Initial commitHEADmain

6 files changed, 21187 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7b82bc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+*.txt text eol=lf
+*.htm text eol=lf
+*.html text eol=lf
+*.md text eol=lf
diff --git a/75407-0.txt b/75407-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ae7ead
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75407-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,9439 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75407 ***
+
+
+Tragedy at Ravensthorpe
+
+by J. J. Connington
+
+Published February, 1928 by Grosset & Dunlap (New York)
+Copyright, 1927, 1928, by Little, Brown, and Company
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+    I. The Fairy Houses
+   II. Mr. Polegate’s Sense of Humour
+  III. The Theft at the Masked Ball
+   IV. The Chase in the Woods
+    V. Sir Clinton in the Museum
+   VI. Mr. Foss’s Explanation
+  VII. What Was in the Lake
+ VIII. The Murder in the Museum
+   IX. The Muramasa Sword
+    X. The Shot in the Clearing
+   XI. Underground Ravensthorpe
+  XII. Chuchundra’s Body
+ XIII. The Otophone
+  XIV. The Second Chase in the Woods
+   XV. Sir Clinton’s Solution
+
+
+
+NOTE
+
+The characters, places, and events described in this book are entirely
+imaginary and have no connection, either direct or indirect, with any
+real persons, places, or events.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+The Fairy Houses
+
+“Got fixed up in your new house yet, Sir Clinton?” asked Cecil
+Chacewater, as they sauntered together up one of the paths in the
+Ravensthorpe grounds. “It must be a bit of a change from South
+Africa—settling down in this backwater.”
+
+Sir Clinton Driffield, the new Chief Constable of the county, nodded
+affirmatively in reply to the question.
+
+“One manages to be fairly comfortable; and it’s certainly been less
+trouble to fit up than it would have been if I’d taken a bigger place.
+Not that I don’t envy you people at Ravensthorpe,” he added, glancing
+round at the long front of the house behind him. “You’ve plenty of
+elbow-room in that castle of yours.”
+
+Cecil made no reply; and they paced on for a minute or more before Sir
+Clinton again spoke.
+
+“It’s a curious thing, Cecil, that although I knew your father so
+well, I never happened to come down here to Ravensthorpe. He often
+asked me to stay; and I wanted to see his collection; but somehow we
+never seemed able to fix on a time that suited us both. It was at the
+house in Onslow Square that I always saw you, so this is all fresh
+ground to me. It’s rather like the irony of fate that my first post
+since I came home should be in the very district I couldn’t find time
+to visit when your father was alive.”
+
+Cecil Chacewater agreed with a gesture.
+
+“I was very glad when I saw you’d been appointed. I wondered if you’d
+know me again after all that time; but I thought we’d better bring
+ourselves to your notice in case we could be of any help
+here—introduce you to people, and all that sort of thing, you know.”
+
+“I hardly recognized you when you turned up the other day,” Sir
+Clinton admitted frankly. “You were a kiddie when I went off to take
+that police post in South Africa; and somehow or other I never seem to
+have run across you on any of my trips home on leave. It must have
+been ten years since I’d seen you.”
+
+“I don’t wonder you didn’t place me at once. Ten years makes a lot of
+difference at my advanced age. But you don’t look a bit changed. I
+recognized you straight off, as soon as I saw you.”
+
+“What age are you now?” asked Sir Clinton.
+
+“About twenty-three,” Cecil replied. “Maurice is twenty-five, and
+Joan’s just on the edge of twenty-one.”
+
+“I suppose she must be,” Sir Clinton confirmed.
+
+A thought seemed to cross his mind.
+
+“By the way, this masked ball, I take it, is for Joan’s
+coming-of-age?”
+
+“You got an invitation? Right! I’ve nothing to do with that part of
+the business.” Then, answering Sir Clinton’s inquiry: “Yes, that’s so.
+She wanted a spree of some sort; and she generally gets what she
+wants, you know. You’ll hardly know _her_ when you see her. She’s shot
+up out of all recognition from the kid you knew before you went away.”
+
+“She used to be pretty as a school-girl.”
+
+“Oh, she hasn’t fallen off in that direction. You must come to this
+show of hers. She’ll be awfully pleased if you do. She looks on you as
+a kind of unofficial uncle, you know.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s expression showed that he appreciated the indirect
+compliment.
+
+“I’m highly flattered. She’s the only one of you who took the trouble
+to write to me from time to time when I was out yonder. All my
+Ravensthorpe news came through her.”
+
+Cecil was rather discomfited by this reminder. He changed the subject
+abruptly.
+
+“I suppose you’ll come as Sherlock Holmes? Joan’s laid down that every
+one must act up to their costume, whatever it is; and Sherlock
+wouldn’t give you much trouble after all your detective experience.
+You’d only have to snoop round and pick up clues and make people
+uncomfortable with deductions.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed amused by the idea.
+
+“A pretty programme! Something like this, I suppose?” he demanded, and
+gave a faintly caricatured imitation of the Holmes mannerisms.
+
+“By Jove, you know, that’s awfully good!” Cecil commented, rather
+taken aback by the complete change in Sir Clinton’s voice and gait.
+“You ought to do it. You’d get first prize easily.”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head as he resumed his natural guise.
+
+“The mask wouldn’t cover my moustache; and I draw the line at shaving
+that off, even in a good cause. Besides, a Chief Constable can’t go
+running about disguised as Sherlock Holmes. Rather bad taste, dragging
+one’s trade into one’s amusements. No, I’ll come as something quite
+unostentatious: a pillar-box or an Invisible Man, or a spook,
+probably.”
+
+“I forgot,” Cecil hastened to say, apologetically, “I shouldn’t have
+asked you about your costume. Joan’s very strong on some fancy
+regulation she’s made that no one is to know beforehand what anyone
+else is wearing. She wants the prize awarding to be absolutely
+unbiased. So you’d better not tell me what you’re going to do.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced at him with a faint twinkle in his eye.
+
+“That’s precisely what I’ve been doing for the last minute or two,” he
+said, dryly.
+
+“What do you mean?” Cecil asked, looking puzzled. “You haven’t told me
+anything.”
+
+“Exactly.”
+
+Cecil was forced to smile.
+
+“No harm done,” he admitted. “You gave nothing away.”
+
+“It’s a very useful habit in my line of business.”
+
+But Sir Clinton’s interest in the approaching masked ball was
+apparently not yet exhausted.
+
+“Large crowd coming?” he asked.
+
+“Fairish, I believe. Most of the neighbours, I suppose. We’re putting
+up a few people for the night, of course; and there are three or four
+visitors on the premises already. It should be quite a decent show. I
+can’t give you even rough numbers, for Joan’s taken the invitation
+side of the thing entirely into her own hands—most mysterious about
+it, too. Hush! Hush! Very Secret! and all that kind of thing. She
+won’t even let us see her lists for fear of making it too easy to
+recognize people; so she’s had to arrange the catering side of the
+thing on her own as well.”
+
+“She always was an independent kind of person,” Sir Clinton
+volunteered.
+
+Cecil took no notice of the interjection.
+
+“If you ask me,” he went on, “I think she’s a bit besotted with this
+incognito notion. She doesn’t realize that half the gang can be
+spotted at once by their walk, and the other half will give themselves
+away as soon as they get animated and begin to jabber freely. But it’s
+her show, you know, so it’s no use any one else butting in with
+criticisms and spoiling her fun before it begins.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded his assent; but for a moment or two he seemed to be
+preoccupied with some line of thought which Cecil’s words had started
+in his mind. Suddenly, however, something caught his eye and diverted
+his attention to external things.
+
+“What’s that weird thing over there?” he asked. As he spoke, he
+pointed to an object a little way off the path on which they were
+standing. It was a tiny building about a yard in height and a couple
+of yards or more in length. At the first glance it seemed like a
+bungalow reduced to the scale of a large doll’s house; but closer
+inspection showed that it was windowless, though ventilation of a sort
+appeared to have been provided. A miniature door closed the entrance,
+through which a full-grown man could gain admittance only by lying
+flat on the ground and wriggling with some difficulty through the
+narrow opening provided.
+
+“That?” Cecil answered carelessly. “Oh, that’s one of the Fairy
+Houses, you know. They’re a sort of local curiosity. No matter where
+you are, you’ll find one of them within a couple of hundred yards of
+you, anywhere in the grounds.”
+
+“Only in the grounds? Aren’t there any outside the estate?” inquired
+Sir Clinton. “At the first glance I took it for some sort of
+archæological affair.”
+
+“They’re old enough, I dare say,” Cecil admitted, indifferently. “A
+century, or a century and a half, or perhaps even more. They’re purely
+a Ravensthorpe product. I’ve never seen one of them outside the
+boundary.”
+
+Sir Clinton left the path and made a closer examination of the tiny
+hut; but it presented very few points of interest in itself. Out of
+curiosity, he turned the handle of the door and found it moved easily.
+
+“You seem to keep the locks and hinges oiled,” he said, with some
+surprise.
+
+Pushing the door open, he stooped down and glanced inside.
+
+“Very spic and span. You keep them in good repair, evidently.”
+
+“Oh, one of the gardeners has the job of looking after them,” Cecil
+explained, without showing much interest.
+
+“I’ve never seen anything of the sort before. They might be Picts’
+dwellings, or something of that kind; but why keep them in repair?
+And, of course, they’re not prehistoric at all. They’re comparatively
+modern, from the way they’re put together. What are they?”
+
+“Ask me another,” said Cecil, who seemed bored by the subject.
+“They’re an ancestral legacy, or an heirloom, or a tenant’s
+improvement, or whatever you like to call it. Clause in the will each
+time, to provide for them being kept in good repair, and so forth.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to prick up his ears when he heard of this
+provision, though his tone showed only languid interest when he put
+his next inquiry.
+
+“Anything at the back of it all? It seems a rum sort of business.”
+
+“The country-people round about here will supply you with all the
+information you can believe about it—and a lot you’re not likely to
+swallow, too. By their way of it, Lavington Knoll up there”—he pointed
+vaguely to indicate its position—“was the last of the fairy
+strongholds hereabouts; and when most of the fairies went away, a few
+stayed behind. But these didn’t care much for the old Knoll after
+that. Reminded them of past glories and cheery company too much, I
+suppose; and so they made a sort of treaty with an ancestor of ours.
+He was to provide houses for them, and they were to look after the
+general prosperity side of Ravensthorpe.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed amused by Cecil’s somewhat scornful summary.
+
+“A case of ‘Farewell rewards and fairies,’ it seems, Cecil.”
+
+Then, half to himself, he hummed a few lines of Corbet’s song:
+
+    Witness those rings and roundelayes
+      Of theirs, which yet remaine;
+    Were footed in queene Maries dayes
+      On many a grassy playne.
+    But since of late Elizabeth . . .
+
+“Do you go as far back as Elizabeth, here at Ravensthorpe, by any
+chance, Cecil?”
+
+“So far as the grounds go, yes. The house was partly destroyed in
+Cromwell’s time; and some new bits were built on in place of the old
+stuff. But there’s a lot of the old part left yet, in quite good
+repair.”
+
+Sir Clinton still seemed interested in the compact with the Fairies.
+
+“Was there any penalty clause in the contract about these Houses?
+There’s usually some drawback to these affairs—like the Luck of
+Edenhall, for instance.”
+
+“There used to be some legend or other that unless the Fairies found
+their houses always in good order, the Family Curse would come home to
+roost, one-time. No one believes in that sort of stuff nowadays; but
+it’s kept alive by this clause that’s put into every will—a kind of a
+family custom, you know, that no one cares to be the first to break.
+If you call it a damned old wives’ tale, I shan’t blame you.”
+
+Sir Clinton could not be sure whether Cecil’s indifference in the
+matter was natural or assumed; but in any case he thought it tactful
+to pursue the subject no further. Closing the door of the Fairy House
+again, he made his way back to the path where his companion was
+waiting for him.
+
+As the Chief Constable rejoined him, Cecil looked round the horizon
+with feeble interest.
+
+“Not much else to show you, I’m afraid,” he said. Then, with an
+after-thought: “Care to see rather a good view? The best one
+hereabouts is just up above us—through the wood here—if you think it
+worth the trouble of the climb. It’s not very far. We’ve plenty of
+time before lunch.”
+
+Sir Clinton acquiesced, and they began to mount a further slope in the
+path which now led them up through a sparse pine-wood.
+
+“There seems to be a good sound foundation to this path,” the Chief
+Constable commented, as they walked on.
+
+“There used to be a carriage-drive, at one time, leading up to the
+top. I suppose the old birds used to drive up here and sit out having
+tea and admiring the view on fine days. But it’s been neglected for
+long enough. Hardly any one goes up to the top now, except once in a
+blue moon or else by accident.”
+
+Sir Clinton gave a nod of acquiescence.
+
+“Any one can see the path’s hardly ever used.”
+
+“Just beyond this brow,” Cecil explained as they moved on, “there’s an
+old quarry cut in the further side of the hill. It’s a very old place,
+rather picturesque nowadays. Most of the stone for Ravensthorpe came
+from it in the old days, and during the rebuilding. After that, the
+quarry dropped out of use gradually; and finally some one had the
+notion of letting water in at the foot of it and having a sort of
+model lake there, with the cliff of the quarry at one end of it. We’re
+making for the top of the cliff by going this way; and when you get
+out of the wood into the open, you’ll find rather a good outlook over
+the country.”
+
+A short walk took them through the rest of the pine-wood. On the
+further side they came into a belt of open ground beyond which, on a
+slight eminence, a little spinney blocked part of the view.
+
+“That’s where we’re making for,” Cecil explained. “The best view-point
+is on the other side of these trees. The old birds, a century back,
+chose it carefully and did some laying out at the top; so I suppose
+they must have been keen on the place.”
+
+As they approached the spinney, Sir Clinton noticed a fence running
+down from each side of it. Cecil followed the direction of the Chief
+Constable’s glance.
+
+“That’s barbed wire,” he pointed out. “The spinney’s at the top of the
+quarry; but there’s a bad drop down towards the hollow on either
+side—a dangerous bit, practically precipitous—and so the wire was put
+up to prevent any one wandering near the edge and tripping over.”
+
+Cutting through the fringe of trees, they emerged at the top of the
+cliff. Here the ground had been levelled and paved. Along the
+precipice, a marble balustrade had been erected as a safeguard.
+Further back, a curved tier of marble seats faced the view; and here
+and there in the line rose pedestals carrying life-sized marble
+statues which faced out towards the gulf.
+
+“This is really very elaborate,” Sir Clinton commented. “Evidently
+your ancestors liked the view, if they took so much trouble to put up
+this affair.”
+
+He moved across the paved space, leaned on the balustrade, and looked
+down into the depths.
+
+“I don’t wonder you fenced that in with barbed wire on each side,” he
+said. “It’s a nasty drop down there—well over a fifty-foot fall at
+least.”
+
+“It’s nearer a hundred, really,” Cecil corrected him. “The height’s a
+bit deceptive from here. And a fall into that pool would be no joy, I
+can tell you! It’s full of sharp spikes of rock jutting up from the
+bottom. You’d get fairly well mauled if you happened to drop on any of
+them. You can’t see them for that green stuff in the water; but
+they’re all present and correct under the surface.”
+
+Sir Clinton looked down at the weed-grown little lakelet. The dense
+green fronds gave the water an unpleasant appearance; and in some tiny
+backwaters the surface was covered with a layer of scum.
+
+“Why don’t you get all that stuff cleared out?” he demanded. “It looks
+rather beastly. Once you got rid of it you could stock the pool with
+trout or perch, easily enough. I see there’s some flow of water
+through it from a spring at the east end.”
+
+Cecil seemed to have no interest in the suggestion.
+
+“If you want some fishing,” he said, “we’ve got quite a decent stream
+that runs through another part of the grounds. This place used to be
+kept in good order; but since the war and all that, you know, the fine
+edge has been rather off things hereabouts. It’s in a bad state, right
+enough. Just a frog-pond.”
+
+“Is the water deep?” Sir Clinton inquired.
+
+“Oh, ten to fifteen feet in parts. Quite deep just in front of the
+cave at the bottom of the cliff below here. We used to have great
+times playing robbers and so forth when we were kids. There’s our old
+raft at the far end. It was well tarred and I see it’s still afloat.
+It was the only way of getting at the cave-mouth, you see.”
+
+He dismissed the subject.
+
+“Suppose we sit down for a while.”
+
+Sir Clinton followed him to one of the marble benches. Before them,
+the view of the Ravensthorpe grounds stretched out, closed on the
+horizon by a line of woodland. In the foreground, beyond a fence at
+the end of the lake, sheep were grazing on some meadow-land.
+
+“One of your ancestors?” inquired Sir Clinton, nodding towards the
+nearest statue. “Or merely Phœbus Apollo?”
+
+Cecil turned to glance at the statue.
+
+“I think I’d back your second choice,” he said. “If it was an
+ancestor, it must have been one of the ancient Britons. It’s a bit
+short of clothes for anything later than that; and even for an ancient
+Briton it seems a trifle undressed. No woad, you know.”
+
+He took out his cigarette-case, offered it to Sir Clinton, and then
+began to smoke. Sir Clinton seemed to be admiring the view in front of
+him for a few minutes; but when he spoke again it was evident that
+something more than scenery had been in his mind.
+
+“I’m not altogether easy in my mind over this masked ball of Joan’s.
+Speaking as a Chief Constable responsible for the good behaviour of
+the district, Cecil, it seems to me that you’re running some risks
+over it. A dance is all very well. You know all your guests by
+headmark and no one can get in on false pretences. But once you start
+masks, it’s a different state of affairs altogether.”
+
+Cecil made no comment; and Sir Clinton smoked in silence for a time
+before continuing:
+
+“It’s this craze of Joan’s for anonymity that seems to me to open the
+door to all sorts of things. I take it that there’ll be no announcing
+of individual guests, because of this incognito stunt of hers. But
+unfortunately that means you’ll have to admit any one who chooses to
+present himself as Winnie-the-Pooh or Felix the Cat or Father
+Christmas. You don’t know who he is. You can’t inquire at the start.
+Anybody might get in. Considering the amount of good portable stuff
+there is in the collection at Ravensthorpe, do you think it’s quite
+desirable to have no check whatever on your guests?”
+
+Cecil seemed struck by this view of the case.
+
+“I never thought of that,” he said. “I suppose we ought to have issued
+uniform entrance-tickets, or something of that sort; but the thing
+never crossed any of our minds. Somehow, it seems a bit steep to take
+precautions against people when one’s inviting them to one’s house.”
+
+“It’s not _invited_ guests I’m thinking about,” Sir Clinton hastened
+to explain more definitely. “This affair must have been talked about
+all over the countryside. What’s to hinder some enterprising thief
+dressing up as a tramp and presenting himself along with the rest?
+He’d get in all right. And once he was inside, he might be tempted to
+forget the laws of hospitality and help himself. Then, if he made
+himself scarce before the unmasking at midnight, he’d get clean away
+and leave no trace. See it?”
+
+Cecil nodded affirmatively; but to Sir Clinton’s slight surprise he
+did not appear to be much perturbed on the subject. The Chief
+Constable seemed to see an explanation of this attitude.
+
+“Perhaps, of course, you’re shutting up the collections for the
+evening.”
+
+Cecil shook his head.
+
+“No. Joan insists on having them on view—all of them. It’s a state
+occasion for her, you know; and she’s determined to have all the best
+of Ravensthorpe for her guests. What she says goes, you know. If she
+can’t get her own way by one road she takes another. It’s always
+easier to give in to her at once and be done with it. She has such a
+way of making one feel a beast if one refuses her anything; and yet
+she never seems to get spoiled with it all.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed rather taken aback by the news about the
+collections.
+
+“Well, it’s your funeral, not mine, if anything does happen,” he
+admitted.
+
+“Maurice’s—not mine,” Cecil corrected him with a touch of bitterness
+which Sir Clinton failed to understand at the moment.
+
+“I’ve nothing to do with Ravensthorpe nowadays,” Cecil went on, after
+a pause. “I live there, that’s all. The whole affair went to
+Maurice—lock, stock, and barrel—when my father died. I’ve really no
+more right in these grounds than you have. I might be kicked out any
+day.”
+
+Sir Clinton was puzzled by Cecil’s tone. It was only natural that
+Ravensthorpe should go down into the hands of Maurice, since he was
+the elder brother. There could be no particular grievance in that. And
+yet Cecil’s voice had betrayed something deeper than a mere mild
+resentment. The asperity in his last remark had been unmistakable.
+
+For a few minutes Cecil remained silent, staring moodily out at the
+landscape. Sir Clinton refrained from interrupting his thoughts. The
+matter certainly had excited his curiosity; but until Cecil chose to
+say more, there seemed to be no reason for intruding into the private
+affairs of the Ravensthorpe household. Even the privileges of an old
+friend did not seem to Sir Clinton a sufficient excuse for probing
+into family matters.
+
+But the Chief Constable, without any voluntary effort, had the gift of
+eliciting confidences without soliciting them. Cecil’s brooding came
+to an end and he turned round to face his companion.
+
+“I suppose I’ve said either too much or too little already,” he began.
+“I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you about the affair. It’s nearly
+common talk as it is, and you’re sure to hear something about it
+sooner or later. You may as well get it first-hand and be done with
+it.”
+
+Sir Clinton, having solicited no confidence, contented himself with
+merely listening, without offering any vocal encouragement.
+
+“You knew my father well,” Cecil went on, after a short pause in which
+he seemed to be arranging his ideas in some definite order. “He was
+one of the best, if you like. No one would say a word against him—it’s
+the last thing I’d think of doing myself, at any rate.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded approvingly.
+
+“The bother was,” Cecil continued, “that he judged every one by
+himself. He couldn’t understand that any one might not be as straight
+as he always was. He never made an allowance for some kinds of human
+nature, if you see what I mean. And, another thing, he had a great
+notion of the duties of the head of the family. He took them pretty
+seriously and he looked after a lot of people who had no claim on him,
+really, except that they belonged to the clan.”
+
+“He was always generous, I know,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And he
+always trusted people. Sometimes, perhaps, he overdid it.”
+
+Cecil made a gesture of agreement and continued:
+
+“He overdid it when he drew up his will. Maurice, of course, was bound
+to be the next head of the family, once my father had gone; so my
+father took it for granted that things would go on just the same. The
+head of the family would run the show with an eye to the interests of
+the rest of us, and all would be right on the night. That was the
+theory of the business, as my father saw it; and he drafted his will
+on that basis.”
+
+Cecil sat up suddenly and flung away his cigarette with a vehemence
+which betrayed the heat of his feelings.
+
+“That was the theory of the business, as I said. But the practice
+wasn’t quite so satisfactory. My father left every penny he had to
+Maurice; he left him absolutely every asset; and, of course,
+Ravensthorpe’s entailed, so Maurice got that in the normal course.
+Joan, my mother, and myself, were left without a farthing to bless
+ourselves with. But there was a suggestion in the will—not a legally
+binding thing, but merely a sort of informal direction—that Maurice
+was to look after us all and give us some sort of income each. I
+suppose my father hardly thought it worth while to do more than that.
+Being the sort of man he was, he would rely implicitly on Maurice
+playing the game, just as he’d have played the game himself—had played
+it all his life, you know.”
+
+Sir Clinton showed no desire to offer any comment; and in a moment or
+two Cecil went on once more:
+
+“Last year, there was nothing to complain about. Maurice footed our
+bills quite decently. He never grumbled over our expenses. Everything
+seemed quite sound. It never crossed my mind to get things put on a
+business footing. In fact, you know, I’d hardly have had the nerve to
+suggest anything of the sort. It would have looked a bit grasping,
+wouldn’t it?”
+
+Cecil glanced inquiringly at Sir Clinton, but the Chief Constable
+seemed averse from making any comment at this stage. Cecil took his
+case from his pocket and lit a fresh cigarette before continuing his
+story.
+
+“You don’t remember Una Rainhill, I suppose?”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“She’s a sort of second cousin of ours,” Cecil explained. “Probably
+you never came across her. Besides, she’d hardly be out of the nursery
+when you went off to South Africa. Well, she’s grown up now—just about
+a year or two younger than Joan. You’ll see her for yourself. She’s
+staying with us just now for this coming-of-age of Joan’s.”
+
+Sir Clinton had no great difficulty in guessing, behind Cecil’s
+restraint, his actual feelings about the girl. His voice gave him away
+if the words did not.
+
+“No use making a long story of it, is there?” Cecil continued. “Both
+Maurice and I wanted Una. So did a good many others. But she didn’t
+want Maurice. She was quite nice about it. He’d nothing to complain of
+in that way. He got no encouragement from her at all. But he wouldn’t
+take ‘no’ for an answer. He was really extra keen, and I think he
+overdid it instead of making the best of a bad business. And finally
+he realized that it was me that he was up against. Una and I aren’t
+officially engaged, or anything like that—you’ll see why in a
+moment—but it’s a case of two’s company and three’s none; and Maurice
+knows he’s Number Three.”
+
+There was more than a tinge of rancour in Cecil’s voice when he came
+to this last sentence. Sir Clinton raised his eyebrows slightly. He
+did not quite admire this malevolence on the part of the successful
+lover against his defeated rival. Cecil apparently noticed the slight
+change in the Chief Constable’s expression.
+
+“Wait a minute,” he said. “You haven’t heard it all yet. Before I go
+on, just bear in mind that there was plenty of money for all of us in
+the family. My father always took it for granted that I’d have enough
+to keep me. He’d never thought of my going into business. I’ve got
+some sort of turn for writing; and I think he hoped that I’d make some
+kind of name as an author. And, of course, with what I supposed was an
+assured income behind me, I haven’t hurried much in the way of
+publishing my stuff. I could afford to let it lie—or so I thought.”
+
+A slight gesture of Sir Clinton showed his approval of this outlook on
+authorship. It seemed to him that Cecil at his age could hardly have
+much to tell the world that it didn’t know already; but he had no
+intention of expressing any such discouraging views.
+
+“You see how it is,” Cecil continued. “As things stand, I haven’t the
+ghost of a chance of earning a decent income for years and years. And
+that was the weak joint that Maurice saw and went for—damn him! He
+took it upon himself to tell me that I was here more or less on
+sufferance. He’d been generous in the past—he actually reminded me of
+that!—but he didn’t see how he was to continue to subsidize me
+indefinitely. You see his game? If he couldn’t have Una himself, he’d
+take care that I shouldn’t have her either. Damned dog-in-the-manger!
+That’s a nice sort of brother for you! I wonder what his father would
+think about him if he knew of this trick.”
+
+He pitched away the stub of his unfinished cigarette as though with it
+he could rid himself of some of his feeling.
+
+“Of course there was friction—I’m putting it mildly—but there was no
+open row. My mother’s not in good health and I couldn’t afford to have
+her worried over my affairs. So we settled down to some sort of armed
+neutrality, although the thing’s more or less evident to most people.
+That’s what I meant when I said I might be kicked out any day. It’s
+only a question of time, it seems to me. He still thinks that if I
+were out of the way he’d have a chance with Una; and sooner or later I
+expect him to give me an express-ticket into the wide world. I’m
+trying to get some sort of job; but so far I haven’t succeeded in
+lighting on anything that seems to offer the slightest prospects. It’s
+no pleasure to stay here on sufferance, I can tell you.”
+
+Now that Sir Clinton had received Cecil’s unsolicited confidences, he
+hardly knew what to do with them. After all, he reflected, he had
+heard only one side of the story; and it was scarcely fair to judge
+the case on the strength of an _ex-parte_ statement. It was not quite
+the Ravensthorpe which he had expected, he admitted ruefully to
+himself as he bent his efforts to bringing Cecil back to normal again.
+Money and a girl: the two things that seemed to lie behind most
+troubles—and even crimes, as he knew from experience. It seemed an
+unkind Fate that had forced these two factors to the front in an
+environment where trouble of the kind was the last that might have
+been expected. One never knew what this sort of thing might lead to in
+the end.
+
+“I’d like to have a look at your father’s collections some time or
+other,” he said at last, to change the subject, when he had succeeded
+in getting Cecil into a somewhat cooler frame of mind. “I saw a good
+many of the things in London from time to time, as he bought them; but
+there must be a lot here at Ravensthorpe that will be new to me.
+Anything your father bought will be worth looking at. He had wonderful
+taste.”
+
+Rather to his vexation, Sir Clinton found that he had only shifted the
+conversation from one sore point to another.
+
+“If you want to see anything,” Cecil snapped, “you’d better pay your
+visit as soon as you can arrange it. Maurice is going to sell the
+lot.”
+
+Sir Clinton was completely taken aback by this news.
+
+“Sell the stuff? What on earth would he want to do that for? He’s got
+all the money he needs, surely.”
+
+Cecil dissociated himself from any connection with the matter.
+
+“No business of mine, now. Maurice can do as he likes. Of course, I
+hate the idea of all these things of my father’s being sold off when
+there seems no need for it; but it’s not my affair. The Maurice boy
+isn’t all we thought him; and since he’s come into Ravensthorpe, he
+seems to think of very little else but money and how to get more of
+it. Anything for the dibs, it appears.”
+
+“But surely he isn’t selling everything. He might get rid of some
+minor things; but he’ll hardly break up the whole collection.”
+
+“Every damned thing, Sir Clinton. Why at this very moment he’s got a
+Yankee agent—a man Foss—staying at Ravensthorpe and chaffering for the
+star pieces of the collections: the Medusa Medallions.”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“They must be fresh acquisitions since my day. I’ve never even heard
+of them.”
+
+“Ever see the picture of Medusa in the Uffizi Gallery? It’s attributed
+to Leonardo da Vinci; but some people say it’s only a student’s copy
+of the original Leonardo which has disappeared. It seems my father
+came across three medallions with almost exactly the same Medusa on
+one side and a figure of Perseus on the reverse. And what’s more, he
+was able to get documentary proof that these things were really
+Leonardo’s own work—strange as it seems. The thing’s quite admitted by
+experts. So you can imagine that these Medusas are quite the star
+pieces in the museum. And Maurice calmly proposes to sell them to
+Kessock, the Yank millionaire; and Kessock has sent this man Foss over
+here to negotiate for them.”
+
+“It seems rather a pity to part with them,” Sir Clinton said,
+regretfully.
+
+“Maurice doesn’t feel it so,” Cecil retorted, rather bitterly. “He got
+a friend of mine, Foxy Polegate, to make him electrotypes of them in
+gold—Foxy’s rather good at that sort of thing for an amateur—and
+Maurice thinks that the electrotypes will look just as well as the
+originals.”
+
+“H’m! Cenotaphs, I suppose,” Sir Clinton commented.
+
+“Quite so. In Memoriam. The real things being buried in the U.S.A.”
+
+Cecil paused for a moment and then concluded:
+
+“You can imagine that none of us like this damned chandlering with
+these things that my father spent so much thought over. It’s enough to
+make him turn in his grave to have all his favourites scattered—and
+just for the sake of Maurice’s infernal miserliness and greed for
+cash.”
+
+Sir Clinton rose from his seat and took a last glance at the view
+before him.
+
+“What about moving on now?”
+
+Cecil agreed; and they retraced their steps towards the pine-wood. As
+they entered the spinney, Sir Clinton noticed another of the Fairy
+Houses set back among the trees at a little distance from the path.
+
+“Another of those things?”
+
+Rather to his surprise, Cecil moved over to examine the little
+edifice, and bending down opened the door and glanced inside.
+
+“The Fairy’s not at home at present,” he said, standing aside to let
+Sir Clinton look in.
+
+Something in Cecil’s voice forced itself on the attention of the Chief
+Constable. The words seemed to be pointless; but in the tone there was
+an ill-suppressed tinge of what might almost have been malicious glee
+at some unexplained jest. Sir Clinton was too wary to follow up this
+track, wherever it might lead to. He did not quite like the expression
+on Cecil’s face when the remark was made; and he sought for some
+transition which would bring them on to a fresh subject.
+
+“You must have some curiosities in Ravensthorpe itself, if parts of it
+are as old as they seem to be. Any priest’s holes, or secret passages,
+or things of that sort?”
+
+“There are one or two,” Cecil admitted. “But we don’t make a show of
+them. In fact, even Joan doesn’t know how to get into them. There’s
+some sort of ‘Mistletoe Bough’ story in the family: a girl went into
+one of the passages, forgot how to work the spring to get out again,
+lost her nerve apparently, and stayed there till she died. It so
+happened that she was the only one of the family in the house at the
+time, so there was no one to help her out. Since then, we’ve kept the
+secret of the springs from our girls. No use running risks.”
+
+“And even Joan hasn’t wheedled it out of you?”
+
+“No, not even Joan. Maurice and I are the only ones who can get into
+these places.”
+
+Sir Clinton evidently approved of this.
+
+“Short of opening the passages up altogether, that seems the best
+thing to do. One never knows one’s luck. By the way, in an old place
+like this you ought to have a stock of family legends. You’ve got
+these Fairy Houses. Is there anything else of general interest?”
+
+Cecil seemed to have recovered something of his normal good humour;
+and his face betrayed almost a grin of amusement as he replied:
+
+“Oh, yes! We’ve got a family ghost—or so the country-folk say. I’ve
+never come across it myself; but it’s common talk that the family
+spectre is a White Man who walks in the woods just before the head of
+the family dies. All rot, you know. Nobody believes in it, really. But
+it’s quite an old-established tradition round about here.”
+
+Sir Clinton laughed.
+
+“You certainly don’t seem to take him very seriously. What about
+Family Curses? Are you well supplied?”
+
+“You’d better apply to Maurice if you’re keen on Family Curses. He
+seems to have specialized in that branch, if you ask me.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+Mr. Polegate’s Sense of Humour
+
+“How time flies!” said Joan Chacewater, in mock despondency. “To-night
+I’m in my prime. To-morrow I shall be twenty-one, with all my bright
+youth behind me. Five years after that, I shall quite possibly be
+married to Michael here, if I’m still alive and he hasn’t died in the
+meantime. Then I shall sit o’ nights darning his socks in horn-rimmed
+spectacles, and sadly recalling those glad days when I was young and
+still happy. It’s dreadful! I feel I want to cry over it. Give me
+something to cry into, Michael; I seem to have mislaid my bag.”
+
+Michael Clifton obligingly held out a handkerchief. Joan looked at it
+disparagingly.
+
+“Haven’t you anything smaller than that? It discourages me. I’m not
+going to cry on a manufacturing scale. It wouldn’t be becoming.”
+
+Una Rainhill laid her cigarette down on the ash-tray beside her.
+
+“If you’re going to be as particular as that, Joan, I think I’d be
+content with a gulp or two of emotion or perhaps a lump in the throat.
+Cheer up! You’ve one more night before the shadows fall.”
+
+“Ah, there it is!” said Joan, tragically. “You’re young, Una, and you
+never had any foresight, anyway. But I can see it all coming. I can
+see the fat ankles”—she glanced down at her own slim ones—“and the
+artificial silk stockings at three-and-eleven the pair; because
+Michael’s business will always be mismanaged, with him at the head of
+it. And I’ll have that red nose that comes from indigestion; because
+after Michael ends up in bankruptcy, we won’t be able to keep a maid,
+and I never could cook anything whatever. And then Michael will grow
+fat, and short of breath and bald . . .”
+
+“That’ll be quite enough for the present,” interrupted the outraged
+Michael. “I’m not so sure about letting you marry me at all, after
+that pleasant little sketch.”
+
+“If you can’t drop those domineering ways of yours, Michael, I shall
+withdraw,” Joan warned him, coldly. “You can boss other people as much
+as you choose; I rather like to see you doing it. But it doesn’t go
+with me, remember. If you show these distressing signs of wanting your
+own way, I shall simply have to score you off my list of possibles.
+And that would no doubt be painful to both of us—to you, at any rate.”
+
+“Oh, to both of us, to both of us, I’m sure. I wouldn’t dream of
+contradicting you, Joan. Where would you be, if the only serious
+candidate dropped out? Anything rather than that.”
+
+“Well, it’s a blessing that one man seems to have some sense,” Joan
+admitted, turning to the others. “One can’t help liking Michael, if
+it’s only for the frank way he acknowledges when he’s in the wrong.
+Skilful handling does a lot with the most unpromising material, of
+course.”
+
+Cecil leaned over in his chair and peered athwart the greenery which
+surrounded the nook in the winter-garden in which they were sitting.
+
+“There’s Foxy wandering round.”
+
+He raised his voice:
+
+“Are you looking for us, Foxy? We’re over here.”
+
+Foxton Polegate’s freckled face, surmounted by a shock of reddish
+hair, appeared at the entrance to their recess.
+
+“Been hunting about for you,” he explained as he sat down. “Couldn’t
+make out where you’d got to.”
+
+He turned to Joan.
+
+“Dropped across this evening on important business. Fact is, I’ve lost
+my invitation-card and the book of words. Didn’t read it carefully
+when it came. So thought I’d drop over and hear what’s what.
+Programme, I mean, and all that sort of thing, so there’ll be no
+hitch.”
+
+Una leaned over and selected a fresh cigarette from the box.
+
+“You’re hopeless, Foxy,” she pronounced. “One of these memory courses
+is what you need badly. Why not treat the thing as a practical joke
+instead of in earnest? _Then_ you’d have no difficulty. Jokes are the
+only things you ever seem to take seriously.”
+
+“Epigrams went completely out before you were born, Una,” Foxy
+retorted. “Don’t drag ’em from their graves at this hour of the
+century. And don’t interrupt Joan in her instructions to the guest of
+the evening. Don’t you see she’s saying ’em over nervously to herself
+for fear she forgets ’em?”
+
+“There’s a bit too much of the harassed nursemaid about you, Foxy,
+with all your ‘don’ts,’” Joan broke in. “Now take your stylus and
+tablets and jot this down carefully, for I won’t repeat it under a
+shilling a page. Here’s the programme. Ten p.m.: Arrival of
+distinguished guests. (They’re all distinguished, except you, Foxy.)
+Brilliant and animated conversation by those who can manage it; the
+rest can listen intelligently. (You may try listening, Foxy, if it
+isn’t too much of a strain.) The cloak-room, picture-gallery, museum,
+and poultry-yard will be thrown open for inspection by the public
+absolutely free of charge. It won’t cost you a cent. Bridge-tables
+will be provided for the curiosities who don’t dance. Dancing will
+begin straightway and will be continued up to 11.45, when the judges
+will take their seats. As soon as they are comfortable, the march-past
+will start. All guests must present themselves at this without fail,
+Foxy. At five minutes to twelve the identity of the prize-winners will
+be disclosed. When midnight strikes, all guests will remove their
+masks, even at the cost of shocking the company in some cases. Dancing
+will then be resumed and will continue into the dewy dawn. And that’s
+how it will take place according to plan.”
+
+“There’s just one point,” said Foxy, hesitatingly. “Are the prizes
+portable things, or shall I have to hire a van to take mine away with
+me?”
+
+“I shouldn’t worry a bit about that, Foxy,” said Una, comfortingly.
+“We’ve decided to keep the prizes in the family, you see. Joan gets
+one, because it will be her birthday. I get the other for the best
+female costume. Cecil, Maurice, and Michael are going to toss odd-man
+for the two men’s prizes. So you can come as a Teddy Bear without
+pockets if you like. It won’t be of any consequence. You’ll have
+nothing to carry away.”
+
+“Can’t say fairer than that,” Foxy admitted. “Always liked that plain,
+straightforward way of doing things myself.”
+
+A recollection of his talk with Sir Clinton passed across Cecil
+Chacewater’s mind, and without reflection he communicated it to the
+others:
+
+“By the way, Sir Clinton seemed a trifle worried over this affair. He
+pointed out to me that some scallywag might creep in amongst the
+guests and play Old Harry in the museum if he got the chance.”
+
+Just at this moment, Maurice Chacewater passed along the alley in the
+winter-garden from which the nook opened.
+
+“Maurice!” Joan called to her brother. “Come here for a moment,
+please.”
+
+Maurice turned back and entered the recess. He seemed tired; and there
+was a certain hesitancy in his manner as though he were not quite sure
+of himself. His sister made a gesture inviting him to sit down, but he
+appeared disinclined to stay.
+
+“What’s the trouble?” he asked, with a weary air.
+
+“Cecil’s been suggesting that it’s hardly safe to leave the
+collections open to-morrow night, in case a stranger got in with a
+mask on. Hadn’t we better have some one to stay in the museum and look
+after them?”
+
+“Cecil needn’t worry his head,” Maurice returned, ignoring his
+brother. “I’m putting one of the keepers on to watch the museum.”
+
+He turned on his heel and went off along the corridor. Foxy gazed
+after him with a peculiar expression on his face.
+
+“Maurice looks a bit done-up, doesn’t he?” he finally said, turning
+back towards the group about him. “He hasn’t been quite all right for
+a while. Seems almost as if he expected a thunderbolt to strike him
+any minute, doesn’t he? A bit white about the gills and holding
+himself in all the time.”
+
+Before any one could reply to this, Joan rose and beckoned to Michael.
+
+“Come along, Michael. I’ll play you a hundred up, if you like.
+There’ll be no one in the billiard-room.”
+
+Michael Clifton rose eagerly from his chair and followed her out. Foxy
+looked after them.
+
+“As an old friend of the family, merely wanting to know, _are_ those
+two engaged or not? They go on as if they were and as if they weren’t.
+It’s most confusing to plain fellows like me.”
+
+“I doubt if they know themselves,” said Una, “so I’d advise you not to
+waste too much brain-matter over it, Foxy. What do boys of your age
+know about such things?”
+
+“Not much, not much, I admit. Cupid seems to pass me by on his rounds.
+Perhaps it’s the red hair. Or maybe the freckles. Or because I’m not
+the strong, talkative sort like Michael. Or just Fate, or something.”
+
+“I expect it’s just Something, as you say,” Una confirmed in a
+sympathetic tone. “That seems, somehow, to explain everything, doesn’t
+it?”
+
+“As it were, yes,” retorted Foxy. “But don’t let the fact that you’ve
+ensnared Cecil—poor chap—lead you into putting on expert airs with me.
+Betrays inexperience at once, that. Only the very young do it.”
+
+His face lighted up.
+
+“I’ve just thought of something. What a joke! Suppose we took the
+Chief Constable’s tip and engineered a sham robbery to-morrow night?
+Priceless, what? Carry it through in real good style. Make Maurice sit
+up for a day or two, eh? Do his liver good if he’d something to worry
+about.”
+
+Cecil’s face showed indecision.
+
+“I shouldn’t mind giving Maurice a twinge or two just to teach him
+manners,” he confessed. “But I don’t see much in the notion as it
+stands, Foxy. Maurice is posting a keeper in the museum, you know; and
+that complicates things a bit. The keeper would spot any of us
+tampering with things. He knows us all as well as his own brother.”
+
+“Not in fancy dress, with a mask on, dear boy. Don’t forget that part
+of it.
+
+    ‘Fancy me in fancy dress,
+    Fancy me as Good Queen Bess!’”
+
+he hummed softly. “Only I don’t think I’ll come as Good Queen Bess,
+after all.”
+
+Cecil knitted his brows slightly and seemed to be considering Foxy’s
+idea.
+
+“I wouldn’t mind giving Maurice a start,” he admitted
+half-reluctantly. “And your notion might be good enough if one could
+work it out properly. Question is, can you? Suppose you suddenly make
+a grab for some of the stuff. The keeper’ll be down on you like a
+shot. He’ll yell for help; and you’ll be pinched for a cert. before
+you could get away. There doesn’t seem to be anything in it, Foxy.”
+
+“Hold on for a minute. I’ll see my way through it.”
+
+Foxy took a cigarette, lighted it, and seemed to cogitate deeply over
+the first few puffs.
+
+“I’ve got it!” he announced. “It’s dead easy. Suppose one of us grabs
+the keeper while the other helps himself to the till? We could easily
+knock out the keeper between us and get off all right without an alarm
+being raised.”
+
+Cecil shook his head.
+
+“No, I draw the line at using a sand-bag or a knuckle-duster on our
+own keeper. That’s barred, Foxy. Think again.”
+
+“There’s aye a way,” Foxy assured him sententiously. “Give me another
+jiffy or two. This is how it goes. We mustn’t knock out the keeper. We
+mustn’t be recognized. We’ve got to get away scot-free, or the joke
+would be on us. These the conditions?”
+
+Cecil nodded.
+
+“This is where pure genius comes in,” Foxy announced with pride. “How
+does one recognize any one? By looking at ’em. So if the keeper can’t
+look at us, he won’t recognize us. That’s as sound as Euclid, if not
+sounder.”
+
+“Well?” asked Una, joining in the conversation.
+
+“Well, he won’t recognize us if the place is dark, then,” explained
+Foxy, triumphantly. “All we have to do is to get the light in the room
+switched off, and the thing’s as good as done.”
+
+“That seems to hit the mark,” Cecil agreed. “But that makes it a
+three-handed job, you know: one to grab the keeper; one to snaffle the
+stuff; and one to pull out the fuse of the museum light from the
+fuse-box. Where’s our third man?”
+
+Una leaned forward eagerly.
+
+“I’ll do that part for you! I’d like to make Maurice sit up. He hasn’t
+been very nice to me lately; and I want to pay him out just a little.”
+
+“Nonsense, Una,” Cecil interrupted. “You can’t be mixed up in a joke
+of this sort. There’s almost bound to be a row after it. It doesn’t
+matter in my case; Maurice has his knife into me anyway, you know. But
+there’s no need for you to be getting your fingers nipped.”
+
+Una brushed the suggestion aside.
+
+“What can Maurice do to me even if he does find out? I’ve nothing to
+do with him. And, besides, how is he going to find out anything about
+it? I suppose you’ll just keep the things for a day or two and then
+return them by some way that he can’t trace. He’ll never know who did
+it, unless we let it out ourselves. And we mustn’t let it out, of
+course.”
+
+Foxy nodded his agreement. Cecil was longer in his consideration; but
+at last he seemed to fall in with the arrangement.
+
+“Well, so long as Una’s name isn’t mixed up in it, Foxy, I’m your man.
+It’s a silly caper; but I’m not above going into it for the sport of
+vexing my good brother.”
+
+“Right!” said Foxy, with relief. “Now the next article: What’s the
+best thing to go for? It must be portable, of course.”
+
+Cecil pondered for a moment; then, as a thought struck him, he
+laughed.
+
+“Here’s the game. It may be news to you, Foxy, but my good brother is
+taking steps to sell off our collections.”
+
+Foxy was quite plainly staggered by this news.
+
+“All the stuff your father got together? Surely not! Well, that’s the
+limit!”
+
+“Quite,” confirmed Cecil. “I’d prevent it if I could; but he’s got the
+whip-hand, and that’s all there is to it.”
+
+Foxy seemed still slightly incredulous.
+
+“Why, your Governor loved that stuff as it were a child! And Maurice
+doesn’t need the money he’ll get for it. It’s . . . it’s shameful! My
+word! If I were in your shoes, Cecil, I believe I’d really steal the
+stuff instead of only pretending to grab it.”
+
+“I’m sorely tempted,” said Cecil, half-grimly. “Now here’s the point.
+It seems Maurice has got into touch with Kessock, the Yank
+millionaire. Kessock wants to buy the Medusa Medallions—the very thing
+my father set most store by in the whole lot. Kessock’s sent over an
+agent of his—this fellow Foss who’s staying here just now—to settle up
+the business, see to the genuineness of the things, and so forth. I’ve
+nothing against Foss. He’s only doing his job and he seems all right.
+I don’t like some of his American manners; but that’s neither here nor
+there. The point is, the deal’s just going to be closed. Now if we
+lift these medallions, won’t Maurice look an extra-sized ass?”
+
+“Absoluto!” said Foxy. “I see what you’re after. We lift ’em. Foss
+wants ’em at once. He can’t get ’em. P’raps the deal’s off—for the
+time at least. And Maurice looks a prize ape.”
+
+“Yes,” Cecil snapped, angrily. “That’ll perhaps teach him a lesson.”
+
+Una Rainhill had been thinking while this last part of the
+conversation had been going on.
+
+“There’s one thing you haven’t provided against, Foxy,” she pointed
+out. “Suppose you manage everything as you’ve arranged. Even if you
+get clear away from the museum, there’s almost certain to be some one
+in the passage outside who’ll see you rush out. And then the game
+would be up. It’s not enough to dowse the light in the museum. You’ll
+need to put all the house lights out as well.”
+
+“That’s sound,” Foxy agreed at once. “That means that you’ll need to
+pull out the main switch instead of just the fuse of the museum. It’s
+an even easier job, with no chance of a mistake in it. And what a
+spree it’ll be. The whole shop will be buzzing like an overturned
+hive! It’ll be great sport. And, of course, there’ll be such a wild
+confusion before they get the lights on again, that we’ll come out of
+it absolutely O.K. All we have to do is to saunter quietly out of the
+museum and help to restore order among the rabble in the dark. By the
+time the lights go on again, we’ll be anywhere it suits us to be.
+That’s a master-stroke of yours, Una. Couldn’t be bettered.”
+
+Cecil glanced at his wrist-watch.
+
+“Time’s getting on, Foxy. We’ve sketched the general idea, but we must
+get this thing down to dots now. Everything will depend on
+synchronizing things exactly. We can’t afford to leave affairs to the
+last moment; for we mustn’t be seen together, you know, to-morrow
+night.”
+
+Foxy nodded assent and pulled out a notebook.
+
+“Here it is, then,” he declared. “I’ll make three copies—one for each
+of us—and we can burn ’em once we’ve memorized ’em later on. Now,
+first of all, we can’t start our game too early. That’d be a mistake.
+Let ’em all get well mixed up in dancing and so forth, before we begin
+operations.”
+
+Cecil and Una assented to this at once.
+
+“Midnight’s the limit at the other end,” Foxy pointed out. “Can’t
+afford to wait for the unmasking, for then the keeper would know us
+and remember we’d been in the museum when the thing happened.”
+
+His fellow-conspirators made no objection.
+
+“In between those limits, I think this would be about right,” Foxy
+proposed. “First of all, we set our three watches to the same time.
+Better do it now, for fear of forgetting.”
+
+When this had been done, he continued:
+
+“At 11.40 Una goes to the main switch. You’ll have to show her where
+it is, Cecil, either to-night or to-morrow morning. At 11.40, also,
+Cecil and I wander independently into the museum. I remember quite
+well where the medallions are kept.”
+
+“Wait a moment,” interrupted Cecil. “Just remember that the three real
+medallions and your three electrotypes are lying side by side in the
+glass case. The real medallions are in the top row; your electros are
+the bottom row.”
+
+Foxy made a note of this and then went on:
+
+“Your business, Cecil, will be to mark down the keeper. Get so near
+him that you can jump on him for certain the very instant the lights
+go out. Make sure you can get his hands or his wrists at the first
+grab. You mustn’t fumble it or you’ll shipwreck the whole caboodle.”
+
+“I’ll manage it all right,” Cecil assured him.
+
+“In the meantime I’ll be stooping over the medallion case, looking at
+the stuff, with something in my hand to break the glass. I’ll have a
+thick glove, so as not to get cut with the edges when I put my hand
+in.”
+
+“That’s sound,” said Cecil, “I hadn’t thought of the splinters.”
+
+“Blood would give us away at once,” Foxy pointed out. “Now comes the
+real business. At a quarter to twelve precisely Una pulls out the
+switch. As soon as the light goes, Cecil jumps on the keeper while I
+smash the glass of the case and grab the top row of the medallions.
+After that, we both cut for the door and mingle with the mob. And
+remember, not a word said during the whole affair. Our voices would
+give us away to the keeper.”
+
+He scribbled two extra copies of his time-table and handed one of
+these to each of the other conspirators.
+
+“Now, for my sake, don’t botch this business,” he added. “I’ve played
+a joke or two in my time, but this is the best I’ve ever done, and I
+don’t want it spoiled by inattention to details. It’ll be worth all
+the trouble to see Maurice’s face when he finds what’s happened.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+The Theft at the Masked Ball
+
+“I’m thankful I took my wings off,” said Ariel, leaning back in her
+chair with a soft sigh of satisfaction. “You’ve no notion how much you
+long to sit down when you know you daren’t do it for fear of crushing
+the frames of these things. It’s not tiredness; it’s simply
+tantalization.”
+
+She turned her eyes inquisitively on the bearded figure of her
+partner.
+
+“I wonder who you’re supposed to be?” she mused. “You ought to have a
+ticket, with a costume like that. I can’t guess who you imagine you
+are—or who you really are, for that matter.”
+
+Her companion showed no desire to enlighten her on the last point.
+
+“‘My quaint Ariel, hark in thine ear,’” he quoted, but she failed to
+recognize the tones of his voice.
+
+“Oh, now I see! We did ‘The Tempest’ one year at school. So you’re
+Prospero, are you? Well, don’t let’s begin by any misunderstandings.
+If you think you’re entitled to act your part by ordering me about,
+you’re far mistaken. My trade union positively refuses to permit any
+overtime.”
+
+“I’ve left my book and staff in the cloak-room,” Prospero confessed,
+laughingly, “otherwise, malignant spirit . . .”
+
+“‘That’s my noble master!’” quoted Ariel, ironically. “Prospero was a
+cross old thing. I suppose you couldn’t even throw in a bit of
+conjuring to keep up appearances? It’s almost expected of you.”
+
+Prospero looked cautiously round the winter-garden in which they were
+sitting.
+
+“Not much field here for my illimitable powers,” he grumbled
+disparagingly, “unless you’d like me to turn Falstaff over there into
+a white rabbit. And that would startle his partner somewhat, I’m
+afraid, so we’d better not risk it.”
+
+He pondered for a moment.
+
+“I hate to disappoint you, Ariel. What about a turn at divination?
+Would it amuse you if I told your fortune, revealed the secrets of
+your soul, and what not? This is how I do it; it’s called Botanomancy,
+if you desire to pursue your studies on a more convenient occasion.”
+
+He stretched up his hand and plucked a leaf from the tropical plant
+above his head. Ariel watched him mischievously from behind her mask.
+
+“Well, Prospero, get along with it, will you? The next dance will be
+starting sooner than immediately.”
+
+Prospero pretended to study the leaf minutely before continuing.
+
+“I see a girl who likes to play at having her own way . . . and isn’t
+too scrupulous in her methods of getting it. She is very happy . . .
+happier, perhaps, than she has ever been before. . . . I see two
+Thresholds, one of which she has just crossed, the other which she
+will cross after this next dance, I think. Yes, that is correct.
+There’s some influence in the background. . . .”
+
+He broke off and regarded Ariel blandly.
+
+“So much for the signs. Now for the interpretation. You are obviously
+in the very early twenties; so I infer that the Threshold you are
+about to cross lies between your twentieth and twenty-first birthday.
+Putting that along with the character which the leaf revealed . . .
+Why, Ariel, you must be Miss Joan Chacewater, and you’ve just got
+engaged!”
+
+“You seem to know me all right, Prospero,” Joan admitted. “But how
+about the engagement? It’s too dim in here for you to have seen my
+ring; and besides, I’ve had my hand in the folds of my dress ever
+since I sat down.”
+
+“Except for one moment when you settled the band round your hair,”
+Prospero pointed out. “The ring you’re wearing is more than a shade
+too large for your finger—obviously it’s so new that you haven’t had
+time to get it altered to fit, yet.”
+
+“You seem to notice things,” Joan admitted. “I wonder who you are.”
+
+Prospero brushed her inquiry aside.
+
+“A little parlour conjuring to finish up the part in due form?” he
+suggested. “It’s almost time for our dance. Look!”
+
+He held out an empty hand for Joan’s inspection, then made a slight
+snatch in the air as if seizing something in flight. When he extended
+his hand again, a small diamond star glittered in the palm.
+
+“Take it, Joan,” said Sir Clinton in his natural voice. “I meant to
+send it to you to-morrow; but at the last moment I thought I might as
+well bring it with me and have the pleasure of giving it to you
+myself. It’s your birthday present. I’m an old enough friend to give
+you diamonds on a special occasion like this.”
+
+“You took me in completely,” Joan admitted, after she had thanked him.
+“I couldn’t make out who you were; and I thought you were the limit in
+insolence when you began talking about my private affairs.”
+
+“It’s Michael Clifton, of course?” Sir Clinton asked.
+
+“Why ‘of course’? One would think he’d been my last chance, by the way
+you put it. This living on a magic island has ruined your manners, my
+good Prospero.”
+
+“Well, he won’t let you down, Joan. You—shall I say, even you, to be
+tactful—couldn’t have done better in the raffle.”
+
+Before Joan could reply, a girl in Egyptian costume came past their
+chairs. Joan stopped her with a gesture.
+
+“Pin this pretty thing in the front of my band, please, Cleopatra. Be
+sure you get it in the right place.”
+
+She held out the diamond star. Cleopatra took it without comment and
+fastened it in position hastily.
+
+“Sit down,” Joan invited, “your next partner will find you here when
+he comes. Tell us about Cæsar and Antony and all the rest of your
+disreputable past. Make it exciting.”
+
+Cleopatra shook her head.
+
+“Sorry I can’t stop just now. Neither Julius nor Antony put in an
+appearance to-night, so I’m spending my arts on a mere centurion. He’s
+a stickler for punctuality—being a Roman soldier.”
+
+She glanced at her wrist-watch.
+
+“I must fly at once. O reservoir! as we say in Egypt, you know.”
+
+With a nod of farewell, she hastened along the alley and out of the
+winter-garden.
+
+“She seems a trifle nervous about something,” Sir Clinton commented,
+indifferently.
+
+Joan smoothed down her filmy tunic.
+
+“Isn’t it time we moved?” she asked. “I see Falstaff’s gone away, so
+you can’t turn him into a white rabbit now; and there doesn’t seem to
+be anything else you could enchant just at present. The orchestra will
+be starting in a moment, anyhow.”
+
+She rose as she spoke. Sir Clinton followed her example, and they made
+their way out of the winter-garden.
+
+“What costume is Michael Clifton wearing to-night?” asked Sir Clinton
+as the orchestra played the opening bars of the dance. “I ought to
+congratulate him; and it’s easier to pick him up at a distance if I
+know how he’s dressed.”
+
+“Look for something in eighteenth-century clothes and a large wig,
+then,” Joan directed. “He says he’s Macheath out of the ‘Beggar’s
+Opera.’ I suppose he’s quite as like that as anything else. You’ll
+perhaps recognize him best by a large artificial mole at the left
+corner of his mouth. I observed it particularly myself.”
+
+She noticed that her partner seemed more on the alert than the
+occasion required.
+
+“What are you worried about?” she demanded. “You seem to be listening
+for something; and you can’t hear anything, you know, even if you
+tried, because of the orchestra.”
+
+Sir Clinton shook off his air of preoccupation.
+
+“The fact is, Joan, I’ve been worried all evening. I’m really afraid
+of something happening to-night. I don’t much like this mask business
+with all that stuff in the collections. I’ve a feeling in my bones
+that there might be trouble.”
+
+Joan laughed at his gloomy premonitions.
+
+“You won’t be kept on the rack much longer, that’s one good thing.
+There’s just this dance, then the march-past for judging the costumes,
+and then it will be midnight when everybody must unmask. So you’ll
+have to make the best of your fears in the next half-hour. After that
+there’ll be no excuse for them.”
+
+“Meanwhile, on with the dance, eh?” said Sir Clinton. “I see it’s no
+use trying to give you a nightmare. You’re too poor a subject to repay
+the labour and trouble. Besides, this music’s terribly straining on
+the vocal cords if one tries to compete with it.”
+
+As he spoke, however, the orchestra reached a diminuendo in the score
+and sank to comparative quietness. Joan looked here and there about
+the room as they danced and at last detected the figure for which she
+was searching.
+
+“That’s Michael over there,” she pointed out, “the one dancing with
+the girl dressed as . . .”
+
+Across the sound of the music there cut the sharp report of a
+small-calibre pistol fired in some adjacent room. On the heels
+of it came the crash and tinkle of falling glass, and, almost
+simultaneously, a cry for help in a man’s voice.
+
+Sir Clinton let Joan’s hand go and turned to the door; but before he
+could take a step, the lights above them vanished and the room was
+plunged in darkness. Joan felt a hand come out and grip her arm.
+
+“That you, Joan?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“They’ve taken out the main switch,” Sir Clinton said hurriedly. “Get
+hold of some man at once and show him where it is. We want the lights
+as quick as possible. I can trust you not to lose your head. Take a
+man with you for fear of trouble. We don’t know what’s happening.”
+
+“Very well,” Joan assured him.
+
+“Hurry!” Sir Clinton urged.
+
+His hand dropped from her arm as he moved invisibly away towards the
+door. In the darkness around her she could hear movements and startled
+exclamations. The orchestra, after mechanically playing a couple of
+bars, had fallen to silence. Some one blundered into her and passed on
+before she could put out her hand.
+
+“Well, at least I know where the door is,” she assured herself; and
+she began to move towards it.
+
+Meanwhile the cries for help continued to come from the museum. Then,
+abruptly, they were hushed; and she shuddered as she thought of what
+that cessation might mean. She moved forward and came to what seemed
+an unobstructed space on the floor, over which she was able to advance
+freely.
+
+Her whole senses were concentrated on reaching the exit; but her mind
+appeared to work independently of her own volition and to conjure up
+the possibilities behind this series of events. Sir Clinton had
+evidently expected some criminal attempt that night; and he had
+assumed that the museum would be the objective. But suppose he were
+wrong. Perhaps the affair in the museum was only a blind to draw
+towards it all the men outside the ball-room. Then, when they were
+disposed of, there might come an incursion here. Most of the women had
+taken advantage of their fancy dress to deck themselves out with
+jewellery, and a few armed men could easily reap a small fortune in a
+minute or two. Despite the soundness of her nerves, she began to feel
+anxious, and to conjure up still more appalling pictures.
+
+Suddenly her eyes were dazzled by a flash of light as a man beside her
+struck a match. Almost at the same moment she felt a hand on her
+shoulder and she was pulled backwards so brusquely that she almost
+lost her balance and slipped.
+
+“Put out that match, you fool!” said Michael’s voice. “Do you want to
+have these girls’ dresses in a blaze?”
+
+The flare of the match had revealed a circle of startled faces. The
+room was filled with excited voices and a sound of confused movements.
+Over at the orchestra a music-stand fell with a clash of metal. Then,
+close beside her in the darkness, Joan heard a girl’s voice repeating
+monotonously in tones of acute fear: “What does it mean? Oh, what does
+it mean?”
+
+“Much good _that_ does any one,” Joan muttered, contemptuously. Then,
+aloud, she called: “Michael!”
+
+Before he could reply, there came a sharp exclamation in a man’s
+voice:
+
+“Stand back, there! My partner’s fainted.”
+
+The possibilities involved in a panic suddenly became all too clear in
+Joan’s mind. If half a dozen people lost their heads, the girl might
+be badly hurt.
+
+Michael’s voice was lifted again, in a tone that would have carried
+through a storm at sea:
+
+“Everybody stand fast! You’ll be trampling the girl underfoot if you
+don’t take care. Stand still, confound you! Pull the blinds up and
+throw back the curtains. It’s a moonlight night.”
+
+There was a rustling as those nearest the windows set about the
+execution of his orders. Light suddenly appeared, revealing the
+strained faces and uneasy attitudes of the company. Joan turned to
+Michael.
+
+“Come with me and put in the switch, Michael. Sir Clinton’s gone to
+the museum. We must get the lights on quick.”
+
+Michael, with a word to his partner, followed his fiancée towards the
+door. A thought seemed to strike him just as he was leaving the room:
+
+“Wait here, everybody, till we get the lights on again. You’ll just
+run risks by moving about in the dark outside. It’s nothing. Probably
+only a fuse blown.”
+
+“Now then, Joan, where’s that switch?” he added as they passed out of
+the door.
+
+It was pitch-dark in the rest of the house; but Joan knew her way and
+was able to grope along the corridors without much difficulty. As they
+came near the switch-box, the lights flashed up again. One of the
+servants appeared round a corner.
+
+“Some one had pulled out the switch, sir,” he explained. “It took me
+some time to make my way to it and put it in again.”
+
+“Stout fellow!” said Michael, approvingly.
+
+At that moment, a voice shouted above the confused noises of the
+house:
+
+“Come on, you fellows! He’s got away. Lend hand to chase him.”
+
+And a sound of running steps filled the hall, as the male guests
+poured out in answer to the summons.
+
+“You don’t need me any longer, Joan?” Michael questioned. “Right! Then
+I’m off to lend a hand.”
+
+He ran to join the rest.
+
+Left alone, Joan retraced her steps to the ball-room; but instead of
+re-entering it, she passed on in the direction of the museum, whither
+a number of the guests were making their way also.
+
+“I hope nobody’s got badly hurt,” she thought to herself as she
+hurried along. “I do wish I’d taken the hint and not asked to have
+that collection thrown open to-night.”
+
+Much to her relief, she found Sir Clinton sitting on a chair beside
+the museum door. In the doorway stood the keeper, looking none the
+worse and busying himself with fending off the more inquisitive among
+the guests who wished to enter the room. Joan noticed that the museum
+itself was in darkness though the lights were burning in the rest of
+the house.
+
+“You’re not hurt, are you, Sir Clinton?” she asked as she came up to
+him.
+
+“Nothing to speak of. The fellow kicked me on the ankle as he came
+out. I’m temporarily lamed, that’s all. Nothing to worry about, I
+think.”
+
+He rubbed his ankle as he spoke.
+
+“Are you all right, Mold?” Joan inquired.
+
+The keeper reassured her.
+
+“No harm done, Miss Joan. They didn’t hurt me. But I’m sorry, miss, I
+didn’t manage to get hold of them. They were on me before I could do
+anything, me being so taken aback by the lights going out.”
+
+“What’s happened?” Joan questioned Sir Clinton. “Has anything been
+stolen?”
+
+“We don’t know yet what’s gone,” he replied, answering her last
+question first. “The bulk of the lamp’s smashed in there”—he nodded
+towards the museum—“and until they bring a fresh one, we can’t find
+out what damage has been done. As to what happened, it seems rather
+confused at present; but I expect we shall get it cleared up
+eventually. There seems to have been a gang at work; and I’m afraid
+some things may be missing when we begin to look over the collection.”
+
+“I wish I’d taken your hint,” Joan admitted, frankly. “It’s partly my
+blame, I feel, for neglecting your advice. I was silly to laugh at you
+when you spoke about it.”
+
+“I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you, Joan,” Sir Clinton
+reassured her. “It was really only one chance in a million that
+anything of the sort would happen to-night. Besides, if we manage to
+nail this fellow that they’re all after, we may be able to get some
+clue to his confederates. Quite evidently there was a gang at work,
+and he may be induced to split on his friends if we can lay hands on
+him; and then we’ll get the stuff back again without much trouble, I
+hope.”
+
+He glanced at her, as though to see the effect of his words; then, as
+his eyes caught her mask, he seemed struck by another idea.
+
+“That reminds me,” he said, “we must get these masks off. Send some
+one round at once, please, Joan, to order every one to unmask now. And
+have all the outer doors shut, too. It’s a futile precaution, I’m
+afraid; because any one could slip out during the confusion when there
+was no light: but we may as well do what we can even at this stage.”
+
+He removed his own mask as he spoke, and pulled away the false beard
+which he had worn as Prospero. Joan loosened her mask and went off to
+give the necessary orders. In a few moments she returned.
+
+“Now tell me what did happen,” she demanded.
+
+“There’s no one killed, or even hurt,” Sir Clinton assured her. “This
+ankle of mine’s the only casualty, so far as I know; and I expect I’ll
+be able to limp about quite comfortably by to-morrow.”
+
+“I’m thankful it’s no worse,” said Joan, with relief.
+
+“All I know about the business comes from Mold, here,” Sir Clinton
+went on. “It seems he was patrolling the museum at the time the thing
+happened, under your brother’s orders. Perhaps half a dozen
+people—under a dozen, he says, at any rate—were in the place then.
+Some of them were examining the cases in the bays; some of them were
+looking at the things in the big centre case. Mold doesn’t remember
+what costumes they were wearing. I don’t blame him. People had been
+passing in and out all through the evening; and there was no reason
+why he should take particular note of the guests at that special
+moment.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced up at the keeper, who was looking rather ashamed
+at his inability to furnish better information.
+
+“Don’t you worry, Mold. I doubt if I’d have had any more to tell,
+myself, if I’d been there. One can’t be expected to remember
+everything.”
+
+He turned back to Joan.
+
+“The next thing that happened was a pistol-shot, and the light went
+out. Some light filtered in from the door of the room, for the lamps
+in the hall here were still blazing; but before Mold could do
+anything, some one gripped him from behind and got his wrists twisted
+behind his back. In the struggle Mold was swung round, so that he
+couldn’t see the central case even in what light there was. Then the
+lights outside were switched off and he heard a smashing of glass.
+There was a bit of a struggle, apparently; and then all at once he
+felt himself let loose. As soon as he got free, he lit a match and
+posted himself at the door to prevent any one getting away; and he
+stayed there until the lights went on again. Then he made all his
+prisoners unmask and those whom he didn’t recognize himself he kept
+there until some one he knew came to identify them. They’re all people
+you know quite well, Joan. More than half of them were girls, who seem
+rather unlikely people to go in for robbery with violence, to put it
+mildly. Mold made a list of them, if we happen to need it. But I don’t
+think we’re likely to find the criminal amongst them. This affair was
+too well planned for that. The real gang have got clean away, I’m
+pretty sure.”
+
+“And what about your ankle?” demanded Joan.
+
+“Oh, that? I happened to arrive at the door fairly quickly after the
+lights went out. Just as I got to it, a fellow came dashing out; and I
+made a grab at him as well as I could in the dark. But one can’t see
+what one’s doing; and I didn’t get a decent grip on him as he charged
+out on top of me. He landed me a fairly effective kick—right on the
+ankle-bone, by bad luck—and then, before I could get my hands on him
+properly he tore himself clear and was off down the hall towards the
+front door. I hobbled after him as best I could; and there he was—a
+fellow dressed in Pierrot costume—running quite leisurely over the
+gravel sweep and making for the woods. I couldn’t go after him; but he
+was quite clear in the moonlight and he’d a long way to go before
+getting into cover; so I raised a hue and cry at once, and quite a
+crowd of stout fellows are after him. He’ll have to run a bit faster
+than he was doing, if he expects to get off. These pine-woods have no
+undergrowth to speak of; and he’ll find it difficult to conceal
+himself in a hurry.”
+
+As Sir Clinton ended his narrative a servant came hurrying up the
+hall, bringing a tall pair of steps with him.
+
+“Is that the new lamp?” Sir Clinton demanded. “All right. Light a
+match or two, Mold, to let him see where to put the steps. And don’t
+tramp about too much while you’re fixing them up, please. I want to
+see things undisturbed as far as possible.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+The Chase in the Woods
+
+In earlier days, Michael Clifton had been reckoned among the more
+creditable runners in the School Mile; and he had never allowed
+himself to fall out of training. Thus as he joined the throng of
+would-be pursuers emerging from the house, he felt a certain
+confidence that the fugitive would at any rate have to put his best
+foot foremost if he was to avoid being run down. Before he had covered
+twenty yards, however, Michael found himself handicapped by his
+costume. The full-bottomed wig dropped off almost immediately, and the
+shoes were not so troublesome as he had feared; but the sleeves of his
+coat interfered with his movements, and the long skirts hampered his
+legs.
+
+“I wonder if these coves in the eighteenth century ever ran a step,”
+he grumbled. “If they did it in this kit, they must have been wonders.
+I must get rid of the truck.”
+
+He pulled up and stripped off the full-skirted coat; then, as an
+after-thought, he removed the long waistcoat as well. While doing
+this, he glanced ahead to see how the chase was progressing. The light
+of the full moon, now at its highest in the cloudless heavens, lit up
+the whole landscape before him almost as clearly as daylight. Far
+ahead, he could see the white figure of the escaping thief as it
+ascended the long, gentle slope towards the pine-woods.
+
+“I wonder what tempted the beggar to choose that particular costume on
+a night like this,” Michael speculated. “It’s the most conspicuous
+affair he could have put on. Well, all the better for us.”
+
+The quarry had evidently secured a fair start, for the nearest group
+of pursuers was still a considerable distance behind him. The hunters
+were strung out in an irregular file, knotted here and there with
+groups of three or four runners; and the line extended back almost to
+Michael’s position. Behind him, he could hear fresh reinforcements
+emerging from the house, shouting as they came.
+
+“They’d better save their breath,” Michael commented critically to
+himself. “That long rise’ll take it out of a good many of them.”
+
+He settled down to his favourite stride; and very soon began to
+overtake the laggards at the tail of the chase. In front of him
+he saw a Cardinal Richelieu with kilted cassock; but the Cardinal
+found his costume too much for him and pulled out of the race as
+Michael passed him. Shortly after, Michael drew level with an early
+nineteenth-century dandy and for a few seconds they raced neck and
+neck. The dandy, however, was unable to stay the pace.
+
+“It’s these damned Johnny Walker boots,” he gasped, as he fell behind.
+
+Michael, running comfortably, began to take a faint amusement in the
+misfortunes of his colleagues. He could not help smiling as he passed
+a Minotaur, sitting beside the track and making furious efforts to
+disentangle himself from his pasteboard bull’s head which seemed to
+have become clamped in position. But as he found two more of the
+hunters by the wayside, a fresh point of view occurred to him.
+
+“If they’re going to drop out at this rate, there won’t be many of us
+left at the finish to tackle the beggar; and he’s armed. We’ll need
+all the men we can scrape up, if we’re to make sure of him.”
+
+Glancing ahead again, he was relieved to see that he had gained a fair
+amount of ground on the fugitive; and now he began to pass runner
+after runner, as the rising slope told on the weaker pursuers. He
+reached the group at the head of the chase just as the escaping
+burglar dashed into the shadow of the woods a hundred yards in
+advance.
+
+“He’ll dodge us now, if he can,” Michael warned his companions, who
+evidently were unacquainted with the ground. “Keep your eyes on him at
+any cost.”
+
+But as they entered the pine arcades, Michael found that he was
+mistaken. The quarry maintained his lead; but he made no effort to
+leave the beaten track. Ahead of them they could see his white-clad
+figure dappled with light and darkness as he sped up the broad
+pathway.
+
+Suddenly, Michael remembered what lay beyond the pine-wood. Without
+raising his voice, for fear the runner in front should hear him, he
+explained the situation.
+
+“He doesn’t know what he’s running into. There’s a big quarry up
+there, with barbed wire fences on each side. If we can keep him
+straight for it, we’ll have him pinned.”
+
+On went the fugitive, still maintaining his lead and glancing over his
+shoulder from time to time, as though he were gauging the distance
+which separated him from his closest pursuers.
+
+“The beggar can run, certainly,” Michael admitted to himself. “But
+running isn’t going to help him much in a minute or two. We have him
+on toast.”
+
+In a few moments the moon shone bright through the trees ahead. As
+they reached the edge of the wood, the white figure in front of them
+showed up clearly as it sprinted across the strip of open ground,
+straight for the spinney which bounded the quarry cliff. With a
+gesture, Michael called his motley group to a halt.
+
+“Wait a minute,” he ordered. “You, Mephistopheles, get off to the left
+there, outside the spinney. Go on until you strike barbed wire. Take
+this Prehistoric Man—oh, it’s you, is it, Frankie? Well, both of you
+get down there and act as stoppers, so that he can’t sneak off along
+the fence. Oliver Cromwell and you in the funny coat! You’re to do the
+same over yonder on the right. Put some hurry into it, now! And don’t
+move in towards him till you get the word. The rest of you, extend a
+bit along the near edge of the spinney. Not too close; give yourselves
+a chance of spotting him if he breaks cover. And don’t yell unless you
+actually see him. We’ve got him shut in now, and we can afford to wait
+for reinforcements. Here they come!”
+
+Two panting runners breasted the hill as he spoke. At this moment
+there came from beyond the spinney the sound of a splash. Michael was
+taken aback.
+
+“The beggar can’t have dived over, surely. It’s full of rocks down
+below. We’ll have to hurry up. He might get away, after all, if he’s
+extra lucky.”
+
+A fresh group of pursuers gave him the reinforcements he needed; and
+he fed them into his cordon at its weak points.
+
+“Pass the word for the whole line to close in!”
+
+The cordon began to contract around the spinney, the wide gaps in it
+closing up as it advanced.
+
+“The beggar’s probably got a pistol; look out for yourselves among the
+trees,” Michael cautioned them as they reached the boundary of the
+plantation. “Don’t hurry. And keep in touch, whatever you do.”
+
+He himself was at the centre of the line and was the first to enter
+the tiny wood. The advance was slow; for here there was some
+undergrowth which might offer a hiding-place to the fugitive; and this
+was carefully scrutinized, clump by clump, before the line moved
+forward as a whole. Michael meant to make certain of capturing the
+burglar; and he could afford now to go about the matter deliberately.
+Fresh reinforcements in twos and threes were still streaming in from
+the pine-wood.
+
+It took only a few minutes, however, to draw his screen through the
+spinney; for the belt of trees was a narrow one. Every instant he
+expected to hear a shout indicating that the quarry had been run to
+earth; but none came. His line emerged intact from the trees, forming
+an arc of which the cliff-face was the chord; and as his men came out
+into the moonlight Michael had to admit to himself that no one could
+well have crept through any gap in the cordon.
+
+“He must be out here, hiding among these seats,” he shouted. “Don’t
+break your line any more than you can help. Advance to that balustrade
+in front. Rush him, if he shows up.”
+
+Now that he was sure of his quarry, Michael at last had leisure to
+note the tincture of the bizarre in the scene before him. The
+high-riding moon whitened the terrace and touched with glamour the
+motley costumes of the hunters preparing for their final swoop. Here
+Robin Hood and a hatless Flying Dutchman were stooping to peer below
+one of the marble seats. Farther along the line Lohengrin and a
+Milkman discussed something eagerly in whispers. On the left the
+Prehistoric Man loomed up like a Troglodyte emerging from his cave;
+while beyond him Mephistopheles leaned upon the railing, scanning the
+water below. From the inky shadow of the spinney Felix the Cat stole
+softly out to join the cordon.
+
+“A weird-looking gang we are,” Michael commented to himself as he
+gazed about him.
+
+Only a few steps separated the hunters from the clear floor of the
+terrace. In a second or two at most, the man they were chasing must
+break cover and make a dash for liberty or else tamely surrender.
+Slowly the line crept forward.
+
+“We’ve got him now!” a voice cried, exultantly.
+
+But the living net swept on past the marble tier without catching
+anything in its meshes. Between it and the balustrade was nothing but
+the untenanted paving of the terrace.
+
+“He’s got away!” ejaculated some one in tones of complete amazement.
+“Well, I’m damned if I see how he managed it.”
+
+The chain broke up into individuals, who hurried hither and thither on
+the esplanade searching even in the most unlikely spots for the
+missing fugitive. All at once Michael’s eye caught something which had
+been concealed in the shadows thrown by the moon.
+
+“Here’s a rope, you fellows! He’s gone down the face of the cliff.
+Swum the lake, probably.”
+
+Mephistopheles dissented in a languid drawl.
+
+“Not he, Clifton. I’ve had my eye on the water ever since I got up to
+the barbed wire. You could spot the faintest ripple in this moonshine.
+He didn’t get off that way.”
+
+“Sure of that?” demanded Michael.
+
+“Dead sure. I watched specially.”
+
+Michael hesitated for a moment or two, considering the situation. Then
+his face cleared.
+
+“I see it! I remember there’s a cave right below here, in the
+cliff-face. He’s gone to ground there. Half of you get through the
+barbed wire on the right; the rest take the left side. Line up on the
+banks when you get down to the water. He may swim for it yet if we
+don’t hurry.”
+
+They raced off to carry out his instructions, while Michael pulled up
+the rope and flung it on the terrace.
+
+“That cuts off his escape in this direction,” he said to himself. “Now
+we can dig him out at leisure.”
+
+Without hurrying, he made his way down to the water.
+
+“There used to be a raft of sorts here,” he explained. “If we can rout
+it out, we’ll be able to ferry across to the cave-mouth without much
+bother. I doubt if he’ll show fight once we lay our hands on him; for
+he hasn’t an earthly chance of getting away.”
+
+He poked about among the sedge on the rim of the lakelet and at last
+discovered the decrepit raft.
+
+“This thing’ll just bear two of us. Do we dig the beggar out or starve
+him out? Dig him out, eh? Well, I want some one to go with me. Here,
+you, Frankie”—he turned to the Prehistoric Man—“you’d better come
+along. If it comes to a ducking, you’ve got fewer clothes to spoil
+than the rest of us.”
+
+Nothing loath, the Prehistoric Man scrambled aboard the raft, which
+sank ominously under the extra weight.
+
+“I can’t find anything to pole with,” grumbled Michael. “Paddle with
+your flippers, Frankie. It’s the only thing to do. Get busy with it.”
+
+Under this primitive method of propulsion, the progress of the raft
+was slow; but at last they succeeded in bringing it under the
+cliff-face, after which they were able to work it along by hand.
+Gradually they manœuvred it into position in front of the cave-mouth,
+which stood only a yard or so above water-level. Michael leaned
+forward to the entrance.
+
+“You may as well come out quietly,” he warned the inmate. “It’s no
+good trying to put up a fight. You haven’t a dog’s chance.”
+
+There was no reply of any sort.
+
+“Hold the damned raft steady, Frankie! You nearly had me overboard,”
+expostulated Michael. “I’m going to light a match. The cave’s as black
+as the pit, and I can see nothing.”
+
+He pulled a silver match-box from his trousers pocket.
+
+“Lucky I hadn’t this in my coat; for you don’t look as if you had a
+pocket of any sort on you, Frankie.”
+
+The first match, damped by the moisture on his hands, sputtered and
+died out.
+
+“_Hurry_ up, Guvnor,” shouted Mephistopheles, cheerfully, from the
+bank. “Don’t keep us up all night with your firework display. It’s
+getting a bit chilly, paddling about amongst this sedge. Not at all
+the temperature I’m accustomed to at home.”
+
+Michael felt for another match and lighted it successfully. Standing
+up on the raft, he held the light above his head and peered into the
+cavity in the rock. The Prehistoric Man heard him exclaim in
+amazement.
+
+“Damnation, Frankie! He’s not here! It’s hardly a cave at all.”
+
+He put his hands on the cave floor.
+
+“Hold tight with the raft. I’m going in to make sure.”
+
+He scrambled up into the hollow; but almost immediately his face
+appeared again in the moonlight.
+
+“Nothing here. The hole’s barely big enough to take me in.”
+
+“Then where’s he gone?” demanded the Prehistoric Man, who was a
+creature of few words.
+
+“I dunno! Must have given us the slip somehow. If he isn’t here, he
+must be somewhere else. No getting round that.”
+
+He shouted the news to the watchers on the banks; and a confused sound
+of argument rose from amongst the sedge.
+
+“Not much use hanging round the old home, Frankie. Pull for shore,
+sailor. We’d best manhandle her along the face of the cliff. I’ve had
+enough of that paddling.”
+
+When they touched firm ground again they were surrounded by their
+friends, most of whom seemed to doubt whether the search of the cave
+had been properly carried out.
+
+“I tell you,” declaimed the exasperated Michael, “I got right into the
+damned hole! It’s so small that I nearly broke my nose against the
+back wall as I heaved myself inside. It would have been a tight fit
+for me and a squirrel together. He’s not there, whether you like it or
+not. . . . I can’t help your troubles, Tommy; you can go and look for
+yourself, if you like the job of lying on your tummy on a raft that’s
+awash. I shan’t interfere with your simple pleasures.”
+
+“But . . .”
+
+“We’ve lost him. Is that plain enough? There’s nothing to be done but
+go home again with our tails between our legs. I’m going now.”
+
+He accompanied his friends to the top of the cliff again; but when he
+reached the terrace a fresh thought struck him, and he loitered behind
+while the others, soaked and disconsolate, made their way down into
+the pine-wood. When the last of them had disappeared, Michael retraced
+his steps to the edge of the cliff.
+
+“He reached here all right,” he assured himself. “And he didn’t break
+back through the cordon.”
+
+He stooped down, picked up the rope, and refastened it round one of
+the pillars of the balustrade.
+
+“Every one knows there are secret passages about Ravensthorpe,” he
+mused. “Perhaps this beggar has got on to one of them. And quite
+possibly the end of the passage is in that cave down there. That would
+explain the rope. I’ll slide down and have another look round.”
+
+He got into the cave-mouth without difficulty and used up the
+remainder of his matches in a close examination of the interior of the
+cavity; but even the closest scrutiny failed to reveal anything to his
+eyes.
+
+“Nothing there but plain rock, so far as I can see,” he had to admit
+to himself as the last match burned out. “That’s a blank end in more
+senses than one.”
+
+Without much difficulty he swarmed up the rope again, untied it from
+the balustrade, and coiled it over his arm.
+
+“A nice little clue for Sir Clinton Driffield to puzzle over,” he
+assured himself. “Sherlock Holmes would have been on to it at once;
+found where it was sold in no time; discovered who bought it before
+five minutes had passed; and paralysed Watson with the whole story
+that same evening over a pipeful of shag. We shall see.”
+
+He threw a last glance round the empty terrace and then moved off
+into the spinney. As he passed into the shadow of the trees he saw,
+a few yards to one side, the outline of the Fairy House dappled
+in the moonshine which filtered through the leaves overhead.
+Half-unconsciously, Michael halted and looked at the little building.
+
+“They could never have overlooked that in the hunt, surely. Well, no
+harm in having a peep to make certain.”
+
+He dropped his coil of rope, stepped across to the house, and,
+stooping down, flung open the door. Inside, he caught a flash of some
+white fabric.
+
+“It’s the beggar after all! Here! Come out of that!”
+
+He gripped the inmate roughly and hauled him by main force out of his
+retreat.
+
+“Pierrot costume, right enough!” he said to himself as he extracted
+the man little by little from his refuge. Then, having got his victim
+into the open:
+
+“Now we’ll turn you over and have a look at your face . . . Good God!
+Maurice!”
+
+For as he turned the man on his back, it was the face of Maurice
+Chacewater that met his eyes. But it was not a normal Maurice whom he
+saw. The features were contorted by some excessive emotion the like of
+which Michael had never seen.
+
+“Let me alone, damn you,” Maurice gasped, and turned over once more on
+his face, resting his brow on his arm as though to shut out the
+spectacle of Michael’s astonishment.
+
+“Are you ill?” Michael inquired, solicitously.
+
+“For God’s sake leave me alone. Don’t stand there gaping. Clear out, I
+tell you.”
+
+Michael looked at him in amazement.
+
+“I’m going to have a cheerful kind of brother-in-law before all’s
+done, it seems,” he thought to himself.
+
+“Can I do anything for you, Maurice?”
+
+“Oh, go to hell!”
+
+Michael turned away.
+
+“It’s fairly clear he doesn’t like my company,” he reflected, as he
+stepped across and picked up his coil of rope from the ground. “But
+I’ve known politer ways of showing it, I must say.”
+
+With a final glance at the prostrate figure of Maurice, he walked on
+and took the road back to Ravensthorpe. But as he went a vision of
+Maurice’s face kept passing before his mind’s eye.
+
+“There’s something damned far wrong with that beggar, whether it’s an
+evil conscience or cramp in the tummy. It might be either of them, by
+the look of him. He didn’t seem to want any assistance from me. That
+looks more like the evil conscience theory.”
+
+He dismissed this with a laugh; but gradually he grew troubled.
+
+“There he was, in white—same as the burglar. He’s in a bit of a bate
+at being discovered, that’s clear enough. He didn’t half like it, to
+judge by his chat.”
+
+A discomforting hypothesis began to frame itself in his mind despite
+his efforts to stifle it.
+
+“He’s the fellow, if there is one, who would know all these secret
+passages about here. Suppose there really is one leading out of that
+cave. He could have swarmed down the rope, got into the cave, sneaked
+up the subterranean passage, and got behind us that way.”
+
+A fresh fact fitted suddenly in.
+
+“And of course the other end of the passage may be in that Fairy
+House! That would explain his being there. He’d be waiting to see us
+off the premises before he could venture out in his white costume.”
+
+He pondered over the problem as he hurried with long strides towards
+the house.
+
+“Well,” he concluded, “I’m taking no further steps in the business.
+It’s no concern of mine to go probing into the private affairs of the
+family I’m going to marry into. And that’s that.”
+
+Then, as a fresh aspect of the matter came to his mind, he gave a sigh
+of relief.
+
+“I must be a stricken idiot! No man would ever dream of burgling his
+own house. What would he gain by it, if he did? The thing’s
+ridiculous.”
+
+And the comfort which this view brought him was sufficient to lighten
+his steps for the rest of his way.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+Sir Clinton in the Museum
+
+“There’s the light on again in the museum,” Sir Clinton observed. “I
+think we’ll go in and have a look round, now, to see if the place
+suggests anything.”
+
+Mold stood aside to let them pass, and then resumed his watch at the
+door to prevent any one else from entering the room. The servant had
+just finished fitting the new globe in its place and was preparing to
+remove the steps which he had used, when Sir Clinton ordered him to
+leave them in position and to await further instructions.
+
+The museum was a room about forty feet square, with a lofty ceiling.
+To judge by the panelling of the walls, it belonged to the older part
+of Ravensthorpe; but the parquet of the floor seemed to be much more
+modern. Round the sides were placed exhibition cases about six feet
+high; and others of the same kind jutted out at intervals to form a
+series of shallow bays. In the centre of the room, directly under the
+lamp, stood a long, flat-topped case; and the floor beside it was
+littered with broken glass.
+
+“I think we’ll begin at the beginning,” said Sir Clinton.
+
+He turned to the servant who stood waiting beside the steps.
+
+“Have you got the remains of the broken lamp there?
+
+“You can go now,” he added. “We shan’t need you further.”
+
+When he had received the smashed lamp, he examined it.
+
+“Not much to be made out of that,” he admitted. “It’s been one of
+these thousand candle-power gas-filled things; and there’s practically
+nothing left of it but the metal base and a few splinters of glass
+sticking to it.”
+
+He looked up at the fresh lamp hanging above them.
+
+“It’s thirty feet or so above the floor. Nothing short of a
+fishing-rod would reach it. Evidently they didn’t smash it by hand.”
+
+He stooped down and sorted out one or two small fragments of glass
+from the debris at his feet.
+
+“These are more bits of the lamp, Joan,” he said, holding them out for
+her to look at. “You see the curve of the glass; and you’ll notice
+that the whole affair seems to have been smashed almost to
+smithereens. There doesn’t seem to be a decent-sized fragment in the
+whole lot.”
+
+He turned to the keeper.
+
+“I think we’ll shut the door, Mold. We’d better conduct the rest of
+this business in private.”
+
+The keeper closed the door of the museum, much to the disappointment
+of the group of people who had clustered about the entrance and were
+watching the proceedings with interest.
+
+“Now, Joan, would you mind going round the wall-cases and seeing if
+anything has been taken from them?”
+
+Joan obediently paced round the room and soon came back to report that
+nothing seemed to have been removed.
+
+“All the cases were locked, you know,” she explained. “And there’s no
+glass broken in any of them. So far as I can see, nothing’s missing
+from the shelves.”
+
+“What about that safe let into the wall over yonder?” Sir Clinton
+inquired.
+
+“It’s used to house one or two extra valuable things from time to
+time,” Joan explained. “But to-night everything was put on show, and
+the safe’s empty.”
+
+She went over and swung the door open, showing the vacant shelves
+within.
+
+“We do take precautions usually,” she pointed out. “The museum door
+itself is iron-plated and has a special lock. It was only to-night
+that we had everything out in the show-cases.”
+
+Sir Clinton refrained from comment, as he knew the girl was still
+blaming herself for her share in the catastrophe. He turned to examine
+the rifled section of the central case.
+
+“What’s missing here, Joan, can you make out?”
+
+Obediently, Joan came to his side and ran her eye over the remaining
+articles in the compartment.
+
+“They’ve taken the Medusa Medallions!” she exclaimed, turning pale as
+she realized the magnitude of the calamity. “They’ve got the very pick
+of the collection, Sir Clinton. My father would have parted with all
+the rest rather than with these, I know.”
+
+“Nothing else gone?”
+
+Joan looked again at the case.
+
+“No, nothing else, so far as I can see. Wait a bit, though! They’ve
+taken the electrotype copies as well. There were three of each: three
+medallions and an electrotype from each that Foxton Polegate made for
+us. The whole six are gone.”
+
+She cast a final glance at the compartment.
+
+“No, there’s nothing else missing, so far as I can see. Some of the
+things are displaced a bit; but everything except the medallions and
+the electros seems to be here.”
