diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75461-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75461-0.txt | 7696 |
1 files changed, 7696 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75461-0.txt b/75461-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a6c9ca --- /dev/null +++ b/75461-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7696 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75461 *** + + +The Case of Miss Elliott + +by Baroness Orczy + +Published 1909, Greening & Co., Ltd. (London) + + + +Contents. + + I. The Case of Miss Elliott + II. The Hocussing of Cigarette + III. The Tragedy in Dartmoor Terrace + IV. Who Stove the Black Diamonds? + V. The Murder of Miss Pebmarsh + VI. The Lisson Grove Mystery + VII. The Tremarn Case + VIII. The Fate of the “Artemis” + IX. The Disappearance of Count Collini + X. The Ayrsham Mystery + XI. The Affair at the Novelty Theatre + XII. The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor + + + +[Frontispiece: A horse-drawn hansom cab at night-time. In the shadowy +interior of the cab sits a man in evening dress, leaning against the +side of the cab as if dozing. Another man stands beside the cab, +tentatively reaching in. Caption: “’E was dead and no mistake.”] + + + +I. The Case of Miss Elliott + +Chapter I + +The man in the corner was watching me over the top of his great +bone-rimmed spectacles. + +“Well?” he asked, after a little while. + +“Well?” I repeated with some acerbity. I had been wondering for the +last ten minutes how many more knots he would manage to make in that +same bit of string, before he actually started undoing them again. + +“Do I fidget you?” he asked apologetically, whilst his long bony +fingers buried themselves, string, knots, and all, into the capacious +pockets of his magnificent tweed ulster. + +“Yes, that is another awful tragedy,” he said quietly, after a while. +“Lady doctors are having a pretty bad time of it just now.” + +This was only his usual habit of speaking in response to my thoughts. +There was no doubt that at the present moment my mind was filled with +that extraordinary mystery which was setting all Scotland Yard by the +ears, and had completely thrown into the shade the sad story of Miss +Hickman’s tragic fate. + +The _Daily Telegraph_ had printed two columns headed “Murder or +Suicide?” on the subject of the mysterious death of Miss Elliott, +matron of the Convalescent Home, in Suffolk Avenue—and I must confess +that a more profound and bewildering mystery had never been set before +our able detective department. + +“It has puzzled them this time, and no mistake,” said the man in the +corner, with one of his most gruesome chuckles, “but I daresay the +public is quite satisfied that there is no solution to be found, since +the police have found none.” + +“Can you find one?” I retorted with withering sarcasm. + +“Oh, my solution would only be sneered at,” he replied. “It is far too +simple—and yet how logical! There was Miss Elliott, a good-looking, +youngish, lady-like woman, fully qualified in the medical profession +and in charge of the Convalescent Home in Suffolk Avenue, which is a +private institution largely patronised by the benevolent. + +“For some time, already, there had appeared vague comments and rumours +in various papers, that the extensive charitable contributions did not +all go towards the up-keep of the Home. But, as is usual in +institutions of that sort, the public was not allowed to know anything +very definite, and contributions continued to flow in, whilst the +Honorary Treasurer of the great Convalescent Home kept up his +beautiful house in Hamilton Terrace, in a style which would not have +shamed a peer of the realm. + +“That is how matters stood, when on 2nd November last the morning +papers contained the brief announcement that at a quarter past +midnight two workmen walking along Blomfield Road, Maida Vale, +suddenly came across the body of a young lady, lying on her face, +close to the wooden steps of the narrow foot-bridge which at this +point crosses the canal. + +“This part of Maida Vale is, as you know, very lonely at all times, +but at night it is usually quite deserted. Blomfield Road, with its +row of small houses and bits of front gardens, faces the canal, and +beyond the foot-bridge is continued in a series of small riverside +wharves, which is practically unknown ground to the average Londoner. +The foot-bridge itself, with steps at right angles and high wooden +parapet, would offer excellent shelter at all hours of the night for +any nefarious deed. + +“It was within its shadows that the men had found the body, and to +their credit be it said, they behaved like good and dutiful +citizens—one of them went off in search of the police, whilst the +other remained beside the corpse. + +“From papers and books found upon her person, it was soon ascertained +that the deceased was Miss Elliott, the young matron of the Suffolk +Avenue Convalescent Home; and as she was very popular in her +profession and had a great many friends, the terrible tragedy caused a +sensation, all the more acute as very quickly the rumour gained ground +that the unfortunate young woman had taken her own life in a most +gruesome and mysterious manner. + +“Preliminary medical and police investigation had revealed +the fact that Miss Elliott had died through a deep and +scientifically-administered gash in the throat, whilst the surgical +knife with which the deadly wound was inflicted still lay tightly +grasped in her clenched hand.” + + + +Chapter II + +The man in the corner, ever conscious of any effect he produced upon +my excited imagination, had paused for a while, giving me time, as it +were, to co-ordinate in my mind the few simple facts he had put before +me. I had no wish to make a remark, knowing of old that my one chance +of getting the whole of his interesting argument was to offer neither +comment nor contradiction. + +“When a young, good-looking woman in the heyday of her success in an +interesting profession,” he began at last, “is alleged to have +committed suicide, the outside public immediately want to know the +reason why she did such a thing, and a kind of freemasonic, amateur +detective work goes on, which generally brings a few important truths +to light. Thus, in the case of Miss Elliott, certain facts had begun +to leak out, even before the inquest, with its many sensational +developments. Rumours concerning the internal administration, or +rather maladministration of the Home began to take more definite form. + +“That its finances had been in a very shaky condition for some time +was known to all those who were interested in its welfare. What was +not so universally known was that few hospitals had had more +munificent donations and subscriptions showered upon them in recent +years, and yet it was openly spoken of by all the nurses that Miss +Elliott had on more than one occasion petitioned for actual +necessities for the patients—necessities which were denied to her on +the plea of necessary economy. + +“The Convalescent Home was, as sometimes happens in institutions of +this sort, under the control of a committee of benevolent and +fashionable people who understood nothing about business, and less +still about the management of a hospital. Dr. Kinnaird, President of +the institution, was a young, eminently successful consultant; he had +recently married the daughter of a peer, who had boundless ambitions +for herself and her husband. + +“Dr. Kinnaird, by adding the prestige of his name to the Home, no +doubt felt that he had done enough for its welfare. Against that, Dr. +Stapylton, Honorary Secretary and Treasurer of the Home, threw himself +heart and soul into the work connected with it, and gave a great deal +of his time to it. All subscriptions and donations went, of course, +through his hands, the benevolent and fashionable committee being only +too willing to shift all their financial responsibilities on to his +willing shoulders. He was a very popular man in society—a bachelor +with a magnificent house in Hamilton Terrace, where he entertained the +more eminent and fashionable clique in his own profession. + +“It was the evening papers, however, which contained the most +sensational development of this tragic case. It appears that on the +Saturday afternoon Mary Dawson, one of the nurses in the Home was +going to the house surgeon’s office with a message from the head +nurse, when her attention was suddenly arrested in one of the passages +by the sound of loud voices proceeding from one of the rooms. She +paused to listen for a moment and at once recognised the voices of +Miss Elliott and of Dr. Stapylton, the Honorary Treasurer and Chairman +of Committee. + +“The subject of conversation was evidently that of the eternal +question of finance. Miss Elliott spoke very indignantly, and Nurse +Dawson caught the words: + +“‘Surely you must agree with me that Dr. Kinnaird ought to be informed +at once.’ + +“Dr. Stapylton’s voice in reply seems to have been at first bitingly +sarcastic, then threatening. Dawson heard nothing more after that, and +went on to deliver her message. On her way back she stopped in the +passage again, and tried to listen. This time it seemed to her as if +she could hear the sound of some one crying bitterly, and Dr. +Stapylton’s voice speaking very gently. + +“‘You may be right, Nellie,’ he was saying. ‘At any rate, wait a few +days before telling Kinnaird. You know what he is—he’ll make a +frightful fuss and——’ + +“Whereupon Miss Elliott interrupted him. + +“‘It isn’t fair to Dr. Kinnaird to keep him in ignorance any longer. +Whoever the thief may be it is your duty or mine to expose him, and if +necessary bring him to justice.’ + +“There was a good deal of discussion at the time, if you remember, as +to whether Nurse Dawson had overheard and repeated this speech +accurately: whether, in point of fact, Miss Elliott had used the words +‘_or_ mine’ or ‘_and_ mine.’ You see the neat little point, don’t +you?” continued the man in the corner. “The little word ‘and’ would +imply that she considered herself at one with Dr. Stapylton in the +matter, but ‘or’ would mean that she was resolved to act alone if he +refused to join her in unmasking the thief. + +“All these facts, as I remarked before, had leaked out, as such facts +have a way of doing. No wonder, therefore, that on the day fixed for +the inquest the coroner’s court was filled to overflowing, both with +the public—ever eager for new sensations—and with the many friends of +the deceased lady, among whom young medical students of both sexes and +nurses in uniform were most conspicuous. + +“I was there early, and therefore had a good seat, from which I could +comfortably watch the various actors in the drama about to be +performed. People who seemed to be in the know pointed out various +personages to one another, and it was a matter of note that, in spite +of professional engagements, the members of the staff of the +Convalescent Home were present in full force and stayed on almost the +whole time. The personages who chiefly arrested my attention were, +firstly, Dr. Kinnaird, a good-looking Irishman of about forty, and +President of the institution; also Dr. Earnshaw, a rising young +consultant, with boundless belief in himself written all over his +pleasant rubicund countenance. + +“The expert medical evidence was once again thoroughly gone into. +There was absolutely no doubt that Miss Elliott had died from having +her throat cut with the surgical knife which was found grasped in her +right hand. There was absolutely no signs of a personal struggle in +the immediate vicinity of the body, and rigid examination proved that +there was no other mark of violence upon the body; there was nothing +therefore, to prove that the poor girl had not committed suicide in a +moment of mental aberration or of great personal grief. + +“Of course, it was strange that she should have chosen this curious +mode of taking her own life. She had access to all kinds of poisons, +amongst which her medical knowledge could prompt her to choose the +least painful and most efficacious ones. Therefore, to have walked out +on a Sunday night to a wretched and unfrequented spot and there +committed suicide in that grim fashion seemed almost the work of a mad +woman. And yet the evidence of her family and friends all tended to +prove that Miss Elliott was a peculiarly sane, large-minded, and happy +individual. + +“However, the suicide theory was at this stage of the proceedings +taken as being absolutely established, and when Police-Constable Fiske +came forward to give his evidence no one in the court was prepared for +a statement which suddenly revealed this case to be as mysterious as +it was tragic. + +“Fiske’s story was this: Close upon midnight on that memorable Sunday +night he was walking down Blomfield Road along the side of the canal +and towards the foot-bridge, when he overtook a lady and gentleman who +were walking in the same direction as himself. He turned to look at +them, and noticed that the gentleman was in evening dress and wore a +high hat, and that the lady was crying. + +“Blomfield Road is at best very badly lighted, especially on the side +next to the canal, where there are no lamps at all. Fiske, however, +was prepared to swear positively that the lady was the deceased. As +for the gentleman, he might know him again or he might not. + +“Fiske then crossed the foot-bridge, and walked on towards the Harrow +Road. As he did so, he heard St. Mary Magdalen’s church clock chime +the hour of midnight. It was a quarter of an hour after that, that the +body of the unfortunate girl was found, and clasping in her hand the +knife with which that awful deed had been done. By whom? Was it really +by her own self? But if so, why did not that man in evening dress who +had last seen her alive come forward and throw some light upon this +fast thickening veil of mystery? + +“It was Mr. James Elliott, brother of the deceased, however, who first +mentioned a name then in open court, which has ever since in the minds +of every one been associated with Miss Elliott’s tragic fate. + +“He was speaking in answer to a question of the coroner’s anent his +sister’s disposition and recent frame of mind. + +“‘She was always extremely cheerful,’ he said, ‘but recently had been +peculiarly bright and happy. I understood from her that this was +because she believed that a man for whom she had a great regard was +also very much attached to her, and meant to ask her to be his wife.’ + +“‘And do you know who this man was?’ asked the coroner. + +“‘Oh, yes,’ replied Mr. Elliott, ‘it was Dr. Stapylton.’ + +“Every one had expected that name of course, for every one remembered +Nurse Dawson’s story, yet when it came, there crept over all those +present an undescribable feeling that something terrible was +impending. + +“‘Is Dr. Stapylton here?’ + +“But Dr. Stapylton had sent in an excuse. A professional case of the +utmost urgency had kept him at a patient’s bedside. But Dr. Kinnaird, +the President of the institution, came forward. + +“Questioned by the coroner, Dr. Kinnaird, however, who evidently had a +great regard for his colleague, repudiated any idea that the funds of +the institution had ever been tampered with by the Treasurer. + +“‘The very suggestion of such a thing,’ he said, ‘was an outrage upon +one of the most brilliant men in the profession.’ + +“He further added that, although he knew that Dr. Stapylton thought +very highly of Miss Elliott, he did not think that there was any +actual engagement, and most decidedly he (Dr. Kinnaird) had heard +nothing of any disagreement between them. + +“‘Then did Dr. Stapylton never tell you that Miss Elliott had often +chafed under the extraordinary economy practised in the richly-endowed +Home?’ asked the coroner again. + +“‘No,’ replied Dr. Kinnaird. + +“‘Was not that rather strange reticence?’ + +“‘Certainly not. I am only the Honorary President of the +institution—Stapylton has chief control of its finances.’ + +“‘Ah!’ remarked the coroner blandly. + +“However, it was clearly no business of his at this moment to enter +into the financial affairs of the Home. His duty at this point was to +try and find out if Dr. Stapylton and the man in evening dress were +one and the same person. + +“The men who found the body testified to the hour: a quarter past +midnight. As Fiske had seen the unfortunate girl alive a little before +twelve, she must have been murdered or had committed suicide between +midnight and a quarter past. But there was something more to come. + +“How strange and dramatic it all was!” continued the man in the +corner, with a bland smile, altogether out of keeping with the +poignancy of his narrative; “all these people in that crowded court +trying to reconstruct the last chapter of that bright young matron’s +life and then—but I must not anticipate. + +“One more witness was to be heard—one whom the police, with a totally +unconscious sense of what is dramatic, had reserved for the last. This +was Dr. Earnshaw, one of the staff of the Convalescent Home. His +evidence was very short, but of deeply momentous import. He explained +that he had consulting rooms in Weymouth Street, but resided in +Westbourne Square. On Sunday, 1st November, he had been dining out in +Maida Vale, and returning home a little before midnight saw a woman +standing close by the steps of the foot-bridge in the Blomfield Road. + +“‘I had been coming down Formosa Street and had not specially taken +notice of her, when just as I reached the corner of Blomfield Road she +was joined by a man in evening dress and high hat. Then I crossed the +road, and recognised both Miss Elliott and——’ + +“The young doctor paused, almost as if hesitating before the enormity +of what he was about to say, whilst the excitement in court became +almost painful. + +“‘And——?’ urged the coroner. + +“‘And Dr. Stapylton,’ said Dr. Earnshaw at last, almost under his +breath. + +“‘You are quite sure?’ asked the coroner. + +“‘Absolutely positive. I spoke to them both, and they spoke to me.’ + +“‘What did you say?’ + +“‘Oh, the usual, “Hello, Stapylton,” to which he replied, “Hello!” I +then said “Good-night” to them both, and Miss Elliott also said +“Good-night.” I saw her face more clearly then, and thought that she +looked very tearful and unhappy, and Stapylton looked ill-tempered. I +wondered why they had chosen that unhallowed spot for a midnight +walk.’ + +“‘And you say the hour was——?’ asked the coroner. + +“‘Ten minutes to twelve. I looked at my watch as I crossed the +foot-bridge, and had heard a quarter to twelve strike five minutes +before.’ + +“Then it was that the coroner adjourned the inquest. Dr. Stapylton’s +attendance had become absolutely imperative. According to Dr. +Earnshaw’s testimony, he had been with deceased certainly a quarter of +an hour before she met her terrible death. Fiske had seen them +together ten minutes later; she was then crying bitterly. There was as +yet no actual charge against the fashionable and rich doctor, but +already the ghostly bird of suspicion had touched him with its ugly +wing.” + + + +Chapter III + +“As for the next day,” continued the man in the corner after a slight +pause, “I can assure you that there was not a square foot of standing +room in the coroner’s court for the adjourned inquest. It was timed +for eleven a.m., and at six o’clock on that cold winter’s morning the +pavement outside the court was already crowded. As for me, I always +manage to get a front seat, and I did on that occasion, too. I fancy +that I was the first among the general public to note Dr. Stapylton as +he entered the room accompanied by his solicitor, and by Dr. Kinnaird, +with whom he was chatting very cheerfully and pleasantly. + +“Mind you, I am a great admirer of the medical profession, and I think +a clever and successful doctor usually has a most delightful air about +him—the consciousness of great and good work done—with profit to +himself—which is quite unique and quite admirable. + +“Dr. Stapylton had that air even to a greater extent than his +colleague, and from the affectionate way in which Dr. Kinnaird finally +shook him by the hand, it was quite clear that the respected chief of +the Convalescent Home, at any rate, refused to harbour any suspicion +of the integrity of its Treasurer. + +“Well, I must not weary you by dwelling on the unimportant details of +this momentous inquest. Constable Fiske, who was asked to identify the +gentleman in evening dress whom he had seen with the deceased at a few +minutes before twelve, failed to recognise Dr. Stapylton very +positively: pressed very closely, he finally refused to swear either +way. Against that, Dr. Earnshaw repeated clearly and categorically, +looking his colleague straight in the face the while, the damnatory +evidence he had given the day before. + +“‘I saw Dr. Stapylton, I spoke to him, and he spoke to me,’ he +repeated most emphatically. + +“Every one in that court was watching Dr. Stapylton’s face, which wore +an air of supreme nonchalance, even of contempt, but certainly neither +of guilt nor of fear. + +“Of course, by that time _I_ had fully made up my mind as to where the +hitch lay in this extraordinary mystery; but no one else had, and +every one held their breath as Dr. Stapylton quietly stepped into the +box, and after a few preliminary questions the coroner asked him very +abruptly: + +“‘You were in the company of the deceased a few minutes before she +died, Dr. Stapylton?’ + +“‘Pardon me,’ replied the latter quietly, ‘I last saw Miss Elliott +alive on Saturday afternoon, just before I went home from my work.’ + +“This calm reply, delivered without a tremor, positively made every +one gasp. For the moment coroner and jury were alike staggered. + +“‘But we have two witnesses here who saw you in the company of the +deceased within a few minutes of twelve o’clock on the Sunday night!’ +the coroner managed to gasp out at last. + +“‘Pardon me,’ again interposed the doctor, ‘these witnesses were +mistaken.’ + +“‘Mistaken!’ + +“I think every one would have shouted out the word in boundless +astonishment had they dared to do so. + +“‘Dr. Earnshaw was mistaken,’ reiterated Dr. Stapylton quietly. ‘He +neither saw me nor did he speak to me.’ + +“‘You can substantiate that, of course?’ queried the coroner. + +“‘Pardon me,’ once more said the doctor, with utmost calm, ‘it is +surely Dr. Earnshaw who should substantiate _his_ statement.’ + +“‘There is Constable Fiske’s corroborative evidence for that,’ +retorted the coroner, somewhat nettled. + +“‘Hardly, I think. You see, the constable states that he saw a +gentleman in evening dress, etc., talking to the deceased at a minute +or two before twelve o’clock, and that when he heard the clock of St. +Mary Magdalen chime the hour of midnight he was just walking away from +the foot-bridge. Now, just as that very church clock was chiming that +hour, I was stepping into a cab at the corner of Harrow Road, not a +hundred yards _in front_ of Constable Fiske.’ + +“‘You swear to that?’ queried the coroner in amazement. + +“‘I can easily prove it,’ said Dr. Stapylton. ‘The cabman who drove me +from there to my club is here and can corroborate my statement.’ + +“And amidst boundless excitement, John Smith, a hansom cab-driver, +stated that he was hailed in the Harrow Road by the last witness, who +told him to drive to the Royal Clinical Club, in Mardon Street. Just +as he started off, St. Mary Magdalen’s church, close by, struck the +hour of midnight. + +“At that very moment, if you remember, Constable Fiske had just +crossed the foot-bridge, and was walking towards the Harrow Road, and +he was quite sure (for he was closely questioned afterwards) that no +one overtook him from behind. Now there would be no way of getting +from one side of the canal to the other at this point except over that +foot-bridge; the nearest bridge is fully two hundred yards further +down the Blomfield Road. The girl was alive a minute _before_ the +constable crossed the foot-bridge, and it would have been absolutely +impossible for any one to have murdered a girl, placed the knife in +her hand, run a couple of hundred yards to the next bridge and another +three hundred to the corner of Harrow Road, all in the space of three +minutes. + +“This _alibi_, therefore, absolutely cleared Dr. Stapylton from any +suspicion of having murdered Miss Elliott. And yet, looking on that +man as he sat there, calm, cool and contemptuous, no one could have +had the slightest doubt but that he was lying—lying when he said he +had not seen Miss Elliott that evening; lying when he denied Dr. +Earnshaw’s statement; lying when he professed himself ignorant of the +poor girl’s fate. + +“Dr. Earnshaw repeated his statement with the same emphasis, but it +was one man’s word against another’s, and as Dr. Stapylton was so +glaringly innocent of the actual murder, there seemed no valid reason +at all why he should have denied having seen her that night, and the +point was allowed to drop. As for Nurse Dawson’s story of his alleged +quarrel with Miss Elliott on the Saturday night, Dr. Stapylton again +had a simple and logical explanation. + +“‘People who listen at keyholes,’ he said quietly, ‘are apt to hear +only fragments of conversation, and often mistake ordinary loud voices +for quarrels. As a matter of fact, Miss Elliott and I were discussing +the dismissal of certain nurses from the Home, whom she deemed +incompetent. Nurse Dawson was among that number. She desired their +immediate dismissal, and I tried to pacify her. That was the subject +of my conversation with the deceased lady. I can swear to every word +of it.’” + + + +Chapter IV + +The man in the corner had long ceased speaking, and was placing +quietly before me a number of photographs. One by one I saw the series +of faces which had been watched so eagerly in the coroner’s court that +memorable afternoon by an excited crowd. + +“So the fate of poor Miss Elliott has remained wrapt in mystery?” I +said thoughtfully at last. + +“To every one,” rejoined the funny creature, “except to me.” + +“Ah! What is your theory, then?” + +“A simple one, dear lady: so simple that it really amazes me, that no +one, not even you, my faithful pupil, ever thought of it.” + +“It may be so simple that it becomes idiotic,” I retorted with lofty +disdain. + +“Well, that may be. Shall I at any rate try to make it clear.” + +“If you like.” + +“For this I think the best way would be, if you were to follow me +through what transpired before the inquest. But first tell me, what do +you think of Dr. Earnshaw’s statement?” + +“Well,” I replied, “a good many people thought that it was he who +murdered Miss Elliott, and that his story of meeting Dr. Stapylton +with her was a lie from beginning to end.” + +“Impossible!” he retorted, making an elaborate knot in his bit of +string. “Dr. Earnshaw’s friends, with whom he had been dining that +night, swore that he was _not_ in evening dress, nor wore a high hat. +And on that point—the evening dress, and the hat—Constable Fiske was +most positive.” + +“Then Dr. Earnshaw was mistaken, and it was not Dr. Stapylton he met.” + +“Impossible!” he shrieked, whilst another knot went to join its +fellows. “He spoke to Dr. Stapylton, and Dr. Stapylton spoke to him.” + +“Very well, then,” I argued; “why should Dr. Stapylton tell a lie +about it? He had such a conclusive _alibi_ that there could be no +object in his making a false statement about that.” + +“No object!” shrieked the excited creature. “Why, don’t you _see_ that +he had to tell the lie in order to set police, coroner and jury by the +ears, because he did not wish it to be even remotely hinted at, that +the man whom Dr. Earnshaw saw with Miss Elliott, and the man whom +Constable Fiske saw with her ten minutes later, were _two different +persons_.” + +“Two different persons!” I ejaculated. + +“Ay! two confederates in this villany. No one has ever attempted to +deny the truth of the shaky finances of the Home; no one has really +denied that Miss Elliott suspected certain defalcations and was trying +to force the hands of the Honorary Treasurer towards a full enquiry. +That the Honorary Treasurer knew where all the money went to was +pretty clear all along—his magnificent house in Hamilton Terrace fully +testifies to that. That the President of the institution was a party +to these defalcations and largely profited by them I for one am +equally convinced.” + +“Dr. Kinnaird?” I ejaculated in amazement. + +“Ay, Dr. Kinnaird. Do you mean to tell me that he alone among the +entire staff of that Home was ignorant of those defalcations? +Impossible! And if he knew of them, and did neither inquire into them +nor attempt to stop them, then he _must_ have been a party to them. Do +you admit that?” + +“Yes, I admit that,” I replied. + +“Very well, then. The rest is quite simple. Those two men, unworthy to +bear the noble appellation of doctor, must for years have quietly +stolen the money subscribed by the benevolent for the Home, and +converted it to their own use: then, they suddenly find themselves +face to face with immediate discovery in the shape of a young girl +determined to unmask the systematic frauds of the past few years. That +meant exposure, disgrace, ruin for them both, and they determine to be +rid of her. + +“Under the pretence of an evening walk, her so-called lover entices +her to a lonely and suitable spot; his confederate is close by, hidden +in the shadows, ready to give him assistance if the girl struggles and +screams. But suddenly Dr. Earnshaw appears. He recognises Stapylton +and challenges him. For a moment the villains are nonplussed, then +Kinnaird—the cleverer of the two—steps forward, greets the two lovers +unconcernedly, and after two minutes’ conversation casually reminds +Stapylton of an appointment the latter is presumed to have at a club +in St. James’ Street. + +“The latter understands and takes the hint, and takes a quick farewell +of the girl, leaving her in his friend’s charge, then as fast as he +can, goes off, presently takes a cab, leaving his friend to do the +deed, whilst the _alibi_ he can prove, coupled with Dr. Earnshaw’s +statement, was sure to bewilder and mislead the police and the public. + +“Thus it was that though Dr. Earnshaw saw and recognised Dr. +Stapylton, Constable Fiske saw Dr. Kinnaird, whom he did _not_ +recognise, on whom no suspicion had fallen, and whose name had never +been coupled with that of Miss Elliott. When Constable Fiske had +turned his back, Kinnaird murdered the girl and went off quietly, +whilst Dr. Stapylton, on whom all suspicions were bound to fasten +sooner or later, was able to prove the most perfect _alibi_ ever +concocted. + +“One day I feel certain that the frauds at the Home will be +discovered, and then who knows what else may see the light? + +“Think of it all quietly when I am gone, and to-morrow when we meet +tell me whether if _I_ am wrong what is _your_ explanation of this +extraordinary mystery.” + +Before I could reply he had gone, and I was left wondering, gazing at +the photographs of two good-looking, highly respectable and respected +men, whom an animated scarecrow had just boldly accused of committing +one of the most dastardly crimes ever recorded in our annals. + + + +II. The Hocussing of Cigarette + +Chapter I + +Quite by chance I found myself one morning sitting before a +marble-topped table in the A.B.C. shop. I really wondered for the +moment what had brought me there, and felt cross with myself for being +there at all. Having sampled my tea and roll, I soon buried myself in +the capacious folds of my _Daily Telegraph_. + +“A glass of milk and a cheesecake, please,” said a well-known voice. + +The next moment I was staring into the corner, straight at a pair of +mild, watery blue eyes, hidden behind great bone-rimmed spectacles, +and at ten long bony fingers, round which a piece of string was +provokingly intertwined. + +There he was as usual, wearing—for it was chilly—a huge tweed ulster, +of a pattern too lofty to be described. Smiling, bland, apologetic, +and fidgety, he sat before me as the living embodiment of the reason +why I had come to the A.B.C. shop that morning. + +“How do you do?” I said with as much dignity as I could command. + +“I see that you are interested in Cigarette,” he remarked, pointing to +a special column in the _Daily Telegraph_. + +“She is quite herself again,” I said. + +“Yes, but you don’t know who tried to poison her and succeeded in +making her very ill. You don’t know whether the man Palk had anything +to do with it, whether he was bribed, or whether it was Mrs. Keeson or +the groom Cockram who told a lie, or why——?” + +“No,” I admitted reluctantly; “I don’t know any of these things.” + +He was fidgeting nervously in the corner, wriggling about like an +animated scarecrow. Then suddenly a bland smile illuminated his entire +face. His long bony finger had caught the end of the bit of string, +and there he was at it again, just as I had seen him a year ago, +worrying and fidgeting, making knot upon knot, and untying them again, +whilst his blue eyes peered at me over the top of his gigantic +spectacles. + +“I would like to know what your theory is about the whole thing,” I +was compelled to say at last; for the case had interested me deeply, +and, after all, I had come to the A.B.C. shop for the sole purpose of +discussing the adventures of Cigarette with him. + +“Oh, my theories are not worth considering,” he said meekly. “The +police would not give me five shillings for any one of them. They +always prefer a mystery to any logical conclusion, if it is arrived at +by an outsider. But you may be more lucky. The owner of Cigarette did +offer £100 reward for the elucidation of the mystery. The noble Earl +must have backed Cigarette for all he was worth. Malicious tongues go +even so far as to say that he is practically a ruined man now, and +that the beautiful Lady Agnes is only too glad to find herself the +wife of Harold Keeson, the son of the well-known trainer. + +“If you ever go to Newmarket,” continued the man in the corner, after +a slight pause, during which he had been absorbed in unravelling one +of his most complicated knots, “any one will point out the Keesons’ +house to you. It is called Manor House, and stands in the midst of +beautiful gardens. Mr. Keeson himself is a man of about fifty, and, as +a matter of fact, is of very good family, the Keesons having owned +property in the Midlands for the past eight hundred years. Of this +fact he is, it appears, extremely proud. His father, however, was a +notorious spendthrift, who squandered his property, and died in the +nick of time, leaving his son absolutely penniless and proud as +Lucifer. + +“Fate, however, has been kind to George Keeson. His knowledge of +horses and of all matters connected with the turf stood him in good +stead; hard work and perseverance did the rest. Now, at fifty years of +age, he is a very rich man, and practically at the head of a +profession, which if not exactly that of a gentleman, is, at any rate, +highly remunerative. + +“He owns Manor House, and lived there with his young wife and his only +son and heir, Harold. + +“It was Mr. Keeson who had trained Cigarette for the Earl of +Okehampton, and who, of course, had charge of her during her +apprenticeship, before she was destined to win a fortune for her +owner, her trainer, and those favoured few who had got wind of her +capabilities. For Cigarette was to be kept a dark horse—not an easy +matter in these days, when the neighbourhood of every racecourse +abounds with rascals who eke out a precarious livelihood by various +methods more or less shady, of which the gleaning of early information +is perhaps the least disreputable. + +“Fortunately for Mr. Keeson, however, he had in the groom, Cockram, a +trusted and valued servant, who had been in his employ for over ten +years. To say that Cockram took a special pride in Cigarette would be +but to put it mildly. He positively loved the mare, and I don’t think +that any one ever doubted that his interest in her welfare was every +bit as keen as that of the Earl of Okehampton or of Mr. Keeson. + +“It was to Cockram, therefore, that Mr. Keeson entrusted the care of +Cigarette. She was lodged in the private stables adjoining the Manor +House, and during the few days immediately preceding the ‘Coronation +Stakes’ the groom practically never left her side, either night or +day. He slept in the loosebox with her, and ate all his meals in her +company; nor was any one allowed to come within measurable distance of +the living treasure, save Mr. Keeson or the Earl of Okehampton +himself. + +“And yet, in spite of all these precautions, in spite of every care +that human ingenuity could devise, on the very morning of the race +Cigarette was seized with every symptom of poisoning, and although, as +you say, she is quite herself again now, she was far too ill to fulfil +her engagement, and, if rumour speaks correctly, completed thereby the +ruin of the Earl of Okehampton.” + + + +Chapter II + +The man in the corner looked at me through his bone-rimmed spectacles, +and his mild blue eyes gazed pleasantly into mine. + +“You may well imagine,” he continued, after a while, “what a +thunderbolt such a catastrophe means to those whose hopes of a fortune +rested upon the fitness of the bay mare. Mr. Keeson lost his temper +for an instant, they say—but for one instant only. When he was hastily +summoned at six o’clock in the morning to Cigarette’s stables, and saw +her lying on the straw, rigid and with glassy eyes, he raised his +heavy riding-whip over the head of Cockram. Some assert that he +actually struck him, and that the groom was too wretched and too dazed +to resent either words or blows. After a good deal of hesitation he +reluctantly admitted that for the first time since Cigarette had been +in his charge he had slept long and heavily. + +“‘I am such a light sleeper, you know, sir,’ he said in a tear-choked +voice. ‘Usually I could hear every noise the mare made if she stirred +at all. But there—last night I cannot say _what_ happened. I remember +that I felt rather drowsy after my supper, and must have dropped off +to sleep very quickly. Once during the night I woke up; the mare was +all right then.’ + +“The man paused, and seemed to be searching for something in his +mind—the recollection of a dream, perhaps. But the veterinary surgeon, +who was present at the time, having also been hastily summoned to the +stables, took up the glass which had contained the beer for Cockram’s +supper. He sniffed it, and then tasted it, and said quietly: + +“‘No wonder you slept heavily, my man. This beer was drugged: it +contained opium.’ + +“‘Drugged!’ ejaculated Cockram, who, on hearing this fact, which in +every way exonerated him from blame, seemed more hopelessly wretched +than he had been before. + +“It appears that every night Cockram’s supper was brought out to him +in the stables by one of the servants from the Manor House. On this +particular night Mrs. Keeson’s maid, a young girl named Alice Image, +had brought him a glass of beer and some bread and cheese on a tray at +about eleven o’clock. + +“Closely questioned by Mr. Keeson, the girl emphatically denied all +knowledge of any drug in the beer. She had often taken the supper-tray +across to Cockram, who was her sweetheart, she said. It was usually +placed ready for her in the hall, and when she had finished attending +upon her mistress’s night toilet she went over to the stables with it. +She had certainly never touched the beer, and the tray had stood in +its accustomed place on the hall table looking just the same as usual. +‘As if I’d go and poison my Cockram!’ she said in the midst of a +deluge of tears. + +“All these somewhat scanty facts crept into the evening papers that +same day. That an outrage of a peculiarly daring and cunning character +had been perpetrated was not for a moment in doubt. So much money had +been at stake, so many people would be half ruined by it, that even +the non-racing public at once took the keenest interest in the case. +All the papers admitted, of course, that for the moment the affair +seemed peculiarly mysterious, yet all commented upon one fact, which +they suggested should prove an important clue: this fact was Cockram’s +strange attitude. + +“At first he had been dazed—probably owing to the after-effects of the +drug; he had also seemed too wretched even to resent Mr. Keeson’s very +natural outburst of wrath. But then, when the presence of the drug in +his beer was detected, which proved _him_ at any rate, to have been +guiltless in the matter, his answers, according to all accounts, +became somewhat confused; and all Mr. Keeson and the ‘vet.,’ who were +present, got out of him after that, was a perpetual ejaculation: +‘What’s to be done? What’s to be done?’ + +“Two days later the sporting papers were the first to announce, with +much glee, that, thanks to the untiring energy of the Scotland Yard +authorities, daylight seemed at last to have been brought to bear upon +the mystery which surrounded the dastardly outrage on the Earl of +Okehampton’s mare, Cigarette, and that an important arrest in +connection with it had already been effected. + +“It appears that a man named Charles Palk, seemingly of no address, +had all along been suspected of having at least a hand in the outrage. +He was believed to be a bookmaker’s tout, and was a man upon whom the +police had long since kept a watchful eye. Palk had been seen loafing +round the Manor House for the past week, and had been warned off the +grounds once or twice by the grooms. + +“It now transpired that on the day preceding the outrage he had hung +about the neighbourhood of the Manor House the whole afternoon, trying +to get into conversation with the stable-boys, or even with Mr. +Keeson’s indoor servants. No one, however, would have anything to do +with him, as Mr. Keeson’s orders in those respects were very strict: +he had often threatened any one of his _employés_ with instant +dismissal if he found him in company with one of these touts. + +“Detective Twiss, however, who was in charge of the case, obtained the +information that Alice Image, the maid, had been seen on more than one +occasion talking to Palk, and that on the very day before the +Coronation Stakes she had been seen in his company. Closely questioned +by the detective, Alice Image at first denied her intercourse with the +tout, but finally was forced to admit that she had held conversation +with him once or twice. + +“She was fond of putting a bit now and again upon a horse, but +Cockram, she added, was such a muff that he never would give her a +tip, for he did not approve of betting for young women. Palk had +always been very civil and nice-spoken she further explained. +Moreover, he came from Buckinghamshire, her own part of the country, +where she was born; anyway, she had never had cause to regret having +entrusted a half-sovereign or so of her wages to him. + +“All these explanations delivered by Alice Image, with the flow of +tears peculiar to her kind, were not considered satisfactory, and the +next day she and Charles Palk were both arrested on the charge of +being concerned in the poisoning of the Earl of Okehampton’s mare +Cigarette, with intent to do her grievous bodily harm.” + + + +Chapter III + +“These sort of cases,” continued the man in the corner after a slight +pause, during which his nervous fingers toyed incessantly with that +eternal bit of string—“these sort of cases always create a great deal +of attention amongst the public, the majority of whom in this country +have very strong sporting proclivities. It was small wonder, +therefore, when Alice Image and Charles Palk were brought before the +local magistrates, that the court was crowded to overflowing, both +with Pressmen and with the general public. + +“I had all along been very much interested in the case, so I went down +to Newmarket, and, in spite of the huge crowd, managed to get a good +seat, whence I could command a full view of the chief personages +concerned in this thrilling sporting drama. + +“Firstly, there was the Earl of Okehampton—good-looking, but for an +unmistakable air of the broken-down sporting man about his whole +person; the trainer, Mr. Keeson—a lean, clean-shaven man, with a fine, +proud carriage, and a general air of ancient lineage and the ‘Domesday +Booke’ about him; Mrs. Keeson—a pale, nervous-looking creature, who +seemed very much out of place in this sporting set; and, finally, the +accused—Alice Image, dissolved in tears, and Charles Palk, +over-dressed, defiant, horsey, and unsympathetic. + +“There was also Cockram, the groom. My short-sighted eyes had fastened +on him the moment I entered the court. A more wretched, miserable, +bewildered expression I have never seen on any man’s face. + +“Both Alice Image and Charles Palk flatly denied the charge. Alice +declared, amid a renewed deluge of tears, that she was engaged to be +married to Cockram, that she ‘no more would have hurt him or the +pretty creature he was in charge of, for anything.’ How could she? As +for Palk—conscious, no doubt, of his own evil reputation—he merely +contented himself with shrugging his shoulders and various denials, +usually accompanied with emphatic language. + +“As neither of the accused attempted to deny that they had been +together the day before the outrage, there was no occasion to call +witnesses to further prove that fact. Both, however, asserted +emphatically that their conversation was entirely confined to the +subject of Alice’s proposed flutters on the favourite for the next +day’s race. + +“Thus the only really important witness was the groom Cockram. Once +again his attitude as a witness caused a great deal of surprise, and +gradually, as he gave his evidence in a peculiarly halting and nervous +manner, that surprise was changed into suspicion. + +“Questioned by the magistrate, he tried his hardest to exonerate Alice +from all blame; and yet when asked whether he had cause to suspect any +one else he became more confused than ever, said, ‘No,’ emphatically +first, then, ‘Yes,’ and finally looked round the court appealingly, +like some poor animal at bay. That the man was hiding something, that +he was, in point of fact, lying, was apparent to every one. He had +drunk the beer, he said, unsuspectingly, on that fatal night; he had +then dropped off to sleep almost immediately, and never woke until +about six a.m., when a glance at the mare at once told him that there +was something very wrong. + +“However, whether Cockram was lying or not—whether he suspected any +one else or was merely trying to shield his sweetheart, there was, in +the opinion of the magistrate, quite sufficient evidence to prove that +Alice Image, at any rate, had a hand in the hocussing of Cigarette, +since it was she who had brought the drugged beer to Cockram. Beyond +that there was not sufficient evidence to show either that she was a +tool in the hands of Palk, or that they both were merely instruments +in the hands of some third person. + +“Anyway, the magistrate—it was Major Laverton, J.P., a great personal +friend of the Earl of Okehampton, and a remarkably clever and acute +man—tried his hardest to induce Alice to confess. He questioned the +poor girl so closely and so rigorously that gradually she lost what +little self-control she had, and every one in the court blamed Major +Laverton not a little, for he was gradually getting the poor girl into +a state of hysterics. + +“As for me, I inwardly commended the learned J.P., for already I had +guessed what he was driving at, and was not the least astonished when +the dramatic incident occurred which rendered this case so memorable. + +“Alice Image, namely, now thoroughly unnerved, harassed with the +Major’s questions, suddenly turned to where Cockram was sitting, and, +with a hysterical cry, she stretched out both her arms towards him. + +“‘Joe! my Joe!’ she cried; ‘you know I didn’t do it! Can’t you do +anything to help me?’ + +“It was pathetic in the extreme: every one in the court felt deeply +moved. As for Cockram, a sudden change came over him. I am accustomed +to read the faces of my fellow men, and in that rough countenance I +saw then emerging, in response to the girl’s appeal, a quick and firm +resolution. + +“‘Ay, and I will, Alice!’ he said, jumping to his feet. ‘I have tried +to do my duty. If the gentlemen will hear me I will say all I know.’ + +“Needless to say ‘the gentlemen’ were only too ready to hear him. Like +a man who, having made up his mind, is now resolved to act upon it, +the groom Cockram began his story. + +“‘I told your worship that, having drunk the beer that night, I +dropped off to sleep very fast and very heavy-like. How long I’d been +asleep I couldn’t say, when suddenly something seemed not exactly to +wake me, but to dispel my dreams, so to speak. I opened my eyes, and +at first I couldn’t see anything, as the gas in the stable was turned +on very low; but I put out my hand to feel the mare’s fetlocks, just +by way of telling her that I was there all right enough, and looking +after her—bless her! At that moment, your worship, I noticed that the +stable-door was open, and that some one—I couldn’t see who it was—was +goin’ out of it. “Who goes there!” says I, for I still felt very +sleepy and dull, when, to my astonishment, who should reply to me +but——’ + +“The man paused, and once more over his rough, honest face came the +old look of perplexity and misery. + +“‘But——?’ queried the magistrate, whose nerves were obviously as much +on tension as those of every one else in that court. + +“‘Speak, Joe—won’t you?’ appealed Alice Image pathetically. + +“‘But the mistress—Mrs. Keeson, sir,’ came from the groom in an almost +inaudible whisper. ‘You know, ma’am,’ he added, while the gathering +tears choked his voice, ‘I wouldn’t ’ave spoke. But she’s my +sweetheart, ma’am; and I couldn’t bear that the shame should rest on +her.’ + +“There was a moment’s deadly silence in that crowded court. Every +one’s eyes wandered towards the pale face of Mrs. Keeson, which, +however, though almost livid in colour, expressed nothing but the most +boundless astonishment. As for Mr. Keeson, surprise, incredulity, then +furious wrath at the slander, could be seen chasing one another upon +his handsome face. + +“‘What lie is this?’ burst involuntarily from his lips, as his fingers +closed more tightly upon the heavy riding-whip which he was holding. + +“‘Silence, please!’ said the Major with authority. ‘Now, Cockram, go +on. You say Mrs. Keeson spoke to you. What did she say?’ + +“‘She seemed rather upset, sir,’ continued Cockram, still looking with +humble apology across at his mistress, ‘for she only stammered +something about: “Oh, it’s nothing, Cockram. I only wanted to speak to +my son—er—to Mr. Harold—I——”’ + +“‘Harold?’ thundered Mr. Keeson, who was fast losing his temper. + +“‘I must ask you, Mr. Keeson, to be silent,’ said the Major. ‘Go on, +Cockram.’ + +“And Cockram continued his narrative: + +“‘“Mr. Harold, ma’am?” I said. “What should ’e be doing ’ere in the +stables at this time of night?” “Oh, nothing,” says she to me, “I +thought I saw him come in here. I must have been mistaken. Never mind, +Cockram; it’s all right. Good-night.” + +“‘I said good-night too, and then fell to wondering what Mr. ’Arold +could have wanted prowling round the stables at this hour of the +night. Just then the clock of St. Saviour’s struck four o’clock, and +while I was still wondering I fell asleep again, and never awoke till +six, when the mare was as sick as she could be. And that’s the whole +truth, gentlemen; and I would never have spoke—for Mr. and Mrs. Keeson +have always been good to me, and I’d have done anything to save them +the disgrace—but Alice is goin’ to be my wife, and I couldn’t bear any +shame to rest upon ’er.’ + +“When Cockram had finished speaking you might have heard a pin drop as +Major Laverton asked Mrs. Keeson to step into the witness-box. She +looked fragile and pale but otherwise quite self-possessed, as she +quietly kissed the book and said in a very firm tone of voice: + +“‘I can only say in reply to the extraordinary story which this man +has just told that the drug in the beer must have given him peculiarly +vivid dreams. At the hour he names I was in bed fast asleep, as my +husband can testify; and the whole of Cockram’s narrative is a +fabrication from beginning to end. I may add that I am more than +willing to forgive him. No doubt his brain was clouded by the opiate; +and now he is beside himself owing to Alice Image’s predicament. As +for my son Harold, he was absent from home that night; he was spending +it with some bachelor friends at the “Stag and Mantle” hotel in +Newmarket.’ + +“‘Yes! By the way,’ said the magistrate, ‘where is Mr. Harold Keeson? +I have no doubt that he will be able to give a very good account of +himself on that memorable night.’ + +“‘My son is abroad, your worship,’ said Mrs. Keeson, while a shade of +a still more livid hue passed over her face. + +“‘Abroad, is he?’ said the magistrate cheerfully. ‘Well, that settles +the point satisfactorily for him—doesn’t it? When did he go?’ + +“‘Last Thursday, your worship,’ replied Mrs. Keeson. + +“Then there was silence again in the court, for that last Thursday was +the day of the ‘Coronation Stakes’—the day immediately following the +memorable night on which the mare Cigarette had been poisoned by an +unknown hand.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“I doubt whether in all the annals of criminal procedure there ever +occurred a more dramatic moment than that when so strange a ray of +daylight was shed on the mysterious outrage on Cigarette. The +magistrate, having dismissed Mrs. Keeson, hardly dared to look across +at the trainer, who was a personal friend of his, and who had just +received such a cruel blow through this terrible charge against his +only son—for at that moment I doubt if there were two people in that +court who did not think that Mrs. Keeson had just sworn a false oath, +and that both she and her son had been in the stables that night—for +what purpose only they and their own conscience could tell. + +“Alice Image and Charles Palk were both discharged; and it is greatly +to the credit of Cockram that in the midst of his joy in seeing his +sweetheart safe he still remained very gloomy and upset. As for Mr. +Keeson, he must have suffered terribly at all this mud cast at his +only son. He had been wounded in what he worshipped more than anything +else in the world—his family honour. What was the use of money and the +old estates if such a stain rested upon his name? + +“As for Mrs. Keeson, public sympathy was very much overshadowed with +contempt for her stupidity. Had she only held her tongue when Cockram +challenged her, suspicion would never have fastened upon Harold. The +fact that she had lied in the witness-box in order to try and remedy +her blunder was also very severely commented upon. The young man had +gone abroad on that memorable Thursday accompanied by two of his +bachelor friends. They had gone on a fishing expedition to Norway, and +were not expected home for three weeks. As they meant to move from +place to place they had left no address: letters and telegrams were +therefore useless. + +“During those three weeks pending Harold Keeson’s return certain facts +leaked out which did not tend to improve his case. It appears that he +had long been in love with Lady Agnes Stourcliffe, the daughter of the +Earl of Okehampton. Some people asserted that the young people were +actually—though secretly—engaged. The Earl, however, seems all along +to have objected to the marriage of his daughter with the son of a +trainer, and on more than one occasion had remarked that he had not +sunk quite so low yet as to allow so preposterous a _mésalliance_. Mr. +Keeson, whose family pride was at least equal to that of the Earl, had +naturally very much resented this attitude, and had often begged his +son to give up his pretensions, since they were manifestly so +unwelcome. + +“Harold Keeson, however, was deeply in love; and Lady Agnes stuck to +him with womanly constancy and devotion. Unfortunately a climax was +reached some days before the disastrous events at Newmarket. The Earl +of Okehampton suddenly took up a very firm stand on the subject of +Harold Keeson’s courtship of his daughter. Some hot words were +exchanged between the two men, ending in an open breach, the Earl +positively forbidding the young man ever to enter his house again. + +“Harold was terribly unhappy at this turn of events. Pride forbade him +to take an unfair advantage of a young girl’s devotion, and, acting on +the advice of his parents, he started for his tour in Norway, +ostensibly in order to try and forget the fair Lady Agnes. This +unhappy love-affair, ending in an open and bitter quarrel between +himself and the owner of Cigarette, did—as I said before—the young +man’s case no good. At the instance of the Earl of Okehampton, who +determined to prosecute him, he was arrested on landing at Harwich. + +“Well,” continued the man in the corner, “the next events must be +still fresh in your mind. When Harold Keeson appeared in the dock, +charged with such meanness as to wreak his private grievance upon a +dumb animal, public sympathy at once veered round in his favour. He +looked so handsome, so frank and honest, that at once one felt +convinced that _his_ hand, at any rate, could never have done such a +dastardly thing. + +“Mr. Keeson, who was a rich man, moreover, had enlisted the services +of Sir Arthur Inglewood, who had, in the short time at his disposal, +collected all the most important evidence on behalf of his client. + +“The two young men who had been travelling in Norway with Harold +Keeson had been present with him on the memorable night at a bachelor +party given by a mutual friend at the ‘Stag and Mantle.’ Both +testified that the party had played bridge until the small hours of +the morning, that between two rubbers—the rooms being very hot—they +had all strolled out to smoke a cigar in the streets. Just as they +were about to re-enter the hotel two church clocks—one of which was +St. Saviour’s—chimed out the hour—four o’clock. + +“Four o’clock was the hour when Cockram said that he had spoken to +Mrs. Keeson. Harold had not left the party at the ‘Stag and Mantle’ +since ten o’clock, which was an hour before Alice Image took the +drugged beer to the groom. The whole edifice of the prosecution thus +crumbled together like a house of cards, and Harold Keeson was +discharged, without the slightest suspicion clinging to him. + +“Six months later he married Lady Agnes Stourcliffe. The Earl, now a +completely ruined man, offered no further opposition to the union of +his daughter with a man who, at any rate, could keep her in comfort +and luxury; for though both Mr. Keeson and his son lost heavily +through Cigarette’s illness, yet the trainer was sufficiently rich to +offer his son and his bride a very beautiful home.” + +The man in the corner called to the waitress, and paid for his glass +of milk and cheesecake, whilst I remained absorbed in thought, gazing +at the _Daily Telegraph_, which, in its “London Day by Day,” had this +very morning announced that Mr. and Lady Agnes Keeson had returned to +town from “The Rookery,” Newmarket. + + + +Chapter V + +“But who poisoned Cigarette?” I asked after a while; “and why?” + +“Ah, who did, I wonder?” he replied with exasperating mildness. + +“Surely you have a theory,” I suggested. + +“Ah, but my theories are not worth considering. The police would take +no notice of them.” + +“Why did Mrs. Keeson go to the stables that night? Did she go?” I +asked. + +“Cockram swears she did.” + +“She swears she didn’t. If she did why should she have asked for her +son? Surely she did not wish to incriminate her son in order to save +herself?” + +“No,” he replied; “women don’t save themselves usually at the expense +of their children, and women don’t usually ‘hocus’ a horse. It is not +a female crime at all—is it?” + +The aggravating creature was getting terribly sarcastic; and I began +to fear that he was not going to speak, after all. He was looking +dejectedly all around him. I had one or two parcels by me. I undid a +piece of string from one of them, and handed it to him with the most +perfectly indifferent air I could command. + +“I wonder if it was Cockram who told a lie?” I then said +unconcernedly. + +But already he had seized on that bit of string, and, nervously now, +his long fingers began fashioning a series of complicated knots. + +“Let us take things from the beginning,” he said at last. “The +beginning of the mystery was the contradictory statements made by the +groom Cockram and Mrs. Keeson respectively. Let us take, first of all, +the question of the groom. The matter is simple enough: either he saw +Mrs. Keeson or he did not. If he did not see her then he must have +told a lie, either unintentionally or by design—unintentionally if he +was mistaken; but this could not very well be since he asserted that +Mrs. Keeson spoke to him, and even mentioned her son, Mr. Harold +Keeson. Therefore, if Cockram did not see Mrs. Keeson he told a lie by +design for some purpose of his own. You follow me?” + +“Yes,” I replied; “I have thought all that out for myself already.” + +“Very well. Now, could there be some even remotely plausible motive +why Cockram should have told that deliberate lie?” + +“To save his sweetheart, Alice Image,” I said. + +“But you forget that his sweetheart was not accused at first, and +that, from the very beginning, Cockram’s manner, when questioned on +the subject of the events of that night was strange and contradictory +in the extreme.” + +“He may have known from the first that Alice Image was guilty,” I +argued. + +“In that case he would have merely asserted that he had seen and heard +nothing during the night, or if he wished to lie about it, he would +have said that it was Palk, the tout, who sneaked into the stables, +rather than incriminate his mistress, who had been good and kind to +him for years.” + +“He may have wished to be revenged on Mrs. Keeson for some reason +which has not yet transpired.” + +“How? By making a statement which, if untrue, could be so easily +disproved by Mr. Keeson himself, who, as a matter of fact, could +easily assert that his wife did not leave her bedroom that night; or +by incriminating Mr. Harold Keeson, who could prove an _alibi_? Not +much of a revenge there, you must admit. No, no; the more you reflect +seriously upon these possibilities the deeper will become your +conviction that Cockram did not lie either accidentally or on purpose; +that he did see Mrs. Keeson at that hour at the stable-door; that she +did speak to him; and that it was she who told the lie in open court.” + +“But,” I asked, feeling more bewildered than before, “why should Mrs. +Keeson have gone to the stables and asked for her son when she must +have known that he was not there, but that her inquiry would make it, +to say the least, extremely unpleasant for him?” + +“Why?” he shrieked excitedly, jumping up like a veritable +jack-in-the-box. “Ah, if you would only learn to reflect you might in +time become a fairly able journalist. Why did Mrs. Keeson momentarily +incriminate her son?—for it was only a momentary incrimination. Think, +think! A woman does not incriminate her child to save herself; but she +might do it to save some one else—some one who was dearer to her than +that child.” + +“Nonsense!” I protested. + +“Nonsense, is it?” he replied. “You have only to think of the +characters of the chief personages who figured in the drama—of the +trainer Keeson, with his hasty temper and his inordinate family pride. +Was it likely when the half-ruined Earl of Okehampton talked of +_mésalliance_, and forbade the marriage of his daughter with his +trainer’s son that the latter would not resent that insult with +terrible bitterness? and, resenting it, not think of some means of +being even with the noble Earl? Can you not imagine the proud man +boiling with indignation on hearing his son’s tale of how Lord +Okehampton had forbidden him the house? Can you not hear him saying to +himself: + +“‘Well, by —— the trainer’s son _shall_ marry the Earl’s daughter!’ + +“And the scheme—simple and effectual—whereby the ruin of the arrogant +nobleman would be made so complete that he would be only too willing +to allow his daughter to marry any one who would give her a good home +and him a helping hand?” + +“But,” I objected, “why should Mr. Keeson take the trouble to drug the +groom and sneak out to the stables at dead of night when he had access +to the mare at all hours of the day?” + +“Why?” shrieked the animated scarecrow. “Why? Because Keeson was just +one of those clever criminals, with a sufficiency of brains to throw +police and public alike off the scent. Cockram, remember, spent every +moment of the day and night with the mare. Therefore, if he had been +in full possession of his senses and could positively swear that no +one had had access to Cigarette but his master and himself, suspicion +was bound to fasten, sooner or later, on Keeson. But Keeson was a bit +of a genius in the criminal line. Seemingly, he could have had no +motive for drugging the groom, yet he added that last artistic touch +to his clever crime, and thus threw a final bucketful of sand in the +eyes of the police.” + +“Even then,” I argued, “Cockram might just have woke up—might just +have caught Keeson in the act.” + +“Exactly. And that is, no doubt, what Mrs. Keeson feared. + +“She was a brave woman, if ever there was one. Can you not picture +her, knowing her husband’s violent temper, his indomitable pride, and +guessing that he would find some means of being revenged on the Earl +of Okehampton. Can you not imagine her watching her husband and +gradually guessing, realising what he had in his mind when, in the +middle of the night, she saw him steal out of bed and out of the +house? Can you not see her following him stealthily—afraid of him, +perhaps—not daring to interfere—terrified above all things of the +consequences of his crime, of the risks of Cockram waking up, of the +exposure, the disgrace? + +“Then the final tableau:—Keeson having accomplished his purpose, goes +back towards the house, and she—perhaps with a vague hope that she +might yet save the mare by taking away the poison which Keeson had +prepared—in her turn goes to the stables. But this time the groom is +half awake, and challenges her. Then her instinct—that unerring +instinct which always prompts a really good woman when the loved one +is in danger—suggests to Mrs. Keeson the clever subterfuge of +pretending that she had seen her son entering the stables. + +“She asks for him, _knowing well that she could do him no harm_ since +he could so easily prove an _alibi_, but thereby throwing a veritable +cloud of dust in the eyes of the keenest enquirer, and casting over +the hocussing of Cigarette so thick a mantle of mystery that +suspicion, groping blindly round, could never fasten tightly on any +one. + +“Think of it all,” he added as, gathering up his hat and umbrella, he +prepared to go, “and remember at the same time that it was Mr. Keeson +alone who could disprove that his wife never left her room that night, +that he did not do this, that he guessed what she had done and why she +had done it, and I think that you will admit that not one link is +missing in the chain of evidence which I have had the privilege of +laying before you.” + +Before I could reply he had gone, and I saw his strange scarecrow-like +figure disappearing through the glass door. Then I had a good think on +the subject of the hocussing of Cigarette, and I was reluctantly bound +to admit that once again the man in the corner had found the only +possible solution to the mystery. + + + +III. The Tragedy in Dartmoor Terrace + +Chapter I + +“It is not by any means the Law and Police Courts that form the only +interesting reading in the daily papers,” said the man in the corner +airily, as he munched his eternal bit of cheesecake and sipped his +glass of milk, like a frowsy old tom-cat. + +“You don’t agree with me,” he added, for I offered no comment to his +obvious remark. + +“No?” I answered. “I suppose you were thinking——” + +“Of the tragic death of Mrs. Yule, for instance,” he replied eagerly. +“Beyond the inquest, and its very unsatisfactory verdict, very few +circumstances connected with that interesting case ever got into the +papers at all.” + +“I forget what the verdict actually was,” I said, eager, too, on my +side to hear him talk about that mysterious tragedy, which, as a +matter of fact, had puzzled a good many people. + +“Oh, it was as vague and as wordy as the English language would allow. +The jury found that ‘Mrs. Yule had died through falling downstairs, in +consequence of a fainting attack, but _how_ she came to fall is not +clearly shown.’ + +“What had happened was this: Mrs. Yule was a rich and eccentric old +lady, who lived very quietly in a small house in Kensington; No. 9 +Dartmoor Terrace is, I believe, the correct address. + +“She had no expensive tastes, for she lived, as I said before, very +simply and quietly in a small Kensington house, with two female +servants—a cook and a housemaid—and a young fellow whom she had +adopted as her son. + +“The story of this adoption is, of course, the pivot round which all +the circumstances of the mysterious tragedy revolved. Mrs. Yule, +namely, had an only son, William, to whom she was passionately +attached, but, like many a fond mother, she had the desire of mapping +out that son’s future entirely according to her own ideas. William +Yule, on the other hand, had his own views with regard to his own +happiness, and one fine day went so far as to marry the girl of his +choice, and that in direct opposition to his mother’s wishes. + +“Mrs. Yule’s chagrin and horror at what she called her son’s base +ingratitude knew no bounds; at first it was even thought that she +would never get over it. + +“‘He has gone in direct opposition to my fondest wishes, and chose a +wife whom I could never accept as a daughter; he shall have none of +the property which has enriched me, and which I know he covets.’ + +“At first her friends imagined that she meant to leave all her money +to charitable institutions; but oh! dear me, no! Mrs. Yule was one of +those women who never did anything that other people expected her to. +Within three years of her son’s marriage she had filled up the place +which he had vacated, both in her house and in her heart. She had +adopted a son, preferring, as she said, that her money should benefit +an individual rather than an institution. + +“Her choice had fallen upon the only son of a poor man—an +ex-soldier—who used to come twice a week to Dartmoor Terrace to tidy +up the small garden at the back: he was very respectable and very +honest—was born in the same part of England as Mrs. Yule, and had an +only son whose name happened to be William; he rejoiced in the surname +of Bloggs. + +“‘It suits me in every way,’ explained Mrs. Yule to old Mr. Statham, +her friend and solicitor. ‘You see, I am used to the name of William, +and the boy is nice-looking and has done very well at the Board +School. Moreover, old Bloggs will die within a year or two, and +William will be left without any encumbrances.’ + +“Herein Mrs. Yule’s prophecy proved to be correct. Old Bloggs did die +very soon, and his son was duly adopted by the rich and eccentric old +lady, sent to a good school, and finally given a berth in the Union +Bank. + +“I saw young Bloggs—it is not a euphonious name, is it?—at that +memorable inquest later on. He was very young and unassuming, and used +to keep very much out of the way of Mrs. Yule’s friends, who, mind +you, strongly disapproved of his presence in the rich old widow’s +house, to the detriment of the only legitimate son and heir. + +“What happened within the intimate and close circle of 9, Dartmoor +Terrace, during the next three years of course nobody can tell. +Certain it is that by the time young Bloggs was nearing his +twenty-first birthday, he had become the very apple of his adopted +mother’s eye. + +“During those three years Mr. Statham and other old friends had worked +hard in the interests of William Yule. Every one felt that the latter +was being very badly treated indeed. He had studied painting in his +younger days, and now had set up a small studio in Hampstead, and was +making perhaps a couple of hundred or so a year, and that, with much +difficulty, whilst the gardener’s son had supplanted him in his +mother’s affections, and, worse still, in his mother’s purse. + +“The old lady was more obdurate than ever. In deference to the strong +feelings of her friends she had agreed to see her son occasionally, +and William Yule would call upon his mother from time to time—in the +middle of the day when Bloggs was out of the way at the Bank—stay to +tea, and part from her in frigid, though otherwise amicable, terms. + +“‘I have no ill-feeling against my son,’ the old lady would say, ‘but +when he married against my wishes, he became a stranger to me—that is +all—a stranger, however, whose pleasant acquaintanceship I am pleased +to keep up.’ + +“That the old lady meant to carry her eccentricities in this respect +to the bitter end, became all the more evident when she sent for her +old friend and lawyer, Mr. Statham, and explained to him that she +wished to make over to young Bloggs the whole of her property by deed +of gift, during her lifetime—on condition that on his twenty-first +birthday he legally took up the name of Yule. + +“Mr. Statham subsequently made public, as you know, the whole of this +interview which he had with Mrs. Yule. + +“‘I tried to dissuade her, of course,’ he said, ‘for I thought it so +terribly unfair on William Yule and his children. Moreover, I had +always hoped that when Mrs. Yule grew older and more feeble she would +surely relent towards her only son. But she was terribly obstinate.’ + +“‘It is because I may become weak in my dotage,’ she said, ‘that I +want to make the whole thing absolutely final—I don’t want to relent. +I wish that William should suffer, where I think he will suffer most, +for he was always over fond of money. If I make a will in favour of +Bloggs, who knows I might repent it, and alter it at the eleventh +hour? One is apt to become maudlin when one is dying, and has people +weeping all round one. No!—I want the whole thing to be absolutely +irrevocable; and I shall present the deed of gift to young Bloggs on +his twenty-first birthday. I can always make it a condition that he +keeps me in moderate comfort to the end of my days. He is too big a +fool to be really ungrateful, and after all I don’t think I should +very much mind ending my life in the workhouse.’ + +“‘What could I do?’ added Mr. Statham. ‘If I had refused to draw up +that iniquitous deed of gift, she only would have employed some other +lawyer to do it for her. As it is, I secured an annuity of £500 a year +for the old lady, in consideration of a gift worth some £30,000 made +over absolutely to Mr. William Bloggs.’ + +“The deed was drawn up,” continued the man in the corner, “there is no +doubt of that. Mr. Statham saw to it. The old lady even insisted on +having two more legal opinions upon it, lest there should be the +slightest flaw that might render the deed invalid. Moreover, she +caused herself to be examined by two specialists in order that they +might testify that she was absolutely sound in mind, and in full +possession of all her faculties. + +“When the deed was all that the law could wish, Mr. Statham handed it +over to Mrs. Yule, who wished to keep it by her until 3rd April—young +Bloggs’ twenty-first birthday—on which day she meant to surprise him +with it. + +“Mr. Statham handed over the deed to Mrs. Yule on 14th February, and +on 28th March—that is to say, six days before Bloggs’ majority—the old +lady was found dead at the foot of the stairs in Dartmoor Terrace, +whilst her desk was found to have been broken open, and the deed of +gift had disappeared.” + + + +Chapter II + +“From the very first the public took a very great interest in the sad +death of Mrs. Yule. The old lady’s eccentricities were pretty well +known throughout all her neighbourhood, at any rate. Then, she had a +large circle of friends, who all took sides, either for the disowned +son or for the old lady’s rigid and staunch principles of filial +obedience. + +“Directly, therefore, that the papers mentioned the sudden death of +Mrs. Yule, tongues began to wag, and, whilst some asserted ‘Accident,’ +others had already begun to whisper ‘Murder.’ + +“For the moment nothing definite was known. Mr. Bloggs had sent for +Mr. Statham, and the most persevering and most inquisitive persons of +both sexes could glean no information from the cautious old lawyer. + +“The inquest was to be held on the following day, and perforce +curiosity had to be bridled until then. But you may imagine how that +coroner’s court at Kensington was packed on that day. I, of course, +was at my usual place—well to the front—for I was already keenly +interested in the tragedy, and knew that a palpitating mystery lurked +behind the old lady’s death. + +“Annie, the housemaid at Dartmoor Terrace, was the first, and I may +say the only really important witness during that interesting inquest. +The story she told amounted to this: Mrs. Yule, it appears, was very +religious, and, in spite of her advancing years and decided weakness +of the heart, was in the habit of going to early morning service every +day of her life at six o’clock. She would get up before any one else +in the house, and winter or summer, rain, snow, or fine, she would +walk round to St. Matthias’ Church, coming home at about a quarter to +seven, just when her servants were getting up. + +“On this sad morning (28th March) Annie explained that she got up as +usual and went downstairs (the servants slept at the top of the house) +at seven o’clock. She noticed nothing wrong, her mistress’s bedroom +door was open as usual, Annie merely remarking to herself that the +mistress was later than usual from church that morning. Then suddenly, +in the hall at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Mrs. Yule +lying head downwards, her head on the mat, motionless. + +“‘I ran downstairs as quickly as I could,’ continued Annie, ‘and I +suppose I must ’ave screamed, for cook came out of ’er room upstairs, +and Mr. Bloggs, too, shouted down to know what was the matter. At +first we thought Mrs. Yule was unconscious-like. Me and Mr. Bloggs +carried ’er to ’er room, and then Mr. Bloggs ran for the doctor.’ + +“The rest of Annie’s story,” continued the man in the corner, “was +drowned in a deluge of tears. As for the doctor, he could add but +little to what the public had already known and guessed. Mrs. Yule +undoubtedly suffered from a weak heart, although she had never been +known to faint. In this instance, however, she undoubtedly must have +turned giddy, as she was about to go downstairs, and fallen headlong. +She was of course very much injured, the doctor explained, but she +actually died of heart failure, brought on by the shock of the fall. +She must have been on her way to church, for her prayer book was found +on the floor close by her, also a candle—which she must have carried, +as it was a dark morning—had rolled along and extinguished itself as +it rolled. From these facts, therefore, it was gathered that the poor +old lady came by this tragic death at about six o’clock, the hour at +which she regularly started out for morning service. Both the servants +and also Mr. Bloggs slept at the top of the house, and it is a known +fact that sleep in most cases is always heaviest in the early morning +hours; there was, therefore, nothing strange in the fact that no one +heard either the fall or a scream, if Mrs. Yule uttered one, which is +doubtful. + +“So far, you see,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight +pause, “there did not appear to be anything very out of the way or +mysterious about Mrs. Yule’s tragic death. But the public expected +interesting developments, and I must say their expectations were more +than fully realised. + +“Jane, the cook, was the first witness to give the public an inkling +of the sensations to come. + +“She deposed that on Thursday, the 27th, she was alone in the kitchen +in the evening after dinner, as it was the housemaid’s evening out, +when, at about nine o’clock, there was a ring at the bell. + +“‘I went to answer the door,’ said Jane, ‘and there was a lady, all +dressed in black, as far as I could see—as the ’all gas always did +burn very badly—still, I think she was dressed dark, and she ’ad on a +big ’at and a veil with spots. She says to me: “Mrs. Yule lives ’ere?” +I says, “She do, ’m,” though I don’t think she was quite the lady, so +I don’t know why I said ’m, but——’ + +“‘Yes, yes!’ here interrupted the coroner somewhat impatiently, ‘it +doesn’t matter what you said. Tell us what happened.’ + +“‘Yes, sir,’ continued Jane, quite undisturbed, ‘as I was saying, I +asked the lady her name, and she says: “Tell Mrs. Yule I would wish to +speak with her,” then as she saw me ’esitating, for I didn’t like +leaving her all alone in the ’all, she said, “Tell Mrs. Yule that Mrs. +William Yule wishes to speak with ’er.”’ + +“Jane paused to take breath, for she talked fast and volubly, and all +eyes were turned to a corner of the room, where William Yule, dressed +in the careless fashion affected by artists, sat watching and +listening eagerly to everything that was going on. At the mention of +his wife’s name he shrugged his shoulders, and I thought for the +moment that he would jump up and say something; but he evidently +thought better of it, and remained as before, silent and quietly +watching. + +“‘You showed the lady upstairs?’ asked the coroner, after an instant’s +most dramatic pause. + +“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jane; ‘but I went to ask the mistress first. Mrs. +Yule was sitting in the drawing-room, reading. She says to me, “Show +the lady up at once; and, Jane,” she says, “ask Mr. Bloggs to kindly +come to the drawing-room.” I showed the lady up, and I told Mr. +Bloggs, who was smoking in the library, and ’e went to the +drawing-room. + +“‘When Annie come in,’ continued Jane with increased volubility, ‘I +told ’er ’oo ’ad come, and she and me was very astonished, because we +’ad often seen Mr. William Yule come to see ’is mother, but we ’ad +never seen ’is wife. “Did you see what she was like cook?” says Annie +to me. “No,” I says, “the ’all gas was burnin’ that badly, and she ’ad +a veil on.” Then Annie ups and says, “I must go up, cook,” she says, +“for my things is all wet. I never did see such rain in all my life. I +tell you my boots and petticoats is all soaked through.” Then up she +runs, and I thought then that per’aps she meant to see if she couldn’t +’ear anything that was goin’ on upstairs. Presently she come down——’ + +“But at this point Jane’s flow of eloquence received an unexpected +check. The coroner preferred to hear from Annie herself whatever the +latter may have overheard, and Jane, very wrathful and indignant, had +to stand aside, while Annie, who was then recalled, completed the +story. + +“‘I don’t know what made me stop on the landing,’ she explained +timidly, ‘and I’m sure I didn’t mean to listen. I was going upstairs +to change my things, and put on my cap and apron, in case the mistress +wanted anything. + +“‘Then, I don’t think I ever ’eard Mrs. Yule’s voice so loud and +angry.’ + +“‘You stopped to listen?’ asked the coroner. + +“‘I couldn’t help it, sir. Mrs. Yule was shouting at the top of ’er +voice. “Out of my house,” she says; “I never wish to see you or your +precious husband inside my doors again.”’ + +“‘You are quite sure that you heard those very words?’ asked the +coroner earnestly. + +“‘I’ll take my Bible oath on every one of them, sir,’ said Annie +emphatically. ‘Then I could ’ear some one crying and moaning: “Oh! +what have I done? Oh! what have I done?” I didn’t like to stand on the +landing then, for fear some one should come out, so I ran upstairs, +and put on my cap and apron, for I was all in a tremble, what with +what I’d heard, and the storm outside, which was coming down terrible. + +“‘When I went down again, I ’ardly durst stand on the landing, but the +door of the drawing-room was ajar, and I ’eard Mr. Bloggs say: “Surely +you will not turn a human being, much less a woman, out on a night +like this?” And the mistress said, still speaking very angrily: “Very +well, you may sleep here; but remember, I don’t wish to see your face +again. I go to church at six and come home again at seven; mind you +are out of the house before then. There are plenty of trains after +seven o’clock.”’ + +“After that,” continued the man in the corner, “Mrs. Yule rang for the +housemaid and gave orders that the spare-room should be got ready, and +that the visitor should have some tea and toast brought to her in the +morning as soon as Annie was up. + +“But Annie was rather late on that eventful morning of the 28th. She +did not go downstairs till seven o’clock. When she did, she found her +mistress lying dead at the foot of the stairs. It was not until after +the doctor had been and gone that both the servants suddenly +recollected the guest in the spare room. Annie knocked at her door, +and, receiving no answer, she walked in; the bed had not been slept +in, and the spare room was empty. + +“‘There, now!’ was the housemaid’s decisive comment, ‘me and cook did +’ear some one cross the ’all, and the front door bang about an hour +after every one else was in bed.’ + +“Presumably, therefore, Mrs. William Yule had braved the elements and +left the house at about midnight, leaving no trace behind her, save +perhaps the broken lock of the desk that had held the deed of gift in +favour of young Bloggs.” + + + +Chapter III + +“Some say there’s a Providence that watches over us,” said the man in +the corner, when he had looked at me keenly, and had assured himself +that I was really interested in his narrative, “others use the less +poetic and more direct formula, that ‘the devil takes care of his +own.’ The impression of the general public during this interesting +coroner’s inquest was that the devil was taking special care of his +own—(‘his own’ being in this instance represented by Mrs. William +Yule, who, by the way, was not present). + +“What the Evil One had done for her was this: He caused the hall gas +to burn so badly on that eventful Thursday night, 27th March, that +Jane, the cook, had not been able to see Mrs. William Yule at all +distinctly. He, moreover, decreed that when Annie went into the +drawing-room later on to take her mistress’s orders, with regard to +the spare room, Mrs. William was apparently dissolved in tears, for +she only presented the back of her head to the inquisitive glances of +the young housemaid. + +“After that the two servants went to bed, and heard some one cross the +hall and leave the house about an hour or so later; but neither of +them could swear positively that they would recognise the mysterious +visitor if they set eyes on her again. + +“Throughout all these proceedings, however, you may be sure that Mr. +William Yule did not remain a passive spectator. In fact I, who +watched him, could see quite clearly that he had the greatest possible +difficulty in controlling himself. Mind you, I knew by then exactly +where the hitch lay, and I could, and will presently, tell you exactly +all that occurred on Thursday evening, 27th March, at No. 9, Dartmoor +Terrace, just as if I had spent that memorable night there myself; and +I can assure you that it gave me great pleasure to watch the faces of +the two men most interested in the verdict of this coroner’s jury. + +“Every one’s sympathy had by now entirely veered round to young +Bloggs, who for years had been brought up to expect a fortune, and had +then, at the last moment, been defrauded of it, through what looked +already much like a crime. The deed of gift had, of course, not been +what the lawyers call ‘completed.’ It had rested in Mrs. Yule’s desk, +and had never been ‘delivered’ by the donor to the donee, or even to +another person on his behalf. + +“Young Bloggs, therefore, saw himself suddenly destined to live his +life as penniless as he had been when he was still the old gardener’s +son. + +“No doubt the public felt that what lurked mostly in his mind was a +desire for revenge, and I think everyone forgave him when he gave his +evidence with a distinct tone of animosity against the woman who had +apparently succeeded in robbing him of a fortune. + +“He had only met Mrs. William Yule once before, he explained, but he +was ready to swear that it was she who called that night. As for the +original motive of the quarrel between the two ladies, young Bloggs +was inclined to think that it was mostly on the question of money. + +“‘Mrs. William,’ continued the young man, ‘made certain peremptory +demands on Mrs. Yule, which the old lady bitterly resented.’ + +“But here there was an awful and sudden interruption. William Yule, +now quite beside himself with rage, had with one bound reached the +witness-box, and struck young Bloggs a violent blow in the face. + +“‘Liar and cheat!’ he roared, ‘take that!’ + +“And he prepared to deal the young man another even more vigorous +blow, when he was overpowered and seized by the constables. Young +Bloggs had become positively livid; his face looked grey and ashen, +except there, where his powerful assailant’s fist had left a deep +purple mark. + +“‘You have done your wife’s cause no good,’ remarked the coroner +drily, as William Yule, sullen and defiant, was forcibly dragged back +to his place. ‘I shall adjourn the inquest until Monday, and will +expect Mrs. Yule to be present and to explain exactly what happened +after her quarrel with the deceased, and why she left the house so +suddenly and mysteriously that night.’ + +“William Yule tried an explanation even then. His wife had never left +the studio in Sheriff Road, West Hampstead, the whole of that Thursday +evening. It was a fearfully stormy night, and she never went outside +the door. But the Yules kept no servant at the cheap little rooms; a +charwoman used to come in every morning only for an hour or two, to do +the rough work; there was no one, therefore, except the husband +himself to prove Mrs. William Yule’s _alibi_. + +“At the adjourned inquest, on the Monday, Mrs. William Yule duly +appeared; she was a young, delicate-looking woman, with a patient and +suffering face, that had not an atom of determination or vice in it. + +“Her evidence was very simple; she merely swore solemnly that she had +spent the whole evening indoors, she had never been to 9, Dartmoor +Terrace, in her life, and, as a matter of fact, would never have dared +to call on her irreconcilable mother-in-law. Neither she nor her +husband were specially in want of money either. + +“‘My husband had just sold a picture at the Water Colour Institute,’ +she explained, ‘we were not hard up; and certainly I should never have +attempted to make the slightest demand on Mrs. Yule.’ + +“There the matter had to rest with regard to the theft of the +document, for that was no business of the coroner’s or of the jury. +According to medical evidence the old lady’s death had been due to a +very natural and possible accident—a sudden feeling of giddiness—and +the verdict had to be in accordance with this. + +“There was no real proof against Mrs. William Yule—only one man’s +word, that of young Bloggs; and it would no doubt always have been +felt that his evidence might not be wholly unbiased. He was therefore +well advised not to prosecute. The world was quite content to believe +that the Yules had planned and executed the theft, but he never would +have got a conviction against Mrs. William Yule just on his own +evidence.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“Then William Yule and his wife were left in full possession of their +fortune?” I asked eagerly. + +“Yes, they were,” he replied; “but they had to go and travel abroad +for a while, feeling was so high against them. The deed of course, not +having been ‘delivered,’ could not be upheld in a court of law; that +was the opinion of several eminent counsel whom Mr. Statham, with a +lofty sense of justice, consulted on behalf of young Bloggs.” + +“And young Bloggs was left penniless?” + +“No,” said the man in the corner, as, with a weird and satisfied +smile, he pulled a piece of string out of his pocket; “the friends of +the late Mrs. Yule subscribed the sum of £1,000 for him, for they all +thought he had been so terribly badly treated, and Mr. Statham has +taken him in his office as articled pupil. No! no! young Bloggs has +not done so badly either——” + +“What seems strange to me,” I remarked “is that for all she knew, Mrs. +William Yule might have committed only a silly and purposeless theft. +If Mrs. Yule had not died suddenly and accidentally the next morning, +she would, no doubt, have executed a fresh deed of gift, and all would +have been _in statu quo_.” + +“Exactly,” he replied drily, whilst his fingers fidgeted nervously +with his bit of string. + +“Of course,” I suggested, for I felt that the funny creature wanted +to be drawn out; “she may have reckoned on the old lady’s weak +heart, and the shock to her generally, but it was, after all, very +problematical.” + +“Very,” he said, “and surely you are not still under the impression +that Mrs. Yule’s death was purely the result of an accident?” + +“What else could it be?” I urged. + +“The result of a slight push from the top of the stairs,” he remarked +placidly, whilst a complicated knot went to join a row of its fellows. + +“But Mrs. William Yule had left the house before midnight—or, at any +rate, some one had. Do you think she had an accomplice?” + +“I think,” he said excitedly, “that the mysterious visitor who left +the house that night had an instigator whose name was William Bloggs.” + +“I don’t understand,” I gasped in amazement. + +“Point No. 1,” he shrieked, while the row of knots followed each other +in rapid succession, “young Bloggs swore a lie when he swore that it +was Mrs. William Yule who called at Dartmoor Terrace that night.” + +“What makes you say that,” I retorted. + +“One very simple fact,” he replied, “so simple that it was, of course, +overlooked. Do you remember that one of the things which Annie +overheard was old Mrs. Yule’s irate words, ‘Very well, you may sleep +here; but, remember, I do not wish to see your face again. You can +leave my house before I return from church; you can get plenty of +trains after seven o’clock.’ Now what do you make of that?” he added +triumphantly. + +“Nothing in particular,” I rejoined; “it was an awfully wet night, +and——” + +“And High Street, Kensington Station, within two minutes’ walk of +Dartmoor Terrace, with plenty of trains to West Hampstead, and Sheriff +Road within two minutes of this latter station,” he shrieked, getting +more and more excited, “and the hour only about ten o’clock, when +there _are_ plenty of trains from one part of London to another? Old +Mrs. Yule, with her irascible temper and obstinate ways, would have +said: ‘There’s the station, not two minutes’ walk, get out of my +house, and don’t ever let me see your face again,’ wouldn’t she now?” + +“It certainly seems more likely.” + +“Of course it does. She only allowed the woman to stay because the +woman had either a very long way to go to get a train, or perhaps had +missed her last train—a connection on a branch line presumably—and +could not possibly get home at all that night.” + +“Yes, that sounds logical,” I admitted. + +“Point No. 2,” he shrieked, “young Bloggs having told a lie, had some +object in telling it. That was my starting point; from there I worked +steadily until I had reconstructed the events of that Thursday +night—nay, more, until I knew something more about young Bloggs’ +immediate future, in order that I might then imagine his past. + +“And this is what I found. + +“After the tragic death of Mrs. Yule, young Bloggs went abroad at the +expense of some kind friends, and came home with a wife, whom he is +supposed to have met and married in Switzerland. From that point +everything became clear to me. Young Bloggs had told a lie when he +swore that it was Mrs. William Yule; therefore it was somebody who +either represented herself as such, or who believed herself to be Mrs. +William Yule. + +“The first supposition,” continued the funny creature, “I soon +dismissed as impossible; young Bloggs knew Mrs. William Yule by +sight—and since he had lied, he had done so deliberately. Therefore to +my mind the lady who called herself Mrs. William Yule did so because +she believed that she had a right to that name; that she had married a +man, who, for purposes of his own, had chosen to call himself by that +name. From this point to that of guessing who that man was was simple +enough.” + +“Do you mean young Bloggs himself?” I asked in amazement. + +“And whom else?” he replied. “Isn’t that sort of thing done every day? +Bloggs was a hideous name, and Yule was eventually to be his own. With +William Yule’s example before him, he must have known that it would be +dangerous to broach the marriage question at all before the old lady, +and probably only meant to wait for a favourable opportunity of doing +so. But after a while the young wife would naturally become troubled +and anxious, and like most women under the same circumstances, would +become jealous and inquisitive as well. + +“She soon found out where he lived, and no doubt called there, +thinking that old Mrs. Yule was her husband’s own fond mother. + +“You can picture the rest. Mrs. Yule, furious at having been deceived, +herself destroys the deed of gift which she meant to present to her +adopted son, and from that hour young Bloggs sees himself penniless. + +“The false Mrs. Yule left the house, and young Bloggs waited for his +opportunity on the dark landing of a small London house. One push and +the deed was done. With her weak heart, Mrs. Yule was sure to die of +the shock, if not of the fall. + +“Before that, already the desk had been broken open and every +appearance of a theft given to it. After the tragedy, then, young +Bloggs retired quietly to his room. The whole thing looked so like an +accident that, even had the servants heard the fall at once, there +would still have been time enough for the young villain to sneak into +his room, and then to reappear at his door as if he, too, had been +just awakened by the noise. + +“The result turned out just as he had expected. The William Yules have +been and still are suspected of the theft; and young Bloggs is a hero +of romance with whom every one is in sympathy.” + + + +IV. Who Stole the Black Diamonds? + +Chapter I + +“Do you know who that is?” said the man in the corner, as he pushed a +small packet of photos across the table. + +The picture on the top represented an entrancingly beautiful woman, +with bare arms and neck, and a profusion of pearl and diamond +ornaments about her head and throat. + +“Surely this is the Queen of——?” + +“Hush!” he broke in abruptly, with mock dismay; “you must mention no +names.” + +“Why not?” I asked, laughing, for he looked so droll in his distress. + +“Look closely at the photo,” he replied, “and at the necklace and +tiara that the lady is wearing.” + +“Yes,” I said. “Well?” + +“Do you mean to say you don’t recognise them?” + +I looked at the picture more closely, and then there suddenly came +back to my mind that mysterious story of the Black Diamonds, which had +not only bewildered the police of Europe, but also some of its +diplomats. + +“Ah! I see you do recognise the jewels!” said the funny creature, +after a while. “No wonder! for their design is unique, and photographs +of that necklace and tiara were circulated practically throughout the +world. + +“Of course I am not going to mention names, for you know very well who +the royal heroes of this mysterious adventure were. For the purposes +of my narrative, suppose I call them the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia.’ + +“The value of the stones was said to be fabulous, and it was only +natural when the King of ‘Bohemia’ found himself somewhat in want of +money—a want which has made itself felt before now with even the most +powerful European monarchs—that he should decide to sell the precious +trinkets, worth a small kingdom in themselves. In order to be in +closer touch with the most likely customers, their Majesties of +‘Bohemia’ came over to England during the season of 1902—a season +memorable alike for its deep sorrow and its great joy. + +“After the sad postponement of the Coronation festivities, they rented +Eton Chase, a beautiful mansion just outside Chislehurst, for the +summer months. There they entertained right royally, for the Queen was +very gracious and the King a real sportsman—there also the rumour +first got about that His Majesty had decided to sell the world-famous +_parure_ of Black Diamonds. + +“Needless to say, they were not long in the market: quite a host of +American millionaires had already coveted them for their wives, and +brisk and sensational offers were made to His Majesty’s business man +both by letter and telegram. + +“At last, however, Mr. Wilson, the multi-millionaire, was understood +to have made an offer, for the necklace and tiara, of £500,000, which +had been accepted. + +“But a very few days later, that is to say, on the Sunday and Monday, +6th and 7th July, there appeared in the papers the short but deeply +sensational announcement that a burglary had occurred at Eton Chase, +Chislehurst, the mansion inhabited by Their Majesties the King and +Queen of ‘Bohemia’; and that among the objects stolen was the famous +_parure_ of Black Diamonds, for which a bid of half a million sterling +had just been made and accepted. + +“The burglary had been one of the most daring and most mysterious ones +ever brought under the notice of the police authorities. The mansion +was full of guests at the time, among whom were many diplomatic +notabilities, and also Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, the future owners of the +gems; there were also a very large staff of servants. The burglary +must have occurred between the hours of 10 and 11.30 p.m., though the +precise moment could not be ascertained. + +“The house itself stands in the midst of a large garden, and has deep +French windows opening out upon a terrace at the back. There are +ornamental iron balconies to the windows of the upper floors, and it +was to one of these, situated immediately above the dining-room, that +a rope-ladder was found to be attached. + +“The burglar must have chosen a moment when the guests were dispersed +in the smoking, billiard, and drawing-rooms; the servants were having +their own meal, and the dining-room was deserted. He must have swung +his rope-ladder, and entered Her Majesty’s own bedroom by the window +which—as the night was very warm—had been left open. The jewels were +locked up in a small iron box, which stood upon the dressing-table, +and the burglar took the box bodily away with him, and then, no doubt, +returned the way he came. + +“The wonderful point in this daring attempt was the fact that most of +the windows on the ground floor were slightly open that night, that +the rooms themselves were filled with guests, and that the dining-room +was not empty for more than a few minutes at a time, as the servants +were still busy clearing away after dinner. + +“At nine o’clock some of the younger guests had strolled out on to the +terrace, and the last of these returned to the drawing-room at ten +o’clock; at half-past eleven one of the servants caught sight of the +rope-ladder in front of one of the dining-room windows, and the alarm +was given. + +“All traces of the burglar, however, and of his princely booty had +completely disappeared.” + + + +Chapter II + +“Not only did this daring burglary cause a great deal of excitement,” +continued the man in the corner, “but it also roused a good deal of +sympathy in the public mind for the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia’ who +thus found their hope of raising half a million sterling suddenly +dashed to the ground. The loss to them would, of course, be +irreparable. + +“Matters, were, however, practically at a standstill, all enquiries +from enterprising journalists only eliciting the vague information +that the police ‘held a clue.’ We all know what that means. Then all +at once a wonderful rumour got about. + +“Goodness only knows how these rumours originate—sometimes solely in +the imagination of the man in the street. In this instance certainly, +that worthy gentleman had a very sensational theory. It was namely +rumoured all over London that the clue which the police held pointed +to no less a person than Mr. Wilson himself. + +“What had happened was this: Minute enquiries on the part of the most +able detectives of Scotland Yard had brought to light the fact that +the burglary at Eton Chase must have occurred precisely between ten +minutes and a quarter past eleven; at every other moment of the entire +evening somebody or other had observed either the terrace or the +dining-room windows. + +“I told you that until ten o’clock some of Their Majesties’ guests +were walking up and down the terrace; between ten and half-past +servants were clearing away in the dining-room, and here it was +positively ascertained beyond any doubt that no burglar could have +slung a rope-ladder and climbed up it immediately outside those +windows, for one or other of the six servants engaged in clearing away +the dinner must of necessity have caught sight of him. + +“At half-past ten John Lucas, the head gardener, was walking through +the gardens with a dog at his heels, and did not get back to the lodge +until just upon eleven. He certainly did not go as far as the terrace, +and as that side of the house was in shadow he could not say +positively whether the ladder was there or not, but he certainly did +assert most emphatically that there was no burglar about the _grounds_ +then, for the dog was a good watch-dog and would have barked if any +stranger was about. Lucas took the dog in with him and gave him a bit +of supper, and only fastened him to his kennel outside at a +quarter-past eleven. + +“Surmising, therefore, that at half-past ten, when John Lucas started +on his round, the deed was not yet done, that quarter of an hour would +give the burglar the only possible opportunity of entering the +premises _from the outside_, without being barked at by the dog. Now, +during most of that same quarter of an hour, His Majesty the King of +‘Bohemia’ himself had retired into a small library with his private +secretary, in order to glance through certain despatches which had +arrived earlier in the evening. + +“The window of this library was immediately next to the one outside +which the ladder was found, and both the secretary and His Majesty +himself think that they would have seen something or heard a noise if +the rope-ladder had been slung while they were in the room. They both, +however, returned to the drawing-room at ten minutes past eleven. + +“And here,” continued the man in the corner, rubbing his long, bony +fingers together, “arose the neatest little complication I have ever +come across in a case of this kind. His Majesty had, it appears, +privately made up his mind to accept Mr. Wilson’s bid, but the +transaction had not yet been completed. Mr. Wilson and his wife came +down to stay at Eton Chase on 29th June, and directly they arrived +many of those present noticed that Mr. Wilson was obviously repenting +of his bargain. This impression had deepened day by day, Mrs. Wilson +herself often throwing out covert hints about ‘fictitious value’ and +‘fancy prices for merely notorious trinkets.’ In fact, it became +obvious that the Wilsons were really seeking a loophole for evading +the conclusion of the bargain. + +“On the memorable evening of the 5th July, Mrs. Wilson had been forced +to retire to her room early in the evening, owing, she said, to a bad +headache; her room was in the west wing of the Chase, and opened out +on the same corridor as the apartments of Her Majesty the Queen. At +half-past eleven Mrs. Wilson rang for her maid—Mary Pritchard, who, on +entering her mistress’s room, met Mr. Wilson just coming out of it, +and the girl heard him say: ‘Oh, don’t worry! I’ll have the whole +reset when we get back.’ + +“The detectives, on the other hand, had obtained information that two +or three days previously Mr. Wilson had sustained a very severe loss +on the ’Change, and that he had subsequently remarked to two or three +business friends that the Black Diamonds had become a luxury which he +had no right to afford. + +“Be this as it may, certain it is that within a week of the notorious +burglary the rumour was current in every club in London that James S. +Wilson, the reputed American millionaire, having found himself unable +to complete the purchase of the Black Diamonds, had found this other +very much less legitimate means of gaining possession of the gems. + +“You must admit that the case looked black enough against him—all +circumstantial, of course, for there was absolutely nothing to prove +that he had the jewels in his possession; in fact no trace of them +whatever had been found, but the public argued that Mr. Wilson would +lie low with them for a while, and then have them reset when he +returned to America. + +“Of course, ugly rumours of that description don’t become general +about a man without his getting some inkling of them. Mr. Wilson very +soon found his position in London absolutely intolerable: his friends +ignored him at the club, ladies ceased to call upon his wife, and one +fine day he was openly cut by Lord Barnsdale, an M.F.H., in the +hunting field. + +“Then Mr. Wilson thought it high time to take action. He placed the +whole matter in the hands of an able if not very scrupulous solicitor +who promised within a given time to find him a defendant with plenty +of means, against whom he could bring a sensational libel suit, with +thundering damages. + +“The solicitor was as good as his word. He bribed some of the waiters +at the Carlton, and so laid his snares that within six months, Lord +and Lady Barnsdale had been overheard to say in public what everybody +now thought in private, namely, that Mr. James S. Wilson, finding +himself unable to purchase the celebrated Black Diamonds, had thought +it more profitable to steal them. + +“Two days later Mr. James S. Wilson entered an action in the High +Courts for slander against Lord and Lady Barnsdale, claiming damages +to the tune of £50,000.” + + + +Chapter III + +“Still the mystery of the lost jewels was no nearer to its solution. +Their Majesties the King and Queen of ‘Bohemia,’ had left England soon +after the disastrous event which deprived them of what amounted to a +small fortune. + +“It was expected that the sensational slander case would come on in +the autumn, or rather more than sixteen months after the mysterious +disappearance of the Black Diamonds. + +“This last season was not a very brilliant one, if you remember; the +wet weather, I believe, had quite a good deal to do with the fact; +nevertheless London, that great world centre, was, as usual, full of +distinguished visitors, among whom Mrs. Vanderdellen, who arrived the +second week in July, was perhaps the most interesting. + +“Her enormous wealth spread a positive halo round her, it being +generally asserted that she was the richest woman in the world. Add to +this that she was young, strikingly handsome, and a widow, and you +will easily understand what a _furore_ her appearance during this +London season caused in all high social circles. + +“Though she was still in slight mourning for her husband, she was +asked everywhere, went everywhere, and was courted and admired by +everybody, including some of the highest in the land; her dresses and +jewellery were the talk of the ladies’ papers, her style and charm the +gossip of all the clubs. And no doubt that, although the July evening +Court promised to be very brilliant, every one thought that it would +be doubly so, since Mrs. Vanderdellen had been honoured with an +invitation, and would presumably be present. + +“I like to picture to myself that scene at Buckingham Palace,” +continued the man in the corner, as his fingers toyed lovingly with a +beautiful and brand-new bit of string. “Of course, I was not present +actually, but I can see it all before me; the lights, the crowds, the +pretty women, the glistening diamonds; then, in the midst of the +chatter, a sudden silence fell as ‘Mrs. Vanderdellen’ was announced. + +“All women turned to look at the beautiful American as she entered, +because her dress—on this her first appearance at the English +Court—was sure to be a vision of style and beauty. But for once nobody +noticed the dress from Felix, nobody even gave a glance at the +exquisitely lovely face of the wearer. Every one’s eyes had fastened +on one thing only, and every one’s lips framed but one exclamation, +and that an ‘Oh!’ half of amazement and half of awe. + +“For round her neck and upon her head Mrs. Vanderdellen was wearing a +gorgeously magnificent _parure_ composed of black diamonds.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“I don’t know how the case of Wilson _v._ Barnsdale was settled, for +it never came into court. There were many people in London who owed +the Wilsons an apology, and it is to be hoped that these were tendered +in full. + +“As for Mrs. Vanderdellen, she seemed quite unaware why her appearance +at Their Majesties’ Court had caused quite so much sensation. No one, +of course, broached the subject of the diamonds to her, and she no +doubt attributed those significant ‘Oh’s’ to her own dazzling beauty. + +“The next day, however, Detective Marsh, of Scotland Yard, had a very +difficult task before him. He had to go and ask a beautiful, rich, and +refined woman how she happened to be in possession of stolen +jewellery. + +“Luckily for Marsh, however, he had to deal with a woman who was also +charming, and who met his polite enquiry with an equally pleasant +reply: + +“‘My husband gave me the Black Diamonds,’ she said, ‘a year ago on his +return from Europe. I had them set in Vienna last Spring, and wore +them for the first time last night. Will you please tell me the reason +of this strange enquiry?’ + +“‘Your husband?’ echoed Marsh, ignoring her question, ‘Mr. +Vanderdellen?’ + +“‘Oh, yes,’ she replied sweetly, ‘I dare say you have never heard of +him. His name is very well known in America, where they call him the +“Petrol King.” One of his hobbies was the collection of gems, which he +was very fond of seeing me wear, and he gave me some magnificent +jewels. The Black Diamonds certainly are very handsome. May I now +request you to tell me,’ she repeated, with a certain assumption of +hauteur, ‘the reason of all these enquiries?’ + +“‘The reason is simple enough, madam,’ replied the detective abruptly, +‘those diamonds were the property of Her Majesty the Queen of +“Bohemia,” and were stolen from Their Majesties’ residence, Eton +Chase, Chislehurst, on the 5th of July last year.’ + +“‘Stolen!’ she repeated, aghast and obviously incredulous. + +“‘Yes, stolen,’ said old Marsh. ‘I don’t wish to distress you +unnecessarily, Madam, but you will see how imperative it is that you +should place me in immediate communication with Mr. Vanderdellen, as +an explanation from him has become necessary.’ + +“‘Unfortunately, that is impossible,’ said Mrs. Vanderdellen, who +seemed under the spell of a strong emotion. + +“‘Impossible?’ + +“‘Mr. Vanderdellen has been dead just over a year. He died three days +after his return to New York, and the Black Diamonds were the last +present he ever made me.’ + +“There was a pause after that. Marsh—experienced detective though he +was—was literally at his wits’ ends what to do. He said afterwards +that Mrs. Vanderdellen, though very young and frivolous outwardly, +seemed at the same time an exceedingly shrewd, farseeing business +woman. To begin with, she absolutely refused to have the matter hushed +up, and to return the jewels until their rightful ownership had been +properly proved. + +“‘It would be tantamount,’ she said, ‘to admitting that my husband had +come by them unlawfully.’ + +“At the same time she offered the princely reward of £10,000 to any +one who found the true solution of the mystery; for, mind you, the +late Mr. Vanderdellen sailed from Havre for New York on July the 8th, +1902, that is to say, three clear days after the theft of the diamonds +from Eton Chase, and he presented his wife with the loose gems +immediately on his arrival in New York. Three days after that he died. + +“It was difficult to suppose that Mr. Vanderdellen purchased those +diamonds not knowing that they must have been stolen, since, directly +after the burglary the English police telegraphed to all their +Continental colleagues, and within four-and-twenty hours a description +of the stolen jewels was circulated throughout Europe. + +“It was, to say the least of it, very strange that an experienced +business man and shrewd collector like Mr. Vanderdellen should have +purchased such priceless gems without making some enquiries as to +their history, more especially as they must have been offered to him +in a more or less ‘hole-in-the-corner’ way. + +“Still, Mrs. Vanderdellen stuck to her guns, and refused to give up +the jewels pending certain enquiries she wished to make. She declared +that she wished to be sued for the diamonds in open court, charged +with wilfully detaining stolen goods if necessary, for the more +publicity was given to the whole affair the better she would like it, +so firmly did she believe in her husband’s innocence. + +“The matter was indeed brought to the High Courts, and the sensational +action brought against Mrs. Vanderdellen by the representative of His +Majesty the King of ‘Bohemia’ for the recovery of the Black Diamonds +is, no doubt, still fresh in your memory. + +“No one was allowed to know what witnesses Mrs. Vanderdellen would +bring forward in her defence. She had engaged the services of Sir +Arthur Inglewood, and of some of the most eminent counsel at the Bar. +The court was packed with the most fashionable crowd ever seen inside +the Law Courts; and both days that the action lasted Mrs. Vanderdellen +appeared in exquisite gowns and ideal hats. + +“The evidence for the Royal plaintiff was simple enough. It all went +to prove that the very day after the burglary not a jeweller, +pawnbroker, or diamond merchant throughout the whole of Europe could +have failed to know that a unique _parure_ of black diamonds had been +stolen, and would probably be offered for sale. The Black Diamonds in +themselves, and out of their setting, were absolutely unique, and if +the late Mr. Vanderdellen purchased them in Paris from some private +individual, he must at least have very strongly suspected that they +were stolen. + +“Throughout the whole of that first day Mrs. Vanderdellen sat in +court, absolutely calm and placid. She listened to the evidence, made +little notes, and chatted with two or three American friends—elderly +men—who were with her. + +“Then came the turn of the defence. + +“Everybody had expected something sensational, and listened more +eagerly than ever as the name of Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley was called. +He was a tall, elderly man, the regular angular type of the American, +with his nasal twang and reposeful manner. + +“His story was brief and simple. He was a great friend of the late Mr. +Vanderdellen, and had gone on a European tour with him in the early +spring of 1902. They were together in Vienna in the month of March, +staying at the Hotel Imperial, when one day Vanderdellen came to his +room with a remarkable story. + +“‘He told me,’ continued Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley, ‘that he had just +purchased some very beautiful diamonds, which he meant to present to +his wife on his return to New York. He would not tell me where he +bought them, nor would he show them to me, but he spoke about the +beauty and rarity of the stones, which were that rarest of all things, +beautiful black diamonds. + +“‘As the whole story sounded to me a little bit queer and mysterious, +I gave him a word of caution, but he was quite confident as to the +integrity of the vendor of the jewels, since the latter had made a +somewhat curious bargain. Vanderdellen was to have the diamonds in his +keeping for three months without paying any money, merely giving a +formal receipt for them; then, if after three months he was quite +satisfied with his bargain, and there had been no suspicion or rumour +of any kind that the diamonds were stolen, then only was the money, +£500,000, to be paid. + +“‘Vanderdellen thought this very fair and above-board, and so it +sounded to me. The only thing I didn’t like about it all was that the +vendor had given what I thought was a false name and no address; the +money was to be paid over to him in French notes when the three months +had expired, at an hotel in Paris, where Vanderdellen would be staying +at the time, and where he would call for it. + +“‘I heard nothing more about the mysterious diamonds and their still +more mysterious vendor,’ continued Mr. Sedley, amidst intense +excitement, ‘for Vanderdellen and I soon parted company after that, he +going one way and I another. But at the beginning of July I met him in +Paris, and on the 4th I dined with him at the Elysee Palace Hotel, +where he was staying. + +“‘Mr. Cornelius R. Shee was there too, and Vanderdellen related to him +during dinner the history of his mysterious purchase of the Black +Diamonds, adding that the vendor had called upon him that very day as +arranged, and that he (Vanderdellen) had had no hesitation in handing +him over the agreed price of £500,000, which he thought a very low +one. Both Mr. Shee and I agreed that the whole thing must have been +clear and above-board, for jewels of such fabulous value could not +have been stolen since last spring without the hue and cry being in +every paper in Europe. + +“‘It is my opinion, therefore,’ said Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley, at the +conclusion of this remarkable evidence, ‘that Mr. Vanderdellen bought +those diamonds in perfect good faith. He would never have wittingly +subjected his wife to the indignity of being seen in public with +stolen jewels round her neck. If after 5th July he did happen to hear +that a _parure_ of black diamonds had been stolen in England at the +date, he could not possibly think that there could be the slightest +connection between these and those he had purchased more than three +months ago.’ + +“And, amidst indescribable excitement, Mr. Albert V. B. Sedley stepped +back into his place. + +“That he had spoken the truth from beginning to end no one could doubt +for a single moment. His own social position, wealth, and important +commercial reputation placed him above any suspicion of committing +perjury, even for the sake of a dead friend. Moreover, the story told +by Vanderdellen at the dinner in Paris was corroborated by Mr. +Cornelius R. Shee in every point. + +“But there! a dead man’s words are _not_ evidence in a court of law. +Unfortunately, Mr. Vanderdellen had not shown the diamonds to his +friends at the time. He had certainly drawn enormous sums of money +from his bank about the end of June and beginning of July, amounting +in all to just over a million sterling; and there was nothing to prove +which special day he had paid away a sum of £500,000, whether _before_ +or _after_ the burglary at Eton Chase. + +“He had made extensive purchases in Paris of pictures, furniture, and +other works of art, all of priceless value, for the decoration of his +new palace in Fifth Avenue, and no diary of private expenditure was +produced in court. Mrs. Vanderdellen herself had said that after her +husband’s death, as all his affairs were in perfect order, she had +destroyed his personal and private diaries. + +“Thus the counsel for the plaintiff was able to demolish the whole +edifice of the defence bit by bit, for it rested on but very ephemeral +foundations: a story related by a dead man. + +“Judgment was entered for the plaintiff, although every one’s +sympathy, including that of judge and of jury, was entirely for the +defendant, who had so nobly determined to vindicate her husband’s +reputation. + +“But Mrs. Vanderdellen proved to the last that she was no ordinary and +everyday woman. She had kept one final sensation up her sleeve. Two +days after she had legally been made to give up the Black Diamonds, +she offered to purchase them back for £500,000. Her bid was accepted, +and during last autumn, on the occasion of the last Royal visit to +London and the consequent grand society functions, no one was more +admired, more _fêted_ and envied, than beautiful Mrs. Vanderdellen as +she entered a drawing-room exquisitely gowned, and adorned with the +_parure_ of which an Empress might have been proud.” + +The man in the corner had paused, and was idly tapping his fingers on +the marble-topped table of the A.B.C. shop. + +“It was a curious story, wasn’t it?” said the funny creature, after a +while. “More like a romance than a reality.” + +“It is absolutely bewildering,” I said. + +“What is your theory?” he asked. + +“What about?” I retorted. + +“Well, there are so many points, aren’t there, of which only one is +quite clear, namely, that the _parure_ of Black Diamonds disappeared +from Eton Chase, Chislehurst, on 5th July, 1902, and that the next +time they were seen they were on the neck and head of Mrs. +Vanderdellen, the widow of one of the richest men of modern times, +whilst the story of how her husband came by them was, to all intents +and purposes, _legally_ disbelieved.” + +“Then,” I argued, “the only logical conclusions to arrive at in all +this is that the Black Diamonds, owned by His Majesty the King of +‘Bohemia,’ were not unique, and that Mr. Vanderdellen bought some +duplicate ones.” + +“If you knew anything about diamonds,” he said irritably, “you would +also know that your statement is an absurdity. There are no such +things as ‘duplicate’ diamonds.” + +“Then what _is_ the only logical conclusion to arrive at?” I retorted, +for he had given up playing with the photos and was twisting and +twining that bit of string as if his brain was contained inside it and +he feared it might escape. + +“Well, to me,” he said, “the only logical conclusion of the affair is +that the Black Diamonds which Mrs. Vanderdellen wore were the only and +original ones belonging to the Crown of ‘Bohemia.’” + +“Then you think that a man in Mr. Vanderdellen’s position would have +been fool enough to buy gems worth £500,000 at the very moment when +there was a hue and cry for them all over Europe?” + +“No, I don’t,” he replied quietly. + +“But then——” I began. + +“No?” he repeated once again, as his long fingers completed knot +number one in that eternal piece of string. “The Black Diamonds which +Mrs. Vanderdellen wore were bought by her husband in all good faith +from the mysterious vendor in Vienna, in March, 1902.” + +“Impossible!” I retorted. “Her Majesty the Queen of ‘Bohemia’ wore +them regularly during the months of May and June, and they were stolen +from Eton Chase on July the 5th.” + +“Her Majesty the Queen of ‘Bohemia’ wore a _parure_ of Black Diamonds +during those months, and those certainly were stolen on July the 5th,” +he said excitedly; “but what was there to prove that _those_ were the +genuine stones?” + +“Why!——” I ejaculated. + +“Point No. 2,” he said, jumping about like a monkey on a stick; +“although Mr. Wilson was acknowledged to be innocent of the theft of +the diamonds, isn’t it strange that no one has ever been proved guilty +of it?” + +“But I don’t understand——” + +“Yet it is simple as daylight. I maintain that His Majesty the King +of ‘Bohemia’ being short, very short, of money, decided to sell +the celebrated Black Diamonds; to avoid all risks the stones are +taken out of their settings, and a trusted and secret emissary is +then deputed to find a possible purchaser; his choice falls on the +multi-millionaire Vanderdellen, who is travelling in Europe, is +a noted collector of rare jewellery, and has a beautiful young +wife—three attributes, you see, which make him a very likely +purchaser. + +“The emissary then seeks him out, and offers him the diamonds for +sale. Mr. Vanderdellen at first hesitates, wondering how such valuable +gems had come in the vendor’s possession, but the bargain suggested by +the latter—the three months during which the gems are to be held on +trust by the purchaser—seems so fair and above-board, that Mr. +Vanderdellen’s objections fall to the ground; he accepts the bargain, +and three months later completes the purchase.” + +“But I don’t understand,” I repeated again, more bewildered than +before. “You say the King of ‘Bohemia’ sold the loose gems originally +to Mr. Vanderdellen; then, what about the _parure_ worn by the Queen +and offered for sale to Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? What about the theft at +Eton Chase?” + +“Point No. 3,” he shrieked excitedly, as another series of complicated +knots went to join its fellows. “I told you that the King of ‘Bohemia’ +was _very_ short of money, every one knows _that_. He sells the Black +Diamonds to Mr. Vanderdellen, but before he does it, he causes +duplicates of them to be made, but this time in exquisite, beautiful, +perfect Parisian imitation, and has these mounted into the original +settings by some trusted man who, you may be sure, was well paid to +hold his tongue. Then it is given out that the _parure_ is for sale; a +purchaser is found, and a few days later the false diamonds are +stolen.” + +“By whom?” + +“By the King of ‘Bohemia’s’ valued and trusted friend, who has helped +in the little piece of villainy throughout; it is he who drops a +rope-ladder through Her Majesty’s bedroom window on to the terrace +below, and then hands the imitation _parure_ to his Royal master, who +sees to its complete destruction and disappearance. Then there is a +hue and cry for the _real_ stones, and after a year or so they are +found on the person of a lady, who is legally forced to give them up. +And thus His Majesty the King of ‘Bohemia’ got one solid million for +the Black Diamonds, instead of half that sum, for if Mrs. Vanderdellen +had not purchased the jewels, some one else would have done so.” + +And he was gone, leaving me to gaze at the pictures of three lovely +women, and wondering if indeed it was the Royal lady herself who could +best solve the mystery of who stole the Black Diamonds. + + + +V. The Murder of Miss Pebmarsh + +Chapter I + +“You must admit,” said the man in the corner to me one day, as I +folded up and put aside my _Daily Telegraph_, which I had been reading +with great care, “that it would be difficult to find a more +interesting plot, or more thrilling situations, than occurred during +the case of Miss Pamela Pebmarsh. As for downright cold-blooded +villainy, commend me to some of the actors in that real drama. + +“The facts were simple enough; Miss Lucy Ann Pebmarsh was an old maid +who lived with her young niece Pamela and an elderly servant in one of +the small, newly-built houses not far from the railway station at +Boreham Wood. The fact that she kept a servant at all, and that the +little house always looked very spick and span, was taken by the +neighbours to mean that Miss Pebmarsh was a lady of means; but she +kept very much to herself, seldom went to church, and never attended +any of the mothers’ meetings, parochial teas, and other social +gatherings for which that popular neighbourhood has long been famous. + +“Very little, therefore, was known of the Pebmarsh household, save +that the old lady had seen better days, that she had taken her niece +to live with her recently, and that the latter had had a somewhat +checkered career before she had found her present haven of refuge; +some more venturesome gossips went so far as to hint—but only just +above a whisper—that Miss Pamela Pebmarsh had been on the stage. + +“Certain it is that that young lady seemed to chafe very much under +the restraint imposed upon her by her aunt, who seldom allowed her out +of her sight, and evidently kept her very short of money, for, in +spite of Miss Pamela’s obvious love of fine clothes, she had latterly +been constrained to wear the plainest of frocks and most unbecoming of +hats. + +“All very commonplace and uninteresting, you see, until that memorable +Wednesday in October, after which the little house in Boreham Wood +became a nine days’ wonder throughout newspaper-reading England. + +“On that day Miss Pebmarsh’s servant, Jemima Gadd, went over to Luton +to see a sick sister; she was not expected back until the next +morning. On that same afternoon Miss Pamela—strangely enough—seems +also to have elected to go up to town, leaving her aunt all alone in +the house, and not returning home until the late train, which reaches +Boreham Wood a few minutes before one. + +“It was about five minutes past one that the neighbours in the quiet +little street were roused from their slumbers by most frantic and +agonised shrieks. The next moment Miss Pamela was seen to rush out of +her aunt’s house and then to hammer violently at the door of one of +her neighbours, still uttering piercing shrieks. You may imagine what +a commotion such a scene at midnight would cause in a place like +Boreham Wood. Heads were thrust out of the windows; one or two +neighbours in hastily-donned miscellaneous attire came running out; +and very soon the news spread round like wild-fire that Miss Pamela on +coming home had found her aunt lying dead in the sitting-room. + +“Mr. Miller, the local greengrocer, was the first to pluck up +sufficient courage to effect an entrance into the house. Miss Pamela +dared not follow him; she had become quite hysterical, and was +shrieking at the top of her voice that her aunt had been murdered. The +sight that greeted Mr. Miller and those who had been venturesome +enough to follow him, was certainly calculated to unhinge any young +girl’s mind. + +“In the small bow-window of the sitting-room stood a writing-table, +with drawers open and papers scattered all over and around it; in a +chair in front of it, half sitting and half lying across the table, +face downwards, and with arms outstretched, was the dead body of Miss +Pebmarsh. There was sufficient indications to show to the most casual +observer that, undoubtedly, the unfortunate lady had been murdered. + +“One of the neighbours, who possessed a bicycle, had in the meantime +had the good sense to ride over to the police station. Very soon two +constables were on the spot; they quickly cleared the room of +gossiping neighbours, and then endeavoured to obtain from Miss Pamela +some lucid information as to the terrible event. + +“At first she seemed quite unable to answer coherently the many +questions which were being put to her; however, with infinite patience +and wonderful kindness, Sergeant Evans at last managed to obtain from +her the following statement. + +“‘I had had an invitation to go to the theatre this evening; it was an +old invitation, and my aunt had said long ago that I might accept it. +When Jemima Gadd wanted to go to Luton, I didn’t see why I should give +up the theatre and offend my friend, just because of her. My aunt and +I had some words about it, but I went. . . . I came back by the last +train, and walked straight home from the station. I had taken the +latch-key with me, and went straight into the sitting-room; the lamp +was alight, and—and——’ + +“The rest was chaos in the poor girl’s mind; she was only conscious of +having seen something awful and terrible, and of having rushed out +screaming for help. Sergeant Evans asked her no further questions +then; a kind neighbour had offered to take charge of Pamela for the +night, and took her away with her, the constable remaining in charge +of the body and the house until the arrival of higher authorities.” + + + +Chapter II + +“Although, as you may well suppose,” continued the man in the corner, +after a pause, “the excitement was intense at Boreham Wood, it had not +as yet reached the general newspaper-reading public. As the tragic +event had occurred at one o’clock in the morning, the papers the +following day only contained a brief announcement that an old lady had +been found murdered at Boreham Wood under somewhat mysterious +circumstances. Later on, the evening editions added that the police +were extremely reticent, but that it was generally understood that +they held an important clue. + +“The following day had been fixed for the inquest, and I went down +myself in the morning, for somehow I felt that this case was going to +be an interesting one. A murder which at first seems absolutely +purposeless always, in my experience, reveals, sooner or later, an +interesting trait in human nature. + +“As soon as I arrived at Boreham Wood, I found that the murder of Miss +Pebmarsh and the forthcoming inquest seemed to be the sole subjects of +gossip and conversation. After I had been in the place half an hour +the news began to spread like wild-fire that the murderer had been +arrested; five minutes later the name of the murderer was on +everybody’s lips. + +“It was that of the murdered woman’s niece, Miss Pamela Pebmarsh. + +“‘Oh, oh!’ I said to myself, ‘my instincts have not deceived me: this +case is indeed going to be interesting.’ + +“It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when I at last managed to +find my way to the little police station, where the inquest was to be +held. There was scarcely standing room, I can tell you, and I had some +difficulty in getting a front place from which I could see the +principal actors in this village drama. + +“Pamela Pebmarsh was there in the custody of two constables—she, a +young girl scarcely five-and-twenty, stood there accused of having +murdered, in a peculiarly brutal way, an old lady of seventy, her +relative who had befriended her and given her a home.” + +The man in the corner paused for a moment, and from the capacious +pocket of his magnificent ulster he drew two or three small photos, +which he placed before me. + +“This is Miss Pamela Pebmarsh,” he said, pointing to one of these; +“tall and good-looking, in spite of the shabby bit of mourning with +which she had contrived to deck herself. Of course, this photo does +not give you an idea of what she looked like that day at the inquest. +Her face then was almost ashen in colour; her large eyes were staring +before her with a look of horror and of fear; and her hands were +twitching incessantly, with spasmodic and painful nervousness. + +“It was pretty clear that public feeling went dead against her from +the very first. A murmur of disapproval greeted her appearance, to +which she seemed to reply with a look of defiance. I could hear many +uncharitable remarks spoken all round me; Boreham Wood found it +evidently hard to forgive Miss Pamela her good looks and her unavowed +past. + +“The medical evidence was brief and simple. Miss Pebmarsh had been +stabbed in the back with some sharp instrument, the blade of which had +pierced the left lung. She had evidently been sitting in the chair in +front of her writing-table when the murderer had caught her unawares. +Death had ensued within the next few seconds. + +“The medical officer was very closely questioned upon this point by +the coroner; it was evident that the latter had something very serious +in his mind, to which the doctor’s replies would give confirmation. + +“‘In your opinion,’ he asked, ‘would it have been possible for Miss +Pebmarsh to do anything after she was stabbed. Could she have moved, +for instance?’ + +“‘Slightly, perhaps,’ replied the doctor; ‘but she did not attempt to +rise from her chair.’ + +“‘No; but could she have tried to reach the hand-bell, for instance, +which was on the table, or—the pen and ink—and written a word or two?’ + +“‘Well, yes,’ said the doctor thoughtfully; ‘she might have done that, +if pen and ink, or the hand-bell, were _very_ close to her hand. I +doubt, though, if she could have written anything very clearly, but +still it is impossible to say quite definitely—anyhow, it could only +have been a matter of a few seconds.’ + +“Delightfully vague, you see,” continued the man in the corner, “as +these learned gentlemen’s evidence usually is. + +“Sergeant Evans then repeated the story which Pamela Pebmarsh had +originally told him, and from which she had never departed in any +detail. She had gone to the theatre, leaving her aunt all alone in the +house; she had arrived home at one o’clock by the late Wednesday night +train, and had gone straight into the sitting-room, where she had +found her aunt dead before her writing-table. + +“That she travelled up to London in the afternoon was easily proved; +the station-master and the porters had seen her go. Unfortunately for +her _alibi_, however, those late ‘theatre’ trains on that line are +always very crowded; the night had been dark and foggy, and no one at +or near the station could swear positively to having seen her arrive +home again by the train she named. + +“There was one thing more; although the importance of it had been +firmly impressed upon Pamela Pebmarsh, she absolutely refused to name +the friends with whom she had been to the theatre that night, and who, +presumably, might have helped her to prove at what hour she left +London for home. + +“Whilst all this was going on, I was watching Pamela’s face intently. +That the girl was frightened—nay more, terrified—there could be no +doubt; the twitching of her hands, her eyes dilated with terror, spoke +of some awful secret which she dare not reveal, but which she felt was +being gradually brought to light. Was that secret the secret of a +crime—a crime so horrible, so gruesome, that surely so young a girl +would be incapable of committing? + +“So far, however, what struck every one mostly during this inquest was +the seeming purposelessness of this cruel murder. The old lady, as far +as could be ascertained, had no money to leave, so why should Pamela +Pebmarsh have deliberately murdered the aunt who provided her, at any +rate, with the comforts of a home? But the police, assisted by one of +the most able detectives on the staff, had not effected so sensational +an arrest without due cause; they had a formidable array of witnesses +to prove their case up to the hilt. One of these was Jemima Gadd, the +late Miss Pebmarsh’s servant. + +“She came forward attired in deep black, and wearing a monumental +crape bonnet crowned with a quantity of glistening black beads. With +her face the colour of yellow wax, and her thin lips pinched tightly +together, she stood as the very personification of puritanism and +uncharitableness. + +“She did not look once towards Pamela, who gazed at her like some +wretched bird caught in a net, which sees the meshes tightening round +it more and more. + +“Replying to the coroner, Jemima Gadd explained that on the Wednesday +morning she had had a letter from her sister at Luton, asking her to +come over and see her some day. + +“‘As there was plenty of cold meat in the ’ouse,’ she said, ‘I asked +the mistress if she could spare me until the next day, and she said +yes, she could. Miss Pamela and she could manage quite well.’ + +“‘She said nothing about her niece going out, too, on the same day?’ +asked the coroner. + +“‘No,’ replied Jemima acidly, ‘she did not. And later on, at +breakfast, Miss Pebmarsh said to Miss Pamela before me: “Pamela,” she +says, “Jemima is going to Luton, and won’t be back until to-morrow. +You and I will be alone in the ’ouse until then.”’ + +“‘And what did the accused say?’ + +“‘She says, “All right, aunt.”’ + +“‘Nothing more?’ + +“‘No, nothing more.’ + +“‘There was no question, then, of the accused going out also, and +leaving Miss Pebmarsh all alone in the house?’ + +“‘None at all,’ said Jemima emphatically. ‘If there ’ad been I’d ’ave +’eard of it. I needn’t ’ave gone that day. Any day would ’ave done for +me.’ + +“She closed her thin lips with a snap, and darted a vicious look at +Pamela. There was obviously some old animosity lurking beneath that +gigantic crape monument on the top of Jemima’s wax-coloured head. + +“‘You know nothing, then, about any disagreement between the deceased +and the accused on the subject of her going to the theatre that day?’ +asked the coroner, after a while. + +“‘No, not about _that_,’ said Jemima curtly, ‘but there was plenty of +disagreements between those two, I can tell you.’ + +“‘Ah! what about?’ + +“‘Money, mostly. Miss Pamela was over-fond of fine clothes, but Miss +Pebmarsh, who was giving ’er a ’ome and daily bread, ’adn’t much money +to spare for fallalery. Miss Pebmarsh ’ad a small pension from a lady +of the haristocracy, but it wasn’t much—a pound a week it was. Miss +Pebmarsh might ’ave ’ad a lot more if she’d wanted to.’ + +“‘Oh?’ queried the coroner, ‘how was that?’ + +“‘Well, you see, that fine lady ’ad not always been as good as she +ought to be. She’d been Miss Pamela’s friend when they were both on +the stage together, and pretty goings on, I can tell you, those two +were up to, and——’ + +“‘That’ll do,’ interrupted the coroner sternly. ‘Confine yourself, +please, to telling the jury about the pension Miss Pebmarsh had from a +lady.’ + +“‘I was speaking about that,’ said Jemima, with another snap of her +thin lips. ‘Miss Pebmarsh knew a thing or two about this fine lady, +and she had some letters which she often told me that fine lady would +not care for her ’usband or her fine friends to read. Miss Pamela got +to know about these letters, and she worried her poor aunt to death, +for she wanted to get those letters and sell them to the fine lady for +’undreds of pounds. I ’ave ’eard ’er ask for those letters times and +again, but Miss Pebmarsh wouldn’t give them to ’er, and they were +locked up in the writing-table drawer, and Miss Pamela wanted those +letters, for she wanted to get ’undreds of pounds from the fine lady, +and my poor mistress was murdered for those letters—and she was +murdered by that wicked girl ’oo eat her bread and ’oo would ’ave +starved but for ’er. And so I tell you, and I don’t care ’oo ’ears me +say it.’ + +“No one had attempted to interrupt Jemima Gadd as she delivered +herself of this extraordinary tale, which so suddenly threw an +unexpected and lurid light upon the mystery of poor Miss Pebmarsh’s +death. + +“That the tale was a true one, no one doubted for a single instant. +One look at the face of the accused was sufficient to prove it beyond +question. Pamela Pebmarsh had become absolutely livid; she tottered +almost as if she would fall, and the constable had to support her +until a chair was brought forward for her. + +“As for Jemima Gadd, she remained absolutely impassive. Having given +her evidence, she stepped aside automatically like a yellow waxen +image, which had been wound up and had now run down. There was silence +for a while. Pamela Pebmarsh, more dead than alive, was sipping a +glass of brandy and water, which alone prevented her from falling in a +dead faint. + +“Detective Inspector Robinson now stepped forward. All the spectators +there could read on his face the consciousness that his evidence would +be of the most supreme import. + +“‘I was telegraphed for from the Yard,’ he said, in reply to the +coroner, ‘and came down here by the first train on the Thursday +morning. Beyond the short medical examination the body had not been +touched; as the constables know, we don’t like things interfered with +in cases of this kind. When I went up to look at deceased, the first +thing I saw was a piece of paper just under her right hand. Sergeant +Evans had seen it before, and pointed it out to me. Deceased had a pen +in her hand, and the ink-bottle was close by. This is the paper I +found, sir.’ + +“And amidst a deadly silence, during which nothing could be heard but +the scarcely-perceptible rustle of the paper, the inspector handed a +small note across to the coroner. The latter glanced at it for a +moment, and his face became very grave and solemn as he turned towards +the jury. + +“‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ he said, ‘these are the contents of the +paper which the inspector found under the hand of the deceased.’ + +“He paused once more before he began to read, whilst we all in that +crowded court held our breath to listen: + +“‘_I am dying. My murderess is my niece, Pam_——’ + +“‘That is all, gentlemen,’ added the coroner, as he folded up the +note. ‘Death overtook the unfortunate woman in the very act of writing +down the name of her murderess.’ + +“Then there was a wild and agonised shriek of horror. Pamela Pebmarsh, +with hair dishevelled and eyes in which the light of madness had begun +to gleam, threw up her hands, and without a groan, fell down senseless +upon the floor.” + + + +Chapter III + +“Yes,” said the man in the corner with a chuckle, “there was enough +evidence there to hang twenty people, let alone that one fool of a +girl who had run her neck so madly into a noose. I don’t suppose that +any one left the court that day with the slightest doubt in their +minds as to what the verdict would be; for the coroner had adjourned +the inquest, much to the annoyance of the jury, who had fully made up +their minds and had their verdict pat on the tips of their tongues: +‘Wilful murder against Pamela Pebmarsh.’ + +“But this was a case which to the last kept up its reputation for +surprises. By the next morning rumour had got about that ‘the lady of +the aristocracy’ referred to by Jemima Gadd, and who was supposed to +have paid a regular pension to Miss Pebmarsh, was none other than Lady +de Chavasse. + +“When the name was first mentioned every one—especially the fair +sex—shrugged their shoulders, and said: ‘Of course what else _could_ +one expect?’ + +“As a matter of fact, Lady de Chavasse, _née_ Birdie Fay, was one of +the most fashionable women in society; she was at the head of a dozen +benevolent institutions, was a generous patron of hospitals, and her +house was one of the most exclusive houses in London. True, she had +been on the stage in her younger days, and when Sir Percival de +Chavasse married her, his own relations looked somewhat askance at the +showy, handsome girl who had so daringly entered the ancient country +family. + +“Sir Percival himself was an extraordinarily proud man—proud of his +lineage, of his social status, of the honour of his name. His very +pride had forced his relations, had forced society to accept his +beautiful young wife, and to Lady de Chavasse’s credit be it said, not +one breath of scandal as to her past life had ever become public +gossip. No one could assert that they _knew_ anything derogatory to +Birdie Fay before she became the proud baronet’s wife. As a matter of +fact, all society asserted that Sir Percival would never have married +her and introduced her to his own family circle if there had been any +gossip about her. + +“Now suddenly the name of Lady de Chavasse was on everybody’s tongue. +People at first spoke it under their breath, for every one felt great +sympathy with her. She was so rich, and entertained so lavishly. She +was very charming, too; most fascinating in her ways; deferential to +her austere mother-in-law; not a little afraid of her proud husband; +very careful lest by word or look she betrayed her early connection +with the stage before him. + +“On the following day, however, we had further surprises in store for +us. Pamela Pebmarsh, advised by a shrewd and clear-headed solicitor, +had at last made up her mind to view her danger a little more coolly, +and to speak rather more of the truth than she had done hitherto. + +“Still looking very haggard, but perhaps a little less scared, she now +made a statement which, when it was fully substantiated, as she stated +it could be, would go far towards clearing her of the terrible +imputation against her. Her story was this: On the memorable day in +question, she did go up to town, intending to go to the theatre. At +the station she purchased an evening paper, which she began to read. +This paper in its fashionable columns contained an announcement which +arrested her attention; this was that Sir Percival and Lady de +Chavasse had returned to their flat in town at 51, Marsden Mansions, +Belgravia, from ‘The Chase,’ Melton Mowbray. + +“‘De Chavasse,’ continued Pamela, ‘was the name of the lady who paid +my aunt the small pension on which she lived. I knew her years ago, +when she was on the stage, and I suddenly thought I would like to go +and see her, just to have a chat over old times. Instead of going to +the theatre I went and had some dinner at Slater’s, in Piccadilly, and +then I thought I would take my chance, and go and see if Lady de +Chavasse was at home. I got to 51, Marsden Mansions, about eight +o’clock, and was fortunate enough to see Lady de Chavasse at once. She +kept me talking some considerable time; so much, in fact, that I +missed the 11 from St. Pancras. I only left Marsden Mansions at a +quarter to eleven, and had to wait at St. Pancras until twenty minutes +past midnight.’ + +“This was all reasonable and clear enough, and as her legal adviser +had subpœnaed Lady de Chavasse as a witness, Pamela Pebmarsh seemed to +have found an excellent way out of her terrible difficulties, the only +question being whether Lady de Chavasse’s testimony alone would, in +view of her being Pamela’s friend, be sufficient to weigh against the +terrible overwhelming evidence of Miss Pebmarsh’s dying accusation. + +“But Lady de Chavasse settled this doubtful point in the way least +expected by any one. Exquisitely dressed, golden-haired, and brilliant +complexioned, she looked strangely out of place in this fusty little +village court, amidst the local dames in their plain gowns and +antiquated bonnets. She was, moreover, extremely self-possessed, and +only cast a short, very haughty, look at the unfortunate girl whose +life probably hung upon that fashionable woman’s word. + +“‘Yes,’ she said sweetly, in reply to the coroner, ‘she was the wife +of Sir Percival de Chavasse, and resided at 51, Marsden Mansions, +Belgravia.’ + +“‘The accused, I understand, has been known to you for some time?’ +continued the coroner. + +“‘Pardon me,’ rejoined Lady de Chavasse, speaking in a beautiful +modulated voice, ‘I did know this young—hem—person, years ago, when I +was on the stage, but, of course, I had not seen her for years.’ + +“‘She called on you on Wednesday last at about nine o’clock?’ + +“‘Yes, she did, for the purpose of levying blackmail upon me.’ + +“There was no mistaking the look of profound aversion and contempt +which the fashionable lady now threw upon the poor girl before her. + +“‘She had some preposterous story about some letters which she alleged +would be compromising to my reputation,’ continued Lady de Chavasse +quietly. ‘These she had the kindness to offer me for sale for a +hundred pounds. At first her impudence staggered me, as, of course, I +had no knowledge of any such letters. She threatened to take them to +my husband, however, and I then—rather foolishly, perhaps—suggested +that she should bring them to me first. I forget how the conversation +went on, but she left me with the understanding that she would get the +letters from her aunt, Miss Pebmarsh, who, by the way, had been my +governess when I was a child, and to whom I paid a small pension in +consideration of her having been left absolutely without means.’ + +“And Lady de Chavasse, conscious of her own disinterested benevolence, +pressed a highly-scented bit of cambric to her delicate nose. + +“‘Then the accused did spend the evening with you on that Wednesday?’ +asked the coroner, while a great sigh of relief seemed to come from +poor Pamela’s breast. + +“‘Pardon me,’ said Lady de Chavasse, ‘she spent a little time with me. +She came about nine o’clock.’ + +“‘Yes. And when did she leave?’ + +“‘I really couldn’t tell you—about ten o’clock, I think.’ + +“‘You are not sure?’ persisted the coroner. ‘Think, Lady de Chavasse,’ +he added earnestly, ‘try to think—the life of a fellow-creature may, +perhaps, depend upon your memory.’ + +“‘I am indeed sorry,’ she replied in the same musical voice. ‘I could +not swear without being positive, could I? And I am not quite +positive.’ + +“‘But your servants?’ + +“‘They were at the back of the flat—the girl let herself out.’ + +“‘But your husband?’ + +“‘Oh! when he saw me engaged with the girl, he went out to his club, +and was not yet home when she left.’ + +“‘Birdie! Birdie! won’t you try and remember?’ here came in an +agonised cry from the unfortunate girl, who thus saw her last hope +vanish before her eyes. + +“But Lady de Chavasse only lifted a little higher a pair of very +prettily-arched eyebrows, and having finished her evidence she stepped +on one side and presently left the court, leaving behind her a faint +aroma of violet sachet powder, and taking away with her, perhaps, the +last hope of an innocent fellow-creature.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“But Pamela Pebmarsh?” I asked after a while, for he had paused and +was gazing attentively at the photograph of a very beautiful and +exquisitely-gowned woman. + +“Ah, yes, Pamela Pebmarsh,” he said with a smile. “There was yet +another act in that palpitating drama of her life—one act—the +_dénouement_ as unexpected as it was thrilling. Salvation came where +it was least expected—from Jemima Gadd, who seemed to have made up her +mind that Pamela had killed her aunt, and yet who was the first to +prove her innocence. + +“She had been shown the few words which the murdered woman was alleged +to have written after she had been stabbed. Jemima, not a very good +scholar, found it difficult to decipher the words herself. + +“‘Ah, well, poor dear,’ she said after a while, with a deep sigh, ‘’er +’andwriting was always peculiar, seein’ as ’ow she wrote always with +’er left ’and.’ + +“‘_Her left hand!!!_’ gasped the coroner, while public and jury alike, +hardly liking to credit their ears, hung upon the woman’s thin lips, +amazed, aghast, puzzled. + +“‘Why, yes!’ said Jemima placidly. ‘Didn’t you know she ’ad a bad +accident to ’er right ’and when she was a child, and never could ’old +anything in it? ’Er fingers were like paralysed; the ink-pot was +always on the left of ’er writing-table. Oh! she couldn’t write with +’er right ’and at all.’ + +“Then a strange revulsion of feeling came over every one there. + +“Stabbed in the back, with her lung pierced through and through, how +could she have done, dying, what she never did in life? + +“Impossible! + +“The murderer, whoever it was, had placed pen and paper to her hand, +and had written on it the cruel words which were intended to delude +justice and to send an innocent fellow-creature—a young girl not +five-and-twenty—to an unjust and ignominious death. But, fortunately +for that innocent girl, the cowardly miscreant had ignored the fact +that Miss Pebmarsh’s right hand had been paralysed for years. + +“The inquest was adjourned for a week,” continued the man in the +corner, “which enabled Pamela’s solicitor to obtain further evidence +of her innocence. Fortunately for her he was enabled to find two +witnesses who had seen her in an omnibus going towards St. Pancras at +about 11.15 p.m., and a passenger on the 12.25 train, who had +travelled down with her as far as Hendon. Thus, when the inquest was +resumed, Pamela Pebmarsh left the court without a stain upon her +character. + +“But the murder of Miss Pebmarsh has remained a mystery to this day—as +has also the secret history of the compromising letters. Did they +exist or not? is a question the interested spectators at that +memorable inquest have often asked themselves. Certain it is that +failing Pamela Pebmarsh, who might have wanted them for purpose of +blackmail, no one else could be interested in them except Lady de +Chavasse.” + +“Lady de Chavasse!” I ejaculated in surprise. “Surely you are not +going to pretend that that elegant lady went down to Boreham Wood in +the middle of the night in order to murder Miss Pebmarsh, and then to +lay the crime at another woman’s door?” + +“I only pretend what’s logic,” replied the man in the corner, with +inimitable conceit; “and in Pamela Pebmarsh’s own statement, she was +with Lady de Chavasse at 51, Marsden Mansions, until eleven o’clock, +and there is no train from St. Pancras to Boreham Wood between eleven +and twenty-five minutes past midnight. Pamela’s _alibi_ becomes that +of Lady de Chavasse, and is quite conclusive. Besides, that elegant +lady was not one to do that sort of work for herself.” + +“What do you mean?” I asked. + +“Do you mean to say you never thought of the real solution of this +mystery?” he retorted sarcastically. + +“I confess——” I began a little irritably. + +“Confess that I have not yet taught you to think logically, and to +look at the beginning of things.” + +“What do you call the beginning of this case, then?” + +“Why! the compromising letters, of course.” + +“But——” I argued. + +“Wait a minute!” he shrieked excitedly, whilst with frantic haste he +began fidgeting, fidgeting again at that eternal bit of string. “These +did exist, otherwise why did Lady de Chavasse parley with Pamela +Pebmarsh? Why did she not order her out of the house then and there, +if she had nothing to fear from her?” + +“I admit that,” I said. + +“Very well; then, as she was too fine, too delicate to commit the +villainous murder of which she afterwards accused poor Miss Pamela, +who was there sufficiently interested in those letters to try and gain +possession of them for her?” + +“Who, indeed?” I queried, still puzzled, still not understanding. + +“Ay! who but her husband,” shrieked the funny creature, as with a +sharp snap he broke his beloved string in two. + +“Her husband!” I gasped. + +“Why not? He had plenty of time, plenty of pluck. In a flat it is easy +enough to overhear conversations that take place in the next room—he +was in the house at the time, remember, for Lady de Chavasse said +herself that he went out afterwards. No doubt he overheard +everything—the compromising letters, and Pamela’s attempt at levying +blackmail. What the effect of such a discovery must have been upon the +proud man I leave you to imagine—his wife’s social position ruined, a +stain upon his ancient name, his relations pointing the finger of +scorn at his folly. + +“Can’t you picture him, hearing the two women’s talk in the next room, +and then resolving at all costs to possess himself of those +compromising letters? He had just time to catch the 10 train to +Boreham Wood. + +“Mind you, I don’t suppose that he went down there with any evil +intent. Most likely he only meant to buy those letters from Miss +Pebmarsh. What happened, however, nobody can say but the murderer +himself. + +“Who knows? But the deed done, imagine the horror of a refined +aristocratic man, face to face with such a crime as that. + +“Was it this terror, or merely rage at the girl who had been the +original cause of all this, that prompted him to commit the final +villany of writing out a false accusation and placing it under the +dead woman’s hand? Who can tell? + +“Then, the deed done, and the _mise-en-scène_ complete, he is able to +catch the last train—11.23—back to town. A man travelling alone would +pass practically unperceived. + +“Pamela’s innocence was proved, and the murder of Miss Pebmarsh has +remained a mystery, but if you will reflect on my conclusions, you +will admit that no one else—_no one else_—could have committed that +murder, for no one else had a greater interest in the destruction of +those letters.” + + + +VI. The Lisson Grove Mystery + +Chapter I + +The man in the corner ordered another glass of milk, and timidly asked +for a second cheese-cake at the same time. + +“I am going down to Marylebone Police Court, to see those people +brought up before the ‘Beak,’” he remarked. + +“What people?” I queried. + +“What people!” he exclaimed, in the greatest excitement. “You don’t +mean to say that you have not studied the Lisson Grove Mystery?” + +I had to confess that my knowledge on that subject was of the most +superficial character. + +“One of the most interesting cases that has cropped up in recent +years,” he said, with an indescribable look of reproach. + +“Perhaps. I did not study it in the papers because I preferred to hear +_you_ tell me all about it,” I said. + +“Oh, if that’s it,” he replied, as he settled himself down in his +corner like a great bird after the rain, “then you showed more sense +than lady journalists usually possess. I can, of course, give you a +far clearer account than the newspapers have done; as for the +police—well! I never saw such a muddle as they are making of this +case.” + +“I daresay it is a peculiarly difficult one,” I retorted, for I am +ever a champion of that hard-working department. + +“H’m!” he said, “so, so—it is a tragedy in a prologue and three acts. +I am going down this afternoon to see the curtain fall for the third +time on what, if I mistake not, will prove a good burlesque; but it +all began dramatically enough. It was last Saturday, 21st November, +that two boys, playing in the little spinney just outside Wembley Park +Station, came across three large parcels done up in American cloth. + +“With the curiosity natural to their age, they at once proceeded to +undo these parcels, and what they found so upset the little beggars +that they ran howling through the spinney and the polo ground, +straight as a dart to Wembley Park Station. Half frantic with +excitement, they told their tale to one of the porters off duty, who +walked back to the spinney with them. The three parcels, in point of +fact, contained the remains of a dismembered human body. The porter +sent one of the boys for the local police, and the remains were duly +conveyed to the mortuary, where they were kept for identification. + +“Three days later—that is to say, on Tuesday, 24th November—Miss +Amelia Dyke, residing at Lisson Grove Crescent, returned from +Edinburgh, where she had spent three or four days with a friend. She +drove up from St. Pancras in a cab, and carried her small box up +herself to the door of the flat, at which she knocked loudly and +repeatedly—so loudly and so persistently, in fact, that the +inhabitants of the neighbouring flats came out on to their respective +landings to see what the noise was about. + +“Miss Amelia Dyke was getting anxious. Her father, she said, must be +seriously ill, or else why did he not come and open the door to her. +Her anxiety, however, reached its culminating point when Mr. and Mrs. +Pitt, who reside in the flat immediately beneath that occupied by the +Dykes, came forward with the alarming statement that, as a matter of +fact, they had themselves been wondering if anything were wrong with +old Mr. Dyke, as they had not heard any sound overhead for the last +few days. + +“Miss Amelia, now absolutely terrified, begged one of the neighbours +to fetch either the police or a locksmith, or both. Mr. Pitt ran out +at once, both police and locksmith were brought upon the scene, the +door was forcibly opened, and amidst indescribable excitement +Constable Turner, followed by Miss Dyke, who was faint and trembling +with apprehension, effected an entrance into the flat. + +“Everything in it was tidy and neat to a degree, all the fires were +laid, the beds made, the floors were clean and washed, the brasses +polished, only a slight, very slight layer of dust lay over +everything, dust that could not have accumulated for more than a few +days. The flat consisted of four rooms and a bathroom; in not one of +them was there the faintest trace of old Mr. Dyke. + +“In order to fully comprehend the consternation which all the +neighbours felt at this discovery,” continued the man in the corner, +“you must understand that old Mr. Dyke was a helpless cripple; he had +been a mining engineer in his young days, and a terrible blasting +accident deprived him, at the age of forty, of both legs. They had +been amputated just above the knee, and the unfortunate man—then a +widower with one little girl—had spent the remainder of his life on +crutches. He had a small—a very small pension, which, as soon as his +daughter Amelia was grown up, had enabled him to live in comparative +comfort in the small flat in Lisson Grove Crescent. + +“His misfortune, however, had left him terribly sensitive; he never +could bear the looks of compassion thrown upon him, whenever he +ventured out on his crutches, and even the kindliest sympathy was +positive torture to him. Gradually, therefore, as he got on in life, +he took to staying more and more at home, and after a while gave up +going out altogether. By the time he was sixty-five years old and Miss +Amelia a fine young woman of seven-and-twenty, old Dyke had not been +outside the door of his flat for at least five years. + +“And yet, when Constable Turner, aided by the locksmith, entered the +flat on that memorable 24th November, there was not a trace anywhere +of the old man. + +“Miss Amelia was in the last stages of despair, and at first she +seemed far too upset and hysterical to give the police any coherent +and definite information. At last, however, from amid the chaos of +tears and of ejaculations, Constable Turner gathered the following +facts: + +“Miss Amelia had some great friends in Edinburgh, whom she had long +wished to visit, her father’s crippled condition making this extremely +difficult. A fortnight ago however, in response to a very urgent +invitation, she at last decided to accept it, but in order to leave +her father altogether comfortable, she advertised in the local paper +for a respectable woman who would come to the flat every day and see +to all the work, cook his dinner, make the bed, and so on. + +“She had several applications in reply to this advertisement, and +ultimately selected a very worthy-looking elderly person, who, for +seven shillings a week, undertook to come daily from seven in the +morning until about six in the afternoon, to see to all Mr. Dyke’s +comforts. + +“Miss Amelia was very favourably impressed with this person’s +respectable and motherly appearance, and she left for Edinburgh by the +5.15 a.m. train on the morning of Thursday, 19th November, feeling +confident that her father would be well looked after. She certainly +had not heard from the old man while she was away, but she had not +expected to hear unless, indeed, something had been wrong. + +“Miss Amelia was quite sure that something dreadful had happened to +her father, as he could not possibly have walked downstairs and out of +the house alone; certainly his crutches were nowhere to be found, but +this only helped to deepen the mystery of the old man’s disappearance. + +“The constable, having got thus far with his notes, thought it best to +refer the whole matter at this stage to higher authority. He got from +Miss Amelia the name and address of the charwoman, and then went back +to the station. + +“There, the very first news that greeted him was that the medical +officer of the district had just sent round to the various police +stations his report on the human remains found in Wembley Park the +previous Saturday. They had proved to be the dismembered body of an +old man between sixty and seventy years of age, the immediate cause of +whose death had undoubtedly been a violent blow on the back of the +head with a heavy instrument, which had shattered the cranium. Expert +examination further revealed the fact that deceased had had in early +life both legs removed by a surgical operation just above the knee. + +“That was the end of the prologue in the Lisson Grove tragedy,” +continued the man in the corner, after a slight and dramatic pause, +“as far as the public was concerned. When the curtain was subsequently +raised upon the first act, the situation had been considerably +changed. + +“The remains had been positively identified as those of old Mr. Dyke, +and a charge of wilful murder had been brought against Alfred Wyatt, +of no occupation, residing in Warlock Road, Lisson Grove, and against +Amelia Dyke for complicity in the crime. They are the two people whom +I am going to see this afternoon brought before the Beak at the +Marylebone Police Court.” + + + +Chapter II + +“Two very important bits of evidence, I must tell you, had come to +light, on the first day of the inquest, and had decided the police to +make this double arrest. + +“In the first place, according to one or two of the neighbours, who +happened to know something of the Dyke household, Miss Amelia had kept +company for some time with a young man named Alfred Wyatt; he was an +electrical engineer, resided in the neighbourhood, and was some years +younger than Miss Dyke. As he was known not to be very steady, it was +generally supposed that the old man did not altogether approve of his +daughter’s engagement. + +“Mrs. Pitt, residing in the flat immediately below the one occupied by +the Dykes, had stated, moreover, that on Wednesday the 18th, at about +midday, she heard very loud and angry voices proceeding from above; +Miss Amelia’s shrill tones being specially audible. Shortly afterwards +she saw Wyatt go out of the house; but the quarrel continued for some +little time without him, for the neighbours could still hear Miss +Amelia’s high-pitched voice, speaking very excitedly and volubly. + +“‘An hour later,’ further explained Mrs. Pitt, ‘I met Miss Dyke on the +stairs; she seemed very flushed and looked as if she had been crying. +I suppose she saw that I noticed this, for she stopped and said to me: + +“‘“All this fuss, you know, Mrs. Pitt, because Alfred asked me to go +for a drive with him this afternoon, but I am going all the same.” + +“‘Later in the afternoon—it must have been quite half-past four, for +it was getting dark—young Wyatt drove up in a motor-car, and presently +I heard Miss Dyke’s voice on the stairs saying very pleasantly and +cheerfully: “All right, daddy, we shan’t be long.” Then Mr. Dyke must +have said something, which I didn’t hear, for she added. “Oh, that’s +all right; I am well wrapped up, and we have plenty of rugs.”’ + +“Mrs. Pitt then went to her window and saw Wyatt and Amelia Dyke start +off in a motor. She concluded that the old man had been mollified, for +both Amelia and Wyatt waved their hands affectionately up towards the +window. They returned from their drive about six o’clock; Wyatt saw +Amelia to the door, and then went off again. The next day Miss Dyke +went to Scotland. + +“As you see,” continued the man in the corner, “Alfred Wyatt had +become a very important personality in this case; he was Amelia’s +sweetheart, and it was strange—to say the least of it—that she had +never as yet even mentioned his name. Therefore, when she was recalled +in order to give further evidence, you may be sure that she was pretty +sharply questioned on the subject of Alfred Wyatt. + +“In her evidence before the coroner, she adhered fairly closely to her +original statement: + +“‘I did not mention Mr. Wyatt’s name,’ she explained, ‘because I did +not think it was of any importance; if he knew anything about my dead +father’s mysterious fate he would have come forward at once, of +course, and helped me to find out who the cowardly murderer was who +could attack a poor, crippled old man. Mr. Wyatt was devoted to my +father, and it is perfectly ridiculous to say that daddy objected to +my engagement; on the contrary, he gave us his full consent, and we +were going to be married directly after the New Year, and continue to +live with father in the flat.’ + +“‘But,’ questioned the coroner, who had not by any means departed from +his severity, ‘what about this quarrel which the last witness +overheard on the subject of your going out driving with Mr. Wyatt?’ + +“‘Oh, that was nothing,’ replied Miss Dyke very quietly. ‘Daddy only +objected because he thought that it was rather too late to start at +four o’clock, and that I should be cold. When he saw that we had +plenty of rugs he was quite pleased for me to go.’ + +“‘Isn’t it rather astonishing, then,’ asked the coroner, ‘seeing that +Mr. Wyatt was on such good terms with your father, that he did not go +to see him while you were away?’ + +“‘Not at all,’ she replied unconcernedly; ‘Alfred went down to +Edinburgh on the Thursday evening. He couldn’t travel with me in the +morning, for he had some business to see to in town that day; but he +joined me at my friends’ house on the Friday morning, having travelled +all night.’ + +“‘Ah!’ remarked the coroner drily, ‘then he had not seen your father +since you left.’ + +“‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Amelia; ‘he called round to see dad during the +day, and found him looking well and cheerful.’ + +“Miss Amelia Dyke, as she gave this evidence, seemed absolutely +unconscious of saying anything that might in any way incriminate her +lover. She is a handsome, though somewhat coarse-looking woman, nearer +thirty, I should say, than she would care to own. I was present at the +inquest, mind you, for that case had too many mysteries about it from +the first for it to have eluded my observation, and I watched her +closely throughout. Her voice struck me as fine and rich, with—in this +instance, also—a shade of coarseness in it; certainly, it was very far +from being high-pitched, as Mrs. Pitt had described it. + +“When she had finished her evidence she went back to her seat, looking +neither flustered nor uncomfortable, although many looks of contempt +and even of suspicion were darted at her from every corner of the +crowded court. + +“Nor did she lose her composure in the slightest degree when Mr. +Parlett, clerk to Messrs. Snow and Patterson, solicitors, of Bedford +Row, in his turn came forward and gave evidence; only while the little +man spoke her full red lips curled and parted with a look of complete +contempt. + +“Mr. Parlett’s story was indeed a remarkable one, inasmuch as it +suddenly seemed to tear asunder the veil of mystery which so far had +surrounded the murder of old Dyke by supplying it with a motive—a +strong motive too: the eternal greed of gain. + +“In June last, namely, it appears that Messrs. Snow and Patterson +received intimation from a firm of Melbourne solicitors that a man of +the name of Dyke had died there recently, leaving a legacy of £4,000 +to his only brother James Arthur Dyke, a mining engineer, who in 1890 +was residing at Lisson Grove Crescent. The Melbourne solicitors in +their communication asked for Messrs. Snow and Patterson’s kind +assistance in helping them to find the legatee. + +“The search was easy enough, since James Arthur Dyke, mining engineer, +had never ceased to reside at Lisson Grove Crescent. Armed, therefore, +with full instructions from their Melbourne correspondent, Messrs. +Snow and Patterson communicated with Dyke, and after a little +preliminary correspondence, the sum of £4,000 in Bank of Australia +notes and various securities were handed over by Mr. Parlett to the +old cripple. + +“The money and securities were—so Mr. Parlett understood—subsequently +deposited by Mr. Dyke at the Portland Road Branch of the London and +South Western Bank; as the old man apparently died intestate, the +whole of the £4,000 would naturally devolve upon his only daughter and +natural legatee. + +“Mind you, all through the proceedings the public had instinctively +felt that money was somewhere at the bottom of this gruesome and +mysterious crime. There is not much object in murdering an old cripple +except for purposes of gain, but now Mr. Parlett’s evidence had indeed +furnished a damning motive for the appalling murder. + +“What more likely than that Alfred Wyatt, wanting to finger that +£4,000, had done away with the old man? And if Amelia Dyke did not +turn away from him in horror, after such a cowardly crime, then she +must have known of it and had perhaps connived in it. + +“As for Nicholson, the charwoman, her evidence had certainly done more +to puzzle everybody all round than any other detail in this strange +and mysterious crime. + +“She deposed that on Friday, 13th November, in answer to an +advertisement in the _Marylebone Star_, she had called on Miss Dyke at +Lisson Grove, when it was arranged that she should do a week’s work at +the flat, beginning Thursday, the 19th, from seven in the morning +until six in the afternoon. She was to keep the place clean, get Mr. +Dyke—who, she understood was an invalid—all his meals, and make +herself generally useful to him. + +“Accordingly, Nicholson turned up on the Thursday morning. She let +herself into the flat, as Miss Dyke had entrusted the latch-key to +her, and went on with the work. Mr. Dyke was in bed, and she got him +all his meals that day. She thought she was giving him satisfaction, +and was very astonished when, at six o’clock, having cleared away his +tea, he told her that he would not require her again. He gave her no +explanation, asked her for the latch-key, and gave her her full week’s +money—seven shillings in full. Nicholson then put on her bonnet, and +went away. + +“Now,” continued the man in the corner, leaning excitedly forward, and +marking each sentence he uttered with an exquisitely complicated knot +in his bit of string, “an hour later, another neighbour, Mrs. Marsh, +who lived on the same floor as the Dykes, on starting to go out, met +Alfred Wyatt on the landing. He took off his hat to her, and then +knocked at the door of the Dykes’ flat. + +“When she came home at eight o’clock, she again passed him on the +stairs; he was then going out. She stopped to ask him how Mr. Dyke +was, and Wyatt replied: ‘Oh, fairly well, but he misses his daughter, +you know.’ + +“Mrs. Marsh, now closely questioned, said that she thought Wyatt was +carrying a large parcel under his arm, but she could not distinguish +the shape of the parcel as the angle of the stairs, where she met him, +was very dark. She stated, though, that he was running down the stairs +very fast. + +“It was on all that evidence that the police felt justified in +arresting Alfred Wyatt for the murder of James Arthur Dyke, and Amelia +Dyke for connivance in the crime. And now this very morning, those two +young people have been brought before the magistrate, and at this +moment evidence—circumstantial, mind you, but positively damning—is +being heaped upon them by the prosecution. The police did their work +quickly. The very evening after the first day of the inquest, the +warrant was out for their arrest.” + +He looked at a huge silver watch which he always carried in his +waistcoat pocket. + +“I don’t want to miss the defence,” he said, “for I know that it will +be sensational. But I did not want to hear the police and medical +evidence all over again. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I shall be back +here for five o’clock tea. I know you will be glad to hear all about +it.” + + + +Chapter III + +When I returned to the A.B.C shop for my tea at five minutes past +five, there he sat in his accustomed corner, with a cup of tea before +him, another placed opposite to him, presumably for me, and a long +piece of string between his bony fingers. + +“What will you have with your tea?” he asked politely, the moment I +was seated. + +“A roll and butter and the end of the story,” I replied. + +“Oh, the story has no end,” he said with a chuckle; “at least, not for +the public. As for me, why, I never met a more simple ‘mystery.’ +Perhaps that is why the police were so completely at sea.” + +“Well, and what happened?” I queried, with some impatience. + +“Why, the usual thing,” he said, as he once more began to fidget +nervously with his bit of string. “The prisoners had pleaded not +guilty, and the evidence for the prosecution was gone into in full. +Mr. Parlett repeated his story of the £4,000 legacy, and all the +neighbours had some story or other to tell about Alfred Wyatt, who, +according to them, was altogether a most undesirable young man. + +“I heard the fag end of Mrs. Marsh’s evidence. When I reached the +court she was repeating the story she had already told to the police. + +“Some one else in the house had also heard Wyatt running +helter-skelter downstairs at eight o’clock on the Thursday evening; +this was a point, though a small one, in favour of the accused. A man +cannot run downstairs when he is carrying the whole weight of a dead +body, and the theory of the prosecution was that Wyatt had murdered +old Dyke on that Thursday evening, got into his motor-car somewhere, +scorched down to Wembley with the dismembered body of his victim, +deposited it in the spinney where it was subsequently found, and +finally had driven back to town, stabled his motor car, and reached +King’s Cross in time for the 11.30 night express to Edinburgh. He +would have time for all that, remember, for he would have three hours +and a half to do it in. + +“Besides which the prosecution had unearthed one more witness, who was +able to add another tiny link to the already damning chain of evidence +built up against the accused. + +“Wilfred Poad, namely, manager of a large cycle and motor-car depôt in +Euston Road, stated that on Thursday afternoon, 19th November, at +about half-past six o’clock, Alfred Wyatt, with whom he had had some +business dealings before, had hired a small car from him, with the +understanding that he need not bring it back until after 11 p.m. This +was agreed to, Poad keeping the place open until just before eleven, +when Wyatt drove up in the car, paid for the hire of it, and then +walked away from the shop in the direction of the Great Northern +terminus. + +“That was pretty strong against the male prisoner, wasn’t it? For, +mind you, Wyatt had given no satisfactory account whatever of his time +between 8 p.m., when Mrs. Marsh had met him going out of Lisson Grove +Crescent, and 11 p.m. when he brought back the car to the Euston Road +shop. ‘He had been driving about aimlessly,’ so he said. Now, one +doesn’t go out motoring for hours on a cold, drizzly night in November +for no purpose whatever. + +“As for the female prisoner, the charge against her was merely one of +complicity. + +“This closed the case for the prosecution,” continued the funny +creature, with one of his inimitable chuckles, “leaving but one tiny +point obscure, and that was, the murdered man’s strange conduct in +dismissing the woman Nicholson. + +“Yes, the case was strong enough, and yet there stood both prisoners +in the dock with that sublime air of indifference and contempt which +only complete innocence or hardened guilt could give. + +“Then when the prosecution had had their say, Alfred Wyatt chose to +enter the witness-box and make a statement in his own defence. +Quietly, and as if he were making the most casual observation, he +said: + +“‘I am not guilty of the murder of Mr. Dyke, and in proof of this I +solemnly assert that on Thursday, 19th November, the day I am supposed +to have committed the crime, the old man was still alive at half-past +ten o’clock in the evening.’ + +“He paused a moment, like a born actor, watching the effect he had +produced. I tell you, it was astounding. + +“‘I have three separate and independent witnesses here,’ continued +Wyatt, with the same deliberate calm, ‘who heard and saw Mr. Dyke as +late as half-past ten that night. Now, I understand that the +dismembered body of the old man was found close to Wembley Park. How +could I, between half-past ten and eleven o’clock, have killed Dyke, +cut him up, cleaned and put the flat all tidy, carried the body to the +car, driven on to Wembley, hidden the corpse in the spinney, and be +back in Euston Road, all in the space of half-an-hour? I am absolutely +innocent of this crime, and fortunately, it is easy for me now to +prove my innocence.’ + +“Alfred Wyatt had made no idle boast. Mrs. Marsh had seen him running +downstairs at 8 p.m. An hour after that, the Pitts in the flat beneath +heard the old man moving about overhead. + +“‘Just as usual,’ observed Mrs. Pitt. ‘He always went to bed about +nine, and we could always hear him most distinctly.’ + +“John Pitt, the husband, corroborated this statement: the old man’s +movements were quite unmistakable because of his crutches. + +“Henry Ogden, on the other hand, who lived in the house facing the +block of flats, saw the light in Dyke’s window that evening, and the +old man’s silhouette upon the blind from time to time. The light was +put out at half-past ten. This statement again was corroborated by +Mrs. Ogden, who also had noticed the silhouette and the light being +extinguished at half-past ten. + +“But this was not all; both Mr. and Mrs. Ogden had seen old Dyke at +his window, sitting in his accustomed armchair, between half-past +eight and nine o’clock. He was gesticulating, and apparently talking +to some one else in the room whom they could not see. + +“Alfred Wyatt, therefore was quite right when he said that he would +have no difficulty in proving his innocence. The man whom he was +supposed to have murdered was, according to the testimony, alive at +six o’clock; according to Mr. and Mrs. Ogden he was alive and sitting +in his window until nine; again, he was heard to move about until ten +o’clock by both the Pitts, and at half-past ten only was the light put +out in his flat. Obviously, therefore, as his dead body was found +twelve miles away, Wyatt, who was out of the Crescent at eight, and in +Euston Road at eleven, could not have done the deed. + +“He was discharged, of course; the magistrate adding a very severe +remark on the subject of ‘carelessly collected evidence.’ As for Miss +Amelia, she sailed out of the court like a queen after her coronation, +for with Wyatt’s discharge the case against her naturally collapsed. +As for me, I walked out too, with an elated feeling at the thought +that the intelligence of the British race had not yet sunk so low as +our friends on the Continent would have us believe.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“But then, who murdered the old man?” I asked, for I confess the +matter was puzzling me in an irritating kind of way. + +“Ah! who indeed?” he rejoined sarcastically, while an artistic knot +went to join its fellows along that never-ending bit of string. + +“I wish you’d tell me what’s in your mind,” I said, feeling peculiarly +irritated with him just at that moment. + +“What’s in my mind?” he replied, with a shrug of his thin shoulders. +“Oh, only a certain degree of admiration!” + +“Admiration at what?” + +“At a pair of exceedingly clever criminals.” + +“Then you do think that Wyatt murdered Dyke?” + +“I don’t think—I am sure.” + +“But when did they do it?” + +“Ah, that’s more to the point. Personally, I should say between them +on Wednesday morning, 18th November.” + +“The day they went for that motor-car ride?” I gasped. + +“And carried away the old man’s remains beneath a multiplicity of +rugs,” he added. + +“But he was _alive_ long after that!” I urged. “The woman Nicholson——” + +“The woman Nicholson saw and spoke to a man in bed, whom she +_supposed_ was old Mr. Dyke. Among the many questions put to her by +those clever detectives, no one thought, of course, of asking her to +describe the old man. But even if she had done so Wyatt was far too +great an artist in crime not to have contrived a make-up which, +described by a witness who had never before seen Dyke, would easily +pass as a description of the old man himself.” + +“Impossible!” I said, struck in spite of myself by the simplicity of +his logic. + +“Impossible, you say?” he shrieked excitedly. “Why, I call that crime +a masterpiece from beginning to end; a display of ingenuity which, +fortunately, the criminal classes seldom possess, or where would +society be? Here was a crime committed, where everything was most +beautifully stage-managed, nothing left unforeseen. Shall I +reconstruct it for you?” + +“Do!” I said, handing across the table to him a brand new, beautiful +bit of string, on which his talon-like fingers fastened as upon a +prey. + +“Very well,” he said, marking each point with a scientific knot. “Here +it is, scene by scene: There was Alfred Wyatt and Amelia Dyke—a pair +of blackguards, eager to obtain that £4,000 which only the old man’s +death could secure for them. They decide upon killing him, and: Scene +1—Miss Amelia makes _her_ arrangements. She advertises for a +charwoman, and engages one, who is to be a very useful witness +presently. + +“Scene 2.