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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75307-0.txt b/75307-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4806ae --- /dev/null +++ b/75307-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8601 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75307 *** + + +The Crow's Inn Tragedy + +by Annie Haynes + +Copyright, 1927, by Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc. + + + +CHAPTER I + +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. + +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. + +“Mr. Bechcombe?” the caller said inquiringly. “Please tell him that +Mr. Collyer has called, but that he will wait.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He came forward with outstretched hand as the clergyman entered +somewhat hesitatingly. + +“Why, Jim, this is an unexpected pleasure! What has brought you up to +town?” + +The clergyman looked at him doubtfully as their hands met. + +“The usual thing—worry! I came up to consult you, to ask if you could +help me.” + +The solicitor glanced at him keenly, then he turned to the revolving +chair before his desk and motioned his visitor to the one opposite. + +“Tony again?” he questioned, as his visitor seated himself. + +The clergyman waited a minute, twirling his soft hat about in his +hands as he held it between his knees. + +“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.” + +“Then why doesn't he enlist?” Luke Bechcombe snapped out. + +“His mother,” Mr. Collyer said quietly. “She would never have a +moment's peace.” + +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. + +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. + +His brother-in-law glanced at him sympathetically now. + +“What is Tony doing just at present?” + +“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.” + +“Must be, I should think. His friends too, I imagine,” Luke Bechcombe +barked gruffly. + +The implication was unmistakable. The rector sighed uneasily. + +“I have faith, you know, Luke, that the boy will come right in the +end. He is the child of many prayers.” + +“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?” + +The clergyman stirred uneasily. + +“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.” + +“Good heavens! Not a girl?” Luke Bechcombe ejaculated. + +Mr. Collyer bent his head. + +“Yes, I hope so. A very charming girl too, I believe.” + +“Who is she?” + +“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.” + +“Good heavens!” The lawyer sat back and stared at him. “Do you mean my +secretary?” + +“Your secretary,” Mr. Collyer acquiesced. “She is a nice girl, isn't +she, Luke?” + +“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?” + +The clergyman shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Genuine thing! Good for the lad!” Luke Bechcombe repeated scornfully. +“Tony can't keep himself. How is he going to keep my secretary?” + +“Tony can work if he likes,” his father maintained stoutly. “And if he +has someone to work for I think he will.” + +“Girl won't take him. She has too much sense,” growled the lawyer. + +“Oh, I think she has given Tony some reason to hope.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Mrs. Phillimore! The rich American widow! She must be much too old +for him.” + +“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.” + +“But are they really engaged?” + +“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.” + +Mr. Collyer started. + +“You don't mean that she has been able to hear what we have been +saying?” + +Mr. Bechcombe laughed. + +“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?” + +The clergyman looked undecided for a moment; then he shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Please yourself!” Luke Bechcombe said gruffly. “Anyway if I had to +choose between Tony and Aubrey Todmarsh I should take Tony.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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——” + +Mr. Bechcombe snorted. + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“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. + +The rector did not smile. + +“I look upon the League of Nations as our great hope for the future.” + +“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 _him_ 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.” + +“How about a further mortgage on my little farm at Halvers?” + +The solicitor shook his head. + +“No use thinking of it. Farm is mortgaged up to the hilt +already—rather past it, in fact.” + +“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.” + +“Oh, but that would be a thousand pities—an heirloom with a history +such as that. Oh, you can't part with it.” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“I shall be enormously obliged to you,” the clergyman said haltingly. +“But do you know anything of selling jewellery yourself, Luke?” + +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.” + +The clergyman rose. + +“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.” + +“You surely don't mean that you have put them in your pocket?” +exclaimed the solicitor. + +Mr. Collyer looked surprised. + +“They are quite safe. See, I button my coat when I am outside. No one +could possibly take them from me.” + +Mr. Bechcombe coughed. + +“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.” + +The rector brought an ancient leather case out of his pocket. + +“Here it is.” + +Mr. Bechcombe held his hand out for the case. + +“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?” + +The rector blinked. + +“In the secret drawer in my writing-table. Why do you ask?” + +Mr. Bechcombe groaned. + +“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.” + +“What!” The rector stared at him. “The Collyer emeralds—paste! Why, +they have been admired by experts!” + +“No. Not the Collyer emeralds,” Mr. Bechcombe contradicted. “The +Collyer emeralds were magnificent gems. This worthless paste has been +substituted.” + +“Impossible! Who would do such a thing?” Mr. Collyer asked. + +“Ah! That,” said Luke Bechcombe grimly, “we have got to find out.” + + + +CHAPTER II + +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. + +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. + +The Rev. James Collyer looked at it approvingly as he stood on the +doorstep. + +“Just the sort of work I should have loved when I was young,” he +soliloquized as he rang the door bell. + +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 +_de rigueur_ for those members of the Community who did the housework. +This was generally understood to be undertaken by all the members in +turn. + +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. + +“Mr. Todmarsh?” the rector inquired. + +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. + +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. + +A man who was writing at the long centre table got up quickly to meet +him and came forward with outstretched hands. + +“My dear uncle, this is a pleasure!” + +“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.” + +Todmarsh held his uncle's hand for a minute in his firm clasp, looking +the elder man squarely in the eyes the while. + +“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.” + +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. + +The clergyman looked at him pityingly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“Yes?” Mr. Collyer prompted as he paused. + +“Yet last night he was arrested attempting to break into General +Craven's house in Mortimer Square.” + +Todmarsh blew his nose vigorously. His voice was distinctly shaky as +he broke off. His uncle glanced at him sympathetically. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But who is he?” the rector inquired innocently. + +Aubrey Todmarsh permitted himself a slight smile. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Todmarsh was leading the way to the other part of the house. + +“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.” + +The rector sighed. + +“I know. It is deplorable. That terrible War—and yet, a most righteous +War.” + +“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.” + +Mr. Collyer shook his head. + +“War will never stop, my boy, while men and women remain what they +are—while human nature remains what it is, I should say.” + +Todmarsh's eyes looked right in front of him over the Community +playing fields. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +Instantly Todmarsh's face assumed its most sympathetic expression. + +“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?” + +But the rector put aside the proffered chair. + +“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!” + +“The Collyer cross?” Aubrey exclaimed. “What of that?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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——” + +“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. + +A moment later Hopkins opened the door and announced “Mr. Anthony +Collyer.” + +“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!” + +“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——” + +“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.” + +The rector did not look as if he shared this conviction. + +“Well, my boy, I have been telling my troubles to Aubrey. The +emeralds——” + +“Oh, bother the emeralds, dad! It is the business of the police to +find them, not yours and mine or Aubrey's.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I am sure I should, my boy. I really think, Tony——” + +“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.” + +“Oh, well, if you put it that way——” Todmarsh shook hands with his +visitors. + +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. + +At the front door they paused a minute. Tony looked at his cousin with +a wicked snigger. + +“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.” + +“Mrs. Phillimore!” Aubrey came to the door and looked out. “It is her +day for visiting our laundry just down the road.” + +Mr. Collyer smiled. + +“Well, she is a good woman, Aubrey. We are dining with your Uncle Luke +to-night. Shall we meet you there?” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER III + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +The managing clerk at Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner's glanced keenly at +his chief as he spoke. + +“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—_no one_ is to disturb me until then. You understand this, +Thompson?” He turned back sharply to his office. + +“Quite so, sir.” + +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. + +Percy Johnson, one of the articled pupils, emitted a low whistle. + +“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.” + +Thompson turned his severe eyes upon him. + +“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.” + +Mr. Johnson applied himself to his labours afresh. + +“It is nice to know that one is really useful!” + +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. + +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. + +“Good morning, Mr. Anthony. I am sorry that Mr. Bechcombe is engaged.” + +“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!” + +Thompson shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Anthony laughed. + +“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.” + +“Mr. Anthony—you must not, indeed—I cannot allow——” + +Anthony put up his hand. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Is there anything I can do? Mr. Bechcombe is unfortunately engaged +until one o'clock.” + +“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.” + +The managing clerk looked undecided. His eyes wandered from side to +side beneath his horn-rimmed spectacles. + +“I will see what I can do,” he said at last. + +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. + +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. + +At last the senior clerks began to look uncomfortable. John Walls, the +second in command, went over to one of his confrères. + +“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?” + +Mr. Spencer rubbed the side of his nose reflectively. + +“How would it be to knock at the governor's door, Walls? He couldn't +be annoyed after all this time.” + +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. + +After a moment's pause Mr. Walls applied his knuckles more loudly, +again without reply. + +He turned to his companion. + +“He must have gone out.” + +The fact seemed obvious, and yet Spencer hesitated. + +“You didn't hear any one moving about when you first knocked?” + +“No, I didn't,” responded John Walls, staring at him. “Did you?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +John Walls knocked first tentatively, then louder, still without the +slightest response. + +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. + +“Of course the governor has gone out. But I wonder whether the key is +in its place?” + +He stooped and somewhat gingerly applied his eye to the hole. Then he +jerked his head up with an inaudible exclamation. + +“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. + +At last Spencer raised himself. + +“No, the key isn't in its hole,” he said slowly. “But I thought—I +thought——” + +“Yes, yes; you thought what?” + +Both men's voices had instinctively sunk to a whisper. + +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. + +“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.” + +“A queer-looking heap!” Without further ado the other man pushed him +aside. + +As he knelt down Spencer went on: + +“It—there is something sticking out at the side—it looks like a leg—a +leg in a grey trouser—do you see?” + +There was a moment's tense silence. Then Mr. Walls raised himself. + +“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.” + +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. + +John Walls bent over it, then he looked up with shocked eyes. + +“He—I am afraid it is all over.” + +“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.” + +“Is there anything wrong?” + +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. + +“Is there anything wrong?” There was an undertone of fear about the +voice now. + +John Walls turned. + +“Mr. Bechcombe has been taken ill, Miss Hoyle—very ill, I am afraid.” + +The sight of his white, stricken face was more eloquent than his +words. Cecily Hoyle's own colour faded slowly. + +“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.” + +John Walls laid his hand on her shoulder. + +“You can't do anything, Miss Hoyle. We can none of us do anything. It +is too late.” + +Cecily shrank from him with a cry. + +“No, no! He can't be—dead!” + +A strong hand put both her and John Walls aside. + +“Let me pass. I am a doctor. What is the matter here?” + +John Walls recognized the speaker as a medical man who had rooms close +at hand. + +“I think Mr. Bechcombe has had a fit, sir. I am afraid it is all +over.” + +“Stand aside, please. Let us have all the air we can.