+
+“You’re quite sure?”
+
+“Certain.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed satisfied.
+
+“Of course we’ll have to check the stuff by the catalogue to make
+sure,” he said, “but I expect you’re right. The medallions alone would
+be quite a good enough haul for a minute or two’s work; and probably
+they had their eyes on the things as the best paying proposition of
+the lot.”
+
+“But why did they take the electros as well?” Joan demanded.
+
+Then a possible explanation occurred to her.
+
+“Oh, of course, they wouldn’t know which was which, so they took the
+lot in order to make sure.”
+
+“Possibly,” Sir Clinton admitted. “But don’t let’s be going too fast,
+Joan. We’d better not get ideas into our minds till we’ve got all the
+evidence, you know.”
+
+“Oh, I see,” said Joan, with a faint return of her normal spirits,
+“I’m to be Watson, am I? And you’ll prove in a minute or two what an
+ass I’ve made of myself. Is that the idea?”
+
+“Not altogether,” Sir Clinton returned, with a smile. “But let’s have
+the facts before the theories.”
+
+He turned to the keeper.
+
+“Now we’ll take your story, Mold; but give us the things in the exact
+order in which they happened, if you can. And don’t be worried if I
+break in with questions.”
+
+Mold thought for a moment or two before beginning his tale.
+
+“I’m trying to remember how many people there were in the room just
+before the lights went out,” he explained at last, “but somehow I
+don’t quite seem able to put a figure on it, Sir Clinton. I’ve a sort
+of feeling that some of ’em must ha’ got away before I stopped the
+door—sneaked off in the dark. At least I know I felt surprised when I
+saw how few I’d got left when they began to come up to me to be let
+out. But that’s all I can really say, sir.”
+
+Sir Clinton evidently approved of the keeper’s caution.
+
+“Now tell us exactly what happened when the light went out. This is
+the bit where I want you to be careful. Tell us everything you can
+remember.”
+
+Mold fixed his eye on the corner of the room near the safe.
+
+“I was patrollin’ round the room, sir, most of the night. I didn’t
+stand in one place all the time. Now just when the light was about to
+go out, I was walkin’ away from this case here”—he nodded towards the
+rifled central case—“and as near as may be, I’d got to the entrance to
+that second-last bay, just before you come to the safe. I just turned
+round to come back, when I heard a pistol goin’ off.”
+
+“That was the first thing that attracted your attention?” questioned
+Sir Clinton. “It’s an important point, Mold.”
+
+“That was the first thing out o’ the common that happened,” Mold
+asserted. “The pistol went bang, and out went the light, and I heard
+glass tinkling all over the place.”
+
+“Shot the light out, did they?” Sir Clinton mused.
+
+He glanced up at the carved wooden ceiling, but evidently failed to
+find what he was looking for.
+
+“Have you a pair of race-glasses, Joan? Prismatics, or even
+opera-glasses? Tell Mold where he can get them, please.”
+
+Joan gave the keeper instructions and he left the room.
+
+“Knock when you come back again,” Sir Clinton ordered. “I’m going to
+lock the door to keep out the inquisitive.”
+
+As soon as the keeper was out of earshot, Sir Clinton turned to Joan.
+
+“This fellow Mold, is he a reliable man? Do you know anything about
+him, Joan?”
+
+“He’s our head keeper. We’ve always trusted him completely.”
+
+She glanced at Sir Clinton, trying to read the expression on his face.
+
+“You don’t think _he’s_ at the bottom of the business, do you? I never
+thought of that!”
+
+“I’m only collecting facts at present. All I want to know is whether
+you know Mold to be reliable.”
+
+“We’ve always found him so.”
+
+“Good. We’ll make a note of that; and if we get the thing cleared up,
+then we’ll perhaps be able to confirm that opinion of yours.”
+
+In a few minutes a knock came at the door and Sir Clinton admitted the
+keeper.
+
+“Prismatics?” he said, taking the glasses from Mold. “They’ll do quite
+well.”
+
+Adjusting the focus, he subjected the ceiling of the room to a minute
+scrutiny. At last he handed the glasses to Joan.
+
+“Look up there,” he said, indicating the position.
+
+Joan swept the place with the glasses for a moment.
+
+“I see,” she said. “That’s a bullet-hole in the wood, isn’t it?”
+
+Sir Clinton confirmed her guess.
+
+“That’s evidently where the bullet went after knocking the lamp to
+pieces. Pull the steps over there, Mold. I want to have a closer look
+at the thing.”
+
+With some difficulty, owing to his injured ankle, he ascended the
+steps and inspected the tiny cavity.
+
+“It looks like a .22 calibre. One could carry a Colt pistol of that
+size in one’s pocket and no one would notice it.”
+
+His eye traced out the line joining the bullet-mark and the lamp.
+
+“The shot was evidently fired by some one in that bay over there,” he
+inferred. “Just go to where you were standing when the light went out,
+Mold. Can you see into this bay here?”
+
+Mold looked around and discovered that a show-case interposed between
+him and the point from which the pistol had been fired.
+
+“They evidently thought of everything,” Sir Clinton said, when he
+heard Mold’s report. “If a man had brandished his pistol in front of
+Mold, there was always a chance that Mold might have remembered his
+costume. Firing from that hiding-place, he was quite safe, and could
+take time over his aim if he wanted to.”
+
+He climbed down the steps and verified the matter by going to the
+position from which the shot had been fired. It was evident that the
+shooter was out of sight of the keeper at the actual moment of the
+discharge.
+
+“Now what happened after that, Mold?” Sir Clinton demanded, coming
+back to the central case again.
+
+Mold scratched his ear as though reflecting, then hurriedly took his
+hand down again.
+
+“This pistol went off, sir; and the lamp-glass tinkled all over the
+place. I got a start—who wouldn’t?—with the light going out, and all.
+Before I could move an inch, some one got a grip of my wrists and
+swung me round. He twisted my arms behind my back and I couldn’t do
+anything but kick—and not much kickin’ even, or I’d have gone down on
+my face.”
+
+“Did you manage to get home on him at all?”
+
+“I think I kicked him once, sir; but it was only a graze.”
+
+“Pity,” Sir Clinton said. “It would have always been something gained
+if you’d marked him with a good bruise.”
+
+“Oh, there’ll be a mark, if that’s all you want, sir. But it wouldn’t
+prevent him runnin’ at all.”
+
+“And then?” Sir Clinton brought Mold back to his story.
+
+“Then, almost at once when the lights went out, I heard glass
+breakin’—just as if you’d heaved a stone through a window. It seemed
+to me—but I couldn’t take my oath on it—as if there was two smashes,
+one after t’other. I couldn’t be sure. Then there was a lot of
+scufflin’ in the dark; but who did it, I couldn’t rightly say. I was
+busy tryin’ to get free from the man who was holdin’ me then.”
+
+Sir Clinton moved over to the rifled compartment and inspected the
+broken glass thoughtfully for a moment or two.
+
+“Are you looking for finger-marks?” asked Joan, as she came to his
+side.
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“Not much use hunting for finger-marks round here. Remember how many
+people must have leaned on this case at one time or other during the
+evening, when they were looking at the collection before the robbery.
+Finger-prints would prove nothing against any one in particular, I’m
+afraid, Joan. What I’m really trying to find is some evidence
+confirming Mold’s notion that he heard two smashes after the light
+went out. It certainly looks as if he were right. If you look at the
+way that bit of glass there is cracked, you’ll see two series of lines
+in it. It might have been cracked here”—he pointed with his
+finger—“first of all: long cracks radiating from a smash over in this
+direction. Then there was a second blow—about here—which snapped off
+the apices of the spears of glass left after the first smash. But that
+really proves nothing. The same man might easily have hit the pane
+twice.”
+
+He turned back to the keeper.
+
+“Can you give me an estimate, Mold, of how long it was between the two
+crashes you heard?”
+
+Mold considered carefully before replying.
+
+“So far’s I can remember, Sir Clinton, it was about five seconds. But
+I’ll not take my oath on it.”
+
+“I wish you could be surer,” said the Chief Constable. “If it really
+was five seconds, it certainly looks like two separate affairs. A man
+smashing glass with repeated blows wouldn’t wait five seconds between
+them.”
+
+He scanned the broken glass again.
+
+“There’s a lot of jagged stuff round the edge of the hole but no
+blood, so far as I can see. The fellow must have worn a thick glove if
+he got his hand in there in the dark without cutting himself in the
+hurry.”
+
+He turned back to the keeper.
+
+“You can go outside, Mold, and keep people off the doorstep for a
+minute or two. Perhaps we shall have news of the man-hunt soon. If any
+one wants to see me on business; let him in; but keep off casual
+inquirers for the present.”
+
+Obediently Mold unlocked the door and took his stand on the threshold
+outside, shutting the door behind him as he went. When he had gone,
+Sir Clinton turned to Joan.
+
+“Were these medallions insured, do you know?”
+
+Fortunately, Joan was able to supply some information.
+
+“Maurice insured them, I know. But I’ve heard him say that he wasn’t
+content with the valuation put on them by the company. It seems they
+wouldn’t take his word for the value of the things—they thought it was
+a speculative one or something—and in case of a loss they weren’t
+prepared to go beyond a figure which Maurice thought too small.”
+
+“The electros weren’t insured for any great amount, I suppose?”
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+“I don’t think they were specially insured. They were just put under
+the ordinary house policy, I think. But you’d better ask Maurice. He
+knows all about it.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced round the room once more.
+
+“I doubt if there’s much more to find out here,” he concluded. “It
+doesn’t give us much to go on, does it? Perhaps we’ll have better luck
+when these fellows come in from their hunt. They may have some news
+for us. But as things stand, we can’t even be sure whether it was two
+men or two gangs that were at work. One can’t blame Mold for not
+giving us better information; but what he gave us doesn’t seem to
+amount to very much at present.”
+
+He turned, as though to leave the room; but at that moment the door
+opened and Mold appeared.
+
+“There’s a Mr. Foss wants to see you, sir. He says he’s got something
+to tell you that won’t wait. He’s been looking for you all over the
+house.”
+
+“That’s the American, isn’t it?” Sir Clinton asked Joan in a low
+voice.
+
+“Yes. He’s been here for a day or two, consulting with Maurice about
+these medallions.”
+
+“Well, if he can throw any light on this business, I suppose we’d
+better let him in and see what he has to say. You needn’t go, Joan.
+You may as well hear his story, whatever it may be.”
+
+He turned to the keeper.
+
+“Let Mr. Foss in, Mold; and wait outside the door yourself.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+Mr. Foss’s Explanation
+
+Mr. Foss had nothing distinctively American in his appearance, Sir
+Clinton noted; and when he spoke, his accent was so faint as to be
+hardly detectable. He was a stout man of about fifty, with a
+clean-shaven face and more than a trace of a double chin: the kind of
+man who might readily be chosen as an unofficial uncle by children.
+Sir Clinton’s first glance showed him that the American was troubled
+about something.
+
+Foss seemed surprised to find the Chief Constable in the guise of
+Prospero. He himself, in preparation for an official interview, had
+exchanged his masquerade costume for ordinary evening clothes.
+
+“We haven’t met before, Sir Clinton,” he explained, rather
+unnecessarily, “but I’ve something to tell you”—his face clouded
+slightly—“which I felt you ought to know before you go any further in
+this business. I’ve been hunting all over the house for you; and it
+was only a minute or two ago that I got directed in here.”
+
+“Yes?” said Sir Clinton, interrogatively.
+
+Foss glanced at Joan and seemed to find some difficulty in opening the
+subject.
+
+“It’s a strictly private matter,” he explained.
+
+Joan refused to take the implied hint.
+
+“If it has any connection with this burglary, Mr. Foss, I see no
+reason why I should not hear what you have to say. It’s a matter that
+concerns me as one of the family, you know.”
+
+Foss seemed taken aback and quite evidently he would have preferred to
+make his confidence to Sir Clinton alone.
+
+“It’s rather a difficult matter,” he said, with a feeble endeavour to
+deflect Joan from her purpose.
+
+Joan, however, took no notice of his diffidence.
+
+“Come, Mr. Foss,” she said. “If it’s really important, the sooner Sir
+Clinton hears of it the better. Begin.”
+
+Foss glanced appealingly at Sir Clinton; but apparently the Chief
+Constable took Joan’s view of the matter.
+
+“I’m rather busy at present, Mr. Foss,” he said, dryly. “Perhaps
+you’ll give us your information as concisely as possible.”
+
+Having failed in his attempt, Foss made the best of it; though it was
+with obvious reluctance that he launched into his subject.
+
+“Last night after dinner,” he began, “I went into the winter-garden to
+smoke a cigar. I had some business affairs which I wanted to put
+straight in my mind; and I thought I could stow myself away in a
+corner there and be free from interruption. So I sat down at one side
+of the winter-garden behind a large clump of palms where no one was
+likely to see me; and I began to think over the points I had in mind.”
+
+“Yes?” prompted Sir Clinton, who seemed anxious to cut Foss’s
+narrative down to essentials.
+
+“While I was sitting there,” the American continued, “some of the
+young people came into the winter-garden and sat down in a recess on
+the side opposite to where I was. At first they didn’t disturb me. I
+thought they’d be almost out of earshot, on the other side of the
+dome. I think you were one of them, Miss Chacewater: you, and your
+brother, and Miss Rainhill, and some one else whom I didn’t
+recognize.”
+
+“I was there,” Joan confirmed, looking rather puzzled as to what might
+come next.
+
+“You may not know, Miss Chacewater,” Foss continued, “that your
+winter-garden is a sort of whispering-gallery. Although I was quite a
+long way off from your party, your voices came quite clearly across to
+where I was sitting. They didn’t disturb me at all—I’ve got the knack
+of concentration when I’m thinking about business affairs. But
+although I wasn’t listening intentionally, the whole conversation was
+getting in at my ear while I was thinking about other things. I
+suppose I ought to have gone away or let you know I was there; but the
+fact is, I’d just got to a point where I was seeing my way through a
+rather knotty tangle, and I didn’t want to break my chain of thought.
+I wasn’t eavesdropping, you understand?”
+
+“Yes?” repeated Sir Clinton, with a slight acidity in his tone. “And
+then?”
+
+But the American failed to take the hint. Evidently he laid great
+stress on explaining exactly how things had fallen out.
+
+“After a while,” he went on, with an evident effort to be accurate,
+“Miss Chacewater and some one else left the party.”
+
+“Quite true,” Joan confirmed. “We went to play billiards.”
+
+The American nodded.
+
+“When you had gone,” he continued, “some one else joined the party—a
+red-haired young man whom they called Foxy.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced at Joan.
+
+“That’s Foxton Polegate,” Joan explained. “He’s a neighbour of ours.
+He made these electrotypes of the medallions for us.”
+
+Foss waited patiently till she had finished her interjection. Then he
+resumed his narrative.
+
+“Shortly after that, my ear caught the sound of my own name. Naturally
+my attention was attracted, quite without any intention on my part.
+It’s only natural to prick up your ears when you hear your own name
+mentioned.”
+
+He looked apologetically at them both as if asking them to condone his
+conduct.
+
+“The next thing I heard—without listening intentionally, you
+understand?—was ‘Medusa Medallions.’ Now, as you know, I’ve been sent
+over here by Mr. Kessock to see if I can arrange to buy these
+medallions from Mr. Chacewater. It’s my duty to my employer to get to
+know all I can about them. I wouldn’t be earning my money if I spared
+any trouble in the work which has been put into my hands. So when I
+heard the name of the medallions mentioned, I . . . frankly, I
+listened with both ears. It seemed to me my duty to Mr. Kessock to do
+so.”
+
+He looked appealingly at their faces as though to plead for a
+favourable verdict on his conduct.
+
+“Go on, please,” Sir Clinton requested.
+
+“I hardly expected you’d look on it as I do,” Foss confessed rather
+shamefacedly. “Of course, it was just plain eavesdropping on my part
+by that time. But I felt Mr. Kessock would have expected me to find
+out all I could about these medallions. To be candid, I’d do the same
+again; though I didn’t like doing it.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to feel that he had been rather discouraging.
+
+“I shouldn’t make too much of it, Mr. Foss. What happened next?”
+
+Foss’s face showed that he was at last coming to a matter of real
+difficulty.
+
+“It’s rather unfortunate that I came to be mixed up in the thing at
+all,” he said, with obvious chagrin. “I can assure you, Miss
+Chacewater, that I don’t like doing it. I only made up my mind to tell
+you about it because it seems to me to give a chance of hushing this
+supposed burglary up quietly before there’s any talk goes round.”
+
+“_Supposed_ burglary,” exclaimed Joan. “What’s your idea of a real
+burglary, if this sort of thing is only a supposed one?”
+
+She indicated the shattered show-case and the litter of glass on the
+floor.
+
+Foss evidently decided to take the rest of his narrative in a rush.
+
+“I’ll tell you,” he said. “The next thing I overheard was a complete
+plan for a fake burglary—a practical joke—to be carried out to-night.
+The light in here was to be put out; the house-lights were to be
+extinguished: and in the darkness, your brother and this Mr. Foxy
+How-d’you-call-him were to get away with the medallions.”
+
+“Ah, Mr. Foss, now you become interesting,” Sir Clinton acknowledged.
+
+“I heard all the details,” Foss went on. “How Miss Rainhill was to see
+to extinguishing the lights; how Mr. Chacewater was to secure the
+keeper; and how meanwhile his friend was to put on a thick glove and
+take the medallions out of the case there. And it seems to me that it
+was a matter that interested me directly,” he added, dropping his air
+of apology, “for I gathered that the whole affair was planned with
+some idea of making this sale to Mr. Kessock fall through at the last
+moment.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+Sir Clinton’s face showed that at last he saw something more clearly
+than before.
+
+“That was the motive,” Foss continued. “Now the whole thing put me in
+a most awkward position.”
+
+“I think I see your difficulty,” Sir Clinton assured him, with more
+geniality than he had hitherto shown.
+
+“It was very hard to make up my mind what to do,” Foss went on.
+“I’m a guest here. This was a family joke, apparently—one brother
+taking a rise out of another. It was hardly for me to step in and
+perhaps cause bad feelings between them. I thought the whole thing
+was perhaps just talk—not meant seriously in the end. A kind of
+‘how-would-we-do-it-if-we-set-about-it’ discussion, you understand.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded understandingly.
+
+“Difficult to know what to do, in your shoes, undoubtedly.”
+
+Foss was obviously relieved by the Chief Constable’s comprehension.
+
+“I thought it over,” he continued, with a less defensive tone in his
+voice, “and it seemed to me that the soundest course was to let
+sleeping dogs lie—to let them lie, at any rate, until they woke up and
+bit somebody. I made up my mind I’d say nothing about the matter at
+all, unless something really did happen.”
+
+“Very judicious,” Sir Clinton acquiesced.
+
+“Then came to-night,” Foss resumed. “Their plan went through. I don’t
+know what success they had—the house is full of all sorts of rumours.
+But I heard that the Chief Constable was on the spot and was taking up
+the case himself; and as soon as I heard that, I felt I ought to tell
+what I knew. So I hunted you out, so as to avoid your taking any steps
+before you knew just how the land lay. It’s only a practical joke and
+not a crime at all. I don’t know anything about your English laws, and
+I was afraid you might be taking some steps, doing something or other
+that would make it impossible to stop short of the whole affair coming
+out in public. I’m sure the family wouldn’t like that.”
+
+He glanced at Joan’s face, but evidently found nothing very
+encouraging in her expression.
+
+“It’s been a most unfortunate position for me,” he complained.
+
+Sir Clinton took pity on him.
+
+“It was very good of you to give me these facts,” he said with more
+cordiality than he had hitherto shown. “You’ve cleared up the thing
+and saved us from putting our foot in it badly, perhaps. Thanks very
+much for your trouble, Mr. Foss. You’ve been of great assistance.”
+
+His tone showed that the interview was at an end; but, tactfully, as
+though to spare the obviously ruffled feelings of the American, he
+accompanied him to the door. When Foss had left the room, Sir Clinton
+turned back to Joan.
+
+“Well, Joan, what about it?”
+
+“Oh, it sounds accurate enough,” Joan admitted, though there was an
+undercurrent of resentment in her tone. “Foss couldn’t have known what
+sort of person Foxy is; and it’s as clear as daylight that Foxy was at
+the bottom of this. He’s a silly ass who’s always playing practical
+jokes.”
+
+She paused for a moment. Then relief showed itself in her voice as she
+added:
+
+“It’s rather a blessing to know the whole affair has been just spoof,
+isn’t it? You can hush it up easily enough, can’t you? Nobody need
+know exactly what happened; and then we’ll be all right. If this story
+comes out, all our little family bickerings will be common talk; and
+one doesn’t want that. I’m not exactly proud of the way Maurice has
+been treating Cecil.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s face showed that he understood her position; but, rather
+to her surprise, he gave no verbal assurance.
+
+“It _is_ all right!” she demanded.
+
+“I think we’ll interview your friend Foxy first of all,” Sir Clinton
+proposed, taking no notice of her inquiry.
+
+Going to the door, he gave some orders to the keeper.
+
+“You were rather stiff with our good Mr. Foss,” he said, turning to
+Joan as he closed the door again. “What would you have done yourself,
+if you’d been in his position?”
+
+Joan had her answer ready.
+
+“I suppose he couldn’t help overhearing things; but when this affair
+came to light, I think if I’d been in his shoes I’d have gone to Cecil
+instead of coming to us with the tale. Once Cecil found the game was
+up, he’d have been able to return the medallions in some way or other,
+without raising any dust.”
+
+“That was one way, certainly.”
+
+“What I object to is Foss coming to you,” Joan explained. “He didn’t
+know you’re an old friend of ours. All he knew was that you were the
+Chief Constable. So off he hies to you, post-haste, to give the whole
+show away; when he might quite well have come to me or gone to Cecil.
+I don’t like this way of doing things—no tact at all.”
+
+“I can’t conceive how Cecil came to take up a silly prank like this,”
+said Sir Clinton. “It’s a schoolboy’s trick.”
+
+“You don’t know everything,” said Joan, in defence of her brother.
+
+“I know a good deal, Joan,” Sir Clinton retorted in a decisive tone.
+“Perhaps I know more than you think about this business.”
+
+In a few minutes the keeper knocked at the door.
+
+“Well?” demanded Sir Clinton, opening it.
+
+“I can’t find Mr. Polegate anywhere, sir,” Mold reported. “No one’s
+seen him; and he’s not in the house.”
+
+“He was here to-night,” Joan declared. “I recognized him when I was
+dancing with him. You can’t mistake that shock of hair; and of course
+his voice gave him away when he spoke.”
+
+Sir Clinton did not seem perturbed.
+
+“Bring Mr. Cecil, Mold,” he ordered, and locked the door again as the
+keeper went off on his fresh errand.
+
+This task Mold completed in a very short time. Sir Clinton opened at
+his knock and Cecil Chacewater came into the museum. He was dressed as
+a Swiss admiral and behind him came Una Rainhill in the costume of
+Cleopatra.
+
+Sir Clinton wasted no time in preliminaries.
+
+“I’ve sent for you, Cecil, because I want to know exactly what part
+you played in this business to-night.”
+
+Cecil Chacewater opened his eyes in astonishment.
+
+“You seem to be a bit of a super-sleuth! How did you spot us so
+quickly?”
+
+Quite obviously Cecil was not greatly perturbed at being found out, as
+Sir Clinton noted with a certain relief. So far as he was concerned,
+the thing had been only a prank.
+
+“Tell me exactly what happened after you came in here before the
+lights went out,” the Chief Constable demanded in a curt tone.
+
+Cecil glanced at Una. Sir Clinton caught the look.
+
+“We know all about Miss Rainhill’s part in the affair,” he explained
+bluntly.
+
+“Oh, in that case,” said Cecil, “there’s no particular reason why I
+should keep back anything. Una, Foxy, and I planned it between us. I
+take full responsibility for that. I wanted to upset this sale, if I
+could. I’m not ashamed of that.”
+
+“I know all about that,” Sir Clinton pointed out, coldly. “What I wish
+to know is exactly what happened after you came in here to steal these
+medallions.”
+
+Cecil seemed impressed by the Chief Constable’s tone.
+
+“I’ll tell you, then. We’ve nothing to conceal. I came in here at
+about twenty to twelve and sauntered about the room, pretending to
+look at the cases as if I’d never seen them before. My part was to
+mark down Mold and prevent him interfering.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded to show that he knew all this.
+
+“Rather before I expected it, the light went out. Oh, there was a shot
+fired just then. I didn’t understand that part of it, but I supposed
+that Foxy had brought a pistol with him and fired a blank cartridge
+just to add a touch of interest to the affair. It wasn’t on the bill
+of fare, so I imagine it must have been one of these last-minute
+improvements. Anyhow, I did my part of the business: jumped on Mold
+and held him while Foxy got away with the stuff. Then, when he’d had
+time to get away, I let Mold go and made a bee-line for the door
+myself. I could swear no one spotted me in the dark, and I was well
+mixed up in the mob before the lights went on again.”
+
+“Did you pay particular attention to what Polegate was doing while you
+were busy with the keeper?”
+
+“No. Mold gave me all I wanted in the way of trouble.”
+
+“You’re sure it was Mold you got hold of? You didn’t make any
+mistake?”
+
+Cecil reflected for a moment.
+
+“I don’t see how I could have gripped the wrong man. I’d marked him
+down while the light was on.”
+
+“Can you remember anything about sounds of breaking glass?”
+
+Cecil pondered before replying.
+
+“It seemed to me that there was a lot of glass-breaking—more than I’d
+expected. The light was hardly out before there was a smash and tinkle
+all over the place. Foxy must have got to work quicker than I’d
+allowed for. And I remember hearing quite a lot of hammering and
+smashing going on after that, as if he’d found it difficult to make a
+big enough hole in the glass of the case. I thought he’d bungled the
+business, and it was all I could do to keep my grip on Mold long
+enough to get the thing safely through.”
+
+Sir Clinton dismissed that part of the subject. He turned to Una.
+
+“Now, Miss Rainhill, I believe your part in the affair was to pull out
+the main switch of the house?”
+
+“Yes,” Una admitted, looking rather surprised at the extent of his
+knowledge.
+
+“Did you carry out your part of the arrangement punctually, or were
+you late in getting the current off?”
+
+“I pulled out the switch to the very second. I had my hand on it and
+my eye on my wrist-watch; and when it came to 11.45 I jerked it out
+and the lights went off. I was absolutely right to a second, I’m
+sure.”
+
+“And you thought Miss Rainhill had been a shade before her time,
+Cecil?”
+
+“So it seemed to me. I hadn’t a chance of looking at my watch; and of
+course after the lights went off I couldn’t spare time to look.”
+
+At this moment another knock came to the door and Foxy Polegate burst
+into the museum. Sir Clinton noticed that he was masquerading as a
+Harlequin.
+
+“Heard you’d been asking for me, Sir Clinton,” he broke out as he came
+into the room. “Seems the keeper had been inquiring for me. So I came
+along as soon as I heard about it.”
+
+He glanced inquisitively at Cecil and Una, as though wondering what
+they were doing there.
+
+Sir Clinton wasted no words.
+
+“The medallions, Mr. Polegate, please.”
+
+Foxy made a very good pretence of astonishment at the demand; but
+Cecil cut him short.
+
+“You may as well hand them over, Foxy. They seem to know all about the
+joke.”
+
+“Oh, they do, do they?” Foxy exclaimed. “They seem to have been mighty
+swift about it. That little joke’s gone astray, evidently.”
+
+He seemed completely taken aback by the exposure.
+
+“The medallions?” he repeated. “I’ll get ’em for you in a jiffy.”
+
+He walked across to the show-case, fumbled for a moment at the flat
+base near one of the legs, and from below this he drew out three
+medallions.
+
+“Stuck ’em there with plasticine as soon as I’d got ’em. After that
+any one would have turned out my pockets if they’d wanted, see?”
+
+Sir Clinton held out his hand and took the medallions from Foxy. For a
+moment or two he examined them, then he passed them to Cecil.
+
+“Have you any way of telling easily whether these are the real things
+or the replicas?”
+
+Cecil inspected them one by one with minute care.
+
+“These are the real things,” he announced. “What else could they be?”
+
+“You’ve no doubt about it?” questioned Sir Clinton.
+
+“Not a bit,” Cecil assured him. “When Foxy made the replicas, my
+father had a tiny hole—just a dot—drilled in the edge of each
+electrotype so as to distinguish the real things from the sham. There
+are no holes here; so these are the real Leonardos.”
+
+Sir Clinton swung round suddenly on Foxy.
+
+“Now, Mr. Polegate,” he said, sternly, “you’ve given a lot of trouble
+with this silly joke of yours. I’m not concerned with your taste in
+humour, or I might say a few things you wouldn’t care to hear. But you
+can repair the damage to some extent if you give me a frank account of
+your doings in here to-night. I want the whole story, please.”
+
+Foxy was evidently completely taken aback by Sir Clinton’s tone.
+
+“Come, we’re waiting. There’s no time to lose,” Sir Clinton said,
+curtly, as Foxy seemed to hesitate. Joan and the others showed by
+their faces that they could not quite understand the reason for the
+Chief Constable’s asperity.
+
+“We planned that . . .”
+
+“I know all about that,” said Sir Clinton, brusquely. “Begin at the
+point where you came in here at twenty to twelve or so.”
+
+Foxy pulled himself together. The Chief Constable’s manner was not
+encouraging.
+
+“I came in here as arranged, and worked my way over to the central
+case there—slowly, so as not to attract the keeper’s attention. One or
+two other people were hanging round it then, too. I remember noticing
+a chap in a white Pierrot costume alongside me. Suddenly there was a
+pistol-shot and the light went out according to plan.”
+
+“How do you account for the pistol-shot?” demanded Sir Clinton.
+
+“Try next door,” said Foxy. “I thought it was a fancy tip that Cecil
+had thrown in at the last moment. It wasn’t in the book of words.”
+
+“You were ready to get to work when the light went out?” inquired Sir
+Clinton.
+
+Foxy considered for a moment.
+
+“It took me rather by surprise,” he admitted. “I’d counted on having
+at least another minute, according to the time-table.”
+
+“What happened next? Be careful now.”
+
+“As soon as the light went out, I pulled on a thick pair of gloves and
+got a bit of lead pipe out of my slapstick. But there was a bit of a
+scuffle in the dark round the show-case, and some one must have put
+their elbow through the glass. I heard it go crash in the dark. I
+shoved along till I was opposite the medallion section of the
+case—luckily some one made way for me just then—and I got to work with
+my lead pipe. The glass smashed easily—it must have been cracked
+before. So I put my hand in and groped about. I could find only three
+medallions instead of six; but I hooked them out, slabbed on some
+plasticine, stuck them under the case for future reference, and cut my
+stick for the door. Some one was ahead of me there, and I heard some
+sort of mix-up in the dark. Then I wandered out into the garden by the
+east door, as soon as I could find it in the dark. And I’ve been out
+there having a smoke till now. When I came in again, I heard you’d
+been asking for me, so I came along.”
+
+Sir Clinton considered for a moment.
+
+“I want to be quite clear on one point,” he said with no relaxation of
+his manner. “You say that you heard the glass crack before you began
+your work. Are you certain of that?”
+
+“Quite,” said Foxy.
+
+“And when you got your hand into the case you could find only three
+medallions?”
+
+“That was all. I was groping for the top row of the six; and naturally
+it surprised me when I felt only three altogether. I’m quite certain
+about it.”
+
+“So you were evidently the second thief at the case to-night?” Sir
+Clinton concluded.
+
+Foxy flushed at the word “thief” but a glance at the face of the Chief
+Constable evidently persuaded him that it would be best not to argue
+on philology at that moment. He contented himself with nodding
+sullenly in response to Sir Clinton’s remark.
+
+Joan relieved the tension.
+
+“Anyhow, we’ve got the medallions safe, and that’s all that really
+matters,” she pointed out. “Let’s have a look at them, Cecil.”
+
+She took them from his hand and scrutinized them carefully.
+
+“Yes, these are the real Leonardos,” she affirmed, without hesitation.
+“That’s all right.”
+
+“Quite all right,” admitted Sir Clinton, with a wry smile, “except for
+one point: Why were the replicas stolen and the real things left
+untouched?”
+
+“That certainly seems to need explaining,” Una admitted. “Can you
+throw any light on it, Foxy? You’re the only one of us who was near
+the case.”
+
+There was no hint of accusation in her tone; but Foxy seemed to read
+an insinuation into her remark.
+
+“I haven’t got the replicas, if that’s what you mean, Una,” he
+protested angrily. “I just took what was left—and it turns out to be
+the real things. Whoever was ahead of me took the duds.”
+
+Cecil considered the point, and then appealed to Sir Clinton.
+
+“Doesn’t that seem to show that an outsider’s been at work—some one
+who knew a certain amount about the collection, but not quite enough?
+An outsider wouldn’t know we had the replicas in the case alongside
+the real things. He’d just grab three medallions and think he’d got
+away with it.”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“Your hypothetical outsider, Cecil, must have had a preliminary look
+at the case before the lights went out—just to make sure of getting to
+the right spot in the dark. Therefore he must have seen the six
+medallions there; and he’d have taken the lot instead of only three,
+when he had his chance.”
+
+“That upsets your applecart, Cecil,” said Joan. “It’s obvious Sir
+Clinton’s right. Unless”—a fresh idea seemed to strike her—“unless the
+thief knew of the replicas and had wrong information, so that he
+imagined he was taking the Leonardos when he really was grabbing the
+replicas. I mean he may have thought that the replicas were in the top
+row instead of the lower one.”
+
+She glanced at Sir Clinton’s face to see what he thought of her
+suggestion; but he betrayed nothing.
+
+“Wouldn’t you have taken the whole six, Joan, if you had been in his
+shoes?”
+
+Joan had to admit that she would have made certain by snatching the
+complete set.
+
+“There’s more in it than that,” was all that Sir Clinton could be
+induced to say.
+
+Before any more could be said, the door opened again. This time it was
+Michael Clifton who entered the museum.
+
+“You’ve got him, Michael?” cried Joan. “Who was he?”
+
+Michael shook his head.
+
+“He got away from us. It’s a damned mysterious business how he managed
+it; but he slipped through our fingers, Joan.”
+
+“Well, tell us what happened—quick!” Joan ordered. “I didn’t think
+you’d botch it, Michael.”
+
+Michael obeyed her at once and launched into an account of the
+moonlight chase of the fugitive. Sir Clinton listened attentively, but
+interposed no questions until Michael had finished his story.
+
+“Let’s have this quite clear,” the Chief Constable said, when the tale
+had been completed. “You had him hemmed in at the cliff top; you heard
+a splash, but there was no sign of any one swimming in the lake; you
+discovered a rope tied to the balustrade and lying down the cliff-face
+to the cave-mouth; he wasn’t in the cave when you looked for him
+there. Is that correct?”
+
+“That’s how it happened.”
+
+“You’re sure he didn’t break back through your cordon?”
+
+“Certain.”
+
+“And you found Maurice in one of the Fairy Houses in the spinney?”
+
+“Yes. He seemed in a queer state.”
+
+Sir Clinton, glancing at Cecil’s face, was surprised to see on it the
+same expression of almost malicious glee which he had surprised on the
+day when they examined that very Fairy House during their walk. Quite
+obviously Cecil knew something more than the Chief Constable did.
+
+“Does that suggest anything to you, Cecil?” he demanded point-blank.
+
+At the query, Cecil’s face came back to normal suddenly.
+
+“To me? No, why should it?”
+
+“I merely wondered,” said Sir Clinton, without seeming to notice
+anything.
+
+It was clear that whatever Cecil knew, it was something which he was
+not prepared to tell.
+
+Foxy had listened intently to Michael’s narrative, and as the Chief
+Constable seemed to have come to the end of his interrogations, Foxy
+put a question of his own.
+
+“You say Maurice was wearing a white Pierrot costume? So was the
+fellow you were chasing. So was the man next me at the case when the
+lights went out.”
+
+“I suppose you’re suggesting that Maurice is at the bottom of the
+business, Foxy,” Michael replied at once. “I’ll swallow that if you’ll
+answer one question. Why should a man burgle his own house?”
+
+“Lord alone knows,” Foxy admitted humbly. “I’ve no brain-wave on the
+subject.”
+
+“It seems rather improbable,” observed Sir Clinton. “I think you’ll
+have to produce a motive before that idea could be accepted.”
+
+He glanced round at the door as he spoke and added:
+
+“Here’s Maurice himself.”
+
+Maurice Chacewater had entered the room while the Chief Constable was
+speaking. He had discarded his fancy costume and wore ordinary
+evening-dress, against the black of which his face looked white and
+drawn. He came up to the group and leaned on the show-case as if for
+support.
+
+“So you’ve muddled it, Michael,” he commented, after a pause. “You
+didn’t get your hands on the fellow, after all?”
+
+Dismissing Michael with almost open contempt, he turned to Sir
+Clinton.
+
+“What’s the damage? Did the fellow get away with anything of value?”
+
+“Nothing much: only your three replicas of the Leonardo medallions, so
+far as we can see.”
+
+As he spoke, his glance telegraphed a warning to the rest of the
+group. It seemed unnecessary that Maurice should know all the ins and
+outs of the night’s doings.
+
+But Foxy evidently failed to grasp the meaning of the Chief
+Constable’s look.
+
+“We saved the real medallions for you, Maurice. Vote of thanks to us,
+eh?”
+
+“How did you manage that?” Maurice demanded, with no sign of gratitude
+in his voice.
+
+Quite oblivious of the warning looks thrown at him by the rest of the
+group, Foxy launched at once into a detailed account of the whole
+practical joke and its sequel. Maurice listened frowningly to the
+story. When it was completed, he made no direct comment.
+
+“Who’s got the medallions? You, Joan? I’ll take them.”
+
+When she had handed them over, he scrutinized them carefully.
+
+“These seem to be the Leonardo ones,” he confirmed.
+
+Sir Clinton interposed a question.
+
+“Were the medallions and the replicas in their usual places to-night,
+Maurice? I mean, were the real things in the top row and the electros
+down below?”
+
+Maurice gave a curt nod of assent. He weighed the three medallions
+unconsciously in his hand for a moment, then moved over to the safe in
+the wall of the museum.
+
+“These things will be safer under lock and key, now,” he said.
+
+He opened the safe, inserted the medallions, closed the safe-door with
+a clang, and busied himself with the combination of the lock.
+
+Before saying anything further, Sir Clinton waited until Maurice had
+returned to the group.
+
+“There’s one thing,” he said. “I shall have to look into this affair
+officially now. It’s essential that things shall be left as they are.
+Especially the place where that fellow gave you the slip, Clifton.
+Nobody must be wandering about there, up at the spinney, until I’ve
+done with the ground. There may be clues left, for all one can tell;
+and we can’t run the risk of their being destroyed.”
+
+Maurice looked up gloomily.
+
+“Very well. I’ll give orders to the keepers to patrol the wood and
+turn every one back. That do?”
+
+“So long as no one sets foot on anything beyond the wood, I’ll be
+quite satisfied. But it’s important, Maurice. Impress that on your
+keepers, please.”
+
+Maurice indicated his comprehension with a nod.
+
+“I’ll begin dragging the lakelet up there to-morrow morning,” Sir
+Clinton added. “Something must have gone into the water to make the
+splash that was heard; and perhaps we shall find it. I don’t mind any
+one going down by the lake side. It’s the top of the cliff that I want
+kept intact.”
+
+He looked at his watch.
+
+“You’re on the ’phone here? I must ring up the police in Hincheldene
+now and make arrangements for to-morrow. Show me your ’phone, please,
+Joan. And as I must get some sleep to-night, I’ll say good-bye to the
+rest of you now. Come along, Ariel. Lead the way.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+What Was in the Lake
+
+“I was afraid of it,” Sir Clinton observed, as he lifted the dripping
+pole with which he had been sounding the water of the lakelet. “The
+net will be no good, Inspector. With these spikes of rock jutting up
+from the bottom all over the place, you couldn’t get a clean sweep;
+and if there’s anything here at all, it’s pretty sure to have lodged
+in one of the cavities between the spikes.”
+
+It was the morning after the masked ball at Ravensthorpe. The Chief
+Constable had made all his arrangements overnight, so that when he
+reached the shore of the artificial lake, everything was in readiness.
+The decrepit raft had been strengthened; a large net had been brought
+for the purpose of dragging the pool; and several grapnels had been
+procured, in case the net turned out to be useless. Sir Clinton had
+gone out on the raft to sound the water and discover whether the net
+could be utilized; but the results had not been encouraging.
+
+Inspector Armadale listened to the verdict with a rather gloomy face.
+
+“It’s a pity,” he commented regretfully. “Dragging with the grapnel is
+a kind of hit-or-miss job, Sir Clinton; and it’ll take far longer than
+working with the net.”
+
+Sir Clinton acquiesced with a gesture.
+
+“We’d better start close in under the cliff-face,” he said. “If
+anything came down from the top, it can’t have gone far before it
+sank. One of the people last night was watching the pool and he saw
+nothing on the surface after the splash, so it ought to be somewhere
+near the cave-mouth. You can pole over to the shore now, Constable;
+we’ve done with this part of the business.”
+
+The constable obeyed the order and soon Sir Clinton rejoined the
+Inspector on the bank.
+
+“It’s likely to be a troublesome business,” the Chief Constable
+admitted as his subordinate came up. “The bottom’s very irregular and
+the chances are that the grapnel will stick, two times out of three.
+However, the sooner we get to work, the better.”
+
+He considered for a moment or two.
+
+“Tack a light line to the grapnel as well as the rope. Get the raft
+out past the cave and let a constable pitch the grapnel in there. Then
+when you’ve dragged, or if the grapnel sticks, he can pull the hook
+back again with the light line and start afresh alongside the place
+where he made the last cast. But it’s likely to be a slow business, as
+you say.”
+
+The Inspector agreed and set his constables to work at once. Sir
+Clinton withdrew to a little distance, sat down on a small hillock
+from which he could oversee the dragging operations, and patiently
+awaited the start of the search. His eyes, wandering with apparent
+incuriosity over the group at the water’s edge, noted with approval
+that Armadale was wasting no time.
+
+Having made his instructions clear, the Inspector came over to where
+the Chief Constable was posted.
+
+“Sit down, Inspector,” Sir Clinton invited. “This may take all day,
+you know, and it’s as cheap sitting as standing.”
+
+When the Inspector had seated himself, the Chief Constable turned to
+him with a question.
+
+“You’ve seen to it that no one has gone up on to the terrace?”
+
+Inspector Armadale nodded affirmatively.
+
+“No one’s been up on top,” he explained, “I’d like to go and have a
+look round myself; but since you were so clear about it, I haven’t
+gone.”
+
+“Don’t go,” Sir Clinton reiterated his order. “I’ve a sound reason for
+letting no one up there.”
+
+He glanced for a moment at the group of constables.
+
+“Another thing, Inspector,” he continued. “There’s no secrecy about
+that matter. In fact, it might be useful if you’d let it leak out to
+the public that no one has been up above there and that no one will be
+allowed to go until I give the word. Spread it round, you understand?”
+
+Slightly mystified, apparently, the Inspector acquiesced.
+
+“Do you see your way through the case, Sir Clinton?” he demanded.
+“You’ve given me the facts, but we’ll need a good deal more, it seems
+to me.”
+
+Sir Clinton pulled out his cigarette-case and thoughtfully began to
+smoke before answering the question. When he spoke again, his reply
+was an indirect one.
+
+“There’s an old jurist’s saying that I always keep in mind,” he said.
+“It helps to clarify one’s ideas in a case:
+
+    Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando?
+
+That puts our whole business into a nutshell.” He glanced at the
+Inspector’s face. “Your Latin’s as feeble as my own, perhaps? There’s
+an English equivalent:
+
+    What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where,
+    How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?
+
+How many of these questions can you answer now, offhand, Inspector?
+The rest of them will tell you what you’ve still got to ferret out.”
+
+Inspector Armadale pulled out a notebook and pencil.
+
+“Would you mind repeating it, Sir Clinton? I’d see through it better
+if I had it down in black and white.”
+
+The Chief Constable repeated the doggerel and Armadale jotted it down
+under his dictation.
+
+“That seems fairly searching,” he admitted, re-reading it as he spoke.
+
+“Quite enough for present purposes. Now, Inspector, how much do you
+really know? I mean, how many answers can you give? There are only
+seven questions in all. Take them one by one and let’s hear your
+answers.”
+
+“It’s a pretty stiff catechism,” said the Inspector, looking again at
+his notebook. “I’ll have a try, though, if you give me time to think
+over it.”
+
+Sir Clinton smiled at the qualification.
+
+“Think it over, then, Inspector,” he said. “I’ll just go and set them
+to work with the dragging. They seem to be ready to make a start.”
+
+He rose and walked down to the group at the edge of the pool.
+
+“You know what’s wanted?” he asked. “Well, suppose we make a start.
+Get the raft out to about ten yards or so beyond the cave-mouth and
+begin by flinging the grapnel in as near the cliff-edge as you can.
+Then work gradually outwards. If it sticks, try again very slightly
+off the line of the last cast.”
+
+He watched one or two attempts which gave no result and then turned
+back to the hillock again.
+
+“Well, Inspector?” he demanded as he sat down and turned his eyes on
+the group engaged with the dragging operations. “What do you make of
+it?”
+
+Inspector Armadale looked up from his notebook.
+
+“That’s a sound little rhyme,” he admitted. “It lets you see what you
+don’t know and what you do know.”
+
+Sir Clinton suppressed a smile successfully.
+
+“Or what you think you know, perhaps, Inspector?”
+
+“Well, if you like to put it that way, sir. But some things I think
+one can be sure of.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s face showed nothing of his views on this question.
+
+“Let’s begin at the beginning,” he suggested. “‘What was the crime?’”
+
+“That’s clear enough,” the Inspector affirmed without hesitation.
+“These three electrotypes have been stolen. That’s the crime.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to be engrossed in the dragging which was going on
+methodically below them.
+
+“You think so?” he said at length. “H’m! I’m not so sure.”
+
+Inspector Armadale corrected himself.
+
+“I meant that I’d charge the man with stealing the replicas. You
+couldn’t charge him with anything else, since nothing else is missing.
+At least, that’s what you told me. He wanted the real medallions, but
+he didn’t pull that off.”
+
+Sir Clinton refused to be drawn. He resorted to one of his indirect
+replies.
+
+“‘What was the crime?’” he repeated. “Now, I’ll put a case to you,
+Inspector. Suppose that you saw two men in the distance and that you
+could make out that one of them was struggling and the second man was
+beating him on the head. What crime would you call that? Assault and
+battery?”
+
+“I suppose so,” Armadale admitted.
+
+“But suppose, further, that when you reached them, you found the
+victim dead of his injuries, what would you call the crime then?”
+
+“Murder, I suppose.”
+
+“So your view of the crime would depend upon the stage at which you
+witnessed it, eh? That’s just my position in this Ravensthorpe affair.
+You’ve been looking at it from yesterday’s standpoint, and you call it
+a theft of three replicas. But I wonder what you’ll call it when we
+know the whole of the facts.”
+
+The Inspector declined to follow his chief to this extent.
+
+“All the evidence we’ve got, so far, points to theft, sir. I’ve no
+fresh data that would let me put a new name to it.”
+
+“Then you regard it as a completed crime which has partly failed in
+its object?”
+
+The Inspector gave his acquiescence with a nod.
+
+“You think it’s something else, Sir Clinton?” he inquired.
+
+The Chief Constable refused to be explicit.
+
+“You’ve got all the evidence, Inspector. Do you really think a gang
+would take the trouble to steal replicas when they could just as
+easily have taken the three originals—that’s the point. The replicas
+have no intrinsic value beyond the gold in them, and that can’t be
+worth more than twenty or thirty pounds at the very outside. A
+mediocre haul for a smart gang, isn’t it? Hardly Trade Union wages, I
+should think.”
+
+“It seems queer at first sight, sir,” he admitted, “but I think I can
+account for that all right when you come to the rest of your rhyme.”
+
+Sir Clinton showed his interest.
+
+“Then let’s go on,” he suggested. “The next question is: ‘Who did it?’
+What’s your answer to that, Inspector?”
+
+“To my mind, there seems to be only one possible thief.”
+
+Sir Clinton pricked up his ears.
+
+“You mean it was a single-handed job? Who was the man, then?”
+
+“Foxton Polegate,” asserted the Inspector.
+
+He watched Sir Clinton’s face narrowly as he brought out the name, but
+the Chief Constable might have been wearing a mask for all the change
+there was in his features as he listened to the Inspector’s
+suggestion. As if he felt that he had overstepped the bounds of
+prudence, Armadale added hastily:
+
+“I said ‘possible thief,’ sir. I don’t claim to be able to bring it
+home to him yet.”
+
+“But you think it might even be ‘probable’ instead of only ‘possible,’
+Inspector? Let’s hear the evidence, please.”
+
+Inspector Armadale turned over the leaves of his notebook until he
+reached some entries which he had previously made.
+
+“First of all, sir, Polegate must have known the value of these
+medallions—the originals, I mean. Second, he learned that they would
+be on show last night; and he knew where they’d be placed in the
+museum. Third, it was after Polegate came by this knowledge that the
+practical joke was planned. Fourth, who suggested the sham burglary?
+Polegate. Then fifth, who gave himself the job of actually taking the
+medallions? Polegate again. Sixth, where was Polegate immediately
+after the robbery? We’ve only his own word for it that he was
+strolling about, having a smoke. He might have been elsewhere, easily
+enough. Seventh, he was dressed up as a Harlequin when you saw him:
+but he might quite easily have slipped on a white jacket and a pair of
+Pierrot’s trousers over his Harlequin costume. He could disguise
+himself as a Pierrot in a couple of ticks and come out as a Harlequin
+again just as quick. So he might quite well have been the man in white
+that they were all busy chasing last night. Eighth, he knows the
+ground thoroughly and could give strangers the slip easily enough at
+the end of the chase. And, ninth, he didn’t appear when you wanted him
+last night. He only turned up when he’d had plenty of time to get home
+again, even if he’d been the man in white. That’s a set of nine points
+that need looking into. _Prima facie_, there’s a case for suspicion,
+if there’s no more. And there isn’t anything like so strong a case
+against any one else, Sir Clinton.”
+
+“Well, let’s take the rest of the first line,” said the Chief
+Constable, without offering any criticism of the Inspector’s statement
+of the case. “‘When was it done, and where?’”
+
+“At 11.45 p.m. and in the museum,” retorted Armadale. “That’s beyond
+dispute. It’s the clearest thing in the whole evidence.”
+
+“I should be inclined to put it at 11.44 p.m. at the latest, or
+perhaps 11.43 p.m.,” said Sir Clinton, with an air of fastidiousness.
+
+The Inspector looked at him suspiciously, evidently feeling that he
+was being laughed at for his display of accuracy.
+
+“I go by Miss Rainhill’s evidence,” he declared. “She was the only one
+who had her eye on her watch, and she said she pulled out the switch
+at 11.45 precisely.”
+
+“I go by the evidence of Polegate and young Chacewater,” said Sir
+Clinton, with a faint parody of the Inspector’s manner. “They were
+taken by surprise when the light went out, although they expected it
+to be extinguished at 11.45 p.m.”
+
+“Oh, have it your own way, sir, if you lay any stress on the point,”
+conceded the Inspector. “Make it 11.44 or 11.45; it’s all the same, so
+far as I’m concerned.”
+
+Armadale seemed slightly ruffled by his chief’s method of approaching
+the subject. Sir Clinton turned to another side of the matter.
+
+“I suppose you say the crime has been committed in the museum?” he
+inquired.
+
+The Inspector looked at him suspiciously.
+
+“You’re trying to pull my leg, sir. Of course, it was committed in the
+museum.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s tone became apologetic.
+
+“I keep forgetting that we’re not talking about the same thing,
+perhaps. Of course, the theft of the replicas was committed in the
+museum. We’re quite in agreement there.”
+
+He threw away his cigarette, selected a fresh one, and lighted it
+before continuing.
+
+“And on that basis, I suppose there’s no mystery about the next query
+in the rhyme: ‘How done?’”
+
+“None whatever, in my mind,” the Inspector affirmed. “Polegate could
+take what he wanted, once the light was out.”
+
+Sir Clinton did not dispute this point.
+
+“Of course,” he said. “And now for the next query: ‘With what motive?’
+Where do you stand in that matter, Inspector?”
+
+But here Armadale evidently felt himself on sure ground.
+
+“Polegate’s a rackety young fool, sir. This is where local knowledge
+comes in. He’s got no common sense—always playing practical jokes.
+He’s been steadily muddling away the money his father left him. I
+shouldn’t be surprised if he’s hard up. That’s the motive.”
+
+“And you think he’d steal from his oldest friends?”
+
+“Every man has his price,” retorted the Inspector, bluntly. “Put on
+the screw hard enough in the way of temptation, and any man’ll fall
+for it.”
+
+“Rather a hard saying that, Inspector; and perhaps a trifle too
+sweeping.” Sir Clinton turned on Armadale suddenly. “What would be
+_your_ price, now, if I asked you to hush up this case against young
+Polegate? Put a figure on it, will you?”
+
+Armadale flushed angrily at the suggestion; then, seeing that he had
+been trapped, he laughed awkwardly.
+
+“Nobody knows even their own price till it’s put on the table, Sir
+Clinton,” he countered, with a certain acuteness.
+
+The Chief Constable turned away from the subject.
+
+“You’re depending on there being a fair chance of Polegate getting
+away with the medallions without being suspected. But when young
+Chacewater and Miss Rainhill were in the scheme as well as Polegate,
+suspicion was sure to light on him when the medallions vanished. The
+other two were certain to tell what they knew about the business.”
+
+Inspector Armadale glanced once more at his notebook in order to
+refresh his memory of the rhyme.
+
+“That really comes under the final head: ‘Who in the deed did share?’”
+he pointed out.
+
+“Pass along to the next caravan, then, if you wish,” Sir Clinton
+suggested. “What animals have you in the final cage?”
+
+The Inspector seemed to deprecate his flippancy.
+
+“It’s been very cleverly done,” he said, seriously. “You objected that
+suspicion was bound to fall on young Polegate; and so it would have
+done, if he hadn’t covered his tracks so neatly. He’s set every one on
+the hunt for a gang at work, or at least for an outside criminal. Now
+I believe it was a one-man show from the start, worked from the
+inside. Polegate planned the practical joke—that gave him his chance.
+Then he forced himself forward as the fellow who was to do the actual
+stealing—and that let him get his hands on the medallions while young
+Chacewater held the keeper up for him. Without the hold-up of the
+keeper, the thing was a wash-out. The joke helped young Polegate to
+enlist innocent assistance.”
+
+“But still suspicion would attach to him,” Sir Clinton objected.
+
+“Yes, except for a false trail,” the Inspector agreed. “But he laid a
+false trail. Instead of waiting for the switch to be pulled out, he
+fired his shot from the bay, extinguished the light and then rushed
+out of the bay and went for the medallions.”
+
+“Well?” said Sir Clinton in an encouraging tone.
+
+“When he’d smashed the glass of the case, he took out the whole six
+medallions, and not merely three of them as he told you he’d done.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“He pocketed the replicas and stuck the real things under the case
+with plasticine. Then he continued the false trail by bolting out of
+the house. He was the man in white. When he got clear of the people
+who were chasing him, he came back to the house again, ready to play
+his part as an innocent practical joker. And he had his tale ready, of
+how some one was beside him at the case, wearing a Pierrot costume.
+That stamped the notion of an outside gang on everybody’s mind. Both
+sets of medallions had gone. He—the innocent practical joker—could
+have produced the replicas from his pocket and sworn they were all
+that the gang had left in the case by the time he got to it.”
+
+“And . . . ?”
+
+“And then, a few days later, he’d have managed to get into the museum
+on some excuse—he’s a friend of the family—and he’d have had no
+difficulty in taking the real medallions from under the case where
+he’d left them. He’d have to take the chance that they’d been
+overlooked. The false trail would help in that. He’d hardly expect a
+close search of the museum after the man in white had got clear away.
+And by running the business on these lines, he’d avoid any chance of
+being caught with the stuff actually in his pocket at any time.”
+
+“But in that case, why did he hand over the real things to me like a
+lamb as soon as I challenged him?”
+
+The Inspector was ready for this.
+
+“Because as soon as he came into the museum last night, he found that
+you apparently knew everything—or a good deal more than he’d counted
+on. Anyhow, he didn’t know how much you knew; and he felt he’d got
+into a tight corner. He just let the whole thing slide and made up his
+mind to get out before things got too hot. So he pretended that so far
+as he was concerned, the practical joke was the thing; and he gave up
+the real medallions and kept the replicas in his pocket.”
+
+“Why? He might as well have given up the lot.”
+
+“No,” the Inspector contradicted. “He’d got to keep the false trail
+going, for otherwise there would have been awkward questions as to why
+he diverged from the prearranged programme. I mean the shooting out of
+the light, the lies about the man in white, and so forth. So he stuck
+to the replicas and made out that there was an outsider mixed up in
+the affair. But thanks to the practical joke, the outsider had missed
+the real stuff; and Polegate was really the saviour of the Leonardo
+set.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to be pondering over Armadale’s version of the
+affair. At last he gave his own view.
+
+“A jury wouldn’t look at that evidence,” he pointed out.
+
+“I don’t suppose they would,” Armadale admitted. “But there may be
+more to come yet.”
+
+“I expect so,” Sir Clinton agreed.
+
+He rose as he spoke, and, followed by the Inspector, went down to the
+edge of the lakelet.
+
+“No luck yet?” he inquired.
+
+“None, sir. It’s a very difficult bottom to work a grapnel over. It
+sticks three times out of four.”
+
+Sir Clinton watched the line of the drag which they were making.
+
+“It’ll take a while to cover the ground at this rate,” he commented,
+noting the smallness of the area they had searched up to that moment.
+
+As he turned away from the water-side, he noticed Cecil Chacewater
+approaching round the edge of the lakelet, and leaving the Inspector
+to superintend the dragging, he walked over to meet the newcomer. As
+he came near, he could see that Cecil’s face was sullen and downcast.
+
+“’Morning, Sir Clinton. I heard you were here, so I came across to say
+good-bye before I clear out.”
+
+Sir Clinton could hardly pretend astonishment in view of what he knew
+about the state of affairs at Ravensthorpe; but he did not conceal his
+regret at the news.
+
+“There was a row-royal between Maurice and me this morning,” Cecil
+explained, gloomily. “Of course this medallion business gave him his
+chance, and he jumped in with both feet, you know. He abused me like a
+fish-wife and finally gave me permission to do anything except stay at
+Ravensthorpe after to-night. So I’m off.”
+
+“I wish you hadn’t got mixed up with that silly practical joke,” Sir
+Clinton said in some concern. “I can’t forgive that young blighter for
+luring you into it.”
+
+Cecil’s resentment against his brother was evidently too deep to let
+him look on the matter from this point of view.
+
+“If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else. Any excuse
+would have served his turn, you know. He’d have flung me out sooner or
+later—probably sooner. I’ve felt for long enough that he was itching
+to clear me off the premises. Foxy’s little show only precipitated
+things. The root of the trouble was there long before.”
+
+“Well, it’s a sad business.” Sir Clinton saw that it was useless to
+dwell on the subject. “You’re going up to town? Any address you can
+give me?”
+
+“I’ll probably put up with a man for a day or two. He’s been inviting
+me to his place once or twice lately, but I’ve never been able to fit
+it in; so I may as well take him at his word now. I’ve got to look
+round for something to do, you know.”
+
+“If you want some one to speak for you, Cecil, refer them to me when
+you apply for anything. And, by the way, if you happen to run short,
+you know my address. A letter will always find me.”
+
+Cecil thanked him rather awkwardly.
+
+“I hope it won’t come to that,” he wound up. “Something may turn up
+sooner than one hopes.”
+
+Sir Clinton thought it well to change the subject again.
+
+“By the way, Cecil,” he asked, “do you know anything about this man
+Foss? What sort of person is he?”
+
+It seemed an unfortunate topic. Cecil’s manner was anything but
+gracious as he replied:
+
+“Foss? Oh, you know what sort of a fellow he is already. A damned
+eavesdropper on his hosts and a beggar with a tongue hinged in the
+middle so that he can talk with both ends at once. I’d like to wring
+his neck for him! What do they call the breed that runs off and splits
+to the police? Copper’s narks, isn’t it?”
+
+“It wasn’t exactly that side of him that I wanted to hear about,
+Cecil. I’m quite fully acquainted with his informative temperament
+already. What I want to know is the sort of man he is socially and so
+forth.”
+
+Cecil curbed his vexation with an effort.
+
+“Oh, he seems to have decent enough manners—a bit Yankee, perhaps, in
+some things. He must do well enough out of this agent business of his,
+acting for Kessock and the like, you know. He arrived here with a big
+car, a chauffeur, and a man. Except for his infernal tale-bearing, I
+can’t say he’s anything out of the ordinary.”
+
+Sir Clinton, apparently feeling that he had struck the wrong vein in
+the conversational strata, contented himself with a nod of
+comprehension and let Cecil choose his own subject for the next stage
+in their talk. He was somewhat surprised when it came.
+
+“Have you heard the latest from the village?” Cecil demanded.
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“I’ve had very little time to collect local gossip this morning,
+Cecil. I’ve been busy getting things started for this bit of work in
+the lake, you see.”
+
+“If you’d been down in Hincheldene village you could hardly have
+missed it. I went down this morning to get some tobacco and I found
+the whole place buzzing with it. That was before I’d seen Maurice,
+luckily.”
+
+“Suppose you tell me what it is,” Sir Clinton suggested, drily.
+
+“Do you remember my telling you about the family spectre, the White
+Man?” Cecil asked. “Well, it seems that the village drunkard, old
+Groby, was taking a short cut through our woods last night—or rather
+this morning, for he’s a bit of a late going-to-rooster—and he got the
+shock of his life in one of the glades. He swears he saw the White Man
+stealing about from tree to tree. By his way of it, he was near enough
+to see the thing clearly—all white, even the face. What a lark!”
+
+“You certainly seem to take your family spectre a bit lightly, Cecil.
+What’s the cream of the jest?”
+
+Cecil’s face took on a vindictive expression.
+
+“Oh, it gave me a chance of getting home on Maurice, after he’d given
+me the key of the street. I told him all about it and I rubbed in the
+old story. You know what I mean? The White Man never appears except
+when the head of the family’s on his last legs. Maurice didn’t like it
+a bit. He looked a bit squeamish over it; and I came away leaving that
+sticking in his gills.”
+
+Sir Clinton hardly concealed his distaste for this kind of thing.
+
+“You flatter yourself, I expect. Maurice is hardly likely to waste any
+thought over superstitions of that sort.”
+
+Cecil’s expression still showed a tinge of malice.
+
+“You’d wonder,” he said. “It’s all very well for you to sneer at these
+affairs; but it looks a bit different when you yourself happen to be
+the object of them, I guess. It’s easy to say ‘Superstition’ in a
+high-minded way; but if there’s one per cent. chance that the
+superstition’s going to hit you personally, then, you know, it rankles
+a bit. Anything to give pain is my motto where Maurice is concerned.”
+
+Quite oblivious of Sir Clinton’s rather disgusted expression, he
+laughed softly to himself for a moment or two.
+
+“And the funniest thing in the whole affair,” he went on, “is that I
+know all about this White Man. Can’t you guess what it was?”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“Why, don’t you see?” Cecil demanded, still laughing. “What old Groby
+came across must obviously have been Maurice himself in his white
+Pierrot dress, coming back from the burglar-hunt! That’s what makes it
+so damned funny. Fancy Maurice getting the creeps on account of
+himself! It’s as good a joke as I’ve heard for a while.”
+
+He laughed harshly.
+
+“You don’t seem to see it. Well, well. Perhaps you’re right. And now I
+must be getting back to the house. I’ve a lot of stuff to collect
+before I go off.”
+
+He shook hands with Sir Clinton and moved off towards Ravensthorpe.
+The Chief Constable gazed after him for a moment or two.
+
+“That young man’s in a most unpleasant frame of mind,” he commented to
+himself. “He’s obviously quite off his normal balance when he’d make a
+point of that kind of thing. I can’t say I take much stock in
+brotherly love; but this is really overdoing the business. Both of
+them seem to have taken leave of ordinary feelings. It’s just as well
+they’re parting, perhaps.”
+
+Rather moodily he retraced his steps to where the Inspector was
+directing the operations by the bank of the lakelet; but by the time
+he reached the group his face had taken on its normal expression.
+
+“Fishing still poor?” he demanded, as he came up.
+
+“Nothing so far, sir,” the Inspector confessed. “These rocks are the
+very deuce to work amongst. I’ve been running the grapnel over the
+same track two or three times, just in case we miss the thing the
+first shot. We’ve had no luck at all—unless you count this as a
+valuable find: a bit of limestone or something like that.”
+
+He kicked a shapeless mass of white stone as he spoke. Sir Clinton
+stooped over it: a dripping mass about the size of a man’s fist. The
+Inspector watched him as he examined it; but Sir Clinton’s face
+suggested neither interest nor satisfaction.
+
+“Might be a bit of marble that got swept over the top when they were
+putting up the balustrade in the old days,” the Inspector hazarded.
+
+Sir Clinton looked at it again and shook his head.
+
+“I doubt it,” he said. “However, since it’s the only thing you’ve
+fished up, you’d better keep it, Inspector. One never knows what may
+be useful. I might make a paper-weight out of it as a souvenir.”
+
+The Inspector failed to see the point of the joke, but he laughed as
+politely as he could.
+
+“Very well, Sir Clinton, I’ll see that it’s put aside.”
+
+He glanced over the Chief Constable’s shoulder.
+
+“Here’s Mr. Clifton coming, sir.”
+
+Sir Clinton turned round to find that Michael Clifton had approached
+while he was engaged with the dragging operations. Leaving the group
+by the bank, he walked slowly to meet the advancing figure.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Clifton. Come up to see how we’re getting on, I
+suppose. There’s nothing to report, I’m afraid.”
+
+“Drawn blank?” Michael inquired, needlessly. “There ought to be
+something there, all the same.”
+
+“It may have been only a stone,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “You heard a
+splash; that’s all we have to go on. And a stone would make that as
+well as anything else.”
+
+“That’s true,” Michael admitted. “None of us saw the thing hit the
+water, so we’ve no notion what it was like. It might have been a stone
+for all we can tell. But why should the fellow pitch a brick into the
+water? That’s what puzzles me.”
+
+Before Sir Clinton could reply, a shout came from the bank, and the
+Inspector waved to them to come down.
+
+“We’ve got something, sir,” he called, as they drew nearer.
+
+Followed by Michael, Sir Clinton hurried up to the group at the
+water’s edge. The Inspector was kneeling down, carefully disentangling
+the grapnel from something white. At last he rose and held out his
+capture. Michael gave an exclamation.
+
+“A white jacket!”
+
+A little further shaking of the material showed that it was a complete
+white Pierrot costume, except for the cap and shoes. The Inspector
+spread it out on the grass to dry, after holding the jacket outspread
+in the air so that they could gauge its size by comparison with his
+own body.
+
+“That’s what I’ve been hoping to get hold of, Inspector,” Sir Clinton
+said. “I doubt if you’ll find much more in the pool. But perhaps you’d
+better go on dragging for a while yet. Something else might turn up.”
+
+He examined the costume carefully; but it was quite evident that there
+were no identifying marks on it. During the inspection, Michael showed
+signs of impatience; and as soon as he could he unostentatiously drew
+Sir Clinton away from the group.
+
+“Come up here, Mr. Clifton,” the Chief Constable suggested, as he
+turned towards the hillock he had chosen earlier in the morning. “We
+can keep an eye on things from this place.”
+
+He sat down and Michael, after a glance to see that they were out of
+earshot of the dragging party, followed his example.
+
+“What do you make of that?” he demanded eagerly.
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to have little desire to discuss the matter.
+
+“Let’s be quite clear on one point before we begin,” he reminded
+Michael. “I’m a Chief Constable, not a broadcasting station. My
+business is to collect information, not to throw it abroad before the
+proper time comes. You understand?”
+
+Rather dashed, Michael admitted the justice of this.
+
+“I’m a public servant, Mr. Clifton,” Sir Clinton pointed out, his
+manner taking the edge off the directness of his remarks, “and I get
+my information officially. Obviously it wouldn’t be playing the game
+if I scattered that information around before the public service has
+had the use of it.”
+
+“I see that well enough,” Michael protested. “All I asked was what
+your own views are.”
+
+Sir Clinton smiled and there was a touch of mischief in his eye as he
+replied.
+
+“Seeing that my conclusions are based on the evidence—at least I like
+to think so, you know—they’re obviously part and parcel of my official
+knowledge. Hence I don’t divulge them till the right moment comes.”
+
+He paused to let this sink in, then added lightly:
+
+“That’s a most useful principle, I find. One often makes mistakes, and
+of course one never divulges them either, until the right time comes.
+It’s curious, but I’ve never been able yet to satisfy myself that the
+right time has come in any case of the sort.”
+
+Michael smiled in his turn; and Sir Clinton went on:
+
+“But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t draw your own conclusions and
+give me the benefit of them. I’m not too proud to be helped, you
+know.”
+
+For a moment Michael kept silence, as if considering what his next
+move should be. Sir Clinton had given him what might have looked like
+a snub; but Michael had acuteness enough to tell him that the matter
+was one of principle with the Chief Constable and not merely a pretext
+devised on the spur of the moment to suppress inconvenient curiosity.
+
+“It just occurred to me,” he confessed, “that there’s a possible
+explanation of that thing they’ve fished up. Do you remember that I
+found Maurice in the Fairy House up above there”—he indicated the
+cliff-top with a gesture—“and when I left him there he was still
+wearing a white costume like this one?”
+
+“So you told us last night,” Sir Clinton confirmed.
+
+“Now when Maurice turned up in the museum later on,” Michael
+continued, “he was wearing ordinary evening clothes. He’d got rid of
+the Pierrot dress in the meantime.”
+
+“That’s true,” Sir Clinton agreed.
+
+“Isn’t it possible,” Michael went on, “that after I left him, Maurice
+got over his troubles, whatever they were, and pitched his disguise
+over the edge here. This may quite well be it.”
+
+“Rather a rum proceeding, surely,” was Sir Clinton’s comment. “Can you
+suggest any earthly reason why he should do a thing like that?”
+
+“I can’t,” Michael admitted, frankly. “But the whole affair last night
+seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason in it; and after swallowing
+the escape of that beggar we were after, I’m almost prepared for
+anything in this neighbourhood. I just put the matter before you. I
+can’t fake up any likely explanation to account for it.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to be reflecting before he spoke again.
+
+“To tell you the truth, I was rather disappointed with the result of
+that drag. Quite obviously—this isn’t official information, for you
+can see it with your own eyes—quite obviously that Pierrot costume
+must have been wrapped round some weight or other, or it wouldn’t have
+sunk to the bottom. And in the dragging the weight fell out. I could
+make a guess at what the weight was; but I wish we’d fished it up. It
+doesn’t matter much, really; but one likes to get everything one can.”
+
+Michael, unable to guess what lay behind this, kept silent in the hope
+that there was more to come; but the Chief Constable swung off to a
+fresh subject.
+
+“Did you take a careful note of the costumes of the gang who helped
+you in the attempt to round the beggar up? Could you make a list of
+them if it became necessary?”
+
+Michael considered for the best part of a minute before answering.
+
+“Some of them I could remember easily enough; but not all, I’m sure.
+It was a bit confused, you know; and some of the crew turned up pretty
+late, when all my attention was focused on the final round-up. I
+really couldn’t guarantee to give you an accurate list.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s nod indicated approval.
+
+“That’s what I like,” he said. “I’d rather have a definite No than a
+faked-up list that might mean nothing at all. But there’s one point
+that’s really important. Did you notice, among your assistants,
+anybody in white like the man you were hunting?”
+
+Michael apparently had no need to pause before replying.
+
+“No,” he said definitely, “I saw nobody of that sort. I suppose you
+mean Maurice. He certainly wasn’t in the cordon when it went into the
+spinney or when it came out on the terrace. I’m absolutely sure of my
+ground there. But of course he may have been one of the late-comers.
+Almost as soon as we got to the terrace we had to sprint off down to
+the lake side, you see; and he might quite well have been a bit slow
+in the chase and have reached the top only after we’d come down here.”
+
+“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Sir Clinton, with a finality which
+prevented any angling for further information.
+
+Michael evidently had no desire to outstay his welcome, for in a few
+minutes he rose to his feet.
+
+“I think I’ll go over to Ravensthorpe now,” he said. “I suppose you’re
+not going to leave here for a while?”
+
+The words recalled to Sir Clinton the fact that he had not yet
+congratulated Michael on his engagement. He hastened to repair the
+oversight.
+
+“I was looking for you at the dance last night,” he explained, after
+Michael had thanked him, “but before I got hold of you, this burglary
+business cropped up, and I’ve had hardly a minute to spare since then.
+By the way, if you’re going over to the house, you might tell Joan
+that I shall probably have to pay them a visit shortly, but I’ll ring
+up and let them know when I’m coming.”
+
+Michael nodded and turned away, skirting the lakelet on his way to
+Ravensthorpe. Sir Clinton sauntered over to the waterside and watched
+the dragging operations which were still going on. When he made his
+way back to the hillock again, Inspector Armadale followed him.
+
+“There’s another point that occurred to me, sir,” he explained. “I
+think you told me that Polegate was wearing a Harlequin’s costume last
+night?”
+
+“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And what then?”
+
+“One difficulty I’ve had,” the Inspector went on, “was to explain how
+the fellow in white got away from them all so neatly. I think I see
+now how it was done.”
+
+Sir Clinton made no effort to conceal his interest.
+
+“Yes, Inspector?”
+
+Armadale obviously took this as complimentary.
+
+“This is how I figure it out, sir. Polegate had a white jacket and
+Pierrot trousers on over his Harlequin costume. At the end of the
+chase he bolted into the spinney and out on to the terrace above here.
+That gave him a breathing-space. It took Mr. Clifton a minute or two
+to organize his cordon; and during that time the thief was hidden from
+them by the trees.”
+
+“That’s obviously true,” Sir Clinton admitted. “If he did change his
+costume, it must have been at that moment.”
+
+“I expect he had a weight of some sort ready on the terrace,” the
+Inspector continued. “When he’d stripped off his jacket and trousers,
+he wrapped them round the weight and pitched them over into the pool.
+That would make the splash they all heard.”
+
+“And after that?”
+
+The Inspector was evidently delighted with his idea.
+
+“That leaves us with Polegate in Harlequin dress on the terrace, with
+a minute or two to spare before the cordon was ready to move forward
+into the spinney.”
+
+“Admitted.”
+
+“Do you remember the camouflaged ships in the War, Sir Clinton?”
+
+“I sailed in one, if that’s what you mean.”
+
+“Well, you know what they were like: all sorts of cock-eyed streaks
+and colours mixed up in a regular tangle to destroy their real
+outlines. And what’s a Harlequin’s costume? Isn’t it the very same
+thing?”
+
+Sir Clinton confirmed this with an historical allusion.
+
+“You’re quite correct, Inspector. As a matter of fact, the Harlequin’s
+dress was originally designed to represent Invisibility. Nobody except
+Columbine was supposed to be able to see Harlequin, you know.”
+
+Inspector Armadale hurried to his conclusion.
+
+“What was to hinder Polegate, during that breathing-space, getting
+back into the spinney? It was a moonlight night. You know what the
+spinney would be like under a full moon: it would be all dappled with
+spots of moonlight coming through the trees. And against a setting of
+that sort the Harlequin costume would be next door to invisible. He’d
+only have to stand still in some chequered spot and no one would
+detect him. They were all hunting for a man dressed in white. None of
+them noticed him. None of them saw him, I guess.”
+
+Much to the Inspector’s surprise, Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“I’d be prepared to bet pretty heavily that someone saw him,” he
+affirmed.
+
+The Inspector looked at his Chief for a moment, obviously taken aback.
+
+“You think some one saw him?”
+
+Then a flood of light from a fresh angle in his mind seemed to
+illuminate the question.
+
+“You mean he had a confederate in the cordon? Some one who let him
+through and kept it dark? I never thought of that! You had me beaten
+there, Sir Clinton. And of course, now I see it, that’s the simplest
+solution of the whole affair. If we can get a list of the people in
+the cordon, we’ll be able to pick out the confederate before long.”
+
+Sir Clinton damped his enthusiasm slightly.
+
+“It won’t be so easy to get that list, Inspector. Remember the
+confusion of the whole business: the hurry, the effect of moonlight,
+the masks, the costumes, and all the rest of it. You may be able to
+put a list together; but you’ll have some difficulty yourself in
+believing that you’ve tracked down every possible person who was in
+the line. And if you miss one . . .”
+
+“He may be the man, you mean? Well, there’s no harm in trying. I’ll
+turn a sergeant on to gather all the news he can get.”
+
+“It’ll be a good test of his capacity, then, even if nothing else
+comes out of it,” Sir Clinton certified, carelessly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+The Murder in the Museum
+
+Sir Clinton cut short the shrill ringing of his desk telephone by
+picking up the receiver.
+
+“The Chief Constable speaking,” he informed his inquirer.
+
+Michael Clifton’s voice sounded over the wire.
+
+“Can you come up to Ravensthorpe at once, Sir Clinton, or send
+Inspector Armadale? There’s a bad business here. Mr. Foss has been
+murdered. I’ve taken care that no one has got off the premises; and
+I’ve seen to it that his body has been left as it was found.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced at his wrist-watch.
+
+“I’ll drive across as soon as possible. See that things are left
+undisturbed, please. And collect all the people who can give any
+evidence, so that we needn’t waste time hunting for them. Good-bye.”
+
+He shifted the switch of his telephone and spoke again.
+
+“Is Inspector Armadale here just now?” he asked the constable who
+answered his call. “Tell him I wish to see him in my room
+immediately.”
+
+While waiting for Armadale, Sir Clinton had a few moments in which to
+consider the information he had just received.
+
+“This looks like Part II of the Ravensthorpe affair,” he reflected.
+“Foss’s only connection with Ravensthorpe was the business of these
+Medusa Medallions. First one has the theft of the replicas; now comes
+the murder of this American agent. It’s highly improbable that two
+things like that could be completely independent.”
+
+His cogitation was interrupted by the entry of Armadale, and in a few
+words Sir Clinton gave him the fresh information which had come to
+hand.
+
+“We’ll go up there at once in my car, Inspector. Get the necessary
+things together, please. Don’t forget the big camera. We may need it.
+And the constable who does photography for us had better come along
+also.”
+
+Inspector Armadale wasted no time. In a very few minutes they were on
+the road. As he drove, Sir Clinton was silent; and Armadale’s attempt
+to extract further information from him was a complete failure.
+
+“You know as much as I do, Inspector,” the Chief Constable pointed
+out. “Let’s keep clear of any preconceived ideas until we see how the
+land lies up yonder.”
+
+When they reached Ravensthorpe, they found Michael Clifton waiting for
+them at the door.
+
+“There are only two people who seem to know anything definite about
+things,” he replied to the Chief Constable’s first inquiry. “Joan’s
+one of them, but she really knows nothing to speak of. The other
+witness is Foss’s man—Marden’s his name. Will you have a look at the
+body first of all, and then see Joan and this fellow?”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded his acquiescence and the party followed Michael to
+the museum. Mold, the keeper, was again on guard at the door of the
+room, and Sir Clinton made a gesture of recognition as he passed in,
+followed by Armadale.
+
+A cursory glance showed Foss’s body lying in one of the bays formed by
+the show-cases round the wall. The Inspector went forward, knelt down,
+and held a pocket-mirror to the dead man’s lips.
+
+“Quite dead, sir,” he reported after a short time.
+
+“The police surgeon will be here shortly,” Sir Clinton intimated. “If
+he’s dead, we can postpone the examination of the body for a short
+time. Everything’s to be left as it is until we come back. Turn the
+constable on to photograph the body’s position in case we need it,
+though I don’t think we shall. Now where’s Miss Chacewater? We’d
+better get her version of the affair first. Then we can question the
+valet.”
+
+Without being acutely sensitive to atmosphere, Michael Clifton could
+not help noticing a fresh characteristic which had come into the Chief
+Constable’s manner. This was not the Sir Clinton with whom he was
+acquainted: the old friend of the Chacewater family, with his faintly
+whimsical outlook on things. Instead, Michael was now confronted by
+the head of the police in the district, engaged in a piece of official
+work and carrying it through in a methodical fashion, as though
+nothing mattered but the end in view.
+
+Followed by the two officials, Michael led the way to the room where
+Joan was waiting. The Chief Constable wasted no time in unnecessary
+talk. In fact, he plunged straight into business in a manner which
+suggested more than a touch of callousness. Only later on did Michael
+realize that in this, perhaps, Sir Clinton displayed more tact than
+was apparent at the moment. By his manner, he suggested that a murder
+was merely an event like any other—rather uncommon, perhaps, but not a
+thing which called for any particular excitement; and this almost
+indifferent attitude tended to relax Joan’s overstrained nerves.
+
+“You didn’t see the crime actually committed, of course?”
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+“Shall I begin at the beginning?” she asked.
+
+Sir Clinton, by a gesture, invited her to sit down. He took a chair
+himself and pulled out a notebook. Inspector Armadale copied him in
+this. Michael remained standing near Joan’s chair, as though to lend
+her his moral support.
+
+After thinking for a moment or two, Joan began her story.
+
+“Some time after lunch, I was sitting on the terrace with Mr. Foss. I
+forget what we were talking about—nothing of any importance. Soon
+after that, Maurice came out of the house and sat down. I was
+surprised to see him, for he’d arranged to play golf this afternoon.
+But he’d sprained his right wrist badly after lunch, it seems, and had
+’phoned to put off his match. He sat nursing his wrist, and we began
+to speak of one thing and another. Then, I remember, Mr. Foss somehow
+turned the talk on to some of the things we have. It was mostly about
+Japanese things that they spoke; and Mr. Foss seemed chiefly
+interested in some of the weapons my father had collected. I remember
+they talked about a Sukesada sword we have and about the Muramasa
+short sword. Mr. Foss said that he would like to see them some time.
+He thought that Mr. Kessock would be interested to hear about them.”
+
+She broke off and seemed to be trying to remember the transitions of
+the conversation. Sir Clinton waited patiently; but at last she
+evidently found herself unable to recall any details of the next stage
+in the talk.
+
+“I can’t remember how it came up. It was just general talk about
+things in our collection and things Mr. Foss had seen elsewhere, but
+finally they got on to the Medusa Medallions somehow. Mr. Foss was
+telling Maurice how tantalizing it was to buy these things and pass
+them on to collectors when he’d like to keep them for himself if only
+he could afford it. Then it came out that he always took a rubbing of
+all the coins and medals he came across. I remember he made some
+little joke about his ‘poor man’s collection’ or something like that.
+I forget exactly how it came about, but either he asked Maurice to let
+him have another look at the Leonardo medallions or Maurice
+volunteered to let him take rubbings there and then. I can’t recall
+the exact way in which the suggestion was made. I wasn’t paying much
+attention at the time.”
+
+She looked up to see if Sir Clinton showed any sign of annoyance at
+incomplete information; but his face betrayed neither dissatisfaction
+nor approval. Inspector Armadale, though following the evidence keenly
+and making frequent notes, seemed to think that very little of her
+information was to the point.
+
+“Then,” Joan went on, “I remember Mr. Foss getting up from his chair
+and saying: ‘If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get the things.’ And he
+went away and left Maurice and me together. I said: ‘What’s he gone
+for?’ And Maurice said: ‘Some paper to take rubbings of the medallions
+and some stuff he uses for that, dubbin or something.’ In a few
+minutes, Mr. Foss came back again with some sheets of paper and some
+black stuff in his hand. I was interested in seeing how he did his
+rubbing or whatever you call it, so I went with them to the museum.”
+
+“And then?” Sir Clinton prompted. As they were evidently coming near
+the moment of the murder in Joan’s narrative, it was clear that he
+wished to leave her no time to think of the crime itself.
+
+“We went into the museum. Since that night of the masked ball, Maurice
+has removed most of the smaller articles of value from the cases and
+put them into the safe; so in order to get the medallions he had to
+open the safe. It’s a combination lock, you know; and as I knew
+Maurice wouldn’t like us to be at his elbow while he was setting the
+combination, I took Mr. Foss under my wing and led him over to where
+the Sukesada sword is hung on the wall. We looked at it for a few
+moments. I remember taking it out of its sheath to show the blade to
+Mr. Foss. Then I heard Maurice slamming the door of the safe; and when
+we went into the bay where it is, Maurice was there with the Leonardo
+medallions in his hand.”
+
+“One moment,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “You said it was a combination
+lock on the safe. Do you happen to know the combination?”
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+“Maurice is the only one who knows that. He never told it to any of
+us.”
+
+Sir Clinton invited her to continue.
+
+“Maurice handed Mr. Foss one of the medallions and Mr. Foss took it
+over to the big central case—the one with the flat top. Then he began
+to take a rubbing of the medallion with his paper and black stuff. He
+didn’t seem quite satisfied with his first attempt, so he had a second
+try at it. As we were watching him, he seemed to prick up his ears,
+and then he said: ‘There’s some one calling for you, Miss Chacewater.’
+I couldn’t hear anything myself; but he explained that the voice was
+pretty far off. He had extra good hearing, I remember he said. He
+seemed very positive about it, so I went off to see what it was all
+about.”
+
+“Was that the last time you saw him?”
+
+“Yes,” said Joan, but she had obviously more to tell.
+
+“And then?”
+
+“As I was going away from the museum door, I met Mr. Foss’s man,
+Marden. He had a small brown-paper parcel in his hand. He stopped me
+and asked me if I knew where Mr. Foss was. Something about the parcel,
+I gathered, though I didn’t stop to listen to him. I told him Mr. Foss
+was in the museum; and I went on to see if I could find who was
+calling. I searched about and came across Mr. Clifton; but I didn’t
+hear any one calling my name. Mr. Foss must have been mistaken.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+Michael Clifton evidently thought it unnecessary that Joan should bear
+the whole burden of giving evidence. At this point he broke in.
+
+“Miss Chacewater and I were together in the winter-garden when I heard
+a shout of ‘Murder!’ I didn’t recognize the voice at the time. I left
+Miss Chacewater where she was and made my way as quick as I could
+towards the voice. It came from the museum, so I hurried there. I
+found Foss on the floor with a dagger of some sort in his chest. He
+was gone, so far as I could see, before I came on the scene at all.
+The man Marden was in the room, tying up his hand. It was bleeding
+badly and he said he’d cut it on the glass of a case. I kept him under
+my eye till I could get a couple of keepers; and then I rang you up at
+the station.”
+
+“What had become of Mr. Chacewater?” Sir Clinton asked, without
+showing that he attached more than a casual interest to the question.
+
+“That’s the puzzle,” Michael admitted. “I didn’t see him anywhere in
+the museum at the moment and I’ve been hunting for him everywhere
+since then: but he’s not turned up. He may have gone out into the
+grounds, of course, and left Foss alone in the museum; and possibly he
+had got out of earshot before the cry of ‘Murder!’ was raised by the
+valet. I don’t know.”
+
+Sir Clinton saw that the Inspector wished to ask a question, but he
+silenced him by a glance.
+
+“One more point, and we’re done, I think,” he said, turning to Joan.
+“Can you give me a rough idea of the time when the cry of ‘Murder!’
+was raised? I mean, how long was it after you had left the museum
+yourself?”
+
+Joan thought for a few seconds.
+
+“It took me three or four minutes before I came across Mr. Clifton,
+and we were together—how long would you say, Michael?—before we heard
+the shout?”
+
+“Not more than five minutes,” Michael suggested.
+
+“That’s about it,” Joan confirmed. “That would make it about eight or
+nine minutes, roughly, between the time I left the museum and the time
+we heard the shout.”
+
+“About that,” Michael agreed.
+
+Sir Clinton rose and closed his notebook.
+
+“That’s all you have to tell us? Everything that bears on the matter,
+so far as you know?”
+
+Joan paused for a moment or two before replying.
+
+“That’s all that I can remember,” she said at last, after an evident
+effort to recall any fresh details. “I can’t think of anything else
+that would be of use.”
+
+“You’ve no idea where your brother is?”
+
+“None at all,” Joan answered. Then a thought seemed to strike her.
+“You don’t think Maurice had anything to do with this?” she demanded,
+anxiously.
+
+“He’ll turn up shortly to speak for himself, I’ve no doubt,” Sir
+Clinton said, as though to reassure her. “Now that’s all we need just
+now, so far as you’re concerned. I’m going to take Mr. Clifton away
+for a few minutes, but he’ll be back again almost immediately.”
+
+With a reassuring smile, the Chief Constable excused himself and led
+the way to the door, followed by Michael and the Inspector. As soon as
+he was out of the room, he turned to Michael.
+
+“You’re quite sure that Mr. Chacewater wasn’t in the museum when you
+reached it?”
+
+Michael considered carefully before replying.
+
+“I don’t see how he could have been. I glanced into all the bays; and
+you know there isn’t cover enough for a cat in the place.”
+
+“Was the safe door open or shut, did you notice?”
+
+Michael again reflected before replying.
+
+“Shut, I’m almost certain.”
+
+Sir Clinton in his turn seemed to reflect for a moment or two.
+
+“We’ll have a look at this fellow Marden, now, I think, Inspector, if
+you’ll bring him along to the museum. We’d better hear his tale on the
+spot. It’ll save explanations about the positions of things.”
+
+Inspector Armadale departed on his quest while Michael and the Chief
+Constable made their way to the scene of the crime. Suddenly Sir
+Clinton turned and confronted Michael.
+
+“Have you any notion whatever as to where Maurice has gone? I want the
+truth.”
+
+Michael was manifestly taken aback by the direct demand.
+
+“I haven’t a notion,” he declared. “He wasn’t in the museum when I got
+there, so far as I know. You can put me on my oath over that, if you
+like.”
+
+The Chief Constable scanned his face keenly, but made no comment on
+his statement. He led the way to the museum; and they had hardly
+passed through the door before Inspector Armadale returned with the
+valet.
+
+Marden appeared to be a man of about thirty years of age. Sir Clinton
+noticed that he carried himself well and did not seem to have lost his
+head in the excitement of the past hour. When he spoke, it was without
+any appreciable accent; and he seemed to take pains to be perfectly
+clear in his evidence. Sir Clinton, by an almost imperceptible
+gesture, handed over the examination of the valet to the Inspector.
+Armadale pulled out his notebook once more.
+
+“What’s your name?” he demanded.
+
+“Thomas Marden.”
+
+“How long have you been in Mr. Foss’s service?”
+
+“Since he arrived here from America, about three months ago.”
+
+“How did he come to engage you?”
+
+“Advertisement.”
+
+“You knew nothing about him before that?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“Where was he living then?”
+
+“At 474a Gunner’s Mansions, S.W. It’s a service flat.”
+
+“He still has that flat?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How did he spend his time?”
+
+The valet seemed astonished by the question.
+
+“I don’t know. None of my business.”
+
+Inspector Armadale was not to be turned aside.
+
+“You must have known whether he stayed in the flat or went out
+regularly at fixed times.”
+
+Marden seemed to see what was wanted.
+
+“You mean, did he go out to an office every day? No, he came and went
+just when it suited him.”
+
+“Had he much correspondence?”
+
+“Letters? Just about what one might expect.”
+
+The Inspector looked up gloomily. So far, he had not got much to go
+upon.
+
+“What do you mean by: ‘Just what one might expect?’”
+
+“He got some letters every day, sometimes one or two, sometimes half a
+dozen. Just what one might expect.”
+
+“Have you any idea whether they were business letters or merely
+private correspondence?”
+
+Marden seemed annoyed by the question.
+
+“How should I know?” he demanded, stiffly. “It’s not my business to
+pry into my employer’s affairs.”
+
+“It’s your business to read the addresses on the envelopes to see that
+the postman hasn’t left wrong letters. Did you notice nothing when you
+did that? Were the addresses mainly typewritten or written by hand?”
+
+“He got bills and advertisements with the address typewritten—like
+most of us. And one or two letters came addressed by hand.”
+
+“Did you notice the stamps?”
+
+“Some were American, of course.”
+
+“So it comes to this,” Inspector Armadale concluded, “he was not
+carrying on a big business from the flat; most of his letters were
+ordinary bills and so forth; but he had some private correspondence as
+well; and part of his correspondence was with America? Why couldn’t
+you tell us that straight off, instead of having it dragged out of
+you?”
