>There was blood on the writing-table, on the +inkstand, on the cover of the blotting-book. The first +spurt from Aubrey's wrist had apparently gone right +over them all. The orderly soul of the rector was +revolted. He opened the blotting-book and tearing out a +sheet proceeded to mop up the blood. He tore up the +blotting-paper and took up each spot separately. But +when the paper was finished there were still spots of +blood scattered over the writing-table. Turning back +to the blotting-book he tore out another sheet.</p> + +<p>“Wonderful!” he said to himself. “It is wonderful +that so slight a thing, a mere slip of the knife, should +inflict so much damage. I should not have thought it +possible.”</p> + +<p>And as he voiced his thoughts, his long, lean fingers +were pulling out bits of pink blotting-paper and +dabbing them down on the drops of scarlet blood, then +rolling them up into damp red pellets and dropping +them into the waste-paper-basket. Then all at once a +strange thing happened. As his fingers moved swiftly, +mechanically over their work, his gaze went back to +the open blotter.</p> + +<p>There on the leaf, as it had lain beneath the paper +he had torn out, was a piece of paper. Just a very +ordinary piece of paper with a few lines in a woman's +clear writing scrawled across it.</p> + +<p>The Rev. James Collyer read them over with no +particular intention of doing so; then as his brain +slowly took in the sense of what he read his fingers +stopped working. He never knew how long he stood +there, staring at that paper, while his lips moved +noiselessly, while every drop of colour drained slowly from +his face and the stark horror in his eyes deepened. At +last he moved. The bits of paper had dropped from his +hands and lay in an untidy heap on the table. With +a quick, furtive gesture he caught up the piece of +paper, and moving quickly he thrust it between the bars +of the grate into the sluggish fire inside. It burst into +a flame and the rector stood there and watched it burn. +When nothing was left but bits of greyish ash he turned +away and put up his hands to his forehead. It was +wet—great drops of sweat were rolling into his eyes. +A few minutes later a messenger, one of the Confraternity, +coming down from the room of the Head, found +the Rev. James Collyer letting himself out at the front +door.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Todmarsh desired me to say, sir, that the cut +is much deeper than he thought. We have sent for the +doctor, and it may be some time before he is ready to +come to you. But, if you will wait, he will be very +pleased——”</p> + +<p>“No, no! I won't wait,” said the rector thickly, in +tones that none of his parishioners would have +recognized as his. “He—he—my business is not important.”</p> + +<p>A wild idea that of a certainty the clergyman had +been drinking shot through the brain of Todmarsh's +messenger, as he stood at the open door watching the +tall, lean figure of the clergyman making its way along +the pavement and saw it sway more than once from +side to side.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch17"> + +<h2>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<p>“You identify these emeralds as yours?”</p> + +<p>“No, I can't. I don't see how anybody could +identify unset stones,” said the rector wearily.</p> + +<p>“H'm!” Inspector Furnival stopped, nonplussed. +“But these exactly answer to the description that has +been circulated, that you yourself supplied to the +police.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Collyer's face looked drawn and grey as he +turned the stones over with the tip of his finger.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! But emeralds look the same, and these +seem to fit in their settings. I—I really can't say +anything more definite. I thought mine were larger.”</p> + +<p>The inspector swept the emeralds in their wadded +box into a drawer.</p> + +<p>“Well, there is no more to be said. We shall have +to rely on expert evidence as to identity. Unless—wouldn't +it be possible that young Mr. Anthony might +be able to help us?”</p> + +<p>“I should think it extremely unlikely,” said Tony's +father decisively. “In fact I am sure it is impossible. +I always took charge of the emeralds. Tony had not +seen them for years before their disappearance.”</p> + +<p>The inspector pushed the drawer to and locked it.</p> + +<p>“That is all that can be done this afternoon, then. +I quite understood that you were prepared to be +definite with regard to the identification or I would not +have troubled you.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry!” the rector said hesitatingly. +“Then—then there is nothing more?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more!” the inspector responded curtly.</p> + +<p>He and John Steadman were standing against the +writing-table, in one drawer of which the emeralds had +been deposited. Mr. Collyer paused a moment near +the door and looked at them doubtfully. Once he +opened his mouth as if to speak, then apparently +changing his mind closed it again dumbly.</p> + +<p>When the sound of his footsteps had died away on +the stone passage outside, Steadman glanced across at +the inspector.</p> + +<p>“Unsatisfactory, isn't it?”</p> + +<p>“Very,” the inspector returned shortly. “Thank +you, sir.” He took a cigarette from the case Steadman +held out to him. “Well, fortunately, the cross was +exhibited at the Great Exhibition in '61, so I think we +shall be able, with the description then given and the +expert evidence of to-day, to reconstruct the cross and +make sure about the emeralds. But what can be wrong +with the rector?”</p> + +<p>“Is anything wrong with him?” Steadman questioned +in his turn as he lighted a match.</p> + +<p>“He looks like a man who has had some sort of a +shock,” the inspector pursued. “I wonder if it means +that Mr. Tony——”</p> + +<p>“Tony had nothing to do with the loss of the emeralds,” +John Steadman said in his most decided tones. +“You can put that out of your mind.”</p> + +<p>The inspector paced the narrow confines of his office +in Scotland Yard two or three times before he made +any rejoinder. Then as he cast a lightning glance at +Steadman he said tentatively:</p> + +<p>“I have sometimes wondered what Mrs. Collyer is +like.”</p> + +<p>“Not the sort of woman to substitute paste for her +own emeralds,” Steadman said ironically. “No use. +You will have to look farther afield, inspector.”</p> + +<p>“I am half inclined to put it down to the Yellow +Gang,” the inspector said doubtfully. “But it differs +in several particulars from the work of the Yellow Dog, +notably the substitution of the paste. But—well, there +may have been reasons.”</p> + +<p>Still his brow was puckered in a frown as he turned +to his notebook.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Steadman, I have someone else for you +to interview.” He sounded his bell sharply as he spoke. +“Show Mr. Brunton in as soon as he comes,” he said +to the policeman who appeared in answer.</p> + +<p>“He is waiting, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, good! Let him come in. This Brunton, Mr. +Steadman, is one of the late Mr. Bechcombe's younger +clerks. I do not know whether you knew him.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No, I have no recollection of any of the clerks but +Thompson.”</p> + +<p>“He is with Carrington and Cleaver, who are carrying +on Mr. Bechcombe's clients until, if ever, some one +takes on the practice,” pursued the inspector. “And +I should like you to hear a story he brought to me this +morning.”</p> + +<p>Almost as the last word left his lips, the door opened +again and a lanky, sandy-haired youth was shown in.</p> + +<p>The inspector stepped forward.</p> + +<p>“Good afternoon, Mr. Brunton. Now I want you +just to repeat to this gentleman, Mr. Steadman, what +you told me this morning.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunton coughed nervously.</p> + +<p>“I thought I did right in coming to you.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly you did,” the inspector reassured him. +“Your evidence is most important. Now, from the +beginning, please, Mr. Brunton.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was last night. I left the office early +because I had an errand to do for Mr. Carrington,” the +youth began. He kept his eyes fixed on the inspector—not +once did he glance in Steadman's direction. His +hands twisted themselves nervously together. “It took +me some time longer than I expected and it was getting +late when I started home. You will remember perhaps, +inspector, that there was a bit of a fog here, but +on the other side of the river where I had to go it was +much worse, and the farther I went the denser it +became. I got out of the bus at the <i>Elephant</i>, which is +not far from my rooms, you know.” He paused.</p> + +<p>“I know. Go on, please.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I had to walk from there—there's no bus goes +anywhere near. The fog was getting dangerous by +then. You couldn't see your hand before your face, as +the saying is. I know the way well enough in the +daylight, but in a fog things look so different. It is a +regular network of small streets behind there, you +know, and one seemed just like the other. I lost my +bearings and began to wonder how I was going to get +home. There were no passers-by—I seemed to be the +only living creature out—and I was just making up my +mind to ring the bell at one of the houses and see if +anyone could direct me or help me at all, when a +strange thing happened; though I hadn't known there +was anyone about, a voice spoke out of the fog close +beside me as it seemed. ‘It is the only thing to be +done—you can't make a mistake.’ The rejoinder came in a +woman's voice. ‘But I can't do it. It wouldn't be safe. +They might follow me. You must shake them off if +you have any affection for me.’ The man's voice said +again, ‘If you have any thought for the future you will +get it for me. Would you like to see me in prison and +worse? Would you like to be pointed at as——’ That +was all I heard, sir.” Mr. Brunton turned himself from +Mr. Steadman to the inspector, then back again to +Steadman. “I was listening for all I was worth, trying +not to miss a word, when that horrid fog got down my +throat and tickled me, and before I could help myself +I had given a great sneeze. There was a sharp +exclamation, and I thought I caught the sound of +footsteps deadened by the fog. That was all I could hear, +sir—every word,” looking from one to the other.</p> + +<p>“Very good, Mr. Brunton,” the inspector said as he +stopped. “And now just you tell Mr. Steadman why +you listened—why you were anxious to hear.”</p> + +<p>The youth glanced at Steadman in a scared fashion. +“I—I listened, sir, because I recognized the voices, one +voice at least for certain—the man's. It was Mr. Amos +Thompson's, the late Mr. Bechcombe's managing +clerk.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “You are +sure?”</p> + +<p>“Quite certain, as certain as I could be of anything,” +asseverated Brunton. “I knew Mr. Thompson's voice +too well to make any mistake, sir. I had good reason +to, for he was for ever nagging at me when I was at +Mr. Bechcombe's. There wouldn't be one of us clerks +who wouldn't recognize Mr. Thompson's voice.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so?” Mr. Steadman raised his eyebrows +again. “And the other voice—the woman's?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunton fidgeted. “I wasn't so certain of that, +sir. I hadn't had so many opportunities of hearing it, +you see. But it sounded like Miss Hoyle's—Mr. +Bechcombe's secretary. I heard it at the inquest.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you saw absolutely nothing to show +that you were right in either surmise,” John Steadman +said, his face showing none of the surprise he felt at +hearing Cecily's name.</p> + +<p>“Nothing—nothing at all!” Mr. Brunton confirmed. +“But, if I ever heard it on earth, it was Mr. Thompson's +voice I heard then. And I don't think—I really +don't think I was wrong in taking the other for Miss +Hoyle's, as I say I heard it at the inquest, and I took +particular notice of it.”</p> + +<p>“Um!” John Steadman stroked his nose meditatively. +“How long had you been in Mr. Bechcombe's +office, Mr. Brunton?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunton hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>“Five years, sir. I began as office boy to—to gain +experience, you know. I was fourteen then and I am +nineteen now.”</p> + +<p>“No more?” said Mr. Steadman approvingly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunton, who had looked distinctly depressed at +the mention of his lowly beginning, began to perk up.</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Thompson has been managing clerk all +the time,” the barrister went on. “No, I don't think +you could very well mistake his voice. But Miss +Hoyle had only been a short time with Mr. Bechcombe, +you say—you had not seen much of her? At the +office, I mean, not the inquest.”</p> + +<p>“Not much, sir. Because she never came into our +office. She always went into her own by the door next +Mr. Bechcombe's room. Most of the clerks really +did not know her by sight at all, let alone recognize her +voice. But it was part of my job to go into Mr. +Bechcombe's room with the midday mail, and more often +than not she would be there taking down Mr. Bechcombe's +instructions in shorthand. Very often too he +would make her repeat the last sentence he had given +her before he broke off. It was in that way I got to +know her voice a little, for I never spoke to her beyond +passing the time of day if we met accidentally, for she +was always one that kept herself to herself,” Mr. Brunton +concluded, quite out of breath with his long speech.</p> + +<p>John Steadman nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you would have a fair chance of becoming +acquainted with her voice that way. Better, I think, than +at the inquest. The words that you overheard, I take +it you reported as accurately as possible.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir.” Mr. Brunton moved restlessly from +one leg to the other. “You see, I recognized Mr. +Thompson's voice with the first words and, knowing +how important it was that the police should find him, +I listened for all I was worth.”</p> + +<p>“I take it from the words you have reported that +Thompson had some hold over the girl,” Mr. Steadman +pursued. “Had you previously had any idea of +any connexion between them?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Brunton shook his head in emphatic negative.</p> + +<p>“Not the least, sir. If you had asked me I shouldn't +have thought Mr. Thompson would have known Miss +Hoyle if he had met her.”</p> + +<p>“And yet Miss Hoyle's portrait was found in +Thompson's room,” Mr. Steadman said very deliberately. +“One might say the only thing that was found there in +fact.”</p> + +<p>“Was it, indeed, sir?” Young Brunton looked +dumbfounded. “Well, if they were friends, there was none +of us in the office suspected it,” he finished.</p> + +<p>“And that was rather remarkable among such a lot +of young men as there were at Luke Bechcombe's,” +remarked John Steadman. “They generally have their +eyes open to everything. Now as to where they were +when you overheard them. You do not think you could +recognize the place again?”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid not, sir. You see, the fog alters +everything so. I seemed to have been wandering about for +hours when I heard Thompson's voice, and it appeared +to me that I walked about for hours afterwards before +the fog lifted. When it did I was quite near home, but +I haven't the least idea whether it meant that I had +been sort of walking round about in a circle, or whether +I had been further afield.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway we shall have all that neighbourhood +combed out,” interposed Inspector Furnival. “If Mr. +Thompson is in hiding anywhere there I think that +we may take it his capture is only a matter of time. +I am much obliged to you, Mr. Brunton. I will let +you know in good time when your evidence is likely to +be required.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir.” With an awkward circular bow +intended to include both men Mr. Brunton took his +departure.</p> + +<p>The inspector shut the door behind him.</p> + +<p>“What do you think of that?”</p> + +<p>“I was surprised,” Steadman answered. “Surprised +that they were not more careful,” he went on. “There +is nothing more unsafe than talking of one's private +affairs abroad in a fog. Buses and trains are child's +play to a fog.”</p> + +<p>The inspector smiled.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, don't criminals always overlook +something? Which reminds me—this came an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>He handed a piece of paper to Steadman.</p> + +<p>The latter regarded it doubtfully. It had evidently +been torn out of a notebook, and looked as though it +had passed through several hands, for it was dirty and +thumbmarked and frayed at the edges as though it had +been carried about in some one's pocket. Across one +corner of it were scrawled some letters in pencil. He +put up his pince-nez and looked at it more closely. +The few words scrawled across it were very irregularly +and illegibly written in printed characters. After +scrutinizing it for some time through his glasses +Steadman made them out to be: “Wednesday night, +21 Burlase Street, Limehouse. Chink-a-pin.”</p> + +<p>“What is to take place at 21 Burlase Street on +Wednesday night?” he questioned as he laid it down.</p> + +<p>“A meeting of the Yellow Gang, and I hope the +capture of the Yellow Dog,” the inspector answered +pithily and optimistically.</p> + +<p>“And this comes from——?” Steadman went on, +tapping the paper with his eyeglasses.</p> + +<p>“One of the Gang. It is pretty safe to assume that +sooner or later there will be an informer.”</p> + +<p>“You will be there?”