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Police!” echoed John Walls with shaking lips. + +“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!” + + + +CHAPTER IV + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Now, Dr. Hackett, will you give me the details of this affair as far +as you know them?” + +“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.” + +The inspector scratched the side of his nose reflectively with the +handle of his fountain pen. + +“Mr. Bechcombe was quite dead?” + +“Quite dead. Had been dead at least two hours, I should say,” Dr. +Hackett assented. + +“And the cause?” the inspector continued, suspending his pen over the +paper. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +The inspector nodded. + +“That was the first thing I noticed. Chloroform, I suppose?” + +“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.” + +The inspector made a few hieroglyphics in his notebook, then he looked +up. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The inspector stroked his clean-shaven chin and glanced over his +notes. + +“Just one more question, Dr. Hackett. Can you tell me just who was in +the room when you got there?” + +Dr. Hackett hesitated a moment. + +“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.” + +The inspector pricked up his ears. + +“I have not seen Miss Hoyle. What sort of a woman?” + +“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!” + +“No doubt!” the inspector assented. “How was she dressed, doctor?” + +“Dressed?” the doctor echoed in some surprise. “Well, I don't take +much notice of dress myself. Just a dark gown, I think.” + +“No hat?” + +“No, I don't think so. No, I am sure she hadn't.” + +“Do you know where she works?” + +“Didn't know such a person existed until this afternoon. I know +nothing about her,” the doctor said, shaking his head. + +The inspector coughed. + +“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.” + +“I suppose she has been told?” + +“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.” + +“Poor thing! Poor thing!” the doctor murmured. “Well, inspector, I +shall hold myself at your disposal.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You sent for me, inspector?” he said, his teeth chattering as if with +ague. + +“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?” + +“N—o!” quavered Walls. + +“Can you account for his absence in any way?” the inspector questioned +shortly. + +“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.” + +The inspector did not answer this. He drew his brows together. + +“When did you see him last?” + +“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. + +The inspector looked at him. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Did you gather that Mr. Bechcombe had business of an important nature +with a mysterious client?” + +“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.” + +“Before twelve o'clock?” questioned the inspector sharply. + +“Oh, yes. Some minutes before the clock struck—about a quarter to, I +should say. I noticed that.” + +“Because——” Inspector Furnival prompted. + +“Oh, well, because I heard it strike afterwards, I suppose,” Walls +answered lamely. “There are days when I don't notice it.” + +“Um!” the inspector glanced at him. “Do you know the name of the last +client who saw Mr. Bechcombe?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +The sweat broke out afresh on Mr. Walls's forehead. + +“I don't know anything about it.” + +“You know that Mr. Collyer came,” the inspector said with some +asperity. “Why did you not mention it?” + +Walls glanced at him doubtfully. + +“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.” + +“You did not hear what he said when he went away? Your desk seems to +be most inconveniently placed, Mr. Walls.” + +“I heard him talking a lot of nonsense to Mr. Thompson.” + +“Such as——” The inspector paused. + +“Oh, well, he said he must see Mr. Bechcombe and he said he would, and +Mr. Thompson——” + +“Be careful!” warned the inspector. “Don't make any mistakes, Mr. +Walls, I want to know what Mr. Anthony Collyer said.” + +“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.” + +“Did he try to get into the room through the private door?” + +“I don't know,” Walls said helplessly. “I didn't see him any more.” + +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 _suède_ glove. + +“Have you ever seen this before?” + +John Walls peered at it. + +“No. I can't say that I have. It—it is a lady's glove, inspector.” + +“It _is_ a lady's glove,” the inspector assented. “Where do you +imagine it was found, Mr. Walls?” + +“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——” + +“This particular glove,” the inspector went on, “I found beside Mr. +Bechcombe's writing-table this afternoon.” + +“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.” + +“Except perhaps the one that came to the private door,” suggested the +inspector. + +“I don't know anything about that,” Walls said in a puzzled tone. “I +never heard anything of a lady coming to-day.” + +The inspector folded the glove up and put it away again. + +“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.” + +Walls looked uncomfortably surprised. + +“Miss Hoyle?” + +“Yes, Miss Hoyle—Mr. Bechcombe's secretary!” the inspector said +sharply. “I suppose you know her, Mr. Walls?” + +“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.” + +“Indeed!” For once the inspector looked really interested. “Well, I +should like to see Miss Hoyle without delay, Mr. Walls.” + +“Very well. I will tell her at once.” + +Miss Hoyle did not keep the inspector waiting. He glanced at her +keenly as he placed a chair for her. + +“Your name, please?” + +“Cecily Frances Hoyle.” + +“How long have you been with Mr. Bechcombe?” + +“Just over a month.” + +“Where were you previously?” + +“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.” + +“Um!” The inspector turned over a new page in his notebook. “Now will +you tell me all you know about Mr. Bechcombe's death?” + +Cecily stared at him. + +“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.” + +“At a quarter to twelve!” The inspector pricked up his ears. “You saw +Mr. Bechcombe at a quarter to twelve?” + +“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.” + +“You saw and heard nothing more of Mr. Bechcombe until you came on the +scene when the door was broken open by the clerks?” + +“I did not see anything.” + +The slight emphasis on the verb did not escape the inspector. + +“Or hear anything?” he demanded sharply. “Be very careful please, Miss +Hoyle.” + +“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. + +The inspector looked at her searchingly. “To whom did you hear Mr. +Bechcombe speak?” + +Cecily hesitated, the colour that was creeping back slowly into her +cheeks deepening perceptibly. + +“Someone was knocking at the door,” she stammered. “I think Mr. +Bechcombe spoke to him. I heard him say he was engaged.” + +“Who was he speaking to?” + +The girl twisted her hands together. + +“It was his nephew, Mr. Anthony Collyer.” + +“How do you know?” The inspector fired his questions at her rather as +if they had been pistol shots. + +Cecily looked round her in an agony of confusion. + +“He came to my office—Mr. Anthony, I mean.” + +“Why should he come to your office?” + +“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.” + +The inspector might have smiled but that the thing was too serious. + +“Did Mr. Bechcombe know?” + +The girl hesitated a moment. + +“I think he guessed. From the way he smiled when he mentioned Mr. +Collyer in the morning.” + +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. + +“I see. So you went out with Mr. Anthony Collyer. Where did you +lunch?” + +“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.” + +“Well?” the inspector prompted as she paused. + +“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.” + +“Field of Rest,” the inspector repeated. “What is a Field of Rest?” + +“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.” + +The inspector nodded. There were many such places in London he knew. + +“And I suppose Mr. Anthony Collyer soon overtook you?” + +“No. He didn't. He—I had to wait in the Field of Rest.” + +“How long?” + +“I don't really know,” Cecily said uncertainly. “Perhaps it wasn't +very long. But it seemed a long time to me.” + +The inspector looked at her. + +“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?” + +“Twenty minutes perhaps—or it might have been half an hour.” + +The inspector looked surprised. + +“Half an hour! But that's a long time. What excuse did Mr. Collyer +make for being so long?” + +“He said he couldn't find the Field of Rest. He hadn't been there +before, you know.” + +The inspector made no rejoinder. He turned back to his notes. + +“What time did you come back to the office, Miss Hoyle?” + +“We were a little over an hour,” Cecily confessed. “After half-past +one, it would be.” + +“Did Mr. Collyer go back with you?” + +Cecily shook her head. + +“Oh, no. He walked as far as Crow's Inn—up to the archway with me.” + +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. + +“Have you ever seen this before, Miss Hoyle?” + +The girl leaned forward and looked at it more closely. + +“No, I am sure I have not.” + +“It is not yours?” + +Cecily shook her head. + +“I could not afford anything like that. It is a very expensive +glove—French I should say.” + +“That glove was found beside the writing-table in Mr. Bechcombe's +private room this afternoon,” the inspector said impressively. + +Cecily looked amazed. + +“What an extraordinary thing! I don't believe it was there when I was +in this morning. I wonder who could have dropped it?” + +“Possibly the murderer or murderess,” the inspector suggested dryly. + +Cecily shivered back in her chair with a little cry. + +“It cannot be true! Who would hurt Mr. Bechcombe? He must have had a +fit!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Could you hear what went on in his room in yours?” + +“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.” + +“What did you do after you went back?” + +“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.” + +“Now one more question, Miss Hoyle. Did you notice anything particular +about Mr. Anthony Collyer's hands when you first saw him?” + +Cecily stared. + +“Certainly I did not. Why?” + +“He did not wear gloves?” + +“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.” + +The inspector's stylo was moving quickly in his notebook. + +“You are prepared to swear to all this, Miss Hoyle?” + +“Certainly I am!” Cecily said at once. “It is absolutely true.” + +“Your address, please.” + +“Hobart Residence, Windover Square. It is a club for girls,” she +added. + +“But your permanent home address,” the detective went on. + +There was a pause. The girl's long eyelashes flickered. + +“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.” + +“Oh!” The inspector asked no more questions, but there was a curious +look in his eyes as he scrawled another entry in his book. + +“That is all for the present, then, Miss Hoyle. The inquest will be +opened to-morrow, and you may be wanted. I cannot say.” + +He rose. Cecily got up at once and with a little farewell bow went out +of the room. + +The inspector stood still for a minute or two, then he opened the door +again. + +“Call Mr. William Spencer, please.” + +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. + +“Well, Mr. Spencer, and what have you to tell me about this terrible +affair?” the inspector began conversationally. + +“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.” + +“You were the first to see the body, I understand.” + +“Well, looking through the keyhole, I saw a heap and I told Mr. Walls +I thought it was the governor.” + +“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. + +Mr. Spencer's eyes grew round. + +“I—I don't know.” + +“What do you mean by that?” the inspector questioned. “Have you any +reason to suppose you have done so?” + +Spencer stared at it. + +“I met a lady with long gloves like that coming up the stairs when I +went out to lunch.” + +“What time was that?” + +“About half-past twelve, it would be, or a little later, I think,” +debated Spencer. + +“Ah!” the inspector made a note in his book. “What was she like—the +woman you met?” + +“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.” + +“Did you notice where she went?” + +“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——” + +“Well?” + +“I did think at the time that I heard her stop on our landing and go +along the passage——” + +“To Mr. Bechcombe's room?” said the inspector quickly. + +“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.” + +“Do you know that I found this glove beside Mr. Bechcombe's +writing-table when I went into the room?” questioned the inspector. + +Spencer shivered. + +“No. I didn't see it.