+
+The valet was quite unruffled by the Inspector’s tone.
+
+“I hadn’t put two and two together the way you do. They were just
+letters to me. I didn’t think anything about them.”
+
+Inspector Armadale showed no appreciation of this indirect tribute to
+his powers.
+
+“Had he many visitors?”
+
+“Not at the flat. He may have met his friends in the restaurant
+downstairs for all I know.”
+
+“Do you remember any visitors at the flat?”
+
+“No.”
+
+The Inspector seemed to recollect something he had missed.
+
+“Did he get any telegrams?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Frequently?”
+
+“Fairly often.”
+
+“You’ve no idea of the contents of these wires?”
+
+Marden obviously took offence at this.
+
+“You asked me before if I pried into his affairs; and I told you I
+didn’t.”
+
+“How often did these wires arrive?” the Inspector demanded, taking no
+notice of Marden’s annoyance.
+
+“Perhaps once or twice a week.”
+
+“Did he bet?” the Inspector inquired, as though it had just struck him
+that the telegrams might thus be explained.
+
+“I know nothing about that.”
+
+Armadale went off on a fresh tack.
+
+“Did he seem to be well off for money?”
+
+“He paid me regularly, if that’s what you mean.”
+
+“He had a car and a chauffeur, hadn’t he?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Were they his own or simply hired?”
+
+“I don’t know. Not my business.”
+
+“The Gunner’s Mansions flats are expensive?”
+
+“They get the name of it. I don’t know what he paid.”
+
+“You don’t seem to have had much curiosity, Marden.”
+
+“I’m not paid for being curious.”
+
+The Inspector put down his pencil and reflected for a moment or two.
+
+“Have you any idea of his address in America?”
+
+“Not my business.”
+
+“Did he write many letters?”
+
+“I couldn’t say. None of my business.”
+
+“You can at least say whether he gave you any to post.”
+
+“He didn’t.”
+
+“Have you anything else you can tell us about him?”
+
+Marden seemed to think carefully before he replied.
+
+“All his clothes were split new.”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“He carried a revolver—I mean an automatic.”
+
+“What size was it?”
+
+“About that length.”
+
+The valet indicated the length approximately with his hands, and
+winced slightly as he moved the bandaged one.
+
+“H’m! A .38 or a .45,” Armadale commented. “Too big for a .22,
+anyway.”
+
+He took up his pencil again.
+
+“Now come to this afternoon. Begin at lunchtime and go on.”
+
+Marden reflected for a moment, as though testing his memory.
+
+“I’d better begin before lunch. Mr. Foss came to me with a parcel in
+his hand and asked me to take it over to Hincheldene post office. He
+wanted it registered. He offered to let me take the car if I wished;
+but I preferred to walk over. I like the fresh air.”
+
+“And then?” demanded the Inspector with an unconscious plagiarism of
+his Chief.
+
+“Immediately after lunch, I set out and walked through the grounds
+towards Hincheldene village. I didn’t hurry. It was a nice afternoon
+for a walk. By and by I met a keeper, and he told me I couldn’t go any
+farther in that direction. He’d orders to turn back any one, he said.
+I talked to him for a minute or two, and explained where I was going;
+and I pulled the parcel out of my pocket as a guarantee of good faith.
+He didn’t know me, you see. And when I got the parcel out, I noticed
+the label quite by chance.”
+
+“Ah, you do look at addresses after all!” interjected the Inspector.
+
+“Quite by chance,” Marden went on, without taking any notice of the
+thrust. “And I saw that Mr. Foss had made a mistake.”
+
+“How did you know that,” Inspector Armadale demanded, with the air of
+a cat pouncing on a mouse. “You said you’d taken no interest in his
+correspondence and yet you knew this parcel was directed to a wrong
+address. Curious, isn’t it?”
+
+Marden did not even permit himself to smile as he discomfited the
+Inspector.
+
+“He’d left out the name of the town. An obvious oversight when he was
+writing the label.”
+
+“Well, go on,” growled the Inspector, evidently displeased at losing
+his score.
+
+“As soon as I saw that, I knew it was no good taking the thing to the
+post office as it was. So I asked the keeper a question or two about
+the shortest way to Hincheldene without getting on to the barred
+ground. Then I turned and came home again, intending to ask Mr. Foss
+to complete the address on the parcel.”
+
+“What time was it when you reached here again?”
+
+Marden considered for a while.
+
+“I couldn’t say precisely. Sometime round about half-past three or a
+bit later. I didn’t look at the time.”
+
+“What did you do then?”
+
+“I hunted about for Mr. Foss, but he didn’t seem to be in the house.
+At last, when I was just giving it up, I met Miss Chacewater coming
+away from this room, and she told me that Mr. Foss was inside. She
+went away, and I came to the door. It was half-open and I could hear
+voices inside: Mr. Foss and Mr. Chacewater from the sound. I thought
+they’d soon be coming out and that I’d get Mr. Foss as he passed me;
+so I waited, instead of interrupting them.”
+
+“How long did you wait?”
+
+“Only a minute or two, so far as I can remember.”
+
+“You could hear them talking?”
+
+“I could hear the sound of their voices. I couldn’t hear what they
+said. There’s an echo or something in this room and all I heard was
+the tone they were speaking in.”
+
+“What sort of tone do you mean?”
+
+Marden paused as though searching for an adjective.
+
+“It seemed to me an angry tone. They raised their voices.”
+
+“As if they were quarrelling?”
+
+“Like that. And then I heard Mr. Chacewater say: ‘So that’s what
+you’re after?’ Then I heard what sounded like a scuffle and a gasp. I
+was taken aback, of course. Who wouldn’t be? I stood stock still with
+the parcel in my hand for a moment or two. Then I got my head back and
+I pushed open the door and rushed into the room.”
+
+“Be careful here,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “Don’t try to force your
+memory. Tell us exactly what comes back into your mind.”
+
+Marden nodded.
+
+“When I got into the room here,” he went on, “the first thing I saw
+was Mr. Chacewater. He had his back to me and was just turning the
+corner here.”
+
+Marden walked across and indicated the end of the bay beyond the one
+which contained the safe, the last recess in the room at the end
+opposite from the door.
+
+“He went round this corner in a hurry. That’s the last I saw of him.”
+
+Marden’s face betrayed his amazement even at the recollection.
+
+“Never mind that just now,” said Sir Clinton. “Tell us what you did
+yourself.”
+
+“I couldn’t see Mr. Foss at the first glance; but when I got near the
+corner where I’d seen Mr. Chacewater, I saw Mr. Foss lying on the
+floor. I thought he’d slipped or something; and I went over to give
+him a hand up. Then I saw a big knife or a dagger through his chest
+and some blood on his mouth. As I was hurrying over to his side, I
+slipped on the parquet—it’s very slippery—and down I came. I put out
+my hand to save myself and my fist broke the glass in one of these
+cases. When I got up again, my hand was streaming with blood. It’s a
+nasty gash. So I pulled out my handkerchief and wrapped it around my
+hand before I did anything else. It was simply gushing with blood and
+I thought of it first of all.”
+
+Marden held up his roughly swathed hand in proof.
+
+“I got to my feet again and went over to Mr. Foss. By that time he was
+either dead or next door to it. He didn’t move. I didn’t touch him,
+for I saw well enough he was done for. Then I went to the door and
+shouted ‘Murder!’ as hard as I could. Then while I was shouting, it
+struck me as queer that Mr. Chacewater had disappeared.”
+
+“It didn’t occur to you that he might have slipped out of the room
+while your back was turned—when you were busy over Mr. Foss?” demanded
+Inspector Armadale in a hostile tone.
+
+Marden shook his head.
+
+“It didn’t occur to me at all, because I knew it hadn’t happened. No
+one could have got out of the room without my seeing him.”
+
+“Go on with your story, please,” Sir Clinton requested.
+
+“There’s nothing more to tell. I kept shouting ‘Murder!’ and I
+searched the room here while I was doing it. I found nothing.”
+
+“Was the safe door closed when you saw it first?” Sir Clinton
+inquired.
+
+“Yes, it was. I thought perhaps Mr. Chacewater might be inside, with
+the door pulled to; so I tried the handle. It was locked.”
+
+Sir Clinton put a further inquiry.
+
+“You heard only two voices in the room before you burst in?”
+
+A new light seemed to be thrown by this question across Marden’s mind.
+
+“I heard only two people speaking: Mr. Foss and Mr. Chacewater; but of
+course I couldn’t swear that only two people were in the room. That’s
+what you meant, isn’t it?”
+
+Inspector Armadale caught the drift of the inquiry.
+
+“I suppose if one man can disappear in a mysterious way, there’s
+nothing against two men vanishing in the same way,” he hazarded. “So
+all you can really tell us is that Mr. Foss and Mr. Chacewater were
+here at any rate, and possibly there were other people as well?”
+
+“I couldn’t swear to any one except these two,” Marden was careful to
+state.
+
+“Another point,” Sir Clinton went on. “Have you any idea whether Mr.
+Foss came into contact with a person or persons outside the house
+during his stay here? I mean people known to him before he came to
+Ravensthorpe?”
+
+“I couldn’t say.”
+
+“None of your business, I suppose?” Inspector Armadale put in, with an
+obvious sneer.
+
+“None of my business, as you say,” Marden returned, equably. “I wasn’t
+engaged as a detective.”
+
+“Well, this question falls into your department,” Sir Clinton
+intervened, as Armadale showed signs of losing his temper. “What
+costume was Mr. Foss wearing on the night of the masked ball? You must
+know that.”
+
+Marden replied without hesitation.
+
+“He was got up as a cow-puncher. He hired the costume from London when
+he heard about the fancy dress. It was a pair of cow-boy trousers, big
+heavy things with fringes on them; a leather belt with a
+pistol-holster on it; a coloured shirt; a neck-cloth; and a flappy
+cow-boy hat.”
+
+“Rather a clumsy rig-out, then?”
+
+Marden seemed to find difficulty in repressing a smile.
+
+“It was as much as he could do to walk at all, until he got accustomed
+to the things. He told me it gave him a good excuse for not dancing.
+He wasn’t a dancing man, he said.”
+
+“He carried a revolver, you say. Did you ever see any sign that he was
+afraid of anything of this sort happening to him?”
+
+“I don’t understand. How could I know what he was afraid of or what he
+wasn’t? It was none of my business.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s smile took the edge off Marden’s reply.
+
+“Oh, I think one might make a guess,” he said, “if one kept one’s eyes
+open. A terrified man would give himself away somehow or other.”
+
+“Then either he wasn’t afraid or else I don’t keep my eyes open. I saw
+nothing of the sort.”
+
+Sir Clinton reflected for a moment or two. He glanced at Armadale.
+
+“Any more questions you’d like to put? No? Then that will do, Marden.
+Of course there’ll be an inquest and your evidence will be required at
+it. You can stay on here until you’re needed. I’ll see Miss Chacewater
+about it. But for the present you’ve given us all the help you can?”
+
+“Unless you’ve any more questions you want to ask,” Marden suggested.
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“No, I think I’ve got all I need for the present, thanks. I may want
+you again later on, of course.”
+
+Marden waited for nothing further, but left the room pursued by a
+slightly vindictive glance from Inspector Armadale. When he had
+disappeared, Sir Clinton turned to Michael Clifton.
+
+“Hadn’t you better go back to Joan, now? She must be rather nervous
+after this shock.”
+
+Michael came to himself with a slight start when the Chief Constable
+addressed him. Hitherto his rôle had been purely that of a spectator;
+and he had been so wrapped up in it that it came as a faint surprise
+to find himself directly addressed. Throughout the proceedings he had
+been semi-hypnotized by the deadly matter-of-fact way in which the
+police were going about their work. When he had first heard of the
+murder, he had felt as though something unheard-of had invaded
+Ravensthorpe. Of course murders did take place: one read about them in
+the newspapers. But the idea that murder could actually be done in his
+own familiar environment had come to him with more than a slight
+shock. The normal course of things seemed suddenly diverted.
+
+But during the last ten minutes he had been a witness of the beginning
+of the police investigation; and the invincible impression of
+ordinariness had begun to replace the earlier nightmare quality in his
+mind. Here were a couple of men going about the business as though it
+were of no more tragic character than a search for a lost dog. It was
+part of their work to hunt out a solution of the affair. They were no
+more excited over it than a chess-player looking for the key-move in a
+problem. The cool, dispassionate way in which the Chief Constable had
+handled the affair seemed to strike a fresh note and to efface the
+suggestions of the macabre side of things which had been Michael’s
+first impression of the matter. The Dance of Death retreated gradually
+into the background in the face of all the minute questionings about
+letters, and visits, and parcels—these commonplace things of everyday
+life.
+
+“If I can be of no use here,” he said, “I think I’d better go.”
+
+He hesitated for a moment as a fresh thought struck him.
+
+“By the way, how much of this is confidential?”
+
+Sir Clinton looked at him with an expressionless face.
+
+“I think I may leave that to your discretion. It’s not for
+broadcasting, at any rate.”
+
+“What about Maurice?” Michael persisted.
+
+“I’d leave Maurice out of it as far as possible,” said Sir Clinton, in
+obvious dismissal. “Now, Inspector, I think we’d better have a look at
+the late Mr. Foss.”
+
+Michael retreated from the room as they turned towards the body on the
+floor.
+
+“Leave Maurice out of it!” he thought, as he walked at a snail’s pace
+towards the room where he had left Joan. “That’s a nice bit of advice!
+If you leave Maurice out of it, there seems to be nothing left in it.
+Now what the devil am I to say to her? If I say nothing, she’ll jump
+to the worst conclusion; and if I say anything at all, she’ll jump to
+the same.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+The Muramasa Sword
+
+As the door closed behind Michael Clifton, the Chief Constable turned
+to the Inspector.
+
+“Now we can get to business, Inspector. Let’s have a look round the
+place at leisure, and perhaps the surgeon will turn up before we reach
+the body itself.”
+
+Followed by Armadale, he stepped over to the bay containing the corpse
+of Foss and began methodically to inspect the surroundings.
+
+“This must have been the case that Marden slipped against when he cut
+his hand,” the Inspector pointed out. “There’s a big hole in the glass
+and some blood on the broken edges of the gap.”
+
+“Oh, yes, there’s blood enough to suit most people,” Sir Clinton
+admitted, with a glance towards the shattered case. But he seemed less
+interested in the glass than in the floor surface; for he moved slowly
+to and fro, evidently trying to place himself so that the sunlight
+from the window was reflected up to him from the parquet. After a
+moment or two, he seemed satisfied.
+
+“That part of Marden’s story seems true enough. He did slip here. If
+you come across, you’ll see a line where the polish of the parquet has
+been taken off by some hard part of his shoe. You won’t be able to
+spot it unless you make a mirror of the floor.”
+
+The Inspector in his turn moved over and satisfied himself of the
+existence of the faint mark.
+
+“That confirms part of his story,” he admitted, grudgingly. “There’s a
+lot of blood about, quite apart from the stuff from the body. One
+might make something out of that.”
+
+“Suppose we try,” Sir Clinton suggested. “Assume that he cut his hand
+here on the glass. He’d be all asprawl on the floor; and the first
+thing he’d do would be to put his hands down to help himself up. That
+would account for these biggish patches here, under the case. Then a
+foot or so away you see those round marks of droplets with tiny
+splashes radiating from them with a fair regularity all round. These
+must have been made by drops falling from his hand while he stood
+still—no doubt while he was feeling with the other hand for his
+handkerchief to stanch the bleeding.”
+
+The Inspector indicated his agreement.
+
+“After he’d got it fixed up, one might expect him to go over and look
+at Foss. He’d gone down on the floor, you remember, while he was
+hurrying to Foss’s assistance.”
+
+“There’s no sign of that,” Armadale hastened to point out. “I can’t
+see any blood-drops round about the body.”
+
+“Oh, don’t be in too much of a hurry, Inspector. Perhaps they fell in
+the pool of Foss’s own blood or, more probably, his handkerchief
+soaked up any blood that flowed just then.”
+
+Sir Clinton, still with his eyes on the ground, began to cast about in
+search of further traces.
+
+“Ah, here are a couple of drops at the end of the bay. Have a look at
+them, Inspector.”
+
+Armadale knelt down and examined the clots.
+
+“Made on his way to the door, probably,” he suggested.
+
+“They might have been, if he was swinging his arms as one does when
+one walks freely; but one doesn’t usually swing the arm when there’s a
+fresh wound in the hand, I think. These aren’t round blobs like the
+others; they’re elongated, and all the splashing from them is at one
+end—the end towards the safe. His hand, when they were made, was
+moving towards the safe’s bay, whatever his body was doing.”
+
+Sir Clinton made a rough measurement of the distance between the two
+drops.
+
+“If they’d been nearer together or further apart, then each of them
+might have been made while his arm was going backwards in its natural
+swing while he was walking towards the door. But the distance between
+them won’t fit that. You’ll see at once if you try walking over the
+ground yourself, Inspector; for you’re just about Marden’s height and
+your stride must be nearly the same as his.”
+
+“He said something about going to the safe and trying the handle,” the
+Inspector admitted, grudgingly. “So far, his tale’s got some support.”
+
+Sir Clinton smiled covertly at Armadale’s obvious desire to pick holes
+in the valet’s narrative.
+
+“Well, let’s find out how it happened,” Sir Clinton suggested. “He
+evidently passed this bay and went on towards the next one, where the
+safe is. We’ll follow his example.”
+
+They turned the corner of the show-case and stepped over to the safe
+door.
+
+“There’s a trace of blood on the handle, true enough,” the Inspector
+admitted. “But I’m not sure he told the truth about why he came to the
+safe.”
+
+Sir Clinton inspected the smear of blood on the handle, but he seemed
+to attach very little importance to it.
+
+“I suppose one mustn’t jump to conclusions and assume that
+everything’s all above-board,” he conceded. “But even if we keep open
+minds, wouldn’t it be the most natural thing in the world for Marden
+to try the safe door? Remember what had happened according to his
+story. Mr. Chacewater was in the room, for Marden saw him with his own
+eyes. Mr. Chacewater turned the corner of a bay—the one next this; and
+then Marden lost him for good. If you’d been in Marden’s place,
+wouldn’t you have searched about, and then, finding no trace of the
+missing man, wouldn’t you have jumped to the conclusion that he might
+be hidden in the safe? And wouldn’t you have given the handle a pull,
+just to make sure the safe was really locked and that Mr. Chacewater
+wasn’t hiding inside it?”
+
+“I suppose so,” conceded the Inspector, evidently dissatisfied.
+
+“I expect his tale isn’t complete, of course. He could hardly give
+every detail. It would be a bit suspicious if he had, I think. If his
+tale had been absolutely complete in every detail, I’d be inclined to
+suspect a previously prepared recitation rather than an account of the
+facts. In a case of this sort, one could hardly expect a water-tight
+narrative, could one?”
+
+He continued his examination of the floor; but there seemed to be no
+other blood-stains of any importance.
+
+“Now let’s have a glance at the body,” he suggested. “We needn’t shift
+it till the surgeon comes; but we can see what’s to be seen without
+altering its position in the meanwhile.”
+
+The Inspector was the first to reach the spot, and as he knelt down
+beside the corpse he gave an exclamation of surprise.
+
+“Here’s an automatic pistol, sir. It’s lying almost under the body,
+but I can see the muzzle. It looks like a .38 calibre.”
+
+“Leave it there. We’ll get at it later.”
+
+Sir Clinton examined the body itself. The cause of death seemed
+obvious enough, for the weapon still remained in the wound. A glance
+at it set the Chief Constable’s eye ranging over the museum cases. He
+retreated from the bay and searched for a time until he found what he
+was looking for: an empty sheath in an unlocked case. Without touching
+the sheath, he scanned the Japanese inscription on its surface.
+
+“So that’s the thing?”
+
+The Inspector had come across to his side and stood looking at the
+sheath.
+
+“So the thing’s one of the specimens?” he asked.
+
+“Yes. Don’t touch it, Inspector. We may as well see whose
+finger-prints are on it, though it’s quite on the cards that it’s been
+handled by other people lately as well as the murderer. It’s rather a
+show specimen, you see—one of Muramasa’s making. This was the sword
+they were discussing when they were out on the terrace. Muramasa’s
+weapons have the name of being unlucky; and this one seems to bear out
+the legend.”
+
+The Inspector looked at the sheath with apparent care, but his
+thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.
+
+“Nobody could have got away from here through the windows,” he
+observed, rather irrelevantly. “They’re all barred outside, and the
+catches are fast on the sashes.”
+
+Evidently Sir Clinton had noticed this in the course of his previous
+search, for he gave a tacit assent to the Inspector’s statement
+without even glancing up at the windows.
+
+“Here are the sheets of rubbing-paper that Foss was using,” the
+Inspector went on, picking them up as he spoke. “They’ll have his
+finger-prints on them, so I’ll stow them away. We might need them. One
+never knows.”
+
+“We can get actual prints from the body if we need them,” Sir Clinton
+pointed out. “You don’t suppose it’s a suicide case, do you?”
+
+The Inspector was too wary to throw himself open to attack. He
+contented himself with putting the papers away carefully in his
+pocket-book.
+
+“Finger-prints will be useful, though,” Sir Clinton went on. “At the
+earliest possible moment, Inspector, I want you to get prints from the
+fingers of every one in the house. Start with Miss Chacewater. She’ll
+agree to let you take hers without any trouble; and after that you can
+go on to Mr. Clifton and so down the scale. We’ve no authority for
+insisting, of course; but you can make a note if any one objects. I
+expect you’ll get the lot without difficulty.”
+
+At this moment Mold opened the door to admit the police surgeon; and
+Sir Clinton broke off in order to explain the state of affairs to him.
+Dr. Greenlaw was a business-like person who wasted no time. While Sir
+Clinton was speaking, he knelt down beside the corpse and made a
+cursory examination of it. When he rose to his feet again, he seemed
+satisfied.
+
+“That sword appears to have entered the thorax between the fifth and
+sixth ribs,” he pointed out. “It’s pierced the left lung, evidently;
+you notice the blood-foam on his lips? And most probably it’s
+penetrated right into the heart as well. It looks as if it had; but of
+course I’ll need to carry out a P.M. before I can give you exact
+details.”
+
+“I suppose we can take out the sword before we shift the body?” asked
+the Inspector. “We want to examine it before any one else touches it.”
+
+“Certainly,” Greenlaw replied. “You can see for yourselves what
+happened. He was struck from the front by a right-handed man—a fairly
+heavy blow, I should judge from the depth to which that sword has
+buried itself. There’s no sign of a twist in the wound, which looks as
+though he went down under it at once. Quite possibly the base of the
+skull may have been fractured on the floor by the force of his fall.
+We’ll see when we come to the P.M. But in any case that wound alone
+would be quite sufficient to cause almost immediate death. It’s a
+blade almost as broad as a bayonet, as you can see. I’ll go into the
+whole thing carefully when I can make a thorough examination. You’ll
+have him sent down to the mortuary, of course?”
+
+“As soon as we’ve finished our work here.”
+
+“Good. I’ll make a note or two now, if you don’t mind. Then I’ll leave
+you to get on. As things are, there’s nothing there which you couldn’t
+see for yourselves.”
+
+He took out a pocket-book and began to jot down his notes.
+
+“Just a moment, doctor,” Sir Clinton interposed. “I’ve got a patient
+for you here. I’d like you to have a look at his hand and bandage up
+some cuts before you go.”
+
+Greenlaw nodded in agreement and went on with his note-taking.
+
+“Now, Inspector,” Sir Clinton continued, “we’d better get this sword
+out. Be sure to take all the care you can not to rub out any
+finger-prints.”
+
+Armadale obeyed, and after some cautious manœuvres he succeeded in
+withdrawing the weapon, which he laid carefully on the top of the
+central show-case.
+
+“Now we can have a look at him,” Sir Clinton said. “You don’t mind our
+shifting the position of the body, doctor?”
+
+Greenlaw closed his note-book and prepared to assist them if
+necessary.
+
+“Begin with the contents of his pockets, Inspector,” Sir Clinton
+suggested.
+
+“The blade’s gone clean through his left breast pocket,” the Inspector
+pointed out. He felt the outside of the pocket gingerly with his
+fingers.
+
+“Nothing there except his handkerchief, so far as I can feel. It’s all
+soaked with his blood. I’ll leave that to the last. I want to keep my
+hands clean while I go over the rest.”
+
+He wiped his finger-tips carefully on his own handkerchief and
+continued his search.
+
+“Right-hand breast pocket: a note-case.”
+
+He drew it out and handed it to Sir Clinton, who opened it and counted
+the contents.
+
+“Three hundred and fifty-seven pounds in notes,” he announced at
+length. “That’s a fair sum to be carrying about with one. Ten visiting
+cards: ‘J. B. Foss,’ with no address.”
+
+He crossed over to the central case and put down the note-case
+thoughtfully.
+
+“The left-hand waistcoat pockets are saturated with blood,” Armadale
+continued. “I’ll leave them over for the present. Top right-hand
+waistcoat pocket, empty. Lower right-hand waistcoat pocket: a small
+penknife and a tooth-pick. Not much blood here; he was lying slightly
+on his left side and it must have flowed in that direction, I suppose.
+Right-hand jacket pocket, outside: nothing. I’ll take the trousers
+now. Right-hand pocket: key-ring and a purse.”
+
+He handed them to Sir Clinton, who examined them in turn before
+putting them on the central case.
+
+“Only keys of suit-cases here,” the Chief Constable reported. “We
+haven’t come across the latch-key of his flat, if you notice.”
+
+He counted the contents of the purse.
+
+“Eight and sixpence and one ten-shilling note.”
+
+The Inspector proceeded with his examination.
+
+“Here’s something funny! He’s got a smallish pocket over his hip, just
+below the trouser button. That’s unusual. But it’s empty,” he added,
+after an eager search.
+
+“Let me look at that,” Sir Clinton demanded.
+
+He stooped down and inspected the pocket closely, then stood up and
+passed his hand across the corresponding spot on his own clothes. As
+he did so, Armadale noticed a peculiar expression pass across the
+Chief Constable’s face, as though some new idea had dawned upon him
+and had cleared up a difficulty. But Sir Clinton divulged nothing of
+what was passing in his mind.
+
+“Make quite sure it’s empty,” he said.
+
+Armadale turned the little pocket inside out.
+
+“There’s nothing there,” he pointed out. “It wouldn’t hold much—it’s
+hardly bigger than a ticket pocket.”
+
+He looked at the pocket again, evidently puzzled by the importance
+which the Chief Constable attached to it.
+
+“It’s a silly place to have a pocket,” he said at last. “It’s not like
+the old-fashioned fob. That was kept tight shut by the pressure of
+your body. This thing’s mouth is loose and it’s simply a gift to a
+pickpocket.”
+
+“I think we’ll probably find another of the same kind on the other
+side,” Sir Clinton contented himself with saying. “Let’s get on with
+the rest of them.”
+
+Armadale turned the body slightly and put his hand into the hip
+pocket.
+
+“It’s empty, too,” he announced. “It’s a very loose pocket with no
+flap on it. I expect he carried his pistol there and he had the pocket
+built for easy handling of his gun.”
+
+He looked at the .38 automatic which had been disclosed as he turned
+the body.
+
+“That wouldn’t have fitted into the little pocket,” he pointed out.
+“The pistol’s far too big for the opening.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded his agreement with this view.
+
+“He didn’t use it for his pistol. Now, the left-hand pockets, please.
+You can wash your hands as soon as you’ve gone through them.”
+
+Inspector Armadale stolidly continued his investigation.
+
+“Left-hand breast pocket in jacket,” he announced. “Nothing but his
+handkerchief, saturated with blood.”
+
+He handed it to Sir Clinton, who inspected it carefully before putting
+it with the rest of the collection.
+
+“No marks on it, either initials or laundry-mark,” he said. “Evidently
+been bought and used without marking.”
+
+“Ticket pocket, empty,” the Inspector went on, withdrawing his fingers
+from it. “Top left waistcoat pocket: a self-filling Swan pen and a
+metal holder for same. Lower left waistcoat pocket: an amber
+cigarette-holder. Not much to go on there.”
+
+He turned to the trousers.
+
+“Left-hand trouser pocket: five coppers.”
+
+Handing them over, he proceeded.
+
+“Your notion’s quite right, sir. There’s another of these side pockets
+here. But it’s empty like the other one.”
+
+Instead of replying, Sir Clinton gingerly picked up the automatic
+pistol from the floor and placed it along with the other objects on
+the central case.
+
+“You’d better examine that for finger-prints, Inspector,” he
+suggested. “I leave you to make the arrangements about taking the body
+down to the mortuary. The sooner the better. Now, doctor, we’ll get
+your patient for you, if the Inspector will be good enough to bring
+him to the lavatory near by, where you can get his wounds patched up.”
+
+Inspector Armadale soon produced Marden, who seemed rather surprised
+at being summoned again.
+
+“It’s all right, Marden,” Sir Clinton assured him. “It merely struck
+me that when there was a doctor on the premises you ought to have
+these cuts of yours properly fixed up.”
+
+Dr. Greenlaw speedily removed the temporary bandage which the valet
+had improvised.
+
+“I’ll need to put some stitches into this,” he said, as the extent of
+the injury became evident. “Luckily these glass cuts are clean-edged.
+You’ll hardly see the scar after a time.”
+
+Sir Clinton inspected the wounds sympathetically.
+
+“You’ve made a bit of a mess of your hand, Marden,” he commented.
+“It’s just as well I thought of getting Dr. Greenlaw to look after
+you.”
+
+Marden seemed to have been looking for an opening.
+
+“I’m glad you called me up again, sir,” he explained. “I’ve just
+thought of two other points about this affair.”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+While the doctor was cleaning and disinfecting the wounds, Marden
+addressed himself to the Chief Constable.
+
+“I forgot to say, sir, that when I got back to the house I found Mr.
+Foss’s car waiting for him. I said a word or two to the chauffeur as I
+passed. It only struck me afterwards that this might be important. I
+forgot about it at the time.”
+
+“Quite right to tell us,” Sir Clinton confirmed.
+
+“The second thing was what the chauffeur told me. He’d been ordered to
+wait for Mr. Foss, it seems; and he got the idea that Mr. Foss was
+leaving Ravensthorpe this afternoon for good. I was surprised by that;
+for I’d heard nothing about it from Mr. Foss.”
+
+He flinched slightly with the smart of his wounds, as Greenlaw washed
+them carefully.
+
+Sir Clinton seemed to be struck by a fresh idea.
+
+“Before the doctor bandages you up, would you mind if we took your
+finger-prints, Marden? I’m asking every one to let us take theirs, and
+this seems to be the best chance we shall have of getting yours, you
+see? Of course, if you object, I’ve no power to insist on it.”
+
+“I’ve no objections, sir. Why should I have?”
+
+“Then you might take impressions of the lot, Inspector,” Sir Clinton
+suggested. “Don’t spend too much time over it. We must get the
+bandages on this hand as quick as possible.”
+
+Inspector Armadale hurried away for his outfit and soon set to work to
+take the valet’s finger-prints. While he was thus engaged a fresh
+suggestion seemed to occur to Sir Clinton.
+
+“By the way, Marden, you have that parcel which Mr. Foss sent to the
+post?”
+
+“I can give you it in a moment, sir, once the doctor has finished with
+my hand.”
+
+“Very good. I’d like to see it.”
+
+The Chief Constable waited patiently until Marden’s hand was
+completely bandaged; then he dispatched the valet for the parcel. When
+it was forthcoming, he dismissed Marden again. The doctor took his
+leave, and Armadale was left alone with Sir Clinton.
+
+“Now let’s see what Foss was sending off, Inspector.”
+
+Cutting the string, Sir Clinton unwrapped the paper and disclosed a
+small cardboard box. Inside on a layer of cotton-wool, was a
+wrist-watch. Further search failed to bring to light any enclosed
+note.
+
+“I suppose he was sending it to be cleaned,” the Inspector hazarded.
+“Probably he wrote a letter by the same post.”
+
+“Let’s have a look at it, Inspector. Be careful not to mark it with
+your fingers.”
+
+Sir Clinton took the watch up and examined it closely.
+
+“It looks fairly new to need repair.”
+
+He held it to his ear.
+
+“It’s going. Not much sign of damage there.”
+
+“Perhaps it needed regulating,” Armadale suggested.
+
+“Perhaps,” Sir Clinton’s tone was noncommittal. “Take a note of the
+time as compared with your own watch, Inspector; and just check
+whether it’s going fast or slow in a few hours. Try it for
+finger-prints along with the rest of the stuff.”
+
+He replaced it gently in its bed of cotton-wool and closed the box,
+taking care not to finger the cardboard.
+
+“Now, if you’ll send for the chauffeur, we may get something from
+him.”
+
+But the chauffeur proved a most unsatisfactory witness. He admitted
+that Foss had ordered him to bring round the car at 3.15 and wait for
+further orders; but he was unable to give any clear account of the
+talk he had with his employer when the order was given.
+
+“I can’t remember what he said exactly; but I got the notion he was
+leaving here to-day. I’m dead sure of that; for I packed up my own
+stuff and had it ready to go off at a moment’s notice. It’s on the
+grid of the car now. I was so taken aback that I haven’t thought of
+unpacking it.”
+
+Sir Clinton could get nothing further out of the man, and he was
+eventually dismissed.
+
+“Now we’ll have a run over the late Mr. Foss’s goods,” the Chief
+Constable proposed, when they had dismissed the chauffeur.
+
+But the search of Foss’s bedroom yielded at first nothing of much
+interest.
+
+“This doesn’t look as if that chauffeur had been telling the truth,”
+Armadale pointed out, when they found all Foss’s clothes arranged
+quite normally in wardrobe and drawers. “Foss himself had made no
+preparations for moving, that’s evident. I’ll see that chauffeur again
+and go into the matter more carefully.”
+
+“You might as well,” Sir Clinton concurred. “But I doubt if you’ll get
+him to shift from his story. He seemed to be very clear about the main
+point, though he was weak in details.”
+
+They subjected all Foss’s belongings to a careful scrutiny.
+
+“No name marked on any of the linen; no tags on any of the suits; no
+labels inside the jacket pockets,” Inspector Armadale pointed out. “He
+seems to have been very anxious not to advertise his identity. And no
+papers of any sort. It looks a bit queer, doesn’t it?”
+
+As he spoke, he noticed a small leather case standing in a corner.
+
+“Hullo, here’s an attaché case. Perhaps his papers are in it.”
+
+He crossed over and picked up the case, but as he did so an expression
+of surprise crossed his face.
+
+“This thing’s as heavy as lead! It must weigh ten or twelve pounds at
+least!”
+
+“It’s not an attaché case,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “Look at the ends
+of it.”
+
+Armadale turned the case round in his hand. At the upper part of one
+end the leather had been cut away, disclosing a small ebonite disc
+rather more than an inch in diameter and pierced with a pattern of
+tiny holes. At the opposite end of the case there were two small holes
+side by side and a larger one above; and examination showed brass
+sockets inside which seemed meant for the reception of plugs.
+
+“You’d better get his keys, Inspector. Probably the key of this thing
+will be on the ring.”
+
+With his curiosity raised to an acute pitch, Armadale went off in
+search of the key-ring; and was soon back again with it in his hand.
+
+“Now we’ll see what it is,” he said, as he turned the key in the
+case’s lock and pressed the opening spring.
+
+The lifting of the lid disclosed a wooden casing fitted with a couple
+of hinged doors, an open recess in which were two levers, and a hinged
+metal plate, on which was an inscription. Armadale read it aloud
+uncomprehendingly:
+
+“‘Marconi Otophone. Inst. No. S/O 1164.’ What the deuce is this?”
+
+Sir Clinton put out his hand and lifted the hinged metal plate,
+disclosing below two wireless valves in their sockets.
+
+“Some wireless gadget,” the Inspector ejaculated. “Now what could he
+possibly have wanted with a thing like that?”
+
+Sir Clinton examined the instrument with interest, then he closed the
+case.
+
+“We’ll take this along with us, Inspector.”
+
+Then, with a sudden change of mind, he contradicted himself.
+
+“No, we’ll leave it here for the present. That will be much better.”
+
+Somewhat mystified by this change of intention, the Inspector agreed.
+Sir Clinton’s manner did not invite questions.
+
+“I think we had better see Miss Chacewater again. There are one or two
+questions I’d like to put to her, Inspector; and you had better be
+there.”
+
+In a minute or two, Joan was found, with Michael Clifton in
+attendance. Sir Clinton did not think it worth while to sit down.
+
+“Just a couple of points I want to ask about. First of all, is there
+any record of the combination which opens the lock of the safe in the
+museum?”
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+“Maurice was the only one of us who knew it. My father did leave a
+note of it; but I remember that Maurice destroyed that. He specially
+wished to keep it to himself.”
+
+“Another point,” Sir Clinton went on. “Did Foss know, on the night of
+the burglary, which of the rows contained the real medallions and
+which row the replicas were in?”
+
+Joan reflected for a moment or two before replying.
+
+“He must have known. Maurice had shown him the things once at least,
+if not oftener; and I know there was no secret as to which were the
+real things and which were the counterfeits.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed satisfied with this information.
+
+“One last thing,” he continued. “I suppose you could show me where
+your brother keeps his correspondence. We must get hold of Kessock’s
+address and notify him about Foss’s death; and there seems no way of
+doing it as quick as this one. If the papers aren’t locked up, perhaps
+I could see them now?”
+
+It appeared that the letters were available and Sir Clinton turned
+them over rapidly.
+
+“Fifth Avenue? That’s satisfactory.”
+
+He put the papers back in their place.
+
+“There’s just one thing more. I’m going to put a constable on guard at
+the door of the museum for a while—day and night for a day or two,
+perhaps. You won’t mind?”
+
+“Certainly not. Do as you wish.”
+
+Sir Clinton acknowledged the permission. Then, as though struck by an
+after-thought, he inquired:
+
+“Have you Cecil’s address?”
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+“He said he’d let me know where he was staying, but he hasn’t written.
+Perhaps he hasn’t settled down yet. He may be staying at an hotel for
+a day or two.”
+
+“Please ring me up as soon as he sends word.”
+
+Joan promised to do this, and Sir Clinton continued:
+
+“By the way, Inspector Armadale wishes to take the finger-prints of
+every one in the house. Would you mind setting an example and having
+yours taken along with the rest? If you do it, then it will be easier
+for us to get the others. They won’t be suspicious when they hear that
+it’s a general inquisition.”
+
+Both Joan and Michael consented without ado.
+
+“The Inspector will be with you in a moment or two,” Sir Clinton said,
+as he took his leave. “Just a word with you, Inspector.”
+
+Armadale followed him from the room.
+
+“Now, Inspector, there’s a lot for you to do yet. First of all, get
+these finger-prints. Then telephone to London and get Kessock’s
+business address. As soon as you get it, let me know.”
+
+“But you got his address from the correspondence, sir, surely. It’s in
+Fifth Avenue.”
+
+“I want his other address—his office in New York, you understand?”
+
+“His office will be shut by now, if you’re going to cable,” the
+Inspector pointed out, thoughtlessly.
+
+“No, it won’t. You forget that their time is some hours behind ours.
+We’ll catch him in office hours if you hurry. Then when you’ve done
+that, get Foss’s face photographed; and arrange for a constable and
+reliefs to be posted at the museum door till further orders. The
+museum door is to be left open and the light is to be left burning at
+night, so that he can keep his eye on things.”
+
+Inspector Armadale jotted some notes in his pocket-book. As he closed
+this, he seemed to think of something.
+
+“There’s just one thing, sir. You want to get into the safe? Couldn’t
+we get the number of the lock combination from the makers? They must
+know it.”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“Unfortunately the safe has no maker’s name-plate on it, Inspector. I
+looked at the time we examined it. It’s a fairly old pattern, though,
+I noticed; and if it hasn’t got a balanced fence arbour, I think I can
+guarantee to find the combination of it with a little assistance.”
+
+Armadale looked rather blank.
+
+“I thought these things were too stiff to tackle,” he said.
+
+Sir Clinton suppressed a smile.
+
+“You ought to read Edgar Allan Poe, Inspector. ‘Human ingenuity cannot
+concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve,’ was a dictum
+of his. If I’m not mistaken about that safe, I think I could guarantee
+to open it in less than ten minutes. The resources of science, and all
+that, you know. But I think it would be better to wait a while and see
+if Mr. Chacewater turns up to open it for us himself.”
+
+“But perhaps Mr. Chacewater’s body is inside it now,” the Inspector
+suggested. “There may have been a double murder, for all we know.”
+
+“In that case, we shall find him when we open it,” Sir Clinton assured
+him lightly. “If he’s inside, he’ll hardly be likely to shift his
+quarters.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+The Shot in the Clearing
+
+When Sir Clinton reached his office on the morning after the murder at
+Ravensthorpe, he found Inspector Armadale awaiting him with a number
+of exhibits.
+
+“I’ve brought everything that seemed worth while,” Armadale explained.
+“I thought you might care to look at some of the things again,
+although you’ve seen them already.”
+
+“That’s very good of you, Inspector. I should like to see some of
+them, as a matter of fact. Now suppose we begin with the
+finger-prints. They might suggest a few fresh ideas.”
+
+“They seem to suggest more notions than I have room for in my head,”
+the Inspector confessed ruefully. “It’s a most tangled case, to my
+mind.”
+
+“Then let’s start with the finger-prints,” the Chief Constable
+proposed. “At least they’ll settle some points, I hope.”
+
+Armadale unwrapped a large brown-paper parcel.
+
+“I got the lot without any difficulty; and last night we photographed
+them all and enlarged the pictures. They’re all here.”
+
+“You took Foss’s, I suppose?”
+
+“Yes, and I managed to find some of Maurice Chacewater’s too.”
+
+“That’s pretty sharp work,” Sir Clinton complimented his subordinate.
+“How did you manage to make sure they were his?”
+
+“I asked for his set of razors, sir, and took them from the blades.
+He’d left prints here and there of his finger and thumb, either on the
+blade or on the handle. Of course I couldn’t get anything else very
+sharp; but there are quite enough for the purpose, as you’ll see.”
+
+He laid out three enlarged photographs on the desk before Sir Clinton;
+then, below each of the first two, he put down a second print.
+
+“This first print,” he said, pointing to it, “represents the
+finger-prints we found on the automatic pistol. You can see that it’s
+the arch pattern on the thumb. Now here”—he indicated the companion
+print—“is Foss’s thumb-print; and if you look at it, you’ll see almost
+at a glance that it’s identical with the print on the pistol. They’re
+identical. I’ve measured them. And there are no other prints except
+Foss’s on the pistol.”
+
+“Good,” said Sir Clinton. “‘And that, said John, is that.’ We know
+where we are so far as the pistol’s concerned. Pass along, please.”
+
+“I’ve examined the pistol,” the Inspector continued. “It’s fully
+loaded in the magazine and has an extra cartridge in the barrel; but
+it hasn’t been fired recently so far as I can see.”
+
+“Now for the next pair of prints,” Sir Clinton suggested.
+
+“This represents the thumb-print from the sword, or whatever you call
+it,” said the Inspector. “Also prints of the two middle fingers of the
+right hand, found on the weapon. The second print of the pair shows
+identical finger-prints from a different source. The thumb-prints in
+the two cases are not exactly alike, because you get only the edge of
+the thumb marked in the grip of a sword, whereas the other specimen
+gives a full imprint. But I think you’ll find they’re the same. I’ve
+measured them, too. You can see that the thumb pattern is a loop type,
+quite different from Foss’s prints; and there’s a trace of a tiny scar
+at the edge of the thumb in both these prints. I’d like you to compare
+them carefully, sir.”
+
+Sir Clinton took up the two prints and scanned them with care,
+comparing the images point by point.
+
+“There’s no mistake possible,” he said. “The two sets are identical,
+so far as I can see; and the scar on the thumb is a clinching bit of
+evidence.”
+
+“You admit they’re from the same hand?” asked the Inspector, with a
+peculiar look at Sir Clinton.
+
+“Undoubtedly. Now whose are the second set?”
+
+The Inspector continued to look at his superior with something out of
+the common in his expression.
+
+“The second set of prints came from Maurice Chacewater’s razors,” he
+said.
+
+The Chief Constable’s lips set tightly and a touch of grimness showed
+in his face.
+
+“I see we shall have to be quite clear about this, Inspector,” he
+said, bluntly. “By the look of you, you seemed to think I’d be taken
+aback by this evidence, because Mr. Chacewater is a friend of mine. I
+was taken aback—naturally enough. But if you think it’s going to make
+any difference to the conduct of this case—and I seemed to see
+something of the sort in your face—you can put that out of your mind
+once for all. The business of the police is to get hold of the
+murderer, whoever he may be. Friendship doesn’t come into these
+affairs, Inspector. So kindly don’t suspect me of anything of that
+kind in future. You know what I mean; I needn’t put it into words.”
+
+Without giving Armadale time for reply, he picked up the last print.
+
+“What’s this?”
+
+“It’s the set of prints I took from the valet’s fingers,” the
+Inspector hastened to explain. “It corresponds to nothing I’ve found
+anywhere else. You can see it’s a whorl type on the thumb.”
+
+Sir Clinton examined the print for a moment or two, then put it down.
+
+“What about the box and the wrist-watch?” he asked.
+
+Inspector Armadale’s face showed that here he was puzzled.
+
+“There’s nothing on either of them—not a recent mark of any
+description. And yet the man who packed them up must have fingered
+both things.”
+
+“With gloves on, evidently.”
+
+“But why gloves?” the Inspector demanded.
+
+“Why gloves?” Sir Clinton echoed, rather sarcastically. “To avoid
+leaving finger-prints, of course. That’s obvious.”
+
+“But why avoid leaving finger-prints on a thing that you’re sending to
+a jeweller for repair?”
+
+“Think it over, Inspector. I won’t insult you by telling you my
+solution. Let’s take another point. Have you the watch itself here?”
+
+The Inspector produced it and handed it over. Sir Clinton took out a
+pocket-knife and opened the back of the case.
+
+“No use,” he announced, after examining the back cover carefully.
+“It’s never been repaired. There are no reference marks scratched on
+the inside of the back as there usually are when a watch has gone back
+to the watch-makers. If there had been, we might have found out
+something about Foss in that way, by getting hold of the watch-makers.
+By the way, have you timed this thing as I asked you to do?”
+
+“It’s running on time,” Armadale answered. “It hasn’t varied a rap in
+the last twelve hours.”
+
+“A practically new watch; running to time; never needed repair so far;
+dispatched by post with no finger-marks of the dispatcher: surely you
+can see what that means?”
+
+Inspector Armadale shook his head.
+
+“It might be a secret message,” he hazarded, though without much
+confidence. “I mean a prearranged code.”
+
+“So it might,” Sir Clinton agreed. “The only thing against that in my
+mind is that I’m perfectly sure that it wasn’t.”
+
+Armadale looked sulky.
+
+“I’m hardly clever enough to follow you, sir, I’m afraid.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s expression grew momentarily stern; but the shade passed
+from his face almost instantly.
+
+“This is one of these cases, Inspector, where I think that two heads
+are better than one. Now if I tell you what’s in my mind, it might
+tempt you to look at things exactly as I do; and then we’d have lost
+the advantage of having two brains at work on the business
+independently. We’re more likely to be usefully employed if we pool
+the facts and keep our interpretations separate from each other.”
+
+The tone of the Chief Constable’s voice went a good way towards
+soothing the Inspector’s ruffled feelings, the more so since he saw
+the weight of Sir Clinton’s reasoning.
+
+“I’m sorry, sir. I quite see your point now.”
+
+Sir Clinton had the knack of leaving no ill-feelings in his
+subordinates. By an almost imperceptible change of manner, he
+dismissed the whole matter and restored cordiality again.
+
+“Let’s get back to the pure facts, Inspector. Each of us must look at
+them in his own way; but we can at least examine some of them without
+biasing each other. Did you get any more information out of that
+chauffeur?”
+
+Inspector Armadale seemed glad enough to forget the slight friction
+between himself and his Chief, as the tone of his voice showed when he
+replied.
+
+“I could get nothing out of him at all, sir. He seems a stupid sort of
+fellow. But it was quite clear that somehow or other he’d picked up
+the idea that Foss meant to leave Ravensthorpe for good yesterday
+afternoon. He stuck to that definitely; and the packing up of his
+traps shows that he believed it.”
+
+“We can take it, then, that Foss gave reason for the man thinking that
+he was going away. Put your own interpretation on that, Inspector; but
+you needn’t tell me what you make of it.”
+
+The Inspector’s smile showed that ill-feeling had gone.
+
+“Very well, Sir Clinton. And I’ll admit that I had my suspicions of
+the valet. He seems to have a clear bill now in the matter of the
+finger-prints on the weapon. Perhaps I was a bit rough on the man; but
+he annoyed me—a cheeky fellow.”
+
+“Oh, don’t let’s use hard words about him,” Sir Clinton suggested
+chaffingly. “Let’s call him cool, simply.”
+
+“Well, his finger-prints weren’t on the handle of the sword, anyhow,”
+the Inspector admitted.
+
+“I hardly expected them to be,” was all the comment Sir Clinton saw
+fit to make. “Now what about friend Foss? By the way, I don’t mind
+saying that I still think these two affairs at Ravensthorpe are
+interconnected. And one thing’s clear at any rate: Foss wasn’t the man
+in white. You remember he was wearing a cow-boy costume according to
+the valet’s evidence; and we found that costume in his wardrobe, which
+confirms Marden.”
+
+The Inspector seemed to be taking a leaf out of Sir Clinton’s book. He
+refrained from either acquiescing in or contradicting the Chief
+Constable’s statement that the two cases were linked.
+
+“Foss had more ready money in his pocket than most people carry; he
+was in a position to clear out of Ravensthorpe at any moment without
+needing to go back to his flat or even to a bank. I think these facts
+are plain enough,” he pointed out. “And they fit in with the
+chauffeur’s evidence, such as it is.”
+
+“And he had no latch-key of his flat with him,” Sir Clinton
+supplemented. “Of course it was a service flat and he may have left
+the key behind him instead of carrying it with him. One could find
+that out if it were worth while.”
+
+“There’s a good deal that needs explaining about Foss,” the Inspector
+observed. “I’ve got his photograph here, taken from the body
+yesterday.”
+
+He produced it as he spoke.
+
+“Send a copy to Scotland Yard, Inspector, please, and ask if they have
+any information about him. Considering everything, it’s quite likely
+we might learn something. You might send his finger-prints also, to
+see if they have them indexed there.”
+
+“I’ll send Marden’s too, when I’m at it,” the Inspector volunteered,
+“and the chauffeur’s. We might as well be complete when we’re at it.”
+
+Sir Clinton indicated his agreement without saying anything. He
+changed the subject when he next spoke.
+
+“We’ve agreed to pool the facts, Inspector, and I’ve got a
+contribution—two contributions in fact—towards the common stock.
+Here’s the first.”
+
+He laid a telegraph form on the desk before Armadale, and the
+Inspector read the wording:
+
+  Have no agent named Foss am not negotiating for Leonardo medallions.
+  Kessock.
+
+“Well, that’s a bit of a surprise!” ejaculated the Inspector. “It was
+obvious that there was something fishy; but I hadn’t imagined it was
+as fishy as all that. Kessock knows nothing about him, then?”
+
+“My cable was fairly explicit. It’s clear that friend Foss had no
+authority from Kessock.”
+
+“But what about all that correspondence between Maurice Chacewater and
+Kessock that we saw?”
+
+“Forgeries, so far as the Kessock letters were concerned, obviously.
+One of Kessock’s household must have been in league with Foss and
+intercepted Maurice Chacewater’s letters. Then replies were forged and
+dispatched. I’ve cabled Kessock about it this morning, so as to get
+the news in at once. The confederate may hear of Foss’s murder through
+the newspapers in four or five days when our papers get across there.
+He might bolt when he got the news. I’ve given Kessock a chance to
+forestall that if he wants to.”
+
+“That puts a new light on things, certainly,” Armadale said when he
+had considered the new facts. “Foss was a wrong ’un masquerading here
+for some purpose or other—the medallions, probably. That fits in with
+all the unmarked linen and the rest of it. But why was he murdered?”
+
+Sir Clinton disregarded the question.
+
+“I’ve got another fact to contribute,” he went on. “You remember that
+Marconi Otophone in Foss’s room? I’ve made some inquiries about it.
+It’s a thing they make for the use of deaf people—a modern substitute
+for the ear-trumpet.”
+
+The Inspector made a gesture of bewilderment.
+
+“But Foss wasn’t deaf! He admitted to you that he had good enough
+hearing, when he was telling you about overhearing Foxton Polegate in
+the winter-garden.”
+
+“That’s quite true,” Sir Clinton rejoined. “But he evidently needed an
+Otophone for all that.”
+
+The Inspector pondered for a few moments before speaking.
+
+“It beats me,” he said at last.
+
+Sir Clinton dismissed the subject without further discussion.
+
+“Now what about Maurice Chacewater?” he inquired. “There’s no great
+difficulty in suggesting _how_ he disappeared from the museum. It’s
+common talk hereabout that Ravensthorpe has secret passages; and one
+of them may end up in the wall of the museum.”
+
+It was the turn of Armadale to contribute a fresh fact.
+
+“He didn’t appear at any local station yesterday or this morning; and
+he didn’t use a motor of any sort that I’ve been able to trace. I’ve
+had men on that job and it’s been thoroughly done.”
+
+“Congratulations, Inspector.”
+
+“If he hasn’t got away, then he must be somewhere in the neighborhood
+still.”
+
+“I should say that was indisputable, if not certain,” commented Sir
+Clinton, with a return of his faintly chaffing manner. “A man can only
+be in one place at once, if you follow me. And if he’s not there, then
+he must be here.”
+
+“Yes. But where is ‘here,’ in this particular case?” inquired
+Armadale, following his Chief’s mood. “I expect he’s hiding somewhere
+around. It’s what any one might do if they found themselves up to the
+hilt in a case of murder”—he paused for an instant—“or manslaughter,
+and got into a panic over it.”
+
+Sir Clinton ignored the Inspector’s last sentence.
+
+“I wish I could get into touch with Cecil Chacewater. He ought to be
+at home just now. He’s the only man in the family now, and he ought to
+take charge of things up there.”
+
+“You haven’t got his address yet, sir?”
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+Sir Clinton put the subject aside.
+
+“Now, Inspector, let me remind you of what’s wanted:
+
+    What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where,
+    How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?
+
+You put it down as murder?”
+
+“Or manslaughter,” corrected Armadale. “And we know When, How, and
+Where, at any rate.”
+
+“Do we?” Sir Clinton rejoined. “Speak for yourself. I’m not so sure
+about When and Where yet, and How is still a dark mystery so far as
+I’m concerned. I mean,” he added, “so far as legal proof goes.”
+
+The Inspector was about to say something further when a knock at the
+door was heard and a constable appeared in answer to Sir Clinton’s
+summons.
+
+“The Ravensthorpe head keeper wants to see you, Sir Clinton, if you
+can spare him a moment. He says it’s important.”
+
+The Chief Constable ordered the keeper to be admitted.
+
+“Well, Mold, what’s your trouble?” he inquired, when the man appeared.
+
+“It’s this way, Sir Clinton,” Mold began. “Seein’ the queer sort o’
+things we’ve seen lately, it seemed to me that maybe another queer
+thing that’s happened might be important. So I thought it over, and I
+made bold to come and tell you about it.”
+
+He seemed to lose confidence a little at this point; but Sir Clinton
+encouraged him by a show of interest.
+
+“Last night,” he went on, “I was goin’ through the wood at the back o’
+the house—about eleven o’clock it was, as near as I can make it. At
+the back o’ the house there’s a strip of woodland, then a little bit
+of a clearin’, and then the rest of the wood. I’d come out o’ the
+bigger bit o’ the wood and got most o’ the way across the clearin’
+when it happened. I can tell you just where it was, for I was passin’
+the old ruin there—the Knight’s Tower they call it.”
+
+He paused for a moment or two, evidently finding continuous narrative
+rather a strain.
+
+“The moon was well up by that time. It’s just past the full these
+days; and the place was as clear as day. Everythin’ was quiet, except
+an old owl that lives in a hollow tree up by there. I could hear the
+swish of my feet in the grass and mighty little else; for the grass
+was dewy and made a lot o’ noise with my stepping through it. Well, as
+I was goin’ along, all of a sudden I heard a shot. It sounded close by
+me; an’ I turned at once. There’s a poachin’ chap that’s given me a
+lot o’ trouble, an’ I didn’t put it past him to think he might be
+tryin’ to give me a scare. But when I turned round there was nothin’
+to be seen. There was nothin’ there at all; an’ yet that shot had come
+from quite close by.”
+
+“Did it sound like the report of a shot-gun?” Sir Clinton asked.
+
+Mold seemed to be in a difficulty.
+
+“Shot-gun sounds I know fairly well. ’T weren’t from a shot-gun. More
+like a pistol-shot it sounded, when I’d had time to think over it. An’
+yet it weren’t altogether like a pistol-shot, neither. That’s a sharp
+sound. This was more booming-like, if you understand me.”
+
+“I’m afraid I don’t quite see it yet, Mold,” Sir Clinton admitted. “I
+know how difficult it is to describe sounds, though. Have another try.
+Did it remind you of anything?”
+
+A light seemed to flicker for a moment in Mold’s memory.
+
+“I know!” he exclaimed. “It was like this. I’ve got it! Did you ever
+stand at the door of our Morris-tube range in the village while there
+was firin’ goin’ on inside? Well, this was somethin’ like that, only
+more so. I mean as if they’d fired somethin’ a bit heavier than a
+miniature rifle. That’s it! That’s just how it sounded.”
+
+He was evidently relieved by having found what he considered an apt
+simile.
+
+“What happened after that?” Sir Clinton demanded.
+
+“When I saw nobody near me I’ll admit I felt a bit funny. Here was a
+shot comin’, so it seemed, out o’ the empty air, with nothin’ to
+account for it. Straight away, I’ll admit, sir, I began thinkin’ of
+that Black Man that little Jennie Hitchin has been spreadin’ the story
+about lately . . .”
+
+Sir Clinton pricked up his ears.
+
+“We’ll hear about the Black Man later on, Mold, if you please. Tell us
+what you did at that moment.”
+
+“Well, sir, I searched about. The moon was clear of clouds and the
+place was just an open glade. The shot had come from quite near by, as
+I said. But when I hunted I could find nothing. There wasn’t a track
+in the dew on the grass. My own tracks showed up in the moonlight as
+clear as clear. There wasn’t any one hiding in the old ruin; I went
+through and around it twice. There wasn’t a sound; for the shot had
+frightened the owl. I found nothing. And yet I’d take my oath that
+shot was fired not more than ten or a dozen yards away from me.”
+
+“Did you hear any whistle of shot or a bullet?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“H’m! That’s the whole story? Now, tell us about this Black Man you
+mentioned.”
+
+Mold seemed rather ashamed.
+
+“Oh, that’s just child’s chatter, Sir Clinton. I oughtn’t to have
+mentioned it.”
+
+“I’m quite willing to listen to ‘child’s chatter,’ Mold, if it happens
+to be unusual.”
+
+Mold evidently decided to take the plunge, though obviously he
+regretted having mentioned the matter at all.
+
+“This Jennie Hitchin’s a child that lives with her grandmother on the
+estate. The girl’s there at night in case anything goes wrong with the
+old woman. Old Mrs. Hitchin was taken ill one night lately, about the
+middle of the night. Pretty bad she seemed; and Jennie had to dress
+and go off for the doctor in a hurry. That took her through the
+woods—it’s a short cut that way and the moonlight was bright. An’ as
+she was goin’ along . . .”
+
+“What night was this,” Sir Clinton interrupted.
+
+The keeper thought for a moment or two.
+
+“Now I come to think of it,” he said, “’t was the night of that
+robbery up at Ravensthorpe. So it was. An’ as Jennie was goin’ along
+through the woods she saw—so she says—a Black Man slippin’ about from
+tree to tree.”
+
+“A man in dark clothes?”
+
+“No, sir. If I understood rightly, ’t was a black man. I mean a naked
+man with a black skin, black all over.”
+
+“Did he molest the child?”
+
+“No, sir. He seemed to be tryin’ to keep out of her road if anythin’.
+But o’ course it gave her a start. She took and ran—and small blame to
+her, I think. She’s only eleven or so, an’ it gave her a dreadful
+fright. An’ of course next day this tale was all over the
+country-side. I wonder if you didn’t hear it yourself, sir.”
+
+“It’s news to me, Mold, I’m afraid. Even the police can’t know
+everything, you see. Now before you go I want something more from you.
+That night when you were on guard in the museum, you remember. Do you
+recall seeing any one there at any time during the evening dressed in
+cow-boy clothes? You know, the kind of thing in the Wild West films.”
+
+Mold pondered for a time, evidently racking his memory.
+
+“No, sir. I remember nobody like that. I think I’d have recalled it if
+I had. I’m rather keen on films about cow-boys myself, and if I’d seen
+a cow-boy I’d have had a good look at him, just out o’ curiosity.”
+
+Sir Clinton had apparently got all he needed from Mold just then; and
+he sent him away quite reassured that his visit had not been wasted.
+
+“What do you make of all that, Inspector?” he inquired with a faintly
+quizzical expression on his face, as soon as the door had closed
+behind the keeper.
+
+Armadale shook his head. Then, seeing a chance of scoring, he smiled
+openly.
+
+“I was to keep my ideas to myself, you remember, Sir Clinton.”
+
+The Chief Constable gave him smile for smile.
+
+“That arrangement must be especially useful when you’ve no ideas at
+all, Inspector.”
+
+Armadale took the thrust with good humour.
+
+“Give me time to think, Sir Clinton. You know I’ve only a slow mind,
+and perhaps this isn’t one of my bright days.”
+
+Before Sir Clinton could retort the desk telephone rang and the Chief
+Constable lifted the receiver.
+
+“Yes, I am . . . Thanks very much. I’ll take down the address if
+you’ll read it to me.”
+
+He jotted something down on a sheet of paper.
+
+“Thanks. Good-bye, Joan.”
+
+He flicked the note over to Armadale.
+
+“Would you mind seeing if we can get on to that house by ’phone,
+Inspector? Hunt up the London Directory for it.”
+
+“It’s Cecil Chacewater’s address?” said Armadale, glancing at the
+slip.
+
+“Yes. The man he’s staying with may be on the ’phone.”
+
+In a few minutes the Inspector came back with the number and Sir
+Clinton rang up. After a short talk he put down the receiver and
+turned to Armadale.
+
+“He says he can’t come to-day. You heard me explaining that we want
+that secret passage opened, if there is one. But he doesn’t seem to
+think there’s any hurry. He has some business which will keep him till
+to-morrow.”
+
+“I heard you tell him that his brother’s disappeared,” the Inspector
+commented. “I’d have thought that would have brought him back quick
+enough.”
+
+“It hasn’t, evidently,” was all that Sir Clinton thought it necessary
+to say. There seemed to be no reason for admitting the Inspector into
+the secret of the Ravensthorpe quarrels.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+Underground Ravensthorpe
+
+When Inspector Armadale presented himself at the Chief Constable’s
+office next morning he found Sir Clinton still faithful to his
+proposed policy of pooling all the facts of the case.
+
+“I’ve just been in communication with the coroner,” Sir Clinton
+explained. “I’ve pointed out to him that possibly we may have further
+evidence for the inquest on Foss; and I suggested that he might
+confine himself to formalities as far as possible and then adjourn for
+a day or two. It means keeping Marden and the chauffeur here for a
+little longer; but they can stay at Ravensthorpe. Miss Chacewater has
+no objections to that. She agreed at once when I asked her.”
+
+“The jury will have enough before them to bring in a verdict of murder
+against some one unknown,” the Inspector pointed out. “Do you want to
+make it more definite while we’re in the middle of the case?”
+
+Sir Clinton made a noncommittal gesture as he replied:
+
+“Let’s give ourselves the chance, at least, of putting a name on the
+criminal. If we don’t succeed there’s no harm done. Now here’s another
+point. I’ve had a telephone message from Scotland Yard. They’ve
+nothing on record corresponding to the finger-prints of Marden or the
+chauffeur. Foss was a wrong ’un. They’ve identified his finger-prints;
+and his photograph seems to have been easily recognizable by some of
+the Yard people who had dealings with him before. He went by the name
+of Cocoa Tom among his intimates; but his real name was Thomas
+Pailton. He’d been convicted a couple of times, though not recently.”
+
+“What was his line?” the Inspector inquired.
+
+“Confidence trick in one form or another, they say. Very plausible
+tongue, apparently.”
+
+“Did they say anything more about him?” asked the Inspector. “Anything
+about working with a gang usually, or something like that? If he did,
+then we might get a clue or two from his associates.”
+
+“He usually played a lone hand, it seems,” Sir Clinton answered.
+“Apparently he used to be on the Halls—the cheaper kind. ‘The
+Wonderful Wizard of Woz’ he called himself then. But somehow they made
+the business too hot for him and he cleared out into swindling.”
+
+“Ah!” Armadale evidently saw something which had not occurred to him
+before. “Those pockets of his—the ones that puzzled me. They might
+have been useful to a man who could do a bit of sleight-of-hand. I
+never thought of that at the time.”
+
+He looked accusingly at Sir Clinton, who laughed at the expression in
+the Inspector’s eyes.
+
+“Of course I admit I saw the use of the pockets almost at once,” he
+said. “But that’s not a breach of our bargain, Inspector. The facts
+are all that we are pooling, remember; and the fact that Foss had
+these peculiar pockets was as well known to you as to myself. This
+notion about sleight-of-hand is an interpretation of the facts,
+remember; and we weren’t to share our inferences.”
+
+“I knew pretty well at the time that you’d spotted something,”
+Armadale contented himself with saying. “But since you put it in that
+way I’ll admit you were quite justified in keeping it to yourself as
+special information, sir. I take it that it’s a race between us now;
+and the one that hits on the solution first is the winner. I don’t
+mind.”
+
+“Then there’s one other bit of information needed to bring us level.
+I’ve just had a message over the ’phone from Mr. Cecil Chacewater. It
+appears he’s just got home again; came by the first train in the
+morning from town, apparently. He’s waiting for us now, so we’d better
+go up to Ravensthorpe. I have an idea that he may be able to throw
+some light on his brother’s disappearance. At least he may be able to
+show us how that disappearing trick was done; and that would always be
+a step forward.”
+
+When they reached Ravensthorpe Cecil was awaiting them. The inspector
+noticed that he seemed tired and had a weary look in his eyes.
+
+“Been out on the spree,” was Armadale’s silent inference; for the
+Inspector was inclined to take a low view of humanity in general, and
+he put his own interpretation on Cecil’s looks.
+
+Sir Clinton, in a few rapid sentences, apprised Cecil of the facts of
+the case.
+
+“I’d heard some of that before, you know,” Cecil admitted. “Maurice’s
+disappearance seems to have caused a bit of a stir. I can’t say he’s
+greatly missed for the sake of his personality; but naturally it’s
+disturbing to have a brother mislaid about the place.”
+
+“Very irksome, of course,” agreed Sir Clinton, with a faint parody of
+Cecil’s detached air.
+
+Cecil seemed to think that the conversation had come to a deadlock,
+since the Chief Constable made no effort to continue.
+
+“Well, what about it?” he demanded. “I haven’t got Maurice concealed
+anywhere about my person, you know.”
+
+He elaborately felt in an empty jacket pocket, ending by turning it
+inside out.
+
+“No,” he pointed out, “he isn’t there. In fact, I’m almost certain I
+haven’t got him anywhere in this suit.”
+
+Cecil’s studied insolence seemed to escape Sir Clinton’s notice.
+
+“There was a celebrated historical character who said something of the
+same sort once upon a time. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ you remember
+that?”
+
+“Good old Cain? So he did. And his name begins with a C, just like
+mine, too! Any other points of resemblance you’d like to suggest?”
+
+“Not just now,” Sir Clinton responded. “Information would be more to
+the purpose at present. Let’s go along to the museum, please. There
+are one or two points which need to be cleared up as soon as
+possible.”
+
+Cecil made no open demur; but his manner continued to be obviously
+hostile as they made their way along the passages. At the museum door
+the constable on guard stood aside in order to let them pass in.
+
+“Wait a moment,” Sir Clinton ordered, as his companions were about to
+enter the room. “I want to try an experiment before we go any
+further.”
+
+He turned to Cecil.
+
+“Will you go across and stand in front of the case in which the
+Muramasa sword used to be kept? You’ll find the sheath still in the
+case. And you, Inspector, go to the spot where we found Foss’s body.”
+
+When they had obeyed him he swung the door round on its hinges until
+it was almost closed, and then looked through the remaining opening.
+
+“Say a few words in an ordinary tone, Inspector. A string of addresses
+or something of that sort.”
+
+“William Jones, Park Place, Amersley Royal,” began the Inspector,
+obediently; “Henry Blenkinsop, 18 Skeening Road, Hinchley; John Orran
+Gordon, 88 Bolsover Lane . . .”
+
+“That will be enough, thanks. I can hear you quite well. Now lower
+your voice a trifle and say ‘Muramasa,’ ‘Japanese,’ and ‘sword,’
+please. And mix them into the middle of some more addresses.”
+
+The Inspector’s tone as he spoke showed plainly that he was a trifle
+bewildered by his instructions.
+
+“Fred Hall, Muramasa, Endelmere; Harry Bell, 15 Elm Japanese Avenue,
+Stonyton; J. Hicky, sword, The Cottage, Apperley . . . Will that do?”
+
+“Quite well, Inspector. Many thanks. Think I’m mad? All I wanted was
+to find out how much a man in this position could see and hear.
+Contributions to the pool. First, I can see the case where the
+Muramasa sword used to lie. Second, I can hear quite plainly what
+you’re saying. The slight echo in the room doesn’t hinder that.”
+
+He swung the door open and came into the museum.
+
+“Now, Cecil,” he said—and the Inspector noticed that all sign of
+lightness had gone out of his tone, “you know that Maurice disappeared
+rather mysteriously from this room? He was in it with Foss; there was
+a man at the door; Foss was murdered in that bay over there; and
+Maurice didn’t leave the room by the door. How did he leave?”
+
+“How should I know?” demanded Cecil, sullenly. “You’d better ask him
+when he turns up again. I’m not Maurice’s nursemaid.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s eyes grew hard.
+
+“I’ll put it plainer for you. I’ve reason to believe that there’s an
+entrance to a secret passage somewhere in that bay beyond the safe.
+It’s the only way in which Maurice could have left this room. You’ll
+have to show it to us.”
+
+“Indeed!” Cecil’s voice betrayed nothing but contempt for the
+suggestion.
+
+“It’s for your own benefit that I make the proposal,” Sir Clinton
+pointed out. “Refuse if you like. But if you do I’ve a search-warrant
+in my pocket and I mean to find that entrance even if I have to root
+out most of the panelling and gut the room. You won’t avert the
+discovery by this attitude of yours. You’ll merely make the whole
+business public. It would be far more sensible to recognize the
+inevitable and show us the place yourself. I don’t want to damage
+things any more than is necessary. But if I’m put to it I’ll be
+thorough, I warn you.”
+
+Cecil favoured the Chief Constable with an angry look; but the
+expression on Sir Clinton’s face convinced him that it was useless to
+offer any further opposition.
+
+“Very well,” he snarled. “I’ll open the thing, since I must.”
+
+Sir Clinton took no notice of his anger.
+
+“So long as you open it the rest doesn’t matter. I’ve no desire to pry
+into things that don’t concern me. I don’t wish to know how the panel
+opens. Inspector, I think we’ll turn our backs while Mr. Chacewater
+works the mechanism.”
+
+They faced about. Cecil took a few steps into the bay. There was a
+sharp snap; and when they turned round again a door gaped in the
+panelling at the end of the room.
+
+“Quite so,” said Sir Clinton. “Most ingenious.”
+
+His voice had regained its normal easy tone; and now he seemed anxious
+to smooth over the ill-feeling which had come to so acute a pitch in
+the last few minutes.
+
+“Will you go first, Cecil, and show us the way? I expect it’s
+difficult for a stranger. I’ve brought an electric torch. Here, you’d
+better take it.”
+
+Now that he had failed in his attempt, Cecil seemed to recover his
+temper again. He took the torch from the Chief Constable and, pressing
+the spring to light it, stepped through the open panel.
+
+“I think we’ll lock the museum door before we go down,” Sir Clinton
+suggested. “There’s no need to expose this entrance to any one who
+happens to come in.”
+
+He walked across the museum, turned the key in the lock, and then
+rejoined his companions.
+
+“Now, Cecil, if you please.”
+
+Cecil Chacewater led the way; Sir Clinton motioned to the Inspector to
+follow him, and brought up the rear himself.
+
+“Look out, here,” Cecil warned them. “There’s a flight of steps almost
+at once.”
+
+They made their way down a spiral staircase which seemed to lead deep
+into the foundations of Ravensthorpe. At last it came to an end, and a
+narrow tunnel gaped before them.
+
+“Nothing here, you see,” Cecil pointed out, flashing the torch in
+various directions. “This passage is the only outlet.”
+
+He led the way into the tunnel, followed by the Inspector. Sir Clinton
+lagged behind them for a moment or two, and then showed no signs of
+haste, so that they had to pause in order to let him catch up.
+
+The tunnel led them in a straight line for a time, then bent in a
+fresh direction.
+
+“It’s getting narrower,” the Inspector pointed out.
+
+“It gets narrower still before you’re done with it,” Cecil vouchsafed
+in reply.
+
+As the passage turned again Sir Clinton halted.
+
+“I’d like to have a look at these walls,” he said.
+
+Cecil turned back and threw the light of the torch over the sides and
+roof of the tunnel.
+
+“It’s very old masonry,” he pointed out.
+
+Sir Clinton nodded.
+
+“This is a bit of old Ravensthorpe, I suppose?”
+
+“It’s older than the modern parts of the building,” Cecil agreed. He
+seemed to have overcome his ill-humour and to be making the best of
+things.
+
+“Let’s push on, then,” Sir Clinton suggested. “I’ve seen all I wanted
+to see, thanks.”
+
+As they proceeded, the tunnel walls drew nearer together and the roof
+grew lower. Before long the passage was barely large enough to let
+them walk along it without brushing the stones on either side.
+
+“Wait a moment,” Sir Clinton suggested, as they reached a fresh
+turning. “Inspector, would you mind making a rough measurement of the
+dimensions here?”
+
+Somewhat mystified, Inspector Armadale did as he was bidden, entering
+the figures up in his note-book while Cecil stood back, evidently
+equally puzzled by these manœuvres.
+
+“Thanks, that will do nicely,” Sir Clinton assured him when the task
+had been completed. “Suppose we continue?”
+
+Cecil advanced a few steps. Then a thought seemed to strike him.
+
+“It gets narrower farther on. We’ll have to go on hands and knees, and
+there won’t be room to pass one another. Perhaps one of you should go
+first with the torch. There’s nothing in the road.”
+
+Sir Clinton agreed to this.
+
+“I’ll go first, then. You can follow on, Inspector.”
+
+Inspector Armadale looked suspicious at this suggestion.
+
+“He might get away back and shut us in,” he murmured in Sir Clinton’s
+ear.
+
+The Chief Constable took the simplest way of reassuring the Inspector.
+
+“That’s an ingenious bit of mechanism in the panel, up above,” he said
+to Cecil. “I had a glance at it as I passed, since it’s all in plain
+sight. From this side, you’ve only to lift a bar to open it, haven’t
+you?”
+
+“That’s so,” Cecil confirmed.
+
+Armadale was evidently satisfied by the information which Sir Clinton
+had thus conveyed to him indirectly. He squeezed himself against the
+wall and allowed the Chief Constable to come up to the head of the
+party. Sir Clinton threw his light down the passage in front of them.
+
+“It looks like all-fours, now,” he commented, as the lamp revealed a
+steadily diminishing tunnel. “We may as well begin now and save
+ourselves the chance of knocking our heads against the roof.”
+
+Suiting the action to the word, he got down on hands and knees and
+began to creep along the passage.
+
+“At least we may be thankful it’s dry,” he pointed out.
+
+The tunnel grew still smaller until they found more than a little
+difficulty in making their way along it.
+
+“Have we much farther to go?” asked the Inspector, who seemed to have
+little liking for the business.
+
+“The end’s round the next corner,” Cecil explained.
+
+They soon reached the last bend in the passage, and as he turned it
+Sir Clinton found himself at the entrance to a tiny space. The roof
+was even lower than that of the tunnel, and the floor area was hardly
+more than a dozen square feet. A stone slab, raised a few inches from
+the ground, seemed like a bed fitted into a niche.
+
+“A bit wet in this part,” Sir Clinton remarked. “If I’d known that we
+were in for this sort of thing I think I’d have put on an old suit
+this morning. Mind your knees on the floor, Inspector. It’s fairly
+moist.”
+
+He climbed into the niche, which was no bigger than the bunk of a
+steamer, and began to examine his surroundings with his torch.
+Inspector Armadale, taking advantage of the space thus made clear,
+crept into the tiny chamber.
+
+“This place looks as if it had been washed out, lately,” he said,
+examining the smooth flagstones which formed the floor. He turned his
+attention to the roof, evidently in search of dripping water; but he
+could find none, though the walls were moist.
+
+Suddenly Sir Clinton bent forward and brought his lamp near something
+on the side of the niche.
+
+The Inspector, seeing something in the patch of light, craned forward
+to look also, and as he did so he seemed to recognize what he saw.
+
+“Why, that’s . . .” he ejaculated.
+
+Sir Clinton’s lamp went out abruptly, and Inspector Armadale felt his
+arm gripped warningly in the darkness.
+
+“Sorry,” the Chief Constable apologized. “My finger must have shifted
+the switch on the torch. Out of the way, Inspector, please. There’s
+nothing more to be seen here.”
+
+Inspector Armadale wriggled back into the passage again as Sir Clinton
+made a movement as though to come out of his perch in the recess.
+
+“So this is where Maurice got to when he left the museum?” the Chief
+Constable said, reflectively. “Well, he isn’t here now, that’s plain.
+We’ll need to look elsewhere, Inspector, according to your scheme. If
+he wasn’t elsewhere he was to be here. But as he isn’t here he’s
+obviously elsewhere. And now I think we’ll make our way up to the
+museum again. Wait a moment! We’ve got to get back into that passage
+with our heads in the right direction. Once we’re into the tunnel
+there won’t be room to turn round.”
+
+It took some manœuvring to arrange this, for the tiny chamber was a
+tight fit for even three men; but at last they succeeded in getting
+back into the tunnel in a position which permitted them to creep
+forwards instead of backwards. They finally accomplished the long
+journey without incident, and emerged through the gaping panel into
+the museum once more.
+
+“Now we’ll turn our backs again, Inspector, and let Mr. Chacewater
+close the panel.”
+
+Again the sharp click notified them that they could turn round. The
+panelling seemed completely solid.
+
+“There are just a couple of points I’d like to know about,” Sir
+Clinton said, turning to Cecil. “You don’t know the combination that
+opens the safe over there, I believe?”
+
+Cecil Chacewater seemed both surprised and relieved to hear this
+question.
+
+“No,” he said. “Maurice kept the combination to himself.”
+
+Sir Clinton nodded as though he had expected this answer.
+
+“Just another point,” he continued. “You may not be able to remember
+this. At any time after you and Foxton Polegate had planned that
+practical joke of yours, did Foss ask you the time?”
+
+Cecil was obviously completely taken aback by this query.
+
+“Did he ask me the time? Not that I know of. I can’t remember his ever
+doing that. Wait a bit, though. No, he didn’t.”
+
+Sir Clinton seemed disappointed for a moment. Then, evidently, a fresh
+idea occurred to him.
+
+“On the night of the masked ball, did any one ask you the time?”
+
+Cecil considered for a moment or two.
+
+“Now I come to think of it, a fellow dressed as a cow-boy came up and
+said his watch had stopped.”
+
+“Ah! I thought so,” was all Sir Clinton replied, much to the vexation
+of Inspector Armadale.
+
+“By the way,” the Chief Constable went on, “I’d rather like to get to
+the top of one of those turrets up above.” He made a gesture
+indicating the roof. “There’s a stair, isn’t there?”
+
+Armadale had difficulty in concealing his surprise at this unexpected
+demand. Cecil Chacewater made no difficulties, but led them upstairs
+and opened the door of the entrance to a turret. When they reached an
+open space at the summit, Sir Clinton leaned on the parapet and gazed
+over the surrounding country with interest. As the space was
+restricted, Cecil remained within the turret, at the top of the stair;
+but the Inspector joined his Chief on the platform.
+
+“Splendid view, isn’t it, Inspector?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Very fine.”
+
+Armadale was evidently puzzled by this turn of affairs. He could not
+see why Sir Clinton should have come up to admire the view instead of
+getting on with the investigation. The Chief Constable did not seem to
+notice his subordinate’s perplexity.
+
+“There’s Hincheldene,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “With a decent pair of
+glasses one could read the time on the clock-tower on a clear day.
+These woods round about give a restful look to things. Soothing, that
+greenery. Ah! Just follow my finger, Inspector. See that white thing
+over yonder? That’s one of these Fairy Houses.”
+
+He searched here and there in the landscape for a moment.
+
+“There’s another of them, just where you see that stream running
+across the opening between the two spinneys—yonder. And there’s a
+third one, not far off that ruined tower. See it? I wonder if we could
+pick up any more. They seem to be thick enough on the ground. Yes, see
+that one in the glade over there? Not see it? Look at that grey
+cottage with the creeper on it; two o’clock; three fingers. See it
+now?”
+
+“I can’t quite make it out, sir,” the Inspector confessed.
+
+He seemed bored by Sir Clinton’s insistence on the matter; but he held
+up his hand and tried to discover the object. After a moment or two he
+gave up the attempt and, turning round, he noticed his Chief slipping
+a small compass into his pocket.
+
+“Quite worth seeing, that view,” Sir Clinton remarked, imperturbably,
+as he made his way towards the turret stair. “Thanks very much, Cecil.
+I don’t think we need trouble you any more for the present; but I’d
+like to see your sister, if she’s available. I want to ask her a
+question.”
+
+Cecil Chacewater went in search of Joan, and after a few minutes she
+met them at the foot of the stair.
+
+“There’s just one point that occurred to me since you told us about
+that interview you and Maurice had with Foss before you went to the
+museum. You were sitting on the terrace, weren’t you?”
+
+“Yes,” Joan confirmed.
+
+“Then you must have seen Foss’s car drive up when it came to wait at
+the front door for him?”
+
+“I remember seeing it come up just before we went to the museum. I
+didn’t say anything about it before. It didn’t seem to matter much.”
+
+“That was quite natural,” Sir Clinton reassured her. “In fact, I’m not
+sure that it matters much even yet. I’m just trying for any evidence I
+can get. Tell me anything whatever that you noticed, no matter whether
+it seems important or not.”
+
+Joan thought for almost a minute before replying.
+
+“I did notice the chauffeur putting the hood up, and I wondered what
+on earth he was doing that for on a blazing day.”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“He had his tool-kit out and seemed to be going to do some repair or
+other.”
+
+“At the moment when he’d brought the car round for Foss?” demanded the
+Inspector, rather incredulously. “Surely he’d have everything spick
+and span before he left the garage?”
+
+“You’d better ask him about it, himself, Inspector,” said Joan,
+tartly. “I’m merely telling what I saw; and I saw that plain enough.
+Besides, he may have known he’d plenty of time. Mr. Foss was going
+away with us and obviously he wasn’t in a hurry to use the car.”
+
+Sir Clinton ignored the Inspector’s interruption.
+
+“I’ve got my own car at the door,” he observed. “Perhaps you could go
+out on to the terrace and direct me while I bring it into the same
+position as you saw Foss’s car that afternoon.”
+
+Joan agreed; and they went down together.
+
+“Now,” said Sir Clinton as he started the engine, “would you mind
+directing me?”
+
+Joan, from the terrace, indicated how he was to manœuvre until he had
+brought his own car into a position as near as possible to that
+occupied by Foss’s car on the afternoon of the murder.
+
+“That’s as near as I can get it,” she said at last.
+
+Sir Clinton turned in his seat and scanned the front of Ravensthorpe.
+
+“What window is this that I’m opposite?” he inquired.
+
+“That’s the window of the museum,” Joan explained. “But you can’t see
+into the room, can you? You’re too low down there.”
+
+“Nothing more than the tops of the cases,” Sir Clinton said. “You’d
+better get aboard, Inspector. There’s nothing more to do here.”
+
+He waved good-bye to Joan as Armadale stepped into the car, and then
+drove down the avenue. The Inspector said nothing until they had
+passed out of the Ravensthorpe grounds and were on the high road
+again. Then he turned eagerly to the Chief Constable.
+
+“That was a splash of blood you found on the wall of the underground
+room, wasn’t it? I recognized it at once.”
+
+“Don’t get excited about it, Inspector,” said Sir Clinton soothingly.
+“Of course it was blood; but we needn’t shout about it from the
+house-tops, need we?”
+
+Armadale thought he detected a tacit reproof for his exclamation at
+the time the discovery was made.
+
+“You covered up that word or two of mine very neatly, sir,” he
+admitted frankly. “I was startled when I saw that spot of blood on the
+wall, and I nearly blurted it out. Silly of me to do it, I suppose.
+But you managed to smother it up with that bungling with your lamp
+before I’d given anything away. I’d no notion you wanted to keep the
+thing quiet.”
+
+“No harm done,” Sir Clinton reassured him. “But be careful another
+time. One needn’t show all one’s cards.”
+
+“You certainly don’t,” Armadale retorted.
+
+“Well, you have all the facts, Inspector. What more do you expect?”
+
+Armadale thought it best to change the subject.
+
+“That water that we saw down there,” he went on. “That never leaked in
+through the roof. The masonry overhead was as tight as a drum and
+there wasn’t a sign of drip-marks anywhere. That water came from
+somewhere else. Some one had been washing up in that cellar. There had
+been more blood there—lots of it; and they’d washed it away. That tiny
+patch was a bit they’d overlooked. Isn’t that so, sir?”
+
+“That’s an inference and not a fact, Inspector,” Sir Clinton pointed
+out, with an expression approaching to a grin on his face. “I don’t
+say you’re wrong. In fact, I’m sure you’re right. But only facts are
+supposed to go into the common stock, remember.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+But the Inspector had something in reserve.
+
+“I’ll give you a fact now,” he said with ill-suppressed triumph. “As
+you came away, you happened to ask Mr. Chacewater if he’d come by the
+first train this morning.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And he said he did?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well,” said Armadale, with a tinge of derision in his voice, “he took
+you in, there; but he didn’t come over me with that tale. He didn’t
+come by the first train; he wasn’t in it! And what’s more, he didn’t
+come by train to our station at all, for I happened to make inquiries.
+I knew you were anxious for him to come back, and I thought I’d ask
+whether he’d come.”
+
+“That’s very interesting,” said Sir Clinton.
+
+He made no further remark until they reached the police station. Then,
+as they got out of the car, he turned to the Inspector.
+
+“Care to see me do a little map-drawing, Inspector? It might amuse
+you.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+Chuchundra’s Body
+
+Sir Clinton’s map-drawing, however, was destined to be postponed.
+Hardly had they entered his office when the telephone bell rang. After
+a few moments’ conversation he put down the receiver and turned to
+Armadale.
+
+“That’s Mold, the keeper. He’s found Maurice Chacewater’s body. He’s
+telephoning from his own cottage, so I told him to wait there and
+we’ll go up in the car. The body’s in the woods and we’ll save time by
+getting Mold to guide us to it instead of hunting round for the
+place.”
+
+It did not take long to reach the head keeper’s cottage, where they
+found Mold in a state of perturbation.
+
+“Where is this body?” Sir Clinton demanded, cutting short Mold’s
+rather confused attempts to explain matters. “Take us to it first of
+all and then I’ll ask what I want to know.”
+
+Under the keeper’s guidance they made their way through the woods, and
+at last emerged into a small clearing in the centre of which rose a
+few ruined walls.
+
+“This is what they call the Knight’s Tower,” Armadale explained.
+
+Sir Clinton nodded.
+
+“I expected something of the sort. Now, Mold, where’s Mr. Chacewater’s
+body?”
+
+The keeper led them round the Tower, and as they turned the corner of
+a wall they came upon the body stretched at full length on the grass.
+
+“The turf’s short,” said Armadale, with some disappointment. “There’s
+no track on it round about here.”
+
+“That’s true,” said Sir Clinton. “We’ll have to do without that help.”
+
+He walked over to where Maurice Chacewater was lying. The body was on
+its back; and a glance at the head was enough to show that life must
+be extinct.
+
+“It’s not pretty,” Sir Clinton said as he pulled out his handkerchief
+and covered the dead face. “Shot at close range, evidently. I don’t
+wonder you were a bit upset, Mold.”
+
+He glanced round the little glade, then turned again to the keeper.
+
+“When did you find him?” he demanded.
+
+“Just before I rang you up, sir. As soon as I came across him, I ran
+off to my cottage and telephoned to you.”
+
+“When were you over this ground last?—before you found him, I mean.”
+
+“Just before dusk, last night, sir. He wasn’t there, then.”
+
+“You’re sure?”
+
+“Certain, sir. I couldn’t have missed seeing him.”
+
+“You haven’t touched the body?”
+
+Mold shuddered slightly.
+
+“No, sir. I went off at once and rang you up.”
+
+“You met no one hereabouts this morning?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“And you saw no one last night, either?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“It was somewhere round about here, wasn’t it, that you heard that
+mysterious shot you told us about?”
+
+“Yes, sir. I was just here at the time.”
+
+Mold walked about twenty yards past the tower, to show the exact
+position. Sir Clinton studied the lie of the land for a moment.
+
+“H’m! Have you any questions you want to ask, Inspector?”
+
+Armadale considered for a moment or two.
+
+“You’re sure you haven’t moved this body in any way?” he demanded.
+
+“I never put a finger on it,” Mold asserted.
+
+“And it’s lying just as it was when you saw it first?” Armadale
+pursued.
+
+“As near as I can remember,” Mold replied, cautiously. “I didn’t wait
+long after I saw it. I went off almost at once to ring up the police.”
+
+Armadale seemed to have got all the information he expected. Sir
+Clinton, seeing that no more questions were to come, turned to the
+keeper.
+
+“Go off to the house and tell Mr. Cecil Chacewater that his brother’s
+found and that he’s to come here at once. You needn’t say anything
+about the matter to any one else. They’ll hear soon enough. And when
+you’ve done that, ring up the police station and tell them to send up
+a sergeant and a couple of constables to me here. Hurry, now.”
+
+Mold went without a word. Sir Clinton waited till he was out of
+earshot and then glanced at Armadale.
+
+“One thing stares you in the face,” the Inspector said in answer to
+the look. “He wasn’t shot here. That wound would mean any amount of
+blood; and there’s hardly any blood on the grass.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s face showed his agreement. He looked down at the body.
+
+“He’s lying on his back now; but after he was shot he lay on his left
+side till _rigor mortis_ set in,” he pointed out.
+
+The Inspector examined the body carefully.
+
+“I think I see how you get that,” he said. “This left arm’s off the
+ground a trifle. If he’d been shot here and fell in this position, the
+arm would have relaxed and followed the lie of the ground. Is that
+it?”
+
+“Yes, that and the hypostases. You see the marks on the left side of
+the face.”
+
+“A dead man doesn’t shift himself,” the Inspector observed with an
+oracular air. “Some one else must have had a motive for dragging him
+about.”
+
+“Here’s a revolver,” Sir Clinton pointed out, picking it up gingerly
+to avoid marking it with finger-prints. “You can see, later on, if
+anything’s to be made out from it.”
+
+He put the revolver carefully down on a part of the ruined wall near
+at hand and then returned to the body.
+
+“To judge by the _rigor mortis_,” he said, after making a test, “he
+must have been dead for a good while—a dozen hours or more.”
+
+“What about that shot that the keeper said he heard?” queried
+Armadale.
+
+“The time might fit well enough. But _rigor mortis_ is no real
+criterion, you know, Inspector. It varies too much from case to case.”
+
+Inspector Armadale pulled out a small magnifying glass and examined
+the dead man’s hand carefully.
+
+“Those were his finger-prints on that Japanese sword right enough,
+sir,” he pointed out. “You can see that tiny scar on the thumb quite
+plainly if you look.”
+
+He held out the glass, and Sir Clinton inspected the right thumb of
+the body minutely.
+
+“I didn’t doubt it from the evidence you had before, Inspector; but
+this certainly clinches it. The scar’s quite clear.”
+
+“Shall I go through the pockets now?” Armadale asked.
