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diff --git a/9974-h/9974-h.htm b/9974-h/9974-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..84dfa42 --- /dev/null +++ b/9974-h/9974-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14595 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Yellow Streak, by Valentine Williams</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Yellow Streak, by Valentine Williams</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Yellow Streak</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Valentine Williams</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 5, 2003 [eBook #9974]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 14, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Dave Morgan and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YELLOW STREAK ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>The Yellow Streak</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Valentine Williams</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE MASTER OF HARKINGS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. AT TWILIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. A DISCOVERY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. BETWEEN THE DESK AND THE WINDOW</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. IN WHICH BUDE LOOKS AT ROBIN GREVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE LETTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. VOICES IN THE LIBRARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. ROBIN GOES TO MARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. MR. MANDERTON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. A SMOKING CHIMNEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. “... SPEED THE PARTING GUEST!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. MR. MANDERTON IS NONPLUSSED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. JEEKES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. A SHEET OF BLUE PAPER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE INTRUDER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. A FRESH CLUE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE SILENT SHOT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. MR. MANDERTON LAYS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE CODE KING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. A WORD WITH MR. JEEKES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. THE MAN WITH THE YELLOW FACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. TWO’S COMPANY ...</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF MR. SCHULZ</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE READING OF THE RIDDLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. THE FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. AN INTERRUPTION FROM BEYOND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. THE DEATH OF HARTLEY PARRISH</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE YELLOW STREAK</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +THE MASTER OF HARKINGS</h2> + +<p> +Of all the luxuries of which Hartley Parrish’s sudden rise to wealth gave +him possession, Bude, his butler, was the acquisition in which he took the +greatest delight and pride. Bude was a large and comfortable-looking person, +triple-chinned like an archdeacon, bald-headed except for a respectable and +saving edging of dark down, clean-shaven, benign of countenance, with a bold +nose which to the psychologist bespoke both ambition and inborn cleverness. He +had a thin, tight mouth which in itself alone was a symbol of discreet +reticence, the hall-mark of the trusted family retainer. +</p> + +<p> +Bude had spent his life in the service of the English aristocracy. The Earl of +Tipperary, Major-General Lord Bannister, the Dowager Marchioness of Wiltshire, +and Sir Herbert Marcobrunner, Bart., had in turn watched his gradual progress +from pantry-boy to butler. Bude was a man whose maxim had been the French +saying, “<i>Je prends mon bien où je le trouve</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +In his thirty years’ service he had always sought to discover and draw +from those sources of knowledge which were at his disposal. From MacTavish, who +had supervised Lord Tipperary’s world-famous gardens, he had learnt a +great deal about flowers, so that the arrangement of the floral decorations was +always one of the features at Hartley Parrish’s <i>soigné</i> +dinner-parties. From Brun, the unsurpassed <i>chef</i>, whom Lord Bannister had +picked up when serving with the Guards in Egypt, he had gathered sufficient +knowledge of the higher branches of the cuisine to enable Hartley Parrish to +leave the arrangement of the menu in his butler’s hands. +</p> + +<p> +Bude would have been the first to admit that, socially speaking, his present +situation was not the equal of the positions he had held. There was none of the +staid dignity about his present employer which was inborn in men like Lord +Tipperary or Lord Bannister, and which Sir Herbert Marcobrunner, with the easy +assimilative faculty of his race, had very successfully acquired. Below middle +height, thick-set and powerfully built, with a big head, narrow eyes, and a +massive chin, Hartley Parrish, in his absorbed concentration on his business, +had no time for the acquisition or practice of the Eton manner. +</p> + +<p> +It was characteristic of Parrish that, seeing Bude at a dinner-party at +Marcobrunner’s, he should have engaged him on the spot. It took Bude a +week to get over his shock at the manner in which the offer was made. Parrish +had approached him as he was supervising the departure of the guests. Waving +aside the footman who offered to help him into his overcoat, Parrish had asked +Bude point-blank what wages he was getting. Bude mentioned the generous +remuneration he was receiving from Sir Herbert Marcobrunner, whereupon Parrish +had remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“Come to me and I’ll double it. I’ll give you a week to think +it over. Let my secretary know!” +</p> + +<p> +After a few discreet enquiries, Bude, faithful to his maxim, had accepted +Parrish’s offer. Marcobrunner was furiously angry, but, being anxious to +interest Parrish in a deal, sagely kept his feelings to himself. And Bude had +never regretted the change. He found Parrish an exacting, but withal a just and +a generous master, and he was not long in realizing that, as long as he kept +Harkings, Parrish’s country place where he spent the greater part of his +time, running smoothly according to Parrish’s schedule, he could count on +a life situation. +</p> + +<p> +The polish of manner, the sober dignity of dress, acquired from years of acute +observation in the service of the nobility, were to be seen as, at the hour of +five, in the twilight of this bleak autumn afternoon, Bude moved majestically +into the lounge-hall of Harkings and leisurely pounded the gong for tea. +</p> + +<p> +The muffled notes of the gong swelled out brazenly through the silent house. +They echoed down the softly carpeted corridors to the library where the master +of the house sat at his desk. For days he had been immersed in the figures of +the new issue which Hornaway’s, the vast engineering business of his +creation, was about to put on the market. They reverberated up the fine old oak +staircase to the luxurious Louis XV bedroom, where Lady Margaret Trevert lay on +her bed idly smiling through an amusing novel. They crashed through the thickly +padded baize doors leading to the servants’ hall, where, at sixpence a +hundred, Parrish’s man, Jay, was partnering Lady Margaret’s maid +against Mrs. Heever, the housekeeper, and Robert, the chauffeur, at a friendly +game of bridge. And they even boomed distantly into the far-away billiard-room +and broke into the talk which Robin Greve was having with Mary Trevert. +</p> + +<p> +“Damn!” exclaimed Greve savagely, as the distant gonging came to +his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the gong for tea,” said Mary demurely. +</p> + +<p> +She was sitting on one of the big leather sofas lining the long room. Robin, as +he gazed down at her from where he stood with his back against the edge of the +billiard-table, thought what an attractive picture she made in the half-light. +</p> + +<p> +The lamps over the table were lit, but the rest of the room was almost dark. In +that lighting the thickly waving dark hair brought out the fine whiteness of +the girl’s skin. There was love, and a great desire for love, in her +large dark eyes, but the clear-cut features, the well-shaped chin, and the firm +mouth, the lips a little full, spoke of ambition and the love of power. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been here three whole days,” said Robin, “and +I’ve not had two words with you alone, Mary. And hardly have I got you to +myself for a quiet game of pills when that rotten gong goes ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry you’re disappointed at missing your game,” +the girl replied mischievously, “but I expect you will be able to get a +game with Horace or one of the others after tea ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin kicked the carpet savagely. +</p> + +<p> +“You know perfectly well I don’t want to play billiards ...” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up and caught the girl’s eye. For a fraction of a second he saw +in it the expression which every man at least once in his life looks to see in +the eyes of one particular woman. In the girl’s dark-blue eyes fringed +with long black lashes he saw the dumb appeal, the mute surrender, which, as +surely as the white flag on the battlements in war, is the signal of +capitulation in woman. +</p> + +<p> +But the expression was gone on the instant. It passed so swiftly that, for a +second, Robin, seeing the gently mocking glance that succeeded it, wondered +whether he had been mistaken. +</p> + +<p> +But he was a man of action—a glance at his long, well-moulded head, his +quick, wide-open eye, and his square jaw would have told you that—and he +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no use beating about the bush,” he said. “Mary, +I’ve got so fond of you that I’m just miserable when you’re +away from me ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Robin, please ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert stood up and remained standing, her head turned a little away from +him, a charming silhouette in her heather-blue shooting-suit. +</p> + +<p> +The young man took her listless hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, “you and I have been pals all our lives. +It was only at the front that I began to realize just how much you meant to me. +And now I know I can’t do without you. I’ve never met any one who +has been to me just what you are. And, Mary, I must have you as my wife +...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl remained motionless. She kept her face averted. The room seemed very +still. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Robin, please ...” she murmured again. +</p> + +<p> +Resolutely the young man put an arm about her and drew her to him. Slowly, +reluctantly, she let him have his way. But she would not look at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear,” he whispered, kissing her hair, “don’t +you care a little?” +</p> + +<p> +She remained silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you look at me, Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a hint of huskiness in his voice. He raised her face to his. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw in your eyes just now that you cared for me,” he whispered; +“oh, my Mary, say that you do!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he bent down and kissed her. For a brief instant their lips met and he +felt the caress of the girl’s arm about his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Robin!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +That was all. +</p> + +<p> +But then she drew away. +</p> + +<p> +Reluctantly the man let her go. The colour had faded from his cheeks when she +looked at him again as he stood facing her in the twilight of the +billiard-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin, dear,” she said, “I’m going to hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man seemed to have had a premonition of what was coming, for he +betrayed no sign of surprise, but remained motionless, very erect, very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear,” said the girl with a little despairing shrug, +“it’s hopeless! We can’t afford to marry!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet, I know,” said Robin, “but I’m getting on +well, Mary, and in another year or two ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked down at the point of her little brogue shoe. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you will think of me,” she said, +“but I can’t accept ... I can’t face ... I ...” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t face the idea of being the wife of a man who has his way +to make. Is that it?” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was rather stern. +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked up impulsively. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t, Robin. I should never make you happy. Mother and I are as +poor as church-mice. All the money in the family goes to keep Horace in the +Army and pay for my clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked disdainfully at her pretty suit. +</p> + +<p> +“All this,” she went on with a little hopeless gesture indicating +her tailor-made, “is Mother’s investment. No, no, it’s true +... I can tell you as a friend, Robin, dear, we are living on our capital until +I have caught a rich husband ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my dear,” said Robin softly, “don’t say things +like that ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl laughed a little defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s true,” she answered. “The war has halved +Mother’s income and there’s nothing between us and bankruptcy but a +year or so ... unless I get married!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice trembled a little and she turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” said the young man hoarsely, “for God’s sake, +don’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +He moved a step towards her, but she drew back. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” she said with the tears glistening wet on +her face, and dabbed at her eyes with her tiny handkerchief, “but, oh, +Robin boy, why couldn’t you have held your tongue?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I had no right to speak ...” the young man began. +</p> + +<p> +The girl sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“I oughtn’t to say it ... now,” she said slowly, and looked +across at Robin with shining eyes, “but, Robin dear, I’m ... +I’m glad you did!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused a moment as though turning something over in her mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve ... I’ve got something to tell you, Robin,” she +began. “No, stay where you are! We must be sensible now.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused and looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin,” she said slowly, “I’ve promised to marry +somebody else ...” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” Robin asked in a hard voice. +</p> + +<p> +The girl made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it? Do I know him?” +</p> + +<p> +Still the girl was silent, but she gave a hardly perceptible nod. +</p> + +<p> +“Not ...? No, no, Mary, it isn’t true? It can’t be +true?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl nodded, her eyes to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a secret still,” she said. “No one knows but +Mother. Hartley doesn’t want it announced yet!” +</p> + +<p> +The sound of the Christian name suddenly seemed to infuriate Greve. +</p> + +<p> +“By God!” he cried, “it shan’t be! You must be mad, +Mary, to think of marrying a man like Hartley Parrish. A fellow who’s +years older than you, who thinks of nothing but money, who stood out of the war +and made a fortune while men of his own age were doing the fighting for him! +It’s unthinkable ... it’s ... it’s damnable to think of a +gross, ill-bred creature like Parrish ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Robin!” the girl cried, “you seem to forget that we’re +staying in his house. In spite of all you say he seems to be good enough for +you to come and stay with ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I only came because you were to be here. You know that perfectly well. I +admit one oughtn’t to blackguard one’s host, but, Mary, you must +see that this marriage is absolutely out of the question!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl began to bridle up, +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked loftily. +</p> + +<p> +“Because ... because Parrish is not the sort of man who will make you +happy ...” +</p> + +<p> +“And why not, may I ask? He’s very kind and very generous, and I +believe he likes me ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve made a gesture of despair. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear girl,” he said, trying to control himself to speak +quietly, “what do you know about this man? Nothing. But there are beastly +stories circulating about his life ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert laughed cynically. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old Robin,” she said, “they tell stories about every +bachelor. And I hardly think you are an unbiassed judge ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve was pacing up and down the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re crazy, Mary,” he said, stopping in front of her, +“to dream you can ever be happy with a man like Hartley Parrish. The +man’s a ruthless egoist. He thinks of nothing but money and he’s +out to buy you just exactly as you ...” +</p> + +<p> +“As I am ready to sell myself!” the girl echoed. “And I +<i>am</i> ready, Robin. It’s all very well for you to stand there and +preach ideals at me, but I’m sick and disgusted at the life we’ve +been leading for the past three years, hovering on the verge of ruin all the +time, dunned by tradesmen and having to borrow even from servants ... yes, from +old servants of the family ... to pay Mother’s bridge debts. +Mother’s a good sort. Father spent all her money for her and she was +brought up in exactly the same helpless way as she brought up me. I can do +absolutely nothing except the sort of elementary nursing which we all learnt in +the war, and if I don’t marry well Mother will have to keep a +boarding-house or do something ghastly like that. I’m not going to +pretend that I’m thinking only of her, because I’m not. I +can’t face a long engagement with no prospects except castles in Spain. I +don’t mean to be callous, Robin, but I expect I am naturally hard. +Hartley Parrish is a good sort. He’s very fond of me, and he will see +that Mother lives comfortably for the rest of her life. I’ve promised to +marry him because I like him and he’s a suitable match. And I don’t +see by what right you try and run him down to me behind his back! If it’s +jealousy, then it shows a very petty spirit!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve stepped close up to Mary Trevert. His eyes were very angry and his +jaw was set very square. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are determined to sell yourself to the highest bidder,” he +said, “I suppose there’s no stopping you. But you’re making a +mistake. If Parrish were all you claim for him, you might not repent of his +marriage so long as you did not care for somebody else. But I know you love me, +and it breaks my heart to see you blundering into everlasting unhappiness +...” +</p> + +<p> +“At least Hartley will be able to keep me,” the girl flashed out. +Directly she had spoken she regretted her words. +</p> + +<p> +A red flush spread slowly over Robin Greve’s face. +</p> + +<p> +Then he laughed drily. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be the first woman he’s kept!” he retorted, +and stamped out of the billiard-room. +</p> + +<p> +The girl gave a little gasp. Then she reddened with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“How dare he?” she cried, stamping her foot; “how dare +he?” +</p> + +<p> +She sank on the lounge and, burying her face in her hands, burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Robin, Robin, dear!” she sobbed—incomprehensibly, for +she was a woman. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +AT TWILIGHT</h2> + +<p> +There is a delicious snugness, a charming lack of formality, about the ceremony +of afternoon tea in an English country-house—it is much too indefinite a +rite to dignify it by the name of meal—which makes it the most pleasant +reunion of the day. For English country-house parties consist, for the most +part, of a succession of meals to which the guests flock the more congenially +as, in the interval, they have contrived to avoid one another’s +companionship. +</p> + +<p> +And so, scarcely had the last reverberation of Bude’s measured gonging +died away than the French window leading from the lounge-hall on to the terrace +was pushed open and two of Hartley Parrish’s guests emerged from the +falling darkness without into the pleasant comfort of the firelit room. +</p> + +<p> +They were an oddly matched pair. The one was a tubby little man with short +bristly grey hair and a short bristly grey moustache to match. His stumpy legs +looked ridiculous in his baggy golf knickers of rough tweed, which he wore with +gaiters extending half-way up his short, stout calves. As he came in, he slung +off the heavy tweed shooting-cloak he had been wearing and placed it with his +Homburg hat on a chair. +</p> + +<p> +This was Dr. Romain, whose name thus written seems indecently naked without the +string of complementary initials indicative of the honours and degrees which +years of bacteriological research had heaped upon him. His companion was a +tall, slim, fair-haired young man, about as good a specimen of the young +Englishman turned out by the English public school as one could find. He was +extremely good-looking with a proud eye and finely chiselled features, but the +suggestion of youth in his face and figure was countered by a certain poise, a +kind of latent seriousness which contrasted strangely with the general cheery +<i>insouciance</i> of his type. +</p> + +<p> +A soldier would have spotted the symptoms at once, “Five years of +war!” would have been his verdict—that long and strange entry into +life of so many thousands of England’s manhood which impressed the stamp +of premature seriousness on all those who came through. And Captain Sir Horace +Trevert, Bart., D.S.O., had gone from his famous school straight into a famous +regiment, had won his decoration before he was twenty-one, and been twice +wounded into the bargain. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s everybody?” queried the doctor, rubbing his hands at +the blazing log-fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin and Mary went off to play billiards,” said the young man, +“and I left old Parrish after lunch settling down for an +afternoon’s work in the library ...” +</p> + +<p> +He crossed the room to the fire and stood with his back to the flame. +</p> + +<p> +“What a worker that man is!” ejaculated the doctor. “He had +one of his secretaries down this morning with a car full of portfolios, +blue-prints, specifications, and God knows what else. Parrish polished the +whole lot off and packed the fellow back to London before mid-day. Some of +Hornaway’s people who were waiting went in next, and he was through with +them by lunch-time!” +</p> + +<p> +Trevert wagged his head in admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“And he told me he wanted to have a quiet week-end!” he said. +“That’s why he has no secretary living in the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“A quiet week-end!” repeated Romain drily. “Ye gods!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a marvel for work,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“He certainly is,” replied the doctor. “He’s done +wonders with Hornaway’s. When he took the place over at the beginning of +the war, they were telling me, it was a little potty concern making toy air +guns or lead soldiers or something of the sort. And they never stop coining +money now, it seems. Parrish must be worth millions ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Lucky devil!” said Trevert genially. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” observed the doctor sententiously, “but he’s had +to work for it, mark you! He’s had the most extraordinary life, they tell +me. He was at one period of his career a bartender on the Rand, a man was +saying at the club the other day. But most of his life he’s lived in +Canada, I gather. He was telling us the other evening, before you and Mary came +down, that he was once a brakeman on the Canadian Pacific Railway. He said he +invested all his savings in books on engineering and read them in his +brakeman’s van on his trips across the Dominion. Ah! he’s a fine +fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +He lowered his voice discreetly. +</p> + +<p> +“And a devilish good match, eh, Horace?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man flushed slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said unwillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“A dam’ good match for somebody,” urged the doctor with a +malicious twinkle in his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Doc,” said Horace, suddenly turning on him, “you stick +to your bugs and germs. What do you know about matchmaking, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Romain chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +“We bacteriologists are trained observers. One learns a lot watching the +life and habits of the bacillus, Horace, my boy. And between ourselves, Parrish +would be a lucky fellow if ...” +</p> + +<p> +Trevert turned to him. His face was quite serious, and there was a little touch +of hauteur in his voice. He was the 17th Baronet. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Doc,” he said, “aren’t you going a bit fast? +Parrish is a very good chap, but one knows nothing about him ...” +</p> + +<p> +Sagely the doctor nodded his grizzled head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” he agreed. “He appears to have no +relatives and nobody over here seems to have heard of him before the war. A man +was saying at the Athenaeum the other day ...” +</p> + +<p> +Trevert touched his elbow. Bude had appeared, portly, imperturbable, bearing a +silver tray set out with the appliances for tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” cried Trevert, “don’t tell me there are no +tea-cakes again!” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrairey, sir,” answered the butler in the richly +sonorous voice pitched a little below the normal register which he employed +abovestairs, “the cook has had her attention drawn to it. There are +tea-cakes, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +With a certain dramatic effect—for Bude was a trifle theatrical in +everything he did—he whipped the cover off a dish and displayed a smoking +pile of deliciously browned scones. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” said Trevert, “when I’m a Field Marshal, +I’ll see you get the O.B.E. for this!” +</p> + +<p> +The butler smiled a nicely regulated three-by-one smile, a little deprecatory +as was his wont. Then, like a tank taking a corner, he wheeled majestically and +turned to cross the lounge. To reach the green baize door leading to the +servants’ quarters he had to cross the outer hall from which led +corridors on the right and left. That on the right led to the billiard-room; +that on the left to the big drawing-room with the library beyond. +</p> + +<p> +As Bude reached the great screen of tooled Spanish leather which separated a +corner of the lounge from the outer hall, Robin Greve came hastily through the +glass door of the corridor leading from the billiard-room. The butler with a +pleasant smile drew back a little to allow the young man to pass, thinking he +was going into the lounge for tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Tea is ...” he began, but abruptly ended the sentence on catching +sight of the young man’s face. For Robin, habitually so self-possessed, +looked positively haggard. His face was set and there was a weary look in his +eyes. The young man appeared so utterly different from his wonted self that +Bude fairly stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +But Robin, without paying the least attention either to the butler or to the +sound of voices in the lounge, strode across the outer hall and disappeared +through the glass door of the corridor leading to the great drawing-room and +the library. +</p> + +<p> +Bude stood an instant gazing after him in perplexity, then moved across the +hall to the servants’ quarters. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime in the lounge the little doctor snapped the case of his watch +and opined that he wanted his tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Where on earth has everybody got to? What’s become of Lady +Margaret? I haven’t seen her since lunch....” +</p> + +<p> +That lady answered his question by appearing in person. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret was tall and hard and glittering. Like so many Englishwomen of +good family, she was so saturated with the traditions of her class that her +manner was almost indistinguishable from that of a man. Well-mannered, +broadminded, wholly cynical, and absolutely fearless, she went through life +exactly as though she were following a path carefully taped out for her by a +suitably instructed Providence. Somewhere beneath the mask of smiling +indifference she presented so bravely to a difficult world, she had a heart, +but so carefully did she hide it that Horace had only discovered it on a +certain grey November morning when he had started out for the first time on +active service. For ever afterwards a certain weighing-machine at Waterloo +Station, by which he had had a startling vision of his mother standing with +heaving bosom and tear-stained face, possessed in his mind the attributes of +some secret and sacred shrine. +</p> + +<p> +But now she was cool and well-gowned and self-contained as ever. +</p> + +<p> +“What a perfectly dreadful day!” she exclaimed in her pleasant, +well-bred voice. “Horace, you must positively go and see Henry +What’s-his-name in the Foreign Office and get me a passport for Cannes. +The weather in England in the winter is incredibly exaggerated!” +</p> + +<p> +“At least,” said the doctor, rubbing his back as he warmed himself +at the fire, “we have fuel in England. Give me England, climate and all, +but don’t take away my fire. The sun doesn’t shine on the Riviera +at night, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret busied herself at the tea-table with its fine Queen Anne silver +and dainty yellow cups. It was the custom at Harkings to serve tea in the +winter without other illumination than the light of the great log-fire that +spat and leaped in the open hearth. Beyond the semi-circle of ruddy light the +great lounge was all in darkness, and beyond that again was the absolute +stillness of the English country on a winter’s evening. +</p> + +<p> +And so with a gentle clatter of teacups and the accompaniment of pleasantly +modulated voices they sat and chatted—Lady Margaret, who was always +surprising in what she said, the doctor who was incredibly opinionated, and +young Trevert, who like all of the younger generation was daringly flippant. He +was airing his views on what he called “Boche music” when he broke +off and cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, here’s Mary! Mary, you owe me half a crown. Bude has come +up to scratch and there are tea-cakes after ... but, I say, what on +earth’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl had come into the room and was standing in the centre of the lounge in +the ruddy glow of the fire. Her face was deathly pale and she was shuddering +violently. She held her little cambric handkerchief crushed up into a ball to +her lips. Her eyes were fixed, almost glazed, like one who walks in a trance. +</p> + +<p> +She stood like that for an instant surveying the group—Lady Margaret, a +silver tea-pot in one hand, looking at her with uplifted brows. Horace, who in +his amazement had taken a step forward, and the doctor at his side scrutinizing +her beneath his shaggy eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Mary “—it was Lady Margaret’s smooth and +pleasant voice which broke the silence—“whatever is the matter? +Have you seen a ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl swayed a little and opened her lips as if to speak. A log, crashing +from the fire into the grate, fell upon the silence of the darkening room. It +seemed to break the spell. +</p> + +<p> +“Hartley!” +</p> + +<p> +The name came hoarsely from the girl. Everybody, except Lady Margaret, sprang +to his feet It was the doctor who spoke first. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Mary,” he said, “you seem frightened, what ...” +</p> + +<p> +His voice was very soothing. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert made a vague gesture towards the shadows about the staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“There ... in the library ... he’s got the door locked ... there +was a shot ...” +</p> + +<p> +Then she suddenly screamed aloud. +</p> + +<p> +In a stride both the doctor and her brother were by her side. But she motioned +them away. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m frightened about Hartley,” she said in a low voice, +“please go at once and see what ... that shot ... and he doesn’t +answer!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, Doctor!” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert was halfway to the big screen separating the lounge from the +outer hall. As he passed the bell, he pressed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Send Bude to us, Mother, when he comes, please!” he called as he +and the doctor hurried away. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret had risen and stood, one arm about her daughter, on the Persian +rug spread out before the cheerful fire. So the women stood in the firelight in +Hartley Parrish’s house, surrounded by all the treasures which his wealth +had bought, and listened to the footsteps clattering away through the silence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +A DISCOVERY</h2> + +<p> +Harkings was not a large house. Some three hundred years ago it had been a +farm, but in the intervening years successive owners had so altered it by +pulling down and building on, that, when it passed into the possession of +Hartley Parrish, little else than the open fireplace in the lounge remained to +tell of the original farm. It was a queer, rambling house of only two stories +whose elongated shape was accentuated by the additional wing which Hartley +Parrish had built on. +</p> + +<p> +For the decoration of his country-house, Parrish had placed himself +unreservedly in the hands of the firm entrusted with the work. Their architect +was given <i>carte blanche</i> to produce a house of character out of the +rather dingy, out-of-date country villa which Harkings was when Hartley +Parrish, attracted by the view from the gardens, first discovered it. +</p> + +<p> +The architect had gone to his work with a zest. He had ripped up walls and +ceilings and torn down irrational matchwood partitions, discovering some fine +old oak wainscot and the blackened roof-beams of the original farmstead. In the +upshot he transformed Harkings into a very fair semblance of a late Jacobean +house, fitted with every modern convenience and extremely comfortable. +Furnished throughout with genuine “period” furniture, with fine +dark oak panelling and parquet floors, it was altogether picturesque. Neither +within nor without, it is true, would a connoisseur have been able to give it a +date. +</p> + +<p> +But that did not worry Hartley Parrish. He loved a bargain and he had bought +the house cheap. It was situated in beautiful country and was within easy reach +by car of his town-house in St. James’s Square where he lived for the +greater part of the week. Last but not least Harkings was the casket enshrining +a treasure, the realization of a lifelong wish. This was the library, +Parrish’s own room, designed by himself and furnished to his own +individual taste. +</p> + +<p> +It stood apart from the rest of the house at the end of the wing which Parrish +had constructed. The wing consisted of a single ground floor and contained the +drawing-room—which was scarcely ever used, as both Parrish and his guests +preferred the more congenial surroundings of the lounge—and the library. +A long corridor panelled in oak led off the hall to the new wing. On to this +corridor both the drawing-room and the library gave. Halfway down the corridor +a small passage ran off. It separated the drawing-room from the library and +ended in a door leading into the gardens at the back of the house. +</p> + +<p> +It was to the new wing that Horace Trevert and Dr. Romain now hastened. They +hurried across the hall, where the big lamp of dulled glass threw a soft yellow +light, and entered the corridor through the heavy oak door which shut it off +from the hall. The corridor was wrapt in silence. Halfway down, where the small +passage ran to the garden door, the electric light was burning. +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert ran down the corridor ahead of the doctor and was the first to +reach the library door. He knocked sharply, then turned the handle. The door +was locked. +</p> + +<p> +“Hartley!” he cried and rapped again. “Ha-a-artley! Open the +door! It’s me, Horace!” +</p> + +<p> +Again he knocked and rattled the handle. Not a sound came from the locked room. +There was an instant’s silence. Horace and the doctor exchanged an +interrogatory look. +</p> + +<p> +From behind the closed door came the steady ticking of a clock. The silence was +so absolute that both men heard it. +</p> + +<p> +Then the door at the end of the corridor was flung open and Bude appeared. He +was running at a quick ambling trot, his heavy tread shaking the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh? sir,” he cried, “whatever is it? What has +happened?” +</p> + +<p> +Horace spoke quickly, incisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Something’s happened to Mr. Parrish, Bude,” he said. +“The door’s locked and he doesn’t answer. We’ll have to +break the door down.” +</p> + +<p> +Bude shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s solid oak, sir,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +Then he raised his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said, as though an idea had struck him. +“If we were to go out by the garden door here, we might get in through +the window. We could break the glass if needs be!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it!” exclaimed Horace. “Come on, Doctor!” +</p> + +<p> +He dashed down the corridor towards the little passage. The doctor laid a hand +on Bude’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“One of us had better stay here,” he said with a meaning glance at +the closed door. +</p> + +<p> +The butler raised an affrighted face to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Go with Sir Horace, Bude,” said the doctor. “I’ll +stay!” +</p> + +<p> +Outside in the gardens of Harkings it was a raw, damp evening, pitch-black now, +with little gusts of wind which shook the naked bushes of the rosery. The +garden door led by a couple of shallow steps on to a gravel path which ran all +along the back of the house. The path extended right up to the wall of the +house. On the other side it flanked the rosery. +</p> + +<p> +The glass door was banging to and fro in the night wind as Bude, his +coat-collar turned up, hurried out into the darkness. The library, which formed +the corner of the new wing, had two windows, the one immediately above the +gravel path looking out over the rosery, the other round the corner of the +house giving on the same path, beyond which ran a high hedge of clipped box +surrounding the so-called Pleasure Ground, a plot of smooth grass with a +sundial in the centre. +</p> + +<p> +A glow of light came from the library window, and in its radiance Bude saw +silhouetted the tall, well-knit figure of young Trevert. As the butler came up, +the boy raised something in his hand and there was a crash of broken glass. +</p> + +<p> +The curtains were drawn, but with the breaking of the window they began to flap +about. With the iron grating he had picked up from the drain below the window +young Trevert smashed the rest of the glass away, then thrust an arm through +the empty window-frame, fumbling for the window-catch. +</p> + +<p> +“The catch is not fastened,” he whispered, and with a resolute +thrust he pushed the window up. The curtains leapt up wildly, revealing a +glimpse of the pleasant, book-lined room. Both men from the darkness without +saw Parrish’s desk littered with his papers and his habitual chair beyond +it, pushed back empty. +</p> + +<p> +Trevert turned an instant, a hand on the window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” he said, “there’s no one there!” +</p> + +<p> +“Best look and see, sir,” replied the butler, his coat-tails +flapping in the wind. +</p> + +<p> +Trevert hoisted himself easily on to the window-sill, knelt there for an +instant, then thrust his legs over the sill and dropped into the room. As he +did so he stumbled, cried aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Then the heavy grey curtains were flung back and the butler saw the boy’s +face, rather white, at the open window. +</p> + +<p> +“My God,” he said slowly, “he’s dead!” +</p> + +<p> +A moment later Dr. Romain, waiting in the corridor, heard the key turn in the +lock of the library door. The door was flung open. Horace Trevert stood there, +silhouetted in a dull glow of light from the room. He was pointing to the open +window, beneath which Hartley Parrish lay on his back motionless. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +BETWEEN THE DESK AND THE WINDOW</h2> + +<p> +Hartley Parrish’s library was a splendid room, square in shape, lofty and +well proportioned. It was lined with books arranged in shelves of dark brown +oak running round the four walls, but sunk level with them and reaching up to a +broad band of perfectly plain white plasterwork. +</p> + +<p> +It was a cheerful, comfortable, eminently modern room, half library, half +office. The oak was solid, but uncompromisingly new. The great leather +armchairs were designed on modern lines—for comfort rather than for +appearance. There were no pictures; but vases of chrysanthemums stood here and +there about the room. A dictaphone in a case was in a corner, but beside it was +a little table on which were set out some rare bits of old Chelsea. There was +also a gramophone, but it was enclosed in a superb case of genuine old +black-and-gold lacquer. The very books in their shelves carried on this +contrast of business with recreation. For while one set of shelves contained +row upon row of technical works, company reports, and all manner of business +reference books bound in leather, on another were to be found the vellum-bound +volumes of the Kelmscott Press. +</p> + +<p> +A sober note of grey or mole colour was the colour scheme of the room. The +heavy pile carpet which stretched right up to the walls was of this quiet +neutral shade: so were the easy-chairs, and the colour of the heavy curtains, +which hung in front of the two high windows, was in harmony with the restful +decorative scheme of the room. +</p> + +<p> +The massive oaken door stood opposite the window overlooking the +rosery—the window through which Horace Trevert had entered. +Parrish’s desk was in front of this window, between it and the door in +consequence. By the other window, which, as has been stated, looked out on the +clipped hedge surrounding the Pleasure Ground, was the little table with the +Chelsea china, the dictaphone, and one of the easy-chairs. The centre of the +room was clear so that nothing lay between the door and the carved mahogany +chair at the desk. Here, as they all knew, Parrish was accustomed to sit when +working, his back to the door, his face to the window overlooking the rosery. +</p> + +<p> +The desk stood about ten feet from the window. On it was a large brass lamp +which cast a brilliant circle of light upon the broad flat top of the desk with +its orderly array of letter-trays, its handsome silver-edged blotter and silver +and tortoise-shell writing appurtenances. By the light of this lamp Dr. Romain, +looking from the doorway, saw that Hartley Parrish’s chair was vacant, +pushed back a little way from the desk. The rest of the room was wrapt in +unrevealing half-light. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s there by the window!” +</p> + +<p> +Horace was whispering to the doctor. Romain strode over to the desk and picked +up the lamp. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the pale face of Hartley Parrish. +He lay on his back in the space between the desk and the window. His head was +flung back, his eyes, bluish-grey,—the narrow, rather expressionless eyes +of the successful business man,—were wide open and fixed in a sightless +stare, his rather full mouth, with its clean-shaven lips, was rigid and stern. +With the broad forehead, the prominent brows, the bold, aggressive nose, and +the square bony jaw, it was a fighter’s face, a fine face save for the +evil promise of that sensuous mouth. So thought the doctor with the swift +psychological process of his trade. +</p> + +<p> +From the face his gaze travelled to the body. And then Romain could not repress +an involuntary start, albeit he saw what he had half expected to see. The +fleshy right hand of Hartley Parrish grasped convulsively an automatic pistol. +His clutching index finger was crooked about the trigger and the barrel was +pressed into the yielding pile of the carpet. His other hand with clawing +fingers was flung out away from the body on the other side. One leg was +stretched out to its fullest extent and the foot just touched the hem of the +grey window curtains. The other leg was slightly drawn up. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor raised the lamp from the desk and, dropping on one knee, placed it +on the ground beside the body. With gentle fingers he manipulated the eyes, +opened the blue serge coat and waistcoat which Parrish was wearing. As he +unbuttoned the waistcoat, he laid bare a dark red stain on the breast of the +fine silk shirt. He opened shirt and under-vest, bent an ear to the still form, +and then, with a little helpless gesture, rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Dead?” queried Trevert. +</p> + +<p> +Romain nodded shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Shot through the heart!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“He looked so ... so limp,” the boy said, shrinking back a little, +“I thought he was dead. But I never thought old Hartley would have done a +thing like that ...” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor pursed up his lips as if to speak. But he remained silent for a +moment. Then he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Horace, the police must be informed. We can do that on the telephone. +This room must be left just as it is until they come. I can do nothing more for +poor Hartley. And we shall have to tell the others. I’d better do that +myself. I wonder where Greve is? I haven’t seen him all the afternoon. As +a barrister he should be able to advise us about—er, the technicalities: +the police and all that ...” +</p> + +<p> +Rapid footsteps reverberated down the corridor. Robin Greve appeared at the +door. The fat and frightened face of Bude appeared over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God, Doctor!” he cried, “what’s this Bude tells +me?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Our poor friend is dead, Greve,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But how? How?” +</p> + +<p> +Greve stood opposite the doctor in the centre of the library. He had switched +on the light at the door as he had come in, and the room was flooded with soft +light thrown by concealed lamps set around the cornice of the ceiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” responded the doctor by way of answer and stepped aside to +let the young man come up to the desk. “He has a pistol in his +hand!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve took a step forward and stopped dead. He gazed for an instant +without speaking on the dead face of his host and rival. +</p> + +<p> +“Suicide!” +</p> + +<p> +It was an affirmation rather than a question, and the little doctor took it up. +He was not a young man and the shock and the excitement were beginning to tell +on his nerves. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not a police surgeon,” he said with some asperity; “in +fact, I may say I have not seen a dead body since my hospital days. I ... I ... +know nothing about these things. This is a matter for the police. They must be +summoned at once. Where’s Bude?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve turned quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Get on to the police station at Stevenish at once, Bude,” he +ordered. “Do you know the Inspector?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yessir,” the butler answered in a hollow voice. His hands were +trembling violently, and he seemed to control himself with difficulty. +“Mr. Humphries, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ring him up and tell him that Mr. Parrish ... Hullo, what do all +these people want?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a commotion at the door. Frightened faces were framed in the doorway. +Outside there was the sound of a woman whimpering. A tall, dark young man in a +tail coat came in quickly. He stopped short when he saw the solemn faces of the +group at the desk. It was Parrish’s man, Jay. He stepped forward to the +desk and in a frightened sort of way peered at the body as it lay on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir,” he said breathlessly, addressing Greve, “what ever +has happened to Mr. Parrish? It can’t be true ...” +</p> + +<p> +Greve put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry to say it is true, Jay,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“He was very good to us all,” the valet replied in a broken voice. +He remained by the desk staring at the body in a dazed fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that crying outside?” Greve demanded. “This is no +place for women ...” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Mrs. Heever, the housekeeper,” Bude answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she must go back to her room. Send all those servants away. Jay, +will you see to it? And take care that Lady Margaret and Miss Trevert +don’t come in here, either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Horace is with them, sir, in the lounge,” said Jay and went +out. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go to them. I think I’d better,” exclaimed the +doctor. “I shall be in the lounge when they want me. A dreadful affair! +Dreadful!” +</p> + +<p> +The little doctor bustled out, leaving Greve and the butler alone in the room +with the mortal remains of Hartley Parrish lying where he had fallen on the +soft grey carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Bude,” said Greve incisively, “get on to the police at +once. You’d better telephone from the servant’s hall. I’ll +have a look round here in the meantime!” +</p> + +<p> +Bude stood for an instant irresolute. He glanced shrewdly at the young man. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Robin quickly; “what are you waiting for, man? +There’s no time to lose.” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the butler turned and tiptoed away, his ungainly body swaying about as +he stole across the heavy pile carpet. He went out of the room, closing the +door softly behind him. He left Greve sunk in a reverie at the desk, gazing +with unseeing eyes upon the dead face of the master of Harkings. +</p> + +<p> +That sprawling corpse, the startled realization of death stamped for ever in +the wide, staring eyes, was indeed a subject for meditation. There, in the +midst of all the evidences of Hartley Parrish’s meteoric rise to +affluence and power, Greve pondered for an instant on the strange pranks which +Fate plays us poor mortals. +</p> + +<p> +Parrish had risen, as Greve and all the world knew, from the bottom rung of the +ladder. He had had a bitter fight for existence, had made his money, as Greve +had heard, with a blind and ruthless determination which spoke of the stern +struggle of other days. And Robin, who, too, had had his own way to make in the +world, knew how the memory of earlier struggles went to sweeten the flavour of +ultimate success. +</p> + +<p> +Yet here was Hartley Parrish, with his vast financial undertakings, his soaring +political ambitions, his social aims which, Robin realized bitterly, had more +than a little to do with his project for marrying Mary Trevert, stricken down +suddenly, without warning, in the very heyday of success. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should he have done it?” he whispered to himself, “why, +my God, why?” +</p> + +<p> +But the mask-like face at his feet, as he bent to scan it once more, gave no +answer to the riddle. Determination, ambition, was portrayed on the keen, eager +face even in death. +</p> + +<p> +With a little hopeless gesture the young barrister glanced round the room. His +eye fell upon the desk. He saw a neat array of letter-trays, costly silver and +tortoise-shell writing appointments, a couple of heavy gold fountain pens, and +an orderly collection of pencils. Lying flat on the great silver-edged blotter +was a long brown envelope which had been opened. Propped up against the large +crystal ink-well was a letter addressed simply “Miss Mary Trevert” +in Hartley Parrish’s big, vigorous, and sprawling handwriting. +</p> + +<p> +The letter to Mary Trevert, Robin did not touch. But he picked up the long +brown envelope. On the back it bore a printed seal. The envelope contained a +document and a letter. At the sight of it the young man started. It was Hartley +Parrish’s will. The letter was merely a covering note from Mr. Bardy, of +the firm of Jerringham, Bardy and Company, a well-known firm of solicitors, +dated the previous evening. Robin replaced letter and document in their +envelope without reading them. +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s it!” he murmured to himself. “Suicide? But +why?” +</p> + +<p> +All the letter-trays save one were empty. In this was a little heap of papers +and letters. Robin glanced through them. There were two or three prospectuses, +a notice of a golf match, a couple of notes from West End tradesmen enclosing +receipts and an acknowledgement from the bank. There was only one personal +letter—a business communication from a Rotterdam firm. Robin glanced at +the letter. It was typewritten on paper of a dark slatey-blue shade. It was +headed, “ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & Co., GENERAL IMPORTERS, +ROTTERDAM,” and dealt with steel shipments. +</p> + +<p> +Robin dropped the letter back into the tray and turned to survey the room. It +was in perfect order. Except for the still form lying on the floor and the +broken pane of glass in the window, there was nothing to tell of the tragedy +which had been enacted there that afternoon. There were no papers to hint at a +crisis save the prosaic-looking envelope containing the will, and +Parrish’s note for Mary. The waste-paper basket, a large and +business-like affair in white wicker, had been cleared. +</p> + +<p> +Robin walked across to the fireplace. The flames leapt eagerly about a great +oak log which hissed fitfully on top of the glowing coals contained in the big +iron fire-basket. The grate was bare and tidy. As the young man looked at the +fire, a little whirl of blue smoke whisked out of the wide fireplace and eddied +into the room. Robin sniffed. The room smelt smoky. Now he remembered he had +noticed it as he came in. +</p> + +<p> +He stood an instant gazing thoughtfully at the blazing and leaping fire. He +threw a quick glance at the window where the curtains tossed fitfully in the +breeze coming through the broken pane. Suddenly he stepped quickly across the +room and, lifting the reading-lamp from the table, bore it over to the window +which he scrutinized narrowly by its light. Then he dropped on one knee beside +the dead body, placing the lamp on the floor beside him. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted the dead man’s left hand and narrowly examined the nails. +Without touching the right hand which clasped the revolver, he studied its +nails too. He rose and took the gold-mounted reading-glass from the desk and +scrutinized the nails of both hands through the glass. +</p> + +<p> +Then he rose to his feet again and, having replaced lamp and reading-glass on +the desk, stood there thoughtfully, his brown hands clasped before him. His +eyes wandered from the desk to the window and from the window to the corpse. +Then he noticed on the carpet between the dead body and the desk a little ball +of slatey-blue paper. He bent down and picked it up. He had begun to unroll it +when the library door was flung open. Robin thrust the scrap of paper in his +pocket and turned to face the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +IN WHICH BUDE LOOKS AT ROBIN GREVE</h2> + +<p> +The library door opened. A large, square-built, florid man in the braided +uniform of a police inspector stood on the threshold of the room. Beside him +was Bude who, with an air of dignity and respectful mourning suitably blended, +waved him into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“The—ahem!—body is in here, Mr. Humphries, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +Inspector Humphries stepped quickly into the room. A little countryfied in +appearance and accent, he had the careful politeness, the measured restraint, +and the shrewd eye of the typical police officer. In thirty years’ +service he had risen from village constable to be Inspector of county police. +Slow to anger, rather stolid, and with an excellent heart, he had a vein of +shrewd common sense not uncommonly found in that fast disappearing species, the +English peasant. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded shortly to Greve, and with a tread that shook the room strode across +to where Hartley Parrish was lying dead. In the meantime a harassed-looking man +with a short grey beard, wearing a shabby frock coat, had slipped into the room +behind the Inspector. He approached Greve. +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Romain?” he queried, peering through his gold spectacles, +“the butler said ...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my name is Greve,” answered Robin. “I am staying in the +house. This is Dr. Romain.” +</p> + +<p> +He motioned to the door. Dr. Romain came bustling into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you here so promptly, Inspector,” he said. “A +shocking business, very. Is this the doctor? I am Dr. Romain ...” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Redstone bowed with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +“A great privilege, sir,” he said staidly. “I have followed +your work....” +</p> + +<p> +But the other did not let him finish. +</p> + +<p> +“Shot through the heart ... instantaneous death ... severe haemorrhage +... the pistol is there ... in his hand. A man with everything he wanted in the +world ... I can’t understand it. ’Pon my soul, I +can’t!” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector, who had been kneeling by the corpse, motioned with his head to +the village doctor. Dr. Redstone went to him and began a cursory examination of +the body. The Inspector rose. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand from the butler, gentlemen,” he said, “that it +was Miss Trevert, a lady staying in the house, who heard the shot fired. I +should like to see her, please. And you, sir, are you a relation of ...” +</p> + +<p> +Greve, thus addressed, hastily replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Only a friend, Inspector. I am staying in the house. I am a barrister. +Perhaps I may be able to assist you ...” +</p> + +<p> +Humphries shot a slow, shrewd glance at him from beneath his shaggy blond +eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir, much obliged, I’m sure. Now”—he thrust +a hand into his tunic and produced a large leather-bound +notebook—“do you know anything as would throw a light on this +business?” +</p> + +<p> +Greve shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed perfectly cheerful at lunch. He left the dining-room directly +after he had taken his coffee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he go?” +</p> + +<p> +“He came here to work. He told us at lunch that he was going to shut +himself up in the library for the whole afternoon as he had a lot of work to +get through.” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector made a note or two in his book. Then he paused thoughtfully +tapping the end of his pencil against his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Miss Trevert, you say, who found the body?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Greve replied. “Her brother, Sir Horace Trevert. It was +Miss Trevert who heard the shot fired.” +</p> + +<p> +“The door was locked, I think?” +</p> + +<p> +“On the inside. But here is Sir Horace Trevert. He will tell you how he +got through the window and discovered the body.” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert gave a brief account of his entry into the library. Again the +Inspector scribbled in his notebook. +</p> + +<p> +“One or two more questions, gentlemen, please,” he said, “and +then I should wish to see Miss Trevert. Firstly, who saw Mr. Hartley Parrish +last: and at what time?” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert looked at Greve. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be when he left us after lunch, wouldn’t it?” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, certainly,” Dr. Romain broke in. “He left us all +together in the dining-room, you, Horace and Robin and Lady Margaret and Mary +... Miss Trevert and her mother, you know,” he added by way of +explanation to the Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“And he went straight to the library?” +</p> + +<p> +“Straight away, Mr. Humphries, sir,” broke in Bude. “Mr. +Parrish crossed me in the hall and gave me particular instructions that he was +not to be disturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was at what time?” +</p> + +<p> +“About two-thirty, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you were the last person to see him before ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no ... that is, unless ...” +</p> + +<p> +The butler hesitated, casting a quick glance round his audience. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” rapped out the Inspector, looking up from his +notebook. “Did anybody else see Mr. Parrish in spite of his +orders?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude was silent. He was looking at Greve. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said Humphries sternly. “You heard my question? +What makes you think anybody else had access to Mr. Parrish before the shot was +heard?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude made a little resigned gesture of the hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I thought ... I made sure that Mr. Greve ...” +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s tense silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” snapped Humphries. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to say I made certain that Mr. Greve was going to Mr. +Parrish in the library to tell him tea was ready. Mr. Greve passed me in the +hall and went down the library corridor just after I had served the tea.” +</p> + +<p> +All eyes turned to Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s perfectly true,” he said. “I went out into the +gardens for a mouthful of fresh air just before tea. I left the house by the +side door off the corridor here. I didn’t go to the library, though. It +is an understood thing in this house that no one ever disturbs Mr. Parrish when +he ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Mary,” he cried, “you mustn’t come in +here!” +</p> + +<p> +All turned round at his loud exclamation. Mary Trevert stood in the doorway. +Dr. Romain darted forward. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said soothingly, “you mustn’t be here +...” +</p> + +<p> +Passively she let him lead her into the corridor. The Inspector continued his +examination. +</p> + +<p> +“At what time did you come along this corridor, sir?” he asked +Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“It was not long after the tea gong went,” answered Robin, +“about ten minutes past five, I should say ...” +</p> + +<p> +“And you heard nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely nothing,” he replied. “The corridor was perfectly +quiet. I stepped out into the grounds, went for a turn round the house, but it +was raining, so I came in almost at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“At what time was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I came in ... oh, about two or three minutes later, say about a +quarter past five.” +</p> + +<p> +Humphries turned to Horace Trevert. +</p> + +<p> +“What time was it when Miss Trevert heard the shot?” +</p> + +<p> +Horace puckered up his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “I don’t quite know. We were having +tea. It wasn’t much after five—I should say about a quarter +past.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the shot that Miss Trevert heard would have been fired just about +the time that you, sir,” he turned to Robin, “were coming in from +your stroll.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhere about that time, I should say!” Robin answered rather +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear it?” queried the Inspector. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“But surely you must have been at or near the side door at the time as +you were coming in ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I came in by the front door,” said Robin, “on the other side +of the house ...” +</p> + +<p> +Very carefully the Inspector closed his notebook, thrust the pencil back in its +place along the back, fastened the elastic about the book, and turned to Horace +Trevert. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, sir, if I might speak to Miss Trevert alone for a minute +...” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, though,” expostulated Horace, “my sister’s +awfully upset, you know. Is it absolutely necessary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, sir, it is!” said the Inspector. “But there’s no +need for me to see her in here. Perhaps in some other room ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The drawing-room is next to this,” the butler put in; +“they’d be nice and quiet in there, Sir Horace.” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector acquiesced. Dr. Redstone drew him aside for a whispered colloquy. +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector came back to Robin and Horace. +</p> + +<p> +“The doctor would like to have the body taken upstairs to Mr. +Parrish’s room,” he said. “He wishes to make a more detailed +examination if Dr. Romain would help him. If one of you gentlemen could give +orders about this ... I have two officers outside who would lend a hand. And +this room must then be shut and locked. Sergeant Harris!” he called. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir!” +</p> + +<p> +A stout sergeant appeared at the library door. +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as the body has been removed, you will lock the room and bring +the key to me. And you will return here and see that no one attempts to get +into the room. Understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yessir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve called Inspector Humphries as the latter was preparing to follow +Bude to the drawing-room. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish seems to have written a note for Miss Trevert,” he +said, pointing at the desk. “And in that envelope you will find Mr. +Parrish’s will. I discovered it there on the desk just before you +arrived!” +</p> + +<p> +Again the Inspector shot one of his swift glances at the young man. He went +over to the desk, shook the document and letter from their envelope, glanced at +them, and replaced them. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t rightly know that this concerns me, gentlemen,” he +said slowly. “I think I’ll just take charge of it. And I’ll +give Miss Trevert her letter.” +</p> + +<p> +Taking the two envelopes, he tramped heavily out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Then in a little while Bude and Jay and two bucolic-looking policemen came to +the library to move the body of the master of Harkings. Robin stood by and +watched the little procession pass slowly with silent feet across the soft pile +carpet and out into the corridor. But his thoughts were not with Parrish. He +was haunted by the look which Mary Trevert had given him as she had stood for +an instant at the library door, a look of fear, of suspicion. And it made his +heart ache. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +THE LETTER</h2> + +<p> +The great drawing-room of Harkings was ablaze with light. The cluster of lights +in the heavy crystal chandelier and the green-shaded electric lamps in their +gilt sconces on the plain white-panelled walls coldly lit up the formal, +little-used room with its gilt furniture, painted piano, and huge marble +fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +This glittering Louis Seize environment seemed altogether too much for the +homely Inspector. Whilst waiting for Mary Trevert to come to him, he tried +several attitudes in turn. The empty hearth frightened him away from the +mantelpiece, the fragile appearance of a gilt settee decided him against +risking his sixteen stone weight on its silken cushions, and the vastness of +the room overawed him when he took up his position in the centre of the +Aubusson carpet. Finally he selected an ornate chair, rather more solid-looking +than the rest, which he drew up to a small table on the far side of the room. +There he sat down, his large red hands spread out upon his knees in an attitude +of singular embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +But Mary Trevert set him quickly at his ease when presently she came to him. +She was pale, but quite self-possessed. Indeed, the effort she had made to +regain her self-control was so marked that it would have scarcely escaped the +attention of the Inspector, even if he had not had a brief vision of her as she +had stood for that instant at the library door, pale, distraught, and +trembling. He was astonished to find her cool, collected, almost business-like +in the way she sat down, motioned him to his seat, and expressed her readiness +to tell him all she knew. +</p> + +<p> +The phrases he had been laboriously preparing—“This has been a bad +shock for you, ma’am”; “You will forgive me, I’m sure, +ma’am, for calling upon you at a moment such as this”—died +away on his lips as Mary Trevert said: +</p> + +<p> +“Ask me any questions you wish, Inspector. I will tell you everything I +can.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very good of you, ma’am, I’m sure,” +answered the Inspector, unstrapping his notebook, “and I’ll try and +not detain you long. Now, then, tell me what you know of this sad affair +...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert plucked an instant nervously at her little cambric handerchief in +her lap. Then she said: +</p> + +<p> +“I went to the library from the billiard-room ...” +</p> + +<p> +“A moment,” interposed the Inspector. “What time was +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little after five. The tea gong had gone some time. I was going to the +library to tell Mr. Parrish that tea was ready ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Humphries made a note. He nodded to show he was listening. +</p> + +<p> +“I crossed the hall and went down the library corridor. I knocked on the +library door. There was no reply. Then I heard a shot and a sort of +thud.” +</p> + +<p> +Despite her effort to remain calm, the girl’s voice shook a little. She +made a little helpless gesture of her hands. A diamond ring she was wearing on +her finger caught the light and blazed for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I got frightened. I ran back along the corridor to the lounge where +the others were and told them.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you knocked at the door, you say there was no reply. I suppose, +now, you tried the handle first.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Mr. Parrish would have heard the two sounds? The turning of the +handle and then the knocking on the door? That’s so, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I suppose so ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you say there was no reply?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. None at all.” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector jotted a word or two in his notebook as it lay open flat upon the +table. +</p> + +<p> +“The shot, then, was fired immediately after you had knocked? Not while +you were knocking?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I knocked and waited, expecting Mr. Parrish to answer. Instead of +him answering, there came this shot ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. And after the shot was fired there was a crash?” +</p> + +<p> +“A sort of thud—like something heavy falling down.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you heard no groan or cry?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl knit her brows for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I ... I ... was frightened by the shot. I ... I ... don’t seem +able to remember what happened afterwards. Let me think ... let me think +...” +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” said the Inspector paternally, “don’t +upset yourself like this. Just try and think what happened after you heard the +shot fired ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert shuddered, one slim white hand pressed against her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“I do remember now,” she said, “there <i>was</i> a cry. It +was more like a sharp exclamation ...” +</p> + +<p> +“And then you heard this crash?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl had somewhat regained her self-possession. She dabbed her eyes with +her handkerchief quickly as though ashamed of her weakness. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Humphries, clearing his throat, as though to indicate +that the conversation had changed, “you and Lady Margaret Trevert knew +Mr. Parrish pretty well, I believe, Miss Trevert. Have you any idea why he +should have done this thing?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert shook her dark head rather wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“It is inconceivable to me ... to all of us,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you happen to know whether Mr. Parrish had any business +worries?” +</p> + +<p> +“He always had a great deal of business on hand and he has had a great +deal to do lately over some big deal.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it, do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was raising fresh capital for Hornaway’s—that is the big +engineering firm he controls ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know if he was pleased with the way things were shaping?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. He told me last night that everything would be finished this +week. He seemed quite satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector paused to make a note. +</p> + +<p> +Then he thrust a hand into the side-pocket of his tunic and produced Hartley +Parrish’s letter. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” he said, eyeing the girl as he handed her the letter, +“may throw some light on the affair!” +</p> + +<p> +Open-eyed, a little surprised, she took the plain white envelope from his hand +and gazed an instant without speaking, on the bold sprawling address— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>“Miss Mary Trevert.”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Open it, please,” said the Inspector gently. +</p> + +<p> +The girl tore open the envelope. Humphries saw her eyes fill, watched the +emotion grip her and shake her in her self-control so that she could not speak +when, her reading done, she gave him back the letter. +</p> + +<p> +Without asking her permission, he took the sheet of fine, expensive paper with +its neat engraved heading and postal directions, and read Hartley +Parrish’s last message. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +My dear [it ran], I signed my will at Bardy’s office yesterday, and he +sent it back to me to-day. Just this line to let you know you are properly +provided for should anything happen to me. I wanted to fix things so that you +and Lady Margaret would not have to worry any more. I just had to <i>write</i>. +I guess you understand why. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +H. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long and impressive silence while the Inspector deliberately read +the note. Then he looked interrogatively at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“We were engaged, Inspector,” she said. “We were to have been +married very soon.” +</p> + +<p> +A deep flush crept slowly over Mr. Humphries’s florid face and spread +into the roots of his tawny fair hair. +</p> + +<p> +“But what does he mean by ‘having to write’?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The girl replied hastily, her eyes on the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish was under the impression that ... that ... without his money +I should not have cared for him. That is what he means ...” +</p> + +<p> +“You knew he had provided for you in his will?” +</p> + +<p> +“He told me several times that he intended to leave me everything. You +see, he has no relatives!” +</p> + +<p> +“I see!” said the Inspector in a reflective voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Had he any enemies, do you know? Anybody who would drive him to a thing +like this?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head vehemently. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +The monosyllable came out emphatically. Again the Inspector darted one of his +quick, shrewd glances at the girl. She met his scrutiny with her habitual +serene and candid gaze. The Inspector dropped his eyes and scribbled in his +book. +</p> + +<p> +“Was his health good?” +</p> + +<p> +“He smoked far too much,” the girl said, “and it made him +rather nervy. But otherwise he never had a day’s illness in his +life.” +</p> + +<p> +Humphries ran his eye over the notes he had made. +</p> + +<p> +“There is just one more question I should like to ask you, Miss +Trevert,” he said, “rather a personal question.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert’s hands twisted the cambric handkerchief into a little ball +and slowly unwound it again. But her face remained quite calm. +</p> + +<p> +“About your engagement to Mr. Parrish ... when did it take place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some days ago. It has not yet been announced.” +</p> + +<p> +The Inspector coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I was only wondering whether, perhaps, Mr. Parrish was not quite ... +whether he was, maybe, a little disturbed in his mind about the engagement +...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl hesitated. Then she said firmly: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish was perfectly happy about it. He was looking forward to our +being married in the spring.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Humphries shut his notebook with a snap and rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said with a little formal +bow. “If you will excuse me now. I have the doctor to see again and +there’s the Coroner to be warned ...” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed again and tramped towards the door with a tread that made the +chandelier tinkle melodiously. +</p> + +<p> +The door closed behind him and his heavy footsteps died away along the +corridor. Mary Trevert had risen to her feet calm and impassive. But when he +had gone, her bosom began to heave and a spasm of pain shot across her face. +Again the tears welled up in her eyes, brimmed over and stole down her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“If I only <i>knew!</i>” she sobbed, “if I only +<i>knew!</i>” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +VOICES IN THE LIBRARY</h2> + +<p> +The swift tragedy of the winter afternoon had convulsed the well-organized +repose of Hartley Parrish’s household. Nowhere had his master grasp of +detail been seen to better advantage than in the management of his country +home. Overwhelmed with work though he constantly was, accustomed to carry his +business and often part of his business staff to Harkings with him for the +week-ends, there was never the least confusion about the house. The methodical +calm of Harkings was that of a convent. +</p> + +<p> +Hartley Parrish was wont to say that he paid his butler and housekeeper well to +save himself from worry. It was rather to ensure his orders being punctiliously +and promptly carried out. His was the mind behind the method which ensured that +meals were punctually served and trains at Stevenish Station never missed. +</p> + +<p> +But it was into a house in turmoil that Mary Trevert stepped when she left the +drawing-room and passed along the corridor to go to her room. Doors slammed and +there was the heavy thud of footsteps on the floor above. The glass door +leading into the gardens was open, as Mary passed it, swinging in the gusts of +cold rain. In the gardens without there was a confused murmur of voices and the +flash of lanterns. +</p> + +<p> +In the hall a knot of servants were gossiping in frightened whispers with a +couple of large, rather bovine country constables who, bareheaded, without +their helmets, which they held under their arms, looked curiously undressed. +</p> + +<p> +The whispers died away as Mary crossed the hall. All eyes followed her with +interest as she went. It was as though an echo of her talk with the Inspector +had by some occult means already spread through the little household. Through +the half-open green baize door leading to the servants’ quarters some +unseen person was bawling down the telephone in a heated controversy with the +exchange about a long-distance call to London. And but an hour since, the girl +reflected sadly, as she mounted the oaken staircase, the house had been wrapt +in its wonted evening silence in response to that firm and dominating +personality who had passed out in the gloom of the winter twilight. +</p> + +<p> +When, about six months before, Mary and her mother had begun to be regular +visitors at Harkings, Hartley Parrish had insisted on giving Mary a boudoir to +herself. This, in response to a chance remark of Mary’s in admiration of +a Chinese room she had seen at a friend’s house, Parrish had had +decorated in the Chinese style with black walls and black-and-gold lacquer +furniture. The room had been transformed from a rather prosaic morning-room +with old oak and chintz in the space of three days as a surprise for Mary. She +remembered now how Parrish had left her to make the discovery of the change for +herself. She loved colour and line, and the contrast between this quaint and +delightful room with her rather shabby bedroom in her mother’s small +house in Brompton had made this surprise one of the most delightful she had +ever experienced. +</p> + +<p> +She rang the bell and sat down listlessly in a charmingly lacquered Louis Seize +armchair in front of the log-fire blazing brightly in the fireplace. She was +conscious that a great disaster had overtaken her, but only dimly conscious. +For more poignantly than this dull sense of tragedy she was aware of a great +aching at her heart, and her thoughts, after hovering over the events of the +afternoon, settled down upon her talk that afternoon ... already how far off it +seemed ... with Robin Greve in the library. +</p> + +<p> +Robin had always been her hero. She could see him now in the glow of the fire +as he had been when in the holidays he had come and snatched her away from a +home already drab and difficult for a matinée and an orgy of cream cakes at +Gunter’s afterwards. He was then a long, slim, handsome boy of +irrepressible spirits and impulsive generosity which usually left him, after +the first few days of his holidays, in a state of lamentable impecuniosity. All +their lives, it seemed to her, they had been friends, but with no stronger +feeling between them until Robin, having joined the Army on the outbreak of +war, had come to say good-bye on being ordered to France. +</p> + +<p> +But by that time money troubles at home with which, as it seemed to her, she +had been surrounded all her life, had grown so pressing that, apart from Lady +Margaret’s reiterated counsels, she herself had come to recognize that a +suitable marriage was the only way out of their ever-increasing embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +She and Robin, she recalled with a feeling of relief, had never discussed the +matter. He, too, had understood and had sailed for France without seeking to +take advantage of the circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +Outside in the black night a car throbbed. Footsteps crunched the gravel +beneath her window. The sounds brought her back to the present with a sudden +pang. She began to think of Hartley Parrish. All her life she had been so very +poor that, until she had met this big, vigorous, intensely vital man, she had +never known what a lavish command of money meant. Hartley Parrish did things in +a big way. If he wanted a thing he bought it, as he had bought Bude, as he had +bought a car he had seen standing outside a Pall Mall club and admired. He had +rooted the owner out, bade him name his price, and had paid it, there and then, +by cheque, and driven Mary off to a lawn tennis tournament at Queen’s, +hugely delighted by her bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +She did not love him. She could never have learnt to love him. There was a +gleeful zest in his enjoyment of his money, an ostentatious parade of his +riches which repelled her. And there was a look in his face, those narrow eyes, +that hard mouth, which revealed to her womanly intuition a ruthlessness which +she guessed he kept for his business. But she liked him, especially his +reverent and chivalrous devotion to her, and the thought that his dominating +and vital personality was extinguished for ever made her conscious of a great +void in her life. +</p> + +<p> +And now she was rich. Hartley Parrish’s idea of “proper +provision” for her, she knew, meant wealth for her beyond anything she +had ever dreamed. The perpetual debasing struggle with poverty which she and +her mother had carried on for years was a thing of the past. Money meant +freedom, freedom to live ... and to love. +</p> + +<p> +She stretched her hands out to the blaze. Was she free to love? What had driven +Hartley Parrish to suicide? Or who? She went over in her mind her interview +with Robin Greve in the billiard-room. He had spoken of other women in +connection with Hartley Parrish. Had he used that knowledge to threaten his +rival? What had Robin done after he had left her that afternoon with his final +taunt? +</p> + +<p> +She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as she thought of it. Mary Trevert had +all the pride of her ancient race. The recollection of that taunt galled her. +Her loyalty to the man from whom she had received nothing but chivalry, whose +fortune was to banish a hideous nightmare from her life, rose up in arms. What +had Robin done? She must know the truth ... +</p> + +<p> +A tap came at the door. Bude appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you rang, Miss,” he said in his quiet, deep voice. +“I was with the Inspector, Miss, and I couldn’t come before. Was +there anything?...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in and shut the door, Bude,” she said. “I want to speak +to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The butler obeyed and came over to where she sat. He seemed ill at ease and +rather apprehensive. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” said the girl, “I want you to tell me why you were +certain that Mr. Greve was going to Mr. Parrish in the library when he passed +you in the hall this afternoon!” +</p> + +<p> +The butler smoothed his hands down his trousers in embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought he ... Mr. Greve ... would be sure to be going to fetch Mr. +Parrish in to tea, Miss ...” he replied, eyeing the girl anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert continued gazing into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“You know it is a rule in this house, Bude,” she said, “that +Mr. Parrish is never disturbed in the library ...” +</p> + +<p> +The butler changed his position uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss, but I thought ...” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly Mary Trevert turned and looked at the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,”—her voice was very calm,—“I want you to +tell me the truth. You know that Mr. Greve went in to Mr. Parrish ...” +</p> + +<p> +Bude looked uneasily about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Miss,” he answered, almost in a whisper, “whatever are +you saying?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want your answer, Bude,” the girl said coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Bude did not speak. He rubbed his hands up and down his trousers in +desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to know why Mr. Parrish did this thing, Bude. I mean to know. And +I think you are keeping something back!” +</p> + +<p> +The challenge resounded clearly, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert, ma’am,” the butler said in a low voice, +“I wouldn’t take it upon me to say anything as would get anybody in +this house into trouble....” +</p> + +<p> +“You saw Mr. Greve go into Mr. Parrish?” +</p> + +<p> +The butler raised his hands in a quick gesture of denial. +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid, Miss!” he ejaculated in horror. +</p> + +<p> +“What, then, do you know that is likely to get anybody here into +trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +The butler hesitated an instant. Then he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“That Inspector Humphries has been asking me questions, Miss, in a nasty, +suspicious sort o’ way. I told him, what I told him already, that just +after I’d done serving the tea Mr. Greve crossed the hall and went down +the library corridor....” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t tell him everything, Bude?” +</p> + +<p> +The butler took a step nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Miss,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you’ll +pardon my frankness, but I know as how you and Mr. Greve are old friends, and I +wouldn’t take it upon me to tell the police anything as might ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert stood up and faced the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” said she, “Mr. Parrish was your master, a kind and +generous master as he was kind and generous to every one in this house. We must +clear up the mystery of his ... of his death. Neither you nor I nor Mr. Greve +nor anybody must stand in the way. Now, tell me the truth!” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped back into her chair. She gave the order imperiously like the +mistress of the house. The butler, trained through life to receive orders, +surrendered. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing much to tell, Miss. When Mr. Humphries asked me if +I were the last person to see Mr. Parrish alive, I made sure that Mr. Greve +would say he had been in to tell him tea was ready. But Mr. Greve, who heard +the Inspector’s question and my answer, said nothing. So I thought, +maybe, he had his reasons and I did not feel exactly as how it was my place +...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert tapped with her foot impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“But what grounds have you for saying that Mr. Greve went in to Mr. +Parrish? Mr. Greve declared quite positively that he went out by the side door +and did not go into the library at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Miss, I heard him speaking to Mr. Parrish ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned round and the man saw fear in her wide-open eyes. +</p> + +<p> +The butler put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned forward. +</p> + +<p> +“Better leave things where they are, Miss,” he said in a low voice. +“Mr. Parrish, I dare say, had his reasons. He’s gone to his last +account now. What does it matter why he done it ...” +</p> + +<p> +The man was agitated, and in his emotion his carefully studied English was +forsaking him. +</p> + +<p> +But the girl broke in incisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Please explain what you mean!” she commanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Miss,” replied the butler, “we know that Mr. Greve had +no call to like Mr. Parrish seeing how things were between you and the master +...” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the servants know that Mr. Parrish and I were engaged +...” +</p> + +<p> +Bude made a deprecatory gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Know, Miss? I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘know.’ But +there has been some talk in the servants’ ’all, Miss. You know what +young female servants are, Miss ...” +</p> + +<p> +“And you think that Mr. Greve went to Mr. Parrish to talk about ... +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert’s voice faltered a little. She looked eagerly at the +other’s fat, smooth face. +</p> + +<p> +“I presoomed as much, Miss, I must confess!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what did you hear Mr. Greve say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard nothing, Miss, except just only the sound of voices. After Mr. +Greve had crossed me in the hall, I took the salver I was carrying into the +butler’s pantry. I stayed there a minute or two, and then I remembered I +had not collected the letters from the box in the hall for the chauffeur to +take to the post, the same as he does every evening. I went back to the hall, +and just as I opened the green baize door I heard voices from the library +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it Mr. Greve’s voice?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot say, Miss. It was just the sound of voices, rather loud-like. I +caught the sound because the door leading from the hall to the library corridor +was ajar. Mr. Greve must have forgotten to shut it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Miss, I closed the corridor door ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Miss, seeing the voices sounded angry-like, I thought perhaps it +would be better not to let any one else hear.... And Mr. Greve looked +upset-like when he passed me. He gave me quite a turn, he did, when I saw his +face under the hall lamp....” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you stay there ... and listen?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude drew himself up. +</p> + +<p> +“That is not my ’abit, Miss, not ’ere nor in hany of the +’ouses where I ’ave seen service....” +</p> + +<p> +The butler broke off. The <i>h</i>’s were too much for him in his +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean to suggest anything underhand,” the girl said +quickly. “I mean, did you hear any more?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss. I emptied the letter-box and took the letters to the +servants’ hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Mary in a puzzled way, “why do you say it was Mr. +Greve if you didn’t hear his voice?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude spread out his hands in bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Who else should it have been, Miss? Sir Horace and the doctor were in +the lounge at tea. Jay and Robert were in the servants’ hall. It could +have been nobody else....” +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s head sank slowly on her breast. She was silent. The butler +shifted his position. +</p> + +<p> +“Was there anything more, Miss?” he asked after a little while. +</p> + +<p> +“There is nothing further, thank you, Bude,” replied Mary. +“About Mr. Greve, I am sure there must be some mistake. He cannot have +understood Mr. Humphries’s question. I’ll ask him about it when I +see him. I don’t think I should say anything to the Inspector about it, +at any rate, not until I’ve seen Mr. Greve. He’ll probably speak to +you about it himself....” +</p> + +<p> +Bude made a motion as though he were going to say something. Then apparently he +thought better of it, for he made a little formal bow and in his usual slow and +dignified manner made his exit from the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +ROBIN GOES TO MARY</h2> + +<p> +The house telephone, standing on the long and gracefully designed desk with its +elaborately lacquered top, whirred. Mary started from her reverie in her chair +by the fire. By the clock on the mantelshelf she saw that it was a quarter past +eight. She remembered that once her mother had knocked at her door and bidden +her come down to dinner. She had refused the invitation, declining to unlock +the door. +</p> + +<p> +She lifted the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“That you, Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin was speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“May I come up and see you? Or would you rather be left alone?” +</p> + +<p> +His firm, pleasant voice greatly comforted her. Only then she realized how +greatly she craved sympathy. But the recollection of Bude’s story +suddenly interposed itself like a barrier between them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, come up,” she said, “I want to speak to you!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was dispirited, +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to see him,” she told herself as she replaced +the receiver, got up, and unlocked the door, “but I must +<i>know</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +A gentle tap came at the door. Robin came in quickly and crossed to where she +stood by the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” he said and put out his two hands. +</p> + +<p> +Her hands were behind her back, the fingers nervously intertwining. She kept +them there and made no sign that she had observed his gesture. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at her in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“This has been terrible for you, Mary,” he said. “I wish to +God I could make you realize how very, very much I feel for you in what you +must be going through....” +</p> + +<p> +The phrase was formal and he brought it out irresolutely, chilled as he was by +her reception. She was looking at him dispassionately, her forehead a little +puckered, her eyes a trifle hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you sit down,” she said. “There is something I +wanted to say!” +</p> + +<p> +He was looking at her now in a puzzled fashion. With rather feigned +deliberation he chose a chair and sat down facing the fire. A lamp on the +mantelpiece—the only light in the room—threw its rays on his face. +His chin was set rather more squarely than his wont and his eyes were shining. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,”—he leant forward towards her,—“please +forget what I said this afternoon. It was beastly of me, but I hardly knew what +I was doing....” +</p> + +<p> +She made a little gesture as if to wave his apology aside. Then, with her hands +clasped in front of her, scanning the nails, she asked, almost casually: +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say to Hartley Parrish in the library this +afternoon?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin stared at her in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“But I was not in the library!” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +The girl dropped her hands sharply to her side. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t quibble with me, Robin,” she said. “What did you +say to Hartley Parrish after you left me this afternoon in the +billiard-room?” +</p> + +<p> +He was still staring at her, but now there was a deep furrow between his brows. +He was breathing rather hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not speak to Parrish at all after I left you.” +</p> + +<p> +His answer was curt and incisive. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” Mary said, “that, after you left me +and went down the corridor towards the library, you neither went in to Hartley +nor spoke to him!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how do you account for the fact that, almost immediately after you +had crossed Bude in the hall, he heard the sound of voices in the +library?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve stood up abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude, you say, makes this statement?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly!” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom, may I ask?” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke sharply and there was a challenging ring in his voice. It nettled the +girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Only to me,” she said quickly, and added: “You needn’t +think he has told the police!” +</p> + +<p> +Very deliberately Robin plucked his handkerchief from his sleeve, wiped his +lips, and replaced it. The girl saw that his hands were trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that to me?” he demanded rather fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert shrugged her shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“This afternoon,” she said, “when I told you of my engagement +to Hartley, you began by abusing him to me, you rushed from the room making +straight for the library where we all know that Hartley was working, and a few +minutes after Bude hears voices raised in anger proceeding from there. The next +thing we know is that Hartley has ...” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off and looked away. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,”—Robin’s voice was grave, and he had mastered +all signs of irritation,—“you and I have known one another all our +lives. You ought to know me well enough by now to understand that I don’t +tell you lies. When I say I haven’t seen or spoken to Hartley Parrish +since lunch this afternoon, that is the truth!” +</p> + +<p> +“How can it be the truth?” the girl insisted. “Horace and Dr. +Romain were both in the lounge-hall, Bude was in the hall, the other +menservants were in the servants’ hall. You are the only man in the house +not accounted for, and a minute before Bude heard these voices you go down the +corridor towards the library. I can understand you wanting to keep it from the +police, but why do you want to deceive <i>me</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” answered the young man sternly, “I know you’re +upset, but that’s no justification for persisting in this stupid charge +against me. I tell you I never saw Parrish or spoke to him, either, between +lunch and when I saw him lying dead in the library. I am not going to repeat +the denial. But you may as well understand now that I am not in the habit of +allowing my friends to doubt my word!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary flamed up at his tone. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are my friend,” she cried, “why can’t you trust +me? Why should I find this out from Bude? Why should I be humiliated by hearing +from the butler that he kept this evidence from the police in order to please +me because you and I are friends? I am only trying to help you, to shield you +...” +</p> + +<p> +“That will do, Mary,” he said. “No, you must hear what I have +to say. If you insist on disbelieving me, you must. But I don’t want you +to help me. I don’t want you to shield me. I shall make it my business to +see that Bude’s evidence is brought before the detective inspector from +Scotland Yard who is being brought down here to handle the case ...” +</p> + +<p> +“A detective from Scotland Yard?” the girl repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a detective. Humphries is puzzled by several points about this case +and has asked for assistance from London. He is right. Neither the +circumstances of Parrish’s death nor the motive of his act are clear. +Bude’s evidence is sufficient proof that somebody did gain access to the +library this afternoon. In that case....” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes....” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” said Greve slowly, “it may not be +suicide....” +</p> + +<p> +Mary put one hand suddenly to her face as women do when they are frightened. +She shrank back. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean....” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Murder!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl gave a little gasp. Then she stretched out her hand and touched his +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Robin,” she spoke in quick gasps,—“you +can’t give the police this evidence of Bude’s. Don’t you see +it incriminates <i>you?</i> Don’t you realize that every scrap of +evidence points to you as being the man that visited Mr. Parrish in the library +this afternoon? You’re a lawyer, Robin. You understand these things. +Don’t you see what I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” he replied coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude will do what I tell him,” the girl hurried on. “There +is no need for the police to know....” +</p> + +<p> +“On the contrary,” said the other imperturbably, “it is +essential they should be told at once.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl grasped the lapels of his coat in her two hands. Her breath came +quickly and she trembled all over. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad, Robin?” she cried. “Who could have wanted to +kill poor Hartley? Why should you put these ideas into the heads of the police? +Bude may have imagined everything. Now, you’ll be sensible, promise +me....” +</p> + +<p> +Very gently he detached the two slim hands that held his coat. His mouth was +set in a firm line. +</p> + +<p> +“We are going to sift this thing to the bottom, Mary,” he said, +“no matter what are the consequences. You owe it to Parrish and you owe +it to me....” +</p> + +<p> +The telephone trilled suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Robin picked up the receiver, +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Bude,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s silence in the room broken as the clock on the +mantelpiece chimed nine times. Then Robin said into the telephone: +</p> + +<p> +“Right! Tell him I’ll be down immediately!” +</p> + +<p> +He put down the receiver and turned to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“A detective inspector has arrived from London. He is asking to see me. I +must go downstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary, her elbows on the mantelpiece, was staring into the fire. At the sound of +his voice she swung round quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +But she spoke too late. +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve had left the room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +MR. MANDERTON</h2> + +<p> +A quality which had gone far to lay the foundations of the name which Robin +Greve was rapidly making at the bar was his strong intuitive sense. He had the +rare ability of correctly ‘sensing’ an atmosphere, an uncanny +<i>flair</i> for driving instantly at the heart of a situation, which rendered +him in the courts a dexterous advocate and a redoubtable opponent. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as he came into the lounge from the big oak staircase, he instantly +realized that he had entered an unfriendly atmosphere. The concealed lights +which were set all round the cornice of the room were turned on, flooding the +pleasantly snug room with soft reflected light. A little group stood about the +fire, Bude, Jay, Hartley Parrish’s man, and a stranger. Jay was engaged +in earnest conversation with the stranger. But at the sound of Greve’s +foot upon the staircase, the conversation ceased and a silence fell on the +group. +</p> + +<p> +Greve’s attention was immediately attracted towards the stranger, whom he +surmised to be the detective from Scotland Yard. He was a big, burly man with a +heavy dark moustache, straight and rather thin black hair, and coarse features. +He looked a full-blooded, plethoric person with reddish-blue veins on his +florid face, and a heavy jowl which over-feeding, Robin surmised, had made +fullish. He was very neatly dressed in his black overcoat with velvet collar +carefully brushed, his natty black tie with its pearl pin, and well-polished +boots. His black bowler hat, with a pair of heavy dogskin gloves, neatly +folded, lay on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“This Mr. Greve?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude and Jay fell back as Robin joined the group. The detective bent his gaze +on the young barrister as he put his question, and Robin for the first time +noticed his eyes. Keen and clear, they were ill-suited, he thought, to the +rather gross features of the man. By right he should have had either the small +and roguish or the pale and expressionless eyes which are habitually found in +individuals of the sanguine temperament. +</p> + +<p> +The detective had a trick of dropping his eyes to his boots. When he raised +them, the effect was to alter his whole expression. His eyes, well-open, keenly +observant, in perpetual motion, lent an air of alertness, of shrewdness, to his +heavy, florid countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“That is my name,” said Robin, answering his question. “I am +a barrister. I have met some of your people at the Yard, but I don’t +think....” +</p> + +<p> +“Detective-Inspector Manderton,” interjected the big man, and +paused as though to say, “Let that sink in!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin knew him well by repute. His qualities were those of the bull-dog, +slow-moving, obstinately brave, and desperately tenacious. His was a name to +conjure with among the criminal classes, and his career was starred with +various sensational tussles with desperate criminals, for Detective-Inspector +Manderton, when engaged on a case, invariably “took a hand +himself,” as he phrased it, when an arrest was to be made. A bullet-hole +in his right thigh and an imperfectly knitted right collar-bone remained to +remind him of this propensity of his. His motto, as he was fond of saying, was, +“What I have I hold!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Greve,” said the detective in a loud, hectoring voice, +“perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what you know of this +affair?