—The murder, brutal, horrible, on the person of an old +cripple, whilst his own daughter stands by, and the dismembering of +the body. + +“Scene 3.—The ride in the motor-car—after dark, remember, and with +plenty of rugs, beneath which the gruesome burden is concealed. The +scene is accompanied by the comedy of Miss Dyke speaking to her +father, and waving her hand affectionately at him from below. I tell +you, that woman must have had some nerve! + +“Then, Scene 4.—The arrival at Wembley, and the hiding of the remains. + +“Scene 5.—Amelia goes to Edinburgh by the 5.15 a.m. train, and thus +secures her own _alibi_. After that, the comedy begins in earnest. The +impersonation of the dead man by Wyatt during the whole of that +memorable Thursday. Mind you, that was not very difficult; it only +needed the brain to invent, and the nerve to carry it through. The +charwoman had never seen old Dyke before; she only knew that he was an +invalid. What more natural than that she should accept as her new +master the man who lay in bed all day, and only spoke a few words to +her? A very slight make-up of hair and beard would complete the +illusion. + +“Then, at six o’clock, the woman gone, Wyatt steals out of the house, +bespeaks the motor-car, leaves it in the street in a convenient spot, +and is back in time to be seen by Mrs. Marsh at seven. + +“The rest is simplicity itself. The silhouette at the window was easy +enough to arrange; the sound of a man walking on crutches is easily +imitated with a couple of umbrellas—the actual crutches were, no +doubt, burned directly after the murder. Lastly, the putting out of +the light at half-past ten was the crowning stroke of genius. + +“One little thing might have upset the whole wonderful plan, but that +one thing only; and that was if the body had been found _before_ the +great comedy scene of Thursday had been fully played. But that spinney +near Wembley was well chosen. People don’t go wandering under trees +and in woods on cold November days, and the remains were not found +until the Saturday. + +“Ah, it was cleverly stage-managed, and no mistake. I couldn’t have +done it better myself. Won’t you have another cup of tea? No? Don’t +look so upset. The world does not contain many such clever criminals +as Alfred Wyatt and Amelia Dyke.” + + + +VII. The Tremarn Case + +Chapter I + +“Well, it certainly is most amazing!” I said that day, when I had +finished reading about it all in the _Daily Telegraph_. + +“Yet the most natural thing in the world,” retorted the man in the +corner, as soon as he had ordered his lunch. “Crime invariably begets +crime. No sooner is a murder, theft, or fraud committed in a novel or +striking way, than this method is aped—probably within the next few +days—by some other less imaginative scoundrel. + +“Take this case, for instance,” he continued, as he slowly began +sipping his glass of milk, “which seems to amaze you so much. It was +less than a year ago, was it not? that in Paris a man was found dead +in a cab, stabbed in a most peculiar way—right through the neck from +ear to ear—with, presumably, a long, sharp instrument of the type of +an Italian stiletto. + +“No one in England took much count of the crime, beyond a contemptuous +shrug of the shoulders at the want of safety of the Paris streets, and +the incapacity of the French detectives, who not only never discovered +the murderer, who had managed to slip out of the cab unperceived, but +who did not even succeed in establishing the identity of the victim. + +“But this case,” he added, pointing once more to my daily paper, +“strikes nearer home. Less than a year has passed, and last week, in +the very midst of our much vaunted London streets, a crime of a +similar nature has been committed. I do not know if your paper gives +full details, but this is what happened: Last Monday evening two +gentlemen, both in evening dress and wearing opera hats, hailed a +hansom in Shaftesbury Avenue. It was about a quarter past eleven, and +the night, if you remember, was a typical November one—dark, drizzly, +and foggy. The various theatres in the immediate neighbourhood were +disgorging a continuous stream of people after the evening +performance. + +“The cabman did not take special notice of his fares. They jumped in +very quickly, and one of them, through the little trap above, gave him +an address in Cromwell Road. He drove there as quickly as the fog +would permit him, and pulled up at the number given. One of the +gentlemen then handed him a very liberal fare—again through the little +trap—and told him to drive his friend on to Westminster Chambers, +Victoria Street. + +“Cabby noticed that the ‘swell,’ when he got out of the hansom, +stopped for a moment to say a few words to his friend, who had +remained inside; then he crossed over the road and walked quickly in +the direction of the Natural History Museum. + +“When the cabman pulled up at Westminster Chambers, he waited for the +second fare to get out; the latter seemingly making no movement that +way, cabby looked down at him through the trap. + +“‘I thought ’e was asleep,’ he explained to the police later on. ‘’E +was leaning back in ’is corner, and ’is ’ead was turned towards the +window. I gets down and calls to ’im, but ’e don’t move. Then I gets +on to the step and give ’im a shake. . . . There!—I’ll say no +more. . . . We was near a lamp-post, the mare took a step forward, and +the light fell full on the gent’s face. ’E was dead and no mistake. I +saw the wound just underneath ’is ear, and “Murder!” I says to myself +at once.’ + +“Cabby lost no time in whistling for the nearest point policeman, then +he called the night porter of the Westminster Chambers. The latter +looked at the murdered man, and declared that he knew nothing of him; +certainly he was not a tenant of the Chambers. + +“By the time a couple of policemen arrived upon the scene, quite a +crowd had gathered around the cab, in spite of the lateness of the +hour and the darkness of the night. The matter was such an important +one that one of the constables thought it best at once to jump into +the hansom beside the murdered man and to order the cabman to drive to +the nearest police station. + +“There the cause of death was soon ascertained; the victim of this +daring outrage had been stabbed through the neck from ear to ear with +a long, sharp instrument, in shape like an antique stiletto, which, I +may tell you, was subsequently found under the cushions of the hansom. +The murderer must have watched his opportunity, when his victim’s head +was turned away from him, and then dealt the blow, just below the left +ear, with amazing swiftness and precision. + +“Of course the papers were full of it the next day; this was such a +lovely opportunity for driving home a moral lesson, of how one crime +engenders another, and how—but for that murder in Paris a year ago—we +should not now have to deplore a crime committed in the very centre of +fashionable London, the detection of which seems likely to completely +baffle the police. + +“Plenty more in that strain, of course, from which the reading public +quickly jumped to the conclusion that the police held absolutely no +clue as to the identity of the daring and mysterious miscreant. + +“A most usual and natural thing had happened; cabby could only give a +very vague description of his other ‘fare,’ of the ‘swell’ who had got +out at Cromwell Road, and been lost to sight after having committed so +dastardly and so daring a crime. + +“This was scarcely to be wondered at, for the night had been very +foggy, and the murderer had been careful to pull his opera hat well +over his face; thus hiding the whole of his forehead and eyes; +moreover, he had always taken the additional precaution of only +communicating with the cabman through the little trap-door. + +“All cabby had seen of him was a clean-shaven chin. As to the murdered +man, it was not until about noon, when the early editions of the +evening papers came out with a fuller account of the crime and a +description of the victim, that his identity was at last established. + +“Then the news spread like wildfire, and the evening papers came out +with some of the most sensational headlines it had ever been their +good fortune to print. The man who had been so mysteriously murdered +in the cab was none other than Mr. Philip Le Cheminant, the nephew and +heir-presumptive of the Earl of Tremarn.” + + + +Chapter II + +“In order fully to realise the interest created by this extraordinary +news, you must be acquainted with the various details of that +remarkable case, popularly known as the ‘Tremarn Peerage Case,’” +continued the man in the corner, as he placidly munched his +cheese-cake. “I do not know if you followed it in its earlier stages, +when its many details—which read like a romance—were first made +public.” + +I looked so interested and so eager that he did not wait for my reply. + +“I must try and put it all clearly before you,” he said; “I was +interested in it all from the beginning, and from the numerous wild +stories afloat I have sifted only what was undeniably true. Some +points of the case are still in dispute, and will, perhaps, now for +ever remain a mystery. But I must take you back some five-and-twenty +years. The Hon. Arthur Le Cheminant, second son of the late Earl of +Tremarn, was then travelling round the world for health and pleasure. + +“In the course of his wanderings he touched at Martinique, one of the +French West Indian islands, which was devastated by volcanic eruptions +about two years ago. There he met and fell in love with a beautiful +half-caste girl named Lucie Legrand, who had French blood in her +veins, and was a Christian, but who, otherwise, was only partially +civilised, and not at all educated. + +“How it all came about it is difficult to conjecture, but one thing is +absolutely certain, and that is that the Hon. Arthur le Cheminant the +son of one of our English Peers, married this half-caste girl at the +parish church of St. Pierre, in Martinique, according to the forms +prescribed by French laws, both parties being of the same religion. + +“I suppose now no one will ever know whether that marriage was +absolutely and undisputably a legal one—but, in view of subsequent +events, we must presume that it was. The Hon. Arthur, however, in any +case, behaved like a young scoundrel. He only spent a very little time +with his wife, quickly tired of her, and within two years of his +marriage callously abandoned her and his child, then a boy about a +year old. + +“He lodged a sum of £2,000 in the local bank in the name of Mme. Le +Cheminant, the interest of which was to be paid to her regularly for +the maintenance of herself and child, then he calmly sailed for +England, with the intention never to return. This intention fate +itself helped him to carry out, for he died very shortly afterwards, +taking the secret of his incongruous marriage with him to his grave. + +“Mme. Le Cheminant, as she was called out there, seems to have +accepted her own fate with perfect equanimity. She had never known +anything about her husband’s social position in his own country, and +he had left her what, in Martinique amongst the coloured population, +was considered a very fair competence for herself and child. + +“The grandson of an English earl was taught to read and write by the +worthy _curé_ of St. Pierre, and during the whole of her life, Lucie +never once tried to find out who her husband was, and what had become +of him. + +“But here the dramatic scene comes in this strange story,” continued +the man in the corner, with growing excitement; “two years ago St. +Pierre, if you remember, was completely destroyed by volcanic +eruptions. Nearly the entire population perished, and every house and +building was in ruins. Among those who fell a victim to the awful +catastrophe was Mme. Le Cheminant, otherwise the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Le +Cheminant, whilst amongst those who managed to escape and ultimately +found refuge in the English colony of St. Vincent, was her son, +Philip. + +“Well, you can easily guess what happened, can’t you? In that +English-speaking colony the name of Le Cheminant was, of course, well +known, and Philip had not been in St. Vincent many weeks, before he +learned that his father was none other than a younger brother of the +present Earl of Tremarn, and that he himself—seeing that the present +peer was over fifty and still unmarried—was heir-presumptive to the +title and estates. + +“You know the rest. Within two or three months of the memorable St. +Pierre catastrophe Philip Le Cheminant had written to his uncle, Lord +Tremarn, demanding his rights. Then he took passage on board a French +liner, and crossed over to Havre _en route_ for Paris and London. + +“He and his mother—both brought up as French subjects—had, mind you, +all the respect which French people have for their papers of +identification; and when the house in which they had lived for twenty +years was tumbling about the young man’s ears, when his mother had +already perished in the flames, he made a final and successful effort +to rescue the papers which proved him to be a French citizen, the son +of Lucie Legrand by her lawful marriage with Arthur Le Cheminant at +the church of the Immaculate Conception of St. Pierre. + +“What happened immediately afterwards it is difficult to conjecture. +Certain it is, however, that over here the newspapers soon were full +of vague allusions about the newly-found heir to the Earldom of +Tremarn, and within a few weeks the whole of the story of the secret +marriage at St. Pierre was in everybody’s mouth. + +“It created an immense sensation; the Hon. Arthur Le Cheminant had +lived a few years in England after his return from abroad and no one, +not even his brother, seemed to have had the slightest inkling of his +marriage. + +“The late Lord Tremarn, you must remember, had three sons, the eldest +of whom is the present peer, the second was the romantic Arthur, and +the third, the Hon. Reginald, who also died some years ago, leaving +four sons, the eldest of whom, Harold, was just twenty-three, and had +always been styled heir-presumptive to the earldom. + +“Lord Tremarn had brought up these four nephews of his, who had lost +both father and mother, just as if they had been his own children, and +his affection for them, and notably for the eldest boy, was a very +beautiful trait in his otherwise unattractive character. + +“The news of the existence and claim of this unknown nephew must have +come upon Lord Tremarn as a thunderbolt. His attitude, however, was +one of uncompromising incredulity. He refused to believe the story of +the marriage, called the whole tale a tissue of falsehoods, and +denounced the claimant as a barefaced and impudent impostor. + +“Two or three months more went by; the public were eagerly awaiting +the arrival of this semi-exotic claimant to an English peerage, and +sensations, surpassing those of the Tichborne case, were looked +forward to with palpitating interest. + +“But in the romances of real life, it is always the unexpected that +happens. The claimant did arrive in London about a year ago. He was +alone, friendless, and moneyless, since the £2,000 lay buried +somewhere beneath the ruins of the St. Pierre bank. However, he called +upon a well-known London solicitor, who advanced him some money and +took charge of all the papers relating to his claim. + +“Philip Le Cheminant then seems to have made up his mind to make a +personal appeal to his uncle, trusting apparently in the old adage +that ‘blood is thicker than water.’ + +“As was only to be expected, Lord Tremarn flatly refused to see the +claimant, whom he was still denouncing as an impostor. It was by +stealth, and by bribing the servants at the Grosvenor Square mansion +that the young man at last obtained an interview with his uncle. + +“Last New Year’s Day he gave James Tovey, Lord Tremarn’s butler, a +five-pound note, to introduce him, surreptitiously, into his master’s +study. There uncle and nephew at last met face to face. + +“What happened at that interview nobody knows; was the cry of blood +and of justice so convincing that Lord Tremarn dare not resist it? +Perhaps. + +“Anyway, from that moment the new heir-presumptive was installed +within his rights. After a single interview with Philip Le Cheminant’s +solicitor, Lord Tremarn openly acknowledged the claimant to be his +brother Arthur’s only son, and therefore his own nephew and heir. + +“Nay, more, every one noticed that the proud, bad-tempered old man was +as wax in the hands of this newly-found nephew. He seemed even to have +withdrawn his affection from the four other young nephews, whom +hitherto he had brought up as his own children, and bestowed it all +upon his brother Arthur’s son—some people said in compensation for all +the wrong that had been done to the boy in the past. + +“But the scandal around his dead brother’s name had wounded the old +man’s pride very deeply, and from this he never recovered. He shut +himself away from all his friends, living alone with his newly-found +nephew in his gloomy house in Grosvenor Square. The other boys, the +eldest of whom, Harold, was just twenty-three, decided very soon to +leave a house where they were no longer welcome. They had a small +private fortune of their own, from their father and mother; the +youngest boy was still at college, two others had made a start in +their respective professions. + +“Harold had been brought up as an idle young man about town, and on +him the sudden change of fortune fell most heavily. He was undecided +what to do in the future, but, in the meanwhile, partly from a spirit +of independence, and partly from a desire to keep a home for his +younger brothers, he took and furnished a small flat, which, it is +interesting to note, is just off Exhibition Road, not far from the +Natural History Museum in Kensington. + +“This was less than a year ago. Ten months later the newly-found heir +to the peerage of Tremarn was found murdered in a hansom cab, and +Harold Le Cheminant is once more the future Earl.” + + + +Chapter III + +“The papers, as you know, talked of nothing else but the mysterious +murder in the hansom cab. Every one’s sympathy went out at once to +Lord Tremarn, who, on hearing the terrible news, had completely broken +down, and was now lying on a bed of sickness, from which they say he +may never recover. + +“From the first there had been many rumours of the terrible enmity +which existed between Harold Le Cheminant and the man who had so +easily captured Lord Tremarn’s heart, as well as the foremost place in +the Grosvenor Square household. + +“The servants in the great and gloomy mansion told the detectives in +charge of the case many stories of terrible rows which occurred at +first between the cousins. And now every one’s eyes were already +turned with suspicion on the one man who could most benefit by the +death of Philip Le Cheminant. + +“However careful and reticent the police may be, details in connection +with so interesting a case have a wonderful way of leaking out. +Already one other most important fact had found its way into the +papers. It appears that in their endeavours to reconstruct the last +day spent by the murdered man the detectives had come upon most +important evidence. + +“It was Thomas Sawyer, hall porter of the Junior Grosvenor Club, who +first told the following interesting story. He stated that deceased +was a member of the club, and had dined there on the evening preceding +his death. + +“‘Mr. Le Cheminant was just coming downstairs after his dinner,’ +explained Thomas Sawyer to the detectives, ‘when a stranger comes into +the hall of the club; Mr. Le Cheminant saw him as soon as I did, and +appeared very astonished. “What do you want?” he says rather sharply. +“A word with you,” replies the stranger. Mr. Le Cheminant seemed to +hesitate for a moment. He lights a cigar, whilst the stranger stands +there glaring at him with a look in his eye I certainly didn’t like. + +“‘Mind you,’ added Thomas Sawyer, ‘the stranger was a gentleman, in +evening dress, and all that. Presently Mr. Le Cheminant says to him: +“This way, then,” and takes him along into one of the club rooms. Half +an hour later the stranger comes out again. He looked flushed and +excited. Soon after Mr. Le Cheminant comes out too; but he was quite +calm and smoking a cigar. He asks for a cab, and tells the driver to +take him to the Lyric Theatre.’ + +“This was all that the hall-porter had to say, but his evidence was +corroborated by one of the waiters of the club who saw Mr. Le +Cheminant and the stranger subsequently enter the dining-room, which +was quite deserted at the time. + +“‘They ’adn’t been in the room a minute,’ said the waiter, ‘when I +’eard loud voices, as if they was quarrelling frightful. I couldn’t +’ear what they said, though I tried, but they were shouting so, and +drowning each other’s voices. Presently there’s a ring at my bell, and +I goes into the room. Mr. Le Cheminant was sitting beside one of the +tables, quietly lighting a cigar. “Show this—er—gentleman out of the +club,” ’e says to me. The stranger looked as if ’e would strike ’im. +“You’ll pay for this,” ’e says, then ’e picks up ’is ’at, and dashes +out of the club helter-skelter. “One is always pestered by these +beggars,” says Mr. Le Cheminant to me, as ’e stalks out of the room.’ + +“Later on it was arranged that both Thomas Sawyer and the waiter +should catch sight of Harold Le Cheminant, as he went out of his house +in Exhibition Road. Neither of them had the slightest hesitation in +recognising in him the stranger who had called at the club that night. + +“Now that they held this definite clue, the detectives continued their +work with a will. They made enquiries at the Lyric Theatre, but there +they only obtained very vague testimony; one point, however, was of +great value, the commissionaire outside one of the neighbouring +theatres stated that, some time after the performance had begun he +noticed a gentleman in evening dress walking rapidly past him. + +“He seemed strangely excited, for as he went by he muttered quite +audibly to himself; ‘I can stand it no longer, it must be he or I.’ +Then he disappeared in the fog, walking away towards Shaftesbury +Avenue. Unfortunately the commissionaire, just like the cabman, was +not prepared to swear to the identity of this man, whom he had only +seen momentarily through the fog. + +“But add to all this testimony the very strong motive there was for +the crime, and you will not wonder that within twenty-four hours of +the murder, the strongest suspicions had already fastened on Harold Le +Cheminant, and it was generally understood that, even before the +inquest, the police already had in readiness a warrant for his arrest +on the capital charge.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“It would be difficult, I think, for any one who was not present at +that memorable inquest to have the least idea of the sensation which +its varied and dramatic incidents caused among the crowd of spectators +there. + +“At first the proceedings were of the usual kind. The medical officer +gave his testimony as to the cause of death; for this was, of course, +not in dispute. The stiletto was produced; it was of an antique and +foreign pattern, probably of Eastern or else Spanish origin. In +England, it could only have been purchased at some _bric-à-brac_ shop. + +“Then it was the turn of the servants at Grosvenor Square, of the +cabman, and of the commissionaire. Lord Tremarn’s evidence, which he +had sworn to on his sickbed, was also read. It added nothing to the +known facts of the case, for he had last seen his favourite nephew +alive in the course of the afternoon preceding the latter’s tragic +end. + +“After that the _employés_ of the Junior Grosvenor Club retold their +story, and they were the first to strike the note of sensation which +was afterwards raised to its highest possible pitch. + +“Both of them, namely, were asked each in their turn to look round the +court and see if they could recognise the stranger who had called at +the club that memorable evening. Without the slightest hesitation, +both the hall-porter and the waiter pointed to Harold Le Cheminant, +who sat with his solicitor in the body of the court. + +“But already an inkling of what was to come had gradually spread +through that crowded court—instinctively every one felt that behind +the apparent simplicity of this tragic case there lurked another +mystery more strange even than that murder in the hansom cab. + +“Evidence was being taken as to the previous history of the deceased, +his first appearance in London, his relationship with his uncle, and +subsequently his enmity with his cousin Harold. At this point a man +was brought forward as a witness, who it was understood had +communicated with the police at the very last moment, offering to make +a statement which he thought would throw considerable light upon the +mysterious affair. + +“He was a man of about fifty years of age, who looked like a very +seedy, superannuated clerk of some insurance office. + +“He gave his name as Charles Collins, and said that he resided in +Caxton Road, Clapham. + +“In a perfectly level tone of voice, he then explained that some three +years ago, his son William, who had always been idle and +good-for-nothing, had suddenly disappeared from home. + +“‘We heard nothing of him for over two years,’ continued Charles +Collins, in that same cheerless and even voice which spoke of a +monotonous existence of ceaseless, patient grind, ‘but some few weeks +ago my daughter went up to the West End to see about an engagement—she +plays dance music at parties sometimes—when, in Regent Street, she +came face to face with her brother William. He was no longer wretched, +as we all are,’ added the old man pathetically, ‘he was dressed like a +swell, and when his sister spoke to him, he pretended not to know her. +But she’s a sharp girl, and guessed at once that there was something +strange there which William wished to hide. She followed him from a +distance, and never lost sight of him that day, until she saw him +about six o’clock in the evening go into one of the fine houses in +Grosvenor Square. Then she came home and told her mother and me all +about it.’ + +“I can assure you,” continued the man in the corner, “that you might +have heard a pin drop in that crowded court whilst the old man spoke. +That he was stating the truth no one doubted for a moment. The very +fact that he was brought forward as a witness showed that his story +had been proved, at any rate, to the satisfaction of the police. + +“The Collinses seem to have been very simple, good-natured people. It +never struck any of them to interfere with William, who appeared, in +their own words, to have ‘bettered himself.’ They concluded that he +had obtained some sort of position in a rich family, and was now +ashamed of his poor relations at Clapham. + +“Then one morning they read in the papers the story of the mysterious +murder in the hansom cab, together with a description of the victim, +who had not yet been identified. ‘William,’ they said with one accord. +Michael Collins, one of the younger sons, went up to London to view +the murdered man at the mortuary. There was no doubt whatever that it +was William, and yet all the papers persisted in saying that the +deceased was the heir to some grand peerage. + +“‘So I wrote to the police,’ concluded Charles Collins, ‘and my wife +and children were all allowed to view the body, and we are all +prepared to swear that it is that of my son, William Collins, who was +no more heir to a peerage than your worship.’ + +“And mopping his forehead, with a large coloured handkerchief, the old +man stepped down from the box. + +“Well, you may imagine what this bombshell was in the midst of that +coroner’s court. Everyone looked at his neighbour wondering if this +was real life, or some romantic play being acted on a stage. Amidst +indescribable excitement, various other members of the Collins’ family +corroborated the old man’s testimony, as did also one or two friends +from Clapham. All those who had been allowed to view the body of the +murdered man pronounced it without hesitation to be that of William +Collins, who had disappeared from home three years ago. + +“You see, it was like a repetition of the Tichborne case, only with +this strange difference: This claimant was dead, but all his papers +were in perfect order, the certificate of marriage between Lucie +Legrand and Arthur Le Cheminant at Martinique, as well as the birth +and baptismal certificate of Philip Le Cheminant, their son. Yet there +were all those simple, honest folk swearing that the deceased had been +born in Clapham, and the mother, surely, could not have been mistaken. + +“That is where the difference with the other noteworthy case came in, +for in this instance as far as the general public is concerned the +actual identity of the murdered man will always remain a matter of +doubt—Philip Le Cheminant or William Collins took that part of his +secret, at any rate, with him to his grave.” + + + +Chapter V + +“But the murder?” I asked eagerly, for the man in the corner had +paused, intent upon the manufacture of innumerable knots in a long +piece of string. + +“Ah, yes, the murder, of course,” he replied with a chuckle, “the +second mystery in this extraordinary case. Well, of course, whatever +the identity of the deceased really was, there was no doubt in the +minds of the police that Harold Le Cheminant had murdered him. To him, +at any rate, the Collins family were unknown; he only knew the man who +had supplanted him in his uncle’s affections, and snatched a rich +inheritance away from him. The charge brought against him at the +Westminster Court was also one of the greatest sensations of this +truly remarkable case. + +“It looked, indeed, as if the unfortunate young man had committed a +crime which was as appalling as it was useless. Instead of murdering +the impostor—if impostor he was—how much more simple it would have +been to have tried to unmask him. But, strange to say, this he never +seems to have done, at any rate as far as the public knew. + +“But here again mystery stepped in. When brought before the +magistrate, Harold Le Cheminant was able to refute the terrible charge +brought against him by the simple means of a complete _alibi_. After +the stormy episode at the Junior Grosvenor Club he had gone to his own +club in Pall Mall, and fortunately for him, did not leave it until +twenty minutes past eleven, some few minutes _after_ the two men in +evening dress got into the hansom in Shaftesbury Avenue. + +“But for this lucky fact, for which he had one or two witnesses, it +might have fared ill with him, for feeling unduly excited, he walked +all the way home afterwards; and had he left his club earlier, he +might have found it difficult to account for his time. As it was, he +was, of course, discharged. + +“But one more strange fact came out during the course of the +magisterial investigation, and that was that Harold Le Cheminant, on +the very day preceding the murder, had booked a passage for St. +Vincent. He admitted in court that he meant to conduct certain +investigations there, with regard to the identity of the supposed heir +to the Tremarn peerage. + +“And thus the curtain came down on the last act of that extraordinary +drama, leaving two great mysteries unsolved: the real identity of the +murdered man, and that of the man who killed him. Some people still +persist in thinking it was Harold Le Cheminant. Well, we may easily +dismiss _that_ supposition. Harold had decided to investigate the +matter for himself; he was on his way to St. Vincent. + +“Surely common-sense would assert that, having gone so far, he would +assure himself first, whether the man was an impostor or not, before +he resorted to crime, in order to rid himself of him. Moreover, the +witnesses who saw him leave his own club at twenty minutes past eleven +were quite independent and very emphatic. + +“Another theory is that the Collins’ gang tried to blackmail Philip Le +Cheminant or William Collins whichever we like to call him—and that it +was one of them who murdered him out of spite, when he refused to +submit to the blackmailing process. + +“Against that theory, however, there are two unanswerable +arguments—firstly, the weapon used, which certainly was not one that +would commend itself to the average British middle-class man on murder +intent—a razor or knife would be more in his line; secondly, there is +no doubt whatever that the murderer wore evening dress and an opera +hat, a costume not likely to have been worn by any member of the +Collins’ family, or their friends. We may, therefore, dismiss that +theory also with equal certainty.” + +And he surveyed placidly the row of fine knots in his bit of string. + +“But then, according to you, who was the man in evening dress, and who +but Harold Le Cheminant had any interest in getting rid of the +claimant?” I asked at last. + +“Who, indeed?” he replied with a chuckle “who but the man who was as +wax in the hands of that impostor.” + +“Whom do you mean?” I gasped. + +“Let us take things from the beginning,” he said, with ever-growing +excitement, “and take the one thing which is absolutely beyond +dispute, and that is the authenticity of the _papers_—the marriage +certificate of Lucie Legrand, etc.—as against the authenticity of the +_man_. Let us admit that the real Philip Le Cheminant was a refugee at +St. Vincent, that he found out about his parentage and determined to +go to England. He writes to his uncle, then sails for Europe, lands at +Havre, and arrives in Paris.” + +“Why, Paris?” I asked. + +“Because you, like the police and like the public, have persistently +shut your eyes to an event which, to my mind has bearing upon the +whole of this mysterious case, and that is the original murder +committed in Paris a year ago, also in a cab, also with a +stiletto—which that time was _not_ found—in fact, in the self-same +manner as this murder a week ago. + +“Well, that crime was never brought home to its perpetrator any more +than this one will be. But my contention is, that the man who +committed that murder a year ago, repeated this crime last week—that +the man who was murdered in Paris was the real Philip Le Cheminant, +whilst the man who was murdered in London was some friend to whom he +had confided his story, and probably his papers, and who then hit upon +the bold plan of assuming the personality of the Martinique creole, +heir to an English peerage.” + +“But what in the world makes you imagine such a preposterous thing?” I +gasped. + +“One tiny unanswerable fact,” he replied quietly. “William Collins, +the impostor, when he came to London, called upon a solicitor, and +deposited with him the valuable papers, _after that_ he obtained his +interview with Lord Tremarn. Then mark what happens. Without any +question, immediately after that interview, and, therefore, without +even having seen the papers of identification, Lord Tremarn accepts +the claimant as his newly-found nephew. + +“And why? + +“Only because that claimant has a tremendous hold over the Earl, which +makes the old man as wax in his hands, and it is only logical to +conclude that that hold was none other than that Lord Tremarn had met +his real nephew in Paris, and had killed him, sooner than to see him +supplant his beloved heir, Harold. + +“I followed up the subsequent history of that Paris crime, and found +that the Paris police had never established the identity of the +murdered man. Being a stranger, and moneyless, he had apparently +lodged in one of those innumerable ill-famed little hotels that abound +in Paris, the proprietors of which have very good cause to shun the +police, and therefore would not even venture so far as to go and +identify the body when it lay in the Morgue. + +“But William Collins knew who the murdered man was; no doubt he lodged +at the same hotel, and could lay his hands on the all-important +papers. I imagine that the two young men originally met in St. +Vincent, or perhaps on board ship. He assumed the personality of the +deceased, crossed over to England, and confronted Lord Tremarn with +the threat to bring the murder home to him if he ventured to dispute +his claim. + +“Think of it all, and you will see that I am right. When Lord Tremarn +first heard from his brother Arthur’s son, he went to Paris in order +to assure himself of the validity of his claim. Seeing that there was +no doubt of that, he assumed a friendly attitude towards the young +man, and one evening took him out for a drive in a cab and murdered +him on the way. + +“Then came Nemesis in the shape of William Collins, whom he dared not +denounce, lest his crime be brought home to him. How could he come +forward and say: ‘I know that this man is an impostor, as I happened +to have murdered my nephew myself’? + +“No; he preferred to temporise, and bide his time until, perhaps, +chance would give him his opportunity. It took a year in coming. The +yoke had become too heavy. ‘It must be he or I!’ he said to himself +that very night. Apparently he was on the best of terms with his +tormentor, but in his heart of hearts he had always meant to be even +with him at the last. + +“Everything favoured him; the foggy night, even the dispute between +Harold and the impostor at the club. Can you not picture him meeting +William Collins outside the theatre, hearing from him the story of the +quarrel, and then saying, ‘Come with me to Harold’s; I’ll soon make +the young jackanapes apologise to you’? + +“Mind you, a year had passed by since the original crime. William +Collins, no doubt, never thought he had anything to fear from the old +man. He got into the cab with him, and thus this remarkable story has +closed, and Harold Le Cheminant is once more heir to the Earldom of +Tremarn. + +“Think it all over, and bear in mind that Lord Tremarn _never_ made +the slightest attempt to prove the rights or wrongs of the impostor’s +claim. On this base your own conclusions, and then see if they do not +inevitably lead you to admit mine as the only possible solution of +this double mystery.” + +He was gone, leaving me bewildered and amazed, staring at my _Daily +Telegraph_, where, side by side with a long recapitulation of the +mysterious claimant of the Earldom there was the following brief +announcement: + +“We regret to say that the condition of Lord Tremarn is decidedly +worse to-day, and that but little hope is entertained of his recovery. +Mr. Harold Le Cheminant has been his uncle’s constant and devoted +companion during the noble Earl’s illness.” + + + +VIII. The Fate of the _Artemis_ + +Chapter I + +“Well, I’m ——!” was my inelegant mental comment upon the news in that +morning’s paper. + +“So are most people,” rejoined the man in the corner, with that eerie +way he had of reading my thoughts. “The _Artemis_ has come home, +having safely delivered her dangerous cargo, and Captain Jutland’s +explanations only serve to deepen the mystery.” + +“Then you admit there is one in this case?” I said. + +“Only to the public. Not to me. But I do admit that the puzzle is a +hard one. Do you remember the earlier details of the case? It was +towards the end of 1903. Negotiations between Russia and Japan were +just reaching a point of uncomfortable tension, and the man in the +street guessed that war in the Far East was imminent. + +“Messrs. Mills and Co. had just completed an order for a number of +their celebrated quick-firing guns for the Russian Government, and +these—according to the terms of the contract—were to be delivered at +Port Arthur on or about 1st February, 1904. Effectively, then, on 1st +December last, the _Artemis_, under the command of Captain Jutland, +sailed from Goole, with her valuable cargo on board, and with orders +to proceed along as fast as possible, in view of the probable outbreak +of hostilities. + +“Less than two hours after she had started, Messrs. Mills received +intimation from the highest official quarters, that in all probability +before the _Artemis_ could reach Port Arthur, and in view of coming +eventualities, the submarine mines would have been laid at the +entrance to the harbour. A secret plan of the port was therefore sent +to the firm for Captain Jutland’s use, showing the only way through +which he could possibly hope to navigate the _Artemis_ safely into the +harbour, and without which she would inevitably come in contact with +one of those terrible engines of wholesale destruction, which have +since worked such awful havoc in this war. + +“But _there_ was the trouble. This official intimation, together with +the plan, reached Messrs. Mills just two hours too late; it is a way +peculiar to many official intimations. Fortunately, however, the +_Artemis_ was to touch at Portsmouth on private business of the +firm’s, and, therefore, it only meant finding a trustworthy messenger +to meet Captain Jutland there, and to hand him over that all-important +plan. + +“Of course, there was no time to be lost, but, above all, some one of +extreme trustworthiness must be found for so important a mission. You +must remember that the great European Power in question is beset by +many foes in the shape of her own disaffected children, who desire her +downfall even more keenly than does her Asiatic opponent. Also in +times like these, when every method is fair which gives one adversary +an advantage over the other, we must remember that our plucky little +allies of the Far East are past masters in that art which is politely +known as secret intelligence. + +“All this, you see, made it an absolute necessity to keep the mission +to Captain Jutland a profound secret. I need not impress upon you the +fact, I think, that it is not expedient for the plans of an important +harbour to fall under prying eyes. + +“Finally, the choice fell on Captain Markham, R.N.R., lately of the +mercantile marine, and at the time in the employ of our own Secret +Intelligence Department, to which he has rendered frequent and +valuable services. This choice was determined also mainly through the +fact that Captain Markham’s wife had relatives living in Portsmouth, +and that, therefore, his journey thither could easily be supposed to +have an unofficial and quite ordinary character—especially if he took +his wife with him, which he did. + +“Captain and Mrs. Markham left Waterloo for Portsmouth at ten minutes +past twelve on Wednesday, 2nd December, the secret plan lying safely +concealed at the bottom of Mrs. Markham’s jewel-case. + +“As the _Artemis_ would not touch at Portsmouth until the following +morning, Captain Markham thought it best not to spend the night at an +hotel, but to go into rooms; his choice fell on a place, highly +recommended by his wife’s relations, and which was situated in a quiet +street on the Southsea side of the town. There he and his wife stayed +the night, pending the arrival of the _Artemis_. + +“But at twelve o’clock on the following morning the police were +hastily called in by Mrs. Bowden, the landlady of 49, Gastle Street, +where the Markhams had been staying. Captain Markham had been found +lying half-insensible, gagged and bound, on the floor of the +sitting-room, his hands and feet tightly pinioned, and a woollen +comforter wound closely round his mouth and neck; whilst Mrs. +Markham’s jewel-case, containing valuable jewellery and the secret +plans of Port Arthur, had disappeared.” + + + +Chapter II + +“Mind you,” continued the man in the corner, after he had assured +himself of my undivided attention, “all these details were unknown to +the public at first. I have merely co-ordinated them, and told them to +you in the actual sequence in which they occurred, so that you may be +able to understand the subsequent events. + +“At the time—that is to say, on 3rd December, 1903—the evening papers +only contained an account of what was then called ‘the mysterious +outrage at Gastle Street, Portsmouth.’ A private gentleman was +presumably assaulted and robbed in broad daylight, and inside a highly +respectable house in a busy part of the city. + +“Mrs. Bowden, the landlady, was, as you may imagine, most excited and +indignant. Her house and herself had been grossly insulted by this +abominable outrage, and she did her level best to throw what light she +could on this mysterious occurrence. + +“The story she told the police was indeed extraordinary, and as she +repeated it to all her friends, and subsequently to one or two +journalists, it roused public excitement to its highest pitch. + +“What she related at great length to the detective in charge of the +case, was briefly this: + +“Captain and Mrs. Markham, it appears, arrived at 49, Gastle Street, +on Wednesday afternoon, 2nd December, and Mrs. Bowden accommodated +them with a sitting-room and bedroom, both on the ground floor. In the +evening Mrs. Markham went out to dine with her brother, a Mr. Paulton, +who is a well-known Portsmouth resident, but Captain Markham stayed in +and had dinner alone in his sitting-room. + +“According to Mrs. Bowden’s version of the story, at about nine +o’clock a stranger called to see Captain Markham. This stranger was +obviously a foreigner, for he spoke broken English. Unfortunately, the +hall at 49, Gastle Street, was very dark, and, moreover, the foreigner +was attired in a magnificent fur coat, the collar of which hid the +lower part of his face. All Mrs. Bowden could see of him was that he +was very tall, and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. + +“‘He was so very peremptory in his manner,’ continued Mrs. Bowden, +‘that I had to show him in at once. The Captain seemed surprised to +see him—in fact, he looked decidedly annoyed, I might say; but just as +I was closing the door I heard the stranger laugh, and say quite +pleasantly: “You gave me the slip, my friend, but you see I have found +you out all right.”’ + +“Mrs. Bowden, after the manner of her class, seems to have made +vigorous efforts to hear what went on in the sitting-room after that,” +continued the man in the corner, “but she was not successful. Later +on, however, the Captain rang and ordered whiskies and sodas. Both +gentlemen were then sitting by the fire, looking quite friendly. + +“‘I took a look round the room,’ explained the worthy landlady, ‘and +took particular notice that the jewel-case was on the table, with the +lid open. Captain Markham, as soon he saw me, closed it very quickly.’ + +“The stranger seems to have gone away at about half-past ten, and +subsequently again Mrs. Markham came home accompanied by her brother, +Mr. Paulton. The next morning she went out at a quarter past eleven +o’clock, and about half an hour later the mysterious stranger called +again. + +“This time he pushed his way straight into the sitting-room; but the +very next moment he uttered a cry of intense horror and astonishment, +and rushed back into the hall, gesticulating wildly, and shrieking: ‘A +robbery!—a murder!—I go for the police!’ And before Mrs. Bowden could +stop him, or even could realise what had occurred, he had dashed out +of the house. + +“‘I called to Meggie,’ continued Mrs. Bowden, ‘I was so frightened, I +didn’t dare go into the parlour alone. But she was more frightened +than I was, and we stood trembling in the hall waiting for the police. +At last I began to have my suspicions, and I got Meggie to run out +into the street and see if she could bring in a policeman.’ + +“When the police at last arrived upon the scene, they pushed open the +sitting-room door, and there found Captain Markham in a most helpless +condition, his hands tied behind his back, and himself half-choked by +the scarf over his mouth. As soon as he recovered his breath, he +explained that he had no idea who his assailant was; he was standing +with his back to the door, when he was suddenly dealt a blow on the +head from behind, and he remembered nothing more. + +“In the meantime Mrs. Markham had come home, and of course was +horrified beyond measure at the outrage which had been committed. She +declared that her jewel-case was in the sitting-room when she went out +in the morning—a fact confirmed by Captain Markham himself. + +“But here, at once, the police were seriously puzzled. Mrs. Bowden, of +course, told her story of the foreigner—a story which was corroborated +by her daughter, Meggie. Captain Markham, pressed by the police, and +by his wife, admitted that a friend had visited him the evening +before. + +“‘He is an old friend I met years ago abroad, who happened to be in +Portsmouth yesterday, and quite accidentally caught sight of me as I +drove up to this door, and naturally came in to see me,’ was the +Captain’s somewhat lame explanation. + +“Nothing more was to be got out of him that day; he was still feeling +very bewildered he said, and certainly he looked very ill. Mrs. +Markham then put the whole matter in the hands of the police. + +“Captain Markham had given a description of ‘the old friend he had met +years ago abroad.’ This description vaguely coincided with that given +by Mrs. Bowden of the mysterious foreigner. But the Captain’s replies +to the cross-questionings of the detectives in charge of the case were +always singularly reticent and lame. ‘I had lost sight of him for +nearly twenty years,’ he explained, ‘and do not know what his present +abode and occupation might be. When I knew him years ago, he was a man +of independent means, without a fixed abode, and a great traveller. I +believe that he is a German by nationality, but I don’t think that I +ever knew this as a fact. His name was Johann Schmidt.’ + +“I may as well tell you here, at once, that the mysterious foreigner +managed to make good his escape. He was traced as far as the South +Western Railway Station, where he was seen to rush through the +barrier, just in time to catch the express up to town. At Waterloo he +was lost sight of in the crowd. + +“The police were keenly on the alert; no trace of the missing jewels +had as yet been found. Then it was that, gradually, the story of the +secret plan of Port Arthur reached the ears of the general public. Who +first told it, and to whom, it is difficult to conjecture, but you +know what a way things of that sort have of leaking out. + +“The secret of Captain Markham’s mission had of necessity been known +to several people, and a secret shared by many soon ceases to be one +at all; anyway, within a week of the so-called ‘Portsmouth outrage,’ +it began to be loudly whispered that the robbery of Mrs. Markham’s +jewels was only a mask that covered the deliberate theft of the plans +of Port Arthur. + +“And then the inevitable happened. Already Captain Markham’s strange +attitude had been severely commented upon, and now the public, backed +by the crowd of amateur detectives who read penny novelettes and form +conclusions of their own, had made up its mind that Captain Markham +was a party to the theft—that he was either the tool or the accomplice +of the mysterious foreigner and that, in fact, he had been either +bribed or terrorised into giving up the plan of Port Arthur to an +enemy of the Russian government. The crime was all the more heinous as +by this act of treachery a British ship, manned by a British crew, had +been sent to certain destruction. + +“What rendered the whole case doubly mysterious was that Messrs. Mills +and Co. seemed to take the matter with complete indifference. They +refused to be interviewed, or to give any information about the +_Artemis_ at all, and seemed callously willing to await events. + +“The public was furious; the newspapers stormed; every one felt that +the _Artemis_ should be stopped at any cost at her next port of call, +and not allowed to continue her perilous journey. + +“And yet the days went by; the public read with horror at Lloyds’ that +the _Artemis_ had called at Malta, at Port Said, at Aden, and was now +well on her way to the Far East. Feeling ran so high throughout +England, that, if the mysterious stranger had been discovered by the +police, no protection from them would have saved him from being +lynched. + +“As for Captain Markham, public opinion reserved its final judgment. A +cloud hung over him, of that there was no doubt; many said openly that +he had sold the secret plans of Port Arthur, either to the Japanese or +to the Nihilists, either through fear or intimidation, if not through +greed. + +“Then the inevitable climax came: A certain Mr. Carleton constituted +himself the spokesman of the general public; he met Captain Markham +one day at one of the clubs in London. There were hot words between +them. Mr. Carleton did not mince matters; he openly accused Captain +Markham of that which public opinion had already whispered, and +finally, completely losing his temper, he struck the Captain in the +face, calling him every opprobrious name he could think of. + +“But for the timely interference of friends, there would have been +murder committed then and there; as it was, Captain Markham was +induced by his own friends to bring a criminal charge of slander and +of assault against Mr. Carleton, as the only means of making the whole +story public, and possibly vindicating his character.” + + + +Chapter III + +“A criminal action for slander and assault is always an interesting +one,” continued the man in the corner, after a while, “as it always +argues an unusual amount of personal animosity on the part of the +plaintiff. + +“In this case, of course, public interest was roused to its highest +pitch. Practically, though Captain Markham was the prosecutor, he +would stand before his fellow-citizens after this action either as an +innocent man, or as one of the most dastardly scoundrels this nation +has ever known. + +“The case for the Captain was briefly stated by his counsel. For the +defence Sir Arthur Inglewood, on behalf of Mr. Carleton, pleaded +justification. With wonderful eloquence Sir Arthur related the whole +story of the secret plan of Port Arthur confided to the honour of +Captain Markham, and which involved the safety of the British ship and +the lives of a whole British crew. + +“The first witnesses called for the defence were Mrs. Bowden and her +daughter, Meggie. Both related the story I have already told you. When +they came to the point of having seen the jewel-case _open_ on the +table during that interview between Captain Markham and the mysterious +stranger, there was a regular murmur of indignation throughout the +whole crowd, so much so, that the judge threatened to clear the court, +for Sir Arthur argued this to be a proof that Captain Markham had been +a willing accomplice in the theft of the secret plans, and had merely +played the comedy of being assaulted, bound, and gagged. + +“But there was more to come. + +“It appears that on the morning of 2nd December—that is to say, before +going to Portsmouth—Captain Markham, directly after breakfast, and +while his wife was up in her own room, received a message which seemed +greatly to disturb him. It was Jane Mason, the parlour-maid at the +Markhams’ town house, who told the story. + +“A letter bearing no stamp had been dropped into the letter-box, she +had taken it to her master, who, on reading it, became greatly +agitated; he tore up the letter, stuffed it into his pocket and +presently took up his hat and rushed out of the house. + +“‘When the master was gone,’ continued Jane, ‘I found a scrap of +paper, which had fallen out of his pocket.’ + +“This scrap of paper Jane Mason had carefully put away. She was a +shrewd girl, and scented some mystery. It was now produced in court, +and the few fragmentary words were read out by Sir Arthur Inglewood, +amidst boundless excitement: + +“‘....if you lend a hand........Port Arthur safely.......hold my +tongue....’ + +“And at the end there were four letters in large capitals, ‘STOW.’ + +“In view of all the evidence taken, there was momentous significance +to be attached to those few words, of which only the last four letters +seemed mysterious, but these probably were part of the confederate’s +signature, who had—no one doubted it now—some hold upon Captain +Markham, and had by a process of blackmail induced him to send the +_Artemis_ to her doom. + +“After that, according to a statement made by the head clerk of +Messrs. Mills and Co., Captain Markham came round to the office +begging that some one else should be sent to meet Captain Jutland at +Portsmouth. ‘This,’ explained the head clerk, who had been subpœnaed +for the defence, ‘was quite impossible at this eleventh hour, and, in +the absence of the heads of the firm, I had on Mr. Mills’ behalf to +hold Captain Markham to his promise.’ + +“This closed the case for the defence, and in view of the lateness of +the hour, counsels’ speeches were reserved for the following day. +There was not a doubt in anybody’s mind that Captain Markham was +guilty, and but for the presence of a large body of police, I assure +you he would have been torn to pieces by the crowd.” + +The man in the corner paused in his narrative and blinked at me over +his bone-rimmed spectacles, like some lean and frowzy tom-cat, eager +for a fight. + +“Well?” I said eagerly. + +“Well, surely you remember what happened the following day?” he +replied, with a dry chuckle. “Personally, I don’t think that there +ever was quite so much sensation in any English court of law. + +“It was crowded, of course, when counsel for the plaintiff rose to +speak. He made, however, only a short statement, briefly and to the +point; but this statement caused every one to look at his neighbour, +wondering if he were awake or dreaming. + +“Counsel began by saying that Messrs. Mills and Co., in view of the +obvious conspiracy that had existed against the _Artemis_, had +decided, in conjunction with Captain Markham himself, to say nothing +about the safety of the ship until she was in port; but now counsel +had much pleasure in informing the court and public that the _Artemis_ +had safely arrived at Port Arthur, had landed her guns, and was on her +way home again by now. A cablegram _via_ St. Petersburg had been +received by Messrs. Mills and Co., from Captain Jutland that very +morning. + +“That cablegram was read by counsel in court, and was received with +loud and prolonged cheering which could not be suppressed. + +“With heroic fortitude—explained counsel—Captain Markham had borne the +gross suspicions against his integrity, only hoping that news of the +safety of the _Artemis_ would reach England in time to allow him to +vindicate his character. But until Captain Jutland was safe in port, +he had sworn to hold his tongue and to bear insult and violence, +sooner than once more jeopardise the safety of the British ship by +openly avowing that she carried the plans of the important port with +her. + +“Well, you know the rest. The parties, at the suggestion of the judge, +arranged the case amicably, and, Captain Markham being fully +satisfied, Mr. Carleton was nominally ordered to come up for trial +when called upon. + +“Captain Markham was the hero of the hour; but presently, after the +first excitement had subsided, sensible people began to ponder. Every +one, of course, appreciated the fact that Messrs. Mills and Co., +prompted by the highest authorities, had insisted on not jeopardising +the safety of the _Artemis_ by shouting on the housetops that she was +carrying the plans of Port Arthur on board. Hostilities in the Far +East were on the point of breaking out, and I need not insist, I +think, on the obvious fact that silence in such matters and at such a +time was absolutely imperative. + +“But what sensible people wanted to know was, what part had Captain +Markham played in all this? + +“In the evening of that memorable 2nd December, he was sitting +amicably by the fire with the mysterious stranger, who was evidently +blackmailing him, and with the jewel-case, which contained the plans +of Port Arthur, open between them. What, then, had caused Captain +Markham to change his attitude? What dispelled the fear of the +stranger? Was he really assaulted? Was the jewel-case really stolen? + +“Captain Jutland, of the _Artemis_, has explained that he was only on +shore for one hour at Portsmouth on the memorable morning of 3rd +December, namely, between 10.30 and 11.30 a.m. On landing at the Hard +from his gig, he was met by a gentleman, whom he did not know, and +who, without a word of comment, handed him some papers, which proved +to be plans of Port Arthur. + +“Now, at that very hour Captain Markham was lying helpless in his +bedroom, and the question now is, who abstracted the plans from the +jewel-case, and then mysteriously handed them to Captain Jutland? Why +was it not done openly? Why?—why? and, above all, by whom?——” + + + +Chapter IV + +“Indeed, why?” I retorted, for he had paused, and was peering at me +through his bone-rimmed spectacles. “You must have a theory,” I added, +as I quietly handed him a beautiful bit of string across the table. + +“Of course, I have a theory,” he replied placidly; “nay, more, the +only explanation of those mysterious events. But for this I must refer +you to the scrap of paper found by Jane Mason, and containing the four +fragmentary sentences which have puzzled every one, and which Captain +Markham always refused to explain. + +“Do you remember,” he went on, as he began feverishly to construct +knot upon knot on that piece of string, “the wreck of the _Ridstow_ +some twenty years ago? She was a pleasure boat belonging to Mr. Eyres, +the great millionaire financier, and was supposed to have been wrecked +in the South Seas, with nearly all hands. Five of her crew, however, +were picked up by H.M.S. _Pomona_, on a bit of rocky island to which +they had managed to swim. + +“I looked up the files of the newspapers relating to the rescue of +these five shipwrecked mariners, who told a most pitiable tale of the +loss of the yacht and their subsequent escape to, and sufferings on +the island. Fire had broken out in the hull of the _Ridstow_, and all +her crew were drowned, with the exception of three sailors, a Russian +friend, or rather secretary, of Mr. Eyres, and a young petty officer +named Markham. + +“You see, the letters stow had given me the clue. Clearly Markham, on +receiving the message on the morning of 2nd December, was frightened, +and when we analyse the fragments of that message and try to +reconstruct the missing fragments, do we not get something like this: + +“‘If _you lend a hand_ in allowing the _Artemis_ to reach _Port Arthur +safely_, and to land her cargo there, I will no longer _hold my +tongue_ about the events which occurred on board the _Ridstow_.’ + +“Clearly the mysterious stranger had a great hold over Captain +Markham, for every scrap of evidence, if you think it over, points to +his having been _frightened_. Did he not beg the clerk to find some +one else to meet Captain Jutland in Portsmouth? He did not wish _to +lend a hand_ in allowing the _Artemis_ to reach _Port Arthur safely_. + +“We must, therefore, take it that on board the _Ridstow_ some such +tragedy was enacted as, alas! is not of unfrequent occurrence. The +tragedy of a mutiny, a wholesale murder, the robbery of the rich +financier, the burning of the yacht. Markham, then barely twenty, was +no doubt an unwilling, perhaps passive, accomplice; one can trace the +hand of a cunning, daring Russian in the whole of this mysterious +tragedy. + +“Since then, Markham, through twenty years’ faithful service of his +country, had tried to redeem the passive crime of his early years. But +then came the crisis: The cunning leader of that bygone tragedy no +doubt kept a strong hand over his weaker accomplices. + +“What happened to the other three we do not know, but we have seen how +terrified Markham is of him, how he dare not resist him, and when the +mysterious Russian—some Nihilist, no doubt, at war with his own +Government—wishes to deal his country a terrible blow by possessing +himself of the plan of her most important harbour, so that he might +sell it to her enemies, Markham dare not say him nay. + +“But mark what happens. Captain Markham terrorised, confronted with a +past crime, threatened with exposure, is as wax in the hands of his +unscrupulous tormentor. But beside him there is the saving presence of +his wife.” + +“His wife?” I gasped. + +“Yes, the woman! Did you think this was a crime without the inevitable +woman! I sought her, and found her in Captain Markham’s wife. To save +her husband both from falling a victim to his implacable accomplice, +and from committing another even more heinous crime, she suggests the +comedy which was so cleverly enacted in the morning of 3rd December. + +“When the landlady and her daughter saw the jewel-case open on the +table the evening before, Markham was playing the first act of the +comedy invented by his wife. She had the plan safely in her own +keeping by then. He pretended to agree to the Russian’s demands, but +showed him that he had not then the plan in his possession, promising, +however, to deliver it up on the morrow. + +“Then in the morning, Mrs. Markham helps to gag and strap her husband +down; he pretends to lie unconscious, and she goes out carrying the +jewel-case. Her brother, Mr. Paulton, of course helps them both; +without him it would have been more difficult; as it is, he takes +charge of the jewel-case, abstracts the plan and papers, and finally +meets Captain Jutland at the Hard, and hands him over the plan of Port +Arthur. + +“Thus through the wits of a clever and devoted woman, not only are the +_Artemis_ and her British crew saved, but Captain Markham is +effectually rid of the blackmailer, who otherwise would have poisoned +his life, and probably out of revenge at being foiled, have ruined his +victim altogether. + +“To my mind, that was the neatest thing in the whole plan. The general +public believed that Captain Markham (who obviously at the instigation +of his wife had confided in Messrs. Mills and Co.) held his tongue as +to the safety of the _Artemis_ merely out of heroism, in order not to +run her into any further danger. Now, I maintain that this was the +masterstroke of that clever woman’s plan. + +“By holding his tongue, by letting the public fear for the safety of +the British crew and British ship, public feeling was stirred to such +a pitch of excitement that the Russian now would never _dare_ show +himself. Not only—by denouncing Captain Markham now—would he never be +even listened to for a moment, but, if he came forward at all, if he +even showed himself, he would stand before the British public +self-convicted as the man who had tried through the criminal process +of blackmail to terrorise an Englishman into sending a British ship +and thirty British sailors to certain annihilation. + +“No; I think we may take it for granted that the Russian will not dare +to show his face in England again.” + +And the funny creature was gone before I could say another word. + + + +IX. The Disappearance of Count Collini + +Chapter I + +He was very argumentative that morning; whatever I said he invariably +contradicted flatly and at once, and we both had finally succeeded in +losing our temper. + +The man in the corner was riding one of his favourite hobby-horses. + +“It is _impossible_ for any person to completely disappear in a +civilised country,” he said emphatically, “provided that person has +either friends or enemies of means and substance, who are interested +in finding his or her whereabouts.” + +“Impossible is a sweeping word,” I rejoined. + +“None too big for the argument,” he concluded, as he surveyed with +evident pride and pleasure a gigantic and complicated knot which his +bony fingers had just fashioned. + +“I think that, nevertheless, you should not use it,” I said placidly. +“It is not _impossible_, though it may be very difficult to disappear +without leaving the slightest clue or trace behind you.” + +“Prove it,” he said, with a snap of his thin lips. + +“I can, quite easily.” + +“Now I know what is going on in your mind,” said the uncanny creature, +“you are thinking of that case last autumn.” + +“Well, I was,” I admitted. “And you cannot deny that Count Collini has +disappeared as effectually as if the sea had swallowed him up—many +people think it did.” + +“Many idiots, you mean,” he rejoined dryly. “Yes, I knew you would +quote that case. It certainly was a curious one; all the more so, +perhaps, as there was no inquest, no sensational police court +proceedings, nothing dramatic, in fact, save that strange and +wonderful disappearance. + +“I don’t know if you call to mind the whole plot of that weird drama. +There was Thomas Checkfield, a retired biscuit baker of Reading, who +died leaving a comfortable fortune, mostly invested in freehold +property, and amounting to about £80,000, to his only child, Alice. + +“At the time of her father’s death, Alice Checkfield was just +eighteen, and at school in Switzerland, where she had spent most of +her life. Old Checkfield had been a widower ever since the birth of +his daughter, and seems to have led a very lonely and eccentric life; +leaving the girl at school abroad for years, only going very +occasionally to see her, and seemingly having but little affection for +her. + +“The girl herself had not been home in England since she was eight +years old, and even when old Checkfield was dying he would not allow +the girl to be apprised of his impending death, and to be brought home +to a house of loneliness and mourning. + +“‘What’s the good of upsetting a young girl, not eighteen,’ he said to +his friend, Mr. Turnour, ‘by letting her see all the sad paraphernalia +of death? She hasn’t seen much of her old father anyway, and will soon +get over her loss, with young company round her, to help her bear up.’ + +“But though Thomas Checkfield cared little enough for his daughter, +when he died he left his entire fortune to her, amounting altogether +to £80,000; and he appointed his friend, Reginald Turnour, to be her +trustee and guardian until her marriage or until she should attain her +majority. + +“It was generally understood that the words ‘until her marriage’ were +put in because it had all along been arranged that Alice should marry +Hubert Turnour, Reginald’s younger brother. + +“Hubert was old Checkfield’s godson, and if the old man had any +affection for anybody it certainly was for Hubert. The latter had been +a great deal in his godfather’s house, when he and Alice were both +small children, and had called each other ‘hubby’ and ‘wifey’ in play, +when they were still in the nursery. Later on, whenever old Checkfield +went abroad to see his daughter, he always took Hubert with him, and a +boy and girl flirtation sprang up between the two young people; a +flirtation which had old Checkfield’s complete approval, and no doubt +he looked upon their marriage as a _fait accompli_, merely desiring +the elder Mr. Turnour to administer the girl’s fortune until then. + +“Hubert Turnour, at the time of the subsequent tragedy, was a +good-looking young fellow, and by profession what is vaguely known as +a ‘commission agent.’ He lived in London, where he had an office in a +huge block of buildings close to Cannon Street Station. + +“There is no doubt that at the time of old Checkfield’s death, Alice +looked upon herself as the young man’s _fiancée_. When the girl +reached her nineteenth year, it was at last decided that she should +leave school and come to England. The question as to what should be +done with her until her majority, or until she married Hubert, was a +great puzzle to Mr. Turnour. He was a bachelor, who lived in +comfortable furnished rooms in Reading, and he did not at all relish +the idea of starting housekeeping for the sake of his young ward, whom +he had not seen since she was out of the nursery, and whom he looked +upon as an intolerable nuisance. + +“Fortunately for him this vexed question was most satisfactorily and +unexpectedly settled by Alice herself. She wrote to her guardian, from +Geneva, that a Mrs. Brackenbury, the mother of her dearest +schoolfellow had asked her to come and live with them, at any rate for +a time, as this would be a more becoming arrangement than that of a +young girl sharing a bachelor’s establishment. + +“Mr. Turnour seems to have hesitated for some time: he was a +conscientious sort of man, who took his duties of guardianship very +seriously. What ultimately decided him, however, was that his brother +Hubert added the weight of his eloquent letters of appeal to those of +Alice herself. Hubert naturally was delighted at the idea of having +his rich _fiancée_ under his eye in London, and after a good deal of +correspondence, Mr. Turnour finally gave his consent, and Alice +Checkfield duly arrived from Switzerland in order to make a prolonged +stay in Mrs. Brackenbury’s house.” + + + +Chapter II + +“All seems to have gone on happily and smoothly for a time in Mrs. +Brackenbury’s pretty house in Kensington,” continued the man in the +corner. “Hubert Turnour was a constant visitor there, and the two +young people seem to have had all the freedom of an engaged couple. + +“Alice Checkfield was in no sense of the word an attractive girl; she +was not good-looking, and no effort on Mrs. Brackenbury’s part could +succeed in making her look stylish. Still, Hubert Turnour seemed quite +satisfied, and the girl herself ready enough at first to continue the +boy and girl flirtation as of old. + +“Soon, however, as time went on, things began to change. Now that +Alice had become mistress of a comfortable fortune, there were plenty +of people ready to persuade her that a ‘commission agent,’ with but +vague business prospects, was not half good enough for her, and that +her £80,000 entitled her to more ambitious matrimonial hopes. Needless +to say that in these counsels Mrs. Brackenbury was very much to the +fore. + +“She lived in Kensington, and had social ambitions, foremost among +which was to see her daughter’s bosom friend married to, at least, a +baronet, if not a peer. + +“A young girl’s head is quickly turned. Within six months of her stay +in London, Alice was giving Hubert Turnour the cold shoulder, and the +young man had soon realised that she was trying to get out of her +engagement. + +“Scarcely had Alice reached her twentieth birthday, than she gave her +erstwhile _fiancé_ his formal _congé_. + +“At first Hubert seems to have taken his discomfiture very much to +heart. £80,000 were not likely to come his way again in a hurry. +According to Mrs. Brackenbury’s servants, there were one or two +violent scenes between him and Alice, until finally Mrs. Brackenbury +herself was forced to ask the young man to discontinue his visits. + +“It was soon after that that Alice Checkfield first met Count Collini +at one of the brilliant subscription dances given by the Italian +colony in London, the winter before last. Mrs. Brackenbury was charmed +with him, Alice Checkfield was enchanted! The Count, having danced +with Alice half the evening, was allowed to pay his respects at the +house in Kensington. + +“He seemed to be extremely well off, for he was staying at the +Carlton, and, after one or two calls on Mrs. Brackenbury, he began +taking the ladies to theatres and concerts, always presenting them +with the choicest and most expensive flowers, and paying them various +other equally costly attentions. + +“Mrs. and Miss Brackenbury welcomed the Count with open arms +(figuratively speaking). Alice was shy, but apparently over head and +ears in love at first sight. + +“At first Mrs. Brackenbury did her best to keep this new +acquaintanceship a secret from Hubert Turnour. I suppose that the old +matchmaker feared another unpleasant scene. But the inevitable soon +happened. Hubert, contrite, perhaps still hopeful, called at the house +one day, when the Count was there, and, according to the story +subsequently told by Miss Brackenbury herself, there was a violent +scene between him and Alice. As soon as the fascinating foreigner had +gone, Hubert reproached his _fiancée_ for her fickleness in no +measured language, and there was a good deal of evidence to prove that +he then and there swore to be even with the man who had supplanted him +in her affections. There was nothing to do then but for Mrs. +Brackenbury to ‘burn her boats.’ She peremptorily ordered Hubert out +of her house, and admitted that Count Collini was a suitor, favoured +by herself, for the hand of Alice Checkfield. + +“You see, I am bound to give you all these details of the situation,” +continued the man in the corner, with his bland smile, “so that you +may better form a judgment as to the subsequent fate of Count Collini. +From the description which Mrs. Brackenbury herself subsequently gave +to the police, the Count was then in the prime of life; of a dark +olive complexion, dark eyes, extremely black hair and moustache. He +had a very slight limp, owing to an accident he had had in early +youth, which made his walk and general carriage unusual and distinctly +noticeable. His was certainly not a personality that could pass +unperceived in a crowd. + +“Hubert Turnour, furious and heartsick, wrote letter after letter to +his brother, to ask him to interfere on his behalf; this Mr. Turnour +did, to the best of his ability, but he had to deal with an ambitious +matchmaker and with a girl in love, and it is small wonder that he +signally failed. Alice Checkfield by now had become deeply enamoured +of her Count, his gallantries flattered her vanity, his title and the +accounts he gave of his riches and his estates in Italy fascinated +her, and she declared that she would marry him, either with or without +her guardian’s consent, either at once, or as soon as she had attained +her majority, and was mistress of herself and of her fortune. + +“Mr. Turnour did all he could to prevent this absurd marriage. Being a +sensible, middle-class Britisher, he had no respect for foreign +titles, and little belief in foreign wealth. He wrote the most urgent +letters to Alice, warning her against a man whom he firmly believed to +be an impostor; finally, he flatly refused to give his consent to the +marriage. + +“Thus a few months went by. The Count had been away in Italy all +through the winter and spring, and returned to London for the season, +apparently more enamoured with the Reading biscuit baker’s daughter +than ever. Alice Checkfield was then within nine months of her +twenty-first birthday, and determined to marry the Count. She openly +defied her guardian. + +“‘Nothing,’ she wrote to him, ‘would ever induce me to marry Hubert.’ + +“I suppose it was this which finally induced Mr. Turnour to give up +all opposition to the marriage. Seeing that his brother’s chances were +absolutely _nil_, and that Alice was within nine months of her +majority, he no doubt thought all further argument useless, and with +great reluctance finally gave his consent. + +“The marriage, owing to the difference of religion, was to be +performed before a registrar, and was finally fixed to take place on +22nd October, 1903, which was just a week after Alice’s twenty-first +birthday. + +“Of course the question of Alice’s fortune immediately cropped up: she +desired her money in cash, as her husband was taking her over to live +in Italy, where she desired to make all further investments. She, +therefore, asked Mr. Turnour to dispose of her freehold property for +her. There again Mr. Turnour hesitated, and argued, but once he had +given his consent to the marriage, all opposition was useless, more +especially as Mrs. Brackenbury’s solicitors had drawn up a very +satisfactory marriage settlement, which the Count himself had +suggested, by which Alice was to retain sole use and control of her +own private fortune. + +“The marriage was then duly performed before a registrar on that 22nd +of October, and Alice Checkfield could henceforth style herself +Countess Collini. The young couple were to start for Italy almost +directly, but meant to spend a day or two at Dover quietly together. +There were, however, one or two tiresome legal formalities to go +through. Mr. Turnour had, by Alice’s desire, handed over the sum of +£80,000 in notes to her solicitor, Mr. R. W. Stanford. Mr. Stanford +had gone down to Reading two days before the marriage, had received +the money from Mr. Turnour, and then called upon the new Countess, and +formally handed her over her fortune in Bank of England notes. + +“Then it was necessary, in view of immediate and future arrangements, +to change the English money into foreign, which the Count and his +young wife did themselves that afternoon. + +“At 5 o’clock p.m. they started for Dover, accompanied by Mrs. +Brackenbury, who desired to see the last of her young friend, prior to +the latter’s departure for abroad. The Count had engaged a magnificent +suite of rooms at the Lord Warden Hotel, and thither the party +proceeded. + +“So far, you see,” added the man in the corner, “the story is of the +utmost simplicity. You might even call it commonplace. A foreign +Count, an ambitious matchmaker, and a credulous girl; these form the +ingredients of many a domestic drama, that culminates at the police +courts. But at this point this particular drama becomes more +complicated, and, if you remember, ends in one of the strangest +mysteries that has ever baffled the detective forces on both sides of +the Channel.” + + + +Chapter III + +The man in the corner paused in his narrative. I could see that he was +coming to the palpitating part of the story, for his fingers fidgeted +incessantly with that bit of string. + +“Hubert Turnour, as you may imagine,” he continued after a while, “did +not take his final discomfiture very quietly. He was a very +violent-tempered young man, and it was certainly enough to make any +one cross. According to Mrs. Brackenbury’s servants he used most +threatening language in reference to Count Collini; and on one +occasion was with difficulty prevented from personally assaulting the +Count in the hall of Mrs. Brackenbury’s pretty Kensington house. + +“Count Collini finally had to threaten Hubert Turnour with the police +court: this seemed to have calmed the young man’s nerves somewhat, for +he kept quite quiet after that, ceased to call on Mrs. Brackenbury, +and subsequently sent the future Countess a wedding present. + +“When the Count and Countess Collini, accompanied by Mrs. Brackenbury, +arrived at the Lord Warden, Alice found a letter awaiting her there. +It was from Hubert Turnour. In it he begged for forgiveness for all +the annoyance he had caused her, hoped that she would always look upon +him as a friend, and finally expressed a strong desire to see her once +more before her departure for abroad, saying that he would be in Dover +either this same day or the next, and would give himself the pleasure +of calling upon her and her husband. + +“Effectively at about eight o’clock, when the wedding party was just +sitting down to dinner, Hubert Turnour was announced. Every one was +most cordial to him, agreeing to let bygones be bygones: the Count, +especially, was most genial and pleasant towards his former rival, and +insisted upon his staying and dining with them. + +“Later on in the evening, Hubert Turnour took an affectionate leave of +the ladies, Count Collini offering to walk back with him to the Grand +Hotel, where he was staying. The two men went out together, and—well! +you know the rest!—for that was the last the young Countess Collini +ever saw of her husband. He disappeared as effectually, as completely, +as if the sea had swallowed him up. + +“‘And so it had,’ say the public,” continued the man in the corner, +after a slight pause, “that delicious, short-sighted, irresponsible +public is wondering, to this day, why Hubert Turnour was not hung for +the murder of that Count Collini.” + +“Well! and why wasn’t he?” I retorted. + +“For the very simple reason,” he replied, “that in this country you +cannot hang a man for murder unless there is proof positive that a +murder has been committed. Now, there was absolutely no proof that the +Count was murdered at all. What happened was this: the Countess +Collini and Mrs. Brackenbury became anxious as time went on and the +Count did not return. One o’clock, then two in the morning, and their +anxiety became positive alarm. At last, as Alice was verging on +hysterics, Mrs. Brackenbury, in spite of the lateness of the hour, +went round to the police station. + +“It was, of course, too late to do anything in the middle of the +night; the constable on duty tried to reassure the unfortunate lady, +and promised to send word round to the Lord Warden at the earliest +possible opportunity in the morning. + +“Mrs. Brackenbury went back with a heavy heart. No doubt Mr. Turnour’s +sensible letters from Reading recurred to her mind. She had already +ascertained from the distracted bride that the Count had taken the +strange precaution to keep in his own pocket-book the £80,000, now +converted into French and Italian banknotes, and Mrs. Brackenbury +feared not so much that he had met with some accident, but that he had +absconded with the whole of his girl-wife’s fortune. + +“The next morning brought but scanty news. No one answering to the +Count’s description had met with an accident during the night, or been +conveyed to a hospital, and no one answering his description had +crossed over to Calais or Ostend by the night boats. Moreover, Hubert +Turnour, who presumably had last been in Count Collini’s company, had +left Dover for town by the boat train at 1.50 a.m. + +“Then the search began in earnest after the missing man, and primarily +Hubert Turnour was subjected to the closest and most searching +cross-examination, by one of the most able men on our detective staff, +Inspector Macpherson. + +“Hubert Turnour’s story was briefly this: He had strolled about on the +parade with Count Collini for a while. It was a very blustery night, +the wind blowing a regular gale, and the sea was rolling gigantic +waves, which looked magnificent, as there was brilliant moonlight. +‘Soon after ten o’clock,’ he continued, ‘the Count and I went back to +the Grand Hotel, and we had whiskies and sodas up in my room, and a +bit of a chat until past eleven o’clock. Then he said good-night and +went off.’ + +“‘You saw him down to the hall, of course?’ asked the detective. + +“‘No, I did not,’ replied Hubert Turnour. ‘I had a few letters to +write, and meant to catch the 1.50 a.m. back to town.’ + +“‘How long were you in Dover altogether?’ asked Macpherson carelessly. + +“‘Only a few hours. I came down in the afternoon.’ + +“‘Strange, is it not, that you should have taken a room with a private +sitting-room at an expensive hotel, just for those few hours?’ + +“‘Not at all. I originally meant to stay longer. And my expenses are +nobody’s business, I take it,’ replied Hubert Turnour, with some show +of temper. ‘Anyway,’ he added impatiently, after a while, ‘if you +choose to disbelieve me, you can make inquiries at the hotel, and +ascertain if I have told the truth.’ + +“Undoubtedly he had spoken the truth; at any rate, to that extent. +Inquiries at the Grand Hotel went to prove that he had arrived there +in the early part of the afternoon, had engaged a couple of rooms, and +then gone out. Soon after ten o’clock in the evening he came in, +accompanied by a gentleman, whose description, as given by three +witnesses, _employés_ of the hotel, who saw him, corresponded exactly +with that of the Count. + +“Together the two gentlemen went up to Mr. Hubert Turnour’s rooms, and +at half-past ten they ordered whisky to be taken up to them. But at +this point all trace of Count Collini had completely vanished. The +passengers arriving by the 10.49 boat train, and who had elected to +spend the night in Dover, owing to the gale, had crowded up and filled +the hall. + +“No one saw Count Collini leave the Grand Hotel. But Mr. Hubert +Turnour came down into the hall at about half-past eleven. He said he +would be leaving by the 1.50 a.m. boat train for town, but would walk +round to the station as he only had a small bag with him. He paid his +account, then waited in the coffee-room until it was time to go. + +“And there the matter has remained. Mrs. Brackenbury has spent half +her own fortune in trying to trace the missing man. She has remained +perfectly convinced that he slipped across the Channel, taking Alice +Checkfield’s money with him. But, as you know, at all ports of call on +the South Coast, detectives are perpetually on the watch. The Count +was a man of peculiar appearance, and there is no doubt that no one +answering to his description crossed over to France or Belgium that +night. By the following morning the detectives on both sides of the +Channel were on the alert. There is no disguise that would have held +good. If the Count had tried to cross over, he would have been spotted +either on board or on landing; and we may take it as an absolute and +positive certainty that he did not cross the Channel. + +“He remained in England, but in that case, where is he? You would be +the first to admit that, with the whole of our detective staff at his +heels, it seems incredible that a man of the Count’s singular +appearance could hide himself so completely as to baffle detection. +Moreover, the question at once arises, that if he did not cross over +to France or Belgium, what in the world did he do with the money? What +was the use of disappearing and living the life of a hunted beast +hiding for his life, with £80,000 worth of foreign money, which was +practically useless to him? + +“Now, I told you from the first,” concluded the man in the corner, +with a dry chuckle, “that this strange episode contained no +sensational incident, nor dramatic inquest or criminal procedure. +Merely the complete, total disappearance, one may almost call it +extinction, of a striking-looking man, in the midst of our vaunted +civilisation, and in spite of the untiring energy and constant watch +of a whole staff of able men.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“Very well, then,” I retorted in triumph, “that proves that Hubert +Turnour murdered Count Collini out of revenge, not for greed of money, +and probably threw the body of his victim, together with the foreign +banknotes, into the sea.” + +“But where? When? How?” he asked, smiling good-humouredly at me over +his great bone-rimmed spectacles. + +“Ah! that I don’t know.” + +“No, I thought not,” he rejoined placidly. “You had, I think, +forgotten one incident, namely, that Hubert Turnour, accompanied by +the Count, was in the former’s room at the Grand Hotel drinking whisky +at half-past ten o’clock. You must admit that, even though the hall of +the hotel was very crowded later on, a man would nevertheless find it +somewhat difficult to convey the body of his murdered enemy through a +whole concourse of people.” + +“He did not murder the Count in the hotel,” I argued. “The two men +walked out again, when the hall was crowded, and they passed +unnoticed. Hubert Turnour led the Count to a lonely part of the +cliffs, then threw him into the sea.” + +“The nearest point at which the cliffs might be called ‘lonely’ for +purposes of a murder, is at least twenty minutes’ walk from the Grand +Hotel,” he said, with a smile, “always supposing that the Count walked +quickly and willingly to such a lonely spot at eleven o’clock at +night, and with a man who had already, more than once, threatened his +life. Mr. Hubert Turnour, remember, was seen in the hall of the hotel +at half-past eleven, after which hour he only left the hotel to go to +the station after 1 o’clock a.m. + +“The hall was crowded by the passengers from the boat train a little +after eleven. There was no time between that and half-past to lead +even a willing enemy to the slaughter, throw him into the sea, and +come back again, all in the space of five-and-twenty minutes.” + +“Then what is your explanation of that extraordinary disappearance?” I +retorted, beginning to feel very cross about it all. + +“A simple one,” he rejoined quietly, as he once more began to fidget +with his bit of string. “A very simple one indeed; namely, that Count +Collini, at the present moment, is living comfortably in England, +calmly awaiting a favourable opportunity of changing his foreign money +back into English notes.” + +“But you say yourself that that is impossible, as the most able +detectives in England are on the watch for him.” + +“They are on the watch for a certain Count Collini,” he said drily, +“who might disguise himself, perhaps, but whose hidden identity would +sooner or later be discovered by one of these intelligent human +bloodhounds.” + +“Yes? Well?” I asked. + +“Well, that Count Collini never existed. It was _his_ personality that +was the disguise. Now it is thrown off. The Count is not dead, he is +not hiding, but has merely ceased to exist. There is no fear that he +will ever come to life again. Mr. Turnour senior will see to that.” + +“Mr. Turnour!” I ejaculated. + +“Why, yes,” he rejoined excitedly; “do you mean to tell me you never +saw through it all? The money lying in his hands; his brother about to +wed the rich heiress; then Mrs. Brackenbury’s matrimonial ambitions, +Alice Checkfield’s coldness to Hubert Turnour, the golden prize +slipping away right out of the family for ever. Then the scheme was +evolved by those two scoundrels, who deserve to be called geniuses in +their criminal way. It could not be managed, except by collaboration, +but as it was, the scheme was perfect in conception, and easy of +execution. + +“Remember that disguise _previous_ to a crime is always fairly safe +from detection, for then it has no suspicion to contend against, it +merely deceives those who have no cause to be otherwise _but_ +deceived. Mrs. Brackenbury lived in London, Reginald Turnour in +Reading; they did not know each other personally, nor did they know +each other’s friends, of course; whilst Alice Checkfield had not seen +her guardian since she was quite a child. + +“Then the disguise was so perfect. I went down to Reading, some little +time ago, and Reginald Turnour was pointed out to me: he is a +Scotchman, with very light, sandy hair. That face clean shaved, made +swarthy, the hair, eyebrows, and lashes dyed a jet black, would render +him absolutely unrecognisable. Add to this the fact that a foreign +accent completely changes the voice, and that the slight limp was a +masterstroke of genius to hide the general carriage. + +“Then the winter came round; it was, perhaps, important that Mr. +Turnour should not be absent too long from Reading, for fear of +exciting suspicion there; and the scoundrel played his part with +marvellous skill. Can’t you see him yourself leaving the Carlton +Hotel, ostensibly going abroad, driving to Charing Cross, but only +booking to Cannon Street. + +“Then getting out at that crowded station and slipping round to his +brother’s office in one of those huge blocks of buildings where there +is perpetual coming and going, and where any individual would easily +pass unperceived. + +“There, with the aid of a little soap and water, Mr. Turnour resumed +his Scotch appearance, went on to Reading, and spent winter and spring +there, only returning to London to make a formal proposal, as Count +Collini, for Alice Checkfield’s hand. Hubert Turnour’s office was +undoubtedly the place where he changed his identity, from that of the +British middle-class man, to the interesting personality of the +Italian nobleman. + +“He had, of course, to repeat the journey to Reading a day or two +before his wedding, in order to hand over his ward’s fortune to Mrs. +Brackenbury’s solicitor. Then there were the supposed rows between +Hubert Turnour and his rival; the letters of warning from the +guardian, for which Hubert no doubt journeyed down to Reading, in +order to post them there: all this was dust thrown into the eyes of +two credulous ladies. + +“After that came the wedding, the meeting with Hubert Turnour, who, +you see, was obliged to take a room in one of the big hotels, wherein, +with more soap and water, the Italian Count could finally disappear. +When the hall of the hotel was crowded, the sandy-haired Scotchman +slipped out of it quite quietly: he was not remarkable, and no one +specially noticed him. Since then the hue and cry has been after a +dark Italian, who limps, and speaks broken English; and it has never +struck any one that such a person never existed. + +“Mr. Turnour is fairly safe by now; and we may take it for granted +that he will not seek the acquaintanceship of the Brackenburys, whilst +Alice Checkfield is no longer his ward. He will wait a year or two +longer perhaps, then he and Hubert will begin quietly to re-convert +their foreign money into English notes—they will take frequent little +trips abroad, and gradually change the money at the various _bureaux +de change_, on the Continent. + +“Think of it all—it is so simple—not even dramatic, only the work of a +genius from first to last, worthy of a better cause, perhaps, but +undoubtedly worthy of success.” + +He was gone, leaving me quite bewildered. Yet the disappearance had +always puzzled me, and now I felt that that animated scarecrow had +found the true explanation of it after all. + + + +X. The Ayrsham Mystery + +Chapter I + +“I have never had a great opinion of our detective force here in +England,” said the man in the corner, in his funny, gentle, apologetic +manner, “but the way that department mismanaged the affair at Ayrsham +simply passes comprehension.” + +“Indeed?” I said, with all the quiet dignity I could command. “It is a +pity they did not consult you in the matter, wasn’t it?” + +“It is a pity,” he retorted with aggravating meekness, “that they do +not use a little common sense. The case resembles that of Columbus’ +egg, and is every bit as simple. + +“It was one evening last October, wasn’t it? that two labourers, +walking home from Ayrsham village, turned down a lane, which, it +appears, is a short cut to the block of cottages some distance off, +where they lodged. + +“The night was very dark, and there was a nasty drizzle in the air. In +the picturesque vernacular of the two labourers, ‘You couldn’t see +your ’and before your eyes.’ Suddenly they stumbled over the body of a +man lying right across the path. + +“‘At first we thought ’e was drunk,’ explained one of them +subsequently, ‘but when we took a look at ’im, we soon saw there was +something very wrong. Me and my mate turned ’im over, and “foul play” +we both says at once. Then we see that it was Old Man Newton. Poor +chap, ’e was dead, and no mistake.’ + +“Old Man Newton, as he was universally called by his large circle of +acquaintances, was very well known throughout the entire +neighbourhood, most particularly at every inn and public bar for some +miles around. + +“He also kept a local sweet-stuff shop at Ayrsham. No wonder that the +men were horrified at finding him in such a terrible condition; even +in their uneducated minds there could be no doubt that the old man had +been murdered, for his skull had been literally shattered by a fearful +blow, dealt him from behind by some powerful assailant. + +“Whilst the labourers were cogitating as to what they had better do +next, they heard footsteps also turning into the lane, and the next +moment Samuel Holder, a well-known inhabitant of Ayrsham, arrived upon +the scene. + +“‘Hello! is that you, Mat Newton?’ shouted Samuel, as he came near. + +“‘Ay! ’tis Old Man Newton, right enough,’ replied one of the +labourers, ‘but ’e won’t answer you no more.’ + +“Samuel Holder seemed absolutely horrified when he saw the body of Old +Man Newton; he uttered various ejaculations, which the two labourers, +however, did not take special notice of at the time. + +“Then the three men held a brief consultation together, with the +result that one of them ran back to Ayrsham village to fetch the local +police, whilst the two others remained in the lane to guard the body. + +“The mystery—for it seemed one from the first—created a great deal of +sensation in Ayrsham and all round the neighbourhood, and much +sympathy was felt for, and shown to Mary Newton, the murdered man’s +only child, a young girl about two-or-three-and-twenty, who, moreover, +was in ill-health. + +“True, Old Man Newton was not a satisfactory protector for a young +girl. He was very much addicted to drink; he neglected the little bit +of local business he had; and, moreover, had recently shamefully +ill-treated his daughter, the neighbours testifying to the many and +loud quarrels that occurred in the small back parlour behind the +sweet-stuff shop. + +“A case of murder—the moment an element of mystery hovers around +it—immediately excites the attention of the newspaper-reading public, +who is always seeking for new sensations. + +“Very soon the history of Old Man Newton and of his daughter found its +way into the London and provincial dailies, and the Ayrsham murder +became a topic of all-absorbing interest. + +“It appears that Old Man Newton was at one time a highly respectable +local tradesman, always in a very small way, as there is not much +business doing at Ayrsham. It is a poor and straggling village, +although its railway station is an important junction on the Midland +system. + +“There is some very good shooting in the neighbourhood, and about four +or five years ago some of it, together with ‘The Limes,’ a pretty +house just outside the village, was rented for the autumn by Mr. +Ledbury and his brother. + +“You know the firm of Ledbury and Co., do you not; the great small +arms manufacturers? The elder Mr. Ledbury was the recipient of +Birthday honours last year, and is the present Lord Walterton; his +younger brother, Mervin, was in those days, and is still, a handsome +young fellow in the Hussars. + +“At the time—I mean about five years ago—Mary Newton was the local +beauty of Ayrsham; she did a little dressmaking in her odd moments, +but it appears that she spent most of her time in flirting. She was +nominally engaged to be married to Samuel Holder, a young carpenter, +but there was a good deal of scandal talked about her, for she was +thought to be very fast; village gossip coupled her name with that of +several young men in the neighbourhood, who were known to have paid +the village beauty marked attention, and among these admirers of Mary +Newton during the autumn of which I am speaking, young Mr. Mervin +Ledbury figured conspicuously. + +“Be that as it may, certain it is that Mary Newton had a very bad +reputation among the scandalmongers of Ayrsham, and though everybody +was shocked, no one was astonished when one fine day in the winter +following she suddenly left her father and her home, and went no one +knew whither. She left, it appears, a very pathetic letter behind, +begging for her father’s forgiveness, and that of Samuel Holder, whom +she was jilting, but she was going to marry a gentleman above them all +in station, and was going to be a real lady; then only would she +return home. + +“A very unusual village tragedy, as you see. Four years went by, and +Mary Newton did not return home. As time went by and with it no news +of his daughter, Old Man Newton took her disappearance very much to +heart. He began to neglect his business, and then his house, which +became dirty and ill-kept by an occasional charwoman who would do a +bit of promiscuous tidying for him from time to time. He was +ill-tempered, sullen, and morose, and very soon became hopelessly +addicted to drink. + +“Then suddenly, as unexpectedly as she had gone, Mary Newton returned +to her home one fine day, after an absence of four years. What had +become of her in the interim, no one in the village ever knew; she was +generally supposed to have earned a living by dressmaking, until her +failing health had driven her well nigh to starvation, and then back +to the home and her father she had so heedlessly left. + +“Needless to say that all the talk of her ‘marriage with a gentleman +above her in station’ was entirely at an end. As for Old Man Newton, +he seems after his daughter’s return to have become more sullen and +morose than ever, and the neighbours now busied themselves with talk +of the fearful rows which frequently occurred in the back parlour of +the little sweet-stuff shop. + +“Father and daughter seemed to be leading a veritable cat-and-dog life +together. Old Man Newton was hardly ever sober, and at the village +inns he threw out weird and strange hints about ‘breach of promise +actions with £5,000 damages, which his daughter would get, if only he +knew where to lay hands upon the scoundrel.’ + +“He also made vague and wholly useless enquiries about young Mervin +Ledbury, but in a sleepy, out-of-the-way village like Ayrsham, no one +knows anything about what goes on beyond a narrow five-mile radius at +most. ‘The Limes’ and the shooting were let to different tenants year +after year, and neither Lord Walterton nor Mr. Mervin Ledbury had ever +rented them again.” + + + +Chapter II + +“That was the past history of Old Newton,” continued the man in the +corner, after a brief pause, “that is to say, of the man who on a dark +night last October was found murdered in a lonely lane, not far from +Ayrsham. The public, as you may well imagine, took a very keen +interest in the case from the outset: the story of Mary Newton, of the +threatened breach of promise, of the £5,000 damages, roused masses of +conjecture to which no one has yet dared to give definite shape. + +“One name, however, had already been whispered significantly, that of +Mr. Mervin Ledbury, the young Hussar, one of Mary Newton’s admirers at +the very time she left home in order, as she said, to be married to +some one above her in station. + +“Many thinking people, too, wanted to know what Samuel Holder, Mary’s +jilted _fiancé_, was doing close to the scene of the murder that +night, and how he came to make the remark: ‘Hello! Is that you, Mat +Newton?’ when the Old Man lived nearly half-a-mile away, and really +had no cause for being in that particular lane, at that hour of the +night in the drizzling rain. + +“The inquest, which, for want of other accommodation, was held at the +local police station, was, as you may imagine, very largely attended. + +“I had read a brief statement of the case in the London papers, and +had hurried down to Ayrsham Junction, as I scented a mystery, and knew +I should enjoy myself. + +“When I got there, the room was already packed, and the medical +evidence was being gone through. + +“Old Man Newton, it appears, had been knocked on the head by a +heavily-loaded cane, which was found in the ditch close to the +murdered man’s body. + +“The cane was produced in court; it was as stout as an old-fashioned +club, and of terrific weight. The man who wielded it must have been +very powerful, for he had only dealt one blow, but that blow had +cracked the old man’s skull. The cane was undoubtedly of foreign make, +for it had a solid silver ferrule at one end, which was not English +hall-marked. + +“In the opinion of the medical expert, death was the result of the +blow, and must have been almost instantaneous. + +“The labourers who first came across the body of the murdered man then +repeated their story; they had nothing new to add, and their evidence +was of no importance. But after that there was some stir in the court. +Samuel Holder had been called and sworn to tell the whole truth, and +nothing but the truth. + +“He was a youngish, heavily-built man of about five-and-thirty, with a +nervous, not altogether prepossessing expression of face. Pressed by +the coroner, he gave us a few details of Old Man Newton’s earlier +history, such as I have already told you. + +“‘Old Mat,’ he explained, with some hesitation, ‘was for ever wanting +to find out who the gentleman was who had promised marriage to Mary +four years ago. But Mary was that obstinate, and wouldn’t tell him, +and this exasperated the old man terribly, so that they had many rows +on the subject.’ + +“‘I suppose,’ said the coroner tentatively, ‘that you never knew who +that gentleman was?’ + +“Samuel Holder seemed to hesitate for a moment. His manner became even +more nervous than before; he shifted his position from one foot to the +other; finally, he said: + +“‘I don’t know as I ought to say, but——’ + +“‘I am quite sure that you must tell us everything you know which +might throw light upon this extraordinary and terrible murder,’ +retorted the coroner sternly. + +“‘Well,’ replied Samuel Holder, whilst great beads of perspiration +stood out upon his forehead, ‘Mary never would give up the letters she +had had from him, and she would not hear anything about a breach of +promise case and £5,000 damages; but old Mat ’e often says to me, says +’e, “It’s young Mr. Ledbury,” ’e says, “she’s told me that once. I got +it out of ’er, and if I only knew where to find ’im——”’ + +“‘You are quite sure of this?’ asked the coroner, for Holder had +paused, and seemed quite horrified at the enormity of what he had +said. + +“‘Yes—yes—your worship—your honour——’ stammered Holder. ‘’E’s told me +’twas young Mr. Ledbury times out of count, and——’ + +“But Samuel Holder here completely broke down; he seemed unable to +speak, his lips twitched convulsively, and the coroner, fearing that +the man would faint, had him conveyed into the next room to recover +himself, whilst another witness was brought forward. + +“This was Michael Pitkin, landlord of the Fernhead Arms, at Ayrsham, +who had been on very intimate terms with old Newton during the four +years which elapsed after Mary’s disappearance. He had a very curious +story to tell, which aroused public excitement to its highest pitch. + +“It appears that to him also the old man had often confided the fact +that it was Mr. Ledbury who had promised to marry Mary, and then had +shamefully left her stranded and moneyless in London. + +“‘But, of course,’ added the jovial and pleasant-looking landlord of +the Fernhead Arms, ‘the likes of us down here didn’t know what became +of Mr. Ledbury after he left “The Limes,” until one day I reads in the +local paper that Sir John Fernhead’s daughter is going to be married +to Captain Mervin Ledbury. Of course, your honour and me, and all of +us know Sir John, our squire, down at Fernhead Towers, and I says to +old Mat: “It strikes me,” I says, “that you’ve got your man.” Sure +enough it was the same Mr. Ledbury who rented “The Limes” years ago, +who was engaged to the young lady up at the Towers, and last week +there was grand doings there—lords and ladies and lots of quality +staying there, and also the Captain.’ + +“‘Well?’ asked the coroner eagerly, whilst every one held their +breath, wondering what was to come. + +“‘Well,’ continued Michael Pitkin, ‘Old Man Newton went down to the +Towers one day. ’E was determined to see young Mr. Ledbury, and went. +What ’appened I don’t know, for old Mat wouldn’t tell me, but he came +back mighty furious from ’is visit, and swore ’e would ruin the young +man and make no end of a scandal, and he would bring the law agin’ ’im +and get £5,000 damages.’ + +“This story, embellished, of course, by many details, was the gist of +what the worthy landlord of the Fernhead Arms had to say, but you may +imagine how every one’s excitement and curiosity was aroused; in the +meanwhile Samuel Holder was getting over his nervousness, and was more +ready to give a clear account of what happened on the fatal night +itself. + +“‘It was about nine o’clock,’ he explained, in answer to the coroner, +‘and I was hurrying back to Ayrsham, through the fields; it was dark +and raining, and I was about to strike across the hedge into the lane +when I heard voices—a woman’s, then a man’s. Of course, I could see +nothing, and the man spoke in a whisper, but I had recognised Mary’s +voice quite plainly. She kept on saying: “’Tisn’t my fault!” she says, +“it’s father’s, ’e has made up ’is mind. I held out as long as I +could, but ’e worried me, and now ’e’s got your letters, and it’s too +late.”’ + +“Samuel Holder again paused a moment, then continued: + +“‘They talked together for a long time: Mary seemed very upset and the +man very angry. Presently ’e says to ’er: “Well, tell your father to +come out here and speak to me for a moment. I’ll see what I can do.” +Mary seemed to ’esitate for a time, then she went away, and the man +waited there in the drizzling rain, with me the other side of the +’edge watchin’ ’im. I waited for a long time, for I wanted to know +what was going to ’appen; then time went on. I thought perhaps that +old Mat was at the Fernhead Arms, and that Mary couldn’t find ’im, so +I went back to Ayrsham by the fields, ’oping to find the old man. The +stranger didn’t budge. ’E seemed inclined to wait—so I left ’im +there—and—and—that’s all. I went to the Fernhead Arms, saw old Mat +wasn’t there—then I went back to the lane—and—Old Man Newton was dead, +and the stranger was gone.’ + +“There was a moment or two of dead silence in the court when Samuel +Holder had given his evidence, then the coroner asked quietly: + +“‘You do not know who the stranger was?’ + +“‘Well, I couldn’t be sure, your honour,’ replied Samuel nervously, +‘it was pitch dark. I wouldn’t like to swear a fellow-creature’s life +and character away.’ + +“‘No, no, quite so,’ rejoined the coroner; ‘but do you happen to know +what time it was when all this occurred?’ + +“‘Oh yes, your honour,’ said Samuel decisively, ‘as I walked away from +the Fernhead Arms I ’eard Ayrsham church clock strike ten o’clock.’ + +“‘Ah! that’s always something,’ said the coroner, with a sigh of +satisfaction. ‘Call Mary Newton, please.’” + + + +Chapter III + +“You may imagine,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight +pause, “with what palpitating interest we all watched the pathetic +little figure, clad in deep black, who now stepped forward to give +evidence. + +“It was difficult to imagine that Mary Newton could ever have been +pretty; trouble had obviously wrought sad havoc with her good looks; +she was now a wizened little thing, with dark rings under her eyes, +and a pale, anæmic complexion. She stood perfectly listlessly before +the coroner, waiting to be questioned, but otherwise not seeming to +take the slightest interest in the proceedings. In an even, toneless +voice she told her name, age, and status, then waited for further +questions. + +“‘Your father went out a little before ten o’clock on Tuesday night +last, did he not?’ asked the coroner very kindly. + +“‘Yes, sir, he did,’ replied Mary quietly. + +“‘You had brought him a message from a gentleman whom you had met in +the lane, and who wished to speak with your father?’ + +“‘No, sir,’ replied Mary, in the same even and toneless voice; ‘I +brought no message to father, and he went out on his own.’ + +“‘But the gentleman you met in the lane?’ insisted the coroner with +some impatience. + +“‘I didn’t meet any one in the lane, sir. I never went out of the +house that Tuesday night, it rained so.’ + +“‘But the last witness, Samuel Holder, heard you talking in the lane +at nine o’clock.’ + +“‘Samuel Holder was mistaken,’ she replied imperturbably; ‘I wasn’t +out of the house the whole of that night.’ + +“It would be useless for me,” continued the man in the corner, “to +attempt to convey to you the intense feeling of excitement which +pervaded that crowded court, as that wizened little figure stood there +for over half-an-hour, quietly and obstinately parrying the most rigid +cross-examination. + +“That she was lying—lying to shield the very man who perhaps had +murdered her father—no one doubted for a single instant. Yet there she +stood, sullen, apathetic, and defiant, flatly denying Samuel Holder’s +story from end to end, strictly adhering and swearing to her first +statement, that her father went out ‘on his own,’ that she did not +know where he was going to, and that she herself had never left the +house that fatal Tuesday night. + +“It did not seem to occur to her that by these statements she was +hopelessly incriminating Samuel Holder, whom she was thus openly +accusing of deliberate lies; on the contrary, many noticed a distinct +touch of bitter animosity in the young girl against her former +sweetheart, which was singularly emphasised when the coroner asked her +whether she approved of the idea of a breach of promise action being +brought against Mr. Ledbury. + +“‘No,’ she said; ‘all that talk about damages and breach of promise +was between father and Sam Holder, because Sam had told father that he +wouldn’t mind marrying me if I had £5,000 of my own.’ + +“It would be impossible to render the tone of hatred and contempt with +which the young girl uttered these words. One seemed to live through +the whole tragedy of the past few months—the girl, pestered by the +greed of her father, yet refusing obstinately to aid in causing a +scandal, perhaps disgrace, to the man whom she had once loved and +trusted. + +“As nothing more could be got out of her, and as circumstances now +seemed to demand it, the coroner adjourned the inquest. The police, as +you may well imagine, wanted to make certain enquiries. Mind you, Mary +Newton flatly refused to mention Mr. Ledbury’s name; she was +questioned and cross-questioned, yet her answer uniformly was: + +“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. The person I was going to +marry four years ago has gone out of my life—I have never seen him +since. I saw no one on that Tuesday night.’ + +“Against that, when she was asked to swear that it was _not_ Mr.—now +Captain—Ledbury who had promised her marriage she flatly refused to do +so. + +“Of course, there was not a soul there who had not made up his or her +mind that Captain Ledbury _had_ met Mary Newton in the lane, and had +heard from her that all his love letters to her were now in her +father’s hands, and that the old man meant to use these in order to +extort money from him. + +“Fearing the exposure and disgrace of so sensational a breach of +promise action, and not having the money with which to meet Mat +Newton’s preposterous demands, he probably lost control over himself, +and in a moment of impulse and mad rage had silenced the old man for +ever. + +“I assure you that at the adjourned inquest everybody expected to see +Captain Ledbury in the custody of two constables. The police in the +interim had been extremely reticent, and no fresh details of the +extraordinary case had found its way into the papers, but fresh +details of a sensational character were fully expected, and I can +assure you the public were not disappointed. + +“It is no use my telling you all the proceedings of that second most +memorable day; I will try and confine myself to the most important +points of this interesting mystery. + +“I must tell you that the story told by the landlord of the Fernhead +Arms was fully corroborated by several witnesses, all of whom +testified to the fact that the old man came back from his visit to +Fernhead Towers in a terrible fury, swearing to bring disgrace upon +the scoundrel who had ruined his daughter. + +“What occurred during that visit was explained by Edward Sanders, the +butler at The Towers. According to the testimony of this witness, +there was a large house-party staying with Sir John Fernhead to +celebrate the engagement of his daughter; the party naturally included +Captain Mervin Ledbury, his brother, Lord Walterton, with the latter’s +newly-married young wife, also many neighbours and friends. + +“At about six o’clock on Monday evening, it appears, a +disreputable-looking old man, whom Edward Sanders did not know, but +who gave the name of Newton, rang at the front door bell of The Towers +and demanded to see Mr. Ledbury. Sanders naturally refused to admit +him, but the old man was so persistent, and used such strange +language, that the butler, after much hesitation, decided to apprise +Captain Ledbury of his extraordinary visitor. + +“Captain Ledbury, on hearing that Old Man Newton wished to speak to +him, much to Sanders’ astonishment, came downstairs and elected to +interview his extraordinary visitor in the dining-room, which was then +deserted. Sanders showed the old man in, and waited in the hall. Very +soon, however, he heard loud and angry voices, and the next moment +Captain Ledbury threw open the dining-room door, and said: + +“‘This man is mad or drunk; show him out, Sanders.’ + +“And without another word the Captain walked upstairs, leaving Sanders +the pleasant task of ‘showing the old man out.’ That this was done +very speedily and pretty roughly we may infer from Old Man Newton’s +subsequent fury, and the threats he uttered even while he was being +‘shown out.’ + +“Now you see, do you not?” continued the man in the corner, “that this +evidence seemed to add another link to the chain which was +incriminating young Mr. Ledbury in this terrible charge of murdering +Old Man Newton. + +“The young man himself was now with his regiment stationed at York. It +appears that the house-party at Fernhead Towers was breaking up on the +very day of Old Man Newton’s strange visit thither. Lord and Lady +Walterton left for town on the Tuesday morning, and Captain Ledbury +went up to York on that very same fatal night. + +“You must know that the small local station of Fernhead is quite close +to The Towers. Captain Ledbury took the late local train there for +Ayrsham Junction after dinner that night, arriving at the latter place +at 9.15, with the intention of picking up the Midland express to the +north at 10.15 p.m. later on. + +“The police had ascertained that Captain Ledbury had got out of the +local train at Ayrsham Junction at 9.15, and aimlessly strolled out of +the station. Against that, it was definitely proved by several +witnesses that the young man did catch the Midland express at 10.15 +p.m., and travelled up north by it. + +“Now, there was the hitch, do you see?” added the funny creature +excitedly. “Samuel Holder overheard a conversation in the fatal lane +between Mary Newton and the stranger, whom everybody by now believed +to be Captain Ledbury. Good! That was between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m., and, +as it happened, the young man does seem to have unaccountably strolled +about in the neighbourhood whilst waiting for his train; but remember +that when Sam Holder left the stranger waiting in the lane, and went +back towards Ayrsham in order to try and find Old Man Newton, he +distinctly heard Ayrsham church clock striking ten. + +“Now, the lane where the murder occurred is two-and-a-half miles from +Ayrsham Junction station, therefore it could not have been Captain +Ledbury who was there lying in wait for the old man, as he could not +possibly have had his interview with old Mat, quarrelled with him and +murdered him, and then caught his train two-and-a-half miles further +on, all in the space of fifteen minutes. + +“Thus, even before the final verdict of ‘Wilful murder against some +person or persons unknown,’ the case against Captain Mervin Ledbury +had completely fallen to the ground. He must also have succeeded in +convincing Sir John Fernhead of his innocence, as I see by the papers +that Miss Fernhead has since become Mrs. Ledbury. + +“But the result has been that the Ayrsham tragedy has remained an +impenetrable mystery. + +“‘Who killed Old Man Newton? and why?’ is a question which many +people, including our clever criminal investigation department, have +asked themselves many a time. + +“It was not a case of vulgar assault and robbery, as the old man was +not worth robbing, and the few coppers he possessed were found intact +in his waistcoat pocket. + +“Many people assert that Samuel Holder quarrelled with the old man and +murdered him, but there are three reasons why that theory is bound to +fall to the ground. Firstly, the total absence of any motive. Samuel +Holder could have no possible object in killing the old man, but +still, we’ll waive that; people do quarrel—especially if they are +confederates, as these two undoubtedly were—and quarrels do sometimes +end fatally. Secondly, the weapon which caused the old man’s death—a +heavily-leaded cane of foreign make, with solid silver ferrule. + +“Now, I ask you, where in the world could a village carpenter pick up +an instrument of that sort? Moreover no one ever saw such a thing in +Sam Holder’s hands or in his house. When he walked to the Fernhead +Arms in order to try and find the old man, he had nothing of the sort +in his hand, and in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part of +the police, the history of that cane was never traced. + +“Then, there is a third reason why obviously Sam Holder was not guilty +of the murder, though that reason is a moral one; I am referring to +Mary Newton’s attitude at the inquest. She lied, of that there could +not be a shadow of doubt; she was determined to shield her former +lover, and incriminated Sam Holder only because she wished to save +another man. + +“Obviously, old Newton went out on that dark, wet night in order to +meet someone in the lane, that someone could not have been Sam Holder, +whom he met anywhere and everywhere, and every day in his own house. + +“There! you see that Sam Holder was obviously innocent, that Captain +Ledbury could not have committed the murder, that surely Mary Newton +did not kill her own father, and that in such a case, common sense +should have come to the rescue, and not have left this case, what it +now is, a tragic and impenetrable mystery.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“But,” I said at last, for indeed I was deeply mystified, “what does +common sense argue?—the case seems to be absolutely hopeless.” + +He surveyed his beloved bit of string for a moment, and his mild blue +eyes blinked at me over his bone-rimmed spectacles. + +“Common sense,” he said at last, with his most apologetic manner, +“tells me that Ayrsham village is a remote little place, where a daily +paper is unknown, and where no one reads the fashionable intelligence +or knows anything about Birthday honours.” + +“What _do_ you mean?” I gasped in amazement. + +“Simply this, that no one at Ayrsham village, certainly not Mary +Newton herself, had realised that one of the Mr. Ledburys, whom all +had known at ‘The Limes’ four years ago, had since become Lord +Walterton.” + +“Lord Walterton!” I ejaculated, wholly incredulously. + +“Why, yes!” he replied quietly. “Do you mean to say you never thought +of that? that it never occurred to you that Mary Newton may have +admitted to her father that Mr. Ledbury had been the man who had so +wickedly wronged her, but that she, in her remote little village, had +also no idea that the Mr. Ledbury she meant was recently made, and is +now styled, Lord Walterton? + +“Old Man Newton, who knew of the gossip which had coupled his +daughter’s name, years ago, with the younger Mr. Ledbury, naturally +took it for granted that she was referring to him. Moreover, we may +take it from the girl’s subsequent attitude that she did all she could +to shield the man whom she had once loved; women, you know, have that +sort of little way with them. + +“Old Newton, fully convinced that young Ledbury was the man he wanted, +went up to The Towers and had the stormy interview, which no doubt +greatly puzzled the young Hussar. He undoubtedly spoke of it to his +brother, Lord Walterton, who, newly married and of high social +position, would necessarily dread a scandal as much as anybody. + +“Lord Walterton went up to town with his young wife the following +morning. Ayrsham is only forty minutes from London. He came down in +the evening, met Mary in the lane, asked to see her father, and killed +him in a moment of passion, when he found that the old man’s demands +were preposterously unreasonable. Moreover, Englishmen in all grades +of society have an innate horror of being bullied or blackmailed; the +murder probably was not premeditated, but the outcome of rage at being +browbeaten by the old man. + +“You see, the police did not use their common sense over so simple a +matter. They naturally made no enquiries as to Lord Walterton’s +movements, who seemingly had absolutely nothing to do with the case. +If they had, I feel convinced that they would have found that his +lordship would have had some difficulty in satisfying everybody as to +his whereabouts on that particular Tuesday night. + +“Think of it, it is so simple—the only possible solution of that +strange and unaccountable mystery.” + + + +XI. The Affair at the Novelty Theatre + +Chapter I + +“Talking of mysteries,” said the man in the corner, rather +irrelevantly, for he had not opened his mouth since he sat down and +ordered his lunch, “talking of mysteries, it is always a puzzle to me +how few thefts are committed in the dressing-rooms of fashionable +actresses during a performance.” + +“There have been one or two,” I suggested, “but nothing of any value +was stolen.” + +“Yet you remember that affair at the Novelty Theatre a year or two +ago, don’t you?” he added. “It created a great deal of sensation at +the time. You see, Miss Phyllis Morgan was, and still is, a very +fashionable and popular actress, and her pearls are quite amongst the +wonders of the world. She herself valued them at £10,000, and several +experts who remember the pearls quite concur with that valuation. + +“During the period of her short tenancy of the Novelty Theatre last +season, she entrusted those beautiful pearls to Mr. Kidd, the +well-known Bond Street jeweller, to be re-strung. There were seven +rows of perfectly matched pearls, held together by a small diamond +clasp of ‘art-nouveau’ design. + +“Kidd and Co. are, as you know, a very eminent and old established +firm of jewellers. Mr. Thomas Kidd, its present sole representative, +was some time president of the London Chamber of Commerce, and a man +whose integrity has always been held to be above suspicion. His +clerks, salesmen, and book-keeper had all been in his employ for +years, and most of the work was executed on the premises. + +“In the case of Miss Phyllis Morgan’s valuable pearls they were +re-strung and re-set in the back shop by Mr. Kidd’s most valued and +most trusted workman, a man named James Rumford, who is justly +considered to be one of the cleverest craftsmen here in England. + +“When the pearls were ready, Mr. Kidd himself took them down to the +theatre, and delivered them into Miss Morgan’s own hands. + +“It appears that the worthy jeweller was extremely fond of the +theatre; but, like so many persons in affluent circumstances, he was +also very fond of getting a free seat when he could. + +“All along he had made up his mind to take the pearls down to the +Novelty Theatre one night, and to see Miss Morgan for a moment before +the performance; she would then, he hoped, place a stall at his +disposal. + +“His previsions were correct. Miss Morgan received the pearls, and Mr. +Kidd was on that celebrated night accommodated with a seat in the +stalls. + +“I don’t know if you remember all the circumstances connected with +that case, but, to make my point clear, I must remind you of one or +two of the most salient details. + +“In the drama in which Miss Phyllis Morgan was acting at the time, +there is a brilliant masked ball scene which is the crux of the whole +play; it occurs in the second act, and Miss Phyllis Morgan, as the +hapless heroine, dressed in the shabbiest of clothes, appears in the +midst of a gay and giddy throng; she apostrophises all and sundry +there, including the villain, and has a magnificent scene which always +brings down the house, and nightly adds to her histrionic laurels. + +“For this scene a large number of supers are engaged, and in order to +further swell the crowd, practically all the available stage hands +have to ‘walk on’ dressed in various coloured dominoes, and all +wearing masks. + +“You have, of course, heard the name of Mr. Howard Dennis in +connection with this extraordinary mystery. He is what is usually +called ‘a young man about town,’ and was one of Miss Phyllis Morgan’s +most favoured admirers. As a matter of fact, he was generally +understood to be the popular actress’s _fiancé_, and as such, had of +course the _entrée_ of the Novelty Theatre. + +“Like many another idle young man about town, Mr. Howard Dennis was +stage-mad, and one of his greatest delights was to don nightly a mask +and a blue domino, and to ‘walk on’ in the second act, not so much in +order to gratify his love for the stage, as to watch Miss Phyllis +Morgan in her great scene, and to be present, close by her, when she +received her usual salvo of enthusiastic applause from a delighted +public. + +“On this eventful night—it was on 20th July last—the second act was in +full swing; the supers, the stage hands, and all the principals were +on the scene, the back of the stage was practically deserted. The +beautiful pearls, fresh from the hands of Mr. Kidd, were in Miss +Morgan’s dressing-room, as she meant to wear them in the last act. + +“Of course, since that memorable affair, many people have talked of +the foolhardiness of leaving such valuable jewellery in the sole +charge of a young girl—Miss Morgan’s dresser—who acted with +unpardonable folly and carelessness, but you must remember that this +part of the theatre is only accessible through the stage door, where +sits enthroned that uncorruptible dragon, the stage door-keeper. + +“No one can get at it from the front, and the dressing-rooms for the +supers and lesser members of the company are on the opposite side of +the stage to that reserved for Miss Morgan and one or two of the +principals. + +“It was just a quarter to ten, and the curtain was about to be rung +down, when George Finch, the stage door-keeper, rushed excitedly into +the wings; he was terribly upset, and was wildly clutching his coat, +beneath which he evidently held something concealed. + +“In response to the rapidly-whispered queries of the one or two stage +hands that stood about, Finch only shook his head excitedly. He seemed +scarcely able to control his impatience, during the close of the act, +and the subsequent prolonged applause. + +“When at last Miss Morgan, flushed with her triumph, came off the +stage, Finch made a sudden rush for her. + +“‘Oh, Madam!’ he gasped excitedly, ‘it might have been such an awful +misfortune! The rascal! I nearly got him through! but he +escaped—fortunately it is safe—— I have got it——!’ + +“It was some time before Miss Morgan understood what in the world the +otherwise sober stage door-keeper was driving at. Every one who heard +him certainly thought that he had been drinking. But the next moment +from under his coat he pulled out, with another ejaculation of +excitement, the magnificent pearl necklace which Miss Morgan had +thought safely put away in her dressing-room. + +“‘What in the world does all this mean?’ asked Mr. Howard Dennis, who, +as usual, was escorting his _fiancée_. ‘Finch, what are you doing with +Madam’s necklace?’ + +“Miss Phyllis Morgan herself was too bewildered to question Finch; she +gazed at him, then at her necklace, in speechless astonishment. + +“‘Well, you see, Madam, it was this way,’ Finch managed to explain at +last, as with awestruck reverence he finally deposited the precious +necklace in the actress’s hands. ‘As you know, Madam, it is a very hot +night. I had seen every one into the theatre and counted in the +supers; there was nothing much for me to do, and I got rather tired +and very thirsty. I see’d a man loafing close to the door, and I ask +him to fetch me a pint of beer from round the corner, and I give him +some coppers; I had noticed him loafing round before, and it was so +hot I didn’t think I was doin’ no harm.’ + +“‘No, no,’ said Miss Morgan impatiently. ‘Well!’ + +“‘Well,’ continued Finch, ‘the man, he brought me the beer, and I had +some of it—and—and—afterwards, I don’t quite know how it happened—it +was the heat, perhaps—but—I was sitting in my box, and I suppose I +must have dropped asleep. I just remember hearing the ring up for the +second act, and the call-boy calling you, Madam, then there’s a sort +of a blank in my mind. All of a sudden I seemed to wake with the +feeling that there was something wrong somehow. In a moment I jumped +up, and I tell you I was wide awake then, and I saw a man sneaking +down the passage, past my box, towards the door. I challenged him, and +he tried to dart past me, but I was too quick for him, and got him by +the tails of his coat, for I saw at once that he was carrying +something, and I had recognised the loafer who brought me the beer. I +shouted for help, but there’s never anybody about in this back street, +and the loafer, he struggled like old Harry, and sure enough he +managed to get free from me and away before I could stop him, but in +his fright the rascal dropped his booty, for which Heaven be praised! +and it was your pearls, Madam. Oh, my! but I did have a tussle,’ +concluded the worthy door-keeper, mopping his forehead, ‘and I do +hope, Madam, the scoundrel didn’t take nothing else.’ + +“That was the story,” continued the man in the corner, “which George +Finch had to tell, and which he subsequently repeated without the +slightest deviation. Miss Phyllis Morgan, with the light-heartedness +peculiar to ladies of her profession, took the matter very quietly; +all she said at the time was that she had nothing else of value in her +dressing-room, but that Miss Knight—the dresser—deserved a scolding +for leaving the room unprotected. + +“‘All’s well that ends well,’ she said gaily, as she finally went into +her dressing-room, carrying the pearls in her hand. + +“It appears that the moment she opened the door, she found Miss Knight +sitting in the room, in a deluge of tears. The girl had overheard +George Finch telling his story, and was terribly upset at her own +carelessness. + +“In answer to Miss Morgan’s questions, she admitted that she had gone +into the wings, and lingered there to watch the great actress’s +beautiful performance. She thought no one could possibly get to the +dressing-room, as nearly all hands were on the stage at the time, and +of course George Finch was guarding the door. + +“However, as there really had been no harm done, beyond a wholesome +fright to everybody concerned, Miss Morgan readily forgave the girl +and proceeded with her change of attire for the next act. Incidentally +she noticed a bunch of roses, which were placed on her dressing-table, +and asked Knight who had put them there. + +“‘Mr. Dennis brought them,’ replied the girl. + +“Miss Morgan looked pleased, blushed, and dismissing the whole matter +from her mind, she proceeded with her toilette for the next act, in +which, the hapless heroine having come into her own again, she was +able to wear her beautiful pearls around her neck. + +“George Finch, however, took some time to recover himself; his +indignation was only equalled by his volubility. When his excitement +had somewhat subsided, he took the precaution of saving the few drops +of beer which had remained at the bottom of the mug, brought to him by +the loafer. This was subsequently shown to a chemist in the +neighbourhood, who, without a moment’s hesitation, pronounced the beer +to contain an appreciable quantity of chloral.” + + + +Chapter II + +“The whole matter, as you may imagine, did not affect Miss Morgan’s +spirits that night,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight +pause. + +“‘All’s well that ends well,’ she had said gaily, since almost by a +miracle, her pearls were once more safely round her neck. + +“But the next day brought the rude awakening. Something had indeed +happened which made the affair at the Novelty Theatre, what it has +ever since remained, a curious and unexplainable mystery. + +“The following morning Miss Phyllis Morgan decided that it was +foolhardy to leave valuable property about in her dressing-room, when +for stage purposes, imitation jewellery did just as well. She +therefore determined to place her pearls in the bank until the +termination of her London season. + +“The moment, however, that, in broad daylight, she once more handled +the necklace, she instinctively felt that there was something wrong +with it. She examined it eagerly and closely, and, hardly daring to +face her sudden terrible suspicions, she rushed round to the nearest +jeweller, and begged him to examine the pearls. + +“The examination did not take many moments: the jeweller at once +pronounced the pearls to be false. There could be no doubt about it; +the necklace was a perfect imitation of the original, even the clasp +was an exact copy. Half-hysterical with rage and anxiety, Miss Morgan +at once drove to Bond Street, and asked to see Mr. Kidd. + +“Well, you may easily imagine the stormy interview that took place. +Miss Phyllis Morgan, in no measured language, boldly accused Mr. +Thomas Kidd, late president of the London Chamber of Commerce, of +having substituted false pearls for her own priceless ones. + +“The worthy jeweller, at first completely taken by surprise, examined +the necklace, and was horrified to see that Miss Morgan’s statements +were, alas! too true. Mr. Kidd was indeed in a terribly awkward +position. + +“The evening before, after business hours, he had taken the necklace +home with him. Before starting for the theatre, he had examined it to +see that it was quite in order. He had then, with his own hands, and +in the presence of his wife, placed it in its case, and driven +straight to the Novelty, where he finally gave it over to Miss Morgan +herself. + +“To all this he swore most positively; moreover, all his _employés_ +and workmen could swear that they had last seen the necklace just +after closing time at the shop, when Mr. Kidd walked off towards +Piccadilly, with the precious article in the inner pocket of his coat. + +“One point certainly was curious, and undoubtedly helped to deepen the +mystery which to this day clings to the affair at the Novelty Theatre. + +“When Mr. Kidd handed the packet containing the necklace to Miss +Morgan, she was too busy to open it at once. She only spoke to Mr. +Kidd through her dressing-room door, and never opened the packet till +nearly an hour later, after she had dressed ready for the second act; +the packet at that time had been untouched, and was wrapped up just as +she had had it from Mr. Kidd’s own hands. She undid the packet, and +handled the pearls; certainly, by the artificial light she could see +nothing wrong with the necklace. + +“Poor Mr. Kidd was nearly distracted with the horror of his position. +Thirty years of an honest reputation suddenly tarnished with this +awful suspicion—for he realised at once that Miss Morgan refused to +believe his statements; in fact, she openly said that she would—unless +immediate compensation was made to her—place the matter at once in the +hands of the police. + +“From the stormy interview in Bond Street, the irate actress drove at +once to Scotland Yard; but the old-established firm of Kidd and Co. +was not destined to remain under any cloud that threatened its +integrity. + +“Mr. Kidd at once called upon his solicitor, with the result that an +offer was made to Miss Morgan, whereby the jeweller would deposit the +full value of the original necklace, _i.e._, £10,000, in the hands of +Messrs. Bentley and Co., bankers, that sum to be held by them for a +whole year, at the end of which time, if the perpetrator of the fraud +had not been discovered, the money was to be handed over to Miss +Morgan in its entirety. + +“Nothing could have been more fair, more equitable, or more just, but +at the same time nothing could have been more mysterious. + +“As Mr. Kidd swore that he had placed the real pearls in Miss Morgan’s +hands, and was ready to back his oath by the sum of £10,000, no more +suspicion could possibly attach to him. When the announcement of his +generous offer appeared in the papers, the entire public approved and +exonerated him, and then turned to wonder who the perpetrator of the +daring fraud had been. + +“How came a valueless necklace in exact imitation of the original one +to be in Miss Morgan’s dressing-room? Where were the real pearls? +Clearly the loafer who had drugged the stage door-keeper, and sneaked +into the theatre to steal a necklace, was not aware that he was +risking several years’ hard labour for the sake of a worthless trifle. +He had been one of the many dupes of this extraordinary adventure. + +“Macpherson, one of the most able men on the detective staff, had, +indeed, his work cut out. The police were extremely reticent, but, in +spite of this, one or two facts gradually found their way into the +papers, and aroused public interest and curiosity to its highest +pitch. + +“What had transpired was this: + +“Clara Knight, the dresser, had been very rigorously cross-questioned, +and, from her many statements, the following seemed quite positive. + +“After the curtain had rung up for the second act, and Miss Morgan had +left her dressing-room, Knight had waited about for some time, and had +even, it appears, handled and admired the necklace. Then, +unfortunately, she was seized with the burning desire of seeing the +famous scene from the wings. She thought that the place was quite +safe, and that George Finch was as usual at his post. + +“‘I was going along the short passage that leads to the wings,’ she +exclaimed to the detectives, ‘when I became aware of some one moving +some distance behind me. I turned and saw a blue domino about to enter +Miss Morgan’s dressing-room. + +“‘I thought nothing of that,’ continued the girl, ‘as we all know that +Mr. Dennis is engaged to Miss Morgan. He is very fond of “walking on” +in the ball-room scene, and he always wears a blue domino when he +does; so I was not at all alarmed. He had his mask on as usual, and he +was carrying a bunch of roses. When he saw me at the other end of the +passage, he waved his hand to me and pointed to the flowers. I nodded +to him, and then he went into the room.’ + +“These statements, as you may imagine, created a great deal of +sensation; so much so, in fact, that Mr. Kidd, with his £10,000 and +his reputation in mind, moved heaven and earth to bring about the +prosecution of Mr. Dennis for theft and fraud. + +“The papers were full of it, for Mr. Howard Dennis was well known in +fashionable London Society. His answer to these curious statements was +looked forward to eagerly; when it came it satisfied no one and +puzzled everybody. + +“‘Miss Knight was mistaken,’ he said most emphatically, ‘I did not +bring any roses for Miss Morgan that night. It was not I that she saw +in a blue domino by the door, as I was on the stage before the curtain +was rung up for the second act, and never left it until the close.’ + +“This part of Howard Dennis’ statement was a little difficult to +substantiate. No one on the stage could swear positively whether he +was ‘on’ early in the act or not, although, mind you, Macpherson had +ascertained that in the whole crowd of supers on the stage, he was the +only one who wore a blue domino. + +“Mr. Kidd was very active in the matter, but Miss Morgan flatly +refused to believe in her _fiancé’s_ guilt. The worthy jeweller +maintained that Mr. Howard Dennis was the only person who knew the +celebrated pearls and their quaint clasp well enough to have a +facsimile made of them, and that when Miss Knight saw him enter the +dressing-room, he actually substituted the false necklace for the real +one; whilst the loafer who drugged George Finch’s beer was—as every +one supposed—only a dupe. + +“Things had reached a very acute and painful stage, when one more +detail found its way into the papers, which, whilst entirely clearing +Mr. Howard Dennis’ character, has helped to make the whole affair a +hopeless mystery. + +“Whilst questioning George Finch, Macpherson had ascertained that the +stage door-keeper had seen Mr. Dennis enter the theatre some time +before the beginning of the celebrated second act. He stopped to speak +to George Finch for a moment or two, and the latter could swear +positively that Mr. Dennis was not carrying any roses then. + +“On the other hand a flower-girl, who was selling roses in the +neighbourhood of the Novelty Theatre late that memorable night, +remembers selling some roses to a shabbily-dressed man, who looked +like a labourer out of work. When Mr. Dennis was pointed out to her +she swore positively that it was not he. + +“‘The man looked like a labourer,’ she explained. ‘I took particular +note of him, as I remember thinking that he didn’t look much as if he +could afford to buy roses.’ + +“Now you see,” concluded the man in the corner excitedly, “where the +hitch lies. There is absolutely no doubt, judging from the evidence of +George Finch and of the flower-girl, that the loafer had provided +himself with the roses, and had somehow or other managed to get hold +of a blue domino, for the purpose of committing the theft. His giving +drugged beer to Finch, moreover, proved his guilt beyond a doubt. + +“But here the mystery becomes hopeless,” he added with a chuckle, “for +the loafer dropped the booty which he had stolen—that booty was the +false necklace, and it has remained an impenetrable mystery to this +day as to who made the substitution and when. + +“A whole year has elapsed since then, but the real necklace has never +been traced or found; so Mr. Kidd has paid, with absolute quixotic +chivalry, the sum of £10,000 to Miss Morgan, and thus he has +completely cleared the firm of Kidd and Co. of any suspicion as to its +integrity.” + + + +Chapter III + +“But then, what in the world is the explanation of it all?” I asked +bewildered, as the funny creature paused in his narrative and seemed +absorbed in the contemplation of a beautiful knot he had just +completed in his bit of string. + +“The explanation is so simple,” he replied, “for it is obvious, is it +not, that only four people could possibly have committed the fraud?” + +“Who are they?” I asked. + +“Well,” he said, whilst his bony fingers began to fidget with that +eternal piece of string, “there is, of course, old Mr. Kidd; but as +the worthy jeweller has paid £10,000 to prove that he did not steal +the real necklace and substitute a false one in its stead, we must +assume that he was guiltless. Then, secondly, there is Mr. Howard +Dennis.” + +“Well, yes,” I said, “what about him?” + +“There were several points in his favour,” he rejoined, marking each +point with a fresh and most complicated knot; “it was not he who +bought the roses, therefore it was not he who, clad in a blue domino, +entered Miss Morgan’s dressing-room directly after Knight left it. + +“And mark the force of this point,” he added excitedly. + +“Just before the curtain rang up for the second act, Miss Morgan had +been in her room, and had then undone the packet, which, in her own +words, was just as she had received it from Mr. Kidd’s hands. + +“After that Miss Knight remained in charge, and a mere ten seconds +after she left the room she saw the blue domino carrying the roses at +the door. + +“The flower-girl’s story and that of George Finch have proved that the +blue domino could not have been Mr. Dennis, but it was the loafer who +evidently stole the false necklace. + +“If you bear all this in mind you will realise that there was no time +in those ten seconds for Mr. Dennis to have made the substitution +_before_ the theft was committed. It stands to reason that he could +not have done it afterwards. + +“Then, again, many people suspected Miss Knight, the dresser, but this +supposition we may easily dismiss. An uneducated, stupid girl, not +three-and-twenty, could not possibly have planned so clever a +substitution. An imitation necklace of that particular calibre and +made to order would cost far more money than a poor theatrical dresser +could ever afford; let alone the risks of ordering such an ornament to +be made. + +“No,” said the funny creature, with comic emphasis, “there is but one +theory possible, which is my own.” + +“And that is?” I asked eagerly. + +“The workman, Rumford, of course,” he responded triumphantly. “Why! it +jumps to the eyes, as our French friends would tell us. Who, other +than he, could have the opportunity of making an exact copy of the +necklace which had been entrusted to his firm? + +“Being in the trade he could easily obtain the false stones without +exciting any undue suspicion; being a skilled craftsman, he could +easily make the clasp, and string the pearls in exact imitation of the +original; he could do this secretly in his own home and without the +slightest risk. + +“Then the plan, though extremely simple, was very cleverly thought +out. Disguised as the loafer——” + +“The loafer!” I exclaimed. + +“Why, yes! the loafer,” he replied quietly, “disguised as the loafer, +he hung round the stage door of the Novelty after business hours, +until he had collected the bits of gossip and information he wanted; +thus he learnt that Mr. Howard Dennis was Miss Morgan’s accredited +_fiancé_; that he, like everybody else who was available, ‘walked on’ +in the second act; and that during that time the back of the stage was +practically deserted. + +“No doubt he knew all along that Mr. Kidd meant to take the pearls +down to the theatre himself that night, and it was quite easy to +ascertain that Miss Morgan—as the hapless heroine—wore no jewellery in +the second act, and that Mr. Howard Dennis invariably wore a blue +domino. + +“Some people might incline to the belief that Miss Knight was a paid +accomplice, that she left the dressing-room unprotected on purpose, +and that her story of the blue domino and the roses was pre-arranged +between herself and Rumford, but that is not my opinion. + +“I think that the scoundrel was far too clever to need any accomplice, +and too shrewd to put himself thereby at the mercy of a girl like +Knight. + +“Rumford, I find, is a married man: this to me explains the blue +domino, which the police were never able to trace to any business +place, where it might have been bought or hired. Like the necklace +itself, it was ‘home-made.’ + +“Having got his properties and his plans ready, Rumford then set to +work. You must remember that a stage door-keeper is never above +accepting a glass of beer from a friendly acquaintance; and, no doubt, +if George Finch had not asked the loafer to bring him a glass, the +latter would have offered him one. To drug the beer was simple enough; +then Rumford went to buy the roses, and, I should say, met his wife +somewhere round the corner, who handed him the blue domino and the +mask; all this was done in order to completely puzzle the police +subsequently, and also in order to throw suspicion, if possible, upon +young Dennis. + +“As soon as the drug took effect upon George Finch, Rumford slipped +into the theatre. To slip a mask and domino on and off is, as you +know, a matter of a few seconds. Probably his intention had been—if he +found Knight in the room—to knock her down if she attempted to raise +an alarm; but here fortune favoured him. Knight saw him from a +distance, and mistook him easily for Mr. Dennis. + +“After the theft of the real necklace, Rumford sneaked out of the +theatre. And here you see how clever was the scoundrel’s plan: if he +had merely substituted one necklace for another there would have been +no doubt whatever that the loafer—whoever he was—was the culprit—the +drugged beer would have been quite sufficient proof for that. The hue +and cry would have been after the loafer, and, who knows? there might +have been some one or something which might have identified that +loafer with himself. + +“He must have bought the shabby clothes somewhere, he certainly bought +the roses from a flower-girl; anyhow, there were a hundred and one +little risks and contingencies which might have brought the theft home +to him. + +“But mark what happens: he steals the real necklace, and keeps the +false one in his hand, intending to drop it sooner or later, and thus +sent the police entirely on the wrong scent. As the loafer, he was +supposed to have stolen the false necklace, then dropped it whilst +struggling with George Finch. The result is that no one has troubled +about the loafer; no one thought that he had anything to do with the +substitution, which was the main point at issue, and no very great +effort has ever been made to find that mysterious loafer. + +“It never occurred to any one that the fraud and the theft were +committed by one and the same person, and that that person could be +none other than James Rumford.” + + + +XII. The Tragedy of Barnsdale Manor + +Chapter I + +“We have heard so much about the evils of Bridge,” said the man in the +corner that afternoon, “but I doubt whether that fashionable game has +ever been responsible for a more terrible tragedy than the one at +Barnsdale Manor.” + +“You think, then,” I asked, for I saw he was waiting to be drawn out, +“you think that the high play at Bridge did have something to do with +that awful murder?” + +“Most people think that much, I fancy,” he replied, “although no one +has arrived any nearer to the solution of the mystery which surrounds +the tragic death of Mme. Quesnard at Barnsdale Manor on the 23rd +September last. + +“On that fateful occasion, you must remember that the house party at +the Manor included a number of sporting and fashionable friends of +Lord and Lady Barnsdale, among whom Sir Gilbert Culworth was the only +one whose name was actually mentioned during the hearing of this +extraordinary case. + +“It seems to have been a very gay house party indeed. In the daytime +Lord Barnsdale took some of his guests to shoot and fish, whilst a few +devotees remained at home in order to indulge their passion for the +modern craze of Bridge. It was generally understood that Lord +Barnsdale did not altogether approve of quite so much gambling. He was +not by any means well off; and although he was very much in love with +his beautiful wife, he could ill afford to pay her losses at cards. + +“This was the reason, no doubt, that Bridge at Barnsdale Manor was +only indulged in whilst the host himself was out shooting or fishing; +in the evenings there was music or billiards, but never any cards. + +“One of the most interesting personalities in the Barnsdale _ménage_ +was undoubtedly Madame Nathalie Quesnard, a sister of Lord Barnsdale’s +mother, who, if you remember, was a Mademoiselle de la Trémouille. +This Mme. Quesnard was extremely wealthy, the widow of a French West +Indian planter, who had made millions in Martinique. + +“She was very fond of her nephew, to whom, as she had no children or +other relatives of her own, she intended to leave the bulk of her vast +fortune. Pending her death, which was not likely to occur for some +time, as she was not more than fifty, she took up her abode at +Barnsdale Manor, together with her companion and amanuensis, a poor +girl named Alice Holt. + +“Mme. Quesnard was seemingly an amiable old lady; the only unpleasant +trait in her character being her intense dislike of her nephew’s +beautiful and fashionable young wife. The old Frenchwoman, who, with +all her wealth, had the unbounded and innate thriftiness peculiar to +her nation, looked with perfect horror on Lady Barnsdale’s +extravagances, and above all on her fondness for gambling; and +subsequently several of the servants at the Manor testified to the +amount of mischief the old lady strove to make between her nephew and +his young wife. + +“Mme. Quesnard’s dislike for Lady Barnsdale seems, moreover, to have +been shared by her dependent and companion, the girl Alice Holt. +Between them, these two ladies seem to have cordially hated the +brilliant and much-admired mistress of Barnsdale Manor. + +“Such were the chief inmates of the Manor last September, at the time +the tragedy occurred. On that memorable night Alice Holt, who occupied +a bedroom immediately above that of Mme. Quesnard, was awakened in the +middle of the night by a persistent noise, which undoubtedly came from +her mistress’s room. The walls and floorings at the old Manor are very +thick, and the sound was a very confused one, although the girl was +quite sure that she could hear Mme. Quesnard’s shrill voice raised as +if in anger. + +“She tried to listen for a time, and presently she heard a sound as if +some piece of furniture had been knocked over, then nothing more. +Somehow the sudden silence seemed to have frightened the girl more +than the noise had done. Trembling with nervousness she waited for +some few minutes, then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, she +got out of bed, slipped on her shoes and dressing-gown, and determined +to run downstairs to see if anything were amiss. + +“To her horror she found on trying her door that it had been locked on +the outside. Quite convinced now that something must indeed be very +wrong, she started screaming and banging against the door, determined +to arouse the household, which she, of course, quickly succeeded in +doing. + +“The first to emerge from his room was Lord Barnsdale. He at once +realised that the shrieks proceeded from Alice Holt’s room. He ran +upstairs helter-skelter, and as the key had been left in the door, he +soon released the unfortunate girl, who by now was quite hysterical +with anxiety for her mistress. + +“Altogether, I take it, some six or seven minutes must have elapsed +from the time when Alice Holt was first alarmed by the sudden silence +following the noise in Mme. Quesnard’s room until she was released by +Lord Barnsdale. + +“As quickly and as coherently as she could, she blurted forth all her +fears about her mistress. I can imagine how picturesque the old Manor +House must have looked then, with everybody, ladies and gentlemen, and +servants, crowding into the hall, arrayed in various _négligé_ attire, +asking hurried questions, getting in each other’s way, and all only +dimly to be seen by the light of candles, carried by some of the more +sensible ones in this motley crowd. + +“However, in the meanwhile, Lord Barnsdale had managed to understand +Alice Holt. He ran downstairs again and knocked at his aunt’s door; he +received no reply—he tried the handle, but the door was locked from +the inside. + +“Genuinely frightened now, he forced open the door, and then recoiled +in horror. + +“The window was wide open, and a brilliant moonlight streamed into the +room, weirdly illumining Mme. Quesnard’s inanimate body, which lay +full length upon the ground. Hastily begging the ladies not to follow +him, Lord Barnsdale quickly went forward and bent over his aunt’s +body. + +“There was no doubt that she was dead. An ugly wound at the back of +her head, some red marks round her throat, all testified to the fact +that the poor old lady had been assaulted and murdered. Lord Barnsdale +at once sent for the nearest doctor, whilst he and Miss Holt lifted +the unfortunate lady back to bed. + +“The messenger who had gone for the doctor was at the same time +instructed to deliver a note, hastily scribbled by Lord Barnsdale, at +the local police station. + +“That a hideous crime had been committed, with burglary for its +object, no one could be in doubt for a moment. Lord Barnsdale and two +or three of his guests had already thrown a glance into the next room, +a little boudoir, which Mme. Quesnard used as a sitting-room. There +the heavy oak bureau bore silent testimony to the motive of this +dastardly outrage. Mme. Quesnard, with the unfortunate and foolhardy +habit peculiar to all French people, kept a very large quantity of +loose and ready money by her. That habit, mind you, is the chief +reason why burglary is so rife and so profitable all over France. + +“In this case the old lady’s national characteristic was evidently the +chief cause of her tragic fate; the drawer of the bureau had been +forced open, and no one could doubt for a moment that a large sum of +money had been abstracted from it. + +“The burglar had then obviously made good his escape through the +window, which he could do quite easily, as Mme. Quesnard’s apartments +were on the ground floor. She suffered from shortness of breath, it +appears, and had a horror of stairs; she was, moreover, not the least +bit nervous, and her windows were usually barred and shuttered. + +“One very curious fact, however, at once struck all those present, +even before the arrival of the detectives, and that was, that the old +lady was partially dressed when she was found lying on the ground. She +had slipped on an elaborate dressing-gown, had smoothed her hair, and +put on her slippers. In fact, it was evident that she had in some +measure prepared herself for the reception of the burglar. + +“Throughout these hasty and amateurish observations conducted by Lord +Barnsdale and two of his male guests, Alice Holt had remained seated +beside her late employer’s bedside sobbing bitterly. In spite of Lord +Barnsdale’s entreaties she refused to move; and wildly waved aside any +attempt at consolation offered to her by one or two of the older +female servants who were present. + +“It was only when everybody at last made up their minds to return to +their rooms, that some one mentioned Lady Barnsdale’s name. She had +been taken ill and faint the evening before, and had not been well all +night. Jane Barlow, her maid, expressed the hope that her ladyship was +none the worse for this awful commotion, and must be wondering what it +all meant. + +“At this, suddenly, Alice Holt jumped up, like a madwoman. + +“‘What it all means?’ she shrieked, whilst every one looked at her in +speechless horror, ‘it means that that woman has murdered my mistress, +and robbed her. I know it—I know it—I know it!’ + +“And once more sinking beside the bed, she covered her dead mistress’s +hand with kisses, and sobbed and wailed as if her heart would break.” + + + +Chapter II + +“You may well imagine the awful commotion the girl’s wild outburst had +created in the old Manor House. Lady Barnsdale had been taken ill the +previous evening, and, of course, no one had breathed a word of it to +her, but equally, of course, it was freely talked about at Barnsdale +Manor, in the neighbourhood, and even so far as in the London clubs. + +“Lord and Lady Barnsdale were very well known in London society, and +Lord Barnsdale’s adoration for his beautiful wife was quite notorious. + +“Alice Holt, after her frantic outburst, had not breathed another +word. Silent and sullen she went up to her room, packed her things, +and left the house, where, of course, it became impossible that she +should stay another day. She refused Lord Barnsdale’s generous offer +of money and help, and only stayed long enough to see the detectives +and reply to the questions they thought fit to put to her. + +“The whole neighbourhood was in a fever of excitement; many gossips +would have it that the evidence against Lady Barnsdale was conclusive, +and that a warrant for her arrest had already been applied for. + +“What had transpired was this: + +“It appears that the day preceding the tragedy, Bridge was, as usual, +being played for, I believe, guinea points. Lord Barnsdale was out +shooting all day, and though the guests at the Manor were very loyal +to their hostess, and refused to make any positive statements, there +seems to be no doubt that Lady Barnsdale lost a very large sum of +money to Sir Gilbert Culworth. + +“Be that as it may, nothing further could be gleaned by enterprising +reporters fresh from town; the police were more than usually reticent, +and every one eagerly awaited the opening of the inquest, when +sensational developments were expected in this mysterious case. + +“It was held on September the 25th, in the servants’ hall of Barnsdale +Manor, and you may be sure that the large room was crowded to its +utmost capacity. Lord Barnsdale was, of course, present, so was Sir +Gilbert Culworth, but it was understood that Lady Barnsdale was still +suffering from nervous prostration, and was unable to be present. + +“When I arrived there, and gradually made my way to the front rank, +the doctor who had been originally summoned to the murdered lady’s +bedside was giving his evidence. + +“He gave it as his opinion that the fractured skull from which Mme. +Quesnard died was caused through her hitting the back of her head +against the corner of the marble-topped washstand, in the immediate +proximity of which she lay outstretched, when Lord Barnsdale first +forced open the door. The stains on the marble had confirmed him in +that opinion. Mme. Quesnard, he thought, must have fallen, owing to an +onslaught made upon her by the burglar; the marks round the old lady’s +throat testified to this, although these were not the cause of death. + +“After this there was a good deal of police evidence, with regard to +the subsequent movements of the unknown miscreant. He had undoubtedly +broken open the drawer of the bureau in the adjoining boudoir, the +door of communication between this and Mme. Quesnard’s bedroom being +always kept open, and it was presumed that he had made a considerable +haul both in gold and notes. He had then locked the bedroom door on +the inside and made good his escape through the window. + +“Immediately beneath this window, the flower-bed, muddy with the +recent rain, bore the imprint of having been hastily trampled upon; +but all actual footmarks had been carefully obliterated. Beyond this, +all round the house, the garden paths are asphalted, and the burglar +had evidently taken the precaution to keep to these asphalted paths, +or else to cross the garden by the lawns. + +“You must understand,” continued the man in the corner, after a slight +pause, “that throughout all this preliminary evidence, everything went +to prove that the crime had been committed by an inmate of the house, +or at any rate by some one well acquainted with its usages and its +_ménages_. Alice Holt, whose room was immediately above that of Mme. +Quesnard, and who was, therefore, most likely to hear the noise of the +conflict and to run to her mistress’s assistance, had been first of +all locked up in her room. It had, therefore, become quite evident +that the miscreant had commenced operations from inside the house, and +had entered Mme. Quesnard’s room by the door, and not by the window, +as had been at first supposed. + +“But,” added the funny creature excitedly, “as the old lady had, +according to evidence, locked her door that night, it became more and +more clear, as the case progressed, that she must of her own accord +have admitted the person who subsequently caused her tragic death. +This was, of course, confirmed by the fact that she was partially +dressed when she was subsequently found dead. + +“Strangely enough, with the exception of Alice Holt, no one else had +heard any noise during the night. But, as I remarked before, the walls +of these old houses are very thick, and no one else slept on the +ground floor. + +“Another fact which in the early part of the inquest went to prove +that the outrage was committed by some one familiar with the house, +was that Ben, the watch-dog, had not raised any alarm. His kennel was +quite close to Mme. Quesnard’s windows, and he had not even barked. + +“I doubt if the law would take official cognisance of the dumb +testimony of a dog; nevertheless, Ben’s evidence was in this case +quite worthy of consideration. + +“You may imagine how gradually, as these facts were unfolded, +excitement grew to fever pitch, and when at last Alice Holt was +called, every one literally held their breath, eagerly waiting to hear +what was coming. + +“She is a tall, handsome-looking girl, with fine eyes and a rich +voice. Dressed in deep black she certainly looked an imposing figure +as she stood there, repeating the story of how she was awakened in the +night, by the sound of her mistress’s angry voice, of the noise and +sudden silence, and also of her terror, when she found that she had +been locked up in her room. + +“But obviously the girl had more to tell, and was only waiting for the +coroner’s direct question. + +“‘Will you tell the jury the reason why you made such an extraordinary +and unwarrantable accusation against Lady Barnsdale?’ he asked her at +last, amid breathless silence in the crowded room. + +“Every one instinctively looked across the room to where Lord +Barnsdale sat between his friend Sir Gilbert Culworth and his lawyer, +Sir Arthur Inglewood, who had evidently come down from London in order +to watch the case on his client’s behalf. Alice Holt, too, looked +across at Lord Barnsdale for a moment. He seemed attentive and +interested, but otherwise quite calm and impassive. + +“I, who watched the girl, saw a look of pity cross her face as she +gazed at him, and I think, when we bear in mind that the distinguished +English gentleman and the poor paid companion had known each other +years ago, when they were girl and boy together in old Mme. Quesnard’s +French home, we may make a pretty shrewd guess why Alice Holt hated +the beautiful Lady Barnsdale. + +“‘It was about six o’clock in the afternoon,’ she began at last, in +the same quiet tone of voice, ‘I was sitting sewing in Madame’s +boudoir, when Lady Barnsdale came into the bedroom. She did not see +me, I know, for she began at once talking volubly to Madame about a +serious loss she had just sustained at Bridge; several hundred pounds, +she said.’ + +“‘Well?’ queried the coroner, for the girl had paused, almost as if +she regretted what she had already said. She certainly threw an +appealing look at Lord Barnsdale, who, however, seemed to take no +notice of her. + +“‘Well,’ she continued with sudden resolution, ‘Madame was very angry +at this; she declared that Lady Barnsdale deserved a severe lesson; +her extravagances were a positive scandal. “Not a penny will I give +you to pay your gambling debts,” said Madame; “and, moreover, I shall +make it my business to inform my nephew of your goings-on whilst he is +absent.” + +“‘Lady Barnsdale was in a wild state of excitement. She begged and +implored Madame to say nothing to Lord Barnsdale about it, and did her +very best to try to induce her to help her out of her difficulties, +just this once more. But Madame was obdurate. Thereupon Lady Barnsdale +turned on her like a fury, called her every opprobrious name under the +sun, and finally flounced out of the room, banging the door behind +her. + +“‘Madame was very much upset after this,’ continued Alice Holt, ‘and I +was not a bit astonished when directly after dinner she rang for me, +and asked to be put to bed. It was then nine o’clock. + +“‘That is the last I saw of poor Madame alive. + +“‘She was very excited then, and told me that she was quite frightened +of Lady Barnsdale—a gambler, she said, was as likely as not to become +a thief, if opportunity arose. I offered to sleep on the sofa in the +next room, for the old lady seemed quite nervous, a thing I have never +known her to be. But she was too proud to own to nervousness, and she +dismissed me finally, saying that she would lock her door, for once: a +thing she scarcely ever did.’ + +“It was a curious story, to say the least of it, which Alice Holt thus +told to an excited public. Cross-examined by the coroner, she never +departed from a single point of it, her calm and presence of mind +being only equalled throughout this trying ordeal by that of Lord +Barnsdale, who sat seemingly unmoved whilst these terrible +insinuations were made against his wife. + +“But there was more to come. Sir Gilbert Culworth had been called; in +the interest of justice, and in accordance with his duty as a citizen, +he was forced to stand up and, all unwillingly, to add another tiny +link to the chain of evidence that implicated his friend’s wife in +this most terrible crime. + +“Right loyally he tried to shield her in every possible way, but +cross-questioned by the coroner, harassed nearly out of his senses, he +was forced to admit two facts—namely, that Lady Barnsdale had lost +nearly £800 at Bridge the day before the murder, and that she had paid +her debt to himself in full, on the following morning, in gold and +notes. + +“He had been forced, much against his will, to show the notes to the +police; unfortunately for the justice of the case, however, the +numbers of these could not be directly traceable as having been in +Mme. Quesnard’s possession at the time of her death. No diaries or +books of accounts of any kind were found. Like most French people, she +arranged all her money affairs herself, receiving her vast dividends +in foreign money, and converting this into English notes and gold, as +occasion demanded, at the nearest money-changer’s that happened to be +handy. + +“She had, like a great many foreigners, a holy horror of banks. She +would have mistrusted the Bank of England itself; as for solicitors, +she held them in perfect abhorrence. She only went once to one in her +life, and that was in order to make a will leaving everything she +possessed unconditionally to her beloved nephew, Lord Barnsdale. + +“But in spite of this difficulty about the notes, you see for +yourself, do you not, how terribly strong was the circumstantial +evidence against Lady Barnsdale? Her losses at cards, her appeal to +Mme. Quesnard, the latter’s refusal to help her, and finally the +payment in full of the debt to Sir Gilbert Culworth on the following +morning. + +“There was only one thing that spoke for her, and that was the very +horror of the crime itself. It was practically impossible to conceive +that a woman of Lady Barnsdale’s refinement and education should have +sprung upon an elderly woman, like some navvy’s wife by the docks, and +then that she should have had the presence of mind to jump out of the +window, to obliterate her footmarks in the flower-bed, and, in fact, +to have given the crime the look of a clever burglary. + +“Still, we all know that money difficulties will debase the noblest of +us, that greed will madden the sanest and most refined. When the +inquest was adjourned, I can assure you that no one had any doubt +whatever that within twenty-four hours Lady Barnsdale would be +arrested on the capital charge.” + + + +Chapter III + +“But the detectives in charge of the case had reckoned without Sir +Arthur Inglewood, the great lawyer, who was watching the proceedings +on behalf of his aristocratic clients,” said the man in the corner, +when he had assured himself of my undivided attention. + +“The adjourned inquest brought with it, I assure you, its full quota +of sensation. Again Lord Barnsdale was present, calm, haughty, and +impassive, whilst Lady Barnsdale was still too ill to attend. But she +had made a statement upon oath, in which, whilst flatly denying that +her interview with the deceased at 6 p.m. had been of an acrimonious +character as alleged by Alice Holt, she swore most positively that all +through the night she had been ill, and had not left her room after +11.30 p.m. + +“The first witness called after this affidavit had been read was Jane +Barlow, Lady Barnsdale’s maid. + +“The girl deposed that on that memorable evening preceding the murder, +she went up to her mistress’s room at about 11.30 in order to get +everything ready for the night. As a rule, of course, there was nobody +about in the bedroom at that hour, but on this occasion when Jane +Barlow entered the room, which she did without knocking, she saw her +mistress sitting by her desk. + +“‘Her ladyship looked up when I came in,’ continued Jane Barlow, ‘and +seemed very cross with me for not knocking at the door. I apologised, +then began to get the room tidy; as I did so I could see that my lady +was busy counting a lot of money. There were lots of sovereigns and +banknotes. My lady put some together in an envelope and addressed it, +then she got up from her desk and went to lock up the remainder of the +money in her jewel safe.’ + +“‘And this was at what time?’ asked the coroner. + +“‘At about half-past eleven, I think, sir,’ repeated the girl. + +“‘Well,’ said the coroner, ‘did you notice anything else?’ + +“‘Yes,’ replied Jane, ‘whilst my lady was at her safe, I saw the +envelope in which she had put the money lying on the desk. I couldn’t +help looking at it, for I knew it was ever so full of banknotes, and I +saw that my lady had addressed it to Sir Gilbert Culworth.’ + +“At this point Sir Arthur Inglewood jumped to his feet and handed +something over to the coroner; it was evidently an envelope which had +been torn open. The coroner looked at it very intently, then suddenly +asked Jane Barlow if she had happened to notice anything about the +envelope which was lying on her ladyship’s desk that evening. + +“‘Oh, yes, sir!’ she replied unhesitatingly, ‘I noticed my lady had +made a splotch, right on top of the C in Sir Gilbert Culworth’s name.’ + +“‘This, then, is the envelope,’ was the coroner’s quiet comment, as he +handed the paper across to the girl. + +“‘Yes, there’s the splotch,’ she replied, ‘I’d know it anywhere.’ + +“So you see,” continued the man in the corner, with a chuckle, “that +the chain of circumstantial evidence against Lady Barnsdale was +getting somewhat entangled. It was indeed fortunate for her that Sir +Gilbert Culworth had not destroyed the envelope in which she had +handed him over the money on the following day. + +“Alice Holt, as you know, heard the conflict and raised the alarm much +later in the night, when everybody was already in bed, whilst long +before that Lady Barnsdale was apparently in possession of the money +with which she could pay back her debt. + +“Thus the motive for the crime, so far as she was concerned, was +entirely done away with. Directly after the episode witnessed by Jane +Barlow, Lady Barnsdale had a sort of nervous collapse, and went to bed +feeling very ill. Lord Barnsdale was terribly concerned about her; he +and the maid remained alternately by her bedside for an hour or two; +finally Lord Barnsdale went to sleep in his dressing-room, whilst Jane +also finally retired to rest. + +“Ill as Lady Barnsdale undoubtedly was then, it was absolutely +preposterous to conceive that she could after that have planned and +carried out so monstrous a crime, without any motive whatever. To have +locked Alice Holt’s door, then gone downstairs, forced her way into +the old lady’s room, struggled with her, to have jumped out of the +window, and run back into the house by the garden, might have been the +work of a determined woman, driven mad by the desire for money, but +became absolutely out of the question in the case of a woman suffering +from nervous collapse, and having apparently no motive for the crime. + +“Of course Sir Arthur Inglewood made the most of the fact that no mud +was found on any shoes or dress belonging to Lady Barnsdale. The +flower-bed was very soft with the heavy rain of the day before, and +Lady Barnsdale could not possibly have jumped even from a ground-floor +window and trampled on the flower-bed without staining her skirts. + +“Then there was another point which the clever lawyer brought to the +coroner’s notice. As Alice Holt had stated in her sworn evidence that +Mme. Quesnard had owned to being frightened of Lady Barnsdale that +night, was it likely that she would _of her own accord_ have opened +the door to her in the middle of the night, without at least calling +for assistance? + +“Thus the matter has remained a strange and unaccountable puzzle. It +has always been called the ‘Barnsdale Mystery’ for that very reason. +Every one, somehow, has always felt that Lady Barnsdale did have +something to do with that terrible tragedy. Her husband has taken her +abroad, and they have let Barnsdale Manor; it almost seems as if the +ghost of the old Frenchwoman had driven them forth from their own +country. + +“As for Alice Holt, she maintains to this day that Lady Barnsdale was +the culprit, and I understand that she has not yet given up all hope +of collecting a sufficiency of evidence to have the beautiful and +fashionable woman of society arraigned for this hideous murder.” + + + +Chapter IV + +“Will she succeed, do you think?” I asked at last. + +“Succeed? Of course she won’t,” he retorted excitedly. “Lady Barnsdale +never committed that murder; no woman, except, perhaps, an East-end +factory hand, could have done it at all.” + +“But then——” I urged. + +“Why, then,” he replied, with a chuckle, “the only logical conclusion +is that the robbery and the murder were not committed by the same +person, nor at the same hour of the night; moreover, I contend that +there was no premeditated murder, but that the old lady died from the +result of a pure accident.” + +“But how?” I gasped. + +“This is my version of the story,” he said excitedly, as his long bony +fingers started fidgeting, fidgeting with that eternal bit of string. +“Lady Barnsdale, pressed for money, made an appeal to Mme. Quesnard, +which the latter refused, as we know. Then there was an acrimonious +dispute between the two ladies, after which came the dinner hour, then +Madame, feeling ill and upset, went up to bed at nine o’clock. + +“Now my contention is that undoubtedly the robbery had been committed +before that, between the dispute and Madame’s bedtime.” + +“By whom?” + +“By Lady Barnsdale, of course, who, as the mistress of the house, +could come and go from room to room without exciting any comment, who, +moreover, at 6 p.m. was hard pressed for money, and who but a few +hours later was handling a mass of gold and banknotes. + +“But the strain of committing even an ordinary theft is very great +upon a refined woman’s organisation. Lady Barnsdale has a nervous +breakdown. Well! what is the most likely thing to happen? Why! that +she should confess everything to her husband, who worships her, and no +doubt express her repentance at what she had done. + +“Then imagine Lord Barnsdale’s horror! The old lady had not discovered +the theft before going to bed. That was only natural, since she was +feeling unwell, and was not likely to sit up at night counting her +money; the lock of the bureau drawer having been tampered with, would +perhaps not attract her attention at night. + +“But in the morning, the very first thing, she would discover +everything, at once suspect the worst, and who knows, make a scandal, +talk of it before Alice Holt, Lady Barnsdale’s arch enemy, and all +before restitution could be made. + +“No, no, that restitution must be made at once! not a minute must be +lost, since any moment might bring forth discovery, and perhaps an +awful catastrophe. + +“I take it that Mme. Quesnard and her nephew were on very intimate +terms. He hoped to arouse no one by going to his aunt’s room, but in +order to make quite sure that Alice Holt, hearing a noise in her +mistress’s room, should not surreptitiously come down, and perhaps +play eavesdropper at the momentous interview, he turned the key of the +girl’s door as he went past, and locked her in. + +“Then he knocked at his aunt’s door (gently, of course, for old people +are light sleepers), and called her by name. Mme. Quesnard, +recognising her nephew’s voice, slipped on her dressing-gown, smoothed +her hair, and let him in. + +“Exactly what took place at the interview it is, of course, impossible +for any human being to say. Here even I can but conjecture,” he added, +with inimitable conceit, “but we can only imagine that, having heard +Lord Barnsdale’s confession of his wife’s folly, the old lady, who as +a Frenchwoman was of quick temper and unbridled tongue, would indulge +in not very elegant rhetoric on the subject of the woman she had +always disliked. + +“Lord Barnsdale would, of course, defend his wife, and the old lady, +with feminine obstinacy, would continue the attack. Then some +insulting epithet, a word only perhaps, roused the devoted husband’s +towering indignation—the meekest man on earth becomes a mad bull when +he really loves, and the woman he loves is insulted. + +“I maintain that the old lady’s death was really due to a pure +accident; that Lord Barnsdale gripped her by the throat, in a moment +of mad anger, at some hideous insult hurled at his wife; of that I am +as convinced as if I had witnessed the whole scene. Then the old lady +fell, hit her head against the marble, and Lord Barnsdale realised +that he was alone at night in his aunt’s room, and that he had killed +her. + +“What would anyone do under the circumstances?” he added excitedly. +“Why, of course, collect his senses and try to save himself from what +might prove to be consequences of the most awful kind. This Lord +Barnsdale thought he could best do by giving the accident, which +looked so like murder, the appearance of a burglary. + +“The lock of the desk in the next room had already been forced open; +he now locked the door on the inside, threw open the shutter and the +window, jumped out as any burglar would have done; and, being careful +to obliterate his own footmarks, he crept back into the house and +thence into his own room, without alarming the watch-dog, who +naturally knew his own master. He was, of course, just in time before +Alice Holt succeeded in rousing the household with her screams. + +“And thus you see,” he added, “there are no such things as mysteries. +The police call them so, so do the public, but every crime has its +perpetrator, and every puzzle its solution. My experience is that the +simplest solution is invariably the right one.” + + +The End + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + +This transcription follows the text of the original 1909 publication. +However, the following alterations have been made to correct what are +believed to be unambiguous errors in the text: + + * “interwined” has been changed to “intertwined” (I., Ch. I). + * “Chiselhurst” has been changed to “Chislehurst” (IV., Ch. IV). + * “Vandervellen” has been changed to “Vanderdellen” (IV., Ch. IV). + * “had affected” has been changed to “had effected” (V., Ch. II). + * “glanced at if” has been changed to “glanced at it” (V., Ch. II). + * “incoherent and definite” has been changed to + “coherent and definite” (VI., Ch. I). + * “Wembly” has been changed to “Wembley” (VI., Ch. I). + * “immedate” has been changed to “immediate” (VI., Ch. I). + * “Athur” has been changed to “Arthur” (VII., Ch. II). + * “cetain” has been changed to “certain” (VIII., Ch. II). + * “signficance” has been changed to “significance” (VIII., Ch. III). + * “Mr. Carlton” has been changed to “Mr. Carleton” (VIII., Ch. III). + +Additionally, several occurrences of incorrectly matched quotation +marks have been repaired. All other ostensible inconsistencies have +been left unchanged from the original. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75461 *** |