+
+“You may as well,” Sir Clinton agreed.
+
+Inspector Armadale began by putting his fingers into the body’s
+waistcoat pocket. As he did so his face showed his surprise.
+
+“Hullo! Here’s something!”
+
+He pulled out the object and held it up for Sir Clinton’s inspection.
+
+“One of the Leonardo medallions,” Sir Clinton said, as soon as he had
+identified the thing. “Let me have a closer look at it, Inspector.”
+
+He examined the edge with care.
+
+“This seems to be the genuine article, Inspector. I can’t see any hole
+in the edge, which they told me was drilled to distinguish the
+replicas from the real thing. No, there’s no mark of any sort here.”
+
+He handed it back to the Inspector, who examined it in his turn. Sir
+Clinton took it back when the Inspector had done with it, and placed
+it in his pocket.
+
+“I think, Inspector, we’ll say nothing about this find for the
+present. I’ve an idea it may be a useful thing to have up our sleeve
+before we’ve done. By the way, do you still connect Foxton Polegate
+with this case?”
+
+Armadale looked the Chief Constable in the eye as he replied.
+
+“I’m more inclined to connect Cecil Chacewater with it, just now, sir.
+Look at the facts. It’s been common talk that there was ill-feeling
+between those two brothers. Servants talk; and other people repeat it.
+And the business that ended in the final row between the two of them
+was centred in these Leonardo medallions. That’s worth thinking over.
+Then, again, Cecil Chacewater disappeared for a short while. You
+couldn’t get in touch with him. And it was just at that time that
+queer things began to happen here at Ravensthorpe. Where was he then?
+It seems a bit suggestive, doesn’t it? And where was he last night? If
+you looked at him this morning, you couldn’t help seeing he’d spent a
+queer night, wherever he spent it. That was the night when this body
+was brought here from wherever the shooting was done. And when you
+asked Cecil Chacewater how he’d come home, he said he’d arrived by the
+first train this morning. That was a lie. He didn’t come by that
+train. He’d been here before that.”
+
+To the Inspector’s amazement and disgust Sir Clinton laughed
+unaffectedly at this exposition.
+
+“It’s nothing to laugh at, sir. You can’t deny these things. I don’t
+say they prove anything; but you can’t brush them aside by merely
+laughing at them. They’ve got to be explained. And until they’ve been
+explained in some satisfactory way things will look very fishy.”
+
+Sir Clinton recovered his serious mask.
+
+“Perhaps I laughed a little too soon, Inspector. I apologize. I’m not
+absolutely certain of my ground; I quite admit that. But I’ll just
+give you one hint. Sometimes one case looks as if it were two
+independent affairs. Sometimes two independent affairs get interlocked
+and look like one case. Now just think that over carefully. It’s
+perhaps got the germ of something in it, if you care to fish it out.”
+
+“Half of what you’ve said already sounds like riddles to me, sir,”
+Armadale protested, fretfully. “I’m never sure when you’re serious and
+when you’re pulling my leg.”
+
+Sir Clinton was saved from the embarrassment of a reply by the arrival
+of Cecil Chacewater. He nodded curtly to the two officials as he came
+up. The Inspector stepped forward to meet him.
+
+“I’d like to put one or two questions to you, Mr. Chacewater,” he
+said, ignoring the look on Sir Clinton’s face.
+
+Cecil looked Armadale up and down before replying.
+
+“Well, go on,” he said, shortly.
+
+“First of all, Mr. Chacewater,” the Inspector began, “I want to know
+when you last saw your brother alive.”
+
+Cecil replied without the slightest hesitation:
+
+“On the morning I left Ravensthorpe. We’d had a disagreement and I
+left the house.”
+
+“That was the last time you saw him?”
+
+“No. I see him now.”
+
+The Inspector looked up angrily from his notebook.
+
+“You’re giving the impression of quibbling, Mr. Chacewater.”
+
+“I’m answering your questions, Inspector, to the best of my ability.”
+
+Armadale made a fresh cast.
+
+“Where did you go when you left Ravensthorpe?”
+
+“To London.”
+
+“You’ve been in London, then, until this morning?”
+
+Cecil paused for a moment or two before answering.
+
+“May I ask, Inspector, whether you’re bringing any charge against me?
+If you are, then I believe you ought to caution me. If you aren’t,
+then I don’t propose to answer your questions. Now, what are you going
+to do about it?”
+
+Armadale was hardly prepared for this move.
+
+“I think you’re injudicious, Mr. Chacewater,” he said in a tone which
+he was evidently striving not to make threatening. “I know you didn’t
+arrive by the first train this morning, though you told us you did.
+Your position’s rather an awkward one, if you think about it.”
+
+“You can’t bluff me, Inspector,” Cecil returned. “Make your charge,
+and I’ll know how to answer it. If you won’t make a charge, I don’t
+propose to help you with a fishing inquiry.”
+
+The Inspector glanced at Sir Clinton’s face, and on it he read quite
+plainly the Chief Constable’s disapproval of his proceedings. He
+decided to go no further for the moment. Sir Clinton intervened to
+make the situation less strained.
+
+“Would you mind looking at him, Cecil, and formally identifying him?”
+
+Cecil came forward rather reluctantly, knelt down beside his brother’s
+body, examined the clothes, and finally, removing the handkerchief,
+gazed for a moment or two at the shattered face. The shot had entered
+the right side of the head and had done enough damage to show that it
+had been fired almost in contact with the skin.
+
+Cecil replaced the handkerchief and rose to his feet. For a few
+moments he stood looking down at the body. Then he turned away.
+
+“That’s my brother, undoubtedly.”
+
+Then, as if speaking to himself, he added in a regretful tone:
+
+“Poor old Chuchundra!”
+
+To the Inspector’s amazement Sir Clinton started a little at the word.
+
+“Was that a nickname, Cecil?”
+
+Cecil looked up, and the Inspector could see that he was more than a
+little moved.
+
+“We used to call him that when we were kids.”
+
+Sir Clinton’s next question left the Inspector still further bemused.
+
+“Out of ‘The Jungle Book’ by any chance?”
+
+Cecil seemed to see the drift of the inquiry, for he replied at once:
+
+“Yes. _Rikki-tikki-tavi_, you know.”
+
+“I was almost certain of it,” said Sir Clinton. “I can put a name to
+the trouble, I think. It begins with A.”
+
+Cecil reflected for a moment before replying.
+
+“Yes. You’re right. It does begin with A.”
+
+“That saves a lot of bother,” said Sir Clinton, thankfully. “I was
+just going to fish in a fresh direction to get that bit of
+information. I’m quite satisfied now.”
+
+Cecil seemed to pay little attention to the Chief Constable’s last
+remark. His eyes went round to the shattered thing that had been his
+brother.
+
+“I’d no notion it was as bad as all this,” he said, more to himself
+than to the others. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been so bitter
+about things.”
+
+The sergeant and constables appeared at the edge of the clearing.
+
+“Seen all you want to see, Inspector?” asked Sir Clinton. “Then in
+that case we can leave the body in charge of the sergeant. I see
+they’ve got a stretcher with them. They can take it down to
+Ravensthorpe.”
+
+Armadale rapidly gave the necessary orders to his subordinates.
+
+“Now, Inspector, I think we’ll go over to Ravensthorpe ourselves. I
+want to see that chauffeur again. Something’s occurred to me.”
+
+As the three men walked through the belt of woodland Sir Clinton
+turned to Cecil.
+
+“There’s one point I’d like to have cleared up. Do you know if Maurice
+had any visitors in the last three months or so—people who wanted to
+see the collection?”
+
+Cecil reflected for a time before he could recall the facts.
+
+“Now you mention it, I remember hearing Maurice say something about a
+fellow—a Yankee—who was writing a book on Leonardo. That chap
+certainly came here one day and Maurice showed him the stuff. The
+medallions were what he chiefly wanted to look at, of course.”
+
+“You didn’t see him?”
+
+“No. None of us saw him except Maurice.”
+
+Sir Clinton made no comment; and they walked on in silence till they
+came to the house. Inspector Armadale was by this time completely at
+sea.
+
+“Find that chauffeur, Inspector, please; and bring him along. I’ve got
+one or two points which need clearing up.”
+
+When the chauffeur arrived it was evident that Armadale had not been
+mistaken when he described him as stupid-looking. Information had to
+be dragged out of him by minute questioning.
+
+“Your name’s Brackley, isn’t it?” Sir Clinton began.
+
+“Yes, sir. Joe Brackley.”
+
+“Now, Brackley, don’t be in a hurry with your replies. I want you to
+think carefully. First of all, on the day that Mr. Foss was murdered,
+he ordered you to bring the car round to the front door.”
+
+“Yes, sir. I was to wait for him if he wasn’t there.”
+
+“You pulled up the car here, didn’t you?”
+
+Sir Clinton indicated the position in front of the house.
+
+“Yes, sir. It was there or thereabouts.”
+
+“Then you put up the hood?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What possessed you to do that on a sunny day?”
+
+“One of the fastenings was a bit loose and I wanted to make it right
+before going out.”
+
+“You didn’t think of doing that in the garage?”
+
+“I didn’t notice it, sir, until I’d brought the car round. My eye
+happened to fall on it. And just then I saw Mr. Foss going off into
+the house with some people. He didn’t seem in a hurry, so I thought
+I’d just time to make the repair before he came out.”
+
+“You got on to the running-board to reach the hood, didn’t you?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Which running-board? The one nearest the house?”
+
+“No, sir. The other one.”
+
+“So you could see the front of the house as you were working?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Did you see anything—anything whatever—while you were at work? You
+must have raised your eyes occasionally.”
+
+“I could see the window opposite me.”
+
+“By and by, I think, Marden, the valet, came up and spoke to you?”
+
+“Yes, sir, he did. He’d been going to the post, he said, but there had
+been some mistake or other and he’d come back.”
+
+“He left you and went into the house?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“After that, did you see Marden again—I mean within, say, twenty
+minutes or so?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Where did you see him, if you can remember?”
+
+“Up there, sir, at that window. He was talking to Mr. Foss.”
+
+“When you were up on the running-board, you could just see into the
+room?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What happened after that?”
+
+“I finished the repair; so I came down off the running-board and let
+down the hood again.”
+
+“Anything else you can remember, Brackley?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Very well. That will do. By the way, Inspector,” Sir Clinton turned
+round, preventing the Inspector from making any comments while the
+chauffeur was standing by, “I’d clean forgotten the patrolling of the
+place up yonder. I’ve never found time to go up there; but it’s really
+a bit out of date now. I think we can dispense with the patrol after
+to-night. And the same holds for that guard on the museum. There’s no
+need for either of them.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” Armadale responded, mechanically.
+
+The Inspector was engaged in condemning his own stupidity. Why had he
+not seen the possibilities involved in that repair of the hood? With
+the extra foot of elevation of course the chauffeur could see further
+into the museum than a man standing on the ground. And here was the
+damning evidence that Marden’s story was a lie. And the Inspector had
+missed it. He almost gritted his teeth in vexation as he thought of
+it. The keystone of the case: and the Chief Constable had taken it
+under his nose!
+
+Sir Clinton turned to Cecil as the chauffeur retired.
+
+“I shall be here about one o’clock in the morning, Cecil,” he said,
+lowering his voice. “I want you to be on the watch and let me in
+without any one getting wind of my visit. Can you manage it?”
+
+“Easily enough.”
+
+“Very well. I’ll be at the door at one o’clock sharp. But remember,
+it’s an absolutely hush-hush affair. There must be no noise of any
+sort.”
+
+“I’ll see to that,” Cecil assured him.
+
+Sir Clinton turned to the Inspector.
+
+“Now I think we’ll go across to where we left my car.”
+
+On the way to the police station Sir Clinton’s manner did not
+encourage conversation; but as they got out of the car he turned to
+Armadale.
+
+“Map-drawing’s a bit late in the day now, Inspector; but we may as
+well carry on for the sake of completeness.”
+
+He led the way to his office, took a ruler and protractor from his
+desk, and set to work on a sheet of paper.
+
+“Take this point as the museum,” he said. “This line represents the
+beginning of the tunnel. I took the bearing that time when I lagged
+behind you. At the next turn—this one here—I made a pretence of
+examining the walls and took the bearing as we were standing there. I
+got the third bearing when I asked you to measure the dimensions of
+the tunnel. As it has turned out, secrecy wasn’t really necessary; but
+it seemed just as well to keep the survey to ourselves. I got the
+distances by pacing, except the last bit. There I had to estimate it,
+since we were crawling on all fours; but I think I got it near
+enough.”
+
+“And you carried all the figures in your memory?”
+
+“Yes. I’ve a fairly good memory when I’m put to it.”
+
+“You must have,” said Armadale, frankly.
+
+“Now,” Sir Clinton went on. “By drawing in these lines we get the
+position of that underground room. It’s here, you see. The next thing
+is to find out where it lies, relative to the ground surface. I had a
+fair notion; so when I got to the top of the turret I took the bearing
+of the Knight’s Tower. I’ll just rule it in. You see the two lines cut
+quite near the cell. My notion is that there’s a second entrance into
+that tunnel from that ruined tower. In the old days it may have been a
+secret road into the outpost tower when a siege was going on.”
+
+“I see what you’re getting at now,” Armadale interrupted. “You mean
+that Maurice Chacewater’s body was in the cell and that it was shifted
+from there up the other secret passage—the one we didn’t see—and left
+alongside the tower this morning?”
+
+“Something of that sort.”
+
+“And now we’ve got to find who killed Maurice Chacewater down there,
+underground?”
+
+“There’s nothing in that, Inspector. He killed himself. It’s a fairly
+plain case of suicide.”
+
+“But why did he commit suicide?”
+
+Sir Clinton appeared suddenly smitten with deafness. He ignored the
+Inspector’s last inquiry completely.
+
+“I shall want you to-night, Inspector. Come to my house at about
+half-past twelve. And you had better wear rubber-soled boots or tennis
+shoes if you have them. We’ll go up to Ravensthorpe in my car.”
+
+“You’re going to arrest Marden, sir?”
+
+“No,” was Sir Clinton’s reply, which took the Inspector completely
+aback. “I’m not going to arrest anybody. I’m going to show you what
+Foss was going to do with his otophone; that’s all.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+The Otophone
+
+Punctually at half-past twelve the Inspector arrived at Sir Clinton’s
+house. The Chief Constable’s first glance was at the feet of his
+subordinate.
+
+“Tennis shoes? That’s right. Now, Inspector, I want you to understand
+clearly that silence is absolutely essential when we get to work.
+We’ll need to take a leaf out of the book of the ‘Pirates of
+Penzance’:
+
+    With cat-like tread
+    Upon our prey we steal.
+
+That’s our model, if you please. The car’s outside. We’ll go at once.”
+
+As preparations for an important raid, these remarks seemed to
+Armadale hardly adequate; but as Sir Clinton showed no desire to
+amplify them, the Inspector was left to puzzle over the immediate
+future without assistance. The hint about the otophone had roused his
+curiosity.
+
+“Foss’s hearing was quite normal,” he said to himself, turning the
+evidence over in his mind. “He heard that conversation in the
+winter-garden quite clearly enough. So quite evidently one couldn’t
+call him deaf. And yet he was dragging an otophone about with him. I
+don’t see it.”
+
+The Chief Constable pulled up the car in the avenue at a considerable
+distance from the house.
+
+“Change here for Ravensthorpe,” he explained, opening the door beside
+him. “I can’t take the motor nearer for fear of the engine’s noise
+giving us away.”
+
+He glanced at the illuminated clock on the dashboard.
+
+“We’re in nice time,” he commented. “Come along, Inspector; and the
+less said the better.”
+
+They reached the door of Ravensthorpe exactly at one o’clock. Cecil
+was waiting for them on the threshold.
+
+“Switch off those lights,” Sir Clinton said in a whisper, pointing to
+the hall lights which Cecil had left burning. “We mustn’t give the
+show away if we can help it. Some one might be looking out of a window
+and be tempted to come down and turn them out. You’re supposed to be
+in bed, aren’t you?”
+
+Cecil nodded without speaking, and, crossing the hall, he extinguished
+the lamps. Sir Clinton pulled an electric torch from his pocket.
+
+“There’s a staircase giving access to the servant’s quarters, isn’t
+there?”
+
+Cecil confirmed this, and Sir Clinton turned to the Inspector.
+
+“Which of your men is on duty at the museum door to-night?”
+
+“Froggatt,” the Inspector answered.
+
+“We’ll go along to him,” said Sir Clinton. “I want you, Cecil, to take
+the constable and post him at the bottom of that stair. Here’s the
+flash-lamp.”
+
+Froggatt was surprised to see the party.
+
+“Now, Froggatt,” the Chief Constable directed. “You’re to go with Mr.
+Chacewater. He’ll show you where to stand. All you have to do is to
+stick to your post there until you’re relieved. It’ll only be a matter
+of ten minutes or so. Don’t make the slightest sound unless anything
+goes wrong. Your business is to prevent any one getting down the
+stair. There’ll be no trouble. If you see any one, just shout: ‘Who’s
+there?’ That’ll be quite enough.”
+
+The Inspector and Sir Clinton waited on the threshold of the museum
+until Cecil came back.
+
+“Very convenient having these museum lights on all night,” Sir Clinton
+remarked. “We don’t need to muddle about with the flash-lamp. Now just
+wait here for a moment, and don’t speak a word. I’m going upstairs.”
+
+He ascended to the first floor, entered Foss’s room and picked up the
+otophone, with which he returned to his companions.
+
+“Now we can get to work,” he whispered, leading the way into the
+museum. “Just lock that door behind us, Inspector.”
+
+Followed by the other two he stepped across the museum to the bay
+containing the safe. There he put the otophone on the floor and opened
+the case of the instrument. From one compartment he took an ear-phone
+with its head-band. A moment’s search revealed the position of the
+connection, and he plugged the ear-phone wire into place in sockets
+let into the outside of the attaché case. A little further examination
+revealed a stud beside the leather handle, and this Sir Clinton
+pressed.
+
+“That should start the thing,” he commented.
+
+He lifted the hinged metal plate slightly and peered into the cavity
+which contained the valves.
+
+“That seems all right,” he said, as his eye caught the faint glow of
+the dull emitters.
+
+Shutting down the plate again, the Chief Constable put his finger into
+the compartment from which he had taken the ear-phone, pressed a
+concealed spring, and pulled up the floor of the compartment.
+
+“This is the microphone,” he explained, drawing out a thick ebonite
+disk mounted on the false bottom of the compartment. “It’s attached to
+a longish wire so that you can take it out and put it on a table while
+the case with the valves and batteries lies on the floor out of the
+way. Now we’ll tune up.”
+
+He brought microphone and ear-phone together, when a faint musical
+note made itself heard. Then he handed the microphone to Cecil.
+
+“Hold that tight against the safe door, Cecil. Get the base in contact
+with the metal of the safe and keep the microphone face downwards.
+It’s essential to hold it absolutely steady, for the slightest
+vibration will put me off.”
+
+He fitted on the head-band and moved the two tiny levers of the
+otophone until the adjustment of the instrument seemed to satisfy him.
+Then, very cautiously, he began to work the mechanism of the
+combination lock. For some time he seemed unable to get what he
+wanted; but suddenly he made a slight gesture of triumph.
+
+“It’s an old pattern, as I thought. There’s no balanced fence arbour.
+This is going to be an easy business.”
+
+Easy or not, it took him nearly a quarter of an hour to accomplish his
+task; for at times he obviously went astray in the work.
+
+“Try to keep your feet still,” he said. “Every movement you make is
+magnified up to the noise of a pocket avalanche.”
+
+At last the thing was done. The safe door swung open. Sir Clinton took
+off the head-band, received the microphone from Cecil, and packed it
+away in the case of the otophone along with the ear-phone.
+
+“You’d better jot down the number of the combination, Cecil,” he
+suggested. “It’s on the dial at present.”
+
+While Cecil was busy with this, the Chief Constable switched off the
+otophone and put it in a place of safety.
+
+“Now we’ll see what’s inside the safe,” he said.
+
+He swung the door full open and disclosed a cavity more like a
+strong-room than a safe.
+
+“Have you any idea where the medallions were usually kept?” he
+inquired.
+
+Cecil went over to one of the shelves and searched rapidly.
+
+“Why, there are only two of them here!” he exclaimed in dismay.
+
+“Hush!” Sir Clinton warned him sharply. “Don’t make a row. Have a good
+look at the things.”
+
+Cecil picked up the medallions and scanned them minutely. His face
+showed his amazement as he turned from one to another.
+
+“These are the replicas! Where have the genuine Leonardos gone?”
+
+“Never mind that for the present. Put these things back again. I’m
+going to close the safe. We mustn’t risk talking too much here; and
+the sooner we’re gone the better.”
+
+He picked up the otophone and led the way out of the museum.
+
+“You might bring Froggatt back to his post here,” he said. “We don’t
+need him at the stair any longer. I must go upstairs again for a
+moment with this machine.”
+
+Cecil piloted Froggatt back to his original post just as the Chief
+Constable rejoined them.
+
+“I don’t want to talk here,” Sir Clinton said to Cecil. “Get a coat
+and walk with us down to the car. We’ve done our work for the night.”
+
+The Chief Constable waited until they were well away from the house
+before beginning his explanation.
+
+“That otophone is—as I expect you saw—simply a microphone for picking
+up sound, plus a two-valve amplifier for magnifying it. The sounds
+that reach the microphone are amplified by the valves set to any
+extent, within limits, that you like to set it for. You can make the
+crumpling of a piece of paper sound like a small thunderstorm if you
+choose; and it’s especially sensitive to clicks and sounds of that
+sort. The mere involuntary shifting of your feet on that parquet floor
+made a lot of disturbance.
+
+“Now in the older type of combination locks, if the dial was carefully
+manipulated, a person with sharp hearing might just be able to detect
+a faint click when a tumbler fell into place in the course of a
+circuit; and by making a note of the state of the dial corresponding
+to each click the combination could finally be discovered. In the
+modern patterns of locks this has been got round. They’ve introduced a
+thing called a balanced fence arbour, which is lifted away from the
+tumblers as soon as the lock spindle is revolved; so in this new
+pattern there’s no clicking such as the older locks give.”
+
+“I see now,” said the Inspector. “That’s an old pattern lock; and you
+were using the otophone to magnify the sound of the clicks?”
+
+“Exactly,” Sir Clinton agreed. “It made the thing mere child’s play.
+Each click sounded like a whip-crack, almost.”
+
+“So that’s why Foss brought the otophone along? He meant to pick the
+lock of the safe and get the medallions out of it?”
+
+“That was one possibility, of course,” Sir Clinton said, with a grave
+face. “But I shouldn’t like to say that it was the only possibility.”
+
+He smoked for a few moments in silence, then he turned to Cecil.
+
+“Now I’ve a piece of work for you to do; and I want you to do it
+convincingly. First thing to-morrow morning you’re to find some way of
+spreading the news that you’ve recovered all the genuine medallions
+and that they’re in the safe. Don’t give any details; but see that the
+yarn gets well abroad.”
+
+“But all the real medallions are gone!” said Cecil in disgust. “And
+whoever’s got them must know they’re gone.”
+
+“There’s nothing like a good authoritative lie for shaking
+confidence,” Sir Clinton observed, mildly. “That’s your share in the
+business. You’d better mention it at breakfast time to as many people
+as you can; and you can telephone the glad news to me, with the door
+of the telephone box open so that any one can hear it. Yell as loud as
+you please, or louder if possible. It won’t hurt me at the other end.
+In any case, see that the happy tidings wash the most distant shores.”
+
+“Well, since you say so, I’ll do it. But it’s sure to be found out,
+you know, sooner or later.”
+
+“All I want is a single day’s run of it. My impression is that, if
+things go well, I’ll have the whole Ravensthorpe affair cleared up by
+this time to-morrow. But I don’t promise that as a certainty.”
+
+“And this yarn is part of your scheme?”
+
+“I’m setting a trap,” Sir Clinton assured them. “And that lie is the
+bait I’m offering.”
+
+As they reached the car, he added:
+
+“See that your constable doesn’t say a word about this affair
+to-night—to any one. That’s important, Inspector.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+The Second Chase in the Woods
+
+“I’ve made all the necessary arrangements, sir,” Inspector Armadale
+reported to the Chief Constable on the following evening. “A dozen
+constables—two with rubber-soled shoes—and a couple of sergeants.
+They’re to be at the Ravensthorpe gate immediately it’s dark enough.
+The sergeants have the instructions; the constables don’t even know
+where they’re going when they leave here.”
+
+“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “Let’s see. That’s fourteen
+altogether. Less two, twelve. Plus you and myself, fourteen. I think
+we’ll add to our number. Nothing like being on the safe side. Mr.
+Chacewater’s personally interested in the affair; I think we’ll take
+him in also. And Mr. Clifton might reasonably claim some share in the
+business. That makes sixteen. You’re detaching two constables to watch
+that lakelet. Well, surely fourteen of us ought to be able to pick up
+the scoundrel without difficulty.”
+
+“You’re sure that he’ll make for the terrace over the pool, sir?”
+
+“Nothing’s sure in this world, Inspector. But I think there’s a fair
+chance that he’ll make in that direction. And if he doesn’t, why,
+then, we can run him down wherever he goes.”
+
+“If he goes up there, we’ll have him,” the Inspector affirmed.
+“There’ll be no amateur bungling this time, like the last affair. I’ll
+see to that myself. He won’t slip through a constabulary cordon as he
+did when he’d only a lot of excited youngsters to deal with.”
+
+“I leave that part of the business entirely in your hands, Inspector,”
+the Chief Constable assured him.
+
+“What I can’t see,” the Inspector continued, with a faint
+querulousness in his tone, “is why you’re going about the thing in
+this elaborate way. Why not arrest him straight off and be done with
+it?”
+
+“Because there’s one little party you’ve omitted to take into your
+calculations, Inspector—and that’s the jury. Suspicion’s not good
+enough for us at this stage. Criminal trials aren’t conducted on
+romantic lines. Everything’s got to be proved up to the hilt. Frankly,
+in this case, you’ve been scattering your suspicions over a fairly
+wide field, haven’t you?”
+
+“It’s our business to be suspicious of everybody,” the Inspector
+pleaded in extenuation.
+
+“Oh, within limits, within limits, Inspector. You started by
+suspecting Foxton Polegate; then you branched off to Marden; after
+that you hovered a bit round Maurice Chacewater; and at the end you
+were hot on Cecil Chacewater’s heels. There’s too much of the smart
+reader of detective stories about that. He suspects about six of the
+characters without having any real proof at all; and then when the
+criminal turns up clearly in the last chapter he says: ‘Well, that
+fellow was on my list of suspects.’ That style of thing’s no use in
+real criminal work, where you’ve got to produce evidence and not
+merely some vague suspicions.”
+
+“You’re a bit hard, sir,” the Inspector protested.
+
+“Well, you criticized my methods, remember. If I were to arrest the
+fellow just now, I doubt if I could convince a jury of his guilt. And
+they’d be quite right. It’s their business to be sceptical and insist
+on definite proof. It’s that proof that I expect to get out of
+to-night’s work.”
+
+“It will be very instructive for me, sir,” Inspector Armadale
+commented, with heavy irony.
+
+“You take things too seriously,” Sir Clinton retorted, with an evident
+double meaning in the phrase. “What you need, Inspector, is a touch of
+fantasy. You’ll get a taste of it to-night, perhaps, unless my
+calculations go far astray. Now I’m going to ring up Mr. Chacewater
+and make arrangements for to-night.”
+
+And with that he dismissed the Inspector.
+
+Armadale retired with a grave face; but when he closed the door behind
+him his expression changed considerably.
+
+“There he was, pulling my leg again, confound him!” he reflected. “A
+touch of fantasy, indeed! What’s he getting at now? And the worst of
+it is I haven’t got to the bottom of the business yet myself. He’s
+been quite straight in giving me all the facts. I’m sure of that. But
+they seem to me just a jumble. They don’t fit together anyhow. And yet
+he’s not the bluffing kind; he’s got it all fixed up in his mind; I’m
+sure of that, whether he’s right or wrong. Well, we’ll see before many
+hours are over.”
+
+And with reflections like these Inspector Armadale had to content
+himself until nightfall.
+
+As they drove up to the Ravensthorpe gates the Inspector found Sir
+Clinton in one of his uncommunicative moods. He seemed abstracted, and
+even, as the Inspector noted with faint malice, a little anxious about
+the business before them. When they reached the gates they found the
+constabulary squad awaiting them. Sir Clinton got out of the car,
+after running it a little way up the avenue.
+
+“Now, the first thing you’ve got to remember,” he said, addressing the
+squad, “is that in no circumstances are you to make the slightest
+noise until you hear my second whistle. You know what you’re to do?
+Get up behind the house at the end opposite to the servants’ wing and
+stay there till you get my signal. Then you’re to come out and chase
+the man whom the Inspector will show you. You’re not to try to catch
+him. Keep a hundred yards behind him all the time; but don’t lose
+sight of him. The Inspector will give you instructions after you’ve
+chased for a while. Now which of you are the two with tennis shoes?”
+
+Two constables stepped out of the ranks. Sir Clinton took them aside
+and gave them some special instructions.
+
+“Now, you’d better get to your places,” he said, turning to the squad
+again. “Remember, not a sound. I’m afraid you’ll have a long wait, but
+we must take things as they come.”
+
+As the squad was led off into the night, he moved over to where the
+Inspector was standing.
+
+“I want something out of the car,” he said. The Inspector followed him
+and waited while Sir Clinton switched off the headlights and the tail
+lamp. The Chief Constable felt in a locker and handed something to
+Armadale.
+
+“A pair of night-glasses, Inspector. You’ll need them. And that’s the
+lot. We’d better get to our position. There’s no saying when the
+fellow may begin his work.”
+
+Rather to the mystification of the Inspector, Sir Clinton struck
+across the grass instead of following the avenue up to the house.
+After a fairly long walk they halted under a large tree.
+
+“A touch of fantasy was what I recommended to you, Inspector. I think
+a little tree-climbing is indicated. Sling these glasses round your
+neck as I’m doing and follow on.”
+
+“Quite mad!” was the Inspector’s involuntary comment to himself. “I
+suppose, once we get up there, he’ll come down again and tell me I
+needed exercise.”
+
+He followed the Chief Constable, however; and was at last directed to
+a branch on which he could find a safe seat.
+
+“Think I’m demented, Inspector?” Sir Clinton demanded with the
+accuracy of a thought-reader. “It’s not quite so bad as that, you’ll
+be glad to hear. Turn your glasses through that rift in the leaves. I
+was at special pains to cut it yesterday evening, in preparation for
+you. What do you see?”
+
+The Inspector focused his glasses and scanned the scene visible
+through the fissure in the foliage.
+
+“The front of Ravensthorpe,” he answered.
+
+“Some windows?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, one of them’s the window of the museum; and this happens to be
+one of the few points from which you can see right into the room. If
+the lights were on there, you’d find that we’re looking squarely on to
+the door of the safe.”
+
+With this help the Inspector was able to pick out the window which
+evidently he was expected to watch.
+
+“It’ll be a slow business,” Sir Clinton said in a bored tone. “But one
+of us has got to keep an eye on that window for the next hour or two
+at least. We can take it in turn.”
+
+They settled down to their vigil, which proved to be a prolonged one.
+The Inspector found his perch upon the branch anything but
+comfortable; and it grew more wearisome as the time slipped past.
+
+“Fantasy!” he commented bitterly to himself as he shifted his position
+for the twentieth time. “Cramp’s more likely.”
+
+But at last their tenacity was rewarded. It was during one of the
+Inspector’s spells of watching. Suddenly the dark rectangle of the
+window flashed into momentary illumination and faded again.
+
+“There he is!” exclaimed the Inspector. “He’s carrying a flash-lamp.”
+
+Sir Clinton lifted his glasses and examined the place in his turn.
+
+“I can see him moving about in the room,” the Inspector reported
+excitedly. “Now he’s going over towards the safe. Can you see him,
+sir?”
+
+“Fairly well. What do you make of him?”
+
+The Inspector studied his quarry intently for a while.
+
+“That’s the otophone, isn’t it, sir? I can’t see his face; it seems as
+if he’d blackened it. . . . No, he’s wearing a big mask. It looks
+like . . .”
+
+His voice rose sharply.
+
+“It’s Marden! I recognize that water-proof of his; I could swear to it
+anywhere.”
+
+“That’s quite correct, Inspector. Now I think we’ll get down from this
+tree as quick as we can and I’ll blow my whistle. That ought to
+startle him. And I’ve arranged for that to be the signal for a
+considerable amount of noise in the house, which ought to give the
+effect we want.”
+
+He slipped lightly down the branches, waited for the slower-moving
+Inspector, and then blew a single shrill blast on his whistle.
+
+“That’s roused them,” he said, with satisfaction, as some lights
+flashed up in windows on the front of Ravensthorpe. “I guess that
+amount of stir about the place will flush our friend without any
+trouble.”
+
+He gazed through his glasses at the main door.
+
+“There he goes, Inspector!”
+
+A dark figure emerged suddenly on the threshold, hesitated for a
+moment, and then ran down the steps. Armadale instinctively started
+forward; but the cool voice of the Chief Constable recalled him.
+
+“There’s no hurry, Inspector! You’d better hang your glasses on the
+tree here. They’ll only hamper you in running.”
+
+Hurriedly the Inspector obeyed; and Sir Clinton leisurely hung up his
+own pair. Armadale turned again and followed the burglar with his
+eyes.
+
+“He’s making for the old quarry, sir.”
+
+“So I see,” Sir Clinton assured him. “I want the fellow to have a good
+start, remember. I don’t wish him to be pressed. Now we may as well
+get the chase organized.”
+
+Followed by the Inspector, he hurried towards the front of
+Ravensthorpe.
+
+“I think that’s a fair start to give him,” he estimated aloud. Then,
+lifting his whistle, he blew a second blast.
+
+Almost immediately the figures of Cecil Chacewater and Michael Clifton
+emerged from the main door, while a few seconds later the police squad
+rounded the corner of the house.
+
+“Carry on, Inspector!” Sir Clinton advised. “I leave the rest of the
+round-up to you. But keep exactly to what I told you.”
+
+Armadale hurried off, and within a few seconds the chase had been set
+afoot.
+
+“We must see if we can wipe your eye this time, Mr. Clifton,” the
+Chief Constable observed. “It’s a run over the old ground, you
+notice.”
+
+Michael Clifton nodded in answer.
+
+“If you’d let me run him down I’d be obliged to you,” he suggested.
+“You’ve given him a longish start, certainly; but I think I could pull
+him in.”
+
+Sir Clinton made a gesture of dissent.
+
+“Oh, no. We must give him a run for his money. Besides, it wouldn’t
+suit my book to have him run down too early in the game.”
+
+The fugitive had reached the edge of the pine-wood as they were
+speaking, and now he disappeared from their sight among the arcades of
+the trees.
+
+“The moon will be down in no time,” Cecil pointed out as they ran.
+“Aren’t you taking the risk of losing him up in the woods there? It’ll
+be pretty dark under the trees.”
+
+He quickened his pace slightly in his eagerness; but the Chief
+Constable restrained him.
+
+“Leave it to Armadale. It’s his affair. We’re only spectators,
+really.”
+
+“I want the beggar caught,” Cecil grumbled, but he obeyed Sir
+Clinton’s orders and slowed down slightly.
+
+A few seconds brought them to the fringe of the wood; and far ahead of
+them they could see the form of the burglar running steadily up the
+track.
+
+“Just the same as before?” Sir Clinton demanded from Michael.
+
+“Just the same.”
+
+Through the wood they went behind the police squad. At the brow of the
+hill, where the trees began to thin, Armadale called a halt. They
+could hear him giving orders for the formation of his cordon. When his
+men began to move off under his directions the Inspector came over to
+Sir Clinton.
+
+“He’ll not slip through our hands this time, sir. I’ll beat every bit
+of cover in that spinney. He can’t get away on either side without
+being spotted. We’ll get our hands on him in a few minutes now. I
+suppose he’s armed?”
+
+Sir Clinton shook his head.
+
+“I should doubt that.”
+
+The Inspector failed to conceal his surprise.
+
+“Not armed? He’s sure to be.”
+
+“We’ll see in a minute or two,” the Chief Constable answered. “You’d
+better get your beaters to work, hadn’t you? . . . Ah!”
+
+In the silence they heard the sound of a faint splash from the
+direction of the quarry.
+
+“History’s repeating itself pretty accurately, isn’t it?” said Sir
+Clinton, turning to Michael. “That’s the kind of thing you heard the
+other night?”
+
+“Just the same,” Michael admitted.
+
+But as the line of constables moved forward he could not help
+contrasting their methodical work with the rather haphazard doings of
+the pursuers on the earlier occasion. Armadale had evidently issued
+stringent orders, for not a tuft of undergrowth was left unexamined as
+the line slowly closed in upon the hunted man. Every possible piece of
+cover was scrutinized and beaten before the cordon passed beyond it.
+
+“Very pretty,” Sir Clinton commented, as they moved up in the rear of
+the line. “The Inspector must surely have been training these fellows.
+They really do the business excellently.”
+
+Michael suddenly left the path they were following and stepped across
+under the trees.
+
+“I’m going to have a look at that Fairy House myself,” he declared.
+“That’s where I found Maurice after the last show. I want to be
+perfectly certain that it’s empty.”
+
+He opened the door, leaned inside the building, and then came back to
+his companions. Something like disappointment was visible in his
+expression. He was taken aback to see glances of sardonic amusement
+exchanged between Cecil and the Chief Constable.
+
+“Drawn blank, have you?” Cecil inquired.
+
+“There’s no one there at present,” Michael admitted.
+
+“I don’t think the constables would have missed a plain thing like
+that,” Sir Clinton remarked mildly, though with a faint undertone of
+correction in his voice.
+
+Before Michael had time to reply they heard Armadale’s voice. The
+cordon had passed completely through the spinney and was now on the
+edge of the marble terrace.
+
+“Come along,” Sir Clinton urged. “We mustn’t miss the final scene.”
+
+They hurriedly joined the line just as Armadale ordered a last
+advance.
+
+“He’s somewhere on this terrace,” he told his men. “See that he
+doesn’t break away from you at the last moment.”
+
+Sir Clinton turned to Michael.
+
+“Just the same as before?”
+
+Michael made a gesture of assent.
+
+“I’ll admit that this is more businesslike.”
+
+The Constabulary line crept forward almost foot by foot, subjecting
+every one of the marble seats to the most rigid scrutiny. Inspector
+Armadale’s anxiety was more and more apparent as the cordon advanced
+without securing the man for whom they were searching. At last the
+whole of the possible cover had been beaten, and the constables
+emerged on the open terrace. The fugitive had vanished, apparently,
+into thin air.
+
+Michael Clifton turned to the Chief Constable with an ironical smile.
+
+“_Just_ the same as last time, it seems. How history repeats itself!”
+
+The Inspector hurried across the terrace to where they were standing.
+It was obvious that he was completely staggered by the turn of events.
+
+“He’s got away, sir,” he reported in a mortified voice. “I can’t think
+how he’s managed it.”
+
+“I think we’ll repeat that last stage again, Inspector, if you don’t
+mind. Withdraw your men till they’re just in front of that last line
+of seats.”
+
+While the Inspector was giving his orders Sir Clinton pulled his case
+from his pocket, opened it, and thoughtfully tapped a cigarette on the
+lid. Before lighting it he threw a glance up and down the empty spaces
+of the terrace from which the fugitive had so mysteriously vanished.
+
+“All plain and above board, isn’t it?” he said, turning to his two
+companions. “I’ve got nothing in my hands except a cigarette, and you
+can search my sleeves if you like. It is required, as Euclid would
+say, to produce a full-sized burglar for the satisfaction of the
+audience. It’s a stiff job.”
+
+He glanced again over the wide white pavement of the terrace.
+
+“A conjurer’s usually allowed a little patter, isn’t he? The quickness
+of the tongue distracts the eye, and all that. Just a question, then.
+Do you happen to remember what Medusa was able to do? Turned things
+into stone when she looked at them, didn’t she? That somehow brings
+the late Pygmalion to my mind—a kind of association of opposites, in a
+way, I suppose. But I’ve often wondered what Pygmalion felt like when
+the statue came to life.”
+
+He turned sharply on his heel.
+
+“You can come down off that pedestal, my friend. The game’s up!”
+
+To the amazement of the group around him, the white marble statue
+above him started suddenly into life. It leapt down from its base on
+to the pavement of the terrace, staggered as it alighted, and then, as
+Cecil and Michael grasped at its smooth sides, it shook itself clear
+and sprang upon the broad marble balustrade.
+
+“Come back, you fool!” Sir Clinton snapped, as the figure faced
+outward to the gulf below.
+
+But instead of halting, the white form gathered itself together for an
+instant and then dived headlong into the abyss. There was the sound of
+a splash; and an appalling cry came up through the night.
+
+Sir Clinton dashed to the rail.
+
+“Below, there! Get out on that raft at once and pick him up. He’s
+badly hurt. He’ll drown if you don’t hurry.”
+
+The Inspector hurried forward.
+
+“Why didn’t you warn us, sir? We’d have had Marden as easy as
+anything. If you’d only told us what to expect.”
+
+Sir Clinton looked round.
+
+“Marden? That’s not Marden. I tell you, Inspector, if that jump of his
+meant anything, it suggests that there’s no Marden at all.”
+
+The Inspector’s amazement overbore his chagrin.
+
+“I don’t understand . . .” he began.
+
+“Never mind. I’ll explain later. Get away down to the water-side at
+once. See if he’s badly damaged. Quick, now.”
+
+As the Inspector hurried off, the Chief Constable turned to Michael
+Clifton.
+
+“History doesn’t always repeat itself exactly, you see.”
+
+He pulled out a match-box and lit his cigarette in a leisurely
+fashion. Then, throwing away the vesta, he inquired:
+
+“You see now how he got away from you last time?”
+
+Michael made no reply. He was examining the pedestal from which the
+living statue had taken its flight; and he could see the scores and
+cuts left by the chisel which had smoothed the standing-place of the
+original marble figure. Quite obviously, on the night of the masked
+ball, the same trick had been played; and while the pursuers were
+searching all around, the fugitive had stood rigid above them,
+unsuspected by any one.
+
+Cecil turned to the Chief Constable.
+
+“Aren’t you going down to see if something can’t be done for the poor
+devil? He must have come a fearful smash on the rocks.”
+
+“Poor devil?” Sir Clinton retorted. “That’s not a poor devil. That’s a
+wild beast, if you’re anxious for information. But if you’re a member
+of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I suppose
+we’d better see that things are done decently and in order. We’ll go
+down, if you’re perturbed about him.”
+
+It took them some little time to descend to the level of the lakelet.
+They could see, as they went down, the process of rescue; and when
+they reached the water-side, they found two constables stooping over a
+limp white figure, beside which the Inspector knelt solicitously. As
+the newcomers approached, Armadale rose and stepped over to them.
+
+“He’s done for, sir,” he reported in a low voice to Sir Clinton. “His
+pelvis is smashed and I think his spine must have gone as well. He’s
+paralysed below the waist. I doubt if he’ll last long. It was a
+fearful smash.”
+
+Cecil crossed over and peered down at the face of the dying man. For a
+moment he failed to recognize him; for the white grease-paint
+disguised the natural appearance of the features: but a closer
+scrutiny revealed the identity of the living statue.
+
+“Why, it’s the chauffeur!”
+
+“Of course,” was all that Sir Clinton thought it worth while to say.
+
+Armadale brought something up from the water-side.
+
+“Here’s the waterproof he was wearing, sir. It’s Marden’s, just as I
+told you when I saw him in the museum to-night. When he flung it over
+the edge of the cliff as we were coming up, it landed on a broad bit
+of rock instead of sinking like the Pierrot costume, the other night.”
+
+Sir Clinton was silent for a moment. His glance wandered to the
+broken, white-clad figure on the ground, but no pity showed on his
+face. Then he turned back to Armadale.
+
+“See if you can get a confession out of him, Inspector. He won’t live
+long at the best; and he might as well tell what he can. We can’t hang
+him now, unfortunately; and he may as well save us some trouble in
+piecing things together. For one thing, he’s got a bag or a suit-case
+lying around somewhere in the neighbourhood with a suit of clothes in
+it. You’d better find out where that is, and save us the bother of
+hunting for it. If you manage to get anything out of him, take it down
+and get it witnessed. Bring it down to Ravensthorpe at once.”
+
+He paused, then added as if by an after-thought:
+
+“You’d better search these tights that he’s wearing. There ought to be
+five of the medallions concealed about him somewhere. Get them for
+me.”
+
+He turned to Cecil and Michael.
+
+“We’ll go back now to Ravensthorpe. Unless I’m far astray in my
+deductions, there’s been another murder there; and we must keep the
+girls from hearing about it, if we can.”
+
+As they walked through the pine-wood, Sir Clinton maintained a
+complete taciturnity, and neither of the others cared to break in on
+his silence. His last words had shown that ahead of them might lie yet
+another of the Ravensthorpe tragedies, and the shadow of it lay across
+their minds. It was not until they were approaching the house that the
+Chief Constable spoke again.
+
+“You’ve spun that yarn I gave you to the girls?”
+
+“They know there was some stunt afoot,” said Cecil, “but they were to
+keep out of the way, in their rooms, until we were clear of the
+house.”
+
+“One had to tell them something,” Sir Clinton answered. “If one
+hadn’t, they’d have been pretty uncomfortable when all that racket
+started. You managed to scare him out very neatly with the row you
+raised when I blew my whistle.”
+
+“The girls are sitting up, waiting for us,” Cecil explained. “They
+said they’d have coffee ready when we came back.”
+
+“The deuce they did!”
+
+Sir Clinton was obviously put out.
+
+“I’d been counting on their going back to bed again. Then we could
+have got Marden’s body away quietly—if he’s been murdered, as I think
+he has. There’s no use upsetting people if you can avoid it.
+Ravensthorpe’s had its fill of sensations lately and there’s no need
+to add another to-night.”
+
+He reflected as he walked on, and at last he seemed to hit on an
+expedient to suit the circumstances.
+
+“The bottom’s out of this case now,” he said, at last. “There’ll be no
+trial; so there’s no need for any more secrecy, so far as I can see.
+I’ll be giving nothing away that I shouldn’t, at this stage of the
+game.”
+
+He threw away the end of his cigarette and looked up at the bulk of
+Ravensthorpe before them. Here and there on the dark front the yellow
+oblong of a window shone out in the night.
+
+“Suppose I spin them a yarn,” Sir Clinton went on. “I can keep them up
+until dawn with it. After that, they’ll sleep sound enough; and while
+they’re asleep, we’ll get Marden’s body away in peace and comfort.
+It’ll spare them the shock of finding another corpse on the premises;
+and that’s always something gained.”
+
+When they reached Ravensthorpe, Sir Clinton turned to Cecil.
+
+“You’d better go and close the safe in the museum. No use leaving
+things like that open any longer than’s necessary. I must go up to
+Marden’s room now. I’ll be back again in a minute or two.”
+
+Ascending the servants’ staircase, Sir Clinton made his way to the
+valet’s room. The door was locked; but when Sir Clinton tapped gently,
+a constable opened it and looked out. At the sight of the Chief
+Constable, he stood aside.
+
+“He’s been murdered, sir,” the man explained in a whisper.
+
+“I guessed it might be that,” Sir Clinton returned.
+
+“Whoever did it must have chloroformed him first,” the constable went
+on. “There was a pad of cotton-wool over his face; and his throat’s
+cut.”
+
+The Chief Constable nodded in comprehension.
+
+“That would prevent any sounds,” he said. “Brackley was a first-class
+planner, there’s no doubt.”
+
+The constable continued his explanation.
+
+“We came up here as you told us, sir; and when we heard your whistle
+we slipped into the room, expecting to arrest him according to your
+orders. But he was dead by that time. It was quite clear that he’d
+been murdered only a short time before. Your orders didn’t cover the
+case, so we thought the best thing to do was to lock the door and wait
+till you came back. You’d said we were to keep him here till your
+return, anyhow; so that seemed to be the best course.”
+
+“Quite correct,” Sir Clinton commended them. “You couldn’t have done
+better. Now you’ll need to wait here till morning. Keep the door
+locked, and don’t let any word of this affair get abroad. I’ll see
+about removing the body in due course. Until then, I don’t want any
+alarm on the subject.”
+
+He stepped across the room, examined the body on the bed, and then,
+with a nod to the constables, he went downstairs once more.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+Sir Clinton’s Solution
+
+“It’s a pleasure to meet Sir Clinton again,” Joan observed when they
+had finished their coffee. “For the last ten days or so, I’ve been
+dealing with a man they call the Chief Constable. I don’t much care
+for him. These beetle-browed officials are not my sort. Too stiff and
+overbearing for me, altogether.”
+
+Sir Clinton laughed at the hit.
+
+“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve invited one of your aversions to join us. In
+fact, I think I hear him at the door now.”
+
+“Inspector Armadale?” Joan demanded. “Well, I’ve nothing against him.
+You never let him get a word in edgeways at our interviews. Grasping,
+I call it.”
+
+The door opened and the Inspector was ushered in. As he entered, a
+glance passed between him and Sir Clinton. In reply, Armadale made a
+furtive gesture which escaped the rest of the company.
+
+“Passed in his checks,” Sir Clinton interpreted it to himself. “That
+clears the road.”
+
+Joan poured out coffee for the Inspector and then turned to the Chief
+Constable.
+
+“Cecil promised that you’d tell us all about everything. Don’t linger
+over it. We’re all in quite good listening form and we look to you not
+to be boring. Proceed.”
+
+Sir Clinton refused to be disconcerted.
+
+“Inspector Armadale’s the last authority on the subject,” he remarked.
+“He’s got the confession of the master mind in his pocket. I haven’t
+seen it yet. Suppose I give you my account of things, and the
+Inspector will check it for us where necessary? That seems a fair
+division of labour.”
+
+“Very fair,” Una Rainhill put in. “Now, Joan, be quiet and let’s get
+on with the tale.”
+
+“Before the curtain goes up,” Sir Clinton suggested, “you’d better
+read your programmes. First of all you find the name of Thomas
+Pailton, _alias_ Cocoa Tom, _alias_, J. B. Foss, _alias_ The Wizard of
+Woz: a retired conjurer, gaolbird, confidence-trick sharp, etc. As I
+read his psychology, he was rather a weak character and not over
+straight even in dealing with his equals. In the present play, he was
+acting under the orders of a gentleman of much tougher fibre.
+
+“The next name on the programme is Thomas Marden. The police have no
+records of his early doings, but I suspect that Mr. Marden had cause
+to bless his luck in this respect, rather than his honesty. I’m sure
+he wasn’t a prentice hand. As to his character, I believe he was
+rather a violent person when roused, and he had a deplorable lack of
+control over a rather bad temper.
+
+“The third name is . . . ?”
+
+“Stephen Racks,” the Inspector supplied in answer to Sir Clinton’s
+glance of inquiry.
+
+“_Alias_ Joe Brackley,” Sir Clinton continued. “I think we’ll call him
+Brackley, since that was the name you knew him by, if you knew him at
+all. He was nominally Foss’s chauffeur. Actually, I think, he was the
+brain of the gang and did the planning for them.”
+
+“That’s correct,” the Inspector interpolated.
+
+“Mr. Brackley, I think, was the most deliberately unscrupulous of them
+all,” Sir Clinton continued. “A really dangerous person who would
+stick at nothing to get what he wanted or to cover his tracks.
+
+“Then, last of all, there’s a Mr. Blank, whose name I do not know, but
+who at present is under arrest in America for forging the name of Mr.
+Kessock the millionaire. He was employed by Mr. Kessock in some
+capacity or other which gave him access to Mr. Kessock’s
+correspondence. I’ve no details on that point as yet.”
+
+“This is the kind of stuff I always skip when I’m reading a detective
+story,” complained Joan. “Can’t you get along to something interesting
+soon?”
+
+“You’re like the Bellman in the ‘Hunting of the Snark,’ Joan. ‘Oh,
+skip your dear uncle!’ Well, I skip, as you desire it. I’ll merely
+mention in passing that an American tourist came here a while ago and
+asked to see the Leonardo medallions, because he was writing a book on
+Leonardo. He, I believe, was Mr. Blank from America; and his job was
+to see the safe in the museum and note its pattern.
+
+“I must skip again; and now we reach the night of the robbery in the
+museum. You know what happened then. Mr. Foss came to me with his tale
+about overhearing some of you planning a practical joke. His story was
+true enough, I’ve no doubt; but it set me thinking at once. I may not
+have shown it, Joan, but I quite agreed with you about his methods. It
+seemed a funny business to come straight to the police over a thing of
+that sort. Of course he had his reason ready; but it didn’t ring quite
+true, somehow. I might have put it down to tactlessness, if it hadn’t
+suggested something else to my mind.
+
+“That pistol-shot which smashed the lamp was too neatly timed for my
+taste. It was fired by some one who knew precisely when the keeper was
+going to be gripped, and it was fired just in time to get ahead of
+Foxton Polegate in the raid on the show-case. That meant, if it meant
+anything, that the man who fired the shot was a person who knew of the
+practical joke. But on the face of it, Foss was the only person who
+knew about the joke, bar the jokers themselves. So naturally I began
+to suspect Foss of having a hand in the business. It was the usual
+mistake of the criminal—trying to be too clever and throw suspicion on
+to some one else.
+
+“Now Foss wasn’t the man in white, obviously; for he came to see me
+while the man-hunt was still in full cry. So at that stage in the
+business I was fairly certain that at least two people were in the
+game: Foss and some one else, who was the man in white. That looked
+like either the valet or the chauffeur, since they were the only
+people I knew about who were directly associated with Foss while he
+was here. But this incognito business at the masked ball had made it
+possible for outsiders to come in unrecognized; so the man in white
+might be a confederate quite outside our range of knowledge. One
+couldn’t assume that either Marden or Brackley was in the show at all.
+
+“I learned, later on, that Foss had synchronized his watch with yours,
+Cecil; and that, of course, made it pretty plain that he was in the
+game. There was also another bit of evidence which suggested
+something. If either the valet or the chauffeur was the confederate,
+then they could easily enough have found out from the servants what
+costume Maurice meant to wear that night—a few questions to his valet
+would have got the information—and they could have chosen the Pierrot
+costume for their own runner in order to confuse things. That
+suggested that Foss’s servants might be in the business; but it proved
+nothing really. The white Pierrot costume was chosen mainly for its
+conspicuousness, I’m sure.
+
+“Now I come to the disappearance of the man in white.”
+
+“Thank goodness!” Joan commented. “It gets more interesting as it goes
+on, doesn’t it? That’s something to be thankful for.”
+
+“One does one’s best,” Sir Clinton retorted, unperturbed. “Now the
+vanishing of that fellow could be accounted for in various ways, so
+far as I could see. First of all, he might have slipped down the rope
+into the little lake. That was what the rope was meant to suggest,
+obviously. But unfortunately one of the hunters had the wit to keep an
+eye on the lake; and it was pretty clear the man in white didn’t go
+that way. Then there was the possibility of his being concealed in the
+cave; but that was ruled out by the search of the cave. Thirdly, the
+gang might have hit on the opening of one of the secret passages of
+Ravensthorpe. Candidly, I ruled that out also. It seemed next door to
+impossible. But if you exclude all these ways, then there seem to be
+only two possibilities left. The first of these depends on the man in
+white having a confederate in the cordon who let him slip through. But
+the chance of a slip-through of that sort escaping the notice of the
+rest of the hunters seemed very small. It seemed to me too risky a
+business for them to have tried.
+
+“The final possibility was that the fugitive disguised himself as
+something else. Well, what disguise would be the best? It’s a question
+of camouflage, and they had only a few seconds to do the camouflaging.
+You can’t dress up as a drain-pipe or a garden-seat in a couple of
+seconds. So we come down to something that’s human in shape but isn’t
+really human. In a garden, you might pretend to be a scarecrow; but up
+on that terrace a scarecrow was out of the question. And then I
+remembered the statues.
+
+“Suppose somebody had gone up there in the evening and had chiselled
+one of the statues off its base. The broken marble could be heaved
+over into the little lake and the bare pedestal would be left for the
+fugitive.”
+
+“I ought to have thought of that,” Michael interjected. “It’s so
+obvious when you think of it. But I didn’t think of anything like that
+at the time.”
+
+“My impression then,” Sir Clinton continued, “was that the man in
+white had white tights on under his Pierrot dress. His face and hands
+were whitened, also; so that as soon as he stripped off his jacket and
+trousers, he was sufficiently statuelike to pass muster in that light.
+His eyes would have given him away in daylight; but under the moon
+he’d only got to shut them and you’d hardly notice his whitened
+eyelashes. In the few moments that you left him, while the cordon was
+being formed, he took off his Pierrot things, wrapped them round the
+weight he’d used in breaking the case’s glass, and pitched the lot
+over the balustrade. That would account for the splash that was
+heard.”
+
+Sir Clinton paused to light a cigarette.
+
+“That theory seemed to fit most of the evidence, as you see. It
+explained why they’d chosen that particular place for the disappearing
+trick; and it accounted for the splash as well. Further, it suggested
+that there was a third man in the gang: the man who smashed down the
+real statue. They’d leave that bit of work to the last moment for fear
+of the damage being seen accidentally beforehand. Now Foss was at the
+masked ball, so it wasn’t he. The man in white might need all his
+powers in that race, so it was unlikely that he’d been up there on a
+heavy bit of manual labour just then, for the shifting of that statue,
+even in pieces, can have been no light affair. That suggested the use
+of a third confederate. But I’m no wild enthusiast for theories. I
+simply noted the coincidence that this theory demanded three men and
+that Foss’s party contained three men: himself, the valet, and the
+chauffeur.
+
+“Now, for reasons which I’ll give you immediately, it seemed likely
+that this affair was only a first step in a more complicated plan. On
+the spur of the moment, I decided it was worth while taking a hand. So
+I got a patrol set round the spinney and issued orders that no one was
+to go up to the terrace until I’d been over the ground. I took good
+care that every one knew about this; and I took equally good care not
+to go there myself. I rather advertised the thing, in fact. That was
+to assure the fellows that no one had seen the empty pedestal. They
+were pretty certain to rout about for information; and they’d hear on
+all sides that no one had been up to the terrace. That left the thing
+open for them to try again if they wanted to.
+
+“Another thing confirmed my notions. When the Inspector was dragging
+the lake, he got a largish piece of marble out of it. That fitted in
+with the view that the broken statue was down in the water in
+fragments, hidden by the weeds. It all fitted fairly well, you see.
+
+“Then came another bit of evidence—two bits, in fact. The village
+drunkard put abroad some yarn about seeing a White Man in the woods;
+and a little girl saw a Black Man. That might have been mere fancy. Or
+it might have been true enough. When the hunters had gone, the
+pseudo-statue would come down off his pedestal. Suppose he wandered
+off into the wood and was seen by old Groby. There’s your White Man.
+But he couldn’t possibly get back to the house in white tights. He’d
+want to get in as quietly as possible. What about a set of black
+tights under the white ones? When he took off the white ones, he’d be
+next door to invisible among shadows; and he’d be able to sneak in
+through a window in the servants’ wing—in the shadow of the
+house—fairly inconspicuously. Perhaps that’s how it happened.”
+
+“That was it,” the Inspector confirmed, looking up from a sheet of
+paper which he was consulting from time to time.
+
+Sir Clinton acknowledged the confirmation but refused to lay much
+stress on the point.
+
+“I thought it possible,” he said, “but it was merely a guess. In
+itself the evidence wasn’t worth anything; but it fitted well enough
+into the hypothesis I’d made.”
+
+He turned to the Inspector.
+
+“Did you get the five medallions as I expected?”
+
+Armadale put his hand into his pocket and withdrew the five discs of
+gold, which he handed over to the Chief Constable. Sir Clinton took
+the sixth medallion from his own pocket and laid the whole set on the
+table beside him.
+
+“They say,” he went on, “that the more _outré_ a crime is, the easier
+it is to find a solution for it. I shouldn’t like to assert that in
+every case. But there’s no harm in paying especial attention to the
+bizarre points in an affair. If you cast your minds back to the case
+as it presented itself to us on the night of the masked ball, you’ll
+recall one point which undoubtedly seemed out of the common.”
+
+He glanced round the circle of listeners, but no one ventured to
+interrupt.
+
+“Here was a gang of thieves bent on stealing something. One of
+them—Foss—knew that in the show-case there were three medallions and
+three replicas. The medallions were of enormous value; the replicas
+were worth next to nothing. Foss, I was sure—and it turned out
+afterwards that I was right—Foss knew that the real medallions were in
+the top row and that the replicas were in the lower row.”
+
+He arranged the six discs on the table as he spoke.
+
+“And yet, with that knowledge, it was the replicas which they stole
+and not the real medallions. Amazing, at first sight, isn’t it? To my
+mind it was much more bizarre than the vanishing trick. And,
+naturally, it was on that point in the case that I fixed my attention.
+These weren’t blunderers, remember. The rest of the business showed
+that they were anything but that. The way they had seized upon that
+practical joke to serve their ends was quite enough to prove that
+there was a good brain at the back of the thing. That joke wasn’t in
+their original programme, and yet they’d taken it in their stride and
+turned it to account in a most ingenious way. They weren’t the sort of
+people who would make a mistake about the positions of the replicas.
+If they took the electrotypes instead of the real things, it was
+because the electrotypes were what they wanted.
+
+“Why did they want them? That question seemed to thrust itself forward
+in front of all the others which suggested themselves in the case; and
+it was that question that had to be answered before one could see
+light anywhere.”
+
+He leaned forward in his chair and glanced at the two rows of
+medallions on the table before him for a moment.
+
+“If one thinks about a point long enough, it often happens that all of
+a sudden a fresh idea turns up and fits into its place. I think it was
+probably the notion of the pseudo-statue that put me on to this
+affair. There you had a fraud imposing itself on some people simply
+because they had no reason to suppose that any fraud was intended. I
+doubt if any of you people, Mr. Clifton, gave a second glance at these
+statues that night. You simply regarded them as statues, because you
+knew that statues were on all the pedestals in normal circumstances.
+You were off your guard on that particular point.
+
+“That idea seemed to give me the key to this mysterious preference for
+replicas. If they’d taken the real medallions that night, with all the
+fuss that was made, then you Ravensthorpe people would have known at
+once that the true Leonardos had gone; and, naturally, with the theft
+of them dated to a minute, the risk was considerable. But suppose that
+the theft of the replicas was only the first stage in the game, what
+then? They had the replicas; you had the real medallions. Foss, as the
+agent for Kessock, had every excuse for asking to see the medallions
+again.
+
+“Now at that point there would come in the very same subconscious
+assurance that played into their hands in the case of the statue.
+Maurice would know for certain that the three things in his safe were
+the real Leonardos. He’d fish them out for Foss to examine; and he’d
+put them back in the safe without any minute inspection when Foss
+handed them over. The replicas would be off the board—lost, gone for
+good. He’d never think of them.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced mischievously at Joan before continuing.
+
+“As it happens, I can do a little parlour conjuring myself. It comes
+in handy when one has to live up to the part of Prospero or anything
+like that. I know what one can do in the way of palming things, and so
+forth. And as soon as I hit on this idea of the case, I saw how things
+might be managed. Foss would fake up some excuse for handling the real
+medallions; and during that handling, he’d substitute the replicas for
+the Leonardos. Maurice, having apparently had the things under his
+eyes all the time, would never think of examining the medals which he
+got back from Foss’s hands. He’d simply put them back into the safe.
+Foss would have the real things in his pocket; the deal would fall
+through; Foss & Co. would retire gracefully . . . and it was a hundred
+to one that no minute examination of the medallions in the safe would
+be made for long enough. By that time it would be impossible either to
+find Foss or to bring the thing home to him even if you did find him.
+
+“You see the advantages? First of all, the only theft would be one of
+the replicas, which no one cared much about. Second, the date of the
+real theft would be left doubtful. And third, this plan gave them any
+amount of time to dispose of the real things before any suspicions
+were aroused at all, as regards the genuine Leonardos. My impression
+is that they had a market for them: some scoundrelly collector who’d
+pay high to have the Leonardos even if he couldn’t boast publicly that
+he had them.”
+
+“That’s correct, sir,” the Inspector interposed. “Brackley had a
+market, but he wouldn’t tell me who the collector was.”
+
+Joan rose from her chair, crossed the room to a small table, and
+solemnly came back with a tray.
+
+“Have some whisky and soda,” she suggested to Sir Clinton.
+
+“You find the tale rather dry?” he inquired solicitously. “Life’s like
+that, you know. Inspector Armadale really needs this more than I do.
+He’s been a long time out in the cold up yonder. I’ll take some later
+on, if you don’t mind.”
+
+Joan presented the tray to the Inspector, who helped himself.
+
+Sir Clinton waited till he was finished with the siphon and then
+continued, addressing himself to Joan:
+
+“Perhaps the story has lacked feminine interest up to this point.
+We’ll hurry on to the day when you, Maurice, and Foss had your talk on
+the terrace. Down below was Foss’s motor, serving two purposes. It was
+there if they had to make a bolt, should things go wrong. It also
+allowed the chauffeur, making a fake repair, to watch what went on in
+the museum. I gather that he meant to keep an eye on his confederates.
+
+“At that moment, Foss had the three replicas in his pocket; and he was
+looking for some excuse to carry out the exchange. He led the
+conversation on to Japanese swords and so forth. I suspect Brackley
+supplied the basis for that matter, enough to allow Foss to make a
+show of information. Then Foss brought up the subject of his ‘poor
+man’s collection’ of rubbings. I’ve no doubt he forced a card
+there—induced Maurice to offer to let him take rubbings of the
+medallions. That would be child’s play to an ex-conjurer with a smart
+tongue. He got his way, anyhow.
+
+“But then came a complication he hadn’t expected. You, Joan, got
+interested in this taking of rubbings. I admit it was hard lines on
+the poor fellow. It was the last thing he could have anticipated.”
+
+“Thanks for the compliment!” Joan interjected, ironically.
+
+“Well, it wasn’t in the plan, anyhow,” Sir Clinton went on. “It meant
+an extra pair of eyes to deceive when the exchange was made; and as
+the exchange was the crucial move in the whole scheme, your
+company—strange to say—was not appreciated. In fact, you made Mr. Foss
+nervous. He wasn’t quite as cool as he could have wished; and my
+reading of the situation is that he bungled his first attempt at the
+substitution and had to prolong the agony by pretending to take a
+second rubbing of the first medallion he got into his hands.
+
+“He had more luck with his second attempt, even with your eagle eyes
+on him; and he stowed away Medallion Number One in one of the special
+concealed pockets which he had in his clothes. But he desired
+intensely to be relieved of your company; and he proceeded to draw
+your attention to some one calling you. Of course that voice existed
+solely in his own imagination. But it was quite as effective as a real
+voice in getting you to leave the museum; and then there was one
+onlooker the less to bother him in his sleight-of-hand.”
+
+Sir Clinton paused to light a cigarette before continuing. Inspector
+Armadale, laying down his paper, turned to the Chief Constable as
+though expecting at this point to hear something which he did not
+already know.
+
+“The next stage is one of pure conjecture,” Sir Clinton went on. “Foss
+is dead, and I haven’t had any opportunity of interrogating the other
+actor: Marden.”
+
+Inspector Armadale smiled grimly at the way in which the Chief
+Constable evaded any reference to the valet’s murder.
+
+“Possibly Inspector Armadale has a note or two on the matter,” Sir
+Clinton pursued, “but even if he has, it can only be something like
+‘what the soldier said,’ for Brackley could have merely second-hand
+evidence at the best. Take the case as the Inspector and I found it.
+Foss was dead, stabbed with the Muramasa sword. On its handle we found
+the finger-prints of Maurice, and no others. Under Foss’s body we
+found an undischarged automatic pistol with his finger-prints on the
+butt. We noticed curious pockets in Foss’s clothes; but they were
+empty. And we found no trace of any of the medallions about the place.
+Maurice was _non est inventus_—we could see no sign of him. Marden had
+cut his hand in a fall against one of the cases. He’d wrapped it up
+with his handkerchief in a rough sort of way. The case containing the
+Muramasa sword was open, and the sheath was lying in it, empty, of
+course.
+
+“It’s only fair to Inspector Armadale to tell you that he suspected
+Marden immediately. What I’m going to give you is merely the case as
+it presented itself to me.”
+
+Armadale looked slightly flustered by this tribute to his
+perspicacity. He glanced suspiciously at the Chief Constable, but Sir
+Clinton’s face betrayed no ironical intention.
+
+“He may be pulling my leg again,” the Inspector reflected, “but at
+least it’s decent of him to go out of his way to say that. It’s true
+enough, but not exactly in the way that they’ll understand it.”
+
+“Marden had a very complete story to tell us. He’d come to the door of
+the museum with a parcel which Foss had sent him to post. He’d found
+the address was incomplete and came back to get Foss to finish it. He
+stayed outside the door and he heard a quarrel between Maurice and
+Foss, ending in a struggle. When he burst into the room, Maurice was
+disappearing at the other end and Foss was dead on the floor. Then
+Marden slipped on the parquet, fell against a show-case, cut his hand,
+and tied it up in his handkerchief. Then he gave the alarm.
+
+“The parcel with the incomplete address was the first thing that
+interested me. We opened it and we found in it a cheap wrist-watch in
+perfect condition, apparently. The Inspector tried it for
+finger-prints. There weren’t any of any sort, either on the watch or
+the box in which it was enclosed. That seemed a bit rum to us both.
+
+“The only thing that seemed to fit the case was this. Suppose Marden
+wanted to keep an eye on Foss. This parcel would give him an excuse of
+bursting in on his employer at any moment. Assume that Marden himself
+had made up the parcel and that Foss had nothing to do with it. It was
+wrapped up in paper on which the address was written. You know how one
+writes on a parcel—not the least like one’s normal handwriting if the
+paper is crumpled a bit in the wrapping-up. That would make a bit of
+rough forgery of Foss’s writing fairly easy. Further, if by any chance
+the parcel fell into the hands of the police—as actually
+happened—there was nothing inside to show that Foss hadn’t wrapped it
+up himself. Nobody else’s finger-marks were on it at all. It had been
+wrapped up with gloved hands. And the contents were innocent enough:
+only a watch being sent to a watch-maker to be regulated, perhaps. If
+it had been a letter, then to carry the thing through properly they’d
+have had to forge Foss’s writing all the way through, in order to make
+it look genuine if it happened to be opened.
+
+“But if that theory were adopted, a lot followed from it. First and
+foremost, it meant that Marden was the boss and his nominal employer
+was an underling in the gang, who would have to back up any story that
+Marden liked to tell. Secondly, it pointed to the fact that Marden
+didn’t trust Foss much. He wanted an excuse to get at Foss at any
+moment—which is hardly in the power of a simple valet. When he thought
+Foss needed watching, all he had to do was to trot up with his little
+parcel, just to let Foss see that he was under observation. Thirdly,
+this dodge was worked at a crucial stage in the game—when the replicas
+were being exchanged for the Leonardo medallions. Doesn’t that suggest
+that Marden didn’t trust Foss very much? It looks as if Marden was
+none too sure that he’d get a square deal from Foss once the real
+medallions had changed hands. Am I right in my guesses, Inspector?”
+
+“They didn’t trust Foss to play straight, sir. Brackley was quite open
+about that.”
+
+“And it was Brackley’s idea? The parcel, I mean. It looks as if it
+came from his mint.”
+
+“He said so, sir. Foss knew nothing about it, of course. It was a
+surprise for him. They knew he’d have to pretend he knew all about it
+when Marden brought it to him.”
+
+“That finishes the parcel,” Sir Clinton continued. “But it had
+suggested one or two things, as you see. The most important thing,
+from my point of view, was that this gang was not exactly a band of
+brothers. Two of them suspected the third. Possibly the split was even
+more extensive.
+
+“The next thing was the valet’s story. According to him, Maurice
+stabbed Foss, after a quarrel which Marden couldn’t overhear clearly.
+Unfortunately for that tale, the blow that killed Foss was a powerful
+one. What Marden didn’t know was that Maurice had sprained his wrist
+that morning. I doubt if a sprained wrist could have achieved that
+stab. There was no proof, of course; but it seemed just a little
+doubtful. Then Marden said that from the door he couldn’t catch the
+words of the quarrel, although the voices were angry in tone. I tried
+the experiment myself later; and it’s perfectly easy to overhear
+what’s said in the museum from the position Marden said he was in. So
+that was a deliberate lie. On that basis, one could eliminate most of
+Marden’s tale as being under suspicion.
+
+“What really happened in the museum? Maurice is gone, Foss is dead,
+Marden won’t tell. One has just to reconstruct the thing as plausibly
+as one can. My impression—it’s only conjecture—is this. Marden was
+listening at the door and he could see some parts of the room, since
+the door was ajar. Foss had succeeded in substituting one replica for
+a real medallion. To get Maurice’s eye off him, he asked to see the
+Muramasa sword. Maurice went to get it, leaving Foss at his
+rubbing—visible to Maurice all the time. Foss made the exchange of the
+second replica at that moment. Maurice came back with the Muramasa
+sword—and of course in doing that, he put his finger-prints on the
+handle in drawing the blade from the sheath. Marden, at the door, saw
+him do this and made a note of it. Just as Maurice came back to Foss,
+he was suddenly taken ill. He had the third real medallion in one
+hand; and as he passed Foss he picked up the two replicas—which he
+believed to be the other two real medallions. He went to the safe and
+hurriedly put on a shelf the two replicas; but the other medallion, in
+his other hand, he forgot all about. He shut the safe and staggered
+into the secret passage.”
+
+Inspector Armadale looked frankly incredulous.
+
+“Do people take ill all of a sudden like that?” he demanded. “Why
+should he want to rush off all at once?”
+
+Sir Clinton swung round on him.
+
+“Ever suffered from rheumatism, Inspector? Or neuralgia? Or
+toothache?”
+
+“No,” the Inspector replied with all the pride of perfect health.
+“I’ve never had rheumatism and I’ve never had a tooth go wrong in my
+life.”
+
+“No wonder you can’t understand, then,” Sir Clinton retorted. “Wait
+till you have neuralgia in the fifth nerve, Inspector. Then, if you
+don’t know yourself that you’re unfit for human society, your friends
+will tell you, soon enough. If you get a bad attack, it’s
+maddening—nothing less. Men have suicided on account of it often
+enough,” he added, with a meaning glance at Armadale.
+
+A light broke in on the Inspector’s mind.
+
+“So that was it? No wonder I couldn’t put two and two together!” he
+reflected to himself; but he made no audible comment.
+
+“Now we come to a mere leap in the dark,” Sir Clinton continued. “I
+believe that as soon as Maurice was out of the way, Marden went into
+the museum and demanded the medallions from Foss.”
+
+He put down his cigarette and leaned back in his chair. When he spoke
+again, a faint tinge of pity seemed to come into his voice.
+
+“Foss was a poor little creature, hardly better than a rabbit in the
+big jungle of crime. And the other two were something quite different:
+carnivores, beasts of prey. They’d picked him out simply on account of
+his one miserable talent: his little trick of legerdemain. He was only
+a tool, poor beggar, and he knew it. I expect that when he saw what
+sort of company he’d fallen into, he was terrified. That would account
+for the pistol he carried.
+
+“His only chance of a fair deal from them lay in the fact that he had
+the real medallions in his possession; and he meant to hold on to
+them. And when Marden demanded them, Foss revolted. It must have been
+like the revolt of a rabbit against a stoat. He hadn’t a chance. He
+pulled out his pistol, I expect; and when that appeared, Marden saw
+red.
+
+“But Marden, even in a fury, was a person with a very keen mind.
+Perhaps he’d thought the thing over beforehand. He was evidently one
+of these sub-human creatures with no respect for human life—the things
+they label Apaches in Paris. When the pistol came out he was ready for
+it. Foss, I’m sure, brandished the thing in an amateurish fashion—he
+wasn’t a gunman of any sort. Probably he imagined that the mere sight
+of the thing would bring Marden to heel.
+
+“Marden had his handkerchief out at once. Probably he had it ready in
+his hand. He picked up the Muramasa sword, leaving no finger-marks of
+his own on it through the handkerchief. And . . . that was the end of
+Foss.”
+
+Sir Clinton leaned over, selected a fresh cigarette with a certain
+fastidiousness, and lighted it before going on with his tale.
+
+“That was the end of his feeble little attempt to get the better of
+his confederate. The money in his pocket-book didn’t give him the
+escape he’d hoped for. All his precautions to leave no clues to his
+real identity played straight into the hands of Marden and Brackley.
+
+“Marden’s immediate problem, once he’d come out of his fury, was
+difficult enough. I suspect that his first move was to search Foss and
+get the medallions out of his pockets. Then he was faced with the
+blood on his hands and on his handkerchief. He had his plan made
+almost in a moment. He went across, deliberately slipped—he was an
+artist in detail, evidently—smashed against the glass of one of the
+cases, cut his hand, and then he felt fairly secure. He wrapped up the
+wounds in his handkerchief—and there was the case complete to account
+for any stray blood anywhere on his clothes. He tried the safe, for
+fear Maurice was lurking inside; and then he gave the alarm.”
+
+Sir Clinton glanced inquiringly at the Inspector, but Armadale shook
+his head.
+
+“Brackley had nothing to say about all that, sir. Marden gave him no
+details.”
+
+“It’s mostly guess-work,” Sir Clinton warned his audience. “All that
+one can say for it is that it fits the facts fairly well.”
+
+“And is that brute in the house now?” Una Rainhill demanded. “I shan’t
+go to sleep if he is.”
+
+“Two constables were detached to arrest him,” Sir Clinton assured her.
+“He’s not on the premises, you may count on that.”
+
+Inspector Armadale’s face took on a wooden expression, the result of
+suppressing a sardonic smile.
+
+“Well, he does manage to tell the truth and convey a wrong impression
+with it,” he commented inwardly.
+
+“Now consider the state of affairs after the Foss murder,” Sir Clinton
+went on. “Marden and Brackley were in a pretty pickle, it seems to me.
+They had three medallions which Marden had got when he rifled Foss’s
+body. But _they didn’t know what they’d got_. They weren’t in the
+secret of the dots on the replicas. For all they knew—knew for
+certain, I mean—Foss might have bungled the affair and the things they
+had might be merely replicas. If so, they were no good. I can’t tell
+the difference between a medallion and an electrotype myself; but I
+believe an expert can tell you whether a thing’s been struck with a
+die or merely plated from a mould. These two scoundrels, I take it,
+weren’t experts. They couldn’t tell which brand of article they had in
+their hands.
+
+“There was only one thing to be done. They’d have to get the whole six
+things into their hands, and then they’d be sure of having the three
+medallions. So they fell back on their original scheme of plain
+burglary. That, I’m sure, had been their first plan. They’d sent their
+American confederate to see the safe a long while ago; and no doubt
+he’d reported that it was an old pattern. Hence the otophone, by means
+of which they could pick the combination lock. The otophone was still
+on the premises: I’d left it for them. But they were up against one
+thing.
+
+“I’d put a guard night and day on the museum. That blocked any attempt
+at burglary unless they were prepared to take the tremendous risk of
+manhandling the guard. If the door had merely been locked, I don’t
+think it would have given them much trouble. I’m pretty sure there’s a
+very good outfit of burglar’s tools mixed up with the tool-kit of the
+car, where it would attract no attention. But the guard was a
+difficulty in the way.”
+
+Without making it obvious to the others, Sir Clinton made it clear to
+Armadale that the next part of his story was meant specially for the
+Inspector.
+
+“I’d given you the view I held of the case at that point. I felt
+fairly certain I was right. But if I’d been asked to put that case
+before a jury, I certainly would have backed out. It was mostly
+surmise: accurate enough, perhaps, but with far too little support. A
+jury—quite rightly—wants facts and not theories. Could one even
+convince them that the vanishing trick had been carried through as I
+believed it had? It would have been a bit of a gamble. And I don’t
+believe in that sort of gamble. I wanted the thing proved up to the
+hilt. And the best way to do that was to catch them actually at work.
+
+“There seemed to me just one weak point in the armour. I counted on a
+split between the two remaining confederates, if I could only get a
+wedge in somehow. I guessed, rightly or wrongly, that the Foss murder
+would strike the chauffeur as a blunder, and that there might be the
+makings of friction there. The chauffeur’s watching the museum under
+cover of the fake repair to the hood suggested that he mistrusted the
+others. I suspected that Marden might have stuck to the stuff he’d
+taken off Foss’s body. If Brackley hadn’t got his share of that swag,
+he’d be in a weak position. I gambled on that: everything to gain and
+nothing much to lose. I had the chauffeur up for examination again;
+and when I gave him an opening, he deliberately gave his friend away
+by letting me know he’d seen Marden and Foss together just before the
+murder. And when he did that, I blurted out to Inspector Armadale that
+the guards on the terrace and the museum door were to be discontinued.
+Brackley went off with those two bits of exclusive information. He
+didn’t tell them to Marden. He saw his way to make the balance even
+between himself and his confederate. If he kept his news to himself,
+he could burgle the museum safe; get the remainder of the six
+medallions; and then he’d be sure of getting his share of the profits.
+Neither of them could do without the other in that case.
+
+“In actual practice, Brackley went a stage farther than I’d
+anticipated. He schemed to get Marden’s loot as well as the stuff from
+the safe. I needn’t go into that side-issue.”
+
+Again Inspector Armadale suppressed his amusement at the way in which
+Sir Clinton chose to present the truth.
+
+“The rest of the tale’s short enough,” Sir Clinton went on. “Brackley
+determined to burgle the safe. If pursued, he decided, he’d repeat the
+vanishing trick on the terrace; for I’d convinced him, apparently,
+that the _modus operandi_ of it was still unknown to us. Probably he
+went up there and satisfied himself that no one came near, after the
+patrol was taken off. He got himself up for the part: whitened his
+face; put on white tights; covered himself with Marden’s waterproof as
+a disguise and to conceal his fancy dress; put on a big black mask to
+hide the paint on his face, lest he should give the show away if an
+interruption came. And so he walked straight into the trap I’d laid
+for him.
+
+“We saw the whole show from start to finish. I even let Cecil and Mr.
+Clifton into the business, so that we’d have some evidence apart from
+police witnesses. We saw the whole show from start to finish.”
+
+Sir Clinton broke off his story and glanced at his watch.
+
+“We’ve kept Inspector Armadale up to a most unconscionable hour,” he
+said, apologetically. “We really mustn’t detain him till sunrise.
+Before you go, Inspector, you might tell us if my solution fits the
+confession you got out of Brackley—in the later stages, I mean.”
+
+Inspector Armadale saw his dismissal and rose to his feet.
+
+“There’s really nothing in the confession that doesn’t tally, sir.
+Differences in detail, of course; but you were right in the main
+outlines of the affair.”
+
+Sir Clinton showed a faint satisfaction.
+
+“Well, it’s satisfactory enough to hear that. By the way, Inspector,
+you’d better take my car. It’s in the avenue still. Send a man up with
+it, please, when you’ve done with it. There’s no need for you to walk
+after a night like this.”
+
+Armadale thanked him; declined Cecil’s offer of another whisky and
+soda; and took his departure. When he had gone, Cecil threw a glance
+of inquiry at the Chief Constable.
+
+“Do you feel inclined to tell us what you made of my doings? I noticed
+that you didn’t drag them out in front of the Inspector.”
+
+Sir Clinton acquiesced in the suggestion.
+
+“I think that’s fairly plain sailing; but correct me if I go wrong.
+When you heard of Maurice’s disappearance, you saw that something was
+very far amiss. You had a fair idea where he might be, but you didn’t
+want to advertise the Ravensthorpe secrets. So you came back one night
+and went down there. I don’t know whether you were surprised or not
+when you found him; but in any case, you decided that there was no
+good giving the newspapers a titbit about secret passages. So you took
+him out into the glade by the other entrance to the tunnel; and then
+you came up to Ravensthorpe as though you’d come by the first train.
+The Inspector tripped you over that point, but it didn’t matter much.
+He doesn’t love you, though, I suspect. I’d no desire to make matters
+worse by interfering between you; for you seemed able to look after
+yourself. Wasn’t that the state of affairs?”
+
+“There or thereabouts,” Cecil admitted. “It seemed the best thing to
+do, in the circumstances.”
+
+Sir Clinton showed obvious distaste for discussing the matter further.
+He turned to the girls.
+
+“It’s high time you children were in bed. Dawn’s well up in the sky.
+You’ve had all the excitement you need, for the present; and a good
+sleep seems indicated.”
+
+He gave a faint imitation of a stifled yawn.
+
+“That sets me off,” said Una Rainhill, frankly. “I can hardly keep my
+eyes open. Come along, Joan. It’s quite bright outside and I’m not
+afraid to go to bed now.”
+
+Joan rubbed her eyes.
+
+“This sort of thing takes more out of one than twenty dances,” she
+admitted. “The beginning of the night was a bit too exciting for
+everyday use. How does one say ‘Good-night’ in proper form when the
+sun’s over the horizon? I give it up.”
+
+With a gesture of farewell, she made her way to the door, followed by
+Una. When they had disappeared, Sir Clinton turned to Cecil
+Chacewater.
+
+“Care to walk down the avenue a little to meet my car? The fresh air
+and all that. I rather like the dawn, myself, when it happens to come
+my way without too much exertion.”
+
+Cecil saw that the Chief Constable was giving him an opening if he
+cared to take it.
+
+“I’ll come along with you till you meet the car.”
+
+Sir Clinton took leave of Michael Clifton, who obviously intended to
+go to bed immediately. As soon as he was well clear of the house,
+Cecil turned to the Chief Constable.
+
+“You skated over thin ice several times in that yarn of yours.
+Especially the bits about Maurice. Toothache! Neuralgia! That infernal
+Inspector of yours swallowed it all down like cat-lap. From his face,
+you’d have thought he picked up an absolute cert. that no one else
+could see. I almost laughed, at that point.”
+
+He changed suddenly to a serious tone.
+
+“How did you spot what was really wrong with Maurice?”
+
+“One thing led to another,” Sir Clinton confessed. “I didn’t hit on it
+all at once. The Fairy Houses set me thinking at the start. One
+doesn’t keep toys like that in good repair merely on account of some
+old legend. They were quite evidently meant for use. And then, Cecil,
+you seemed to have some private joke of your own—not a particularly
+nice joke either—about them. That set me thinking. And after that, you
+dropped some remark about Maurice having specialized in family
+curses.”
+
+“You seem to have a devil of a memory for trifles,” Cecil commented,
+in some surprise.
+
+“Trifles sometimes count for a good deal in my line,” Sir Clinton
+pointed out. “One gets into the habit of docketing them, almost
+without thinking about it. I must have pigeon-holed your talk about
+the Fairy Houses quite mechanically. Then later on I remembered that
+these things were dotted all over your estate and nowhere else. On
+their own ground, the Chacewaters were always within easy distance of
+one or other of these affairs. Ancient family curse; curious little
+buildings very handy; one brother grinning—yes, you did grin, and
+nastily too—at them, when you know he hates another brother like
+poison. It was quite a pretty little problem. And so . . .”
+
+“And so?” demanded Cecil, as Sir Clinton stopped short.
+
+“And so I put it out of my mind. It wasn’t the sort of thing I cared
+to think much about in connection with Ravensthorpe,” Sir Clinton
+said, bluntly. “Besides, it was no affair of mine.”
+
+“And then?”
+
+“Then came Michael Clifton’s story of finding Maurice in one of these
+Fairy Houses. And the details about the queer state Maurice was in
+when he was found. That came up in connection with a crime; and crimes
+are my business. Why does a fellow crawl away into a place like that?
+Why does he resent being dragged out of it? Why won’t he even take the
+trouble to get up? These were the kind of questions that absolutely
+bristled over the whole affair. One couldn’t help getting an inkling.
+But that inkling threw no light on the crime in hand, so it was no
+affair of mine. I dropped it. But . . .”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“Maurice wasn’t an attractive character, I’ll admit that. I loathed
+the way he was going on. But I like to look on the best side of people
+if I can. In my line, one sees plenty of the other side—more than
+enough. And by and by I began to see that perhaps all Maurice’s doings
+could be explained, if they couldn’t be excused. He was off his
+balance.”
+
+“He was, poor devil,” Cecil concurred, with some contrition in his
+tone.
+
+“Then came the time I forced you to open the secret passage. Your
+methods were the very worst you could have chosen, Cecil. I knew
+perfectly well that you hadn’t done anything to Maurice. You’re not
+the fratricidal type. But you very evidently had something that you
+wanted to conceal behind that door. You were afraid of my spotting
+something. The Inspector jumped to the conclusion that it was murder
+you were hushing up. By that time I had a pretty good notion that it
+was the Ravensthorpe family secret. Once I saw that passage of yours,
+dwindling away to almost nothing, the thing was clear enough. With the
+Fairy House clue as well, the thing was almost certain. And finally,
+you gave the show away completely by what you said beside Maurice’s
+body.”
+
+“Chuchundra, you mean?”
+
+“Yes. I remembered—another of these docketed trifles—just what
+Chuchundra was. He was the muskrat that tried to make up his mind to
+run into the middle of the room, but he never got there. Then I asked
+you if the trouble began with A. Of course it did. Agoraphobia. I
+suppose when Maurice was a kid he had slight attacks of it—hated to
+move about in an open room and preferred to sidle along by the walls
+if possible. That was the start of the nickname, wasn’t it?”
+
+Cecil assented with a nod.
+
+“It evidently cropped up in your family now and again. Hence the Fairy
+Houses—harbours of refuge when attacks came on. And that underground
+cell, where a man could shut himself up tight and escape the horror of
+open spaces.”
+
+“I’d really no notion how bad it was with Maurice,” Cecil hastened to
+say. “It must have been deadly when it drove him to shoot himself.”
+
+“Something beyond description, I should say,” Sir Clinton said,
+gravely.
+
+He glanced over the wide prospects of the park and then raised his
+eyes to where great luminous clouds were sailing in stately procession
+across the blue.
+
+“Looks peaceful, Cecil, doesn’t it? Makes one rather glad to be alive,
+when one gets into a scene like this. And yet, to poor Maurice it was
+a mere torture-chamber of nausea and torment, a horror that drove him
+to burrowing into holes and crannies, anywhere to escape from the
+terrors of the open sky. I don’t suppose that we normal people can
+even come near the thing in our imaginations. It’s too rum for our
+minds—outside everything we know. Poor devil! No wonder he went off
+the rails a bit in the end.”
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+This transcription follows the text of the edition published by
+Grosset & Dunlap in February, 1928. However, the following alterations
+have been made to correct what are believed to be unambiguous errors
+in the text:
+
+ * “usally” was corrected to “usually” (Chapter I).
+ * “sufficent” was corrected to “sufficient” (Chapter I).
+ * “inqiringly” was corrected to “inquiringly” (Chapter I).
+ * “deadful” was corrected to “dreadful” (Chapter II).
+ * “artifical” was corrected to “artificial” (Chapter II).
+ * “reassurred” was corrected to “reassured” (Chapter III).
+ * “even since” was corrected to “ever since” (Chapter IV).
+ * “That’s was” was corrected to “That was” (Chapter VI).
+ * “her’s” was corrected to “hers” (Chapter IX).
+ * “lot’s of” was corrected to “lots of” (Chapter XI).
+ * “Froggart” was corrected to “Froggatt” (Chapter XIII).
+ * “spiney” was corrected to “spinney” (Chapter XIV).
+ * “orginal” was corrected to “original” (Chapter XIV).
+ * “out of question” was corrected to “out of the question”
+   (Chapter XV).
+ * Three occurrences of mismatched quotation marks were repaired.