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded. “But we are taking no risks. +The informer may be false to both sides. The house +will be surrounded. Whole squads of men are being +drafted to the neighbourhood, a few at a time, to-day. +I fancy we shall corner the Yellow Dog at last. With +this password I shall certainly get into the house and +arrest the Yellow Dog. Then at the sound of the +whistle the house will be rushed.”</p> + +<p>“I will come with you,” said John Steadman. “I +fancy an interview with the Yellow Dog may be +extraordinarily interesting.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch18"> + +<h2>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<p>“I cannot live without you, Cecily. This bogy of +yours shall not separate us. Surely my love is strong +enough to help you to bear whatever the future can +hold. Till the last hour of my life I shall be your +devoted lover, Tony.”</p> + +<p>A momentary sensation of warmth and light ran +through Cecily's cold frame as she read the impassioned +sentences. Very resolutely she had put Anthony +Collyer's love from her. She had told herself that she +was a moral leper set far apart from all thoughts of +love or marriage. It was not in the nature of a mortal +girl to read such words and remain unmoved.</p> + +<p>She was sitting at her table in Madeline Bechcombe's +private sitting-room. As she finished reading +her letter she made a movement as though to tuck it +in the breast of her gown, then, changing her mind, +she tossed it into the very centre of the bright fire on +the hearth.</p> + +<p>At this same moment Mrs. Bechcombe came into +the room. She glanced curiously at the paper just +bursting into momentary flame.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would not burn papers here, Miss +Hoyle,” she said fretfully. “It does litter up the hearth +so and there is a waste-paper-basket over there.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, I quite forgot,” Cecily said +penitently. “Mrs. Bechcombe, this is a letter from Lady +Chard-Green. She wants you to go to them for a +week-end, the 3rd or the 10th if that would suit you +better.”</p> + +<p>“They will neither of them suit me at all,” Mrs. +Bechcombe said decisively. “You can tell her so. I +wonder whether she would feel inclined to go about +week-ending if her husband had been cruelly +murdered?”</p> + +<p>Cecily shivered as she took up the next letter.</p> + +<p>“This is from Colonel Chalmers. He has just +returned to England, and——”</p> + +<p>“I don't care what he has done,” Mrs. Bechcombe +interrupted. “I really only came in to tell you that I +do not feel well enough to attend to letters or anything +else this morning. So you need not stay—it will give +you a little more time to yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you very much.” Cecily hesitated. “But +can I not do anything for you, Mrs. Bechcombe? +Perhaps if your head is bad again, you might let me +read to you.”</p> + +<p>“No, no! I could not stand it. It would drive me +mad,” Mrs. Bechcombe responded, with the irritability +that was becoming habitual with her. “No, when I +feel like this, I must be alone. I mean it.”</p> + +<p>Cecily was nothing loath to leave her work and go +out into the air. It was a lovely day. The sky was +blue as Londoners seldom see it, tiny fleecy clouds of +white just floating across it emphasizing the depth of +colour. Spring seemed to be calling to the youth in +her to come into the country and rejoice with the new +life that was springing into being everywhere. And +Cecily must go to Burford. She had intended to go +when her day's work was over, but now she could start +at once. Like a great black thundercloud over the +brightness of the day the thought of Burford and of +her errand there overhung everything. She made up +her mind to take the first train down and get the thing +over.</p> + +<p>She made her way to the station at once. Trains to +Burford ran frequently and she had not long to wait. +She occupied the time by getting a cup of tea and a +bun in the refreshment room, but though she had had +nothing but a piece of dry toast for her breakfast she +could not eat. She only crumbled the bun, one of the +station variety, while she drank the tea thirstily. She +did not notice that a shabbily dressed small boy who +had been loitering outside the house in Carlsford +Square had dogged her steps to the station and now sat +reading a dilapidated copy of “Tit-Bits” outside on the +seat nearest the refreshment room.</p> + +<p>The station for Burford was soon reached. Cecily, +who was fond of walking, made up her mind to walk to +Rose Cottage instead of taking the shabby one-horse +cab that stood outside the station, but she was out of +practice and she was distinctly tired when she reached +her destination.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper received her with evident +amazement.</p> + +<p>“Miss Hoyle! Well, I never! And I have been +expecting your pa down every day this past week!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I have come instead, you see. I hope I am +not a dreadful disappointment,” Cecily said, calling up +a smile with an effort as she shook hands. She did not +know much of Mrs. Wye and what little she did know +she did not much like, but she knew that the woman +had been a long time with her father and felt that it +behoved her to make herself pleasant.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper held open the sitting-room door and +Cecily walked in and sat down with an air of relief.</p> + +<p>“My father has been ill, Mrs. Wye. That is why +he has not been down here lately. He is much better +now and I am hoping to take him to the sea soon to +convalesce. In the meantime he wants some papers +from the desk in his bedroom and I have come to fetch +them.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry to hear Mr. Hoyle has been ill, +miss,” and the woman really did look concerned. “We +have had several people here asking after him of late +and there is a lot of letters. But I never know where +to forward them. I take it Mr. Hoyle will have been +in a nursing-home, miss?”</p> + +<p>“Er—oh, yes.” Cecily began to feel that even this +woman might want to know too much. “Perhaps you +would get me a cup of tea, Mrs. Wye,” she went on. +“I hadn't time for lunch before I started and though I +had some tea at the station it wasn't up to much. It +never is at stations, somehow.”</p> + +<p>“You are right there, miss,” Mrs. Wye agreed. +“And is the master out of the nursing-home now, might +I ask, miss?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. He is with friends,” Cecily said vaguely. +Her colour deepened as she spoke.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper's little eyes watched her curiously. +“Perhaps you would give me an address I could +forward the letters to, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course!” Cecily got up. She could not sit +here to be badgered by this woman who she began to +feel was inimical to her. “I will get the things my +father wants,” she went on. “For I must catch an +early train back. I do not want to be away longer than +necessary.”</p> + +<p>She went upstairs to the front bedroom which she +knew to be her father's. It was spotlessly clean and +tidy, but it had the bare look of a room that has been +unoccupied for a long time. The desk stood on a small +table near the window. Cecily had the key, and the +envelope for which she had come down was lying just +at the top. A long rather thin envelope inscribed +11260. Doubled up it just fitted into Cecily's +handbag. She pushed it in and shut it with a snap. Then +she sat down in a basket-work chair near the open +window. She really could not start back without some +rest, and she was not anxious to encounter Mrs. Wye +again. As she sat there her thoughts went back to +Tony's letter; and though she told herself that nothing +could come of it the recollection of his love seemed to +fall like sunshine over her, cheering and enveloping +her.</p> + +<p>She was feeling more herself when her eyes mechanically +straying past the little garden with its ordered +paths and flower-beds fixed themselves on the road that +ran beyond. Suddenly they focused themselves upon +an object nearly opposite the cottage gate. Slowly the +colour ebbed from her cheeks and lips, her eyes grew +wide and frightened, the hands lying on her lap began +to twitch and twine themselves nervously together.</p> + +<p>Yet at first sight there seemed nothing in the road +outside to account for her agitation—just a heap of +broken stones and sitting by it a worn, tired-looking +old tramp. Just a very ordinary-looking old man. Yet +Cecily got up, and, craning forward while keeping +herself in the shadow as much as possible, tried to view +him from every possible angle. Surely, surely, she said +to herself, it could not be the very same old man to +whom she had seen John Steadman give a penny outside +the house in Carlsford Square only that very morning! +Yet try to persuade herself as she might, that it +could not be the same, she knew from the first moment +beyond the possibility of a doubt that there was +no mistake. And that could mean only one thing, that +she was being followed, that they suspected—what? +She began to shiver all over. Then one idea seemed to +take possession of her. Almost she could have fancied +it had been whispered in her ear by some outside +unseen agency. She must get back to town without delay, +by the very next train, she must take that mysterious +envelope to its destination at once. She ran downstairs. +Mrs. Wye was laying the table.</p> + +<p>“I thought maybe you would relish a dish of ham +and eggs. Butcher's meat is a thing we can't come at +out here at the end of the week, not unless it is ordered +beforehand.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no! Please don't trouble to cook anything. +I will just have a bit of bread and butter. Indeed I +would rather,” Cecily protested. “I find I must get +back again as quickly as possible. I have forgotten +something in town.”</p> + +<p>She sat down and drawing the plate of brown bread +and butter towards her managed to eat a piece while +she drank a cup of the strong tea Mrs. Wye poured +out for her.</p> + +<p>“It isn't any use your hurrying,” the housekeeper +babbled on. “You will have plenty of time to make a +good meal and walk slowly to the station and still have +time to spare, before eight o'clock.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I want to get the half-past six,” Cecily said +quickly. “I shall have time if I start at once, I think.”</p> + +<p>“You might, but then again you might not,” Mrs. +Wye said in a disappointed tone. The hour's gossip +to which she had been looking forward was apparently +not coming off. “You would save a few minutes +by taking the footpath at the back,” she added +honestly. “You cut off a good bit past Burford Parish +Church that way.”</p> + +<p>The back! Cecily's heart gave a great throb. +Would she be able to escape that watcher in the front +after all?</p> + +<p>“Do you mean at the back of this cottage?” she +questioned.</p> + +<p>“Dear me, yes, miss. It is a favourite walk of the +poor master's. If you go out of the front you just +go round the house. Or you can get on to the path +by our back door and the little gate behind we use for +bringing in coal and such-like.”</p> + +<p>“I will go by the back, please,” Cecily said, standing +up. “No, thank you, Mrs. Wye, I really can't eat +any more. And I will write and let you know how my +father is in a day or two.”</p> + +<p>She made her escape from the loquacious housekeeper +with a little more difficulty, and sped quickly on +to the path pointed out to her, clutching the precious +handbag tightly to her side. She almost ran along the +footpath in her anxiety to reach the station and was +delighted to find herself there with a quarter of an hour +to spare. She bought her ticket and then ensconced +herself in the waiting-room in a corner so that she +could watch the approach to the station and find out +whether the old beggar was on her track.</p> + +<p>As soon as the train was signalled she went out on +the platform, and managed to find a seat in an empty +carriage. It did not remain empty long, however. +There were more people waiting for the train than she +had expected. Evidently the 6.30, slow though it might +be, was popular in Burford. The carriage, a corridor +one, was soon full. Cecily took her seat by the window, +clutching her handbag closely to her, and winding the +cord tightly round her wrist. Opposite to her was a +young, smart-looking man, who showed a desire to get +the window to her liking which was distinctly flattering. +Next to him sat a young woman, very pale and +delicate-looking. Beyond her again was an elderly woman +apparently of the respectable lodging house keeper type. +The other seats were occupied by a couple of working +men, one with his bag of tools on his shoulder. Cecily, +after one look round, decided that she was certainly +safe here. She had brought a pocket edition of Keats's +poems with her, and she took it out now and, opening +the book at “Isabella and the Pot of Basil,” was soon +deep in it.</p> + +<p>The man opposite was reading, the old lady beside +him was sleeping, the two working men were staring +at the flying landscape with uninterested, lack-lustre +eyes, half-open mouths and one hand planted on each +knee. Cecily after her unwonted exercise in the open +air felt inclined to sleep herself, but she remembered +the contents of her bag and resolutely resisted the +inclination of her eyelids to droop. Still she was feeling +pleasantly drowsy when they ran into the long tunnel +between Rushleigh and Fairford. The man opposite +her put down his paper and leaned across her to draw +up the window with a murmured “Excuse me.”</p> + +<p>At the same moment the light went out. There +was a chorus of exclamations, a shriek from the old +lady beside Cecily, something very like a swear word +from the man opposite. In a trice he had lighted a +match and held it up. “It is not much of a light,” he +said apologetically, “but it is better than nothing and +I have plenty to last to the end of the tunnel.”</p> + +<p>Then he uttered a sharp exclamation. Cecily's eyes +followed his. She saw that the old lady next her had +slipped sideways, the pretty apple colour in her cheeks +had faded, that the pendulous cheeks had become a +sickly indefinite grey. The man in the corner dropped +his match and lighted another. He moved up the seat +and struck another.</p> + +<p>“She has fainted,” he announced. “In itself that +is not serious, but I am a doctor and I should say she +has heart trouble. She certainly ought not to travel +alone.”</p> + +<p>Already they were getting through the tunnel. +Cecily felt the old lady lurch against her and lie like a +dead weight against her arm. The girl put out her +other hand and held the helpless form tightly. As the +light spread the doctor leaned over and felt the woman's +pulse.</p> + +<p>“She must be laid flat,” he said briefly. “Will you +help me?” He beckoned to the man at the other end, +and between them they raised the woman, and laid her +down. Cecily unfastened a scarf that was twisted +tightly round the flabby neck. The doctor's quick, +capable fingers produced a pair of scissors from a case +and cut down the woolen jumper in front, then from a +handbag he produced a tiny phial. From this he +poured just one drop into the poor woman's mouth, +while Cecily by his directions fanned her vigorously +with a sheet of newspaper. By and by they were +rewarded by signs of returning consciousness, and +presently the patient opened her eyes and gazed round +questioningly at the strange faces. Then she began to +sit up and try to pull her jumper together with shaking +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Did I faint?” she asked tremulously. “I—I know +it all went dark, and then I don't remember any more.”</p> + +<p>“Don't try!” advised the doctor, “just rest as long +as you can. I think we can manage a pillow for you.” +He disposed his bag and rug behind her so that she +was propped up against the end of the carriage.</p> + +<p>As she watched him fix the handbag, Cecily was +suddenly reminded of her own bag with its precious +contents. With a certain prevision of evil she clapped her +free hand on her wrist. The bag was gone! She +remembered that it had been in her way when she began +to help with the invalid—then she could remember no +more. Withdrawing her hand from the sick woman's +grasp, she began to search feverishly among the +newspapers and various odds and ends that were strewn all +over the compartment. The doctor looked at her.</p> + +<p>“You have lost something? Your bag? Oh, now +where did I see it? Oh, I remember—you put it down +here.” He produced it from the side of his patient, +from between her and the wood of the compartment, +and handed it to her.</p> + +<p>Cecily almost snatched it from him. How had she +come to let it fall, she asked herself passionately. But +had she dropped it or had it been taken from her? +She fumbled with the clasp with fingers that were numb +with fear. Yes, yes! There it was, that mysterious +packet, just as she had placed it, and with a sigh of +relief she sat down again and leaned back.</p> + +<p>There was little more to be done for the woman who +was ill. She lay quietly in her seat until they ran into +the London terminus. Then Cecily leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“Will your friends meet you?” she asked gently. +“Or can I help you?”</p> + +<p>The sick woman did not open her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I shall be met, thank you. Thank you all so much.”</p> + +<p>Quite a crowd of porters, apparently beckoned by +the guard, appeared at the door. The doctor smiled as +he stood aside for Cecily.</p> + +<p>“You have been a most capable assistant.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you!” Cecily gave him a cold little smile +of farewell as she sprang out.</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment outside the station, then she +beckoned to a passing taxi and gave her address at the +Hobart Residence. She was taking no further risks, +and her hand held the handbag firmly with its precious +contents intact until it had been safely locked up in her +desk.