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin flushed angrily at the man’s manner. But there was no trace of +resentment in his voice as he replied. He told Manderton what he had already +told Humphries: how he had gone from the billiard-room across the hall and down +the library corridor to the side-door into the grounds, intending to have a +stroll before tea, but, finding that it was threatening rain, had returned to +the house by the front door. +</p> + +<p> +The detective scanned the young man’s face closely as he spoke. When +Robin had finished, the other dropped his eyes and seemed to be examining the +brilliant polish of his boots. He said nothing, and again Robin became aware of +the atmosphere of hostility towards him which this man radiated. +</p> + +<p> +“It is dark at five o’clock?” +</p> + +<p> +Manderton turned to Bude. +</p> + +<p> +“Getting on that way, sir,” the butler agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in the habit, sir,”—the detective turned to Robin +now,—“of going out for walks in the dark?” +</p> + +<p> +Greve shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I had been sitting in the billiard-room. It was rather stuffy, so I +thought I’d like some air before tea!” +</p> + +<p> +“You left Miss Trevert in the billiard-room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Greve put a hand to his throat and eased his collar. +</p> + +<p> +“The gong had sounded for tea,” the detective went on +imperturbably; “surely it would have been more natural for you to have +brought Miss Trevert with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t wish to!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton cleared his throat. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he grunted. “You didn’t wish to. I should like +you to be frank with me, Mr. Greve, please. Was it not a fact that you and Miss +Trevert had words?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up sharply at him with contracted pupils. +</p> + +<p> +“You took a certain interest in this young lady?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Manderton,”—Robin spoke with a certain +<i>hauteur</i>,—“don’t you think we might leave Miss +Trevert’s name out of this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve,” replied the detective bluntly, “I +don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin made a little gesture of resignation. +</p> + +<p> +“Before the servants....” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, sir,” the detective broke in, “with all respect +to the young lady and yourself, it was a matter of common knowledge in the +house that she and you were ... well, old friends. It was remarked, Mr. Greve, +I may remind you, that you looked very upset-like when you left the +billiard-room to”—he paused perceptibly—“to go for your +stroll in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +Robin glanced quickly round the group. Jay averted his eyes. As for Bude, he +was the picture of embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to be singularly well posted in the gossip of the +servants’ hall, Mr. Manderton!” said Robin hotly. +</p> + +<p> +It was a foolish remark, and Robin regretted it the moment the words had left +his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes,” commented the detective slowly, “I am. I shall +be well posted on the whole of this case, presently, I hope, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +His manner was perfectly respectful, but reserved almost to a tone of menace. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” said Robin, “I’ll tell you something +you don’t know, Mr. Manderton. Has Bude told you what he heard after I +had passed him in the hall?” +</p> + +<p> +Interest flashed at once into the detective’s face. He turned quickly to +the butler. Robin felt he had scored. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you hear?” he said sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Bude looked round wildly. His large, fish-like mouth twitched, and he made a +few feeble gestures with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“It was only perhaps an idea of mine, sir,” he +stammered,—“just a sort of idea ... I dare say I was mistaken. My +hearing ain’t what it was, sir....” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you try to hoodwink me,” said Manderton, with sudden +ferocity, knitting his brows and frowning at the unfortunate butler. +“Come on and tell us what you heard. Mr. Greve knows and I mean to. Out +with it!” +</p> + +<p> +Bude cast a reproachful glance at Robin. Then he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, a minute or two after Mr. Greve had passed me, I went back to +the hall and through the open door of the corridor leading to the library, I +heard voices!” +</p> + +<p> +“Voices, eh? Did you recognize them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. It was just the sound of talking!” +</p> + +<p> +“You told Miss Trevert they were loud voices, Bude!” Robin +interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the butler, “they were loudish in a +manner o’ speaking, else I shouldn’t have heard them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective rapped the question out sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, because the library door was locked, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because Miss Trevert and Dr. Romain both tried the handle and +couldn’t get in!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Manderton, “you mean the door was locked <i>when +the body was found!</i> Now, as to these voices. Were they men’s +voices?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I should say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they were deep-like!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was Mr. Hartley Parrish’s voice one of them?” +</p> + +<p> +The butler spread out his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“That I couldn’t say! I just heard the murmur-like, then shut the +passage door quickly ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I thought ... I didn’t want to listen....” +</p> + +<p> +“You thought one of the voices was Mr. Greve’s, eh? Having a row +with Mr. Parrish, eh? About the lady, isn’t that right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going rather too fast?” said Robin quietly. +</p> + +<p> +But the detective ignored him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on and answer my question, my man,” he said harshly. +“Didn’t you think it was Mr. Hartley Parrish and Mr. Greve here +having a bit of a dust-up about the young lady being engaged to Mr. +Parrish?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, perhaps I did, but....” +</p> + +<p> +Like a flash the detective turned on Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know about this?” he demanded fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Greve. “As I have told you already, I did not +see Mr. Parrish alive again after lunch, nor did I speak to him. What I would +suggest to you now is that upon this evidence of Bude’s depends the +vitally important question of how Mr. Parrish met his death. Though he was +found with a revolver in his hand, none of us in this house know of any good +motive for his suicide. I put it to you that the man who can furnish us with +this motive is the owner of the voice heard by Bude in conversation with Mr. +Parrish, since obviously nobody other than Mr. Parrish and possibly this +unknown person was in the library block at the time. And I would further +remark, Mr. Manderton, that, until the bullet has been extracted, we do not +know that Mr. Parrish killed <i>himself</i>...” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the detective significantly, “we +don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +He had dropped his eyes to the ground now and was studying the pattern of the +hearth-rug. +</p> + +<p> +“You say you heard no shot?” he suddenly asked Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“No one other than Miss Trevert, I gather, heard the shot?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton consulted a slip of paper which he drew from his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Inspector Humphries,” he said, “has drawn up a rough +time-table of events leading up to Mr. Parrish’s death, based on the +evidence he has taken here this evening. You will tell me if it tallies.” +</p> + +<p> +He read from the slip: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +5 P.M. Bude sounds the gong for tea. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +5.10 Mr. Greve passes Bude in the hall and goes down the corridor leading to +the library. Mr. Greve states he went straight out by the side door into the +gardens. +</p> + +<p> +The detective looked up from his reading. +</p> + +<p> +“At 5.12, let us say, Bude comes back from the servants’ quarters +to the hall and hears voices from the library. He closes the passage door. Is +that right?” +</p> + +<p> +Bude nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“It would be about two minutes after I saw Mr. Greve the first +time,” he agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective resumed his reading. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +5.15 P.M. Miss Trevert goes to fetch Mr. Parrish in to tea. She finds the +library door locked. Tries the handle and hears a shot. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +5.18 (say) Miss Trevert comes into the lounge hall and gives the alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir,” said Mr. Manderton briskly, “I should like to ask +you one or two further questions. Firstly, how long were you out on your stroll +in the dark?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think about two or three minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is to say, if you left the house by the side door at 5.10, you were +back in the house by 5.13.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that would be right,” Robin agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you do when you came in?” +</p> + +<p> +“I went up to my room to fetch a letter for the post.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert heard the shot fired at 5.15. Where were you at that +time?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my bedroom, I should say. I was there for a few minutes as I had to +write a cheque....” +</p> + +<p> +“And where is your bedroom?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the other wing above the billiard-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hm! A pistol shot makes a great deal of noise. It seems strange that +nobody in the house should have heard it.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Bude interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish, sir, was very particular about noise. He had the library +door and the door leading from the front hall to the library corridor specially +felted so that he should not hear any sounds from the house when he was working +in the library. That library wing was absolutely shut off from the rest of the +house. It was always uncommon quiet....” +</p> + +<p> +But the detective, ignoring him, turned to Robin again. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been round the house,” he said. “It does not seem to +me it ought to take you three or even two minutes to walk from the side door to +the front door. I should say it would be a matter of about thirty +seconds!” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” Robin answered quickly, “I didn’t say I +went straight from the side to the front door. I went through the gardens +following the path that leads to the main drive. There I turned and came back +to the front door.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you assert that you heard nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither the ‘loud voices’ which the butler heard within two +minutes of your leaving the house nor the shot fired five minutes later?” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton examined the toes of his boots carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“You heard nothing!” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened suddenly and Dr. Romain appeared. With him was the village +practitioner and Inspector Humphries. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Redstone carried in his hand a little pad of cotton wool. He bore it over +to the fireplace and unwrapping the lint showed a twisted fragment of lead +lying on the bloodstained dressing. +</p> + +<p> +“Straight through the heart and lodged in the spine,” he said. +“Death was absolutely instantaneous.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective picked up the bullet and scrutinized it closely. +</p> + +<p> +“Browning pistol ammunition,” observed Humphries; “it fits +the gun he used. There’s half a dozen spare rounds in one of the drawers +of his dressing-room upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton drew Inspector Humphries and Dr. Redstone into a corner of the +room where they conversed in undertones. Bude and Jay had vanished. Dr. Romain +turned to Robin Greve, who stood lost in a reverie, staring into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“A clear case of suicide,” he said. “The medical evidence is +conclusive on that point. A most amazing affair. I can’t conceive what +drove him to it. Why <i>did</i> he do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! why?” said Robin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +A SMOKING CHIMNEY</h2> + +<p> +A Red sun glowed dully through a thin mist when, on the following morning, +Robin Greve emerged from the side door into the gardens of Harkings. It was a +still, mild day. Moisture from the night’s rain yet hung translucent on +the black limbs of the bare trees and glistened like diamonds on the closely +cropped turf of the lawn. In the air was a pleasant smell of damp earth. +</p> + +<p> +Robin paused an instant outside the door in the library corridor and inhaled +the morning air greedily. He had spent a restless, fitful night. His sleep had +been haunted by the riddle which, since the previous evening, had cast its +shadow over the pleasant house. The mystery of Hartley Parrish’s death +obsessed him. If it was suicide,—and the doctors were both positive on +the point—the motive eluded him utterly. +</p> + +<p> +His mind, trained to logical processes of reasoning by his practice of the law, +baulked at the theory. When he thought of Hartley Parrish as he had seen him at +luncheon on the day before, striding with his quick, vigorous step into the +room, boyishly curious to know what the <i>chef</i> was giving them to eat, +devouring his lunch with obvious animal enjoyment, brimful of energy, +dominating the table with his forceful, eager personality.... +</p> + +<p> +The sound of voices in the library broke in upon his thoughts. Robin raised his +head and listened. Some one appeared to be talking in a loud voice ... no, not +talking ... rather declaiming. +</p> + +<p> +Stepping quietly on the hard gravel path, Robin turned the corner of the house +and came into view of the library window. The window-pane gaped, shattered +where Horace Trevert had broken the glass on the previous evening when +effecting an entrance into the room. Framed in the ragged outline of the +splintered glass, bulked the large form of Sergeant Harris. He stood half +turned from the window so as to catch the light on a copy of <i>The Times</i> +which he held in his red and freckled hands. He was reading aloud in stentorian +tones from a leading article. +</p> + +<p> +“While this country,” he bawled sonorously, “cannot ... in +h’our belief ... hevade ... er ... responsibility ... er ... h’m +disquieting sitwation ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me!” thought Robin to himself, “what a very +extraordinary morning pursuit for our police!” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the reading was interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +Robin heard the library door open. Then Manderton’s voice cried: +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do, thank you, Sergeant!” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ’ear me, sir?” asked the sergeant, who seemed very +much relieved to be quit of his task. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word!” was the reply. “But we’ll try with the +library door open! I’ll go back to the hall and you start again!” +</p> + +<p> +A thoughtful look on his face, Robin turned quickly and, hurrying round the +side of the house, entered by the front door. Standing by the door leading to +the library corridor he found Manderton. +</p> + +<p> +The detective did not seem particularly glad to see him. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Inspector,” said Robin affably, “you’re +early to work, I see. Having a little experiment, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Manderton nodded without replying. Then the stentorian tones of Sergeant Harris +proclaiming the views of “The Thunderer” on the Silesian situation +rolled down the corridor and struck distinctly on the ears of the listeners in +the hall. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Manderton closed the corridor door, shutting off the sound abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you said you could not hear the sergeant with the library door +shut?” queried Robin suavely. +</p> + +<p> +“With the door shut—no,” answered the detective shortly. +“But with the door open ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off significantly and dropped his eyes to his boots. +</p> + +<p> +“Would it be troubling you,” Robin struck in, “if we pushed +your experiment one step farther?” +</p> + +<p> +Manderton lifted his eyes and looked at the young man, Robin met his gaze +unflinchingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +There was no invitation in his voice, but Robin affected to disregard the +other’s coldness. +</p> + +<p> +“Let the library door be shut,” said Robin, “but leave the +glass door leading into the garden open. Then give Sergeant Harris another +trial at his reading....” +</p> + +<p> +The detective smiled rather condescendingly. +</p> + +<p> +“With the library door shut, you’ll hear nothing,” he +remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“The library window is open,” Robin retorted, “or rather it +is as good as open, as one of the two big panes is smashed....” +</p> + +<p> +His voice vibrated with eagerness. The detective looked at him curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, try if you like,” he said carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting for his assent, Robin had already plucked open the corridor +door and was halfway down the passage as the other replied. He was back again +almost at once and, motioning the detective to silence, took his place at his +side by the open door. Then the sound of the policeman’s voice was heard +from the corridor. It was muffled and indistinct so that the sense of his words +could not be made out. But the voice was audible enough. +</p> + +<p> +Robin turned to the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude could make out no words,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“But how do we know that the glass door was open?” queried the +detective sceptically. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I left it open myself,” Robin countered promptly, +“when I went out for my walk before tea. Sir Horace told me that he found +the door banging about in the wind when he went out to get into the library by +the window.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton allowed his fat, serious face to expand very slowly into a broad, +superior smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t it seem a little curious,” he said, “that Mr. +Hartley Parrish should choose to sit and work in the library on a gusty and +dark winter evening with the window wide open? You’ll allow, I think, +that the window was not broken until after his death ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin’s nerves were ragged. The man’s tone nettled him exceedingly. +But he confined himself to making a little gesture of impatience. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, sir,” said Mr. Manderton, very decidedly, “I prefer +to think that the library door was open, left open by the party who went in to +speak to Mr. Parrish yesterday afternoon ... and who knows more about the +gentleman’s suicide than he would have people think ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin boiled over fairly at this. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God, man!” he exclaimed, “do you accept this theory of +suicide as blandly as all that? Have you examined the body? Don’t you use +your eyes? I tell you ... bah, what’s the use? I’m not here to do +your work for you!...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said the detective, quite unruffled, “you are not. +And I think I’ll continue to see about it myself!” +</p> + +<p> +With that he opened the corridor door and vanished down the passage. +</p> + +<p> +With great deliberation Robin selected a cigarette from his case, lit it, and +walked out through the front door into the fresh air again. More than ever he +felt the riddle of Hartley Parrish’s death weighing upon his mind. +</p> + +<p> +His intuitive sense rebelled against the theory of suicide, despite the medical +evidence, despite the revolver in the dead man’s hand, despite the +detective’s assurance. And floating about in his brain, like the gossamer +on the glistening bushes in the gardens, were broken threads of vague +suspicions, of half-formed theories, leading from his hasty observations in the +death chamber ... +</p> + +<p> +In itself the death of Hartley Parrish left him cold. Yes, he must admit that. +But the look in Mary Trevert’s eyes, as she had urged him to shield +himself from the suspicion of having driven Hartley Parrish to his death, +haunted him. Already dimly he was beginning to realize that Hartley Parrish in +death might prove as insuperable a bar between him and Mary Trevert as ever he +had been in life ... +</p> + +<p> +She was now a wealthy woman. Hartley Parrish’s will had ensured that, he +knew. But it was not the barrier of riches that Robin Greve feared. He had +asked Mary Trevert to be his wife before there was any thought of her +inheriting Parrish’s fortune. He derived a little consolation from that +reflection. At least he could not appear as a fortune-hunter in her eyes. But, +until he could clear himself of the suspicion lurking in Mary Trevert’s +mind that he, Robin Greve, was in some way implicated in Hartley +Parrish’s death, the dead man, he felt, would always stand between them. +And so ... +</p> + +<p> +Robin pitched the stump of his cigarette into a rose bush with a little gesture +of resignation. Almost without knowing it, he had strolled into the rosery up a +shallow flight of steps cut into the bank of green turf, which ran along the +side of the house facing the library window to the corner of the house where it +met the clipped box-hedge of the Pleasure Ground. +</p> + +<p> +The rosery was a pleasant rectangle framed in a sort of rustic bower which in +the summer was covered with superb roses of every hue and variety. Gravel paths +intersected rose-beds cut into all manner of fantastic shapes where stood the +slender shoots of the young rose-trees each with its tag setting forth its +kind, for Hartley Parrish had been an enthusiastic amateur in this direction. +</p> + +<p> +Robin turned round and faced the house. From his elevation he could look down +into the library through the window with its shattered pane. He could see the +gleaming polish on Hartley Parrish’s big desk and the great arm-chair +pushed back as Hartley Parrish had pushed it from him just before his death. +</p> + +<p> +The bare poles of the woodwork festooned with the black arms of the creeping +roses, standing out dark in the fast falling winter evening, must, he +reflected, have been the last view that Hartley Parrish had had before ... +</p> + +<p> +But then he broke off his meditations abruptly. His eye had fallen on a narrow +white patch standing out on one of the uprights supporting the clambering +roses. +</p> + +<p> +It was a stout young tree, the light brown bark left adhering to its surface. +It was a long blaze on the bark on the side of the trunk which had caught his +eye. Robin walked round the gravel path until he was within a foot of the pole +to get a better view. +</p> + +<p> +The pole stood almost exactly opposite the library window. The scar in the bark +was high up and diagonal and quite freshly made, for the wood was dead white +and much splintered. +</p> + +<p> +The young man put a hand on the upright for support and leant forward, +carefully refraining from putting his foot on the soft brown mould of the +flower-bed which fringed the path between it and the rustic woodwork. Then he +ran lightly down the steps until he stood with his back to the library window. +From here he carefully surveyed the upright again, then, returning to the +rosery, began a careful scrutiny of the gravel paths and the beds. +</p> + +<p> +Apparently his search gave little result, for he presently abandoned it and +turned his attention to the wooden framework on the other side of the +rectangular rose-garden. He plunged boldly in among the rose-bushes and +examined each upright in turn. He spent about half an hour in this meticulous +investigation, and then, his boots covered with mould, his rough shooting-coat +glistening with moisture, he walked slowly down the steps and reentered the +house. +</p> + +<p> +As he was wiping the mud off his boots on the great mat in the front hall, Bude +came out of the lounge hall with a pile of dishes on a tray. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” said Robin, “can you tell me if the fire in the +library has been smoking of late?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” replied the butler, “we’ve always had +trouble with that chimdy when the wind’s in the southwest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has it been smoking lately?” The young man reiterated his question +impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +The man looked up in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, now you come to mention it, it has. As a matter o’fact, +sir, the sweep was ordered for to-day ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, Mr. Parrish had mentioned it to me ...” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +The question came out like a pistol shot. +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday, sir,” answered the butler blandly. “Just before +luncheon, it was, sir. Mr. Parrish told me to have that chimdy seen to at once. +And I telephoned for the sweep immediately after luncheon, sir ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mr. Parrish say anything else, Bude?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin eagerly scanned the butler’s fat, unimpressive countenance. Bude, +his tray held out stiffly in front of him, contracted his bushy eyebrows in +thought. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as he did, sir ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Think, man, think!” Robin urged. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said Bude, unmoved, “I believe, now I come to +think of it, that Mr. Parrish did say something about the wind blowing his +papers about ...” +</p> + +<p> +“That is to say, he had been working with the window open?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve’s question rang out sharply. It was an affirmation more than +a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, leastways I suppose so, sir ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Which window?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the one Mr. Parrish always liked to have open in the warm weather, +sir, ... the one opposite the desk. The other window was never opened, sir, +because of the dictaphone as stands in front of it. The damp affects the +mechanism ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Bude,” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +With his accustomed majesty the butler wheeled to go. In the turn of his head +as he moved there was a faint suggestion of a shake ... a shake of +uncomprehending pity. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +“... SPEED THE PARTING GUEST!”</h2> + +<p> +Dr. Romain was just finishing his breakfast as Robin Greve entered the +dining-room, a cosy oak-panelled room with a bow window fitted with cushioned +window-seats. Horace Trevert stood with his back to the fire. There was no sign +of either Lady Margaret or of Mary. Silence seemed to fall on both the doctor +and his companion as Robin came in. They wore that rather abashed look which +people unconsciously assume when they break off a conversation on an unexpected +entry. +</p> + +<p> +“Morning, Horace! Morning, Doctor!” said Robin, crossing to the +sideboard. “Any sign of Lady Margaret or Mary yet?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor had risen hastily to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I rather think Dr. Redstone is expecting me,” he said rapidly; +“I half promised to go over to Stevenish ... think I’ll just run +over. The walk’ll do me good ...” +</p> + +<p> +He looked rather wildly about him, then fairly bolted from the room. +</p> + +<p> +Robin, the cover of the porridge dish in his hand, turned and stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, whatever’s the matter with Romain?” he began. +</p> + +<p> +But Horace, who had not spoken a word, was himself halfway to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Horace!” called out Robin sharply. +</p> + +<p> +The boy stopped with his back towards the other. But he did not turn round. +</p> + +<p> +Robin put the cover back on the porridge dish and crossed the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You all seem in the deuce of a hurry this morning ...” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Still the boy made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Horace, what’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin put his hand on young Trevert’s shoulder. Horace shook him roughly +off. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to discuss it with you, Robin!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Robin deliberately swung the boy round until he faced him. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old thing,” he expostulated. “What does it all mean? +<i>What</i> won’t you discuss with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert looked straight at the speaker. His upper lip was pouted and +trembled a little. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use of talking?” he said. “You know what I +mean. Or would you like me to be plainer ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin met his gaze unflinchingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly would,” he said, “if it’s going to +enlighten me as to why you should suddenly choose to behave like a lunatic +...” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert leant back and thrust his hands into his pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“After what happened here yesterday,” he said, speaking very +clearly and deliberately, “I wonder you have the nerve to stay ...” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Horace,” said Robin quite impassively, “would you +mind being a little more explicit? What precisely are you accusing me of? What +have I done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Done?” exclaimed the young man heatedly. “Done? Good God! +Don’t you realize that you have dragged my sister into this wretched +business? Don’t you understand that her name will be bandied about before +a lot of rotten yokels at the inquest?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve’s eyes glittered dangerously. +</p> + +<p> +“I confess,” he said, with elaborate politeness, “I scarcely +understand what it has to do with me that Hartley Parrish should apparently +commit suicide within a few days of becoming engaged to your sister ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert snorted indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand, don’t you? We don’t understand +either. But, I must say, we thought <i>you</i> did!” +</p> + +<p> +With that he turned to go. But Robin caught him by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me, Horace,” he said. “I’m not going to +quarrel with you in this house of death. But you’re going to tell here +and now what you meant by that remark. Do you understand? I’m going to +know!” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert shook himself free. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly you shall know,” he answered with <i>hauteur</i>, +“but I must say I should have thought that, as a lawyer and so on, you +would have guessed my meaning without my having to explain. What I mean is +that, now that Hartley Parrish is dead, there is only one man who knows what +drove him to his death. And that’s yourself! Do you want it plainer than +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin took a step back and looked at his friend. But he did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” the boy continued, “perhaps you will realize that +your presence here is disagreeable to Mary ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Mary ask you to tell me this?” Robin broke in. +</p> + +<p> +His voice had lost its hardness. It was almost wistful. The change of tone was +so marked that it struck Horace. He hesitated an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he blurted out. “She doesn’t want to see you +again. I don’t want to be offensive, Robin..” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t apologize,” said Greve. “I quite +understand that this is your sister’s house now and, of course, I shall +leave at once. I’ll ask Jay to pack my things if you could order the car +...” +</p> + +<p> +The boy moved towards the door. Before he reached it Robin called him back. +</p> + +<p> +“Horace,” he said pleasantly, “before you go I want you to +answer me a question. Think before you speak, because it’s very +important. When you got into the library yesterday evening through the window, +you smashed the glass, didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Horace Trevert nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied, looking hard at Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“To get into the room, of course!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was the window bolted?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy stopped and thought. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said slowly, “now I come to think of it, I +don’t believe it was. No, of course, it wasn’t. I just put my arm +through the broken pane and shoved the window up. But why do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing,” answered Robin nonchalantly. “I just was +curious to know, that’s all!” +</p> + +<p> +Horace stood and looked at him for an instant. Then he went out. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of an hour later, Hartley Parrish’s Rolls-Royce glided through +the straggling main street of Stevenish. A chapel bell tinkled unmusically, and +on the pavements, gleaming with wet, went a procession of neatly dressed +townsfolk bound, prayer-book in hand, for their respective places of worship. A +newsboy, sorting out the Sunday newspapers which had just come down by train +from London, was the only figure visible on the little station platform. Robin +bought a selection. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s all about Mr. Parrish,” said the boy, +“’im as they found dead up at ’Arkings las’ night. And +the noospapers ’asn’t ’arf been sendin’ down to-day ... +reporters and photographers ... you oughter seen the crowd as come by the +mornin’ train ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what they’ll get out of Manderton,” commented Robin +rather grimly to himself as his train puffed leisurely, after the habit of +Sunday trains, into the quiet little station. +</p> + +<p> +In the solitude of his first-class smoker he unfolded the newspapers. None had +more than the brief fact that Hartley Parrish had been found dead with a pistol +in his hand, but they made up for the briefness of their reports by long +accounts of the dead man’s “meteoric career.” And, Robin +noted with relief, hitherto Mary Trevert’s name was out of the picture. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped the papers on to the seat, and, as the train steamed serenely +through the Sunday calm of the country towards London’s outer suburbs, he +reviewed in his mind such facts as he had gleaned regarding the circumstances +of his late host’s death. +</p> + +<p> +He would, he told himself, accept for the time being as <i>facts</i> what, he +admitted to himself, so far only seemed to be such. Hartley Parrish, then, had +been seated in his library at his desk with the door locked. The fire was +smoking, and therefore he had opened the window. According to Horace Trevert, +the window had not been bolted when he had entered the library, for, after +smashing the pane in the assumption that the bolt was shot, he had had no +difficulty in pushing up the window. Hartley Parrish had opened the window +himself, for on the nail of the middle finger of his left hand Robin had seen, +with the aid of the magnifying-glass, a tiny fragment of white paint. +</p> + +<p> +Who had closed it? He had no answer ready to <i>that</i> question. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as to the circumstances of the shooting. The suicide theory invited one to +believe that Hartley Parrish had got up from his desk, pushing back his chair, +had gone round it until he stood between the desk and the window, and had there +shot himself through the heart. Why should he have done this? +</p> + +<p> +Robin had no answer ready to this question either. He passed on again. Bude had +heard loud voices a very few minutes before Mary had heard the shot. That +morning’s experiments had shown that Bude could have heard these sounds +only by way of the open window of the library and the open doors of the garden +and the library corridor. Additional proof, if Bude had heard aright, that the +library window was open. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning back in his seat, his finger-tips pressed together, Robin Greve +resolutely faced the situation to which his deductions were leading him. +</p> + +<p> +“The voice heard at the open window,” he told himself, “was +the voice of the man who murdered Parrish and who closed the window, that is, +of course, if the murder theory proves more conclusive than that of +suicide.” +</p> + +<p> +This brought him back to his investigations in the rosery. The abrasure he had +discovered on the timber upright was the mark of a bullet and a mark freshly +made at that. Moreover, it had almost certainly been fired from the library +window—from the window which Parrish had opened; the angle at which it +had struck and marked the tree showed that almost conclusively. +</p> + +<p> +Yet there had been but one shot! If only he had been able to find that bullet +in the rosery! Robin thought ruefully of his long hunt among the sopping +rose-bushes. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, there had been only one shot. Mary Trevert had stated it definitely. +Besides, the bullet that had killed Hartley Parrish had been fired from his own +revolver and had been found in the body. Robin Greve felt the murder theory +collapsing about him. But the suicide theory did not stand up, either. What +possible, probable motive had Hartley Parrish for taking his own life? +</p> + +<p> +“He wasn’t the man to do it!” +</p> + +<p> +The wheels of the train took up the rhythm of the phrase and dinned it into his +ears. +</p> + +<p> +“He wasn’t the man to do it!” +</p> + +<p> +The riddle seemed more baffling than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Robin thrust one hand into his right-hand pocket to get his pipe, his other +hand into his left-hand pocket to find his pouch. His left hand came into +contact with a little ball of paper. +</p> + +<p> +He drew it out. It was the little ball of slatey-blue paper he had found on the +floor of the library beside Hartley Parrish’s dead body. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +MR. MANDERTON IS NONPLUSSED</h2> + +<p> +Horace Trevert walked abruptly into Mary’s Chinese boudoir. Lady Margaret +and the girl were standing by the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Horace, dropping into a chair, “he’s +gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” said Lady Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin,” answered the boy, “and I must say he took it very +well ...” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to tell me, Horace,” said his mother, +“that you have actually sent Robin Greve away ...?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert put her hand on her mother’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I wished it, Mother. I asked Horace to send him away ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear,” protested Lady Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +Mary interrupted her impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin Greve was impossible here. I had to ask him to go. I suppose he +can come back if ... if they want him for the inquest ...” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret was looking at her daughter in a puzzled way. She was a woman of +the world and had brought her daughter up to be a woman of the world. She knew +that Mary was not impulsive by nature. She knew that there was a wealth of good +sense behind those steady eyes. +</p> + +<p> +In response to a look from his mother, Horace got up and left the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, dear,” said the older woman, “don’t you think +you are making a mistake?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned away, one slim shoe tapping restlessly against the brass rail +of the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” her mother went on, “remember I have known Robin +Greve all his life. His father, the Admiral, was a very old friend of mine. He +was the very personification of honour. Robin is very fond of you ... no, he +has told me nothing, but I <i>know</i>. Don’t you think it is rather hard +on an old friend to turn him away just when you most want him?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a heightened colour in the girl’s face as she turned and looked +her mother in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin has not behaved like a friend, Mother,” she answered. +“He knows more than he pretends about ... about this. And he lets me find +out things from the servants when he ought to have told me himself. If he is +suspected of having said something to Hartley which made him do this dreadful +thing, he has only himself to thank. I <i>did</i> try to shield +him—before I knew. But I’m not going to do so any more. If he stays +I shall have the police suspecting me all the time. And I owe something to +Hartley ...” +</p> + +<p> +Her mother sighed a soft little sigh. She said nothing. She was a very wise +woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin left me to go to the library ... I am sure of that ...” Mary +went on breathlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” her mother asked. +</p> + +<p> +The girl hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +Then she said slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“You and I have always been good pals, Mother, so I may as well tell you. +Robin had just asked me to marry him. So I told him I was engaged to Hartley. +He went on in the most awful way, and said that I was selling myself and that I +would not be the first girl that Hartley had kept ...” +</p> + +<p> +She broke off and raised her hands to her face. Then she put her elbows on the +mantel-shelf and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it was hateful,” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +Her mother put her arm round her soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” she said, “Robin was always fond of you, and +I dare say it was a shock to him. When men feel like that about a girl they +generally say things they don’t mean ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert straightened herself up and dropped her hands to her side. She +faced her mother, the tear-drops glistening on her long lashes. +</p> + +<p> +“He meant it, every word of it. And he was perfectly right. I <i>was</i> +selling myself, and you know I was, Mother. Do you think we can go on for ever +like this, living on credit and dodging tradesmen? I meant to marry Hartley and +stick to him. But I never thought ... I never guessed ... that Robin ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I know, my dear,” her mother interposed, “I know. Perhaps it +doesn’t sound a very proper thing to say in the circumstances, but now +that poor Hartley is gone, there is no reason whatsoever why you and Robin +...” +</p> + +<p> +The Treverts were a hot-tempered race. Lady Margaret’s unfinished +sentence seemed to infuriate the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I’d marry Robin Greve as long as I thought he knew +the mystery of Hartley’s death!” she cried passionately. “I +was willing to give up my self-respect once to save us from ruin, but I +won’t do it again. I’m not surprised to find you thinking I am +ready to marry Robin and live happy ever after on poor Hartley’s money. +But I’ve not sunk so low as that! If you ever mention this to me again, +Mother, I promise you I’ll go away and never come back!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear child,” temporized Lady Margaret, eyebrows raised in +protest at this outburst, “of course, it shall be as you wish. I only +thought ...” +</p> + +<p> +But Mary Trevert was not listening. She leant on the mantel-shelf, her dark +head in her hands, and she murmured: +</p> + +<p> +“The tragedy of it! My God, the tragedy of it!” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret twisted the rings on her long white fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“The tragedy of it, my dear,” she said, “is that you have +sent away the man you love at a time when you will never need him so badly +again ...” +</p> + +<p> +There was a discreet tapping at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in!” said Lady Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +Bude appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Manderton, the detective, my lady, was wishing to know whether he +might see Miss Trevert ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Ask him to come up here,” commanded Lady Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +“He is without—in the corridor, my lady!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped back and in a moment Mr. Manderton stepped into the room, big, +burly, and determined. +</p> + +<p> +He made a little stiff bow to the two ladies and halted irresolute near the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“You wished to see my daughter, Mr. Manderton,” said Lady Margaret. +</p> + +<p> +The detective bowed again. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, too, my lady,” he said. “Allow me!” +</p> + +<p> +He closed the door, then crossed to the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +“After I had seen you and Miss Trevert last night, my lady,” he +began, “I had a talk with Mr. Jeekes, Mr. Parrish’s principal +secretary, who came down by car from London as soon as he heard the news. My +lady, I think this is a fairly simple case!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and scanned the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Jeekes tells me, my lady,” he went on presently, “that +Mr. Parrish had been suffering from neurasthenia and a weak heart brought on by +too much smoking. It appears that he had consulted, within the last two months, +two leading specialists of Harley Street about his health. One of these +gentlemen, Sir Winterton Maire, ordered him to knock off all work and all +smoking for at least three months. He will give evidence to this effect at the +inquest. Mr. Parrish disregarded these orders as he was wishful to put through +his scheme for Hornaway’s before taking a rest. Mr. Jeekes can prove +that. In these circumstances, my lady....” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret, in her black crêpe de chine dress, setting off the silvery +whiteness of her hair, was a calm, unemotional figure as she sat in her lacquer +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she asked again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the detective, “the verdict will be one of +‘Suicide whilst of unsound mind,’ and in my opinion the medical +evidence will be sufficient to bring that in. There will not be occasion, I +fancy, my lady, to probe any farther into the motives of Mr. Parrish’s +action....” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you personally satisfied”—Mary’s voice broke +in clear and unimpassioned—“are you personally satisfied, Mr. +Manderton, that Mr. Parrish shot himself?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective cast an appealing glance at the tips of his well-burnished boots. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss, I think I may say I am....” +</p> + +<p> +“And what about the evidence of Bude, who said he heard voices in the +library....” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton gave his shoulders the merest suspicion of a shrug, raised his +hands, and dropped them to his sides. +</p> + +<p> +“I had hoped, my lady,” he said, throwing a glance at Lady +Margaret, “and you, Miss, that I had made it clear that in the +circumstances we need not pursue that matter any further....” +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret rose. Her dominating personality seemed to fill the room. +</p> + +<p> +“We are extremely obliged to you, Mr. Manderton,” she said, +“for the able and discreet way in which you have handled this case. I +sometimes meet the Chief Commissioner at dinner. I shall write to Sir Maurice +and tell him my opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton reddened a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Your ladyship is too good,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Lady Margaret bowed to signify that the interview was at an end. But Mary +Trevert left her side and walked to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come downstairs with me, Mr. Manderton,” she said. +“I should like to speak to you alone for a minute!” +</p> + +<p> +She led the way downstairs through the hall and out into the drive. A pale sun +shone down from a grey and rainy sky, and the damp breeze blowing from the +sodden trees played among the ringlets of her dark hair. +</p> + +<p> +“We will walk down the drive,” she said to the detective, who, +rather astonished, had followed her. “We can talk freely out of +doors.” +</p> + +<p> +They took a dozen steps in silence. Then she said: +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it speaking to Mr. Parrish in the library?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly Mr. Greve,” replied the man without hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Why undoubtedly?” asked the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“It could have been no one else. We know that he left you hot to get at +Mr. Parrish and have words with him. Bude heard them talking with voices raised +aloud....” +</p> + +<p> +“But if the door were locked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish may have opened it and locked it again, Mr. Greve getting +out by the window. But there are no traces of that ... one would look to find +marks on the paint on the inside. Besides, a little test we made this morning +suggests that Mr. Greve spoke to Mr. Parrish through the window....” +</p> + +<p> +“Was the window open?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss, it probably was. The fire had been smoking in the library. +Mr. Parrish had complained to Bude about it. Besides, we have found Mr. +Parrish’s finger-prints on the inside of the window-frame. Outside we +found other finger-prints ... Sir Horace’s. Sir Horace was good enough to +allow his to be taken.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked at the detective quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Were there any other finger-prints except Horace’s on the +outside?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Miss,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the lodge-gates at the beginning of the drive and turned to +retrace their steps to the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Then we shall never know exactly why Mr. Parrish did this thing?” +hazarded Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton darted her a surreptitious glance. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see about that,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was menace in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert stopped. She put her hand on the detective’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Manderton,” she said, “if you are satisfied, then, +believe me, I am!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” he said,—and he spoke perfectly respectfully +though his words were blunt,—“I can well believe that!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked up quickly. She scanned his face rather apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” she asked, “I don’t +understand....” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” was the detective’s answer, given in his quiet, +level voice, “that when you attempted to mislead Inspector Humphries you +did nobody any good!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl bent her head without replying, and in silence they regained the +house. At the house door they parted, Mary going indoors while the detective +remained standing on the drive. Very deliberately he produced a short briar +pipe, cut a stub of dark plug tobacco from a flat piece he carried in his +pocket, crammed the tobacco into his pipe, and lit it. Reflectively he blew a +thin spiral of smoke into the still air. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He</i> told me about that fat butler’s evidence,” he said +to himself; “<i>he</i> put me wise about that window being open; +<i>he</i> gave me the office about the paint on the finger-nails of Mr. +H.P.” +</p> + +<p> +He ticked off each point on his fingers with the stem of his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Mr. Manderton aloud, addressing a laurel-bush. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +JEEKES</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Albert Edward Jeekes, Hartley Parrish’s principal private secretary, +lunched with Lady Margaret, Mary and Horace. Dr. Romain seemed not to have got +over his embarrassment of the morning, for he did not put in an appearance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes was an old young man who supported bravely the weight of his +Christian names, a reminder of his mother having occupied some small post in +the household of Queen Victoria the Good. He might have been any age between 35 +and 50 with his thin sandy hair, his myopic gaze, and his habitual expression +of worried perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +He was a shorthand-writer and typist of incredible dexterity and speed which, +combined with an unquenchable energy, had recommended him to Hartley Parrish. +Accordingly, in consideration of a salary which he would have been the first to +describe as “princely,” he had during the past four years devoted +some fifteen hours a day to the service of Mr. Hartley Parrish. +</p> + +<p> +He was unmarried. When not on duty, either at St. James’s Square, +Harkings, or Hartley Parrish’s palatial offices in Broad Street, he was +to be found at one of those immense and gloomy clubs of indiscriminate +membership which are dotted about the parish of St. James’s, S.W., and to +which Mr. Jeekes was in the habit of referring in Early-Victorian accents of +respect. +</p> + +<p> +“When I heard the news at the club, Miss Trevert,” said Jeekes, +“you could have knocked me down with a feather. Mr. Parrish, as all of us +knew, worked himself a great deal too hard, sometimes not knocking off for his +tea, even, and wore his nerves all to pieces. But I never dreamed it would come +to this. Ah! he’s a great loss, and what we shall do without him I +don’t know. There was a piece in one of the papers about him +to-day—perhaps you saw it?