+ * One occurrence of a missing em dash was repaired.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75407 ***
diff --git a/75407-h/75407-h.htm b/75407-h/75407-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8db1d28
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75407-h/75407-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,11731 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta charset="utf-8">
+<title>Tragedy at Ravensthorpe</title>
+<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+<style>
+body {
+  margin: 1em auto;
+  max-width: 40em;
+}
+p {
+  margin: 0;
+  text-indent: 1.5em;
+  text-align: justify;
+}
+hr {
+  width: 40%;
+  margin: 1em 30%;
+}
+h1 {
+  margin: 2em auto;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+h2 {
+  margin: 2em auto;
+  text-align: center;
+}
+h2 + p { text-indent: 0 }
+blockquote { margin: 1em 0; }
+figure { text-align: center; }
+img { max-width: 95%; }
+#titlepage { padding: 20% 0; }
+#disclaimer { padding: 30% 10%; }
+.authorprefix {
+  font-style: italic;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+  margin: 1em 0;
+}
+.author {
+  font-size: x-large;
+  font-weight: bold;
+  margin-bottom: 2em;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+.publish1 {
+  font-size: small;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+.publish2 {
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+.publish3 {
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+}
+.copyright {
+  font-size: small;
+  font-style: italic;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-indent: 0;
+}
+.toc { margin: 0 auto; }
+.toc .n {
+  padding-right: 0.5em;
+  text-align: right;
+  vertical-align: top;
+}
+.toc .t { font-variant: small-caps; }
+#disclaimer p { text-indent: 0; }
+#disclaimer .head {
+  font-style: italic;
+  letter-spacing: 0.1em;
+  margin-bottom: 1em;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+.verse {
+  display: table;
+  margin: 1em auto;
+}
+.verse p {
+  text-indent: -2em;
+  padding-left: 2em;
+}
+.verse .i1 { margin-left: 0; }
+.verse .i2 { margin-left: 1em; }
+.verse + p { text-indent: 0 }
+.telegram { font-style: italic; }
+.finis {
+  font-size: small;
+  margin-top: 3em;
+  text-align: center;
+  text-transform: uppercase;
+}
+div.chapter { page-break-before: always; }
+div.section { page-break-before: always; }
+</style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75407 ***</div>
+
+<figure>
+  <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover">
+</figure>
+
+<div class="section" id="titlepage">
+
+<h1>Tragedy at Ravensthorpe</h1>
+<p class="authorprefix">by</p>
+<p class="author">J. J. Connington</p>
+
+<p class="publish1">New York</p>
+<p class="publish2">Grosset &amp; Dunlap</p>
+<p class="publish3">Published February, 1928</p>
+<p class="copyright">Copyright, 1927, 1928, by Little, Brown, and Company</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="section" id="contents">
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table class="toc">
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">I</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch01">The Fairy Houses</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">II</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch02">Mr. Polegate’s Sense of Humour</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">III</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch03">The Theft at the Masked Ball</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">IV</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch04">The Chase in the Woods</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">V</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch05">Sir Clinton in the Museum</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">VI</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch06">Mr. Foss’s Explanation</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">VII</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch07">What Was in the Lake</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">VIII</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch08">The Murder in the Museum</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">IX</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch09">The Muramasa Sword</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">X</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch10">The Shot in the Clearing</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">XI</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch11">Underground Ravensthorpe</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">XII</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch12">Chuchundra’s Body</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">XIII</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch13">The Otophone</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">XIV</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch14">The Second Chase in the Woods</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="n">XV</td>
+  <td class="t"><a href="#ch15">Sir Clinton’s Solution</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="section" id="disclaimer">
+
+<p class="head">Note</p>
+
+<p>The characters, places, and events described in this book
+are entirely imaginary and have no connection, either direct
+or indirect, with any real persons, places, or events.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch01">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER I. <br> The Fairy Houses</h2>
+
+<p>“Got fixed up in your new house yet, Sir Clinton?”
+asked Cecil Chacewater, as they sauntered together
+up one of the paths in the Ravensthorpe grounds.
+“It must be a bit of a change from South
+Africa—settling down in this backwater.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton Driffield, the new Chief Constable of
+the county, nodded affirmatively in reply to the
+question.</p>
+
+<p>“One manages to be fairly comfortable; and it’s
+certainly been less trouble to fit up than it would
+have been if I’d taken a bigger place. Not that I
+don’t envy you people at Ravensthorpe,” he added,
+glancing round at the long front of the house
+behind him. “You’ve plenty of elbow-room in that
+castle of yours.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil made no reply; and they paced on for a
+minute or more before Sir Clinton again spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a curious thing, Cecil, that although I knew
+your father so well, I never happened to come down
+here to Ravensthorpe. He often asked me to stay;
+and I wanted to see his collection; but somehow we
+never seemed able to fix on a time that suited us both.
+It was at the house in Onslow Square that I always
+saw you, so this is all fresh ground to me. It’s rather
+like the irony of fate that my first post since I came
+home should be in the very district I couldn’t find
+time to visit when your father was alive.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil Chacewater agreed with a gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“I was very glad when I saw you’d been appointed.
+I wondered if you’d know me again after all
+that time; but I thought we’d better bring ourselves
+to your notice in case we could be of any help
+here—introduce you to people, and all that sort of thing,
+you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hardly recognized you when you turned up the
+other day,” Sir Clinton admitted frankly. “You
+were a kiddie when I went off to take that police
+post in South Africa; and somehow or other I never
+seem to have run across you on any of my trips home
+on leave. It must have been ten years since I’d seen
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t wonder you didn’t place me at once. Ten
+years makes a lot of difference at my advanced age.
+But you don’t look a bit changed. I recognized you
+straight off, as soon as I saw you.”</p>
+
+<p>“What age are you now?” asked Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“About twenty-three,” Cecil replied. “Maurice is
+twenty-five, and Joan’s just on the edge of
+twenty-one.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose she must be,” Sir Clinton confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>A thought seemed to cross his mind.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, this masked ball, I take it, is for
+Joan’s coming-of-age?”</p>
+
+<p>“You got an invitation? Right! I’ve nothing to do
+with that part of the business.” Then, answering
+Sir Clinton’s inquiry: “Yes, that’s so. She wanted
+a spree of some sort; and she generally gets what
+she wants, you know. You’ll hardly know <em>her</em>
+when you see her. She’s shot up out of all recognition
+from the kid you knew before you went away.”</p>
+
+<p>“She used to be pretty as a school-girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, she hasn’t fallen off in that direction. You
+must come to this show of hers. She’ll be awfully
+pleased if you do. She looks on you as a kind of
+unofficial uncle, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s expression showed that he
+appreciated the indirect compliment.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m highly flattered. She’s the only one of you
+who took the trouble to write to me from time to
+time when I was out yonder. All my Ravensthorpe
+news came through her.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil was rather discomfited by this reminder. He
+changed the subject abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you’ll come as Sherlock Holmes?
+Joan’s laid down that every one must act up to their
+costume, whatever it is; and Sherlock wouldn’t give
+you much trouble after all your detective experience.
+You’d only have to snoop round and pick up
+clues and make people uncomfortable with
+deductions.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed amused by the idea.</p>
+
+<p>“A pretty programme! Something like this, I
+suppose?” he demanded, and gave a faintly caricatured
+imitation of the Holmes mannerisms.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove, you know, that’s awfully good!” Cecil
+commented, rather taken aback by the complete
+change in Sir Clinton’s voice and gait. “You ought
+to do it. You’d get first prize easily.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head as he resumed his
+natural guise.</p>
+
+<p>“The mask wouldn’t cover my moustache; and I
+draw the line at shaving that off, even in a good
+cause. Besides, a Chief Constable can’t go running
+about disguised as Sherlock Holmes. Rather bad
+taste, dragging one’s trade into one’s amusements.
+No, I’ll come as something quite unostentatious: a
+pillar-box or an Invisible Man, or a spook,
+probably.”</p>
+
+<p>“I forgot,” Cecil hastened to say, apologetically,
+“I shouldn’t have asked you about your costume.
+Joan’s very strong on some fancy regulation she’s
+made that no one is to know beforehand what anyone
+else is wearing. She wants the prize awarding to
+be absolutely unbiased. So you’d better not tell me
+what you’re going to do.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced at him with a faint twinkle
+in his eye.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s precisely what I’ve been doing for the
+last minute or two,” he said, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean?” Cecil asked, looking
+puzzled. “You haven’t told me anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil was forced to smile.</p>
+
+<p>“No harm done,” he admitted. “You gave nothing
+away.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a very useful habit in my line of
+business.”</p>
+
+<p>But Sir Clinton’s interest in the approaching
+masked ball was apparently not yet exhausted.</p>
+
+<p>“Large crowd coming?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Fairish, I believe. Most of the neighbours, I
+suppose. We’re putting up a few people for the night,
+of course; and there are three or four visitors on the
+premises already. It should be quite a decent show.
+I can’t give you even rough numbers, for Joan’s
+taken the invitation side of the thing entirely into
+her own hands—most mysterious about it, too.
+Hush! Hush! Very Secret! and all that kind of
+thing. She won’t even let us see her lists for fear of
+making it too easy to recognize people; so she’s had
+to arrange the catering side of the thing on her own
+as well.”</p>
+
+<p>“She always was an independent kind of person,”
+Sir Clinton volunteered.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil took no notice of the interjection.</p>
+
+<p>“If you ask me,” he went on, “I think she’s a bit
+besotted with this incognito notion. She doesn’t
+realize that half the gang can be spotted at once by
+their walk, and the other half will give themselves
+away as soon as they get animated and begin to
+jabber freely. But it’s her show, you know, so it’s no
+use any one else butting in with criticisms and
+spoiling her fun before it begins.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded his assent; but for a moment
+or two he seemed to be preoccupied with some line
+of thought which Cecil’s words had started in his
+mind. Suddenly, however, something caught his eye
+and diverted his attention to external things.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s that weird thing over there?” he asked.
+As he spoke, he pointed to an object a little way off
+the path on which they were standing. It was a tiny
+building about a yard in height and a couple
+of yards or more in length. At the first glance it
+seemed like a bungalow reduced to the scale of a
+large doll’s house; but closer inspection showed that
+it was windowless, though ventilation of a sort
+appeared to have been provided. A miniature door
+closed the entrance, through which a full-grown
+man could gain admittance only by lying flat on the
+ground and wriggling with some difficulty through
+the narrow opening provided.</p>
+
+<p>“That?” Cecil answered carelessly. “Oh, that’s
+one of the Fairy Houses, you know. They’re a sort
+of local curiosity. No matter where you are, you’ll
+find one of them within a couple of hundred yards
+of you, anywhere in the grounds.”</p>
+
+<p>“Only in the grounds? Aren’t there any outside
+the estate?” inquired Sir Clinton. “At the first
+glance I took it for some sort of archæological
+affair.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re old enough, I dare say,” Cecil admitted,
+indifferently. “A century, or a century and a half,
+or perhaps even more. They’re purely a Ravensthorpe
+product. I’ve never seen one of them outside
+the boundary.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton left the path and made a closer
+examination of the tiny hut; but it presented very few
+points of interest in itself. Out of curiosity, he
+turned the handle of the door and found it moved
+easily.</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to keep the locks and hinges oiled,”
+he said, with some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Pushing the door open, he stooped down and
+glanced inside.</p>
+
+<p>“Very spic and span. You keep them in good
+repair, evidently.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, one of the gardeners has the job of looking
+after them,” Cecil explained, without showing much
+interest.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve never seen anything of the sort before.
+They might be Picts’ dwellings, or something of
+that kind; but why keep them in repair? And, of
+course, they’re not prehistoric at all. They’re
+comparatively modern, from the way they’re put
+together. What are they?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ask me another,” said Cecil, who seemed bored
+by the subject. “They’re an ancestral legacy, or an
+heirloom, or a tenant’s improvement, or whatever
+you like to call it. Clause in the will each time, to
+provide for them being kept in good repair, and so
+forth.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to prick up his ears when
+he heard of this provision, though his tone showed
+only languid interest when he put his next
+inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>“Anything at the back of it all? It seems a rum
+sort of business.”</p>
+
+<p>“The country-people round about here will supply
+you with all the information you can believe
+about it—and a lot you’re not likely to swallow, too.
+By their way of it, Lavington Knoll up there”—he
+pointed vaguely to indicate its position—“was the
+last of the fairy strongholds hereabouts; and when
+most of the fairies went away, a few stayed behind.
+But these didn’t care much for the old Knoll
+after that. Reminded them of past glories and
+cheery company too much, I suppose; and so they
+made a sort of treaty with an ancestor of ours. He
+was to provide houses for them, and they were to
+look after the general prosperity side of
+Ravensthorpe.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed amused by Cecil’s somewhat
+scornful summary.</p>
+
+<p>“A case of ‘Farewell rewards and fairies,’ it
+seems, Cecil.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, half to himself, he hummed a few lines of
+Corbet’s song:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p class="i1">Witness those rings and roundelayes</p>
+  <p class="i2">Of theirs, which yet remaine;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Were footed in queene Maries dayes</p>
+  <p class="i2">On many a grassy playne.</p>
+  <p class="i1">But since of late Elizabeth . . .</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>“Do you go as far back as Elizabeth, here at
+Ravensthorpe, by any chance, Cecil?”</p>
+
+<p>“So far as the grounds go, yes. The house was
+partly destroyed in Cromwell’s time; and some new
+bits were built on in place of the old stuff. But
+there’s a lot of the old part left yet, in quite good
+repair.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton still seemed interested in the compact
+with the Fairies.</p>
+
+<p>“Was there any penalty clause in the contract
+about these Houses? There’s usually some drawback
+to these affairs—like the Luck of Edenhall, for
+instance.”</p>
+
+<p>“There used to be some legend or other that
+unless the Fairies found their houses always in good
+order, the Family Curse would come home to roost,
+one-time. No one believes in that sort of stuff nowadays;
+but it’s kept alive by this clause that’s put into
+every will—a kind of a family custom, you know,
+that no one cares to be the first to break. If you call it
+a damned old wives’ tale, I shan’t blame you.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton could not be sure whether Cecil’s
+indifference in the matter was natural or assumed;
+but in any case he thought it tactful to pursue the
+subject no further. Closing the door of the Fairy
+House again, he made his way back to the path
+where his companion was waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p>As the Chief Constable rejoined him, Cecil
+looked round the horizon with feeble interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Not much else to show you, I’m afraid,” he said.
+Then, with an after-thought: “Care to see rather a
+good view? The best one hereabouts is just up above
+us—through the wood here—if you think it worth
+the trouble of the climb. It’s not very far. We’ve
+plenty of time before lunch.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton acquiesced, and they began to mount
+a further slope in the path which now led them up
+through a sparse pine-wood.</p>
+
+<p>“There seems to be a good sound foundation to
+this path,” the Chief Constable commented, as they
+walked on.</p>
+
+<p>“There used to be a carriage-drive, at one time,
+leading up to the top. I suppose the old birds used
+to drive up here and sit out having tea and admiring
+the view on fine days. But it’s been neglected for
+long enough. Hardly any one goes up to the top now,
+except once in a blue moon or else by accident.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton gave a nod of acquiescence.</p>
+
+<p>“Any one can see the path’s hardly ever used.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just beyond this brow,” Cecil explained as they
+moved on, “there’s an old quarry cut in the further
+side of the hill. It’s a very old place, rather
+picturesque nowadays. Most of the stone for Ravensthorpe
+came from it in the old days, and during the
+rebuilding. After that, the quarry dropped out of use
+gradually; and finally some one had the notion of
+letting water in at the foot of it and having a sort of
+model lake there, with the cliff of the quarry at one
+end of it. We’re making for the top of the cliff by
+going this way; and when you get out of the wood
+into the open, you’ll find rather a good outlook over
+the country.”</p>
+
+<p>A short walk took them through the rest of the
+pine-wood. On the further side they came into a belt
+of open ground beyond which, on a slight eminence,
+a little spinney blocked part of the view.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s where we’re making for,” Cecil explained.
+“The best view-point is on the other side of
+these trees. The old birds, a century back, chose it
+carefully and did some laying out at the top; so I
+suppose they must have been keen on the place.”</p>
+
+<p>As they approached the spinney, Sir Clinton
+noticed a fence running down from each side of it.
+Cecil followed the direction of the Chief Constable’s
+glance.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s barbed wire,” he pointed out. “The spinney’s
+at the top of the quarry; but there’s a bad
+drop down towards the hollow on either side—a
+dangerous bit, practically precipitous—and so the
+wire was put up to prevent any one wandering near
+the edge and tripping over.”</p>
+
+<p>Cutting through the fringe of trees, they emerged
+at the top of the cliff. Here the ground had been
+levelled and paved. Along the precipice, a marble
+balustrade had been erected as a safeguard. Further
+back, a curved tier of marble seats faced the view;
+and here and there in the line rose pedestals
+carrying life-sized marble statues which faced out
+towards the gulf.</p>
+
+<p>“This is really very elaborate,” Sir Clinton
+commented. “Evidently your ancestors liked the view,
+if they took so much trouble to put up this affair.”</p>
+
+<p>He moved across the paved space, leaned on the
+balustrade, and looked down into the depths.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t wonder you fenced that in with barbed
+wire on each side,” he said. “It’s a nasty drop down
+there—well over a fifty-foot fall at least.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s nearer a hundred, really,” Cecil corrected
+him. “The height’s a bit deceptive from here. And a
+fall into that pool would be no joy, I can tell you!
+It’s full of sharp spikes of rock jutting up from the
+bottom. You’d get fairly well mauled if you
+happened to drop on any of them. You can’t see them
+for that green stuff in the water; but they’re all
+present and correct under the surface.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton looked down at the weed-grown little
+lakelet. The dense green fronds gave the water an
+unpleasant appearance; and in some tiny backwaters
+the surface was covered with a layer of scum.</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you get all that stuff cleared out?”
+he demanded. “It looks rather beastly. Once you
+got rid of it you could stock the pool with trout or
+perch, easily enough. I see there’s some flow of
+water through it from a spring at the east end.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed to have no interest in the suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>“If you want some fishing,” he said, “we’ve got
+quite a decent stream that runs through another
+part of the grounds. This place used to be kept in
+good order; but since the war and all that, you
+know, the fine edge has been rather off things hereabouts.
+It’s in a bad state, right enough. Just a
+frog-pond.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is the water deep?” Sir Clinton inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, ten to fifteen feet in parts. Quite deep just
+in front of the cave at the bottom of the cliff below
+here. We used to have great times playing robbers
+and so forth when we were kids. There’s our old
+raft at the far end. It was well tarred and I see it’s
+still afloat. It was the only way of getting at the
+cave-mouth, you see.”</p>
+
+<p>He dismissed the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose we sit down for a while.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton followed him to one of the marble
+benches. Before them, the view of the Ravensthorpe
+grounds stretched out, closed on the horizon by a
+line of woodland. In the foreground, beyond a fence
+at the end of the lake, sheep were grazing on some
+meadow-land.</p>
+
+<p>“One of your ancestors?” inquired Sir Clinton,
+nodding towards the nearest statue. “Or merely
+Phœbus Apollo?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil turned to glance at the statue.</p>
+
+<p>“I think I’d back your second choice,” he said.
+“If it was an ancestor, it must have been one of
+the ancient Britons. It’s a bit short of clothes for
+anything later than that; and even for an ancient
+Briton it seems a trifle undressed. No woad, you
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>He took out his cigarette-case, offered it to Sir
+Clinton, and then began to smoke. Sir Clinton
+seemed to be admiring the view in front of him for a
+few minutes; but when he spoke again it was evident
+that something more than scenery had been in
+his mind.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not altogether easy in my mind over this
+masked ball of Joan’s. Speaking as a Chief
+Constable responsible for the good behaviour of the
+district, Cecil, it seems to me that you’re running
+some risks over it. A dance is all very well. You
+know all your guests by headmark and no one can
+get in on false pretences. But once you start masks,
+it’s a different state of affairs altogether.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil made no comment; and Sir Clinton
+smoked in silence for a time before continuing:</p>
+
+<p>“It’s this craze of Joan’s for anonymity that
+seems to me to open the door to all sorts of things.
+I take it that there’ll be no announcing of individual
+guests, because of this incognito stunt of hers. But
+unfortunately that means you’ll have to admit any
+one who chooses to present himself as Winnie-the-Pooh
+or Felix the Cat or Father Christmas. You
+don’t know who he is. You can’t inquire at the
+start. Anybody might get in. Considering the
+amount of good portable stuff there is in the
+collection at Ravensthorpe, do you think it’s quite
+desirable to have no check whatever on your
+guests?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed struck by this view of the case.</p>
+
+<p>“I never thought of that,” he said. “I suppose
+we ought to have issued uniform entrance-tickets,
+or something of that sort; but the thing never
+crossed any of our minds. Somehow, it seems a bit
+steep to take precautions against people when one’s
+inviting them to one’s house.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s not <em>invited</em> guests I’m thinking about,” Sir
+Clinton hastened to explain more definitely. “This
+affair must have been talked about all over the
+countryside. What’s to hinder some enterprising
+thief dressing up as a tramp and presenting himself
+along with the rest? He’d get in all right. And
+once he was inside, he might be tempted to forget
+the laws of hospitality and help himself. Then, if
+he made himself scarce before the unmasking at
+midnight, he’d get clean away and leave no trace.
+See it?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil nodded affirmatively; but to Sir Clinton’s
+slight surprise he did not appear to be much
+perturbed on the subject. The Chief Constable seemed
+to see an explanation of this attitude.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps, of course, you’re shutting up the
+collections for the evening.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“No. Joan insists on having them on view—all
+of them. It’s a state occasion for her, you know;
+and she’s determined to have all the best of
+Ravensthorpe for her guests. What she says goes, you
+know. If she can’t get her own way by one road
+she takes another. It’s always easier to give in to
+her at once and be done with it. She has such a way
+of making one feel a beast if one refuses her
+anything; and yet she never seems to get spoiled with
+it all.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed rather taken aback by the
+news about the collections.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s your funeral, not mine, if anything
+does happen,” he admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice’s—not mine,” Cecil corrected him
+with a touch of bitterness which Sir Clinton failed
+to understand at the moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve nothing to do with Ravensthorpe nowadays,”
+Cecil went on, after a pause. “I live there,
+that’s all. The whole affair went to Maurice—lock,
+stock, and barrel—when my father died. I’ve really
+no more right in these grounds than you have. I
+might be kicked out any day.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton was puzzled by Cecil’s tone. It was
+only natural that Ravensthorpe should go down into
+the hands of Maurice, since he was the elder
+brother. There could be no particular grievance in
+that. And yet Cecil’s voice had betrayed something
+deeper than a mere mild resentment. The asperity
+in his last remark had been unmistakable.</p>
+
+<p>For a few minutes Cecil remained silent, staring
+moodily out at the landscape. Sir Clinton refrained
+from interrupting his thoughts. The matter certainly
+had excited his curiosity; but until Cecil chose
+to say more, there seemed to be no reason for
+intruding into the private affairs of the Ravensthorpe
+household. Even the privileges of an old friend did
+not seem to Sir Clinton a sufficient excuse for probing
+into family matters.</p>
+
+<p>But the Chief Constable, without any voluntary
+effort, had the gift of eliciting confidences without
+soliciting them. Cecil’s brooding came to an end and
+he turned round to face his companion.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose I’ve said either too much or too little
+already,” he began. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell
+you about the affair. It’s nearly common talk as it
+is, and you’re sure to hear something about it
+sooner or later. You may as well get it first-hand and
+be done with it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, having solicited no confidence, contented
+himself with merely listening, without
+offering any vocal encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>“You knew my father well,” Cecil went on, after
+a short pause in which he seemed to be arranging
+his ideas in some definite order. “He was one of the
+best, if you like. No one would say a word against
+him—it’s the last thing I’d think of doing myself,
+at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>“The bother was,” Cecil continued, “that he
+judged every one by himself. He couldn’t understand
+that any one might not be as straight as he always
+was. He never made an allowance for some kinds of
+human nature, if you see what I mean. And, another
+thing, he had a great notion of the duties of the
+head of the family. He took them pretty seriously
+and he looked after a lot of people who had no claim
+on him, really, except that they belonged to the
+clan.”</p>
+
+<p>“He was always generous, I know,” Sir Clinton
+confirmed. “And he always trusted people.
+Sometimes, perhaps, he overdid it.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil made a gesture of agreement and
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>“He overdid it when he drew up his will. Maurice,
+of course, was bound to be the next head of the
+family, once my father had gone; so my father took it
+for granted that things would go on just the same.
+The head of the family would run the show with an
+eye to the interests of the rest of us, and all would
+be right on the night. That was the theory of the
+business, as my father saw it; and he drafted his
+will on that basis.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil sat up suddenly and flung away his cigarette
+with a vehemence which betrayed the heat of his
+feelings.</p>
+
+<p>“That was the theory of the business, as I said.
+But the practice wasn’t quite so satisfactory. My
+father left every penny he had to Maurice; he left
+him absolutely every asset; and, of course,
+Ravensthorpe’s entailed, so Maurice got that in the normal
+course. Joan, my mother, and myself, were left without
+a farthing to bless ourselves with. But there was
+a suggestion in the will—not a legally binding thing,
+but merely a sort of informal direction—that Maurice
+was to look after us all and give us some sort of
+income each. I suppose my father hardly thought it
+worth while to do more than that. Being the sort of
+man he was, he would rely implicitly on Maurice
+playing the game, just as he’d have played the game
+himself—had played it all his life, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton showed no desire to offer any
+comment; and in a moment or two Cecil went on once
+more:</p>
+
+<p>“Last year, there was nothing to complain about.
+Maurice footed our bills quite decently. He never
+grumbled over our expenses. Everything seemed
+quite sound. It never crossed my mind to get things
+put on a business footing. In fact, you know, I’d
+hardly have had the nerve to suggest anything of
+the sort. It would have looked a bit grasping,
+wouldn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil glanced inquiringly at Sir Clinton, but the
+Chief Constable seemed averse from making any
+comment at this stage. Cecil took his case from his
+pocket and lit a fresh cigarette before continuing
+his story.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t remember Una Rainhill, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s a sort of second cousin of ours,” Cecil
+explained. “Probably you never came across her.
+Besides, she’d hardly be out of the nursery when you
+went off to South Africa. Well, she’s grown up
+now—just about a year or two younger than Joan.
+You’ll see her for yourself. She’s staying with us
+just now for this coming-of-age of Joan’s.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton had no great difficulty in guessing,
+behind Cecil’s restraint, his actual feelings about the
+girl. His voice gave him away if the words did not.</p>
+
+<p>“No use making a long story of it, is there?” Cecil
+continued. “Both Maurice and I wanted Una. So
+did a good many others. But she didn’t want
+Maurice. She was quite nice about it. He’d nothing
+to complain of in that way. He got no encouragement
+from her at all. But he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for
+an answer. He was really extra keen, and I think
+he overdid it instead of making the best of a bad
+business. And finally he realized that it was me that
+he was up against. Una and I aren’t officially
+engaged, or anything like that—you’ll see why in a
+moment—but it’s a case of two’s company and
+three’s none; and Maurice knows he’s Number
+Three.”</p>
+
+<p>There was more than a tinge of rancour in Cecil’s
+voice when he came to this last sentence. Sir Clinton
+raised his eyebrows slightly. He did not quite
+admire this malevolence on the part of the successful
+lover against his defeated rival. Cecil apparently
+noticed the slight change in the Chief Constable’s
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a minute,” he said. “You haven’t heard it
+all yet. Before I go on, just bear in mind that there
+was plenty of money for all of us in the family. My
+father always took it for granted that I’d have
+enough to keep me. He’d never thought of my going
+into business. I’ve got some sort of turn for writing;
+and I think he hoped that I’d make some kind of
+name as an author. And, of course, with what I
+supposed was an assured income behind me, I haven’t
+hurried much in the way of publishing my stuff. I
+could afford to let it lie—or so I thought.”</p>
+
+<p>A slight gesture of Sir Clinton showed his approval
+of this outlook on authorship. It seemed to him that
+Cecil at his age could hardly have much to tell the
+world that it didn’t know already; but he had no
+intention of expressing any such discouraging views.</p>
+
+<p>“You see how it is,” Cecil continued. “As things
+stand, I haven’t the ghost of a chance of earning a
+decent income for years and years. And that was
+the weak joint that Maurice saw and went for—damn
+him! He took it upon himself to tell me that
+I was here more or less on sufferance. He’d been
+generous in the past—he actually reminded me of
+that!—but he didn’t see how he was to continue to
+subsidize me indefinitely. You see his game? If he
+couldn’t have Una himself, he’d take care that I
+shouldn’t have her either. Damned dog-in-the-manger!
+That’s a nice sort of brother for you! I
+wonder what his father would think about him if
+he knew of this trick.”</p>
+
+<p>He pitched away the stub of his unfinished cigarette
+as though with it he could rid himself of some
+of his feeling.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course there was friction—I’m putting it
+mildly—but there was no open row. My mother’s
+not in good health and I couldn’t afford to have her
+worried over my affairs. So we settled down to
+some sort of armed neutrality, although the thing’s
+more or less evident to most people. That’s what I
+meant when I said I might be kicked out any day.
+It’s only a question of time, it seems to me. He still
+thinks that if I were out of the way he’d have a
+chance with Una; and sooner or later I expect him
+to give me an express-ticket into the wide world.
+I’m trying to get some sort of job; but so far
+I haven’t succeeded in lighting on anything
+that seems to offer the slightest prospects. It’s no
+pleasure to stay here on sufferance, I can tell
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>Now that Sir Clinton had received Cecil’s unsolicited
+confidences, he hardly knew what to do with
+them. After all, he reflected, he had heard only one
+side of the story; and it was scarcely fair to judge
+the case on the strength of an <i>ex-parte</i> statement.
+It was not quite the Ravensthorpe which he had
+expected, he admitted ruefully to himself as he
+bent his efforts to bringing Cecil back to normal
+again. Money and a girl: the two things that seemed
+to lie behind most troubles—and even crimes, as
+he knew from experience. It seemed an unkind
+Fate that had forced these two factors to the front
+in an environment where trouble of the kind was
+the last that might have been expected. One never
+knew what this sort of thing might lead to in the
+end.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to have a look at your father’s collections
+some time or other,” he said at last, to change
+the subject, when he had succeeded in getting
+Cecil into a somewhat cooler frame of mind. “I
+saw a good many of the things in London from
+time to time, as he bought them; but there must be
+a lot here at Ravensthorpe that will be new to me.
+Anything your father bought will be worth looking
+at. He had wonderful taste.”</p>
+
+<p>Rather to his vexation, Sir Clinton found that
+he had only shifted the conversation from one sore
+point to another.</p>
+
+<p>“If you want to see anything,” Cecil snapped,
+“you’d better pay your visit as soon as you can
+arrange it. Maurice is going to sell the lot.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton was completely taken aback by this
+news.</p>
+
+<p>“Sell the stuff? What on earth would he want to
+do that for? He’s got all the money he needs,
+surely.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil dissociated himself from any connection
+with the matter.</p>
+
+<p>“No business of mine, now. Maurice can do as he
+likes. Of course, I hate the idea of all these things
+of my father’s being sold off when there seems no
+need for it; but it’s not my affair. The Maurice boy
+isn’t all we thought him; and since he’s come into
+Ravensthorpe, he seems to think of very little else
+but money and how to get more of it. Anything for
+the dibs, it appears.”</p>
+
+<p>“But surely he isn’t selling everything. He
+might get rid of some minor things; but he’ll hardly
+break up the whole collection.”</p>
+
+<p>“Every damned thing, Sir Clinton. Why at this
+very moment he’s got a Yankee agent—a man
+Foss—staying at Ravensthorpe and chaffering for the
+star pieces of the collections: the Medusa
+Medallions.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“They must be fresh acquisitions since my day.
+I’ve never even heard of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ever see the picture of Medusa in the Uffizi
+Gallery? It’s attributed to Leonardo da Vinci; but
+some people say it’s only a student’s copy of the
+original Leonardo which has disappeared. It seems
+my father came across three medallions with almost
+exactly the same Medusa on one side and a figure
+of Perseus on the reverse. And what’s more, he was
+able to get documentary proof that these things
+were really Leonardo’s own work—strange as it
+seems. The thing’s quite admitted by experts. So you
+can imagine that these Medusas are quite the star
+pieces in the museum. And Maurice calmly proposes
+to sell them to Kessock, the Yank millionaire; and
+Kessock has sent this man Foss over here to
+negotiate for them.”</p>
+
+<p>“It seems rather a pity to part with them,” Sir
+Clinton said, regretfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice doesn’t feel it so,” Cecil retorted, rather
+bitterly. “He got a friend of mine, Foxy Polegate,
+to make him electrotypes of them in gold—Foxy’s
+rather good at that sort of thing for an amateur—and
+Maurice thinks that the electrotypes will look
+just as well as the originals.”</p>
+
+<p>“H’m! Cenotaphs, I suppose,” Sir Clinton
+commented.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite so. In Memoriam. The real things being
+buried in the U.S.A.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil paused for a moment and then
+concluded:</p>
+
+<p>“You can imagine that none of us like this
+damned chandlering with these things that my
+father spent so much thought over. It’s enough to
+make him turn in his grave to have all his favourites
+scattered—and just for the sake of Maurice’s
+infernal miserliness and greed for cash.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton rose from his seat and took a last
+glance at the view before him.</p>
+
+<p>“What about moving on now?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil agreed; and they retraced their steps
+towards the pine-wood. As they entered the spinney,
+Sir Clinton noticed another of the Fairy Houses set
+back among the trees at a little distance from the
+path.</p>
+
+<p>“Another of those things?”</p>
+
+<p>Rather to his surprise, Cecil moved over to examine
+the little edifice, and bending down opened the
+door and glanced inside.</p>
+
+<p>“The Fairy’s not at home at present,” he said,
+standing aside to let Sir Clinton look in.</p>
+
+<p>Something in Cecil’s voice forced itself on the
+attention of the Chief Constable. The words seemed
+to be pointless; but in the tone there was an
+ill-suppressed tinge of what might almost have been
+malicious glee at some unexplained jest. Sir Clinton
+was too wary to follow up this track, wherever it
+might lead to. He did not quite like the expression
+on Cecil’s face when the remark was made; and he
+sought for some transition which would bring them
+on to a fresh subject.</p>
+
+<p>“You must have some curiosities in Ravensthorpe
+itself, if parts of it are as old as they seem to be. Any
+priest’s holes, or secret passages, or things of that
+sort?”</p>
+
+<p>“There are one or two,” Cecil admitted. “But we
+don’t make a show of them. In fact, even Joan
+doesn’t know how to get into them. There’s some
+sort of ‘Mistletoe Bough’ story in the family: a girl
+went into one of the passages, forgot how to work
+the spring to get out again, lost her nerve apparently,
+and stayed there till she died. It so happened
+that she was the only one of the family in the house
+at the time, so there was no one to help her out. Since
+then, we’ve kept the secret of the springs from our
+girls. No use running risks.”</p>
+
+<p>“And even Joan hasn’t wheedled it out of you?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, not even Joan. Maurice and I are the only
+ones who can get into these places.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton evidently approved of this.</p>
+
+<p>“Short of opening the passages up altogether,
+that seems the best thing to do. One never knows
+one’s luck. By the way, in an old place like this you
+ought to have a stock of family legends. You’ve got
+these Fairy Houses. Is there anything else of
+general interest?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed to have recovered something of his
+normal good humour; and his face betrayed almost
+a grin of amusement as he replied:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes! We’ve got a family ghost—or so the
+country-folk say. I’ve never come across it myself;
+but it’s common talk that the family spectre is a
+White Man who walks in the woods just before the
+head of the family dies. All rot, you know. Nobody
+believes in it, really. But it’s quite an
+old-established tradition round about here.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“You certainly don’t seem to take him very seriously.
+What about Family Curses? Are you well
+supplied?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better apply to Maurice if you’re keen
+on Family Curses. He seems to have specialized in
+that branch, if you ask me.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch02">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER II. <br> Mr. Polegate’s Sense of Humour</h2>
+
+<p>“How time flies!” said Joan Chacewater, in mock
+despondency. “To-night I’m in my prime. To-morrow
+I shall be twenty-one, with all my bright youth
+behind me. Five years after that, I shall quite
+possibly be married to Michael here, if I’m still alive
+and he hasn’t died in the meantime. Then I shall
+sit o’ nights darning his socks in horn-rimmed
+spectacles, and sadly recalling those glad days when I
+was young and still happy. It’s dreadful! I feel I
+want to cry over it. Give me something to cry into,
+Michael; I seem to have mislaid my bag.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton obligingly held out a
+handkerchief. Joan looked at it disparagingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Haven’t you anything smaller than that? It
+discourages me. I’m not going to cry on a
+manufacturing scale. It wouldn’t be becoming.”</p>
+
+<p>Una Rainhill laid her cigarette down on the
+ash-tray beside her.</p>
+
+<p>“If you’re going to be as particular as that, Joan,
+I think I’d be content with a gulp or two of
+emotion or perhaps a lump in the throat. Cheer up!
+You’ve one more night before the shadows fall.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, there it is!” said Joan, tragically. “You’re
+young, Una, and you never had any foresight, anyway.
+But I can see it all coming. I can see the fat
+ankles”—she glanced down at her own slim
+ones—“and the artificial silk stockings at
+three-and-eleven the pair; because Michael’s business
+will always be mismanaged, with him at the head
+of it. And I’ll have that red nose that comes from
+indigestion; because after Michael ends up in
+bankruptcy, we won’t be able to keep a maid, and
+I never could cook anything whatever. And then
+Michael will grow fat, and short of breath and
+bald . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“That’ll be quite enough for the present,”
+interrupted the outraged Michael. “I’m not so sure
+about letting you marry me at all, after that pleasant
+little sketch.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you can’t drop those domineering ways of
+yours, Michael, I shall withdraw,” Joan warned
+him, coldly. “You can boss other people as much as
+you choose; I rather like to see you doing it. But it
+doesn’t go with me, remember. If you show these
+distressing signs of wanting your own way, I shall
+simply have to score you off my list of possibles.
+And that would no doubt be painful to both of
+us—to you, at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, to both of us, to both of us, I’m sure. I
+wouldn’t dream of contradicting you, Joan. Where
+would you be, if the only serious candidate dropped
+out? Anything rather than that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s a blessing that one man seems to have
+some sense,” Joan admitted, turning to the others.
+“One can’t help liking Michael, if it’s only for the
+frank way he acknowledges when he’s in the wrong.
+Skilful handling does a lot with the most
+unpromising material, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil leaned over in his chair and peered athwart
+the greenery which surrounded the nook in the
+winter-garden in which they were sitting.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s Foxy wandering round.”</p>
+
+<p>He raised his voice:</p>
+
+<p>“Are you looking for us, Foxy? We’re over here.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxton Polegate’s freckled face, surmounted by
+a shock of reddish hair, appeared at the entrance to
+their recess.</p>
+
+<p>“Been hunting about for you,” he explained as he
+sat down. “Couldn’t make out where you’d got to.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“Dropped across this evening on important business.
+Fact is, I’ve lost my invitation-card and the
+book of words. Didn’t read it carefully when
+it came. So thought I’d drop over and hear what’s
+what. Programme, I mean, and all that sort of
+thing, so there’ll be no hitch.”</p>
+
+<p>Una leaned over and selected a fresh cigarette
+from the box.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re hopeless, Foxy,” she pronounced. “One
+of these memory courses is what you need badly.
+Why not treat the thing as a practical joke instead
+of in earnest? <em>Then</em> you’d have no difficulty.
+Jokes are the only things you ever seem to take
+seriously.”</p>
+
+<p>“Epigrams went completely out before you were
+born, Una,” Foxy retorted. “Don’t drag ’em from
+their graves at this hour of the century. And don’t
+interrupt Joan in her instructions to the guest of
+the evening. Don’t you see she’s saying ’em over
+nervously to herself for fear she forgets ’em?”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a bit too much of the harassed nursemaid
+about you, Foxy, with all your ‘don’ts,’ ” Joan
+broke in. “Now take your stylus and tablets and jot
+this down carefully, for I won’t repeat it under a
+shilling a page. Here’s the programme. Ten p.m.:
+Arrival of distinguished guests. (They’re all
+distinguished, except you, Foxy.) Brilliant and
+animated conversation by those who can manage it; the
+rest can listen intelligently. (You may try listening,
+Foxy, if it isn’t too much of a strain.) The
+cloak-room, picture-gallery, museum, and poultry-yard
+will be thrown open for inspection by the public
+absolutely free of charge. It won’t cost you a
+cent. Bridge-tables will be provided for the curiosities
+who don’t dance. Dancing will begin straightway
+and will be continued up to 11.45, when the
+judges will take their seats. As soon as they are
+comfortable, the march-past will start. All guests must
+present themselves at this without fail, Foxy. At
+five minutes to twelve the identity of the prize-winners
+will be disclosed. When midnight strikes, all
+guests will remove their masks, even at the cost of
+shocking the company in some cases. Dancing will
+then be resumed and will continue into the dewy
+dawn. And that’s how it will take place according
+to plan.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one point,” said Foxy, hesitatingly.
+“Are the prizes portable things, or shall I have to
+hire a van to take mine away with me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t worry a bit about that, Foxy,” said
+Una, comfortingly. “We’ve decided to keep the
+prizes in the family, you see. Joan gets one, because
+it will be her birthday. I get the other for the best
+female costume. Cecil, Maurice, and Michael are
+going to toss odd-man for the two men’s prizes. So
+you can come as a Teddy Bear without pockets if
+you like. It won’t be of any consequence. You’ll have
+nothing to carry away.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can’t say fairer than that,” Foxy admitted. “Always
+liked that plain, straightforward way of doing
+things myself.”</p>
+
+<p>A recollection of his talk with Sir Clinton passed
+across Cecil Chacewater’s mind, and without
+reflection he communicated it to the others:</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Sir Clinton seemed a trifle worried
+over this affair. He pointed out to me that some
+scallywag might creep in amongst the guests and
+play Old Harry in the museum if he got the
+chance.”</p>
+
+<p>Just at this moment, Maurice Chacewater passed
+along the alley in the winter-garden from which the
+nook opened.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice!” Joan called to her brother. “Come
+here for a moment, please.”</p>
+
+<p>Maurice turned back and entered the recess. He
+seemed tired; and there was a certain hesitancy in
+his manner as though he were not quite sure of
+himself. His sister made a gesture inviting him to sit
+down, but he appeared disinclined to stay.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the trouble?” he asked, with a weary air.</p>
+
+<p>“Cecil’s been suggesting that it’s hardly safe to
+leave the collections open to-morrow night, in case a
+stranger got in with a mask on. Hadn’t we better
+have some one to stay in the museum and look after
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Cecil needn’t worry his head,” Maurice returned,
+ignoring his brother. “I’m putting one of the
+keepers on to watch the museum.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned on his heel and went off along the
+corridor. Foxy gazed after him with a peculiar
+expression on his face.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice looks a bit done-up, doesn’t he?” he
+finally said, turning back towards the group about
+him. “He hasn’t been quite all right for a while.
+Seems almost as if he expected a thunderbolt to
+strike him any minute, doesn’t he? A bit white
+about the gills and holding himself in all the time.”</p>
+
+<p>Before any one could reply to this, Joan rose and
+beckoned to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Come along, Michael. I’ll play you a hundred up,
+if you like. There’ll be no one in the billiard-room.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton rose eagerly from his chair and
+followed her out. Foxy looked after them.</p>
+
+<p>“As an old friend of the family, merely wanting
+to know, <em>are</em> those two engaged or not? They go on
+as if they were and as if they weren’t. It’s most
+confusing to plain fellows like me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt if they know themselves,” said Una, “so
+I’d advise you not to waste too much brain-matter
+over it, Foxy. What do boys of your age know
+about such things?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not much, not much, I admit. Cupid seems to
+pass me by on his rounds. Perhaps it’s the red hair.
+Or maybe the freckles. Or because I’m not the
+strong, talkative sort like Michael. Or just Fate,
+or something.”</p>
+
+<p>“I expect it’s just Something, as you say,” Una
+confirmed in a sympathetic tone. “That seems,
+somehow, to explain everything, doesn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“As it were, yes,” retorted Foxy. “But don’t let
+the fact that you’ve ensnared Cecil—poor
+chap—lead you into putting on expert airs with me.
+Betrays inexperience at once, that. Only the very
+young do it.”</p>
+
+<p>His face lighted up.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve just thought of something. What a joke!
+Suppose we took the Chief Constable’s tip and
+engineered a sham robbery to-morrow night?
+Priceless, what? Carry it through in real good style.
+Make Maurice sit up for a day or two, eh? Do his
+liver good if he’d something to worry about.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil’s face showed indecision.</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t mind giving Maurice a twinge or two
+just to teach him manners,” he confessed. “But I
+don’t see much in the notion as it stands, Foxy.
+Maurice is posting a keeper in the museum, you
+know; and that complicates things a bit. The
+keeper would spot any of us tampering with things.
+He knows us all as well as his own brother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not in fancy dress, with a mask on, dear boy.
+Don’t forget that part of it.</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p class="i1">‘Fancy me in fancy dress,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Fancy me as Good Queen Bess!’ ”</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>he hummed softly. “Only I don’t think I’ll come as
+Good Queen Bess, after all.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil knitted his brows slightly and seemed to be
+considering Foxy’s idea.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t mind giving Maurice a start,” he
+admitted half-reluctantly. “And your notion might be
+good enough if one could work it out properly.
+Question is, can you? Suppose you suddenly make a
+grab for some of the stuff. The keeper’ll be down on
+you like a shot. He’ll yell for help; and you’ll be
+pinched for a cert. before you could get away.
+There doesn’t seem to be anything in it, Foxy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold on for a minute. I’ll see my way through
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy took a cigarette, lighted it, and seemed to
+cogitate deeply over the first few puffs.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got it!” he announced. “It’s dead easy.
+Suppose one of us grabs the keeper while the other
+helps himself to the till? We could easily knock out
+the keeper between us and get off all right without
+an alarm being raised.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I draw the line at using a sand-bag or
+a knuckle-duster on our own keeper. That’s barred,
+Foxy. Think again.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s aye a way,” Foxy assured him sententiously.
+“Give me another jiffy or two. This is how
+it goes. We mustn’t knock out the keeper. We
+mustn’t be recognized. We’ve got to get away
+scot-free, or the joke would be on us. These the
+conditions?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“This is where pure genius comes in,” Foxy
+announced with pride. “How does one recognize
+any one? By looking at ’em. So if the keeper can’t
+look at us, he won’t recognize us. That’s as sound as
+Euclid, if not sounder.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” asked Una, joining in the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he won’t recognize us if the place is dark,
+then,” explained Foxy, triumphantly. “All we have
+to do is to get the light in the room switched off, and
+the thing’s as good as done.”</p>
+
+<p>“That seems to hit the mark,” Cecil agreed. “But
+that makes it a three-handed job, you know: one to
+grab the keeper; one to snaffle the stuff; and one to
+pull out the fuse of the museum light from the
+fuse-box. Where’s our third man?”</p>
+
+<p>Una leaned forward eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll do that part for you! I’d like to make
+Maurice sit up. He hasn’t been very nice to me
+lately; and I want to pay him out just a little.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense, Una,” Cecil interrupted. “You can’t
+be mixed up in a joke of this sort. There’s almost
+bound to be a row after it. It doesn’t matter in my
+case; Maurice has his knife into me anyway, you
+know. But there’s no need for you to be getting your
+fingers nipped.”</p>
+
+<p>Una brushed the suggestion aside.</p>
+
+<p>“What can Maurice do to me even if he does find
+out? I’ve nothing to do with him. And, besides, how
+is he going to find out anything about it? I suppose
+you’ll just keep the things for a day or two and then
+return them by some way that he can’t trace. He’ll
+never know who did it, unless we let it out
+ourselves. And we mustn’t let it out, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy nodded his agreement. Cecil was longer in
+his consideration; but at last he seemed to fall in
+with the arrangement.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, so long as Una’s name isn’t mixed up in it,
+Foxy, I’m your man. It’s a silly caper; but I’m not
+above going into it for the sport of vexing my good
+brother.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right!” said Foxy, with relief. “Now the next
+article: What’s the best thing to go for? It must be
+portable, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil pondered for a moment; then, as a thought
+struck him, he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the game. It may be news to you, Foxy,
+but my good brother is taking steps to sell off our
+collections.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy was quite plainly staggered by this news.</p>
+
+<p>“All the stuff your father got together? Surely
+not! Well, that’s the limit!”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite,” confirmed Cecil. “I’d prevent it if I
+could; but he’s got the whip-hand, and that’s
+all there is to it.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy seemed still slightly incredulous.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, your Governor loved that stuff as it were
+a child! And Maurice doesn’t need the money he’ll
+get for it. It’s . . . it’s shameful! My word! If I
+were in your shoes, Cecil, I believe I’d really steal
+the stuff instead of only pretending to grab it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sorely tempted,” said Cecil, half-grimly.
+“Now here’s the point. It seems Maurice has
+got into touch with Kessock, the Yank millionaire.
+Kessock wants to buy the Medusa Medallions—the
+very thing my father set most store by in the whole
+lot. Kessock’s sent over an agent of his—this fellow
+Foss who’s staying here just now—to settle up the
+business, see to the genuineness of the things, and
+so forth. I’ve nothing against Foss. He’s only doing
+his job and he seems all right. I don’t like some of
+his American manners; but that’s neither here nor
+there. The point is, the deal’s just going to be closed.
+Now if we lift these medallions, won’t Maurice look
+an extra-sized ass?”</p>
+
+<p>“Absoluto!” said Foxy. “I see what you’re after.
+We lift ’em. Foss wants ’em at once. He can’t get
+’em. P’raps the deal’s off—for the time at least. And
+Maurice looks a prize ape.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Cecil snapped, angrily. “That’ll perhaps
+teach him a lesson.”</p>
+
+<p>Una Rainhill had been thinking while this last
+part of the conversation had been going on.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s one thing you haven’t provided against,
+Foxy,” she pointed out. “Suppose you manage
+everything as you’ve arranged. Even if you get
+clear away from the museum, there’s almost certain
+to be some one in the passage outside who’ll see you
+rush out. And then the game would be up. It’s not
+enough to dowse the light in the museum. You’ll
+need to put all the house lights out as well.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s sound,” Foxy agreed at once. “That
+means that you’ll need to pull out the main switch
+instead of just the fuse of the museum. It’s an even
+easier job, with no chance of a mistake in it. And
+what a spree it’ll be. The whole shop will be buzzing
+like an overturned hive! It’ll be great sport. And,
+of course, there’ll be such a wild confusion before
+they get the lights on again, that we’ll come out of
+it absolutely O.K. All we have to do is to saunter
+quietly out of the museum and help to restore order
+among the rabble in the dark. By the time the lights
+go on again, we’ll be anywhere it suits us to be.
+That’s a master-stroke of yours, Una. Couldn’t be
+bettered.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil glanced at his wrist-watch.</p>
+
+<p>“Time’s getting on, Foxy. We’ve sketched the
+general idea, but we must get this thing down to
+dots now. Everything will depend on synchronizing
+things exactly. We can’t afford to leave affairs to
+the last moment; for we mustn’t be seen together,
+you know, to-morrow night.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy nodded assent and pulled out a notebook.</p>
+
+<p>“Here it is, then,” he declared. “I’ll make three
+copies—one for each of us—and we can burn ’em
+once we’ve memorized ’em later on. Now, first of
+all, we can’t start our game too early. That’d be a
+mistake. Let ’em all get well mixed up in dancing
+and so forth, before we begin operations.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil and Una assented to this at once.</p>
+
+<p>“Midnight’s the limit at the other end,” Foxy
+pointed out. “Can’t afford to wait for the
+unmasking, for then the keeper would know us and
+remember we’d been in the museum when the thing
+happened.”</p>
+
+<p>His fellow-conspirators made no objection.</p>
+
+<p>“In between those limits, I think this would be
+about right,” Foxy proposed. “First of all, we set
+our three watches to the same time. Better do it
+now, for fear of forgetting.”</p>
+
+<p>When this had been done, he continued:</p>
+
+<p>“At 11.40 Una goes to the main switch. You’ll
+have to show her where it is, Cecil, either to-night
+or to-morrow morning. At 11.40, also, Cecil and I
+wander independently into the museum. I remember
+quite well where the medallions are kept.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a moment,” interrupted Cecil. “Just
+remember that the three real medallions and your
+three electrotypes are lying side by side in the glass
+case. The real medallions are in the top row; your
+electros are the bottom row.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy made a note of this and then went on:</p>
+
+<p>“Your business, Cecil, will be to mark down the
+keeper. Get so near him that you can jump on him
+for certain the very instant the lights go out. Make
+sure you can get his hands or his wrists at the first
+grab. You mustn’t fumble it or you’ll shipwreck the
+whole caboodle.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll manage it all right,” Cecil assured him.</p>
+
+<p>“In the meantime I’ll be stooping over the medallion
+case, looking at the stuff, with something in my
+hand to break the glass. I’ll have a thick glove, so
+as not to get cut with the edges when I put my hand
+in.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s sound,” said Cecil, “I hadn’t thought of
+the splinters.”</p>
+
+<p>“Blood would give us away at once,” Foxy pointed
+out. “Now comes the real business. At a quarter
+to twelve precisely Una pulls out the switch. As
+soon as the light goes, Cecil jumps on the keeper
+while I smash the glass of the case and grab the top
+row of the medallions. After that, we both cut for
+the door and mingle with the mob. And remember,
+not a word said during the whole affair. Our voices
+would give us away to the keeper.”</p>
+
+<p>He scribbled two extra copies of his time-table
+and handed one of these to each of the other
+conspirators.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, for my sake, don’t botch this business,” he
+added. “I’ve played a joke or two in my time, but
+this is the best I’ve ever done, and I don’t want it
+spoiled by inattention to details. It’ll be worth all
+the trouble to see Maurice’s face when he finds
+what’s happened.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch03">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER III. <br> The Theft at the Masked Ball</h2>
+
+<p>“I’m thankful I took my wings off,” said Ariel, leaning
+back in her chair with a soft sigh of satisfaction.
+“You’ve no notion how much you long to sit down
+when you know you daren’t do it for fear of crushing
+the frames of these things. It’s not tiredness; it’s
+simply tantalization.”</p>
+
+<p>She turned her eyes inquisitively on the bearded
+figure of her partner.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder who you’re supposed to be?” she
+mused. “You ought to have a ticket, with a costume
+like that. I can’t guess who you imagine you
+are—or who you really are, for that matter.”</p>
+
+<p>Her companion showed no desire to enlighten her
+on the last point.</p>
+
+<p>“ ‘My quaint Ariel, hark in thine ear,’ ” he quoted,
+but she failed to recognize the tones of his voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, now I see! We did ‘The Tempest’ one year
+at school. So you’re Prospero, are you? Well, don’t
+let’s begin by any misunderstandings. If you think
+you’re entitled to act your part by ordering me
+about, you’re far mistaken. My trade union
+positively refuses to permit any overtime.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve left my book and staff in the cloak-room,”
+Prospero confessed, laughingly, “otherwise,
+malignant spirit . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“ ‘That’s my noble master!’ ” quoted Ariel, ironically.
+“Prospero was a cross old thing. I suppose
+you couldn’t even throw in a bit of conjuring to keep
+up appearances? It’s almost expected of you.”</p>
+
+<p>Prospero looked cautiously round the
+winter-garden in which they were sitting.</p>
+
+<p>“Not much field here for my illimitable powers,”
+he grumbled disparagingly, “unless you’d like me to
+turn Falstaff over there into a white rabbit. And that
+would startle his partner somewhat, I’m afraid, so
+we’d better not risk it.”</p>
+
+<p>He pondered for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I hate to disappoint you, Ariel. What about a
+turn at divination? Would it amuse you if I told your
+fortune, revealed the secrets of your soul, and what
+not? This is how I do it; it’s called Botanomancy, if
+you desire to pursue your studies on a more
+convenient occasion.”</p>
+
+<p>He stretched up his hand and plucked a leaf from
+the tropical plant above his head. Ariel watched him
+mischievously from behind her mask.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Prospero, get along with it, will you? The
+next dance will be starting sooner than immediately.”</p>
+
+<p>Prospero pretended to study the leaf minutely
+before continuing.</p>
+
+<p>“I see a girl who likes to play at having her own
+way . . . and isn’t too scrupulous in her methods
+of getting it. She is very happy . . . happier,
+perhaps, than she has ever been before. . . . I see two
+Thresholds, one of which she has just crossed, the
+other which she will cross after this next dance, I
+think. Yes, that is correct. There’s some influence in
+the background. . . .”</p>
+
+<p>He broke off and regarded Ariel blandly.</p>
+
+<p>“So much for the signs. Now for the interpretation.
+You are obviously in the very early twenties;
+so I infer that the Threshold you are about to cross
+lies between your twentieth and twenty-first birthday.
+Putting that along with the character which the
+leaf revealed . . . Why, Ariel, you must be Miss
+Joan Chacewater, and you’ve just got engaged!”</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to know me all right, Prospero,” Joan
+admitted. “But how about the engagement? It’s too
+dim in here for you to have seen my ring; and besides,
+I’ve had my hand in the folds of my dress ever
+since I sat down.”</p>
+
+<p>“Except for one moment when you settled the
+band round your hair,” Prospero pointed out. “The
+ring you’re wearing is more than a shade too large
+for your finger—obviously it’s so new that you
+haven’t had time to get it altered to fit, yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to notice things,” Joan admitted. “I
+wonder who you are.”</p>
+
+<p>Prospero brushed her inquiry aside.</p>
+
+<p>“A little parlour conjuring to finish up the part in
+due form?” he suggested. “It’s almost time for our
+dance. Look!”</p>
+
+<p>He held out an empty hand for Joan’s inspection,
+then made a slight snatch in the air as if seizing
+something in flight. When he extended his hand
+again, a small diamond star glittered in the palm.</p>
+
+<p>“Take it, Joan,” said Sir Clinton in his natural
+voice. “I meant to send it to you to-morrow; but
+at the last moment I thought I might as well bring it
+with me and have the pleasure of giving it to you
+myself. It’s your birthday present. I’m an old
+enough friend to give you diamonds on a special
+occasion like this.”</p>
+
+<p>“You took me in completely,” Joan admitted, after
+she had thanked him. “I couldn’t make out who
+you were; and I thought you were the limit in
+insolence when you began talking about my private
+affairs.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Michael Clifton, of course?” Sir Clinton
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Why ‘of course’? One would think he’d been
+my last chance, by the way you put it. This living on
+a magic island has ruined your manners, my good
+Prospero.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he won’t let you down, Joan. You—shall
+I say, even you, to be tactful—couldn’t have done
+better in the raffle.”</p>
+
+<p>Before Joan could reply, a girl in Egyptian costume
+came past their chairs. Joan stopped her with a
+gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“Pin this pretty thing in the front of my band,
+please, Cleopatra. Be sure you get it in the right
+place.”</p>
+
+<p>She held out the diamond star. Cleopatra took it
+without comment and fastened it in position hastily.</p>
+
+<p>“Sit down,” Joan invited, “your next partner will
+find you here when he comes. Tell us about Cæsar
+and Antony and all the rest of your disreputable past.
+Make it exciting.”</p>
+
+<p>Cleopatra shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry I can’t stop just now. Neither Julius nor
+Antony put in an appearance to-night, so I’m spending
+my arts on a mere centurion. He’s a stickler for
+punctuality—being a Roman soldier.”</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at her wrist-watch.</p>
+
+<p>“I must fly at once. O reservoir! as we say in
+Egypt, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>With a nod of farewell, she hastened along the
+alley and out of the winter-garden.</p>
+
+<p>“She seems a trifle nervous about something,” Sir
+Clinton commented, indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>Joan smoothed down her filmy tunic.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it time we moved?” she asked. “I see
+Falstaff’s gone away, so you can’t turn him into a
+white rabbit now; and there doesn’t seem to be
+anything else you could enchant just at present. The
+orchestra will be starting in a moment, anyhow.”</p>
+
+<p>She rose as she spoke. Sir Clinton followed her
+example, and they made their way out of the
+winter-garden.</p>
+
+<p>“What costume is Michael Clifton wearing to-night?”
+asked Sir Clinton as the orchestra played
+the opening bars of the dance. “I ought to
+congratulate him; and it’s easier to pick him up at a
+distance if I know how he’s dressed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Look for something in eighteenth-century clothes
+and a large wig, then,” Joan directed. “He says
+he’s Macheath out of the ‘Beggar’s Opera.’ I suppose
+he’s quite as like that as anything else. You’ll perhaps
+recognize him best by a large artificial mole at the
+left corner of his mouth. I observed it particularly
+myself.”</p>
+
+<p>She noticed that her partner seemed more on the
+alert than the occasion required.</p>
+
+<p>“What are you worried about?” she demanded.
+“You seem to be listening for something; and you
+can’t hear anything, you know, even if you tried,
+because of the orchestra.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook off his air of preoccupation.</p>
+
+<p>“The fact is, Joan, I’ve been worried all evening.
+I’m really afraid of something happening to-night. I
+don’t much like this mask business with all that stuff
+in the collections. I’ve a feeling in my bones that
+there might be trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan laughed at his gloomy premonitions.</p>
+
+<p>“You won’t be kept on the rack much longer,
+that’s one good thing. There’s just this dance, then
+the march-past for judging the costumes, and then it
+will be midnight when everybody must unmask. So
+you’ll have to make the best of your fears in the next
+half-hour. After that there’ll be no excuse for them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Meanwhile, on with the dance, eh?” said Sir
+Clinton. “I see it’s no use trying to give you a
+nightmare. You’re too poor a subject to repay the labour
+and trouble. Besides, this music’s terribly straining
+on the vocal cords if one tries to compete with it.”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, however, the orchestra reached a
+diminuendo in the score and sank to comparative
+quietness. Joan looked here and there about the
+room as they danced and at last detected the figure
+for which she was searching.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s Michael over there,” she pointed out, “the
+one dancing with the girl dressed as . . .”</p>
+
+<p>Across the sound of the music there cut the sharp
+report of a small-calibre pistol fired in some adjacent
+room. On the heels of it came the crash and tinkle of
+falling glass, and, almost simultaneously, a cry for
+help in a man’s voice.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton let Joan’s hand go and turned to the
+door; but before he could take a step, the lights
+above them vanished and the room was plunged in
+darkness. Joan felt a hand come out and grip her arm.</p>
+
+<p>“That you, Joan?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“They’ve taken out the main switch,” Sir Clinton
+said hurriedly. “Get hold of some man at once and
+show him where it is. We want the lights as quick as
+possible. I can trust you not to lose your head. Take
+a man with you for fear of trouble. We don’t know
+what’s happening.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” Joan assured him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hurry!” Sir Clinton urged.</p>
+
+<p>His hand dropped from her arm as he moved
+invisibly away towards the door. In the darkness
+around her she could hear movements and startled
+exclamations. The orchestra, after mechanically playing
+a couple of bars, had fallen to silence. Some one
+blundered into her and passed on before she could
+put out her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, at least I know where the door is,” she
+assured herself; and she began to move towards it.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the cries for help continued to come
+from the museum. Then, abruptly, they were hushed;
+and she shuddered as she thought of what that
+cessation might mean. She moved forward and came to
+what seemed an unobstructed space on the floor, over
+which she was able to advance freely.</p>
+
+<p>Her whole senses were concentrated on reaching
+the exit; but her mind appeared to work independently
+of her own volition and to conjure up the
+possibilities behind this series of events. Sir Clinton
+had evidently expected some criminal attempt that
+night; and he had assumed that the museum would
+be the objective. But suppose he were wrong.
+Perhaps the affair in the museum was only a blind to
+draw towards it all the men outside the ball-room.
+Then, when they were disposed of, there might come
+an incursion here. Most of the women had taken
+advantage of their fancy dress to deck themselves out
+with jewellery, and a few armed men could easily
+reap a small fortune in a minute or two. Despite the
+soundness of her nerves, she began to feel anxious,
+and to conjure up still more appalling pictures.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly her eyes were dazzled by a flash of light
+as a man beside her struck a match. Almost at the
+same moment she felt a hand on her shoulder and
+she was pulled backwards so brusquely that she
+almost lost her balance and slipped.</p>
+
+<p>“Put out that match, you fool!” said Michael’s
+voice. “Do you want to have these girls’ dresses in
+a blaze?”</p>
+
+<p>The flare of the match had revealed a circle of
+startled faces. The room was filled with excited voices
+and a sound of confused movements. Over at the
+orchestra a music-stand fell with a clash of metal.
+Then, close beside her in the darkness, Joan heard a
+girl’s voice repeating monotonously in tones of acute
+fear: “What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Much good <em>that</em> does any one,” Joan muttered,
+contemptuously. Then, aloud, she called: “Michael!”</p>
+
+<p>Before he could reply, there came a sharp
+exclamation in a man’s voice:</p>
+
+<p>“Stand back, there! My partner’s fainted.”</p>
+
+<p>The possibilities involved in a panic suddenly
+became all too clear in Joan’s mind. If half a dozen
+people lost their heads, the girl might be badly
+hurt.</p>
+
+<p>Michael’s voice was lifted again, in a tone that
+would have carried through a storm at sea:</p>
+
+<p>“Everybody stand fast! You’ll be trampling the
+girl underfoot if you don’t take care. Stand still,
+confound you! Pull the blinds up and throw back the
+curtains. It’s a moonlight night.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a rustling as those nearest the windows
+set about the execution of his orders. Light suddenly
+appeared, revealing the strained faces and uneasy
+attitudes of the company. Joan turned to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Come with me and put in the switch, Michael.
+Sir Clinton’s gone to the museum. We must get the
+lights on quick.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael, with a word to his partner, followed his
+fiancée towards the door. A thought seemed to strike
+him just as he was leaving the room:</p>
+
+<p>“Wait here, everybody, till we get the lights on
+again. You’ll just run risks by moving about in the
+dark outside. It’s nothing. Probably only a fuse
+blown.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now then, Joan, where’s that switch?” he added
+as they passed out of the door.</p>
+
+<p>It was pitch-dark in the rest of the house; but
+Joan knew her way and was able to grope along the
+corridors without much difficulty. As they came near
+the switch-box, the lights flashed up again. One of
+the servants appeared round a corner.</p>
+
+<p>“Some one had pulled out the switch, sir,” he
+explained. “It took me some time to make my way to
+it and put it in again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Stout fellow!” said Michael, approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment, a voice shouted above the
+confused noises of the house:</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, you fellows! He’s got away. Lend hand
+to chase him.”</p>
+
+<p>And a sound of running steps filled the hall, as
+the male guests poured out in answer to the
+summons.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t need me any longer, Joan?” Michael
+questioned. “Right! Then I’m off to lend a hand.”</p>
+
+<p>He ran to join the rest.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone, Joan retraced her steps to the ball-room;
+but instead of re-entering it, she passed on in
+the direction of the museum, whither a number of
+the guests were making their way also.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope nobody’s got badly hurt,” she thought to
+herself as she hurried along. “I do wish I’d taken
+the hint and not asked to have that collection thrown
+open to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Much to her relief, she found Sir Clinton sitting on
+a chair beside the museum door. In the doorway
+stood the keeper, looking none the worse and busying
+himself with fending off the more inquisitive among
+the guests who wished to enter the room. Joan
+noticed that the museum itself was in darkness
+though the lights were burning in the rest of the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re not hurt, are you, Sir Clinton?” she asked
+as she came up to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing to speak of. The fellow kicked me on
+the ankle as he came out. I’m temporarily lamed,
+that’s all. Nothing to worry about, I think.”</p>
+
+<p>He rubbed his ankle as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you all right, Mold?” Joan inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The keeper reassured her.</p>
+
+<p>“No harm done, Miss Joan. They didn’t hurt me.
+But I’m sorry, miss, I didn’t manage to get hold
+of them. They were on me before I could do anything,
+me being so taken aback by the lights going
+out.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s happened?” Joan questioned Sir Clinton.
+“Has anything been stolen?”</p>
+
+<p>“We don’t know yet what’s gone,” he replied,
+answering her last question first. “The bulk of the
+lamp’s smashed in there”—he nodded towards the
+museum—“and until they bring a fresh one, we
+can’t find out what damage has been done. As to
+what happened, it seems rather confused at present;
+but I expect we shall get it cleared up eventually.
+There seems to have been a gang at work; and I’m
+afraid some things may be missing when we begin to
+look over the collection.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I’d taken your hint,” Joan admitted,
+frankly. “It’s partly my blame, I feel, for neglecting
+your advice. I was silly to laugh at you when you
+spoke about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you, Joan,”
+Sir Clinton reassured her. “It was really only one
+chance in a million that anything of the sort would
+happen to-night. Besides, if we manage to nail this
+fellow that they’re all after, we may be able to get
+some clue to his confederates. Quite evidently there
+was a gang at work, and he may be induced to split
+on his friends if we can lay hands on him; and then
+we’ll get the stuff back again without much trouble,
+I hope.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at her, as though to see the effect of his
+words; then, as his eyes caught her mask, he seemed
+struck by another idea.</p>
+
+<p>“That reminds me,” he said, “we must get these
+masks off. Send some one round at once, please, Joan,
+to order every one to unmask now. And have all the
+outer doors shut, too. It’s a futile precaution, I’m
+afraid; because any one could slip out during the
+confusion when there was no light: but we may as
+well do what we can even at this stage.”</p>
+
+<p>He removed his own mask as he spoke, and pulled
+away the false beard which he had worn as Prospero.
+Joan loosened her mask and went off to give the
+necessary orders. In a few moments she returned.</p>
+
+<p>“Now tell me what did happen,” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no one killed, or even hurt,” Sir Clinton
+assured her. “This ankle of mine’s the only casualty,
+so far as I know; and I expect I’ll be able to limp
+about quite comfortably by to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m thankful it’s no worse,” said Joan, with relief.</p>
+
+<p>“All I know about the business comes from Mold,
+here,” Sir Clinton went on. “It seems he was
+patrolling the museum at the time the thing happened,
+under your brother’s orders. Perhaps half a dozen
+people—under a dozen, he says, at any rate—were in
+the place then. Some of them were examining the
+cases in the bays; some of them were looking at the
+things in the big centre case. Mold doesn’t remember
+what costumes they were wearing. I don’t blame
+him. People had been passing in and out all through
+the evening; and there was no reason why he should
+take particular note of the guests at that special
+moment.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced up at the keeper, who was
+looking rather ashamed at his inability to furnish
+better information.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you worry, Mold. I doubt if I’d have had
+any more to tell, myself, if I’d been there. One can’t
+be expected to remember everything.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned back to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“The next thing that happened was a pistol-shot,
+and the light went out. Some light filtered in from
+the door of the room, for the lamps in the hall here
+were still blazing; but before Mold could do
+anything, some one gripped him from behind and got his
+wrists twisted behind his back. In the struggle Mold
+was swung round, so that he couldn’t see the central
+case even in what light there was. Then the lights
+outside were switched off and he heard a smashing of
+glass. There was a bit of a struggle, apparently; and
+then all at once he felt himself let loose. As soon as
+he got free, he lit a match and posted himself at the
+door to prevent any one getting away; and he stayed
+there until the lights went on again. Then he made
+all his prisoners unmask and those whom he didn’t
+recognize himself he kept there until some one he
+knew came to identify them. They’re all people you
+know quite well, Joan. More than half of them were
+girls, who seem rather unlikely people to go in for
+robbery with violence, to put it mildly. Mold made
+a list of them, if we happen to need it. But I don’t
+think we’re likely to find the criminal amongst them.
+This affair was too well planned for that. The real
+gang have got clean away, I’m pretty sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what about your ankle?” demanded Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that? I happened to arrive at the door fairly
+quickly after the lights went out. Just as I got to it,
+a fellow came dashing out; and I made a grab at him
+as well as I could in the dark. But one can’t see
+what one’s doing; and I didn’t get a decent grip on
+him as he charged out on top of me. He landed me a
+fairly effective kick—right on the ankle-bone, by
+bad luck—and then, before I could get my hands on
+him properly he tore himself clear and was off down
+the hall towards the front door. I hobbled after him
+as best I could; and there he was—a fellow dressed
+in Pierrot costume—running quite leisurely over the
+gravel sweep and making for the woods. I couldn’t
+go after him; but he was quite clear in the moonlight
+and he’d a long way to go before getting into cover;
+so I raised a hue and cry at once, and quite a crowd
+of stout fellows are after him. He’ll have to run a bit
+faster than he was doing, if he expects to get off.
+These pine-woods have no undergrowth to speak of;
+and he’ll find it difficult to conceal himself in a
+hurry.”</p>
+
+<p>As Sir Clinton ended his narrative a servant came
+hurrying up the hall, bringing a tall pair of steps with
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Is that the new lamp?” Sir Clinton demanded.
+“All right. Light a match or two, Mold, to let him
+see where to put the steps. And don’t tramp about
+too much while you’re fixing them up, please. I want
+to see things undisturbed as far as possible.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch04">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IV. <br> The Chase in the Woods</h2>
+
+<p>In earlier days, Michael Clifton had been reckoned
+among the more creditable runners in the School
+Mile; and he had never allowed himself to fall out of
+training. Thus as he joined the throng of would-be
+pursuers emerging from the house, he felt a certain
+confidence that the fugitive would at any rate have
+to put his best foot foremost if he was to avoid being
+run down. Before he had covered twenty yards,
+however, Michael found himself handicapped by his
+costume. The full-bottomed wig dropped off almost
+immediately, and the shoes were not so troublesome
+as he had feared; but the sleeves of his coat
+interfered with his movements, and the long skirts
+hampered his legs.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder if these coves in the eighteenth century
+ever ran a step,” he grumbled. “If they did it in
+this kit, they must have been wonders. I must get
+rid of the truck.”</p>
+
+<p>He pulled up and stripped off the full-skirted coat;
+then, as an after-thought, he removed the long
+waistcoat as well. While doing this, he glanced ahead to
+see how the chase was progressing. The light of the
+full moon, now at its highest in the cloudless heavens,
+lit up the whole landscape before him almost as
+clearly as daylight. Far ahead, he could see the white
+figure of the escaping thief as it ascended the long,
+gentle slope towards the pine-woods.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder what tempted the beggar to choose that
+particular costume on a night like this,” Michael
+speculated. “It’s the most conspicuous affair he could
+have put on. Well, all the better for us.”</p>
+
+<p>The quarry had evidently secured a fair start, for
+the nearest group of pursuers was still a considerable
+distance behind him. The hunters were strung out
+in an irregular file, knotted here and there with
+groups of three or four runners; and the line
+extended back almost to Michael’s position. Behind
+him, he could hear fresh reinforcements emerging
+from the house, shouting as they came.</p>
+
+<p>“They’d better save their breath,” Michael commented
+critically to himself. “That long rise’ll take
+it out of a good many of them.”</p>
+
+<p>He settled down to his favourite stride; and very
+soon began to overtake the laggards at the tail of the
+chase. In front of him he saw a Cardinal Richelieu
+with kilted cassock; but the Cardinal found his
+costume too much for him and pulled out of the race
+as Michael passed him. Shortly after, Michael drew
+level with an early nineteenth-century dandy and for
+a few seconds they raced neck and neck. The dandy,
+however, was unable to stay the pace.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s these damned Johnny Walker boots,” he
+gasped, as he fell behind.</p>
+
+<p>Michael, running comfortably, began to take a
+faint amusement in the misfortunes of his colleagues.
+He could not help smiling as he passed a Minotaur,
+sitting beside the track and making furious efforts
+to disentangle himself from his pasteboard bull’s
+head which seemed to have become clamped in
+position. But as he found two more of the hunters
+by the wayside, a fresh point of view occurred to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“If they’re going to drop out at this rate, there
+won’t be many of us left at the finish to tackle the
+beggar; and he’s armed. We’ll need all the men we
+can scrape up, if we’re to make sure of him.”</p>
+
+<p>Glancing ahead again, he was relieved to see that
+he had gained a fair amount of ground on the fugitive;
+and now he began to pass runner after runner,
+as the rising slope told on the weaker pursuers. He
+reached the group at the head of the chase just as
+the escaping burglar dashed into the shadow of the
+woods a hundred yards in advance.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll dodge us now, if he can,” Michael warned
+his companions, who evidently were unacquainted
+with the ground. “Keep your eyes on him at any
+cost.”</p>
+
+<p>But as they entered the pine arcades, Michael
+found that he was mistaken. The quarry maintained
+his lead; but he made no effort to leave the beaten
+track. Ahead of them they could see his white-clad
+figure dappled with light and darkness as he sped up
+the broad pathway.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, Michael remembered what lay beyond
+the pine-wood. Without raising his voice, for fear
+the runner in front should hear him, he explained
+the situation.</p>
+
+<p>“He doesn’t know what he’s running into. There’s
+a big quarry up there, with barbed wire fences on
+each side. If we can keep him straight for it, we’ll
+have him pinned.”</p>
+
+<p>On went the fugitive, still maintaining his lead and
+glancing over his shoulder from time to time, as
+though he were gauging the distance which separated
+him from his closest pursuers.</p>
+
+<p>“The beggar can run, certainly,” Michael admitted
+to himself. “But running isn’t going to help him much
+in a minute or two. We have him on toast.”</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments the moon shone bright through
+the trees ahead. As they reached the edge of the
+wood, the white figure in front of them showed up
+clearly as it sprinted across the strip of open ground,
+straight for the spinney which bounded the quarry
+cliff. With a gesture, Michael called his motley group
+to a halt.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a minute,” he ordered. “You, Mephistopheles,
+get off to the left there, outside the spinney.
+Go on until you strike barbed wire. Take this
+Prehistoric Man—oh, it’s you, is it, Frankie? Well, both
+of you get down there and act as stoppers, so that
+he can’t sneak off along the fence. Oliver Cromwell
+and you in the funny coat! You’re to do the same
+over yonder on the right. Put some hurry into it,
+now! And don’t move in towards him till you get
+the word. The rest of you, extend a bit along the
+near edge of the spinney. Not too close; give
+yourselves a chance of spotting him if he breaks cover.
+And don’t yell unless you actually see him. We’ve
+got him shut in now, and we can afford to wait for
+reinforcements. Here they come!”</p>
+
+<p>Two panting runners breasted the hill as he spoke.
+At this moment there came from beyond the spinney
+the sound of a splash. Michael was taken aback.</p>
+
+<p>“The beggar can’t have dived over, surely. It’s
+full of rocks down below. We’ll have to hurry up.
+He might get away, after all, if he’s extra lucky.”</p>
+
+<p>A fresh group of pursuers gave him the reinforcements
+he needed; and he fed them into his cordon at
+its weak points.</p>
+
+<p>“Pass the word for the whole line to close in!”</p>
+
+<p>The cordon began to contract around the spinney,
+the wide gaps in it closing up as it advanced.</p>
+
+<p>“The beggar’s probably got a pistol; look out for
+yourselves among the trees,” Michael cautioned them
+as they reached the boundary of the plantation.
+“Don’t hurry. And keep in touch, whatever you do.”</p>
+
+<p>He himself was at the centre of the line and was
+the first to enter the tiny wood. The advance was
+slow; for here there was some undergrowth which
+might offer a hiding-place to the fugitive; and this
+was carefully scrutinized, clump by clump, before
+the line moved forward as a whole. Michael meant
+to make certain of capturing the burglar; and he
+could afford now to go about the matter deliberately.
+Fresh reinforcements in twos and threes were still
+streaming in from the pine-wood.</p>
+
+<p>It took only a few minutes, however, to draw his
+screen through the spinney; for the belt of trees was
+a narrow one. Every instant he expected to hear a
+shout indicating that the quarry had been run to
+earth; but none came. His line emerged intact from
+the trees, forming an arc of which the cliff-face was
+the chord; and as his men came out into the
+moonlight Michael had to admit to himself that no
+one could well have crept through any gap in the
+cordon.</p>
+
+<p>“He must be out here, hiding among these seats,”
+he shouted. “Don’t break your line any more than
+you can help. Advance to that balustrade in front.
+Rush him, if he shows up.”</p>
+
+<p>Now that he was sure of his quarry, Michael at
+last had leisure to note the tincture of the bizarre in
+the scene before him. The high-riding moon whitened
+the terrace and touched with glamour the motley
+costumes of the hunters preparing for their final
+swoop. Here Robin Hood and a hatless Flying Dutchman
+were stooping to peer below one of the marble
+seats. Farther along the line Lohengrin and a
+Milkman discussed something eagerly in whispers. On
+the left the Prehistoric Man loomed up like a
+Troglodyte emerging from his cave; while beyond
+him Mephistopheles leaned upon the railing, scanning
+the water below. From the inky shadow of the
+spinney Felix the Cat stole softly out to join the
+cordon.</p>
+
+<p>“A weird-looking gang we are,” Michael
+commented to himself as he gazed about him.</p>
+
+<p>Only a few steps separated the hunters from the
+clear floor of the terrace. In a second or two at most,
+the man they were chasing must break cover and
+make a dash for liberty or else tamely surrender.
+Slowly the line crept forward.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got him now!” a voice cried, exultantly.</p>
+
+<p>But the living net swept on past the marble tier
+without catching anything in its meshes. Between it
+and the balustrade was nothing but the untenanted
+paving of the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got away!” ejaculated some one in tones of
+complete amazement. “Well, I’m damned if I see
+how he managed it.”</p>
+
+<p>The chain broke up into individuals, who hurried
+hither and thither on the esplanade searching even
+in the most unlikely spots for the missing fugitive.
+All at once Michael’s eye caught something which
+had been concealed in the shadows thrown by the
+moon.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s a rope, you fellows! He’s gone down the
+face of the cliff. Swum the lake, probably.”</p>
+
+<p>Mephistopheles dissented in a languid drawl.</p>
+
+<p>“Not he, Clifton. I’ve had my eye on the water
+ever since I got up to the barbed wire. You could
+spot the faintest ripple in this moonshine. He didn’t
+get off that way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure of that?” demanded Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Dead sure. I watched specially.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael hesitated for a moment or two,
+considering the situation. Then his face cleared.</p>
+
+<p>“I see it! I remember there’s a cave right below
+here, in the cliff-face. He’s gone to ground there.
+Half of you get through the barbed wire on the right;
+the rest take the left side. Line up on the banks when
+you get down to the water. He may swim for it yet
+if we don’t hurry.”</p>
+
+<p>They raced off to carry out his instructions, while
+Michael pulled up the rope and flung it on the
+terrace.</p>
+
+<p>“That cuts off his escape in this direction,” he
+said to himself. “Now we can dig him out at leisure.”</p>
+
+<p>Without hurrying, he made his way down to the
+water.</p>
+
+<p>“There used to be a raft of sorts here,” he explained.
+“If we can rout it out, we’ll be able to ferry
+across to the cave-mouth without much bother. I
+doubt if he’ll show fight once we lay our hands on
+him; for he hasn’t an earthly chance of getting
+away.”</p>
+
+<p>He poked about among the sedge on the rim of
+the lakelet and at last discovered the decrepit raft.</p>
+
+<p>“This thing’ll just bear two of us. Do we dig the
+beggar out or starve him out? Dig him out, eh?
+Well, I want some one to go with me. Here, you,
+Frankie”—he turned to the Prehistoric Man—“you’d
+better come along. If it comes to a ducking,
+you’ve got fewer clothes to spoil than the rest of us.”</p>
+
+<p>Nothing loath, the Prehistoric Man scrambled
+aboard the raft, which sank ominously under the
+extra weight.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t find anything to pole with,” grumbled
+Michael. “Paddle with your flippers, Frankie. It’s
+the only thing to do. Get busy with it.”</p>
+
+<p>Under this primitive method of propulsion, the
+progress of the raft was slow; but at last they succeeded
+in bringing it under the cliff-face, after which
+they were able to work it along by hand. Gradually
+they manœuvred it into position in front of the
+cave-mouth, which stood only a yard or so above
+water-level. Michael leaned forward to the
+entrance.</p>
+
+<p>“You may as well come out quietly,” he warned
+the inmate. “It’s no good trying to put up a fight. You
+haven’t a dog’s chance.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no reply of any sort.</p>
+
+<p>“Hold the damned raft steady, Frankie! You
+nearly had me overboard,” expostulated Michael.
+“I’m going to light a match. The cave’s as black as
+the pit, and I can see nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>He pulled a silver match-box from his trousers
+pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“Lucky I hadn’t this in my coat; for you don’t
+look as if you had a pocket of any sort on you,
+Frankie.”</p>
+
+<p>The first match, damped by the moisture on his
+hands, sputtered and died out.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Hurry</em> up, Guvnor,” shouted Mephistopheles,
+cheerfully, from the bank. “Don’t keep us up
+all night with your firework display. It’s getting
+a bit chilly, paddling about amongst this sedge.
+Not at all the temperature I’m accustomed to at
+home.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael felt for another match and lighted it
+successfully. Standing up on the raft, he held the light
+above his head and peered into the cavity in the rock.
+The Prehistoric Man heard him exclaim in
+amazement.</p>
+
+<p>“Damnation, Frankie! He’s not here! It’s hardly
+a cave at all.”</p>
+
+<p>He put his hands on the cave floor.</p>
+
+<p>“Hold tight with the raft. I’m going in to make
+sure.”</p>
+
+<p>He scrambled up into the hollow; but almost
+immediately his face appeared again in the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing here. The hole’s barely big enough to
+take me in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then where’s he gone?” demanded the Prehistoric
+Man, who was a creature of few words.</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno! Must have given us the slip somehow.
+If he isn’t here, he must be somewhere else. No
+getting round that.”</p>
+
+<p>He shouted the news to the watchers on the banks;
+and a confused sound of argument rose from amongst
+the sedge.</p>
+
+<p>“Not much use hanging round the old home,
+Frankie. Pull for shore, sailor. We’d best manhandle
+her along the face of the cliff. I’ve had enough
+of that paddling.”</p>
+
+<p>When they touched firm ground again they were
+surrounded by their friends, most of whom seemed to
+doubt whether the search of the cave had been
+properly carried out.</p>
+
+<p>“I tell you,” declaimed the exasperated Michael,
+“I got right into the damned hole! It’s so small that
+I nearly broke my nose against the back wall as I
+heaved myself inside. It would have been a tight fit
+for me and a squirrel together. He’s not there,
+whether you like it or not. . . . I can’t help your
+troubles, Tommy; you can go and look for yourself,
+if you like the job of lying on your tummy on a raft
+that’s awash. I shan’t interfere with your simple
+pleasures.”</p>
+
+<p>“But . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve lost him. Is that plain enough? There’s
+nothing to be done but go home again with our tails
+between our legs. I’m going now.”</p>
+
+<p>He accompanied his friends to the top of the cliff
+again; but when he reached the terrace a fresh
+thought struck him, and he loitered behind while the
+others, soaked and disconsolate, made their way down
+into the pine-wood. When the last of them had
+disappeared, Michael retraced his steps to the edge of
+the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>“He reached here all right,” he assured himself.
+“And he didn’t break back through the cordon.”</p>
+
+<p>He stooped down, picked up the rope, and
+refastened it round one of the pillars of the
+balustrade.</p>
+
+<p>“Every one knows there are secret passages about
+Ravensthorpe,” he mused. “Perhaps this beggar has
+got on to one of them. And quite possibly the end
+of the passage is in that cave down there. That would
+explain the rope. I’ll slide down and have another
+look round.”</p>
+
+<p>He got into the cave-mouth without difficulty and
+used up the remainder of his matches in a close
+examination of the interior of the cavity; but even the
+closest scrutiny failed to reveal anything to his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing there but plain rock, so far as I can
+see,” he had to admit to himself as the last match
+burned out. “That’s a blank end in more senses than
+one.”</p>
+
+<p>Without much difficulty he swarmed up the rope
+again, untied it from the balustrade, and coiled it
+over his arm.</p>
+
+<p>“A nice little clue for Sir Clinton Driffield to puzzle
+over,” he assured himself. “Sherlock Holmes would
+have been on to it at once; found where it was sold
+in no time; discovered who bought it before five
+minutes had passed; and paralysed Watson with the
+whole story that same evening over a pipeful of shag.
+We shall see.”</p>
+
+<p>He threw a last glance round the empty terrace
+and then moved off into the spinney. As he passed
+into the shadow of the trees he saw, a few yards to
+one side, the outline of the Fairy House dappled in
+the moonshine which filtered through the leaves
+overhead. Half-unconsciously, Michael halted and
+looked at the little building.</p>
+
+<p>“They could never have overlooked that in the
+hunt, surely. Well, no harm in having a peep to
+make certain.”</p>
+
+<p>He dropped his coil of rope, stepped across to the
+house, and, stooping down, flung open the door.
+Inside, he caught a flash of some white fabric.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the beggar after all! Here! Come out of
+that!”</p>
+
+<p>He gripped the inmate roughly and hauled him by
+main force out of his retreat.</p>
+
+<p>“Pierrot costume, right enough!” he said to himself
+as he extracted the man little by little from his
+refuge. Then, having got his victim into the open:</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll turn you over and have a look at your
+face . . . Good God! Maurice!”</p>
+
+<p>For as he turned the man on his back, it was the
+face of Maurice Chacewater that met his eyes. But
+it was not a normal Maurice whom he saw. The
+features were contorted by some excessive emotion
+the like of which Michael had never seen.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me alone, damn you,” Maurice gasped, and
+turned over once more on his face, resting his brow
+on his arm as though to shut out the spectacle of
+Michael’s astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you ill?” Michael inquired, solicitously.</p>
+
+<p>“For God’s sake leave me alone. Don’t stand there
+gaping. Clear out, I tell you.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael looked at him in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to have a cheerful kind of brother-in-law
+before all’s done, it seems,” he thought to
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Can I do anything for you, Maurice?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, go to hell!”</p>
+
+<p>Michael turned away.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s fairly clear he doesn’t like my company,” he
+reflected, as he stepped across and picked up his coil
+of rope from the ground. “But I’ve known politer
+ways of showing it, I must say.”</p>
+
+<p>With a final glance at the prostrate figure of
+Maurice, he walked on and took the road back to
+Ravensthorpe. But as he went a vision of Maurice’s
+face kept passing before his mind’s eye.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s something damned far wrong with that
+beggar, whether it’s an evil conscience or cramp in
+the tummy. It might be either of them, by the look
+of him. He didn’t seem to want any assistance from
+me. That looks more like the evil conscience theory.”</p>
+
+<p>He dismissed this with a laugh; but gradually he
+grew troubled.</p>
+
+<p>“There he was, in white—same as the burglar.
+He’s in a bit of a bate at being discovered, that’s
+clear enough. He didn’t half like it, to judge by his
+chat.”</p>
+
+<p>A discomforting hypothesis began to frame itself
+in his mind despite his efforts to stifle it.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s the fellow, if there is one, who would know
+all these secret passages about here. Suppose there
+really is one leading out of that cave. He could have
+swarmed down the rope, got into the cave, sneaked
+up the subterranean passage, and got behind us that
+way.”</p>
+
+<p>A fresh fact fitted suddenly in.</p>
+
+<p>“And of course the other end of the passage may
+be in that Fairy House! That would explain his
+being there. He’d be waiting to see us off the premises
+before he could venture out in his white costume.”</p>
+
+<p>He pondered over the problem as he hurried with
+long strides towards the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” he concluded, “I’m taking no further
+steps in the business. It’s no concern of mine to go
+probing into the private affairs of the family I’m
+going to marry into. And that’s that.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, as a fresh aspect of the matter came to his
+mind, he gave a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>“I must be a stricken idiot! No man would ever
+dream of burgling his own house. What would he
+gain by it, if he did? The thing’s ridiculous.”</p>
+
+<p>And the comfort which this view brought him was
+sufficient to lighten his steps for the rest of his way.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch05">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER V. <br> Sir Clinton in the Museum</h2>
+
+<p>“There’s the light on again in the museum,” Sir
+Clinton observed. “I think we’ll go in and have a
+look round, now, to see if the place suggests
+anything.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold stood aside to let them pass, and then resumed
+his watch at the door to prevent any one else
+from entering the room. The servant had just
+finished fitting the new globe in its place and was
+preparing to remove the steps which he had used,
+when Sir Clinton ordered him to leave them in
+position and to await further instructions.</p>
+
+<p>The museum was a room about forty feet square,
+with a lofty ceiling. To judge by the panelling of
+the walls, it belonged to the older part of
+Ravensthorpe; but the parquet of the floor seemed to be
+much more modern. Round the sides were placed
+exhibition cases about six feet high; and others of
+the same kind jutted out at intervals to form a
+series of shallow bays. In the centre of the room,
+directly under the lamp, stood a long, flat-topped
+case; and the floor beside it was littered with broken
+glass.</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll begin at the beginning,” said Sir
+Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the servant who stood waiting
+beside the steps.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you got the remains of the broken lamp
+there?</p>
+
+<p>“You can go now,” he added. “We shan’t need you
+further.”</p>
+
+<p>When he had received the smashed lamp, he
+examined it.</p>
+
+<p>“Not much to be made out of that,” he admitted.