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile another taxi had flashed out of the station +and bowled swiftly in the opposite direction to +that which she had taken. In it were seated side by +side the woman who had been ill in the train, now +marvellously recovered, and the smart young doctor, +while opposite to them there lounged one of the working +men who had been sitting at the other end of the +compartment.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Inspector Furnival, busily writing +at his desk in his room at Scotland Yard, looked +up sharply as there was a tap at the door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!”</p> + +<p>The door opened to admit a man who bore a strong +resemblance to the young doctor of the train, though +in some subtle fashion a curious metamorphosis seemed +to have overtaken him. To Cecily he had seemed to +be all doctor—now, he looked to even a casual observer +all policeman as he saluted his superior.</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced at him.</p> + +<p>“Any luck, Masterman?”</p> + +<p>For answer Masterman held out a piece of paper on +which a few words were scrawled.</p> + +<p>The inspector drew his brows together over it.</p> + +<p>“Samuel Horsingforth,” he read, “Sta. Irica, +Portugal.” Then he looked up at his subordinate. “You +have done very well, Masterman. This is really all +that is essential.”</p> + +<p>Masterman, well-pleased, saluted again.</p> + +<p>“I thought it would be, sir. And it was really all we +had time for. Miss Hoyle is not an easy nut to crack.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch19"> + +<h2>Chapter XIX</h2> + +<p>John Steadman was hard at work in Luke Bechcombe's +study. He was finding his co-executor, the +Rev. James Collyer, of very little use. It was +rumoured that the rector had had a nervous breakdown; +at any rate it appeared impossible to get him up to +town and documents requiring his signature had to be +sent to Wexbridge Rectory by special messenger.</p> + +<p>Steadman was cogitating over this fact in some +annoyance and deliberating the advisability of applying +for the appointment of another executor, when he +heard the sound of a taxi stopping before the door, and +looking up he saw Inspector Furnival getting out. He +went into the hall to meet him.</p> + +<p>The inspector was looking grave and perturbed.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard?” he questioned breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” Steadman answered laconically.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke was murderously assaulted this +morning in her own carriage in one of London's +best-known thoroughfares!”</p> + +<p>“What!” The barrister stared at him in a species +of stupefaction.</p> + +<p>Instead of answering the inspector stepped back to +the open door of the study.</p> + +<p>“One moment, please.”</p> + +<p>But if to speak to John Steadman in private was his +objective he did not obtain it. Mrs. Bechcombe came +quickly into the hall with Cecily Hoyle close behind +her.</p> + +<p>“Inspector,” she cried, “what is it? You have +discovered my husband's murderer? I heard you say +‘Mrs. Carnthwacke.’ ”</p> + +<p>The inspector's face was very grave as he turned. +Then he stood back for her to pass into the study. He +did not speak again until they were all in the room, +then he closed the door and looked at Luke +Bechcombe's widow with eyes in which pity was mingled +with severity.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke has nearly shared your husband's +fate, madam,” he said very deliberately. “I +think you must be convinced now of the absolute +impossibility of the theory you have not hesitated to +broadcast all along.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” Mrs. Bechcombe questioned +sharply.</p> + +<p>The inspector spread out his hands.</p> + +<p>“As I was just telling Mr. Steadman, Mrs. Carnthwacke +was murderously assaulted and left for dead +in her own carriage this morning, in circumstances +which leave small doubt in my mind that the miscreant +who attacked her was Mr. Bechcombe's murderer.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe it! The Carnthwackes—one of +them, murdered my husband,” Mrs. Bechcombe said +uncompromisingly. “I have the strongest +possible——”</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by an odd sound, a sort of +choking gasp from Cecily. They all turned. The girl +was deathly white. She caught her breath sharply in +her throat.</p> + +<p>“It—it can't be true! I don't believe it! Why +should he want to hurt Mrs. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>“Why should who want to hurt Mrs. Carnthwacke?” +the inspector counter-questioned.</p> + +<p>“Because—oh, I don't know——. Oh, I know he +didn't!” Cecily accompanied this asseveration with a +burst of tears. “Nobody could be so cruel.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody has!” the inspector said dryly. “Is it +any consolation to you to think that there are two +murderers at large instead of one, Miss Hoyle?”</p> + +<p>Cecily stared at him, twisting her hands about, +apparently in an agony of speechlessness. She made two +or three hoarse attempts to answer him. Then, with +a wild glance round at the amazed faces of Steadman +and Mrs. Bechcombe, she turned and rushed out of the +room.</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced at John Steadman—a glance +intercepted by Mrs. Bechcombe.</p> + +<p>“Hysteria!” that lady remarked scornfully. “I +fancy she thinks that you suspect Anthony, and that +naturally—— But enough of Cecily Hoyle. What is +this wild tale of yours about Mrs. Carnthwacke, +inspector?”</p> + +<p>“It is no wild tale, madam,” the inspector said coldly. +“I have just come from the Carnthwackes' house, +where Mrs. Carnthwacke lies at death's door. I came +here by Mr. Carnthwacke's express desire to see +whether I could induce Mr. Steadman to accompany me +to consult with him as to the best measures to be taken +now.”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will come, inspector,” the barrister said +readily. “As I should go anywhere where it was in the +least probable that I should hear anything at all +bearing upon our own case. One never knows from what +point elucidation may come.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bechcombe turned her shoulder to him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please don't prose, John! Now what has +happened to Mrs. Carnthwacke, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Carnthwacke, madam, was just taking a drive +as you might yourself. She came up Piccadilly, left +an order at a shop in New Bond Street, told her man +to drive by way of Regent Street and Oxford Street to +the Park, to go in by the Marble Arch and wait near +the Victoria Gate until Mr. Carnthwacke who had been +out for the night came from Paddington Station to join +them. As it happened he was at the meeting-place +first. When the car stopped he was amazed to see +Mrs. Carnthwacke lolling back in a sort of crouching +position against the side of the car. At first he thought +she had had a fit of some kind, but there was an odour +to which he was unaccustomed hanging about the car +and then he discovered a piece of cord twisted tightly +round his wife's throat. He cut it in a frenzy of fear +and for some time they thought she was dead. But +they drove straight to some doctor they knew close to +the Park. He tried artificial respiration and brought +her round to some extent, and then before they took +her home, phoned to Scotland Yard for me.”</p> + +<p>“What was the motive?” Steadman asked quietly.</p> + +<p>The inspector raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Only one person saw Mr. Bechcombe's murderer. +Mrs. Carnthwacke was a witness to be feared.”</p> + +<p>“But you say she is not got rid of! She is alive!” +Mrs. Bechcombe interrupted hysterically.</p> + +<p>“At present,” the inspector rejoined grimly. “Mr. +Steadman, if you could come——? As I said before, +Carnthwacke is most anxious to have your advice with +regard to what steps should be taken to discover the +would-be murderer. And there is no time to be lost.”</p> + +<p>“I am at your service, inspector.” Steadman turned +to the door. “You shall hear further particulars as +soon as possible, Madeline.”</p> + +<p>In the taxi outside John Steadman looked at the +inspector.</p> + +<p>“Is this the work of the Yellow Dog, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“It is the work of Mr. Bechcombe's murderer, sir,” +the inspector replied evasively.</p> + +<p>“You have some grounds for this conviction, I +presume,” John Steadman rejoined. “At first sight it +looks as though it might be an entirely independent +affair. An attempt to steal any jewels that Mrs. +Carnthwacke might be wearing. Or her money.”</p> + +<p>“You wait until you have talked to Mrs. Carnthwacke, +sir. You won't feel much doubt as to her +assailant's identity then.”</p> + +<p>“But is Mrs. Carnthwacke able to speak?” John +Steadman questioned in great surprise. “I understood +from what you said——”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked him full in the face and +solemnly winked one eye.</p> + +<p>“It suits our purpose that the outside world and +particularly Mrs. Carnthwacke's assailant should think +her dying. But, as a matter of fact, when Mrs. Carnthwacke +had rallied from the effects of the strangulation, +except that she feels weak and ill from the shock, she +was practically as well as you or I. She is perfectly +able to discuss the matter with us, though by my advice +she is keeping to her own rooms and it is being given +out that she is still unconscious, lying between life and +death.”</p> + +<p>At No. 15 Blanden Square, they were received by +Cyril B. Carnthwacke himself. He was looking pale +and worried, but he greeted John Steadman warmly.</p> + +<p>“Say, this is all right of you, Mr. Steadman,” he +exclaimed. “Come right away to my sanctum and I +will tell you what I can about this affair.”</p> + +<p>He led the way to his study, a large room at the +back of the house on the second floor. When they +were inside he locked and bolted the door, somewhat to +Steadman's surprise.</p> + +<p>“Now,” he said, going to the opposite side of the +room and unlocking another door, “we are going right +away to Mrs. Carnthwacke and you shall hear what +she says, Mr. Steadman.”</p> + +<p>The door he opened led into what was apparently +his dressing-room with a communicating door into Mrs. +Carnthwacke's apartments. In this a couple of women +dressed as nurses were sitting. They rose. Furnival +murmured:</p> + +<p>“Female detectives to guard Mrs. Carnthwacke. +Even her own maid is not admitted.”</p> + +<p>One of them opened the farther door and ushered +them into Mrs. Carnthwacke's room. In spite of +Inspector Furnival's report, Steadman was surprised to +see how well she looked. She was lying back in a +capacious arm-chair; some arrangement of lace +concealed any damage there might be to her throat, and +beyond the fact that she was unusually pale—which +might have been put down to the absence of make-up—and +that one side of her face was a little swollen, he +would have noticed nothing unusual in her.</p> + +<p>He went forward with a few conventional words of +sympathy. Carnthwacke drew up three chairs and +motioned to the other men to be seated.</p> + +<p>“Now, honey,” he said persuasively, “you are just +going to tell us all once more what happened this +morning.”</p> + +<p>“I will do my best.” Mrs. Carnthwacke closed her +eyes for a moment. “It is such a horrible ghastly +thing. But—but I know that to let such a man be at +large is a public danger. So I must tell you though +every time I speak of it I seem to live through it again. +Well, I left home this morning just as well as ever, Mr. +Steadman. And really you wouldn't have thought I +<em>could</em> be in any danger in my own car with two men on +the front; now, would you?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly should not,” John Steadman agreed.</p> + +<p>“Such a thing never entered my head,” Mrs. Carnthwacke +went on. “But first, perhaps, I had better say +that I wore no jewellery that could possibly attract +anybody's attention. None at all, in fact, but my +wedding ring and the diamond half hoop that was my +engagement ring which I have worn as a keeper ever +since. I haven't even worn my pearls out of doors +lately, because I thought it best to be on the safe side. +Well, I went to my tailor's in New Bond Street. It +was an awful bother getting there, because as you +know Bond Street is up—any street you want to go to +is always up—and we had to go very slow in the side +streets because all the vehicles which turned out of +Bond Street were crowding up in the narrower streets, +and the traffic was generally disorganized. I was just +hoping we should soon get out of the crush when the +door of the car was opened and a young man got in. +In that first moment I was not really frightened, for +he looked like a gentleman and smiled quite +pleasantly.”</p> + +<p>“One minute, please,” Steadman interposed. “In +what street were you now?”</p> + +<p>“I don't know. I didn't notice. We didn't seem to +have left New Bond Street very long! I really thought +for the moment in a half-bewildered way that he must +be some one I had known very well in the old days +when I was in England, and who had altered—grown +as it were. He sat down opposite me. ‘I see you don't +know me,’ he said in quite a cultivated voice, ‘and yet +it is not so very long since we met.’ ‘Isn't it?’ I said. +‘No, I don't seem to remember you. Where did we +meet?’ With that I put out my hand to the speaking +tube, for I was beginning to think that all was not +right. But he was too quick for me. He caught both +my hands in his, then managing somehow to hold them +both in one of his he sprang across and sat down beside +me. I struggled, of course, and tried to call out, +though I wasn't so awfully frightened, not at first, for +it seemed unthinkable that I should really be hurt there +in my own car in the broad daylight. But when I +opened my mouth to cry out he stuck something into +my mouth, something that burned and stung. Then +in that moment I knew him—knew him for Luke +Bechcombe's murderer, I mean. I struggled frantically, +but he was putting something round my neck, pulling +it tighter and tighter. I couldn't breathe. And then I +knew no more till I was coming round again and my +husband and the doctor were with me.” She stopped +and put up her hands to her neck as if she still felt that +cruel strangulating grip.</p> + +<p>Cyril B. Carnthwacke's face looked very grim.</p> + +<p>“That guy will have something round his own neck +soon, I surmise. Something he won't be able to get +rid of, either.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman and the inspector had both taken +out their notebooks. The former spoke first.</p> + +<p>“You say you know your assailant to be the murderer +of Luke Bechcombe. Will you tell us how you +recognized him?”</p> + +<p>“Because—because that day when I was talking to +the man whom I thought to be Mr. Bechcombe, whom +we now believe to have been the murderer, I noticed his +hands. He kept moving them over the table in and +out of the papers in a nervous sort of way, and I +saw——” Mrs. Carnthwacke's voice suddenly failed +her. She shrank nervously to the side of the chair. +“You are sure no one can hear me, Cyril?”</p> + +<p>He sat down on the side of her chair.</p> + +<p>“Dead certain, honey. Come now, get it off your +chest and you will feel ever so much better.”</p> + +<p>“And be ever so much safer,” Inspector Furnival +interposed. “As long as you only know this secret, +Mrs. Carnthwacke, Mr. Bechcombe's murderer has a +solid reason for wanting to destroy the one person who +can identify him. But, once this knowledge is shared +with others, the reason disappears. If Mrs. Carnthwacke +is disposed of and there remain others who share +her knowledge, he is none the safer. You see this, +don't you, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! Of course I do,” she assented feverishly. +“I wish now I had spoken right out at once. But I +wanted a big American detective to undertake to get +my diamonds back. My husband had promised to +engage him and I wanted him to have this exclusive +information. Now, we will have everybody else +knowing the secret too.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind, madam, there will be plenty for him +to do,” Inspector Furnival observed consolingly. “You +were telling us you noticed the hands of the man in +Mr. Bechcombe's office.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Mrs. Carnthwacke glanced up again at her +husband and seemed to gather strength from his smile. +“I just looked at his hands mechanically while we were +talking, and I saw that though they were nice hands, +well shaped and carefully manicured, they had one +curious defect, if you can call it a defect. The thumb +was unusually long, and the first—don't you call it +the index finger?—was very short, so that the two +looked almost the same length. It was an odd fault, +and I never noticed it in any hand before, until——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam, until?” the inspector prompted as she +paused with a shiver.</p> + +<p>“Until this morning in the car,” she went on, steadying +her voice with an effort. “Just as he caught my +hands, I saw his and I knew—I knew beyond the +possibility of a doubt that my assailant was the man who +stole my diamonds, and murdered Mr. Bechcombe.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is definite enough, anyhow,” John Steadman +remarked thoughtfully. “Were both hands alike, +do you know, Mrs. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they were,” she returned in a more positive +tone than she had yet used. “I noticed that +particularly.”</p> + +<p>“Did you recognize him in any other way?” the +inspector asked with his eye on his notebook.</p> + +<p>“No, not really. I can't say I did,” Mrs. Carnthwacke +said hesitatingly. “That is, I did think there +was something about the eyes, though the Crow's Inn +man had his hidden by smoked horn-rimmed glasses, so +I couldn't have seen much of them. But there was +something about his eyebrows and the way his eyes +were set that I certainly thought I recognized.