—it called him ‘one of the captains +of industry of modern England.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You were always a great help to him, Mr. Jeekes,” said Mary, who +was touched by the little man’s hero-worship; “I am sure you +realized that he appreciated you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Mr. Jeekes, rubbing the palms of his hands +together, “he did a great deal for <i>me</i>. Took me out of a City +office where I was getting two pound five a week. That’s what he did. It +was a shipping firm. I tell you this because it has a bearing, Miss Trevert, on +what is to follow. Why did he pick me? I’ll tell you. +</p> + +<p> +“He was passing through the front office with one of our principals when +he asked him, just casually, what Union Pacific stood at. The boss didn’t +know. +</p> + +<p> +“‘A hundred and eighty-seven London parity,’ says I. He +turned round and looked at me. ‘How do you know that?’ says he, +rather surprised, this being in a shipping office, you understand. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I take an interest in the markets,’ I replied. ‘Do +you?’ he says. ‘Then you might do for me,’ and tells me to +come and see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I went. He made me an offer. When I heard the figure ... my word!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes paused. Then added sadly: +</p> + +<p> +“And I had meant to work for him to my dying day!” +</p> + +<p> +They were in the billiard-room seated on the selfsame settee, Mary reflected, +on which she and Robin had sat—how long ago it seemed, though only +yesterday! Mary had carried the secretary off after luncheon in order to unfold +to him a plan which she had been turning over in her mind ever since her +conversation with the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“And what are you going to do now, Mr. Jeekes?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +The little man pursed up his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “I’ll have to get something else, I +expect. I’m not expecting to find anything so good as I had with Mr. +Parrish. And things are pretty crowded in the City, Miss Trevert, what with all +the boys back from the war, God bless ’em, and glad we are to see +’em, I’m sure. I hope you’ll realize, Miss Trevert, that +anything I can do to help to put Mr. Parrish’s affairs +straight....” +</p> + +<p> +“I was just about to say,” Mary broke in, “that I hope you +will not contemplate any change, Mr. Jeekes. You know more about Mr. +Parrish’s affairs than anybody else, and I shall be very glad if you will +stay on and help me. You know I have been left sole executrix....” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,”—the little man stammered in his +embarrassment,—“this is handsome of you. I surely thought you would +have wished to make your own arrangements, appoint your own +secretaries....” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes broke off and looked at her, blinking hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Mary. “Everything shall be as it was. I am +sure that Mr. Bardy will approve. Besides, Mr. Jeekes, I want your assistance +in something else....” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything in my power....” began Jeekes. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +She was all her old self-composed self now, a charming figure in her plain blue +serge suit with a white silken shirt and black tie—the best approach to +mourning her wardrobe could afford. Already the short winter afternoon was +drawing in. Mysterious shadows lurked in the corners of the long and narrow +room. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” said Mary, leaning forward. “I want to know why Mr. +Parrish killed himself. I mean to know. And I want you, Mr. Jeekes, to help me +to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +Something stirred ever so faintly in the remote recesses of the billiard-room. +A loose board or something creaked softly and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that?” the girl called out sharply. “Who’s +there?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes got up and walked over to the door. It was ajar. He closed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a board creaking,” he said as he resumed his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“I want your aid in finding out the motive for this terrible +deed,”—Mary Trevert was speaking again,—“I can’t +understand.... I don’t see clear....” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” said Mr. Jeekes, clearing his throat fussily, +“I fear we must look for the motive in the state of poor Mr. +Parrish’s nerves. An uncommonly high-strung man he always was, and he +smoked those long black strong cigars of his from morning till night. Sir +Winterton Maire told him flatly—Mr. Parrish, I recollect, repeated his +very words to me after Sir Winterton had examined him—that, if he did not +take a complete rest and give up smoking, he would not be answerable for the +consequences. Therefore, Miss Trevert....” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Jeekes,” answered the girl, “I knew Mr. Parrish pretty +well. A woman, you know, gets to the heart of a man’s character very +often quicker than his daily associates in business. And I know that Mr. +Parrish was the last man in the world to have done a thing like that. He was so +... so undaunted. He made nothing of difficulties. He relied wholly on himself. +That was the secret of his success. For him to have killed himself like this +makes me feel convinced that there was some hidden reason, far stronger, far +more terrible, than any question of nerves....” +</p> + +<p> +Leaning forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, Mary Trevert raised +her dark eyes to the little secretary’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Many men have a secret in their lives,” she said in a low voice. +“Do you know of anything in Mr. Parrish’s life which an enemy might +have made use of to drive him to his death?” +</p> + +<p> +Her manner was so intense that Mr. Jeekes quite lost his self-composure. He +clutched at his <i>pince-nez</i> and readjusted them upon his nose to cover his +embarrassment. The secretary was not used to gazing at beautiful women whose +expressive features showed as clearly as this the play of the emotions. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” he said presently, “I know of no such secret. +But then what do I—what does any one—know of Mr. Parrish’s +former life?” +</p> + +<p> +“We might make enquiries in South Africa?” ventured the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt if we should learn anything much through that,” said the +secretary. “Of course, Mr. Parrish had great responsibilities and +responsibility means worry....” +</p> + +<p> +A silence fell on them both. From somewhere in the dark shadows above the fire +glowing red through the falling twilight a clock chimed once. There was a faint +rustling from the neighborhood of the door. Mr. Jeekes started violently. A +coal dropped noisily into the fireplace. +</p> + +<p> +“There was something else,” said Mary, ignoring the interruption, +and paused. She did not look up when she spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“There is often a woman in cases like this,” she began reluctantly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes looked extremely uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” he said, “I beg you will not press me on that +score....” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked the girl bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“Because ... because”—Mr. Jeekes stumbled sadly over his +words—“because, dear me, there are some things which really I +couldn’t possibly discuss ... if you’ll excuse me....” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but you can discuss everything, Mr. Jeekes,” replied Mary +Trevert composedly. “I am not a child, you know. I am perfectly well +aware that there’s a woman somewhere in the life of every man, very often +two or three. I haven’t got any illusions on the subject, I assure you. I +never supposed for a moment that I was the first woman in Mr. Parrish’s +life....” +</p> + +<p> +This candour seemed to administer a knock-out blow to the little +secretary’s Victorian mind. He was speechless. He took off his +<i>pince-nez</i>, blindly polished them with his pocket-handkerchief and +replaced them upon his nose. His fingers trembled violently. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no wish to appear vulgarly curious,” the girl went +on,—Mr. Jeekes made a quick gesture of dissent,—“but I am +anxious to know whether Mr. Parrish was being blackmailed ... or anything like +that....” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, Miss Trevert, I do assure you,” the little man +expostulated in hasty denial, “nothing like that, I am convinced. At +least, that is to say ...” +</p> + +<p> +He rose to his feet, clutching the little <i>attaché</i> case which he +invariably carried with him as a kind of emblem of office. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Trevert,” he muttered, +“I should really be going. I am due at Mr. Bardy’s office at five +o’clock. He is coming up from the country specially to meet me. There is +so much to discuss with regard to this terrible affair.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“With the roads as greasy as they are,” he added, “it will +take me all my time in the car to ...” +</p> + +<p> +He cast a panic-stricken glance around him. But Mary Trevert held him fast. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t finish what you were saying about Mr. Parrish, Mr. +Jeekes,” she said impassively. The secretary made no sign. But he looked +a trifle sullen. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you realize, Mr. Jeekes,” she said, +“that other people besides myself are keenly interested in the motives +for Mr. Parrish’s suicide. The police profess to be willing to accept the +testimony of the specialists as satisfactory medical evidence about his state +of mind. But I distrust that man, Manderton. He is not satisfied, Mr. Jeekes. +He won’t rest until he knows the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary cast her a frightened glance. +</p> + +<p> +“But Mr. Manderton told me himself, Miss Trevert,” he affirmed, +“that the verdict would be, ‘Suicide while temporarily +insane,’ on Sir Winterton Maire’s evidence alone ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Manderton will get at the truth, I tell you,” she said. +“He’s that kind of man. Do you want me to find out from them? At +the inquest, perhaps?” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary put his <i>attaché</i> case down on the lounge again. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, that would be most improper, Miss Trevert,” he said. +“But your question embarrasses me. It embarrasses me very much ...” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you keeping back from me, Mr. Jeekes?” the girl demanded +imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +The secretary mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Then, as though with +an effort, he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a lady, a French lady, who draws an income from Mr. Parrish +...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl remained impassive, but her eyes grew rather hard. +</p> + +<p> +“These payments are still going on?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Jeekes hesitated. Then he nodded, +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well? Was she blackmailing ... him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” Mr. Jeekes averred hastily. “But there was some +unpleasantness some months ago ... er ... a county court action, to be precise, +about some bills she owed. Mr. Parrish was very angry about it and settled to +prevent it coming into court. But there was some talk about it ... in legal +circles ...” +</p> + +<p> +He threw a rather scared glance at the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Please explain yourself, Mr. Jeekes,” she said coldly. “I +don’t understand ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Her lawyer was Le Hagen—it’s a shady firm with a big +criminal practice. They sometimes brief Mr. Greve ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert clasped and unclasped her hands quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I quite understand, Mr. Jeekes,” she said. “You +needn’t say any more ...” +</p> + +<p> +She turned away in a manner that implied dismissal. It was as though she had +forgotten the secretary’s existence. He picked up his <i>attaché</i> case +and walked slowly to the door. +</p> + +<p> +A sharp exclamation broke from his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” he cried, “the door ... I shut it a little +while back ... look, it’s ajar!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl who stood at the fire switched on the electric light by the +mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +“Is ... is ... the door defective? Doesn’t it shut properly?” +</p> + +<p> +The little secretary forced out the questions in an agitated voice. +</p> + +<p> +The girl walked across the room and shut the door. It closed perfectly, a piece +of solid, well-fitting oak. +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean?” said Mr. Jeekes in a whisper. “You +understand, I should not wish what I told you just now about Mr. Parrish to be +overheard ...” +</p> + +<p> +They opened the door again. The dusky corridor was empty. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +A SHEET OF BLUE PAPER</h2> + +<p> +The sight of that crumpled ball of slatey-blue paper brought back to +Robin’s mind with astonishing vividness every detail of the scene in the +library. Once more he looked into Hartley Parrish’s staring, unseeing +eyes, saw the firelight gleam again on the heavy gold signet ring on the dead +man’s hand, the tag of the dead man’s bootlace as it trailed from +one sprawling foot across the carpet. Once more he felt the dark cloud of the +mystery envelop him as a mist and with a little sigh he smoothed out the +crumpled paper. +</p> + +<p> +It was an ordinary quarto sheet of stoutish paper, with a glazed surface, of an +unusual shade of blue, darker than what the stationers call +“azure,” yet lighter than legal blue. At the top right-hand corner +was typewritten a date: “Nov. 25.” Otherwise the sheet was blank. +</p> + +<p> +The curious thing about it was that a number of rectangular slits had been cut +in the paper. Robin counted them. There were seven. They were of varying sizes, +the largest a little over an inch, the smallest not more than a quarter of an +inch, in length. In depth they measured about an eighth of an inch. +</p> + +<p> +Robin stared at the paper uncomprehendingly. He remembered perfectly where he +had found it on the floor of the library at Harkings, between the dead body and +the waste-paper basket. The basket, he recalled, stood out in the open just +clear of the desk on the left-hand side. From the position in which it was +lying the ball of paper might have been aimed for the waste-paper basket and, +missing it, have fallen on the carpet. +</p> + +<p> +Robin turned the sheet over. The back was blank. Then he held the paper up to +the light. Yes, there was a water-mark. Now it was easily discernible. +“EGMONT FF. QU.” he made out. +</p> + +<p> +The train was slowing down. Robin glanced out of the window and saw that they +were crossing the river in the mirky gloom of a London winter Sunday. He +balanced the sheet of paper in his hands for a moment. Then he folded it +carefully into four and stowed it away in his cigarette-case. The next moment +the train thumped its way into Charing Cross. +</p> + +<p> +A taxi deposited him at the Middle Temple Gate. He walked the short distance to +the set of chambers he occupied. On his front door a piece of paper was pinned. +By the rambling calligraphy and the phonetic English he recognized the hand of +his “laundress.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Dere sir [it ran], mr rite call he want to see u pertikler i tole im as you was +in country & give im ur adress hope i dun rite mrs bragg +</p> + +<p> +Robin had scarcely got his key in the door of his “oak” when there +was a step on the stair. A nice-looking young man with close-cropped fair hair +appeared round the turn of the staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Robin,” he exclaimed impetuously, “I <i>am</i> glad +to have caught you like this. Your woman gave me your address, so I rang up +Harkings at once and they told me you had just gone back to town. So I came +straight here. You remember me, don’t you? Bruce Wright ... But perhaps +I’m butting in. If you’d rather see me some other time....” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear boy,” said Robin, motioning him into the flat, “of +course I remember you. Only I didn’t recognize you just for the minute. +Shove your hat down here in the hall. And as for butting in,”—he +threw open the door of the living-room,—“why! I think there is no +other man in England I would so gladly see at this very moment as +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +The living-room was a bright and cheery place, tastefully furnished in old oak +with gay chintz curtains. It looked out on an old-world paved court in the +centre of which stood a solitary soot-laden plane-tree. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this rot about Parrish having committed suicide?” +demanded the boy abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +Robin gave him in the briefest terms an outline of the tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old H.P., eh?” mused young Wright; “who’d have +thought it?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the idea of suicide is preposterous,” he broke out suddenly. +“I knew Parrish probably better than anybody. He would never have done a +thing like that. It must have been an accident....” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“That possibility is ruled out by the medical evidence,” he said, +and stopped short. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright, who had been pacing up and down the room, halted in front of the +barrister. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you that Parrish was not the man to commit suicide. Nothing would +have even forced him to take his own life. You know, I was working with him as +his personal secretary every day for more than two years, and I am sure!” +</p> + +<p> +He resumed his pacing up and down the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Has it ever occurred to you, Robin,” he said presently, +“that practically nothing is known of H.P.’s antecedents? For +instance, do you know where he was born?” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand he was a Canadian,” replied Robin with a shrewd +glance at the flushed face of the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s lived in Canada,” said Wright, “but originally he +was a Cockney, from the London slums. And I believe I am the only person who +knows that....” +</p> + +<p> +Robin pushed an armchair at his companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down and tell me about it,” he commanded. +</p> + +<p> +The boy dropped into the chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It was after I had been only a few months with him,” he began, +“shortly after I was discharged from the army with that lung wound of +mine. We were driving back in the car from some munition works near Baling, and +the chauffeur took a wrong turning near Wormwood Scrubs and got into a maze of +dirty streets round there....” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” commented Robin, “Notting Dale, they call +it....” +</p> + +<p> +“H.P. wasn’t noticing much,” Wright went on, “as he was +dictating letters to me,—we used to do a lot of work in the Rolls-Royce +in those rush days,—but, directly he noticed that the chauffeur was +uncertain of the road, he shoved his head out of the window and put him right +at once. I suppose I seemed surprised at his knowing his way about those parts, +for he laughed at me and said: ‘I was born and brought up down here, +Bruce, in a little greengrocer’s shop just off the Latimer Road.’ I +said nothing because I didn’t want to interrupt his train of thought. He +had never talked to me or Jeekes or any of us like that before. +</p> + +<p> +“‘By Gad,’ he went on, ‘how the smell of the place +brings back those days to me—the smell of decayed fruit, of stale fish, +of dirt! Why, it seems like yesterday that Victor Marbran and I used to drive +round uncle’s cart with vegetables and coal. What a life to escape from, +Bruce, my boy! Gad, you can count yourself lucky!’ +</p> + +<p> +“He was like a man talking to himself. I asked him how he had broken away +from it all. At that he laughed, a bitter, hard sort of laugh. ‘By having +the guts to break away from it, boy,’ he said. ‘It was I who made +Victor Marbran come away with me. We worked our passages out to the Cape and +made our way up-country to Matabeleland. That was in the early days of Rhodes +and Barney Barnato—long before I went to Canada. I made Victor’s +fortune for him and mine as well. But I made more than Victor and he never +forgave me. He’d do me a bad turn if he could ...’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then he broke off short and went on with his dictating ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he ever come back to this phase of his life?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only when we got out of the car that morning. He said to me: +‘Forget what I told you to-day, young fellow. Never rake up a man’s +past!’ And he never mentioned the subject again. Of course, I +didn’t either ...” +</p> + +<p> +Stretched full length in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, Robin +remained lost in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“The conversation came back to me to-day,” said the boy, +“when I read of Parrish’s death. And I wondered ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whether the secret of his death may not be found somewhere in his +adventurous past. You see he said that Victor Marbran was an enemy. Then there +was something else. I never told you—when you took all that trouble to +get me another job after Parrish had sacked me—the exact reason for my +dismissal. You never asked me either. That was decent of you, Robin ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I liked you, Bruce,” said Robin shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you now,” he said. “When I joined +H.P.’s staff after I got out of the Army, I was put under old Jeekes, of +course, to learn the work. One of the first injunctions he gave me was with +regard to Mr. Parrish’s letters. I suppose you know more or less how +secretaries of a big business man like Hartley Parrish work. They open all +letters, lay the important ones before the big man for him to deal with +personally, make a digest of the others or deal with them direct ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” the boy resumed, “the first thing old Jeekes told me +was that letters arriving in a blue envelope and marked ‘Personal’ +were never to be opened ...” +</p> + +<p> +“In a blue envelope?” echoed Robin quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a particular kind of blue—a sort of slatey-blue—Jeekes +showed me one as a guide. Well, these letters were to be handed to Mr. Parrish +unopened.” +</p> + +<p> +Robin had stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s odd,” he said, diving in his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, hold on a bit,” protested the boy, “this is really +rather important what I am telling you. I’ll never finish if you keep on +interrupting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, Bruce,” said Robin, and sat down again. +</p> + +<p> +But he began to play restlessly with his cigarette case which he had drawn from +his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, of course,” Bruce resumed, “I wasn’t much of a +private secretary really, and one day I forgot all about this injunction. Some +days old H.P. got as many as three hundred letters. I was alone at Harkings +with him, I remember, Jeekes was up at Sheffield and the other secretaries were +away ill or something, and in the rush of dealing with this enormous mail I +slit one of these blue envelopes open with the rest. I discovered what I had +done only after I had got all the letters sorted out, this one with the rest. +So I went straight to old H.P. and told him. By Jove!” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened?” said Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“He got into the most paralytic rage,” said Bruce. “I have +never seen a man in such an absolute frenzy of passion. He went right off the +hooks, just like that! He fairly put the wind up me. For a minute I thought he +was going to kill me. He snatched the letter out of my hand, called me every +name under the sun, and finally shouted: ‘You’re fired, d’ye +hear? I won’t employ men who disobey my orders! Get out of this before I +do you a mischief! I went straight off. And I never saw him again ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve looked very serious. But his face displayed no emotion as he asked: +</p> + +<p> +“And what was in the letter for him to make such a fuss about?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“That was the extraordinary part of it. The letter was perfectly +harmless. It was an ordinary business letter from a firm in Holland ...” +</p> + +<p> +“In Holland?” cried Greve. “Did you say in Holland? Tell me +the name! No, wait, see if I can remember. ‘Van’ +something—‘Speck’ or ‘Spike’ ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the name perfectly,” answered Bruce, rather puzzled by +the other’s sudden outburst; “it was Van der Spyck and Co. of +Rotterdam. We had a good deal of correspondence with them ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve had opened his cigarette-case and drawn from it a creased square of +blue paper folded twice across. Unfolding it, he held up the sheet he had found +in the library at Harkings. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the paper those letters were written on?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce took the sheet from him. He held it up to the light. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” came the prompt answer. “I’d know it in a +minute. Look, it’s the same water-mark. ‘Egmont.’ Where did +you get hold of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bruce,” said Robin gravely, without answering the question, +“we’re getting into deep water, boy!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +SHADOWS</h2> + +<p> +Robert Greve stood for an instant in silence by the window of his rooms. His +fingers hammered out a tattoo on the pane. His eyes were fixed on the windows +of the chambers across the court. But they did not take in the pleasant +prospect of the tall, ivy-framed casements in their mellow setting of warm red +brick. He was trying to fix a mental photograph of a letter—typewritten +on paper of dark slatey blue—which he had seen on Hartley Parrish’s +desk in the library at Harkings on the previous afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Prompted by Bruce Wright, he could now recall the heading clearly. “ELIAS +VAN DER SPYCK & Co., GENERAL IMPORTERS, ROTTERDAM,” stood printed +before his eyes as plainly as though he still held the typewritten sheet in +front of him. But the mind plays curious tricks. Robin’s brain had +registered the name; yet it recorded no impression of the contents of the +letter. Beyond the fact that it dealt in plain commercial fashion with some +shipments or other, he could recall no particular whatever of it. +</p> + +<p> +“But where did you get hold of this sheet of paper?” Bruce +Wright’s voice broke in impatiently behind him. “I’m most +frightfully interested to know ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Found it on the floor beside Parrish’s body,” answered Robin +briefly. “There was a letter, too, on the same paper ...” +</p> + +<p> +“By Gad!” exclaimed the boy eagerly, “have you got that +too?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“It was only your story that made me think of it. I had the letter. But I +left it where I found it—on Parrish’s desk in the library +...” +</p> + +<p> +“But you read it ... you know what was in it?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a perfectly straightforward business letter ... something about +steel shipments ... I don’t remember any more ...” +</p> + +<p> +“A straightforward business letter,” commented the boy. “Like +the letter I read, eh?...” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, Bruce,” said Robin, after a moment’s silence, +“during the time you were with Hartley Parrish, I suppose these blue +letters came pretty often?” +</p> + +<p> +Young Wright wrinkled his brow in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather difficult to say. You see, there were three of us +besides old Jeekes, and, of course, these letters might have come without my +knowledge anything about it. But during the seven months I worked with H.P. I +suppose about half a dozen of these letters passed through my hands. They used +to worry H.P., you know, Robin ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Worry him?” exclaimed Robin sharply; “how do you +mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Bruce, “Parrish was a very easygoing fellow, you +know. He worked every one—himself included—like the devil, of +course. But he was hardly ever nervy or grumpy. And so I was a bit surprised to +find—after I had been with him for a time—that every now and then +he sort of shrivelled up. He used to look ... well, careworn and ... and +haggard. And at these times he was pretty short with all of us. It was such an +extraordinary change from his usual cheery, optimistic self that sometimes I +suspected him of dope or some horror like that ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head. He had a sudden vision of Hartley Parrish, one of his +long, black Partagas thrust at an aggressive angle from a corner of his mouth, +virile, battling, strong. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” he said, “not dope ...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I know,” the boy went on quickly. “It wasn’t +dope. It was fear ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin swung round from the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Fear? Fear of what?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy cast a frightened glance over his shoulder rather as if he fancied he +might be overheard. +</p> + +<p> +“Of those letters,” he replied. “I am sure it was that. I +watched him and ... and I <i>know</i>. Every time he got one of those letters +in the bluish envelopes, these curious fits of gloom came over him. Robin +...” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Bruce?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he was being blackmailed!” +</p> + +<p> +The barrister nodded thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you agree?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy awaited his answer eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Something very like that,” replied the other. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly he smashed his fist into the open palm of his other hand. +</p> + +<p> +“But he wouldn’t have taken it lying down!” he cried. +“Hartley Parrish was a fighter, Bruce. Did you ever know a man who could +best him? No, no, it won’t fit! Besides ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off and thought for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“We must get that letter from Harkings,” he said presently. +“Jeekes will have it. We can do nothing until ...” +</p> + +<p> +His voice died away. Bruce, sunk in one of the big leather armchairs, was +astonished to see him slip quickly away from the window and ensconce himself +behind one of the chintz curtains. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Bruce,” Robin called softly across the room. “Just +come here. But take care not to show yourself. Look out, keep behind the +curtain and here ... peep out through this chink!” +</p> + +<p> +Young Wright peered through a narrow slit between the curtain and the +window-frame. In the far corner of the courtyard beneath the windows, where a +short round iron post marked a narrow passage leading to the adjoining court, a +man was standing. He wore a shabby suit and a blue handkerchief knotted about +his neck served him as a substitute for the more conventional collar and tie. +His body was more than half concealed by the side of the house along which the +passage ran. But his face was clearly distinguishable—a peaky, thin face, +the upper part in the shadow of the peak of a discoloured tweed cap. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been there on and off all the time we’ve been +talking,” said Robin. “I wasn’t sure at first. But now +I’m certain. He’s watching these windows! Look!” +</p> + +<p> +Briskly the watcher’s head was withdrawn to emerge again, slowly and +cautiously, in a little while. +</p> + +<p> +“But who is he? What does he want?” asked Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t an idea,” retorted Robin Greve. “But I could +guess. Tell me, Bruce,” he went on, stepping back from the window and +motioning the boy to do the same, “did you notice anybody following you +when you came here?” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m pretty sure nobody did. You see, I came in from the Strand, +down Middle Temple Lane. Once service has started at Temple Church +there’s not a mouse stirring in the Inn till the church is out. I think I +should have noticed if any one had followed me up to your chambers ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin set his chin squarely. +</p> + +<p> +“Then he came after me,” he said. “Bruce, you’ll have +to go to Harkings and get that letter!” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” answered the boy. “But, I say, they +won’t much like me butting in, will they?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to say you came down to offer your sympathy, ... +volunteer your services ... oh, anything. But you <i>must</i> get that letter! +Do you understand, Bruce? <i>You must get that letter</i>—if you have to +steal it!” +</p> + +<p> +The boy gave a long whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rather a tall order, isn’t it?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Robin nodded. His face was very grave. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said presently, “I suppose it is. But there is +something ... something horrible behind this case, Bruce, something dark and +... and mysterious. And I mean to get to the bottom of it. With your help. Or +alone!” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce put his hand impulsively on the other’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You can count on me, you know,” he said. “But don’t +you think ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you’d better tell me what you know. And what +you suspect!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “that’s fair. I suppose I ought. But +there’s not much to tell, Bruce. Just before Hartley Parrish was found +dead, I asked Miss Trevert to marry me. I was too late. She was already engaged +to Hartley Parrish. I was horrified ... I know some things about Parrish ... we +had words and I went off. Five minutes later Miss Trevert went to fetch Parrish +in to tea and heard a shot behind the locked door of the library. Horace +Trevert got in through the window and found Parrish dead. Every one down at +Harkings believes that I went in and threatened Parrish so that he committed +suicide ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom do you mean by every one?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin laughed drily. “Mary Trevert, her mother, Horace Trevert ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The police, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. The police more than anybody!” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” commented the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask me what I suspect,” Robin continued. “I admit I have +no positive proof. But I suspect that Hartley Parrish did not die by his own +hand!” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright looked up with a startled expression on his face. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean that he was murdered?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Robin told him of the experiment in the library, of the open window and of +the bullet mark he had discovered in the rosery. +</p> + +<p> +“What I want to know,” he said, “and what I am determined to +find out beyond any possible doubt, is whether the bullet found in Hartley +Parrish’s body was fired from <i>his</i> pistol. But before we reach that +point we have to explain how it happened that only one shot was heard and how a +bullet which <i>apparently</i> came from Parrish’s pistol was found in +his body ...” +</p> + +<p> +“If Mr. Parrish was murdered, the murderer might have turned the gun +round in Parrish’s hand and forced him to shoot himself ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Hardly,” said Robin. “Remember, Mary Trevert was at the door +when the shot was fired. Your theory presupposes the employment of force, in +other words, a struggle. Miss Trevert heard no scuffling. No, I’ve +thought of that.. it won’t do ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any suspicion of who the murderer might be?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a shadow of an idea,” he affirmed positively. “But I +have a notion that we shall find a clue in this letter which, like a blithering +fool, I left on Parrish’s desk. It’s the first glimmer of hope +I’ve seen yet ...” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright squared his shoulders and threw his head back. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll get it for you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Good boy,” said Robin. “But, Bruce,” he went on, +“you’ll have to go carefully. My name is mud in that house. You +mustn’t say you come from me. And if you ask boldly for the letter, they +won’t give it to you. Jeekes might, if he’s there and you approach +him cautiously. But, for Heaven’s sake, don’t try any diplomacy on +Manderton ... that’s the Scotland Yard man. He’s as wary as a fox +and sharp as needles.” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright buttoned up his coat with an air of finality. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to me,” he said, “I know Harkings like my pocket. +Besides I’ve got a friend there ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Who might that be?” queried the barrister. +</p> + +<p> +“Bude,” answered the boy and laid a finger on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” he pursued, jerking his head in the direction of the window, +“what are we going to do about him out there?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Him?” he said. “Oh, I’m going to take him out for an +airing!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin stepped out into the hall. He returned wearing his hat and overcoat. In +his hand were two yale keys strung on a wisp of pink tape. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Bruce,” he said. “Give me ten minutes’ start +to get rid of this jackal. Then clear out. There’s a train to Stevenish +at 3.23. If you get on the Underground at the Temple you ought to be able to +make it easily. Here are the keys of the chambers. I can put you up here +to-night if you like. I’ll expect you when I see you ... with that +letter. Savvy?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy stood up. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have that letter to-night,” he answered. “But +in the meantime,”—he waved the blue sheet with its mysterious slots +at Robin,—“what do you make of this?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin took the sheet of paper from him and replaced it in his cigarette-case. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, when we have the letter,” he replied, “I shall be +able to answer that question!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he lit a cigarette, gave the boy his hand, and a minute later Bruce +Wright, watching through the chink of the curtain from the window of Robin +Greve’s chambers, saw a lanky form shuffle across the court and follow +Robin round the angle of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Robin strode quickly through the maze of narrow passages and tranquil, echoing +courts into the Sabbath stillness of the Strand. An occasional halt at a +shop-window was sufficient to assure him that the watcher of the Temple was +still on his heels. The man, he was interested to see, played his part very +unobtrusively, shambling along in nonchalant fashion, mostly hugging the sides +of the houses, ready to dart out of sight into a doorway or down a side +turning, should he by any mischance arrive too close on the heels of his +quarry. +</p> + +<p> +As he walked along, Robin turned over in his mind the best means for getting +rid of his shadow. Should he dive into a Tube station and plunge headlong down +the steps? He rejected this idea as calculated to let the tracker know that his +presence was suspected. Then he reviewed in his mind the various establishments +he knew of in London with double entrances, thinking that he might slip in by +the one entrance and emerge by the other. +</p> + +<p> +In Pall Mall he came upon Tony Grandell, whom he had last seen playing bridge +in the company dugout on the Flesquieres Ridge. Then he had been in +“battle order,” camouflaged as a private soldier, as officers were +ordered to go over the top in the latter phases of the war. Now he was +resplendent in what the invitation cards call “Morning Dress” +crowned by what must certainly have been the most relucent top-hat in London. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, hullo, hullo!” cried Tony, on catching sight of him; +“stand to your kits and so forth! And how is my merry company commander? +Robin, dear, come and relieve the medieval gloom of lunch with my aunt at +Mart’s!” +</p> + +<p> +He linked his arm affectionately in Robin’s. +</p> + +<p> +Mart’s! Robin’s brain snatched at the word. Mart’s! most +respectable of “family hotels,” wedged in between two quiet streets +off Piccadilly with an entrance from both. If ever a man wanted to dodge a +sleuth, especially a grimy tatterdemalion like the one sidling up Pall Mall +behind them ... +</p> + +<p> +“Tony, old son,” said Robin, “I won’t lunch with you +even to set the board in a roar at your aunt’s luncheon-party. But +I’ll walk up to Mart’s with you, for I’m going there myself +...” +</p> + +<p> +They entered Mart’s together and parted in the vestibule, where Tony +gravely informed his “dear old scream” that he must fly to his +“avuncular luncheon.” Robin walked quickly through the hotel and +left by the other entrance. The street was almost deserted. Of the man with the +dingy neckerchief there was no sign. Robin hurried into Piccadilly and hopped +on a ’bus which put him down at his club facing the Green Park. +</p> + +<p> +He had a late lunch there and afterwards took a taxi back to the Temple. The +daylight was failing as he crossed the courtyard in front of his chambers. In +the centre the smoke-blackened plane-tree throned it in unchallenged solitude. +But, as Robin’s footsteps echoed across the flags, something more +substantial than a shadow seemed to melt into the gathering dusk in the corner +where the narrow passage ran. +</p> + +<p> +Robin stopped to listen at the entrance to his chambers. As he stood there he +heard a heavy tread on the stone steps within. He turned to face a solidly +built swarthy-looking man who emerged from the building. +</p> + +<p> +He favoured Robin with a leisurely, searching stare, then strode heavily across +the courtyard to the little passage where he disappeared from view. +</p> + +<p> +Robin looked after him. The man was a stranger: the occupants of the other +chambers were all known to him. With a thoughtful expression on his face Robin +entered the house and mounted to his rooms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +THE INTRUDER</h2> + +<p> +“D——!” exclaimed Bruce Wright. +</p> + +<p> +He stood in the great porch at Harkings, his finger on the electric bell. No +sound came in response to the pressure, nor any one to open the door. Thus he +had stood for fully ten minutes listening in vain for any sound within the +house. All was still as death. He began to think that the bell was out of +order. He had forgotten Hartley Parrish’s insistence on quiet. All bells +at Harkings rang, discreetly muted, in the servants’ hall. +</p> + +<p> +He stepped out of the porch on to the drive. The weather had improved and, +under a freshening wind, the country was drying up. As he reached the hard +gravel, he heard footsteps, Bude appeared, his collar turned up, his +swallow-tails floating in the wind. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, be off with you!” he cried as soon as he caught sight of the +trim figure in the grey overcoat; “how many more of ye have I to tell +there’s nothing for you to get here! Go on, get out before I put the dog +on you!” +</p> + +<p> +He waved an imperious hand at Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Bude,” said the boy, “you’ve grown very +inhospitable all of a sudden!” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul if it isn’t young Mr. Wright!” exclaimed +the butler. “And I thought it was another of those dratted reporters. +It’s been ring, ring, ring the whole blessed morning, sir, you can +believe me, as if they owned the place, wanting to interview me and Mr. Jeekes +and Miss Trevert and the Lord knows who else. Lot of interfering busybodies, +<i>I</i> call ’em! I’d shut up all noospapers by law if I had my +way ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Jeekes here, Bude?” asked Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone off to London in the car, sir ... But won’t you +come in, Mr. Wright? If you wouldn’t mind coming in by the side door. I +have to keep the front door closed to shut them scribbling fellows out. One of +them had the face to ask me to let him into the library to take a photograph +...” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way round the side of the house to the glass door in the library +corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a sad business, Bude!” said Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed, it is, sir,” he sighed. “He had his faults had +Mr. Parrish, as well <i>you</i> know, Mr. Wright. But he was an open-handed +gentleman, that I will say, and we’ll all miss him at Harkings ...” +</p> + +<p> +They were now in the corridor. Bude jerked a thumb over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“It was in there they found him,” he said in a low voice, +“with a hole plumb over the heart.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice sank to a whisper. “There’s blood on the carpet!” +he added impressively. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like just to take a peep at the room, Bude,” ventured the +boy, casting a sidelong glance at the butler. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t be done, sir,” said Bude, shaking his head; +“orders of Detective-Inspector Manderton. The police is very strict, Mr. +Wright, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“There seems to be no one around just now, Bude,” the young man +wheedled. “There can’t be any harm in my just going in for a +second?...” +</p> + +<p> +“Go in you should, Mr. Wright, sir,” said the butler genially, +“if I had my way. But the door’s locked. And, what’s more, +the police have the key.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the detective anywhere about?” asked Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” answered Bude. “He’s gone off to town, too! +And he don’t expect to be back before the inquest. That’s for +Toosday!” +</p> + +<p> +“But isn’t there another key anywhere?” persisted the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said Bude positively, “there isn’t but the +one. And that’s in Mr. Manderton’s vest pocket!” +</p> + +<p> +Young Wright wrinkled his brow in perplexity. He was very young, but he had a +fine strain of perseverance in him. He was not nearly at the end of his +resources, he told himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” he said suddenly, “I’m going outside to +have a look through the window. I remember you can see into the library from +the path round the house!” +</p> + +<p> +He darted out, the butler, protesting, lumbering along behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wright,” he panted as he ran, “you didn’t reelly +ought ... If any one should come ...” +</p> + +<p> +But Bruce Wright was already at the window. The butler found him leaning on the +sill, peering with an air of frightened curiosity into the empty room. +</p> + +<p> +“The glazier from Stevenish”—Bude’s voice breathed the +words hoarsely in Wright’s ear—“is coming to-morrow morning +to put the window in. He wouldn’t come to-day, him being a chapel-goer +and religious. It was there we found poor Mr. Parrish—d’you see, +sir, just between the window and the desk!” +</p> + +<p> +But Bruce Wright did not heed him. His eyes were fixed on the big writing-desk, +on the line of black japanned letter-trays set out in orderly array. Outside, +the short winter afternoon was drawing in fast, and the light was failing. +Dusky shadows within the library made it difficult to distinguish objects +clearly. +</p> + +<p> +A voice close at hand cried out sharply: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Bude! Mr. Bu-u-ude!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re calling me!” whispered the butler in his ear with a +tug at his sleeve; “come away, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +But Bruce shook him off. He heard the man’s heavy tread on the gravel, +then a door slam. +</p> + +<p> +How dark the room was growing, to be sure! Strain his eyes as he might, he +could not get a clear view of the contents of the letter-trays on the desk. But +their high backs hid their contents from his eyes. Even when he hoisted himself +on to the window-sill he could not get a better view. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped back on to the gravel path and listened. The wind soughed sadly in +the bare tree-tops, somewhere in the distance a dog barked hoarsely, +insistently; otherwise not a sound was to be heard. He cast a cautious glance +round the side of the house. The glass door was shut; the lamp in the corridor +had not been lit. +</p> + +<p> +Hoisting himself up to the window-sill again, he crooked one knee on the rough +edge and thrusting one arm through the broken pane of glass, unbolted the +window. Then, steadying himself with one hand, with the other he very gently +pushed up the window, threw his legs across the sill, and dropped into the +library. Very deliberately, he turned and pushed the window softly down behind +him. +</p> + +<p> +Some unconscious prompting, perhaps an unfamiliar surface beneath his feet, +made him look down. Where his feet rested on the mole-grey carpet a wide dark +patch stood out from the delicate shade of the rug. For a moment a spasm of +physical nausea caught him. +</p> + +<p> +“How beastly!” he whispered to himself and took a step towards the +desk. +</p> + +<p> +Hartley Parrish’s desk was arranged just as he always remembered it to +have been. All the letter-trays save one were empty. In that was a little pile +of papers held down by a massive marble paper-weight. Quickly he stepped round +the desk. +</p> + +<p> +He had put out his hand to lift the weight when there was a gentle rattle at +the door. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright wheeled instantly round, back to the desk, to face the door, +which, in the gathering dusk, was now but a squarer patch of darkness among the +shadows at the far end of the library. He stood absolutely still, rooted to the +spot, his heart thumping so fast that, in that silent room, he could hear the +rapid beats. +</p> + +<p> +Some one was unlocking the library door. As realization came to the boy, he +tiptoed rapidly round the desk, the sound of his feet muffled by the heavy pile +carpet, and reached the window. There was a click as the lock of the door was +shot back. Without further hesitation Bruce stepped behind the long curtains +which fell from the top of the window to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +The curtains, of some heavy grey material, were quite opaque. Bruce realized, +with a sinking heart, that he must depend on his ears to discover the identity +of this mysterious interloper. He dared not look out from his +hiding-place—at least not until he could be sure that the newcomer had +his back to the window. He remained, rigid and vigilant, straining his ears to +catch the slightest sound, scarcely daring to breathe. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the door open, heard it softly close again. Then ... silence. Not +another sound. The boy remembered the heavy pile carpet and cursed his luck. He +would have to risk a peep round the curtains. But not yet! He must wait ... +</p> + +<p> +A very slight rustling, a faint prolonged rustling, caught his ear. It came +nearer, then stopped. There was a little rattling noise from somewhere close at +hand, a small clinking sound. +</p> + +<p> +Then silence fell again. +</p> + +<p> +The wind whooshed sadly round the house, the window clattered dismally in its +frame, the curtains tugged fretfully before the cold breeze which blew in at +the broken pane. But the silence in the room was absolute. +</p> + +<p> +It began to oppress the boy. It frightened him. He felt an uncontrollable +desire to look out into the room and establish the identity of the mysterious +entrant. He glided his hand towards the window-frame in the hope that he might +find a chink between curtain and wall through which he might risk a peep into +the room. But the curtain was fastened to the wall. +</p> + +<p> +The room was almost entirely dark now. Only behind him was a patch of grey +light where the lowering evening sky was framed in the window. He began to draw +the curtain very slowly towards him, at the same time leaning to the right. +Very cautiously he applied one eye to the edge of the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +As he did so a bright light struck him full in the face. It streamed full from +a lamp on the desk and almost blinded him. It was a reading-lamp and the bulb +had been turned up so as to throw a beam on the curtain behind which the boy +was sheltering. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the desk, straining back in terror, stood a slim, girlish figure. The +details of her dress were lost in the gathering shadows, but her face stood out +in the gloom, a pale oval. Bruce could see the dark line made by the lashes on +her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight of her, he stepped boldly forth from his hiding-place, shielding +his eyes from the light with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Bruce Wright, Miss Trevert,” he said, +“don’t you remember me?