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Quite true,” the inspector confirmed in a matter-of-fact fashion in +contrast with the clergyman's agitated tone. + +“But how and by whom?” Mr. Collyer demanded. + +“Mr. Bechcombe appears to have been attacked, possibly chloroformed, +deliberately, and strangled. His body was found in his private +office.” + +The rector subsided into the nearest chair. + +“I cannot believe it. Poor Luke had not an enemy in the world. What +could have been the motive for so horrible a crime?” + +“That I am endeavouring to find out,” the inspector said quietly. + +“I can't understand it,” the clergyman said, raising his hand to his +head. “Nobody would wilfully have hurt poor Luke, I am sure.” + +“It is tolerably evident that somebody did,” the inspector commented +dryly. + +Mr. Collyer was silent for a minute; putting his elbow on the table, +he rested his aching head upon his hand. + +“But who could have done it?” he questioned brokenly at last. + +The inspector coughed. + +“That also I am trying to discover, sir. When did you see Mr. +Bechcombe last, Mr. Collyer?” + +“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.” + +He blew his nose vigorously. + +“Was your son one of the dinner party?” the inspector questioned. + +Mr. Collyer looked surprised. + +“Oh, er—yes, of course Tony was there. He is a favourite with his +uncle and aunt.” + +“Did you know that he was here this morning?” + +Mr. Collyer's astonishment appeared to increase. + +“Certainly I did not. I do not think he has been. I fancy you are +making a mistake.” + +“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.” + +Mr. Collyer dropped his arm upon the table. + +“But—— Good—good heavens! Did he go?” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER V + +“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.” + +“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. + +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.” + +“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. + +His father lifted up his hand. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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——” + +“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.” + +“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. + +Mrs. Bechcombe turned to him eagerly. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I hope not!” the rector sighed. “And yet we cannot bring poor Luke +back, we can only punish his murderer.” + +“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.” + +“Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” murmured Aubrey Todmarsh. + +“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.” + +Mr. Steadman looked at Anthony. “I understand that you called at the +office yesterday morning.” + +“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.” + +“And did you?” questioned Mr. Steadman quietly. + +“Yes, I did, but I did not go in and murder my uncle,” returned +Anthony in the same loud, passionate tone. + +“Did you see him?” Mr. Steadman inquired. + +“Yes. He came to the door and told me to go away. He was expecting an +important client.” + +“Tony, you did not ask him for money?” his father said piteously. + +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. + +“Did you keep your friend waiting?” inquired Mr. Steadman. + +“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. + +“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——” + +Tony stared at her. + +“What wicked woman? What do you mean, Aunt Madeline?” + +“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. + +“My dear Madeline,” Mr. Steadman interrupted her, “I do not think it +possible that the crime could have been committed by a woman.” + +“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. + +Her cousin looked at her pityingly. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Steadman shook hands. “You haven't forgotten me, I hope, +inspector?” + +The inspector permitted himself a slight smile. “I haven't forgotten +how you helped me to catch John Bassil.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +Mr. Steadman met the detective's eyes with a curious look in his own. +“What of Thompson's disappearance?” + +The inspector blotted the page in his ledger at which he had been +writing and left the blotting-paper on. + +“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.” + +“The inference being——?” Mr. Steadman raised his eyebrows. + +The inspector laid his hand on a parcel of papers lying on the table +at his elbow. + +“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.” + +Mr. Steadman reached over for one of the papers. + +“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——” + +“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.” + +The barrister nodded. “Thompson had been with the firm for many +years.” + +“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.” + +Mr. Steadman did not speak for a moment, then he said slowly: + +“The fact that so little is known seems in itself curious. Is there no +way of ascertaining his address?” + +“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.” + +“How about the woman visitor?” the barrister inquired, changing the +subject suddenly. + +“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. + +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.” + +“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?” + +The barrister looked at him. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Quite so!” + +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. + +“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.” + +Mr. Steadman shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Very true! I wish we did,” asserted the inspector. “At the same +time——” + +The telephone bell was ringing sharply over his desk. He took up the +receiver. + +“That you, Jones? Yes, what is it? Inspector Furnival speaking.” + +“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.” + +“What is it?” + +“Number 10 Brooklyn Terrace, North Kensington.” + +“Um! I will see to it at once.” And the inspector rang off sharply. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +“Can't hear of Brooklyn Terrace anywhere, sir.” The speaker was Mr. +Steadman's chauffeur. + +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. + +“Better drive to the nearest post-office and ask there. They will be +sure to know.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +The chauffeur pulled up. + +“This is it, sir.” + +Mr. Steadman eyed it doubtfully. + +“Well, inspector, I expect this really is the place.” + +“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.” + +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: + +“You'll have to go down, they don't never come to that there door!” + +Mr. Steadman put up his glass and peered over the palings. A +slatternly-looking woman was just looking out of the back door. + +“Can you let us in, my good woman?” the barrister called out. “We want +Mr. Thompson.” + +The woman muttered something, probably scenting a tip, and presently +they heard her clattering along the passage. + +“Mr. Thompson, is it?” she said as she admitted them. “His room is up +at the top.” + +“Is he at home?” Inspector Furnival questioned. + +The woman stared at him. “I don't know. If you just like to walk up +you will find out.” + +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. + +“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. + +The inspector turned to him. “I want Mr. Amos Thompson.” + +The old man pointed to the door just in front of them. + +“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.” + +“Do you often see him?” the inspector questioned as he applied his +knuckles to the door. + +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.” + +The inspector and Mr. Steadman wondered too, as they waited there, +while no answer came to the former's repeated knocking. + +A room in No. 10 Brooklyn Terrace certainly seemed no fitting home for +Amos Thompson with his handsome salary. + +“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?” + +The man shook his head. + +“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——” + +“Is this landlord likely to be at home now?” the inspector +interrupted. + +“He is at home, sir. I saw him as I came upstairs.” + +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.” + +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. + +“Queer affair this! What the deuce does the fellow mean by putting up +at a place like this?” + +“Well, he isn't extravagant in the living line!” the inspector said +with a grin. + +John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “Not here!” + +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. + +“I understand I have no choice, gentlemen.” + +“None!” the inspector said grimly. + +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. + +“Do you know who that is?” questioned the inspector. + +Mr. Steadman shook his head. “It is no one that I have ever seen +before. Do you mean that you do?” + +“That is a likeness—very badly taken, I grant you—but an unmistakable +likeness of Miss Hoyle, the late Mr. Bechcombe's secretary.” + +Mr. Steadman was startled for once. “Good Lord! Do you mean that he +was in love with her too?” + +“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.” + +“Poor Tony!” said the barrister indulgently. + +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. + +“Nothing more to be done here, I think, sir.” He took up the book and +the slippers and moved to the door. + +John Steadman followed him silently. His strong face bore a very +worried, harassed expression. + +Outside the landlord stopped them. + +“Gentlemen, I hope it is understood that I have no responsibility with +regard to this raid on Mr. Thompson's property?” + +“Quite, quite!” assented the inspector. “Refer Mr. Thompson to me if +you should see him again.” + +“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.” + +Inspector Furnival stopped short. “How long has he lived with you?” + +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.” + +“Did you see much of him?” + +“Only passing the time of day on the stairs, and when he came to pay +his rent which he did regularly every Saturday morning.” + +“That room does not look as if it had been slept in or eaten in,” John +Steadman said abruptly. + +The landlord stared at him. + +“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?” + +“Oh,” said the barrister warily, “that is just what we should like to +know.” + +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: + +“Admirably stage-managed!” + +The inspector raised his eyebrows. “As how?” + +“Do you imagine those people know no more than they say of Thompson?” + +“They may. On the other hand it is quite possible they do not,” the +inspector answered doubtfully. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +The barrister drew in his lips. “Don't you think Luke Bechcombe's +murder answers your question?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“I have found this book under rather peculiar circumstances. Can you +tell me by whom it was borrowed?” + +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. + +“I hear you want to know who borrowed this book, but it is not our +custom to give particulars——” + +“I know it is not.” The inspector held out his card. “But I think you +will have to make an exception in my case.” + +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. + +“It was borrowed by a Mr. Thompson, sir, address 10 Brooklyn Terrace, +North Kensington. He is an old subscriber.” + +“Did he come for the books himself?” the inspector questioned. “Can +you describe him?” + +“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.” + +“Height?” questioned the inspector sharply. + +“Well, he wasn't very tall nor very short,” was the unsatisfactory +reply. + +“Thin or stout?” + +“Not much of either!” The girl twisted her hands about, evidently +wishing herself far away. + +The inspector deserted the topic of Mr. Thompson's appearance. He held +up the book. + +“When was this taken out?” + +The manager glanced at a list of volumes opposite the subscribers' +names. + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER VII + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Don't believe it!” Tony said obstinately. + +Todmarsh's eyes narrowed. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +Aubrey Todmarsh shook his head. + +“My legacy is a mere flea-bite compared with yours. And I trust that +my life and aims are sufficiently well known——” + +Tony turned his back on him deliberately. + +“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.” + +His cousin's dark eyes held no spark of resentment. + +“You do not think that, I know, Tony. But, if the world should +misjudge my motives, I cannot help it.” + +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. + +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. + +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 +_à la carte_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At last the silence was broken by Mr. Steadman: + +“You have the experts' opinion of the fingerprints, I presume?” + +The inspector bent his head. + +“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.” + +“Quite so,” the barrister assented. “Do you mean that you were able to +identify them?” + +“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.” + +“Phew!” Mr. Steadman gave a low whistle. “That—that puts a very +different complexion on the matter.” + +The inspector raised his eyebrows. “As how?” + +“Well, for one thing it settles the question of premeditation.” + +The inspector coughed. + +“I have never believed Mr. Bechcombe's murder to have been +unpremeditated. Neither have you, I think, sir.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The public seems to have made up its mind that Thompson is guilty.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“You don't mean——” the barrister was beginning when there was an +interruption. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Aubrey shrugged his shoulders. + +“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.” + +“When?” Mr. Steadman questioned sharply. + +“Two days ago.” + +“Then why didn't he speak out sooner?” + +“He did not see any description of Thompson until this morning. Then +he saw one outside a police-station and he remembered.” + +“Remembered what?” + +“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.” + +“Did he get his job on the cargo boat?” + +“Hopkins thinks that he did, or, at any rate, if not that he managed +to get taken as a passenger. He went off somewhere.” + +“Where was the cargo boat bound for?” Mr. Steadman seemed more +interested than the inspector who was making notes in a desultory +fashion. + +Aubrey shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Todmarsh did not look pleased. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +The inspector took up the receiver; the other men watched him +breathlessly. + +“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.” + +He rang off and turned. + +“What do you think that was?” + +“Thompson caught at the docks,” Aubrey Todmarsh suggested. + +Mr. Steadman said nothing, but a faint smile crossed his lips as he +glanced at the inspector. + +“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.” + +His words had the force of a bombshell thrown between the others. + +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. + +“The lady of the glove!” he exclaimed. + +The inspector caught up his hat. + +“I don't know. I must ascertain without delay, Mr. Steadman.” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +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. + +“Glad to see you, sir. The lady has just been to the door to say she +can't wait more than five minutes longer.” + +The inspector paused. + +“What is her name, Jones?” + +The man shook his head. + +“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.” + +The inspector nodded and went on. + +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. + +She was standing immediately opposite the door with her back to the +window. She did not wait for him to speak. + +“Are you in charge of the Bechcombe case?” she demanded, and he +noticed that her voice was powerful and rather hard in tone. + +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. + +He answered her question and asked another. + +“I am Inspector Furnival, and I am inquiring into the circumstances of +Mr. Bechcombe's death. May I ask why you want to know?” + +His interlocutor took a few steps forward, clasping her hands +nervously together. + +“You know that a white glove was found by Mr. Bechcombe's desk?” + +“Yes.” + +“It was my glove. I left it there!” + +The inspector did not speak for a minute. He unlocked a drawer and +took out an official-looking notebook. + +“Your name and address, madam?” + +“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?” + +“Scarcely, madam. But”—waiving the subject of the name for a +moment—“why have you not spoken before?” + +“I didn't hear at first.” She hesitated a moment, her foot tapping the +floor impatiently. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Then why have you come to us now?” + +“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.” + +The inspector smiled. + +“I am afraid you are too well known and the illustrated papers are too +ubiquitous for that, Mrs. Carnthwacke.” + +She emitted a slight scream. + +“Oh! How did you know?” + +The inspector's smile became more apparent. + +“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.” + +He pushed forward a chair as he spoke. + +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. + +“You promise not to tell my—husband what I am going to tell you?” + +“I promise,” the inspector said reassuringly. “Now, first please, why +did you come to Luke Bechcombe's office on the day of his death?” + +“Well, I dare say you know my husband is very rich?” + +The inspector nodded. Cyril B. Carnthwacke's name and his millions +were well known to the man in the street. + +“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. + +“Why did you not tell your husband?” the inspector inquired. “I guess +Mr. Carnthwacke would have settled him pretty soon.” + +“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 _coup_, 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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“What time was your appointment for?” the inspector asked. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The inspector kept his keen eyes upon her face; not one change in her +expression could escape him. + +“Mrs. Carnthwacke, do you know that the doctors have stated that Mr. +Bechcombe died about twelve o'clock—sooner rather than later?” + +“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.” + +The inspector did not argue the question, but his eyes did not relax +their watchful gaze for one second as he went on. + +“How did Mr. Bechcombe seem when you saw him? Did you notice anything +peculiar about his manner?” + +“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.” + +For once Inspector Furnival was shaken out of his usual passivity. + +“You—do you mean that you left the diamonds there?” + +“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!” + +She pointed to the wall where a large cupboard was built into it. + +“The—the executors will give them to me, won't they?” + +The inspector went over and stood near the door. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“Otherwise what?” she demanded. “Heavens, man, speak out! My diamonds +are worth thousands of pounds. Otherwise what?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Have you the receipt here?” the inspector asked quickly. + +“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.” + +She opened the vanity bag which hung at her side and took out a piece +of paper crushed with much folding. + +“There! You can't get away from that!” + +The inspector read it. + +“Mrs. Carnthwacke has entrusted her diamonds to me for valuation and I +have deposited them in my safe. Signed—Luke Francis Bechcombe,” he +read. + +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. + +“Certainly, if this receipt was given you by Mr. Bechcombe, the estate +is liable for the value of the diamonds,” he finished up. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Mrs. Carnthwacke looked undecided. + +“I don't remember. Yes, I think I did—some young man or another. I +didn't notice him much.” + +“And you didn't notice anything peculiar in Mr. Bechcombe's manner?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Now, can you tell me how many people know that you were bringing the +diamonds to Mr. Bechcombe?” + +“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.” + +“Not even to the friend that told you that Mr. Bechcombe had helped +her out of a similar difficulty?” + +“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?” + +The inspector did not relax his hold. + +“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.” + +The colour flashed into Mrs. Carnthwacke's face. + +“Do you mean that you will not let me have it back?” + +“I am afraid I cannot, madam.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I don't know. I guess I am not a good person to give advice to.” + +Evidently Mrs. Carnthwacke was not to be placated. Her eyes flashed, +and one foot beat an impatient tattoo on the floor. + +The inspector was unruffled. + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + +“Good morning, Miss Hoyle.” Inspector Furnival rose and placed a chair +for the girl, scrutinizing her pale face keenly as he did so. + +Cecily sat down. + +“You sent for me,” she said nervously. + +The inspector took the chair at the top of the table that had been +Luke Bechcombe's favourite seat. + +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. + +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. + +The door opened to admit John Steadman. After a slight bow to Cecily +he sat down at the inspector's right. + +“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.” + +“I will do my best,” Cecily said, looking at him with big, alarmed +eyes. “But, really, I have told you everything I know.” + +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. + +“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. + +Cecily gazed at it in growing amazement. + +“It—it looks like me! It _is_ me, I believe,” she said +ungrammatically. “But how in the world did you get it?” + +“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.” + +Cecily stared at him. + +“Impossible! You couldn't have! Why should Mr. Thompson have my +photograph? And where was this taken, anyway?” + +“That is what I am hoping you may tell us.” + +“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.” + +“You did not give it to Amos Thompson, then?” the inspector +questioned. + +“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.” + +“You can give no explanation of his treasuring your photograph then?” + +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.” + +The inspector permitted himself a slight smile. + +“I really do not think so.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I see.” The inspector studied the photograph in silence. “You know +where this was taken?” he said at last. + +Cecily looked at it again. + +“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.” + +“Mr. Thompson?” the inspector suggested. + +“I do not know!” Cecily tip-tilted her chin scornfully. “It was a mean +thing to do, anyway.” + +The inspector wrapped the photograph in its paper. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And you are aware that the doctors say that Mr. Bechcombe's death +must have occurred about twelve o'clock?” + +“I have heard so. You told me so,” Cecily murmured, then gathering up +her courage, “but doctors make mistakes very often.” + +“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. + +A little frown came between Cecily's straight eyebrows. + +“Inference? No, I don't!” she said bluntly. + +“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.” + +Cecily shivered as she stared at him. + +“Oh, no, no, surely it could not have been! I do not believe it +could!” + +The inspector made no rejoinder. He glanced at his notebook again. + +“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.” + +“Cecily Frances Hoyle, Hobart Residence, Windover Square.” + +The detective wrote it down. + +“I think that is only a temporary address, though, you said, Miss +Hoyle. Will you let me have your permanent one, please?” + +Cecily hesitated in obvious confusion. + +“I—I—that is my only address—the only one I have at present. I came to +Mr. Bechcombe straight from school.” + +The inspector scratched the side of his nose with his pencil. + +“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.” + +“Then I could let you know,” Cecily suggested. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +The inspector wrote the address down without further comment. + +Cecily got up. “If that is all, I think Mrs. Bechcombe wants me, +inspector.” + +“Yes, thank you.” The inspector and Mr. Steadman rose too. John +Steadman moved to the door. + +“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.” + +The red streak in Cecily's cheeks deepened to crimson. + +“I—I don't mean to do anything else at present, thank you.” + +John Steadman looked disappointed. + +“Oh, well! Then there is no more to be said. Should you change your +mind perhaps you will let us know,” he said politely. + +When he had closed the door behind Cecily he looked across at the +inspector. + +“Well, you were right.” + +“I was pretty sure of my ground,” returned the inspector. “What do you +think of young Mr. Collyer's choice, Mr. Steadman?” + +“Well, she looks a nice girl enough,” the barrister returned somewhat +dubiously. + +“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. + +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. + +“Do not mention home address. Father.” + +“Um!” John Steadman drew in his lips. “Handed in at Edgware Road +Post-Office at 12.30, March 4th,” he said. “Well!” + +He turned to the scraps of paper. The inspector leaned forward and +pieced them together. The whole made part of a letter. + +“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.” + +John Steadman's face was very stern as he looked up. + +“It is obvious the girl knows—something. How did you get these scraps +of paper, inspector?” + +“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.” + +“Have you taken any steps in the matter?” + +“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.” + +“Have you any idea who that is likely to be?” + +“Well, ideas are not much use, are they, sir? It is not young Mr. +Collyer's writing, so much is certain, I think.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Extraordinary! I should have thought Cecily Hoyle one of the last +girls about whom there would be any mystery,” was the barrister's +comment. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Many burglaries down there?” the inspector said abruptly. + +The barrister emitted a short laugh. “None that I ever heard of. Why, +do you suspect Miss Hoyle——?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER X + +“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. + +“I used to know a man named Hoyle who lived somewhere in this part. I +wonder if he is still here?” + +“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.” + +“He is a good deal away on his sketching expeditions, though, isn't +he?” the inspector ventured. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“Well, I think we will try anyway,” the inspector concluded. “Perhaps +Miss Hoyle may be at home if he isn't.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The inspector nodded. + +“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?” + +The landlord scratched his head. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I think you're running off on a side track, you know, inspector.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Evidently cars are not expected here,” John Steadman remarked as he +and the inspector alighted and walked up to the front door. + +There was apparently no bell, but there was a shining brass knocker. +Inspector Furnival applied himself to it with great energy. + +The door was opened by a pleasant-looking woman, who was hastily +donning a white apron. + +“Mr. Hoyle?” the inspector queried. + +“Not at home,” the woman said at once. + +The inspector hesitated. “Can you tell me when he will be at home?” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“You will find pens and ink there, sir.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Miss Cecily? Oh, yes; a fine-looking young lady too. She will be here +for good very soon.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +John Steadman smiled. + +“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.” + +“Well, sir, perhaps you will write to Mr. Hoyle about it,” the +housekeeper suggested. “I couldn't say anything about it.” + +“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.” + +As he spoke there came a loud knock at the door. He looked at the +housekeeper. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Well?” Mr. Steadman said as they seated themselves in the car before +starting. + +The inspector waited until they had started before he replied, then he +said quietly: + +“Well, Mr. Steadman, sir?” + +“Well?” the barrister echoed. “I hope you have found what you +expected, inspector.” + +“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.” + +The barrister coughed. + +“And yet I noticed one small thing that may help you, inspector. You +saw that water-colour sketch?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I saw it,” said the inspector, “but it didn't tell me much.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“The latter, I imagine,” John Steadman said after a pause. “Because—I +don't know whether you know anything of painting, inspector?” + +“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——” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“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?” + +“His daughter?” the inspector suggested without looking round. + +The barrister shrugged his shoulders. “That girl is no murderess.” + +“No,” agreed the inspector. “But she is helping the guilty to escape.” + +John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “Who is the guilty?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They were just entering Burford again. Before the car stopped the +inspector said quietly: + +“Don't you know, sir?” + +“I do not!” said John Steadman, looking him squarely in the face. + +“Don't you guess?” + +“Guessing,” said the barrister sententiously, “is a most unprofitable +employment. One I never indulge in.” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XI + +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. + +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. + +Anthony had time to glance at his watch more than once and even to +grow a little impatient before Cecily appeared. + +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. + +“You are cold, dear,” he said solicitously. “Are your furs warm +enough? The wind is treacherous to-day.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I hoped you did. I always want to see you, Cecily,” he said simply. + +Cecily shivered away from him. “You—you must not.” + +Anthony stared at her. + +“Must not—what?” he said blankly. “Want to see you, do you mean?” + +Cecily nodded. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +The girl looked at him with frightened, miserable eyes. + +“Tony, I can't help it.” + +“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.” + +Cecily interrupted him with a little cry. + +“Tony! You know it isn't that!” + +A gleam of hope brightened Anthony Collyer's eyes. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“No, no! Of course it hasn't!” + +“And you haven't fallen in love with anyone else?” + +“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. + +“Then it is something someone else has said,” he hazarded, “or done.” + +For a moment Cecily did not answer. She pressed her lips very closely +together. At last she said slowly: + +“That is all that I can tell you, Tony. I just wanted to say that +and—good-bye.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Then for the first time Cecily's self-possession really deserted her. + +“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. + +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. + +“Cecily!” he said hoarsely. “Cecily!” + +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. + +As he heard them he started back. + +“What do you say, Cecily? That you—that you know—— But you are +mad—mad!” + +“Hush!” the girl looked round fearfully. “No, I am not mad, Anthony,” +she said beneath her breath. “God knows I often wish I were.” + +Then Anthony looked at her. + +“Cecily! I can't believe it. You didn't——” + +“Did you never suspect—that?” she questioned beneath her breath. + +“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. + +Tony took off his hat and wiped away the sweat that was standing in +great drops on his forehead. + +“It—it isn't possible! Cecily!” he murmured hoarsely. “It—it is a +lie!” + +“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!” + +Anthony mopped his forehead again. “In God's name what are we to do?” + +Cecily's mouth twisted in something like a wry smile. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +But as Tony looked he caught his breath sharply. + +Cecily did not wait for him to speak. + +“Stop him! Stop him!” she cried feverishly. “Don't let him come after +me. Keep him here until I have got away!” + +She sped down the path towards Lancaster Gate. + +Anthony went forward to meet the new-comer. + +“Good morning, Mr. Steadman,” he said, endeavouring to make his voice +sound as natural as possible. + +“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. + +“Yes, she is in a hurry,” Anthony said lamely. + +“Obviously!” The barrister smiled. “But I am glad to have this +opportunity of seeing you, Tony. I have been hoping to meet you.” + +Mindful of Cecily's parting injunction Tony turned to the seat behind. + +“Have a cigarette, sir?” + +The barrister shook his head as he glanced at the open cigarette case. + +“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.” + +Tony lighted his cigarette and threw the match away before he spoke, +then he turned and looked John Steadman squarely in the face. + +“I dare say you are, Mr. Steadman. So is your friend, Inspector +Furnival, whenever I meet him, I notice.” + +The barrister paused in the act of lighting his match. + +“You mean——?” + +“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. + +John Steadman finished lighting his cigarette and blew a couple of +spirals in the clear air before he spoke, then he said slowly: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The barrister paid no attention to this outburst. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“The question is, how shall I strike him?” Tony countered. “Will he +think he is safe with me?” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Bramley Hall,” Tony repeated musingly. “I seem to know the name. +Wasn't there a burglary there a little while ago?” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XII + +“I guess you are Inspector Furnival, sir.” + +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. + +The detective's face cleared. + +“Why, certainly, I am William Furnival, sir.” + +“And you are in charge of the Bechcombe case?” + +“Well, I may say I am,” the inspector agreed. “And I think you are Mr. +Cyril B. Carnthwacke.” + +“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. + +The inspector, however, was looking his blandest. + +“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?” + +“I did, very particularly,” responded Mr. Carnthwacke. “But”—with a +glance at Mr. Steadman—“this gentleman——?” + +“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?” + +“Of course, we can't stand out in the street,” responded the +millionaire. + +The inspector led the way to his private room and then clearing a lot +of papers from the nearest chair set it forward. + +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. + +“I am at your service, sir.” + +Carnthwacke settled himself in his chair and looked back. + +“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.” + +“Yes, Mrs. Carnthwacke did come to us,” the inspector assented. “It +would have been wiser to have come earlier.” + +“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.” + +“Perhaps it was a good thing for her that she was,” remarked the +inspector enigmatically. + +Cyril B. Carnthwacke stared at him. + +“I don't comprehend. I wasn't aware you dealt in conundrums, +inspector.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +The inspector bowed. “I thought it quite likely.” + +“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. + +Again the inspector nodded his assent. + +“Certainly it is. What do you suppose to be the value of the diamonds, +Mr. Carnthwacke?” + +“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.” + +John Steadman raised his eyebrows as he looked across at the +inspector. That worthy coughed. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +There was a pause. + +“That may be, but I don't see that it precludes the motive being the +theft of my wife's diamonds,” said Carnthwacke truculently. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I wonder whether he did,” Carnthwacke said very deliberately. + +His words had all the force of a bombshell. The other two men stared +at him in amazement. + +“I do not understand you,” John Steadman said at last, his tone +haughty in its repressive surprise. + +But Cyril B. Carnthwacke was not to be easily repressed. + +“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——” + +“And arranged to get himself murdered to get suspicion thrown off +himself?” Mr. Steadman inquired satirically as the other paused for +breath. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +The other two looked surprised at this question. + +“Why, no,” the inspector answered. “There was not even a scratch upon +it. Why do you ask?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The Yellow Gang!” interjected the millionaire. “I have heard of it.” + +“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?” + +“And why does that puzzle you?” Mr. Carnthwacke inquired blandly. + +The inspector glanced at him keenly. + +“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.” + +Mr. Carnthwacke threw himself back in his chair and gave vent to a +short, sharp laugh. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Fédora, the fortune teller!” Steadman exclaimed. + +“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——” + +The inspector rose too. + +“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.” + +The millionaire looked pleased at this compliment. + +“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.” + +With a curiously ungraceful bow he turned to the door. A minute or two +later they saw him drive off in his limousine. + +John Steadman drew a long breath. + +“Well, inspector?” + +For answer the inspector handed him his notebook. The last entry was: +“Inquire into C.B.C.'s movements on the day.” + +John Steadman glanced curiously at the inspector as he handed it back. + +“Do you think he did not realize? Or is he trying to screen some one?” + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“I tell you, you will have to go to Burford.” + +“Suppose I am followed?” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Good morning, Mr. Collyer. Too late, like myself.” + +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? + +“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.” + +“Yes, to Mrs. Phillimore,” Tony assented. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Going far, inspector?” he asked at the first stopping-place. + +“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.” + +“Well, if I can,” Anthony said doubtfully. “There won't be much time +to spare, though.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +Anthony shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Suppose the old chap had been helping himself to what wasn't his, and +got frightened and bolted.” + +“Um, yes!” The inspector stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think +you would recognize Thompson in the street, Mr. Anthony?” + +“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.” + +“Not much of a disguise, certainly,” the inspector admitted, looking +round him consideringly as they entered Carlsford Square. “Still, I +wonder——” + +Anthony came to a standstill. + +“Now _I_ wonder what you are getting at. Do you think I have seen +Thompson anywhere?” + +The inspector did not answer for a minute, then he said slowly: + +“I shouldn't be surprised if a good many of us had seen him, Mr. +Anthony.” + +Anthony stared. “Then we must be a set of fools.” + +“A good many of us are fools,” Inspector Furnival acquiesced as they +came to a standstill. + +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. + +“You will have time for your talk, old chap,” said Anthony, looking at +his watch as the door opened. + +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. + +“There. It's quite close to Stepney Causeway. Get the woman to the +hospital as soon as possible. Hello, inspector—a word with you.” + +He was turning with the inspector when Tony interrupted. + +“You look as if you had been in the wars, sir. Have you had an +accident?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Where is Aubrey?” he inquired, as he shook hands. “Got a holiday from +his blessed Community to-day, I suppose?” + +“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.” + +“Nor has he,” interposed Mrs. Bechcombe at this juncture. “He is +coming up the steps now with John Steadman.” + +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. + +Aubrey was talking to Mr. Steadman in a quick, nervous fashion as they +entered the room together. + +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. + +Mr. Collyer was the first to speak. + +“Aubrey, my dear boy, is anything the matter?” + +Apparently Todmarsh only brought himself to speak with difficulty. +Twice he opened his lips, but no words came. At last he said hoarsely: + +“Hopkins!” + +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. + +“Hopkins! Oh, Aubrey!” + +“Hopkins!” he repeated. “He—he is my right hand, you know, Uncle +James. I—I would have staked my life on Hopkins.” + +The clergyman pushed a chair up to his nephew. + +“Sit down, my dear boy. What is this about Hopkins? I remember him +well. Has he——?” + +“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. + +Mrs. Phillimore drew a long breath, and for a moment nobody spoke. +Then the rector said slowly: + +“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?” + +Aubrey shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“How can I tell who will be the next?” Todmarsh groaned. “I tell you, +I would have staked my life on Hopkins.” + +“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.” + +There was a moment's silence, then Todmarsh raised his head. + +“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.” + +“Where is Hopkins?” questioned Anthony, taking part in the +conversation for the first time. + +“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.” + +“Whistone Hall, in the New Forest, you said, didn't you?” Anthony went +on. “Is it near Burford, do you know?” + +He hardly knew what made him ask the question. John Steadman glanced +at him sharply. + +Aubrey Todmarsh turned a surprised face towards him. + +“I don't know. I don't know anything about the place. And I never +heard of Burford.” + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I—I don't know what to do. That woman——” + +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. + +“What woman?” + +For answer she handed him the larger of the two cards. + +“Mrs. Cyril B. Carnthwacke,” he read. He glanced at Mrs. Bechcombe. +“What does this mean?” + +“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?” + +“Why not ask them to come in here?” John Steadman suggested. “We are +all members of the family,” glancing round the room. + +Mrs. Bechcombe hesitated. Aubrey Todmarsh sprang to his feet. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“You said it was important,” Mrs. Bechcombe's manner was distant. She +did not glance at Mrs. Carnthwacke. + +“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.” + +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. + +Carnthwacke spread it out. Then he looked back at Mrs. Bechcombe. + +“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.” + +Steadman stepped forward. But Mrs. Bechcombe's curiosity had been +aroused. She leaned across. + +“I will see it myself, please.” + +Carnthwacke laid it on the table before the astonished eyes of the +company. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Would you call that a reasonably good picture of your late husband, +ma'am?” + +Mrs. Bechcombe drew her eyebrows together as she bent over it. + +“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. + +Mr. Collyer smiled sadly. + +“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?” + +Carnthwacke wagged his yellow forefinger reprovingly in the direction +of the rector. + +“One moment, reverend sir. It may be, ma'am, that you have another +portrait of your lamented husband that you could let us glimpse?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +At last Carnthwacke laid both the portraits down together and stood up +with an air of finality. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +A tense silence followed this avowal—a silence that was broken at last +by a moan from Mrs. Bechcombe. + +“What do you mean? What does she mean?” + +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. + +“I think you must give us a little further explanation, Mrs. +Carnthwacke,” he said courteously. + +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. + +Her husband laid his hand on her shoulder, heavily yet with a certain +comfort in its very contact. + +“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.” + +“And who,” inquired John Steadman in that quiet, lazy voice of his, +“do you imagine could have impersonated Luke Bechcombe?” + +The American looked him squarely in the eyes. + +“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!” + + + +CHAPTER XV + +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. + +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: + +“What was he like?” + +Mrs. Carnthwacke cast one glance at her and began to tremble all over, +then she clutched violently at her husband's hand. + +“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. + +Carnthwacke placed himself very deliberately between her and the rest +of the room. His clasp of her cold hands tightened. + +“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.” + +The barrister cleared his throat. + +“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.” + +The American bent over his wife for a minute then drew aside. + +“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.” + +Mrs. Carnthwacke drew one of her hands from his and passed her +handkerchief over her parched lips. Then she looked at Steadman. + +It seemed to him that it was only by a supreme effort that she became +articulate at all. + +“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. + +“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.” + +Mrs. Carnthwacke appeared anxious to obey him. + +“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. + +This time John Steadman interposed. + +“Now the details of your interview you have told us before——” + +“Ever so many times,” she sobbed. “I can't say anything but what I +told you at the inquest.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Dark! I shouldn't call it a dark room,” contradicted John Steadman. +“And the day was a clear one, I know.” + +“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.” + +“Screen!” John Steadman repeated in a puzzled tone. “I have seen no +screen near the window.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Your two reasons seem to me to mean the same thing, my dear sir,” +Carnthwacke drawled. “But there, if that is all——” + +“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.” + +Cyril B. Carnthwacke's sleepy-looking eyes were opened sharply for +once. + +“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.” + +The barrister did not appear to be impressed. + +“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.” + +“As how?” Carnthwacke's voice did not sound as though he would be +easily placated. + +Steadman shrugged his shoulders. + +“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——” + +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.” + +The American looked round doubtfully, then he drew her to her feet and +supported her with one arm. + +“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.” + +No one made any effort to detain them as they went towards the door. +John Steadman followed them into the hall. + +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. + +“Guess that little fair lady on your side the table is some one you +know well, sir?” + +Steadman looked at him curiously. + +“Well, fairly well. She is engaged to Luke Bechcombe's nephew. She is +a compatriot of yours too—a Mrs. Phillimore.” + +“Gee whiz!” ejaculated the American. “And is that Mrs. Phillimore?” + +“You have heard of her?” Steadman questioned. + +“Reckon I have,” Carnthwacke assented, “and seen her too. Though it +don't seem to me she was called Phillimore then.” + +“Before she was married perhaps,” suggested Steadman. + +“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. + +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. + +But as Steadman re-entered the room Mrs. Bechcombe sprang up, pushing +Mrs. Phillimore aside and throwing the wine over the table cloth. + +“Have you let her go?” + +Steadman looked at her. + +“Control yourself, my dear Madeline. Let who go?” + +“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——” + +A gleam of pity shone in Steadman's eyes as he watched her—pity that +was oddly mingled with some other feeling. + +“There is not the slightest ground for arresting Mrs. Carnthwacke, +Madeline. I have told you so before. Less than ever now.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +With a desperate struggle Mrs. Bechcombe regained her power of speech. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +In spite of her pallor Steadman fancied that the Butterfly looked +considerably taken aback. + +“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.” + +“What?” Mrs. Bechcombe raised her hand. + +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. + +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.” + +“What did you say?” Steadman inquired quietly. “Did you say anything +that could be misinterpreted?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I wonder whether you are right,” said John Steadman slowly. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +“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.” + +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. + +“I can't spare very long, Uncle James. This enforced absence of +Hopkins is throwing double work on my shoulders.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“But how?” questioned Todmarsh. + +The rector shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +Aubrey smiled in a melancholy fashion that was strangely unlike his +old bright look. + +“The Yellow Gang infests the whole country. They brought off a big +_coup_ 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.” + +“How?” the rector questioned. + +“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.” + +Mr. Collyer looked at him. + +“But do you mean that any of your community men were ever members of +the Yellow Gang?” + +“Many of them—Hopkins himself and at least two more of my best +workers.” + +“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. + +Todmarsh shook his head. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The rector looked at him pityingly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You see we don't look at the matter from the same standpoint, Uncle +James. I do not acknowledge that Hopkins has fallen.” + +Mr. Collyer stared. + +“I don't understand you, my dear Aubrey.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Aubrey cast a strange glance at his uncle from beneath his lowered +eyelids. + +“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.” + +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. + +Presently Todmarsh resumed. + +“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. + +“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——” + +“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.” + +“Um! Well, I hope you may soon have him back,” the rector said slowly. + +Todmarsh smiled for the first time that day. + +“Uncle James, I do not believe you appreciate my poor Hopkins any more +than those people at Burchester do.” + +Mr. Collyer twisted himself about impatiently. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Mr. Collyer shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Business, perhaps,” Todmarsh suggested. His face was dull and +uninterested now: the enthusiasm so remarkable when he spoke of +Hopkins had died out. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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——” + +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. + +His uncle looked at him aghast. + +“My dear Aubrey! You must have cut an artery. What shall we do? A +doctor——” + +Todmarsh wrapped his handkerchief hurriedly round his wrist and tied +it. He held one end out to the clergyman. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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——” + +“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.” + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +“You identify these emeralds as yours?” + +“No, I can't. I don't see how anybody could identify unset stones,” +said the rector wearily. + +“H'm!” Inspector Furnival stopped, nonplussed. “But these exactly +answer to the description that has been circulated, that you yourself +supplied to the police.” + +Mr. Collyer's face looked drawn and grey as he turned the stones over +with the tip of his finger. + +“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.” + +The inspector swept the emeralds in their wadded box into a drawer. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The inspector pushed the drawer to and locked it. + +“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.” + +“I am sorry!” the rector said hesitatingly. “Then—then there is +nothing more?” + +“Nothing more!” the inspector responded curtly. + +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. + +When the sound of his footsteps had died away on the stone passage +outside, Steadman glanced across at the inspector. + +“Unsatisfactory, isn't it?” + +“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?” + +“Is anything wrong with him?” Steadman questioned in his turn as he +lighted a match. + +“He looks like a man who has had some sort of a shock,” the inspector +pursued. “I wonder if it means that Mr. Tony——” + +“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.” + +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: + +“I have sometimes wondered what Mrs. Collyer is like.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Still his brow was puckered in a frown as he turned to his notebook. + +“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. + +“He is waiting, sir.” + +“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.” + +John Steadman shook his head. + +“No, I have no recollection of any of the clerks but Thompson.” + +“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.” + +Almost as the last word left his lips, the door opened again and a +lanky, sandy-haired youth was shown in. + +The inspector stepped forward. + +“Good afternoon, Mr. Brunton. Now I want you just to repeat to this +gentleman, Mr. Steadman, what you told me this morning.” + +Mr. Brunton coughed nervously. + +“I thought I did right in coming to you.” + +“Certainly you did,” the inspector reassured him. “Your evidence is +most important. Now, from the beginning, please, Mr. Brunton.” + +“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 _Elephant_, which is not far from my rooms, you know.” He +paused. + +“I know. Go on, please.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +John Steadman raised his eyebrows. “You are sure?” + +“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.” + +“Is that so?” Mr. Steadman raised his eyebrows again. “And the other +voice—the woman's?” + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Um!” John Steadman stroked his nose meditatively. “How long had you +been in Mr. Bechcombe's office, Mr. Brunton?” + +Mr. Brunton hesitated a moment. + +“Five years, sir. I began as office boy to—to gain experience, you +know. I was fourteen then and I am nineteen now.” + +“No more?” said Mr. Steadman approvingly. + +Mr. Brunton, who had looked distinctly depressed at the mention of his +lowly beginning, began to perk up. + +“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.” + +“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. + +John Steadman nodded. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Mr. Brunton shook his head in emphatic negative. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Thank you, sir.” With an awkward circular bow intended to include +both men Mr. Brunton took his departure. + +The inspector shut the door behind him. + +“What do you think of that?” + +“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.” + +The inspector smiled. + +“Oh, well, don't criminals always overlook something? Which reminds +me—this came an hour ago.” + +He handed a piece of paper to Steadman. + +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.” + +“What is to take place at 21 Burlase Street on Wednesday night?” he +questioned as he laid it down. + +“A meeting of the Yellow Gang, and I hope the capture of the Yellow +Dog,” the inspector answered pithily and optimistically. + +“And this comes from——?” Steadman went on, tapping the paper with his +eyeglasses. + +“One of the Gang. It is pretty safe to assume that sooner or later +there will be an informer.” + +“You will be there?” + +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.” + +“I will come with you,” said John Steadman. “I fancy an interview with +the Yellow Dog may be extraordinarily interesting.” + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +At this same moment Mrs. Bechcombe came into the room. She glanced +curiously at the paper just bursting into momentary flame. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Cecily shivered as she took up the next letter. + +“This is from Colonel Chalmers. He has just returned to England, +and——” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The housekeeper received her with evident amazement. + +“Miss Hoyle! Well, I never! And I have been expecting your pa down +every day this past week!” + +“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. + +The housekeeper held open the sitting-room door and Cecily walked in +and sat down with an air of relief. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“You are right there, miss,” Mrs. Wye agreed. “And is the master out +of the nursing-home now, might I ask, miss?” + +“Oh, yes. He is with friends,” Cecily said vaguely. Her colour +deepened as she spoke. + +The housekeeper's little eyes watched her curiously. “Perhaps you +would give me an address I could forward the letters to, miss.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Ah, but I want to get the half-past six,” Cecily said quickly. “I +shall have time if I start at once, I think.” + +“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.” + +The back! Cecily's heart gave a great throb. Would she be able to +escape that watcher in the front after all? + +“Do you mean at the back of this cottage?” she questioned. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Did I faint?” she asked tremulously. “I—I know it all went dark, and +then I don't remember any more.” + +“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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“Will your friends meet you?” she asked gently. “Or can I help you?” + +The sick woman did not open her eyes. + +“I shall be met, thank you. Thank you all so much.” + +Quite a crowd of porters, apparently beckoned by the guard, appeared +at the door. The doctor smiled as he stood aside for Cecily. + +“You have been a most capable assistant.” + +“Thank you!” Cecily gave him a cold little smile of farewell as she +sprang out. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Come in!” + +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. + +The inspector glanced at him. + +“Any luck, Masterman?” + +For answer Masterman held out a piece of paper on which a few words +were scrawled. + +The inspector drew his brows together over it. + +“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.” + +Masterman, well-pleased, saluted again. + +“I thought it would be, sir. And it was really all we had time for. +Miss Hoyle is not an easy nut to crack.” + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +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. + +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. + +The inspector was looking grave and perturbed. + +“Have you heard?” he questioned breathlessly. + +“Nothing!” Steadman answered laconically. + +“Mrs. Carnthwacke was murderously assaulted this morning in her own +carriage in one of London's best-known thoroughfares!” + +“What!” The barrister stared at him in a species of stupefaction. + +Instead of answering the inspector stepped back to the open door of +the study. + +“One moment, please.” + +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. + +“Inspector,” she cried, “what is it? You have discovered my husband's +murderer? I heard you say ‘Mrs. Carnthwacke.’” + +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. + +“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.” + +“What do you mean?” Mrs. Bechcombe questioned sharply. + +The inspector spread out his hands. + +“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.” + +“I do not believe it! The Carnthwackes—one of them, murdered my +husband,” Mrs. Bechcombe said uncompromisingly. “I have the strongest +possible——” + +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. + +“It—it can't be true! I don't believe it! Why should he want to hurt +Mrs. Carnthwacke?” + +“Why should who want to hurt Mrs. Carnthwacke?” the inspector +counter-questioned. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +The inspector glanced at John Steadman—a glance intercepted by Mrs. +Bechcombe. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Mrs. Bechcombe turned her shoulder to him. + +“Oh, please don't prose, John! Now what has happened to Mrs. +Carnthwacke, inspector?” + +“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.” + +“What was the motive?” Steadman asked quietly. + +The inspector raised his eyebrows. + +“Only one person saw Mr. Bechcombe's murderer. Mrs. Carnthwacke was a +witness to be feared.” + +“But you say she is not got rid of! She is alive!” Mrs. Bechcombe +interrupted hysterically. + +“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.” + +“I am at your service, inspector.” Steadman turned to the door. “You +shall hear further particulars as soon as possible, Madeline.” + +In the taxi outside John Steadman looked at the inspector. + +“Is this the work of the Yellow Dog, inspector?” + +“It is the work of Mr. Bechcombe's murderer, sir,” the inspector +replied evasively. + +“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.” + +“You wait until you have talked to Mrs. Carnthwacke, sir. You won't +feel much doubt as to her assailant's identity then.” + +“But is Mrs. Carnthwacke able to speak?” John Steadman questioned in +great surprise. “I understood from what you said——” + +The inspector looked him full in the face and solemnly winked one eye. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Female detectives to guard Mrs. Carnthwacke. Even her own maid is not +admitted.” + +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. + +He went forward with a few conventional words of sympathy. Carnthwacke +drew up three chairs and motioned to the other men to be seated. + +“Now, honey,” he said persuasively, “you are just going to tell us all +once more what happened this morning.” + +“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 _could_ be in any danger in my own car with +two men on the front; now, would you?” + +“I certainly should not,” John Steadman agreed. + +“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.” + +“One minute, please,” Steadman interposed. “In what street were you +now?” + +“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. + +Cyril B. Carnthwacke's face looked very grim. + +“That guy will have something round his own neck soon, I surmise. +Something he won't be able to get rid of, either.” + +John Steadman and the inspector had both taken out their notebooks. +The former spoke first. + +“You say you know your assailant to be the murderer of Luke Bechcombe. +Will you tell us how you recognized him?” + +“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?” + +He sat down on the side of her chair. + +“Dead certain, honey. Come now, get it off your chest and you will +feel ever so much better.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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——” + +“Yes, madam, until?” the inspector prompted as she paused with a +shiver. + +“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.” + +“Well, that is definite enough, anyhow,” John Steadman remarked +thoughtfully. “Were both hands alike, do you know, Mrs. Carnthwacke?” + +“Yes, they were,” she returned in a more positive tone than she had +yet used. “I noticed that particularly.” + +“Did you recognize him in any other way?” the inspector asked with his +eye on his notebook. + +“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.” + +John Steadman was drawing his brows together. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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——” + +“You—you won't be long? I don't feel as if I should ever be safe away +from you again,” his wife pleaded. + +Carnthwacke's reply was to pat her shoulders. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +John Steadman took the answer upon himself. + +“As brutal and deliberate an attempt to murder as I ever heard of.” + +“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.” + +“He may not have arranged anything beforehand. It may have been a +sudden thing when he saw the carriage,” Inspector Furnival hazarded. + +“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.” + +“Yes, I think there can be no doubt you are right about that,” John +Steadman assented deliberately. “What of Mrs. Carnthwacke's maid?” + +“Came over with us from the States,” the American told him. “And she +is devoted to Mrs. Carnthwacke. No flies on her.” + +“No young man?” the inspector questioned. + +“Not the shadow of one,” Carnthwacke told him, leaning back in his +chair and watching his cigar smoke curl up to the ceiling. + +“No great friend?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +John Steadman was looking out of the window. + +“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——” + +“Especially——?” Carnthwacke prompted. + +John Steadman did not speak, but he turned his head and looked at the +inspector. + +“From the widow, Mrs. Bechcombe,” the detective finished. + +Carnthwacke stared at him. + +“Why Mrs. Bechcombe?” + +“Because,” said the inspector very slowly and emphatically, “she might +tell Miss Cecily Hoyle and——” + +The eyes of the three men met and then the pursed-up lips of Cyril B. +Carnthwacke emitted a low whistle. + +“Sakes alive! Sits the wind in that quarter?” + + + +CHAPTER XX + +“Samuel Horsingforth passenger to Lisbon by the _Atlantic_ starting +from Southampton seventeenth instant.” + +Inspector Furnival read the telegram over again aloud and then handed +it to Steadman. + +“Better get there before the boat train, I think, sir.” + +Steadman nodded. “I'll guarantee my touring car to do it in less time +than anything else you can get.” + +“Y—es. Perhaps it may, but——” the inspector said uncertainly. + +“But what?” Steadman questioned in surprise. + +The inspector cleared his throat apparently in some embarrassment. + +“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.” + +John Steadman drew in his lips. + +“Trust me for that. My chauffeur can keep a still tongue in his head; +and you ought to know me by now, Furnival.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Lying at death's door. Mrs. Bechcombe has inquired,” Steadman said +laconically. + +The inspector smiled warily. + +“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.” + +“Ten o'clock,” Steadman assented. + + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +To Steadman it would mean that a certain theory he had held all along +was justified. + +As they reached Southampton the inspector looked at his watch. “Plenty +of time—half an hour to spare!” + +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. + +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. + +Inspector Furnival came up to him. + +“Samuel Horsingforth, _alias_ John Frederick Hoyle, _alias_ 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The inspector's grip did not relax. + +“No use, Thompson, the game is up,” he said confidently. “You have +made yourself a clever _alias_, I admit; but it is no use trying to go +on with it now. You don't want any disturbance here.” + +Horsingforth, _alias_ 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. + +“Where are you taking me?” + +“Town,” the inspector answered laconically. “You will be able to +consult a solicitor when you get there—if you want to,” he added. + +Thompson said no more. He seated himself by Steadman, the inspector +opposite. + +As they started, another car, which had quietly followed the first +from Scotland Yard, at a sign from the inspector fell in behind. + +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. + +“How did you find out?” he asked. “What made you suspect?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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 _Atlantic_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +After the remand Steadman and the inspector walked away together. + +“So that's that. A clever piece of work, inspector,” the barrister +remarked. + +The inspector blew his nose. + +“All very well as far as Thompson is concerned. But Thompson is not +the Yellow Dog.” + +John Steadman shrugged his shoulders. + +“Sometimes I have doubted whether he were not.” + +The inspector looked at him with a curious smile. + +“I don't think you have, sir. I think your suspicions went the same +way as mine from the first.” + +Steadman nodded. “But suspicion is one thing and proof another.” + +“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.” + +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!” + +“Pure invention!” said the inspector, flicking this last with his +stick. “I should like to put an end to half these evening rags.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And not without reason,” the inspector said gravely. “Appearances +have been, and are, terribly against Thompson. Mrs. Carnthwacke's +evidence may save him if——” + +“Yes. If,” Steadman prompted. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I hope so,” returned the inspector imperturbably. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +“One minute, sir. I shan't hurt you!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Monsieur's teeth?” the foreign voice said with its sing-song +intonation. + +Steadman shrugged his shoulders as he took a plate from his mouth and +dropped it into the finger-bowl held out to him. + +“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.” + +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. + +Altogether the effect of a particularly unprepossessing, partially +Anglicized Oriental. + +“As the English talk, she, your own mother would not know you, eh?” +the silky voice questioned anxiously. + +And John Steadman, smiling in the curiously stiff fashion which was +all the alterations would allow, said that he was sure she would not. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, you may depend upon me, inspector,” Steadman said quietly. + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“Ay! Dead or alive!” Steadman echoed. “You have been near him once or +twice before, haven't you, inspector?” + +“Not so near as I shall be to-night,” the inspector retorted. + +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. + +When the inspector stopped again he looked round and up and down, then +turned sharply to the right into a small _cul-de-sac_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +However, as if by magic, this door opened suddenly. + +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: + +“The Great Dane bites.” + +“His enemies will bite the dust.” The inspector gave the countersign. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +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. + +“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. + +But there was no fear in the inspector's voice as it rapped out: + +“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.” + +“Is that so, my dear inspector?” + +There was another laugh, but this time John Steadman fancied there was +some subtle change in the quality. + +“But I rather think the police do not know where this house ends, and +those of others begin!” + +“Shall I supply you with the names of the others? The police know more +than you think, you dog!” said the inspector daringly. + +“And less than they think,” said the raucous voice mockingly, “or you +and your friend would hardly find yourselves here, dear inspector.” + +“Damnation!” Steadman knew that the detective was struggling fiercely +from those clutching, enveloping arms. + +“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.” + +The silvery bell tinkled again, the light was switched on. + +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. + +“Strip!” ordered that voice from the platform. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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!” + +For a while John Steadman stood motionless, his short-sighted eyes +peering at that yellow-clad figure; the inspector was swearing big +strange oaths. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +Then the door was closed, they heard the key turn; the captives were +left alone in their prison. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +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? + +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. + +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. + +“Can you swim, Furnival?” + +“Got the swimming medal at the Force Sports in 1912,” the detective +replied tersely. “I haven't quite forgotten the trick.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I haven't the least idea,” Steadman replied truthfully. + +The inspector stooped stiffly and picked up the knife. Then he looked +at the door which opened inwards. + +“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. + +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: + +“Come along, inspector. Pile up the rugs. They will give you a bit of +a leg up.” + +Furnival pushed them along before him. + +“Now, Mr. Steadman, are you going first?” + +“I suppose so,” said the barrister dubiously. “You had better look +sharp after me, inspector. They may hear the first splash, and then——” + +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. + +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. + +There came a gasping shout from the detective. + +“The police patrol from the motor-launch down the river! They have +heard the shots.” + +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. + +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. + +But they were being offered overcoats; as the inspector slipped into +his, he said sharply: + +“Inspector Furnival, of the C.I.D., Scotland Yard.” + +The police officer's manner underwent an instant modification. + +“I beg your pardon, sir. You have been conducting a raid down here?” + +The inspector would have smiled if his bruised face had allowed him. + +“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.” + +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. + +The inspector chartered a taxi; when they were both inside he turned +to Steadman. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Ah, Murphy, Jackson,” said the inspector. “Well, what news?” + +The men stared at him in a species of stupefaction, then the one whom +he had addressed as Murphy spoke with a gasp: + +“Why, inspector, we have been round the house all night—every means of +egress watched. And yet—here you are!” + +“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?” + +Murphy saluted. + +“Nothing, sir. No one has come in or out since you were admitted last +night.” + +“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.” + +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. + +The _cul-de-sac_ 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. + +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. + +“Now what is the—all this 'ere noise abaht?” a rough voice demanded. + +The inspector put his foot between the door and the post. + +“Stand aside, my man!” he commanded sternly. “I hold a warrant to +search this house.” + +“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.” + +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 _cul-de-sac_. The man who had opened the door backed against the +wall, and stood gazing at them in open-mouthed astonishment. + +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. + +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. + +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 _culs-de-sac_ 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. + +“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.” + +This to the inspector who was crawling up the staircase as well as his +stiffened limbs would allow. He looked over the side now. + +“Don't trouble yourself, my man. I have no particular interest in the +upper part of your house at present.” + +Something in his tone seemed to cow the man, who opened the kitchen +door and slunk inside. + +The inspector beckoned to the man behind Steadman. + +“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.” + +The barrister looked at him. + +“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.” + +The inspector looked at him curiously. + +“You think we have made a mistake in the house?” + +The barrister raised his eyebrows. + +“What else am I to think?” + +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. + +“Where did you find this?” + +“Wedged in between the stairs and the wall,” the inspector answered. +“There is a larger piece higher up, but this is enough for me.” + +“And for me!” Steadman said grimly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Last night that was not there. Where it stands an opening went +straight through to the next house.” + +Gordon touched his head in salute. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“What about the children upstairs?” Steadman asked. + +The inspector smiled in a twisted fashion. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Smoke!” the inspector cried. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +The Community House of St. Philip was _en fête_. 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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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——” + +He was interrupted. A man came to him quietly. “A car has stopped +before the front door, sir, and I think——” + +“Hopkins!” Todmarsh exclaimed, his face lighting up. + +“I believe so, sir!” + +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. + +“Didn't know Aubrey had rooked you into his schemes, sir.” + +“He hasn't!” Steadman said shortly. + +It struck Tony that there was something curiously tense about his +expression—that he seemed to be listening for something. + +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!” + +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. + +The car door opened. The man inside leaned out. About to spring +forward, Todmarsh suddenly paused. Surely this was not Hopkins! + +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. + +“Aubrey William Todmarsh, _alias_ 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.” + +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. + +“Escape you after all, inspector,” he said with a ghastly smile that +dragged the lips from his teeth. + +He swayed as he spoke, but the inspector did not stir. Instead, he +surveyed his prisoner with an ironic twist of the mouth. + +“I think not. You may feel a little sick, Mr. Todmarsh, that is all.” + +“Cyanide of potassium,” Todmarsh gasped. + +“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.” + +“A lie!” Todmarsh breathed savagely. + +The inspector did not bandy words. + +“Wait and see!” Then with a wave of his hand: “In with him, men!” + +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. + +“Ah, makes you feel rather bad, doesn't it?” the inspector questioned +callously. + + +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!” + +“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?” + +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: + +“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.” + +He was interrupted by a sharp exclamation of surprise from the +barrister. + +“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.” + +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?” + +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.” + +“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.” + +At this moment there was a tap at the door and Tony Collyer looked in. +Seeing the inspector, he drew back. + +“I beg your pardon.” + +Steadman looked at the detective, then, receiving an almost +imperceptible sign from him, he called out: + +“Come in, Tony. We were speaking of you, or rather of your father.” + +Tony came in and took the chair Steadman pushed towards him. + +“You told me to call to-night, you know, sir. Perhaps you had +forgotten.” + +“I had,” Steadman said penitently. “But I am very glad to see you, my +boy. How is your father?” + +“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.” + +The inspector glanced at Steadman. “What did I tell you?” + +“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.” + +“And Luke Bechcombe's,” Steadman said. + +“Well, no one can help what one's nephews, or half-nephews do!” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Not precisely!” Tony said with an answering grin. “Pretty well gave +the show away when you arrested her, didn't she?” + +“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.” + +“Indeed!” Steadman raised his eyebrows interrogatively. + +“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.” + +“Good for her!” said Anthony. + +“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.” + +The inspector nodded. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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!” + +“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!” + + +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 +_suède_-clad feet. + +“Tony, you have heard?” + +Tony got up, pushing his letter from him. + +“I have heard that you are not Thompson's daughter after all——” + +“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. + +“So I have been told,” Tony assented. + +As Cecily drew farther into the room he drew a little back, and rested +his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +“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.” + +“Difference—to what?” Anthony inquired in a stiff, uninterested tone. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Cousin! Pouf!” Cecily snapped her fingers. “Who cares what people's +cousins do?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Half-aunt,” corrected Tony, “I'd like you to remember that half, +Cecily.” + +“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.” + +“You might have trusted me,” Tony said reproachfully. + +Cecily burst into tears. “You might trust me now.” + +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——” + +“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. + +“You know I do!” said Anthony, his sombre eyes brightening as he +looked down at her. + +“Then that is all that matters,” said Cecily decidedly, “isn't it, +Anthony?” + +And Anthony, capitulating as he kissed her eyes and her trembling +lips, confessed that he thought it was. + + +The End + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE + +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. + + * “it His Will” was changed to “it is His Will” (Chapter V). + * “the clerk's addresses” was changed to “the clerks' addresses” + (Chapter V). + * “pierced them together” was changed to “pieced them together” + (Chapter IX). + * “few day's holiday” was changed to “few days' holiday” + (Chapter XIII). + * “by dear” was changed to “my dear” (Chapter XIII). + * One occurrence of a missing period has been repaired. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75307 *** 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> + diff --git a/75307-h/images/cover.jpg b/75307-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..99db64c --- /dev/null +++ b/75307-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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