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman was drawing his brows together.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is a curious defect and I should think as +you say an uncommon one, yet I cannot help feeling +that I have noticed the same thing in some hands I +have seen—fairly lately too, but I cannot remember +where,” he said in a puzzled tone. “Probably I shall +recollect presently.”</p> + +<p>Was it a warning glance the inspector shot at him? +Steadman could not be quite certain, but at any rate +there was no misinterpreting Carnthwacke's gesture as +he got up from his seat on the arm of his wife's chair.</p> + +<p>“She can't tell you any more, gentlemen, and that's +a fact. What became of that guy is what we want to +know and what we reckon your clever police are going +to find out. Now you can't be half murdered and left +for dead in the morning without being a wee trifle +exhausted in the afternoon, so if you could come to my +study——”</p> + +<p>“You—you won't be long? I don't feel as if I should +ever be safe away from you again,” his wife pleaded.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke's reply was to pat her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I shan't leave you long, honey. And you just figure +to yourself you are as safe as a rock with these +gentlemen in the study with me, and these females in the +dressing-room.”</p> + +<p>Once more in his study the American's face hardened +again as he invited the other men to sit down, and put +a big box of cigars on the table before them.</p> + +<p>“There's nothing like a smoke to clear the brain, +gentlemen,” he said as he lighted one himself. “And +what do you make of the affair now that you have seen +Mrs. Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>John Steadman took the answer upon himself.</p> + +<p>“As brutal and deliberate an attempt to murder as +I ever heard of.”</p> + +<p>“There I am with you,” Cyril B. Carnthwacke said +grimly. “How did that fellow find out where Mrs. +Carnthwacke was journeying and when? There's +where I should like you to put me wise.”</p> + +<p>“He may not have arranged anything beforehand. +It may have been a sudden thing when he saw the +carriage,” Inspector Furnival hazarded.</p> + +<p>“Don't you bet your bottom dollar on that, old +chap!” Carnthwacke admonished, puffing away at his +big cigar. “He don't go about with a drop of +chloroform and a nice long piece of ribbon handy in his +pocket any more than other folks, I guess. It just +figures out like this—some of our folks here must be +acquainted with this guy, and put him wise to Mrs. +Carnthwacke's movements.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think there can be no doubt you are right +about that,” John Steadman assented deliberately. +“What of Mrs. Carnthwacke's maid?”</p> + +<p>“Came over with us from the States,” the American +told him. “And she is devoted to Mrs. Carnthwacke. +No flies on her.”</p> + +<p>“No young man?” the inspector questioned.</p> + +<p>“Not the shadow of one,” Carnthwacke told him, +leaning back in his chair and watching his cigar smoke +curl up to the ceiling.</p> + +<p>“No great friend?”</p> + +<p>“Never heard of one. Of course I don't say she has +no acquaintance, but she is one of the sort that keeps +herself to herself, as you say over here.”</p> + +<p>“Next thing is the chauffeur and footman,” the +inspector went on. “I should like a talk with them. +It seems inconceivable that they should not have seen +this man get in or out.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know that it does,” said Carnthwacke +thoughtfully. “They are taught to keep their heads +straight in front of them—the footman at least; and +the chauffeur has enough to do in the traffic of London +streets, I reckon, to look after himself and his car. +However, you can have them as long as you like, but +you won't get anything out of them. They swear they +saw nothing and heard nothing, and that is all they will +say. They were bothered with the traffic being +diverted on all sides, and continually having to slow +down, and of course it was this slowing down that gave +the guy his chance. He must be a cool hand, that. +Say, inspector, do you think it was this Yellow Dog the +newspapers have a stunt about?”</p> + +<p>“When we have caught the Yellow Dog I shall be +able to tell you more about it,” the inspector replied +evasively. “I will see your men, please, Mr. +Carnthwacke. But before they come let me warn you again +to be most careful not to allow it to be known that Mrs. +Carnthwacke escaped with comparatively so little +injury. Continue to represent her as lying at death's +door, and let nobody but the doctor and nurses see her. +I cannot exaggerate the importance of not allowing it +to reach the ears of her would-be murderer that he has +failed. We must look to it that not a breath as to her +condition leaks out from us, Mr. Steadman.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman was looking out of the window.</p> + +<p>“I quite see your point, inspector. It is most important +that we should not allow the faintest suspicion +of the truth to leak out among our friends, +especially——”</p> + +<p>“Especially——?” Carnthwacke prompted.</p> + +<p>John Steadman did not speak, but he turned his head +and looked at the inspector.</p> + +<p>“From the widow, Mrs. Bechcombe,” the detective +finished.</p> + +<p>Carnthwacke stared at him.</p> + +<p>“Why Mrs. Bechcombe?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” said the inspector very slowly and +emphatically, “she might tell Miss Cecily Hoyle and——”</p> + +<p>The eyes of the three men met and then the pursed-up +lips of Cyril B. Carnthwacke emitted a low whistle.</p> + +<p>“Sakes alive! Sits the wind in that quarter?”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch20"> + +<h2>Chapter XX</h2> + +<p>“Samuel Horsingforth passenger to Lisbon by the +<i>Atlantic</i> starting from Southampton seventeenth +instant.”</p> + +<p>Inspector Furnival read the telegram over again +aloud and then handed it to Steadman.</p> + +<p>“Better get there before the boat train, I think, sir.”</p> + +<p>Steadman nodded. “I'll guarantee my touring car to +do it in less time than anything else you can get.”</p> + +<p>“Y—es. Perhaps it may, but——” the inspector +said uncertainly.</p> + +<p>“But what?” Steadman questioned in surprise.</p> + +<p>The inspector cleared his throat apparently in some +embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“I should like nothing better than the car, but that +I am afraid the fact that we are going down to +Southampton in her might leak out—and then the journey +might be in vain.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman drew in his lips.</p> + +<p>“Trust me for that. My chauffeur can keep a still +tongue in his head; and you ought to know me by now, +Furnival.”</p> + +<p>“I ought, sir, that's a fact,” the inspector acquiesced. +“It is the chauffeur I am doubtful of. Never was there +a case in which servants' gossip has been more +concerned and done more harm than this one of Luke +Bechcombe's death.”</p> + +<p>“I will take care that he knows nothing of our +destination until after we have started,” Steadman +promised, “but these cold winds of late have given me a +stiff arm, and I am afraid rheumatism is setting in. It +is the right arm too, confound it! Of course it might +last the journey to Southampton all right, but it might +not; and it wouldn't do to risk a failure.”</p> + +<p>“No, we can't afford a failure,” the inspector said +briskly. “The car then, sir, and you will take all +precautions. Have you heard anything of Mrs. +Carnthwacke?”</p> + +<p>“Lying at death's door. Mrs. Bechcombe has +inquired,” Steadman said laconically.</p> + +<p>The inspector smiled warily.</p> + +<p>“We shall have all our time to keep Cyril B. quiet +till we want him to speak. Their American detective +is here too, butting in, as they phrase it. Ten o'clock +then.”</p> + +<p>“Ten o'clock,” Steadman assented.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>He was at Scotland Yard in his luxurious touring +car punctually at the appointed hour. Punctual as he +was, though, the inspector was waiting on the step for +him.</p> + +<p>“Got off all right, inspector,” the barrister remarked +as the detective took his seat and the car started. +“Only filled up with petrol at a garage after we left +my flat, and I told Mrs. Bechcombe that I might be +back to lunch. Chauffeur doesn't know where we are +going yet. You direct him to the Southampton Road +and then I will tell him to put all speed on.”</p> + +<p>The day was perfect, no head wind, just a touch of +frost in the air. Both men would have enjoyed the +long smooth spin if their minds had been free, if their +thoughts had not been busy all the time with their +journey's end. To the inspector, if all went well, it +would spell success, when success had at first seemed +hopeless and a long step forward in the great campaign +on which he had embarked.</p> + +<p>To Steadman it would mean that a certain theory he +had held all along was justified.</p> + +<p>As they reached Southampton the inspector looked +at his watch. “Plenty of time—half an hour to spare!”</p> + +<p>They drove straight to the docks and went alongside. +The inspector had good reason to expect his prey +by the boat train. They had left the car higher up. +Steadman waited out of sight. The inspector went on +board and ascertained that Mr. Samuel Horsingforth +had not so far arrived.</p> + +<p>As the boat train drew up, keeping himself well out +of sight, Steadman peered forth eagerly. The train +was not as crowded as usual, but so far as Steadman +could see no Mr. Horsingforth was visible. Then just +at the last moment a man of middle height strolled to +the gangway—a man, who, though his face and figure +were absolutely unknown to the barrister, seemed to +have something vaguely, intangibly familiar about him. +Steadman was looking out for a slight, spare-looking +man, shorter than this one, with the rounded shoulders +of a student, pale too, with a short straggling beard and +big horn-rimmed glasses. The man at whom he was +looking must be at least a couple of inches taller than +the one they were in search of, and he was distinctly +stout, and his shoulders were square, and he carried +himself well. He was clean-shaven too. He had the +ruddy complexion of one leading an outdoor life. He +smiled as he spoke to a porter about his luggage and +Steadman could see his white even teeth and his +twinkling grey eyes. Yet, after a momentary pause, +the barrister came out into the open and followed up +the gangway. Suddenly Steadman saw Inspector Furnival +moving forward. The man in front saw too, and +came to a sudden stop; stopped and faced round just +as he was about to put his foot on deck, and then seeing +Steadman stopped again and looked first one way and +then the other and finally stepped on deck with an air +of jaunty determination.</p> + +<p>Inspector Furnival came up to him.</p> + +<p>“Samuel Horsingforth, <i>alias</i> John Frederick Hoyle, +<i>alias</i> Amos Thompson, I hold a warrant for your arrest +on a charge of fraud and embezzlement. It is my +duty to warn you that anything you may say will be +taken down in writing and may be used in evidence +against you.”</p> + +<p>For a minute Steadman thought that the man whose +arm the inspector was now holding firmly was about +to collapse. His ruddy colour had faded and he +seemed to shrink visibly. But he rallied with a +marvellous effort of self-control.</p> + +<p>“You are making some strange mistake,” he said +coolly. “Samuel Horsingforth is my name. Of the +others you mention I know nothing. I have been backwards +and forwards several times on this line and more +than one of the officers and stewards know me, and can +vouch for my good faith.”</p> + +<p>The inspector's grip did not relax.</p> + +<p>“No use, Thompson, the game is up,” he said +confidently. “You have made yourself a clever <i>alias</i>, I +admit; but it is no use trying to go on with it now. +You don't want any disturbance here.”</p> + +<p>Horsingforth, <i>alias</i> Thompson, made no further +resistance. He allowed the inspector to lead him down +the gangway and down to the quay to Steadman's car. +Only when the inspector opened the door did he hold +back.</p> + +<p>“Where are you taking me?”</p> + +<p>“Town,” the inspector answered laconically. “You +will be able to consult a solicitor when you get +there—if you want to,” he added.</p> + +<p>Thompson said no more. He seated himself by +Steadman, the inspector opposite.</p> + +<p>As they started, another car, which had quietly followed +the first from Scotland Yard, at a sign from the +inspector fell in behind.</p> + +<p>Until they had left Southampton and its environs +far behind none of the three men spoke, then Thompson, +who had been sitting apparently in a species of +stupor, roused himself.</p> + +<p>“How did you find out?” he asked. “What made +you suspect?”</p> + +<p>“A photograph of your daughter, that you had +overlooked,” the inspector answered. “You had provided +yourself with a second identity very cleverly, Mr. +Thompson. If it had not been for Mr. Bechcombe's +murder you would probably have succeeded.”</p> + +<p>“I had nothing to do with that,” Thompson +interrupted with sudden fire. “I swear I had not! Mr. +Bechcombe was alive and well when I left the offices. +I was never more shocked in my life. You might have +knocked me down with a feather when I saw in the +paper that he had been murdered, and that I was +wanted on suspicion as having murdered him.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” The inspector looked at him. “You are +a solicitor, or next door to one, Mr. Thompson, I +believe. You ought not to need a bit of advice I am +going to give you now. As I told you, you will be at +liberty to see a solicitor as soon as we reach London. +Send for the best you know and tell him the whole +truth about this unhappy affair and tell nobody else +anything at all.”</p> + +<p>Thus advised, Thompson wisely became dumb. He +sat back in his corner of the car in a hunched-up, +crouching condition. He looked strangely unlike the +jaunty, self-satisfied man who had stepped upon the +gangway of the <i>Atlantic</i> so short a time before. To +the inspector, watching him, he seemed almost visibly +to shrink, and as the detective's keen eyes wandered +over him he began to understand some of the apparently +glaring discrepancies between the descriptions of +Thompson circulated by the police and the appearance +of the man before him. Thompson's teeth had been +noticeably defective. Samuel Horsingforth, otherwise +Hoyle, had had all the deficiencies made good and was, +when he smiled, evidently in possession of a very good +set of teeth, real or artificial. This, besides entirely +altering his appearance, made his face fuller and quite +unlike the hollow cheeks of Mr. Bechcombe's missing +clerk. That Thompson had worn a thin, straggly +beard, while this man was clean-shaven, went for +nothing, but Thompson had been bald, with hair wearing +off the forehead. Horsingforth's stubbly, grey hair +grew thickly and rather low, and though the inspector +now detected the wig he inwardly acknowledged it to +be the best he had ever seen. Then, too, Thompson +had been thin and spare, and though looking now at the +man hunched up in the car one might see the padding +on the shoulders, and under the protuberant waistcoat +over which the gold watch chain was gracefully +suspended, altogether it was not to be wondered at that +Thompson had been so long at large. Inspector Furnival +knew that his present capture would add largely +to a reputation that was growing every day. At the +same time he realized that he was still a long way from +the achievement of the object to which all his energies +had been directed—the capture of the Yellow Dog and +the dispersal of the Yellow Gang.</p> + +<p>Thompson took the inspector's advice for the rest of +the drive and said no more. There were moments when +the other two almost doubted whether he were not +really incapable of speech.</p> + +<p>They drove direct to Scotland Yard. From there, +later in the day, Thompson would be taken to Bow +Street to be formally charged, and from thence to his +temporary home at Pentonville.</p> + +<p>After the remand Steadman and the inspector walked +away together.</p> + +<p>“So that's that. A clever piece of work, inspector,” +the barrister remarked.</p> + +<p>The inspector blew his nose.</p> + +<p>“All very well as far as Thompson is concerned. +But Thompson is not the Yellow Dog.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I have doubted whether he were not.”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at him with a curious smile.</p> + +<p>“I don't think you have, sir. I think your suspicions +went the same way as mine from the first.”</p> + +<p>Steadman nodded. “But suspicion is one thing and +proof another.”</p> + +<p>“And that is a good deal nearer than it was,” the +inspector finished. “The Yellow Dog's arrest is not +going to be as easy a matter as Thompson's, though, +Mr. Steadman. By Jove! those fellows have got it +already.”</p> + +<p>They were passing a little news-shop where the man +was putting out the placards: “Crow's Inn +Tragedy—arrest of Thompson.” Further on—“Crow's Inn +Mystery—Arrest of absconding clerk at +Southampton—Thompson at Bow Street—Story of his +Career—Astounding Revelations!”</p> + +<p>“Pure invention!” said the inspector, flicking this +last with his stick. “I should like to put an end to half +these evening rags.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder what his history has been!” Steadman +said speculatively. “I am sorry for his daughter—and +Tony Collyer too. This will put an end to that affair, +I fancy.”</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” said the inspector as they walked +on, “Mr. Tony seems to have made up his mind and +I should fancy he could be pretty pig-headed when he +likes. I sent the girl a letter from Scotland Yard +covering one of Thompson's, so that she should not hear +of this arrest first from the papers.”