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +A FRESH CLUE</h2> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the girl, “you frightened me! You frightened me! +What do you want here ... in this horrible room?” +</p> + +<p> +She was trembling. One slim hand plucked nervously at her dress. Her breath +came and went quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw the curtain move. I thought it was the wind at first. But then I +saw the outline of your fingers. And I imagined it was he ... come back +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” said the boy abashed, “I must have frightened +you terribly. I had no idea it was you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But why are you hiding here? How did you get in? What do you want in +this house?” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke quickly, nervously. Some papers she held in her hand shook with her +emotion. Bruce Wright stepped to the desk and turned the bulb of the +reading-lamp down into its normal position. +</p> + +<p> +“I must apologize most sincerely for the fright I gave you,” he +said. “But, believe me, Miss Trevert, I had no idea that anybody could +gain access to this room. I climbed in through the window. Bude told me that +the police had taken away the key ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl made an impatient gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“But why have you come here?” she said. “What do you +want?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy measured her with a narrow glance. He was young, but he was shrewd. He +saw her frank eyes, her candid, open mien, and he took a rapid decision. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I have come,” he answered slowly, “for the same +purpose as yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +And he looked at the papers in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I used to be Mr. Parrish’s secretary, you know,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The girl sighed—a little fluttering sigh—and looked earnestly at +him. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember,” she said. “Hartley liked you. He was sorry that +he sent you away. He often spoke of you to me. But why have you come back? What +do you mean by saying you have come for the same purpose as myself?” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright looked at the array of letter-trays. The marble paper-weight had +been displaced. The tray in which it had lain was empty. He looked at the sheaf +of papers in the girl’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to see,” he replied, “whether there was anything +here ... on his desk ... which would explain the mystery of his death +...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl spread out the papers in her hand on the big blotter. +</p> + +<p> +She laid the papers out in a row and leant forward, her white arms resting on +the desk. From the other side of the desk the boy leant eagerly forward and +scanned the line of papers. +</p> + +<p> +At the first glimpse his face fell. The girl, eyeing him closely, marked the +change which came over his features. +</p> + +<p> +There were seven papers of various kinds, both printed and written, and they +were all on white paper. +</p> + +<p> +The boy shook his head and swept the papers together into a heap. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not there?” queried the girl eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Bruce absent-mindedly, glancing round the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“What isn’t?” flashed back the girl. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright felt his face redden with vexation. What sort of a confidential +emissary was he to fall into a simple trap like this? +</p> + +<p> +The girl smiled rather wanly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I know what you meant by saying you had come for the same purpose as +myself,” she said. “I suppose we both thought we might find +something, a letter, perhaps, which would explain why Mr. Parrish did this +dreadful thing, something to relieve this awful uncertainty about ... about his +motive. Well, I’ve searched the desk ... and there’s nothing! +Nothing but just these prospectuses and receipts which were in the letter-tray +here. They must have come by the post yesterday morning. And there’s +nothing of any importance in the drawers ... only household receipts and the +wages book and a few odd things like that! You can see for yourself ...” +</p> + +<p> +The lower part of the desk consisted of three drawers flanked on either side by +cupboards. Mary Trevert pulled out the drawers and opened the cupboards. Two of +the drawers were entirely empty and one of the cupboards contained nothing but +a stack of cigar boxes. One drawer held various papers appertaining to the +house. There was no sign of any letter written on the slatey-blue paper. +</p> + +<p> +The boy looked very hard at Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“You say there was nothing in the letter-tray but these papers +here?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing but these,” replied the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t notice any official-looking letter on bluish +paper?” he ventured to ask. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered the girl. “I found nothing but these.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy thought for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” he asked, “whether the police or anybody have +been through the desk?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know at all,” said Mary, smoothing back a lock of +hair from her temple; “I daresay Mr. Jeekes had a look round, as he had a +meeting with Mr. Parrish’s lawyer in town this afternoon!” +</p> + +<p> +She had lost all trace of her fright and was now quite calm and collected. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know for certain whether Mr. Jeekes was in here?” asked +Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. The first thing he did on arriving last night was to go to the +library.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Jeekes is coming back here to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +No, she told him. Mr. Jeekes did not expect to return to Harkings until the +inquest on Tuesday. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright picked up his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“I must apologize again, Miss Trevert,” he said, “for making +such an unconventional entrance and giving you such a fright. But I felt I +could not rest until I had investigated matters for myself. I would have +presented myself in the ordinary way, but, as I told you, Bude told me the +police had locked up the room and taken away the key ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert smiled forgivingly. +</p> + +<p> +“So they did,” she said. “But Jay—Mr. Parrish’s +man, you know—had another key. He brought it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at Bruce with a whimsical little smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You must have been very uncomfortable behind those curtains,” she +said. “I believe you were just as frightened as I was.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked round the desk to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a good hiding-place,” she remarked, “but not much +good as an observation post. Why! you could see nothing of the room. The +curtains are much too thick!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a thing,” Bruce agreed rather ruefully. “I thought you +were the detective!” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand to take his leave with a smile. He was a charming-looking +boy with a remarkably serene expression which went well with close-cropped +golden hair. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert did not take his hand for an instant. Looking down at the point of +her small black suede shoe she said shyly: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wright, you are a friend of Mr. Greve, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” was the enthusiastic answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see him often?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy’s eyes narrowed suddenly. Was this a cross-examination? +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” he replied, “every now and then!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert raised her eyes to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you do something for me?” she said. “Tell Mr. Greve not +to trust Manderton. He will know whom I mean. Tell him to be on his guard +against that man. Say he means mischief. Tell him, above all things, to be +careful. Make him go away ... go abroad until this thing has blown over +...” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with intense earnestness, her dark eyes fixed on Bruce Wright’s +face. +</p> + +<p> +“But promise me you won’t say this comes from me! Do you +understand? There are reasons, very strong reasons, for this. Will you +promise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course!” +</p> + +<p> +She took Bruce’s outstretched hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t go without tea,” said the girl. +“Besides,”—she glanced at a little platinum watch on her +wrist,—“there’s not another train until six. There is no need +for you to start yet. I don’t like being left alone. Mother has one of +her headaches, and Horace and Dr. Romain have gone to Stevenish. Come up to my +sitting-room!” +</p> + +<p> +She led the way out of the library, locking the door behind them, and together +they went up to the Chinese boudoir where tea was laid on a low table before a +bright fire. In the dainty room with its bright colours they seemed far removed +from the tragedy which had darkened Harkings. +</p> + +<p> +They had finished tea when a tap came at the door. Bude appeared. He cast a +reproachful look at Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“Jay would be glad to have a word with you, Miss,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The girl excused herself and left the room. She was absent for about ten +minutes. When she returned, she had a little furrow of perplexity between her +brows. She walked over to the open fireplace and stood silent for an instant, +her foot tapping the hearth-rug. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Wright,” she said presently, “I’m going to tell +you something that Jay has just told me. I want your advice ...” +</p> + +<p> +The boy looked at her interrogatively. But he did not speak. +</p> + +<p> +“I think this is rather important,” the girl went on, “but I +don’t quite understand in what way it is. Jay tells me that Mr. Parrish +had on his pistol a sort of steel fitting attached to the end ... you know, the +part you shoot out of. Mr. Parrish used to keep his automatic in a drawer in +his dressing-room, and Jay has often seen it there with this attachment fitted +on. Well, when Mr. Parrish was discovered in the library yesterday, this thing +was no longer on the pistol. And Jay says it’s not to be found!...” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rather strange!” commented Bruce. “But what was +this steel contraption for, do you know? Was it a patent sight or +something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jay doesn’t know,” answered the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind if I spoke to Jay myself?” asked the young man. +</p> + +<p> +In reply the girl touched the bell beside the fireplace. Bude answered the +summons and was despatched to find Jay. He appeared in due course, a tall, +dark, sleek young man wearing a swallow-tail coat and striped trousers. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Jay?” said Bruce affably. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, thank you, sir,” replied the valet. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert was telling me about this appliance which you say Mr. +Parrish had on his automatic. Could you describe it to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” answered the man rather haltingly, “it was a +little sort of cup made of steel or gun-metal fitting closely over the barrel +...” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t know what it was for?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it a sight, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say, I’m sure, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“You know what a sight looks like, I suppose. Was there a bead on it or +anything like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say, I’m sure, sir. I never gave any particular heed +to it. I used to see the automatic lying in the drawer of the wardrobe in Mr. +Parrish’s room in a wash-leather case. I noticed this steel appliance, +sir, because the case wouldn’t shut over the pistol with it on and the +butt used to stick out.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you last notice Mr. Parrish’s automatic?” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be Thursday or Friday, sir. I went to that drawer to get Mr. +Parrish an old stock to go riding in as some new ones he had bought were stiff +and hurt him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this steel cup was on the pistol then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you say it was not on the pistol when Mr. Parrish’s body was +found?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure of this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I was one of the first in the room, and I saw the pistol in +Mr. Parrish’s hand, and there was no sign of the cup, sir. So I’ve +had a good look among his things and I can’t find it anywhere!” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright pondered a minute. +</p> + +<p> +“Try and think, Jay,” he said, “if you can’t remember +anything more about this steel cup, as you call it. Where did Mr. Parrish buy +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t say, I’m sure, sir. He had it before ever I took +service with him!” +</p> + +<p> +Jay put his hand to his forehead for an instant. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I come to think of it,” he said, “there was the name of +the shop or maker on it, stamped on the steel. ‘Maxim,’ that was +the name, now I put my mind back, with a number ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Maxim?” echoed Bruce Wright. “Did you say Maxim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir! That was the name!” replied the valet impassively. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” said the boy half to himself. Then he said aloud to Jay: +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tell the police about this?” +</p> + +<p> +Jay looked somewhat uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +Jay looked at Mary Trevert. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, I thought perhaps I’d better tell Miss Trevert first. +Bude thought so, too. That there Manderton has made so much unpleasantness in +the house with his prying ways that I said to myself, sir ...” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright looked at Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind if I asked Jay not to say anything about this to anybody +just for the present?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You hear what Mr. Wright says, Jay,” said Mary. “I +don’t want you to say anything about this matter just yet. Do you +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Miss. Will that be all, Miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thank you, Jay!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks very much, Jay,” said the boy. “This may be +important. Mum’s the word, though!” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>quite</i> understand, sir,” answered the valet and left the +room. +</p> + +<p> +Hardly had the door closed on him than the girl turned eagerly to Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> important?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be,” was the guarded reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t leave me in the dark like this,” the girl pleaded. +“This horrible affair goes on growing and growing, and at every step it +seems more bewildering ... more ghastly. Tell me where it is leading, Mr. +Wright! I can’t stand the suspense much more!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice broke, and she turned her face away. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be brave, Miss Trevert,” said the boy, putting his hand +on her shoulder. “Don’t ask me to tell you more now. Your friends +are working to get at the truth ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The truth!” cried the girl. “God knows where the truth will +lead us!” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright hesitated a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you have any need to fear the truth!” he said +presently. +</p> + +<p> +The girl took her handkerchief from her face and looked at him with brimming +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You know more than you let me think you did,” she said brokenly. +“But you are a friend of mine, aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Bruce, and added boldly: +</p> + +<p> +“And of his too!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not speak again, but gave him her hand. He clasped it and went out +hurriedly to catch his train back to London. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +THE SILENT SHOT</h2> + +<p> +That faithful servitor of Fleet Street, the Law Courts clock, had just finished +striking seven. It boomed out the hour, stroke by stroke, solemnly, inexorably, +like a grim old judge summing up and driving home, point by point, an +irrefutable charge. The heavy strokes broke in upon the fitful doze into which +Robin Greve, stretched out in an armchair in his living-room, had dropped. +</p> + +<p> +He roused up with a start. There was the click of a key in the lock of his +front door. Bruce Wright burst into the room. +</p> + +<p> +The boy shut the door quickly and locked it. He was rather pale and seemed +perturbed. On seeing Robin he jerked his head in the direction of the +courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know they’re still outside?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Robin nodded nonchalantly. +</p> + +<p> +“There are three of them now,” the boy went on. “Robin, I +don’t like it. Something’s going to happen. You’ll want to +mind yourself ... if it’s not too late already!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped across to the window and bending down, peered cautiously round the +curtain. +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” he said, “they can’t touch me!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wrong,” Bruce retorted without changing his position. +“They can and they will. Don’t think Manderton is a fool, Robin. He +means mischief ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin raised his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Does he?” he said. “Now I wonder who told you that +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Friends of yours at Harkings asked me to warn you ...” began Bruce +awkwardly. +</p> + +<p> +“My friends are scarcely in the majority there,” retorted Robin. +“Whom do you mean exactly?” +</p> + +<p> +But the boy ignored the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Three men watching the house!” he exclaimed; “don’t +you think that <i>this</i> looks as though Manderton meant business?” +</p> + +<p> +He returned to his post of observation at the curtain. +</p> + +<p> +Robin laughed cynically. +</p> + +<p> +“Manderton doesn’t worry me any,” he said cheerfully. +“The man’s the victim of an <i>idée fixe</i>. He believes Parrish +killed himself just as firmly as he believes that I frightened or bullied +Parrish into doing it ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be too sure about that, Robin,” said the boy, dropping +the curtain and coming back to Robin’s chair. “He may want you to +think that. But how can we tell how much he knows?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin flicked the ash off his cigarette disdainfully. +</p> + +<p> +“These promoted policemen make me tired,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright shook his head quickly with a little gesture of exasperation. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand,” he said. “There’s fresh +evidence ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve looked up with real interest in his eyes. His bantering manner had +vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got that letter?” he asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not that,” he said. Then leaning forward he added in a low +voice: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever heard of the Maxim silencer?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I have, vaguely,” replied Robin. “Isn’t it +something to do with a motor engine?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Bruce. “It’s an extraordinary invention +which absolutely suppresses the noise of the discharge of a gun.” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shot a quick glance at the speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a marvelous thing, really,” the boy continued, warming +to his theme. “A man at Havre had one when I was at the base there, +during the war. It’s a little cup-shaped steel fitting that goes over the +barrel. You can fire a rifle fitted with one of these silencers in a small room +and it makes no more noise than a fairly loud sneeze ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin was listening intently now. +</p> + +<p> +“Parrish had a Maxim silencer,” Bruce went on impressively. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Parrish</i> had?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was fitted on his automatic pistol, the one he had in his hand when +they found him ...” +</p> + +<p> +“There was no attachment of any kind on the gun Parrish was holding when +he was discovered yesterday afternoon,” declared Robin positively; +“I can vouch for that. I was there almost immediately after they found +him. And if there had been anything of the kind Horace Trevert would certainly +have mentioned it ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. Jay, who came in soon after you, was surprised to see that the +silencer was not on the pistol. And he made a point of looking for it +...” +</p> + +<p> +“But how do you know that Parrish had it on the pistol?...” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we don’t know for certain. But we do know that it was +permanently fitted to his automatic. Jay has often seen it. And if Parrish did +remove it, he didn’t leave it lying around any where. Jay has looked all +through his things without finding it ...” +</p> + +<p> +“When did Jay see it last?” +</p> + +<p> +“On Thursday!” +</p> + +<p> +“But are you sure that this is the same pistol as the one which Jay has +been in the habit of seeing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jay is absolutely sure. He says that Parrish only had the one automatic +which he always kept in the same drawer in his dressing-room ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin was silent for a moment. Very deliberately he filled his pipe, lit it, +and drew until it burned comfortably. Then he said slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“This means that Hartley Parrish was murdered, Bruce, old man. All +through I have been puzzling my mind to reconcile the unquestionable +circumstance that two bullets were fired—I told you of the bullet mark I +found on the upright in the rosery—with the undoubted fact that only one +report was heard. We can therefore presume, either that Hartley Parrish first +fired one shot from his pistol with the silencer fitted and then removed the +silencer and fired another shot without it, thereby killing himself, or that +the second shot was fired by the person whose interest it was to get rid of the +silencer. There is no possible or plausible reason why Parrish should have +fired first one shot with the silencer and then one without. Therefore, I find +myself irresistibly compelled to the conclusion that the shot heard by Mary +Trevert was fired by the person who killed Parrish. Do I make myself +clear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly,” answered Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then,” the barrister proceeded, thoughtfully puffing at his +pipe, “one weak point about my deductions is that they all hang on the +question as to whether, at the time of the tragedy, Parrish actually had the +silencer on his pistol or not. That is really the acid test of +Manderton’s suicide theory. You said, I think, that a rifle fired with +the silencer attachment makes no more noise than the sound of a loud +sneeze!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” agreed Bruce; “a sort of harsh, +spluttering noise. Not so loud either, Robin. Ph ... t-t-t! Like that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Loud enough to be heard through a door, would you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I think so!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin thought intently for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Mary is the only one who can put us right on that point. Assuming +that two shots were fired—and that bullet mark in the rosery is, I think, +conclusive on that head—and knowing that she heard the loud report of the +one, presumably, if Parrish had the silencer on his automatic, Mary must have +heard the <i>muffled</i> report of the other. What it comes to is this, Mary +heard the shot fired that killed Parrish. Did she hear the shot he fired at his +murderer?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Gad!” exclaimed Bruce Wright impressively, “I believe +you’ve got it, Robin! Parrish fired at somebody at the window—a +silent shot—and the other fellow fired back the shot that Mary Trevert +heard, the shot that killed Parrish. Isn’t that the way you figure it +out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so fast, young man,” remarked Robin. “Let’s first +find out whether Mary actually heard the muffled shot and, if so, <i>when ... +before</i> or <i>after</i> the loud report.” +</p> + +<p> +He glanced across at the window and then at Bruce, +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose this discovery about the silencer is responsible for the +deputation waiting in the courtyard,” he said drily. +</p> + +<p> +“The police don’t know about it yet,” replied Bruce; +“at least they didn’t when I left.” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shook his head dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“If the servants know it, Manderton will worm it out of them. +Hasn’t he cross-examined Jay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Bruce. “But he got nothing out of him about this. +Manderton seems to have put everybody’s back up. He gets nothing out of +the servants ...” +</p> + +<p> +“If Parrish had had this silencer for some time, you may be sure that +other people know about it. These silencers must be pretty rare in England. You +see, an average person like myself didn’t know what it was. By the way, +another point which we haven’t yet cleared up is this: supposing we are +right in believing Parrish to have been murdered, how do you explain the fact +that the bullet removed from his body fitted his pistol?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a puzzler, I must say!” said Bruce. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one possible explanation, I think,” Robin went +on, “and that is that Parrish was shot by a pistol of exactly the same +calibre as his own. For the murderer to have killed Parrish with his own weapon +would have been difficult without a struggle. But Miss Trevert heard no +struggle. For murderer and his victim to have pistols of the same calibre +argues a rather remarkable coincidence, I grant you. But then life is full of +coincidences! We meet them every day in the law. Though, I admit, this is a +coincidence which requires some explaining ...” +</p> + +<p> +He fell into a brown study which Bruce interrupted by suddenly remembering that +he had had no lunch. +</p> + +<p> +For answer Robin pointed at the sideboard. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a cloth in there,” he said, “also the whisky, +if my laundress has left any, and a siphon and there should be some +claret—Mrs. Bragg doesn’t care about red wine. Set the table, and +I’ll take a root round in the kitchen and dig up some tinned +stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +They supped off a tinned tongue and some <i>pâté de foie gras</i>. Over their +meal Bruce told Robin of his adventure in the library at Harkings. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes must have collected that letter,” Bruce said. “Before +I came to you, I went to Lincoln’s Inn Fields to see if he was still at +Bardy’s—Parrish’s solicitor, you know. But the office was +closed, and the place in darkness. I went on to the Junior Pantheon, +that’s Jeekes’s club, but he wasn’t in. He hadn’t been +there all day, the porter told me. So I left a note asking him to ring you up +here ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The case reeks of blackmail,” said Robin thoughtfully, “but +I am wondering how much we shall glean from this precious letter when we do see +it. I am glad you asked Jeekes to ring me up, though. He should be able to tell +us something about these mysterious letters on the blue paper that used to put +Parrish in such a stew ... Hullo, who can that be?” +</p> + +<p> +An electric bell trilled through the flat. It rang once ... twice ... and then +a third time, a long, insistent peal. +</p> + +<p> +“See who’s there, will you, Bruce?” said Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose it’s the police ...” began the boy. +</p> + +<p> +Robin shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“You can say I’m at home and ask them in,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the heavy oaken door swing open, a murmur of voices in the hall. The +next moment Detective-Inspector Manderton entered the sitting-room. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +MR. MANDERTON LAYS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE</h2> + +<p> +The detective’s manner had undergone some subtle change which Robin, +watching him closely as he came into the room, was quick to note. Mr. Manderton +made an effort to retain his old air of rather patronizing swagger; but he +seemed less sure of himself than was his wont. In fact, he appeared to be a +little anxious. +</p> + +<p> +He walked briskly into the sitting-room and looked quickly from Bruce to Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve,” he said, “you can help me if you will by +answering a few questions ...” +</p> + +<p> +With another glance at Bruce Wright he added: +</p> + +<p> +“... in private.” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce, obedient to a sign from Robin, said he would ring up in the morning and +prepared to take his leave. Robin turned to the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“There are some of your men, I believe,” he said coldly, +“watching this house. Would it be asking too much to request that my +friend here might be permitted to return home unescorted?” +</p> + +<p> +“He needn’t worry,” replied Manderton with a significant +smile. “There’s no one outside now!...” +</p> + +<p> +They watched Bruce Wright pass into the hall and collect his hat and coat. As +the front door slammed behind him, the detective added: +</p> + +<p> +“I took ’em off myself soon after seven o’clock!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Robin bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton dropped his heavy form into a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a plain man, Mr. Greve,” he said, “and I’m +not above owning to it, I hope, when I’m wrong. For some little time now +it has struck me that our lines of investigation run parallel ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Instead of crossing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Instead of crossing—exactly!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity you did not grasp that very obvious fact +earlier,” observed Robin pointedly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton crossed one leg over the other and, his finger-tips pressed +together, looked at Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you help me?” he asked simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want my help?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Allies, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Allies it is!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin pointed to the table. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s dry work talking,” he said. “Won’t you take +a drink?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, I don’t drink. But I’ll have a cigar if I may. Thank +you!” +</p> + +<p> +The detective helped himself to a cheroot from a box on the table and lit up. +Then, affecting to scan the end of his cigar with great attention, he asked +abruptly: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know of the woman calling herself Madame de Malpas?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin pursed up his lips rather disdainfully. +</p> + +<p> +“One of the late Mr. Parrish’s lady friends,” he replied. +“I expect you know that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know where she lives?” pursued the detective, ignoring the +implied question. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +A flicker of interest appeared for an instant in Mr. Manderton’s keen +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re sure of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” answered Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Le Hagen—the solicitor, you know. He acted for this Malpas woman +on one or two occasions.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did she die?” +</p> + +<p> +“Six or seven months ago ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Jeekes know about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes? Do you mean Parrish’s secretary? +</p> + +<p> +“It’s funny your asking that. As a matter of fact, it was through +Jeekes that I heard the lady was dead. I was in Le Hagen’s office one day +when Jeekes came in, and Le Hagen told me Jeekes had come to pay in a cheque +for the cost of the funeral and the transport of the body to France.” +</p> + +<p> +“This was six or seven months ago, you say? I take it, then, that any +allowance that Parrish was in the habit of making to this woman has +ceased?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you the lady is dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what would you say if I informed you that Mr. Jeekes had declared +that these payments were still going on ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I should say he was lying ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree. But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom did he tell this to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert!” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin repeated the name in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why on earth should +Jeekes blacken his employer’s character to Miss Trevert? What conceivable +motive could he have had? Did she tell you this?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Manderton; “I heard him tell her myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” protested Robin, growing more and more +puzzled, “that Jeekes told Miss Trevert this offensive and deliberate lie +in your presence!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” remarked Mr. Manderton slowly, “I don’t know +about his saying this in my presence exactly. But I heard him tell her for all +that. Walls have ears, you know—particularly if the door is ajar!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked shrewdly at Robin, then dropped his eyes to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“He also told her that Le Hagen and you were in business relations +...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin sat up at this. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said shortly. “I see what you’re getting at +now. Our friend has been trying to set Miss Trevert against me, eh? But why? I +don’t even know this man Jeekes except to have nodded +‘Good-morning’ to him a few times. Why on earth should he of all +men go out of his way to slander me to Miss Trevert, to throw suspicion +...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off short and looked at the detective. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton caressed his big black moustache. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he repeated suavely, “you were saying ‘to cast +suspicion’ ...” +</p> + +<p> +The eyes of the two men met. Then the detective leaned back in his chair and, +blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve, you’ve been thinking ahead of me on this case. What +you’ve told me so far I’ve checked. And you’re right. Dead +right. And since you’re, in a manner of speaking, one of the parties +interested in getting things cleared up, I’d like you to tell me just +simply what idea you’ve formed about it ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Gladly,” answered the barrister. “And to start with let me +tell you that the case stinks of blackmail ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Steady on,” interposed the detective. “I thought so, too, at +first. I’ve been into all that. Mr. Parrish made a clean break with the +last of his lady friends about two months since; and, as far as our +investigations go, there has been no blackmail in connection with any of his +women pals. Vine Street knows all about Master Parrish. There were complaints +about some of his little parties up in town. But I don’t believe +there’s a woman in this case ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say there was,” retorted Robin. “The +blackmail is probably being levied from Holland. A threat of violence was +finally carried into effect on Saturday evening between 5 and 5.15 P.M. by some +one conversant with the lie of the land at Harkings. This individual, armed +with an automatic Browning of the same calibre as Mr. Parrish’s, shot at +Parrish through the open window of the library and killed him—probably in +self-defence, after Parrish had had a shot at him ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Steady there, whoa!” said Mr. Manderton in a jocular way clearly +expressive of his incredulity; “there was only one shot ...” +</p> + +<p> +“There were <i>two</i>,” was Robin’s dispassionate reply. +“Though maybe only one was heard. Parrish had a Maxim silencer on his gun +...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton was now thoroughly alert. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you find that out?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Jay, Parrish’s man, came forward and volunteered this evidence +...” +</p> + +<p> +“He said nothing about it when I questioned him,” grumbled the +detective. +</p> + +<p> +Robin laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a terror to the confirmed criminal, they tell me, +Manderton,” he said, “but you obviously don’t understand that +complicated mechanism known as the domestic servant. No servant at Harkings +will voluntarily tell <i>you</i> anything ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton, who had stood up, shook his big frame impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Explain the rest of your theories,” he said harshly. +“What’s all this about blackmail being levied from Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Robin Greve told him of the letters written on the slatey-blue paper and +of their effect upon Parrish, and of the letter headed, “Elias van der +Spyck & Co., General Importers, Rotterdam,” which had lain on the +desk in the library when Parrish’s dead body had been found. +</p> + +<p> +Manderton nodded gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“It was there right enough,” he remarked. “I saw it. A letter +about steel shipments and the dockers’ strike, wasn’t it? As there +seemed nothing to it, I left it with the other papers for Jeekes, the secretary +chap. But what evidence is there that this was blackmail?” +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said Robin, and showed the detective the sheet of blue +paper with its series of slits. “Manderton,” he said, “these +letters written on this blue paper were in code, I feel sure. Why should not +this be the key? You see it bears a date—‘Nov. 25.’ May it +not refer to that letter? I found it by Parrish’s body on the carpet in +the library. I would have given it to you at Harkings, but I shoved it in my +pocket and forgot all about it until I was in the train coming up to town this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton took the sheet of paper, turned it over, and held it up to the +light. Then, without comment, he put it away in the pocket of his jacket. +</p> + +<p> +“If Parrish killed himself,” Robin went on earnestly, “that +letter drove him to it. If, on the other hand, he was murdered, may not that +letter have contained a warning?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should prefer to suspend judgment until we’ve seen the letter, +Mr. Greve,” said the detective bluntly. “We must get it from +Jeekes. In the meantime, what makes you think that the murderer (to follow up +your theory) was conversant with the lay of the land at Harkings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” answered Robin, “the murderer left no tracks on +the grass or flower-beds. He stuck to the hard gravel path throughout. That +path, which runs from the drive through the rosery to the gravel path round the +house just under the library window, is precious hard to find in the dark, +especially where it leaves the drive, as at the outset it is a mere thread +between the rhododendron bushes. And, as I know from experience, unless you are +acquainted with the turns in the path, it is very easy to get off it in the +dark, especially in the rosery, and go blundering on to the flower-beds. And +I’ll tell you something else about the murderer. He—or +she—was of small stature—not much above five foot six in height. +The upward diagonal course of the bullet through Parrish’s heart shows +that ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton shook his head dubiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Very ingenious,” he commented. “But you go rather fast, Mr. +Greve. We must test your theory link by link. There may be an explanation for +Jeekes’s apparently inexplicable lie to the young lady. Let’s see +him and hear what he says. The grounds at Harkings must be searched for this +second bullet, if second bullet there is, the mark on the tree examined by an +expert. And since two bullets argue two pistols in this case, let us see what +result we get from our enquiries as to where Mr. Parrish bought his pistol. He +may have had two pistols ...” +</p> + +<p> +“If Parrish used a silencer,” remarked Robin, quite undisconcerted +by the other’s lack of enthusiasm, “and my theory that two shots +were fired is correct, there must have been two reports, a loud one and a +muffled one. Miss Trevert heard one report, as we know. Did she hear a +second?” +</p> + +<p> +“She said nothing about it,” remarked the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“She was probably asked nothing about it. But we can get this point +cleared up at once. There’s the telephone. Ring up Harkings and ask her +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” said Mr. Manderton and moved to the telephone. +</p> + +<p> +There is little delay on the long-distance lines on a Sunday evening, and the +call to Harkins came through almost at once. Bude answered the telephone at +Harkings. Manderton asked for Miss Trevert. The butler replied that Miss +Trevert was no longer at Harkings. She had gone to the Continent for a few +days. +</p> + +<p> +This plain statement, retailed in the fortissimo voice which Bude reserved for +use on the telephone, produced a remarkable effect on the detective. He grew +red in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” he cried assertively. “Gone to the +Continent? I should have been told about this. Why wasn’t I informed? +What part of the Continent has she gone to?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton’s questions, rapped out with a rasping vigour that recalled +a machine-gun firing, brought Robin to his feet in an instant. He crossed over +to the desk on which the telephone stood. +</p> + +<p> +Manderton placed one big palm over the transmitter and turned to Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s gone to the Continent and left no address,” he said +quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him if Lady Margaret is there,” suggested Robin. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton spoke into the telephone again. Lady Margaret had gone to bed, +Bude answered, and her ladyship was much put out by Miss Trevert gallivanting +off like that by herself with only a scribbled note left to say that she had +gone. +</p> + +<p> +Had Bude got the note? +</p> + +<p> +No, Mr. Manderton, sir, he had not. But Lady Margaret had shown it to him. It +had simply stated that Miss Trevert had gone off to the Continent and would be +back in a few days. +</p> + +<p> +Again the detective turned to Robin at his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“These country bumpkins!” he said savagely. “I must go to the +Yard and get Humphries on the ’phone. He may have telegraphed me about +it. You stay here and I’ll ring you later if there’s any news. What +do you make of it, Mr. Greve?” +</p> + +<p> +“It beats me,” was Robin’s rueful comment. “And what +about the inquest? It’s for Tuesday, isn’t it? Miss Trevert will +have to give evidence, I take it?...” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Mr. Manderton, picking up his hat and speaking in an +offhand way, “I’m getting <i>that</i> adjourned for a week!” +</p> + +<p> +“The inquest adjourned! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a twinkle in the detective’s eye as he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought, maybe, I might get further evidence ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin caught the expression and smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“And when did you come to this decision, may I ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“After our little experiment in the garden this morning,” was the +detective’s prompt reply. +</p> + +<p> +Robin looked at him fixedly. +</p> + +<p> +“But, see here,” he said, “apparently it was to the +deductions you formed from the result of that experiment that I owe the +attentions of your colleagues who have been hanging round the house all day. +And yet you now come to me and invite my assistance. Mr. Manderton, I +don’t get it at all!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve,” replied the detective, “Miss Trevert tried to +shield you. That made me suspicious. You tried to force my investigations into +an entirely new path. That deepened my suspicions. I believed it to be my duty +to ascertain your movements after leaving Harkings. But then I heard Jeekes +make an apparently gratuitously false statement to Miss Trevert with an +implication against you. That, to some extent, cleared you in my eyes. I say +‘to some extent’ because I will not deny that I thought I might be +taking a risk in coming to you like this. You see I am frank!...” +</p> + +<p> +The smile had left Greve’s face and he looked rather grim. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re pretty deep, aren’t you?” was his brief +comment. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +THE CODE KING</h2> + +<p> +Major Euan MacTavish was packing. A heavy and well-worn leather portmanteau, +much adorned with foreign luggage labels, stood in the centre of the floor. +From a litter of objects piled up on a side table the Major was transferring to +it various brown-paper packages which he checked by a list in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +The Major always packed for himself. He packed with the neatness and rapidity +derived from long experience of travel. As a matter of fact, he could not +afford a manservant any more than he could allow himself quarters more +luxurious than the rather grimy bedroom in Bury Street which housed him during +his transient appearances in town. The remuneration doled out by the Foreign +Office to the quiet and unobtrusive gentlemen known as King’s messengers +is, in point of fact, out of all proportion to the prestige and glamour +surrounding the silver greyhound badge, an example of which was tucked away in +a pocket of the Major’s blue serge jacket hanging over the back of a +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s see,” said the Major, addressing a large brown-paper +covered package standing in the corner of the room, “you’re the +bird-cage for Lady Sylvia at The Hague. Two pounds of candles for Mrs. Harry +Deepdale at Berlin; the razor blades for Sir Archibald at Prague; the Teddy +bear for Marjorie; polo-balls for the Hussars at Constantinople—there! I +think that’s the lot! Hullo, hullo, who the devil’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +With a groaning of wires a jangling bell tinkled through the hall (the +Major’s bedroom was on the ground floor). Sims, the aged ex-butler, who, +with his wife, “did for” his lodgers in more ways than one, was out +and the single servant-maid had her Sunday off. Euan MacTavish glanced at his +wrist watch. It showed the hour to be ten minutes past nine. A flowered silk +smoking-coat over his evening clothes and a briar pipe in his mouth, he went +out into the hall and opened the front door. +</p> + +<p> +It was a drenching night. The lamps from a taxi which throbbed dully in the +street outside the house threw a gleaming band of light on the shining +pavement. At the door stood a taxi-driver. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a lady asking for Major MacTavish,” he said, +pointing at the cab. The Major stepped across to the cab and opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Euan,” said a girl’s voice, “how lucky I am to +catch you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mary,” exclaimed the Major, “what on earth brings you +round to me on a night like this? I only came up from the country this +afternoon and I’m off for Constantinople in the morning!” +</p> + +<p> +“Euan,” said Mary Trevert, “I want to talk to you. Where can +we talk?” +</p> + +<p> +The Major raised his eyebrows. He was a little man with grizzled hair and +finely cut, rather sharp features. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he remarked, “there’s not a soul in the house, +and I’ve only got a bedroom here. Though we’re cousins, Mary, my +dear, I don’t know that you ought to....” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a silly old-fashioned old dear,” exclaimed the girl, +“and I’m coming in. No, I’ll keep the cab. We shall want +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the Major, helping her to alight. “I tell +you what. We’ll go into Harry Prankhurst’s sitting-room. He’s +away for the week-end, anyway!” +</p> + +<p> +He took Mary Trevert into a room off the hall and switched on the electric +light. Then for the first time he saw how pale she looked. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, “I know what an awful shock you’ve +had....” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve heard about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw it in the Sunday papers. I was going to write to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Euan,” the girl began in a nervous, hasty way, “I have to go +to Holland at once. There is not a moment to lose. I want you to help me get my +passport viséed.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear girl,” exclaimed the Major, aghast, “you +can’t go to Holland like this alone. Does your mother know about +it?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good trying to stop me, Euan,” she declared. +“I mean to go, anyway. As a matter of fact, Mother doesn’t know. I +merely left word that I had gone to the Continent for a few days. Nobody knows +about Holland except you. And if you won’t help me I suppose I shall have +to go to Harry Tadworth at the Foreign Office. I came to you first because +he’s always so stuffy ...” +</p> + +<p> +Euan MacTavish pushed the girl into a chair and gave her a cigarette. He lit it +for her and took one himself. His pipe had vanished into his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I’ll help you,” he said. “Now, tell me all +about it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Before ... this happened I had promised Hartley Parrish to marry +him,” began the girl. “The doctors say his nerves were wrong. I +don’t believe a word of it. He was full of the joy of life. He was very +fond of me. He was always talking of what we should do when we were married. He +never would have killed himself without some tremendously powerful motive. Even +then I can’t believe it possible ...” +</p> + +<p> +She made a little nervous gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“After he ... did it,” she went on, “I found this letter on +his desk. It came to him from Holland. I mean to see the people who wrote it +and discover if they can throw any light on ... on ... the affair ...” +</p> + +<p> +She had taken from her muff a letter, folded in four, written on paper of a +curious dark slatey-blue colour. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you show me the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“You promise to say nothing about it to any one?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +Without a word the girl gave him the letter. With slow deliberation he unfolded +it. The letter was typewritten and headed: “Elias van der Spyck & Co. +General Importers, Rotterdam.” +</p> + +<p> +This was the letter: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO.<br /> +GENERAL IMPORTERS<br /> +ROTTERDAM Rotterdam 25th Nov. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Codes</i><br /> +A.B.C.<br /> +Liebler’s +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Personal</i><br /> +Dear Mr. Parrish, +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Your favor of even date to hand and contents noted. The last delivery of steel +was to time but we have had warning from the railway authorities that labour +troubles at the docks are likely to delay future consignments. If you +don’t mind we should prefer to settle the question of future delivery by +Nov. 27 as we have a board meeting on the 30th inst. While we fully appreciate +your own difficulties with labour at home, you will understand that this is a +question which we cannot afford to adjourn <i>sine die</i>. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Yours faithfully,<br /> +pro ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. +</p> + +<p> +The signature was illegible. +</p> + +<p> +Euan MacTavish folded the letter again and handed it back to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“That doesn’t take me any farther,” he said. “What do +the police think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“They haven’t seen it,” was the girl’s reply. “I +took it without them knowing. I mean to make my own investigations about this +...” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear Mary,” exclaimed the little Major in a shocked voice, +“you can’t do things that way! Don’t you see you may be +hindering the course of justice? The police may attach the greatest importance +to this letter ...” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right,” retorted the girl, “they +do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why have you kept it from them?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert dropped her eyes and a little band of crimson flushed into her +cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” she commenced, “because ... well, because they are +trying to implicate a friend of mine ...” +</p> + +<p> +The Major took the girl’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” he said, “I’ve known you all your life. +I’ve knocked about a good bit and know something of the world, I believe. +Suppose you tell me all about it ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert hesitated. Then she said, her hands nervously toying with her +muff: +</p> + +<p> +“We believe that Robin Greve—you know whom I mean—had a +conversation with Hartley just before he ... he shot himself. That very +afternoon Robin had asked me to marry him, but I told him about my engagement. +He said some awful things about Hartley and rushed away. Ten minutes later +Hartley Parrish committed suicide. And there <i>was</i> some one talking to him +in the library. Bude, the butler, heard the voices. This afternoon I went down +to the library alone ... to see if I could discover anything likely to throw +any light on poor Hartley’s death. This was the only letter I could find. +It was tucked away between two letter-trays. One tray fitted into the other, +and this letter had slipped between. It seems to have been overlooked both by +Mr. Parrish’s secretary and the police ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But I confess,” argued the Major, “that I don’t see +how this letter, which appears to be a very ordinary business communication, +implicates anybody at all. Why shouldn’t the police see it?...” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said Mary, “directly after discovering it I found +Bruce Wright, who used to be one of Mr. Parrish’s private secretaries, +hiding behind the curtains in the library. Now, Bruce Wright is a great friend +of Robin Greve’s, and I immediately suspected that Robin had sent him to +Harkings, particularly as ...” +</p> + +<p> +“As what?...” +</p> + +<p> +“As he practically admitted to me, that he had come for a letter written +on slatey-blue official-looking paper.” +</p> + +<p> +The girl held up the letter from Rotterdam. +</p> + +<p> +“All this,” the girl continued, “made me think that this +letter must have had something to do with Hartley’s death ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely an additional reason for giving it to the police!...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert set her mouth in an obstinate line. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she affirmed uncompromisingly. “The police believe +that, as the result of a scene between Hartley and Robin, Hartley killed +himself. Until I’ve found out for certain whether this letter implicates +Robin or not, I sha’n’t give it to the police ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But, if Greve really had nothing to do with this shocking tragedy, the +police can very easily clear him. Surely they are the best judges of his guilt +...” +</p> + +<p> +Again a touch of warm colour suffused the girl’s cheeks. Euan MacTavish +remarked it and looked at her wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” he observed gently, “perhaps they’re not, +after all!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked up at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Euan, dear,” she said impulsively, “I knew you’d +understand. Robin and Hartley may have had a row, but it was nothing worse. +Robin is incapable of having threatened—blackmailed—Hartley, as the +police seem to imagine. I am greatly upset by it all; I can’t see things +clear at all; but I’m determined not to give the police a weapon like +this to use against Robin until I know whether it is sharp or blunt, until I +have found out what bearing, if any, this letter had on Hartley Parrish’s +death ...” +</p> + +<p> +Euan MacTavish leant back in his chair and said nothing. He finished his +cigarette, pitched the butt into the fender, and turned to Mary. He asked her +to let him see the letter again. Once more he read it over. Then, handing it +back to her, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all so simple-looking that there may well be something behind +it. But, if you do go to Holland, how are you going to set about your +enquiries?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you can help me, Euan, dear,” answered the +girl. “I want to find somebody at Rotterdam who will help me to make some +confidential enquiries about this firm. Do you know any one? An Englishman +would be best, of course ...” +</p> + +<p> +But Euan MacTavish was halfway to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait there,” he commanded, “till I telephone the one man in +the world who can help us.” +</p> + +<p> +He vanished into the hall where Mary heard him at the instrument. +</p> + +<p> +“We are going round to the Albany,” he said, “to see my +friend, Ernest Dulkinghorn, of the War Office. He can help us if any one can. +But, Mary, you must promise me one thing before we go ... you must agree to do +what old Ernest tells you. You needn’t be afraid. He is the most +unconventional of men, capable of even approving this madcap scheme of +yours!” +</p> + +<p> +“I agree,” said Mary, “but how you waste time, Euan! We could +have been at the Albany by this time!” +</p> + +<p> +In a first-floor oak-panelled suite at the Albany, overlooking the covered walk +that runs from Piccadilly to Burlington Gardens, they found an excessively +fair, loose-limbed man whose air of rather helpless timidity was heightened by +a pair of large tortoise-shell spectacles. He appeared excessively embarrassed +at the sight of MacTavish’s extremely good-looking companion. +</p> + +<p> +“You never told me you were bringing a lady, Euan,” he said +reproachfully, “or I should have attempted to have made myself more +presentable.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked down at his old flannel suit and made an apologetic gesture which +took in the table littered with books and papers and the sofa on which lay a +number of heavy tomes with marked slips sticking out between the pages. +</p> + +<p> +“I am working at a code,” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +“Ernest here,” said MacTavish, turning to Mary, “is the code +king. Your pals in the Intelligence tell me, Ernest, that you’ve never +been beaten by a code ...” +</p> + +<p> +The fair man laughed nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve been pullin’ your leg, Euan,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you believe him, Mary,” retorted her cousin. +“This is the man who probably did more than any one man to beat the +Boche. Whenever the brother Hun changed his code, Brother Ernest was called in +and he produced a key in one, two, three!...” +</p> + +<p> +“What rot you talk, Euan!” said Dulkinghorn. “Working out a +code is a combination of mathematics, perseverance, and inspiration with a good +slice of luck thrown in! But isn’t Miss Trevert going to sit down?” +</p> + +<p> +He cleared the sofa with a sweep of his arm which sent the books flying on to +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Ernest,” said MacTavish, “I want you to give Miss Trevert +here a letter to some reliable fellow in Rotterdam who can assist her in making +a few enquiries of a very delicate nature!” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of enquiries?” asked Dulkinghorn bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“About a firm called Elias van der Spyck,” replied Euan. +</p> + +<p> +“Of Rotterdam?” enquired the other sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right! Do you know them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard the name. They do a big business. But hadn’t Miss +Trevert better tell her story herself?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary told him of the death of Hartley Parrish and of the letter she had found +upon his desk. She said nothing of the part played by Robin Greve. +</p> + +<p> +“Hmph!” said Dulkinghorn. “You think it might be blackmail, +eh? Well, well, it might be. Have you got this letter about you? Hand it over +and let’s have a look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +His nervous manner had vanished. His face seemed to take on a much keener +expression. He took the letter from Mary and read it through. Then he crossed +the room to a wall cupboard which he unlocked with a key on a chain, produced a +small tray on which stood a number of small bottles, some paint-brushes and +pens, and several little open dishes such as are used for developing +photographs. He bore the tray to the table, cleared a space on a corner by +knocking a pile of books and papers on the floor, and set it down. +</p> + +<p> +“Just poke the fire!” he said to Euan. +</p> + +<p> +From a drawer in the table he produced a board on which he pinned down the +letter with a drawing-pin at each corner. Then he dipped a paint-brush into one +of the bottles and carefully painted the whole surface of the sheet with some +invisible fluid. +</p> + +<p> +“So!” he said, “we’ll leave that to dry and see if we +can find out any little secrets, eh? That little tray’ll do the trick if +there’s any monkey business to this letter of yours, Miss Trevert. +That’ll do the trick, eh, what?” +</p> + +<p> +He paced the room as he talked, not waiting for an answer, but running on as +though he were soliloquizing. Presently he turned and swooped down on the +board. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he ejaculated. “Now for the acids!” +</p> + +<p> +With a little piece of sponge he carefully wiped the surface of the letter and +painted it again with a substance from another bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“Just hold that to the fire, would you, Euan?” he said, and gave +MacTavish the board. He resumed his pacing, but this time he hummed in the most +unmelodious voice imaginable: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +She was bright as a butterfly, as fair as a queen,<br /> +Was pretty little Polly Perkins, of Paddington Green. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s dry!” +</p> + +<p> +MacTavish’s voice broke in upon the pacing and the discordant song. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +Dulkinghorn snapped out the question. +</p> + +<p> +“No result!” said Euan. He handed him the board. +</p> + +<p> +Dulkinghorn cast a glance at it, swiftly removed the letter, held it for an +instant up to the electric light, fingered the paper for a moment, and handed +the letter back to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s code,” he said, “it’s a conventional +code and that always beats the expert ... at first. Go to Rotterdam and call on +my friend, Mr. William Schulz. I’ll give you a letter for him and +he’ll place himself entirely at your disposition. Euan will take you +over. Holland is on your beat, ain’t it, Euan? When do you go +next?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” said the King’s Messenger. “The boat train +leaves Liverpool Street at ten o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll want a passport,” said Dulkinghorn, turning to the +girl. “You’ve got it there? Good. Leave it with me. You shall have +it back properly viséed by nine o’clock to-morrow morning. Where are you +stayin’? Almond’s Hotel. Good. I’ll send the letter for Mr. +William Schulz with it!” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” Euan interjected mildly, after making several ineffectual +efforts to stem the torrent of speech, “do you really think that Miss +Trevert will be well advised to risk this trip to Holland alone? Hadn’t +the police better take the matter in hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Police be damned!” replied Dulkinghorn heartily. “Miss +Trevert will be better than a dozen heavy-handed, heavy-footed plain-clothes +men. When you get to Rotterdam, Miss Trevert, you trot along and call on +William Schulz. He’ll see you through.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, to indicate without any possibility of misunderstanding, that his work +had been interrupted long enough, Dulkinghorn got up, and, opening the +sitting-room door, led the way into the hall. As he stood with his hand on the +latch of the front door, Mary Trevert asked him: +</p> + +<p> +“Is this Mr. Schulz an Englishman?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll let you into a secret,” answered Bulkinghorn; “he +<i>was</i>. But he isn’t now! No, no, I can’t say anything more. +You must work it out for yourself. But I will give you a piece of advice. The +less you say about Mr. William Schulz and about your private affairs generally +when you are on the other side, the better it will be for you! +Good-night—and good luck!” +</p> + +<p> +Euan MacTavish escorted Mary to Almond’s Hotel. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very much afraid,” he said to her as they walked along, +“that you’re butting that pretty head of yours into a wasps’ +nest, Mary!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” retorted the girl decisively; “I can take care of +myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I consent to let you go off like this,” said Euan, “it is +only on one condition ... you must tell Lady Margaret where you are going +...” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll spoil everything,” answered Mary, pouting; +“Mother will want to come with me!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she won’t,” urged her cousin, “not if I tell her. +She’ll worry herself to death, Mary, if she doesn’t know what has +become of you. You’d better let me ring her up from the club and tell her +you’re running over to Rotterdam for a few days. Look here, I’ll +tell her you’re going with me. She’ll be perfectly happy if she +thinks I’m to be with you ...” +</p> + +<p> +On that Mary surrendered. +</p> + +<p> +“Have it your own way,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll pick you up here at a quarter-past nine in the +morning,” said Euan as he bade the girl good-night at her hotel, +“then we’ll run down to the F.O. and collect my bags and go on to +the station!” +</p> + +<p> +“Euan,” the girl asked as she gave him her hand, “who is this +man Schulz, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +The King’s messenger leant over and whispered: +</p> + +<p> +“Secret Service!” +</p> + +<p> +“Secret Service!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl repeated the words in a hushed voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Mr. Dulkinghorn ... is he ... that too?” +</p> + +<p> +Euan nodded shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“One of their leadin’ lights!” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“But, Euan,”—the girl was very serious now,—“what +has the Secret Service to do with Hartley Parrish’s clients in +Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +The King’s messenger laid a lean finger along his nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, “what? That’s what is beginning to +interest me!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +A WORD WITH MR. JEEKES</h2> + +<p> +Life is like a kaleidoscope, that ingenious toy which was the delight of the +Victorian nursery. Like the glass fragments in its slide, different in colour +and shape, men’s lives lie about without seeming connection; then Fate +gives the instrument a shake, and behold! the fragments slide into position and +form an intricate mosaic.... +</p> + +<p> +Mark how Fate proceeded on the wet and raw Sunday evening when Bruce Wright, at +the instance of Mr. Manderton, quitted Robin Greve’s chambers in the +Temple, leaving his friend and the detective alone together. To tell the truth, +Bruce Wright was in no mood for facing the provincial gloom of a wet Sunday +evening in London, nor did he find alluring the prospect of a suburban +supper-party at the quiet house where he lived with his widowed mother and +sisters in South Kensington. So, in an irresolute, unsettled frame of mind, he +let himself drift down the Strand unable to bring himself to go home or, +indeed, to form any plan. +</p> + +<p> +He crossed Trafalgar Square, a nocturne in yellow and black—lights +reflected yellow in pavements shining dark with wet—and by and by found +himself in Pall Mall. Here it was that Fate took a hand. At this moment it +administered a preliminary jog to the kaleidoscope and brought the fragment +labelled Bruce Wright into immediate proximity with the piece entitled Albert +Edward Jeekes. +</p> + +<p> +As Bruce Wright came along Pall Mall, he saw Mr. Jeekes standing on the steps +of his club. The little secretary appeared to be lost in thought, his chin +thrust down on the crutch-handle of the umbrella he clutched to himself. So +absorbed was he in his meditations that he did not observe Bruce Wright stop +and regard him. It was not until our young man had touched him on the arm that +he looked up with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “if it isn’t young +Wright!” +</p> + +<p> +Now the sight of Jeekes had put a great idea into the head of our young friend. +He had been more chagrined than he had let it appear to Robin Greve at his +failure to recover the missing letter from the library at Harkings. To obtain +the letter—or, at any rate, a copy of it—from Jeekes and to hand it +to Robin Greve would, thought Bruce, restore his prestige as an amateur +detective, at any rate in his own eyes. Moreover, a chat with Jeekes over the +whole affair seemed a Heaven-sent exit from the <i>impasse</i> of boredom into +which he had drifted this wet Sunday evening. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Mr. Jeekes?” said Bruce briskly. (“Mr.” +Jeekes was the form of address always accorded to the principal secretary in +the Hartley Parrish establishment and Bruce resumed it instinctively.) “I +was anxious to see you. I called in at the club this afternoon. Did you get my +message?” +</p> + +<p> +The little secretary blinked at him through his <i>pince-nez</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“There have been so many messages about this shocking affair that really +I forget ...” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t I come in and have a yarn now?” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce spoke cajolingly. But Mr. Jeekes wrinkled his brow fussily. +</p> + +<p> +There was so much to do; he had had a long day; if Wright would excuse him ... +</p> + +<p> +“As a matter of fact,” explained Bruce with an eye on his man, +“I wanted to see you particularly about a letter ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Some other time ... to-morrow ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Written on dark-blue paper ... you know, one of those letters H.P. made +all the fuss about.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes took his <i>pince-nez</i> from his nose, gave the glasses a hasty +rub with his pocket-handkerchief, and replaced them. He slanted a long narrow +look at the young man. +</p> + +<p> +Then, “What letter do you mean?” he asked composedly. +</p> + +<p> +“A letter which lay on H.P.’s desk in the library at Harkings when +they found the body ...” +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> a letter there then ...?” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t <i>you</i> got it?” +</p> + +<p> +Jeekes shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Come inside for a minute and tell me about this,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He led Bruce into the vast smoking-room of the club. They took seats in a +distant corner near the blazing fire. The room was practically deserted. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Jeekes’s excessive carefulness about money had been a +long-standing joke amongst his assistants when Bruce Wright had belonged to +Hartley Parrish’s secretarial staff. Thrift had become with him more than +a habit. It was a positive obsession. It revealed itself in such petty +meannesses as a perpetual cadging for matches or small change and a careful +abstention from any offer of hospitality. Never in the whole course of his +service had Bruce Wright heard of Mr. Jeekes taking anybody out to lunch or +extending any of the usual hospitalities of life. He was not a little +surprised, therefore, to hear Jeekes ask him what he would take. +</p> + +<p> +Bruce said he would take some coffee. +</p> + +<p> +“Have a liqueur? Have a cigar?” said Jeekes, turning to Bruce from +the somnolent waiter who had answered the bell. +</p> + +<p> +There was a strange eagerness, a sort of over-done cordiality, in the +invitation which contrasted so strongly with the secretary’s habits that +Robin felt dimly suspicious. He suddenly formed the idea that Mr. Jeekes wanted +to pump him. He refused the liqueur, but accepted a cigar. Jeekes waited until +they had been served and the waiter had withdrawn silently into the dim +vastness of the great room before he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then, young Wright,” he said, “what’s this about +a letter? Tell me from the beginning ...” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce told him of the letter from Elias van der Spyck & Co. which Robin had +seen upon the desk in the library at Harkings, of his (Bruce’s) journey +down to Harkings that afternoon and of his failure to find the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“But why do you assume that I’ve got it?” +</p> + +<p> +There was an air of forced joviality about Mr. Jeekes as he put the question +which did not in the least, as he undoubtedly intended it should, disguise his +eagerness. On the contrary, it lent his rather undistinguished features an +expression of cunning which can only be described as knavish. Bruce Wright, +who, as will already have been seen, was a young man with all his wits about +him, did not fail to remark it. The result was that he hastily revised an +intention half-formed in his mind of taking Jeekes a little way into his +confidence regarding Robin Greve’s doubts and suspicions about Hartley +Parrish’s death. +</p> + +<p> +But he answered the secretary’s question readily enough. +</p> + +<p> +“Because Miss Trevert told me you went to the library immediately you +arrived at Harkings last night. I consequently assumed that you must have taken +away the letter seen by Robin Greve ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes drew in his breath with a sucking sound. It was a little trick of +his when about to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“So you saw Miss Trevert at Harkings, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” he said. “We had quite a dramatic meeting, +too—it was like a scene from a film!” +</p> + +<p> +And, with a little good-humoured exaggeration, he gave Mr. Jeekes a description +of his encounter with Mary. And lest it should seem that young Wright was +allowing Mr. Jeekes to pump him, it should be stated that Bruce was well aware +of one of the secretary’s most notable characteristics, a common failing, +be it remarked, of the small-minded, and that was an overpowering suspicion of +anything resembling a leading question. In order, therefore, to gain his +confidence, he willingly satisfied the other’s curiosity regarding his +visit to Harkings hoping thereby to extract some information as to the +whereabouts of the letter on the slatey-blue paper. +</p> + +<p> +“There was no letter of this description on the desk, you say, when you +and Miss Trevert looked?” asked Jeekes when Bruce had finished his story. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing but circulars and bills,” Bruce replied. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes leaned forward and drank off his coffee with a swift movement. Then +he said carelessly: +</p> + +<p> +“From what you tell me, Miss Trevert would have been perhaps a minute +alone in the room without your seeing her?” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce agreed with a nod. +</p> + +<p> +Adjusting his <i>pince-nez</i> on his nose the secretary rose to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Very glad to have seen you again, Wright,” he said, thrusting out +a limp hand; “must run off now—mass of work to get through +...” +</p> + +<p> +Then Bruce risked his leading question. +</p> + +<p> +“If you haven’t got this letter,” he observed, “what +has become of it? Obviously the police are not likely to have taken it because +they know nothing of its significance ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite, quite,” answered Mr. Jeekes absently, but without replying +to the young man’s question. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” asked Bruce boldly, “did old H.P. make such a mystery +about these letters on the slatey-blue paper, Mr. Jeekes?” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary wrinkled up his thin lips and sharp nose into a cunning smile. +</p> + +<p> +“When you get to be my age, young Wright,” he made answer, +“you will understand that every man has a private side to his life. And, +if you have learnt your job properly, you will also know that a private +secretary’s first duty is to mind his own business. About this letter +now—it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Take my advice and +don’t bother your head about it. <i>If</i> it exists ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But it <i>does</i> exist,” broke in Bruce quickly. “Mr. +Greve saw it and read it himself ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes laughed drily. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you forget, young Wright,” he said, jerking his chin +towards the youngster in a confidential sort of way, “don’t you +forget that Mr. Greve is anxious to find a plausible motive for Mr. +Parrish’s suicide. People are talking, you understand! That’s all +I’ve got to say! Just you think it over ...” +</p> + +<p> +Bruce Wright bristled up hotly at this. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see you have any reason to try and impugn Greve’s +motive for wishing to get at the bottom of this mysterious affair ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes affected to be engrossed in the manicuring of his nails. Very +intently he rubbed the nails of one hand against the palm of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“No mystery!” he said decisively with a shake of the head: +“no mystery whatsoever about it, young Wright, except what the amateur +detectives will try and make it out to be. Or has Mr. Greve discovered a +mystery already?” +</p> + +<p> +The question came out artfully. But in the quick glance which accompanied it, +there was an intent watchfulness which startled Bruce accustomed as he was to +the mild and unemotional ways of the little secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I know of,” said Bruce. “Greve is only puzzled like +all of us that H.P. should have done a thing like this!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes was perfectly impassive again. +</p> + +<p> +“The nerves, young Wright! The nerves!” he said impressively. +“Harley Street, not Mr. Greve, will supply the motive to this sad affair, +believe me!” +</p> + +<p> +With that he accompanied the young man to the door of the club and from the +vestibule watched him sally forth into the rain of Pall Mall. +</p> + +<p> +Then Mr. Jeekes turned to the hall porter. +</p> + +<p> +“Please get me Stevenish one-three-seven,” he said, +“it’s a trunk call. Don’t let them put you off with ‘No +reply.’ It’s Harkings, and they are expecting me to ring them. I +shall be in the writing room.” +</p> + +<p> +When, twenty minutes later, Mr. Jeekes emerged from the trunk call telephone +box in the club vestibule, his mouth was drooping at the corners and his hands +trembled curiously. He stood for an instant in thought tapping his foot on the +marble floor of the deserted hall dimly lit by a single electric bulb burning +over the hall porter’s box. Then he went back to the writing-room and +returned with a yellow telegram form. +</p> + +<p> +“Send a boy down to Charing Cross with that at once, please,” he +said to the night porter. +</p> + +<p> +Fate which had brought Bruce Wright face to face with Mr. Jeekes gave the +kaleidoscope another jerk that night. As Bruce Wright entered the Tube Station +at Dover Street to go home to South Kensington, it occurred to him that he +would ring up Robin Greve at his chambers in the Temple and give him an outline +of his (Bruce’s) talk with Jeekes. Bruce went to the public callbox in +the station, but the rhythmic “Zoom-er! Zoom-er! Zoom-er!” which +announces that a number is engaged was all the satisfaction he got. The +prospect of waiting about the draughty station exit did not appeal to him, so +he decided to go home and telephone Robin, as originally arranged, in the +morning. +</p> + +<p> +Just about the time that he made this resolve, Robin in his rooms in the Temple +was hanging up the receiver of his telephone with a dazed expression in his +eyes. Mr. Manderton had rung him up with a piece of intelligence which fairly +bewildered him. It bewildered Mr. Manderton also, as the detective was frank +enough to acknowledge. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert had gone to Rotterdam for a few days in company with her cousin, +Major Euan MacTavish. Mr. Manderton had received this astonishing information +by telephone from Harkings a few minutes before. +</p> + +<p> +“It bothers me properly, Mr. Greve, sir,” the detective had added. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only one thing for it, Manderton,” Robin had said; +“I’ll have to go after her ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing I was about to suggest myself, Mr. Greve. You’re +unofficial-like and can be more helpful than if we detailed one of our own +people from the Yard. And with the investigation in its present stage I +don’t reely feel justified in going off on a wild-goose chase myself. +There are several important enquiries going forward now, notably as to where +Mr. Parrish bought his pistol. But we certainly ought to find out what takes +Miss Trevert careering off to Rotterdam in this way ...” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems almost incredible,” Robin had said, “but it looks +to me as though Miss Trevert must have found out something about the letter +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Or found it herself ...” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! She was in the library when Bruce Wright was there. This +settles it, Manderton. I must go!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said the detective, “I’m going to entrust you +with that slotted sheet of paper again. For I have an idea, Mr. Greve, that you +may get a glimpse of that letter before I do. I’ll send a messenger round +with it at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Then a difficulty arose. Manderton had not got the girl’s address. They +had no address at Harkings. Nor did he know what train Miss Trevert had taken. +She might have gone by the 9 P.M. that night. Had Mr. Greve got a passport? +Yes, Robin had a passport, but it was not viséed for Holland. That meant he +could not leave until the following evening. Then Robin had a “brain +wave.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s an air service to Rotterdam!” he exclaimed. +“It doesn’t leave till noon. A pal of mine went across by it only +last week. That will leave me time to get my passport stamped at the Dutch +Consulate, to catch the air mail, and be in Rotterdam by tea-time! And, +Manderton, I shall go to the Grand Hotel. That’s where my friend stopped. +Wire me there if there’s any news ...” +</p> + +<p> +Air travel is so comfortably regulated at the present day that Robin Greve, +looking back at his trip by air from Croydon Aerodrome to the big +landing-ground outside Rotterdam, acknowledged that he had more excitement in +his efforts to stir into action a lethargic Dutch passport official in London, +so as to enable him to catch the air mail, than in the smooth and uneventful +voyage across the Channel. He reached Rotterdam on a dull and muggy afternoon +and lost no time in depositing his bag at the Grand Hotel. An enquiry at the +office there satisfied him that Mary Trevert had not registered her name in the +hotel book. Then he set out in a taxi upon a dreary round of the principal +hotels. +</p> + +<p> +But fate, which loves to make a sport of lovers, played him a scurvy trick. In +the course of his search it brought Robin to that very hotel towards which, at +the selfsame moment, Mary Trevert was driving from the station. By the time she +arrived, Robin was gone and, with despair in his heart, had started on a tour +of the second-class hotels, checking them by the Baedeker he had bought in the +Strand that morning. It was eight o’clock by the time he had finished. He +had drawn a blank. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of a huge, plate-glass-fronted café reminded him that in the +day’s rush he had omitted to lunch. So he paid off his taxi and dined off +succulent Dutch beefsteak, pounded as soft as velvet and swimming with butter +and served in a bed of deliciously browned ‘earth apples,’ as the +Holländers call potatoes. The café was stiflingly hot; there was a large and +noisy orchestra in the front part and a vast billiard-saloon in the +back—a place of shaded lights, clicking balls, and guttural exclamations. +The heat of the place, the noise and the cries combined with the effect of his +long journey in the fresh air to make him very drowsy. When he had finished +dinner he was content to postpone his investigations until the morrow and go to +bed. Emerging from the café he found to his relief that his hotel was but a few +houses away. +</p> + +<p> +As he sat at breakfast the next morning, enjoying the admirable Dutch coffee, +he reviewed the situation very calmly but very thoroughly. He told himself that +he had no indication as to Mary Trevert’s business in Rotterdam save the +supposition that she had found the van der Spyck letter and had come to +Rotterdam to investigate the matter for herself. He realized that the +hypothesis was thin, for, in the first place, Mary could have no inkling as to +the hidden significance of the document, and, in the second place, she was +undoubtedly under the impression that Hartley Parrish was driven to suicide by +his (Robin’s) threats. +</p> + +<p> +But, in the absence of any other apparent explanation of the girl’s +extraordinary decision to come to Rotterdam, Robin decided he would accept the +theory that she had come about the van der Spyck letter. How like Mary, after +all, he mused, self-willed, fearless, independent, to rush off to Holland on +her own on a quest like this! Where would her investigations lead her? To the +offices of Elias van der Spyck & Co., to be sure! Robin threw his napkin +down on the table, thrust back his chair, and went off to the hotel porter to +locate the address of the firm. +</p> + +<p> +The telephone directory showed that the offices were situated in the +Oranien-Straat, about ten minutes’ walk from the hotel, in the business +quarter of the city round the Bourse. Robin glanced at the clock. It was twenty +minutes to ten. The principals, he reflected, were not likely to be at the +office before ten o’clock. It was a fine morning and he decided to walk. +The hotel porter gave him a few simple directions: the gentleman could not miss +the way, he said; so Robin started off, hope high in his breast of getting a +step nearer to the elucidation of the mystery of the library at Harkings. +</p> + +<p> +A brisk walk of about ten minutes through the roaring streets of the city +brought him to a big open square from which, he had been instructed, the +Oranien-Straat turned off. He was just passing a large and important-looking +post-office—he remarked it because he looked up at a big clock in the +window to see the time—when a man came hastily through the swing-door and +stopped irresolutely on the pavement in front, glancing to right and left as a +man does who is looking for a cab. +</p> + +<p> +At the sight of him Robin could scarcely suppress an expression of amazement. +It was Mr. Jeekes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +THE MAN WITH THE YELLOW FACE</h2> + +<p> +In a narrow, drowsy side street at Rotterdam, bisected by a somnolent canal, +stood flush with the red-brick sidewalk a small clean house. Wire blinds +affixed to the windows of its ground and first floors gave it a curious +blinking air as though its eyes were only half open. To the neat green front +door was affixed a large brass plate inscribed with the single name: +“Schulz.” +</p> + +<p> +A large woman, in a pink print dress with a white cloth bound about her head, +was vigorously polishing the plate as, on the morning following her departure +from London, Mary Trevert, Dulkinghorn’s letter of introduction in her +pocket, arrived in front of the residence of Mr. William Schulz. Euan MacTavish +had, on the previous evening, seen her to her hotel and had then—very +reluctantly, as it seemed to Mary—departed to continue his journey to The +Hague, his taxi piled high with white-and-green Foreign Office bags, heavily +sealed with scarlet wax. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert approached the woman, her letter of introduction, which +Dulkinghorn, being an unusual person, had fastened down, in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Schulz?” she said interrogatively. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Nicht da</i>,” replied the woman without looking up from her +rubbing. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he gone out?” asked Mary in English. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Verstehe nicht</i>!” mumbled the woman. +</p> + +<p> +But she put down her cleaning-rag and, breathing heavily, mustered the girl +with a leisurely stare. +</p> + +<p> +Mary repeated the question in German whereupon the woman brightened up +considerably. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>Herr</i> was not at home. The <i>Herr</i> had gone out. On business, +<i>jawohl</i>. To the bank, perhaps. But the <i>Herr</i> would be back in time +for <i>Mittagessen</i> at noon. There was beer soup followed by +<i>Rindfleisch</i> ... +</p> + +<p> +Mary hesitated an instant. She was wondering whether she should leave her +letter of introduction. She decided she would leave it. So she wrote on her +card: “Anxious to see you as soon as possible” and the name of her +hotel, and gave it, with the letter, to the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Please see that Herr Schulz gets that directly he comes in,” she +said. “It is important!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Gut, gut</i>!” said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron. +She took the card and letter, and Mary, thanking her, set off to go back to her +hotel. +</p> + +<p> +About twenty yards from Mr. Schulz’s house a narrow alley ran off. As +Mary turned to regain the little footbridge across the canal to return to the +noisy street which would take her back to the hotel, she caught sight of a man +disappearing down this alley. +</p> + +<p> +She only had a glimpse of him, but it was sufficient to startle her +considerably. He was a small man wearing a tweed cap and a tweed travelling +ulster of a vivid brown. It was not these details, however, which took her +aback. It was the fact that in the glimpse she had had of the man’s face +she had seemed to recognize the features of Mr. Albert Edward Jeekes. +</p> + +<p> +“What an extraordinary thing!” Mary said to herself. “It +<i>can’t</i> be Mr. Jeekes. But if it is not, it is some one strikingly +like him!” +</p> + +<p> +To get another view of the stranger she hurried to the corner of the alley. It +was a mere thread of a lane, not above six yards wide, running between the +houses a distance of some sixty yards to the next street. But the alley was +empty. The stranger had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Mary went a little way down the lane. A wooden fence ran down it on either +side, with doors at intervals apparently giving on the back yards of the houses +in the street. There was no sign of Mr. Jeekes’s double, so she retraced +her steps and returned to her hotel without further incident. +</p> + +<p> +She had not been back more than half an hour when a waiter came in to the +lounge where she was sitting. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert?” he said. “Zey ask for you at ze +delephone!” +</p> + +<p> +He took her to a cabin under the main staircase. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Miss Trevert speaking!” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I am speaking for Mr. Schulz,” a man’s voice +answered—rather a nasal voice with a shade of foreign +inflexion—“he has had your letter. He is very sorry he has been +detained in the country, but would be very glad if you would lunch with him +to-day at his country-house.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be very pleased,” the girl replied. “Is it +far?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only just outside Rotterdam,” the voice responded. “Mr. +Schulz will send the car to the hotel to pick you up at 11.45. The driver will +ask for you. Is that all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Mary. “Please thank Mr. Schulz and tell him +I will expect the car at a quarter to twelve!” +</p> + +<p> +Punctually at the appointed hour an open touring-car drove up to the hotel. +Mary was waiting at the entrance. The driver was a young Dutchman in a blue +serge suit. He jumped out and came up to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Mees Trevert?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Mary nodded, whereupon he helped her into the car, then got back into the +driving-seat and they drove away. +</p> + +<p> +A run of about twenty minutes through trim suburbs brought them out on a long +straight road, paved with bricks and lined with poplars. The day was fine with +a little bright sunshine from time to time and a high wind which kept the sails +of the windmills dotting the landscape turning briskly. They followed the road +for a bit, then branched off down a side turning which led to a black gate. It +bore the name “Villa Bergendal” in white letters. The gate opened +into a short drive fringed by thick laurel bushes which presently brought them +in view of an ugly square red-brick house. +</p> + +<p> +The car drew up at a creeper-hung porch paved in red tiles. The chauffeur +helped Mary to alight and, pushing open a glass door, ushered the girl into a +square, comfortably furnished hall. Some handsome Oriental rugs were spread +about: trophies of native weapons hung on the walls, and there were some fine +specimens of old Dutch chests and blue Delft ware. +</p> + +<p> +The chauffeur led the way across the hall to a door at the far end. As Mary +followed him, something bright lying on one of the chests caught her eye. It +was a vivid brown travelling ulster and on it lay a brown tweed cap. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert was no fool. She was, on the contrary, a remarkably quick-witted +young person. The sight of that rather “loud” overcoat instantly +recalled the stranger so strikingly resembling Mr. Jeekes who had disappeared +down the lane as she was coming away from Mr. Schulz’s house. Mr. Jeekes +<i>was</i> in Rotterdam then, and had, of course, been sent by her mother to +look after her. What a fool she had been to allow Euan MacTavish to persuade +her to tell her mother of her plans! +</p> + +<p> +Mary suddenly felt very angry. How dare Mr. Jeekes spy on her like this! She +was quite capable, she told herself, of handling her own affairs, and she +intended to tell the secretary so very plainly. And if, as she was beginning to +believe, Mr. Schulz were acting hand in glove with Mr. Jeekes, she would let +him know equally plainly that she had no intention of troubling him, but would +make her own investigations independently. With a heightened colour she +followed the chauffeur and passed through the door he held open for her. +</p> + +<p> +She found herself in a small, pleasant room with a bright note of colour in the +royal blue carpet and window-curtains. A log-fire burned cheerfully in the +fireplace before which a large red-leather Chesterfield was drawn up. On the +walls hung some good old Dutch prints, and there were a couple of bookcases +containing books which, by their bindings at least, seemed old and valuable. +</p> + +<p> +At the farther end of the room was another door across which a curtain of royal +blue was drawn. Mary had scarcely entered the room when this door opened and a +man appeared. +</p> + +<p> +He was carefully dressed in a well-cut suit of some dark material and wore a +handsome pearl pin in his black tie. He was a dark, sallow type of man, his +skin yellowed as though from long residence in the tropics. A small black +moustache, carefully trained outwards from the lips, disclosed, as he smiled a +greeting at his visitor, a line of broken yellow teeth. His hair, which was +grizzled at the temples, was black and oily and brushed right back off the +forehead. With his coarse black hair, his sallow skin, and his small beady +eyes, rather like a snake’s, there was something decidedly un-English +about him. As Mary Trevert looked at him, somewhat taken aback by his sudden +appearance, she became conscious of a vague feeling of mistrust welling up +within her. +</p> + +<p> +The man closed the door behind him and advanced into the room, his hand +extended. Mary took it. It was dank and cold to the touch. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand apologies, my dear Miss Trevert,” he said in a soft, +silky voice, a trifle nasal, with a touch of Continental inflexion, “for +asking you to come out here to see me. The fact is I had an important business +conference here this morning and I have a second one this afternoon. It was +materially impossible for me to come into Rotterdam ... But I am forgetting my +manners. Let me introduce myself. I am Mr. Schulz ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert looked at him thoughtfully. Was this the friend of Ernest +Dulkinghorn, the man of confidence to whom he had recommended her? A feeling of +great uneasiness came over her. She listened. The house was absolutely still. +From the utter silence enveloping it—for aught she knew—she and her +unsavoury-looking companion might be the only persons in it. And then she +realized that, on the faith of a telephone call, she had blindly come out to a +house, the very address of which was utterly unknown to her. +</p> + +<p> +She fought down a sudden sensation of panic that made her want to scream, to +bolt from the room into the fresh air, anywhere away from those snake eyes, +that soft voice, that clammy hand. She collected her thoughts, remembered that +Jeekes must be somewhere in the house, as his outdoor things were in the hall. +The recollection reminded her of her determination to tolerate no interference +from Jeekes or her mother. +</p> + +<p> +So she merely answered: “It was no trouble to come,” and waited for +the man to speak again. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled forward the Chesterfield and made her sit down beside him. +</p> + +<p> +“I had the letter of introduction,” he said, “and I want you +to know that my services are entirely at your disposal. Now, what can I do for +you?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the girl intently—rather anxiously, she thought. +</p> + +<p> +“That was explained in the letter,” she answered, meeting his gaze +unflinchingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, of course, I know. I meant in what way do you propose to make +use of my ... my local knowledge?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you that, Mr. Schulz,” Mary Trevert said in a measured +voice, “when you tell me what you think of the mission which has brought +me here ...” +</p> + +<p> +The snake’s eyes narrowed a little. +</p> + +<p> +“For a young lady to have come out alone to Holland on a mission of this +description speaks volumes for your pluck and self-reliance, Miss Trevert +...” +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you what you thought of my mission to Holland, Mr. +Schulz,” Mary interposed coldly. +</p> + +<p> +It was beginning to dawn on her that Mr. Schulz did not seem to know anything +about the object of her visit, but, on the contrary, was seeking to elicit this +from her by a process of adroit cross-examination. She was rather puzzled, +therefore, but also somewhat relieved when he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I can give my opinion better after you have shown me the letter +...” +</p> + +<p> +“What letter?” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“The letter from Elias van der Spyck and Company, to be sure,” +retorted the other quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Mary dipped her hand into her black fox muff. Then she hesitated. She could not +rid herself of the suspicion that this man with the sallow face and the yellow +fangs was not to be trusted. She withdrew her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very delicate matter, Mr. Schulz,” she said. “Our +appointment was made by telephone, and I think therefore I should ask you to +show me Mr. Dulkinghorn’s letter of introduction before I go any further, +so that I may feel quite sure in my mind that I am dealing with one in whom I +know Mr. Dulkinghorn to have every confidence ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schulz’s yellow face went a shade yellower. His mouth twisted itself +into a wry smile, his thin lips fleshing his discoloured teeth. He stood up +rather stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a guest in my house, Miss Trevert,” he said with offended +dignity, “I scarcely expected you to impugn my good faith. Surely my word +is sufficient ...” +</p> + +<p> +He turned his back on her and took a couple of paces into the room in apparent +vexation. Then he returned and stood at the back of the Chesterfield behind +her. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet, but some vague instinct made +Mary Trevert turn her head. She saw him standing there, twisting his hands +nervously behind his back. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely my word is sufficient ...” he repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“In business,” said Mary boldly, “one cannot be too +careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” Mr. Schulz urged, “this was a private letter which +Mr. ... Mr. Dulkinghorn certainly did not expect you to see. That makes it +awkward ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I think in the circumstances,” said Mary, “I must insist, +Mr. Schulz!” +</p> + +<p> +She was now feeling horribly frightened. She strained her ears in vain for a +sound. The whole house seemed wrapped in a grave-like quiet. The smile had +never left Mr. Schulz’s face. But it was a cruel, wolfish grin without a +ray of kindliness in it. The girl felt her heart turn cold within her every +time her eyes fell on the mask-like face. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Schulz shrugged shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“Since you insist ...” he remarked. “But I think it is +scarcely fair on our friend Dulkinghorn. The letter is in the safe in my office +next door. If you come along I will get it out and show it to you ...” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke unconcernedly, but stiffly, as though to emphasize the slight put upon +his dignity. One hand thrust jauntily in his jacket pocket, he stepped across +the carpet to the door with the blue curtain. He opened it, then stood back for +the girl to pass in before him. +</p> + +<p> +“After you!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He had placed himself so close to the doorway that the black fox about her neck +brushed his face as she passed. Suddenly a warm, sickly whiff of some +sweet-smelling odour came to her. She stopped on the instant, irresolute, +alarmed. Then a dank hand was clapped on her face, covering nostrils and mouth +with a soft cloth reeking with a horrible cloying drug. An arm with muscles +like steel was passed round her waist and held her in a vice-like grip against +which she struggled in vain. She felt her senses slipping, slipping ... +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +TWO’S COMPANY ...</h2> + +<p> +On the pavement opposite the post-office stood one of those high pillars which +are commonly used in Continental cities for the display of theatre and concert +advertisements. Robin instantly stepped behind it. It was not that he wished to +avoid being seen by Jeekes as much as that he had not decided in his mind what +course he had best pursue. From behind the cover of the pillar he mustered his +man. +</p> + +<p> +The little secretary looked strange and unfamiliar in a sporting sort of +travelling ulster of a tawny brown hue and a cap of the same stuff. But there +was no mistaking the watery eyes, the sharp nose, the features. He had +obviously not seen Robin. His whole attention was rivetted on the street. He +kept peering nervously to right and left as though expecting some one. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he stepped forward quickly to the kerb. Then Robin saw an open car +detach itself from the press of traffic in the square and, driven very fast, +approach the post-office. It was a large car with a grey body; a sallow man +wearing a black felt hat sat at the wheel. The car drew up at the kerb and +halted within a few feet of the advertisement pillar. Robin backed hastily +round it to escape observation. He had resolved to do nothing until he had +ascertained who Jeekes’s friend was and what business the secretary had +with him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” Robin heard the man in the car say in +English; “I telephoned the girl and she’s coming. What a piece of +luck, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin heard the click of the car door as it swung open. +</p> + +<p> +“... better get along out there at once,” he heard the man in the +car say, “I’m sending Jan in the car for her at ...” +</p> + +<p> +Then Robin stepped out unexpectedly from behind his pillar and cannoned into +Mr. Jeekes, who was just entering the car. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning,” said Robin with easy assurance; “I’m +delighted to hear that you’ve found Miss Trevert, Jeekes, for, to tell +the truth, I was feeling somewhat uneasy about her ...” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary’s face was a study. The surprise of seeing Robin, who had +dropped, it seemed to him, out of the clouds into the city of Rotterdam, +deprived him of speech for an instant. He blinked his eyes, looked this way and +that, and finally, with a sort of blind gesture, readjusted his +<i>pince-nez</i> and glared at the intruder. +</p> + +<p> +Then, without a word, he got into the car. But Robin, with a firm hand, stayed +the door which Jeekes would have closed behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” Robin remarked decidedly, “but I’m coming +with you if your friend”—at this he looked at the man in the +driving-seat—“has no objection ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes cast a frightened glance at the sallow man. +</p> + +<p> +The latter said impatiently: +</p> + +<p> +“We’re wasting time, Jeekes. Who is this gentleman?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is Mr. Greve,” said the little secretary hurriedly, “a +friend of Mr. Parrish and Miss Trevert. He was staying in the house at the time +of the tragedy. He has, I understand, taken a prominent part in the +investigations as to the motive of our poor friend’s sad end ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes looked to Robin as he said this as though for confirmation. The man +at the driving-wheel turned and gave the little secretary a quick glance. Then +he mustered Robin with a slow, insolent stare. He had a yellow face and small +black eyes quick and full of intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +Then he bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Victor,” he said. “The sad news about Mr. Parrish +was a great shock to me. I met him several times in London. Were you anxious to +see Miss ... er ... Trevert? She has come to Rotterdam (so my friend Jeekes +tells me) to look into certain important business transactions which the late +Mr. Parrish had in hand at the time of his death. Did I understand you to say +that you were uneasy about this lady? Is there any mystery about her +journey?...” +</p> + +<p> +For the moment Robin felt somewhat abashed. The question was rather a poser. +Was there, in effect, any mystery about Mary’s trip to Rotterdam +accompanied by her cousin? She had acquainted her people at Harkings with her +plans. What if, after all, everything was open and above-board, and she had +merely come to Rotterdam on business? It seemed difficult to believe. Surely in +such a case the solicitor, Bardy, would have been the more suitable emissary +... +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll forgive us, I’m sure,” the yellow-faced man +remarked suavely, “but we’re in a great hurry. Would you mind +closing that door?...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin closed the door. But he got into the car first. As he had stood on the +pavement in doubt, the recollection of Jeekes’s inexplicable lie about +the payments made by Parrish for the French lady in the Mayfair flat came back +to him and deepened the suspicion in his mind. It would in any case, he told +himself, do no harm to find out who this rather unsavoury-looking Rotterdam +friend of Jeekes’s was ... +</p> + +<p> +So Robin jumped into the car and sat down on the back seat next to the +secretary. +</p> + +<p> +“It happens,” he said, “that I am particularly anxious to see +Miss Trevert. As I gather you are going to meet her, I feel sure you +won’t mind my accompanying you ...” +</p> + +<p> +The yellow-faced man turned with an easy smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry,” he said, “but we are having a meeting with Miss +Trevert on private business and I’m afraid we cannot take you along. +Jeekes here, however, could take a message to Miss Trevert and if she +<i>wanted</i> to see you ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off significantly and smiled slily at the secretary. Robin felt +himself flush. So Jeekes had been telling tales out of school to Mr. Victor, +had he? The young man squared his jaw. That settled it. He would stay. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise not to butt in on your private business,” he replied, +“but I simply must see Miss Trevert before I go back to London. So, if +you don’t mind, I think I’ll come along ...” +</p> + +<p> +The yellow-faced man glanced at his wrist watch. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t prevent you!” he exclaimed. Then he rapped out +something in Dutch to Jeekes. The secretary leaned forward to catch the remark. +The yellow-faced man threw in the clutch. +</p> + +<p> +“Goed!” (good), answered Jeekes in the same language, and resumed +his seat as the car glided smoothly away from the kerb into the traffic of the +busy square. Robin settled himself back in the seat with an inaudible sigh of +satisfaction. He did not like the look of Jeekes’s companion, he told +himself, and Mr. Victor, whoever he was, had certainly manifested no great +desire for Robin’s company. But he was going to see Mary. That was all +that counted for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +They threaded their way through the streets in silence. It passed through +Robin’s mind to start a discussion with Jeekes about the death of Hartley +Parrish. But in the circumstances he conceived it might easily assume a +controversial character, and he did not want to take any risk of jeopardizing +his chance of meeting Mary again. And no other subject of conversation occurred +to him. He did not know Jeekes at all well, knew him in fact only as a week-end +guest knows the private secretary of his host, a shadowy personality, +indispensable and part of the household, but scarcely more than a name ... +</p> + +<p> +The car had put on speed as they left the more crowded streets and emerged into +the suburbs. Now they were running over a broad straight main road lined with +poplars. Robin wondered whither they were bound. He was about to put the +question to the secretary when the man Victor turned his head and said over his +shoulder: +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Nu</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +At the same moment the speed of the car sensibly diminished. +</p> + +<p> +Jeekes put his arm across the young man at his side. +</p> + +<p> +“That door,” he said, touching his sleeve, “doesn’t +seem to be properly shut. Would you mind ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin pushed the door with his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems all right,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Permit me ...” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary stretched across and pulled back the latch, releasing the door. +It swung out. +</p> + +<p> +“Now close it,” said Mr. Jeekes. +</p> + +<p> +The door was flapping to and fro with the swaying of the car over the rough +road and Robin had to half rise in order to comply with the request. He was +leaning forward, steadying himself with one hand grasping the back of the +driving-seat, when he received a tremendous shove in the back. At the same +moment the car seemed to leap forward: he made a desperate effort to regain his +balance, failed, and was whirled out head foremost on to the side of the road. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately for himself he fell soft. The road ran here through a little wood +of young oak and beech which came right down to the edge of the +<i>chaussée</i>. The ground was deep in withered leaves which, with the rain +and the water draining from the road’s high camber, were soft and soggy. +Robin went full length into this muss with a thud that shook every bone in his +body. His left leg, catching in a bare gorse-bush, acted as a brake and stopped +him from rolling farther. He sat up, his mouth full of mud and his hair full of +wet leaves, and felt himself carefully over. He contemplated rather ruefully a +long rent in the left leg of his trousers just across the knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes!” he murmured; “he pushed me out! The dirty +dog!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he remembered that, with the men in the car gone, he had lost trace again +of Mary Trevert. His forcible ejection from the car was evidence enough of +their determination to deal with Mary without interference from outside. It +looked ominous. Robin sprang to his feet and rushed to the middle of the road. +</p> + +<p> +The <i>chaussée</i> was absolutely empty. About a hundred yards from where he +stood in the direction in which the car had been travelling the road made a +sharp bend to the right, thus curtailing his view. Robin did not hesitate. Not +waiting to retrieve his hat or even to wipe the mud from his face, he started +off at a brisk run along the road in the direction in which the car had +disappeared. He had not gone far before he found that his heavy overcoat was +seriously impeding him. He stripped it off and, folding it, hid it beneath a +bush just inside the plantation. Then he ran on again. +</p> + +<p> +Fresh disappointment awaited him when he rounded the bend in the road. A few +hundred yards on the road turned again. There was no sign of the car. A cart +piled high with manure was approaching, the driver, wearing wooden shoes and +cracking at intervals a huge whip, trudging at the side. +</p> + +<p> +Robin stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Motor-car? Automobile?” he asked pointing in the direction from +which the cart had come. The driver stared at him with a look of owlish +stupidity. +</p> + +<p> +“Automobile?” repeated Robin. “Tuff-Tuff?” +</p> + +<p> +Very slowly a grin suffused the carter’s grimy face. He showed a row of +broken black teeth. A tiny stream of saliva escaped from the corner of his +mouth and trickled over the reddish stubble on his chin. Then he continued his +way, turning his head every now and then to display his idiot’s grin. +</p> + +<p> +“Damnation!” exclaimed Robin, starting to run again. “Not a +soul to ask in this accursed desert except the village idiot! Oh! that Jeekes! +I’ll wring his blinking neck when I get hold of him!” +</p> + +<p> +He was furious with himself for the abject way in which he had been fooled. The +man Victor had given Jeekes his orders in Dutch and had purposely picked a soft +spot on the roadside and slowed down the car in order that the unwelcome +intruder might be ejected as safely as possible. And to think that Robin had +blandly allowed Jeekes to open the door and throw him out on the road! +</p> + +<p> +He was round the second bend now. The sun was shining with a quite respectable +warmth and the steamy air made him desperately hot. The perspiration rolled off +his face. But he never slackened his gait. Robin knew these Continental roads +and their habit of running straight. He reckoned confidently on presently +coming upon a long stretch where he might discern the car. +</p> + +<p> +He was not deceived. After the second bend the <i>chaussée</i>, just as he +anticipated, straightened out and ran clear away between an ever-narrowing +double line of poplars to become a bluish blob on the horizon. But of the car +nothing was to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +For the second time Robin pulled up. He took serious counsel with himself. He +estimated that he could see for about three miles along the road. Less than +three minutes had elapsed since his misadventure, and therefore he was +confident that the car should yet be in sight, unless it had left the road, for +it could not have warmed up to a speed exceeding sixty miles an hour in the +time. There was no sign of the car on the road, consequently it must have left +it. Robin had passed no side roads between the scene of the accident and the +second bend; therefore, he argued, he had the car before him still. He would go +on. +</p> + +<p> +When he started off for the third time, it was at a brisk walking pace. As he +went he kept a sharp lookout to right and left of the road for any trace of the +car. It never occurred to him that to follow on foot a swift car bound for an +unknown destination was the maddest kind of wild-goose chase. He was profoundly +uneasy about Mary, but at the same time immeasurably angered by the trick +played upon him—angered not so much against Jeekes as against the +sallow-faced man whom he recognized as its inceptor. He had no thought for +anything else. +</p> + +<p> +The flat Dutch landscape stretched away on either side of the road. A windmill +or two, the inevitable irrigation canals with their little sluices, and an +occasional tree alone broke the monotony of the scene. But away to the right +Robin noticed a clump of trees which, he surmised, might conceivably enclose a +house. +</p> + +<p> +As he walked, he scrutinized the roadway for any track of a car. But on the +hard brick <i>pavé</i> wheels left no mark. The first side road he came to was +likewise paved in brick. In grave perplexity Robin came to a halt. +</p> + +<p> +Then his eye fell upon a puddle. It lay on the edge of the footpath bordering +the <i>chaussée</i> about five yards beyond the turning. The soft mud which +skirted it showed the punched-out pattern of a studded tyre! The car had not +taken this side road, at any rate. It had probably pulled over on to the +footpath to pass the manure cart which Robin had met. He pushed on again +valiantly. +</p> + +<p> +Another hundred yards brought him to a second side road. There was no +<i>pavé</i> here, but a soft sandy surface. And it bore, clearly imprinted in +the mud, the fresh tracks of a car as it had turned off the road. +</p> + +<p> +Breaking into a run Robin followed the track down the turning. It led him to a +black gate beyond which was a twisting gravel drive fringed with high laurels. +And the gravel showed the same tyre marks as the road. +</p> + +<p> +He vaulted the gate lightly and ran up the drive. He was revolving in his head +what his next move should be. Should he walk boldly into the house and confront +Jeekes and his rascally looking companion or should he first spy out the ground +and try to ascertain whether Mary had arrived? He decided on the latter course. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when an unexpected turn of the drive brought him in view of a +white porch, he left the avenue and took cover behind the laurel bushes. +Walking softly on the wet grass and keeping well down behind the laurels, he +went forward parallel with the drive. It ran into a clean courtyard with a +coachhouse or garage on one side and a small green door, seemingly a side +entrance into the house, on the other. +</p> + +<p> +There was no one in the courtyard and the house seemed perfectly quiet. From +his post of observation behind the laurels, Robin observed that a tall window +beside the green door commanded the view across the courtyard. He therefore +retraced his steps by the way he had come. When he was past the corner of the +house, he returned to the drive and keeping close to the bushes walked quietly +into the courtyard. There, hugging the wall, he crept round past the closed +doors of the garage until he found himself beside the tall window adjoining the +green door. +</p> + +<p> +The window was open a few inches at the top. From within the sound of voices +reached him. Jeekes was speaking. Robin recognized his rather grating voice at +once. +</p> + +<p> +“... no more violence,” he was saying; “first Greve and now +the girl. I don’t like your methods, Victor ...” +</p> + +<p> +Very cautiously Robin dropped on one knee and shuffled forward in this position +until his eyes were on a level with the window-sill. He found himself looking +into a narrow room, well lighted by a second window at the farther end. It was +apparently an office, for there was a high desk running down the centre and a +large safe occupied a prominent place against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Jeekes and the man Victor stood chatting at the desk. The yellow-faced man was +grinning sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“Parrish don’t like your methods, I’ll be bound,” he +retorted. “Don’t you worry about the little lady, Jeekes! Bless +your heart, I won’t hurt her unless ...” +</p> + +<p> +The loud throbbing of a car at the front of the house made Robin duck his head +hastily. The car, he guessed, might be round at the garage any moment and it +would not do for him to be discovered. He got clear of the window, rose to his +feet, and tiptoed round the house by the way he had come. Then he crossed the +drive and regained the shelter of the laurels. Crawling along until he came +level with the porch, he peeped through. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert was just entering the house. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +THE METAMORPHOSIS OF MR. SCHULZ</h2> + +<p> +As the girl collapsed, the yellow-faced man, with an adroit movement, whisked +the handkerchief off her face and crammed it into his pocket. Then, while he +supported her with one arm, with the other he thrust at the door to close it. +Without paying further attention to it, he turned and, bending down, lifted the +girl without an effort off her feet and carried her across the room to the +Chesterfield, upon which he laid her at full length. Then he seized her muff, +which dangled from her neck by a thin platinum chain. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he heard the door behind him creak. In a flash he remembered that he +had not heard the click of the lock as he had thrust the door to. He was +springing erect when a firm hand gripped him by the back of the collar and +pulled him away from the couch. He staggered back, striving to regain his +balance, but then a savage shove flung him head foremost into the fireplace. He +fell with a crash among the fire-irons. But he was on his feet again in an +instant. +</p> + +<p> +He saw a tall, athletic-looking young man standing at the couch. He had a +remarkably square jaw; his eyes were shining and he breathed heavily. He wore a +blue serge suit which was heavily besmeared with white plaster and the trousers +were rent across one knee. Straight at his throat sprang the yellow-faced man. +</p> + +<p> +Something struck him halfway. The young man had waited composedly for his +coming, but as his assailant advanced, had shot out his left hand. There was a +sharp crack and the yellow-faced man, reeling, dropped face downwards on the +carpet without a sound. In his fall his foot caught a small table on which a +vase of chrysanthemums stood, and the whole thing went over with a loud crash. +He made a spasmodic effort to rise, hoisted himself on to his knees, swayed +again, and then collapsed full length on the floor, where he lay motionless. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of the fall seemed to awaken the girl. She stirred uneasily once or +twice. +</p> + +<p> +“What ... what is it?” she muttered, and was still again. +</p> + +<p> +Bending down, the young man gathered her up in his arms and bore her out +through the door with the blue curtain, through a plainly furnished sort of +office with high desks and stools, and out by a side door into a paved yard. +There an open car was standing. The fresh air seemed to revive the girl +further. As the young man laid her on the seat, she struggled up into a sitting +position and passed her hand across her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with me?” she said in a dazed voice; “I +feel so ill!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, catching sight of the young man as he peered into her face, she +exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Robin!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God, you’re all right, Mary,” said Robin. +“We’ve not got a moment to lose. We must get away from here +quick!” +</p> + +<p> +He was at the bonnet cranking up the car. But the engine, chilled by the cold +air, refused to start. As he was straining at the handle, a man dashed suddenly +into the yard by the office door. +</p> + +<p> +It was Jeekes. The little secretary was a changed man. He still wore his +<i>pince-nez</i>. But his mild air had utterly forsaken him. His face was +livid, the eyes bulged horribly from his head, and his whole body was trembling +with emotion. In his hand he held an automatic pistol. He came so fast that he +was at the car and had covered Robin with his weapon before the other had seen +him come. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes left Robin no time to act. He called out in a voice that rang like a +pistol shot: +</p> + +<p> +“Hands up, Mr. Smartie! Quick, d’you hear? Put ’em up, damn +you!” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly, defiantly the young man raised his arms above his head. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes stood close to the driver’s seat, having prudently put the car +between himself and Robin. As he stood there, his automatic levelled at the +young man, a remarkable thing happened. A black, soft surface suddenly fell +over his face and was pulled back with a brisk tug. Mary Trevert, standing up +in the back seat of the car, had flung her fur over the secretary’s head +from behind and caught him in a noose. Before Mr. Jeekes could disentangle +himself, Robin was at his throat and had borne him to the ground. The pistol +was knocked skilfully from his hand and fell clattering on the flags. Robin +pounced down on it. Then for the first time he smiled, a sunny smile that lit +up his blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, Mary!” he said. “That <i>was</i> an idea! Now, then, +Jeekes,” he ordered, “crank up that car. And be quick about it! We +want to be off!” +</p> + +<p> +The little secretary was a lamentable sight. He was bleeding from a cut on the +forehead, his clothes were covered with dust, and his glasses had been broken +in his fall. Peering helplessly about him, he walked to the bonnet of the car +and sullenly grasped the handle. The smile had left Robin’s face, and +Mary noticed that he looked several times anxiously at the office door. +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly the engine bit. Handing the pistol to the girl, Robin warned +her to keep the secretary covered and, leaping into the driving-seat, turned +the car into the avenue which curved round the house. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jeekes made no further show of fight. He remained standing in the centre of +the courtyard, a ludicrous, rather pathetic, figure. As the tyres of the car +gritted on the gravel of the drive, the office door was flung open and the +yellow-faced man ran out, brandishing a big revolver. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” he shouted and levelled his weapon. The car seemed to leap +forward and took the sharp turn on two wheels just as the man fired. The bullet +struck the wall of the house and sent up a shower of plaster. Before he could +fire again the car was round the house and out of sight. But as the car whizzed +round the turn an instant before the yellow-faced man fired, the girl heard a +sharp cry from Jeekes: +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t, Victor ...!” +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the sentence was lost in the roar of the engine as the car raced +away down the drive. +</p> + +<p> +They left the avenue in a splutter of wet gravel. The gate still stood open. +They wheeled furiously into the side road and regained the <i>chaussée</i>. As +yet there was no sign of pursuit. The car rocked dangerously over the broken +<i>pavé</i>, so Robin, after a glance behind, steadied her down to an easier +pace. Mary, who looked very pale and ill, was lying back on the back seat with +her eyes closed. +</p> + +<p> +They ran easily into Rotterdam as, with a terrific jangle of tunes played +jerkily on the chimes, the clocks were striking two. Robin slowed down as they +approached the centre of the city. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you staying, Mary?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +He had to repeat the question several times before she gave him the address. +Then he found himself in a quandary. He was in a strange town and did not know +a word of the language so as to be able to ask the way. However, he solved the +difficulty without great trouble. He beckoned to a newspaper boy on the square +outside the Bourse and, holding up a two-gulden piece, indicated by signs that +he desired him as a guide. The boy comprehended readily enough and, springing +on the footboard of the car, brought them safely to the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +Robin left Mary and the car in charge of the boy and went to the office and +asked to see the manager. He had decided upon the story he must tell. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert,” he said, when the manager, a blond and suave Swiss, +had presented himself, “has been to the dentist and has been rather upset +by the gas. Would you get one of the maids to help her up to her room and in +the meantime telephone for a doctor. If there is an English doctor in +Rotterdam, I should prefer to have him!” +</p> + +<p> +The manager clicked in sympathy. He despatched a lady typist and a chambermaid +to help Mary out of the car. +</p> + +<p> +“For a doctor,” he said, “it ees fortunate. We ’ave an +English doctor staying in ze hotel now—a sheep’s doctor. He is in +ze lounge. Eef you come, <i>hein?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The “sheep’s doctor” proved to be a doctor off one of the big +liners, a clean-shaven, red-faced, hearty sort of person who readily +volunteered his services. As Robin was about to follow him into the lift, the +manager stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Zere was a shentleman call to see Mees Trevert,” he said, +“two or three time ’e been ’ere ... a Sherman shentleman. +’E leave ’er a note ... will you take it?” +</p> + +<p> +Greatly puzzled, Robin Greve balanced in his hands the letter which the manager +produced from a pigeon-hole. Then he tore open the envelope. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +D<small>EAR</small> M<small>ISS</small> T<small>REVERT</small> [he read], I was +extremely sorry to miss you this morning. Directly I received your message I +called at your hotel, but, though I have been back twice, I have not found you +in. Circumstances have arisen which make it imperative that I should see you as +soon as possible. This is <i>most urgent</i>. I will come back at four +o’clock, as I cannot get away before. Do not leave the hotel <i>on any +pretext</i> until you have seen me and Dulkinghorn’s letter as +identification. You are in <i>grave danger</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The note was signed “W. Schulz.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” was Robin’s comment; “he writes like an +Englishman, anyway.” +</p> + +<p> +He ascertained the number of Mary Trevert’s room and went up to her floor +in the lift. He waited in the corridor outside the room for the doctor to +emerge, and lit a cigarette to while away the time. It was not until he had +nearly finished his second cigarette that the doctor appeared. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor hesitated on seeing Robin. Then he stepped close up to him. Robin +noticed that his red face was more flushed than usual and his eyes were +troubled. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this cock-and-bull story about gas you’ve put up to +the manager?” he said bluntly in a low voice. “The girl’s +been doped with chloroform, as well you know. You’ll be good enough to +come downstairs to the manager with me ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin took out his note-case and produced a card. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my name,” he said. “You’ll see that +I’m a barrister ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the doctor in a non-committal voice after he had read +the card. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not surprised to hear you say that Miss Trevert has been +doped,” Robin remarked. “I found her here in a house on the +outskirts of Rotterdam in the hands of two men, one of whom is believed to be +implicated in a mysterious case of suspected murder in England. Through the +part he played this morning, he has probably run his head into the noose. But +he’ll have it out again if we delay an instant. I told the manager that +yarn about the dentist to avoid enquiries and waste of time. I have here a note +from some man I don’t know, addressed to Miss Trevert, warning her of a +grave danger threatening her. It corroborates to some extent what I have told +you. Here ... read it for yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +He handed the doctor the note signed “W. Schulz.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor read it through carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“What I would propose to you,” said Robin, “is that we two +should go off at once to this Herr Schulz and find out exactly what he knows. +Then we can decide what action there is to be taken ...” +</p> + +<p> +He paused for the doctor’s reply. The latter searched Robin’s face +with a glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m your man,” he said shortly. “And, by the way, my +name’s Collingwood ... Robert Collingwood.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a car downstairs,” said Robin, “and a guide to +show us the way. Shall we go?” +</p> + +<p> +Five minutes later, under the newsboy’s expert guidance, the car drew up +in front of the small clean house with the neat green door bearing the name of +“Schulz.” Leaving the boy to mind the car, they rang the bell. The +door was opened by the fat woman in the pink print dress. +</p> + +<p> +Robin gave the woman his card. On it he had written “About Miss +Trevert.” Speaking in German the woman bade them rather roughly to bide +where they were, and departed after closing the front door in their faces. She +did not keep them waiting long, however, for in about a minute she returned. +Herr Schulz would receive the gentlemen, she said. +</p> + +<p> +Within, the house was spotlessly clean with that characteristic German house +odour which always seems to be a compound of cleaning material and hot grease. +Up a narrow staircase, furnished in plain oil-cloth with brass stair-rods, they +went to a landing on the first floor. Here the woman motioned them back and, +bending her head in a listening attitude, knocked. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Herein</i>!” cried a guttural German voice. +</p> + +<p> +The room into which they entered would have been entitled to a place in any +museum for showing the mode of life of the twentieth-century Germans. With its +stuffy red rep curtains, its big green majolica stove, its heavy mahogany +furniture, its oleographs of Bismarck, Roon, and Moltke, it might have been +lifted bodily from a bourgeois house in the Fatherland. +</p> + +<p> +A man was sitting at a mahogany roll-top desk as they entered. The air in the +room was thick with the fumes of the cheap Dutch cigar he was smoking. He was a +sturdily built fellow with blond hair shaven so close to the skull that at a +distance he seemed to be bald. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of their entrance, he rose and faced them. When he stood erect the +sturdiness of his build became accentuated, and they saw he was a man of medium +height, but so muscular that he looked much shorter. A pair of large +tortoise-shell spectacles straddled a big beak-like nose, and he wore a +heavyish blond moustache with its points trained upwards and outwards rather +after the fashion made famous in the Fatherland by William Hohenzollern. In his +ill-cut suit of cheap-looking blue serge, which he wore with a pea-green tie, +Robin thought he looked altogether a typical specimen of the German of the +non-commissioned officer class. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask for me?” he said in deep guttural accents, looking at +Robin; “I am Herr Schulz!” +</p> + +<p> +The German’s manner was cold and formal and Robin felt a little dashed. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Greve,” he began rather hurriedly. “I understand +you received a visit to-day from a young English lady, a Miss Trevert +...” +</p> + +<p> +The German let his eyes travel slowly from Robin to the doctor and back again. +He did not offer them a chair and all three remained standing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-es, and what if I did?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin felt his temper rising. +</p> + +<p> +“You wrote a note to Miss Trevert at her hotel warning her that she was +in danger. I want to know why you warned her. What led you to suppose that she +was threatened?” +</p> + +<p> +Herr Schulz made a little gesture of the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Wass I not right to warn her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, you were,” Robin asserted with conviction. “She was +spirited away and drugged.” +</p> + +<p> +The German started. A frowning pucker appeared just above the bridge of his big +spectacles and he raised his head quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Drugged?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Robin. “This gentleman with me is a doctor +... Dr. Robert Collingwood, of the Red Lion Line. He has examined Miss Trevert +and can corroborate my statement.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Gad!” exclaimed Herr Schulz—and this time his English was +faultless and fluent—“Shut that door behind you, Mr. Greve, and +shoot the bolt—that’s it just below the knob! Sit down, sit down, +and while I mix you a drink, you shall tell me about this!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +THE READING OF THE RIDDLE</h2> + +<p> +In uttering those words Herr Schulz seemed suddenly to become loose-limbed and +easy. His plethoric rigidity of manner vanished, and, though he spoke with a +brisk air of authority, there was a jovial ring in his voice which instantly +inspired confidence. With the change the illusion supported by his appalling +clothes was broken and he looked like a man dressed up for charades. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you—English?” asked Robin in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Only in this room,” was the dry reply, “and don’t you +or our friend, the doctor, here forget it. You’ll both take whisky? Three +fingers will do you good, Mr. Greve, for I see you’ve had a roughish time +this morning. Say when!” +</p> + +<p> +He spurted a siphon into three glasses. +</p> + +<p> +“Before we go any farther,” he went on, “perhaps I had better +identify myself—to save any further misunderstandings, don’t you +know? Do either of you gentlemen happen to know a party called Dulkinghorn? You +may have heard of him, Mr. Greve, for I can see you have been in the army +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Ernest Dulkinghorn, of the War Office?” asked Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“The identical party!” +</p> + +<p> +“I never met him,” said Robin. “But I was at the War Office +for a bit before I was demobilized and I heard fellows speak of him. +Counter-espionage, isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” nodded Herr Schulz. “You can read his +letter to me introducing Miss Trevert.” +</p> + +<p> +He handed a sheet of paper to Robin. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +D<small>EAR</small> S<small>CHULZ</small> [it ran], Victor Marbran’s push +appear to be connected with Hartley Parrish, who has just met his death under +suspicious circumstances. You will have read about it in the English papers. +Miss Trevert was engaged to H.P. and has a letter from Elias van der Spyck and +Company which she found on Parrish’s desk after his death. I should say +that the Marbran-Parrish connection would repay investigation. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Yours<br /> +E. D<small>ULKINGHORN</small> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +P.S. The letter is, of course, in conventional code. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +P.P.S. Don’t frighten the life out of the Trevert girl, you unsympathetic +brute! +</p> + +<p> +Robin read the letter through to the end. +</p> + +<p> +“Then Mary Trevert has this letter from Rotterdam which we have been +hunting for!” he cried. “Have you seen it?” +</p> + +<p> +Herr Schulz shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert called here this morning,” he said, “when I was +out. She gave her letter to Frau Wirth, my housekeeper, with her card and +address. Frau Wirth was cleaning the plate on the front door and, a moment +after Miss Trevert had gone, a fellow appeared and said he was a friend of Miss +Trevert who had made a mistake and left the wrong letter. My housekeeper is +well trained and wouldn’t give the letter up. But she made the fatal +mistake of telling the fellow exactly what he wanted to know, and that was who +the letter was addressed to. ‘The letter is addressed to Herr +Schulz,’ said this excellent woman, ‘and if there’s any +mistake he will find it out when he opens it.’ And with that she told him +to clear out. Which, having got all he wanted, he was glad enough to do!” +</p> + +<p> +“What was this chap like?” asked Robin. +</p> + +<p> +The big man shrugged his shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +“I can teach my servants discretion,” he replied whimsically, +“but I can’t teach ’em to use their eyes. Frau Wirth could +remember nothing about this fellow except that he wasn’t tall and wore a +brown overcoat ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes!” cried Robin, slapping his thigh. “He must have been +actually coming away from your place when I met him ...” +</p> + +<p> +“And who,” asked the big man, reflectively contemplating the amber +fluid in his glass, “who is Jeekes?” +</p> + +<p> +In reply Robin told him the story of Hartley Parrish’s death, his growing +certainty that the millionaire had been murdered, the mysterious letters on +slatey-blue paper, and Jeekes’s endeavor to burke the investigations by +throwing on Robin the suspicion of having driven Parrish to suicide by threats. +He told of his chance meeting with Jeekes in Rotterdam that morning, his +adventure at the Villa Bergendal, his finding and rescue of Mary Trevert, and +their escape. +</p> + +<p> +Herr Schulz listened attentively and without interruption until Robin had +reached the end of his story. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one thing you haven’t explained,” he said, +“and that’s how Miss Trevert came to walk into the hands of these +precious ruffians ...” +</p> + +<p> +“There, perhaps, I can help you,” said the doctor from behind one +of Herr Schulz’s rank cigars; “I have it from Miss Trevert herself. +Some one impersonating you Mr.—er, ahem,—Schulz—telephoned +her this morning, after she had left her letter of introduction here, asking +her to come out to lunch at your country-house. She suspected nothing and went +off in the car they sent for her ...” +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” said the big man thoughtfully; “I suspected some +game of this kind when I heard of the attempt to get at that letter of +introduction. If I only could have got hold of Marbran this morning ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Marbran!” said Robin thoughtfully. “When I read +Dulkinghorn’s letter just now I thought I had heard that name before. Of +course—Victor Marbran! That was it! I remember now! He knew Hartley +Parrish in the old days. Parrish once said that Marbran would do him an injury +if he could. Who is Marbran, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +All unconsciously he paid the tribute of ‘sir’ to Herr +Schulz’s undoubted habit of command. +</p> + +<p> +“Victor Marbran,” replied the big man, “is Elias van der +Spyck & Co., a firm which made millions in the war by trading with the +enemy. In every neutral country there were, of course, firms which specialized +in importing contraband for the use of the Germans, but van der Spyck & Co. +brought the evasion of the blockade to a fine art. They covered up their +tracks, however, with such consummate art that we could never bring anything +home to them. In fact, it was only after the armistice that we began to learn +something of the immense scope of their operations. There was a master brain +behind them. But it was never discovered. It strikes me, however, that we are +on the right track at last ...” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove ...!” exclaimed Robin impressively. “Hartley +Parrish!...” +</p> + +<p> +The big man raised a hand. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Attentions!</i>” he interposed suavely. “The chain is not +yet complete. I wonder what this van der Spyck letter of Miss Trevert’s +contained that made Victor Marbran and the secretary chap so desperately +anxious to get hold of it. For you understand, don’t you?” he said +briskly, turning to Robin, “that they were after that and that alone. And +they risked penal servitude in this country to get it ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“To save their necks in another,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I have the letter here,” mildly remarked the doctor from his +corner of the room. “Miss Trevert gave it to me!” +</p> + +<p> +He produced a white envelope and drew from it a folded square of slatey-blue +paper. In great excitement Robin sprang forward. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a downy bird, Doctor, I must say,” he remarked, +“fancy keeping it up your sleeve all this time!” +</p> + +<p> +He eagerly took the letter, spread it out on the table, and read it through +whilst Herr Schulz looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Code, eh?” commented the big man, shaking his head humorously. +“If it beats Dulkinghorn, it beats me!” +</p> + +<p> +From his note-case Robin now drew a folded square of paper identical in colour +with the letter spread out before them. +</p> + +<p> +“I found this on the carpet beside Parrish’s body,” he said. +“Look, it’s exactly the same paper ...” +</p> + +<p> +Behind the tortoise-shell spectacles the big man’s eyes narrowed down to +pin-points as he caught sight of the sheet which Robin unfolded and its series +of slits. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” he cried—and his voice rang out clear through the +room—“the grill, eh? Well, well, to think of that!” +</p> + +<p> +He took the slotted sheet of paper from Robin’s hands and laid it over +the letter so that it exactly covered it, edge to edge and corner to corner. In +this way the greater part of the typewriting in the letter was covered over, +and only the words appearing in the slots could be read. And thus it was that +Robin Greve, Herr Schulz, and Dr. Collingwood, leaning shoulder to shoulder, +read the message that came to Hartley Parrish in the library at Harkings.... +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +GENERAL IMPORTERS +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +ROTTERDAM Rotterdam 25th Nov. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Codes</i><br /> +A.B.C.<br /> +Liebler’s +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Personal</i> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Dear Mr. Parrish, +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Your favour of even date to hand and contents noted. <i>The last</i> delivery +of steel was to time but we have had <i>warning</i> from the railway +authorities that labour troubles at the docks are likely to delay future +consignments. <i>If you don’t</i> mind we should prefer to <i>settle</i> +the question of future delivery <i>by Nov. 27</i> as we have a board meeting on +the 30th inst. While we fully appreciate your own difficulties with labour at +home, <i>you</i> will understand that this is a question which we cannot afford +to adjourn <i>sine</i> <i>die.</i> +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Yours faithfully,<br /> +pro ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The last ... warning,’” Robin read out, +“‘if you don’t ... settle ... by Nov. 27 ... you ... die +...!’” +</p> + +<p> +He looked up. “Last Saturday,” he said, “was the 27th, the +day that Parrish died ...” +</p> + +<p> +“The grill,” remarked the big man authoritatively, “is one of +the oldest dodges known to the Secret Service. It renders a conventional code +absolutely undecipherable as long as it is skilfully worded, as it is in this +case. You send your conventional code by one route, your key by another. I make +no doubt that this was the way in which van der Spyck & Co. transacted +their business with Hartley Parrish. They simply posted their conventional code +letters through the post in the ordinary way, confident that there was nothing +in them to catch the eye of the Censor’s Department. The key might be +sent in half a dozen different ways, by hand, concealed in a newspaper, in a +parcel ...” +</p> + +<p> +“So this,” said Robin, pointing at the letter, “was what +caused Hartley Parrish to make his will. It would lead one to suppose that it +was what induced him to commit suicide were not the presumption so strong that +he was murdered. But who killed him? Was it Jeekes or Marbran?” +</p> + +<p> +Herr Schulz pitched his cigar-stump into an ash-tray. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” he said, “is the question which I am going to ask you +gentlemen to help me answer. You will realize that legally we have not a leg to +stand on. We are in a foreign country where, without first getting a warrant +from London, we can take no steps whatever to run these fellows in. To get the +Dutch police to move against these gentry in the matter of the assault upon +Miss Trevert would waste valuable time. And we have to move +quickly—before these two lads can get away. I therefore propose that we +start this instant for the Villa Bergendal and try, if we are not too late, to +force Marbran or Jeekes or both of them to a confession. That done, we can hold +them if possible until we can get the Dutch police to apprehend them at the +instance of Miss Trevert. Then we can communicate with the English police. +It’s all quite illegal, of course! You have a car, I think, Mr. Greve! +You will come with us, Dr. Collingwood? Good! Then let us start at once!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin intervened with a proposal that they should call <i>en route</i> at his +hotel to see if there were any telegrams for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Manderton knows I am in Rotterdam,” he explained, “and he +promised to wire me the latest developments in the enquiry he is +conducting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert should be fully recovered by this,” put in the +doctor; “apart from a little sickness she is really none the worse for +her disagreeable experience. If there was anything you wanted to ask her +...” +</p> + +<p> +“There is,” said Robin promptly. “Her reply to one +question,” he explained, turning to Herr Schulz, “will give us the +certainty that Parrish was murdered and did not commit suicide. It will not +delay us more than five minutes to stop at her hotel in passing, We will then +call in at my place. We should be at the Villa within half an hour from now +...” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Herr Schulz as they prepared to go, “I know +my Mr. Victor Marbran. You should all be armed.” +</p> + +<p> +Robin produced the pistol he had taken from Jeekes. Herr Schulz slipped a +Browning pistol into the breast-pocket of his jacket and, producing a +long-barrelled service revolver, gave it to the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“There are three of them, I gather, counting the chauffeur,” +commented the big man, pulling on his overcoat, “so we shall be equally +matched.” +</p> + +<p> +Darkness had fallen upon Rotterdam and the lights from the houses made yellow +streaks in the water of the canal as the car, piloted by Robin, drove the party +to Mary Trevert’s hotel. +</p> + +<p> +They found the girl, pale and anxious, in the lounge. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now,” cried the doctor breezily, “and how are you +feeling? Did you take my advice and have some tea?” +</p> + +<p> +“What has happened?” asked the girl; “I have been so anxious +about you ...” +</p> + +<p> +Her words were addressed to the doctor, but she looked at Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” said Robin, “we are very near the truth now. But +there is one thing you can tell us. It is very important. When you heard the +shot in the library at Harkings, did you notice any other sound—before or +after?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl paused to think. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a sort of sharp cry and a thud ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. But was there anything else? Do try and remember. It’s so +important!” +</p> + +<p> +The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there was, now I come to think of it. Just as I tried the +door—it was locked, you know—there was a sort of hiss, harsh and +rather loud, from the room ...” +</p> + +<p> +“A sort of hiss, eh? Something like a sneeze?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Only louder and ... and ... harsher!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, answer me carefully! Was this before or after the shot?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, before! Just as I was rattling the doorhandle. The shot broke in +upon it....” +</p> + +<p> +Robin turned to Herr Schulz, who stood with a grave face by his side. +</p> + +<p> +“The silencer, you see, sir!” he said. Then to Mary he added: +“Mary, we are going off now. But we will be back within the hour +and....” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Robin,” the girl broke in, “don’t leave me alone! +I don’t feel safe in this place after this morning. I’d much rather +come with you....” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, it’s quite impossible....” Robin began. +</p> + +<p> +But the girl had turned to a table and taken from it her hat and fur. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care!” she exclaimed wilfully; “I’m +coming anyhow. I refuse to be left behind!” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled at Herr Schulz as she spoke, and that gentleman’s rather grim +face relaxed as he looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure I wouldn’t say the same!” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot of it was that, despite Robin’s objections, Mary Trevert +accompanied the party. She sat on the back seat, rather flushed and excited, +between Herr Schulz and the doctor, while Robin took the wheel again. A few +minutes’ drive took them to the big hotel where Robin had booked a room. +They all waited in the car whilst he went to the office. +</p> + +<p> +He was back in a minute, an open telegram in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I’ve got in my pocket,” he cried, “the +actual weapon with which Hartley Parrish was killed!” +</p> + +<p> +And he read from the telegram: +</p> + +<p> +“Mastertons gunsmiths sold last July pair of Browning automatics +identical with that found on Parrish to Jeekes who paid with Parrish’s +cheque.” +</p> + +<p> +The message was signed “Manderton.” +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a man wearing a black bowler hat and a heavy frieze overcoat +came hurrying out of the hotel. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve!” he cried as Robin, who was back in the driving-seat, +was releasing the brake. “Did you have the wire from the Yard saying I +was coming?” he asked. “Probably I beat the telegraph, though. I +came by air!” +</p> + +<p> +Then he tipped his hat respectfully at Herr Schulz. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Detective-Inspector Manderton, of Scotland Yard, sir,” +said Robin. +</p> + +<p> +The big man beamed a smile of friendly recognition. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Manderton and I are old friends,” he said. “How are you, +Manderton? I didn’t expect you to recognize me in these duds ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d know you anywhere, sir,” said the detective with +unwonted cordiality. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got your warrant, Manderton?” asked Herr Schulz. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, I have, sir,” replied the detective. “And I’ve a +colleague from the Dutch police who’s going along with me to effect the +arrest ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the party, sir, charged with wilful murder.... This is +Commissary Boomjes, of the Rotterdam Criminal Investigation Department!” +</p> + +<p> +A tall man with a short black beard had approached the car. It was decided that +the whole party should proceed to the Villa Bergendal immediately. Manderton +sat next to Robin and the Dutch police officer perched himself on the +footboard. +</p> + +<p> +“And where did you pick <i>him</i> up, I’d like to know?” +whispered Manderton in Robin’s ear with a backward jerk of the head, as +they glided through the brightly lit streets. +</p> + +<p> +“D’you mean the doctor?” asked Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“No, your other friend!” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Trevert had a letter to him. Something in the Secret Service, +isn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton snorted. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Something in the Secret Service,’” he repeated +disdainfully. “Well, I should say he was. If you want to know, Mr. Greve, +he’s the head!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> +THE FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY</h2> + +<p> +The rain was coming down in torrents and the night was black as pitch when, +leaving the lights of Rotterdam behind, the car swung out on to the main road +leading to the Villa Bergendal. Thanks to a powerful headlight, Robin was able +to get a good turn of speed out of her as soon as they were clear of the city. +As they slowed down at the gate in the side road Herr Schulz tapped him on the +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Better leave the car here and put the lights out,” he counselled. +“And Miss Trevert should stay if the doctor here would remain to look +after her ...” +</p> + +<p> +“You think there’ll be a scrap?” whispered the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“With a man like Marbran,” returned the Chief, “you never +know what may happen ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Zere will be no faight,” commented the Dutch police officer in +lugubrious accents, “my vriends, ve are too laite ...” +</p> + +<p> +But the Chief insisted that Mary should stay behind and the doctor agreed to +act as her escort. Then in single file the party proceeded up the drive, Robin +in front, then the Dutchman, after him the Chief, and Mr. Manderton in the +rear. +</p> + +<p> +They walked on the grass edging the avenue. On the wet turf their feet made no +sound. When they came in view of the house, they saw it was in darkness. No +light shone in any window, and the only sound to be heard was the melancholy +patter of the rain drops on the laurel bushes. When they saw the porch looking +black before them, they left the grass and stepped gently across the drive, the +gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. Robin led the way boldly under the +porch and laid a hand on the doorknob. The door opened easily and the next +moment the four men were in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +As Robin moved to the wall to find the electric light switch, a torch was +silently thrust into his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Better have this, sir,” whispered Manderton. “I have my +finger on the switch now, but we’d best wait to put the light up until we +know where they are. Where do we go first?” +</p> + +<p> +“Into the sitting-room,” Robin returned. +</p> + +<p> +Switching the torch on and off only as he required it, he crept silently over +the heavy carpet to the door of the room in which that morning he had come upon +Mary. Manderton remained at the switch in the hall whilst the other two men +followed Robin through the door. +</p> + +<p> +The room was in darkness. It struck chill; for the fire had gone out. The beam +of the torch flitting from wall to wall showed the room to be empty. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe there’s a soul in the house,” +whispered the Chief to Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“Ve are too laite; I have said it!” muttered the Dutchman. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another room leading out of this,” replied Robin, turning +the torch on to the blue curtain covering the door leading into the office. +“We’ll have a look in there and then try upstairs. Manderton will +give us warning if anybody comes down ...” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he drew the curtain aside and pushed open the door. Instantly a gush +of cold air blew the curtain back in his face. Before he could disentangle +himself the door slammed to with a crash that shook the house. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s done it!” muttered the Chief. +</p> + +<p> +The three men stood and listened. They heard the dripping of the rain, the +soughing of the wind, but no sound of human kind came to their ears. +</p> + +<p> +“The place is empty,” whispered the Chief. “They’ve +cleared ...” +</p> + +<p> +“It is too laite; I have said it.” The Dutchman spoke in a hoarse +bass. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go in here, anyway,” answered Robin, lifting up the +curtain again. “They may have heard us and be hiding ...” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door, steadying it with his foot. The curtain flapped wildly +round them as they crossed the threshold. The broad white beam of the electric +torch swung from window to desk, from desk to safe. +</p> + +<p> +“The door over there is open,” exclaimed the Chief; +“that’s the way they’ve gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he clutched Robin’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Steady,” he whispered, “look there ... in the doorway ... +there’s somebody moving ... quick, the torch!” +</p> + +<p> +The light flashed across the room, blazed for an instant on a window-pane, then +picked out a man’s form swaying in the doorway. He had his back to the +room and was rocking gently to and fro with the wind which they felt cold on +their faces. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a coat and trousers hanging in the door ...” began +Robin. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with a suddenness which pained the eyes, the room was flooded with light. +The Dutch detective stepped from the electric light switch and moved to the +open door. +</p> + +<p> +“Too laite!” he cried, shaking his head; “have I not tell +you?” +</p> + +<p> +Suspended by a strip of coloured stuff, the body of Mr. Jeekes dangled from the +cross-beam of the door. The corpse oscillated in the breeze, silhouetted +against an oblong of black sky, turning this way and that, loose, unnatural, +horrible, and, as the body, twisting gently, faced the room, it gave a glimpse +of startling eyes, swollen, empurpled features, protruding tongue. +</p> + +<p> +Without the least trace of emotion the black-bearded detective picked up a +rush-bottom chair and gathering up the corpse by its collar hoisted it up +without an effort so that the feet rested on the chair. Then, producing a +clasp-knife, he mounted the chair and, with a vigorous slash, cut the coloured +strip which had been fastened to a staple projecting from the brickwork above +the door on the outside of the house. +</p> + +<p> +He caught the body in his arms and laid it face upwards on the matting which +covered the floor. He busied himself for an instant at the neck, then rose with +a twisted strip of coloured material in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“His braces,” he remarked, “very common. The stool what he +has stood upon and knocked avay, she lies outsaide! My vriends, ve are too +laite!” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor, fetched in haste by Manderton, examined the body. The man had been +dead, he said, for several hours. Mary remained in the hall with Manderton +while Robin and the Dutch detective went over the house. There was no trace +either of Marbran or of the chauffeur. In the two bedrooms which showed signs +of occupation the beds had been made up, but the ward-robes were empty. +</p> + +<p> +“Marbran’s made a bolt for it,” said Robin, coming into the +office where he had left the Chief, “and taken everything with him +...” +</p> + +<p> +“I gathered as much,” answered that astute gentleman, pointing at +the fireplace. A pile of charred paper filled the grate. “There’s +nothing here, and I think we can wipe Mr. Victor Marbran off the slate. I doubt +if we shall see him again. At any rate we can leave him to the tender mercies +of our black-bearded friend here. As for us, I don’t really see that +there is anything more to detain us here ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” remarked Robin, looking at the still figure on the floor, +the face now mercifully covered by the doctor’s white handkerchief, +“surely this is a confession of guilt. Has he left nothing behind in +writing? No account of the crime?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a thing,” responded the Chief, “and I’ve been +through every drawer. Even the safe is open ... and empty!” +</p> + +<p> +“But how does it happen then,” asked Robin, “that Marbran has +legged it while Jeekes here ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Marbran left him in the lurch,” the Chief broke in decisively. +“I think that’s clear. While you were upstairs with our Dutch +friend, I went through the dead man’s pockets. He had no money, Greve, +except a few coppers and a little Dutch change. He had not even got a return +ticket to London. Which makes me think that Master Jeekes had left old England +for good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Another thing that puzzles me,” remarked Robin, “is how +Jeekes knew that Miss Trevert had a letter to you, sir? Or, for a matter of +that, how he knew that she had gone to Rotterdam at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not hard to answer,” said Mr. Manderton, who had just +entered the room. “On Sunday night Jeekes rang up Harkings from his club +and asked to speak to Miss Trevert. Bude told him she had gone away. Jeekes +then asked to speak to Sir Horace Trevert, who told him that his sister had +gone to Rotterdam. Jeekes takes the first available train in the morning, +recognizes Miss Trevert on the way across, and tags her to her hotel in +Rotterdam. The next morning he follows her again, shadows her to Sir ... to +this gentleman’s rooms, and there, as we know, contrived by a trick to +see to whom she had a letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why did he not attempt to get the letter away from her as soon as +she arrived? Miss Trevert never suspected Jeekes. She might have shown him the +letter if he’d asked her for it ...” +</p> + +<p> +The detective shook his head sagely. +</p> + +<p> +“Jeekes was pretty ’cute,” he said. “Before letting the +girl know he was in Rotterdam, he wanted to find out what she wanted here and +whom she knew. Remember, he had no means of knowing if the girl suspected him +or not ...” +</p> + +<p> +“So he devised this trick of impersonating Mr. Schulz on the telephone, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah!” broke in the Chief; “I bet that was Marbran’s +idea. Look at Jeekes’s face and tell me if you see in it any feature +indicating the bold, ingenious will to try a bluff like that. I never knew this +fellow here. But I know Marbran, a resolute, undaunted type. You can take it +from me, Marbran directed—Jeekes merely carried out instructions. What do +you say, Manderton?” +</p> + +<p> +But the detective had retired into his shell again. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will come to Harkings with me the day after to-morrow, sir, I +shall hope to show you exactly how Mr. Parrish met his death ...” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Manderton,” responded the Chief; “I can’t +leave here for a bit. There are bigger murderers than Jeekes at liberty in +Holland to-day ...” +</p> + +<p> +The detective slapped his thigh. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d have laid a shade of odds,” he cried merrily, +“that you were watching the gentleman at Amerongen, sir ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut, Manderton,” said the Chief, raising his hand to silence +the other; “you run on too fast, my friend! I wish,” he went on, +changing the subject, “I could be with you at Harkings to-morrow to +witness your reconstruction of the crime, Manderton. You’ll go, I +suppose, Greve?” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly shall,” answered the barrister, “I have had some +experience of criminals, but I must say I never saw one less endowed with +criminal characteristics than little Jeekes. A strange character!...” +</p> + +<p> +The Chief laughed sardonically. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway,” he remarked, “he had a damn good notion of the end +that befitted him ...” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was a still, starry night. The Flushing boat stood out of harbour on a calm +sea. The high arc lamps threw a blue gleam over the deserted moles and glinted +in the oily swell lapping the quays. From the fast-receding quayside the +rasping of a winch echoed noisily across the silent water. On the upper deck of +the mail-boat Robin Greve and Mary Trevert stood side by side at the rail. They +had the deck to themselves. Above their heads on the bridge the captain stood +immobile, a square black figure, the helmsman at his elbow. Otherwise, between +the stars and the sea, the man and the girl were alone. +</p> + +<p> +Thus they had stood ever since the mail-boat had cast off from the quay. Robin +had made some banal attempt at conversation, urging (but without much +sincerity) that, after her experiences of the day, the girl should go to her +cabin and rest. But Mary Trevert had merely shaken her head impatiently, +without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he put his arm through hers. He felt against his wrist the warm +softness of her travelling-coat, and it seemed to him that, though the girl +made no sign, some slight answering pressure met his touch. So they leaned upon +the rail for a space watching the water fall hissing from the vessel’s +side as the steamer, jarring and quivering, met the long steady roll from the +open sea. +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary Trevert spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin,” she said gently, “I owe you an apology ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin Greve looked at her quickly. But Mary had her eyes fixed seaward in +contemplation of a distant light that flared and died with persistent +regularity. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he answered, “I’ve only myself to blame. +When you told me you were going to marry Hartley Parrish, I should have known +that you had your reasons and that those reasons were good. I should have held +my tongue ...” +</p> + +<p> +This time the girl stole a glance at him. But now he was gazing away to the +horizon where the light came and went. +</p> + +<p> +“All this misunderstanding between us,” he went on, “came +about because of what I said in the billiard-room that afternoon ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl shook her head resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered, “it was my fault. I’m a proud +devil, Robin, and what you said about Hartley and ... and ... other women, +Robin, hurt and ... and made me angry. No, no, don’t apologize again. You +and I are old enough friends, my dear, to tell one another the truth. You made +me angry because what you said was true. I <i>was</i> selling myself, selling +myself with my eyes open, too, and you’ve got a perfect right never to +speak to me again ...” +</p> + +<p> +She did not finish the sentence but broke off. Her voice died away quaveringly. +Robin took her hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear,” he said, “don’t cry! It’s over and done +with now ...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary shook herself with an angry gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the good of telling me not to cry?” she protested +tearfully; “I’ve disgraced myself in my own eyes as well as in +yours. If you can’t forget what I was ready to do, I never shall +...” +</p> + +<p> +Very gently the young man turned the girl towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not such a prig as all that,” he said. “We all +make mistakes. You know I understand the position you were in. Parrish is dead. +I shall forget the rest ...” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly the girl withdrew her hands from his grasp. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she said wearily, “you will find it easy to +forget!” +</p> + +<p> +She drew her fur closer about her neck and turned her back on the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go down,” she said. And waited for the man to stand aside. +He did not move and their eyes met. Suddenly, like a child, she buried her face +in her arm flung out across his chest. She began to sob bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“That afternoon ... in the billiard-room ...” she sobbed, +“you will forget ... that ... too ... I suppose ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin took her face in his hands, a hot, tear-stained face, and detached it +from the sheltering arm. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” he said, “I shall have to try to forget it. But I +know I shan’t succeed. To the end of my life I shall remember the kiss +you gave me. But we are farther apart than ever now!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a great sadness in his voice. It arrested the girl’s attention +as he dropped his hands and turned back to the rail. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she said in a low voice, without looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied the young man steadily, “you’re rich +now, Mary ...” +</p> + +<p> +The girl looked up quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“Will men ever understand women?” she cried, a new note in her +voice. She stepped forward and, putting her two hands on the young man’s +shoulders, swung him round to face her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m as poor as ever I was,” she said, “for Hartley +Parrish’s money is not for me ...” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary!” exclaimed the young man joyfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin Greve,” cried the girl, “do you mean to tell me +you’d stand there thinking I’d accept money made like that +...” +</p> + +<p> +But now she was in his arms. With a little fluttering sigh she yielded to his +kiss. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the man on the bridge!...” she murmured with her woman’s +instinct for the conventions. +</p> + +<p> +“Come behind the boat, then!” commanded Robin. +</p> + +<p> +And in the shadow of a weather-stained davit he kissed her again. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ll wait for me, after all, Mary?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” retorted the girl firmly. “We’ll read the Riot +Act to Mother and you must marry me at once!” +</p> + +<p> +The wind blew cold from the North Sea. It rattled in the rigging, flapped the +ensign standing out stiffly at the stern, and whirled the black smoke from the +steamer’s funnels out into a dark aerial wake as far as the eye could +reach. With a gentle rhythmic motion the vessel rose and fell, while the stars +began to pale and faint grey shadows appeared in the eastern sky. Still the man +and the girl stood by the swaying lifeboat and talked the things that lovers +say. Step by step they went over their thoughts for one another in each +successive phase of the dark tragedy through which they had passed. +</p> + +<p> +“And that van der Spyck letter,” asked Robin; “how did you +get hold of it? I’ve been wanting to ask you that ever since this +afternoon ...” +</p> + +<p> +“I found it in the library,” replied the girl, “on the desk. +It had got tucked away between two letter-trays—one fits into the other, +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wondered how Jeekes had come to miss it,” said Robin. “But +when was this?” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“On Sunday afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what were you doing in the library?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl became a little embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew Mr. Manderton was suspicious of you. I heard him telephoning +instructions to London to have you watched. So I thought I’d go to the +library to see if I could find anything which would show what they had against +you exactly. And I found this letter. Then I noticed some one hiding behind the +curtains, and, as I had the letter in my hand, I hid it in my dress. When I +discovered that Bruce Wright was after it too, I pretended I had found nothing +...” +</p> + +<p> +“But, darling, why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to make sure for myself why you had sent Bruce Wright, for I +guessed he had come from you, to look for this letter. So I thought I’d +go to Rotterdam to investigate ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin laughed affectionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely it would have been simpler to have given the letter to the police +...” +</p> + +<p> +Mary gave him a look of indignant surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“But it might have incriminated you!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +At that Robin kissed her again. +</p> + +<p> +“Will men <i>ever</i> understand women?” he asked, looking into her +tranquil grey eyes. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> +AN INTERRUPTION FROM BEYOND</h2> + +<p> +Sudden frost had laid an icy finger on the gardens of Harkings. The smooth +green lawns were all dappled with white and wore a pinched and chilly look save +under the big and solemn firs where the ground, warmed by its canopy of +branches and coverlet of cones, had thawed in dark patches. The gravel walks +were firm and dry; and in the rosery the bare skeleton of the pergolas stood +out in clear-cut silhouette against a white and woolly sky. +</p> + +<p> +Overnight the frost had come. It had taken even the birds by surprise. They +hopped forlornly about the paths as though wondering where they would get their +breakfast. Robin Greve, idly watching them from the library window, found +himself contrasting the cheerful winter landscape with the depressing +conditions of the previous day. In wind and rain the master of Harkings had +been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyard of Stevenish. The ceremony had +been arranged in haste, as soon as the coroner’s jury had viewed the +body. Robin Greve, that morning arrived from Rotterdam, Bude, and Mr. Bardy the +solicitor, had been the only mourners. As Robin looked out upon the wintry +scene, his mind reverted to the hurried funeral with its depressing +accompaniment of gleaming umbrellas, mud from the freshly turned clay, and +dripping trees. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath the window of the library, its shattered pane now replaced, a cluster +of starlings whistled gaily, darting bright-eyed glances, full of anticipation, +at the closed window. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He</i> used to give them crumbs every morning after breakfast,” +said Mary. “See, Robin, how they are looking up! It seems a shame to +disappoint them....” +</p> + +<p> +As though relieved to be quit of his dark thoughts, Robin, with a glad smile, +turned to the girl. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he produced a hunk of +bread and put it in her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You think of everything!” she said, smiling back at him prettily. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed up the window and she crumbled the bread for the birds. He rested one +hand on her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“He thought of everything, too,” was his comment, “even down +to the birds. It’s extraordinary! No detail was too small for +him!...” +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>was</i> remarkable, Robin,” answered the girl soberly; +“there was something magnetic about his personality that made people like +him. Even now that he is dead, even in spite of what we know, I can feel his +attraction still. And the whole house is impregnated with his personality. +Particularly this room. Don’t you feel it? I don’t mind being here +with you, Robin, but I shouldn’t like to be here alone. I was dreadfully +frightened on Sunday evening when I came here. And when I saw the curtains move +... oh! I thought my heart would stop beating! Dear, I’m glad we are +giving this place up. I don’t feel that I could ever be happy here ... +even with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor devil!” said Robin. And then again he said: “Poor +devil!” +</p> + +<p> +“It was terrible ... to die like that!” replied Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“It was terrible for him to lose <i>you</i>!” answered the young +man. +</p> + +<p> +She gave his hand a little, tender squeeze, but relinquished it quickly as the +door opened. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton was there, broad-shouldered and burly. Behind came Dr. Romain +with a purple nose and eyes watering with the cold, Horace Trevert in plain +clothes, Mr. Bardy, the solicitor, plump, middle-aged, and prim, with a broad, +smooth-shaven face and an eyeglass on a black silk riband. In the background +loomed the large form of Inspector Humphries, ruddy of cheek as of hair. Lady +Margaret did not appear. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton slapped his bowler hat briskly on a side table and with a little +bow to Mary walked to the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Mr. Manderton with a long, shrewd look that +comprehended the company, individually and collectively, and the entire room, +“if Inspector Humphries will kindly close the door, we will reconstruct +the crime in the light of the evidence we have collected.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned round to the desk and pulled back the chair ... Hartley +Parrish’s empty chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It is just on five o’clock on Saturday evening, November +27,” he began, “and growing dark outside. Mr. Parrish is sitting +here”—he tapped the chair—“with all the lights in the +room turned off except this one on the desk.” +</p> + +<p> +Here he put a large hand on the reading-lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“The assumption that Mr. Parrish spent the afternoon, as he had spent the +morning, over papers in connection with the business of Hornaway’s in +which he was interested is not correct. Mr. Archer, one of Mr. Parrish’s +secretaries who brought down a number of papers and letters for Mr. Parrish to +sign in the morning, states that as far as Hornaway’s or any other office +business was concerned, Mr. Parrish was through with it by lunch. This is +corroborated by the fact that no business papers of this description, with the +exception of one, which I am coming to directly, were found on the desk here +after Mr. Parrish’s death. Nor were there any traces of burnt paper in or +about the fire. These two facts were established by my colleague, Inspector +Humphries.” +</p> + +<p> +At this everybody turned and looked at the Inspector, who blushed until the +tint of his hair positively paled by comparison with that of his face. +</p> + +<p> +“What Mr. Archer <i>did</i> leave with Mr. Parrish, however,” Mr. +Manderton resumed, looking round the group and emphasising the +“did,” “was his will and this letter ...”—he held +up a typewritten sheet of slatey-blue paper—“which, a +straightforward business communication in appearance, was in reality a threat +against his life. It was with these two documents that Mr. Parrish spent the +last few hours before he was found dead in this room. A few odd papers found +lying on the desk have nothing to do with the case and may therefore be +dismissed.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton paused and then, with the deliberation which distinguished his +every movement, walked round the desk to the window. +</p> + +<p> +“The fire in this room,” he said, turning and facing his audience, +“was smoking. The butler will testify to this and state that Mr. Parrish +complained about it to him with the result that the sweep was ordered for +Monday morning. Owing to the smoke in the room Mr. Parrish opened the window. +His finger-prints were on the inside of the window-frame and a small fragment +of white paint was still adhering to one of his finger-nails. +</p> + +<p> +“The window, then, was open as it is now. Mr. Parrish sat at his desk, +read through his will, and wrote a letter to Miss Trevert informing her that, +under the will, she was left sole legatee. This letter, with the will, was +found on the desk after Mr. Parrish’s death. Presumably in view of the +threat against his life contained in this letter,”—the detective +held up the slatey-blue paper,—“Mr. Parrish had either in his +pocket or, as I am more inclined to think, lying on the desk in front of him, +his Browning automatic pistol. This pistol was fitted with a Maxim silencer, an +invention for suppressing the report of a firearm, which was sent to Mr. +Parrish by a friend in America some years ago and which he kept permanently +attached to the weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton came to an impressive full stop and glanced round his circle of +listeners. He gave his explanations easily and fluently, but in a plain, +matter-of-fact tone such as a police constable employs in the witness-box. He +had marshalled his facts well, and his measured advance towards his +<i>dénouement</i> was not without its effect on his audience. Dr. Romain, +nursing his knee on a leather settee, Horace Trevert, a tall slim figure +eagerly watching the detective from his perch on the arm of the Chesterfield, +and Robin and Mary, standing, very close together, behind the empty chair at +the desk—each and every one was listening with rapt attention. Inspector +Humphries, propping his big bulk uneasily against the wall near the door, was +the only one who appeared to be oblivious of the strain. +</p> + +<p> +The detective walked round the desk and seated himself in the chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish is seated at the desk here,” he resumed, “when +his attention is directed to the window.” +</p> + +<p> +And here Mr. Manderton raised his head and looked out towards the frost-strewn +gardens. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe he hears a step, more probably he sees a face staring at him out +of the dark. Very much to his surprise he recognizes Jeekes, his principal +private secretary—I say to his surprise because he must have believed +Jeekes, who had the week-end free, to be in London. And at that, perhaps +because he thinks he has made a mistake—in any case to make sure—he +gets up....” +</p> + +<p> +The detective suited the action to the word. He pushed back the chair and rose +to his feet. They saw he held a large automatic pistol in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“He has had this threatening letter, remember, so he takes his pistol +with him. And he reaches the window ...” +</p> + +<p> +The detective was at the window now, his back to the room. +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks to Jeekes, angrily, maybe—the butler heard the sound of +loud voices—they have words. And then ...” +</p> + +<p> +There came a knock at the library door. It was not a loud knock. It was in +reality scarcely more than a gentle tap. But it fell upon a silence of +Manderton’s own creating, a rapt silence following a pause which preceded +the climax of his narrative. So the discreet knocking resounded loud and clear +through the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that? What is it?” rapped out Dr. Romain irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let any one disturb us, Inspector!” called out Horace +Trevert to Inspector Humphries, who had opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Bude’s face appeared in the doorway. He had a short altercation with the +Inspector, who resolutely interposed his massive form between the butler and +the room. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Bude?” asked Robin, going to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a letter for Miss Trevert, sir!” said Bude. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, leave it in the hall. Miss Trevert can’t be disturbed at +present ...” +</p> + +<p> +“But ... but, sir,” the butler protested. Then Robin noticed that +he was trembling with excitement and that his features were all distraught. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Bude?” Robin demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Humphries had stood on one side and Robin now faced the butler. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a letter from ... that Jeekes!” faltered Bude, holding +out a salver. “I know his writing, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“For Miss Trevert?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin gathered up the plain white envelope. It bore a Dutch stamp. The postmark +was Rotterdam. He gave the letter to Mary. It was bulky and heavy. +</p> + +<p> +“For you,” he said, and stood beside her while she broke the seal. +By this they had all gathered round her. +</p> + +<p> +The envelope fluttered to the floor. Mary was unfolding a wad of sheets of +writing-paper folded once across. She glanced at the topmost sheet, then handed +the bundle to Robin. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a confession!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +From beyond the grave the little secretary had spoken and spoiled Mr. +Manderton’s <i>dénouement</i>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br /> +THE DEATH OF HARTLEY PARRISH</h2> + +<p> +“For Miss Trevert.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus, in Jeekes’s round and flowing commercial hand, the document began: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Last Statement of Albert Edward Jeekes, made at Rotterdam, this twenty-first +Day of January, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and... +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bardy, the solicitor, to whom, by common consent, the reading of the +confession had been entrusted, raised his eyebrows, thereby letting his +eyeglass fall, and looked round at the company. +</p> + +<p> +“Pon my soul,” he remarked, “for a man about to take his own +life, our friend seems to have been the coolest customer imaginable. Look at +it! Written in a firm hand and almost without an erasure. Very remarkable! Very +remarkable, indeed!...” +</p> + +<p> +“Hm!” grunted Mr. Manderton, “not so uncommon as you suppose, +Mr. Bardy, sir. Hendriks, the Palmers Green poisoner, typed out his confession +on cream inlaid paper before dosing himself. But let’s hear what the +gentleman has to tell us....” +</p> + +<p> +This was the last digression. Thenceforth Mr. Bardy read out the confession to +the end without interruption. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>For Miss Trevert</i>: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>Madam</i>, +</p> + +<p> +I slew, but I am not a murderer: I Killed, but without deliberation. +</p> + +<p> +Victor Marbran has gone and left me to meet a shameful death. But I cannot face +the scaffold. As men go, I do not believe I am a coward and I am not afraid to +die. But the inexorable deliberation of justice appals me. When I have written +what I have to write, I shall be hangman to myself. My pistol they have taken +away. +</p> + +<p> +Victor Marbran has abandoned me. He had prepared everything for his flight. +Even if the law can indict him as the virtual murderer of Hartley Parrish, the +law will never lay hands on him. Victor Marbran neglects no detail. He will +never be caught. But from the Great Unknown for which I shall presently set +out, I shall stretch forth my hand and see that, here or there, he does not +escape the punishment he merits for bringing down shame and disgrace upon me. +</p> + +<p> +Just now he bade me stay in the office and finish burning the papers in his +desk. He promised he would take me with him to a secure hiding-place which he +had made ready for some such emergency as this. I believed him and, +unsuspecting, stayed. And now he has slipped away. He is gone and the house is +empty. I cannot follow him even did I know where he has gone. I have only a +very little money left and I am tired. Very tired. I feel I cannot support the +hue-and-cry they will raise. Everything is still about me. The quiet of the +country is very soothing. To die like this, with darkness falling and no sound +but the rustling rain, is the better way ... +</p> + +<p> +Hartley Parrish was the man behind the great syndicate which systematically ran +the British blockade of Germany in the war. He financed Marbran and the +international riff-raff of profiteers with whom Marbran worked. Parrish +supplied the funds, often the goods as well,—at any rate, until they +tightened up the blockade,—while Marbran and the rest of the bunch in +neutral countries did the trading with the enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Parrish was a deep one. I say nothing against him. He was a kind employer to me +and I played him false, for which I have been bitterly punished. To have +swindled Victor Marbran—I count it as nothing against him, for that +heartless, cruel man is deserving of no pity ... +</p> + +<p> +Parrish was the heart and soul, brains and muscle of the syndicate. He lurked +far in the background. Any and every trail which might possibly lead back to +him was carefully effaced. He was secure as long as Marbran and one or two +other big men in the business kept faith with him. Now and then, when the +British Intelligence were too hot on the trail, Parrish and Marbran would give +away one of the small fry belonging to the organization and thus stave off +suspicion. They could do this in complete safety, for so perfect was their +organization that the small fry only knew the small fry in the shallows and +never the big fish in the deep ... +</p> + +<p> +But Hartley Parrish was in Marbran’s hands. They stood or fell together. +Parrish knew this. But he was a born gambler and insanely self-confident. He +took a chance with Marbran. It cost him his life. +</p> + +<p> +All payments were made to Parrish. He was treasurer and banker of the +syndicate. Money came in by all sorts of devious routes, sometimes from as far +afield as South or Central America. Parrish distributed the profits. Everything +was in his hands. +</p> + +<p> +By the time the armistice came, the game had got too hot. All the big fish +except Marbran had cleared out with their pile. But Marbran, like Parrish, was +a gambler. He stuck it out and stayed on. +</p> + +<p> +Parrish played fair until the war was over. The armistice, of course, put an +end to the business. But some months after the armistice a sum of £150,000 was +paid to Parrish through a Spanish bank in settlement, Marbran told me, for +petrol indirectly delivered to the German Admiralty. Parrish pouched the lot. +Not a penny did Marbran get. +</p> + +<p> +Parrish and Marbran were old friends. They were young men together on the Rand +gold-fields in the early days. In fact, I believe they went out to South Africa +together as penniless London lads. But Marbran hated Parrish, though Parrish +had, I believe, been his benefactor in many ways. Marbran was fiercely envious +of the other because he realized that, starting with an equal chance, Parrish +had left him far behind. Everything that Parrish touched prospered, while +Marbran was in perpetual financial straits. He was Parrish’s equal in +courage, but not in judgment. +</p> + +<p> +Parrish calculated that Marbran would not dare to denounce him. He had always +taken the lead in their schemes and he affected to disregard Marbran +altogether. So he left the latter’s letters unanswered and laughed at his +threats. He was quite sure that Marbran would never risk losing his pile by +giving Parrish away, for they were, of course, both British subjects and both +in it together ... +</p> + +<p> +Marbran always distrusted Parrish, and long before the breach came, he picked +on me to act the spy on my employer. I, too, was born a gambler, but, like +Marbran, I lacked the lucky touch which made Parrish a millionaire. Speculation +proved my ruin. I have often thanked my God on my bended knees—as I shall +do again to-night before I pass over—that my insane folly has ruined no +one but myself ... +</p> + +<p> +Already, when Hartley Parrish engaged me, I was up to the neck in speculation. +Up to that time, however, I had managed to keep my head above water, but the +large salary on which Parrish started me dazzled me. I tried a flutter in oil +on a much larger scale than anything I had hitherto attempted, with the result +that one day I found myself with a debt of nine hundred pounds to meet and no +assets to meet it with. And I was two hundred pounds in debt to Hartley +Parrish’s petty cash account, which I kept. +</p> + +<p> +It was Victor Marbran who came to my rescue. Parrish had sent me over to +Rotterdam to fetch some papers from Marbran. At this time I knew nothing of +Parrish’s blockade-running business. Parrish never took me into his +confidence about it and the whole of the correspondence went direct to him +through a number of secret channels with which I only gradually became +acquainted behind his back. +</p> + +<p> +I had met Marbran several times in London and also at Rotterdam. It had struck +me that he had formed a liking for me. On this particular visit to Rotterdam +Marbran took me out to dinner and encouraged me to speak about myself. He was +very sympathetic, and this, coupled with the wine I had taken, led me to open +my heart to him. Without giving myself away, I let him understand that I was in +considerable financial difficulties, which I set down to the high cost of +living as the result of the war. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word of warning Marbran pulled out his cheque-book. +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you want,” he asked, “to put you +straight?” +</p> + +<p> +Nine hundred pounds, I told him. +</p> + +<p> +He wrote the cheque at once there at the table. He would advance me the money, +he said, and put me down for shares in a business in which he was interested. +It was a safe thing and profits were very high. I could repay him at my +leisure. +</p> + +<p> +In this way I became a shareholder in Parrish’s blockade-running +syndicate. The return I was to make was to spy on my employer and to report to +Marbran the letters which Parrish received and the names of the people whom he +interviewed. +</p> + +<p> +Of course, Marbran did not propose this plan at once. When I took leave of him +that night, I remember, I all but broke down at the thought of his unsolicited +generosity. I have had a hard life, Miss Trevert, and his seeming kindness +broke me all up. But I might have known. +</p> + +<p> +I cashed Marbran’s cheque and put back the two hundred pounds I had taken +from the petty cash account. But I went on speculating. You see, I did not +believe Marbran’s story about the shares he said he would put me down +for. I thought it was a charitable tale to spare my feelings. So I plunged once +more in the confident hope of recovering enough to repay my debt to Marbran. +</p> + +<p> +A month later Marbran sent me a cheque for one hundred pounds. He said it was +the balance of fifteen hundred pounds due to me as profits on my shares less +the nine hundred pounds I owed him and five hundred pounds for my shares. But +my speculations had by this time gone wrong again, and I was heartily glad +presently to receive a further cheque for two hundred pounds from Marbran. From +that time on I got from Marbran sums varying between one hundred and fifty +pounds and five hundred pounds a month. +</p> + +<p> +When Marbran made me his shameful offer, I rejected it with indignation. But I +was fast in the trap. Marbran explained to me in great detail and with the +utmost candour the working of the Parrish syndicate. He let me know very +plainly that I was as deeply implicated as Parrish and he. I was a shareholder; +I had received and was receiving my share of the profits. In my distress and +shame I threatened to expose the pair of them. Had I known the source of his +money, I told him, I should never have accepted it. At that Marbran laughed +contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“You tell that yarn to the police,” he sneered, “and hear +what they say!” +</p> + +<p> +And then I realized that I was in the net. +</p> + +<p> +I make no excuses for myself. I shall make none to the Great Judge before whom +in a little while I shall appear. I had not the moral force to resist Marbran. +I did his bidding: I continued to take his money and I held my peace. +</p> + +<p> +And then came the breach between Parrish and Marbran. I was the cause of it. +But for me, his trusty spy, Marbran would have known nothing of this payment of +£150,000 which Parrish received from Spain, and this tragedy would not have +happened. God forgive me ... +</p> + +<p> +Marbran appealed to Parrish in vain. What he wrote I never knew, for, shortly +after, Parrish quietly and without any explanation took the confidential work +out of my hands. I believe he suspected then who Marbran’s spy was. But +he said nothing to me of his suspicions at that time ... +</p> + +<p> +Finally, Marbran came to London. It was on Tuesday of last week. I had been up +in Sheffield on business, and on my return I found Marbran waiting for me at my +rooms. +</p> + +<p> +He was like a man possessed. Never before have I witnessed such an outburst of +ungovernable rage. Parrish, it appears, had declined to see him. He swore that +Parrish should not get the better of him if he had to kill him first. I can see +Marbran now as he sat on my bed, his livid face distorted with fury. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give him a last chance,” he cried, “and then, by +God, let our smart Alec look out!” +</p> + +<p> +This sort of talk frightened me. I knew Marbran meant mischief. He was a bad +man to cross. I was desperately afraid he would waylay Parrish and bring down +disaster on the three of us. I did my utmost to put the idea of violence out of +his mind. I begged him to content himself with trying to frighten Parrish into +paying up before trying other means. +</p> + +<p> +My suggestion seemed to awaken some old memory in Marbran’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“By Gad, Jeekes,” he said, after a moment’s thought, +“you’ve given me an idea. Parrish has a yellow streak. He’s +scared of a gun. I saw it once, years ago, in a roughhouse we got into at +Krugersdorp on the Rand. Damn it, I know how to bring the yellow dog to heel, +and I’ll tell you how we’ll do it ...” +</p> + +<p> +He then unfolded his plan. He would send Parrish a last demand for a +settlement, threatening him with death if he did not pay up. The warning would +reach Parrish on the following Saturday. Marbran would contrive that he should +receive it by the first post. As soon as possible thereafter I was to go to +Parrish boldly and demand his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll take a gun,” Marbran said, peering at me with his +cunning little eyes, “and you’ll show it. And if at the sight of it +you don’t get the brass, then I don’t know my old pal, Mister +Hartley Parrish, Esquire!” +</p> + +<p> +The proposal appalled me. I knew nothing of Hartley Parrish’s +“yellow streak.” I knew him only as a hard and resolute man, swift +in decision and ruthless in action. Whatever happened, I argued, Parrish would +discharge me and there was every prospect of his handing me over to the police +as well. +</p> + +<p> +Marbran was deaf to my reasoning. I had nothing to fear, he protested. Parrish +would collapse at the first sign of force. And as for my losing my job, Marbran +would find me another and a better one in his office at Rotterdam. +</p> + +<p> +Still I held out. The chance of losing my position, even of being sent to gaol, +daunted me less, I think, than the admission to Parrish of the blackly +ungrateful role I had played towards him. In the end I told Marbran to do his +dirty work himself. +</p> + +<p> +But I spoke without conviction. I realized that Marbran held me in a cleft +stick and that he realized it, too. He wasted no further time in argument. I +knew what I had to do, he said, and I would do it. Otherwise ... +</p> + +<p> +He left me in an agony of mental stress. At that time, I swear to Heaven, Miss +Trevert, I was determined to let Marbran do his worst rather than lend myself +to this odious blackmailing trick, my own suggestion, as I bitterly remembered. +But for the rest of the week his parting threat rang in my ears. Unless he +heard by the following Sunday that I had confronted Parrish and called his +bluff, as he put it, the British police should have word, not only of +Parrish’s activities in trading with the enemy, but of mine as well. +</p> + +<p> +It was no idle threat. Parrish and Marbran had put men away before. I could +give you the names ... +</p> + +<p> +It is quite dark now. It must be an hour since Greve took you away. Soon he +will be back with the police to arrest me and I must have finished by then, +finished with the story, finished with life ... +</p> + +<p> +Last week I worked at Parrish’s city office. I told you how he kept me +off his confidential work. On Saturday morning I went round to the house in St. +James’s Square to see whether Marbran had really sent his warning. +Archer, my colleague, who was acting as confidential secretary in my stead, was +there. Parrish was at Harkings, he told me. Archer was going down by car that +morning with his mail. It included two “blue letters” which Archer +would, according to orders, hand to Parrish unopened. +</p> + +<p> +These “blue letters,” as we secretaries used to call them, written +on a striking bluish paper, were the means by which all communications passed +between Parrish and Marbran on the syndicate’s business. They were +drafted in conventional code and came to Parrish from all parts of Europe and +in all kinds of ways. No one saw them except himself. By his strict +injunctions, they were to be opened only by himself in person. +</p> + +<p> +When Archer told me that two “blue letters” had come, I knew that +Marbran had kept his word. Though my mind was not made up, instinct told me I +was going to play my part ... +</p> + +<p> +I could not face the shame of exposure. I was brought up in a decent English +home. To stand in the dock charged with prolonging the sufferings of our +soldiers and sailors in order to make money was a prospect I could not even +contemplate. +</p> + +<p> +I thought it all out that Saturday morning as I stood at the dressing-table in +my bedroom by the open drawer in which my automatic pistol lay. It was one +given me by Parrish some years before at a time when he thought we might be +going on a trip to Rumania ... +</p> + +<p> +I slipped the pistol into my pocket. I felt like a man in a dream. I believe I +went down to Harkings by train, but I have no clear recollection of the +journey. I seemed to come to my senses only when I found myself standing on the +high bank of the rosery at Harkings, looking down upon the library window. +</p> + +<p> +Outside in the gardens it was nearly dark, but from the window fell a stream of +subdued light. The curtains had not been drawn and the window was open at the +bottom. Parrish sat at the desk. Only the desk-lamp was lit, so that his face +was in shadow, but his two hands, stretched out on the blotter in front of him, +lay in a pool of light, and I caught the gleam of his gold signet ring. +</p> + +<p> +He was not writing or working. He seemed to be thinking. I watched him in a +fascinated sort of way. I had never seen him sit thus idly at his desk before +... +</p> + +<p> +My brain worked quite lucidly now. As I looked at him, I suddenly realised that +I had a golden opportunity for speaking to him unobserved. The gardens were +absolutely deserted: the library wing was very still. If he were a man to be +frightened into submission, my sudden appearance, following upon the receipt of +the threatening letter, would be likely to help in achieving this result. +</p> + +<p> +I walked softly down the steps to the window. I stood close up to the sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Parrish,” I said, “Victor Marbran has sent me for his +answer.” +</p> + +<p> +In a flash he was on his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s there?” he cried out in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +His voice shook, and I could see his hand tremble in the lamplight as he +clutched at the desk. Then I knew that he was badly frightened, and the +discovery gave me courage. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to settle with Marbran or are you not?” I said. +</p> + +<p> +At that he peered forward. All of a sudden his manner changed. +</p> + +<p> +“What in hell does this mean, Jeekes?” +</p> + +<p> +His voice quavered no longer. It was hard and menacing. +</p> + +<p> +But I had burnt my boats behind me now. +</p> + +<p> +“It means,” I answered boldly, “that you’ve got to pay +up. And you’ve got to pay up now!” +</p> + +<p> +In a couple of quick strides he was round the desk and coming at me as I stood +with my chest pressing against the window-sill. His hands were thrust in his +jacket pockets. His face was red with anger. +</p> + +<p> +“You dawggorn dirty little rathole spy,”—he spat the words at +me in a low, threatening voice,—“I guessed that lowdown skunk +Marbran had been getting at some of my people!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice rose in a sudden gust of passion. +</p> + +<p> +“You rotten little worm! You’d try and bounce me, would you? +You’ve come to the wrong shop for that, Mr. Spying Jeekes ...” +</p> + +<p> +His manner was incredibly insulting. So was the utter contempt with which he +looked at me. This man, who had trembled with fear at the unknown, recovered +his self-control on finding that the menace came from the menial, the hireling, +he despised. I felt the blood rush in a hot flood to my head. I lost all +self-control. I screamed aloud at him. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no bounce about it this time! If you don’t pay up, +you know what to expect!” +</p> + +<p> +I had been holding my pistol out of his sight below the window-ledge, but on +this I swung it up and levelled it at him. +</p> + +<p> +He sprang back a pace, the colour fading on the instant from his face, his +mouth twisted awry in a horrid paroxysm of fear. Even in that subdued light I +could see that his cheeks were as white as paper. +</p> + +<p> +But then in a flash his right hand went up. I saw the pistol he held, but +before I could make a movement there was a loud, raucous hiss of air and a +bullet whistled past my ear into the darkness of the gardens. How he missed me +at that range I don’t know, but, seeing me standing there, he came at me +again with the pistol in his hand ... +</p> + +<p> +And then you, Miss Trevert, cried out, “Hartley,” and rattled the +handle of the door. Your cry merged in a deafening report. Parrish, who was +quite close to me, and advancing, stopped short with a little startled +exclamation, his eyes reproachful, full of surprise. He stood there and swayed, +looking at me all the time, then crashed backwards on the floor. And I found +myself staring at the smoking pistol in my hand ... +</p> + +<p> +It was your scream that brought me to my senses. My mind cleared instantly. I +knew I must act quickly. The house would be alarmed directly, and before that +happened, I must be clear of the grounds. Yet I knew that before I went I must +do something to make myself safe ... +</p> + +<p> +I stood at the window staring down at the dead man. His eyes were terrible. +Like a suicide he looked, I thought. And then it flashed across my mind that +only one shot had been heard and that our pistols were identical and fired the +same ammunition. The silencer! The silencer could save me. With that removed, +the suicide theory might pass muster: at any rate, it would delay other +investigations and give me a start ... +</p> + +<p> +In a matter of a second or two I believe I thought of everything. I did not +overlook the danger of leaving finger-prints or foot-marks about. I had not +taken off my gloves, and my boots were perfectly dry. In climbing into the room +I was most careful to see that I did not mark the window-sill or scratch the +paintwork ... +</p> + +<p> +I stood beside the body and I caught the dead man’s hand. It was fat and +soft and still warm. The touch of it made me reel with horror. I turned my face +away from his so as not to see his eyes again.... +</p> + +<p> +I got the silencer. Parrish had shown it to me and I knew how to detach it.... +</p> + +<p> +I went back through the window as carefully as I had come in. And I pushed the +window down. Parrish would have done that, I thought, if he had meant to commit +suicide. And then my nerve went. The window frightened me. The blank glass with +the silent room beyond;—it reminded me of Parrish’s sightless gaze. +I turned and ran.... +</p> + +<p> +I did not mean to kill. As there is a God in ... +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On that unfinished sentence the confession ended. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Mr. Bardy put the bundle of manuscript down on the desk and, dropping his +eyeglass from his eye, caught it deftly and began to polish it vigorously with +his pocket handkerchief. As no one spoke, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all. It ends there!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked round the circle of earnest faces. Then Horace Trevert crossed to the +desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Robin,” he said, and held out his hand, “I want to +apologize. I ... we ... behaved very badly ...” +</p> + +<p> +Robin grasped the boy’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word about that, Horace, old boy,” he said. “Besides, +Mary is putting all that right, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“She told me,” replied Horace; “and, Robin, I’m +tremendously glad!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greve!” +</p> + +<p> +Robin turned to find Mr. Manderton, large and impressive, at his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Might I have a word with you?” +</p> + +<p> +Robin followed the detective across the room to the window. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Manderton seemed a trifle embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Er—- Mr. Greve,” he said, clearing his throat rather +nervously, “I should like to—er,—offer you my congratulations +on the remarkably accurate view you took of this case. I should have been able +to prove to you, I believe, but for this curious interruption, that your view +and mine practically coincided. It has been a pleasure to work with you, +sir!” +</p> + +<p> +He cast a hasty glance over his shoulder at the other occupants of the room, +who were gathered round the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a society man, Mr. Greve,” he added, “and I +have a lot of work on my hands regarding the case. So I think I’ll run +off now ...” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off, gave Robin a large hand, and, looking neither to right nor to +left, made a hurried exit from the room, taking Inspector Humphries with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that we are just among ourselves”—the solicitor was +speaking—“I think I may seize the opportunity of saying a word +about Mr. Parrish’s will. Miss Trevert, as you know, is made principal +legatee, but I understand from her that she does not propose to accept the +inheritance. I will not comment on this decision of hers, which does her moral +sense, at any rate, infinite credit, but I should observe that Mr. Parrish has +left directions for the payment of an allowance—I may say, a most +handsome allowance—to Lady Margaret Trevert during her ladyship’s +lifetime. This is a provision over which Miss Trevert’s decision, of +course, can have no influence. I would only remark that, according to Mr. +Parrish’s instructions, this allowance will be paid from the dividends on +a percentage of his holdings in Hornaway’s under the new scheme. I have +not yet had an opportunity of looking further into Mr. Parrish’s affairs +in the light of the information which Mr. Greve obtained in Rotterdam, but I +have reason to believe that he kept his interest in Hornaway’s and +his—ahem!—other activities entirely separate. If this can be +definitely established to my own satisfaction and to yours, my dear Miss +Trevert, I see no reason why you should not modify your decision at least in +respect of Mr. Parrish’s interest in Hornaway’s.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary Trevert looked at Robin and then at the solicitor. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” she said; “not a penny as far as I am concerned. With +Mother the case is different. I told her last night of my decision in the +matter. She disapproves of it. That is why she is not here to-day. But my mind +is made up.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bardy adjusted his eyeglass in his eye and gazed at the girl. His face wore +an expression of pain mingled with compassion. +</p> + +<p> +“I will see Lady Margaret after lunch,” he said rather stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +Then the door opened and Bude appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon is served, Miss!” +</p> + +<p> +He stood there, a portly, dignified figure in sober black, solemn of visage, +sonorous of voice, a living example of the triumph of established tradition +over the most savage buffetings of Fate. His enunciation was, if anything, more +mellow, his demeanour more pontifical than of yore. +</p> + +<p> +Bude was once more in the service of a County Family. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YELLOW STREAK ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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