+“It’s been one of these thousand candle-power gas-filled
+things; and there’s practically nothing left of
+it but the metal base and a few splinters of glass
+sticking to it.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at the fresh lamp hanging above
+them.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s thirty feet or so above the floor. Nothing
+short of a fishing-rod would reach it. Evidently they
+didn’t smash it by hand.”</p>
+
+<p>He stooped down and sorted out one or two
+small fragments of glass from the debris at his
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>“These are more bits of the lamp, Joan,” he said,
+holding them out for her to look at. “You see the
+curve of the glass; and you’ll notice that the whole
+affair seems to have been smashed almost to smithereens.
+There doesn’t seem to be a decent-sized
+fragment in the whole lot.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll shut the door, Mold. We’d better
+conduct the rest of this business in private.”</p>
+
+<p>The keeper closed the door of the museum, much
+to the disappointment of the group of people who had
+clustered about the entrance and were watching the
+proceedings with interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Joan, would you mind going round the
+wall-cases and seeing if anything has been taken from
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan obediently paced round the room and soon
+came back to report that nothing seemed to have
+been removed.</p>
+
+<p>“All the cases were locked, you know,” she
+explained. “And there’s no glass broken in any of
+them. So far as I can see, nothing’s missing from the
+shelves.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about that safe let into the wall over
+yonder?” Sir Clinton inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s used to house one or two extra valuable
+things from time to time,” Joan explained. “But
+to-night everything was put on show, and the safe’s
+empty.”</p>
+
+<p>She went over and swung the door open, showing
+the vacant shelves within.</p>
+
+<p>“We do take precautions usually,” she pointed
+out. “The museum door itself is iron-plated and has
+a special lock. It was only to-night that we had
+everything out in the show-cases.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton refrained from comment, as he knew
+the girl was still blaming herself for her share in the
+catastrophe. He turned to examine the rifled section
+of the central case.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s missing here, Joan, can you make out?”</p>
+
+<p>Obediently, Joan came to his side and ran her eye
+over the remaining articles in the compartment.</p>
+
+<p>“They’ve taken the Medusa Medallions!” she
+exclaimed, turning pale as she realized the magnitude
+of the calamity. “They’ve got the very pick of the
+collection, Sir Clinton. My father would have parted
+with all the rest rather than with these, I know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing else gone?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan looked again at the case.</p>
+
+<p>“No, nothing else, so far as I can see. Wait a bit,
+though! They’ve taken the electrotype copies as
+well. There were three of each: three medallions
+and an electrotype from each that Foxton Polegate
+made for us. The whole six are gone.”</p>
+
+<p>She cast a final glance at the compartment.</p>
+
+<p>“No, there’s nothing else missing, so far as I can
+see. Some of the things are displaced a bit; but
+everything except the medallions and the electros
+seems to be here.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re quite sure?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certain.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course we’ll have to check the stuff by the
+catalogue to make sure,” he said, “but I expect you’re
+right. The medallions alone would be quite a good
+enough haul for a minute or two’s work; and probably
+they had their eyes on the things as the best
+paying proposition of the lot.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why did they take the electros as well?”
+Joan demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Then a possible explanation occurred to her.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, of course, they wouldn’t know which was
+which, so they took the lot in order to make sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“Possibly,” Sir Clinton admitted. “But don’t let’s
+be going too fast, Joan. We’d better not get ideas
+into our minds till we’ve got all the evidence, you
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I see,” said Joan, with a faint return of her
+normal spirits, “I’m to be Watson, am I? And
+you’ll prove in a minute or two what an ass I’ve made
+of myself. Is that the idea?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not altogether,” Sir Clinton returned, with a
+smile. “But let’s have the facts before the theories.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll take your story, Mold; but give us
+the things in the exact order in which they happened,
+if you can. And don’t be worried if I break in with
+questions.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold thought for a moment or two before
+beginning his tale.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m trying to remember how many people there
+were in the room just before the lights went out,” he
+explained at last, “but somehow I don’t quite seem
+able to put a figure on it, Sir Clinton. I’ve a sort of
+feeling that some of ’em must ha’ got away before I
+stopped the door—sneaked off in the dark. At least
+I know I felt surprised when I saw how few I’d got
+left when they began to come up to me to be let out.
+But that’s all I can really say, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton evidently approved of the keeper’s
+caution.</p>
+
+<p>“Now tell us exactly what happened when the
+light went out. This is the bit where I want you to be
+careful. Tell us everything you can remember.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold fixed his eye on the corner of the room near
+the safe.</p>
+
+<p>“I was patrollin’ round the room, sir, most of the
+night. I didn’t stand in one place all the time. Now
+just when the light was about to go out, I was walkin’
+away from this case here”—he nodded towards the
+rifled central case—“and as near as may be, I’d got to
+the entrance to that second-last bay, just before you
+come to the safe. I just turned round to come back,
+when I heard a pistol goin’ off.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was the first thing that attracted your
+attention?” questioned Sir Clinton. “It’s an important
+point, Mold.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was the first thing out o’ the common that
+happened,” Mold asserted. “The pistol went bang,
+and out went the light, and I heard glass tinkling
+all over the place.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shot the light out, did they?” Sir Clinton
+mused.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced up at the carved wooden ceiling, but
+evidently failed to find what he was looking for.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you a pair of race-glasses, Joan? Prismatics,
+or even opera-glasses? Tell Mold where he
+can get them, please.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan gave the keeper instructions and he left the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>“Knock when you come back again,” Sir Clinton
+ordered. “I’m going to lock the door to keep out
+the inquisitive.”</p>
+
+<p>As soon as the keeper was out of earshot, Sir
+Clinton turned to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“This fellow Mold, is he a reliable man? Do you
+know anything about him, Joan?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s our head keeper. We’ve always trusted him
+completely.”</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at Sir Clinton, trying to read the
+expression on his face.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t think <em>he’s</em> at the bottom of the business,
+do you? I never thought of that!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m only collecting facts at present. All I want
+to know is whether you know Mold to be reliable.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve always found him so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good. We’ll make a note of that; and if we get
+the thing cleared up, then we’ll perhaps be able to
+confirm that opinion of yours.”</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes a knock came at the door and
+Sir Clinton admitted the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Prismatics?” he said, taking the glasses from
+Mold. “They’ll do quite well.”</p>
+
+<p>Adjusting the focus, he subjected the ceiling of the
+room to a minute scrutiny. At last he handed the
+glasses to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“Look up there,” he said, indicating the position.</p>
+
+<p>Joan swept the place with the glasses for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I see,” she said. “That’s a bullet-hole in the
+wood, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton confirmed her guess.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s evidently where the bullet went after
+knocking the lamp to pieces. Pull the steps over
+there, Mold. I want to have a closer look at the
+thing.”</p>
+
+<p>With some difficulty, owing to his injured ankle,
+he ascended the steps and inspected the tiny cavity.</p>
+
+<p>“It looks like a .22 calibre. One could carry a
+Colt pistol of that size in one’s pocket and no one
+would notice it.”</p>
+
+<p>His eye traced out the line joining the bullet-mark
+and the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>“The shot was evidently fired by some one in that
+bay over there,” he inferred. “Just go to where you
+were standing when the light went out, Mold. Can
+you see into this bay here?”</p>
+
+<p>Mold looked around and discovered that a show-case
+interposed between him and the point from
+which the pistol had been fired.</p>
+
+<p>“They evidently thought of everything,” Sir Clinton
+said, when he heard Mold’s report. “If a man
+had brandished his pistol in front of Mold, there was
+always a chance that Mold might have remembered
+his costume. Firing from that hiding-place, he was
+quite safe, and could take time over his aim if he
+wanted to.”</p>
+
+<p>He climbed down the steps and verified the matter
+by going to the position from which the shot had been
+fired. It was evident that the shooter was out of
+sight of the keeper at the actual moment of the
+discharge.</p>
+
+<p>“Now what happened after that, Mold?” Sir
+Clinton demanded, coming back to the central case
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Mold scratched his ear as though reflecting, then
+hurriedly took his hand down again.</p>
+
+<p>“This pistol went off, sir; and the lamp-glass
+tinkled all over the place. I got a start—who
+wouldn’t?—with the light going out, and all. Before
+I could move an inch, some one got a grip of my
+wrists and swung me round. He twisted my arms
+behind my back and I couldn’t do anything but
+kick—and not much kickin’ even, or I’d have gone down
+on my face.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you manage to get home on him at all?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think I kicked him once, sir; but it was only a
+graze.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pity,” Sir Clinton said. “It would have always
+been something gained if you’d marked him with a
+good bruise.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, there’ll be a mark, if that’s all you want, sir.
+But it wouldn’t prevent him runnin’ at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?” Sir Clinton brought Mold back to
+his story.</p>
+
+<p>“Then, almost at once when the lights went out, I
+heard glass breakin’—just as if you’d heaved a stone
+through a window. It seemed to me—but I couldn’t
+take my oath on it—as if there was two smashes, one
+after t’other. I couldn’t be sure. Then there was a
+lot of scufflin’ in the dark; but who did it, I couldn’t
+rightly say. I was busy tryin’ to get free from the
+man who was holdin’ me then.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton moved over to the rifled compartment
+and inspected the broken glass thoughtfully for a
+moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you looking for finger-marks?” asked Joan,
+as she came to his side.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Not much use hunting for finger-marks round
+here. Remember how many people must have leaned
+on this case at one time or other during the evening,
+when they were looking at the collection before the
+robbery. Finger-prints would prove nothing against
+any one in particular, I’m afraid, Joan. What I’m
+really trying to find is some evidence confirming
+Mold’s notion that he heard two smashes after the
+light went out. It certainly looks as if he were right.
+If you look at the way that bit of glass there is
+cracked, you’ll see two series of lines in it. It might
+have been cracked here”—he pointed with his
+finger—“first of all: long cracks radiating from a smash
+over in this direction. Then there was a second
+blow—about here—which snapped off the apices of the
+spears of glass left after the first smash. But that
+really proves nothing. The same man might easily
+have hit the pane twice.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned back to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you give me an estimate, Mold, of how long
+it was between the two crashes you heard?”</p>
+
+<p>Mold considered carefully before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“So far’s I can remember, Sir Clinton, it was about
+five seconds. But I’ll not take my oath on it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you could be surer,” said the Chief Constable.
+“If it really was five seconds, it certainly
+looks like two separate affairs. A man smashing glass
+with repeated blows wouldn’t wait five seconds
+between them.”</p>
+
+<p>He scanned the broken glass again.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a lot of jagged stuff round the edge of
+the hole but no blood, so far as I can see. The fellow
+must have worn a thick glove if he got his hand in
+there in the dark without cutting himself in the
+hurry.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned back to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“You can go outside, Mold, and keep people off
+the doorstep for a minute or two. Perhaps we shall
+have news of the man-hunt soon. If any one wants
+to see me on business; let him in; but keep off casual
+inquirers for the present.”</p>
+
+<p>Obediently Mold unlocked the door and took his
+stand on the threshold outside, shutting the door
+behind him as he went. When he had gone, Sir
+Clinton turned to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“Were these medallions insured, do you know?”</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately, Joan was able to supply some
+information.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice insured them, I know. But I’ve heard
+him say that he wasn’t content with the valuation
+put on them by the company. It seems they wouldn’t
+take his word for the value of the things—they
+thought it was a speculative one or something—and
+in case of a loss they weren’t prepared to go beyond
+a figure which Maurice thought too small.”</p>
+
+<p>“The electros weren’t insured for any great
+amount, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think they were specially insured. They
+were just put under the ordinary house policy, I
+think. But you’d better ask Maurice. He knows all
+about it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced round the room once more.</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt if there’s much more to find out here,”
+he concluded. “It doesn’t give us much to go on, does
+it? Perhaps we’ll have better luck when these fellows
+come in from their hunt. They may have some news
+for us. But as things stand, we can’t even be sure
+whether it was two men or two gangs that were at
+work. One can’t blame Mold for not giving us better
+information; but what he gave us doesn’t seem to
+amount to very much at present.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned, as though to leave the room; but at
+that moment the door opened and Mold appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a Mr. Foss wants to see you, sir. He
+says he’s got something to tell you that won’t wait.
+He’s been looking for you all over the house.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the American, isn’t it?” Sir Clinton asked
+Joan in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. He’s been here for a day or two,
+consulting with Maurice about these medallions.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if he can throw any light on this business,
+I suppose we’d better let him in and see what he has
+to say. You needn’t go, Joan. You may as well hear
+his story, whatever it may be.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Let Mr. Foss in, Mold; and wait outside the
+door yourself.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch06">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VI. <br> Mr. Foss’s Explanation</h2>
+
+<p>Mr. Foss had nothing distinctively American in
+his appearance, Sir Clinton noted; and when he
+spoke, his accent was so faint as to be hardly detectable.
+He was a stout man of about fifty, with a clean-shaven
+face and more than a trace of a double chin:
+the kind of man who might readily be chosen as an
+unofficial uncle by children. Sir Clinton’s first glance
+showed him that the American was troubled about
+something.</p>
+
+<p>Foss seemed surprised to find the Chief Constable
+in the guise of Prospero. He himself, in preparation
+for an official interview, had exchanged his
+masquerade costume for ordinary evening clothes.</p>
+
+<p>“We haven’t met before, Sir Clinton,” he explained,
+rather unnecessarily, “but I’ve something to
+tell you”—his face clouded slightly—“which I felt
+you ought to know before you go any further in this
+business. I’ve been hunting all over the house for
+you; and it was only a minute or two ago that I got
+directed in here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” said Sir Clinton, interrogatively.</p>
+
+<p>Foss glanced at Joan and seemed to find some
+difficulty in opening the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a strictly private matter,” he explained.</p>
+
+<p>Joan refused to take the implied hint.</p>
+
+<p>“If it has any connection with this burglary, Mr.
+Foss, I see no reason why I should not hear what you
+have to say. It’s a matter that concerns me as one of
+the family, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>Foss seemed taken aback and quite evidently he
+would have preferred to make his confidence to Sir
+Clinton alone.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s rather a difficult matter,” he said, with a
+feeble endeavour to deflect Joan from her purpose.</p>
+
+<p>Joan, however, took no notice of his diffidence.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, Mr. Foss,” she said. “If it’s really important,
+the sooner Sir Clinton hears of it the better.
+Begin.”</p>
+
+<p>Foss glanced appealingly at Sir Clinton; but
+apparently the Chief Constable took Joan’s view of the
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m rather busy at present, Mr. Foss,” he said,
+dryly. “Perhaps you’ll give us your information as
+concisely as possible.”</p>
+
+<p>Having failed in his attempt, Foss made the best
+of it; though it was with obvious reluctance that he
+launched into his subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Last night after dinner,” he began, “I went into
+the winter-garden to smoke a cigar. I had some
+business affairs which I wanted to put straight in my
+mind; and I thought I could stow myself away in a
+corner there and be free from interruption. So I sat
+down at one side of the winter-garden behind a large
+clump of palms where no one was likely to see me;
+and I began to think over the points I had in mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” prompted Sir Clinton, who seemed anxious
+to cut Foss’s narrative down to essentials.</p>
+
+<p>“While I was sitting there,” the American
+continued, “some of the young people came into the
+winter-garden and sat down in a recess on the side
+opposite to where I was. At first they didn’t disturb
+me. I thought they’d be almost out of earshot, on the
+other side of the dome. I think you were one of them,
+Miss Chacewater: you, and your brother, and Miss
+Rainhill, and some one else whom I didn’t
+recognize.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was there,” Joan confirmed, looking rather
+puzzled as to what might come next.</p>
+
+<p>“You may not know, Miss Chacewater,” Foss
+continued, “that your winter-garden is a sort of
+whispering-gallery. Although I was quite a long way
+off from your party, your voices came quite clearly
+across to where I was sitting. They didn’t disturb
+me at all—I’ve got the knack of concentration when
+I’m thinking about business affairs. But although I
+wasn’t listening intentionally, the whole conversation
+was getting in at my ear while I was thinking about
+other things. I suppose I ought to have gone away or
+let you know I was there; but the fact is, I’d just
+got to a point where I was seeing my way through a
+rather knotty tangle, and I didn’t want to break my
+chain of thought. I wasn’t eavesdropping, you
+understand?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” repeated Sir Clinton, with a slight acidity
+in his tone. “And then?”</p>
+
+<p>But the American failed to take the hint. Evidently
+he laid great stress on explaining exactly how
+things had fallen out.</p>
+
+<p>“After a while,” he went on, with an evident effort
+to be accurate, “Miss Chacewater and some one else
+left the party.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite true,” Joan confirmed. “We went to play
+billiards.”</p>
+
+<p>The American nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“When you had gone,” he continued, “some one
+else joined the party—a red-haired young man whom
+they called Foxy.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced at Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s Foxton Polegate,” Joan explained. “He’s
+a neighbour of ours. He made these electrotypes of
+the medallions for us.”</p>
+
+<p>Foss waited patiently till she had finished her
+interjection. Then he resumed his narrative.</p>
+
+<p>“Shortly after that, my ear caught the sound of
+my own name. Naturally my attention was attracted,
+quite without any intention on my part. It’s
+only natural to prick up your ears when you hear
+your own name mentioned.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked apologetically at them both as if asking
+them to condone his conduct.</p>
+
+<p>“The next thing I heard—without listening
+intentionally, you understand?—was ‘Medusa
+Medallions.’ Now, as you know, I’ve been sent over here
+by Mr. Kessock to see if I can arrange to buy these
+medallions from Mr. Chacewater. It’s my duty to
+my employer to get to know all I can about them.
+I wouldn’t be earning my money if I spared any
+trouble in the work which has been put into my
+hands. So when I heard the name of the medallions
+mentioned, I . . . frankly, I listened with both ears.
+It seemed to me my duty to Mr. Kessock to do so.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked appealingly at their faces as though to
+plead for a favourable verdict on his conduct.</p>
+
+<p>“Go on, please,” Sir Clinton requested.</p>
+
+<p>“I hardly expected you’d look on it as I do,” Foss
+confessed rather shamefacedly. “Of course, it was
+just plain eavesdropping on my part by that time.
+But I felt Mr. Kessock would have expected me to
+find out all I could about these medallions. To be
+candid, I’d do the same again; though I didn’t like
+doing it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to feel that he had been rather
+discouraging.</p>
+
+<p>“I shouldn’t make too much of it, Mr. Foss. What
+happened next?”</p>
+
+<p>Foss’s face showed that he was at last coming to
+a matter of real difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s rather unfortunate that I came to be mixed
+up in the thing at all,” he said, with obvious chagrin.
+“I can assure you, Miss Chacewater, that I don’t like
+doing it. I only made up my mind to tell you about
+it because it seems to me to give a chance of hushing
+this supposed burglary up quietly before there’s any
+talk goes round.”</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Supposed</em> burglary,” exclaimed Joan. “What’s
+your idea of a real burglary, if this sort of thing is
+only a supposed one?”</p>
+
+<p>She indicated the shattered show-case and the
+litter of glass on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Foss evidently decided to take the rest of his
+narrative in a rush.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you,” he said. “The next thing I
+overheard was a complete plan for a fake burglary—a
+practical joke—to be carried out to-night. The light
+in here was to be put out; the house-lights were to
+be extinguished: and in the darkness, your brother
+and this Mr. Foxy How-d’you-call-him were to get
+away with the medallions.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Mr. Foss, now you become interesting,” Sir
+Clinton acknowledged.</p>
+
+<p>“I heard all the details,” Foss went on. “How Miss
+Rainhill was to see to extinguishing the lights; how
+Mr. Chacewater was to secure the keeper; and how
+meanwhile his friend was to put on a thick glove
+and take the medallions out of the case there. And
+it seems to me that it was a matter that interested me
+directly,” he added, dropping his air of apology,
+“for I gathered that the whole affair was planned
+with some idea of making this sale to Mr. Kessock
+fall through at the last moment.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s face showed that at last he saw
+something more clearly than before.</p>
+
+<p>“That was the motive,” Foss continued. “Now
+the whole thing put me in a most awkward
+position.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think I see your difficulty,” Sir Clinton assured
+him, with more geniality than he had hitherto
+shown.</p>
+
+<p>“It was very hard to make up my mind what to
+do,” Foss went on. “I’m a guest here. This was a
+family joke, apparently—one brother taking a rise
+out of another. It was hardly for me to step in and
+perhaps cause bad feelings between them. I thought
+the whole thing was perhaps just talk—not meant
+seriously in the end. A kind of
+‘how-would-we-do-it-if-we-set-about-it’ discussion, you understand.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded understandingly.</p>
+
+<p>“Difficult to know what to do, in your shoes,
+undoubtedly.”</p>
+
+<p>Foss was obviously relieved by the Chief
+Constable’s comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought it over,” he continued, with a less
+defensive tone in his voice, “and it seemed to me that
+the soundest course was to let sleeping dogs lie—to
+let them lie, at any rate, until they woke up and bit
+somebody. I made up my mind I’d say nothing about
+the matter at all, unless something really did
+happen.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very judicious,” Sir Clinton acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>“Then came to-night,” Foss resumed. “Their plan
+went through. I don’t know what success they had—the
+house is full of all sorts of rumours. But I heard
+that the Chief Constable was on the spot and was
+taking up the case himself; and as soon as I heard
+that, I felt I ought to tell what I knew. So I hunted
+you out, so as to avoid your taking any steps before
+you knew just how the land lay. It’s only a practical
+joke and not a crime at all. I don’t know anything
+about your English laws, and I was afraid you might
+be taking some steps, doing something or other that
+would make it impossible to stop short of the whole
+affair coming out in public. I’m sure the family
+wouldn’t like that.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at Joan’s face, but evidently found
+nothing very encouraging in her expression.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s been a most unfortunate position for me,” he
+complained.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton took pity on him.</p>
+
+<p>“It was very good of you to give me these facts,”
+he said with more cordiality than he had hitherto
+shown. “You’ve cleared up the thing and saved us
+from putting our foot in it badly, perhaps. Thanks
+very much for your trouble, Mr. Foss. You’ve been
+of great assistance.”</p>
+
+<p>His tone showed that the interview was at an end;
+but, tactfully, as though to spare the obviously ruffled
+feelings of the American, he accompanied him to the
+door. When Foss had left the room, Sir Clinton
+turned back to Joan.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Joan, what about it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, it sounds accurate enough,” Joan admitted,
+though there was an undercurrent of resentment in
+her tone. “Foss couldn’t have known what sort of
+person Foxy is; and it’s as clear as daylight that
+Foxy was at the bottom of this. He’s a silly ass who’s
+always playing practical jokes.”</p>
+
+<p>She paused for a moment. Then relief showed
+itself in her voice as she added:</p>
+
+<p>“It’s rather a blessing to know the whole affair has
+been just spoof, isn’t it? You can hush it up easily
+enough, can’t you? Nobody need know exactly what
+happened; and then we’ll be all right. If this story
+comes out, all our little family bickerings will be
+common talk; and one doesn’t want that. I’m not exactly
+proud of the way Maurice has been treating Cecil.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s face showed that he understood her
+position; but, rather to her surprise, he gave no
+verbal assurance.</p>
+
+<p>“It <em>is</em> all right!” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll interview your friend Foxy first of
+all,” Sir Clinton proposed, taking no notice of her
+inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>Going to the door, he gave some orders to the
+keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“You were rather stiff with our good Mr. Foss,”
+he said, turning to Joan as he closed the door again.
+“What would you have done yourself, if you’d been
+in his position?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan had her answer ready.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose he couldn’t help overhearing things;
+but when this affair came to light, I think if I’d been
+in his shoes I’d have gone to Cecil instead of coming
+to us with the tale. Once Cecil found the game
+was up, he’d have been able to return the
+medallions in some way or other, without raising any
+dust.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was one way, certainly.”</p>
+
+<p>“What I object to is Foss coming to you,” Joan
+explained. “He didn’t know you’re an old friend of
+ours. All he knew was that you were the Chief Constable.
+So off he hies to you, post-haste, to give the
+whole show away; when he might quite well have
+come to me or gone to Cecil. I don’t like this way of
+doing things—no tact at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t conceive how Cecil came to take up a silly
+prank like this,” said Sir Clinton. “It’s a schoolboy’s
+trick.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t know everything,” said Joan, in
+defence of her brother.</p>
+
+<p>“I know a good deal, Joan,” Sir Clinton retorted in
+a decisive tone. “Perhaps I know more than you
+think about this business.”</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the keeper knocked at the door.</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” demanded Sir Clinton, opening it.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t find Mr. Polegate anywhere, sir,” Mold
+reported. “No one’s seen him; and he’s not in the
+house.”</p>
+
+<p>“He was here to-night,” Joan declared. “I recognized
+him when I was dancing with him. You can’t
+mistake that shock of hair; and of course his voice
+gave him away when he spoke.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton did not seem perturbed.</p>
+
+<p>“Bring Mr. Cecil, Mold,” he ordered, and locked
+the door again as the keeper went off on his fresh
+errand.</p>
+
+<p>This task Mold completed in a very short time.
+Sir Clinton opened at his knock and Cecil
+Chacewater came into the museum. He was dressed as a
+Swiss admiral and behind him came Una Rainhill
+in the costume of Cleopatra.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton wasted no time in preliminaries.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve sent for you, Cecil, because I want to know
+exactly what part you played in this business
+to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil Chacewater opened his eyes in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to be a bit of a super-sleuth! How did
+you spot us so quickly?”</p>
+
+<p>Quite obviously Cecil was not greatly perturbed at
+being found out, as Sir Clinton noted with a certain
+relief. So far as he was concerned, the thing had been
+only a prank.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me exactly what happened after you came in
+here before the lights went out,” the Chief
+Constable demanded in a curt tone.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil glanced at Una. Sir Clinton caught the look.</p>
+
+<p>“We know all about Miss Rainhill’s part in the
+affair,” he explained bluntly.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, in that case,” said Cecil, “there’s no
+particular reason why I should keep back anything.
+Una, Foxy, and I planned it between us. I take full
+responsibility for that. I wanted to upset this sale, if
+I could. I’m not ashamed of that.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know all about that,” Sir Clinton pointed out,
+coldly. “What I wish to know is exactly what
+happened after you came in here to steal these
+medallions.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed impressed by the Chief Constable’s
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you, then. We’ve nothing to conceal. I
+came in here at about twenty to twelve and sauntered
+about the room, pretending to look at the cases as if
+I’d never seen them before. My part was to mark
+down Mold and prevent him interfering.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded to show that he knew all
+this.</p>
+
+<p>“Rather before I expected it, the light went out.
+Oh, there was a shot fired just then. I didn’t
+understand that part of it, but I supposed that Foxy had
+brought a pistol with him and fired a blank cartridge
+just to add a touch of interest to the affair. It wasn’t
+on the bill of fare, so I imagine it must have been
+one of these last-minute improvements. Anyhow, I
+did my part of the business: jumped on Mold and
+held him while Foxy got away with the stuff. Then,
+when he’d had time to get away, I let Mold go and
+made a bee-line for the door myself. I could swear no
+one spotted me in the dark, and I was well mixed up
+in the mob before the lights went on again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you pay particular attention to what
+Polegate was doing while you were busy with the
+keeper?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. Mold gave me all I wanted in the way of
+trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re sure it was Mold you got hold of? You
+didn’t make any mistake?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil reflected for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see how I could have gripped the wrong
+man. I’d marked him down while the light was on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Can you remember anything about sounds of
+breaking glass?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil pondered before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“It seemed to me that there was a lot of
+glass-breaking—more than I’d expected. The light was
+hardly out before there was a smash and tinkle all
+over the place. Foxy must have got to work quicker
+than I’d allowed for. And I remember hearing quite
+a lot of hammering and smashing going on after that,
+as if he’d found it difficult to make a big enough
+hole in the glass of the case. I thought he’d bungled
+the business, and it was all I could do to keep my
+grip on Mold long enough to get the thing safely
+through.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton dismissed that part of the subject. He
+turned to Una.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Miss Rainhill, I believe your part in the
+affair was to pull out the main switch of the house?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Una admitted, looking rather surprised at
+the extent of his knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you carry out your part of the arrangement
+punctually, or were you late in getting the current
+off?”</p>
+
+<p>“I pulled out the switch to the very second. I had
+my hand on it and my eye on my wrist-watch; and
+when it came to 11.45 I jerked it out and the lights
+went off. I was absolutely right to a second, I’m
+sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you thought Miss Rainhill had been a shade
+before her time, Cecil?”</p>
+
+<p>“So it seemed to me. I hadn’t a chance of looking
+at my watch; and of course after the lights went off I
+couldn’t spare time to look.”</p>
+
+<p>At this moment another knock came to the door
+and Foxy Polegate burst into the museum. Sir
+Clinton noticed that he was masquerading as a
+Harlequin.</p>
+
+<p>“Heard you’d been asking for me, Sir Clinton,” he
+broke out as he came into the room. “Seems the
+keeper had been inquiring for me. So I came along
+as soon as I heard about it.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced inquisitively at Cecil and Una, as
+though wondering what they were doing there.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton wasted no words.</p>
+
+<p>“The medallions, Mr. Polegate, please.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy made a very good pretence of astonishment
+at the demand; but Cecil cut him short.</p>
+
+<p>“You may as well hand them over, Foxy. They
+seem to know all about the joke.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, they do, do they?” Foxy exclaimed. “They
+seem to have been mighty swift about it. That little
+joke’s gone astray, evidently.”</p>
+
+<p>He seemed completely taken aback by the
+exposure.</p>
+
+<p>“The medallions?” he repeated. “I’ll get ’em for
+you in a jiffy.”</p>
+
+<p>He walked across to the show-case, fumbled for
+a moment at the flat base near one of the legs, and
+from below this he drew out three medallions.</p>
+
+<p>“Stuck ’em there with plasticine as soon as I’d got
+’em. After that any one would have turned out my
+pockets if they’d wanted, see?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton held out his hand and took the
+medallions from Foxy. For a moment or two he examined
+them, then he passed them to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you any way of telling easily whether these
+are the real things or the replicas?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil inspected them one by one with minute care.</p>
+
+<p>“These are the real things,” he announced. “What
+else could they be?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve no doubt about it?” questioned Sir
+Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit,” Cecil assured him. “When Foxy
+made the replicas, my father had a tiny hole—just a
+dot—drilled in the edge of each electrotype so as to
+distinguish the real things from the sham. There are
+no holes here; so these are the real Leonardos.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton swung round suddenly on Foxy.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Mr. Polegate,” he said, sternly, “you’ve
+given a lot of trouble with this silly joke of yours.
+I’m not concerned with your taste in humour, or I
+might say a few things you wouldn’t care to hear.
+But you can repair the damage to some extent if you
+give me a frank account of your doings in here
+to-night. I want the whole story, please.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy was evidently completely taken aback by Sir
+Clinton’s tone.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, we’re waiting. There’s no time to lose,”
+Sir Clinton said, curtly, as Foxy seemed to hesitate.
+Joan and the others showed by their faces that they
+could not quite understand the reason for the Chief
+Constable’s asperity.</p>
+
+<p>“We planned that . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“I know all about that,” said Sir Clinton,
+brusquely. “Begin at the point where you came in
+here at twenty to twelve or so.”</p>
+
+<p>Foxy pulled himself together. The Chief
+Constable’s manner was not encouraging.</p>
+
+<p>“I came in here as arranged, and worked my way
+over to the central case there—slowly, so as not to
+attract the keeper’s attention. One or two other
+people were hanging round it then, too. I remember
+noticing a chap in a white Pierrot costume alongside
+me. Suddenly there was a pistol-shot and the light
+went out according to plan.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you account for the pistol-shot?”
+demanded Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“Try next door,” said Foxy. “I thought it was a
+fancy tip that Cecil had thrown in at the last
+moment. It wasn’t in the book of words.”</p>
+
+<p>“You were ready to get to work when the light
+went out?” inquired Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>Foxy considered for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“It took me rather by surprise,” he admitted. “I’d
+counted on having at least another minute,
+according to the time-table.”</p>
+
+<p>“What happened next? Be careful now.”</p>
+
+<p>“As soon as the light went out, I pulled on a thick
+pair of gloves and got a bit of lead pipe out of my
+slapstick. But there was a bit of a scuffle in the dark
+round the show-case, and some one must have put
+their elbow through the glass. I heard it go crash in
+the dark. I shoved along till I was opposite the
+medallion section of the case—luckily some one made
+way for me just then—and I got to work with my
+lead pipe. The glass smashed easily—it must have
+been cracked before. So I put my hand in and groped
+about. I could find only three medallions instead of
+six; but I hooked them out, slabbed on some plasticine,
+stuck them under the case for future reference,
+and cut my stick for the door. Some one was ahead
+of me there, and I heard some sort of mix-up in the
+dark. Then I wandered out into the garden by the
+east door, as soon as I could find it in the dark. And
+I’ve been out there having a smoke till now. When I
+came in again, I heard you’d been asking for me,
+so I came along.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton considered for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I want to be quite clear on one point,” he said
+with no relaxation of his manner. “You say that you
+heard the glass crack before you began your work.
+Are you certain of that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite,” said Foxy.</p>
+
+<p>“And when you got your hand into the case you
+could find only three medallions?”</p>
+
+<p>“That was all. I was groping for the top row of
+the six; and naturally it surprised me when I felt
+only three altogether. I’m quite certain about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“So you were evidently the second thief at the case
+to-night?” Sir Clinton concluded.</p>
+
+<p>Foxy flushed at the word “thief” but a glance at
+the face of the Chief Constable evidently persuaded
+him that it would be best not to argue on philology at
+that moment. He contented himself with nodding
+sullenly in response to Sir Clinton’s remark.</p>
+
+<p>Joan relieved the tension.</p>
+
+<p>“Anyhow, we’ve got the medallions safe, and that’s
+all that really matters,” she pointed out. “Let’s have
+a look at them, Cecil.”</p>
+
+<p>She took them from his hand and scrutinized them
+carefully.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, these are the real Leonardos,” she affirmed,
+without hesitation. “That’s all right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite all right,” admitted Sir Clinton, with a wry
+smile, “except for one point: Why were the replicas
+stolen and the real things left untouched?”</p>
+
+<p>“That certainly seems to need explaining,” Una
+admitted. “Can you throw any light on it, Foxy?
+You’re the only one of us who was near the case.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no hint of accusation in her tone; but
+Foxy seemed to read an insinuation into her remark.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t got the replicas, if that’s what you
+mean, Una,” he protested angrily. “I just took what
+was left—and it turns out to be the real things.
+Whoever was ahead of me took the duds.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil considered the point, and then appealed to Sir
+Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“Doesn’t that seem to show that an outsider’s been
+at work—some one who knew a certain amount
+about the collection, but not quite enough? An
+outsider wouldn’t know we had the replicas in the case
+alongside the real things. He’d just grab three
+medallions and think he’d got away with it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Your hypothetical outsider, Cecil, must have had
+a preliminary look at the case before the lights went
+out—just to make sure of getting to the right spot
+in the dark. Therefore he must have seen the six
+medallions there; and he’d have taken the lot
+instead of only three, when he had his chance.”</p>
+
+<p>“That upsets your applecart, Cecil,” said Joan.
+“It’s obvious Sir Clinton’s right. Unless”—a fresh
+idea seemed to strike her—“unless the thief knew of
+the replicas and had wrong information, so that he
+imagined he was taking the Leonardos when he really
+was grabbing the replicas. I mean he may have
+thought that the replicas were in the top row instead
+of the lower one.”</p>
+
+<p>She glanced at Sir Clinton’s face to see what
+he thought of her suggestion; but he betrayed
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p>“Wouldn’t you have taken the whole six, Joan, if
+you had been in his shoes?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan had to admit that she would have made
+certain by snatching the complete set.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s more in it than that,” was all that Sir
+Clinton could be induced to say.</p>
+
+<p>Before any more could be said, the door opened
+again. This time it was Michael Clifton who entered
+the museum.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got him, Michael?” cried Joan. “Who
+was he?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“He got away from us. It’s a damned mysterious
+business how he managed it; but he slipped through
+our fingers, Joan.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, tell us what happened—quick!” Joan
+ordered. “I didn’t think you’d botch it,
+Michael.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael obeyed her at once and launched into an
+account of the moonlight chase of the fugitive. Sir
+Clinton listened attentively, but interposed no
+questions until Michael had finished his story.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s have this quite clear,” the Chief Constable
+said, when the tale had been completed. “You had
+him hemmed in at the cliff top; you heard a splash,
+but there was no sign of any one swimming in the
+lake; you discovered a rope tied to the balustrade
+and lying down the cliff-face to the cave-mouth; he
+wasn’t in the cave when you looked for him there. Is
+that correct?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s how it happened.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re sure he didn’t break back through your
+cordon?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certain.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you found Maurice in one of the Fairy
+Houses in the spinney?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. He seemed in a queer state.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, glancing at Cecil’s face, was surprised
+to see on it the same expression of almost malicious
+glee which he had surprised on the day when they
+examined that very Fairy House during their walk.
+Quite obviously Cecil knew something more than the
+Chief Constable did.</p>
+
+<p>“Does that suggest anything to you, Cecil?” he
+demanded point-blank.</p>
+
+<p>At the query, Cecil’s face came back to normal
+suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“To me? No, why should it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I merely wondered,” said Sir Clinton, without
+seeming to notice anything.</p>
+
+<p>It was clear that whatever Cecil knew, it was
+something which he was not prepared to tell.</p>
+
+<p>Foxy had listened intently to Michael’s narrative,
+and as the Chief Constable seemed to have come to
+the end of his interrogations, Foxy put a question of
+his own.</p>
+
+<p>“You say Maurice was wearing a white Pierrot
+costume? So was the fellow you were chasing. So
+was the man next me at the case when the lights
+went out.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you’re suggesting that Maurice is at
+the bottom of the business, Foxy,” Michael replied at
+once. “I’ll swallow that if you’ll answer one question.
+Why should a man burgle his own house?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lord alone knows,” Foxy admitted humbly. “I’ve
+no brain-wave on the subject.”</p>
+
+<p>“It seems rather improbable,” observed Sir Clinton.
+“I think you’ll have to produce a motive before
+that idea could be accepted.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced round at the door as he spoke and
+added:</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s Maurice himself.”</p>
+
+<p>Maurice Chacewater had entered the room while
+the Chief Constable was speaking. He had discarded
+his fancy costume and wore ordinary evening-dress,
+against the black of which his face looked white and
+drawn. He came up to the group and leaned on the
+show-case as if for support.</p>
+
+<p>“So you’ve muddled it, Michael,” he commented,
+after a pause. “You didn’t get your hands on the
+fellow, after all?”</p>
+
+<p>Dismissing Michael with almost open contempt,
+he turned to Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the damage? Did the fellow get away
+with anything of value?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing much: only your three replicas of the
+Leonardo medallions, so far as we can see.”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, his glance telegraphed a warning to
+the rest of the group. It seemed unnecessary that
+Maurice should know all the ins and outs of the
+night’s doings.</p>
+
+<p>But Foxy evidently failed to grasp the meaning of
+the Chief Constable’s look.</p>
+
+<p>“We saved the real medallions for you, Maurice.
+Vote of thanks to us, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“How did you manage that?” Maurice demanded,
+with no sign of gratitude in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>Quite oblivious of the warning looks thrown at
+him by the rest of the group, Foxy launched at once
+into a detailed account of the whole practical joke
+and its sequel. Maurice listened frowningly to the
+story. When it was completed, he made no direct
+comment.</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s got the medallions? You, Joan? I’ll take
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>When she had handed them over, he scrutinized
+them carefully.</p>
+
+<p>“These seem to be the Leonardo ones,” he
+confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton interposed a question.</p>
+
+<p>“Were the medallions and the replicas in their
+usual places to-night, Maurice? I mean, were the real
+things in the top row and the electros down below?”</p>
+
+<p>Maurice gave a curt nod of assent. He weighed
+the three medallions unconsciously in his hand for a
+moment, then moved over to the safe in the wall of
+the museum.</p>
+
+<p>“These things will be safer under lock and key,
+now,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>He opened the safe, inserted the medallions, closed
+the safe-door with a clang, and busied himself with
+the combination of the lock.</p>
+
+<p>Before saying anything further, Sir Clinton waited
+until Maurice had returned to the group.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s one thing,” he said. “I shall have to look
+into this affair officially now. It’s essential that things
+shall be left as they are. Especially the place where
+that fellow gave you the slip, Clifton. Nobody must
+be wandering about there, up at the spinney, until
+I’ve done with the ground. There may be clues left,
+for all one can tell; and we can’t run the risk of
+their being destroyed.”</p>
+
+<p>Maurice looked up gloomily.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. I’ll give orders to the keepers to patrol
+the wood and turn every one back. That do?”</p>
+
+<p>“So long as no one sets foot on anything beyond
+the wood, I’ll be quite satisfied. But it’s important,
+Maurice. Impress that on your keepers, please.”</p>
+
+<p>Maurice indicated his comprehension with a nod.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll begin dragging the lakelet up there to-morrow
+morning,” Sir Clinton added. “Something must have
+gone into the water to make the splash that was
+heard; and perhaps we shall find it. I don’t mind
+any one going down by the lake side. It’s the top of
+the cliff that I want kept intact.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re on the ’phone here? I must ring up the
+police in Hincheldene now and make arrangements
+for to-morrow. Show me your ’phone, please, Joan.
+And as I must get some sleep to-night, I’ll say
+good-bye to the rest of you now. Come along, Ariel. Lead
+the way.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch07">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VII. <br> What Was in the Lake</h2>
+
+<p>“I was afraid of it,” Sir Clinton observed, as he
+lifted the dripping pole with which he had been
+sounding the water of the lakelet. “The net will be
+no good, Inspector. With these spikes of rock jutting
+up from the bottom all over the place, you couldn’t
+get a clean sweep; and if there’s anything here at all,
+it’s pretty sure to have lodged in one of the cavities
+between the spikes.”</p>
+
+<p>It was the morning after the masked ball at
+Ravensthorpe. The Chief Constable had made all his
+arrangements overnight, so that when he reached the
+shore of the artificial lake, everything was in
+readiness. The decrepit raft had been strengthened; a
+large net had been brought for the purpose of
+dragging the pool; and several grapnels had been
+procured, in case the net turned out to be useless. Sir
+Clinton had gone out on the raft to sound the water
+and discover whether the net could be utilized; but
+the results had not been encouraging.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale listened to the verdict with a
+rather gloomy face.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a pity,” he commented regretfully. “Dragging
+with the grapnel is a kind of hit-or-miss job,
+Sir Clinton; and it’ll take far longer than working
+with the net.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton acquiesced with a gesture.</p>
+
+<p>“We’d better start close in under the cliff-face,”
+he said. “If anything came down from the top, it
+can’t have gone far before it sank. One of the people
+last night was watching the pool and he saw nothing
+on the surface after the splash, so it ought to be
+somewhere near the cave-mouth. You can pole over
+to the shore now, Constable; we’ve done with this
+part of the business.”</p>
+
+<p>The constable obeyed the order and soon Sir
+Clinton rejoined the Inspector on the bank.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s likely to be a troublesome business,” the
+Chief Constable admitted as his subordinate came
+up. “The bottom’s very irregular and the chances
+are that the grapnel will stick, two times out of
+three. However, the sooner we get to work, the
+better.”</p>
+
+<p>He considered for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“Tack a light line to the grapnel as well as the
+rope. Get the raft out past the cave and let a
+constable pitch the grapnel in there. Then when you’ve
+dragged, or if the grapnel sticks, he can pull
+the hook back again with the light line and start
+afresh alongside the place where he made the last
+cast. But it’s likely to be a slow business, as you
+say.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector agreed and set his constables to
+work at once. Sir Clinton withdrew to a little
+distance, sat down on a small hillock from which he
+could oversee the dragging operations, and patiently
+awaited the start of the search. His eyes, wandering
+with apparent incuriosity over the group at the
+water’s edge, noted with approval that Armadale was
+wasting no time.</p>
+
+<p>Having made his instructions clear, the Inspector
+came over to where the Chief Constable was posted.</p>
+
+<p>“Sit down, Inspector,” Sir Clinton invited. “This
+may take all day, you know, and it’s as cheap sitting
+as standing.”</p>
+
+<p>When the Inspector had seated himself, the Chief
+Constable turned to him with a question.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve seen to it that no one has gone up on to
+the terrace?”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale nodded affirmatively.</p>
+
+<p>“No one’s been up on top,” he explained, “I’d like
+to go and have a look round myself; but since you
+were so clear about it, I haven’t gone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t go,” Sir Clinton reiterated his order. “I’ve
+a sound reason for letting no one up there.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced for a moment at the group of
+constables.</p>
+
+<p>“Another thing, Inspector,” he continued.
+“There’s no secrecy about that matter. In fact, it
+might be useful if you’d let it leak out to the public
+that no one has been up above there and that no
+one will be allowed to go until I give the word.
+Spread it round, you understand?”</p>
+
+<p>Slightly mystified, apparently, the Inspector
+acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you see your way through the case, Sir
+Clinton?” he demanded. “You’ve given me the facts,
+but we’ll need a good deal more, it seems to me.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton pulled out his cigarette-case and
+thoughtfully began to smoke before answering the
+question. When he spoke again, his reply was an
+indirect one.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s an old jurist’s saying that I always keep
+in mind,” he said. “It helps to clarify one’s ideas in
+a case:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p>Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando?</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>That puts our whole business into a nutshell.” He
+glanced at the Inspector’s face. “Your Latin’s as
+feeble as my own, perhaps? There’s an English
+equivalent:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p class="i1">What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where,</p>
+  <p class="i1">How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>How many of these questions can you answer now,
+offhand, Inspector? The rest of them will tell you
+what you’ve still got to ferret out.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale pulled out a notebook and
+pencil.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you mind repeating it, Sir Clinton? I’d see
+through it better if I had it down in black and white.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable repeated the doggerel and
+Armadale jotted it down under his dictation.</p>
+
+<p>“That seems fairly searching,” he admitted,
+re-reading it as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite enough for present purposes. Now,
+Inspector, how much do you really know? I mean, how
+many answers can you give? There are only seven
+questions in all. Take them one by one and let’s hear
+your answers.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a pretty stiff catechism,” said the Inspector,
+looking again at his notebook. “I’ll have a try,
+though, if you give me time to think over it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton smiled at the qualification.</p>
+
+<p>“Think it over, then, Inspector,” he said. “I’ll just
+go and set them to work with the dragging. They
+seem to be ready to make a start.”</p>
+
+<p>He rose and walked down to the group at the
+edge of the pool.</p>
+
+<p>“You know what’s wanted?” he asked. “Well, suppose
+we make a start. Get the raft out to about ten
+yards or so beyond the cave-mouth and begin by
+flinging the grapnel in as near the cliff-edge as you
+can. Then work gradually outwards. If it sticks, try
+again very slightly off the line of the last cast.”</p>
+
+<p>He watched one or two attempts which gave no
+result and then turned back to the hillock again.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Inspector?” he demanded as he sat down
+and turned his eyes on the group engaged with the
+dragging operations. “What do you make of it?”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale looked up from his
+notebook.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a sound little rhyme,” he admitted. “It
+lets you see what you don’t know and what you do
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton suppressed a smile successfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Or what you think you know, perhaps,
+Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if you like to put it that way, sir. But some
+things I think one can be sure of.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s face showed nothing of his views on
+this question.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s begin at the beginning,” he suggested.
+“ ‘What was the crime?’ ”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s clear enough,” the Inspector affirmed without
+hesitation. “These three electrotypes have been
+stolen. That’s the crime.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to be engrossed in the dragging
+which was going on methodically below them.</p>
+
+<p>“You think so?” he said at length. “H’m! I’m not
+so sure.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale corrected himself.</p>
+
+<p>“I meant that I’d charge the man with stealing the
+replicas. You couldn’t charge him with anything else,
+since nothing else is missing. At least, that’s what
+you told me. He wanted the real medallions, but he
+didn’t pull that off.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton refused to be drawn. He resorted to
+one of his indirect replies.</p>
+
+<p>“ ‘What was the crime?’ ” he repeated. “Now, I’ll
+put a case to you, Inspector. Suppose that you saw
+two men in the distance and that you could make
+out that one of them was struggling and the second
+man was beating him on the head. What crime would
+you call that? Assault and battery?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose so,” Armadale admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“But suppose, further, that when you reached
+them, you found the victim dead of his injuries,
+what would you call the crime then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Murder, I suppose.”</p>
+
+<p>“So your view of the crime would depend upon the
+stage at which you witnessed it, eh? That’s just my
+position in this Ravensthorpe affair. You’ve been
+looking at it from yesterday’s standpoint, and you
+call it a theft of three replicas. But I wonder what
+you’ll call it when we know the whole of the facts.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector declined to follow his chief to this
+extent.</p>
+
+<p>“All the evidence we’ve got, so far, points to theft,
+sir. I’ve no fresh data that would let me put a new
+name to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you regard it as a completed crime which
+has partly failed in its object?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector gave his acquiescence with a nod.</p>
+
+<p>“You think it’s something else, Sir Clinton?” he
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable refused to be explicit.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got all the evidence, Inspector. Do you
+really think a gang would take the trouble to steal
+replicas when they could just as easily have taken
+the three originals—that’s the point. The replicas
+have no intrinsic value beyond the gold in them,
+and that can’t be worth more than twenty or thirty
+pounds at the very outside. A mediocre haul for a
+smart gang, isn’t it? Hardly Trade Union wages, I
+should think.”</p>
+
+<p>“It seems queer at first sight, sir,” he admitted,
+“but I think I can account for that all right when you
+come to the rest of your rhyme.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton showed his interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Then let’s go on,” he suggested. “The next question
+is: ‘Who did it?’ What’s your answer to that,
+Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>“To my mind, there seems to be only one possible
+thief.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton pricked up his ears.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean it was a single-handed job? Who was
+the man, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Foxton Polegate,” asserted the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>He watched Sir Clinton’s face narrowly as he
+brought out the name, but the Chief Constable might
+have been wearing a mask for all the change there
+was in his features as he listened to the Inspector’s
+suggestion. As if he felt that he had overstepped the
+bounds of prudence, Armadale added hastily:</p>
+
+<p>“I said ‘possible thief,’ sir. I don’t claim to be able
+to bring it home to him yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you think it might even be ‘probable’ instead
+of only ‘possible,’ Inspector? Let’s hear the evidence,
+please.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale turned over the leaves of his
+notebook until he reached some entries which he had
+previously made.</p>
+
+<p>“First of all, sir, Polegate must have known the
+value of these medallions—the originals, I mean.
+Second, he learned that they would be on show last
+night; and he knew where they’d be placed in the
+museum. Third, it was after Polegate came by this
+knowledge that the practical joke was planned.
+Fourth, who suggested the sham burglary? Polegate.
+Then fifth, who gave himself the job of actually
+taking the medallions? Polegate again. Sixth, where
+was Polegate immediately after the robbery? We’ve
+only his own word for it that he was strolling about,
+having a smoke. He might have been elsewhere,
+easily enough. Seventh, he was dressed up as a
+Harlequin when you saw him: but he might quite easily
+have slipped on a white jacket and a pair of Pierrot’s
+trousers over his Harlequin costume. He could
+disguise himself as a Pierrot in a couple of ticks and
+come out as a Harlequin again just as quick. So he
+might quite well have been the man in white that
+they were all busy chasing last night. Eighth, he
+knows the ground thoroughly and could give strangers
+the slip easily enough at the end of the chase.
+And, ninth, he didn’t appear when you wanted him
+last night. He only turned up when he’d had plenty
+of time to get home again, even if he’d been the man
+in white. That’s a set of nine points that need looking
+into. <i>Prima facie</i>, there’s a case for suspicion, if
+there’s no more. And there isn’t anything like so
+strong a case against any one else, Sir Clinton.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, let’s take the rest of the first line,” said the
+Chief Constable, without offering any criticism of the
+Inspector’s statement of the case. “ ‘When was it
+done, and where?’ ”</p>
+
+<p>“At 11.45 p.m. and in the museum,” retorted
+Armadale. “That’s beyond dispute. It’s the clearest
+thing in the whole evidence.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should be inclined to put it at 11.44 p.m. at the
+latest, or perhaps 11.43 p.m.,” said Sir Clinton, with
+an air of fastidiousness.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked at him suspiciously, evidently
+feeling that he was being laughed at for his
+display of accuracy.</p>
+
+<p>“I go by Miss Rainhill’s evidence,” he declared.
+“She was the only one who had her eye on her watch,
+and she said she pulled out the switch at 11.45
+precisely.”</p>
+
+<p>“I go by the evidence of Polegate and young
+Chacewater,” said Sir Clinton, with a faint parody
+of the Inspector’s manner. “They were taken by surprise
+when the light went out, although they expected
+it to be extinguished at 11.45 p.m.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, have it your own way, sir, if you lay any
+stress on the point,” conceded the Inspector. “Make
+it 11.44 or 11.45; it’s all the same, so far as I’m
+concerned.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale seemed slightly ruffled by his chief’s
+method of approaching the subject. Sir Clinton
+turned to another side of the matter.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose you say the crime has been committed
+in the museum?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked at him suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re trying to pull my leg, sir. Of course, it
+was committed in the museum.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s tone became apologetic.</p>
+
+<p>“I keep forgetting that we’re not talking about the
+same thing, perhaps. Of course, the theft of the
+replicas was committed in the museum. We’re quite in
+agreement there.”</p>
+
+<p>He threw away his cigarette, selected a fresh one,
+and lighted it before continuing.</p>
+
+<p>“And on that basis, I suppose there’s no mystery
+about the next query in the rhyme: ‘How done?’ ”</p>
+
+<p>“None whatever, in my mind,” the Inspector
+affirmed. “Polegate could take what he wanted, once
+the light was out.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton did not dispute this point.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” he said. “And now for the next
+query: ‘With what motive?’ Where do you stand in
+that matter, Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>But here Armadale evidently felt himself on sure
+ground.</p>
+
+<p>“Polegate’s a rackety young fool, sir. This is where
+local knowledge comes in. He’s got no common
+sense—always playing practical jokes. He’s been
+steadily muddling away the money his father left
+him. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s hard up. That’s
+the motive.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you think he’d steal from his oldest
+friends?”</p>
+
+<p>“Every man has his price,” retorted the Inspector,
+bluntly. “Put on the screw hard enough in the way of
+temptation, and any man’ll fall for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather a hard saying that, Inspector; and
+perhaps a trifle too sweeping.” Sir Clinton turned
+on Armadale suddenly. “What would be <em>your</em>
+price, now, if I asked you to hush up this case
+against young Polegate? Put a figure on it, will
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale flushed angrily at the suggestion; then,
+seeing that he had been trapped, he laughed
+awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody knows even their own price till it’s put
+on the table, Sir Clinton,” he countered, with a
+certain acuteness.</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable turned away from the
+subject.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re depending on there being a fair chance of
+Polegate getting away with the medallions without
+being suspected. But when young Chacewater and
+Miss Rainhill were in the scheme as well as Polegate,
+suspicion was sure to light on him when the medallions
+vanished. The other two were certain to tell
+what they knew about the business.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale glanced once more at his notebook
+in order to refresh his memory of the rhyme.</p>
+
+<p>“That really comes under the final head: ‘Who in
+the deed did share?’ ” he pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>“Pass along to the next caravan, then, if you
+wish,” Sir Clinton suggested. “What animals have
+you in the final cage?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector seemed to deprecate his flippancy.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s been very cleverly done,” he said, seriously.
+“You objected that suspicion was bound to fall on
+young Polegate; and so it would have done, if he
+hadn’t covered his tracks so neatly. He’s set every
+one on the hunt for a gang at work, or at least for an
+outside criminal. Now I believe it was a one-man
+show from the start, worked from the inside.
+Polegate planned the practical joke—that gave him his
+chance. Then he forced himself forward as the fellow
+who was to do the actual stealing—and that let him
+get his hands on the medallions while young
+Chacewater held the keeper up for him. Without the
+hold-up of the keeper, the thing was a wash-out. The
+joke helped young Polegate to enlist innocent
+assistance.”</p>
+
+<p>“But still suspicion would attach to him,” Sir
+Clinton objected.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, except for a false trail,” the Inspector
+agreed. “But he laid a false trail. Instead of waiting
+for the switch to be pulled out, he fired his shot from
+the bay, extinguished the light and then rushed out
+of the bay and went for the medallions.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” said Sir Clinton in an encouraging tone.</p>
+
+<p>“When he’d smashed the glass of the case, he took
+out the whole six medallions, and not merely three
+of them as he told you he’d done.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?”</p>
+
+<p>“He pocketed the replicas and stuck the real things
+under the case with plasticine. Then he continued the
+false trail by bolting out of the house. He was the
+man in white. When he got clear of the people who
+were chasing him, he came back to the house again,
+ready to play his part as an innocent practical joker.
+And he had his tale ready, of how some one was beside
+him at the case, wearing a Pierrot costume. That
+stamped the notion of an outside gang on everybody’s
+mind. Both sets of medallions had gone. He—the
+innocent practical joker—could have produced
+the replicas from his pocket and sworn they were
+all that the gang had left in the case by the time he
+got to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“And . . . ?”</p>
+
+<p>“And then, a few days later, he’d have managed
+to get into the museum on some excuse—he’s a
+friend of the family—and he’d have had no difficulty
+in taking the real medallions from under the case
+where he’d left them. He’d have to take the chance
+that they’d been overlooked. The false trail would
+help in that. He’d hardly expect a close search of the
+museum after the man in white had got clear away.
+And by running the business on these lines, he’d
+avoid any chance of being caught with the stuff
+actually in his pocket at any time.”</p>
+
+<p>“But in that case, why did he hand over the real
+things to me like a lamb as soon as I challenged
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was ready for this.</p>
+
+<p>“Because as soon as he came into the museum last
+night, he found that you apparently knew
+everything—or a good deal more than he’d counted on.
+Anyhow, he didn’t know how much you knew; and he
+felt he’d got into a tight corner. He just let the whole
+thing slide and made up his mind to get out before
+things got too hot. So he pretended that so far as he
+was concerned, the practical joke was the thing; and
+he gave up the real medallions and kept the replicas
+in his pocket.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why? He might as well have given up the lot.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” the Inspector contradicted. “He’d got to
+keep the false trail going, for otherwise there would
+have been awkward questions as to why he diverged
+from the prearranged programme. I mean the shooting
+out of the light, the lies about the man in white,
+and so forth. So he stuck to the replicas and made
+out that there was an outsider mixed up in the
+affair. But thanks to the practical joke, the outsider
+had missed the real stuff; and Polegate was really
+the saviour of the Leonardo set.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to be pondering over Armadale’s
+version of the affair. At last he gave his own
+view.</p>
+
+<p>“A jury wouldn’t look at that evidence,” he
+pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t suppose they would,” Armadale admitted.
+“But there may be more to come yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“I expect so,” Sir Clinton agreed.</p>
+
+<p>He rose as he spoke, and, followed by the
+Inspector, went down to the edge of the lakelet.</p>
+
+<p>“No luck yet?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“None, sir. It’s a very difficult bottom to work a
+grapnel over. It sticks three times out of four.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton watched the line of the drag which they
+were making.</p>
+
+<p>“It’ll take a while to cover the ground at this rate,”
+he commented, noting the smallness of the area they
+had searched up to that moment.</p>
+
+<p>As he turned away from the water-side, he noticed
+Cecil Chacewater approaching round the edge of the
+lakelet, and leaving the Inspector to superintend the
+dragging, he walked over to meet the newcomer. As
+he came near, he could see that Cecil’s face was
+sullen and downcast.</p>
+
+<p>“ ’Morning, Sir Clinton. I heard you were here,
+so I came across to say good-bye before I clear
+out.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton could hardly pretend astonishment in
+view of what he knew about the state of affairs at
+Ravensthorpe; but he did not conceal his regret at
+the news.</p>
+
+<p>“There was a row-royal between Maurice and me
+this morning,” Cecil explained, gloomily. “Of course
+this medallion business gave him his chance, and he
+jumped in with both feet, you know. He abused me
+like a fish-wife and finally gave me permission to do
+anything except stay at Ravensthorpe after to-night.
+So I’m off.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you hadn’t got mixed up with that silly
+practical joke,” Sir Clinton said in some concern. “I
+can’t forgive that young blighter for luring you into
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil’s resentment against his brother was evidently
+too deep to let him look on the matter from
+this point of view.</p>
+
+<p>“If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something
+else. Any excuse would have served his turn,
+you know. He’d have flung me out sooner or later—probably
+sooner. I’ve felt for long enough that he was
+itching to clear me off the premises. Foxy’s little
+show only precipitated things. The root of the trouble
+was there long before.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s a sad business.” Sir Clinton saw that it
+was useless to dwell on the subject. “You’re going
+up to town? Any address you can give me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll probably put up with a man for a day or two.
+He’s been inviting me to his place once or twice
+lately, but I’ve never been able to fit it in; so I may
+as well take him at his word now. I’ve got to look
+round for something to do, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you want some one to speak for you, Cecil,
+refer them to me when you apply for anything. And,
+by the way, if you happen to run short, you know my
+address. A letter will always find me.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil thanked him rather awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope it won’t come to that,” he wound up.
+“Something may turn up sooner than one hopes.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton thought it well to change the subject
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Cecil,” he asked, “do you know
+anything about this man Foss? What sort of person is
+he?”</p>
+
+<p>It seemed an unfortunate topic. Cecil’s manner
+was anything but gracious as he replied:</p>
+
+<p>“Foss? Oh, you know what sort of a fellow he is
+already. A damned eavesdropper on his hosts and a
+beggar with a tongue hinged in the middle so that he
+can talk with both ends at once. I’d like to wring his
+neck for him! What do they call the breed that runs
+off and splits to the police? Copper’s narks, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“It wasn’t exactly that side of him that I wanted
+to hear about, Cecil. I’m quite fully acquainted with
+his informative temperament already. What I want
+to know is the sort of man he is socially and so
+forth.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil curbed his vexation with an effort.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, he seems to have decent enough manners—a
+bit Yankee, perhaps, in some things. He must do
+well enough out of this agent business of his, acting
+for Kessock and the like, you know. He arrived here
+with a big car, a chauffeur, and a man. Except for
+his infernal tale-bearing, I can’t say he’s anything
+out of the ordinary.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, apparently feeling that he had struck
+the wrong vein in the conversational strata, contented
+himself with a nod of comprehension and let Cecil
+choose his own subject for the next stage in their talk.
+He was somewhat surprised when it came.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you heard the latest from the village?”
+Cecil demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve had very little time to collect local gossip this
+morning, Cecil. I’ve been busy getting things started
+for this bit of work in the lake, you see.”</p>
+
+<p>“If you’d been down in Hincheldene village you
+could hardly have missed it. I went down this morning
+to get some tobacco and I found the whole place
+buzzing with it. That was before I’d seen Maurice,
+luckily.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose you tell me what it is,” Sir Clinton
+suggested, drily.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember my telling you about the family
+spectre, the White Man?” Cecil asked. “Well, it
+seems that the village drunkard, old Groby, was
+taking a short cut through our woods last night—or
+rather this morning, for he’s a bit of a late
+going-to-rooster—and he got the shock of his life in one of
+the glades. He swears he saw the White Man stealing
+about from tree to tree. By his way of it, he was
+near enough to see the thing clearly—all white, even
+the face. What a lark!”</p>
+
+<p>“You certainly seem to take your family spectre
+a bit lightly, Cecil. What’s the cream of the
+jest?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil’s face took on a vindictive expression.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, it gave me a chance of getting home on
+Maurice, after he’d given me the key of the street. I
+told him all about it and I rubbed in the old story.
+You know what I mean? The White Man never appears
+except when the head of the family’s on his
+last legs. Maurice didn’t like it a bit. He looked a
+bit squeamish over it; and I came away leaving that
+sticking in his gills.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton hardly concealed his distaste for this
+kind of thing.</p>
+
+<p>“You flatter yourself, I expect. Maurice is hardly
+likely to waste any thought over superstitions of that
+sort.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil’s expression still showed a tinge of malice.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d wonder,” he said. “It’s all very well for
+you to sneer at these affairs; but it looks a bit
+different when you yourself happen to be the object of
+them, I guess. It’s easy to say ‘Superstition’ in a
+high-minded way; but if there’s one per cent. chance that
+the superstition’s going to hit you personally, then,
+you know, it rankles a bit. Anything to give pain is
+my motto where Maurice is concerned.”</p>
+
+<p>Quite oblivious of Sir Clinton’s rather disgusted
+expression, he laughed softly to himself for a moment
+or two.</p>
+
+<p>“And the funniest thing in the whole affair,” he
+went on, “is that I know all about this White Man.
+Can’t you guess what it was?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, don’t you see?” Cecil demanded, still
+laughing. “What old Groby came across must obviously
+have been Maurice himself in his white Pierrot
+dress, coming back from the burglar-hunt! That’s
+what makes it so damned funny. Fancy Maurice getting
+the creeps on account of himself! It’s as good a
+joke as I’ve heard for a while.”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed harshly.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t seem to see it. Well, well. Perhaps
+you’re right. And now I must be getting back to the
+house. I’ve a lot of stuff to collect before I go off.”</p>
+
+<p>He shook hands with Sir Clinton and moved off
+towards Ravensthorpe. The Chief Constable gazed
+after him for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“That young man’s in a most unpleasant frame of
+mind,” he commented to himself. “He’s obviously
+quite off his normal balance when he’d make a point
+of that kind of thing. I can’t say I take much stock
+in brotherly love; but this is really overdoing the
+business. Both of them seem to have taken leave of
+ordinary feelings. It’s just as well they’re parting,
+perhaps.”</p>
+
+<p>Rather moodily he retraced his steps to where the
+Inspector was directing the operations by the bank
+of the lakelet; but by the time he reached the group
+his face had taken on its normal expression.</p>
+
+<p>“Fishing still poor?” he demanded, as he came up.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing so far, sir,” the Inspector confessed.
+“These rocks are the very deuce to work amongst.
+I’ve been running the grapnel over the same track
+two or three times, just in case we miss the thing the
+first shot. We’ve had no luck at all—unless you
+count this as a valuable find: a bit of limestone or
+something like that.”</p>
+
+<p>He kicked a shapeless mass of white stone as he
+spoke. Sir Clinton stooped over it: a dripping mass
+about the size of a man’s fist. The Inspector watched
+him as he examined it; but Sir Clinton’s face
+suggested neither interest nor satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>“Might be a bit of marble that got swept over the
+top when they were putting up the balustrade in the
+old days,” the Inspector hazarded.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton looked at it again and shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt it,” he said. “However, since it’s the only
+thing you’ve fished up, you’d better keep it,
+Inspector. One never knows what may be useful. I might
+make a paper-weight out of it as a souvenir.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector failed to see the point of the joke,
+but he laughed as politely as he could.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, Sir Clinton, I’ll see that it’s put aside.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced over the Chief Constable’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s Mr. Clifton coming, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton turned round to find that Michael
+Clifton had approached while he was engaged with
+the dragging operations. Leaving the group by the
+bank, he walked slowly to meet the advancing figure.</p>
+
+<p>“Good morning, Mr. Clifton. Come up to see how
+we’re getting on, I suppose. There’s nothing to
+report, I’m afraid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Drawn blank?” Michael inquired, needlessly.
+“There ought to be something there, all the same.”</p>
+
+<p>“It may have been only a stone,” Sir Clinton
+pointed out. “You heard a splash; that’s all we have
+to go on. And a stone would make that as well as
+anything else.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s true,” Michael admitted. “None of us saw
+the thing hit the water, so we’ve no notion what it
+was like. It might have been a stone for all we can
+tell. But why should the fellow pitch a brick into the
+water? That’s what puzzles me.”</p>
+
+<p>Before Sir Clinton could reply, a shout came from
+the bank, and the Inspector waved to them to come
+down.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got something, sir,” he called, as they drew
+nearer.</p>
+
+<p>Followed by Michael, Sir Clinton hurried up to the
+group at the water’s edge. The Inspector was kneeling
+down, carefully disentangling the grapnel from
+something white. At last he rose and held out his
+capture. Michael gave an exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>“A white jacket!”</p>
+
+<p>A little further shaking of the material showed
+that it was a complete white Pierrot costume, except
+for the cap and shoes. The Inspector spread it out
+on the grass to dry, after holding the jacket outspread
+in the air so that they could gauge its size by
+comparison with his own body.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I’ve been hoping to get hold of,
+Inspector,” Sir Clinton said. “I doubt if you’ll find
+much more in the pool. But perhaps you’d better go
+on dragging for a while yet. Something else might
+turn up.”</p>
+
+<p>He examined the costume carefully; but it was
+quite evident that there were no identifying marks on
+it. During the inspection, Michael showed signs of
+impatience; and as soon as he could he
+unostentatiously drew Sir Clinton away from the group.</p>
+
+<p>“Come up here, Mr. Clifton,” the Chief Constable
+suggested, as he turned towards the hillock he had
+chosen earlier in the morning. “We can keep an eye
+on things from this place.”</p>
+
+<p>He sat down and Michael, after a glance to see
+that they were out of earshot of the dragging party,
+followed his example.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you make of that?” he demanded
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to have little desire to discuss
+the matter.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s be quite clear on one point before we
+begin,” he reminded Michael. “I’m a Chief Constable,
+not a broadcasting station. My business is to collect
+information, not to throw it abroad before the proper
+time comes. You understand?”</p>
+
+<p>Rather dashed, Michael admitted the justice of
+this.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a public servant, Mr. Clifton,” Sir Clinton
+pointed out, his manner taking the edge off the
+directness of his remarks, “and I get my information
+officially. Obviously it wouldn’t be playing the game
+if I scattered that information around before the
+public service has had the use of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see that well enough,” Michael protested. “All
+I asked was what your own views are.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton smiled and there was a touch of
+mischief in his eye as he replied.</p>
+
+<p>“Seeing that my conclusions are based on the
+evidence—at least I like to think so, you
+know—they’re obviously part and parcel of my official
+knowledge. Hence I don’t divulge them till the right
+moment comes.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused to let this sink in, then added lightly:</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a most useful principle, I find. One often
+makes mistakes, and of course one never divulges
+them either, until the right time comes. It’s curious,
+but I’ve never been able yet to satisfy myself that
+the right time has come in any case of the sort.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael smiled in his turn; and Sir Clinton went
+on:</p>
+
+<p>“But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t draw
+your own conclusions and give me the benefit of
+them. I’m not too proud to be helped, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Michael kept silence, as if considering
+what his next move should be. Sir Clinton had
+given him what might have looked like a snub; but
+Michael had acuteness enough to tell him that the
+matter was one of principle with the Chief Constable
+and not merely a pretext devised on the spur
+of the moment to suppress inconvenient curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>“It just occurred to me,” he confessed, “that
+there’s a possible explanation of that thing they’ve
+fished up. Do you remember that I found Maurice in
+the Fairy House up above there”—he indicated the
+cliff-top with a gesture—“and when I left him there
+he was still wearing a white costume like this one?”</p>
+
+<p>“So you told us last night,” Sir Clinton confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>“Now when Maurice turned up in the museum
+later on,” Michael continued, “he was wearing
+ordinary evening clothes. He’d got rid of the Pierrot
+dress in the meantime.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s true,” Sir Clinton agreed.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it possible,” Michael went on, “that after I
+left him, Maurice got over his troubles, whatever
+they were, and pitched his disguise over the edge
+here. This may quite well be it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather a rum proceeding, surely,” was Sir Clinton’s
+comment. “Can you suggest any earthly reason
+why he should do a thing like that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t,” Michael admitted, frankly. “But the
+whole affair last night seemed to have neither rhyme
+nor reason in it; and after swallowing the escape of
+that beggar we were after, I’m almost prepared for
+anything in this neighbourhood. I just put the matter
+before you. I can’t fake up any likely explanation
+to account for it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to be reflecting before he spoke
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“To tell you the truth, I was rather disappointed
+with the result of that drag. Quite obviously—this
+isn’t official information, for you can see it with your
+own eyes—quite obviously that Pierrot costume must
+have been wrapped round some weight or other, or it
+wouldn’t have sunk to the bottom. And in the dragging
+the weight fell out. I could make a guess at what
+the weight was; but I wish we’d fished it up. It
+doesn’t matter much, really; but one likes to get
+everything one can.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael, unable to guess what lay behind this,
+kept silent in the hope that there was more to come;
+but the Chief Constable swung off to a fresh subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you take a careful note of the costumes of
+the gang who helped you in the attempt to round the
+beggar up? Could you make a list of them if it
+became necessary?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael considered for the best part of a minute
+before answering.</p>
+
+<p>“Some of them I could remember easily enough;
+but not all, I’m sure. It was a bit confused, you
+know; and some of the crew turned up pretty late,
+when all my attention was focused on the final
+round-up. I really couldn’t guarantee to give you an
+accurate list.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s nod indicated approval.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I like,” he said. “I’d rather have a
+definite No than a faked-up list that might mean
+nothing at all. But there’s one point that’s really
+important. Did you notice, among your assistants,
+anybody in white like the man you were hunting?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael apparently had no need to pause before
+replying.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he said definitely, “I saw nobody of that
+sort. I suppose you mean Maurice. He certainly
+wasn’t in the cordon when it went into the spinney
+or when it came out on the terrace. I’m absolutely
+sure of my ground there. But of course he may have
+been one of the late-comers. Almost as soon as we got
+to the terrace we had to sprint off down to the lake
+side, you see; and he might quite well have been a
+bit slow in the chase and have reached the top only
+after we’d come down here.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all I wanted to know,” said Sir Clinton,
+with a finality which prevented any angling for
+further information.</p>
+
+<p>Michael evidently had no desire to outstay his
+welcome, for in a few minutes he rose to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“I think I’ll go over to Ravensthorpe now,” he
+said. “I suppose you’re not going to leave here for a
+while?”</p>
+
+<p>The words recalled to Sir Clinton the fact that he
+had not yet congratulated Michael on his
+engagement. He hastened to repair the oversight.</p>
+
+<p>“I was looking for you at the dance last night,” he
+explained, after Michael had thanked him, “but before
+I got hold of you, this burglary business cropped
+up, and I’ve had hardly a minute to spare since then.
+By the way, if you’re going over to the house, you
+might tell Joan that I shall probably have to pay
+them a visit shortly, but I’ll ring up and let them
+know when I’m coming.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael nodded and turned away, skirting the
+lakelet on his way to Ravensthorpe. Sir Clinton
+sauntered over to the waterside and watched the
+dragging operations which were still going on. When
+he made his way back to the hillock again, Inspector
+Armadale followed him.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s another point that occurred to me, sir,”
+he explained. “I think you told me that Polegate was
+wearing a Harlequin’s costume last night?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “And
+what then?”</p>
+
+<p>“One difficulty I’ve had,” the Inspector went on,
+“was to explain how the fellow in white got away
+from them all so neatly. I think I see now how it was
+done.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton made no effort to conceal his interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale obviously took this as complimentary.</p>
+
+<p>“This is how I figure it out, sir. Polegate had a
+white jacket and Pierrot trousers on over his Harlequin
+costume. At the end of the chase he bolted into
+the spinney and out on to the terrace above here.
+That gave him a breathing-space. It took Mr. Clifton
+a minute or two to organize his cordon; and during
+that time the thief was hidden from them by the
+trees.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s obviously true,” Sir Clinton admitted. “If
+he did change his costume, it must have been at that
+moment.”</p>
+
+<p>“I expect he had a weight of some sort ready on
+the terrace,” the Inspector continued. “When
+he’d stripped off his jacket and trousers, he wrapped
+them round the weight and pitched them over into
+the pool. That would make the splash they all
+heard.”</p>
+
+<p>“And after that?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was evidently delighted with his
+idea.</p>
+
+<p>“That leaves us with Polegate in Harlequin dress
+on the terrace, with a minute or two to spare before
+the cordon was ready to move forward into the
+spinney.”</p>
+
+<p>“Admitted.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember the camouflaged ships in the
+War, Sir Clinton?”</p>
+
+<p>“I sailed in one, if that’s what you mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you know what they were like: all sorts
+of cock-eyed streaks and colours mixed up in a regular
+tangle to destroy their real outlines. And what’s
+a Harlequin’s costume? Isn’t it the very same
+thing?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton confirmed this with an historical
+allusion.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re quite correct, Inspector. As a matter of
+fact, the Harlequin’s dress was originally designed
+to represent Invisibility. Nobody except Columbine
+was supposed to be able to see Harlequin, you
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale hurried to his conclusion.</p>
+
+<p>“What was to hinder Polegate, during that
+breathing-space, getting back into the spinney? It was a
+moonlight night. You know what the spinney would
+be like under a full moon: it would be all dappled
+with spots of moonlight coming through the trees.
+And against a setting of that sort the Harlequin
+costume would be next door to invisible. He’d only
+have to stand still in some chequered spot and no
+one would detect him. They were all hunting for a
+man dressed in white. None of them noticed him.
+None of them saw him, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>Much to the Inspector’s surprise, Sir Clinton shook
+his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d be prepared to bet pretty heavily that
+someone saw him,” he affirmed.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked at his Chief for a moment,
+obviously taken aback.</p>
+
+<p>“You think some one saw him?”</p>
+
+<p>Then a flood of light from a fresh angle in his mind
+seemed to illuminate the question.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean he had a confederate in the cordon?
+Some one who let him through and kept it dark? I
+never thought of that! You had me beaten there,
+Sir Clinton. And of course, now I see it, that’s the
+simplest solution of the whole affair. If we can get a
+list of the people in the cordon, we’ll be able to pick
+out the confederate before long.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton damped his enthusiasm slightly.</p>
+
+<p>“It won’t be so easy to get that list, Inspector.
+Remember the confusion of the whole business: the
+hurry, the effect of moonlight, the masks, the
+costumes, and all the rest of it. You may be able to put
+a list together; but you’ll have some difficulty
+yourself in believing that you’ve tracked down every
+possible person who was in the line. And if you miss
+one . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“He may be the man, you mean? Well, there’s
+no harm in trying. I’ll turn a sergeant on to gather
+all the news he can get.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’ll be a good test of his capacity, then, even if
+nothing else comes out of it,” Sir Clinton certified,
+carelessly.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch08">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII. <br> The Murder in the Museum</h2>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton cut short the shrill ringing of his desk
+telephone by picking up the receiver.</p>
+
+<p>“The Chief Constable speaking,” he informed his
+inquirer.</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton’s voice sounded over the wire.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you come up to Ravensthorpe at once, Sir
+Clinton, or send Inspector Armadale? There’s a bad
+business here. Mr. Foss has been murdered. I’ve
+taken care that no one has got off the premises; and
+I’ve seen to it that his body has been left as it was
+found.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced at his wrist-watch.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll drive across as soon as possible. See that
+things are left undisturbed, please. And collect all
+the people who can give any evidence, so that we
+needn’t waste time hunting for them. Good-bye.”</p>
+
+<p>He shifted the switch of his telephone and spoke
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“Is Inspector Armadale here just now?” he asked
+the constable who answered his call. “Tell him I
+wish to see him in my room immediately.”</p>
+
+<p>While waiting for Armadale, Sir Clinton had a few
+moments in which to consider the information he had
+just received.</p>
+
+<p>“This looks like Part II of the Ravensthorpe
+affair,” he reflected. “Foss’s only connection with
+Ravensthorpe was the business of these Medusa
+Medallions. First one has the theft of the replicas; now
+comes the murder of this American agent. It’s highly
+improbable that two things like that could be
+completely independent.”</p>
+
+<p>His cogitation was interrupted by the entry of
+Armadale, and in a few words Sir Clinton gave him
+the fresh information which had come to hand.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll go up there at once in my car, Inspector.
+Get the necessary things together, please. Don’t
+forget the big camera. We may need it. And the
+constable who does photography for us had better come
+along also.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale wasted no time. In a very few
+minutes they were on the road. As he drove, Sir
+Clinton was silent; and Armadale’s attempt to extract
+further information from him was a complete failure.</p>
+
+<p>“You know as much as I do, Inspector,” the Chief
+Constable pointed out. “Let’s keep clear of any
+preconceived ideas until we see how the land lies up
+yonder.”</p>
+
+<p>When they reached Ravensthorpe, they found
+Michael Clifton waiting for them at the door.</p>
+
+<p>“There are only two people who seem to know anything
+definite about things,” he replied to the Chief
+Constable’s first inquiry. “Joan’s one of them, but
+she really knows nothing to speak of. The other
+witness is Foss’s man—Marden’s his name. Will you
+have a look at the body first of all, and then see Joan
+and this fellow?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded his acquiescence and the party
+followed Michael to the museum. Mold, the keeper,
+was again on guard at the door of the room, and Sir
+Clinton made a gesture of recognition as he passed
+in, followed by Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>A cursory glance showed Foss’s body lying in one
+of the bays formed by the show-cases round the wall.
+The Inspector went forward, knelt down, and held a
+pocket-mirror to the dead man’s lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite dead, sir,” he reported after a short time.</p>
+
+<p>“The police surgeon will be here shortly,” Sir
+Clinton intimated. “If he’s dead, we can postpone the
+examination of the body for a short time. Everything’s
+to be left as it is until we come back. Turn the
+constable on to photograph the body’s position in
+case we need it, though I don’t think we shall. Now
+where’s Miss Chacewater? We’d better get her version
+of the affair first. Then we can question the
+valet.”</p>
+
+<p>Without being acutely sensitive to atmosphere,
+Michael Clifton could not help noticing a fresh
+characteristic which had come into the Chief Constable’s
+manner. This was not the Sir Clinton with whom he
+was acquainted: the old friend of the Chacewater
+family, with his faintly whimsical outlook on things.
+Instead, Michael was now confronted by the head of
+the police in the district, engaged in a piece of official
+work and carrying it through in a methodical fashion,
+as though nothing mattered but the end in view.</p>
+
+<p>Followed by the two officials, Michael led the way
+to the room where Joan was waiting. The Chief
+Constable wasted no time in unnecessary talk. In fact,
+he plunged straight into business in a manner which
+suggested more than a touch of callousness. Only
+later on did Michael realize that in this, perhaps, Sir
+Clinton displayed more tact than was apparent at the
+moment. By his manner, he suggested that a murder
+was merely an event like any other—rather
+uncommon, perhaps, but not a thing which called for
+any particular excitement; and this almost indifferent
+attitude tended to relax Joan’s overstrained nerves.</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t see the crime actually committed, of
+course?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“Shall I begin at the beginning?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, by a gesture, invited her to sit down.
+He took a chair himself and pulled out a notebook.
+Inspector Armadale copied him in this. Michael
+remained standing near Joan’s chair, as though to lend
+her his moral support.</p>
+
+<p>After thinking for a moment or two, Joan began
+her story.</p>
+
+<p>“Some time after lunch, I was sitting on the terrace
+with Mr. Foss. I forget what we were talking
+about—nothing of any importance. Soon after that, Maurice
+came out of the house and sat down. I was surprised
+to see him, for he’d arranged to play golf this
+afternoon. But he’d sprained his right wrist badly
+after lunch, it seems, and had ’phoned to put off his
+match. He sat nursing his wrist, and we began to
+speak of one thing and another. Then, I remember,
+Mr. Foss somehow turned the talk on to some of the
+things we have. It was mostly about Japanese things
+that they spoke; and Mr. Foss seemed chiefly
+interested in some of the weapons my father had
+collected. I remember they talked about a Sukesada
+sword we have and about the Muramasa short sword.
+Mr. Foss said that he would like to see them some
+time. He thought that Mr. Kessock would be
+interested to hear about them.”</p>
+
+<p>She broke off and seemed to be trying to remember
+the transitions of the conversation. Sir Clinton waited
+patiently; but at last she evidently found herself unable
+to recall any details of the next stage in the talk.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t remember how it came up. It was just
+general talk about things in our collection and things
+Mr. Foss had seen elsewhere, but finally they got on
+to the Medusa Medallions somehow. Mr. Foss was
+telling Maurice how tantalizing it was to buy these
+things and pass them on to collectors when he’d like
+to keep them for himself if only he could afford it.
+Then it came out that he always took a rubbing of
+all the coins and medals he came across. I remember
+he made some little joke about his ‘poor man’s
+collection’ or something like that. I forget exactly how
+it came about, but either he asked Maurice to let
+him have another look at the Leonardo medallions or
+Maurice volunteered to let him take rubbings there
+and then. I can’t recall the exact way in which the
+suggestion was made. I wasn’t paying much
+attention at the time.”</p>
+
+<p>She looked up to see if Sir Clinton showed any
+sign of annoyance at incomplete information; but his
+face betrayed neither dissatisfaction nor approval.
+Inspector Armadale, though following the evidence
+keenly and making frequent notes, seemed to think
+that very little of her information was to the point.</p>
+
+<p>“Then,” Joan went on, “I remember Mr. Foss getting
+up from his chair and saying: ‘If you’ll wait a
+moment, I’ll get the things.’ And he went away and
+left Maurice and me together. I said: ‘What’s he
+gone for?’ And Maurice said: ‘Some paper to take
+rubbings of the medallions and some stuff he uses
+for that, dubbin or something.’ In a few minutes,
+Mr. Foss came back again with some sheets of paper
+and some black stuff in his hand. I was interested in
+seeing how he did his rubbing or whatever you call
+it, so I went with them to the museum.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?” Sir Clinton prompted. As they were
+evidently coming near the moment of the murder in
+Joan’s narrative, it was clear that he wished to leave
+her no time to think of the crime itself.</p>
+
+<p>“We went into the museum. Since that night of the
+masked ball, Maurice has removed most of the
+smaller articles of value from the cases and put them
+into the safe; so in order to get the medallions he had
+to open the safe. It’s a combination lock, you know;
+and as I knew Maurice wouldn’t like us to be at his
+elbow while he was setting the combination, I took
+Mr. Foss under my wing and led him over to where
+the Sukesada sword is hung on the wall. We looked
+at it for a few moments. I remember taking it out of
+its sheath to show the blade to Mr. Foss. Then I
+heard Maurice slamming the door of the safe; and
+when we went into the bay where it is, Maurice was
+there with the Leonardo medallions in his hand.”</p>
+
+<p>“One moment,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “You said
+it was a combination lock on the safe. Do you
+happen to know the combination?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice is the only one who knows that. He
+never told it to any of us.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton invited her to continue.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice handed Mr. Foss one of the medallions
+and Mr. Foss took it over to the big central
+case—the one with the flat top. Then he began to take
+a rubbing of the medallion with his paper and black
+stuff. He didn’t seem quite satisfied with his first
+attempt, so he had a second try at it. As we were
+watching him, he seemed to prick up his ears, and
+then he said: ‘There’s some one calling for you, Miss
+Chacewater.’ I couldn’t hear anything myself; but he
+explained that the voice was pretty far off. He had
+extra good hearing, I remember he said. He seemed
+very positive about it, so I went off to see what it
+was all about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was that the last time you saw him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Joan, but she had obviously more to
+tell.</p>
+
+<p>“And then?”</p>
+
+<p>“As I was going away from the museum door, I
+met Mr. Foss’s man, Marden. He had a small brown-paper
+parcel in his hand. He stopped me and asked
+me if I knew where Mr. Foss was. Something about
+the parcel, I gathered, though I didn’t stop to listen
+to him. I told him Mr. Foss was in the museum; and
+I went on to see if I could find who was calling. I
+searched about and came across Mr. Clifton; but I
+didn’t hear any one calling my name. Mr. Foss must
+have been mistaken.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton evidently thought it unnecessary
+that Joan should bear the whole burden of giving
+evidence. At this point he broke in.</p>
+
+<p>“Miss Chacewater and I were together in the
+winter-garden when I heard a shout of ‘Murder!’ I
+didn’t recognize the voice at the time. I left Miss
+Chacewater where she was and made my way as
+quick as I could towards the voice. It came from the
+museum, so I hurried there. I found Foss on the
+floor with a dagger of some sort in his chest. He was
+gone, so far as I could see, before I came on the
+scene at all. The man Marden was in the room,
+tying up his hand. It was bleeding badly and he said
+he’d cut it on the glass of a case. I kept him under
+my eye till I could get a couple of keepers; and then
+I rang you up at the station.”</p>
+
+<p>“What had become of Mr. Chacewater?” Sir Clinton
+asked, without showing that he attached more
+than a casual interest to the question.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the puzzle,” Michael admitted. “I didn’t
+see him anywhere in the museum at the moment and
+I’ve been hunting for him everywhere since then:
+but he’s not turned up. He may have gone out into
+the grounds, of course, and left Foss alone in the
+museum; and possibly he had got out of earshot before
+the cry of ‘Murder!’ was raised by the valet. I don’t
+know.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton saw that the Inspector wished to ask a
+question, but he silenced him by a glance.</p>
+
+<p>“One more point, and we’re done, I think,” he
+said, turning to Joan. “Can you give me a rough
+idea of the time when the cry of ‘Murder!’ was
+raised? I mean, how long was it after you had left
+the museum yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan thought for a few seconds.</p>
+
+<p>“It took me three or four minutes before I came
+across Mr. Clifton, and we were together—how long
+would you say, Michael?—before we heard the
+shout?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not more than five minutes,” Michael suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s about it,” Joan confirmed. “That would
+make it about eight or nine minutes, roughly, between
+the time I left the museum and the time we heard the
+shout.”</p>
+
+<p>“About that,” Michael agreed.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton rose and closed his notebook.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all you have to tell us? Everything that
+bears on the matter, so far as you know?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan paused for a moment or two before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all that I can remember,” she said at last,
+after an evident effort to recall any fresh details. “I
+can’t think of anything else that would be of use.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve no idea where your brother is?”</p>
+
+<p>“None at all,” Joan answered. Then a thought
+seemed to strike her. “You don’t think Maurice had
+anything to do with this?” she demanded, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll turn up shortly to speak for himself, I’ve no
+doubt,” Sir Clinton said, as though to reassure her.
+“Now that’s all we need just now, so far as you’re
+concerned. I’m going to take Mr. Clifton away for a
+few minutes, but he’ll be back again almost
+immediately.”</p>
+
+<p>With a reassuring smile, the Chief Constable excused
+himself and led the way to the door, followed
+by Michael and the Inspector. As soon as he was out
+of the room, he turned to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re quite sure that Mr. Chacewater wasn’t in
+the museum when you reached it?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael considered carefully before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t see how he could have been. I glanced
+into all the bays; and you know there isn’t cover
+enough for a cat in the place.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was the safe door open or shut, did you notice?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael again reflected before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“Shut, I’m almost certain.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton in his turn seemed to reflect for a
+moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll have a look at this fellow Marden, now, I
+think, Inspector, if you’ll bring him along to
+the museum. We’d better hear his tale on the
+spot. It’ll save explanations about the positions of
+things.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale departed on his quest while
+Michael and the Chief Constable made their way to
+the scene of the crime. Suddenly Sir Clinton turned
+and confronted Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you any notion whatever as to where
+Maurice has gone? I want the truth.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael was manifestly taken aback by the direct
+demand.</p>
+
+<p>“I haven’t a notion,” he declared. “He wasn’t in
+the museum when I got there, so far as I know. You
+can put me on my oath over that, if you like.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable scanned his face keenly, but
+made no comment on his statement. He led the way
+to the museum; and they had hardly passed through
+the door before Inspector Armadale returned with
+the valet.</p>
+
+<p>Marden appeared to be a man of about thirty years
+of age. Sir Clinton noticed that he carried himself
+well and did not seem to have lost his head in the
+excitement of the past hour. When he spoke, it was
+without any appreciable accent; and he seemed to
+take pains to be perfectly clear in his evidence. Sir
+Clinton, by an almost imperceptible gesture, handed
+over the examination of the valet to the Inspector.
+Armadale pulled out his notebook once more.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s your name?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Thomas Marden.”</p>
+
+<p>“How long have you been in Mr. Foss’s service?”</p>
+
+<p>“Since he arrived here from America, about three
+months ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“How did he come to engage you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Advertisement.”</p>
+
+<p>“You knew nothing about him before that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where was he living then?”</p>
+
+<p>“At 474a Gunner’s Mansions, S.W. It’s a service
+flat.”</p>
+
+<p>“He still has that flat?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“How did he spend his time?”</p>
+
+<p>The valet seemed astonished by the question.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. None of my business.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale was not to be turned aside.</p>
+
+<p>“You must have known whether he stayed in the
+flat or went out regularly at fixed times.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden seemed to see what was wanted.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean, did he go out to an office every day?