</p> + +<p>“Poor girl! But I think she has been dreading this +for some time. Probably anything, even this certainty, +will be better than the state of fear in which she has +been living of late.”</p> + +<p>“Probably,” the inspector assented. Then he went +on after a minute's pause, “Thompson's is the most +ingenious case I have ever come across of a deliberately +planned course of dishonesty, with a second identity so +that Thompson of Bechcombes' could disappear utterly +and Mr. Hoyle of Rose Cottage, Burford, could +just take up his simple country life, paint his pictures +and potter about the village where he was already +known.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. His fatal mistake was made in putting in his +daughter as Mr. Bechcombe's secretary,” John Steadman +said thoughtfully. “It trebled his chances of +discovery and I can't really see his motive. I suppose +he thought she could assist his schemes in some way.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I fancy he did get some information from +her,” the inspector assented. “Though I am certain +the girl herself did not know that Thompson and Hoyle +were one and the same until after Mr. Bechcombe's +death. Then I imagine he disclosed his identity to her +and that accounts for the state of tension in which she +has been living. His second mistake was leaving her +photograph in his room. That gave the clue to his +identity.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Well, as you know, inspector, it is the +mistakes that criminals make that provide you and me +with our living,” Steadman said with a chuckle. “And +now Mr. Thompson—Hoyle, will disappear for some +considerable time from society. And the intelligent +public will probably clamour for his trial for Mr. +Bechcombe's murder. For a large section of it has +already believed him guilty.”</p> + +<p>“And not without reason,” the inspector said gravely. +“Appearances have been, and are, terribly against +Thompson. Mrs. Carnthwacke's evidence may save +him if——”</p> + +<p>“Yes. If,” Steadman prompted.</p> + +<p>“If she is able to give it,” the inspector concluded. +“But Mrs. Carnthwacke is not recovering from the +injuries she received in that terrible assault upon her +so quickly as was expected. In fact, the latest editions +of the evening papers, after having devoted all their +available space to Thompson's career and arrest, will +have a paragraph in the stop press news recording Mrs. +Carnthwacke's death.”</p> + +<p>“What!” Steadman glanced sharply at the inspector's +impassive face. Then a faint smile dawned upon +his own. “So that, with that of Thompson's arrest, +the Yellow Dog will feel pretty safe.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” returned the inspector imperturbably.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch21"> + +<h2>Chapter XXI</h2> + +<p>“One minute, sir. I shan't hurt you!”</p> + +<p>With a comical look at the inspector John Steadman +submitted himself to the hands of the little old man in +the shabby black suit, who was surveying him with +critical eyes in the looking-glass, and who now +approached him with a curious little instrument looking +like a pair of very fine tweezers, combined with a +needle so minute that it almost required a microscope +to see it.</p> + +<p>They were in a small room at the back of a little +shop in Soho, whither the inspector had conducted +John Steadman, and where the former had already +undergone a curious metamorphosis.</p> + +<p>The presiding genius of the establishment was this +little old man with an oddly wrinkled face that +reminded Steadman of a marmoset, and with pale grey +eyes that were set far apart, and that seemed to stare +straight at you and almost through you, with as little +expression as a stone. The room was odd-looking as +well as its master. It had very little furniture in it. +Nothing on the wall but the big looking-glass that ran +from floor to ceiling, and occupied the greater part of +one side. Two tables stood near and a very old +worm-eaten escritoire was by the window. There were four +chairs in the room, all of the plain Windsor variety, one +standing right in front of the mirror differing from the +others only in that it had arms and an adjustable head.</p> + +<p>Inspector Furnival had just been released from its +clutches, and now John Steadman was taking his place. +A huge enveloping sheet was thrown over him; a brilliant +incandescent light was focused upon him, and the +queer little marmoset face, with a big, curiously made +magnifying glass screwed into it, was submitting him +to an anxious scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“I shall not hurt you,” the soft, caressing voice with +its foreign intonation repeated. “Just a few hairs put +in—a few put in, and Monsieur's best friend would +not know him.”</p> + +<p>Steadman thought it very likely his best friend would +not as he glanced back at the inspector. But now the +lean yellow fingers were at work. From the angle at +which the head-rest was fixed the barrister could not +see what they were doing, but they were pinching, +prodding, stabbing. It seemed to him that they would +never stop. At last, however, the tweezers were thrown +aside and he felt little, tiny brushes at work, dropping +moisture here, drying it up with fragrant powder.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur's teeth?” the foreign voice said with its +sing-song intonation.</p> + +<p>Steadman shrugged his shoulders as he took a plate +from his mouth and dropped it into the finger-bowl +held out to him.</p> + +<p>“Ah, all the top! That is goot—very goot!” Something +soft and warm was pressed into his mouth, pushed +up and down until at last it felt secure. Then, with a +satisfied sigh, the yellow fingers raised the head-rest; +the little man stood back, the marmoset face wrinkled +itself into a satisfied smile. “I hope that Monsieur +is pleased.”</p> + +<p>Steadman, as he faced his reflection, thought that +it was not a question of his best friend but that he +himself would not have recognized the image he saw +therein. The shape of the eyebrows had been entirely +altered. They now slanted upwards, while a clever +disposition of lines and hairs made the eyelids +themselves appear to narrow and lengthen. His hair, thin +in front and near the temples for many a long day +now, had actually disappeared, and the enormously +broad, high expanse of forehead was furrowed with +skilfully drawn lines, and like the rest of his face of a +greenish, greyish colour. The nose had become thinner +in a mysterious fashion, the bridge had grown higher, +the nostrils had widened. But the greatest change was +in the mouth—the lips were thicker, more sensual +looking. Then, in place of Steadman's perfectly fitting +artificial teeth were several projecting yellow fangs +with hideous gaps between.</p> + +<p>Altogether the effect of a particularly +unprepossessing, partially Anglicized Oriental.</p> + +<p>“As the English talk, she, your own mother would +not know you, eh?” the silky voice questioned +anxiously.</p> + +<p>And John Steadman, smiling in the curiously stiff +fashion which was all the alterations would allow, said +that he was sure she would not.</p> + +<p>Both he and Furnival donned queerly designed overcoats +that looked more like dressing-gowns than anything +else, and soft hats. As they made their way +through the streets with their hands folded in front and +hidden by their wide sleeves, their eyes masked in blue +spectacles, their heads turned neither to the right nor +left, no one would have suspected their disguise—no +one would have taken them for Englishmen. They got +into a taxi and the inspector gave an address not far +from Stepney Causeway. Once safely inside, he +handed Steadman an automatic pistol and a police +whistle.</p> + +<p>“For emergencies,” he said shortly. “I don't fancy +we shall have to use them; but the police are all round +the house. At the sound of the whistle they will rush +the place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you may depend upon me, inspector,” +Steadman said quietly.</p> + +<p>“Here we are!” said the inspector, drawing a couple +of parcels from his capacious pockets. One of them he +handed to John Steadman, the other he unfastened +himself. He shook out a voluminous, flimsy garment +of bright yellow and unwrapped from its tissue paper +a small yellow mask. “These dominoes we had better +put on here beneath our overcoats, Mr. Steadman, +and our masks we shall have to slip on as soon as we +get inside.”</p> + +<p>John Steadman was surveying his with some amusement. +“Certainly, we shall look like Yellow Dogs +ourselves. You have had the cordon drawn all round as +I suggested, inspector?”</p> + +<p>“It is as narrow as can be, sir. They will almost +be able to hear what we say. Oh, I am taking no +risks. But I mean to catch the Big Yellow Dog +himself to-night—dead or alive.”</p> + +<p>“Ay! Dead or alive!” Steadman echoed. “You +have been near him once or twice before, haven't you, +inspector?”</p> + +<p>“Not so near as I shall be to-night,” the inspector +retorted.</p> + +<p>They had no time for more. The taxi stopped and +they got out. The inspector paused to give a few +low-toned directions to the cabman, then he led the way +down a side street. From this there seemed to Steadman +to spread out in every direction, a perfect network +of narrow streets and alleys. It was a veritable maze +and the barrister would have been utterly bewildered, +but the inspector apparently knew his ground, as he +wound himself in and out with an eel-like dexterity. +At last, however, he slackened his steps and then, side +by side, he and Steadman made their way over the ill-kept, +ill-lighted pavement. More than once the barrister +heard a faint cheeping sound issue from the +inspector's lips. Although he heard no response, he +knew that the cordon that the detective had spoken of +was in its place.</p> + +<p>When the inspector stopped again he looked round +and up and down, then turned sharply to the right +into a small <i>cul-de-sac</i> apparently running between +two high brick walls, for Steadman could see no +windows on either side. As they were nearing the +opposite end to that by which they had entered, however, +they came upon a low door at the right. To the barrister's +heated fancy there was something sinister about +its very aspect. The windows on either side were +grimy and closely shuttered; they and the door were +badly in need of a coat of paint. What there was on +it was blistered, and so filthy that it was impossible +even to guess at its original colour. There was no sign +of either knocker or bell, but right at the top of the +door was a small grille through which the janitor could +survey the applicants for admission, himself unseen. +The inspector applied his knuckles to the door, softly +at first, then with a crescendo of taps that was +evidently a signal.</p> + +<p>Steadman, with his eyes fixed on the grille, could +see nothing, no faintest sign of movement, but for one +moment he felt a sickening sense of being looked at, +he could almost have fancied of being looked through. +Then moving softly, noiselessly, in spite of its +apparently dilapidated condition, the door in front of them +opened.</p> + +<p>The inspector stepped inside, Steadman keeping close +to him, and gave the word—“Chink-a-pin,” and at +the same moment Steadman became aware of a figure +veiled in black from head to foot standing motionless +against the wall behind the door. The door closed +after them with a snap in which Steadman fancied he +heard something ominous. They found themselves in +a long, rather wide passage down which they proceeded, +the inspector still leading; their bare hands +held out in front of them, thumb-tip joined to thumb-tip, +finger-tip to finger-tip. On the door at the end of +the passage the inspector knocked again so softly that +it seemed impossible that he should be heard.</p> + +<p>However, as if by magic, this door opened suddenly.</p> + +<p>Inside, in contrast with the brightness in the passage, +everything looked dark, but gradually Steadman made +out a faint, flickering light. A soft, sibilant voice +spoke, this time apparently out of the air, since there +was no sign of any speaker:</p> + +<p>“The Great Dane bites.”</p> + +<p>“His enemies will bite the dust.” The inspector +gave the countersign.</p> + +<p>Once again they moved forward and found themselves +in a narrow passage running at right angles to +the first. Here, instead of bareness, were softly +carpeted floors and heavy hangings on the walls, and a +sickly, sweet smell as of incense. The light, dim and +flickering at first, grew stronger and more diffused. +Steadman saw that the passage in which they stood +served as an ante-chamber or vestibule to some larger +room into which folding doors standing slightly ajar +gave access. They were not alone, either. At a sign +from the inspector Steadman had donned his yellow +mask. In another moment shadowy hands had relieved +him of his coat and were gently pushing him forward, +and he saw faintly that there were other yellow-clad +forms flitting backwards and forwards. Between the +half-open doors he could glimpse more light, golden, +dazzling, while over everything there brooded a sense +of mystery, of evil unutterable. In that moment there +came over John Steadman a certainty of the danger of +this enterprise to which they stood committed, and +brave man though he was he would have drawn back +if he could. But it was too late. With one hand beneath +his yellow domino clutching his automatic firmly +he paced by the inspector's side into the Golden Room. +As the first sight of it burst upon him he asked himself +whether he could really be living in sober +twentieth-century England, or whether he had not been +translated into some scene of the “Arabian Nights.”</p> + +<p>The room was oblong in shape; the ceiling, pale +yellow in colour, was low, and across it sprawled great +golden flowers. In the centre of each blazed, like some +lovely exotic jewel, a radiant amber light. The walls +of this extraordinary room were panelled in yellow too, +and round about them were ranged twelve golden seats. +Ten of them were occupied by figures, masked and +dominoed as he and the inspector were. The two seats +at the end of the room nearest to them were unoccupied, +while at the opposite end stood a raised dais, +also of gold; an empty golden chair, looking like a +throne, stood upon it. Right in the middle of the room +stood a great mimosa in full bloom, its powerful +fragrance mingling with that other perfume that Steadman +had sensed before. His feet sank into the pile of +the carpet as he followed the inspector to the +unoccupied chairs nearest to them. At the same moment +the hangings at the back of the throne were parted and +a tall figure came through, masked, and wearing the +same kind of yellow domino as all the others. He +seated himself upon the throne upon the dais. At the +same moment a sweet-toned bell began to ring slowly.</p> + +<p>Steadman had hardly realized that there was any +sound to be heard, but now he became conscious by its +sudden cessation that there had been a low incessant +hum going on around. Then the bell ceased, and the +silence grew deadly. The very immobility of those +yellow figures began to get on John Steadman's nerves, +though up to now he would have denied that he possessed +any. His eyes were fixed upon that figure in the +chair on the dais. Silent, immobile, it sat, hands joined +together in front like those of every other figure in the +room; but in these hands there was a curious defect—the +thumb was extraordinarily long, the first finger +short, so that they looked to be of the same length. +And, as Steadman noticed this, his fingers clutched his +revolver and felt the cool metal of the police whistle. +Of what use was it, he asked himself, for surely no +sound could reach the outside world from this terrible +room. Suddenly he became conscious of a slight, a +very slight movement close to him. Had the inspector +moved, he wondered as he glanced round. And then +the arms of his chair seemed to contract and lengthen; +he felt himself gripped in a vice. Now he knew that +the danger he had felt was upon him. He saw the +inspector at his side begin to struggle violently. +Desperately he tried to bring out his revolver—he was +powerless, caught as in a vice. Some hidden mechanism +in those chairs had been released, arms and legs +were held more firmly than human hands could have +held them.</p> + +<p>An oath broke from the inspector's lips as he realized +the nature of the trap in which they were caught. But +there came no answering sound from those waiting, +motionless, yellow figures on every side. Their very +immobility seemed only to render the position more +terrible. And then at last the silence was broken by a +laugh, a wicked, malicious laugh, the very sound of +which made Steadman's blood run cold in his veins.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch22"> + +<h2>Chapter XXII</h2> + +<p>The laughter ceased as suddenly as it had begun and, +as if by a concerted signal, every light in the room went +out. A voice rang out, Steadman fancied from the +figure on the dais.</p> + +<p>“Arms up! inspector. Arms up! Mr. Steadman.” +Then another ripple of that horrible laughter. “Ah, +I forgot! Our wonderful chairs make all such commands +a superfluity! And so, inspector, you are going +to have your wish—you are going to meet the Yellow +Dog at last! But I fear, I greatly fear that when that +interview is over you will not be in a position to make +your discoveries known to that wonderful Scotland +Yard, of which you have been so distinguished a +member.” The emphasis on the “have been” was ominous.</p> + +<p>But there was no fear in the inspector's voice as it +rapped out:</p> + +<p>“Be careful what you do, Yellow Dog. He laughs +best who laughs last. I warn you that this house is +virtually in the hands of the police.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so, my dear inspector?”</p> + +<p>There was another laugh, but this time John +Steadman fancied there was some subtle change in the +quality.</p> + +<p>“But I rather think the police do not know where +this house ends, and those of others begin!”</p> + +<p>“Shall I supply you with the names of the others? +The police know more than you think, you dog!” said +the inspector daringly.</p> + +<p>“And less than they think,” said the raucous voice +mockingly, “or you and your friend would hardly find +yourselves here, dear inspector.”</p> + +<p>“Damnation!” Steadman knew that the detective +was struggling fiercely from those clutching, +enveloping arms.</p> + +<p>“In case, however, that there is just the thinnest +substratum of truth in your statement, Furnival,” the +mocking voice went on, “perhaps we had better waste +no more time but get on to business.”</p> + +<p>The silvery bell tinkled again, the light was switched +on.</p> + +<p>Steadman saw that all the golden chairs were empty, +that there was apparently no one in the room with the +inspector and himself but that figure on the dais. He +saw that the inspector had given up struggling and that +by some means he had managed to tear the yellow +mask from his face, which was unwontedly scarlet from +his efforts to free himself.</p> + +<p>“Strip!” ordered that voice from the platform.</p> + +<p>In an instant a dozen hands had seized Steadman. +It seemed that there were countless, yellow-masked +men in the room. He had not even been conscious of +their coming, until he had felt them and those ruthless, +yellow, claw-like fingers catching at him on all sides at +once. The gripping arms of the chair had released +him, but it was in vain that he sought to release +himself—he was conscious, vaguely, that the inspector was +fighting too. But neither the inspector nor Steadman +was in fighting condition. Both of them were elderly +men who in their young days had not been athletic, and +their efforts now were hopeless. Their garments were +rent from them, the contents of their pockets were +passed to the man on the platform, who commented +upon them sarcastically.</p> + +<p>“Automatics! Dear, dear! And you never had a +chance to use them, either! Shows how differently +things pan out to our anticipations, doesn't it, +inspector? And police whistles? If we were only to +sound one how the scene would change! You did not +neglect any precautions, did you, inspector?”</p> + +<p>And while the jeering questions went on the grasping +yellow fingers were going on too, until the prisoners +stood mother naked before their tormentors, their bare +limbs bound round and round with cords.</p> + +<p>“So now we come to grips,” said the masked man, +and this time Steadman thought he caught something +faintly familiar, and one question that had troubled +him of late was answered for ever. “I hope you'll not +be much inconvenienced by this return to a state of +nature,” the man on the platform went on. “I fear +you may be rather cold, but it is unavoidable under the +circumstances, and it will not be for long. Then I +feel sure you will neither of you be cold any more. +Now, now, inspector!”</p> + +<p>For a while John Steadman stood motionless, his +short-sighted eyes peering at that yellow-clad figure; +the inspector was swearing big strange oaths.</p> + +<p>“You do look so funny, you know, inspector”—and +this time Steadman could almost have fancied there was +a feminine echo in that vile laughter—“and your +language is too dreadful. But this outrage, as you call +it, had to be. Clothes are so identifiable, as I am sure +you have learnt in your wide experience, my dear +inspector. But now this conversation, interesting as it +is, must end. And I think we must silence that unruly +member of yours, inspector!”</p> + +<p>The silver bell tinkled sharply. In an instant those +soft hands had seized the two men and gags were thrust +into their mouths, and tied with cruel roughness. Then +bandages were bound over their eyes and rougher, +harder hands held their pinioned arms on either side +and pulled them sideways.</p> + +<p>Steadman felt certain they were being taken out by +the door by which they entered, and very carefully his +trained legal mind was noting down every slightest +indication of the direction in which they were being +taken. A farewell laugh came from the platform.</p> + +<p>“So this is really good-bye. I trust, I do trust that +your poor bare feet may not be hurt by the path along +which you have to travel. But in case some injury +should be unavoidable let me assure you it will not be +for long, that much sooner than you probably +anticipate the pain will be over.”</p> + +<p>Steadman could have fancied that there was something +hysterical in that last laugh. But he had not time +to think of it, to speculate as to the identity of the figure +on the dais that the yellow domino and the mask +concealed. He was being hurried along at a rate that did +not give him time to raise his naked, shackled feet. +They dragged helplessly along the stone pavement, for, +once they had left that sinister yellow room, there were +no carpets. Two or three times Steadman felt wood +and guessed they were being taken through rooms, and +several times for a few paces there would be oilcloth. +Once his knee was banged against something that he +felt certain was the corner of a wooden chair; once a +splinter ran into his foot. It was evident that either +they were being taken in and out or that many of the +houses in that neighbourhood must have means of +communication, and must necessarily be in the occupation +of members of the Yellow Gang.</p> + +<p>At last there was a pause, a door was unlocked and +they were pushed inside a room with bare plank floor. +They were propped up against the wall; something was +thrown on the boards; the bandage over Steadman's +eyes was pulled roughly off. A voice with a harsh, +uncouth accent, singularly unlike the soft purring voice +that had spoken from the dais in the Yellow Room, said +abruptly:</p> + +<p>“The Great Yellow Dog has sent you these two rugs. +They will serve to keep you warm. He regrets very +much that you will be kept waiting. But unfortunately +it is low tide and the river is not up yet.”</p> + +<p>Then the door was closed, they heard the key turn; +the captives were left alone in their prison.</p> + +<p>Steadman's eyes, aching from the tight bandage, +were full of water: for a few minutes he could see +nothing. He would have given worlds to rub his eyes, +but he could not move his arms one inch upwards. +However, as the mist before his eyes cleared he saw +that they were both propped up against a plain whitewashed +wall, in a room that was absolutely bare, except +that a fur rug lay at his feet and another at the feet of +the inspector farther along.</p> + +<p>Steadman could turn his head, almost the only movement +that was free, and he saw that the detective had +fared worse at the hands of their capturers than he had +himself. Furnival's face was grazed on the forehead +and cheek. It was flecked with blood and slime. As +Steadman watched, his fellow-sufferer sank on the rug +at his feet with a muffled sound of utter exhaustion. +Steadman was not inclined to give up easily and, leaning +there, he tried to work the knot of the string that +tied his gag, but in vain. The members of the Yellow +Gang had done their work thoroughly. He looked +round the room. It was absolutely bare of furniture +and indescribably dirty. It was lighted dimly by a +small window set rather high and guarded by iron bars. +As Steadman's dazed faculties returned he became +aware of a lapping sound and realized that the river +must be just outside. The full meaning of that last +message from the Yellow Dog dawned upon him now.</p> + +<p>As Steadman gazed round the room and then at his +exhausted companion, the conviction forced itself upon +him that, as far as all human probability lay, their +very moments were numbered. Try as he would he +could not free his hands. There appeared to be no +possibility of escape except by the door or window, and +he had heard the door locked and saw that it was of +unusual stoutness, while the iron bars across the +window spoke for themselves. In his present helpless +condition what gleam of hope could there be?</p> + +<p>He followed Furnival's example and dropped on the +rug at his feet, finding the fall unpleasantly hard even +with the rug over the floor.</p> + +<p>As he lay there trying to rest his aching bones, while +his eyes watched the particularly solid-looking door +hopelessly, he became aware of a faint, sliding, grating +sound. With a sudden accession of hope he glanced +around him. The inspector, lying on his rug, +apparently heard nothing. For a few minutes—they seemed +to him an eternity—Steadman could see nothing. He +was telling himself that the noise he heard must be +that of some mouse or rat gnawing in the woodwork, +when his eye caught a faint movement under the door. +Hope sprang up again as he watched.</p> + +<p>Yes, there could be no mistake, something was +moving! There was just a narrow space under the door; +had there been a carpet it would have been useless, but, +as it was, that sliding, scraping sound continued and +presently he saw that it was the blade of a knife that +was coming through, a short, sharp blade it looked like, +and he guessed that it was the handle that was proving +the difficulty. Presently, however, it was overcome, +and with an apparently sharp push from behind knife +and handle both came through. Something white, a +piece of paper, was fastened to the latter. Steadman +lay and gazed at it. The distance between him and +the door, short though it was, seemed, in his present +state, almost insurmountable, and yet in that knife +and bit of paper lay his only chance of life. And there +was so little time! Not one tiny second to be wasted. +By some means he must get possession of the knife.</p> + +<p>The door was on the same side as that on which he +was lying and the distance from the edge of the rug to +the knife was, as far as he could judge, something like +six or eight feet, more than double his own height. +Bound as he was he could move neither arms nor legs +to help himself. Common sense told him that the only +way he could reach the knife was by rolling towards it. +And rolling would be no easy matter. Still, it was not +an impossibility and as long as he was on the rug not +particularly painful. But crossing the bare boards was +a very different proposition—dragging his naked feet +inch by inch across the roughened dirty surface was +a terrible job.</p> + +<p>More than once he told himself that he could not do +it, that he must lie still and give up. But John +Steadman was nothing if not dogged. He had not attained +the position he had occupied at the Bar by giving way +under difficulties, and at last his task was accomplished. +He lay just in front of the door with the knife close to +his side. But his difficulties were by no means over yet. +Unable as he was to move his hands, how was he to cut +the strong cords which bound him. Fortunately for +him his hands were not fastened separately, but his +arms were tied round his body tightly, the cord going +round again and again. It was a method very effective +so long as the cord was intact, but Steadman saw +directly that, if he could cut it in one place, to free +himself altogether would be easy enough. The question +was, how was the cord to be cut in that one place? +Steadman lay on the ground tied up so that he could +not even free one finger, and the knife lay close to him +indeed but with the blade flat on the ground.</p> + +<p>He lay still for a moment, contemplating the +situation. He saw at once that his only hope was in the +handle. At the juncture where the blade entered it, the +blade was, of course, raised a little from the ground. +Now if he could by any means push the knife along +until he could rest his arm on the handle, thus tipping +the blade up, if only a trifle, and work the cord against +it, he might fray the cord through and thus free +himself. It was simple enough to recognize that that was +what ought to be done, however, and quite another +matter to do it. Time after time Steadman rolled over +imagining that this time he must be on the handle, only +to find that he had inadvertently pushed it away. With +the perseverance of Bruce's spider he at last succeeded. +Arms, back and sides were grazed and bleeding, but +the knife blade was at least a quarter of an inch from +the ground. To get the end of the cord against it, to +wriggle so that it was brought into contact with the +blade forcefully enough to make any impression upon +it was anything but easy, but it did not present the +apparently insuperable obstacles that he had successfully +grappled with in reaching the door and turning +the knife round. Strand by strand the cord was +conquered and at last Steadman was free. Free, with +bruised and bleeding skin and stiffened limbs, and +naked as he came into the world.</p> + +<p>Escape, even now, did not look particularly easy; +but the barrister had not been successful so far to give +up now. The first thing to do was to free the inspector. +Scrambling up from the sitting position to which he +had raised himself he found Furnival lying on his rug +regarding him with astonished eyes, and making vain +attempts to wriggle towards him. At the same moment +his eye was caught by the folded piece of paper which +was attached to the knife handle by a piece of string, +and which he had noticed when he lay on his rug. He +caught it up in his hands and unfolded it. Across the +inside was scrawled a couple of lines of writing:</p> + +<p>“The window looks straight on to the river, the bars +across can be moved upwards. Jump out into the +water at once. It is your only chance. If you delay +it will be too late—from one who is grateful.”</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch23"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIII</h2> + +<p>Steadman read the note over twice. Was it possible +that they had an unknown friend in this haunt of the +Yellow Gang? Or was it just another trap laid for +them like the other communications that the inspector +had received?</p> + +<p>However, there was no time for deliberation. He +turned to the inspector, knife in hand. To cut the +bonds that bound the detective was an easy matter, +even for his stiffened hands, in comparison with the +difficulty of freeing himself. Then, taking the gag +from his mouth, he saw that the lips were bruised and +swollen both inside and out, and the gag had been +thrust in with such brutality that the tongue had been +forced backwards and several teeth loosened. As the +inspector began to breathe more freely the blood poured +from his mouth. But there was no time to be lost.</p> + +<p>Steadman left his fellow-prisoner to recover himself +while he padded across to the bars. In a moment he +saw that his unknown informant was right. The bars +would move upwards in their groove, easily enough. +Evidently this window was used as a means of egress +to the river. Inconvenient things could be pushed +through and lost too! When the bars had gone, the +window frame was quite wide enough to let a man get +through. He leaned out. The moon was shining +brightly, and he could see various small craft riding at +anchor. As he spoke he heard the splash of oars and +realized that at all hazards they must get into the river +while the boat was about. Therein lay their hope of +safety. He turned to the inspector, who had just +struggled to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Can you swim, Furnival?”</p> + +<p>“Got the swimming medal at the Force Sports in +1912,” the detective replied tersely. “I haven't quite +forgotten the trick.”</p> + +<p>“I wasn't bad as a young man,” the barrister said +modestly. “We must do our best, you see.” He held +out the note. “There is no time to be lost.”</p> + +<p>“If we are to turn the tables on the Yellow Dog,” the +inspector said, speaking as plainly as his sore mouth +would allow. He looked at the note. “Who wrote +this?”</p> + +<p>“I haven't the least idea,” Steadman replied +truthfully.</p> + +<p>The inspector stooped stiffly and picked up the knife. +Then he looked at the door which opened inwards.</p> + +<p>“We might keep them back for a bit with this, +perhaps.” He went back and stuck the knife under the +door, so that anybody trying to open it would +inevitably jam it on the handle.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Steadman had twisted himself, not +without difficulty, up to the window frame. He peered +down. The water was still some distance below them, +and it looked particularly dark and gloomy, but at any +rate it was better than falling alive into the hands of +the Yellow Dog. He tore the note into tiny fragments +and let them fall into the river. Then he called out:</p> + +<p>“Come along, inspector. Pile up the rugs. They +will give you a bit of a leg up.”</p> + +<p>Furnival pushed them along before him.</p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. Steadman, are you going first?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so,” said the barrister dubiously. “You +had better look sharp after me, inspector. They may +hear the first splash, and then——”</p> + +<p>At this moment they became aware of steps and +voices in the passage. The inspector almost pushed his +companion off and hoisted himself in his place on the +window frame. Steadman had no time to dive. He +went down, it seemed to him, with a deafening splash +and a roar of churning paddles. The inspector came +down at once almost on top of him. The water felt +bitterly cold, but after the first shock it braced their +jangled nerves; its very cold was grateful to their +bruised bodies.</p> + +<p>The two men came up almost together, and moved +by the same impulse struck out for the middle of the +river. The moonshine was lying like silver sheen on +the surface of the water. Steadman realized that their +heads must afford a capital target to any members of +the Yellow Gang who were in the house they had left. +The thought had barely formulated itself before a shot +rang out and he felt something just rush by his ear and +miss it. There came another shot and another, and a +groan from the inspector. Steadman realized that he +was hit, but the injury must have been slight, for the +inspector was swimming onwards. Meanwhile the +shots were not passing unnoticed. From the small +craft around, from the houses on the bank there came +shouts; lights were flashed here, there and everywhere. +Steadman became conscious of a familiar sound—that +of the rhythmic splash of oars working in concert. He +trod water and listened.