+No, he came and went just when it suited him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Had he much correspondence?”</p>
+
+<p>“Letters? Just about what one might expect.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked up gloomily. So far, he had
+not got much to go upon.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean by: ‘Just what one might
+expect?’ ”</p>
+
+<p>“He got some letters every day, sometimes one or
+two, sometimes half a dozen. Just what one might
+expect.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you any idea whether they were business
+letters or merely private correspondence?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden seemed annoyed by the question.</p>
+
+<p>“How should I know?” he demanded, stiffly.
+“It’s not my business to pry into my employer’s
+affairs.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s your business to read the addresses on the
+envelopes to see that the postman hasn’t left wrong
+letters. Did you notice nothing when you did that?
+Were the addresses mainly typewritten or written by
+hand?”</p>
+
+<p>“He got bills and advertisements with the address
+typewritten—like most of us. And one or two letters
+came addressed by hand.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you notice the stamps?”</p>
+
+<p>“Some were American, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“So it comes to this,” Inspector Armadale concluded,
+“he was not carrying on a big business from
+the flat; most of his letters were ordinary bills and
+so forth; but he had some private correspondence as
+well; and part of his correspondence was with
+America? Why couldn’t you tell us that straight off,
+instead of having it dragged out of you?”</p>
+
+<p>The valet was quite unruffled by the Inspector’s
+tone.</p>
+
+<p>“I hadn’t put two and two together the way you do.
+They were just letters to me. I didn’t think anything
+about them.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale showed no appreciation of this
+indirect tribute to his powers.</p>
+
+<p>“Had he many visitors?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not at the flat. He may have met his friends in
+the restaurant downstairs for all I know.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you remember any visitors at the flat?”</p>
+
+<p>“No.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector seemed to recollect something he
+had missed.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he get any telegrams?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Frequently?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fairly often.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve no idea of the contents of these wires?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden obviously took offence at this.</p>
+
+<p>“You asked me before if I pried into his affairs;
+and I told you I didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“How often did these wires arrive?” the Inspector
+demanded, taking no notice of Marden’s annoyance.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps once or twice a week.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did he bet?” the Inspector inquired, as though it
+had just struck him that the telegrams might thus be
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>“I know nothing about that.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale went off on a fresh tack.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he seem to be well off for money?”</p>
+
+<p>“He paid me regularly, if that’s what you mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“He had a car and a chauffeur, hadn’t he?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Were they his own or simply hired?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know. Not my business.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Gunner’s Mansions flats are expensive?”</p>
+
+<p>“They get the name of it. I don’t know what he
+paid.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t seem to have had much curiosity,
+Marden.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not paid for being curious.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector put down his pencil and reflected for
+a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you any idea of his address in America?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not my business.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did he write many letters?”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t say. None of my business.”</p>
+
+<p>“You can at least say whether he gave you any to
+post.”</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you anything else you can tell us about
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden seemed to think carefully before he
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>“All his clothes were split new.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anything else?”</p>
+
+<p>“He carried a revolver—I mean an automatic.”</p>
+
+<p>“What size was it?”</p>
+
+<p>“About that length.”</p>
+
+<p>The valet indicated the length approximately with
+his hands, and winced slightly as he moved the
+bandaged one.</p>
+
+<p>“H’m! A .38 or a .45,” Armadale commented.
+“Too big for a .22, anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>He took up his pencil again.</p>
+
+<p>“Now come to this afternoon. Begin at lunchtime
+and go on.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden reflected for a moment, as though testing
+his memory.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d better begin before lunch. Mr. Foss came to
+me with a parcel in his hand and asked me to take it
+over to Hincheldene post office. He wanted it registered.
+He offered to let me take the car if I wished;
+but I preferred to walk over. I like the fresh air.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?” demanded the Inspector with an
+unconscious plagiarism of his Chief.</p>
+
+<p>“Immediately after lunch, I set out and walked
+through the grounds towards Hincheldene village. I
+didn’t hurry. It was a nice afternoon for a walk. By
+and by I met a keeper, and he told me I couldn’t go
+any farther in that direction. He’d orders to turn
+back any one, he said. I talked to him for a minute
+or two, and explained where I was going; and I
+pulled the parcel out of my pocket as a guarantee of
+good faith. He didn’t know me, you see. And when I
+got the parcel out, I noticed the label quite by
+chance.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, you do look at addresses after all!”
+interjected the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite by chance,” Marden went on, without taking
+any notice of the thrust. “And I saw that Mr.
+Foss had made a mistake.”</p>
+
+<p>“How did you know that,” Inspector Armadale
+demanded, with the air of a cat pouncing on a mouse.
+“You said you’d taken no interest in his correspondence
+and yet you knew this parcel was directed to a
+wrong address. Curious, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden did not even permit himself to smile as he
+discomfited the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“He’d left out the name of the town. An obvious
+oversight when he was writing the label.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, go on,” growled the Inspector, evidently
+displeased at losing his score.</p>
+
+<p>“As soon as I saw that, I knew it was no good taking
+the thing to the post office as it was. So I asked
+the keeper a question or two about the shortest way
+to Hincheldene without getting on to the barred
+ground. Then I turned and came home again, intending
+to ask Mr. Foss to complete the address on the
+parcel.”</p>
+
+<p>“What time was it when you reached here again?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden considered for a while.</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t say precisely. Sometime round about
+half-past three or a bit later. I didn’t look at the
+time.”</p>
+
+<p>“What did you do then?”</p>
+
+<p>“I hunted about for Mr. Foss, but he didn’t seem
+to be in the house. At last, when I was just giving it
+up, I met Miss Chacewater coming away from this
+room, and she told me that Mr. Foss was inside. She
+went away, and I came to the door. It was half-open
+and I could hear voices inside: Mr. Foss and Mr.
+Chacewater from the sound. I thought they’d soon
+be coming out and that I’d get Mr. Foss as he passed
+me; so I waited, instead of interrupting them.”</p>
+
+<p>“How long did you wait?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only a minute or two, so far as I can remember.”</p>
+
+<p>“You could hear them talking?”</p>
+
+<p>“I could hear the sound of their voices. I couldn’t
+hear what they said. There’s an echo or something in
+this room and all I heard was the tone they were
+speaking in.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of tone do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden paused as though searching for an
+adjective.</p>
+
+<p>“It seemed to me an angry tone. They raised their
+voices.”</p>
+
+<p>“As if they were quarrelling?”</p>
+
+<p>“Like that. And then I heard Mr. Chacewater say:
+‘So that’s what you’re after?’ Then I heard what
+sounded like a scuffle and a gasp. I was taken aback,
+of course. Who wouldn’t be? I stood stock still with
+the parcel in my hand for a moment or two. Then I
+got my head back and I pushed open the door and
+rushed into the room.”</p>
+
+<p>“Be careful here,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “Don’t
+try to force your memory. Tell us exactly what comes
+back into your mind.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“When I got into the room here,” he went on, “the
+first thing I saw was Mr. Chacewater. He had his
+back to me and was just turning the corner here.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden walked across and indicated the end of
+the bay beyond the one which contained the safe, the
+last recess in the room at the end opposite from the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>“He went round this corner in a hurry. That’s the
+last I saw of him.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden’s face betrayed his amazement even at the
+recollection.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind that just now,” said Sir Clinton.
+“Tell us what you did yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t see Mr. Foss at the first glance; but
+when I got near the corner where I’d seen Mr.
+Chacewater, I saw Mr. Foss lying on the floor. I thought
+he’d slipped or something; and I went over to give
+him a hand up. Then I saw a big knife or a dagger
+through his chest and some blood on his mouth. As I
+was hurrying over to his side, I slipped on the
+parquet—it’s very slippery—and down I came. I put
+out my hand to save myself and my fist broke the
+glass in one of these cases. When I got up again, my
+hand was streaming with blood. It’s a nasty gash. So
+I pulled out my handkerchief and wrapped it around
+my hand before I did anything else. It was simply
+gushing with blood and I thought of it first of
+all.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden held up his roughly swathed hand in
+proof.</p>
+
+<p>“I got to my feet again and went over to Mr.
+Foss. By that time he was either dead or next door
+to it. He didn’t move. I didn’t touch him, for I saw
+well enough he was done for. Then I went to the door
+and shouted ‘Murder!’ as hard as I could. Then while
+I was shouting, it struck me as queer that Mr.
+Chacewater had disappeared.”</p>
+
+<p>“It didn’t occur to you that he might have slipped
+out of the room while your back was turned—when
+you were busy over Mr. Foss?” demanded Inspector
+Armadale in a hostile tone.</p>
+
+<p>Marden shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“It didn’t occur to me at all, because I knew it
+hadn’t happened. No one could have got out of the
+room without my seeing him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Go on with your story, please,” Sir Clinton
+requested.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing more to tell. I kept shouting
+‘Murder!’ and I searched the room here while I was
+doing it. I found nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was the safe door closed when you saw it first?”
+Sir Clinton inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it was. I thought perhaps Mr. Chacewater
+might be inside, with the door pulled to; so I tried
+the handle. It was locked.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton put a further inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>“You heard only two voices in the room before you
+burst in?”</p>
+
+<p>A new light seemed to be thrown by this question
+across Marden’s mind.</p>
+
+<p>“I heard only two people speaking: Mr. Foss and
+Mr. Chacewater; but of course I couldn’t swear that
+only two people were in the room. That’s what you
+meant, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale caught the drift of the inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose if one man can disappear in a mysterious
+way, there’s nothing against two men vanishing
+in the same way,” he hazarded. “So all you can
+really tell us is that Mr. Foss and Mr. Chacewater
+were here at any rate, and possibly there were other
+people as well?”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t swear to any one except these two,”
+Marden was careful to state.</p>
+
+<p>“Another point,” Sir Clinton went on. “Have you
+any idea whether Mr. Foss came into contact with
+a person or persons outside the house during his stay
+here? I mean people known to him before he came to
+Ravensthorpe?”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t say.”</p>
+
+<p>“None of your business, I suppose?” Inspector
+Armadale put in, with an obvious sneer.</p>
+
+<p>“None of my business, as you say,” Marden returned,
+equably. “I wasn’t engaged as a detective.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, this question falls into your department,”
+Sir Clinton intervened, as Armadale showed signs of
+losing his temper. “What costume was Mr. Foss
+wearing on the night of the masked ball? You must
+know that.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden replied without hesitation.</p>
+
+<p>“He was got up as a cow-puncher. He hired the
+costume from London when he heard about the fancy
+dress. It was a pair of cow-boy trousers, big heavy
+things with fringes on them; a leather belt with a
+pistol-holster on it; a coloured shirt; a neck-cloth;
+and a flappy cow-boy hat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather a clumsy rig-out, then?”</p>
+
+<p>Marden seemed to find difficulty in repressing a
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>“It was as much as he could do to walk at all, until
+he got accustomed to the things. He told me it gave
+him a good excuse for not dancing. He wasn’t a
+dancing man, he said.”</p>
+
+<p>“He carried a revolver, you say. Did you ever see
+any sign that he was afraid of anything of this sort
+happening to him?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t understand. How could I know what he
+was afraid of or what he wasn’t? It was none of my
+business.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s smile took the edge off Marden’s
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I think one might make a guess,” he said,
+“if one kept one’s eyes open. A terrified man would
+give himself away somehow or other.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then either he wasn’t afraid or else I don’t keep
+my eyes open. I saw nothing of the sort.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton reflected for a moment or two. He
+glanced at Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“Any more questions you’d like to put? No? Then
+that will do, Marden. Of course there’ll be an inquest
+and your evidence will be required at it. You can
+stay on here until you’re needed. I’ll see Miss
+Chacewater about it. But for the present you’ve given us
+all the help you can?”</p>
+
+<p>“Unless you’ve any more questions you want to
+ask,” Marden suggested.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I think I’ve got all I need for the present,
+thanks. I may want you again later on, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden waited for nothing further, but left the
+room pursued by a slightly vindictive glance from
+Inspector Armadale. When he had disappeared, Sir
+Clinton turned to Michael Clifton.</p>
+
+<p>“Hadn’t you better go back to Joan, now? She
+must be rather nervous after this shock.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael came to himself with a slight start when
+the Chief Constable addressed him. Hitherto his
+rôle had been purely that of a spectator; and he had
+been so wrapped up in it that it came as a faint
+surprise to find himself directly addressed. Throughout
+the proceedings he had been semi-hypnotized by the
+deadly matter-of-fact way in which the police were
+going about their work. When he had first heard of
+the murder, he had felt as though something unheard-of
+had invaded Ravensthorpe. Of course murders did
+take place: one read about them in the newspapers.
+But the idea that murder could actually be done in his
+own familiar environment had come to him with more
+than a slight shock. The normal course of things
+seemed suddenly diverted.</p>
+
+<p>But during the last ten minutes he had been a
+witness of the beginning of the police investigation;
+and the invincible impression of ordinariness had
+begun to replace the earlier nightmare quality in his
+mind. Here were a couple of men going about the
+business as though it were of no more tragic character
+than a search for a lost dog. It was part of their
+work to hunt out a solution of the affair. They were
+no more excited over it than a chess-player looking
+for the key-move in a problem. The cool,
+dispassionate way in which the Chief Constable had
+handled the affair seemed to strike a fresh note and
+to efface the suggestions of the macabre side of
+things which had been Michael’s first impression of
+the matter. The Dance of Death retreated gradually
+into the background in the face of all the minute
+questionings about letters, and visits, and
+parcels—these commonplace things of everyday life.</p>
+
+<p>“If I can be of no use here,” he said, “I think I’d
+better go.”</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated for a moment as a fresh thought
+struck him.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, how much of this is confidential?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton looked at him with an expressionless
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“I think I may leave that to your discretion. It’s
+not for broadcasting, at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about Maurice?” Michael persisted.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d leave Maurice out of it as far as possible,”
+said Sir Clinton, in obvious dismissal. “Now,
+Inspector, I think we’d better have a look at the late
+Mr. Foss.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael retreated from the room as they turned
+towards the body on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“Leave Maurice out of it!” he thought, as he
+walked at a snail’s pace towards the room where he
+had left Joan. “That’s a nice bit of advice! If you
+leave Maurice out of it, there seems to be nothing
+left in it. Now what the devil am I to say to her? If
+I say nothing, she’ll jump to the worst conclusion;
+and if I say anything at all, she’ll jump to the same.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch09">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IX. <br> The Muramasa Sword</h2>
+
+<p>As the door closed behind Michael Clifton, the
+Chief Constable turned to the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we can get to business, Inspector. Let’s
+have a look round the place at leisure, and perhaps
+the surgeon will turn up before we reach the body
+itself.”</p>
+
+<p>Followed by Armadale, he stepped over to the bay
+containing the corpse of Foss and began methodically
+to inspect the surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>“This must have been the case that Marden slipped
+against when he cut his hand,” the Inspector pointed
+out. “There’s a big hole in the glass and some blood
+on the broken edges of the gap.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, there’s blood enough to suit most
+people,” Sir Clinton admitted, with a glance towards
+the shattered case. But he seemed less interested in
+the glass than in the floor surface; for he moved
+slowly to and fro, evidently trying to place himself so
+that the sunlight from the window was reflected up
+to him from the parquet. After a moment or two, he
+seemed satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“That part of Marden’s story seems true enough.
+He did slip here. If you come across, you’ll see a line
+where the polish of the parquet has been taken off
+by some hard part of his shoe. You won’t be able to
+spot it unless you make a mirror of the floor.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector in his turn moved over and satisfied
+himself of the existence of the faint mark.</p>
+
+<p>“That confirms part of his story,” he admitted,
+grudgingly. “There’s a lot of blood about, quite
+apart from the stuff from the body. One might make
+something out of that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose we try,” Sir Clinton suggested. “Assume
+that he cut his hand here on the glass. He’d be all
+asprawl on the floor; and the first thing he’d do
+would be to put his hands down to help himself up.
+That would account for these biggish patches here,
+under the case. Then a foot or so away you see those
+round marks of droplets with tiny splashes radiating
+from them with a fair regularity all round. These
+must have been made by drops falling from his hand
+while he stood still—no doubt while he was feeling
+with the other hand for his handkerchief to stanch
+the bleeding.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector indicated his agreement.</p>
+
+<p>“After he’d got it fixed up, one might expect him
+to go over and look at Foss. He’d gone down on the
+floor, you remember, while he was hurrying to Foss’s
+assistance.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no sign of that,” Armadale hastened to
+point out. “I can’t see any blood-drops round about
+the body.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, don’t be in too much of a hurry, Inspector.
+Perhaps they fell in the pool of Foss’s own blood or,
+more probably, his handkerchief soaked up any blood
+that flowed just then.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, still with his eyes on the ground,
+began to cast about in search of further traces.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, here are a couple of drops at the end of the
+bay. Have a look at them, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale knelt down and examined the clots.</p>
+
+<p>“Made on his way to the door, probably,” he
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“They might have been, if he was swinging his
+arms as one does when one walks freely; but one
+doesn’t usually swing the arm when there’s a fresh
+wound in the hand, I think. These aren’t round
+blobs like the others; they’re elongated, and all the
+splashing from them is at one end—the end towards
+the safe. His hand, when they were made, was moving
+towards the safe’s bay, whatever his body was
+doing.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton made a rough measurement of the
+distance between the two drops.</p>
+
+<p>“If they’d been nearer together or further apart,
+then each of them might have been made while his
+arm was going backwards in its natural swing while
+he was walking towards the door. But the distance
+between them won’t fit that. You’ll see at once if you
+try walking over the ground yourself, Inspector; for
+you’re just about Marden’s height and your stride
+must be nearly the same as his.”</p>
+
+<p>“He said something about going to the safe
+and trying the handle,” the Inspector admitted,
+grudgingly. “So far, his tale’s got some
+support.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton smiled covertly at Armadale’s obvious
+desire to pick holes in the valet’s narrative.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, let’s find out how it happened,” Sir Clinton
+suggested. “He evidently passed this bay and went
+on towards the next one, where the safe is. We’ll
+follow his example.”</p>
+
+<p>They turned the corner of the show-case and
+stepped over to the safe door.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a trace of blood on the handle, true
+enough,” the Inspector admitted. “But I’m not sure
+he told the truth about why he came to the safe.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton inspected the smear of blood on the
+handle, but he seemed to attach very little
+importance to it.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose one mustn’t jump to conclusions and
+assume that everything’s all above-board,” he
+conceded. “But even if we keep open minds, wouldn’t
+it be the most natural thing in the world for Marden
+to try the safe door? Remember what had happened
+according to his story. Mr. Chacewater was in the
+room, for Marden saw him with his own eyes. Mr.
+Chacewater turned the corner of a bay—the one next
+this; and then Marden lost him for good. If you’d
+been in Marden’s place, wouldn’t you have searched
+about, and then, finding no trace of the missing
+man, wouldn’t you have jumped to the conclusion
+that he might be hidden in the safe? And wouldn’t
+you have given the handle a pull, just to make sure
+the safe was really locked and that Mr. Chacewater
+wasn’t hiding inside it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose so,” conceded the Inspector, evidently
+dissatisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“I expect his tale isn’t complete, of course. He
+could hardly give every detail. It would be a bit
+suspicious if he had, I think. If his tale had been
+absolutely complete in every detail, I’d be inclined
+to suspect a previously prepared recitation rather
+than an account of the facts. In a case of this sort,
+one could hardly expect a water-tight narrative, could
+one?”</p>
+
+<p>He continued his examination of the floor; but
+there seemed to be no other blood-stains of any
+importance.</p>
+
+<p>“Now let’s have a glance at the body,” he suggested.
+“We needn’t shift it till the surgeon comes;
+but we can see what’s to be seen without altering its
+position in the meanwhile.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was the first to reach the spot, and
+as he knelt down beside the corpse he gave an
+exclamation of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s an automatic pistol, sir. It’s lying almost
+under the body, but I can see the muzzle. It looks
+like a .38 calibre.”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave it there. We’ll get at it later.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton examined the body itself. The cause of
+death seemed obvious enough, for the weapon still
+remained in the wound. A glance at it set the Chief
+Constable’s eye ranging over the museum cases. He
+retreated from the bay and searched for a time until
+he found what he was looking for: an empty sheath
+in an unlocked case. Without touching the sheath, he
+scanned the Japanese inscription on its surface.</p>
+
+<p>“So that’s the thing?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector had come across to his side and
+stood looking at the sheath.</p>
+
+<p>“So the thing’s one of the specimens?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Don’t touch it, Inspector. We may as well
+see whose finger-prints are on it, though it’s quite
+on the cards that it’s been handled by other people
+lately as well as the murderer. It’s rather a show
+specimen, you see—one of Muramasa’s making. This
+was the sword they were discussing when they were
+out on the terrace. Muramasa’s weapons have the
+name of being unlucky; and this one seems to bear
+out the legend.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked at the sheath with apparent
+care, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody could have got away from here through
+the windows,” he observed, rather irrelevantly.
+“They’re all barred outside, and the catches are fast
+on the sashes.”</p>
+
+<p>Evidently Sir Clinton had noticed this in the course
+of his previous search, for he gave a tacit assent to
+the Inspector’s statement without even glancing up at
+the windows.</p>
+
+<p>“Here are the sheets of rubbing-paper that Foss
+was using,” the Inspector went on, picking them up
+as he spoke. “They’ll have his finger-prints on them,
+so I’ll stow them away. We might need them. One
+never knows.”</p>
+
+<p>“We can get actual prints from the body if we
+need them,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “You don’t
+suppose it’s a suicide case, do you?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was too wary to throw himself open
+to attack. He contented himself with putting the
+papers away carefully in his pocket-book.</p>
+
+<p>“Finger-prints will be useful, though,” Sir Clinton
+went on. “At the earliest possible moment, Inspector,
+I want you to get prints from the fingers of every
+one in the house. Start with Miss Chacewater. She’ll
+agree to let you take hers without any trouble; and
+after that you can go on to Mr. Clifton and so down
+the scale. We’ve no authority for insisting, of course;
+but you can make a note if any one objects. I expect
+you’ll get the lot without difficulty.”</p>
+
+<p>At this moment Mold opened the door to admit the
+police surgeon; and Sir Clinton broke off in order to
+explain the state of affairs to him. Dr. Greenlaw was
+a business-like person who wasted no time. While
+Sir Clinton was speaking, he knelt down beside the
+corpse and made a cursory examination of it. When
+he rose to his feet again, he seemed satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>“That sword appears to have entered the thorax
+between the fifth and sixth ribs,” he pointed out.
+“It’s pierced the left lung, evidently; you notice the
+blood-foam on his lips? And most probably it’s penetrated
+right into the heart as well. It looks as if it
+had; but of course I’ll need to carry out a P.M.
+before I can give you exact details.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose we can take out the sword before we
+shift the body?” asked the Inspector. “We want to
+examine it before any one else touches it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly,” Greenlaw replied. “You can see for
+yourselves what happened. He was struck from the
+front by a right-handed man—a fairly heavy blow, I
+should judge from the depth to which that sword has
+buried itself. There’s no sign of a twist in the wound,
+which looks as though he went down under it at once.
+Quite possibly the base of the skull may have been
+fractured on the floor by the force of his fall. We’ll
+see when we come to the P.M. But in any case that
+wound alone would be quite sufficient to cause almost
+immediate death. It’s a blade almost as broad as a
+bayonet, as you can see. I’ll go into the whole thing
+carefully when I can make a thorough examination.
+You’ll have him sent down to the mortuary, of
+course?”</p>
+
+<p>“As soon as we’ve finished our work here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good. I’ll make a note or two now, if you don’t
+mind. Then I’ll leave you to get on. As things are,
+there’s nothing there which you couldn’t see for
+yourselves.”</p>
+
+<p>He took out a pocket-book and began to jot down
+his notes.</p>
+
+<p>“Just a moment, doctor,” Sir Clinton interposed.
+“I’ve got a patient for you here. I’d like you to have
+a look at his hand and bandage up some cuts before
+you go.”</p>
+
+<p>Greenlaw nodded in agreement and went on with
+his note-taking.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Inspector,” Sir Clinton continued, “we’d
+better get this sword out. Be sure to take all the care
+you can not to rub out any finger-prints.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale obeyed, and after some cautious
+manœuvres he succeeded in withdrawing the weapon,
+which he laid carefully on the top of the central
+show-case.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we can have a look at him,” Sir Clinton
+said. “You don’t mind our shifting the position of
+the body, doctor?”</p>
+
+<p>Greenlaw closed his note-book and prepared to
+assist them if necessary.</p>
+
+<p>“Begin with the contents of his pockets,
+Inspector,” Sir Clinton suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“The blade’s gone clean through his left breast
+pocket,” the Inspector pointed out. He felt the
+outside of the pocket gingerly with his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing there except his handkerchief, so far as
+I can feel. It’s all soaked with his blood. I’ll leave
+that to the last. I want to keep my hands clean while
+I go over the rest.”</p>
+
+<p>He wiped his finger-tips carefully on his own
+handkerchief and continued his search.</p>
+
+<p>“Right-hand breast pocket: a note-case.”</p>
+
+<p>He drew it out and handed it to Sir Clinton, who
+opened it and counted the contents.</p>
+
+<p>“Three hundred and fifty-seven pounds in notes,”
+he announced at length. “That’s a fair sum to be
+carrying about with one. Ten visiting cards: ‘J. B.
+Foss,’ with no address.”</p>
+
+<p>He crossed over to the central case and put down
+the note-case thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“The left-hand waistcoat pockets are saturated
+with blood,” Armadale continued. “I’ll leave them
+over for the present. Top right-hand waistcoat
+pocket, empty. Lower right-hand waistcoat pocket:
+a small penknife and a tooth-pick. Not much blood
+here; he was lying slightly on his left side and it
+must have flowed in that direction, I suppose.
+Right-hand jacket pocket, outside: nothing. I’ll take the
+trousers now. Right-hand pocket: key-ring and a
+purse.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed them to Sir Clinton, who examined
+them in turn before putting them on the central
+case.</p>
+
+<p>“Only keys of suit-cases here,” the Chief Constable
+reported. “We haven’t come across the
+latch-key of his flat, if you notice.”</p>
+
+<p>He counted the contents of the purse.</p>
+
+<p>“Eight and sixpence and one ten-shilling note.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector proceeded with his examination.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s something funny! He’s got a smallish
+pocket over his hip, just below the trouser button.
+That’s unusual. But it’s empty,” he added, after an
+eager search.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me look at that,” Sir Clinton demanded.</p>
+
+<p>He stooped down and inspected the pocket closely,
+then stood up and passed his hand across the
+corresponding spot on his own clothes. As he did so,
+Armadale noticed a peculiar expression pass across
+the Chief Constable’s face, as though some new idea
+had dawned upon him and had cleared up a difficulty.
+But Sir Clinton divulged nothing of what was
+passing in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>“Make quite sure it’s empty,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Armadale turned the little pocket inside out.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing there,” he pointed out. “It
+wouldn’t hold much—it’s hardly bigger than a ticket
+pocket.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at the pocket again, evidently puzzled
+by the importance which the Chief Constable
+attached to it.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a silly place to have a pocket,” he said at
+last. “It’s not like the old-fashioned fob. That was
+kept tight shut by the pressure of your body. This
+thing’s mouth is loose and it’s simply a gift to a
+pickpocket.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll probably find another of the same
+kind on the other side,” Sir Clinton contented himself
+with saying. “Let’s get on with the rest of them.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale turned the body slightly and put his
+hand into the hip pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s empty, too,” he announced. “It’s a very loose
+pocket with no flap on it. I expect he carried his
+pistol there and he had the pocket built for easy
+handling of his gun.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at the .38 automatic which had been
+disclosed as he turned the body.</p>
+
+<p>“That wouldn’t have fitted into the little pocket,”
+he pointed out. “The pistol’s far too big for the
+opening.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded his agreement with this view.</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t use it for his pistol. Now, the left-hand
+pockets, please. You can wash your hands as
+soon as you’ve gone through them.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale stolidly continued his
+investigation.</p>
+
+<p>“Left-hand breast pocket in jacket,” he announced.
+“Nothing but his handkerchief, saturated with
+blood.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed it to Sir Clinton, who inspected it carefully
+before putting it with the rest of the collection.</p>
+
+<p>“No marks on it, either initials or laundry-mark,”
+he said. “Evidently been bought and used without
+marking.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ticket pocket, empty,” the Inspector went on,
+withdrawing his fingers from it. “Top left waistcoat
+pocket: a self-filling Swan pen and a metal holder for
+same. Lower left waistcoat pocket: an amber
+cigarette-holder. Not much to go on there.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the trousers.</p>
+
+<p>“Left-hand trouser pocket: five coppers.”</p>
+
+<p>Handing them over, he proceeded.</p>
+
+<p>“Your notion’s quite right, sir. There’s another of
+these side pockets here. But it’s empty like the other
+one.”</p>
+
+<p>Instead of replying, Sir Clinton gingerly picked up
+the automatic pistol from the floor and placed it
+along with the other objects on the central case.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better examine that for finger-prints,
+Inspector,” he suggested. “I leave you to make the
+arrangements about taking the body down to the
+mortuary. The sooner the better. Now, doctor, we’ll
+get your patient for you, if the Inspector will be
+good enough to bring him to the lavatory near by,
+where you can get his wounds patched up.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale soon produced Marden, who
+seemed rather surprised at being summoned again.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s all right, Marden,” Sir Clinton assured him.
+“It merely struck me that when there was a doctor
+on the premises you ought to have these cuts of yours
+properly fixed up.”</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Greenlaw speedily removed the temporary
+bandage which the valet had improvised.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll need to put some stitches into this,” he said,
+as the extent of the injury became evident. “Luckily
+these glass cuts are clean-edged. You’ll hardly see
+the scar after a time.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton inspected the wounds sympathetically.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve made a bit of a mess of your hand, Marden,”
+he commented. “It’s just as well I thought of
+getting Dr. Greenlaw to look after you.”</p>
+
+<p>Marden seemed to have been looking for an
+opening.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m glad you called me up again, sir,” he explained.
+“I’ve just thought of two other points about
+this affair.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?”</p>
+
+<p>While the doctor was cleaning and disinfecting the
+wounds, Marden addressed himself to the Chief
+Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“I forgot to say, sir, that when I got back to the
+house I found Mr. Foss’s car waiting for him. I said
+a word or two to the chauffeur as I passed. It only
+struck me afterwards that this might be important.
+I forgot about it at the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite right to tell us,” Sir Clinton confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>“The second thing was what the chauffeur told me.
+He’d been ordered to wait for Mr. Foss, it seems;
+and he got the idea that Mr. Foss was leaving
+Ravensthorpe this afternoon for good. I was surprised
+by that; for I’d heard nothing about it from Mr.
+Foss.”</p>
+
+<p>He flinched slightly with the smart of his wounds,
+as Greenlaw washed them carefully.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed to be struck by a fresh idea.</p>
+
+<p>“Before the doctor bandages you up, would you
+mind if we took your finger-prints, Marden? I’m
+asking every one to let us take theirs, and this seems
+to be the best chance we shall have of getting yours,
+you see? Of course, if you object, I’ve no power to
+insist on it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve no objections, sir. Why should I have?”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you might take impressions of the lot,
+Inspector,” Sir Clinton suggested. “Don’t spend too
+much time over it. We must get the bandages on this
+hand as quick as possible.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale hurried away for his outfit and
+soon set to work to take the valet’s finger-prints.
+While he was thus engaged a fresh suggestion seemed
+to occur to Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Marden, you have that parcel which
+Mr. Foss sent to the post?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can give you it in a moment, sir, once the doctor
+has finished with my hand.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very good. I’d like to see it.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable waited patiently until
+Marden’s hand was completely bandaged; then he
+dispatched the valet for the parcel. When it was
+forthcoming, he dismissed Marden again. The doctor
+took his leave, and Armadale was left alone with Sir
+Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“Now let’s see what Foss was sending off,
+Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Cutting the string, Sir Clinton unwrapped the
+paper and disclosed a small cardboard box. Inside
+on a layer of cotton-wool, was a wrist-watch.
+Further search failed to bring to light any enclosed
+note.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose he was sending it to be cleaned,” the
+Inspector hazarded. “Probably he wrote a letter by
+the same post.”</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s have a look at it, Inspector. Be careful not
+to mark it with your fingers.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton took the watch up and examined it
+closely.</p>
+
+<p>“It looks fairly new to need repair.”</p>
+
+<p>He held it to his ear.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s going. Not much sign of damage there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps it needed regulating,” Armadale
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps,” Sir Clinton’s tone was noncommittal.
+“Take a note of the time as compared with your own
+watch, Inspector; and just check whether it’s going
+fast or slow in a few hours. Try it for finger-prints
+along with the rest of the stuff.”</p>
+
+<p>He replaced it gently in its bed of cotton-wool and
+closed the box, taking care not to finger the
+cardboard.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, if you’ll send for the chauffeur, we may get
+something from him.”</p>
+
+<p>But the chauffeur proved a most unsatisfactory
+witness. He admitted that Foss had ordered him to
+bring round the car at 3.15 and wait for further
+orders; but he was unable to give any clear account
+of the talk he had with his employer when the order
+was given.</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t remember what he said exactly; but I got
+the notion he was leaving here to-day. I’m dead sure
+of that; for I packed up my own stuff and had it
+ready to go off at a moment’s notice. It’s on the grid
+of the car now. I was so taken aback that I haven’t
+thought of unpacking it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton could get nothing further out of the
+man, and he was eventually dismissed.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll have a run over the late Mr. Foss’s
+goods,” the Chief Constable proposed, when they had
+dismissed the chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>But the search of Foss’s bedroom yielded at first
+nothing of much interest.</p>
+
+<p>“This doesn’t look as if that chauffeur had been
+telling the truth,” Armadale pointed out, when they
+found all Foss’s clothes arranged quite normally in
+wardrobe and drawers. “Foss himself had made no
+preparations for moving, that’s evident. I’ll see that
+chauffeur again and go into the matter more
+carefully.”</p>
+
+<p>“You might as well,” Sir Clinton concurred. “But
+I doubt if you’ll get him to shift from his story. He
+seemed to be very clear about the main point, though
+he was weak in details.”</p>
+
+<p>They subjected all Foss’s belongings to a careful
+scrutiny.</p>
+
+<p>“No name marked on any of the linen; no tags on
+any of the suits; no labels inside the jacket pockets,”
+Inspector Armadale pointed out. “He seems to have
+been very anxious not to advertise his identity. And
+no papers of any sort. It looks a bit queer, doesn’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, he noticed a small leather case
+standing in a corner.</p>
+
+<p>“Hullo, here’s an attaché case. Perhaps his papers
+are in it.”</p>
+
+<p>He crossed over and picked up the case, but as
+he did so an expression of surprise crossed his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“This thing’s as heavy as lead! It must weigh ten
+or twelve pounds at least!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s not an attaché case,” Sir Clinton pointed out.
+“Look at the ends of it.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale turned the case round in his hand. At
+the upper part of one end the leather had been cut
+away, disclosing a small ebonite disc rather more
+than an inch in diameter and pierced with a pattern
+of tiny holes. At the opposite end of the case there
+were two small holes side by side and a larger one
+above; and examination showed brass sockets inside
+which seemed meant for the reception of plugs.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better get his keys, Inspector. Probably
+the key of this thing will be on the ring.”</p>
+
+<p>With his curiosity raised to an acute pitch, Armadale
+went off in search of the key-ring; and was soon
+back again with it in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll see what it is,” he said, as he turned
+the key in the case’s lock and pressed the opening
+spring.</p>
+
+<p>The lifting of the lid disclosed a wooden casing
+fitted with a couple of hinged doors, an open recess
+in which were two levers, and a hinged metal plate,
+on which was an inscription. Armadale read it aloud
+uncomprehendingly:</p>
+
+<p>“ ‘Marconi Otophone. Inst. No. S/O 1164.’ What
+the deuce is this?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton put out his hand and lifted the hinged
+metal plate, disclosing below two wireless valves in
+their sockets.</p>
+
+<p>“Some wireless gadget,” the Inspector ejaculated.
+“Now what could he possibly have wanted with a
+thing like that?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton examined the instrument with interest,
+then he closed the case.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll take this along with us, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a sudden change of mind, he
+contradicted himself.</p>
+
+<p>“No, we’ll leave it here for the present. That will
+be much better.”</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat mystified by this change of intention,
+the Inspector agreed. Sir Clinton’s manner did not
+invite questions.</p>
+
+<p>“I think we had better see Miss Chacewater again.
+There are one or two questions I’d like to put to her,
+Inspector; and you had better be there.”</p>
+
+<p>In a minute or two, Joan was found, with Michael
+Clifton in attendance. Sir Clinton did not think it
+worth while to sit down.</p>
+
+<p>“Just a couple of points I want to ask about. First
+of all, is there any record of the combination which
+opens the lock of the safe in the museum?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice was the only one of us who knew it. My
+father did leave a note of it; but I remember that
+Maurice destroyed that. He specially wished to keep
+it to himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Another point,” Sir Clinton went on. “Did Foss
+know, on the night of the burglary, which of the rows
+contained the real medallions and which row the
+replicas were in?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan reflected for a moment or two before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“He must have known. Maurice had shown him
+the things once at least, if not oftener; and I know
+there was no secret as to which were the real things
+and which were the counterfeits.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed satisfied with this information.</p>
+
+<p>“One last thing,” he continued. “I suppose you
+could show me where your brother keeps his
+correspondence. We must get hold of Kessock’s address
+and notify him about Foss’s death; and there seems
+no way of doing it as quick as this one. If the papers
+aren’t locked up, perhaps I could see them now?”</p>
+
+<p>It appeared that the letters were available and Sir
+Clinton turned them over rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>“Fifth Avenue? That’s satisfactory.”</p>
+
+<p>He put the papers back in their place.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one thing more. I’m going to put a
+constable on guard at the door of the museum for a
+while—day and night for a day or two, perhaps. You
+won’t mind?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certainly not. Do as you wish.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton acknowledged the permission. Then,
+as though struck by an after-thought, he inquired:</p>
+
+<p>“Have you Cecil’s address?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“He said he’d let me know where he was staying,
+but he hasn’t written. Perhaps he hasn’t settled down
+yet. He may be staying at an hotel for a day or two.”</p>
+
+<p>“Please ring me up as soon as he sends word.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan promised to do this, and Sir Clinton
+continued:</p>
+
+<p>“By the way, Inspector Armadale wishes to take
+the finger-prints of every one in the house. Would
+you mind setting an example and having yours taken
+along with the rest? If you do it, then it will be easier
+for us to get the others. They won’t be suspicious
+when they hear that it’s a general inquisition.”</p>
+
+<p>Both Joan and Michael consented without ado.</p>
+
+<p>“The Inspector will be with you in a moment or
+two,” Sir Clinton said, as he took his leave. “Just a
+word with you, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale followed him from the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Inspector, there’s a lot for you to do yet.
+First of all, get these finger-prints. Then telephone
+to London and get Kessock’s business address. As
+soon as you get it, let me know.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you got his address from the correspondence,
+sir, surely. It’s in Fifth Avenue.”</p>
+
+<p>“I want his other address—his office in New York,
+you understand?”</p>
+
+<p>“His office will be shut by now, if you’re going to
+cable,” the Inspector pointed out, thoughtlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, it won’t. You forget that their time is some
+hours behind ours. We’ll catch him in office hours if
+you hurry. Then when you’ve done that, get Foss’s
+face photographed; and arrange for a constable and
+reliefs to be posted at the museum door till further
+orders. The museum door is to be left open and the
+light is to be left burning at night, so that he can
+keep his eye on things.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale jotted some notes in his
+pocket-book. As he closed this, he seemed to think of
+something.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one thing, sir. You want to get into
+the safe? Couldn’t we get the number of the lock
+combination from the makers? They must know it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Unfortunately the safe has no maker’s name-plate
+on it, Inspector. I looked at the time we examined
+it. It’s a fairly old pattern, though, I noticed; and if
+it hasn’t got a balanced fence arbour, I think I can
+guarantee to find the combination of it with a little
+assistance.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale looked rather blank.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought these things were too stiff to tackle,”
+he said.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton suppressed a smile.</p>
+
+<p>“You ought to read Edgar Allan Poe, Inspector.
+‘Human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which
+human ingenuity cannot resolve,’ was a dictum of
+his. If I’m not mistaken about that safe, I think I
+could guarantee to open it in less than ten minutes.
+The resources of science, and all that, you know. But
+I think it would be better to wait a while and see if
+Mr. Chacewater turns up to open it for us himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“But perhaps Mr. Chacewater’s body is inside it
+now,” the Inspector suggested. “There may have
+been a double murder, for all we know.”</p>
+
+<p>“In that case, we shall find him when we open it,”
+Sir Clinton assured him lightly. “If he’s inside, he’ll
+hardly be likely to shift his quarters.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch10">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER X. <br> The Shot in the Clearing</h2>
+
+<p>When Sir Clinton reached his office on the morning
+after the murder at Ravensthorpe, he found Inspector
+Armadale awaiting him with a number of exhibits.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve brought everything that seemed worth while,”
+Armadale explained. “I thought you might care to
+look at some of the things again, although you’ve
+seen them already.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s very good of you, Inspector. I should like
+to see some of them, as a matter of fact. Now
+suppose we begin with the finger-prints. They might
+suggest a few fresh ideas.”</p>
+
+<p>“They seem to suggest more notions than I have
+room for in my head,” the Inspector confessed
+ruefully. “It’s a most tangled case, to my mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then let’s start with the finger-prints,” the Chief
+Constable proposed. “At least they’ll settle some
+points, I hope.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale unwrapped a large brown-paper parcel.</p>
+
+<p>“I got the lot without any difficulty; and last night
+we photographed them all and enlarged the pictures.
+They’re all here.”</p>
+
+<p>“You took Foss’s, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and I managed to find some of Maurice
+Chacewater’s too.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s pretty sharp work,” Sir Clinton
+complimented his subordinate. “How did you manage to
+make sure they were his?”</p>
+
+<p>“I asked for his set of razors, sir, and took them
+from the blades. He’d left prints here and there of
+his finger and thumb, either on the blade or on the
+handle. Of course I couldn’t get anything else very
+sharp; but there are quite enough for the purpose, as
+you’ll see.”</p>
+
+<p>He laid out three enlarged photographs on the desk
+before Sir Clinton; then, below each of the first two,
+he put down a second print.</p>
+
+<p>“This first print,” he said, pointing to it,
+“represents the finger-prints we found on the automatic
+pistol. You can see that it’s the arch pattern on the
+thumb. Now here”—he indicated the companion
+print—“is Foss’s thumb-print; and if you look at it,
+you’ll see almost at a glance that it’s identical with
+the print on the pistol. They’re identical. I’ve
+measured them. And there are no other prints except
+Foss’s on the pistol.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good,” said Sir Clinton. “ ‘And that, said John,
+is that.’ We know where we are so far as the pistol’s
+concerned. Pass along, please.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve examined the pistol,” the Inspector continued.
+“It’s fully loaded in the magazine and has an
+extra cartridge in the barrel; but it hasn’t been fired
+recently so far as I can see.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now for the next pair of prints,” Sir Clinton
+suggested.</p>
+
+<p>“This represents the thumb-print from the sword,
+or whatever you call it,” said the Inspector. “Also
+prints of the two middle fingers of the right hand,
+found on the weapon. The second print of the pair
+shows identical finger-prints from a different source.
+The thumb-prints in the two cases are not exactly
+alike, because you get only the edge of the thumb
+marked in the grip of a sword, whereas the other
+specimen gives a full imprint. But I think you’ll find
+they’re the same. I’ve measured them, too. You can
+see that the thumb pattern is a loop type, quite
+different from Foss’s prints; and there’s a trace of a
+tiny scar at the edge of the thumb in both these
+prints. I’d like you to compare them carefully, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton took up the two prints and scanned
+them with care, comparing the images point by point.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no mistake possible,” he said. “The two
+sets are identical, so far as I can see; and the scar
+on the thumb is a clinching bit of evidence.”</p>
+
+<p>“You admit they’re from the same hand?” asked
+the Inspector, with a peculiar look at Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“Undoubtedly. Now whose are the second set?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector continued to look at his superior
+with something out of the common in his expression.</p>
+
+<p>“The second set of prints came from Maurice
+Chacewater’s razors,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable’s lips set tightly and a touch
+of grimness showed in his face.</p>
+
+<p>“I see we shall have to be quite clear about this,
+Inspector,” he said, bluntly. “By the look of you,
+you seemed to think I’d be taken aback by this
+evidence, because Mr. Chacewater is a friend of mine. I
+was taken aback—naturally enough. But if you think
+it’s going to make any difference to the conduct of
+this case—and I seemed to see something of the sort
+in your face—you can put that out of your mind once
+for all. The business of the police is to get hold of the
+murderer, whoever he may be. Friendship doesn’t
+come into these affairs, Inspector. So kindly don’t
+suspect me of anything of that kind in future.
+You know what I mean; I needn’t put it into
+words.”</p>
+
+<p>Without giving Armadale time for reply, he picked
+up the last print.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s this?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the set of prints I took from the valet’s
+fingers,” the Inspector hastened to explain. “It
+corresponds to nothing I’ve found anywhere else. You
+can see it’s a whorl type on the thumb.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton examined the print for a moment or
+two, then put it down.</p>
+
+<p>“What about the box and the wrist-watch?” he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale’s face showed that here he was
+puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing on either of them—not a recent
+mark of any description. And yet the man who
+packed them up must have fingered both things.”</p>
+
+<p>“With gloves on, evidently.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why gloves?” the Inspector demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Why gloves?” Sir Clinton echoed, rather sarcastically.
+“To avoid leaving finger-prints, of course.
+That’s obvious.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why avoid leaving finger-prints on a thing
+that you’re sending to a jeweller for repair?”</p>
+
+<p>“Think it over, Inspector. I won’t insult you by
+telling you my solution. Let’s take another point.
+Have you the watch itself here?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector produced it and handed it over. Sir
+Clinton took out a pocket-knife and opened the back
+of the case.</p>
+
+<p>“No use,” he announced, after examining the back
+cover carefully. “It’s never been repaired. There
+are no reference marks scratched on the inside of
+the back as there usually are when a watch has gone
+back to the watch-makers. If there had been, we
+might have found out something about Foss in that
+way, by getting hold of the watch-makers. By the
+way, have you timed this thing as I asked you to
+do?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s running on time,” Armadale answered. “It
+hasn’t varied a rap in the last twelve hours.”</p>
+
+<p>“A practically new watch; running to time; never
+needed repair so far; dispatched by post with no
+finger-marks of the dispatcher: surely you can see
+what that means?”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“It might be a secret message,” he hazarded,
+though without much confidence. “I mean a
+prearranged code.”</p>
+
+<p>“So it might,” Sir Clinton agreed. “The only
+thing against that in my mind is that I’m perfectly
+sure that it wasn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale looked sulky.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m hardly clever enough to follow you, sir, I’m
+afraid.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s expression grew momentarily stern;
+but the shade passed from his face almost instantly.</p>
+
+<p>“This is one of these cases, Inspector, where I
+think that two heads are better than one. Now if I
+tell you what’s in my mind, it might tempt you to
+look at things exactly as I do; and then we’d have
+lost the advantage of having two brains at work on
+the business independently. We’re more likely to be
+usefully employed if we pool the facts and keep our
+interpretations separate from each other.”</p>
+
+<p>The tone of the Chief Constable’s voice went a
+good way towards soothing the Inspector’s ruffled
+feelings, the more so since he saw the weight of Sir
+Clinton’s reasoning.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m sorry, sir. I quite see your point now.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton had the knack of leaving no ill-feelings
+in his subordinates. By an almost imperceptible
+change of manner, he dismissed the whole matter and
+restored cordiality again.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s get back to the pure facts, Inspector. Each
+of us must look at them in his own way; but we can
+at least examine some of them without biasing each
+other. Did you get any more information out of
+that chauffeur?”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale seemed glad enough to forget
+the slight friction between himself and his Chief, as
+the tone of his voice showed when he replied.</p>
+
+<p>“I could get nothing out of him at all, sir. He
+seems a stupid sort of fellow. But it was quite clear
+that somehow or other he’d picked up the idea that
+Foss meant to leave Ravensthorpe for good yesterday
+afternoon. He stuck to that definitely; and the
+packing up of his traps shows that he believed it.”</p>
+
+<p>“We can take it, then, that Foss gave reason for
+the man thinking that he was going away. Put your
+own interpretation on that, Inspector; but you
+needn’t tell me what you make of it.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector’s smile showed that ill-feeling had
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, Sir Clinton. And I’ll admit that I had
+my suspicions of the valet. He seems to have a clear
+bill now in the matter of the finger-prints on the
+weapon. Perhaps I was a bit rough on the man; but
+he annoyed me—a cheeky fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, don’t let’s use hard words about him,” Sir
+Clinton suggested chaffingly. “Let’s call him cool,
+simply.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, his finger-prints weren’t on the handle of
+the sword, anyhow,” the Inspector admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“I hardly expected them to be,” was all the comment
+Sir Clinton saw fit to make. “Now what about
+friend Foss? By the way, I don’t mind saying that I
+still think these two affairs at Ravensthorpe are
+interconnected. And one thing’s clear at any rate: Foss
+wasn’t the man in white. You remember he was
+wearing a cow-boy costume according to the valet’s
+evidence; and we found that costume in his
+wardrobe, which confirms Marden.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector seemed to be taking a leaf out of Sir
+Clinton’s book. He refrained from either acquiescing
+in or contradicting the Chief Constable’s statement
+that the two cases were linked.</p>
+
+<p>“Foss had more ready money in his pocket than
+most people carry; he was in a position to clear out
+of Ravensthorpe at any moment without needing to
+go back to his flat or even to a bank. I think these
+facts are plain enough,” he pointed out. “And they
+fit in with the chauffeur’s evidence, such as it is.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he had no latch-key of his flat with him,” Sir
+Clinton supplemented. “Of course it was a service
+flat and he may have left the key behind him instead
+of carrying it with him. One could find that out if it
+were worth while.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a good deal that needs explaining about
+Foss,” the Inspector observed. “I’ve got his
+photograph here, taken from the body yesterday.”</p>
+
+<p>He produced it as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“Send a copy to Scotland Yard, Inspector, please,
+and ask if they have any information about him.
+Considering everything, it’s quite likely we might learn
+something. You might send his finger-prints also, to
+see if they have them indexed there.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll send Marden’s too, when I’m at it,” the
+Inspector volunteered, “and the chauffeur’s. We might
+as well be complete when we’re at it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton indicated his agreement without saying
+anything. He changed the subject when he next
+spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve agreed to pool the facts, Inspector, and
+I’ve got a contribution—two contributions in
+fact—towards the common stock. Here’s the first.”</p>
+
+<p>He laid a telegraph form on the desk before
+Armadale, and the Inspector read the wording:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="telegram">
+
+  <p>Have no agent named Foss am not negotiating for
+  Leonardo medallions. Kessock.</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>“Well, that’s a bit of a surprise!” ejaculated the
+Inspector. “It was obvious that there was something
+fishy; but I hadn’t imagined it was as fishy as all
+that. Kessock knows nothing about him, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“My cable was fairly explicit. It’s clear that friend
+Foss had no authority from Kessock.”</p>
+
+<p>“But what about all that correspondence between
+Maurice Chacewater and Kessock that we saw?”</p>
+
+<p>“Forgeries, so far as the Kessock letters were
+concerned, obviously. One of Kessock’s household must
+have been in league with Foss and intercepted Maurice
+Chacewater’s letters. Then replies were forged
+and dispatched. I’ve cabled Kessock about it this
+morning, so as to get the news in at once. The
+confederate may hear of Foss’s murder through the
+newspapers in four or five days when our papers get
+across there. He might bolt when he got the news.
+I’ve given Kessock a chance to forestall that if he
+wants to.”</p>
+
+<p>“That puts a new light on things, certainly,”
+Armadale said when he had considered the new facts.
+“Foss was a wrong ’un masquerading here for some
+purpose or other—the medallions, probably. That
+fits in with all the unmarked linen and the rest of it.
+But why was he murdered?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton disregarded the question.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got another fact to contribute,” he went on.
+“You remember that Marconi Otophone in Foss’s
+room? I’ve made some inquiries about it. It’s a thing
+they make for the use of deaf people—a modern
+substitute for the ear-trumpet.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector made a gesture of bewilderment.</p>
+
+<p>“But Foss wasn’t deaf! He admitted to you that
+he had good enough hearing, when he was telling you
+about overhearing Foxton Polegate in the
+winter-garden.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s quite true,” Sir Clinton rejoined. “But he
+evidently needed an Otophone for all that.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector pondered for a few moments before
+speaking.</p>
+
+<p>“It beats me,” he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton dismissed the subject without further
+discussion.</p>
+
+<p>“Now what about Maurice Chacewater?” he inquired.
+“There’s no great difficulty in suggesting
+<em>how</em> he disappeared from the museum. It’s common
+talk hereabout that Ravensthorpe has secret passages;
+and one of them may end up in the wall of the
+museum.”</p>
+
+<p>It was the turn of Armadale to contribute a fresh
+fact.</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t appear at any local station yesterday
+or this morning; and he didn’t use a motor of any
+sort that I’ve been able to trace. I’ve had men on that
+job and it’s been thoroughly done.”</p>
+
+<p>“Congratulations, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he hasn’t got away, then he must be somewhere
+in the neighborhood still.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should say that was indisputable, if not
+certain,” commented Sir Clinton, with a return of his
+faintly chaffing manner. “A man can only be in one
+place at once, if you follow me. And if he’s not there,
+then he must be here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. But where is ‘here,’ in this particular case?”
+inquired Armadale, following his Chief’s mood. “I
+expect he’s hiding somewhere around. It’s what any
+one might do if they found themselves up to the hilt
+in a case of murder”—he paused for an instant—“or
+manslaughter, and got into a panic over it.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton ignored the Inspector’s last sentence.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I could get into touch with Cecil
+Chacewater. He ought to be at home just now. He’s the
+only man in the family now, and he ought to take
+charge of things up there.”</p>
+
+<p>“You haven’t got his address yet, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not yet.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton put the subject aside.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Inspector, let me remind you of what’s
+wanted:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p class="i1">What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where,</p>
+  <p class="i1">How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>You put it down as murder?”</p>
+
+<p>“Or manslaughter,” corrected Armadale. “And we
+know When, How, and Where, at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do we?” Sir Clinton rejoined. “Speak for
+yourself. I’m not so sure about When and Where yet,
+and How is still a dark mystery so far as I’m
+concerned. I mean,” he added, “so far as legal proof
+goes.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was about to say something further
+when a knock at the door was heard and a constable
+appeared in answer to Sir Clinton’s summons.</p>
+
+<p>“The Ravensthorpe head keeper wants to see you,
+Sir Clinton, if you can spare him a moment. He says
+it’s important.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable ordered the keeper to be
+admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, Mold, what’s your trouble?” he inquired,
+when the man appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s this way, Sir Clinton,” Mold began. “Seein’
+the queer sort o’ things we’ve seen lately, it seemed
+to me that maybe another queer thing that’s happened
+might be important. So I thought it over, and
+I made bold to come and tell you about it.”</p>
+
+<p>He seemed to lose confidence a little at this point;
+but Sir Clinton encouraged him by a show of interest.</p>
+
+<p>“Last night,” he went on, “I was goin’ through the
+wood at the back o’ the house—about eleven o’clock
+it was, as near as I can make it. At the back o’ the
+house there’s a strip of woodland, then a little bit of
+a clearin’, and then the rest of the wood. I’d come
+out o’ the bigger bit o’ the wood and got most o’ the
+way across the clearin’ when it happened. I can tell
+you just where it was, for I was passin’ the old ruin
+there—the Knight’s Tower they call it.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused for a moment or two, evidently finding
+continuous narrative rather a strain.</p>
+
+<p>“The moon was well up by that time. It’s just
+past the full these days; and the place was as clear
+as day. Everythin’ was quiet, except an old owl that
+lives in a hollow tree up by there. I could hear the
+swish of my feet in the grass and mighty little else;
+for the grass was dewy and made a lot o’ noise with
+my stepping through it. Well, as I was goin’ along,
+all of a sudden I heard a shot. It sounded close by
+me; an’ I turned at once. There’s a poachin’ chap
+that’s given me a lot o’ trouble, an’ I didn’t put it past
+him to think he might be tryin’ to give me a scare.
+But when I turned round there was nothin’ to be seen.
+There was nothin’ there at all; an’ yet that shot had
+come from quite close by.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did it sound like the report of a shot-gun?” Sir
+Clinton asked.</p>
+
+<p>Mold seemed to be in a difficulty.</p>
+
+<p>“Shot-gun sounds I know fairly well. ’T weren’t
+from a shot-gun. More like a pistol-shot it sounded,
+when I’d had time to think over it. An’ yet it weren’t
+altogether like a pistol-shot, neither. That’s a sharp
+sound. This was more booming-like, if you
+understand me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m afraid I don’t quite see it yet, Mold,” Sir
+Clinton admitted. “I know how difficult it is to
+describe sounds, though. Have another try. Did it
+remind you of anything?”</p>
+
+<p>A light seemed to flicker for a moment in Mold’s
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>“I know!” he exclaimed. “It was like this. I’ve
+got it! Did you ever stand at the door of our Morris-tube
+range in the village while there was firin’ goin’
+on inside? Well, this was somethin’ like that, only
+more so. I mean as if they’d fired somethin’ a bit
+heavier than a miniature rifle. That’s it! That’s just
+how it sounded.”</p>
+
+<p>He was evidently relieved by having found what he
+considered an apt simile.</p>
+
+<p>“What happened after that?” Sir Clinton
+demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“When I saw nobody near me I’ll admit I felt a
+bit funny. Here was a shot comin’, so it seemed, out
+o’ the empty air, with nothin’ to account for it.
+Straight away, I’ll admit, sir, I began thinkin’ of that
+Black Man that little Jennie Hitchin has been
+spreadin’ the story about lately . . .”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton pricked up his ears.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll hear about the Black Man later on, Mold,
+if you please. Tell us what you did at that moment.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, sir, I searched about. The moon was clear
+of clouds and the place was just an open glade. The
+shot had come from quite near by, as I said. But
+when I hunted I could find nothing. There wasn’t a
+track in the dew on the grass. My own tracks showed
+up in the moonlight as clear as clear. There wasn’t
+any one hiding in the old ruin; I went through and
+around it twice. There wasn’t a sound; for the shot
+had frightened the owl. I found nothing. And yet I’d
+take my oath that shot was fired not more than ten
+or a dozen yards away from me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you hear any whistle of shot or a bullet?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“H’m! That’s the whole story? Now, tell us
+about this Black Man you mentioned.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold seemed rather ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that’s just child’s chatter, Sir Clinton. I
+oughtn’t to have mentioned it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m quite willing to listen to ‘child’s chatter,’
+Mold, if it happens to be unusual.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold evidently decided to take the plunge, though
+obviously he regretted having mentioned the matter
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>“This Jennie Hitchin’s a child that lives with her
+grandmother on the estate. The girl’s there at night
+in case anything goes wrong with the old woman.
+Old Mrs. Hitchin was taken ill one night lately, about
+the middle of the night. Pretty bad she seemed; and
+Jennie had to dress and go off for the doctor in a
+hurry. That took her through the woods—it’s a short
+cut that way and the moonlight was bright. An’ as
+she was goin’ along . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“What night was this,” Sir Clinton interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>The keeper thought for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I come to think of it,” he said, “ ’t was the
+night of that robbery up at Ravensthorpe. So it was.
+An’ as Jennie was goin’ along through the woods she
+saw—so she says—a Black Man slippin’ about from
+tree to tree.”</p>
+
+<p>“A man in dark clothes?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. If I understood rightly, ’t was a black
+man. I mean a naked man with a black skin, black
+all over.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did he molest the child?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. He seemed to be tryin’ to keep out of
+her road if anythin’. But o’ course it gave her a
+start. She took and ran—and small blame to her, I
+think. She’s only eleven or so, an’ it gave her a
+dreadful fright. An’ of course next day this tale was
+all over the country-side. I wonder if you didn’t hear
+it yourself, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s news to me, Mold, I’m afraid. Even the
+police can’t know everything, you see. Now before
+you go I want something more from you. That night
+when you were on guard in the museum, you remember.
+Do you recall seeing any one there at any
+time during the evening dressed in cow-boy clothes?
+You know, the kind of thing in the Wild West films.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold pondered for a time, evidently racking his
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. I remember nobody like that. I think
+I’d have recalled it if I had. I’m rather keen on films
+about cow-boys myself, and if I’d seen a cow-boy I’d
+have had a good look at him, just out o’ curiosity.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton had apparently got all he needed from
+Mold just then; and he sent him away quite reassured
+that his visit had not been wasted.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you make of all that, Inspector?” he
+inquired with a faintly quizzical expression on his
+face, as soon as the door had closed behind the
+keeper.</p>
+
+<p>Armadale shook his head. Then, seeing a chance
+of scoring, he smiled openly.</p>
+
+<p>“I was to keep my ideas to myself, you remember,
+Sir Clinton.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable gave him smile for smile.</p>
+
+<p>“That arrangement must be especially useful when
+you’ve no ideas at all, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale took the thrust with good humour.</p>
+
+<p>“Give me time to think, Sir Clinton. You know
+I’ve only a slow mind, and perhaps this isn’t one of
+my bright days.”</p>
+
+<p>Before Sir Clinton could retort the desk telephone
+rang and the Chief Constable lifted the receiver.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am . . . Thanks very much. I’ll take down
+the address if you’ll read it to me.”</p>
+
+<p>He jotted something down on a sheet of paper.</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks. Good-bye, Joan.”</p>
+
+<p>He flicked the note over to Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you mind seeing if we can get on to that
+house by ’phone, Inspector? Hunt up the London
+Directory for it.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Cecil Chacewater’s address?” said Armadale,
+glancing at the slip.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. The man he’s staying with may be on the
+’phone.”</p>
+
+<p>In a few minutes the Inspector came back with the
+number and Sir Clinton rang up. After a short talk
+he put down the receiver and turned to Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“He says he can’t come to-day. You heard me
+explaining that we want that secret passage opened, if
+there is one. But he doesn’t seem to think there’s any
+hurry. He has some business which will keep him till
+to-morrow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I heard you tell him that his brother’s disappeared,”
+the Inspector commented. “I’d have thought
+that would have brought him back quick enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“It hasn’t, evidently,” was all that Sir Clinton
+thought it necessary to say. There seemed to be no
+reason for admitting the Inspector into the secret of
+the Ravensthorpe quarrels.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch11">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XI. <br> Underground Ravensthorpe</h2>
+
+<p>When Inspector Armadale presented himself at
+the Chief Constable’s office next morning he found
+Sir Clinton still faithful to his proposed policy of
+pooling all the facts of the case.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve just been in communication with the coroner,”
+Sir Clinton explained. “I’ve pointed out to him
+that possibly we may have further evidence for the
+inquest on Foss; and I suggested that he might confine
+himself to formalities as far as possible and then
+adjourn for a day or two. It means keeping Marden
+and the chauffeur here for a little longer; but they
+can stay at Ravensthorpe. Miss Chacewater has no
+objections to that. She agreed at once when I asked
+her.”</p>
+
+<p>“The jury will have enough before them to bring
+in a verdict of murder against some one unknown,”
+the Inspector pointed out. “Do you want to make it
+more definite while we’re in the middle of the case?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton made a noncommittal gesture as he
+replied:</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s give ourselves the chance, at least, of
+putting a name on the criminal. If we don’t succeed
+there’s no harm done. Now here’s another point.
+I’ve had a telephone message from Scotland Yard.
+They’ve nothing on record corresponding to the
+finger-prints of Marden or the chauffeur. Foss was a
+wrong ’un. They’ve identified his finger-prints; and
+his photograph seems to have been easily recognizable
+by some of the Yard people who had dealings
+with him before. He went by the name of Cocoa
+Tom among his intimates; but his real name was
+Thomas Pailton. He’d been convicted a couple of
+times, though not recently.”</p>
+
+<p>“What was his line?” the Inspector inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“Confidence trick in one form or another, they say.
+Very plausible tongue, apparently.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did they say anything more about him?” asked
+the Inspector. “Anything about working with a gang
+usually, or something like that? If he did, then we
+might get a clue or two from his associates.”</p>
+
+<p>“He usually played a lone hand, it seems,” Sir
+Clinton answered. “Apparently he used to be on the
+Halls—the cheaper kind. ‘The Wonderful Wizard
+of Woz’ he called himself then. But somehow they
+made the business too hot for him and he cleared out
+into swindling.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah!” Armadale evidently saw something which
+had not occurred to him before. “Those pockets of
+his—the ones that puzzled me. They might have
+been useful to a man who could do a bit of
+sleight-of-hand. I never thought of that at the time.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked accusingly at Sir Clinton, who laughed
+at the expression in the Inspector’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I admit I saw the use of the pockets
+almost at once,” he said. “But that’s not a breach of
+our bargain, Inspector. The facts are all that we are
+pooling, remember; and the fact that Foss had these
+peculiar pockets was as well known to you as to
+myself. This notion about sleight-of-hand is an
+interpretation of the facts, remember; and we weren’t to
+share our inferences.”</p>
+
+<p>“I knew pretty well at the time that you’d spotted
+something,” Armadale contented himself with saying.
+“But since you put it in that way I’ll admit you were
+quite justified in keeping it to yourself as special
+information, sir. I take it that it’s a race between us
+now; and the one that hits on the solution first is the
+winner. I don’t mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then there’s one other bit of information needed
+to bring us level. I’ve just had a message over the
+’phone from Mr. Cecil Chacewater. It appears he’s
+just got home again; came by the first train in the
+morning from town, apparently. He’s waiting for us
+now, so we’d better go up to Ravensthorpe. I have an
+idea that he may be able to throw some light on his
+brother’s disappearance. At least he may be able to
+show us how that disappearing trick was done; and
+that would always be a step forward.”</p>
+
+<p>When they reached Ravensthorpe Cecil was awaiting
+them. The inspector noticed that he seemed tired
+and had a weary look in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Been out on the spree,” was Armadale’s silent
+inference; for the Inspector was inclined to take a
+low view of humanity in general, and he put his own
+interpretation on Cecil’s looks.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton, in a few rapid sentences, apprised
+Cecil of the facts of the case.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d heard some of that before, you know,” Cecil
+admitted. “Maurice’s disappearance seems to have
+caused a bit of a stir. I can’t say he’s greatly missed
+for the sake of his personality; but naturally it’s
+disturbing to have a brother mislaid about the place.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very irksome, of course,” agreed Sir Clinton, with
+a faint parody of Cecil’s detached air.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed to think that the conversation had
+come to a deadlock, since the Chief Constable made
+no effort to continue.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, what about it?” he demanded. “I haven’t
+got Maurice concealed anywhere about my person,
+you know.”</p>
+
+<p>He elaborately felt in an empty jacket pocket,
+ending by turning it inside out.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he pointed out, “he isn’t there. In fact, I’m
+almost certain I haven’t got him anywhere in this
+suit.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil’s studied insolence seemed to escape Sir
+Clinton’s notice.</p>
+
+<p>“There was a celebrated historical character who
+said something of the same sort once upon a time.
+‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ you remember that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Good old Cain? So he did. And his name begins
+with a C, just like mine, too! Any other points of
+resemblance you’d like to suggest?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not just now,” Sir Clinton responded. “Information
+would be more to the purpose at present. Let’s
+go along to the museum, please. There are one or
+two points which need to be cleared up as soon as
+possible.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil made no open demur; but his manner continued
+to be obviously hostile as they made their way
+along the passages. At the museum door the
+constable on guard stood aside in order to let them
+pass in.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a moment,” Sir Clinton ordered, as his
+companions were about to enter the room. “I want to try
+an experiment before we go any further.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you go across and stand in front of the case
+in which the Muramasa sword used to be kept?
+You’ll find the sheath still in the case. And you,
+Inspector, go to the spot where we found Foss’s body.”</p>
+
+<p>When they had obeyed him he swung the door
+round on its hinges until it was almost closed, and
+then looked through the remaining opening.</p>
+
+<p>“Say a few words in an ordinary tone, Inspector. A
+string of addresses or something of that sort.”</p>
+
+<p>“William Jones, Park Place, Amersley Royal,”
+began the Inspector, obediently; “Henry Blenkinsop,
+18 Skeening Road, Hinchley; John Orran Gordon, 88
+Bolsover Lane . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“That will be enough, thanks. I can hear you
+quite well. Now lower your voice a trifle and say
+‘Muramasa,’ ‘Japanese,’ and ‘sword,’ please. And
+mix them into the middle of some more addresses.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector’s tone as he spoke showed plainly
+that he was a trifle bewildered by his instructions.</p>
+
+<p>“Fred Hall, Muramasa, Endelmere; Harry Bell,
+15 Elm Japanese Avenue, Stonyton; J. Hicky, sword,
+The Cottage, Apperley . . . Will that do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite well, Inspector. Many thanks. Think I’m
+mad? All I wanted was to find out how much a man
+in this position could see and hear. Contributions
+to the pool. First, I can see the case where the
+Muramasa sword used to lie. Second, I can hear quite
+plainly what you’re saying. The slight echo in the
+room doesn’t hinder that.”</p>
+
+<p>He swung the door open and came into the
+museum.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Cecil,” he said—and the Inspector noticed
+that all sign of lightness had gone out of his tone,
+“you know that Maurice disappeared rather mysteriously
+from this room? He was in it with Foss; there
+was a man at the door; Foss was murdered in that
+bay over there; and Maurice didn’t leave the room
+by the door. How did he leave?”</p>
+
+<p>“How should I know?” demanded Cecil, sullenly.
+“You’d better ask him when he turns up again. I’m
+not Maurice’s nursemaid.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s eyes grew hard.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll put it plainer for you. I’ve reason to believe
+that there’s an entrance to a secret passage somewhere
+in that bay beyond the safe. It’s the only way
+in which Maurice could have left this room. You’ll
+have to show it to us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed!” Cecil’s voice betrayed nothing but
+contempt for the suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s for your own benefit that I make the proposal,”
+Sir Clinton pointed out. “Refuse if you like.
+But if you do I’ve a search-warrant in my pocket and
+I mean to find that entrance even if I have to root
+out most of the panelling and gut the room. You
+won’t avert the discovery by this attitude of yours.
+You’ll merely make the whole business public. It
+would be far more sensible to recognize the inevitable
+and show us the place yourself. I don’t want to
+damage things any more than is necessary. But if I’m
+put to it I’ll be thorough, I warn you.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil favoured the Chief Constable with an angry
+look; but the expression on Sir Clinton’s face
+convinced him that it was useless to offer any further
+opposition.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well,” he snarled. “I’ll open the thing, since
+I must.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton took no notice of his anger.</p>
+
+<p>“So long as you open it the rest doesn’t matter.
+I’ve no desire to pry into things that don’t concern
+me. I don’t wish to know how the panel opens.
+Inspector, I think we’ll turn our backs while Mr.
+Chacewater works the mechanism.”</p>
+
+<p>They faced about. Cecil took a few steps into the
+bay. There was a sharp snap; and when they turned
+round again a door gaped in the panelling at the end
+of the room.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite so,” said Sir Clinton. “Most ingenious.”</p>
+
+<p>His voice had regained its normal easy tone; and
+now he seemed anxious to smooth over the ill-feeling
+which had come to so acute a pitch in the last few
+minutes.</p>
+
+<p>“Will you go first, Cecil, and show us the way? I
+expect it’s difficult for a stranger. I’ve brought an
+electric torch. Here, you’d better take it.”</p>
+
+<p>Now that he had failed in his attempt, Cecil seemed
+to recover his temper again. He took the torch from
+the Chief Constable and, pressing the spring to light
+it, stepped through the open panel.</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll lock the museum door before we
+go down,” Sir Clinton suggested. “There’s no need
+to expose this entrance to any one who happens to
+come in.”</p>
+
+<p>He walked across the museum, turned the key in
+the lock, and then rejoined his companions.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Cecil, if you please.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil Chacewater led the way; Sir Clinton motioned
+to the Inspector to follow him, and brought up
+the rear himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Look out, here,” Cecil warned them. “There’s a
+flight of steps almost at once.”</p>
+
+<p>They made their way down a spiral staircase which
+seemed to lead deep into the foundations of Ravensthorpe.
+At last it came to an end, and a narrow
+tunnel gaped before them.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing here, you see,” Cecil pointed out, flashing
+the torch in various directions. “This passage is
+the only outlet.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way into the tunnel, followed by the
+Inspector. Sir Clinton lagged behind them for a
+moment or two, and then showed no signs of haste, so
+that they had to pause in order to let him catch up.</p>
+
+<p>The tunnel led them in a straight line for a time,
+then bent in a fresh direction.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s getting narrower,” the Inspector pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>“It gets narrower still before you’re done with it,”
+Cecil vouchsafed in reply.</p>
+
+<p>As the passage turned again Sir Clinton halted.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to have a look at these walls,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil turned back and threw the light of the torch
+over the sides and roof of the tunnel.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s very old masonry,” he pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“This is a bit of old Ravensthorpe, I suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s older than the modern parts of the building,”
+Cecil agreed. He seemed to have overcome his
+ill-humour and to be making the best of things.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s push on, then,” Sir Clinton suggested. “I’ve
+seen all I wanted to see, thanks.”</p>
+
+<p>As they proceeded, the tunnel walls drew nearer
+together and the roof grew lower. Before long the
+passage was barely large enough to let them walk
+along it without brushing the stones on either
+side.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait a moment,” Sir Clinton suggested, as they
+reached a fresh turning. “Inspector, would you mind
+making a rough measurement of the dimensions
+here?”</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat mystified, Inspector Armadale did as he
+was bidden, entering the figures up in his note-book
+while Cecil stood back, evidently equally puzzled by
+these manœuvres.</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks, that will do nicely,” Sir Clinton assured
+him when the task had been completed. “Suppose
+we continue?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil advanced a few steps. Then a thought seemed
+to strike him.</p>
+
+<p>“It gets narrower farther on. We’ll have to go on
+hands and knees, and there won’t be room to pass
+one another. Perhaps one of you should go first with
+the torch. There’s nothing in the road.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton agreed to this.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll go first, then. You can follow on, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale looked suspicious at this
+suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>“He might get away back and shut us in,” he
+murmured in Sir Clinton’s ear.</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable took the simplest way of
+reassuring the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s an ingenious bit of mechanism in the
+panel, up above,” he said to Cecil. “I had a glance
+at it as I passed, since it’s all in plain sight. From this
+side, you’ve only to lift a bar to open it, haven’t
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s so,” Cecil confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>Armadale was evidently satisfied by the information
+which Sir Clinton had thus conveyed to him
+indirectly. He squeezed himself against the wall
+and allowed the Chief Constable to come up to the
+head of the party. Sir Clinton threw his light down
+the passage in front of them.</p>
+
+<p>“It looks like all-fours, now,” he commented, as
+the lamp revealed a steadily diminishing tunnel. “We
+may as well begin now and save ourselves the chance
+of knocking our heads against the roof.”</p>
+
+<p>Suiting the action to the word, he got down on
+hands and knees and began to creep along the
+passage.</p>
+
+<p>“At least we may be thankful it’s dry,” he pointed
+out.</p>
+
+<p>The tunnel grew still smaller until they found
+more than a little difficulty in making their way
+along it.</p>
+
+<p>“Have we much farther to go?” asked the Inspector,
+who seemed to have little liking for the business.</p>
+
+<p>“The end’s round the next corner,” Cecil
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>They soon reached the last bend in the passage,
+and as he turned it Sir Clinton found himself at the
+entrance to a tiny space. The roof was even lower
+than that of the tunnel, and the floor area was hardly
+more than a dozen square feet. A stone slab, raised a
+few inches from the ground, seemed like a bed fitted
+into a niche.</p>
+
+<p>“A bit wet in this part,” Sir Clinton remarked.
+“If I’d known that we were in for this sort of thing
+I think I’d have put on an old suit this morning.
+Mind your knees on the floor, Inspector. It’s fairly
+moist.”</p>
+
+<p>He climbed into the niche, which was no bigger
+than the bunk of a steamer, and began to examine his
+surroundings with his torch. Inspector Armadale,
+taking advantage of the space thus made clear, crept
+into the tiny chamber.</p>
+
+<p>“This place looks as if it had been washed out,
+lately,” he said, examining the smooth flagstones
+which formed the floor. He turned his attention to
+the roof, evidently in search of dripping water; but
+he could find none, though the walls were moist.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Sir Clinton bent forward and brought
+his lamp near something on the side of the niche.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector, seeing something in the patch of
+light, craned forward to look also, and as he did so
+he seemed to recognize what he saw.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, that’s . . .” he ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s lamp went out abruptly, and Inspector
+Armadale felt his arm gripped warningly in
+the darkness.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry,” the Chief Constable apologized. “My
+finger must have shifted the switch on the torch. Out
+of the way, Inspector, please. There’s nothing more
+to be seen here.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale wriggled back into the passage
+again as Sir Clinton made a movement as though
+to come out of his perch in the recess.</p>
+
+<p>“So this is where Maurice got to when he left the
+museum?” the Chief Constable said, reflectively.
+“Well, he isn’t here now, that’s plain. We’ll need to
+look elsewhere, Inspector, according to your scheme.
+If he wasn’t elsewhere he was to be here. But as he
+isn’t here he’s obviously elsewhere. And now I
+think we’ll make our way up to the museum again.
+Wait a moment! We’ve got to get back into that
+passage with our heads in the right direction. Once
+we’re into the tunnel there won’t be room to turn
+round.”</p>
+
+<p>It took some manœuvring to arrange this, for the
+tiny chamber was a tight fit for even three men; but
+at last they succeeded in getting back into the tunnel
+in a position which permitted them to creep forwards
+instead of backwards. They finally accomplished
+the long journey without incident, and emerged
+through the gaping panel into the museum once
+more.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll turn our backs again, Inspector, and
+let Mr. Chacewater close the panel.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the sharp click notified them that they
+could turn round. The panelling seemed completely
+solid.</p>
+
+<p>“There are just a couple of points I’d like to know
+about,” Sir Clinton said, turning to Cecil. “You don’t
+know the combination that opens the safe over there,
+I believe?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil Chacewater seemed both surprised and
+relieved to hear this question.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” he said. “Maurice kept the combination
+to himself.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded as though he had expected this
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Just another point,” he continued. “You may
+not be able to remember this. At any time after you
+and Foxton Polegate had planned that practical joke
+of yours, did Foss ask you the time?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil was obviously completely taken aback by this
+query.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he ask me the time? Not that I know of. I
+can’t remember his ever doing that. Wait a bit,
+though. No, he didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton seemed disappointed for a moment.
+Then, evidently, a fresh idea occurred to him.</p>
+
+<p>“On the night of the masked ball, did any one ask
+you the time?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil considered for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I come to think of it, a fellow dressed as a
+cow-boy came up and said his watch had stopped.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah! I thought so,” was all Sir Clinton replied,
+much to the vexation of Inspector Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“By the way,” the Chief Constable went on, “I’d
+rather like to get to the top of one of those turrets
+up above.” He made a gesture indicating the roof.
+“There’s a stair, isn’t there?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale had difficulty in concealing his surprise
+at this unexpected demand. Cecil Chacewater made
+no difficulties, but led them upstairs and opened the
+door of the entrance to a turret. When they reached
+an open space at the summit, Sir Clinton leaned on
+the parapet and gazed over the surrounding country
+with interest. As the space was restricted, Cecil
+remained within the turret, at the top of the stair;
+but the Inspector joined his Chief on the
+platform.</p>
+
+<p>“Splendid view, isn’t it, Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir. Very fine.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale was evidently puzzled by this turn of
+affairs. He could not see why Sir Clinton should
+have come up to admire the view instead of getting
+on with the investigation. The Chief Constable did
+not seem to notice his subordinate’s perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s Hincheldene,” Sir Clinton pointed out.
+“With a decent pair of glasses one could read the
+time on the clock-tower on a clear day. These woods
+round about give a restful look to things. Soothing,
+that greenery. Ah! Just follow my finger, Inspector.
+See that white thing over yonder? That’s one of
+these Fairy Houses.”</p>
+
+<p>He searched here and there in the landscape for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s another of them, just where you see that
+stream running across the opening between the two
+spinneys—yonder. And there’s a third one, not far
+off that ruined tower. See it? I wonder if we could
+pick up any more. They seem to be thick enough on
+the ground. Yes, see that one in the glade over there?
+Not see it? Look at that grey cottage with the
+creeper on it; two o’clock; three fingers. See it now?”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t quite make it out, sir,” the Inspector
+confessed.</p>
+
+<p>He seemed bored by Sir Clinton’s insistence on the
+matter; but he held up his hand and tried to discover
+the object. After a moment or two he gave up the
+attempt and, turning round, he noticed his Chief
+slipping a small compass into his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“Quite worth seeing, that view,” Sir Clinton
+remarked, imperturbably, as he made his way towards
+the turret stair. “Thanks very much, Cecil. I don’t
+think we need trouble you any more for the present;
+but I’d like to see your sister, if she’s available. I
+want to ask her a question.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil Chacewater went in search of Joan, and after
+a few minutes she met them at the foot of the stair.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s just one point that occurred to me since
+you told us about that interview you and Maurice
+had with Foss before you went to the museum. You
+were sitting on the terrace, weren’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Joan confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>“Then you must have seen Foss’s car drive up
+when it came to wait at the front door for him?”</p>
+
+<p>“I remember seeing it come up just before we
+went to the museum. I didn’t say anything about it
+before. It didn’t seem to matter much.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was quite natural,” Sir Clinton reassured
+her. “In fact, I’m not sure that it matters much even
+yet. I’m just trying for any evidence I can get. Tell
+me anything whatever that you noticed, no matter
+whether it seems important or not.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan thought for almost a minute before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“I did notice the chauffeur putting the hood up,
+and I wondered what on earth he was doing that for
+on a blazing day.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anything else?”</p>
+
+<p>“He had his tool-kit out and seemed to be going
+to do some repair or other.”</p>
+
+<p>“At the moment when he’d brought the car round
+for Foss?” demanded the Inspector, rather incredulously.
+“Surely he’d have everything spick and span
+before he left the garage?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better ask him about it, himself, Inspector,”
+said Joan, tartly. “I’m merely telling what I
+saw; and I saw that plain enough. Besides, he may
+have known he’d plenty of time. Mr. Foss was going
+away with us and obviously he wasn’t in a hurry to
+use the car.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton ignored the Inspector’s interruption.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve got my own car at the door,” he observed.
+“Perhaps you could go out on to the terrace and direct
+me while I bring it into the same position as you
+saw Foss’s car that afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan agreed; and they went down together.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” said Sir Clinton as he started the engine,
+“would you mind directing me?”</p>
+
+<p>Joan, from the terrace, indicated how he was to
+manœuvre until he had brought his own car into a
+position as near as possible to that occupied by Foss’s
+car on the afternoon of the murder.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s as near as I can get it,” she said at last.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton turned in his seat and scanned the
+front of Ravensthorpe.</p>
+
+<p>“What window is this that I’m opposite?” he
+inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the window of the museum,” Joan explained.
+“But you can’t see into the room, can you?
+You’re too low down there.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing more than the tops of the cases,” Sir
+Clinton said. “You’d better get aboard, Inspector.
+There’s nothing more to do here.”</p>
+
+<p>He waved good-bye to Joan as Armadale stepped
+into the car, and then drove down the avenue. The
+Inspector said nothing until they had passed out of
+the Ravensthorpe grounds and were on the high
+road again. Then he turned eagerly to the Chief
+Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“That was a splash of blood you found on the wall
+of the underground room, wasn’t it? I recognized it
+at once.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t get excited about it, Inspector,” said Sir
+Clinton soothingly. “Of course it was blood; but we
+needn’t shout about it from the house-tops, need
+we?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale thought he detected a tacit reproof for
+his exclamation at the time the discovery was made.</p>
+
+<p>“You covered up that word or two of mine very
+neatly, sir,” he admitted frankly. “I was startled
+when I saw that spot of blood on the wall, and I
+nearly blurted it out. Silly of me to do it, I suppose.
+But you managed to smother it up with that bungling
+with your lamp before I’d given anything away. I’d
+no notion you wanted to keep the thing quiet.”</p>
+
+<p>“No harm done,” Sir Clinton reassured him. “But
+be careful another time. One needn’t show all one’s
+cards.”</p>
+
+<p>“You certainly don’t,” Armadale retorted.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you have all the facts, Inspector. What
+more do you expect?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale thought it best to change the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“That water that we saw down there,” he went
+on. “That never leaked in through the roof. The
+masonry overhead was as tight as a drum and there
+wasn’t a sign of drip-marks anywhere. That water
+came from somewhere else. Some one had been washing
+up in that cellar. There had been more blood
+there—lots of it; and they’d washed it away. That
+tiny patch was a bit they’d overlooked. Isn’t that so,
+sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s an inference and not a fact, Inspector,”
+Sir Clinton pointed out, with an expression approaching
+to a grin on his face. “I don’t say you’re wrong.
+In fact, I’m sure you’re right. But only facts are
+supposed to go into the common stock, remember.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very good, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>But the Inspector had something in reserve.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll give you a fact now,” he said with
+ill-suppressed triumph. “As you came away, you
+happened to ask Mr. Chacewater if he’d come by the
+first train this morning.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“And he said he did?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Armadale, with a tinge of derision in
+his voice, “he took you in, there; but he didn’t come
+over me with that tale. He didn’t come by the first
+train; he wasn’t in it! And what’s more, he didn’t
+come by train to our station at all, for I happened to
+make inquiries. I knew you were anxious for him
+to come back, and I thought I’d ask whether he’d
+come.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s very interesting,” said Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>He made no further remark until they reached the
+police station. Then, as they got out of the car, he
+turned to the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Care to see me do a little map-drawing,
+Inspector? It might amuse you.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch12">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XII. <br> Chuchundra’s Body</h2>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s map-drawing, however, was destined
+to be postponed. Hardly had they entered his office
+when the telephone bell rang. After a few moments’
+conversation he put down the receiver and turned to
+Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s Mold, the keeper. He’s found Maurice
+Chacewater’s body. He’s telephoning from his own
+cottage, so I told him to wait there and we’ll go up in
+the car. The body’s in the woods and we’ll save time
+by getting Mold to guide us to it instead of hunting
+round for the place.”</p>
+
+<p>It did not take long to reach the head keeper’s
+cottage, where they found Mold in a state of
+perturbation.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is this body?” Sir Clinton demanded, cutting
+short Mold’s rather confused attempts to explain
+matters. “Take us to it first of all and then I’ll
+ask what I want to know.”</p>
+
+<p>Under the keeper’s guidance they made their way
+through the woods, and at last emerged into a small
+clearing in the centre of which rose a few ruined
+walls.</p>
+
+<p>“This is what they call the Knight’s Tower,”
+Armadale explained.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“I expected something of the sort. Now, Mold,
+where’s Mr. Chacewater’s body?”</p>
+
+<p>The keeper led them round the Tower, and as they
+turned the corner of a wall they came upon the body
+stretched at full length on the grass.</p>
+
+<p>“The turf’s short,” said Armadale, with some
+disappointment. “There’s no track on it round about
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s true,” said Sir Clinton. “We’ll have to do
+without that help.”</p>
+
+<p>He walked over to where Maurice Chacewater was
+lying. The body was on its back; and a glance at the
+head was enough to show that life must be extinct.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s not pretty,” Sir Clinton said as he pulled
+out his handkerchief and covered the dead face.
+“Shot at close range, evidently. I don’t wonder you
+were a bit upset, Mold.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced round the little glade, then turned
+again to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“When did you find him?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Just before I rang you up, sir. As soon as I came
+across him, I ran off to my cottage and telephoned to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“When were you over this ground last?—before
+you found him, I mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“Just before dusk, last night, sir. He wasn’t there,
+then.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re sure?”</p>
+
+<p>“Certain, sir. I couldn’t have missed seeing him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You haven’t touched the body?”</p>
+
+<p>Mold shuddered slightly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. I went off at once and rang you up.”</p>
+
+<p>“You met no one hereabouts this morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you saw no one last night, either?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was somewhere round about here, wasn’t it,
+that you heard that mysterious shot you told us
+about?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir. I was just here at the time.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold walked about twenty yards past the tower,
+to show the exact position. Sir Clinton studied the
+lie of the land for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“H’m! Have you any questions you want to ask,
+Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale considered for a moment or two.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re sure you haven’t moved this body in any
+way?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“I never put a finger on it,” Mold asserted.</p>
+
+<p>“And it’s lying just as it was when you saw it
+first?” Armadale pursued.</p>
+
+<p>“As near as I can remember,” Mold replied, cautiously.
+“I didn’t wait long after I saw it. I went off
+almost at once to ring up the police.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale seemed to have got all the information
+he expected. Sir Clinton, seeing that no more
+questions were to come, turned to the keeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Go off to the house and tell Mr. Cecil Chacewater
+that his brother’s found and that he’s to come here at
+once. You needn’t say anything about the matter to
+any one else. They’ll hear soon enough. And when
+you’ve done that, ring up the police station and tell
+them to send up a sergeant and a couple of constables
+to me here. Hurry, now.”</p>
+
+<p>Mold went without a word. Sir Clinton waited till
+he was out of earshot and then glanced at Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“One thing stares you in the face,” the Inspector
+said in answer to the look. “He wasn’t shot here.
+That wound would mean any amount of blood; and
+there’s hardly any blood on the grass.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s face showed his agreement. He looked
+down at the body.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s lying on his back now; but after he was shot
+he lay on his left side till <i>rigor mortis</i> set in,” he
+pointed out.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector examined the body carefully.</p>
+
+<p>“I think I see how you get that,” he said. “This
+left arm’s off the ground a trifle. If he’d been shot
+here and fell in this position, the arm would have
+relaxed and followed the lie of the ground. Is that
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that and the hypostases. You see the marks
+on the left side of the face.”</p>
+
+<p>“A dead man doesn’t shift himself,” the Inspector
+observed with an oracular air. “Some one else must
+have had a motive for dragging him about.”</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s a revolver,” Sir Clinton pointed out, picking
+it up gingerly to avoid marking it with finger-prints.
+“You can see, later on, if anything’s to be
+made out from it.”</p>
+
+<p>He put the revolver carefully down on a part of
+the ruined wall near at hand and then returned to the
+body.</p>
+
+<p>“To judge by the <i>rigor mortis</i>,” he said, after
+making a test, “he must have been dead for a good
+while—a dozen hours or more.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about that shot that the keeper said he
+heard?” queried Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“The time might fit well enough. But <i>rigor mortis</i>
+is no real criterion, you know, Inspector. It varies
+too much from case to case.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale pulled out a small magnifying
+glass and examined the dead man’s hand
+carefully.</p>
+
+<p>“Those were his finger-prints on that Japanese
+sword right enough, sir,” he pointed out. “You can
+see that tiny scar on the thumb quite plainly if you
+look.”</p>
+
+<p>He held out the glass, and Sir Clinton inspected
+the right thumb of the body minutely.</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t doubt it from the evidence you had before,
+Inspector; but this certainly clinches it. The
+scar’s quite clear.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shall I go through the pockets now?” Armadale
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You may as well,” Sir Clinton agreed.</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale began by putting his fingers
+into the body’s waistcoat pocket. As he did so his
+face showed his surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Hullo! Here’s something!”</p>
+
+<p>He pulled out the object and held it up for Sir
+Clinton’s inspection.</p>
+
+<p>“One of the Leonardo medallions,” Sir Clinton
+said, as soon as he had identified the thing. “Let me
+have a closer look at it, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>He examined the edge with care.</p>
+
+<p>“This seems to be the genuine article, Inspector.
+I can’t see any hole in the edge, which they told me
+was drilled to distinguish the replicas from the real
+thing. No, there’s no mark of any sort here.”</p>
+
+<p>He handed it back to the Inspector, who examined
+it in his turn. Sir Clinton took it back when the
+Inspector had done with it, and placed it in his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“I think, Inspector, we’ll say nothing about this
+find for the present. I’ve an idea it may be a useful
+thing to have up our sleeve before we’ve done. By
+the way, do you still connect Foxton Polegate with
+this case?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale looked the Chief Constable in the eye as
+he replied.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m more inclined to connect Cecil Chacewater
+with it, just now, sir. Look at the facts. It’s been
+common talk that there was ill-feeling between those
+two brothers. Servants talk; and other people repeat
+it. And the business that ended in the final row
+between the two of them was centred in these Leonardo
+medallions. That’s worth thinking over. Then,
+again, Cecil Chacewater disappeared for a short
+while. You couldn’t get in touch with him. And it was
+just at that time that queer things began to happen
+here at Ravensthorpe. Where was he then? It seems
+a bit suggestive, doesn’t it? And where was he last
+night? If you looked at him this morning, you
+couldn’t help seeing he’d spent a queer night,
+wherever he spent it. That was the night when this body
+was brought here from wherever the shooting was
+done. And when you asked Cecil Chacewater how
+he’d come home, he said he’d arrived by the first
+train this morning. That was a lie. He didn’t come
+by that train. He’d been here before that.”</p>
+
+<p>To the Inspector’s amazement and disgust Sir
+Clinton laughed unaffectedly at this exposition.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s nothing to laugh at, sir. You can’t deny these
+things. I don’t say they prove anything; but you
+can’t brush them aside by merely laughing at them.
+They’ve got to be explained. And until they’ve been
+explained in some satisfactory way things will look
+very fishy.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton recovered his serious mask.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps I laughed a little too soon, Inspector. I
+apologize. I’m not absolutely certain of my ground;
+I quite admit that. But I’ll just give you one hint.
+Sometimes one case looks as if it were two independent
+affairs. Sometimes two independent affairs get
+interlocked and look like one case. Now just think
+that over carefully. It’s perhaps got the germ of
+something in it, if you care to fish it out.”</p>
+
+<p>“Half of what you’ve said already sounds like
+riddles to me, sir,” Armadale protested, fretfully.
+“I’m never sure when you’re serious and when
+you’re pulling my leg.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton was saved from the embarrassment of
+a reply by the arrival of Cecil Chacewater. He
+nodded curtly to the two officials as he came up. The
+Inspector stepped forward to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to put one or two questions to you, Mr.
+Chacewater,” he said, ignoring the look on Sir
+Clinton’s face.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil looked Armadale up and down before
+replying.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, go on,” he said, shortly.</p>
+
+<p>“First of all, Mr. Chacewater,” the Inspector began,
+“I want to know when you last saw your brother
+alive.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil replied without the slightest hesitation:</p>
+
+<p>“On the morning I left Ravensthorpe. We’d had
+a disagreement and I left the house.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was the last time you saw him?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. I see him now.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector looked up angrily from his
+notebook.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re giving the impression of quibbling, Mr.
+Chacewater.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m answering your questions, Inspector, to the
+best of my ability.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale made a fresh cast.</p>
+
+<p>“Where did you go when you left Ravensthorpe?”</p>
+
+<p>“To London.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve been in London, then, until this
+morning?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil paused for a moment or two before
+answering.</p>
+
+<p>“May I ask, Inspector, whether you’re bringing
+any charge against me? If you are, then I believe
+you ought to caution me. If you aren’t, then I don’t
+propose to answer your questions. Now, what are
+you going to do about it?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale was hardly prepared for this move.</p>
+
+<p>“I think you’re injudicious, Mr. Chacewater,” he
+said in a tone which he was evidently striving not to
+make threatening. “I know you didn’t arrive by the
+first train this morning, though you told us you did.
+Your position’s rather an awkward one, if you think
+about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You can’t bluff me, Inspector,” Cecil returned.
+“Make your charge, and I’ll know how to answer it.
+If you won’t make a charge, I don’t propose to help
+you with a fishing inquiry.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector glanced at Sir Clinton’s face, and
+on it he read quite plainly the Chief Constable’s
+disapproval of his proceedings. He decided to go no
+further for the moment. Sir Clinton intervened to
+make the situation less strained.</p>
+
+<p>“Would you mind looking at him, Cecil, and
+formally identifying him?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil came forward rather reluctantly, knelt down
+beside his brother’s body, examined the clothes, and
+finally, removing the handkerchief, gazed for a
+moment or two at the shattered face. The shot had
+entered the right side of the head and had done enough
+damage to show that it had been fired almost in
+contact with the skin.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil replaced the handkerchief and rose to his
+feet. For a few moments he stood looking down at
+the body. Then he turned away.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s my brother, undoubtedly.”</p>
+
+<p>Then, as if speaking to himself, he added in a
+regretful tone:</p>
+
+<p>“Poor old Chuchundra!”</p>
+
+<p>To the Inspector’s amazement Sir Clinton started
+a little at the word.</p>
+
+<p>“Was that a nickname, Cecil?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil looked up, and the Inspector could see that
+he was more than a little moved.</p>
+
+<p>“We used to call him that when we were
+kids.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton’s next question left the Inspector still
+further bemused.</p>
+
+<p>“Out of ‘The Jungle Book’ by any chance?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed to see the drift of the inquiry, for he
+replied at once:</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. <i>Rikki-tikki-tavi</i>, you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“I was almost certain of it,” said Sir Clinton. “I
+can put a name to the trouble, I think. It begins
+with A.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil reflected for a moment before replying.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. You’re right. It does begin with A.”</p>
+
+<p>“That saves a lot of bother,” said Sir Clinton,
+thankfully. “I was just going to fish in a fresh
+direction to get that bit of information. I’m quite
+satisfied now.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil seemed to pay little attention to the Chief
+Constable’s last remark. His eyes went round to the
+shattered thing that had been his brother.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d no notion it was as bad as all this,” he said,
+more to himself than to the others. “If I’d known, I
+wouldn’t have been so bitter about things.”</p>
+
+<p>The sergeant and constables appeared at the edge
+of the clearing.</p>
+
+<p>“Seen all you want to see, Inspector?” asked Sir
+Clinton. “Then in that case we can leave the body
+in charge of the sergeant. I see they’ve got a stretcher
+with them. They can take it down to Ravensthorpe.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale rapidly gave the necessary orders to his
+subordinates.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Inspector, I think we’ll go over to Ravensthorpe
+ourselves. I want to see that chauffeur again.
+Something’s occurred to me.”</p>
+
+<p>As the three men walked through the belt of
+woodland Sir Clinton turned to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s one point I’d like to have cleared up. Do
+you know if Maurice had any visitors in the last
+three months or so—people who wanted to see the
+collection?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil reflected for a time before he could recall
+the facts.</p>
+
+<p>“Now you mention it, I remember hearing Maurice
+say something about a fellow—a Yankee—who
+was writing a book on Leonardo. That chap certainly
+came here one day and Maurice showed him the
+stuff. The medallions were what he chiefly wanted
+to look at, of course.”</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t see him?”</p>
+
+<p>“No. None of us saw him except Maurice.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton made no comment; and they walked
+on in silence till they came to the house.
+Inspector Armadale was by this time completely at
+sea.</p>
+
+<p>“Find that chauffeur, Inspector, please; and bring
+him along. I’ve got one or two points which need
+clearing up.”</p>
+
+<p>When the chauffeur arrived it was evident that
+Armadale had not been mistaken when he described
+him as stupid-looking. Information had to be dragged
+out of him by minute questioning.</p>
+
+<p>“Your name’s Brackley, isn’t it?” Sir Clinton
+began.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir. Joe Brackley.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Brackley, don’t be in a hurry with your replies.
+I want you to think carefully. First of all, on
+the day that Mr. Foss was murdered, he ordered you
+to bring the car round to the front door.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir. I was to wait for him if he wasn’t
+there.”</p>
+
+<p>“You pulled up the car here, didn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton indicated the position in front of the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir. It was there or thereabouts.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you put up the hood?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“What possessed you to do that on a sunny day?”</p>
+
+<p>“One of the fastenings was a bit loose and I
+wanted to make it right before going out.”</p>
+
+<p>“You didn’t think of doing that in the garage?”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t notice it, sir, until I’d brought the car
+round. My eye happened to fall on it. And just then
+I saw Mr. Foss going off into the house with some
+people. He didn’t seem in a hurry, so I thought I’d
+just time to make the repair before he came out.”</p>
+
+<p>“You got on to the running-board to reach the
+hood, didn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Which running-board? The one nearest the
+house?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir. The other one.”</p>
+
+<p>“So you could see the front of the house as you
+were working?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see anything—anything whatever—while
+you were at work? You must have raised your
+eyes occasionally.”</p>
+
+<p>“I could see the window opposite me.”</p>
+
+<p>“By and by, I think, Marden, the valet, came up
+and spoke to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir, he did. He’d been going to the post, he
+said, but there had been some mistake or other and
+he’d come back.”</p>
+
+<p>“He left you and went into the house?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“After that, did you see Marden again—I mean
+within, say, twenty minutes or so?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where did you see him, if you can remember?”</p>
+
+<p>“Up there, sir, at that window. He was talking to
+Mr. Foss.”</p>
+
+<p>“When you were up on the running-board, you
+could just see into the room?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“What happened after that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I finished the repair; so I came down off the
+running-board and let down the hood again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Anything else you can remember, Brackley?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. That will do. By the way, Inspector,”
+Sir Clinton turned round, preventing the Inspector
+from making any comments while the chauffeur was
+standing by, “I’d clean forgotten the patrolling of
+the place up yonder. I’ve never found time to go up
+there; but it’s really a bit out of date now. I think
+we can dispense with the patrol after to-night. And
+the same holds for that guard on the museum. There’s
+no need for either of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very good, sir,” Armadale responded,
+mechanically.</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector was engaged in condemning his own
+stupidity. Why had he not seen the possibilities
+involved in that repair of the hood? With the extra
+foot of elevation of course the chauffeur could see
+further into the museum than a man standing on the
+ground. And here was the damning evidence that
+Marden’s story was a lie. And the Inspector had
+missed it. He almost gritted his teeth in vexation as
+he thought of it. The keystone of the case: and the
+Chief Constable had taken it under his nose!</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton turned to Cecil as the chauffeur retired.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall be here about one o’clock in the morning,
+Cecil,” he said, lowering his voice. “I want you to be
+on the watch and let me in without any one getting
+wind of my visit. Can you manage it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Easily enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. I’ll be at the door at one o’clock
+sharp. But remember, it’s an absolutely hush-hush
+affair. There must be no noise of any sort.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll see to that,” Cecil assured him.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton turned to the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I think we’ll go across to where we left my
+car.”</p>
+
+<p>On the way to the police station Sir Clinton’s
+manner did not encourage conversation; but as they
+got out of the car he turned to Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“Map-drawing’s a bit late in the day now, Inspector;
+but we may as well carry on for the sake of
+completeness.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way to his office, took a ruler and
+protractor from his desk, and set to work on a sheet of
+paper.</p>
+
+<p>“Take this point as the museum,” he said. “This
+line represents the beginning of the tunnel. I took
+the bearing that time when I lagged behind you. At
+the next turn—this one here—I made a pretence of
+examining the walls and took the bearing as we
+were standing there. I got the third bearing when I
+asked you to measure the dimensions of the tunnel.
+As it has turned out, secrecy wasn’t really necessary;
+but it seemed just as well to keep the survey to
+ourselves. I got the distances by pacing, except the
+last bit. There I had to estimate it, since we were
+crawling on all fours; but I think I got it near
+enough.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you carried all the figures in your memory?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I’ve a fairly good memory when I’m put
+to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You must have,” said Armadale, frankly.</p>
+
+<p>“Now,” Sir Clinton went on. “By drawing in these
+lines we get the position of that underground room.
+It’s here, you see. The next thing is to find out where
+it lies, relative to the ground surface. I had a fair
+notion; so when I got to the top of the turret I took
+the bearing of the Knight’s Tower. I’ll just rule
+it in. You see the two lines cut quite near the cell.
+My notion is that there’s a second entrance into that
+tunnel from that ruined tower. In the old days it
+may have been a secret road into the outpost tower
+when a siege was going on.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see what you’re getting at now,” Armadale
+interrupted. “You mean that Maurice Chacewater’s body
+was in the cell and that it was shifted from there up
+the other secret passage—the one we didn’t
+see—and left alongside the tower this morning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Something of that sort.”</p>
+
+<p>“And now we’ve got to find who killed Maurice
+Chacewater down there, underground?”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing in that, Inspector. He killed
+himself. It’s a fairly plain case of suicide.”</p>
+
+<p>“But why did he commit suicide?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton appeared suddenly smitten with
+deafness. He ignored the Inspector’s last inquiry
+completely.</p>
+
+<p>“I shall want you to-night, Inspector. Come to
+my house at about half-past twelve. And you had
+better wear rubber-soled boots or tennis shoes if you
+have them. We’ll go up to Ravensthorpe in my car.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re going to arrest Marden, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” was Sir Clinton’s reply, which took the
+Inspector completely aback. “I’m not going to arrest
+anybody. I’m going to show you what Foss was going
+to do with his otophone; that’s all.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch13">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII. <br> The Otophone</h2>
+
+<p>Punctually at half-past twelve the Inspector arrived
+at Sir Clinton’s house. The Chief Constable’s
+first glance was at the feet of his subordinate.</p>
+
+<p>“Tennis shoes? That’s right. Now, Inspector, I
+want you to understand clearly that silence is
+absolutely essential when we get to work. We’ll need to
+take a leaf out of the book of the ‘Pirates of
+Penzance’:</p>
+
+<blockquote class="verse">
+
+  <p class="i1">With cat-like tread</p>
+  <p class="i1">Upon our prey we steal.</p>
+
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>That’s our model, if you please. The car’s outside.
+We’ll go at once.”</p>
+
+<p>As preparations for an important raid, these
+remarks seemed to Armadale hardly adequate; but as
+Sir Clinton showed no desire to amplify them, the
+Inspector was left to puzzle over the immediate
+future without assistance. The hint about the otophone
+had roused his curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>“Foss’s hearing was quite normal,” he said to
+himself, turning the evidence over in his mind. “He
+heard that conversation in the winter-garden quite
+clearly enough. So quite evidently one couldn’t call
+him deaf. And yet he was dragging an otophone
+about with him. I don’t see it.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable pulled up the car in the
+avenue at a considerable distance from the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Change here for Ravensthorpe,” he explained,
+opening the door beside him. “I can’t take the motor
+nearer for fear of the engine’s noise giving us away.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced at the illuminated clock on the
+dashboard.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re in nice time,” he commented. “Come
+along, Inspector; and the less said the better.”</p>
+
+<p>They reached the door of Ravensthorpe exactly at
+one o’clock. Cecil was waiting for them on the
+threshold.</p>
+
+<p>“Switch off those lights,” Sir Clinton said in a
+whisper, pointing to the hall lights which Cecil had
+left burning. “We mustn’t give the show away if we
+can help it. Some one might be looking out of a
+window and be tempted to come down and turn them
+out. You’re supposed to be in bed, aren’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil nodded without speaking, and, crossing the
+hall, he extinguished the lamps. Sir Clinton pulled
+an electric torch from his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a staircase giving access to the servant’s
+quarters, isn’t there?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil confirmed this, and Sir Clinton turned to
+the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Which of your men is on duty at the museum door
+to-night?”</p>
+
+<p>“Froggatt,” the Inspector answered.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll go along to him,” said Sir Clinton. “I want
+you, Cecil, to take the constable and post him at
+the bottom of that stair. Here’s the flash-lamp.”</p>
+
+<p>Froggatt was surprised to see the party.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Froggatt,” the Chief Constable directed.
+“You’re to go with Mr. Chacewater. He’ll show you
+where to stand. All you have to do is to stick to your
+post there until you’re relieved. It’ll only be a matter
+of ten minutes or so. Don’t make the slightest sound
+unless anything goes wrong. Your business is to
+prevent any one getting down the stair. There’ll be
+no trouble. If you see any one, just shout: ‘Who’s
+there?’ That’ll be quite enough.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector and Sir Clinton waited on the
+threshold of the museum until Cecil came back.</p>
+
+<p>“Very convenient having these museum lights on
+all night,” Sir Clinton remarked. “We don’t need
+to muddle about with the flash-lamp. Now just wait
+here for a moment, and don’t speak a word. I’m
+going upstairs.”</p>
+
+<p>He ascended to the first floor, entered Foss’s room
+and picked up the otophone, with which he returned
+to his companions.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we can get to work,” he whispered, leading
+the way into the museum. “Just lock that door
+behind us, Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Followed by the other two he stepped across the
+museum to the bay containing the safe. There he put
+the otophone on the floor and opened the case of the
+instrument. From one compartment he took an
+ear-phone with its head-band. A moment’s search
+revealed the position of the connection, and he plugged
+the ear-phone wire into place in sockets let into the
+outside of the attaché case. A little further examination
+revealed a stud beside the leather handle, and
+this Sir Clinton pressed.</p>
+
+<p>“That should start the thing,” he commented.</p>
+
+<p>He lifted the hinged metal plate slightly
+and peered into the cavity which contained the
+valves.</p>
+
+<p>“That seems all right,” he said, as his eye caught
+the faint glow of the dull emitters.</p>
+
+<p>Shutting down the plate again, the Chief Constable
+put his finger into the compartment from which he
+had taken the ear-phone, pressed a concealed spring,
+and pulled up the floor of the compartment.</p>
+
+<p>“This is the microphone,” he explained, drawing
+out a thick ebonite disk mounted on the false bottom
+of the compartment. “It’s attached to a longish wire
+so that you can take it out and put it on a table while
+the case with the valves and batteries lies on the floor
+out of the way. Now we’ll tune up.”</p>
+
+<p>He brought microphone and ear-phone together,
+when a faint musical note made itself heard. Then he
+handed the microphone to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“Hold that tight against the safe door, Cecil. Get
+the base in contact with the metal of the safe and
+keep the microphone face downwards. It’s essential
+to hold it absolutely steady, for the slightest vibration
+will put me off.”</p>
+
+<p>He fitted on the head-band and moved the two
+tiny levers of the otophone until the adjustment of
+the instrument seemed to satisfy him. Then, very
+cautiously, he began to work the mechanism of the
+combination lock. For some time he seemed unable to
+get what he wanted; but suddenly he made a slight
+gesture of triumph.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s an old pattern, as I thought. There’s no
+balanced fence arbour. This is going to be an easy
+business.”</p>
+
+<p>Easy or not, it took him nearly a quarter of an
+hour to accomplish his task; for at times he obviously
+went astray in the work.</p>
+
+<p>“Try to keep your feet still,” he said. “Every
+movement you make is magnified up to the noise of
+a pocket avalanche.”</p>
+
+<p>At last the thing was done. The safe door swung
+open. Sir Clinton took off the head-band, received
+the microphone from Cecil, and packed it away in
+the case of the otophone along with the ear-phone.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better jot down the number of the combination,
+Cecil,” he suggested. “It’s on the dial at
+present.”</p>
+
+<p>While Cecil was busy with this, the Chief Constable
+switched off the otophone and put it in a place
+of safety.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we’ll see what’s inside the safe,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>He swung the door full open and disclosed a
+cavity more like a strong-room than a safe.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you any idea where the medallions were
+usually kept?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil went over to one of the shelves and searched
+rapidly.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, there are only two of them here!” he
+exclaimed in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>“Hush!” Sir Clinton warned him sharply. “Don’t
+make a row. Have a good look at the things.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil picked up the medallions and scanned them
+minutely. His face showed his amazement as he
+turned from one to another.</p>
+
+<p>“These are the replicas! Where have the genuine
+Leonardos gone?”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind that for the present. Put these things
+back again. I’m going to close the safe. We mustn’t
+risk talking too much here; and the sooner we’re gone
+the better.”</p>
+
+<p>He picked up the otophone and led the way out
+of the museum.</p>
+
+<p>“You might bring Froggatt back to his post here,”
+he said. “We don’t need him at the stair any longer.
+I must go upstairs again for a moment with this
+machine.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil piloted Froggatt back to his original post
+just as the Chief Constable rejoined them.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want to talk here,” Sir Clinton said to
+Cecil. “Get a coat and walk with us down to the
+car. We’ve done our work for the night.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable waited until they were well
+away from the house before beginning his
+explanation.</p>
+
+<p>“That otophone is—as I expect you saw—simply a
+microphone for picking up sound, plus a two-valve
+amplifier for magnifying it. The sounds that reach
+the microphone are amplified by the valves set to
+any extent, within limits, that you like to set it for.
+You can make the crumpling of a piece of paper
+sound like a small thunderstorm if you choose; and
+it’s especially sensitive to clicks and sounds of that
+sort. The mere involuntary shifting of your feet on
+that parquet floor made a lot of disturbance.</p>
+
+<p>“Now in the older type of combination locks, if the
+dial was carefully manipulated, a person with sharp
+hearing might just be able to detect a faint click
+when a tumbler fell into place in the course of a
+circuit; and by making a note of the state of the
+dial corresponding to each click the combination
+could finally be discovered. In the modern patterns
+of locks this has been got round. They’ve introduced
+a thing called a balanced fence arbour, which is lifted
+away from the tumblers as soon as the lock spindle
+is revolved; so in this new pattern there’s no clicking
+such as the older locks give.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see now,” said the Inspector. “That’s an old
+pattern lock; and you were using the otophone to
+magnify the sound of the clicks?”</p>
+
+<p>“Exactly,” Sir Clinton agreed. “It made the thing
+mere child’s play. Each click sounded like a
+whip-crack, almost.”</p>
+
+<p>“So that’s why Foss brought the otophone along?
+He meant to pick the lock of the safe and get the
+medallions out of it?”</p>
+
+<p>“That was one possibility, of course,” Sir Clinton
+said, with a grave face. “But I shouldn’t like to say
+that it was the only possibility.”</p>
+
+<p>He smoked for a few moments in silence, then he
+turned to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I’ve a piece of work for you to do; and I
+want you to do it convincingly. First thing
+to-morrow morning you’re to find some way of spreading
+the news that you’ve recovered all the genuine
+medallions and that they’re in the safe. Don’t
+give any details; but see that the yarn gets well
+abroad.”</p>
+
+<p>“But all the real medallions are gone!” said Cecil
+in disgust. “And whoever’s got them must know
+they’re gone.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s nothing like a good authoritative lie for
+shaking confidence,” Sir Clinton observed, mildly.
+“That’s your share in the business. You’d better
+mention it at breakfast time to as many people as
+you can; and you can telephone the glad news to
+me, with the door of the telephone box open so that
+any one can hear it. Yell as loud as you please, or
+louder if possible. It won’t hurt me at the other end.
+In any case, see that the happy tidings wash the
+most distant shores.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, since you say so, I’ll do it. But it’s sure to
+be found out, you know, sooner or later.”</p>
+
+<p>“All I want is a single day’s run of it. My impression
+is that, if things go well, I’ll have the whole
+Ravensthorpe affair cleared up by this time
+to-morrow. But I don’t promise that as a certainty.”</p>
+
+<p>“And this yarn is part of your scheme?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m setting a trap,” Sir Clinton assured them.
+“And that lie is the bait I’m offering.”</p>
+
+<p>As they reached the car, he added:</p>
+
+<p>“See that your constable doesn’t say a word about
+this affair to-night—to any one. That’s important,
+Inspector.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch14">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV. <br> The Second Chase in the Woods</h2>
+
+<p>“I’ve made all the necessary arrangements, sir,”
+Inspector Armadale reported to the Chief Constable
+on the following evening. “A dozen constables—two
+with rubber-soled shoes—and a couple of
+sergeants. They’re to be at the Ravensthorpe gate
+immediately it’s dark enough. The sergeants have the
+instructions; the constables don’t even know where
+they’re going when they leave here.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s correct,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “Let’s see.
+That’s fourteen altogether. Less two, twelve. Plus
+you and myself, fourteen. I think we’ll add to our
+number. Nothing like being on the safe side. Mr.
+Chacewater’s personally interested in the affair; I
+think we’ll take him in also. And Mr. Clifton might
+reasonably claim some share in the business. That
+makes sixteen. You’re detaching two constables to
+watch that lakelet. Well, surely fourteen of us ought
+to be able to pick up the scoundrel without
+difficulty.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re sure that he’ll make for the terrace over
+the pool, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing’s sure in this world, Inspector. But I
+think there’s a fair chance that he’ll make in that
+direction. And if he doesn’t, why, then, we can run
+him down wherever he goes.”</p>
+
+<p>“If he goes up there, we’ll have him,” the Inspector
+affirmed. “There’ll be no amateur bungling this
+time, like the last affair. I’ll see to that myself. He
+won’t slip through a constabulary cordon as he did
+when he’d only a lot of excited youngsters to deal
+with.”</p>
+
+<p>“I leave that part of the business entirely in your
+hands, Inspector,” the Chief Constable assured him.</p>
+
+<p>“What I can’t see,” the Inspector continued, with
+a faint querulousness in his tone, “is why you’re
+going about the thing in this elaborate way. Why not
+arrest him straight off and be done with it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because there’s one little party you’ve omitted
+to take into your calculations, Inspector—and that’s
+the jury. Suspicion’s not good enough for us at this
+stage. Criminal trials aren’t conducted on romantic
+lines. Everything’s got to be proved up to the hilt.
+Frankly, in this case, you’ve been scattering your
+suspicions over a fairly wide field, haven’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s our business to be suspicious of everybody,”
+the Inspector pleaded in extenuation.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, within limits, within limits, Inspector. You
+started by suspecting Foxton Polegate; then you
+branched off to Marden; after that you hovered a bit
+round Maurice Chacewater; and at the end you were
+hot on Cecil Chacewater’s heels. There’s too much
+of the smart reader of detective stories about that.
+He suspects about six of the characters without having
+any real proof at all; and then when the criminal
+turns up clearly in the last chapter he says: ‘Well,
+that fellow was on my list of suspects.’ That style
+of thing’s no use in real criminal work, where you’ve
+got to produce evidence and not merely some vague
+suspicions.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re a bit hard, sir,” the Inspector protested.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you criticized my methods, remember. If
+I were to arrest the fellow just now, I doubt if I
+could convince a jury of his guilt. And they’d be
+quite right. It’s their business to be sceptical and
+insist on definite proof. It’s that proof that I expect
+to get out of to-night’s work.”</p>
+
+<p>“It will be very instructive for me, sir,” Inspector
+Armadale commented, with heavy irony.</p>
+
+<p>“You take things too seriously,” Sir Clinton retorted,
+with an evident double meaning in the phrase.
+“What you need, Inspector, is a touch of fantasy.
+You’ll get a taste of it to-night, perhaps, unless my
+calculations go far astray. Now I’m going to ring
+up Mr. Chacewater and make arrangements for
+to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>And with that he dismissed the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>Armadale retired with a grave face; but when he
+closed the door behind him his expression changed
+considerably.</p>
+
+<p>“There he was, pulling my leg again, confound
+him!” he reflected. “A touch of fantasy, indeed!
+What’s he getting at now? And the worst of it is I
+haven’t got to the bottom of the business yet myself.
+He’s been quite straight in giving me all the facts.
+I’m sure of that. But they seem to me just a jumble.
+They don’t fit together anyhow. And yet he’s not the
+bluffing kind; he’s got it all fixed up in his mind;
+I’m sure of that, whether he’s right or wrong. Well,
+we’ll see before many hours are over.”</p>
+
+<p>And with reflections like these Inspector Armadale
+had to content himself until nightfall.</p>
+
+<p>As they drove up to the Ravensthorpe gates the
+Inspector found Sir Clinton in one of his
+uncommunicative moods. He seemed abstracted, and even,
+as the Inspector noted with faint malice, a little
+anxious about the business before them. When they
+reached the gates they found the constabulary squad
+awaiting them. Sir Clinton got out of the car, after
+running it a little way up the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, the first thing you’ve got to remember,” he
+said, addressing the squad, “is that in no circumstances
+are you to make the slightest noise until you
+hear my second whistle. You know what you’re to
+do? Get up behind the house at the end opposite to
+the servants’ wing and stay there till you get my
+signal. Then you’re to come out and chase the man
+whom the Inspector will show you. You’re not to try
+to catch him. Keep a hundred yards behind him all
+the time; but don’t lose sight of him. The Inspector
+will give you instructions after you’ve chased for a
+while. Now which of you are the two with tennis
+shoes?”</p>
+
+<p>Two constables stepped out of the ranks. Sir
+Clinton took them aside and gave them some special
+instructions.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, you’d better get to your places,” he said,
+turning to the squad again. “Remember, not a sound.
+I’m afraid you’ll have a long wait, but we must take
+things as they come.”</p>
+
+<p>As the squad was led off into the night, he moved
+over to where the Inspector was standing.</p>
+
+<p>“I want something out of the car,” he said. The
+Inspector followed him and waited while Sir Clinton
+switched off the headlights and the tail lamp. The
+Chief Constable felt in a locker and handed
+something to Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“A pair of night-glasses, Inspector. You’ll need
+them. And that’s the lot. We’d better get to our
+position. There’s no saying when the fellow may
+begin his work.”</p>
+
+<p>Rather to the mystification of the Inspector, Sir
+Clinton struck across the grass instead of following
+the avenue up to the house. After a fairly long walk
+they halted under a large tree.</p>
+
+<p>“A touch of fantasy was what I recommended to
+you, Inspector. I think a little tree-climbing is
+indicated. Sling these glasses round your neck as I’m
+doing and follow on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite mad!” was the Inspector’s involuntary
+comment to himself. “I suppose, once we get up
+there, he’ll come down again and tell me I needed
+exercise.”</p>
+
+<p>He followed the Chief Constable, however; and
+was at last directed to a branch on which he could
+find a safe seat.</p>
+
+<p>“Think I’m demented, Inspector?” Sir Clinton
+demanded with the accuracy of a thought-reader. “It’s
+not quite so bad as that, you’ll be glad to hear. Turn
+your glasses through that rift in the leaves. I was
+at special pains to cut it yesterday evening, in
+preparation for you. What do you see?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector focused his glasses and scanned the
+scene visible through the fissure in the foliage.</p>
+
+<p>“The front of Ravensthorpe,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Some windows?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, one of them’s the window of the museum;
+and this happens to be one of the few points from
+which you can see right into the room. If the lights
+were on there, you’d find that we’re looking squarely
+on to the door of the safe.”</p>
+
+<p>With this help the Inspector was able to pick out
+the window which evidently he was expected to
+watch.</p>
+
+<p>“It’ll be a slow business,” Sir Clinton said in a
+bored tone. “But one of us has got to keep an eye
+on that window for the next hour or two at least.
+We can take it in turn.”</p>
+
+<p>They settled down to their vigil, which proved to
+be a prolonged one. The Inspector found his
+perch upon the branch anything but comfortable;
+and it grew more wearisome as the time slipped
+past.</p>
+
+<p>“Fantasy!” he commented bitterly to himself as
+he shifted his position for the twentieth time.
+“Cramp’s more likely.”</p>
+
+<p>But at last their tenacity was rewarded. It was
+during one of the Inspector’s spells of watching.
+Suddenly the dark rectangle of the window flashed into
+momentary illumination and faded again.</p>
+
+<p>“There he is!” exclaimed the Inspector. “He’s
+carrying a flash-lamp.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton lifted his glasses and examined the
+place in his turn.</p>
+
+<p>“I can see him moving about in the room,” the
+Inspector reported excitedly. “Now he’s going over
+towards the safe. Can you see him, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fairly well. What do you make of him?”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector studied his quarry intently for a
+while.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the otophone, isn’t it, sir? I can’t see his
+face; it seems as if he’d blackened it. . . . No, he’s
+wearing a big mask. It looks like . . .”</p>
+
+<p>His voice rose sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Marden! I recognize that water-proof of
+his; I could swear to it anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s quite correct, Inspector. Now I think
+we’ll get down from this tree as quick as we can
+and I’ll blow my whistle. That ought to startle him.
+And I’ve arranged for that to be the signal for a
+considerable amount of noise in the house, which
+ought to give the effect we want.”</p>
+
+<p>He slipped lightly down the branches, waited for
+the slower-moving Inspector, and then blew a single
+shrill blast on his whistle.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s roused them,” he said, with satisfaction,
+as some lights flashed up in windows on the front
+of Ravensthorpe. “I guess that amount of stir
+about the place will flush our friend without any
+trouble.”</p>
+
+<p>He gazed through his glasses at the main door.</p>
+
+<p>“There he goes, Inspector!”</p>
+
+<p>A dark figure emerged suddenly on the threshold,
+hesitated for a moment, and then ran down the steps.
+Armadale instinctively started forward; but the cool
+voice of the Chief Constable recalled him.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no hurry, Inspector! You’d better hang
+your glasses on the tree here. They’ll only hamper
+you in running.”</p>
+
+<p>Hurriedly the Inspector obeyed; and Sir Clinton
+leisurely hung up his own pair. Armadale turned
+again and followed the burglar with his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s making for the old quarry, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“So I see,” Sir Clinton assured him. “I want the
+fellow to have a good start, remember. I don’t wish
+him to be pressed. Now we may as well get the chase
+organized.”</p>
+
+<p>Followed by the Inspector, he hurried towards the
+front of Ravensthorpe.</p>
+
+<p>“I think that’s a fair start to give him,” he
+estimated aloud. Then, lifting his whistle, he blew a
+second blast.</p>
+
+<p>Almost immediately the figures of Cecil Chacewater
+and Michael Clifton emerged from the main
+door, while a few seconds later the police squad
+rounded the corner of the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Carry on, Inspector!” Sir Clinton advised. “I
+leave the rest of the round-up to you. But keep
+exactly to what I told you.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale hurried off, and within a few seconds the
+chase had been set afoot.</p>
+
+<p>“We must see if we can wipe your eye this time,
+Mr. Clifton,” the Chief Constable observed. “It’s
+a run over the old ground, you notice.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton nodded in answer.</p>
+
+<p>“If you’d let me run him down I’d be obliged to
+you,” he suggested. “You’ve given him a longish
+start, certainly; but I think I could pull him in.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton made a gesture of dissent.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no. We must give him a run for his money.
+Besides, it wouldn’t suit my book to have him run
+down too early in the game.”</p>
+
+<p>The fugitive had reached the edge of the pine-wood
+as they were speaking, and now he disappeared from
+their sight among the arcades of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>“The moon will be down in no time,” Cecil pointed
+out as they ran. “Aren’t you taking the risk of losing
+him up in the woods there? It’ll be pretty dark under
+the trees.”</p>
+
+<p>He quickened his pace slightly in his eagerness;
+but the Chief Constable restrained him.</p>
+
+<p>“Leave it to Armadale. It’s his affair. We’re only
+spectators, really.”</p>
+
+<p>“I want the beggar caught,” Cecil grumbled, but
+he obeyed Sir Clinton’s orders and slowed down
+slightly.</p>
+
+<p>A few seconds brought them to the fringe of the
+wood; and far ahead of them they could see the form
+of the burglar running steadily up the track.</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same as before?” Sir Clinton demanded
+from Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same.”</p>
+
+<p>Through the wood they went behind the police
+squad. At the brow of the hill, where the trees began
+to thin, Armadale called a halt. They could hear
+him giving orders for the formation of his cordon.
+When his men began to move off under his directions
+the Inspector came over to Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll not slip through our hands this time, sir.
+I’ll beat every bit of cover in that spinney. He can’t
+get away on either side without being spotted. We’ll
+get our hands on him in a few minutes now. I
+suppose he’s armed?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I should doubt that.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector failed to conceal his surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Not armed? He’s sure to be.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll see in a minute or two,” the Chief Constable
+answered. “You’d better get your beaters to
+work, hadn’t you? . . . Ah!”</p>
+
+<p>In the silence they heard the sound of a faint
+splash from the direction of the quarry.</p>
+
+<p>“History’s repeating itself pretty accurately, isn’t
+it?” said Sir Clinton, turning to Michael. “That’s
+the kind of thing you heard the other night?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same,” Michael admitted.</p>
+
+<p>But as the line of constables moved forward he
+could not help contrasting their methodical work with
+the rather haphazard doings of the pursuers on the
+earlier occasion. Armadale had evidently issued
+stringent orders, for not a tuft of undergrowth was
+left unexamined as the line slowly closed in upon
+the hunted man. Every possible piece of cover was
+scrutinized and beaten before the cordon passed
+beyond it.</p>
+
+<p>“Very pretty,” Sir Clinton commented, as they
+moved up in the rear of the line. “The Inspector
+must surely have been training these fellows. They
+really do the business excellently.”</p>
+
+<p>Michael suddenly left the path they were following
+and stepped across under the trees.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to have a look at that Fairy House
+myself,” he declared. “That’s where I found Maurice
+after the last show. I want to be perfectly certain
+that it’s empty.”</p>
+
+<p>He opened the door, leaned inside the building, and
+then came back to his companions. Something like
+disappointment was visible in his expression. He was
+taken aback to see glances of sardonic amusement
+exchanged between Cecil and the Chief Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“Drawn blank, have you?” Cecil inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s no one there at present,” Michael
+admitted.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think the constables would have missed a
+plain thing like that,” Sir Clinton remarked mildly,
+though with a faint undertone of correction in his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>Before Michael had time to reply they heard
+Armadale’s voice. The cordon had passed completely
+through the spinney and was now on the edge of the
+marble terrace.</p>
+
+<p>“Come along,” Sir Clinton urged. “We mustn’t
+miss the final scene.”</p>
+
+<p>They hurriedly joined the line just as Armadale
+ordered a last advance.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s somewhere on this terrace,” he told his men.
+“See that he doesn’t break away from you at the last
+moment.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton turned to Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“Just the same as before?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael made a gesture of assent.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll admit that this is more businesslike.”</p>
+
+<p>The Constabulary line crept forward almost foot
+by foot, subjecting every one of the marble seats to
+the most rigid scrutiny. Inspector Armadale’s anxiety
+was more and more apparent as the cordon advanced
+without securing the man for whom they were searching.
+At last the whole of the possible cover had been
+beaten, and the constables emerged on the open
+terrace. The fugitive had vanished, apparently, into
+thin air.</p>
+
+<p>Michael Clifton turned to the Chief Constable with
+an ironical smile.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Just</em> the same as last time, it seems. How history
+repeats itself!”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector hurried across the terrace to where
+they were standing. It was obvious that he was
+completely staggered by the turn of events.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s got away, sir,” he reported in a mortified
+voice. “I can’t think how he’s managed it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think we’ll repeat that last stage again,
+Inspector, if you don’t mind. Withdraw your men till
+they’re just in front of that last line of seats.”</p>
+
+<p>While the Inspector was giving his orders Sir Clinton
+pulled his case from his pocket, opened it, and
+thoughtfully tapped a cigarette on the lid. Before
+lighting it he threw a glance up and down the empty
+spaces of the terrace from which the fugitive had so
+mysteriously vanished.</p>
+
+<p>“All plain and above board, isn’t it?” he said,
+turning to his two companions. “I’ve got nothing in
+my hands except a cigarette, and you can search my
+sleeves if you like. It is required, as Euclid would
+say, to produce a full-sized burglar for the
+satisfaction of the audience. It’s a stiff job.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced again over the wide white pavement of
+the terrace.</p>
+
+<p>“A conjurer’s usually allowed a little patter, isn’t
+he? The quickness of the tongue distracts the eye,
+and all that. Just a question, then. Do you happen
+to remember what Medusa was able to do? Turned
+things into stone when she looked at them, didn’t
+she? That somehow brings the late Pygmalion to my
+mind—a kind of association of opposites, in a way,
+I suppose. But I’ve often wondered what Pygmalion
+felt like when the statue came to life.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned sharply on his heel.</p>
+
+<p>“You can come down off that pedestal, my friend.
+The game’s up!”</p>
+
+<p>To the amazement of the group around him, the
+white marble statue above him started suddenly into
+life. It leapt down from its base on to the pavement
+of the terrace, staggered as it alighted, and then, as
+Cecil and Michael grasped at its smooth sides, it
+shook itself clear and sprang upon the broad marble
+balustrade.</p>
+
+<p>“Come back, you fool!” Sir Clinton snapped, as
+the figure faced outward to the gulf below.</p>
+
+<p>But instead of halting, the white form gathered
+itself together for an instant and then dived
+headlong into the abyss. There was the sound of a
+splash; and an appalling cry came up through the
+night.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton dashed to the rail.</p>
+
+<p>“Below, there! Get out on that raft at once and
+pick him up. He’s badly hurt. He’ll drown if you
+don’t hurry.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector hurried forward.</p>
+
+<p>“Why didn’t you warn us, sir? We’d have had
+Marden as easy as anything. If you’d only told us
+what to expect.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton looked round.</p>
+
+<p>“Marden? That’s not Marden. I tell you, Inspector,
+if that jump of his meant anything, it
+suggests that there’s no Marden at all.”</p>
+
+<p>The Inspector’s amazement overbore his
+chagrin.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t understand . . .” he began.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind. I’ll explain later. Get away down
+to the water-side at once. See if he’s badly damaged.
+Quick, now.”</p>
+
+<p>As the Inspector hurried off, the Chief Constable
+turned to Michael Clifton.</p>
+
+<p>“History doesn’t always repeat itself exactly, you
+see.”</p>
+
+<p>He pulled out a match-box and lit his cigarette in
+a leisurely fashion. Then, throwing away the vesta,
+he inquired:</p>
+
+<p>“You see now how he got away from you last
+time?”</p>
+
+<p>Michael made no reply. He was examining the
+pedestal from which the living statue had taken its
+flight; and he could see the scores and cuts left by
+the chisel which had smoothed the standing-place of
+the original marble figure. Quite obviously, on the
+night of the masked ball, the same trick had been
+played; and while the pursuers were searching all
+around, the fugitive had stood rigid above them,
+unsuspected by any one.</p>
+
+<p>Cecil turned to the Chief Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“Aren’t you going down to see if something can’t
+be done for the poor devil? He must have come a
+fearful smash on the rocks.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor devil?” Sir Clinton retorted. “That’s not a
+poor devil. That’s a wild beast, if you’re anxious for
+information. But if you’re a member of the Society
+for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I suppose
+we’d better see that things are done decently and in
+order. We’ll go down, if you’re perturbed about him.”</p>
+
+<p>It took them some little time to descend to the level
+of the lakelet. They could see, as they went down,
+the process of rescue; and when they reached the
+water-side, they found two constables stooping over
+a limp white figure, beside which the Inspector knelt
+solicitously. As the newcomers approached,
+Armadale rose and stepped over to them.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s done for, sir,” he reported in a low voice to
+Sir Clinton. “His pelvis is smashed and I think his
+spine must have gone as well. He’s paralysed below
+the waist. I doubt if he’ll last long. It was a fearful
+smash.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil crossed over and peered down at the face of
+the dying man. For a moment he failed to recognize
+him; for the white grease-paint disguised the natural
+appearance of the features: but a closer scrutiny
+revealed the identity of the living statue.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, it’s the chauffeur!”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” was all that Sir Clinton thought it
+worth while to say.</p>
+
+<p>Armadale brought something up from the
+water-side.</p>
+
+<p>“Here’s the waterproof he was wearing, sir. It’s
+Marden’s, just as I told you when I saw him in the
+museum to-night. When he flung it over the edge
+of the cliff as we were coming up, it landed on a
+broad bit of rock instead of sinking like the Pierrot
+costume, the other night.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton was silent for a moment. His glance
+wandered to the broken, white-clad figure on the
+ground, but no pity showed on his face. Then he
+turned back to Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>“See if you can get a confession out of him,
+Inspector. He won’t live long at the best; and he might
+as well tell what he can. We can’t hang him now,
+unfortunately; and he may as well save us some
+trouble in piecing things together. For one thing, he’s
+got a bag or a suit-case lying around somewhere
+in the neighbourhood with a suit of clothes in it.
+You’d better find out where that is, and save us the
+bother of hunting for it. If you manage to get
+anything out of him, take it down and get it witnessed.
+Bring it down to Ravensthorpe at once.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused, then added as if by an after-thought:</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better search these tights that he’s wearing.
+There ought to be five of the medallions
+concealed about him somewhere. Get them for me.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to Cecil and Michael.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll go back now to Ravensthorpe. Unless I’m
+far astray in my deductions, there’s been another
+murder there; and we must keep the girls from
+hearing about it, if we can.”</p>
+
+<p>As they walked through the pine-wood, Sir Clinton
+maintained a complete taciturnity, and neither
+of the others cared to break in on his silence. His
+last words had shown that ahead of them might lie
+yet another of the Ravensthorpe tragedies, and the
+shadow of it lay across their minds. It was not until
+they were approaching the house that the Chief
+Constable spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve spun that yarn I gave you to the girls?”</p>
+
+<p>“They know there was some stunt afoot,” said
+Cecil, “but they were to keep out of the way, in their
+rooms, until we were clear of the house.”</p>
+
+<p>“One had to tell them something,” Sir Clinton
+answered. “If one hadn’t, they’d have been pretty
+uncomfortable when all that racket started. You
+managed to scare him out very neatly with the row
+you raised when I blew my whistle.”</p>
+
+<p>“The girls are sitting up, waiting for us,” Cecil
+explained. “They said they’d have coffee ready when
+we came back.”</p>
+
+<p>“The deuce they did!”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton was obviously put out.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d been counting on their going back to bed
+again. Then we could have got Marden’s body away
+quietly—if he’s been murdered, as I think he has.
+There’s no use upsetting people if you can avoid it.
+Ravensthorpe’s had its fill of sensations lately and
+there’s no need to add another to-night.”</p>
+
+<p>He reflected as he walked on, and at last he seemed
+to hit on an expedient to suit the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>“The bottom’s out of this case now,” he said, at
+last. “There’ll be no trial; so there’s no need for
+any more secrecy, so far as I can see. I’ll be giving
+nothing away that I shouldn’t, at this stage of the
+game.”</p>
+
+<p>He threw away the end of his cigarette and looked
+up at the bulk of Ravensthorpe before them. Here
+and there on the dark front the yellow oblong of a
+window shone out in the night.</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose I spin them a yarn,” Sir Clinton went on.
+“I can keep them up until dawn with it. After that,
+they’ll sleep sound enough; and while they’re asleep,
+we’ll get Marden’s body away in peace and comfort.
+It’ll spare them the shock of finding another corpse
+on the premises; and that’s always something
+gained.”</p>
+
+<p>When they reached Ravensthorpe, Sir Clinton
+turned to Cecil.</p>
+
+<p>“You’d better go and close the safe in the museum.
+No use leaving things like that open any longer than’s
+necessary. I must go up to Marden’s room now. I’ll
+be back again in a minute or two.”</p>
+
+<p>Ascending the servants’ staircase, Sir Clinton made
+his way to the valet’s room. The door was locked;
+but when Sir Clinton tapped gently, a constable
+opened it and looked out. At the sight of the Chief
+Constable, he stood aside.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s been murdered, sir,” the man explained in a
+whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“I guessed it might be that,” Sir Clinton returned.</p>
+
+<p>“Whoever did it must have chloroformed him
+first,” the constable went on. “There was a pad of
+cotton-wool over his face; and his throat’s cut.”</p>
+
+<p>The Chief Constable nodded in comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>“That would prevent any sounds,” he said.
+“Brackley was a first-class planner, there’s no
+doubt.”</p>
+
+<p>The constable continued his explanation.</p>
+
+<p>“We came up here as you told us, sir; and when
+we heard your whistle we slipped into the room,
+expecting to arrest him according to your orders. But
+he was dead by that time. It was quite clear that
+he’d been murdered only a short time before. Your
+orders didn’t cover the case, so we thought the best
+thing to do was to lock the door and wait till you
+came back. You’d said we were to keep him here till
+your return, anyhow; so that seemed to be the best
+course.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite correct,” Sir Clinton commended them.
+“You couldn’t have done better. Now you’ll need to
+wait here till morning. Keep the door locked, and
+don’t let any word of this affair get abroad. I’ll see
+about removing the body in due course. Until then,
+I don’t want any alarm on the subject.”</p>
+
+<p>He stepped across the room, examined the body on
+the bed, and then, with a nod to the constables, he
+went downstairs once more.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter" id="ch15">
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XV. <br> Sir Clinton’s Solution</h2>
+
+<p>“It’s a pleasure to meet Sir Clinton again,” Joan
+observed when they had finished their coffee. “For
+the last ten days or so, I’ve been dealing with a man
+they call the Chief Constable. I don’t much care
+for him. These beetle-browed officials are not my
+sort. Too stiff and overbearing for me, altogether.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton laughed at the hit.</p>
+
+<p>“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve invited one of your aversions
+to join us. In fact, I think I hear him at the
+door now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Inspector Armadale?” Joan demanded. “Well,
+I’ve nothing against him. You never let him get a
+word in edgeways at our interviews. Grasping, I
+call it.”</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and the Inspector was ushered
+in. As he entered, a glance passed between him and
+Sir Clinton. In reply, Armadale made a furtive
+gesture which escaped the rest of the company.</p>
+
+<p>“Passed in his checks,” Sir Clinton interpreted it
+to himself. “That clears the road.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan poured out coffee for the Inspector and then
+turned to the Chief Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“Cecil promised that you’d tell us all about everything.
+Don’t linger over it. We’re all in quite good
+listening form and we look to you not to be boring.
+Proceed.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton refused to be disconcerted.</p>
+
+<p>“Inspector Armadale’s the last authority on the
+subject,” he remarked. “He’s got the confession of
+the master mind in his pocket. I haven’t seen it yet.
+Suppose I give you my account of things, and the
+Inspector will check it for us where necessary? That
+seems a fair division of labour.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very fair,” Una Rainhill put in. “Now, Joan, be
+quiet and let’s get on with the tale.”</p>
+
+<p>“Before the curtain goes up,” Sir Clinton
+suggested, “you’d better read your programmes. First
+of all you find the name of Thomas Pailton, <i>alias</i>
+Cocoa Tom, <i>alias</i>, J. B. Foss, <i>alias</i> The Wizard of
+Woz: a retired conjurer, gaolbird, confidence-trick
+sharp, etc. As I read his psychology, he was rather a
+weak character and not over straight even in dealing
+with his equals. In the present play, he was acting
+under the orders of a gentleman of much tougher
+fibre.</p>
+
+<p>“The next name on the programme is Thomas
+Marden. The police have no records of his early
+doings, but I suspect that Mr. Marden had cause to
+bless his luck in this respect, rather than his honesty.
+I’m sure he wasn’t a prentice hand. As to his
+character, I believe he was rather a violent person when
+roused, and he had a deplorable lack of control over
+a rather bad temper.</p>
+
+<p>“The third name is . . . ?”</p>
+
+<p>“Stephen Racks,” the Inspector supplied in answer
+to Sir Clinton’s glance of inquiry.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Alias</i> Joe Brackley,” Sir Clinton continued. “I
+think we’ll call him Brackley, since that was the
+name you knew him by, if you knew him at all. He
+was nominally Foss’s chauffeur. Actually, I think, he
+was the brain of the gang and did the planning for
+them.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s correct,” the Inspector interpolated.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Brackley, I think, was the most deliberately
+unscrupulous of them all,” Sir Clinton continued. “A
+really dangerous person who would stick at nothing
+to get what he wanted or to cover his tracks.</p>
+
+<p>“Then, last of all, there’s a Mr. Blank, whose
+name I do not know, but who at present is under
+arrest in America for forging the name of Mr.
+Kessock the millionaire. He was employed by Mr.
+Kessock in some capacity or other which gave him
+access to Mr. Kessock’s correspondence. I’ve no
+details on that point as yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“This is the kind of stuff I always skip when I’m
+reading a detective story,” complained Joan. “Can’t
+you get along to something interesting soon?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re like the Bellman in the ‘Hunting of the
+Snark,’ Joan. ‘Oh, skip your dear uncle!’ Well, I
+skip, as you desire it. I’ll merely mention in passing
+that an American tourist came here a while ago and
+asked to see the Leonardo medallions, because he
+was writing a book on Leonardo. He, I believe, was
+Mr. Blank from America; and his job was to see the
+safe in the museum and note its pattern.</p>
+
+<p>“I must skip again; and now we reach the night of
+the robbery in the museum. You know what happened
+then. Mr. Foss came to me with his tale about
+overhearing some of you planning a practical joke.
+His story was true enough, I’ve no doubt; but it set
+me thinking at once. I may not have shown it, Joan,
+but I quite agreed with you about his methods. It
+seemed a funny business to come straight to the
+police over a thing of that sort. Of course he had his
+reason ready; but it didn’t ring quite true, somehow.
+I might have put it down to tactlessness, if it hadn’t
+suggested something else to my mind.</p>
+
+<p>“That pistol-shot which smashed the lamp was too
+neatly timed for my taste. It was fired by some one
+who knew precisely when the keeper was going to
+be gripped, and it was fired just in time to get ahead
+of Foxton Polegate in the raid on the show-case.
+That meant, if it meant anything, that the man who
+fired the shot was a person who knew of the practical
+joke. But on the face of it, Foss was the only person
+who knew about the joke, bar the jokers themselves.
+So naturally I began to suspect Foss of having a
+hand in the business. It was the usual mistake of the
+criminal—trying to be too clever and throw suspicion
+on to some one else.</p>
+
+<p>“Now Foss wasn’t the man in white, obviously;
+for he came to see me while the man-hunt was still
+in full cry. So at that stage in the business I was
+fairly certain that at least two people were in the
+game: Foss and some one else, who was the man in
+white. That looked like either the valet or the
+chauffeur, since they were the only people I knew about
+who were directly associated with Foss while he was
+here. But this incognito business at the masked ball
+had made it possible for outsiders to come in
+unrecognized; so the man in white might be a
+confederate quite outside our range of knowledge. One
+couldn’t assume that either Marden or Brackley was
+in the show at all.</p>
+
+<p>“I learned, later on, that Foss had synchronized
+his watch with yours, Cecil; and that, of course,
+made it pretty plain that he was in the game. There
+was also another bit of evidence which suggested
+something. If either the valet or the chauffeur was
+the confederate, then they could easily enough have
+found out from the servants what costume Maurice
+meant to wear that night—a few questions to his
+valet would have got the information—and they
+could have chosen the Pierrot costume for their own
+runner in order to confuse things. That suggested
+that Foss’s servants might be in the business; but it
+proved nothing really. The white Pierrot costume
+was chosen mainly for its conspicuousness, I’m sure.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I come to the disappearance of the man in
+white.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank goodness!” Joan commented. “It gets
+more interesting as it goes on, doesn’t it? That’s
+something to be thankful for.”</p>
+
+<p>“One does one’s best,” Sir Clinton retorted,
+unperturbed. “Now the vanishing of that fellow could
+be accounted for in various ways, so far as I could
+see. First of all, he might have slipped down the rope
+into the little lake. That was what the rope was meant
+to suggest, obviously. But unfortunately one of the
+hunters had the wit to keep an eye on the lake; and
+it was pretty clear the man in white didn’t go that
+way. Then there was the possibility of his being
+concealed in the cave; but that was ruled out by the
+search of the cave. Thirdly, the gang might have hit
+on the opening of one of the secret passages of
+Ravensthorpe. Candidly, I ruled that out also. It
+seemed next door to impossible. But if you exclude
+all these ways, then there seem to be only two
+possibilities left. The first of these depends on the man
+in white having a confederate in the cordon who let
+him slip through. But the chance of a slip-through
+of that sort escaping the notice of the rest of the
+hunters seemed very small. It seemed to me too risky
+a business for them to have tried.</p>
+
+<p>“The final possibility was that the fugitive disguised
+himself as something else. Well, what disguise
+would be the best? It’s a question of camouflage, and
+they had only a few seconds to do the camouflaging.
+You can’t dress up as a drain-pipe or a garden-seat
+in a couple of seconds. So we come down to something
+that’s human in shape but isn’t really human.
+In a garden, you might pretend to be a scarecrow;
+but up on that terrace a scarecrow was out of the
+question. And then I remembered the statues.</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose somebody had gone up there in the evening
+and had chiselled one of the statues off its base.
+The broken marble could be heaved over into the
+little lake and the bare pedestal would be left for the
+fugitive.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ought to have thought of that,” Michael interjected.
+“It’s so obvious when you think of it. But I
+didn’t think of anything like that at the time.”</p>
+
+<p>“My impression then,” Sir Clinton continued, “was
+that the man in white had white tights on under his
+Pierrot dress. His face and hands were whitened,
+also; so that as soon as he stripped off his jacket and
+trousers, he was sufficiently statuelike to pass muster
+in that light. His eyes would have given him away in
+daylight; but under the moon he’d only got to shut
+them and you’d hardly notice his whitened eyelashes.
+In the few moments that you left him, while the
+cordon was being formed, he took off his Pierrot
+things, wrapped them round the weight he’d used in
+breaking the case’s glass, and pitched the lot over
+the balustrade. That would account for the splash
+that was heard.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton paused to light a cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>“That theory seemed to fit most of the evidence, as
+you see. It explained why they’d chosen that
+particular place for the disappearing trick; and it
+accounted for the splash as well. Further, it suggested
+that there was a third man in the gang: the man who
+smashed down the real statue. They’d leave that bit
+of work to the last moment for fear of the damage
+being seen accidentally beforehand. Now Foss was
+at the masked ball, so it wasn’t he. The man in white
+might need all his powers in that race, so it was
+unlikely that he’d been up there on a heavy bit of
+manual labour just then, for the shifting of that
+statue, even in pieces, can have been no light affair.
+That suggested the use of a third confederate. But
+I’m no wild enthusiast for theories. I simply noted
+the coincidence that this theory demanded three men
+and that Foss’s party contained three men: himself,
+the valet, and the chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, for reasons which I’ll give you immediately,
+it seemed likely that this affair was only a first step in
+a more complicated plan. On the spur of the moment,
+I decided it was worth while taking a hand. So I got
+a patrol set round the spinney and issued orders that
+no one was to go up to the terrace until I’d been over
+the ground. I took good care that every one knew
+about this; and I took equally good care not to go
+there myself. I rather advertised the thing, in fact.
+That was to assure the fellows that no one had seen
+the empty pedestal. They were pretty certain to rout
+about for information; and they’d hear on all sides
+that no one had been up to the terrace. That left the
+thing open for them to try again if they wanted to.</p>
+
+<p>“Another thing confirmed my notions. When the
+Inspector was dragging the lake, he got a largish
+piece of marble out of it. That fitted in with the view
+that the broken statue was down in the water in
+fragments, hidden by the weeds. It all fitted fairly well,
+you see.</p>
+
+<p>“Then came another bit of evidence—two bits, in
+fact. The village drunkard put abroad some yarn
+about seeing a White Man in the woods; and a little
+girl saw a Black Man. That might have been mere
+fancy. Or it might have been true enough. When
+the hunters had gone, the pseudo-statue would come
+down off his pedestal. Suppose he wandered off into
+the wood and was seen by old Groby. There’s your
+White Man. But he couldn’t possibly get back to the
+house in white tights. He’d want to get in as quietly
+as possible. What about a set of black tights under
+the white ones? When he took off the white ones,
+he’d be next door to invisible among shadows; and
+he’d be able to sneak in through a window in the
+servants’ wing—in the shadow of the house—fairly
+inconspicuously. Perhaps that’s how it happened.”</p>
+
+<p>“That was it,” the Inspector confirmed, looking up
+from a sheet of paper which he was consulting from
+time to time.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton acknowledged the confirmation but
+refused to lay much stress on the point.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought it possible,” he said, “but it was merely
+a guess. In itself the evidence wasn’t worth anything;
+but it fitted well enough into the hypothesis I’d
+made.”</p>
+
+<p>He turned to the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you get the five medallions as I expected?”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale put his hand into his pocket and withdrew
+the five discs of gold, which he handed over to
+the Chief Constable. Sir Clinton took the sixth
+medallion from his own pocket and laid the whole set on
+the table beside him.</p>
+
+<p>“They say,” he went on, “that the more <i>outré</i> a
+crime is, the easier it is to find a solution for it. I
+shouldn’t like to assert that in every case. But there’s
+no harm in paying especial attention to the bizarre
+points in an affair. If you cast your minds back to
+the case as it presented itself to us on the night of the
+masked ball, you’ll recall one point which
+undoubtedly seemed out of the common.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced round the circle of listeners, but no
+one ventured to interrupt.</p>
+
+<p>“Here was a gang of thieves bent on stealing
+something. One of them—Foss—knew that in the show-case
+there were three medallions and three replicas.
+The medallions were of enormous value; the replicas
+were worth next to nothing. Foss, I was sure—and it
+turned out afterwards that I was right—Foss knew
+that the real medallions were in the top row and that
+the replicas were in the lower row.”</p>
+
+<p>He arranged the six discs on the table as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“And yet, with that knowledge, it was the replicas
+which they stole and not the real medallions. Amazing,
+at first sight, isn’t it? To my mind it was much
+more bizarre than the vanishing trick. And, naturally,
+it was on that point in the case that I fixed my
+attention. These weren’t blunderers, remember. The
+rest of the business showed that they were anything
+but that. The way they had seized upon that practical
+joke to serve their ends was quite enough to
+prove that there was a good brain at the back of the
+thing. That joke wasn’t in their original programme,
+and yet they’d taken it in their stride and turned it
+to account in a most ingenious way. They weren’t the
+sort of people who would make a mistake about the
+positions of the replicas. If they took the electrotypes
+instead of the real things, it was because the
+electrotypes were what they wanted.</p>
+
+<p>“Why did they want them? That question seemed
+to thrust itself forward in front of all the others
+which suggested themselves in the case; and it was
+that question that had to be answered before one
+could see light anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward in his chair and glanced at the
+two rows of medallions on the table before him for a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p>“If one thinks about a point long enough, it often
+happens that all of a sudden a fresh idea turns up
+and fits into its place. I think it was probably the
+notion of the pseudo-statue that put me on to this
+affair. There you had a fraud imposing itself on some
+people simply because they had no reason to suppose
+that any fraud was intended. I doubt if any of you
+people, Mr. Clifton, gave a second glance at these
+statues that night. You simply regarded them as
+statues, because you knew that statues were on all
+the pedestals in normal circumstances. You were off
+your guard on that particular point.</p>
+
+<p>“That idea seemed to give me the key to this
+mysterious preference for replicas. If they’d taken
+the real medallions that night, with all the fuss that
+was made, then you Ravensthorpe people would have
+known at once that the true Leonardos had gone;
+and, naturally, with the theft of them dated to a
+minute, the risk was considerable. But suppose that
+the theft of the replicas was only the first stage in
+the game, what then? They had the replicas; you had
+the real medallions. Foss, as the agent for Kessock,
+had every excuse for asking to see the medallions
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“Now at that point there would come in the very
+same subconscious assurance that played into their
+hands in the case of the statue. Maurice would know
+for certain that the three things in his safe were the
+real Leonardos. He’d fish them out for Foss to
+examine; and he’d put them back in the safe without
+any minute inspection when Foss handed them over.
+The replicas would be off the board—lost, gone for
+good. He’d never think of them.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced mischievously at Joan before
+continuing.</p>
+
+<p>“As it happens, I can do a little parlour conjuring
+myself. It comes in handy when one has to live up to
+the part of Prospero or anything like that. I know
+what one can do in the way of palming things, and
+so forth. And as soon as I hit on this idea of the case,
+I saw how things might be managed. Foss would fake
+up some excuse for handling the real medallions; and
+during that handling, he’d substitute the replicas for
+the Leonardos. Maurice, having apparently had the
+things under his eyes all the time, would never think
+of examining the medals which he got back from
+Foss’s hands. He’d simply put them back into the
+safe. Foss would have the real things in his pocket;
+the deal would fall through; Foss &amp; Co. would retire
+gracefully . . . and it was a hundred to one that no
+minute examination of the medallions in the safe
+would be made for long enough. By that time
+it would be impossible either to find Foss or to
+bring the thing home to him even if you did find
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“You see the advantages? First of all, the only
+theft would be one of the replicas, which no one cared
+much about. Second, the date of the real theft would
+be left doubtful. And third, this plan gave them any
+amount of time to dispose of the real things before
+any suspicions were aroused at all, as regards the
+genuine Leonardos. My impression is that they had
+a market for them: some scoundrelly collector who’d
+pay high to have the Leonardos even if he couldn’t
+boast publicly that he had them.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s correct, sir,” the Inspector interposed.
+“Brackley had a market, but he wouldn’t tell me who
+the collector was.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan rose from her chair, crossed the room to a
+small table, and solemnly came back with a tray.</p>
+
+<p>“Have some whisky and soda,” she suggested to
+Sir Clinton.</p>
+
+<p>“You find the tale rather dry?” he inquired
+solicitously. “Life’s like that, you know. Inspector
+Armadale really needs this more than I do. He’s
+been a long time out in the cold up yonder. I’ll take
+some later on, if you don’t mind.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan presented the tray to the Inspector, who
+helped himself.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton waited till he was finished with the
+siphon and then continued, addressing himself to
+Joan:</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps the story has lacked feminine interest
+up to this point. We’ll hurry on to the day when you,
+Maurice, and Foss had your talk on the terrace.
+Down below was Foss’s motor, serving two purposes.
+It was there if they had to make a bolt, should things
+go wrong. It also allowed the chauffeur, making a
+fake repair, to watch what went on in the museum. I
+gather that he meant to keep an eye on his
+confederates.</p>
+
+<p>“At that moment, Foss had the three replicas in his
+pocket; and he was looking for some excuse to carry
+out the exchange. He led the conversation on to
+Japanese swords and so forth. I suspect Brackley
+supplied the basis for that matter, enough to allow
+Foss to make a show of information. Then Foss
+brought up the subject of his ‘poor man’s collection’
+of rubbings. I’ve no doubt he forced a card there—induced
+Maurice to offer to let him take rubbings of
+the medallions. That would be child’s play to an
+ex-conjurer with a smart tongue. He got his way,
+anyhow.</p>
+
+<p>“But then came a complication he hadn’t expected.
+You, Joan, got interested in this taking of rubbings.
+I admit it was hard lines on the poor fellow. It was
+the last thing he could have anticipated.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks for the compliment!” Joan interjected,
+ironically.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it wasn’t in the plan, anyhow,” Sir Clinton
+went on. “It meant an extra pair of eyes to deceive
+when the exchange was made; and as the exchange
+was the crucial move in the whole scheme, your
+company—strange to say—was not appreciated. In fact,
+you made Mr. Foss nervous. He wasn’t quite as cool
+as he could have wished; and my reading of the
+situation is that he bungled his first attempt at the
+substitution and had to prolong the agony by
+pretending to take a second rubbing of the first
+medallion he got into his hands.</p>
+
+<p>“He had more luck with his second attempt, even
+with your eagle eyes on him; and he stowed away
+Medallion Number One in one of the special concealed
+pockets which he had in his clothes. But he
+desired intensely to be relieved of your company; and
+he proceeded to draw your attention to some one calling
+you. Of course that voice existed solely in his own
+imagination. But it was quite as effective as a real
+voice in getting you to leave the museum; and then
+there was one onlooker the less to bother him in his
+sleight-of-hand.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton paused to light a cigarette before
+continuing. Inspector Armadale, laying down his paper,
+turned to the Chief Constable as though expecting at
+this point to hear something which he did not already
+know.</p>
+
+<p>“The next stage is one of pure conjecture,” Sir
+Clinton went on. “Foss is dead, and I haven’t had
+any opportunity of interrogating the other actor:
+Marden.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale smiled grimly at the way in
+which the Chief Constable evaded any reference to
+the valet’s murder.</p>
+
+<p>“Possibly Inspector Armadale has a note or two on
+the matter,” Sir Clinton pursued, “but even if he has,
+it can only be something like ‘what the soldier said,’
+for Brackley could have merely second-hand evidence
+at the best. Take the case as the Inspector and
+I found it. Foss was dead, stabbed with the
+Muramasa sword. On its handle we found the finger-prints
+of Maurice, and no others. Under Foss’s body
+we found an undischarged automatic pistol with his
+finger-prints on the butt. We noticed curious pockets
+in Foss’s clothes; but they were empty. And we found
+no trace of any of the medallions about the place.
+Maurice was <i>non est inventus</i>—we could see no sign
+of him. Marden had cut his hand in a fall against
+one of the cases. He’d wrapped it up with his
+handkerchief in a rough sort of way. The case containing
+the Muramasa sword was open, and the sheath was
+lying in it, empty, of course.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s only fair to Inspector Armadale to tell you
+that he suspected Marden immediately. What I’m
+going to give you is merely the case as it presented
+itself to me.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale looked slightly flustered by this tribute
+to his perspicacity. He glanced suspiciously at the
+Chief Constable, but Sir Clinton’s face betrayed no
+ironical intention.</p>
+
+<p>“He may be pulling my leg again,” the Inspector
+reflected, “but at least it’s decent of him to go out
+of his way to say that. It’s true enough, but not
+exactly in the way that they’ll understand it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Marden had a very complete story to tell us. He’d
+come to the door of the museum with a parcel which
+Foss had sent him to post. He’d found the address
+was incomplete and came back to get Foss to finish
+it. He stayed outside the door and he heard a quarrel
+between Maurice and Foss, ending in a struggle.
+When he burst into the room, Maurice was disappearing
+at the other end and Foss was dead on the
+floor. Then Marden slipped on the parquet, fell
+against a show-case, cut his hand, and tied it up in his
+handkerchief. Then he gave the alarm.</p>
+
+<p>“The parcel with the incomplete address was the
+first thing that interested me. We opened it and we
+found in it a cheap wrist-watch in perfect condition,
+apparently. The Inspector tried it for finger-prints.
+There weren’t any of any sort, either on the watch or
+the box in which it was enclosed. That seemed a bit
+rum to us both.</p>
+
+<p>“The only thing that seemed to fit the case was
+this. Suppose Marden wanted to keep an eye on Foss.
+This parcel would give him an excuse of bursting in
+on his employer at any moment. Assume that
+Marden himself had made up the parcel and that
+Foss had nothing to do with it. It was wrapped up
+in paper on which the address was written. You
+know how one writes on a parcel—not the least like
+one’s normal handwriting if the paper is crumpled
+a bit in the wrapping-up. That would make a bit of
+rough forgery of Foss’s writing fairly easy. Further,
+if by any chance the parcel fell into the hands of the
+police—as actually happened—there was nothing inside
+to show that Foss hadn’t wrapped it up himself.
+Nobody else’s finger-marks were on it at all. It had
+been wrapped up with gloved hands. And the contents
+were innocent enough: only a watch being sent to a
+watch-maker to be regulated, perhaps. If it had been
+a letter, then to carry the thing through properly
+they’d have had to forge Foss’s writing all the way
+through, in order to make it look genuine if it
+happened to be opened.</p>
+
+<p>“But if that theory were adopted, a lot followed
+from it. First and foremost, it meant that Marden
+was the boss and his nominal employer was an
+underling in the gang, who would have to back up any
+story that Marden liked to tell. Secondly, it pointed
+to the fact that Marden didn’t trust Foss much. He
+wanted an excuse to get at Foss at any moment—which
+is hardly in the power of a simple valet. When
+he thought Foss needed watching, all he had to do
+was to trot up with his little parcel, just to let Foss
+see that he was under observation. Thirdly, this
+dodge was worked at a crucial stage in the
+game—when the replicas were being exchanged for the
+Leonardo medallions. Doesn’t that suggest that
+Marden didn’t trust Foss very much? It looks as if
+Marden was none too sure that he’d get a square
+deal from Foss once the real medallions had changed
+hands. Am I right in my guesses, Inspector?”</p>
+
+<p>“They didn’t trust Foss to play straight, sir.
+Brackley was quite open about that.”</p>
+
+<p>“And it was Brackley’s idea? The parcel, I mean.
+It looks as if it came from his mint.”</p>
+
+<p>“He said so, sir. Foss knew nothing about it, of
+course. It was a surprise for him. They knew he’d
+have to pretend he knew all about it when Marden
+brought it to him.”</p>
+
+<p>“That finishes the parcel,” Sir Clinton continued.
+“But it had suggested one or two things, as you see.
+The most important thing, from my point of view,
+was that this gang was not exactly a band of brothers.
+Two of them suspected the third. Possibly the split
+was even more extensive.</p>
+
+<p>“The next thing was the valet’s story. According
+to him, Maurice stabbed Foss, after a quarrel which
+Marden couldn’t overhear clearly. Unfortunately for
+that tale, the blow that killed Foss was a powerful
+one. What Marden didn’t know was that Maurice
+had sprained his wrist that morning. I doubt if a
+sprained wrist could have achieved that stab. There
+was no proof, of course; but it seemed just a little
+doubtful. Then Marden said that from the door he
+couldn’t catch the words of the quarrel, although the
+voices were angry in tone. I tried the experiment
+myself later; and it’s perfectly easy to overhear
+what’s said in the museum from the position Marden
+said he was in. So that was a deliberate lie. On that
+basis, one could eliminate most of Marden’s tale as
+being under suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>“What really happened in the museum? Maurice
+is gone, Foss is dead, Marden won’t tell. One has
+just to reconstruct the thing as plausibly as one can.
+My impression—it’s only conjecture—is this. Marden
+was listening at the door and he could see some
+parts of the room, since the door was ajar. Foss had
+succeeded in substituting one replica for a real
+medallion. To get Maurice’s eye off him, he asked to see
+the Muramasa sword. Maurice went to get it, leaving
+Foss at his rubbing—visible to Maurice all the time.
+Foss made the exchange of the second replica at that
+moment. Maurice came back with the Muramasa
+sword—and of course in doing that, he put his
+finger-prints on the handle in drawing the blade from
+the sheath. Marden, at the door, saw him do this
+and made a note of it. Just as Maurice came back to
+Foss, he was suddenly taken ill. He had the third real
+medallion in one hand; and as he passed Foss he
+picked up the two replicas—which he believed to be
+the other two real medallions. He went to the safe
+and hurriedly put on a shelf the two replicas; but the
+other medallion, in his other hand, he forgot all
+about. He shut the safe and staggered into the secret
+passage.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale looked frankly incredulous.</p>
+
+<p>“Do people take ill all of a sudden like that?” he
+demanded. “Why should he want to rush off all at
+once?”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton swung round on him.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever suffered from rheumatism, Inspector? Or
+neuralgia? Or toothache?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” the Inspector replied with all the pride of
+perfect health. “I’ve never had rheumatism and I’ve
+never had a tooth go wrong in my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“No wonder you can’t understand, then,” Sir
+Clinton retorted. “Wait till you have neuralgia in
+the fifth nerve, Inspector. Then, if you don’t know
+yourself that you’re unfit for human society, your
+friends will tell you, soon enough. If you get a bad
+attack, it’s maddening—nothing less. Men have
+suicided on account of it often enough,” he added,
+with a meaning glance at Armadale.</p>
+
+<p>A light broke in on the Inspector’s mind.</p>
+
+<p>“So that was it? No wonder I couldn’t put two
+and two together!” he reflected to himself; but he
+made no audible comment.</p>
+
+<p>“Now we come to a mere leap in the dark,” Sir
+Clinton continued. “I believe that as soon as Maurice
+was out of the way, Marden went into the museum
+and demanded the medallions from Foss.”</p>
+
+<p>He put down his cigarette and leaned back in his
+chair. When he spoke again, a faint tinge of pity
+seemed to come into his voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Foss was a poor little creature, hardly better than
+a rabbit in the big jungle of crime. And the other two
+were something quite different: carnivores, beasts
+of prey. They’d picked him out simply on account of
+his one miserable talent: his little trick of
+legerdemain. He was only a tool, poor beggar, and he knew
+it. I expect that when he saw what sort of company
+he’d fallen into, he was terrified. That would account
+for the pistol he carried.</p>
+
+<p>“His only chance of a fair deal from them lay in
+the fact that he had the real medallions in his
+possession; and he meant to hold on to them. And when
+Marden demanded them, Foss revolted. It must have
+been like the revolt of a rabbit against a stoat. He
+hadn’t a chance. He pulled out his pistol, I expect;
+and when that appeared, Marden saw red.</p>
+
+<p>“But Marden, even in a fury, was a person with a
+very keen mind. Perhaps he’d thought the thing over
+beforehand. He was evidently one of these sub-human
+creatures with no respect for human life—the
+things they label Apaches in Paris. When the pistol
+came out he was ready for it. Foss, I’m sure,
+brandished the thing in an amateurish fashion—he wasn’t
+a gunman of any sort. Probably he imagined that the
+mere sight of the thing would bring Marden to heel.</p>
+
+<p>“Marden had his handkerchief out at once. Probably
+he had it ready in his hand. He picked up the
+Muramasa sword, leaving no finger-marks of his own
+on it through the handkerchief. And . . . that was
+the end of Foss.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton leaned over, selected a fresh cigarette
+with a certain fastidiousness, and lighted it before
+going on with his tale.</p>
+
+<p>“That was the end of his feeble little attempt to get
+the better of his confederate. The money in his
+pocket-book didn’t give him the escape he’d hoped
+for. All his precautions to leave no clues to his real
+identity played straight into the hands of Marden
+and Brackley.</p>
+
+<p>“Marden’s immediate problem, once he’d come out
+of his fury, was difficult enough. I suspect that his
+first move was to search Foss and get the medallions
+out of his pockets. Then he was faced with the blood
+on his hands and on his handkerchief. He had his
+plan made almost in a moment. He went across,
+deliberately slipped—he was an artist in detail,
+evidently—smashed against the glass of one of the cases,
+cut his hand, and then he felt fairly secure. He
+wrapped up the wounds in his handkerchief—and
+there was the case complete to account for any stray
+blood anywhere on his clothes. He tried the safe, for
+fear Maurice was lurking inside; and then he gave
+the alarm.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton glanced inquiringly at the Inspector,
+but Armadale shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Brackley had nothing to say about all that, sir.
+Marden gave him no details.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s mostly guess-work,” Sir Clinton warned his
+audience. “All that one can say for it is that it fits
+the facts fairly well.”</p>
+
+<p>“And is that brute in the house now?” Una Rainhill
+demanded. “I shan’t go to sleep if he is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Two constables were detached to arrest him,” Sir
+Clinton assured her. “He’s not on the premises, you
+may count on that.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale’s face took on a wooden expression,
+the result of suppressing a sardonic smile.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he does manage to tell the truth and convey
+a wrong impression with it,” he commented inwardly.</p>
+
+<p>“Now consider the state of affairs after the Foss
+murder,” Sir Clinton went on. “Marden and Brackley
+were in a pretty pickle, it seems to me. They had
+three medallions which Marden had got when he
+rifled Foss’s body. But <em>they didn’t know what they’d
+got</em>. They weren’t in the secret of the dots on the
+replicas. For all they knew—knew for certain, I
+mean—Foss might have bungled the affair and the
+things they had might be merely replicas. If so,
+they were no good. I can’t tell the difference between
+a medallion and an electrotype myself; but I believe
+an expert can tell you whether a thing’s been struck
+with a die or merely plated from a mould. These
+two scoundrels, I take it, weren’t experts. They
+couldn’t tell which brand of article they had in their
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>“There was only one thing to be done. They’d
+have to get the whole six things into their hands, and
+then they’d be sure of having the three medallions. So
+they fell back on their original scheme of plain
+burglary. That, I’m sure, had been their first plan.
+They’d sent their American confederate to see the
+safe a long while ago; and no doubt he’d reported
+that it was an old pattern. Hence the otophone, by
+means of which they could pick the combination lock.
+The otophone was still on the premises: I’d left it for
+them. But they were up against one thing.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d put a guard night and day on the museum.
+That blocked any attempt at burglary unless they
+were prepared to take the tremendous risk of
+manhandling the guard. If the door had merely been
+locked, I don’t think it would have given them much
+trouble. I’m pretty sure there’s a very good outfit of
+burglar’s tools mixed up with the tool-kit of the car,
+where it would attract no attention. But the guard
+was a difficulty in the way.”</p>
+
+<p>Without making it obvious to the others, Sir Clinton
+made it clear to Armadale that the next part of
+his story was meant specially for the Inspector.</p>
+
+<p>“I’d given you the view I held of the case at that
+point. I felt fairly certain I was right. But if I’d
+been asked to put that case before a jury, I certainly
+would have backed out. It was mostly surmise:
+accurate enough, perhaps, but with far too little
+support. A jury—quite rightly—wants facts and not
+theories. Could one even convince them that the
+vanishing trick had been carried through as I
+believed it had? It would have been a bit of a
+gamble. And I don’t believe in that sort of gamble. I
+wanted the thing proved up to the hilt. And the
+best way to do that was to catch them actually at
+work.</p>
+
+<p>“There seemed to me just one weak point in the
+armour. I counted on a split between the two remaining
+confederates, if I could only get a wedge in
+somehow. I guessed, rightly or wrongly, that the Foss
+murder would strike the chauffeur as a blunder, and
+that there might be the makings of friction there. The
+chauffeur’s watching the museum under cover of the
+fake repair to the hood suggested that he mistrusted
+the others. I suspected that Marden might have
+stuck to the stuff he’d taken off Foss’s body. If
+Brackley hadn’t got his share of that swag, he’d be in
+a weak position. I gambled on that: everything to
+gain and nothing much to lose. I had the chauffeur
+up for examination again; and when I gave him an
+opening, he deliberately gave his friend away by
+letting me know he’d seen Marden and Foss together
+just before the murder. And when he did that, I
+blurted out to Inspector Armadale that the guards on
+the terrace and the museum door were to be discontinued.
+Brackley went off with those two bits of exclusive
+information. He didn’t tell them to Marden.
+He saw his way to make the balance even between
+himself and his confederate. If he kept his news to
+himself, he could burgle the museum safe; get the
+remainder of the six medallions; and then he’d be
+sure of getting his share of the profits. Neither of
+them could do without the other in that case.</p>
+
+<p>“In actual practice, Brackley went a stage farther
+than I’d anticipated. He schemed to get Marden’s
+loot as well as the stuff from the safe. I needn’t go
+into that side-issue.”</p>
+
+<p>Again Inspector Armadale suppressed his amusement
+at the way in which Sir Clinton chose to present
+the truth.</p>
+
+<p>“The rest of the tale’s short enough,” Sir Clinton
+went on. “Brackley determined to burgle the safe.
+If pursued, he decided, he’d repeat the vanishing
+trick on the terrace; for I’d convinced him, apparently,
+that the <i>modus operandi</i> of it was still unknown
+to us. Probably he went up there and satisfied
+himself that no one came near, after the patrol was
+taken off. He got himself up for the part: whitened
+his face; put on white tights; covered himself with
+Marden’s waterproof as a disguise and to conceal his
+fancy dress; put on a big black mask to hide the
+paint on his face, lest he should give the show away if
+an interruption came. And so he walked straight into
+the trap I’d laid for him.</p>
+
+<p>“We saw the whole show from start to finish. I
+even let Cecil and Mr. Clifton into the business, so
+that we’d have some evidence apart from police
+witnesses. We saw the whole show from start to finish.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton broke off his story and glanced at his
+watch.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve kept Inspector Armadale up to a most
+unconscionable hour,” he said, apologetically. “We
+really mustn’t detain him till sunrise. Before you go,
+Inspector, you might tell us if my solution fits the
+confession you got out of Brackley—in the later
+stages, I mean.”</p>
+
+<p>Inspector Armadale saw his dismissal and rose to
+his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“There’s really nothing in the confession that
+doesn’t tally, sir. Differences in detail, of course; but
+you were right in the main outlines of the affair.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton showed a faint satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s satisfactory enough to hear that. By
+the way, Inspector, you’d better take my car. It’s in
+the avenue still. Send a man up with it, please, when
+you’ve done with it. There’s no need for you to walk
+after a night like this.”</p>
+
+<p>Armadale thanked him; declined Cecil’s offer of
+another whisky and soda; and took his departure.
+When he had gone, Cecil threw a glance of inquiry at
+the Chief Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you feel inclined to tell us what you made of
+my doings? I noticed that you didn’t drag them out
+in front of the Inspector.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton acquiesced in the suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>“I think that’s fairly plain sailing; but correct me
+if I go wrong. When you heard of Maurice’s
+disappearance, you saw that something was very far amiss.
+You had a fair idea where he might be, but you
+didn’t want to advertise the Ravensthorpe secrets.
+So you came back one night and went down there.
+I don’t know whether you were surprised or not
+when you found him; but in any case, you decided
+that there was no good giving the newspapers a titbit
+about secret passages. So you took him out into the
+glade by the other entrance to the tunnel; and then
+you came up to Ravensthorpe as though you’d come
+by the first train. The Inspector tripped you over
+that point, but it didn’t matter much. He doesn’t
+love you, though, I suspect. I’d no desire to make
+matters worse by interfering between you; for you
+seemed able to look after yourself. Wasn’t that the
+state of affairs?”</p>
+
+<p>“There or thereabouts,” Cecil admitted. “It
+seemed the best thing to do, in the circumstances.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton showed obvious distaste for discussing
+the matter further. He turned to the girls.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s high time you children were in bed. Dawn’s
+well up in the sky. You’ve had all the excitement you
+need, for the present; and a good sleep seems
+indicated.”</p>
+
+<p>He gave a faint imitation of a stifled yawn.</p>
+
+<p>“That sets me off,” said Una Rainhill, frankly. “I
+can hardly keep my eyes open. Come along, Joan.
+It’s quite bright outside and I’m not afraid to go to
+bed now.”</p>
+
+<p>Joan rubbed her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“This sort of thing takes more out of one than
+twenty dances,” she admitted. “The beginning of the
+night was a bit too exciting for everyday use. How
+does one say ‘Good-night’ in proper form when the
+sun’s over the horizon? I give it up.”</p>
+
+<p>With a gesture of farewell, she made her way to
+the door, followed by Una. When they had
+disappeared, Sir Clinton turned to Cecil Chacewater.</p>
+
+<p>“Care to walk down the avenue a little to meet my
+car? The fresh air and all that. I rather like the
+dawn, myself, when it happens to come my way
+without too much exertion.”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil saw that the Chief Constable was giving him
+an opening if he cared to take it.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll come along with you till you meet the car.”</p>
+
+<p>Sir Clinton took leave of Michael Clifton, who
+obviously intended to go to bed immediately. As soon
+as he was well clear of the house, Cecil turned to the
+Chief Constable.</p>
+
+<p>“You skated over thin ice several times in that
+yarn of yours. Especially the bits about Maurice.
+Toothache! Neuralgia! That infernal Inspector of
+yours swallowed it all down like cat-lap. From his
+face, you’d have thought he picked up an absolute
+cert. that no one else could see. I almost laughed, at
+that point.”</p>
+
+<p>He changed suddenly to a serious tone.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you spot what was really wrong with
+Maurice?”</p>
+
+<p>“One thing led to another,” Sir Clinton confessed.
+“I didn’t hit on it all at once. The Fairy Houses set
+me thinking at the start. One doesn’t keep toys like
+that in good repair merely on account of some old
+legend. They were quite evidently meant for use.
+And then, Cecil, you seemed to have some private
+joke of your own—not a particularly nice joke
+either—about them. That set me thinking. And after that,
+you dropped some remark about Maurice having
+specialized in family curses.”</p>
+
+<p>“You seem to have a devil of a memory for trifles,”
+Cecil commented, in some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“Trifles sometimes count for a good deal in my
+line,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “One gets into the
+habit of docketing them, almost without thinking
+about it. I must have pigeon-holed your talk about
+the Fairy Houses quite mechanically. Then later on
+I remembered that these things were dotted all over
+your estate and nowhere else. On their own ground,
+the Chacewaters were always within easy distance
+of one or other of these affairs. Ancient family curse;
+curious little buildings very handy; one brother
+grinning—yes, you did grin, and nastily too—at
+them, when you know he hates another brother like
+poison. It was quite a pretty little problem. And
+so . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“And so?” demanded Cecil, as Sir Clinton stopped
+short.</p>
+
+<p>“And so I put it out of my mind. It wasn’t the sort
+of thing I cared to think much about in connection
+with Ravensthorpe,” Sir Clinton said, bluntly.
+“Besides, it was no affair of mine.”</p>
+
+<p>“And then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Then came Michael Clifton’s story of finding
+Maurice in one of these Fairy Houses. And the
+details about the queer state Maurice was in when he
+was found. That came up in connection with a crime;
+and crimes are my business. Why does a fellow crawl
+away into a place like that? Why does he resent
+being dragged out of it? Why won’t he even take the
+trouble to get up? These were the kind of questions
+that absolutely bristled over the whole affair. One
+couldn’t help getting an inkling. But that inkling
+threw no light on the crime in hand, so it was no
+affair of mine. I dropped it. But . . .”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Maurice wasn’t an attractive character, I’ll admit
+that. I loathed the way he was going on. But I like
+to look on the best side of people if I can. In my line,
+one sees plenty of the other side—more than enough.
+And by and by I began to see that perhaps all Maurice’s
+doings could be explained, if they couldn’t be
+excused. He was off his balance.”</p>
+
+<p>“He was, poor devil,” Cecil concurred, with some
+contrition in his tone.</p>
+
+<p>“Then came the time I forced you to open the
+secret passage. Your methods were the very worst
+you could have chosen, Cecil. I knew perfectly well
+that you hadn’t done anything to Maurice. You’re
+not the fratricidal type. But you very evidently had
+something that you wanted to conceal behind that
+door. You were afraid of my spotting something. The
+Inspector jumped to the conclusion that it was murder
+you were hushing up. By that time I had a pretty
+good notion that it was the Ravensthorpe family
+secret. Once I saw that passage of yours, dwindling
+away to almost nothing, the thing was clear enough.
+With the Fairy House clue as well, the thing was
+almost certain. And finally, you gave the show away
+completely by what you said beside Maurice’s body.”</p>
+
+<p>“Chuchundra, you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. I remembered—another of these docketed
+trifles—just what Chuchundra was. He was the
+muskrat that tried to make up his mind to run into
+the middle of the room, but he never got there. Then
+I asked you if the trouble began with A. Of course it
+did. Agoraphobia. I suppose when Maurice was a
+kid he had slight attacks of it—hated to move about
+in an open room and preferred to sidle along by the
+walls if possible. That was the start of the nickname,
+wasn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>Cecil assented with a nod.</p>
+
+<p>“It evidently cropped up in your family now and
+again. Hence the Fairy Houses—harbours of refuge
+when attacks came on. And that underground cell,
+where a man could shut himself up tight and escape
+the horror of open spaces.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d really no notion how bad it was with
+Maurice,” Cecil hastened to say. “It must have been
+deadly when it drove him to shoot himself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Something beyond description, I should say,” Sir
+Clinton said, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>He glanced over the wide prospects of the park and
+then raised his eyes to where great luminous clouds
+were sailing in stately procession across the blue.</p>
+
+<p>“Looks peaceful, Cecil, doesn’t it? Makes one
+rather glad to be alive, when one gets into a scene
+like this. And yet, to poor Maurice it was a mere
+torture-chamber of nausea and torment, a horror that
+drove him to burrowing into holes and crannies,
+anywhere to escape from the terrors of the open sky. I
+don’t suppose that we normal people can even come
+near the thing in our imaginations. It’s too rum for
+our minds—outside everything we know. Poor devil!
+No wonder he went off the rails a bit in the end.”</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="section" id="transcriber">
+
+<h2>Transcriber’s Notes</h2>
+
+<p>This transcription follows the text of the edition published by
+Grosset &amp; Dunlap in February, 1928. However, the following
+alterations have been made to correct what are believed to be
+unambiguous errors in the text:</p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>“usally” was corrected to “usually” (Chapter I).</li>
+  <li>“sufficent” was corrected to “sufficient” (Chapter I).</li>
+  <li>“inqiringly” was corrected to “inquiringly” (Chapter I).</li>
+  <li>“deadful” was corrected to “dreadful” (Chapter II).</li>
+  <li>“artifical” was corrected to “artificial” (Chapter II).</li>
+  <li>“reassurred” was corrected to “reassured” (Chapter III).</li>
+  <li>“even since” was corrected to “ever since” (Chapter IV).</li>
+  <li>“That’s was” was corrected to “That was” (Chapter VI).</li>
+  <li>“her’s” was corrected to “hers” (Chapter IX).</li>
+  <li>“lot’s of” was corrected to “lots of” (Chapter XI).</li>
+  <li>“Froggart” was corrected to “Froggatt” (Chapter XIII).</li>
+  <li>“spiney” was corrected to “spinney” (Chapter XIV).</li>
+  <li>“orginal” was corrected to “original” (Chapter XIV).</li>
+  <li>“out of question” was corrected to “out of the question”
+      (Chapter XV).</li>
+  <li>Three occurrences of mismatched quotation marks were repaired.</li>
+  <li>One occurrence of a missing em dash was repaired.</li>
+</ul>
+
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75407 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/75407-h/images/cover.jpg b/75407-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ed48d1f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75407-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b921270
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #75407 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75407)