</p> + +<p>There came a gasping shout from the detective.</p> + +<p>“The police patrol from the motor-launch down the +river! They have heard the shots.”</p> + +<p>He struck out towards the on-coming boat, Steadman +following to the best of his ability. The inspector's +shout was answered from the boat. It lay to and +waited, and the two in the river could see the men in +the boat leaning over peering into the water. There +came no more shots, but as the inspector swam forward +Steadman knew that the police boat had sighted them, +and in another moment they were alongside.</p> + +<p>Willing hands were stretched out, and they were +hauled up the boat's side. The inspector's first +proceeding as soon as he had got his breath was to order +the boat to lie to so that he might locate the house and +if possible the window by which they had escaped. The +police officer in charge looked at him curiously; it was +evident that he resented the authoritative tone; and as +he met his glance Steadman at any rate realized something +of the extraordinary figures they must present to +his eyes. Stark naked, bruised from head to foot, with +faces bleeding and in the inspector's case swollen out +of all recognition they looked singularly unlike +Inspector Furnival, the terror of the criminal classes, or +John Steadman, the usually immaculately attired +barrister.</p> + +<p>But they were being offered overcoats; as the +inspector slipped into his, he said sharply:</p> + +<p>“Inspector Furnival, of the C.I.D., Scotland Yard.”</p> + +<p>The police officer's manner underwent an instant +modification.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir. You have been conducting +a raid down here?”</p> + +<p>The inspector would have smiled if his bruised face +had allowed him.</p> + +<p>“I fancy the raid has been rather the other way +about,” he said ruefully. “We have been trying to +make some discoveries about the Yellow Gang, laying +a trap for the Yellow Dog, but unluckily we fell into +the trap ourselves, as you see. Now, will you give me +a bit of paper, officer. I want to take the bearings of +this place. It is evidently one of the outlets of the +Yellow Gang.”</p> + +<p>He looked across; on that side for quite a considerable +distance the buildings abutted right on to the +river. Farther along there appeared to be small +boat-building plants, but just here there seemed to be only +tall warehouses, and in almost every case the doors and +windows were barred. Look as they would neither +Steadman nor the inspector could identify the building +from which they had sprung, and curiously enough no +one in the boat had seen them until they were in the +water. Some little time was spent in making fruitless +inquiries of the small craft at hand. Though it would +seem impossible that their plunge had been absolutely +unseen, yet to discover any witnesses would evidently +be a work of time and time was just then particularly +precious to the inspector. Giving the search up as +useless he had the boat rowed back to the police launch. +Distinct as the C.I.D. is from the River Police, the +different branches of the service are frequently brought +into contact. Inspector Furnival found friends on the +motor-launch at once, and he and Steadman were soon +supplied with clothes and everything they needed. +Then, declining the police officer's offer of rest, the +inspector asked to be put on land. It was still dark but +for the moonlight, but their various adventures had +taken time. It was later than the inspector thought, +and all along the river bank the various activities were +awaking.</p> + +<p>The inspector chartered a taxi; when they were both +inside he turned to Steadman.</p> + +<p>“I believe I owe you my life, Mr. Steadman. But +I think I shall have to defer my thanks until—I am +out to catch the Yellow Dog and I mean to have +another try this morning before he has had time to get +away.”</p> + +<p>“I am with you,” John Steadman said heartily. +“And as for thanks, inspector, why, when we have +caught the Yellow Dog we will thank one another.”</p> + +<p>The inspector had directed their taxi to drive to +Scotland Yard, but half-way there he changed his mind +and told the man to drive to the scene of their late +experience.</p> + +<p>They got out as nearly as possible at the same place, +but from there the inspector only went a little distance +before he blew his whistle. It was answered by another +and a couple of men in plain clothes appeared.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Murphy, Jackson,” said the inspector. “Well, +what news?”</p> + +<p>The men stared at him in a species of stupefaction, +then the one whom he had addressed as Murphy spoke +with a gasp:</p> + +<p>“Why, inspector, we have been round the house all +night—every means of egress watched. And +yet—here you are!”</p> + +<p>“Umph! You didn't see me come out, did you?” +the inspector said gruffly. “Never mind, Murphy, you +are not to blame. What have you to report?”</p> + +<p>Murphy saluted.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, sir. No one has come in or out since you +were admitted last night.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” The inspector turned to Steadman. +“Now, I think we will go in again by the front door, +sir. And come out the same way this time, I hope. +Murphy, bring six of your best men along, and post +others all round the house. We shall probably have +to rush it.”</p> + +<p>He and Steadman walked on, realizing to the full +how stiff and bruised their limbs were as they went. +Once the inspector spat out a couple of teeth. +Steadman's sides and back felt absolutely raw. His +borrowed clothes chafed them unbearably.</p> + +<p>The <i>cul-de-sac</i> looked absolutely quiet and deserted +when they entered it. The inspector's thunderous +knock at the door roused the echoes all round, but it +brought no reply. In the meantime Murphy and his +men had marched in behind them.</p> + +<p>The inspector knocked again. This time as they +listened they heard lumbering steps coming down the +passage. There was a great withdrawal of bolts and +unlocking of locks and the door was opened a very +little way, just enough to allow a man's face, heavy, +unshaven, to peer forth.</p> + +<p>“Now what is the—all this 'ere noise abaht?” a +rough voice demanded.</p> + +<p>The inspector put his foot between the door and the +post.</p> + +<p>“Stand aside, my man!” he commanded sternly. “I +hold a warrant to search this house.”</p> + +<p>“Wot?” The door opened with such suddenness +that the inspector almost fell inside. “Wot are you a +goin' to search for? We are all honest folk here. +Anyway, if you was King George 'imself you will have to +give my missis and the kids time to get their duds on, +for decency's sake.”</p> + +<p>This eloquent appeal apparently produced no effect +upon the inspector. He stepped inside with a slight +motion of his hand to the men behind. Four of them +followed with Steadman, the others stood by the door +in the <i>cul-de-sac</i>. The man who had opened the door +backed against the wall, and stood gazing at them in +open-mouthed astonishment.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the inspector was looking about him with +sharp observant eyes. He threw back the doors one on +each side of the passage. The first opened into a small +room with a round table in the middle, a few books that +looked like school prizes ranged at regular intervals +round a vase of wax flowers in the middle, and an +aspidistra on a small table in front of the window, +from which light and air were rigorously excluded by +the heavy shutters.</p> + +<p>With a hasty glance round the inspector and his +satellites went on, speaking not at all, but with eyes +that missed no smallest detail. Not that there was any +detail to be observed, as far as Steadman could see. +This commonplace little house was absolutely unlike +that other which had been but the threshold of the +headquarters of the Yellow Gang—as unlike as its +stupid-looking tenant was to the silky-voiced, +slippery-handed members of the Yellow Gang. The passage +into which that first door of mystery had opened had +been much longer than this, which was just a +counterpart of thousands of houses of its type.</p> + +<p>The passage, instead of lengthening out as that one +of Steadman's recollection had done, ended with the +flight of narrow stairs that led to the upper regions and +over the balustrade of which sundry undressed and +grimy children's heads were peering. The barrister +began to tell himself that in spite of the certainty the +inspector had displayed they must have made a mistake. +Doubtless in this unsavoury part of the metropolis +there must be many <i>culs-de-sac</i> the counterpart +of the one in which was the entrance to the home of +the Yellow Gang. The master of the house began to +rouse himself from his stupor of astonishment.</p> + +<p>“This 'ere's an outrage, that's wot it is,” he growled. +“Might as well live in Russia, we might. No! You +don't go upstairs, not if you was King George and the +Pope of Rome rolled into one.”</p> + +<p>This to the inspector who was crawling up the staircase +as well as his stiffened limbs would allow. He +looked over the side now.</p> + +<p>“Don't trouble yourself, my man. I have no +particular interest in the upper part of your house at +present.”</p> + +<p>Something in his tone seemed to cow the man, who +opened the kitchen door and slunk inside.</p> + +<p>The inspector beckoned to the man behind +Steadman.</p> + +<p>“Simmonds, tell Gordon to come inside, then send a +S.O.S. message to headquarters.” Then he hobbled +downstairs again. “This grows interesting, Mr. +Steadman.”</p> + +<p>The barrister looked at him.</p> + +<p>“It seems pretty obvious to me that we have made +a mistake. And I can't say that standing about in cold +passages at this hour in the morning is exactly an +amusement that appeals to me; especially after our +experiences in the night.”</p> + +<p>The inspector looked at him curiously.</p> + +<p>“You think we have made a mistake in the house?”</p> + +<p>The barrister raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“What else am I to think?”</p> + +<p>For answer the inspector held out his hand, palm +uppermost. It was apparently empty, but as Steadman, +more short-sighted than ever without his monocle, +stared down at it he saw that in it lay a tiny yellow +fragment. For a moment the full significance of that +bit of silk did not dawn on John Steadman, but when +he looked up his face was very stern.</p> + +<p>“Where did you find this?”</p> + +<p>“Wedged in between the stairs and the wall,” the +inspector answered. “There is a larger piece higher up, +but this is enough for me.”</p> + +<p>“And for me!” Steadman said grimly.</p> + +<p>“Gordon is the best carpenter and joiner I know,” +the inspector went on. “We keep him permanently +available for our work. He will soon find the way to +the Yellow Room and then—well, some of the Yellow +Gang's secrets will be in our hands at any rate.”</p> + +<p>As the last word left his lips Gordon came in with +another man. Both carried bags of tools. The inspector +gave them a few instructions in a low tone, then +he pointed to the staircase.</p> + +<p>“Last night that was not there. Where it stands an +opening went straight through to the next house.”</p> + +<p>Gordon touched his head in salute.</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir!” He looked in his basket and +chose out a couple of tools—chisels, and a strange-looking +bar, tapering down to a point as fine as a knife, +but very long and several inches thick most of the way +to the other end. Then, apparently undeterred by the +magnitude of his task, he walked up to the top of the +staircase and sat down on the top step. His assistant +followed with a collection of hammers ranging from +one small enough for a doll's house to the size used by +colliers in the pits. They held a consultation together, +and then Gordon inserted his chisel in a crack. The +other man raised one of the mighty hammers and +brought it down with a crash that rang through the +house. It did not rouse the master of the dwelling, +however. He seemed to have taken permanent refuge +in the kitchen. There were no children's heads +hanging over the banisters now. The house might have +been absolutely deserted but for the inspector and his +party. Presently the inspector went up to the couple +on the stairs and after talking to them for a minute or +two came back to Steadman.</p> + +<p>“The whole staircase is movable, Mr. Steadman. +They have loosened it at the top. Stand aside in one +of the rooms in case it comes down quicker than we +expect. No doubt the Yellow Gang had some way of +opening it which we have not discovered, but this will +serve well enough.”</p> + +<p>“What about the children upstairs?” Steadman +asked.</p> + +<p>The inspector smiled in a twisted fashion.</p> + +<p>“Little beggars! They will be taken care of all +right. The parents were well prepared for some such +eventuality as this, you may be sure.”</p> + +<p>Steadman said no more. He stood back with the +inspector, while the others of their following went to +Gordon's help. There was more crashing, quantities of +dust and a splintering of wood, and at last the staircase +came suddenly away. Behind it a locked door the +width of the passage blocked their way.</p> + +<p>To open it was only the work of a minute, and then +the inspector and Steadman found themselves in the +scene of last night's exploits. The Yellow Room looked +garish and shabby with the clear morning light stealing +in. The chairs in which they had sat had gone, +otherwise everything looked much the same.</p> + +<p>But time was too precious to be spent in examining +the Yellow Room, interesting though it might be. The +inspector was out to catch the members of the Yellow +Gang; but, though, once the staircase was down, to +get from one room to the other of the perfect rabbit +warren of small houses which had been devised for the +safety of the Yellow Gang and its spoils presented little +difficulty, the inspector, standing in that room by the +river, had to acknowledge that the Yellow Dog and +his satellites had outwitted him again. The only +member of the Gang that remained in their hands was the +man who had opened the first door to them. Not a +sign of any other living creature was to be seen. Even +the wife and children had disappeared.</p> + +<p>But, as Furnival and John Steadman stood there +talking, a tiny wisp of grey vapour came floating down +the passage, another came, and yet another.</p> + +<p>“Smoke!” the inspector cried.</p> + +<p>And as the two men turned back, and heard the +clamour arise, while the smoke seemed to be everywhere +at once, and over all sounded the crackling of +the flames and the ringing of the alarm bells, they +realized that the Yellow Gang was not done with yet.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter" id="ch24"> + +<h2>Chapter XXIV</h2> + +<p>The Community House of St. Philip was <i>en fête</i>. Not +only was it the name day of its patron saint, but its +young head had just been rendered particularly joyful +by the receipt of a telegram from Burchester stating +that at a further hearing the magistrates had dismissed +the charge against Hopkins, and that he would reach +the Community House the same evening. A special tea +of good things for all members of the Community was +in full swing in the Refectory. Mrs. Phillimore was +presiding at the urn at the centre table, and friends of +hers at the tables at either side. The delectable pork +pies and plates of pressed beef and ham had been +carried round by Todmarsh and a little band of workers +comprising several of the clergy of the neighbourhood +and several West End friends, Tony Collyer, who had +been unwillingly pressed into the service, among the +number.</p> + +<p>Now the first keenness of the men's appetites seemed +to be over. Down near the door they were even +beginning to smoke and quite a thick mist was already +hanging over the tables. The young Head of the +Community was looking his best to-day. The rapt, “seeing” +look in his eyes was particularly noticeable. The +relief from the long strain he had been enduring with +regard to Hopkins was plainly written in his face. The +bright, ready smile which had been so infrequent of +late was flashing, here, there and everywhere, as he +greeted his friends and acquaintances. He alone of the +members of the Confraternity was not wearing the +habit of the Order. His grey lounge suit was obviously +the product of a West End tailor, though in his +buttonhole he wore the badge of the Confraternity with the +words that were its motto running across: “Work and +Service.”</p> + +<p>Just as the meal seemed about to end a telegram was +brought to Todmarsh. He read it and then, with it +open in his hand, hurried up the room to the platform +at the end. As he sprang up, a hush came over the +room; every face was turned to him in expectation.</p> + +<p>“Dear friends,” he began, “my comrades of the +Confraternity. This”—holding out the telegram—“brings +me very glad news. Hopkins, our friend and brother, +has started from Burchester by car. He may be here +almost any moment now. What could be happier than +the fact that we are all gathered together in such an +assembly as this in order to welcome our friend and +brother home? Now, to-night, I want all of us, every +one of us, to do all that lies in our power to give +Hopkins a rousing welcome, to make him feel that we know +he has been wrongfully accused, and that his home, his +comrades, his brothers are only waiting and longing for +an opportunity to make up to him for all that he has +suffered.”</p> + +<p>It was not a particularly enthusiastic outburst of +cheering that was evoked by this speech. For a +moment Aubrey hesitated on the platform as though +doubtful as to whether to go on, then he jumped down +and turned towards Mrs. Phillimore. Tony intercepted +him.</p> + +<p>“Well done, old chap,” he exclaimed, giving +Todmarsh a rousing slap on the back. “Jolly glad you +have got old Hoppy back, since you are so keen on him. +Shouldn't have been myself, but, there, tastes differ.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh winced a little. “You would have been +as pleased as I am to have Hopkins back if you had +known him as I do. The difference it would have made +if I had been speaking of some one else and he had +been among the audience. His face was the most +responsive I ever saw—calculated to rouse enthusiasm +above all things.”</p> + +<p>“Um! Well, in some folks, perhaps,” Tony conceded. +“But he doesn't enthuse me. I can never get +over that pretty fish-like habit of his of opening and +shutting his mouth silently. Tongue always seems too +big for his mouth too. Seen him stick it in his cheek +and chew it, as some folks do a piece of 'bacca.”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh looked annoyed. “What a thing it is always +to see the worst side of people. Now, I try only +to look at the best——”</p> + +<p>He was interrupted. A man came to him quietly. +“A car has stopped before the front door, sir, and I +think——”</p> + +<p>“Hopkins!” Todmarsh exclaimed, his face lighting +up.</p> + +<p>“I believe so, sir!”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh waited for no more, but hurried off. Tony +looked at him with a grin on his face. Then somewhat +to his surprise he saw that John Steadman had edged +himself in by the door at the upper end of the hall, and +seemed to be making his way towards Mrs. Phillimore +and her friends. Tony joined him.</p> + +<p>“Didn't know Aubrey had rooked you into his +schemes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“He hasn't!” Steadman said shortly.</p> + +<p>It struck Tony that there was something curiously +tense about his expression—that he seemed to be +listening for something.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Todmarsh was hurrying to the front +door. He opened it. A closed car stood just outside. +He could see a man leaning back—crouching down +rather, it seemed. Todmarsh waved his hand. +“Welcome home, Hopkins!”</p> + +<p>Seen thus in the sunset light waving his greeting, +there was something oddly youthful about Aubrey +Todmarsh's face and figure. Always slender, he had grown +almost thin during his time of anxiety about Hopkins. +His face with its short dark hair brushed straight back +and its strangely arresting eyes looked almost boyish. +Watching him there one who was waiting said he +looked many years younger than his real age. But +it was the last time anyone ever called Aubrey +Todmarsh young-looking.</p> + +<p>The car door opened. The man inside leaned out. +About to spring forward, Todmarsh suddenly paused. +Surely this was not Hopkins!</p> + +<p>At the same moment he was seized sharply from behind, +his arms were pinioned to his sides, men in uniform +and men out of uniform closed in upon him, and +while he tried to free himself frantically, wildly, he felt +the touch of cold steel upon his wrists, and Inspector +Furnival's voice rose above the hubbub.</p> + +<p>“Aubrey William Todmarsh, <i>alias</i> the Yellow Dog, I +arrest you for the wilful murder of Luke Bechcombe +in Crow's Inn, on February 3rd, and it is my duty to +warn you that anything you say will be taken down in +writing and may be used as evidence against you.”</p> + +<p>Quite suddenly all Todmarsh's struggles ceased. For +a minute he stood silent, motionless, save that he moved +his manacled hands about in a side-long fashion. The +inspector's keen eyes noted the long thumb, the short +forefinger. At last, swift as lightning, Todmarsh raised +his hands to his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Escape you after all, inspector,” he said with a +ghastly smile that dragged the lips from his teeth.</p> + +<p>He swayed as he spoke, but the inspector did not stir. +Instead, he surveyed his prisoner with an ironic twist +of the mouth.</p> + +<p>“I think not. You may feel a little sick, Mr. +Todmarsh, that is all.”</p> + +<p>“Cyanide of potassium,” Todmarsh gasped.</p> + +<p>“You would have been dead if it had been,” the +inspector said blandly. “But your tabloids are in my +pocket, and mine, just a simple preparation with the +faintest powdering of sulphate of zinc, have taken their +place in yours.”</p> + +<p>“A lie!” Todmarsh breathed savagely.</p> + +<p>The inspector did not bandy words.</p> + +<p>“Wait and see!” Then with a wave of his hand: +“In with him, men!”</p> + +<p>Todmarsh offered no further resistance, nor was any +possible, surrounded as he was. He was hurried into +the waiting car and the inspector followed him, just in +time to see him slip to one side with a groan.</p> + +<p>“Ah, makes you feel rather bad, doesn't it?” the +inspector questioned callously.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>The inspector heaved a great sigh of relief. “So at +last we have been successful almost beyond my +expectations. It had begun to be regarded as hopeless in +the force. The men were getting superstitious about +it—the capture of the Yellow Dog!”</p> + +<p>“Ay! And yet there he was just under our noses all +the time if we had but guessed it,” Steadman said +slowly. “When did you first suspect him, inspector?”</p> + +<p>The two men were sitting in the little study in +Steadman's flat. Both were looking white and tired. There +was no doubt that their experiences at the hand of the +Yellow Gang had tried them terribly. But, while +Steadman's face was haggard and depressed, the +inspector's, pale and worn though it was, was lighted by +the pride of successful achievement. He did not answer +Steadman's question for a minute. He sat back in his +chair puffing little spirals of smoke into the air and +watching them curl up to the ceiling. At last he said:</p> + +<p>“I can hardly tell you. I may say that, for a long +time, almost from its inception, the Community of St. +Philip was suspect at headquarters. Taking it +altogether the members were the most curious +conglomeration of gaol birds I have ever heard of, and no +particular good of Todmarsh was known. He had never +been associated in any way with philanthropic work +until he suddenly founded this Community and loudly +announced his intention of devoting his life to it. We +looked into his past record; it was not a particularly +good one. He was sent down from Oxford for some +disgraceful scrape into which he said, of course, that +he, innocent, had been drawn by a friend. Henceforward, +how he got his living was more or less a mystery +save that his small patrimony was gradually dissipated. +Then came the War when, of course, he was a +conscientious objector. After that, he lived more or less +by his wits, was secretary to several companies, none +of them of much repute. At last, suddenly, with a +flourish of trumpets, the Community of St. Philip was +founded. Where the money came from was a puzzle, +probably to be explained by the loss of the Collyer +cross.”</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by a sharp exclamation of +surprise from the barrister.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! Of course! And that explains old Collyer's +curious conduct. He had found the young man +out and wanted to hush it up for the sake of the +family.”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded. “He had found something +out. Probably we shall never know what, but I am +inclined to think something that led him to suspect who +was Mr. Bechcombe's murderer. I went down to Wexbridge +the other day, but I could get nothing out of +him. He is merely the shadow of the man he was. +Have you seen him lately, sir?”</p> + +<p>The barrister shook his head. “Not since he went +back to Wexbridge. But I have heard frequently of +the change in him. Still, you must remember that Mr. +Bechcombe and he were great friends; the murder must +have been a terrible shock, quite apart from his +guessing who was responsible.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” the inspector responded. “But, all the +same, it is very strongly my impression that he made +some discovery the last time he called at Community +House.”</p> + +<p>At this moment there was a tap at the door and Tony +Collyer looked in. Seeing the inspector, he drew back.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon.”</p> + +<p>Steadman looked at the detective, then, receiving an +almost imperceptible sign from him, he called out:</p> + +<p>“Come in, Tony. We were speaking of you, or +rather of your father.”</p> + +<p>Tony came in and took the chair Steadman pushed +towards him.</p> + +<p>“You told me to call to-night, you know, sir. +Perhaps you had forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“I had,” Steadman said penitently. “But I am very +glad to see you, my boy. How is your father?”</p> + +<p>“I hardly know,” Tony said slowly. “He is rather +bad, I am afraid, poor old chap! You see he suspected +the truth about Uncle Luke's murder and it has pretty +nearly finished him off.”</p> + +<p>The inspector glanced at Steadman. “What did I +tell you?”</p> + +<p>“He saw a line or two in Aubrey's blotting-book telling +him that Mrs. C. would be at Crow's Inn with the +twinklers at a quarter to twelve,” Tony pursued. “He +will tell you himself just what it was. He sees now +that he ought to have come to you at once, but he did +not know what to do, the poor old governor. He had +taken rather a fancy to Aubrey lately, though he never +thought much of him as a kid. But, naturally, one +doesn't like to try to hang one's nephew, or +half-nephew by marriage. You know his mother was my +mother's half-sister.”</p> + +<p>“And Luke Bechcombe's,” Steadman said.</p> + +<p>“Well, no one can help what one's nephews, or +half-nephews do!”</p> + +<p>“The first direct line we had to Todmarsh came from +you, though, Tony. When you told us your suspicions +of Mrs. Phillimore, you know,” replying to Tony's look +of surprise.</p> + +<p>“Knew she was a wrong 'un first time I saw her,” +Tony acquiesced. “Carnthwacke was the same—‘bad +little lot!’ he called her. Pretty well bust up the rich +American widow business for you, didn't we?”</p> + +<p>“You did!” the inspector said with a grin. “And a +detective from Boston, whom we wired to, finished it. +He recognized her as a woman that they had wanted +for years; been in that crook business ever since she +was a kid. I wasn't thinking she had turned reformer +over here.”</p> + +<p>“Not precisely!” Tony said with an answering grin. +“Pretty well gave the show away when you arrested +her, didn't she?”</p> + +<p>“Wanted to turn King's evidence,” said the inspector, +“but we weren't having any. Hopkins will do for +us! By the way, sir,” turning to Steadman, “I found +out this morning to whom we owed our escape from +the Yellow Dog's clutches.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” Steadman raised his eyebrows +interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“Hopkins's wife,” said the inspector. “It was the +Hopkins's child you rescued from under Mrs. +Phillimore's car on the day of Mrs. Bechcombe's lunch. +You sent it to the Middlesex Hospital and sent your +own car to fetch Mrs. Hopkins, and take her there like +a lady, as she phrased it. Then you sent the child +sweets and toys and this completely won the mother's +heart. She acts as housekeeper to the Yellow Gang at +the house by Stepney Causeway. If she had not +been”—he shrugged his shoulders—“well, you and I would +have been in kingdom come, Mr. Steadman.”</p> + +<p>“Good for her!” said Anthony.</p> + +<p>“And I suppose my precious cousin's anxiety about +Hopkins was lest the beggar should give him away to +save his own skin, and not out of love for the gentleman +at all. I should always distrust a chap that keeps +on opening and shutting his mouth and chewing up his +tongue,” Tony added sapiently. “Mrs. Phillimore, too. +Carnthwacke told me he was sure he had seen her +walking about with his wife's maid.”</p> + +<p>The inspector nodded.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes she was mistress, sometimes maid, and +part of the week she was Fédora, the great fortune-teller, +and this way she was able to pick up information +for Todmarsh. If she had been spotted—well, it was +her taste for philanthropy.”</p> + +<p>Tony got up and walked about the room. “But it +is an awful thing, whichever way you look at it. We +shall have to keep it from my poor mother. She never +cared for Aubrey, but he was her half-sister's son, after +all. I don't think he meant to kill Uncle Luke, you +know, Furnival. I think it was done in a scuffle.”</p> + +<p>The inspector shrugged his shoulders. “Didn't care +whether he did or not, if you ask me. According to +Hopkins, he went disguised, taking chloroform with +him to render Mr. Bechcombe unconscious, and wearing +rubber gloves, so that his finger-prints should not +be recognized. Then, while Mr. Bechcombe was +unconscious, he meant to impersonate him and get Mrs. +Carnthwacke's diamonds. But Mr. Bechcombe had +struggled much more than he expected, and in the +struggle recognized him. Then the game was up as far +as Todmarsh was concerned and Mr. Bechcombe's +death followed instantly. The rest of the programme +was carried out as arranged, only that Mr. Bechcombe +lay behind the screen dead, not unconscious!”</p> + +<p>“Brute!” Tony muttered between his teeth; +“deserves all he'll get, and more! Poor old Uncle +Luke——” blowing his nose. “He was always good to +us when we were boys. It won't bear thinking of!”</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Anthony Collyer was sitting in the library at Bechcombe +House. A letter from his father lay open on the +table. To him entered Cecily Hoyle, looking as attractive +as ever in her short black frock, low enough at the +neck to show her pretty rounded throat, short enough +in the arms to allow a glimpse of the dainty dimpled +elbows, and in the skirt to reveal black silk stockings +nearly to the knees, and <i>suède</i>-clad feet.</p> + +<p>“Tony, you have heard?”</p> + +<p>Tony got up, pushing his letter from him.</p> + +<p>“I have heard that you are not Thompson's daughter +after all——”</p> + +<p>“No. I was mother's child by her first husband, Dr. +James Hoyle. So I am Cecily Hoyle after all. +Because Mr. Thompson adopted me and then took my +father's name, but he isn't related to me at all, +really—not a scrap!” explained Cecily lucidly.</p> + +<p>“So I have been told,” Tony assented.</p> + +<p>As Cecily drew farther into the room he drew a little +back, and rested his elbow on the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>“I—I thought you would be pleased, Tony,” the girl +murmured, just glancing at him with sweet, dewy eyes. +“Because, you see, it makes all the difference.”</p> + +<p>“Difference—to what?” Anthony inquired in a stiff, +uninterested tone.</p> + +<p>“Why—why, to us,” Cecily whispered with trembling +lips. “I—I said I couldn't be engaged to you any +longer, Tony. But—but if you ask me again, I have +changed my mind.”</p> + +<p>“So have I changed my mind,” Tony returned gloomily. +“You said you would not let me marry a thief's +daughter—well, you see, I have some pride too. I will +not let you marry a murderer's cousin!”</p> + +<p>“Cousin! Pouf!” Cecily snapped her fingers. +“Who cares what people's cousins do?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you would, if they did brutal murders and got +themselves hanged,” Tony retorted, taking his elbow +from the mantelpiece, and edging a little farther from +Cecily, who was betraying an unmaidenly desire to +follow him up.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn't really—not a half-cousin,” the girl +contradicted. “And he was mad, Tony. His father had +been in an asylum more than once, only your aunt +didn't know when she married him.”</p> + +<p>“Half-aunt,” corrected Tony, “I'd like you to +remember that half, Cecily.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will!” the girl promised. “And, Tony, I +want to tell you that I hadn't the least idea that +Thompson was the man that I thought was my father +while I was at Mrs. Bechcombe's. It seems he put me +there thinking to get some information he wanted +through me, and which I am thankful to say he didn't. +I never recognized him, he looked so different. Then +after the murder when he told me, though he said he +wasn't guilty—I couldn't help doubting.”</p> + +<p>“You might have trusted me,” Tony said +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>Cecily burst into tears. “You might trust me now.”</p> + +<p>Tony's heart was melted at once. He drew the sobbing +girl into his arms. “I would trust you with my +life, sweetheart—but I——”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you shall not say but!” the girl cried, clinging +to him. “You do love me, don't you, Tony?” lifting +her face to his.</p> + +<p>“You know I do!” said Anthony, his sombre eyes +brightening as he looked down at her.</p> + +<p>“Then that is all that matters,” said Cecily +decidedly, “isn't it, Anthony?”</p> + +<p>And Anthony, capitulating as he kissed her eyes and +her trembling lips, confessed that he thought it was.</p> + +<p class="finis">The End</p> + +</div> + +<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="section" id="transcriber"> + +<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> + +<p>This transcription follows the text of the US edition published by +Dodd, Mead and Company in 1927. The following changes have been made +to correct what are believed to be unambiguous printer's errors.</p> + +<ul> + <li>“it His Will” was changed to “it is His Will” (Chapter V).</li> + <li>“the clerk's addresses” was changed to “the clerks' addresses” + (Chapter V).</li> + <li>“pierced them together” was changed to “pieced them together” + (Chapter IX).</li> + <li>“few day's holiday” was changed to “few days' holiday” + (Chapter XIII).</li> + <li>“by dear” was changed to “my dear” (Chapter XIII).</li> + <li>One occurrence of a missing period has been repaired.</li> +</ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75307 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |