THE

 H E R A P A T H

 P R O P E R T Y

 BY J. S. FLETCHER

 NEW YORK ALFRED · A · KNOPF MCMXXII

 COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. 

 _Published October, 1921_

 _Second Printing, May, 1922_

 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING, 9 II IS IT MURDER? 18 III BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE, 27 IV THE PRESSMAN, 36 V THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH, 45 VI THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER, 54 VII IS THERE A WILL? 64 VIII THE SECOND WITNESS, 74 IX GREEK AGAINST GREEK, 83 X MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY, 91 XI THE SHADOW, 100 XII FOR TEN PER CENT, 109 XIII ADJOURNED, 118 XIV THE SCOTTISH VERDICT, 127 XV YOUNG BRAINS, 136 XVI NAMELESS FEAR, 145 XVII THE LAW, 154 XVIII THE ROSEWOOD BOX, 163 XIX WEAVING THE NET, 172 XX THE DIAMOND RING, 181 XXI THE DESERTED FLAT, 190 XXII YEA AND NAY, 199 XXIII THE ACCUSATION, 208 XXIV COLD STEEL, 217 XXV PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS, 226 XXVI THE REMAND PRISON, 235 XXVII THE LAST CHEQUE, 244 XXVIII THE HOTEL RAVENNA, 253 XXIX THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK, 263 XXX THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY, 273 XXXI THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY, 283 XXXII THE YORKSHIRE PROVERB, 290 XXXIII BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE, 294 XXXIV DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD, 304 XXXV THE SECOND WARRANT, 312

 THE

 HERAPATH

 PROPERTY

CHAPTER I

JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING

This was the third week of Selwood's secretaryship to Jacob Herapath. Herapath was a well-known man in London. He was a Member of Parliament, the owner of a sort of model estate of up-to-date flats, and somethingof a crank about such matters as ventilation, sanitation, and lighting. He himself, a bachelor, lived in one of the best houses in PortmanSquare; when he engaged Selwood as his secretary he made him take aconvenient set of rooms in Upper Seymour Street, close by. He alsocaused a telephone communication to be set up between his own house andSelwood's bedroom, so that he could summon his secretary at any hour ofthe night. Herapath occasionally had notions about things in the smallhours, and he was one of those active, restless persons who, if they geta new idea, like to figure on it at once. All the same, during thosethree weeks he had not once troubled his secretary in this fashion. Nocall came to Selwood over that telephone until half-past seven oneNovember morning, just as he was thinking of getting out of bed. And thevoice which then greeted him was not Herapath's. It was a rather anxious, troubled voice, and it belonged to one Kitteridge, a middle-aged man, whowas Herapath's butler. 

In the act of summoning Selwood, Kitteridge was evidently interrupted bysome person at his elbow; all that Selwood made out was that Kitteridgewanted him to go round at once. He dressed hurriedly, and ran off toHerapath's house; there in the hall, near the door of a room whichHerapath used as a study and business room, he found Kitteridge talkingto Mountain, Herapath's coachman, who, judging by the state of hisattire, had also been called hurriedly from his bed. 

"What is it, Kitteridge?" demanded Selwood. "Mr. Herapath ill?"

The butler shook his head and jerked his thumb towards the open door ofthe study. 

"The fact is, we don't know where Mr. Herapath is, sir, " he answered. "He hasn't slept in his bed, and he isn't in the house. "

"Possibly he didn't come home last night, " suggested Selwood. "He mayhave slept at his club, or at an hotel. "

The butler and the coachman looked at each other--then the coachman, alittle, sharp-eyed man who was meditatively chewing a bit of straw, opened his tightly-compressed lips. 

"He did come home, sir, " he said. "I drove him home--as usual. I saw himlet himself into the house. One o'clock sharp, that was. Oh, yes, hecame home!"

"He came home, " repeated Kitteridge. "Look here, sir. " He led the wayinto the study and pointed to a small table set by the side ofHerapath's big business desk. "You see that tray, Mr. Selwood? That'salways left out, there, on that table, for Mr. Herapath every night. Asmall decanter of whiskey, a syphon, a few sandwiches, a dry biscuit ortwo. Well, there you are, sir--he's had a drink out of that glass, he'shad a mouthful or so of sandwiches. Oh, yes, he came home, but he's notat home now! Charlesworth--the valet, you know, sir--always goes intoMr. Herapath's room at a quarter past seven every morning; when he wentin just now he found that Mr. Herapath wasn't there, and the bed hadn'tbeen slept in. So--that's where things stand. "

Selwood looked round the room. The curtains had not yet been drawnaside, and the electric light cast a cold glare on the variouswell-known objects and fittings. He glanced at the evidences of thesupper tray; then at the blotting-pad on Herapath's desk; there he mighthave left a note for his butler or his secretary. But there was no noteto be seen. 

"Still, I don't see that there's anything to be alarmed about, Kitteridge, " he said. "Mr. Herapath may have wanted to go somewhere by avery early morning train----"

"No, sir, excuse me, that won't do, " broke in the butler. "I thought ofthat myself. But if he'd wanted to catch a night train, he'd have takena travelling coat, and a rug, and a bag of some sort--he's taken nothingat all in that way. Besides, I've been in this house seven years, and Iknow his habits. If he'd wanted to go away by one of the very earlymorning trains he'd have kept me and Charlesworth up, making ready forhim. No, sir! He came home, and went out again--must have done. And--it's uncommonly queer. Seven years I've been here, as I say, and henever did such a thing before. "

Selwood turned to the coachman. 

"You brought Mr. Herapath home at one o'clock?" he said. "Alone?"

"He was alone, sir, " replied the coachman, who had been staring around himas if to seek some solution of the mystery. "I'll tell you all thathappened--I was just beginning to tell Mr. Kitteridge here when you comein. I fetched Mr. Herapath from the House of Commons last night at aquarter past eleven--took him up in Palace Yard at the usual spot, just asthe clock was striking. 'Mountain, ' he says, 'I want you to drive round tothe estate office--I want to call there. ' So I drove there--that's inKensington, as you know, sir. When he got out he says, 'Mountain, ' hesays, 'I shall be three-quarters of an hour or so here--wrap the mare upand walk her about, ' he says. I did as he said, but he was more thanthree-quarters--it was like an hour. Then at last he came back to thebrougham, just said one word, 'Home!' and I drove him here, and the clockswere striking one when he got out. He said 'Good night, ' and I saw himwalk up the steps and put his key in the latch as I drove off to ourstables. And that's all I know about it. "

Selwood turned to the butler. 

"I suppose no one was up at that time?" he inquired. 

"Nobody, sir, " answered Kitteridge. "There never is. Mr. Herapath, asyou've no doubt observed, is a bit strict in the matter of rules, andit's one of his rules that everybody in the house must be in bed byeleven-thirty. No one was ever to sit up for him on any occasion. That'swhy this supper-tray was always left ready. His usual time for coming inwhen he'd been at the House was twelve o'clock. "

"Everybody in the house might be in bed, " observed Selwood, "but noteverybody might be asleep. Have you made any inquiry as to whetheranybody heard Mr. Herapath moving about in the night, or leaving thehouse? Somebody may have heard the hall door opened and closed, youknow. "

"I'll make inquiry as to that, sir, " responded Kitteridge, "but I'veheard nothing of the sort so far, and all the servants are aware by nowthat Mr. Herapath isn't in the house. If anybody had heard anything----"

Before the butler could say more the study door opened and a girl cameinto the room. At sight of her Selwood spoke hurriedly to Kitteridge. 

"Have you told Miss Wynne?" he whispered. "Does she know?"

"She may have heard from her maid, sir, " replied Kitteridge in lowtones. "Of course they're all talking of it. I was going to ask to seeMiss Wynne as soon as she was dressed. "

By that time the girl had advanced towards the three men, and Selwoodstepped forward to meet her. He knew her as Herapath's niece, thedaughter of a dead sister of whom Herapath had been very fond; he knew, too, that Herapath had brought her up from infancy and treated her as adaughter. She was at this time a young woman of twenty-one or two, apretty, eminently likeable young woman, with signs of character andresource in eyes and lips, and Selwood had seen enough of her to feelsure that in any disturbing event she would keep her head. She spokecalmly enough as the secretary met her. 

"What's all this, Mr. Selwood?" she asked. "I understand my uncle is notin the house. But there's nothing alarming in that, Kitteridge, isthere? Mr. Herapath may have gone away during the night, you know. "

"Kitteridge thinks that highly improbable, " replied Selwood. "He saysthat Mr. Herapath had made no preparation for a sudden journey, hastaken no travelling coat or rug, or luggage of any sort. "

"Did he come in from the House?" she asked. "Perhaps not?"

Kitteridge pointed to the supper-tray and then indicated the coachman. 

"He came in as usual, miss, " he replied. "Or rather an hour later thanusual. Mountain brought him home at one o'clock, and he saw him lethimself in with his latch-key. "

Peggie Wynne turned to the coachman. 

"You're sure that he entered the house?" she asked. 

"As sure as I could be, miss, " replied Mountain. "He was putting his keyin the door when I drove off. "

"He must have come in, " said Kitteridge, pointing to the tray. "He hadsomething after he got in. "

"Well, go and tell the servants not to talk, Kitteridge, " said Peggie. "My uncle, no doubt, had reasons for going out again. Have you saidanything to Mr. Tertius?"

"Mr. Tertius isn't down yet, miss, " answered the butler. 

He left the room, followed by the coachman, and Peggie turned toSelwood. "What do you think?" she asked, with a slight show of anxiety. "You don't know of any reason for this, do you?"

"None, " replied Selwood. "And as to what I think, I don't knowsufficient about Mr. Herapath's habits to be able to judge. "

"He never did anything like this before, " she remarked. "I know that hesometimes gets up in the middle of the night and comes down here, but Inever knew him to go out. If he'd been setting off on a sudden journeyhe'd surely have let me know. Perhaps----"

She paused suddenly, seeing Selwood lift his eyes from the papersstrewn about the desk to the door. She, too, turned in the samedirection. 

A man had come quietly into the room--a slightly-built, little man, grey-bearded, delicate-looking, whose eyes were obscured by a pair ofdark-tinted spectacles. He moved gently and with an air of habitualshyness, and Selwood, who was naturally observant, saw that his lips andhis hands were trembling slightly as he came towards them. 

"Mr. Tertius, " said Peggie, "do you know anything about Uncle Jacob? Hecame in during the night--one o'clock--and now he's disappeared. Did hesay anything to you about going away early this morning?"

Mr. Tertius shook his head. 

"No--no--nothing!" he answered. "Disappeared! Is it certain he came in?"

"Mountain saw him come in, " she said. "Besides, he had a drink out ofthat glass, and he ate something from the tray--see!"

Mr. Tertius bent his spectacled eyes over the supper tray and remainedlooking at what he saw there for a while. Then he looked up, and atSelwood. 

"Strange!" he remarked. "And yet, you know, he is a man who does thingswithout saying a word to any one. Have you, now, thought of telephoningto the estate office? He may have gone there. "

Peggie, who had dropped into the chair at Herapath's desk, immediatelyjumped up. 

"Of course we must do that at once!" she exclaimed. "Come to thetelephone, Mr. Selwood--we may hear something. "

She and Selwood left the room together. When they had gone, Mr. Tertiusonce more bent over the supper tray. He picked up the empty glass, handling it delicately; he held it between himself and the electriclight over the desk; he narrowly inspected it, inside and out. Then heturned his attention to the plate of sandwiches. One sandwich had beentaken from the plate and bitten into--once. Mr. Tertius took up thatsandwich with the tips of his delicately-shaped fingers. He held that, too, nearer the light. And having looked at it he hastily selected anenvelope from the stationery cabinet on the desk, carefully placed thesandwich within it, and set off to his own rooms in the upper part ofthe house. As he passed through the hall he heard Selwood at thetelephone, which was installed in a small apartment at the foot of thestairs--he was evidently already in communication with some one at theHerapath Estate Office. 

Mr. Tertius went straight to his room, stayed there a couple of minutes, and went downstairs again. Selwood and Peggie Wynne were just comingaway from the telephone; they looked up at him with faces grave withconcern. 

"We're wanted at the estate office, " said Selwood. "The caretaker wasjust going to ring us up when I got through to him. Something iswrong--wrong with Mr. Herapath. "

CHAPTER II

IS IT MURDER?

It struck Selwood, afterwards, as a significant thing that it wasneither he nor Mr. Tertius who took the first steps towards immediateaction. Even as he spoke, Peggie was summoning the butler, and herorders were clear and precise. 

"Kitteridge, " she said quietly, "order Robson to bring the car round atonce--as quickly as possible. In the meantime, send some coffee into thebreakfast-room--breakfast itself must wait until we return. Make haste, Kitteridge. "

Selwood turned on her with a doubtful look. 

"You--you aren't going down there?" he asked. 

"Of course I am!" she answered. "Do you think I should wait here--wonderingwhat had happened? We will all go--come and have some coffee, both of you, while we wait for the car. "

The two followed her into the breakfast-room and silently drank thecoffee which she presently poured out for them. She, too, was silent, but when she had left the room to make ready for the drive Mr. Tertiusturned to Selwood. 

"You heard--what?" he asked. 

"Nothing definite, " answered Selwood. "All I heard was that Mr. Herapath was there, and there was something seriously wrong, and wouldwe go down at once. "

Mr. Tertius made no comment. He became thoughtful and abstracted, andremained so during the journey down to Kensington. Peggie, too, saidnothing as they sped along; as for Selwood, he was wondering what hadhappened, and reflecting on this sudden stirring up of mystery. There wasmystery within that car--in the person of Mr. Tertius. During his threeweeks' knowledge of the Herapath household Selwood had constantly wonderedwho Mr. Tertius was, what his exact relationship was, what his positionreally was. He knew that he lived in Jacob Herapath's house, but in asense he was not of the family. He seldom presented himself at Herapath'stable, he was rarely seen about the house; Selwood remembered seeing himoccasionally in Herapath's study or in Peggie Wynne's drawing-room. He hadlearnt sufficient to know that Mr. Tertius had rooms of his own in thehouse; two rooms in some upper region; one room on the ground-floor. OnceSelwood had gained a peep into that ground-floor room, and had seen thatit was filled with books, and that its table was crowded with papers, andhe had formed the notion that Mr. Tertius was some book-worm or antiquary, to whom Jacob Herapath for some reason or other gave house-room. Thathe was no relation Selwood judged from the way in which he was alwaysaddressed by Herapath and by Peggie Wynne. To them as to all the servantshe was Mr. Tertius--whether that was his surname or not, Selwood did notknow. 

There was nothing mysterious or doubtful about the great pile of buildingsat which the automobile presently stopped. They were practical andconcrete facts. Most people in London knew the famous Herapath Flats--theyhad aroused public interest from the time that their founder beganbuilding them. 

Jacob Herapath, a speculator in real estate, had always cherished anotion of building a mass of high-class residential flats on the mostmodern lines. Nothing of the sort which he contemplated, he said, existed in London--when the opportunity came he would show the buildingworld what could and should be done. The opportunity came when a parcelof land in Kensington fell into the market--Jacob Herapath made haste topurchase it, and he immediately began building on it. The result was amagnificent mass of buildings which possessed every advantage andconvenience--to live in a Herapath flat was to live in luxury. Incidentally, no one could live in one who was not prepared to pay arental of anything from five to fifteen hundred a year. The gross rentalof the Herapath Flats was enormous--the net profits were enough to makeeven a wealthy man's mouth water. And Selwood, who already knew allthis, wondered, as they drove away, where all this wealth would go ifanything had really happened to its creator. 

The entrance to the Herapath estate office was in an archway which ledto one of the inner squares of the great buildings. When the car stoppedat it, Selwood saw that there were police within the open doorway. Oneof them, an inspector, came forward, looking dubiously at Peggie Wynne. Selwood hastened out of the car and made for him. 

"I'm Mr. Herapath's secretary--Mr. Selwood, " he said, drawing theinspector out of earshot. "Is anything seriously wrong?--better tell mebefore Miss Wynne hears. He isn't--dead?"

The inspector gave him a warning look. 

"That's it, sir, " he answered in a low voice. "Found dead by thecaretaker in his private office. And it's here--Mr. Selwood, it's eithersuicide or murder. That's flat!"

Selwood got his two companions inside the building and into a waiting-room. Peggie turned on him at once. 

"I see you know, " she said. "Tell me at once what it is. Don't be afraid, Mr. Selwood--I'm not likely to faint nor to go into hysterics. Neither isMr. Tertius. Tell us--is it the worst?"

"Yes, " said Selwood. "It is. "

"He is dead?" she asked in a low voice. "You are sure? Dead?"

Selwood bent his head by way of answer; when he looked up again the girlhad bent hers, but she quickly lifted it, and except that she had grownpale, she showed no outward sign of shock or emotion. As for Mr. Tertius, he, too, was calm--and it was he who first broke the silence. 

"How was it?" he asked. "A seizure?"

Selwood hesitated. Then, seeing that he had to deal with two people whowere obviously in full control of themselves, he decided to tell thetruth. 

"I'm afraid you must be prepared to hear some unpleasant news, " he said, with a glance at the inspector, who just then quietly entered the room. "The police say it is either a case of suicide or of murder. "

Peggie looked sharply from Selwood to the police official, and a suddenflush of colour flamed into her cheeks. 

"Suicide?" she exclaimed. "Never! Murder? That may be. Tell me what youhave found, " she went on eagerly. "Don't keep things back!--don't yousee I want to know?"

The inspector closed the door and came nearer to where the three werestanding. 

"Perhaps I'd better tell you what we do know, " he said. "Our station wasrung up by the caretaker here at five minutes past eight. He said Mr. Herapath had just been found lying on the floor of his private room, andthey were sure something was wrong, and would we come round. I camemyself with one of our plain-clothes men who happened to be in, and oursurgeon followed us a few minutes later. We found Mr. Herapath lyingacross the hearthrug in his private room, quite dead. Close by----" Hepaused and looked dubiously at Peggie. "The details are not pleasant, "he said meaningly. "Shall I omit them?"

"No!" answered Peggie with decision. "Please omit nothing. Tell usall. "

"There was a revolver lying close by Mr. Herapath's right hand, "continued the inspector. "One chamber had been discharged. Mr. Herapathhad been shot through the right temple, evidently at close quarters. Ishould say--and our surgeon says--he had died instantly. And--I thinkthat's all I need say just now. "

Peggie, who had listened to this with unmoved countenance, involuntarilystepped towards the door. 

"Let us go to him, " she said. "I suppose he's still here?"

But there Selwood, just as involuntarily, asserted an uncontrollableinstinct. He put himself between the door and the girl. 

"No!" he said firmly, wondering at himself for his insistence. "Don't!There's no need for that--yet. You mustn't go. Mr. Tertius----"

"Better not just yet, miss, " broke in the inspector. "The doctor isstill here. Afterwards, perhaps. If you would wait here while thesegentlemen go with me. "

Peggie hesitated a moment; then she turned away and sat down. 

"Very well, " she said. 

The inspector silently motioned the two men to follow him; with his handon the door Selwood turned again to Peggie. 

"You will stay here?" he said. "You won't follow us?"

"I shall stay here, " she answered. "Stop a minute--there's one thingthat should be thought of. My cousin Barthorpe----"

"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath has been sent for, miss--he'll be herepresently, " replied the inspector. "The caretaker's telephoned to him. Now gentlemen. "

He led the way along a corridor to a room with which Selwood wasfamiliar enough--an apartment of some size which Jacob Herapath used asa business office and kept sacred to himself and his secretary. When hewas in it no one ever entered that room except at Herapath's bidding;now there were strangers in it who had come there unbidden, and Herapathlay in their midst, silent for ever. They had laid the lifeless body ona couch, and Selwood and Mr. Tertius bent over it for a moment beforethey turned to the other men in the room. The dead face was calm enough;there was no trace of sudden fear on it, no signs of surprise or angeror violent passion. 

"If you'll look here, gentlemen, " said the police-inspector, motioningthem towards the broad hearthrug. "This is how things were--nothing hadbeen touched when we arrived. He was lying from there to here--he'devidently slipped down and sideways out of that chair, and had fallenacross the rug. The revolver was lying a few inches from his right hand. Here it is. "

He pulled open a drawer as he spoke and produced a revolver which hecarefully handled as he showed it to Selwood and Mr. Tertius. 

"Have either of you gentlemen ever seen that before?" he asked. "Imean--do you recognize it as having belonged to--him? You don't? Neverseen it before, either of you? Well, of course he might have kept arevolver in his private desk or in his safe, and nobody would haveknown. We shall have to make an exhaustive search and see if we can findany cartridges or anything. However, that's what we found--and, as Isaid before, one chamber had been discharged. The doctor here says therevolver had been fired at close quarters. "

Mr. Tertius, who had watched and listened with marked attention, turnedto the police surgeon. 

"The wound may have been self-inflicted?" he asked. 

"From the position of the body, and of the revolver, there is strongpresumption that it was, " replied the doctor. 

"Yet--it may not have been?" suggested Mr. Tertius, mildly. 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. It was easy to see what his ownopinion was. 

"It may not have been--as you say, " he answered. "But if he was shot bysome other person--murdered, that is--the murderer must have beenstanding either close at his side, or immediately behind him. Of this Iam certain--he was sitting in that chair, at his desk, when the shot wasfired. "

"And--what would the immediate effect be?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"He would probably start violently, make as if to rise, drop forwardagainst the desk and gradually--but quickly--subside to the floor in theposition in which he was found, " replied the doctor. "As he fell hewould relinquish his grip on the revolver--it is invariably a tight gripin these cases--and it would fall--just where it was found. "

"Still, there is nothing to disprove the theory that the revolver mayhave been placed--where it was found?" suggested Mr. Tertius. 

"Oh, certainly it may have been placed there!" said the doctor, withanother shrug of the shoulders. "A cool and calculating murderer mayhave placed it there, of course. "

"Just so, " agreed Mr. Tertius. He remained silently gazing at thehearthrug for a while; then he turned to the doctor again. "Now, howlong do you think Mr. Herapath had been dead when you were called to thebody?" he asked. 

"Quite eight hours, " answered the doctor promptly. 

"Eight hours!" exclaimed Mr. Tertius. "And you first saw him at----"

"A quarter past eight, " said the doctor. "I should say he died justabout midnight. "

"Midnight!" murmured Mr. Tertius. "Midnight? Then----"

Before he could say more, a policeman, stationed in the corridoroutside, opened the door of the room, and glancing at his inspector, announced the arrival of Mr. Barthorpe Herapath. 

CHAPTER III

BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE

The man who strode into the room as the policeman threw the door open forhim immediately made two distinct impressions on the inspector and thedoctor, neither of whom had ever seen him before. The first was that heinstantly conveyed a sense of alert coolness and self-possession; thesecond that, allowing for differences of age, he was singularly like thedead man who lay in their midst. Both were tall, well-made men; both wereclean-shaven; both were much alike as to feature and appearance. Apartfrom the fact that Jacob Herapath was a man of sixty and grey-haired, andhis nephew one of thirty to thirty-five and dark-haired, they were verymuch alike--the same mould of nose, mouth, and chin, the same strength ofform. The doctor noted this resemblance particularly, and he involuntarilyglanced from the living to the dead. 

Barthorpe Herapath bent over his dead uncle for no more than a minute. His face was impassive, almost stern as he turned to the others. Henodded slightly to Mr. Tertius and to Selwood; then he gave hisattention to the officials. 

"Yes?" he said inquiringly and yet with a certain tone of command. "Nowtell me all you know of this. "

He stood listening silently, with concentrated attention, as theinspector put him in possession of the facts already known. He made nocomment, asked no questions, until the inspector had finished; then heturned to Selwood, almost pointedly ignoring Mr. Tertius. 

"What is known of this in Portman Square, Mr. Selwood?" he inquired. "Tell me, briefly. "

Selwood, who had only met Barthorpe Herapath once or twice, and who hadformed an instinctive and peculiar dislike to him, for which he couldnot account, accepted the invitation to be brief. In a few words he toldexactly what had happened at Jacob Herapath's house. 

"My cousin is here, then?" exclaimed Barthorpe. 

"Miss Wynne is in the larger waiting-room down the corridor, " repliedSelwood. 

"I will go to her in a minute, " said Barthorpe. "Now, inspector, thereare certain things to be done at once. There will, of course, have to bean inquest--your people must give immediate notice to the coroner. Then--the body--that must be properly attended to--that, too, you willsee about. Before you go away yourself, I want you to join me incollecting all the evidence we can get on the spot. You have one of yourdetective staff here?--good. Now, have you searched--him?"

The inspector drew open a drawer in the front desk which occupied thecentre of the room, and pointed to some articles which lay within. 

"Everything that we found upon him is in there, " he answered. "You seethere is not much--watch and chain, pocket articles, a purse, some loosemoney, a pocket-book, a cigar-case--that's all. One matter I should haveexpected to find, we didn't find. "

"What's that?" asked Barthorpe quickly. 

"Keys, " answered the inspector. "We found no keys on him--not even alatch-key. Yet he must have let himself in here, and I understand fromthe caretaker that he must have unlocked this door after he'd entered bythe outer one. "

Barthorpe made no immediate answer beyond a murmur of perplexity. 

"Strange, " he said after a pause, during which he bent over the opendrawer. "However, that's one of the things to be gone into. Close thatdrawer, lock it up, and for the present keep the key yourself--you and Iwill examine the contents later. Now for these immediate inquiries. Mr. Selwood, will you please telephone at once to Portman Square and tellKitteridge to send Mountain, the coachman, here--instantly. TellKitteridge to come with him. Inspector, will you see to this arrangementwe spoke of, and also tell the caretaker that we shall want himpresently? Now I will go to my cousin. "

He strode off, still alert, composed, almost bustling in his demeanour, to the waiting-room in which they had left Peggie--a moment later, Selwood, following him down the corridor, saw him enter and close thedoor. And Selwood cursed himself for a fool for hating to think thatthese two should be closeted together, for disliking the notion thatBarthorpe Herapath was Peggie Wynne's cousin--and now, probably, herguardian protector. For during those three weeks in which he had beenJacob Herapath's secretary, Selwood had seen a good deal of hisemployer's niece, and he was already well over the verge of falling inlove with her, and was furious with himself for daring to think of agirl who was surely one of the richest heiresses in London. He was angrywith himself, too, for disliking Barthorpe, for he was inclined tocultivate common-sense, and common-sense coldly reminded him that he didnot know Barthorpe Herapath well enough to either like or dislike him. 

Half an hour passed--affairs suggestive of the tragedy of the night wenton in the Herapath Estate Office. Two women in the garb of professionalnurses came quietly, and passed into the room where Herapath lay dead. Aman arrayed in dismal black came after them, summoned by the police whowere busy at the telephone as soon as Selwood had finished with it. Selwood himself, having summoned Kitteridge and Mountain, hung about, waiting. He heard the police talking in undertones of clues andtheories, and of a coroner's inquest, and the like; now and then helooked curiously at Mr. Tertius, who had taken a seat in the hall andwas apparently wrapped in meditation. And still Barthorpe Herapathremained closeted with Peggie Wynne. 

A taxi drove up and deposited the butler and the coachman at the door. Selwood motioned them inside. 

"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath wants both of you, " he said curtly. "I supposehe will ask for you presently. "

Kitteridge let out an anxious inquiry. 

"The master, sir?" he exclaimed. "Is----"

"Good heavens!" muttered Selwood. "I--of course, you don't know. Mr. Herapath is dead. "

The two servants started and stared at each other. Before either couldspeak Barthorpe Herapath suddenly emerged from the waiting-room andlooked round the hall. He beckoned to the inspector, who was talking inlow tones with the detective, at a little distance. 

"Now, inspector, " he said, "will you and your officer come in? And thecaretaker--and you, Kitteridge, and you, Mountain. Mr. Selwood, will youcome in, too?"

He stood at the door while those he had invited inside passed into theroom where Peggie still sat. And as he stood there, and Selwood wound upthe little procession, Mr. Tertius rose and also made as if to join theothers. Barthorpe stopped him by intruding himself between him and thedoor. 

"This is a private inquiry of my own, Mr. Tertius, " he said, with ameaning look. 

Selwood, turning in sheer surprise at this announcement, so pointed andso unmistakable, saw a faint tinge of colour mount to the elder man'susually pale cheeks. Mr. Tertius stopped sharply and looked at Barthorpein genuine surprise. 

"You do not wish me to enter--to be present?" he faltered. 

"Frankly, I don't, " said Barthorpe, with aggressive plainness. "Therewill be a public inquiry--I can't stop you from attending that. "

Mr. Tertius drew back. He stood for a moment staring hard at Barthorpe;then, with a slight, scarcely perceivable bow, he turned away, crossedthe hall, and went out of the front door. And Barthorpe Herapathlaughed--a low, sneering laugh--and following the other men into thewaiting-room, locked the door upon those assembled there. As if he andthey were assembled on some cut-and-dried business matter, he waved themall to chairs, and himself dropped into one at the head of the table, close to that in which Peggie was sitting. 

"Now, inspector, " he began, "you and I must get what we may as well callfirst information about this matter. There will be a vast amount ofspecial and particular investigation later on, but I want us, at thevery outset, while facts are fresh in the mind, to get certainhappenings clearly before us. And for this reason--I understand that thepolice-surgeon is of opinion that my uncle committed suicide. With allrespect to him--I'm sorry he's gone before I could talk to him--thattheory cannot be held for an instant! My cousin, Miss Wynne, and I knewour uncle far too well to believe that theory for a single moment, andwe shall combat it by every means in our power when the inquest is held. No--my uncle was murdered! Now I want to know all I can get to know ofhis movements last night. And first I think we'll hear what thecaretaker can tell us. Hancock, " he continued, turning to an elderly manwho looked like an ex-soldier, "I understand you found my uncle's body?"

The caretaker, obviously much upset by the affairs of the morning, pulled himself up to attention. 

"I did, sir, " he replied. 

"What time was that?"

"Just eight o'clock, sir--that's my usual time for opening the office. "

"Tell us exactly how you found him, Hancock. "

"I opened the door of Mr. Herapath's private room, sir, to pull up theblinds and open the window. When I walked in I saw him lying across thehearth-rug. Then I noticed the--the revolver. "

"And of course that gave you a turn. What did you do? Go into the room?"

"No, sir! I shut the door again, went straight to the telephone and rangup the police-station. Then I waited at the front door till theinspector there came along. "

"Was the front door fastened as usual when you went to it at that time?"

"It was fastened as it always is, sir, by the latch. It was Mr. Herapath'sparticular orders that it never should be fastened any other way at night, because he sometimes came in at night, with his latch-key. "

"Just so. Now these offices are quite apart and distinct from the restof the building--mark that, inspector! There's no way out of them intothe building, nor any way out of the building into them. In fact, theonly entrance into these offices is by the front door. Isn't that so, Hancock?"

"That's quite so, sir--only that one door. "

"No area entrance or side-door?"

"None, sir--nothing but that. "

"And the only tenants in here--these offices--at night are you and yourwife, Hancock?"

"That's all, sir. "

"Now, where are your rooms?"

"We've two rooms in the basement, sir--living-room and kitchen--and tworooms on the top floor--a bedroom and a bathroom. "

"On the top-floor. How many floors are there?"

"Well, sir, there's the basement--then there's this--then there's twofloors that's used by the clerks--then there's ours. "

"That's to say there are two floors between your bedroom and this groundfloor?"

"Yes, sir--two. "

"Very well. Now, about last night. What time did you and your wife go tobed?"

"Eleven o'clock, sir--half an hour later than usual. "

"You'd previously looked round, I suppose?"

"Been all round, sir--I always look into every room in the place lastthing at night--thoroughly. "

"Are you and your wife sound sleepers?"

"Yes, sir--both of us. Good sleepers. "

"You heard no sound after you got to bed?"

"Nothing, sir--neither of us. "

"No recollection of hearing a revolver shot?--not even as if it were along way off?"

"No, sir--we never heard anything--nothing unusual, at any rate. "

"You heard no sound of doors opening or being shut, nor of anyconveyance coming to the door?"

"No, sir, nothing at all. "

"Well, one or two more questions, Hancock. You didn't go into the roomafter first catching sight of the body? Just so--but you'd noticethings, even in a hurried glance. Did you notice any sign of astruggle--overturned chair or anything?"

"No, sir. I did notice that Mr. Herapath's elbow chair, that he alwayssat in at his desk, was pushed back a bit, and was a bit on one side asit were. That was all. "

"And the light--the electric light? Was that on?"

"No, sir. "

"Then all you can tell us comes to this--that you never heard anything, and had no notion of what was happening, or had happened, until you camedown in the morning?"

"Just so, sir. If I'd known what was going on, or had gone on, I shouldhave been down at once. "

Barthorpe nodded and turned to the coachman. 

"Now, Mountain, " he said. "We want to hear your story. Be careful aboutyour facts--what you can tell us is probably of the utmost importance. "

CHAPTER IV

THE PRESSMAN

The coachman, thus admonished, unconsciously edged his chair a littlenearer to the table at which Barthorpe Herapath sat, and lookedanxiously at his interrogator. He was a little, shrewd-eyed fellow, andit seemed to Selwood, who had watched him carefully during the informalexamination to which Barthorpe had subjected the caretaker, that he hadbegun to think deeply over some new presentiment of this mystery whichwas slowly shaping itself in his mind. 

"I understand, Mountain, that you fetched Mr. Herapath from the House ofCommons last night?" began Barthorpe. "You fetched him in the brougham, I believe?"

"Yes, sir, " answered the coachman. "Mr. Herapath always had the broughamat night--and most times, too, sir. Never took kindly to the motor, sir. "

"Where did you meet him, Mountain?"

"Usual place, sir--in Palace Yard--just outside the Hall. "

"What time was that?"

"Quarter past eleven, exactly, sir--the clock was just chiming thequarter as he came out. "

"Was Mr. Herapath alone when he came out?"

"No sir. He came out with another gentleman--a stranger to me, sir. Thetwo of 'em stood talking a bit a yard or two away from the brougham. "

"Did you hear anything they said?"

"Just a word or two from Mr. Herapath, sir, as him and the othergentleman parted. "

"What were they?--tell us the words, as near as you can remember. "

"Mr. Herapath said, 'Have it ready for me tomorrow, and I'll look in atyour place about noon. ' That's all, sir. "

"What happened then?"

"The other gentleman went off across the Yard, sir, and Mr. Herapath cameto the brougham, and told me to drive him to the estate office--here, sir. "

"You drove him up to this door, I suppose?"

"No, sir. Mr. Herapath never was driven up to the door--he always gotout of the brougham in the road outside and walked up the archway. Hedid that last night. "

"From where you pulled up could you see if there was any light in theseoffices?"

"No, sir--I pulled up just short of the entrance to the archway. "

"Did Mr. Herapath say anything to you when he got out?"

"Yes, sir. He said he should most likely be three-quarters of an hourhere, and that I'd better put a rug over the mare and walk her about. "

"Then I suppose he went up the archway. Now, did you see anybody aboutthe entrance? Did you see any person waiting as if to meet him? Did hemeet anybody?"

"I saw no one, sir. As soon as he'd gone up the archway I threw a rugover the mare and walked her round and round the square across theroad. "

"You heard and saw nothing of him until he came out again?"

"Nothing, sir. "

"And how long was he away from you?"

"Nearer an hour than three-quarters, sir. "

"Were you in full view of the entrance all that time?"

"No, sir, I wasn't. Some of the time I was--some of it I'd my back toit. "

"You never saw any one enter the archway during the time Mr. Herapathwas in the office?"

"No, sir. "

"All the same, some one could have come here during that time withoutyour seeing him?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"Well, at last Mr. Herapath came out. Where did he rejoin you?"

"In the middle of the road, sir--right opposite that statue in theSquare gardens. "

"Did he say anything particular then?"

"No, sir. He walked sharply across, opened the door, said 'Home' andjumped in. "

"You didn't notice anything unusual about him?"

"Nothing, sir--unless it was that he hung his head down rather as hecame across--same as if he was thinking hard, sir. "

"You drove straight home to Portman Square, then. What time did you getthere?"

"Exactly one o'clock, sir. "

"You're certain about that time?"

"Certain, sir. It was just five minutes past one when I drove into ourmews. "

"Now, then, be careful about this, Mountain. I want to know exactly whathappened when you drove up to the house. Tell us in your own way. "

The coachman looked round amongst the listeners as if he were a littleperplexed. "Why, sir, " he answered, turning back to Barthorpe, "therewas nothing happened! At least, I mean to say, there was nothinghappened that didn't always happen on such occasions--Mr. Herapath gotout of the brougham, shut the door, said 'Good night, ' and went up thesteps, taking his latch-key out of his pocket as he crossed thepavement, sir. That was all, sir. "

"Did you actually see him enter the house?"

"No, sir, " replied Mountain, with a decisive shake of the head. "Icouldn't say that I did that. I saw him just putting the key in thelatch as I drove off. "

"And that's all you know?"

"That's all I know, sir--all. "

Barthorpe, after a moment's hesitation, turned to the police-inspector. 

"Is there anything that occurs to you?" he asked. 

"One or two things occur to me, " answered the inspector. "But I'm notgoing to ask any questions now. I suppose all you want at present is toget a rough notion of how things were last night?"

"Just so, " assented Barthorpe. "A rough notion--that's it. Well, Kitteridge, it's your turn. Who found out that Mr. Herapath wasn't inthe house this morning?"

"Charlesworth, sir--Mr. Herapath's valet, " replied the butler. "Healways called Mr. Herapath at a quarter past seven every morning. Whenhe went into the bedroom this morning Mr. Herapath wasn't there, and thebed hadn't been slept in. Then Charlesworth came and told me, sir, andof course I went to the study at once, and then I saw that, wherever Mr. Herapath might be then, he certainly had been home. "

"You judged that from--what?" asked Barthorpe. 

"Well, sir, it's been the rule to leave a supper-tray out for Mr. Herapath. Not much, sir--whisky and soda, a sandwich or two, a drybiscuit. I saw that he'd had something, sir. "

"Somebody else might have had it--eh?"

"Yes, sir, but then you see, I'd had Mountain fetched by that time, andhe told me that he'd seen Mr. Herapath letting himself in at oneo'clock. So of course I knew the master had been in. "

Barthorpe hesitated, seemed to ponder matters for a moment, and thenrose. "I don't think we need go into things any further just now, " hesaid. "You, Kitteridge, and you, Mountain, can go home. Don't talk--thatis, don't talk any more than is necessary. I suppose, " he went on, turning to the inspector when the two servants and the caretaker hadleft the room. "I suppose you'll see to all the arrangements we spokeof?"

"They're being carried out already, " answered the inspector. "Ofcourse, " he added, drawing closer to Barthorpe and speaking in lowertones, "when the body's been removed, you'll join me in making athorough inspection of the room? We haven't done that yet, you know, andit should be done. Wouldn't it be best, " he continued with a glance atPeggie and a further lowering of his voice, "if the young lady went backto Portman Square?"

"Just so, just so--I'll see to it, " answered Barthorpe. "You go and keeppeople out of the way for a few minutes, and I'll get her off. " Heturned to his cousin when the two officers had left the room andmotioned her to rise. "Now, Peggie, " he said, "you must go home. I shallcome along there myself in an hour or two--there are things to be donewhich you and I must do together. Mr. Selwood--will you take Miss Wynneout to the car? And then, please, come back to me--I want yourassistance for a while. "

Peggie walked out of the room and to the car without demur or comment. But as she was about to take her seat she turned to Selwood. 

"Why didn't Mr. Tertius come into the room just now?" she demanded. 

Selwood hesitated. Until then he had thought that Peggie had heard thebrief exchange of words between Barthorpe and Mr. Tertius at the door. 

"Didn't you hear what was said at the door when we were all coming in?"he asked suddenly, looking attentively at her. 

"I heard my cousin and Mr. Tertius talking, but I couldn't catch whatwas said, " she replied. "If you did, tell me--I want to know. "

"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath refused to admit Mr. Tertius, " said Selwood. 

"Refused?" she exclaimed. "Refused?"

"Refused, " repeated Selwood. "That's all I know. "

Peggie sat down and gave him an enigmatic look. 

"You, of course, will come back to the house when--when you've finishedhere?" she said. 

"I don't know--I suppose--really, I don't know, " answered Selwood. "Yousee, I--I, of course, don't know exactly where I am, now. I suppose Imust take my orders from--your cousin. "

Peggie gave him another look, more enigmatic than the other. 

"That's nonsense!" she said sharply. "Of course, you'll come. Dowhatever it is that Barthorpe wants just now, but come on to PortmanSquare as soon as you've done it--I want you. Go straight home, Robson, "she went on, turning to the chauffeur. 

Selwood turned slowly and unwillingly back to the office door as the carmoved off. And as he set his foot on the first step a young man camerunning up the entry--not hurrying but running--and caught him up andhailed him. 

"Mr. Selwood?" he said, pantingly. "You'll excuse me--you're Mr. Herapath's secretary, aren't you?--I've seen you with him. I'm Mr. Triffitt, of the _Argus_--I happened to call in at the police-stationjust now, and they told me of what had happened here, so I rushed along. Will you tell me all about it, Mr. Selwood?--it'll be a real scoop forme--I'll hustle down to the office with it at once, and we'll have aspecial out in no time. And whether you know it or not, that'll help thepolice. Give me the facts, Mr. Selwood!"

Selwood stared at the ardent collector of news; then he motioned him tofollow, and led him into the hall to where Barthorpe Herapath wasstanding with the police-inspector. 

"This is a newspaper man, " he said laconically, looking at Barthorpe. "Mr. Triffitt, of the _Argus_. He wants the facts of this affair. "

Barthorpe turned and looked the new-comer up and down. Triffitt, who hadalmost recovered his breath, pulled out a card and presented it with abow. And Barthorpe suddenly seemed to form a conclusion. 

"All right!" he said. "Mr. Selwood, you know all the facts. Take Mr. Triffitt into that room we've just left, and give him a résumé of them. And--listen! we can make use of the press. Mention two matters, whichseem to me to be of importance. Tell of the man who came out of theHouse of Commons with my uncle last night--ask him if he'll comeforward. And, as my uncle must have returned to this office after he'dbeen home, and as he certainly wouldn't walk here, ask for informationas to who drove him down to Kensington from Portman Square. Don't tellthis man too much--give him the bare outlines on how matters stand. "

The reporter wrote at lightning speed while Selwood, who had someexperience of condensation, gave him the news he wanted. Finding that hewas getting a first-class story, Triffitt asked no questions and made nointerruptions. But when Selwood was through with the account, he lookedacross the table with a queer glance of the eye. 

"I say!" he said. "This is a strange case!"

"Why so strange?" asked Selwood. 

"Why? Great Scott!--I reckon it's an uncommonly strange case, " exclaimedTriffitt. "It's about a dead certainty that Herapath was in his ownhouse at Portman Square at one o'clock, isn't it?"

"Well?" said Selwood. 

"And yet according to the doctor who examined him at eight o'clock he'dbeen dead quite eight hours!" said Triffitt. "That means he died attwelve o'clock--an hour before he's supposed to have been at his house!Queer! But all the queerer, all the better--for me! Now I'm off--for thepresent. This'll be on the streets in an hour, Mr. Selwood. Nothing likethe press, sir!"

Therewith he fled, and the secretary suddenly found himself confrontinga new idea. If the doctor was right and Jacob Herapath had been shotdead at midnight, how on earth could he possibly have been in PortmanSquare at one o'clock, an hour later?

CHAPTER V

THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH

Mr. Tertius, dismissed in such cavalier fashion by Barthorpe Herapath, walked out of the estate office with downcast head--a superficialobserver might have said that he was thoroughly crestfallen andbrow-beaten. But by the time he had reached the road outside, the twofaint spots of colour which had flushed his cheeks when Barthorpe turnedhim away had vanished, and he was calm and collected enough when, seeinga disengaged taxi-cab passing by, he put up his hand and hailed it. Thevoice which bade the driver go to Portman Square was calm enough, too--Mr. Tertius had too much serious work immediately in prospect toallow himself to be disturbed by a rudeness. 

He thought deeply about that work as the taxi-cab whirled him along; hewas still thinking about it when he walked into the big house in PortmanSquare. In there everything was very quiet. The butler was away atKensington; the other servants were busily discussing the mystery oftheir master in their own regions. No one was aware that Mr. Tertius hadreturned, for he let himself into the house with his own latch-key, andwent straight into Herapath's study. There, if possible, everything wasstill quieter--the gloom of the dull November morning seemed to bedoubly accentuated in the nooks and corners; there was a sense ofsolitude which was well in keeping with Mr. Tertius's knowledge of whathad happened. He looked at the vacant chair in which he had so oftenseen Jacob Herapath sitting, hard at work, active, bustling, intent ongetting all he could out of every minute of his working day, and hesighed deeply. 

But in the moment of sighing Mr. Tertius reflected that there was notime for regret. It was a time--his time--for action; there was a thingto do which he wanted to do while he had the room to himself. Thereforehe went to work, carefully and methodically. For a second or two hestood reflectively looking at the supper tray which still stood on thelittle table near the desk. With a light, delicate touch he picked upthe glass which had been used and held it up to the light. He put itdown again presently, went quietly out of the study to the dining-roomacross the hall, and returned at once with another glass preciselysimilar in make and pattern to the one which he had placed aside. Intothat clear glass he poured some whisky, afterwards mixing with it somesoda-water from the syphon--this mixture he poured away into the soil ofa flower-pot which stood in the window. And that done he placed thesecond glass on the tray in the place where the first had stood, andpicking up the first, in the same light, gingerly fashion, he wentupstairs to his own rooms at the top of the house. 

Five minutes later Mr. Tertius emerged from his rooms. He then carriedin his hand a small, square bag, and he took great care to handle itvery carefully as he went downstairs and into the square. At the cornerof Orchard Street he got another taxi-cab and bade the driver go toEndsleigh Gardens. And during the drive he took the greatest pains tonurse the little bag on his knee, thereby preserving the equilibrium ofthe glass inside it. 

Ringing the bell of one of the houses in Endsleigh Gardens, Mr. Tertiuswas presently confronted by a trim parlourmaid, whose smile was ampleproof that the caller was well-known to her. 

"Is the Professor in, Mary?" asked Mr. Tertius. "And if he is, is heengaged?"

The trim parlourmaid replied that the Professor was in, and that shehadn't heard that he was particularly engaged, and she immediatelypreceded the visitor up a flight or two of stairs to a door, which inaddition to being thickly covered with green felt, was set in flanges ofrubber--these precautions being taken, of course, to ensure silence inthe apartment within. An electric bell was set in the door; a moment ortwo elapsed before any response was made to the parlourmaid's ring. Thenthe door automatically opened, the parlourmaid smiled at Mr. Tertius andretired; Mr. Tertius walked in; the door closed softly behind him. 

The room in which the visitor found himself was a large and lofty one, lighted from the roof, from which it was also ventilated by a patentarrangement of electric fans. Everything that met the view betokenedscience, order, and method. The walls, destitute of picture or ornament, were of a smooth neutral tinted plaster; where they met the floor thecorners were all carefully rounded off so that no dust could gather incracks and crevices; the floor, too, was of smooth cement; there was nospot in which a speck of dust could settle in improper peace. A seriesof benches ran round the room, and gave harbourings to a collection ofscientific instruments of strange appearance and shape; two largetables, one at either end of the room, were similarly equipped. And at adesk placed between them, and just then occupied in writing in anote-book, sat a large man, whose big muscular body was enveloped in abrown holland blouse or overall, fashioned something like a smock-frockof the old-fashioned rural labourer. He lifted a colossal, mop-like headand a huge hand as Mr. Tertius stepped across the threshold, and hisspectacled eyes twinkled as their glance fell on the bag which thevisitor carried so gingerly. 

"Hullo, Tertius!" exclaimed the big man, in a deep, rich voice. "Whathave you got there? Specimens?"

Mr. Tertius looked round for a quite empty space on the adjacent bench, and at last seeing one, set his bag down upon it, and sighed withrelief. 

"My dear Cox-Raythwaite!" he said, mopping his forehead with a bandannahandkerchief which he drew from the tail of his coat. "I am thankful tohave got these things here in--I devoutly trust!--safety. Specimens?Well, not exactly; though, to be sure, they may be specimens of--I don'tquite know what villainy yet. Objects?--certainly! Perhaps, my dearProfessor, you will come and look at them. "

The Professor slowly lifted his six feet of muscle and sinew out of hischair, picked up a briar pipe which lay on his desk, puffed a greatcloud of smoke out of it, and lounged weightily across the room to hisvisitor. 

"Something alive?" he asked laconically. "Likely to bite?"

"Er--no!" replied Mr. Tertius. "No--they won't bite. The fact is, " hewent on, gingerly opening the bag, "this--er--this, or these are they. "

Professor Cox-Raythwaite bent his massive head and shoulders over thelittle bag and peered narrowly into its obscurity. Then he started. 

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "A glass tumbler! And--is it a sandwich? Why, what on earth----"

He made as if to pull the glass out of the bag, and Mr. Tertius hastilyseized the great hand in an agony of apprehension. 

"My dear Cox-Raythwaite!" he said. "Pray don't! Allow me--presently. When either of these objects is touched it must be in the most, quitethe most, delicate fashion. Of course, I know you have a fairy-likegentleness of touch--but don't touch these things yet. Let me explain. Shall we--suppose we sit down. Give me--yes--give me one of yourcigars. "

The Professor, plainly mystified, silently pointed to a cigar box whichstood on a corner of his desk, and took another look into the bag. 

"A sandwich--and a glass!" he murmured reflectively. "Um! Well?" hecontinued, going back to his chair and dropping heavily into it. "Andwhat's it all about, Tertius? Some mystery, eh?"

Mr. Tertius drew a whiff or two of fragrant Havana before he replied. Then he too dropped into a chair and pulled it close to his friend'sdesk. 

"My dear Professor!" he said, in a low, thrilling voice, suggestive ofvast importance, "I don't know whether the secret of one of the mostastounding crimes of our day may not lie in that innocent-lookingbag--or, rather, in its present contents. Fact! But I'll tell you--youmust listen with your usual meticulous care for small details. The truthis--Jacob Herapath has, I am sure, been murdered!"

"Murdered!" exclaimed the Professor. "Herapath? Murder--eh? Now then, slow and steady, Tertius--leave out nothing!"

"Nothing!" repeated Mr. Tertius solemnly. "Nothing! You shall hearall. And this it is--point by point, from last night until--untilthe present moment. That is--so far as I know. There may have beendevelopments--somewhere else. But this is what I know. "

When Mr. Tertius had finished a detailed and thorough-going account ofthe recent startling discovery and subsequent proceedings, to all ofwhich Professor Cox-Raythwaite listened in profound silence, he rose, and tip-toeing towards the bag, motioned his friend to follow him. 

"Now, my dear sir, " he said, whispering in his excitement as if hefeared lest the very retorts and crucibles and pneumatic troughs shouldhear him, "Now, my dear sir, I wish you to see for yourself. First ofall, the glass. I will take it out myself--I know exactly how I put itin. I take it out--thus! I place it on this vacant space--thus. Look foryourself, my dear fellow. What do you see?"

The Professor, watching Mr. Tertius's movements with undisguisedinterest, took off his spectacles, picked up a reading-glass, bent downand carefully examined the tumbler. 

"Yes, " he said, after a while, "yes, Tertius, I certainly see distinctthumb and finger-marks round the upper part of this glass. Oh, yes--nodoubt of that!"

"Allow me to take one of your clean specimen slides, " observed Mr. Tertius, picking up a square of highly polished glass. "There! I placethis slide here and upon it I deposit this sandwich. Now, my dearCox-Raythwaite, favour me by examining the sandwich even more closelythan you did the glass--if necessary. "

But the Professor shook his head. He clapped Mr. Tertius on theshoulder. 

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Good! Pooh!--no need for care there. Thething's as plain as--as I am. Good, Tertius, good!"

"You see it?" said Mr. Tertius, delightedly. 

"See it! Good Lord, why, who could help see it?" answered the Professor. "Needs no great amount of care or perception to see that, as I said. Ofcourse, I see it. Glad you did, too!"

"But we must take the greatest care of it, " urged Mr. Tertius. "The mostparticular care. That's why I came to you. Now, what can we do? Howpreserve this sandwich--just as it is?"

"Nothing easier, " replied the Professor. "We'll soon fix that. We'll putit in such safety that it will still be a fresh thing if it remainsuntouched until London Bridge falls down from sheer decay. "

He moved off to another part of the laboratory, and presently returnedwith two objects, one oblong and shallow, the other deep and square, which on being set down before Mr. Tertius proved to be glass boxes, wonderfully and delicately made, with removable lids that fitted intoperfectly adjusted grooves. 

"There, my dear fellow, " he said. "Presently I will deposit the glass inthat, and the sandwich in this. Then I shall adjust and seal the lids insuch a fashion that no air can enter these little chambers. Then throughthose tiny orifices I shall extract whatever air is in them--to the mostinfinitesimal remnant of it. Then I shall seal those orifices--and thereyou are. Whoever wants to see that sandwich or that glass will find botha year hence--ten years hence--a century hence!--in precisely the samecondition in which we now see them. And that reminds me, " he continued, as he turned away to his desk and picked up his pipe, "that reminds me, Tertius--what are you going to do about these things being seen?They'll have to be seen, you know. Have you thought of the police--thedetectives?"

"I have certainly thought of both, " replied Mr. Tertius. "But--I thinknot yet, in either case. I think one had better await the result of theinquest. Something may come out, you know. "

"Coroners and juries, " observed the Professor oracularly, "are good atfinding the obvious. Whether they get at the mysteries and thesecrets----"

"Just so--just so!" said Mr. Tertius. "I quite apprehend you. All thesame, I think we will see what is put before the coroner. Now, whatpoint suggests itself to you, Cox-Raythwaite?"

"One in particular, " answered the Professor. "Whatever medical evidenceis called ought to show without reasonable doubt what time Herapathactually met his death. "

"Quite so, " said Mr. Tertius gravely. "If that's once established----"

"Then, of course, your own investigation, or suggestion, or theory aboutthat sandwich will be vastly simplified, " replied the Professor. "Meanwhile, you will no doubt take some means of observing--eh?"

"I shall use every means to observe, " said Mr. Tertius with a significantsmile, which was almost a wink. "Of that you may be--dead certain!"

Then he left Professor Cox-Raythwaite to hermetically seal up the glassand the sandwich, and quitting the house, walked slowly back to PortmanSquare. As he turned out of Oxford Street into Orchard Street thenewsboys suddenly came rushing along with the _Argus_ special. 

CHAPTER VI

THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER

Mr. Tertius bought a copy of the newspaper, and standing aside on thepavement, read with much interest and surprise the story whichTriffitt's keen appetite for news and ready craftsmanship in writing hadso quickly put together. Happening to glance up from the paper in thecourse of his reading, he observed that several other people weresimilarly employed. The truth was that Triffitt had headed his column:"MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF MR. HERAPATH, M. P. IS IT SUICIDE OR MURDER?"--andas this also appeared in great staring letters on the contents billswhich the newsboys were carrying about with them, and as Herapath hadbeen well known in that district, there was a vast amount of interestaroused thereabouts by the news. Indeed, people were beginning tochatter on the sidewalks, and at the doors of the shops. And as Mr. Tertius turned away in the direction of Portman Square, he heard oneexcited bystander express a candid opinion. 

"Suicide?" exclaimed this man, thrusting his paper into the hands of acompanion. "Not much! Catch old Jacob Herapath at that game--he was adeuced deal too fond of life and money! Murder, sir--murder!--that's theticket--murder!"

Mr. Tertius went slowly homeward, head bent and eyes moody. He lethimself into the house; at the sound of his step in the hall PeggieWynne looked out of the study. She retreated into it at sight of Mr. Tertius, and he followed her and closed the door. Looking narrowly ather, he saw that the girl had been shedding tears, and he laid his handshyly yet sympathetically on her arm. "Yes, " he said quietly, "I've beenfeeling like that ever since--since I heard about things. But I don'tknow--I suppose we shall feel it more when--when we realize it more, eh?Just now there's the other thing to think about, isn't there?"

Peggie mopped her eyes and looked at him. He was such a quiet, unobtrusive, inoffensive old gentleman that she wondered more than everwhy Barthorpe had refused to admit him to the informal conference. 

"What other thing?" she asked. 

Mr. Tertius looked round the room--strangely empty now that JacobHerapath's bustling and strenuous presence was no longer in it--andshook his head. 

"There's one thought you mustn't permit yourself to harbour for a moment, my dear, " he answered. "Don't even for a fraction of time allow yourselfto think that my old friend took his own life! That's--impossible. "

"I don't, " said Peggie. "I never did think so. It is, as you say, impossible. I knew him too well to believe that. So, of course, it's----"

"Murder, " assented Mr. Tertius. "Murder! I heard a man in the streetvoice the same opinion just now. Of course! It's the only opinion. Yetin the newspaper they're asking which it was. But I suppose thenewspapers must be--sensational. "

"You don't mean to say it's in the newspapers already?" exclaimedPeggie. 

Mr. Tertius handed to her the _Argus_ special, which he had carriedcrumpled up in his hand. 

"Everybody's reading it out there in the streets, " he said. "It'sextraordinary, now, how these affairs seem to fascinate people. Yes--it's all there. That is, of course, as far as it's gone. "

"How did the paper people come to know all this?" asked Peggie, glancingrapidly over Triffitt's leaded lines. 

"I suppose they got it from the police, " replied Mr. Tertius. "I don'tknow much about such matters, but I believe the police and the Press arein constant touch. Of course, it's well they should be--it attractspublic notice. And in cases like this, public notice is an excellentthing. We shall have to hear--and find out--a good deal before we get atthe truth in this case, my dear. "

Peggie suddenly flung down the newspaper and looked inquiringly at theold man. 

"Mr. Tertius, " she said abruptly, "why wouldn't Barthorpe let you comeinto that room down there at the office this morning?"

Mr. Tertius did not answer this direct question at once. He walked awayto the window and stood looking out into the square for a while. Whenat last he spoke his voice was singularly even and colourless. He mighthave been discussing a question on which it was impossible to feel anyemotion. 

"I really cannot positively say, my dear, " he replied. "I have known, ofcourse, for some time that Mr. Barthorpe Herapath is not well disposedtowards me. I have observed a certain coldness, a contempt, on his part. I have been aware that he has resented my presence in this house. And Isuppose he felt that as I am not a member of the family, I had no rightto sit in council with him and with you. "

"Not a member of the family!" exclaimed Peggie. "Why, you came here soonafter I came--all those years ago!"

"I have dwelt under Jacob Herapath's roof, in this house, fifteenyears, " said Mr. Tertius, reflectively. "Fifteen years!--yes. Yes--Jacoband I were--good friends. "

As he spoke the last word a tear trickled from beneath Mr. Tertius'sspectacles and ran down into his beard, and Peggie, catching sight ofit, impulsively jumped from her seat and kissed him affectionately. 

"Never mind, Mr. Tertius!" she said, patting his shoulders. "You and Iare friends, too, anyway. I don't like Barthorpe when he's like that--Ihate that side of him. And anyhow, Barthorpe doesn't matter--to me. Idon't suppose he matters to anything--except himself. "

Mr. Tertius gravely shook his head. 

"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath may matter a great deal, my dear, " he remarked. "He is a very forceful person. I do not know what provision my poorfriend may have made, but Barthorpe, you will remember, is his nephew, and, I believe, his only male relative. And in that case----"

Mr. Tertius was just then interrupted by the entrance of a footman whocame in and looked inquiringly at Peggie. 

"There's a taxi-cab driver at the door, miss, " he announced. "He says hewould like to speak to some one about the news in the paper about--aboutthe master, miss. "

Peggie looked at Mr. Tertius. And Mr. Tertius quickly made a sign to thefootman. 

"Bring the man in at once, " he commanded. And, as if to lose no time, hefollowed the footman into the hall, and at once returned, conducting ayoung man who carried a copy of the _Argus_ in his hand. "Yes?" he said, closing the door behind them and motioning the man to a seat. "You wishto tell us something! This lady is Miss Wynne--Mr. Herapath's niece. Youcan tell us anything you think of importance. Do you know anything, then?"

The taxi-cab driver lifted the _Argus_. 

"This here newspaper, sir, " he answered. "I've just been reading ofit--about Mr. Herapath, sir. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Tertius gently. "Yes?"

"Well, sir--strikes me as how I drove him, sir, this morning, " answeredthe driver. "Gentleman of his appearance, anyway, sir--that's a fact!"

Mr. Tertius glanced at Peggie, who was intently watching the caller. 

"Ah!" he said, turning again to the driver, "you think you drove eitherMr. Herapath or a gentleman of his appearance this morning. You did notknow Mr. Herapath by sight, then?"

"No, sir. I've only just come into this part--came for the first timeyesterday. But I'm as certain----"

"Just tell us all about it, " said Mr. Tertius, interrupting him. "Tellus in your own way. Everything, you know. "

"Ain't so much to tell, sir, " responded the driver. "All the same, soon's I'd seen this piece in the paper just now I said to myself, 'I'dbest go round to Portman Square and tell what I do know, ' I says. Andit's like this, sir--I come on this part yesterday--last night it was. My taxi belongs to a man as keeps half a dozen, and he put me on tonight work, this end of Oxford Street. Well, it 'ud be just about aquarter to two this morning when a tall, well-built gentleman comes outof Orchard Street and made for my cab. I jumps down and opens the doorfor him. 'You know St. Mary Abbot's Church, Kensington?' he says as hegot in. 'Drive me down there and pull up at the gate. ' So, of course, Iran him down, and there he got out, give me five bob, and off he went. That's it, sir. "

"And when he got out, which way did he go?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"West, sir--along the High Street, past the Town Hall, " promptlyanswered the driver. "And there he crossed the road. I see him cross, because I stopped there a minute or two after he'd got out, tinkering atmy engine. "

"Can you tell us what this gentleman was like in appearance?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"Well, sir, not so much as regards his face, " answered the driver. "Ididn't look at him, not particular, in that way--besides, he was wearingone of them overcoats with a big fur collar to it, and he'd the collarturned high up about his neck and cheeks, and his hat--one of themslouched, soft hats, like so many gentlemen wears nowadays sir--was wellpulled down. But from what bit I see of him, sir, I should say he was afresh-coloured gentleman. "

"Tall and well built, you say?" observed Mr. Tertius. 

"Yes, sir--fine-made gentleman--pretty near six feet, I should havecalled him, " replied the driver. "Little bit inclined to stoutness, like. "

Mr. Tertius turned to Peggie. 

"I believe you have some recent photographs of Mr. Herapath, " he said. "You might fetch them and let me see if our friend here can recognizethem. You didn't notice anything else about your fare?" he went on, after Peggie had left the room. "Anything that excited your attention, eh?"

The driver, after examining the pattern of the carpet for one minute andstudying the ceiling for another, slowly shook his head. But he thensuddenly started into something like activity. 

"Yes, there was, sir, now I come to think of it!" he exclaimed. "Ihadn't thought of it until now, but now you mention it, there was. Inoticed he'd a particularly handsome diamond ring on his left hand--anextra fine one, too, it was. "

"Ah!" said Mr. Tertius. "A very fine diamond ring on his left hand? Now, how did you come to see that?"

"He rested that hand on the side of the door as he was getting in, sir, and I noticed how it flashed, " answered the driver. "There was a lampright against us, you see, sir. "

"I see, " said Mr. Tertius. "He wasn't wearing gloves, then?"

"He hadn't a glove on that hand, sir. He was carrying some papers init--a sort of little roll of papers. "

"Ah!" murmured Mr. Tertius. "A diamond ring--and a little roll ofpapers. " He got up from his chair and put a hand in his pocket. "Now, myfriend, " he went on, chinking some coins as he withdrew it, "you haven'ttold this to any one else, I suppose?"

"No, sir, " answered the driver. "Came straight here, sir. "

"There's a couple of sovereigns for your trouble, " said Mr. Tertius, "and there'll be more for you if you do what I tell you to do. Atpresent--that is, until I give you leave--don't say a word of this to asoul. Not even to the police--yet. In fact, not a word to them until Isay you may. Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it--I shallknow where to find you. If you want me, keep an eye open for me in thesquare outside, or in the street. When the young lady comes back withthe photographs, don't mention the ring to her. This is a very queerbusiness, and I don't want too much said just yet. Do as I tell you, andI'll see you're all right. Understand?"

The driver pocketed his sovereigns, and touched his forehead with aknowing look. 

"All right, sir, " he said. "I understand. Depend on me, sir--I shan'tsay a word without your leave. "

Peggie came in just then with a half a dozen cabinet photographs in herhand. One by one she exhibited them to the driver. 

"Do you recognize any of these?" she asked. 

The driver shook his head doubtingly until Peggie showed him ahalf-length of her uncle in outdoor costume. Then his eyes lighted up. 

"Couldn't swear as to the features, miss, " he exclaimed. "But I'd takemy 'davy about the coat and the hat! That's what the gentleman waswearing as I drove this morning--take my Gospel oath on it. "

"He recognizes the furred overcoat and the soft hat, " murmured Mr. Tertius. "Very good--very good! All right, my man--we are much obligedto you. "

He went out into the hall with the driver, and had another word insecret with him before the footman opened the door. As the door closedMr. Tertius turned slowly back to the study. And as he turned hemuttered a word or two and smiled cynically. 

"A diamond ring!" he said. "Jacob Herapath never wore a diamond ring inhis life!"

CHAPTER VII

IS THERE A WILL?

When Triffitt hurried off with his precious budget of news Selwoodlingered on the step of the office watching his retreating figure, andwondering about the new idea which the reporter had put into his mind. It was one of those ideas which instantly arouse all sorts of vague, sinister possibilities, but Selwood found himself unable to formulateanything definite out of any of them. Certainly, if Mr. Herapath diedat, or before, twelve o'clock midnight, he could not have been inPortman Square at one o'clock in the morning! Yet, according to all theevidence, he had been there, in his own house, in his own study. Hiscoachman had seen him in the act of entering the house; there was proofthat he had eaten food and drunk liquor in the house. The doctor musthave made a mistake--and yet, Selwood remembered, he had spoken verypositively. But if he had not made a mistake?--what then? How couldJacob Herapath be lying dead in his office at Kensington and nibbling ata sandwich in Portman Square at one and the same hour? Clearly there wassomething wrong, something deeply mysterious, something----

At that point of his surmisings and questionings Selwood heard himselfcalled by Barthorpe Herapath, and he turned to see that gentlemanstanding in the hall dangling a bunch of keys, which Selwood instantlyrecognized. 

"We have just found these keys, " said Barthorpe. "You remember theinspector said he found no keys in my uncle's pockets? We found thesepushed away under some loose papers on the desk. It looks as if he'd putthem on the desk when he sat down, and had displaced them when he fellout of his chair. Of course, they're his--perhaps you recognize them?"

"Yes, " answered Selwood, abruptly. "They're his. "

"I want you to come with me while I open his private safe, " continuedBarthorpe. "At junctures like these there are always things that have gotto be done. Now, did you ever hear my uncle speak of his will--whetherhe'd made one, and, if so, where he'd put it? Hear anything?"

"Nothing, " replied Selwood. "I never heard him mention such a thing. "

"Well, between ourselves, " said Barthorpe, "neither did I. I've done allhis legal work for him for a great many years--ever since I began topractice, in fact--and so far as I know, he never made a will. More thanonce I've suggested that he should make one, but like most men who arein good health and spirits, he always put it off. However, we must lookover his papers both here and at Portman Square. "

Selwood made no comment. He silently followed Barthorpe into theprivate room in which his late employer had so strangely met his death. The body had been removed by that time, and everything bore its usualaspect, save for the presence of the police inspector and the detective, who were peering about them in the mysterious fashion associated withtheir calling. The inspector was looking narrowly at the fastenings ofthe two windows and apparently debating the chances of entrance and exitfrom them; the detective, armed with a magnifying glass, was examiningthe edges of the door, the smooth backs of chairs, even the surface ofthe desk, presumably for finger-marks. 

"I shan't disturb you, " said Barthorpe, genially. "Mr. Selwood and Imerely wish to investigate the contents of this safe. There's nolikelihood of finding what I'm particularly looking for in any of hisdrawers in that desk, " he continued, turning to Selwood. "I knew enoughof his habits to know that anything that's in there will be of a purelybusiness nature--referring to the estate. If he did keep anything that'spersonal here, it'll be in that safe. Now, which is the key? Do youknow?"

He handed the bunch of keys to Selwood. And Selwood, who was feelingstrangely apathetic about the present proceedings, took them mechanicallyand glanced carelessly at them. Then he started. 

"There's a key missing!" he exclaimed, suddenly waking into interest. "Iknow these keys well enough--Mr. Herapath was constantly handing them tome. There ought to be six keys here--the key of this safe, the key ofthe safe at Portman Square, the latch-key for this office, the key ofthis room, the latch-key of the house, and a key of a safe at the AlphaSafe Deposit place. That one--the Safe Deposit key--is missing. "

Barthorpe knitted his forehead, and the two police officials paused intheir tasks and drew near the desk at which Selwood was standing. 

"Are you certain of that?" asked Barthorpe. 

"Sure!" answered Selwood. "As I say, I've been handling these keys everyday since I came to Mr. Herapath. "

"When did you handle them last?"

"Yesterday afternoon: not so very long before Mr. Herapath went down tothe House. That was in Portman Square. He gave them to me to get somepapers out of the safe there. "

"Was that Safe Deposit key there at that time?"

"They were all there--all six. I'm certain of it, " asserted Selwood. "This is the key of this safe, " he went on, selecting one. 

"Open the safe, then, " said Barthorpe. "Another safe at the Alpha, eh?"he continued, musingly. "I never knew he had a safe there. Did you everknow him to use it?"

"I've been to it myself, " answered Selwood. "I took some documents thereand deposited them, two days ago. There's not very much in this safe, "he went on, throwing open the door. "It's not long since I tidied itout--at his request. So far as I know, there are no private papers ofany note there. He never made much use of this safe--in my presence, atany rate. "

"Well, we'll see what there is, anyhow, " remarked Barthorpe. He began toexamine the contents of the safe methodically, taking the various papersand documents out one by one and laying them in order on a small tablewhich Selwood wheeled up to his side. Within twenty minutes he had gonethrough everything, and he began to put the papers back. 

"No will there, " he murmured. "We'll go on to Portman Square now, Mr. Selwood. After all, it's much more likely that he'd keep his will in thesafe at his own house--if he made one. But I don't believe he ever madea will. "

Mr. Tertius and Peggie Wynne were still in the study when Barthorpe andSelwood drove up to the house. The driver of the taxi-cab had just goneaway, and Mr. Tertius was discussing his information with Peggie. Hearing Barthorpe's voice in the hall he gave her a warning glance. 

"Quick!" he said hurriedly. "Attend to what I say! Not a word to yourcousin about the man who has just left us. At present I don't want Mr. Barthorpe Herapath to know what he told us. Be careful, my dear--not aword! I'll tell you why later on--but at present, silence--strictsilence!"

Barthorpe Herapath came bustling into the room, followed by Selwood, who, as it seemed to Peggie, looked utterly unwilling for whatever taskmight lay before him. At sight of Mr. Tertius, Barthorpe came to asudden halt and frowned. 

"I don't want to discuss matters further, Mr. Tertius, " he said coldly. "I thought I had given you a hint already. My cousin and I have privatematters to attend to, and I shall be obliged if you'll withdraw. You'vegot private rooms of your own in this house, I believe--at any rate, until things are settled--and it will be best if you keep to them. "

Mr. Tertius, who had listened to this unmoved, turned to Peggie. 

"Do you wish me to go away?" he asked quietly. 

Barthorpe turned on him with an angry scowl. 

"It's not a question of what Miss Wynne wishes, but of what I order;" heburst out. "If you've any sense of fitness, you'll know that until myuncle's will is found and his wishes ascertained I'm master here, Mr. Tertius, and----"

"You're not my master, Barthorpe, " exclaimed Peggie, with a sudden flashof spirit. "I know what my uncle's wishes were as regards Mr. Tertius, and I intend to respect them. I've always been mistress of this housesince my uncle brought me to it, and I intend to be until I find I've noright to be. Mr. Tertius, you'll please to stop where you are!"

"I intend to, " said Mr. Tertius, calmly. "I never had any otherintention. Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, I believe, will hardly use force tocompel me to leave the room. "

Barthorpe bit his lips as he glanced from one to the other. 

"Oh!" he said. "So that's how things are? Very good, Mr. Tertius. No, Ishan't use physical force. But mind I don't use a little moral force--aslight modicum of that would be enough for you, I'm thinking!"

"Do I understand that you are using threatening language to me?" askedMr. Tertius, mildly. 

Barthorpe sneered, and turned to Selwood. 

"We'll open this safe now, " he said. "You know which is the key, Isuppose, " he went on, glaring at Peggie, who had retreated to thehearthrug and was evidently considerably put out by her cousin'sbehaviour. "I suppose you never heard my uncle mention a will? We'vesearched his private safe at the office and there's nothing there. Personally, I don't believe he ever made a will--I never heard of it. And I think he'd have told me if--"

Mr. Tertius broke in upon Barthorpe's opinions with a dry cough. 

"It may save some unnecessary trouble if I speak at this juncture, " hesaid. "There is a will. "

Barthorpe's ruddy cheeks paled in spite of his determined effort toappear unconcerned. He twisted round on Mr. Tertius with a startled eyeand twitching lips. 

"You--you say there is a will!" he exclaimed. "You say--what do you knowabout it?"

"When it was made, where it was made, where it now is, " answered Mr. Tertius. 

"Where it now is!" repeated Barthorpe. "Where it now--is! And where isit, I should like to know?"

Mr. Tertius, who had gone up to Peggie, laid his hand reassuringly onher arm. 

"Don't be afraid, my dear, " he whispered. "Perhaps, " he continued, glancing at Barthorpe, "I had better tell you when and where it wasmade. About six months ago--in this room. One day Mr. Herapath called mein here. He had his then secretary, Mr. Burchill, with him. He took adocument out of a drawer, told us that it was his will, signed it in ourjoint presence, and we witnessed his signature in each other's presence. He then placed the will in an envelope, which he sealed. I do not knowthe terms of the will--but I know where the will is. "

Barthorpe's voice sounded strangely husky as he got out one word:

"Where?"

Mr. Tertius took Peggie by the elbow and led her across the room to arecess in which stood an ancient oak bureau. 

"This old desk, " he said, "belonged, so he always told me, to Jacob'sgreat-grandfather. There is a secret drawer in it. Here it is--concealedbehind another drawer. You put this drawer out--so--and here is thesecret one. And here--where I saw Jacob Herapath put it--is the will. "

Barthorpe, who had followed these proceedings with almost irrepressibleeagerness, thrust forward a shaking hand. But Mr. Tertius quietly handedthe sealed envelope to Peggie. 

"This envelope, " he remarked, "is addressed to Miss Wynne. "

Barthorpe made an effort and controlled himself. 

"Open it!" he said hoarsely. "Open it!"

Peggie fumbled with the seal of the envelope and then, with a suddenimpulse, passed it to Selwood. 

"Mr. Selwood!" she exclaimed imploringly. "You--I can't. You open it, and--"

"And let him read it, " added Mr. Tertius. 

Selwood, whose nerves had been strung to a high pitch of excitement bythis scene, hastily slit open the envelope, and drew out a folded sheetof foolscap paper. He saw at a glance that there was very little toread. His voice trembled slightly as he began a recital of the contents. 

 "'This is the last will of me, Jacob Herapath, of 500, Portman Square, London, in the County of Middlesex. I give, devise, and bequeath everything of which I die possessed, whether in real or personal estate, absolutely to my niece, Margaret Wynne, now resident with me at the above address, and I appoint the said Margaret Wynne the sole executor of this my will. And I revoke all former wills and codicils. Dated this eighteenth day of April, 1912. 

 "'JACOB HERAPATH. '"

Selwood paused there, and a sudden silence fell--to be as suddenlybroken by a sharp question from Barthorpe. 

"The Witnesses?" he said. "The witnesses!"

Selwood glanced at the further paragraph which he had not thought itnecessary to read. 

"Oh, yes!" he said. "It's witnessed all right. " And he went on reading. 

 "'Signed by the testator in the presence of us both present at the same time who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto set our names as witnesses. 

 "'JOHN CHRISTOPHER TERTIUS, of 500, Portman Square, London: Gentleman. 

 "'FRANK BURCHILL, of 331, Upper Seymour Street, London: Secretary. '"

As Selwood finished, he handed the will to Peggie, who in her turnhastily gave it to Mr. Tertius. For a moment nobody spoke. ThenBarthorpe made a step forward. 

"Let me see that!" he said, in a strangely quiet voice. "I don't want tohandle it--hold it up!"

For another moment he stood gazing steadily, intently, at the signaturesat the foot of the document. Then, without a word or look, he twistedsharply on his heel, and walked swiftly out of the room and the house. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE SECOND WITNESS

If any close observer had walked away with Barthorpe Herapath from thehouse in Portman Square and had watched his face and noted his manner, that observer would have said that his companion looked like a man who waseither lost in a profound day-dream or had just received a shock that hadtemporarily deprived him of all but the mechanical faculties. And in pointof strict fact, Barthorpe was both stunned by the news he had justreceived and plunged into deep speculation by a certain feature of it. Hehurried along, scarcely knowing where he was going--but he was thinkingall the same. And suddenly he pulled himself up and found that he hadturned down Portman Street and was already in the thick of Oxford Street'sbusy crowds. A passer-by into whom he jostled in his absent-mindednesssnarled angrily, bidding him look where he was going--that pulledBarthorpe together and he collected his wits, asking himself what hewanted. The first thing that met his gaze on this recovery was a littleItalian restaurant and he straightway made for the door. 

"This is what I want, " he muttered. "Some place in which to sit down andthink calmly. "

He slipped into a quiet corner as soon as he had entered the restaurant, summoned a waiter with a glance, and for a moment concentrated hisattention on the bill of fare which the man put before him. That slightmental exercise restored him; when the waiter had taken his simple orderand gone away, Barthorpe was fully himself again. And finding himself inas satisfactory a state of privacy as he could desire, with none tooverlook or spy on him, he drew from an inner pocket a letter-case whichhe had taken from Jacob Herapath's private safe at the estate office andinto which he had cast a hurried glance before leaving Kensington forPortman Square. 

From this letter-case he now drew a letter, and as he unfolded it hemuttered a word or two. 

"Frank Burchill, 331, Upper Seymour Street, " he said. "Um--but not UpperSeymour Street any longer, I think. Now let's see what it all is--whatit all means I've got to find out. "

The sheet of paper which he was handling was of the sort used bytypists, but the letter itself was written by hand, and Barthorperecognized the penmanship as that of his uncle's ex-secretary, Burchill, second witness to the will which had just been exhibited to him. Then heread, slowly and carefully, what Burchill had written to JacobHerapath--written, evidently, only a few days previously. For there wasthe date, plain enough. 

 "35c, Calengrove Mansions, "Maida Vale, W. "_November 11th_, 19--. 

 "DEAR SIR, "I don't know that I am particularly surprised that you have up to now entirely ignored my letters of the 1st and the 5th instant. You probably think that I am not a person about whom any one need take much trouble; a mean cur, perhaps, who can do no more than snap at a mastiff's heels. I am very well aware (having had the benefit of a year's experience of your character and temperament) that you have very little respect for unmoneyed people and are contemptuous of their ability to interfere with the moneyed. But in that matter you are mistaken. And to put matters plainly, it will pay you far better to keep me a friend than to transform me into an enemy. Therefore I ask you to consider well and deeply the next sentence of this letter--which I will underline. 

 "I am in full possession of the secret which you have taken such vast pains to keep for fifteen years. 

 "I think you are quite competent to read my meaning, and I now confidently expect to hear that you will take pleasure in obliging me in the way which I indicated to you in my previous letters. 

 "Yours faithfully, "FRANK BURCHILL. "

Barthorpe read this communication three times, pausing over everysentence, seeking to read the meanings, the implications, the subtlyveiled threat. When he folded the square sheet and replaced it in theletter-case he half spoke one word:

"Blackmail!"

Then, staring in apparent idleness about the little restaurant, with itsgilt-framed mirrors, its red, plush-covered seats, its suggestion offoreign atmosphere and custom, he idly drummed the tips of his fingerson the table, and thought. Naturally, he thought of the writer of theletter. Of course, he said to himself, of course he knew Burchill. Burchill had been Jacob Herapath's private secretary for rather morethan a year, and it was now about six months since Jacob had got rid ofhim. He, Barthorpe, remembered very well why Jacob had quietly dismissedBurchill. One day Jacob had said to him, with a dry chuckle:

"I'm getting rid of that secretary of mine--it won't do. "

"What won't do?" Barthorpe had asked. 

"He's beginning to make eyes at Peggie, " Jacob had answered with anotherchuckle, "and though Peggie's a girl of sense, that fellow's too goodlooking to have about a house. I never ought to have had him. However--hegoes. "

Barthorpe, as he ate the cutlets and sipped the half-bottle of claretwhich the waiter presently brought him, speculated on these facts andmemories. He was not very sure about Burchill's antecedents: he believedhe was a young man of good credentials and high respectability--personally, he had always wondered why old Jacob Herapath, a practical business man, should have taken as a private secretary a fellow who looked, dressed, spoke, and behaved like a play-actor. As it all came within the scope ofthings he mused on Burchill and his personal appearance, calling up theex-secretary's graceful and slender figure, his oval, olive-tinted face, his large, dark, lustrous eyes, his dark, curling hair, his somewhataffected dress, his tall, wide-brimmed hats, his taper fingers, hisbig, wide-ended cravats. It had once amused Barthorpe--and many otherpeople--to see Jacob Herapath and his secretary together; nevertheless, Jacob had always spoken of Burchill as being thoroughly capable, painstaking, thorough and diligent. His airs and graces Jacob put down asa young man's affectations--yet there came the time when they suited Jacobno longer. 

"I catch him talking too much to Peggie, " he had added, in thatconversation of which Barthorpe was thinking. "Better get rid of himbefore they pass the too-much stage. "

So Burchill had gone, and Barthorpe had heard no more of him until now. But what he had heard now was a revelation. Burchill had witnessed awill of Jacob Herapath's, which, if good and valid and the only will inexistence, would leave him, Barthorpe, a ruined man. Burchill hadwritten a letter to Jacob Herapath asking for some favour, reward, compensation, as the price of his silence about a secret. What secret?Barthorpe could not even guess at it--but Burchill had said, evidentlyknowing what he was talking about, that Jacob Herapath had taken vastpains to keep it for fifteen years. 

By the time Barthorpe had finished his lunch he had come to theconclusion that there was only one thing for him to do. He must gostraight to Calengrove Mansions and interview Mr. Frank Burchill. In oneway or another he must make sure of him, or, rather--though it wasreally the same thing--sure of what he could tell. And on the way therehe would make sure of something else--in order to do which he presentlycommissioned a taxi-cab and bade its driver go first to 331, UpperSeymour Street. 

The domestic who answered Barthorpe's double knock at that house shookher head when he designedly asked for Mr. Frank Burchill. Nobody of thatname, she said. But on being assured that there once had been a lodgerof that name in residence there, she observed that she would fetch hermistress, and disappeared to return with an elderly lady who also shookher head at sight of the caller. 

"Mr. Burchill left here some time ago, " she said. "Nearly six months. Idon't know where he is. "

"Did he leave no address to which his letters were to be sent?" askedBarthorpe, affecting surprise. 

"He said there'd be no letters coming--and there haven't been, " answeredthe landlady. "And I've neither seen nor heard of him since he went. "

Something in her manner suggested to Barthorpe that she had no desire torenew acquaintance with her former lodger. This sent Barthorpe away wellsatisfied. It was precisely what he wanted. The three people whom he hadleft in Portman Square in all probability knew no other address thanthis at which to seek for Burchill when he was wanted; they would seekhim there eventually and get no news. Luckily for himself, Barthorpeknew where he was to be found, and he went straight off up Edgware Roadto find him. 

Calengrove Mansions proved to be a new block of flats in the dip ofMaida Vale; 35c was a top flat in a wing which up to that stage of itsexistence did not appear to be much sought after by would-be tenants. Itwas some time before Barthorpe succeeded in getting an answer to hisring and knock; when at last the door was opened Burchill himself lookedout upon him, yawning, and in a dressing-gown. And narrowly andsearchingly as Barthorpe glanced at Burchill he could not see a trace ofunusual surprise or embarrassment in his face. He looked just as any manmight look who receives an unexpected caller. 

"Oh!" he said. "Mr. Barthorpe Herapath! Come in--do. I'm a bit late--agood bit late, in fact. You see, I'm doing dramatic criticism now, andthere was an important _première_ last night at the Hyperion, and I hadto do a full column, and so--but that doesn't interest you. Come in, pray. "

He led the way into a small sitting-room, drew forward an easy-chair, and reaching down a box of cigarettes from the mantelpiece offered itscontents to his visitor. Barthorpe, secretly wondering if all thisunconcerned behaviour was natural or merely a bit of acting, took acigarette and dropped into the chair. 

"I don't suppose you thought of seeing me when you opened your door, Burchill?" he remarked good-humouredly, as he took the match which hishost had struck for him. "Last man in the world you thought of seeing, eh?"

Burchill calmly lighted a cigarette for himself before he answered. 

"Well, " he said at last, "I don't know--you never know who's going toturn up. But to be candid, I didn't expect to see you, and I don't knowwhy you've come. "

Barthorpe slowly produced the letter-case from his pocket, tookBurchill's letter from it, and held it before him. 

"That's what brought me here, " he said significantly. "That! Of course, you recognize it. "

Burchill glanced at the letter without turning a hair. If he was merelyacting, thought Barthorpe, he was doing it splendidly, and instead ofwriting dramatic criticism he ought to put on the sock and buskinshimself. But somehow he began to believe that Burchill was not acting. And he was presently sure of it when Burchill laughed--contemptuously. 

"Oh!" said Burchill. "Ah! So Mr. Jacob Herapath employs legalassistance--your assistance--in answering me? Foolish--foolish! Or, since that is, perhaps, too strong a word--indiscreet. Indiscreet--andunnecessary. Say so, pray, to Mr. Jacob Herapath. "

Barthorpe remained silent a moment; then he put the letter back in thecase and gave Burchill a sharp steady look. 

"Good gracious, man!" he said quietly. "Are you pretending? Or--haven'tyou heard? Say--that--to Jacob Herapath? Jacob Herapath is dead!"

Burchill certainly started at that. What was more he dropped hiscigarette, and when he straightened himself from picking it up his facewas flushed a little. 

"Upon my honour!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know. Dead! When? It must havebeen sudden. "

"Sudden!" said Barthorpe. "Sudden? He was murdered!"

There was no doubt that this surprised Burchill. At any rate, he showedall the genuine signs of surprise. He stood staring at Barthorpe for afull minute of silence, and when he spoke his voice had lost somethingof its usual affectation. 

"Murdered?" he said. "Murdered! Are you sure of that? You are? Goodheavens!--no, I've heard nothing. But I've not been out since twoo'clock this morning, so how could I hear? Murdered----" he broke offsharply and stared at his visitor. "And you came to me--why?"

"I came to ask you if you remember witnessing my uncle's will, " repliedBarthorpe promptly. "Give me a plain answer. Do you remember?"

CHAPTER IX

GREEK AGAINST GREEK

At this direct question, Burchill, who had been standing on thehearthrug since Barthorpe entered the room, turned away and took a seatin the corner of a lounge opposite his visitor. He gave Barthorpe apeculiarly searching look before he spoke, and as soon as he repliedBarthorpe knew that here was a man who was not readily to be drawn. 

"Oh, " said Burchill, "so I am supposed to have witnessed a will made byMr. Jacob Herapath, am I?"

Barthorpe made a gesture of impatience. 

"Don't talk rot!" he said testily. "A man either knows that he witnesseda will or knows that he didn't witness a will. "

"Excuse me, " returned Burchill, "I don't agree with that proposition. Ican imagine it quite possible that a man may think he has witnessed awill when he has done nothing of the sort. I can also imagine it just aspossible that a man may have really witnessed a will when he thought hewas signing some much less important document. Of course, you're alawyer, and I'm not. But I believe that what I have just said is muchmore in accordance with what we may call the truth of life than whatyou've said. "

"If a man sees another man sign a document and witnesses the signaturetogether with a third man who had been present throughout, what wouldyou say was being done?" asked Barthorpe, sneeringly. "Come, now?"

"I quite apprehend your meaning, " replied Burchill. "You put it verycleverly. "

"Then why don't you answer my question?" demanded Barthorpe. 

Burchill laughed softly. 

"Why not answer mine?" he said. "However, I'll ask it in another andmore direct form. Have you seen my signature as witness to a will madeby Jacob Herapath?"

"Yes, " replied Barthorpe. 

"Are you sure it was my signature?" asked Burchill. 

Barthorpe lifted his eyes and looked searchingly at his questioner. ButBurchill's face told him nothing. What was more, he was beginning tofeel that he was not going to get anything out of Burchill that Burchilldid not want to tell. He remained silent, and again Burchill laughed. 

"You see, " he said, "I can suppose all sorts of things. I can suppose, for example, that there's such a thing as forging a signature--twosignatures--three signatures to a will--or, indeed, to any otherdocument. Don't you think that instead of asking me a direct questionlike this that you'd better wait until this will comes before the--is itthe Probate Court?--and then let some of the legal gentlemen ask me ifthat--that!--is my signature? I'm only putting it to you, you know. Butperhaps you'd like to tell me--all about it?" He paused, lookingcarefully at Barthorpe, and as Barthorpe made no immediate answer, hewent on speaking in a lower, softer tone. "All about it, " he repeatedinsinuatingly. "Ah!"

Barthorpe suddenly flung his cigarette in the hearth with a gesture thatimplied decision. 

"I will!" he exclaimed. "It may be the shortest way out. Verywell--listen, then. I tell you my uncle was murdered at his officeabout--well, somewhere between twelve and three o'clock this morning. Naturally, after the preliminaries were over, I wanted to find outif he'd made a will--naturally, I say. "

"Naturally, you would, " murmured Burchill. 

"I didn't believe he had, " continued Barthorpe. "But I examined his safeat the office, and I was going to examine that in his study at PortmanSquare when Tertius said in the presence of my cousin, myself, andSelwood, your successor, that there was a will, and produced one from asecret drawer in an old bureau----"

"A secret drawer in an old bureau!" murmured Burchill. "How deeplyinteresting for all of you!--quite dramatic. Yes?"

"Which, on being inspected, " continued Barthorpe, "proved to be aholograph----"

"Pardon, " interrupted Burchill, "a holograph? Now, I am very ignorant. What is a holograph?"

"A holograph will is a will entirely written in the handwriting of theperson who makes it, " replied Barthorpe. 

"I see. So this was written out by Mr. Jacob Herapath, and witnessedby--whom?" asked Burchill. 

"Tertius as first witness, and you as second, " answered Barthorpe. "Nowthen, I've told you all about it. What are you going to tell me?Come--did you witness this will or not? Good gracious, man!--don't yousee what a serious thing it is?"

"How can I when I don't know the contents of the will?" asked Burchill. "You haven't told me that--yet. "

Barthorpe swallowed an exclamation of rage. 

"Contents!" he exclaimed. "He left everything--everything!--to mycousin! Everything to her. "

"And nothing to you, " said Burchill, accentuating his habitual drawl. "Really, how infernally inconsiderate! Yes--now I see that it isserious. But--only for you. "

Barthorpe glared angrily at him and began to growl, almost threateningly. And Burchill spoke, soothingly and quietly. 

"Don't, " he said. "It does no good, you know. Serious--yes. Mostserious--for you, as I said. But remember--only serious for you if thewill is--good. Eh?"

Barthorpe jumped to his feet and thrust his hands in his pockets. Hebegan to pace the room. 

"Hang me if I know what you mean, Burchill!" he said. "Is that yoursignature on that will or not?"

"How can I say until I see it?" asked Burchill, with seeming innocence. "Let's postpone matters until then. By the by, did Mr. Tertius say thatit was my signature?"

"What do you mean!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Why, of course, he said thathe and you witnessed the will!"

"Ah, to be sure, he would say so, " assented Burchill. "Of course. Foolish of me to ask. It's quite evident that we must postpone mattersuntil this will is--what do you call it?--presented, propounded--what isit?--for probate. Let's turn to something else. My letter to your uncle, for instance. Of course, as you've got it, you've read it. "

Barthorpe sat down again and stared. 

"You're a cool customer, Master Burchill!" he said. "By Jove, you are!You're playing some game. What is it?"

Burchill smiled deprecatingly. 

"What's your own?" he asked. "Or, if that's too pointed a question atpresent, suppose we go back to--my letter? Want to ask me anything aboutit?"

Barthorpe again drew the letter from the case. He affected to re-readit, while Burchill narrowly watched him. 

"What, " asked Barthorpe at last, "what was it that you wanted my uncleto oblige you with? A loan?"

"If it's necessary to call it anything, " replied Burchill suavely, "youcan call it a--well, say a donation. That sounds better--it's moredignified. "

"I don't suppose it matters much what it's called, " said Barthorpedrily. "I should say, from the tone of your letter, that most peoplewould call it----"

"Yes, but not polite people, " interrupted Burchill, "and you and Iare--or must be--polite. So we'll say donation. The fact is, I want tostart a newspaper--weekly--devoted to the arts. I thought youruncle--now, unfortunately, deceased--would finance it. I didn't wantmuch, you know. "

"How much?" asked Barthorpe. "The amount isn't stated in this letter. "

"It was stated in the two previous letters, " replied Burchill. "Oh, notmuch. Ten thousand. "

"The price of your silence, eh?" suggested Barthorpe. 

"Dirt cheap!" answered Burchill. 

Barthorpe folded up the letter once more and put it away. He helpedhimself to another cigarette and lighted it before he spoke again. Thenhe leaned forward confidentially. 

"What is the secret?" he asked. 

Burchill stated and assumed an air of virtuous surprise. 

"My dear fellow!" he said. "That's against all the rules--all the rulesof----"

"Of shady society, " sneered Barthorpe. "Confound it, man, what do youbeat about the bush so much for? Hang it, I've a pretty good notion ofyou, and I daresay you've your own of me. Why can't you tell me?"

"You forget that I offered not to tell for--ten thousand pounds, " saidBurchill. "Therefore I should want quite as much for telling. If youcarry ten thousand in cash on you----"

"Is there a secret?" asked Barthorpe. "Sober earnest, now?"

"I have no objection to answering that question, " replied Burchill. "There is!"

"And you want ten thousand pounds for it?" suggested Barthorpe. 

"Pardon me--I want a good deal more for it, under the present muchaltered circumstances, " said Burchill quietly. "There is an old sayingthat circumstances alter cases. It's true--they do. I would have takenten thousand pounds from your uncle to hold my tongue--true. But--thecase is altered by his death. "

Barthorpe pondered over this definite declaration for a minute or two. Then, lowering his voice, he said:

"Looks uncommonly like--blackmail! And that----"

"Pardon me again, " interrupted Burchill. "No blackmail at all--in myview. I happen to possess information of a certain nature, and----"

Barthorpe interrupted in his turn. 

"The thing is, " he said, "the only thing is--how long are you and Igoing to beat about the bush? Are you going to tell me if you signedthat will I told you of?"

"Certainly not before I've seen it, " answered Burchill promptly. 

"Will you tell me then?"

"That entirely depends. "

"On--what?"

"Circumstances!"

"Have the circumstances got anything to do with this secret?"

"Everything! More than anything--now. "

"Now--what?"

"Now that Jacob Herapath is dead. Look here!" continued Burchill, leaning forward and speaking impressively. "Take my counsel. Leave thisfor the moment and come to see me--now, when? Tonight. Come tonight. I've nothing to do. Come at ten o'clock. Then--I'll be in a position tosay a good deal more. How will that do?"

"That'll do, " answered Barthorpe after a moment's consideration. "Tonight, here, at ten o 'clock. "

He got up and made for the door. Burchill got up too, and for a momentboth men glanced at each other. Then Burchill spoke. 

"I suppose you've no idea who murdered your uncle?" he said. 

"Not the slightest!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Have you?"

"None! Of course--the police are on the go?"

"Oh, of course!"

"All right, " said Burchill. "Tonight, then. "

He opened the door for his visitor, nodded to him, as he passed out, andwhen he had gone sat down in the easy chair which Barthorpe had vacatedand for half an hour sat immobile, thinking. At the end of thathalf-hour he rose, went into his bedroom, made an elaborate toilet, wentout, found a taxi-cab, and drove off to Portman Square. 

CHAPTER X

MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY

When Barthorpe Herapath left his cousin, Mr. Tertius, and Selwood incompany with the newly discovered will, and walked swiftly out of thehouse and away from Portman Square, he passed without seeing it a quiet, yet smartly appointed coupé brougham which came round the corner fromPortman Street and pulled up at the door which Barthorpe had justquitted. From it at once descended an elderly gentleman, short, stout, and rosy, who bustled up the steps of the Herapath mansion and appearedto fume and fret until his summons was responded to. When the door wasopened to him he bustled inside at the same rate, rapped out theinquiry, "Miss Wynne at home?--Miss Wynne at home?" several timeswithout waiting for a reply, and never ceased in his advance to the doorof the study, into which he precipitated himself panting and blowing, asif he had run hard all the way from his original starting-point. Thethree people standing on the hearthrug turned sharply and two of themuttered cries which betokened pleasure mixed with relief. 

"Mr. Halfpenny!" exclaimed Peggie, almost joyfully. "How good of you tocome!"

"We had only just spoken--were only just speaking of you, " remarked Mr. Tertius. "In fact--yes, Mr. Selwood and I were thinking of going roundto your offices to see if you were in town. "

The short, stout, and rosy gentleman who, as soon as he had got wellwithin the room, began to unswathe his neck from a voluminous white silkmuffler, now completed his task and advancing upon Peggie solemnlykissed her on both cheeks, held her away from him, looked at her, kissedher again, and then patted her on the shoulder. This done, he shookhands solemnly with Mr. Tertius, bowed to Selwood, took off hisspectacles and proceeded to polish them with a highly-coloured bandanahandkerchief which he produced from the tail of his overcoat. Thisoperation concluded, he restored the spectacles to his nose, sat down, placed his hands, palm downwards, on his plump knees and solemnlyinspected everybody. 

"My dear friends!" he said in a hushed, deep voice. "My dear, goodfriends! This dreadful, awful, most afflicting news! I heard it butthree-quarters of an hour ago--at the office, to which I happenedby mere chance, to have come up for the day. I immediately orderedout our brougham and drove here--to see if I could be of any use. You will command me, my dear friends, in anything that I can do. Notprofessionally, of course. No--in that respect you have Mr. BarthorpeHerapath. But--otherwise. "

Mr. Tertius looked at Peggie. 

"I don't know whether we shan't be glad of Mr. Halfpenny's professionalservices?" he said. "The truth is, Halfpenny, we were talking of seeingyou professionally when you came in. That's one truth--another is that awill has been found--our poor friend's will, of course. "

"God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. "A will--our poor friend'swill--has been found! But surely, Barthorpe, as nephew, and solicitor--eh?"

Again Mr. Tertius looked at Peggie. 

"I suppose we'd better tell Mr. Halfpenny everything, " he remarked. "Ofcourse, Halfpenny, you'll understand that as soon as this dreadfulaffair was discovered and the first arrangements had been made, Barthorpe, as only male relative, began to search for a will. Heresented any interference from me and was very rude to me, but when hecame here and proposed to examine that safe, I told him at once that Iknew of a will and where it was, though I didn't know its terms. And Iimmediately directed him to it, and we found it and read it a fewminutes ago with the result that Barthorpe at once quitted thehouse--you must have passed him in the square. "

"God bless us!" repeated Mr. Halfpenny. "I judge from that, then--butyou had better show me this document. "

Mr. Tertius at once produced the will, and Mr. Halfpenny, rising fromhis chair, marched across the room to one of the windows where hesolemnly half-chanted every word from start to finish. This performanceover, he carefully and punctiliously folded the document into itsoriginal lines, replaced it in its envelope, and grasping this firmly inhis hand, resumed his seat and motioned everybody to attention. 

"My dear Tertius!" he said. "Oblige me by narrating, carefully, briefly, your recollection of the circumstances under which your signature tothis highly important document was obtained and made. "

"Easily done, " responded Mr. Tertius. "One night, some months ago, whenour poor friend was at work here with his secretary, a Mr. FrankBurchill, he called me into the room, just as Burchill was about toleave. He said: 'I want you two to witness my signature to a paper. 'He----"

"A moment, " interrupted Mr. Halfpenny. "He said--'a paper. ' Did he notsay 'my will'?"

"Not before the two of us. He merely said a paper. He produced thepaper--that paper, which you now hold. He let us see that it was coveredwith writing, but we did not see what the writing was. He folded itover, laid it, so folded, on that desk, and signed his name. Then weboth signed it in the blank spaces which he indicated: I first, thenBurchill. He then put it into an envelope--that envelope--and fastenedit up. As regards that part of the proceedings, " said Mr. Tertius, "thatis all. "

"There was, then, another part?" suggested Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Yes, " replied Mr. Tertius. "There was. Burchill then left--at once. I, too, was leaving the room when Jacob called me back. When we were alone, he said: 'That was my will that you've just witnessed. Never mind what'sin it--I may alter it, or some of it, some day, but I don't think Ishall. Now look here, I'm going to seal this envelope, and I'll show youwhere I put it when it's sealed. ' He then sealed the envelope in twoplaces, as you see, and afterwards, in my presence, placed it in asecret drawer, which I'll show to you now. And that done, he said:'There, Tertius, you needn't mention that to anybody, unless I happen tobe taken off suddenly. ' And, " concluded Mr. Tertius, as he motioned Mr. Halfpenny to accompany him to the old bureau, "I never, of course, didmention it until half an hour ago. "

Mr. Halfpenny solemnly inspected the secret drawer, made no remark uponit, and reseated himself. 

"Now, " he said, "this Mr. Frank Burchill--the other witness? He left ourold friend?"

"Some little time ago, " replied Mr. Tertius. 

"Still, we have his address on the will, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "I shallcall on Mr. Burchill at once--as soon as I leave here. There is, ofcourse, no doubt as to the validity of this will. You said just now thatBarthorpe left you as soon as he had seen it. Now, what did Barthorpesay about it?"

"Nothing!" answered Mr. Tertius. "He went away without a word--rushedaway, in fact. "

Mr. Halfpenny shook his head with profound solemnity. 

"I am not in the least surprised to hear that, " he observed. "Barthorpenaturally received a great shock. What I am surprised at is--the termsof the will. Nothing whatever to Barthorpe--his only male relative--hisonly brother's only son. Extraordinary! My dear, " he continued, turningto Peggie, "can you account for this? Do you know of anything, anydifference between them, anything at all which would make your uncleleave his nephew out of his will?"

"Nothing!" answered Peggie. "And I'm very troubled about it. Does itreally mean that I get everything, and Barthorpe nothing?"

"That is the precise state of affairs, " answered Mr. Halfpenny. "And itis all the more surprising when we bear in mind that you two are theonly relations Jacob Herapath had, and that he was a rich man--a veryrich man indeed. However, he doubtless had his reasons. And now, as Iconclude you desire me to act for you, I shall take charge of this willand lock it up in my safe as soon as I return to the office. On my way, I shall call at Mr. Burchill's address and just have a word with him. Tertius, you had better come with me. And--yes, there is another thingthat I should like to have done. Mr. Selwood--are you engaged on anybusiness?"

"No, " replied Selwood, who was secretly speculating on the meaning ofthe morning's strange events. "I have nothing to attend to. "

"Then will you go to Mr. Barthorpe Herapath's office--in Craven Street, I think?--and see him personally and tell him that Mr. BenjaminHalfpenny is in town, has been acquainted with these matters by Mr. Tertius and Miss Wynne, and would esteem it a favour if he would callupon him before five o'clock. Thank you, Mr. Selwood. Now, Tertius, youand I will attend to our business. "

Left alone, Peggie Wynne suddenly realized that the world had become avastly different world to what it had seemed a few short hours before. This room, into which Jacob Herapath, bustling and busy, would nevercome again, was already a place of dread; nay, the whole house inwhich she had spent so many years of comfort and luxury suddenlyassumed a strange atmosphere of distastefulness. It was true that heruncle had never spent much time in the house. An hour or two in themorning--yes, but by noon he had hurried off to some Committee at theHouse of Commons, and in session time she had never seen him againthat day. But he had a trick of running in for a few minutes atintervals during the day; he would come for a cup of tea; sometimes hewould contrive to dine at home; whether he was at home or not, hispresence, always alert, masterful, active, seemed to be everywhere inthe place. She could scarcely realize that she would never see himagain. And as she stood looking at his vacant chair she made an effortto realize what it all really meant to her, and suddenly, for thefirst time in her life, she felt the meaning of the usually vagueterm--loneliness. In all practical essentials she was absolutelyalone. So far as she knew she had no relations in the world butBarthorpe Herapath--and there was something--something shadowy andundefinable--about Barthorpe which she neither liked nor trusted. Moreover, she had caught a glimpse of Barthorpe's face as he turnedfrom looking at the will and hurried away, and what she had seen hadgiven her a strange feeling of fear and discomfort. Barthorpe, sheknew, was not the sort of man to be crossed or thwarted or balked ofhis will, and now----

"Supposing Barthorpe should begin to hate me because all the money ismine?" she thought. "Then--why, then I should have no one! No one of myown flesh and blood, anyway. Of course, there's Mr. Tertius. But--I mustsee Barthorpe. I must tell him that I shall insist on sharing--if it'sall mine, I can do that. And yet--why didn't Uncle Jacob divide it? Whydid he leave Barthorpe--nothing?"

Still pondering sadly over these and kindred subjects Peggie wentupstairs to a parlour of her own, a room in which she did as she likedand made into a den after her own taste. There, while the Novemberafternoon deepened in shadow, she sat and thought still more deeply. Andshe was still plunged in thought when Kitteridge came softly into theroom and presented a card. Peggie took it from the butler's salver andglanced half carelessly at it. Then she looked at Kitteridge with someconcern. 

"Mr. Burchill?" she said. "Here?"

"No, miss, " answered Kitteridge. "Mr. Burchill desired me to present hismost respectful sympathy, and to say that if he could be of any serviceto you or to the family, he begged that you would command him. Hisaddress is on this card, miss. "

"Very kind of him, " murmured Peggie, and laid the card aside on herwriting-table. When Kitteridge had gone she picked it up and looked atit again. Burchill?--she had been thinking of him only a few minutesbefore the butler's entrance; thinking a good deal. And her thoughts hadbeen disquieted and unhappy. Burchill was the last man in the world thatshe wished to have anything to do with, and the fact that his nameappeared on Jacob Herapath's will had disturbed her more than she wouldhave cared to admit. 

CHAPTER XI

THE SHADOW

Mr. Halfpenny, conducting Mr. Tertius to the coupé brougham, installedhim in its further corner, got in himself and bade his coachman driveslowly to 331, Upper Seymour Street. 

"I said slowly, " he remarked as they moved gently away, "because Iwanted a word with you before we see this young man. Tertius--what's themeaning of all this?"

Mr. Tertius groaned dolefully and shook his head. 

"There is so much, Halfpenny, " he answered, "that I don't quite knowwhat you specifically mean by this. Do you mean----"

"I mean, first of all, Herapath's murder, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "Youthink it is a case of murder?"

"I'm sure it's a case of murder--cold, calculated murder, " replied Mr. Tertius, with energy. "Vile murder, Halfpenny. "

"And, as far as you know, is there no clue?" asked the old lawyer. "There's nothing said or suggested in the newspapers. Haven't you anynotion--hasn't Barthorpe any notion?"

Mr. Tertius remained silent for a while. The coupé brougham turned intoUpper Seymour Street. 

"I think, " he said at last, "yes, I think that when we've made thiscall, I shall ask you to accompany me to my friend Cox-Raythwaite's, inEndsleigh Gardens--you know him, I believe. I've already seen him thismorning and told him--something. When we get there, I'll tell it to you, and he shall show you--something. After that, we'll hear what your legalinstinct suggests. It is my opinion, Halfpenny--I offer it with alldeference, as a layman--that great, excessive caution is necessary. Thiscase is extraordinary--very extraordinary. That is--in my opinion. "

"It's an extraordinary thing that Jacob Herapath should have made thatwill, " murmured Mr. Halfpenny reflectively. "Why Barthorpe should beentirely ignored is--to me--marvellous. And--it may be--significant. Younever heard of any difference, quarrel, anything of that sort, betweenhim and his uncle?"

"I have not the remotest notion as to what the relations were thatexisted between the uncle and the nephew, " replied Mr. Tertius. "Andthough, as I have said, I knew that the will was in existence, I hadn'tthe remotest idea, the faintest notion, of its contents until we took itout of the sealed envelope an hour or so ago. But----" he paused andshook his head meaningly. 

"Well?" said Mr. Halfpenny. 

"I'm very sure, knowing Jacob as I did, that he had a purpose in makingthat will, " answered Mr. Tertius. "He was not the man to do anythingwithout good reasons. I think we are here. "

The landlady of No. 331 opened its door herself to these two visitors. Her look of speculative interest on seeing two highly respectableelderly gentlemen changed to one of inquisitiveness when she heard whatthey wanted. 

"No, sir, " she answered. "Mr. Frank Burchill doesn't live here now. Andit's a queer thing that during the time he did live here and gave memore trouble than any lodger I ever had, him keeping such strange hoursof a night and early morning, he never had nobody to call on him, as Irecollect of! And now here's been three gentlemen asking for him withinthis last hour--you two and another gentleman. And I don't know whereMr. Burchill lives, and don't want, neither!"

"My dear lady!" said Mr. Halfpenny, mildly and suavely. "I am sure we aredeeply sorry to disturb you--no doubt we have called you away from yourdinner. Perhaps, er, this"--here there was a slight chink of silver inMr. Halfpenny's hand, presently repeated in one of the landlady's--"will, er, compensate you a little? But we are really anxious to see Mr. Burchill--haven't you any idea where he's gone to live? Didn't heleave an address for any letters that might come here?"

"He didn't, sir--not that he ever had many letters, " answered thelandlady. "And I haven't the remotest notion. Of course, if I had I'dgive the address. But, as I said to the gentleman what was here not solong ago, I've neither seen nor heard of Mr. Burchill since he left--andthat's six months since. "

Mr. Halfpenny contrived to give his companion a nudge of the elbow. 

"Is it, indeed, ma'am?" he said. "Ah! That gentleman who called, now?--Ithink he must be a friend of ours, who didn't know we were coming. Whatwas he like, now, ma'am?"

"He was a tallish, fine-built gentleman, " answered the landlady. "Fresh-coloured, clean-shaved gentleman. And for that matter, he can'tbe so far away--it isn't more than a quarter of an hour since he washere. I'll ask my girl if she saw which way he went. "

"Don't trouble, pray, ma'am, on my account, " entreated Mr. Halfpenny. "It's of no consequence. We're deeply obliged to you. " He swept off hishat in an old-fashioned obeisance and drew Mr. Tertius away to the coupébrougham. "That was Barthorpe, of course, " he said. "He lost no time, you see, Tertius, in trying to see Burchill. "

"Why should he want to see Burchill?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"Wanted to know what Burchill had to say about signing the will, ofcourse, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "Well--what next? Do you want me to seeCox-Raythwaite with you?"

Mr. Tertius, who had seemed to be relapsing into a brown study on theedge of the pavement, woke up into some show of eagerness. "Yes, yes!"he said. "Yes, by all means let us go to Cox-Raythwaite. I'm sure that'sthe thing to do. And there's another man--the chauffeur. But--yes, we'llgo to Cox-Raythwaite first. Tell your man to drive to the corner ofEndsleigh Gardens--the corner by St. Pancras Church. "

Professor Cox-Raythwaite was exactly where Mr. Tertius had left him inthe morning, when the two visitors were ushered into his laboratory. Andfor the second time that day he listened in silence to Mr. Tertius'sstory. When it was finished, he looked at Mr. Halfpenny, whose solemncountenance had grown more solemn than ever. 

"Queer story, isn't it, Halfpenny?" he said laconically. "How does itstrike you?"

Mr. Halfpenny slowly opened his pursed-up lips. 

"Queer?" he exclaimed. "God bless me!--I'm astounded! I--but let me seethese--these things. "

"Sealed 'em up not so long ago--just after lunch, " remarked theProfessor, lifting his heavy bulk out of his chair. "But you can see 'emall right through the glass. There you are!" He led the way to aside-table and pointed to the hermetically-sealed receptacles in whichhe had safely bestowed the tumbler and the sandwich brought so gingerlyfrom Portman Square by Mr. Tertius. "The tumbler, " he continued, jerkinga big thumb at it, "will have, of course, to be carefully examined by anexpert in finger-prints; the sandwich, so to speak, affords primaryevidence. You see--what there is to see, Halfpenny?"

Mr. Halfpenny adjusted his spectacles, bent down, and examined theexhibits with scrupulous, absorbed interest. Again he pursed up hislips, firmly, tightly, as if he would never open them again; when he didopen them it was to emit a veritable whistle which indicated almost asmuch delight as astonishment. Then he clapped Mr. Tertius on the back. 

"A veritable stroke of genius!" he exclaimed. "Tertius, my boy, youshould have been a Vidocq or a Hawkshaw! How did you come to think ofit? For I confess that with all my forty years' experience of Law, I--well, I don't think I should ever have thought of it!"

"Oh, I don't know, " said Mr. Tertius, modestly. "I--well, I looked--andthen, of course, I saw. That's all!"

Mr. Halfpenny sat down and put his hands on his knees. 

"It's a good job you did see, anyway, " he said, ruminatively; "anuncommonly good job. Well--you're certain of what we may call theco-relative factor to what is most obvious in that sandwich?"

"Absolutely certain, " replied Mr. Tertius. 

"And you're equally certain about the diamond ring?"

"Equally and positively certain!"

"Then, " said Mr. Halfpenny, rising with great decision, "there is onlyone thing to be done. You and I, Tertius, must go at once--at once!--toNew Scotland Yard. In fact, we will drive straight there. I happento know a man who is highly placed in the Criminal InvestigationDepartment--we will put our information before him. He will knowwhat ought to be done. In my opinion, it is one of those cases whichwill require infinite care, precaution, and, for the time being, secrecy--mole's work. Let us go, my dear friend. "

"Want me--and these things?" asked the Professor. 

"For the time being, no, " answered Mr. Halfpenny. "Nor, at present, thetaxi-cab driver that Tertius has told us of. We'll merely tell what weknow. But take care of these--these exhibits, as if they were the applesof your eyes, Cox-Raythwaite. They--yes, they may hang somebody!"

Half an hour later saw Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Tertius closeted with agentleman who, in appearance, resembled the popular conception of acountry squire and was in reality as keen a tracker-down of wrong-doersas ever trod the pavement of Parliament Street. And before Mr. Halfpennyhad said many words he stopped him. 

"Wait a moment, " he said, touching a bell at his side, "we're alreadyacquainted, of course, with the primary facts of this case, and I'vetold off one of our sharpest men to give special attention to it. We'llhave him in. "

The individual who presently entered and who was introduced to the twocallers as Detective-Inspector Davidge looked neither preternaturallywise nor abnormally acute. What he really did remind Mr. Tertius of wasa gentleman of the better-class commercial traveller persuasion--he wascomfortable, solid, genial, and smartly if quietly dressed. And he andthe highly placed gentleman listened to all that the two visitors hadto tell with quiet and concentrated attention and did not even exchangelooks with each other. In the end the superior nodded as if somethingsatisfied him. 

"Very well, " he said. "Now the first thing is--silence. You twogentlemen will not breathe a word of all this to any one. As you saidjust now, Mr. Halfpenny, the present policy is--secrecy. There will be agreat deal of publicity during the next few days--the inquest, and soon. We shall not be much concerned with it--the public will say that asusual we are doing nothing. You may think so, too. But you may count onthis--we shall be doing a great deal, and within a very short time fromnow we shall never let Mr. Barthorpe Herapath out of our sight until--wewant him. "

"Just so, " assented Mr. Halfpenny. He took Mr. Tertius away, and when hehad once more bestowed him in the coupé brougham, dug him in the ribs. "Tertius!" he said, with something like a dry chuckle. "What anextraordinary thing it is that people can go about the world unconsciousthat other folks are taking a very close and warm interest in them! Now, I'll lay a pound to a penny that Barthorpe hasn't a ghost of a notionthat he's already under suspicion. My idea of the affair, sir, is thathe has not the mere phantasm of such a thing. And yet, from now, as ourfriend there observed, Master Barthorpe, sir, will be watched. Shadowed, Tertius, shadowed!"

Barthorpe Herapath certainly had none of the notions of which Mr. Halfpenny spoke. He spent his afternoon, once having quitted Burchill'sflat, in a businesslike fashion. He visited the estate office inKensington; he went to see the undertaker who had been charged with thefuneral arrangements; he called in at the local police-office and sawthe inspector and the detective who had first been brought intoconnection with the case; he made some arrangements with the Coroner'sofficer about the necessary inevitable inquest. He did all these thingsin the fashion of a man who has nothing to fear, who is unconscious thatother men are already eyeing him with suspicion. And he was quiteunaware that when he left his office in Craven Street that evening hewas followed by a man who quietly attended him to his bachelor rooms inthe Adelphi, who waited patiently until he emerged from them to dine ata neighboring restaurant, who himself dined at the same place, and whoeventually tracked him to Maida Vale and watched him enter CalengroveMansions. 

CHAPTER XII

FOR TEN PER CENT

Mr. Frank Burchill welcomed his visitor with easy familiarity--this mighthave been a mere dropping-in of one friend to another, for the veryordinary purpose of spending a quiet social hour before retiring for thenight. There was a bright fire on the hearth, a small smoking-jacket onBurchill's graceful shoulders and fancy slippers on his feet; decantersand glasses were set out on the table in company with cigars andcigarettes. And by the side of Burchill's easy chair was a pile ofnewspapers, to which he pointed one of his slim white hands as the two mensettled themselves to talk. 

"I've been reading all the newspapers I could get hold of, " he observed. "Brought all the latest editions in with me after dinner. There's littlemore known, I think, than when you were here this afternoon. "

"There's nothing more known, " replied Barthorpe. "That is--as far as I'maware. "

Burchill took a sip at his glass and regarded Barthorpe thoughtfullyover its rim. 

"In strict confidence, " he said, "have you got any idea whatever on thesubject?"

"None!" answered Barthorpe. "None whatever! I've no more idea of who itwas that killed my uncle than I have of the name of the horse that'llwin the Derby of year after next! That's a fact. There isn't a clue. "

"The police are at work, of course, " suggested Burchill. 

"Of course!" replied Barthorpe, with an unconcealed sneer. "And a lot ofgood they are. Whoever knew the police to find out anything, except by alucky accident?"

"Just so, " agreed Burchill. "But then--accidents, lucky or otherwise, will happen. You can't think of anybody whose interest it was to getyour esteemed relative out of the way?"

"Nobody!" said Barthorpe. "There may have been somebody. We want to knowwho the man was who came out of the House with him last night--so far wedon't know. It'll all take a lot of finding out. In the meantime----"

"In the meantime, you're much more concerned and interested in the will, eh?" said Burchill. 

"I'm much more concerned--being a believer in present necessities--inhearing what you've got to say to me now that you've brought me here, "answered Barthorpe, coolly. "What is it?"

"Oh, I've a lot to say, " replied Burchill. "Quite a lot. But you'll haveto let me say it in my own fashion. And to start with, I want to ask youa few questions. About your family history, for instance. "

"I know next to nothing about my family history, " said Barthorpe; "butif my knowledge is helpful to what we--or I--want to talk about, fireahead!"

"Good!" responded Burchill. "Now, just tell me what you know about Mr. Jacob Herapath, about his brother, your father, and about his sister, who was, of course, Miss Wynne's mother. Briefly--concisely. "

"Not so much, " answered Barthorpe. "My grandfather was a medicalman--pretty well known, I fancy--at Granchester, in Yorkshire; I, ofcourse, never knew or saw him. He had three children. The eldest wasJacob, who came to his end last night. Jacob left Granchester forLondon, eventually began speculating in real estate, and became--what hewas. The second was Richard, my father. He went out to Canada as a lad, and did there pretty much what Jacob did here in London----"

"With the same results?" interjected Burchill. 

Barthorpe made a wry face. 

"Unfortunately, no!" he replied. "He did remarkably well to a certainpoint--then he made some most foolish and risky speculations in Americanrailroads, lost pretty nearly everything he'd made, and died a poorishman. "

"Oh--he's dead, then?" remarked Burchill. 

"He's dead--years ago, " replied Barthorpe. "He died before I came toEngland. I, of course, was born out there. I----. "

"Never mind you just now, " interrupted Burchill. "Keep to the earlierbranches of the family. Your grandfather had one other child?"

"A daughter, " assented Barthorpe. "I never saw her, either. However, Iknow that her name was Susan. I also know that she married a man namedWynne--my cousin's father, of course. I don't know who he was oranything about him. "

"Nothing?"

"Nothing--nothing at all: My Uncle Jacob never spoke of him tome--except to mention that such a person had once existed. My cousindoesn't know anything about him, either. All she knows is that herfather and mother died when she was about--I think--two years old, andthat Jacob then took charge of her. When she was six years old, hebrought her to live with him. That was about the time I myself came toEngland. "

"All right, " said Burchill. "Now, we'll come to you. Tell aboutyourself. It all matters. "

"Well, of course, I don't know what you're getting at, " repliedBarthorpe. "But I'm sure you do. Myself, eh? Well, I was put to the Lawout there in Canada. When my father died--not over well off--I wrote toUncle Jacob, telling him all about how things were. He suggested that Ishould come over to this country, finish my legal training here, andqualify. He also promised--if I suited him--to give me his legal work. And, of course, I came. "

"Naturally, " said Burchill. "And that's--how long ago?"

"Between fifteen and sixteen years, " answered Barthorpe. 

"Did Jacob Herapath take you into his house?" asked Burchill, continuingthe examination which Barthorpe was beginning to find irksome as well aspuzzling. "I'm asking all this for good reasons--it's necessary, if you'reto understand what I'm going to tell you. "

"Oh, as long as you're going to tell me something I don't mind telling youanything you like to ask, " replied Barthorpe. "That's what I want to begetting at. No--he didn't take me into the house. But he gave me a verygood allowance, paid all my expenses until I got through my remainingexaminations and stages, and was very decent all around. No--I fixed up inthe rooms which I've still got--a flat in the Adelphi. "

"But you went a good deal to Portman Square?"

"Why, yes, a good deal--once or twice a week, as a rule. "

"Had your cousin--Miss Wynne--come there then?"

"Yes, she'd just about come. I remember she had a governess. Of course, Peggie was a mere child then--about five or six. Must have been six, because she's quite twenty-one now. "

"And--Mr. Tertius?"

Burchill spoke the name with a good deal of subtle meaning, andBarthorpe suddenly looked at him with a rising comprehension. 

"Tertius?" he answered. "No--Tertius hadn't arrived on the scene then. He came--soon after. "

"How soon after?"

"I should say, " replied Barthorpe, after a moment's consideration, "Ishould say--from my best recollection--a few months after I came toLondon. It was certainly within a year of my coming. "

"You remember his coming?"

"Not particularly. I remember that he came--at first, I took it, as avisitor. Then I found he'd had rooms of his own given him, and that hewas there as a permanency. "

"Settled down--just as he has been ever since?"

"Just! Never any difference that I've known of, all these years. "

"Did Jacob ever tell you who he was?"

"Never! I never remember my uncle speaking of him in any particularfashion--to me. He was simply--there. Sometimes, you saw him; sometimes, you didn't see him. At times, I mean, you'd meet him at dinner--othertimes, you didn't. "

Burchill paused for a while; when he asked his next question he seemedto adopt a more particular and pressing tone. 

"Now--have you the least idea who Tertius is?" he asked. 

"Not the slightest!" affirmed Barthorpe. "I never have known who he is. I never liked him--I didn't like his sneaky way of going about thehouse--I didn't like anything of him--and he never liked me. I alwayshad a feeling--a sort of intuition--that he resented my presence--infact, my existence. "

"Very likely, " said Burchill, with a dry laugh. "Well--has it everstruck you that there was a secret between Tertius and Jacob Herapath?"

Barthorpe started. At last they were coming to something definite. 

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "So--that's the secret you mentioned in thatletter?"

"Never mind, " replied Burchill. "Answer my question. "

"No, then--it never did strike me. "

"Very well, " said Burchill. "There is a secret. "

"There is?"

"There is! And, " whispered Burchill, rising and coming nearer to hisvisitor, "it's a secret that will put you in possession of the whole ofthe Herapath property! And--I know it. "

Barthorpe had by this time realized the situation. And he was thinkingthings over at a rapid rate. Burchill had asked Jacob Herapath for tenthousand pounds as the price of his silence; therefore----

"And, of course, you want to make something out of your knowledge?" hesaid presently. 

"Of course, " laughed Burchill. He opened a box of cigars, selected oneand carefully trimmed the end before lighting it. "Of course!" herepeated. "Who wouldn't? Besides, you'll be in a position to afford mesomething when you come into all that. "

"The will?" suggested Barthorpe. 

Burchill threw the burnt-out match into the fire. 

"The will, " he said slowly, "will be about as valuable as that--whenI've fixed things up with you. Valueless!"

"You mean it?" exclaimed Barthorpe incredulously. "Then--your signature?"

"Look here!" said Burchill. "The only thing between us is--terms! Fixup terms with me, and I'll tell you the whole truth. And then--you'llsee!"

"Well--what terms?" demanded Barthorpe, a little suspiciously. "If youwant money down----"

"You couldn't pay in cash down what I want, nor anything like it, " saidBurchill. "I may want an advance that you can pay--but it will only bean advance. What I want is ten per cent. On the total value of JacobHerapath's property. "

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Why I believe he'll cut up for agood million and a half!"

"That's about the figure--as I've reckoned it, " assented Burchill. "Butyou'll have a lot left when you've paid me ten per cent. "

Barthorpe fidgeted in his chair. 

"When did you find out this secret?" he asked. 

"Got an idea of it just before I left Jacob, and worked it all out, tothe last detail, after I left, " replied Burchill. "I tell you this for acertainty--when I've told you all I know, you'll know for an absolutefact, that the Herapath property is--yours!"

"Well!" said Barthorpe. "What do you want me to do?"

Burchill moved across to a desk and produced some papers. 

"I want you to sign certain documents, " he said, "and then I'll tell youthe whole story. If the story's no good, the documents are no good. How's that?"

"That'll do!" answered Barthorpe. "Let's get to business. "

It was one o'clock in the morning when Barthorpe left CalengroveMansions. But the eyes that had seen him enter saw him leave, and theshadow followed him through the sleeping town until he, too, sought hisown place of slumber. 

CHAPTER XIII

ADJOURNED

Ever since Triffitt had made his lucky scoop in connection with theHerapath Mystery he had lived in a state of temporary glory, with stronghopes of making it a permanent one. Up to the morning of the event, whichgave him a whole column of the _Argus_ (big type, extra leaded), Triffitt, as a junior reporter, had never accomplished anything notable. As he wasfond of remarking, he never got a chance. Police-court cases--county-courtcases--fires--coroners' inquests--street accidents--they were all excitingenough, no doubt, to the people actively concerned in them, but you nevergot more than twenty or thirty lines out of their details. However, thechance did come that morning, and Triffitt made the most of it, andthe news editor (a highly exacting and particular person) blessed himmoderately, and told him, moreover, that he could call the Herapath casehis own. Thenceforth Triffitt ate, drank, smoked, and slept with thecase; it was the only thing he ever thought of. But at half-past one onthe afternoon of the third day after what one may call the actual startof the affair, Triffitt sat in a dark corner of a tea-shop in KensingtonHigh Street, munching ham sandwiches, sipping coffee, and thinkinglugubriously, if not despairingly. He had spent two and a half hours inthe adjacent Coroner's Court, listening to all that was said in evidenceabout the death of Jacob Herapath, and he had heard absolutely nothingthat was not quite well known to him when the Coroner took his seat, inspected his jurymen, and opened the inquiry. Two and a half hours, atthe end of which the court adjourned for lunch--and the affair was justas mysterious as ever, and not a single witness had said a new thing, nota single fresh fact had been brought forward out of which a fellow couldmake good, rousing copy!

"Rotten!" mumbled Triffitt into his cup. "Extra rotten! Somebody's keepingsomething back--that's about it!"

Just then another young gentleman came into the alcove in which Triffittsat disconsolate--a pink-cheeked young gentleman, who affected a tweedsuit of loud checks and a sporting coat, and wore a bit of feather inthe band of his rakish billycock. Triffitt recognized him as afellow-scribe, one of the youthful bloods of an opposition journal, whomhe sometimes met on the cricket-field; he also remembered that he hadcaught a glimpse of him in the Coroner's Court, and he hastened to makeroom for him. 

"Hullo!" said Triffitt. 

"What-ho!" responded the pink young gentleman. He beckoned knowingly toa waitress, and looked at her narrowly when she came. "Got such a thingas a muffin?" he asked. 

"Muffins, sir--yes, sir, " replied the waitress, "Fresh muffins. "

"Pick me out a nice, plump, newly killed muffin" commanded Triffitt'scompanion. "Leave it in its natural state--that is to say, cold--splitit in half put between the halves a thick, generous slice of that coldham I see on your counter, and produce it with a pot of fresh--and veryhot--China tea. That's all. "

"Plenty too, I should think!" muttered Triffitt. "Fond of indigestion, Carver?"

"I don't think you've ever been in Yorkshire, have you, Triffitt?" askedMr. Carver, settling himself comfortably. "You haven't had thatpleasure?--well, if you'd ever gone to a football match on a Saturdayafternoon in a Yorkshire factory district, you'd have seen men sellingmuffin-and-ham sandwiches--fact! And I give you my word that if you wantsomething to fill you up during the day, something to tide over theweary wait between breakfast and dinner, a fat muffin with a thick sliceof ham is the best thing I know. "

"I don't want anything to fill me up, " grunted Triffitt. "I wantsomething cheering--at present. I've been listening with all my ears forsomething new in that blessed Herapath case all the morning, and, as youknow, there's been nothing!"

"Think so?" said Carver. "Um--I should have said there was a good deal, now. "

"Nothing that I didn't know, anyway, " remarked Triffitt. "I got all thatfirst thing; I was on the spot first. "

"Oh, it was you, was it?" said Carver, with professional indifference. "Lucky man! So you've only been hearing----"

"A repetition of what I'd heard before, " answered Triffitt. "I knew allthat evidence before I went into court. Caretaker--police--folks fromPortman Square--doctor--all the lot! And I guess there'll be nothingthis afternoon--the thing'll be adjourned. "

"Oh, that's of course, " assented Carver, attacking his muffin sandwich. "There'll be more than one adjournment of this particular inquest, Triffitt. But aren't you struck by one or two points?"

"I'm struck by this, " replied Triffitt. "If what the police-surgeonsays--and you noticed how positive he was about it--if what he says istrue, that old Herapath was shot, and died, at, or just before(certainly not after, he positively asserted), twelve o'clock midnight, it was not he who went to Portman Square!"

"That, of course, is obvious, " said Carver. "And it's just as obviousthat whoever went to Portman Square returned from Portman Square to thatoffice. Eh?"

"That hasn't quite struck me, " replied Triffitt. "How is it just asobvious?"

"Because whoever went to Portman Square went in old Herapath'sfur-trimmed coat and his slouch hat, and the fur trimmed coat and slouchhat were found in the office, " answered Carver. "It's absolutely plain, that. I put it like this. The murderer, having settled his man, put onhis victim's coat and hat, took his keys, went to Portman Square, didsomething there, went back to the office, left the coat and hat, andhooked it. That, my son, is a dead certainty. There's been little--ifanything--made of all that before the Coroner, and it's my impression, Triffitt, that somebody--somebody official, mind you--is keepingsomething back. Now, " continued Carver, dropping his voice to aconfidential whisper, "I'm only doing a plain report of this affair forour organ of light and leading, but I've read it up pretty well, andthere are two things I want to know, and I'll tell you what, Triffitt, if you like to go in with me at finding them out--two can always workbetter than one--I'm game!"

"What are the two things?" asked Triffitt, cautiously. "Perhaps I've got'em in mind also. "

"The first's this, " replied Carver. "Somebody--some taxi-cab driver orsomebody of that sort--must have brought the man who personated oldJacob Herapath back to, or to the neighborhood of, the office thatmorning. How is it that somebody hasn't been discovered? You made apoint of asking for him in the _Argus_. Do you know what I think? Ithink he has been discovered, and he's being kept out of the way. That'spoint one. "

"Good!" muttered Triffitt. "And point two?"

"Point two is--where is the man who came out of the House of Commonswith Jacob Herapath that night, the man that the coachman Mountaindescribed? In my opinion, " asserted Carver, "I believe that man's beenfound, too, and he's being kept back. "

"Good again!" said Triffitt. "It's likely. Well, I've a point. Youheard the evidence about old Herapath's keys? Yes--well, where's the keyof that safe that he rented at the Safe Deposit place. That youngsecretary, Selwood, swore that it was on the little bunch the day of themurder, that he saw it at three o'clock in the afternoon. What did JacobHerapath do with it between then and the time of the murder?"

"Yes--that's a great point, " asserted Carver. "We may hear something ofthat this afternoon--perhaps of all these points. "

But when they went back to the densely crowded court it was only to findthat they--and an expectant public--were going to hear nothing more forthat time. As soon as the court re-assembled, there was some puttingtogether of heads on the part of the legal gentlemen and the Coroner;there were whisperings and consultations and noddings and veiled hints, palpable enough to everybody with half an eye; then the Coronerannounced that no further evidence would be taken that day, andadjourned the inquest for a fortnight. Such of the public as hadcontrived to squeeze into the court went out murmuring, and Triffitt andCarver went out too and exchanged meaning glances. 

"Just what I expected!" said Carver. "I reckon the police are at thebottom of all that. A fortnight today we'll be hearing somethinggood--something sensational. "

"I don't want to wait until a fortnight today, " growled Triffitt. "Iwant some good, hot stuff--now!"

"Then you'll have to find it for yourself, very soon, " remarked Carver. "Take my tip--you'll get nothing from the police. "

Triffitt was well aware of that. He had talked to two or three policeofficials and detectives that morning, and had found them singularlyelusive and uncommunicative. One of them was the police-inspector whohad been called to the Herapath Estate Office on the discovery of themurder; another was the detective who had accompanied him. Since themurder Triffitt had kept in touch with these two, and had found themaffable and ready to talk; now, however, they had suddenly curled upinto a dry taciturnity, and there was nothing to be got out of them. 

"Tell you what it is, " he said suddenly. "We'll have to go for thepolice!"

"How go for the police?" asked Carver doubtfully. 

"Throw out some careful hints that the police know more than they'lltell at present, " answered Triffitt, importantly. "That's what I shalldo, anyhow--I've got _carte blanche_ on our rag, and I'll make thepublic ear itch and twitch by breakfast-time tomorrow morning! And afterthat, my boy, you and I'll put our heads together, as you suggest, andsee if we can't do a bit of detective work of our own. See you tomorrowat the usual in Fleet Street. "

Then Triffitt went along to the _Argus_ office, and spent the rest ofthe afternoon in writing up a breezy and brilliant column about thescene at the inquest, intended to preface the ordinary detailed report. He wound it up with an artfully concocted paragraph in which he threwout many thinly veiled hints and innuendoes to the effect that thepolice were in possession of strange and sensational information andthat ere long such a dramatic turn would be given to this HerapathMystery that the whole town would seethe with excitement. He preened hisfeathers gaily over this accomplishment, and woke earlier than usualnext morning on purpose to go out before breakfast and buy the _Argus_. But when he opened that enterprising journal he found that his columnhad been woefully cut down, and that the paragraph over which he had soexercised his brains was omitted altogether. Triffitt had small appetitefor breakfast that morning, and he went early to the office and madehaste to put himself in the way of the news editor, who grinned at sightof him. 

"Look here, Master Triffitt, " said the news editor, "there's such athing as being too smart--and too previous. I was a bit doubtful aboutyour prognostications last night, and I rang up the C. I. D. About 'em. Don't do it again, my son!--you mean well, but the police know their jobbetter than you do. If they want to keep quiet for a while in thismatter, they've good reasons for it. So--no more hints. See?"

"So they do know something?" muttered Triffitt sourly. "Then I wasright, after all!"

"You'll be wrong, after all, if you stick your nose where it isn'twanted, " said the news editor. "Just chuck the inspired prophet game for awhile, will you? Keep to mere facts; you'll be alarming the wrong people, if you don't. Off you go now! and do old Herapath's funeral--it's at noon, at Kensal Green. There'll be some of his fellow M. P. 's there, and so on. Get their names--make a nice, respectable thing of it on conventionallines. And no fireworks! This thing's to lie low at present. "

Triffitt went off to Kensal Green, scowling and cogitating. Of coursethe police knew something! But--what? What they knew would doubtlesscome out in time, but Triffitt had a strong desire to be beforehand withthem. In spite of the douche of cold water which the news editor hadjust administered, Triffitt knew his _Argus_. If he could fathom theHerapath Mystery in such a fashion as to make a real great, smashing, all-absorbing feature of a sensational discovery, the _Argus_ wouldthrow police precaution and official entreaties to the first wind thatswept down Fleet Street. No!--he, Triffitt, was not to be balked. Hewould do his duty--he would go and see Jacob Herapath buried, but hewould also continue his attempt to find out how it was that that burialcame to be. And as he turned into the cemetery and stared at its weirdcollection of Christian and pagan monuments he breathed a fervent prayerto the Goddesses of Chance and Fortune to give him what he called"another look-in. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE SCOTTISH VERDICT

If Triffitt had only known it, the Goddesses of Chance and Fortune werealready close at hand, hovering lovingly and benignly above the crown ofhis own Trilby hat. Triffitt, of course, did not see them, nor dreamthat they were near; he was too busily occupied in taking stock of theblack-garmented men who paid the last tribute of respect (a conventionalphrase which he felt obliged to use) to Jacob Herapath. These men weremany in number; some of them were known to Triffitt, some were not. Heknew Mr. Fox-Crawford, an Under-Secretary of State, who represented theGovernment; he knew Mr. Dayweather and Mr. Encilmore, and Mr. Camfordand Mr. Wallburn; they were all well-known members of Parliament. Also, he knew Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, walking at the head of the procession ofmourners. Very soon he had quite a lengthy list of names; some others, if necessary, he could get from Selwood, whom he recognized as thecortège passed him by. So for the time being he closed his note-book anddrew back beneath the shade of a cypress-tree, respectfully watching. Inthe tail-end of the procession he knew nobody; it was made up, heguessed, of Jacob Herapath's numerous clerks from the estate offices, and----

But suddenly Triffitt saw a face in that procession. The owner of thatface was not looking at Triffitt; he was staring quietly ahead, with theblank, grave demeanour which people affect when they go to funerals. Andit was as well that he was not looking at Triffitt, for Triffitt, seeingthat face, literally started and even jumped a little, feeling as if theearth beneath him suddenly quaked. 

"Gad!" exclaimed Triffitt under his breath. "It is! It can't be! Gad, but I'm certain it is! Can't be mistaken--not likely I should everforget him!"

Then he took off the Trilby hat, which he had resumed after the coffinhad passed, and he rubbed his head as men do when they are exceedinglybewildered or puzzled. After which he unobtrusively followed theprocession, hovered about its fringes around the grave until the lastrites were over, and eventually edged himself up to Selwood as thegathering was dispersing. He quietly touched Selwood's sleeve. 

"Mr. Selwood!" he whispered. "Just a word. I know a lot of thesegentlemen--the M. P. 's and so on--but there are some I don't know. Willyou oblige me, now?--I want to get a full list. Who are the two elderlygentlemen with Mr. Barthorpe Herapath--relatives, eh?"

"No--old personal friends, " answered Selwood, good-naturedly turningaside with the little reporter. "One is Mr. Tertius--Mr. J. C. Tertius--a very old friend of the late Mr. Herapath's; the other is Mr. Benjamin Halfpenny, the solicitor, also an old friend. "

"Oh, I know of his firm, " said Triffitt, busily scribbling. "Halfpennyand Farthing, of course--odd combination, isn't it? And that burlygentleman behind them, now--who's he?"

"That's Professor Cox-Raythwaite, the famous scientist, " answeredSelwood. "He's also an old friend. The gentleman he's speaking to is SirCornelius Debenham, chairman of the World Alliance Association, withwhich Mr. Herapath was connected, you know. "

"I know--I know, " answered Triffitt, still busy. "Those two behind him, now--middle-aged parties?"

"One's Mr. Frankton, the manager, and the other's Mr. Charlwood, thecashier, at the estate office, " replied Selwood. 

"They'll go down in staff and employees, " said Triffitt. "Um--I've got agood list. By the by, who's the gentleman across there--just going up tothe grave--the gentleman who looks like an actor? Is he an actor?"

"That? Oh!" answered Selwood. "No--that's Mr. Frank Burchill, who usedto be Mr. Herapath's secretary--my predecessor. "

"Oh!" responded Triffitt. He had caught sight of Carver a few yards off, and he hurried his notebook into his pocket, and bustled off. "Muchobliged to you, Mr. Selwood, " he said with a grin. "Even we with all ourexperience, don't know everybody, you know--many thanks. " He hastenedover to Carver who was also busy pencilling, and drew him away into theshelter of a particularly large and ugly monument. "I say!" hewhispered. "Here's something! Shove that book away now--I've got all thenames--and attend to me a minute. Don't look too obtrusively--but do yousee that chap--looks like an actor--who is just coming away from thegraveside--tall, well-dressed chap?"

Carver looked across. His face lighted up. 

"I know that man, " he said. "I've seen him at the club--he's been inonce or twice, though he's not a member. He does theatre stuff for the_Magnet_. His name's Burchill. "

Triffitt dropped his friend's arm. 

"Oh!" he said. "So you know him--by sight, anyhow? And his name'sBurchill, eh? Very good. Let's get. "

He walked Carver out of the cemetery, down the Harrow Road, and turnedinto the saloon bar of the first tavern that presented itself. 

"I'm going to have some ale and some bread and cheese, " he observed, "andif you'll follow suit, Carver, we'll sit in that corner, and I'll tellyou something that'll make your hair curl. Two nice plates of bread andcheese, and two large tankards of your best bitter ale, if you please, "he continued, approaching the bar and ringing a half-crown on it. "Yes, Carver, my son--that will curl your hair for you. And, " he went on, whenthey had carried their simple provender over to a quiet corner, "aboutthat chap now known as Burchill--Burchill. Mr. --Frank--Burchill; latesecretary to the respected gentleman whose mortal remains have just beenlaid to rest. Ah!"

"What's the mystery?" asked Carver, setting down his tankard. "Seems to beone, anyway. What about Burchill?"

"Speak his name softly, " answered Triffitt. "Well, my son, I suddenlysaw--him--this morning, and I just as suddenly remembered that I'd seenhim before!"

"You had, eh?" said Carver. "Where?"

Triffitt sank his voice to a still lower whisper. 

"Where?" he said. "Where? In the dock!"

Carver arrested the progress of a lump of bread and cheese and turned inastonishment. 

"In the dock?" he exclaimed. "That chap? Good heavens! When--where?"

"It's a longish story, " answered Triffitt. "But you've got to hear it ifwe're going into this thing--as we are. Know, then, that I have anaunt--Eliza. My aunt--maternal aunt--Eliza is married to a highlyrespectable Scotsman named Kierley, who runs a flour-mill in the ancienttown of Jedburgh, which is in the county of Roxburgh, just over theBorder. And it's just about nine years (I can tell the exact date to aday if I look at an old diary) that Mr. And Mrs. Kierley were goodenough to invite me to spend a few weeks in Bonnie Scotland. And thefirst night of my arrival Kierley told me that I was in luck, forwithin a day or two there was going to be a grand trial before theLords Justiciar--Anglicé, judges. A trial of a man for murder!"

"Great Scott!" said Carver. "Murder, eh? And"--he nodded his head in thedirection of the adjacent cemetery. "Him?"

"Let me explain a few legal matters, " said Triffitt, disregarding thequestion. "Then you'll get the proper hang of things. In Scotland, law'sdifferent in procedure to ours. The High Court of Justiciary is fixedpermanently at Edinburgh, but its judges go on circuit so many times ayear to some of the principal towns, where they hold something like ourown assizes. Usually, only one judge sits, but in cases of specialimportance there are two, and two came to Jedburgh, this being a case ofvery special importance, and one that was arousing a mighty amount ofinterest. It was locally known as the Kelpies' Glen Case, and by thatname it got into all the papers--we could find it, of course, in our ownfiles. "

"I'll turn it up, " observed Carver. 

"By all means, " agreed Triffitt; "but I'll give you an outline of itjust now. Briefly, it was this. About eleven years ago, there was nearthe town of Jedburgh a man named Ferguson, who kept an old-establishedschool for boys. He was an oldish chap, married to a woman a good dealyounger than himself, and she had a bit of a reputation for beingoverfond of the wine of the country. According to what the Kierleys toldme, old Ferguson used to use the tawse on her sometimes, and they led asort of cat-and-dog life. Well, about the time I'm talking about, Ferguson got a new undermaster; he only kept one. This chap was anEnglishman--name of Bentham--Francis Bentham, to give him his fullpatronymic, but I don't know where he came from--I don't think anybodydid. "

"F. B. , eh?" muttered Carver. "Same initials as----"

"Precisely, " said Triffitt, "and--to anticipate--same man. But toproceed in due order. Old Ferguson died rather suddenly--but in quite anabove-board and natural fashion, about six months after this Benthamcame to him. The widow kept on the school, and retained Bentham'sservices. And within half a year of the demise of her first husband, shetook Bentham for her second. "

"Quick work!" remarked Carver. 

"And productive of much wagging of tongues, you may bet!" said Triffitt. "Many things were said--not all of them charitable. Well, this marriagedidn't mend the lady's manners. She still continued, now and then, totake her drops in too generous measure. Rumour had it that the successorto Ferguson followed his predecessor's example and corrected his wife inthe good, old-fashioned way. It was said that the old cat-and-dog lifewas started again by these two. However, before they'd been married ayear, the lady ended that episode by quitting life for good. She wasfound one night lying at the foot of the cliff in the Kelpies'Glen--with a broken neck. "

"Ah!" said Carver. "I begin to see. "

"Now, that Kelpies' Glen, " continued Triffitt, "was a sort of ravinewhich lay between the town of Jedburgh and the school. It was traversedby a rough path which lay along the top of one side of it, amongst treesand crags. At one point, this path was on the very edge of a precipitouscliff; from that edge there was a sheer drop of some seventy or eightyfeet to a bed of rocks down below, on the edge of a brawling stream. Itwas on these rocks that Mrs. Bentham's body was found. She was deadenough when she was discovered, and the theory was that she had comealong the path above in a drunken condition, had fallen over the lowrailings which fenced it in, and so had come to her death. "

"Precisely, " assented Carver, nodding his head with wise appreciation. "Her alcoholic tendencies were certainly useful factors in the case. "

"Just so--you take my meaning, " agreed Triffitt. "Well, at first nobodysaw any reason to doubt this theory, for the lady had been seenstaggering along that path more than once. But she had a brother, acanny Scot who was not over well pleased when he found that hissister--who had come into everything that old Ferguson left, which was acomfortable bit--had made a will not very long before her death in whichshe left absolutely everything to her new husband, Francis Bentham. Thebrother began to inquire and to investigate--and to cut the story short, within a fortnight of his wife's death, Bentham was arrested and chargedwith her murder. "

"On what evidence?" asked Carver. 

"Precious little!" answered Triffitt. "Indeed next to none. Still, there was some. It was proved that he was absent from the house for halfan hour or so about the time that she would be coming along that path;it was also proved that certain footprints in the clay of the path werehis. He contended that he had been to look for her; he proved that hehad often been to look for her in that way; moreover, as to thefootprints, he, like everybody in the house, constantly used that pathin going to the town. "

"Aye, to be sure;" said Carver. "He'd a good case, I'm thinking. "

"He had--and so I thought at the time, " continued Triffitt. "And so agood many folks thought--and they, and I, also thought something else, Ican tell you. I know what the verdict of the crowded court would havebeen!"

"What?" asked Carver. 

"Guilty!" exclaimed Triffitt. "And so far as I'm concerned, I haven't adoubt that the fellow pushed her over the cliff. But opinion's neitherhere nor there. The only thing that mattered, my son, was the jury'sverdict!"

"And the jury's verdict was--what?" demanded Carver. 

Triffitt winked into his empty tankard and set it down with a bang. 

"The jury's verdict, my boy, " he answered, "was one that you can onlyget across the Border. It was '_Not Proven_'!"

CHAPTER XV

YOUNG BRAINS

Carver, who had been listening intently to the memory of a bygone event, pushed away the remains of his frugal lunch, and shook his head as hedrew out a cigarette-case. 

"By gad, Triff, old man!" he said. "If I'd been that chap I'd ratherhave been hanged, I think. Not proven, eh?--whew! That meant----"

"Pretty much what the folk in court and the mob outside thought, "asserted Triffitt. "That scene outside, after the trial, is one of myliveliest recollections. There was a big crowd there--chiefly women. When they heard the verdict there was such yelling and hooting as younever heard in your life! You see, they were all certain about thefellow's guilt, and they wanted him to swing. If they could have got athim, they'd have lynched him. And do you know, he actually had the cheekto leave the court by the front entrance, and show himself to thatcrowd! Then there was a lively scene--stones and brickbats and the mudof the street began flying. Then the police waded in--and they gave Mr. Francis Bentham pretty clearly to understand that there must be no goinghome for him, or the folks would pull his roof over his head. And theyforced him back into the court, and got him away out of the town on thequiet--and I reckon he's never shown his face in that quarter of theglobe since. "

"That will?" asked Carver. "Did it stand good--did he get the woman'smoney?"

"He did. My aunt told me afterwards that he employed some localsolicitor chap--writers, as they call 'em there--to wind everything up, convert everything into cash, for him. Oh, yes!" concluded Triffitt. "Hegot the estate, right enough. Not an awful lot, you know--a thousand ortwo--perhaps three--but enough to go adventuring with elsewhere. "

"You're sure this is the man?" asked Carver. 

"As certain as that I'm myself!" answered Triffitt. "Couldn't mistakehim--even if it is nine years ago. It's true I was only a nipperthen--sixteen or so--but I'd all my wits about me, and I was so takenwith him in the dock, and with his theatrical bearing there--he's a finehand at posing--that I couldn't forget or mistake him. Oh, he's the man!I've often wondered what had become of him. "

"And now you find out that he's up till recently been secretary to JacobHerapath, M. P. , and is just now doing dramatic criticism for the_Magnet_, " observed Carver. "Well, Triffitt, what do you make of it?"

Triffitt, who had filled and lighted an old briarwood pipe, puffedsolemnly and thoughtfully for a while. 

"Well, " he said, "nobody can deny that there's a deep mystery aboutJacob Herapath's death. And knowing what I do about this Bentham orBurchill, and that he's recently been secretary to Jacob Herapath, I'djust like to know a lot more. And--I mean to!"

"Got any plan of campaign?" asked Carver. 

"I have!" affirmed Triffitt with sublime confidence. "And it's this--I'mgoing to dog this thing out until I can go to our boss and tell him thatI can force the hands of the police! For the police are keepingsomething dark, my son, and I mean to find out what it is. I got aquencher this morning from our news editor, but it'll be the last. WhenI go back to the office to write out this stuff, I'm going to have thatextremely rare thing with any of our lot--an interview with the oldman. "

"Gad!--I thought your old man was unapproachable!" exclaimed Carver. 

"To all intents and purposes, he is, " assented Triffitt. "But I'll seehim--and today. And after that--but you'll see. Now, as to you, old man. You're coming in with me at this, of course--not on behalf of yourpaper, but on your own. Work up with me, and if we're successful, I'llpromise you a post on the _Argus_ that'll be worth three times whatyou're getting now. I know what I'm talking about--unapproachable as ourguv'nor is, I've sized him up, and if I make good in this affair, he'lldo anything I want. Stick to Triffitt, my son, and Triffitt'll see youall serene!"

"Right-oh!" said Carver. "I'm on. Well, and what am I to do, first?"

"Two things, " responded Triffitt. "One of 'em's easy, and can be doneat once. Get me--diplomatically--this man Burchill's, or Bentham's, present address. You know some _Magnet_ chaps--get it out of them. Tell'em you want to ask Burchill's advice about some dramatic stuff--sayyou've written a play and you're so impressed by his criticisms thatyou'd like to take his counsel. "

"I can do that, " replied Carver. "As a matter of fact, I've got a realgood farce in my desk. And the next?"

"The next is--try to find out if there's any taxi-cab driver around thePortman Square district who took a fare resembling old Herapath fromanywhere about there to Kensington on the night of the murder, " saidTriffitt. "There must be some chap who drove that man, and if we've gotany brains about us we can find him. If we find him, and can get him totalk--well, we shall know something. "

"It'll mean money, " observed Carver. 

"Never mind, " said Triffitt, confident as ever. "If it comes off allright with our boss, you needn't bother about money, my son! Now let'sbe going Fleet Street way, and I'll meet you tonight at the usual--saysix o'clock. "

Arrived at the _Argus_ office and duly seated at his own particulartable, Triffitt, instead of proceeding to write out his report of thefuneral ceremony of the late Jacob Herapath, M. P. , wrote a note to hisproprietor, which note he carefully sealed and marked "Private. " Hecarried this off to the great man's confidential secretary, who staredat it and him. 

"I suppose this really is of a private nature?" he asked suspiciously. "You know as well as I do that Mr. Markledew'll make me suffer if itisn't. "

"Soul and honour, it's of the most private!" affirmed Triffitt, laying ahand on his heart. "And of the highest importance, too, and I'll beeternally grateful if you'll put it before him as soon as you can. "

The confidential secretary took another look at Triffitt, and allowedhimself to be reluctantly convinced of his earnestness. 

"All right!" he said. "I'll shove it under his nose when he comes in atfour o'clock. "

Triffitt went back to his work, excited, yet elated. It was no easy job toget speech of Markledew. Markledew, as everybody in Fleet Street knew, wasa man in ten thousand. He was not only sole proprietor of his paper, butits editor and manager, and he ruled his office and his employees with arod of iron--chiefly by silence. It was usually said of him that he neverspoke to anybody unless he was absolutely obliged to do so--certain it wasthat all his orders to the various heads were given out pretty much afterthe fashion of a drill sergeant's commands to a squad of well-trained, five-month recruits, and that monosyllables were much more in his mouththan even brief admonitions and explanations. If anybody ever did manageto approach Markledew, it was always with fear and trembling. A big, heavy, lumbering man, with a face that might have been carved out ofgranite, eyes that bored through an opposing brain, and a constantexpression of absolute, yet watchful immobility, he was a trying person totackle, and most men, when they did tackle him, felt as if they might betalking to the Sphinx and wondered if the tightly-locked lips were evergoing to open. But all men who ever had anything to do with Markledew werewell aware that, difficult as he was of access, you had only got toapproach him with something good to be rewarded for your pains in fullmeasure. 

At ten minutes past four Triffitt, who had just finished his work, liftedhis head to see a messenger-boy fling open the door of the reporter's roomand cast his eyes round. A shiver shot through Triffitt's spine and wentout of his toes with a final sting. 

"Mr. Markledew wants Mr. Triffitt!"

Two or three other junior reporters who were scribbling in the roomglanced at Triffitt as he leapt to obey the summons. They hastened tomake kindly comments on this unheard-of episode in the day's dullroutine. 

"Pale as a fair young bride!" sighed one. "Buck up, Triff!--he won't eatyou. "

"I hear your knees knocking together, Triff, " said another. "Braceyourself!"

"Markledew, " observed a third, "has decided to lay down the sceptre andto instal Triff in the chair of rule. Ave, Triffitt, Imperator!--bemerciful to the rest of us. "

Triffitt consigned them to the nether regions and hurried to thepresence. The presence was busied with its secretary and kept Triffittstanding for two minutes, during which space he recovered his breath. Then the presence waved away secretary and papers with one hand, turnedits awful eyes upon him, and rapped out one word:

"Now!"

Triffitt breathed a fervent prayer to all his gods, summoned hisresolution and his powers, and spoke. He endeavoured to use as few wordsas possible, to be lucid, to make his points, to show what he wasafter--and, driving fear away from him, he kept his own eyes steadilyfixed on those penetrating organs which confronted him. And once, twice, he saw or thought he saw a light gleam of appreciation in those organs;once, he believed, the big head nodded as if in agreement. Anyhow, atthe end of a quarter of an hour (unheard-of length for an interview withMarkledew!) Triffitt had neither been turned out nor summarily silenced;instead, he had come to what he felt to be a good ending of his pleasand his arguments, and the great man was showing signs of speech. 

"Now, attend!" said Markledew, impressively. "You'll go on with this. You'll follow it up on the lines you suggest. But you'll print nothingexcept under my personal supervision. Make certain of your facts. Facts!--understand! Wait. "

He pulled a couple of slips of paper towards him, scribbled a line ortwo on each, handed them to Triffitt, and nodded at the door. 

"That'll do, " he said. "When you want me, let me know. And mind--you'vegot a fine chance, young man. "

Triffitt could have fallen on the carpet and kissed Markledew's largeboots. But knowing Markledew, he expressed his gratitude in two wordsand a bow, and sped out of the room. Once outside, he hastened to sendthe all-powerful notes. They were short and sharp, like Markledew'smanner, but to Triffitt of an inexpressible sweetness, and he walked onair as he went off to other regions to present them. 

The news editor, who was by nature irascible and whom much daily worryhad rendered more so, glared angrily as Triffitt marched up to histable. He pointed to a slip of proof which lay, damp and sticky, closeby. 

"You've given too much space to that Herapath funeral, " he growled. "Take it away and cut it down to three-quarters. "

Triffitt made no verbal answer. He flung Markledew's half-sheet ofnotepaper before the news editor, and the news editor, seeing the greatman's sprawling caligraphy, read, wonderingly:--

 "Mr. Triffitt is released from ordinary duties to pursue others under my personal supervision. J. M. "

The news editor stared at Triffitt as if that young gentleman hadsuddenly become an archangel. 

"What's this mean?" he demanded. 

"Obvious--and sufficient, " retorted Triffitt. And he turned, hands inpockets, and strolled out, leaving the proof lying unheeded. That wasthe first time he had scored off his news editor, and the experience washoney-like and intoxicating. His head was higher than ever as he soughtthe cashier and handed Markledew's other note to him. The cashier readit over mechanically. 

 "Mr. Triffitt is to draw what money he needs for a special purpose. He will account to me for it. J. M. "

The cashier calmly laid the order aside and looked at its deliverer. 

"Want any now?" he asked apathetically. "How much?"

"Not at present, " replied Triffitt. "I'll let you know when I do. "

Then he went away, got his overcoat, made a derisive and sphinx-likegrin at his fellow-reporters, and left the office to find Carver. 

CHAPTER XVI

NAMELESS FEAR

If Triffitt had stayed in Kensal Green Cemetery a little longer, hewould have observed that Mr. Frank Burchill's presence at the funeralobsequies of the late Jacob Herapath was of an eminently modest, unassuming, and retiring character. He might, as an ex-secretary of thedead man, have claimed to walk abreast of Mr. Selwood, and ahead of themanager and cashier from the estate office; instead, he had taken aplace in the rear ranks of the procession, and in it he remained untilthe close of the ceremony. Like the rest of those present, he defiledpast the grave at which the chief mourners were standing, but he claimedno recognition from and gave no apparent heed to any of them; certainlynone to Barthorpe Herapath. Also, like all the rest, he went away atonce from the cemetery, and after him, quietly and unobtrusively, went acertain sharp-eyed person who had also been present, not as a mourner, but in the character of a casual stroller about the tombs and monuments, attracted for the moment by the imposing cortège which had followed thedead man to his grave. 

Another sharp-eyed person made it his business to follow BarthorpeHerapath when he, too, went away. Barthorpe had come to the ceremonyunattended. Selwood, Mr. Tertius, Professor Cox-Raythwaite, and Mr. Halfpenny had come together. These four also went away together. Barthorpe, still alone, re-entered his carriage when they had drivenoff. The observant person of the sharp eyes, hanging around the gates, heard him give his order:

"Portman Square!"

The four men who had preceded him were standing in the study whenBarthorpe drove up to the house--standing around Peggie, who wasobviously ill at ease and distressed. And when Barthorpe's voice washeard in the hall, Mr. Halfpenny spoke in decisive tones. 

"We must understand matters at once, " he said. "There is no use inbeating about the bush. He has refused to meet or receive me so far--nowI shall insist upon his saying plainly whatever he has to say. You, too, my dear, painful as it may be, must also insist. "

"On--what?" asked Peggie. 

"On his saying what he intends--if he intends--I don't know what heintends!" answered Mr. Halfpenny, testily. "It's most annoying, and wecan't----"

Barthorpe came striding in, paused as he glanced around, and affectedsurprise. 

"Oh!" he said. "I came to see you, Peggie--I did not know that there wasany meeting in progress. "

"Barthorpe!" said Peggie, looking earnestly at him. "You know that allthese gentlemen were Uncle Jacob's friends--dear friends--and they aremine. Don't go away--Mr. Halfpenny wants to speak to you. "

Barthorpe had already half turned to the door. He turned back--thenturned again. 

"Mr. Halfpenny can only want to speak to me on business, " he said, coldly. "If Mr. Halfpenny wants to speak to me on business, he knowswhere to find me. "

He had already laid a hand on the door when Mr. Halfpenny spoke sharplyand sternly. 

"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath!" he said. "I know very well where to find you, and I have tried to find you and to get speech with you for two days--invain. I insist, sir, that you speak to us--or at any rate to yourcousin--you are bound to speak, sir, out of common decency!"

"About what?" asked Barthorpe. "I came to speak to my cousin--inprivate. "

"There is a certain something, sir, " retorted Mr. Halfpenny, withwarmth, "about which we must speak in public--such a public, at anyrate, as is represented here and now. You know what it is--your uncle'swill!"

"What about my uncle's will--or alleged will?" asked Barthorpe with asneer. 

Mr. Halfpenny appeared to be about to make a very angry retort, but hesuddenly checked himself and looked at Peggie. 

"You hear, my dear?" he said. "He says--alleged will!"

Peggie turned to Barthorpe with an appealing glance. 

"Barthorpe!" she exclaimed. "Is that fair--is it generous? Is itjust--to our uncle's memory? You know that is his will--what doubt canthere be about it?"

Barthorpe made no answer. He still stood with one hand on the door, looking at Mr. Halfpenny. And suddenly he spoke. 

"What do you wish to ask me?" he said. 

"I wish to ask you a plain question, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "Do youaccept this will, and are you going to act on your cousin's behalf? Iwant your plain answer. "

Barthorpe hesitated a moment before replying. Then he made as if to openthe door. 

"I decline to discuss the matter of the alleged will, " he answered. "Idecline--especially, " he continued, lifting a finger and pointing at Mr. Tertius, "especially in the presence of that man!"

"Barthorpe!" exclaimed Peggie, flushing at the malevolence of the toneand gesture. "How dare you! In my house----"

Barthorpe suddenly laughed. Once again he turned to the door--and thistime he opened it. 

"Just so--just so!" he said. "Your house, my dear cousin--according tothe alleged will. "

"Which will be proved, sir, " snapped out Mr. Halfpenny. "As you refuse, or seem to do so, I shall act for your cousin--at once. "

Barthorpe opened the door wide, and as he crossed the threshold, turnedand gave Mr. Halfpenny a swift glance. 

"Act!" he said. "Act!--if you can!"

Then he walked out and shut the door behind him, and Mr. Halfpennyturned to the others. 

"The will must be proved at once, " he said decisively. "Alleged--you allheard him say alleged! That looks as if--um! My dear Tertius, you haveno doubt whatever about the proper and valid execution of this importantdocument--now in my safe. None?"

"How can I have any doubt about what I actually saw?" replied Mr. Tertius. "I can't have any doubt, Halfpenny! I saw Jacob sign it; Isigned it myself; I saw young Burchill sign it; we all three saw eachother sign. What more can one want?"

"I must see this Mr. Burchill, " remarked Mr. Halfpenny. "I must see himat once. Unfortunately, he left no address at the place we called at. Hewill have to be discovered. "

Peggie coloured slightly as she turned to Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Is it really necessary to see Mr. Burchill personally?" she asked witha palpable nervousness which struck Selwood strangely. "Must he befound?"

"Absolutely necessary, my dear, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "He must befound, and at once. "

Mr. Tertius uttered an exclamation of annoyance. 

"Dear, dear!" he said. "I noticed the young man at the cemetery justnow--I ought really to have pointed him out to you--most forgetful ofme!"

"I have Mr. Burchill's address, " said Peggie, with an effort. "He lefthis card here on the day of my uncle's death--the address is on it. AndI put it in this drawer. "

Selwood watched Peggie curiously, and with a strange, vague sense ofuneasiness as she went over to a drawer in Jacob Herapath's desk andproduced the card. He had noticed a slight tremor in her voice when shespoke of Burchill, and her face, up till then very pale, had coloured atthe first mention of his name. And now he was asking himself why anyreference to this man seemed to disturb her, why----

But Mr. Halfpenny cut in on his meditations. The old lawyer held up thecard to the light and slowly read out the address. 

"Ah! Calengrove Mansions, Maida Vale, " he said. "Um--quarter of anhour's drive. Tertius--you and I will go and see this young fellow atonce. "

Mr. Tertius turned to Professor Cox-Raythwaite. 

"What do you think of this, Cox-Raythwaite?" he asked, almost piteously. "I mean--what do you think's best to be done?"

The Professor, who had stood apart with Selwood during the episode whichhad just concluded, pulling his great beard and looking very big andblack and formidable, jerked his thumb in the direction of the oldlawyer. 

"Do what Halfpenny says, " he growled. "See this other witness. And--buthere, I'll have a word with you in the hall. "

He said good-bye in a gruffly affectionate way to Peggie, patted hershoulder and her head as if she were a child, and followed the two othermen out. Peggie, left alone with Selwood, turned to him. There wassomething half-appealing in her face, and Selwood suddenly drove hishands deep into his pockets, clenched them there, and put a tight holdon himself. 

"It's all different!" exclaimed Peggie, dropping into a chair andclasping her hands on her knees. "All so different! And I feel soutterly helpless. "

"Scarcely that, " said Selwood, with an effort to speak calmly. "You'vegot Mr. Tertius, and Mr. Halfpenny, and the Professor, and--and ifthere's anything--anything I can do, don't you know, why, I----"

Peggie impulsively stretched out a hand--and Selwood, not trustinghimself, affected not to see it. To take Peggie's hand at that momentwould have been to let loose a flood of words which he was resolved notto utter just then, if ever. He moved across to the desk and pretendedto sort and arrange some loose papers. 

"We'll--all--all--do everything we can, " he said, trying to keep anytremor out of his voice. "Everything you know, of course. "

"I know--and I'm grateful, " said Peggie. "But I'm frightened. "

Selwood turned quickly and looked sharply at her. 

"Frightened?" he exclaimed. "Of what?"

"Of something that I can't account for or realize, " she replied. "I've afeeling that everything's all wrong--and strange. And--I'm frightened ofMr. Burchill. "

"What!" snapped Selwood. He dropped the papers and turned to face hersquarely. "Frightened of--Burchill? Why?"

"I--don't--know, " she answered, shaking her head. "It's more anidea--something vague. I was always afraid of him when he was here--I'vebeen afraid of him ever since. I was very much afraid when he came herethe other day. "

"You saw him?" asked Selwood. 

"I didn't see him. He merely sent up that card. But, " she added, "I wasafraid even then. "

Selwood leaned back against the desk, regarding her attentively. 

"I don't think you're the sort to be afraid without reason, " he said. "Of course, if you have reason, I've no right to ask what it is. All thesame, if this chap is likely to annoy you, you've only to speakand--and----"

"Yes?" she said, smiling a little. "You'd----"

"I'll punch his head and break his neck for him!" growled Selwood. "And--and I wish you'd say if you have reasons why I should. Has--has heannoyed you?"

"No, " answered Peggie. She regarded Selwood steadily for a minute; thenshe spoke with sudden impulse. "When he was here, " she said, "I meanbefore he left my uncle, he asked me to marry him. "

Selwood, in spite of himself, could not keep a hot flush from mountingto his cheek. 

"And--you?" he said. 

"I said no, of course, and he took my answer and went quietly away, "replied Peggie. "And that--that's why I'm frightened of him. "

"Good heavens! Why?" demanded Selwood. "I don't understand. Frightenedof him because he took his answer, went away quietly, and hasn't annoyedyou since? That--I say, that licks me!"

"Perhaps, " she said. "But, you see, you don't know him. It's justbecause of that--that quiet--that--oh, I don't quite know how toexplain!--that--well, silence--that I'm afraid--yes, literally afraid. There's something about him that makes me fear. I used to wish that myuncle had never employed him--that he had never come here. And--I'drather be penniless than that my uncle had ever got him--him!--towitness that will!"

Selwood found no words wherewith to answer this. He did not understandit. Nevertheless he presently found words of another sort. 

"All right!" he muttered doggedly. "I'll watch him--or, I'll watch thathe--that--well, that no harm comes to--you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Yes, " murmured Peggie, and once more held out an impulsive hand. ButSelwood again pretended to see nothing, and he began another energeticassault upon the papers which Jacob Herapath would never handle again. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE LAW

Once within a taxi-cab and on their way to Maida Vale, Mr. Halfpennyturned to his companion with a shake of the head which implied a muchmixed state of feeling. 

"Tertius!" he exclaimed. "There's something wrong! Quite apart from whatwe know, and from what we were able to communicate to the police, there's something wrong. I feel it--it's in the air, the--the wholeatmosphere. That fellow Barthorpe is up to some game. What? Did younotice his manner, his attitude--everything? Of course!--who could helpit? He--has some scheme in his head. Again I say--what?"

Mr. Tertius stirred uneasily in his seat and shook his head. 

"You haven't heard anything from New Scotland Yard?" he asked. 

"Nothing--so far. But they are at work, of course. They'll work in theirown way. And, " continued Mr. Halfpenny, with a grim chuckle, "you can becertain of this much, Tertius--having heard what we were able to tellthem, having seen what we were able to put before them, with respect tothe doings of that eventful night, they won't let Master Barthorpe outof their ken--not they! It is best to let them pursue their owninvestigations in their own manner--they'll let us know what's beendone, sure enough, at the right time. "

"Yes, " assented Mr. Tertius. "Yes--so I gather--I am not very conversantwith these things. I confess there's one thing that puzzles me greatlythough, Halfpenny. That's the matter of the man who came out of the Houseof Commons with Jacob that night. You remember that the coachman, Mountain, told us--and said at the inquest also--that he overheard whatJacob said to that man--'The thing must be done at once, and you must haveeverything ready for me at noon tomorrow, ' or words to that effect. Nowthat man must be somewhere at hand--he must have read the newspapers, knowall about the inquest--why doesn't he come forward?"

Mr. Halfpenny chuckled again and patted his friend's arm. 

"Ah!" he said. "But you don't know that he hasn't come forward! Theprobability is, Tertius, that he has come forward, and that the people atNew Scotland Yard are already in possession of whatever story he had totell. Oh, yes, I quite expect that--I also expect to hear, eventually, another piece of news in relation to that man. "

"What's that?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"Do you remember that, at the inquest, Mountain, the coachman, said thatthere was another bit of evidence he had to give which he'd forgotten totell Mr. Barthorpe when he questioned him? Mountain"--continued Mr. Halfpenny--"went on to say that while Jacob Herapath and the man stoodtalking in Palace Yard, before Jacob got into his brougham, Jacob tooksome object from his waistcoat pocket and handed it, with what lookedlike a letter, to the man? Eh?"

"I remember very well, " replied Mr. Tertius. 

"Very good, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "Now I believe that object to have beenthe key of Jacob's safe at the Safe Deposit, which, you remember, couldnot be found, but which young Selwood affirmed had been in Jacob'spossession only that afternoon. The letter I believe to have been aformal authority to the Safe Deposit people to allow the bearer to openthat safe. I've thought all that out, " concluded Mr. Halfpenny, with asmile of triumph, "thought it out carefully, and it's my impression thatthat's what we shall find when the police move. I believe that man hasrevealed himself to the police, has told them--whatever it is he has totell, and that his story probably throws a vast flood of light on themystery. So I say--let us not at present concern ourselves with theactual murder of our poor friend: the police will ferret that out! Whatwe're concerned with is--the will! That will, Tertius, must be proved, and at once. "

"I am as little conversant with legal matters as with police procedure, "observed Mr. Tertius. "What is the exact course, now, in a case of thissort?"

"The exact procedure, my dear sir, " replied Mr. Halfpenny, dropping intohis best legal manner, and putting the tips of his warmly-glovedfingers together in front of his well-filled overcoat, "the exactprocedure is as follows. Barthorpe Herapath is without doubt theheir-at-law of his deceased uncle, Jacob Herapath. If Jacob had diedintestate Barthorpe would have taken what we may call everything, forhis uncle's property is practically all in the shape of real estate, incomparison to which the personalty is a mere nothing. But there is awill, leaving everything to Margaret Wynne. If Barthorpe Herapathintends to contest the legality of that will----"

"Good heavens, is that possible?" exclaimed Mr. Tertius. "He can't!"

"He can--if he wishes, " replied Mr. Halfpenny, "though at present I don'tknow on what possible grounds. But, if he does, he can at once enter acaveat in the Probate Registry. The effect of that--supposing he doesit--will be that when I take the will to be proved, progress will bestopped. Very well--I shall then, following the ordinary practice, issueand serve upon Barthorpe Herapath a document technically known as a'warning. ' On service of this warning, Barthorpe, if he insists upon hisopposition, must enter an appearance. There will then be an opportunityfor debate and attempt at agreement between him and ourselves. If thatfails, or does not take place, I shall then issue a writ to establish thewill. And that being done, why, then, my dear sir, the proceedings--ah, the proceedings would follow--substantially--the--er--usual course oflitigation in this country. "

"And that, " asked Mr. Tertius, deeply interested and wholly innocent, "that would be----?"

"Well, there are two parties in this case--supposed case, " continued Mr. Halfpenny, "Barthorpe Herapath, Margaret Wynne. After the issue of thewrit I have just spoken of, each party would put in his or her pleas, and the matter would ultimately go to trial in the Probate Division ofthe High Court, most likely before a judge and a special jury. "

"And how long would all this take?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"Ah!--um!" replied Mr. Halfpenny, tapping the tips of his glovestogether. "That, my dear sir, is a somewhat difficult question toanswer. I believe that all readers of the newspapers are aware that ourLaw Courts are somewhat congested--the cause lists are very full. Thetime which must elapse before a case can actually come to trial varies, my dear Tertius, varies enormously. But if--as in the matter we aresupposing would probably be the case--if all the parties concerned wereparticularly anxious to have the case disposed of without delay, thetrial might be arrived at within three or four months--that is, my dearsir, if the Long Vacation did not intervene. But--speaking generally--abetter, more usual, more probable estimate would be, say six, seven, eight, or nine months. "

"So long?" exclaimed Mr. Tertius. "I thought that justice was neitherdenied, sold, nor delayed!"

"Justice is never denied, my good friend, nor is it sold, " replied Mr. Halfpenny, oracularly. "As to delay, ah, well, you know, if people willbe litigants--and I assure you that nothing is so pleasing to a verylarge number of extraordinary persons who simply love litigation--alittle delay cannot be avoided. However, we will hope that we shall haveno litigation. Our present job is to get that will proved, and so far Isee no difficulty. There is the will--we have the witnesses. At least, there are you, and we're hoping to see t'other in a few minutes. By theby, Tertius, what sort of fellow is this Burchill?"

Mr. Tertius considered his answer to this question. 

"Well, I hardly know, " he said at last. "Of course, I have rarely seenmuch of Jacob's secretaries. This man--he's not quite a youngster, Halfpenny--struck me as being the sort of person who might be dangerous. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. "Dangerous! God bless me! Now, in whatway, Tertius?"

"I don't quite know, " replied Mr. Tertius. "He, somehow, from what I sawof him, suggested, I really don't know how, a certain atmosphere of, say--I'm trying to find the right words--cunning, subtlety, depth. Yes--yes, I should say he was what we commonly call--or what is commonlycalled in vulgar parlance--deep. Deep!"

"You mean--designing?" suggested Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Exactly--designing, " assented Mr. Tertius. "It--it was the sort of ideahe conveyed, you know. "

"Don't like the sound of him, " said Mr. Halfpenny, "However, he's thesecond witness and we must put up with the fact. And here we are atthese Calengrove Mansions, and let's hope we haven't a hundred infernalsteps to climb, and that we find the fellow in. "

The fellow was in. And the fellow, who had now discarded his mourningsuit for the purple and fine linen which suggested Bond Street, was justabout to go out, and was in a great hurry, and said so. He listened withobvious impatience while Mr. Tertius presented his companion. 

"I wished to see you about the will of the deceased Jacob Herapath, Mr. Burchill, " said Mr. Halfpenny "The will which, of course, you witnessed. "

Burchill, who was gathering some books and papers together, and hadalready apologized for not being able to ask his callers to sit down, answered in an off-hand, bustling fashion. 

"Of course, of course!" he replied. "Mr. Jacob Herapath's will, eh? Oh, of course, yes. Anything I can do, Mr. Halfpenny, of course--perhapsyou'll drop me a line and make an appointment at your office someday--then I'll call, d'you see?"

"You remember the occasion, and the will, and your signature?" said Mr. Halfpenny, contriving to give Mr. Tertius a nudge as he put this directquestion. 

"Oh, I remember everything that ever happened in connection with mysecretaryship to Mr. Jacob Herapath!" replied Burchill, still bustling. "I shall be ready for anything whenever I'm wanted, Mr. Halfpenny--pleasedto be of service to the family, I'm sure. Now, you must really pardonme, gentlemen, if I hurry you and myself out--I've a most importantengagement and I'm late already. As I said--drop me a line for anappointment, Mr. Halfpenny, and I'll come to you. Now, good-bye, good-bye!"

He had got them out of his flat, shaken hands with them, and hurriedoff before either elderly gentleman could get a word in, and as he flewtowards the stairs Mr. Halfpenny looked at Mr. Tertius and shook his head. 

"That beggar didn't want to talk, " he said. "I don't like it. "

"But he said that he remembered!" exclaimed Mr. Tertius. "Wasn't thatsatisfactory?"

"Anything but satisfactory, the whole thing, " replied the old lawyer. "Didn't you notice that the man avoided any direct reply? He said 'ofcourse' about a hundred times, and was as ambiguous, and non-committal, and vague, as he could be. My dear Tertius, the fellow was fencing!"

Mr. Tertius looked deeply distressed. 

"You don't think----" he began. 

"I might think a lot when I begin to think, " said Mr. Halfpenny as theyslowly descended the stairs from the desert solitude of the top floor ofCalengrove Mansions. "But there's one thought that strikes me justnow--do you remember what Burchill's old landlady at Upper SeymourStreet told us?"

"That Barthorpe Herapath had been to inquire for Burchill?--yes, "replied Mr. Tertius. "You're wondering----"

"I'm wondering if, since then, Barthorpe has found him, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "If he has--if there have been passages between them--if----"

He paused half-way down the stairs, stood for a moment or two in deepthought and then laid his hand on his friend's arm. 

"Tertius!" he said gravely. "That will must be presented for probate atonce! I must lose no time. Come along--let me get back to my office andget to work. And do you go back to Portman Square and give the littlewoman your company. "

Mr. Tertius went back to Portman Square there and then, and did what hecould to make the gloomy house less gloomy. Instead of retreating to hisown solitude he remained with Peggie, and tried to cheer her up bydiscussing various plans and matters of the future. And he was taking aquiet cup of tea with her at five o'clock when Kitteridge came in with atelegram for him. He opened it with trembling fingers and read:

 _"Barthorpe entered caveat in Probate Registry at half-past three this afternoon. --Halfpenny. "_

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ROSEWOOD BOX

Mr. Tertius dropped the telegram on the little table at which he andPeggie were sitting, and betrayed his feelings with a deep groan. Peggie, who was just about to give him his second cup of tea, set downher teapot and jumped to his side. 

"Oh, what is it!" she exclaimed. "Some bad news? Please--"

Mr. Tertius pulled himself together and tried to smile. 

"You must forgive me, my dear, " he said, with a feeble attempt to speakcheerily. "I--the truth is, I think I have lived in such a state of easeand--yes, luxury, for so many years that I am not capable of readilybearing these trials and troubles. I'm ashamed of myself--I must bebraver--not so easily affected. "

"But--the telegram?" said Peggie. 

Mr. Tertius handed it to her with a dismal shake of his head. 

"I suppose it's only what was to be expected, after all that Halfpennytold me this afternoon, " he remarked. "But I scarcely thought it wouldoccur so soon. My dear, I am afraid you must prepare yourself for agreat deal of unpleasantness and worry. Your cousin seems to bedetermined to give much trouble. Extraordinary!--most extraordinary! Mydear, I confess I do not understand it. "

Peggie had picked up the telegram and was reading it with knitted brow. 

"'Barthorpe entered caveat in Probate Registry at half-past three thisafternoon, '" she slowly repeated. "But what does that mean, Mr. Tertius?Something to do with the will?"

"A great deal to do with the will, I fear!" replied Mr. Tertius, lugubriously. "A caveat, my dear, is some sort of process--I'm sure Idon't know whether it's given by word of mouth, or if it's a document--bywhich the admission to probate of a dead person's last will and testamentcan be stopped. In plain language, " continued Mr. Tertius, "your cousinBarthorpe has been to the Probate Registry and done something to preventMr. Halfpenny from proving the will. It is a wicked action on hispart--and, considering that he is a solicitor, and that he saw thewill with his own eyes, it is, as I have previously remarked, mostextraordinary!"

"And all this means--what?" asked Peggie. 

"It means that there will be legal proceedings, " groaned Mr. Tertius. "Long, tedious, most annoying and trying proceedings! Perhaps a trial--wemay have to go to court and give evidence. I dread it!--I am, as I said, so used to a life of ease and freedom from anxiety that anything of thissort distresses me unspeakably. I fear I am degenerating into cowardice!"

"Nonsense!" said Peggie. "It is merely that this sort of thing isdisturbing. And we are not going to be afraid of Barthorpe. Barthorpe isvery foolish. I meant--always have meant, ever since I heard about thewill--to share with him, for there's no law against that. But ifBarthorpe wants to upset the will altogether and claim everything, Ishall fight him. And if I win--as I suppose I shall--I shall make him dopenance pretty heavily before he's forgiven. However, that's all in thefuture. What I don't understand about the present is--how can that willbe upset? Mr. Halfpenny says it's duly and properly executed, witnessed, and so on--how can Barthorpe object to it?"

Mr. Tertius put down his cup and rose. 

"Your cousin, Barthorpe, my dear, is, I regret to say, a deep man, " hereplied. "He has some scheme in his head. This, " he went on, picking upthe telegram and placing it in his pocket, "this is the first step inthat scheme. Well, it is perhaps a relief to know that he has taken it:we shall now know where we are and what has to be done. "

"Quite so, " said Peggie. "But there is another matter, Mr. Tertius, which seems to be forgotten in this of the will. Pray, what is Barthorpedoing, what is anybody doing, about solving the mystery of my uncle'sdeath? Everybody says he was murdered--who is doing anything to find themurderer?"

Mr. Tertius, who had advanced as far as the door on his way out of theroom, came back to Peggie's side in a fashion suggestive of deepmystery, walking on the tips of his toes and putting a finger to hislips as he drew near his chair. 

"My dear!" he said, bending down to her and speaking in a tone fully asindicative of mystery as his tip-toe movement, "a great deal is beingdone--but in the strictest secrecy! Most important investigations, mydear!--the police, the detective police, you know. The word atpresent--to put it into one word, vulgar, but expressive--the word is'Mum'! Silence, my dear--the policy of the mole--underground working, you know. From what I am aware of, and from what our good friendHalfpenny tells me, and believes, I gather that a result will beattained which will be surprising. "

"So long as justice is done, " remarked Peggie. "That is all I want--all weought to aim at. I don't care twopence about surprising or sensationaldiscoveries--I want to see my uncle's murderer properly punished. "

She shed a few more quiet tears over Jacob Herapath's untoward fate whenMr. Tertius had left her and fell to thinking about him. The thoughtswhich came presently led her to go to the dead man's room--a simple, spartan-like chamber which she had not entered since his death. She hada vague sense of wanting to be brought into touch with him through thethings which had been his, and for a while she wandered aimlessly aboutthe room, laying a hand now and then on the objects which she knew hemust have handled the last time he had occupied the room--his toiletarticles, the easy chair in which he always sat for a few minutes everynight, reading a little before going to bed, the garments which hung inhis wardrobe, anything on which his fingers had rested. And as shewandered about she noted, not for the first nor the hundredth time, howJacob Herapath had gathered about him in this room a number of objectsconnected with his youth. The very furniture, simple, homely stuff, hadonce stood in his mother's bedroom in a small cottage in a far-offcountry. On the walls were portraits of his father and mother--crudethings painted by some local artist; there, too, were some samplersworked by his mother in her girlhood, flanked by some faded groups offlowers which she had painted about the same time. Jacob Herapath hadbrought all these things to his grand house in Portman Square yearsbefore, and had cleared a room of fine modern furniture and fittings tomake space for them. He had often said to Peggie, when she grew oldenough to understand, that he liked to wake in a morning and see the oldfamiliar things about him which he had known as a child. For one objectin that room he had a special veneration and affection--an old rosewoodworkbox, which had belonged to his mother, and to her mother before her. Once he had allowed Peggie to inspect it, to take from it the tray linedwith padded green silk, to examine the various nooks and cornerscontrived by the eighteenth-century cabinetmaker--some disciple, maybe, of Chippendale or Sheraton--to fit the tarnished silver thimbles on toher own fingers, to wonder at the knick-knacks of a departed age, and tolaugh over the scent of rose and lavender which hung about the skeinsand spools. And he had told her that when he died the rosewood boxshould be hers--as long as he lived, he said, it must stand on his chestof drawers, so that he could see it at least twice a day. 

Jacob Herapath was dead now, and buried, and the rosewood box andeverything else that had been his had passed to Peggie--as things were, at any rate. She presently walked up to the queer old chest of drawers, and drew the rosewood box towards her and lifted the lid. It was yearssince Jacob had shown it to her, and she remembered the childish delightwith which she had lifted out the tray which lay on the top and lookedinto the various compartments beneath it. Now she opened the box again, and lifted the tray--and there, lying bold and uncovered before hereyes, she saw a letter, inscribed with one word in Jacob Herapath'swell-known handwriting--"Peggie. "

If Jacob Herapath himself had suddenly appeared before her in that quietroom, the girl could scarcely have felt more keenly the strange andsubtle fear which seized upon her as she realized that what she wasstaring at was probably some message to herself. It was some time beforeshe dared to lay hands on this message--when at last she took the letterout of the box her fingers trembled so much that she found a difficultyin opening the heavily-sealed envelope. But she calmed herself with agreat effort, and carrying the half-sheet of note-paper, which she drewfrom its cover, over to the window, lifted it in the fading light andread the few lines which Jacob Herapath had scrawled there. 

 "If anything ever happens suddenly to me, my will, duly executed and witnessed by Mr. Tertius and Mr. Frank Burchill, is in a secret drawer of my old bureau which lies behind the third small drawer on the right-hand side. 

 "JACOB HERAPATH. "

That was all--beyond a date, and the date was a recent one. "If anythingever happens suddenly"--had he then felt some fear, experienced anypremonition, of a sudden happening? Why had he never said anything toher, why?

But Peggie realized that such questions were useless at that time--thattime was pre-eminently one of action. She put the letter back in therosewood box, took the box in her arms, and carrying it off to her ownroom, locked it up in a place of security. And that had scarcely beendone when Kitteridge came seeking her and bringing with him a card: Mr. Frank Burchill's card, and on it scribbled a single line: "Will youkindly give me a few minutes?"

Peggie considered this request in one flash of thought, and turned tothe butler. 

"Where is Mr. Burchill?" she asked. "In the study? Very well, I willcome down to him in a few minutes. "

She made a mighty effort to show herself calm, collected, and indifferent, when she presently went down to the study. But she neither shook handswith the caller, nor asked him to sit; instead she marched across to thehearthrug and regarded him from a distance. 

"Yes, Mr. Burchill?" she said quietly. "You wish to see me?"

She looked him over steadily as she spoke, and noted a certain air ofcalm self-assurance about him which struck her with a vague uneasiness. He was too easy, too quiet, too entirely businesslike to be free fromdanger. And the bow which he gave her was, to her thinking, the heightof false artifice. 

"I wished to see you and to speak to you, with your permission, " heanswered. "I beg you to believe that what I have--what I desire to sayis to be said by me with the deepest respect, the most sincereconsideration. I have your permission to speak? Then I beg to ask youif--I speak with deep courtesy!--if the answer which you made to acertain question of mine some time ago is--was--is to be--final?"

"So final that I am surprised that you should refer to the matter, "replied Peggie. "I told you so at the time. "

"Circumstances have changed, " he said. "I am at a parting of the ways inlife's journey. I wish to know--definitely--which way I am to take. Aray of guiding light from you----"

"There will be none!" said Peggie sharply. "Not a gleam. This is wasteof time. If that is all you have to say----"

The door of the study opened, and Selwood, who was still engaged aboutthe house, came in. He paused on the threshold, staring from one to theother, and made as if to withdraw. But Peggie openly smiled on him. 

"Come in, Mr. Selwood, " she said. "I was just going to ask Kitteridge tofind you. I want to see both you and Mr. Tertius. "

Then she turned to Burchill, who stood, a well-posed figure in his fineraiment, still watching her, and made him a frigid bow. 

"There is no more to say on that point--at any time, " she said quietly. "Good day. Mr. Selwood, will you ring the bell?"

Burchill executed another profound and self-possessed bow. He presentlyfollowed the footman from the room, and Peggie, for the first time sinceJacob Herapath's death, suddenly let her face relax and burst into ahearty laugh. 

CHAPTER XIX

WEAVING THE NET

That evening Triffitt got Burchill's address from Carver, and next dayhe drew a hundred pounds from the cashier of the _Argus_ and went off toCalengrove Mansions. In his mind there was a clear and definite notion. It might result in something; it might come to nothing, but he was goingto try it. Briefly, it was that if he wished--as he unfeignedly didwish--to find out anything about Burchill, he must be near him; so near, indeed, that he could keep an eye on him, acquaint himself with hisgoings and comings, observe his visitors, watch for possible openings, make himself familiar with Burchill's daily life. It might be adifficult task; it might be an easy task--in any case, it was a taskthat must be attempted. With Markledew's full consent and approvalbehind him and Markledew's money-bags to draw upon, Triffitt felt equalto attempting anything. 

The first thing was to take a quiet look at Burchill's immediateenvironment. Calengrove Mansions turned out to be one of the smaller ofthe many blocks of residential flats which have of late years arisen insuch numbers in the neighbourhood of Maida Vale and St. John's Wood. Itwas an affair of some five or six floors, and judging from what Triffittcould see of it from two sides, it was not fully occupied at that time, for many of its windows were uncurtained, and there was a certain air ofemptiness about the upper storeys. This fact was not unpleasing toTriffitt; it argued that he would have small difficulty in finding alodgment within the walls which sheltered the man he wanted to watch. And in pursuance of his scheme, which, as a beginning, was to find outexactly where Burchill was located, he walked into the main entrance andlooked about him, hoping to find an address-board. Such a boardimmediately caught his eye, affixed to the wall near the main staircase. Then Triffitt saw that the building was divided into five floors, eachfloor having some three or four flats. Those on the bottom floorsappeared to be pretty well taken; the names of their occupants wereneatly painted in small compartments on the board. Right at the top wasthe name Mr. Frank Burchill--and on that floor, which evidentlypossessed three flats, there were presumably no other occupants, for theremaining two spaces relating to it were blank. 

Triffitt took all this in at a glance; another glance showed him a doorclose by on which was painted the word "Office. " He pushed this open andwalked inside, to confront a clerk who was the sole occupant. To him, Triffitt, plunging straight into business, gently intimated that he wassearching for a convenient flat. The clerk immediately began to pull outsome coloured plans, labelled first, second, third floors. 

"About what sized flat do you require?" he asked. He had already lookedTriffitt well over, and as Triffitt, in honour of the occasion, had puton his smartest suit and a new overcoat, he decided that this was ayoung man who was either just married or about to be married. "Do youwant a family flat, or one for a couple without family, or----"

"What I want, " answered Triffitt readily, "is a bachelor flat--formyself. And--if possible--furnished. "

"Oh!" said the clerk. "Just so. I happen to have something that willsuit you exactly--that is, if you don't want to take it for longer thanthree or four months. " He pulled forward another plan, labelled "FifthFloor, " and pointed to certain portions, shaded off in light colours. "One of our tenants, Mr. Stillwater, " he continued, "has gone abroad forfour months, and he'd be glad to let his flat, furnished, in hisabsence. That's it--it contains, you see, a nice sitting-room, abedroom, a bathroom, and a small kitchen--all contained within the flat, of course. It is well and comfortably furnished, and available at once. "

Triffitt bent over the plan. But he was not looking at the shadedportion over which the clerk's pencil was straying; instead he wasregarding the fact that across the corresponding portion of the plan waswritten in red ink the words, "Mr. Frank Burchill. " The third portionwas blank; it, apparently, was unlet. 

"That is really about the size of flat I want, " said Triffitt, musingly. "What's the rent of that, now?"

"I can let that to you for fifty shillings a week, " answered the clerk. "That includes everything--there's plate, linen, glass, china, anythingyou want. Slight attendance can be arranged for with our caretaker'swife--that is, she can cook breakfast, and make beds, and do more, ifnecessary. Perhaps you would like to see this flat?"

Triffitt followed the clerk to the top of the house. The absent Mr. Stillwater's rooms were comfortable and pleasant; one glance around themdecided Triffitt. 

"This place will suit me very well, " he said. "Now I'll give yousatisfactory references about myself, and pay you a month's rent inadvance, and if that's all right to you, I'll come in today. You canring up my references on your 'phone, and then, if you're satisfied, we'll settle the rent, and I'll see the caretaker's wife about airingthat bed. "

Within half an hour Triffitt was occupant of the flat, the cashier ofthe _Argus_ having duly telephoned that he was a thoroughly dependableand much-respected member of its staff, and Triffitt himself havinghanded over ten pounds as rent for the coming month, he interviewed thecaretaker's wife, went to a neighbouring grocer's shop and ordered astock of necessaries wherewith to fill his larder, repaired to his ownlodgings and brought away all that he wanted in the way of luggage, books, and papers, and by the middle of the afternoon was fairly settledin his new quarters. He spent an hour in putting himself and hisbelongings straight--and then came the question what next?

He was there for a special purpose--that special purpose was toacquaint himself as thoroughly as possible with the doings of FrankBurchill. Burchill was there--he was almost on the point of saying, inthe next cell!--there, in the flat across the corridor; figuratively, within touch, if it were not for sundry divisions of brick, mortar, andthe like. Burchill's door was precisely opposite his own; there was anadvantage in that fact. And in Triffitt's outer door (all these flats, he discovered--that is, if they were all like his own, possessed doubledoors) there was a convenient letter slit, by manipulating which hecould, if he chose, keep a perpetual observation on the other opposite. But Triffitt did not propose to sit with his eye glued to that letterslit all day--it might be useful at times, and for some special purpose, but he had wider views. And the first thing to do was to make anexamination, geographical and exhaustive, of his own surroundings:Triffitt had learnt, during his journalistic training, that attention todetails is one of the most important things in life. 

The first thing that had struck Triffitt in this respect was that therewas no lift in this building. He had remarked on that to the clerk, andthe clerk had answered with a shrug of the shoulders that it was amistake and one for which the proprietor was already having to pay. However, Triffitt, bearing in mind what job he was on, was notdispleased that the lift had been omitted--it is sometimes an advantageto be able to hang over the top rail of a staircase and watch peoplecoming up from below. He stored that fact in his mental reservoirs. Andnow that he had got into his rooms, he proceeded to seek for morefacts. First, as to the rooms themselves--he wanted to know all aboutthem, because he had carefully noticed, while looking at the plan ofthat floor in the office downstairs, that Burchill's flat was arrangedexactly like his own. And Triffitt's flat was like this--you enteredthrough a double door into a good-sized sitting-room, out of which twoother rooms led--one went into a small kitchen and pantry; the otherinto the bedroom, at the side of which was a little bathroom. Thewindows of the bedroom opened on to a view of the street below; those ofthe sitting-room on to a square of garden, on the lawn of which tenantsmight disport themselves, more or less sadly, with tennis or croquet insummer. 

Triffitt looked out of his sitting-room windows last of all. He thenperceived with great joy that in front of them was a balcony, and thatthis balcony stretched across the entire front of the house. There were, in fact, balconies to all five floors--the notion being, of course, thatoccupants could whenever they pleased sit out there in such sunlight asstruggled between their own roof and the tall buildings opposite. Itimmediately occurred to Triffitt that here was an easy way of making acall upon your next door neighbour; instead of crossing the corridor andknocking at his door, you had nothing to do but walk along the balconyand tap at his window. Filled with this thought Triffitt immediatelystepped out on his balcony and inspected the windows of his own and thenext flat. He immediately saw something which filled him with a greatidea. Both windows were fitted with patent ventilators, let into the toppanes. Now, supposing one of these ventilators was fully open, and twopeople were talking within the room in even the ordinary tones ofconversation--would it not be possible for an eavesdropper outside tohear a good deal, if not everything, of what was said? The idea wasworth thinking over, anyway, and Triffitt retired indoors to ruminateover it and over much else. 

For two or three days nothing happened. Twice Triffitt met Burchill onthe stairs--Burchill, of course, did not know him from Adam, and gavehim no more than the mere glance he would have thrown at any otherordinary young man. Triffitt, however, gave Burchill more than a passinglook--unobtrusively. Certainly he was the man whom he had seen in thedock nine years before in that far-off Scottish town--there was littleappreciable alteration in his appearance, except that he was now verysmartly dressed. There were peculiarities about the fellow, saidTriffitt, which you couldn't forget--certainly, Frank Burchill wasFrancis Bentham. 

But on the third day, two things happened--one connected directly withTriffitt's new venture, the other not. The first was that as Triffittwas going down the stairs that afternoon, on his way to the office, atwhich he kept looking in now and then, although he was relieved fromregular attendance and duty, he met Barthorpe Herapath coming up. Triffitt thanked his lucky stars that the staircase was badly lighted, and that this was an unusually gloomy November day. True, Barthorpe hadonly once seen him, that he knew of--that morning at the estate office, when he, Triffitt, had asked Selwood for information--but then, some menhave sharp memories for faces, and Barthorpe might recognize him andwonder what an _Argus_ man was doing there in Calengrove Mansions. SoTriffitt quickly pulled the flap of the Trilby hat about his nose, andsank his chin lower into the turned-up collar of his overcoat, andhurried past the tall figure. And Barthorpe on his part never looked atthe reporter--or if he did, took no more heed of him than of thebalustrade at his side. 

"That's one thing established, anyway!" mused Triffitt as he went hisway. "Barthorpe Herapath is in touch with Burchill. The dead man'snephew and the dead man's ex-secretary--um! Putting their headstogether--about what?"

He was still pondering this question when he reached the office andfound a note from Carver who wanted to see him at once. Triffitt wentround to the _Magnet_ and got speech with Carver in a quiet corner. Carver went straight to his point. 

"I've got him, " he said, eyeing his fellow-conspirator triumphantly. 

"Got--who?" demanded Triffitt. 

"That taxi-cab chap--you know who I mean, " answered Carver. "Ran himdown at noon today. "

"No!" exclaimed Triffitt. "Gad! Are you sure, though?--is it certainhe's the man you were after?"

"He's the chap who drove a gentleman from near Portman Square to just bySt. Mary Abbot church at two o'clock on the morning of the Herapathmurder, " replied Carver. "That's a dead certainty! I risked five poundson it, anyway, for which I'll trouble you. I went on the lines ofrounding up all the cabbies I could find who were as a rule on nightduty round about that quarter, and bit by bit I got on to this fellow, and, as I say, I gave him a fiver for just telling me a mere bit. Andit's here--he's already given some information to that old Mr. Tertius--you know--and Tertius commanded him to keep absolutely quietuntil the moment came for a move. Well, that moment has not come yet, evidently--the chap hasn't been called on since, anyhow--and when Imentioned money he began to prick his ears. He's willing to tell--formoney--if we keep dark what he tells us. The truth is, he's out to getwhat he can out of anybody. If you make it worth his while, he'll tell. "

"Aye!" said Triffitt. "But the question is, what has he got to tell?What does he know?--actually know?"

"He knows, " replied Carver, "he actually knows who the man was that hedrove that morning! He didn't know who he was when he first gaveinformation to Tertius, but he knows now, and, as I say, he's willing tosell his knowledge--in private. "

CHAPTER XX

THE DIAMOND RING

Triffitt considered Carver's report during a moment of mutual silence. If he had consulted his own personal inclination he would have demandedto be led straight to the taxi-cab driver. But Triffitt knew himself tobe the expender of the Markledew money, and the knowledge made himunduly cautious. 

"It comes to this, " he said at last, "this chap knows something which he'salready told to this Mr. Tertius. Mr. Tertius has in all probabilityalready told it to the people at New Scotland Yard. They, of course, willuse the information at their own time and in their own way. But what wewant is something new--something startling--something good!"

"I tell you the fellow's got all that, " said Carver. "He knows the manwhom he drove that morning. Isn't that good enough?"

"Depend upon how I can bring it out, " answered Triffitt. "Well, when canI see this chap?"

"Tonight--seven o'clock, " replied Carver. "I fixed that, in anticipation. "

"And--where?" demanded Triffitt. 

"I'll go with you--it's to be at a pub near Orchard Street, " saidCarver. "Better bring money with you--he'll want cash. "

"All right, " agreed Triffitt. "But I'm not going to throw coin aboutrecklessly. I shall want value. "

Carver laughed. Triffitt's sudden caution amused him. 

"I reckon people have to buy pigs in pokes in dealing with this sort ofthing, Triff, " he said. "But whether the chap's information's good formuch or not, I'm certain it's genuine. Well, come round here again atsix-thirty. "

Triffitt, banknotes in pocket, went round again at six-thirty, and wasduly conducted Oxford Street way by Carver, who eventually led him intoa network of small streets, in which the mews and the stable appeared tobe conspicuous features, and to the bar-parlour of a somewhat dingytavern, at that hour little frequented. And at precisely seven o'clockthe door of the parlour opened and a face showed itself, recognizedCarver, and grinned. Carver beckoned the face into a corner, and havingformally introduced his friend Triffitt, suggested liquid refreshment. The face assented cordially, and having obscured itself for a momentbehind a pint pot, heaved a sigh of gratification, and seemed desirousof entering upon business. 

"But it ain't, of course, to go no further--at present, " said the ownerof the face. "Not into no newspapers nor nothing, _at_ present. I don'tmind telling you young gents, if it's made worth my while, of course, but as things is, I don't want the old gent in Portman Square to know ashow I've let on--d'ye see? Of course, I ain't seen nothing of him neversince I called there, and he gave me a couple o' quid, and told me toexpect more--only the more's a long time o' coming, and if I do see myway to turning a honest penny by what I knows, why, then, d'ye see----"

"I see, very well, " assented Triffitt. "And what might your idea of anhonest penny be, now?"

The taxi-cab driver silently regarded his questioner. He had already hada five-pound note out of Carver, who carried a small fund about him incase of emergency; he was speculating on his chances of materiallyincreasing this, and his eyes grew greedy. 

"Well, now, guv'nor, what's your own notion of that?" he asked at last. "I'm a poor chap, you know, and I don't often get a chance o' making abit in this way. What's it worth--what I can tell, you know--to you?This here young gentleman was keen enough about it this afternoon, guv'nor. "

"Depends, " answered Triffitt. "You'd better answer a question or two. First--you haven't told the old gentleman in Portman Square--Mr. Tertius--any more than what you told my friend here you'd told him?"

"Not a word more, guv'nor! 'Cause why--I ain't seen him since. "

"And you've told nothing to the police?"

"The police ain't never come a-nigh me, and I ain't been near them. Whatthe old chap said was--wait! And I've waited and ain't heard nothing. "

"Wherefore, " observed Triffitt sardonically, "you want to make a bit. "

"Ain't no harm in a man doing his best for his-elf, guv'nor, I hope, "said the would-be informant. "If I don't look after myself, who'sa-going to look after me--I asks you that, now?"

"And I ask you--how much?" said Triffitt. "Out with it!"

The taxi-cab driver considered, eyeing his prospective customerfurtively. 

"The other gent told you what it is I can tell, guv'nor?" he said atlast. "It's information of what you might call partik'lar importance, isthat. "

"I know--you can tell the name of the man whom you drove that morningfrom the corner of Orchard Street to Kensington High Street, " repliedTriffitt. "It may be important--it mayn't. You see, the police haven'tbeen in any hurry to approach you, have they? Come now, give it a name?"

The informant summoned up his resolution. 

"Cash down--on the spot, guv'nor?" he asked. 

"Spot cash, " replied Triffitt. "On this table!"

"Well--how would a couple o' fivers be, now?" asked the anxious one. "It's good stuff, guv'nor. "

"A couple of fivers will do, " answered Triffitt. "And here they are. " Hetook two brand-new, crackling five-pound notes from his pocket, foldedthem up, laid them on the table, and set a glass on them. "Now, then!"he said. "Tell your tale--there's your money when it's told. "

The taxi-cab driver eyed the notes, edged his chair further into thehalf-lighted corner in which Triffitt and Carver sat, and dropped hisvoice to a whisper. 

"All right, guv'nor, " he said. "Thanking you. Then it's this here--theman what I drove that morning was the nephew!"

"You mean Mr. Barthorpe Herapath?" said Triffitt, also in a whisper. 

"That's him--that's the identical, sir! Of course, " continued theinformant, "I didn't know nothing of that when I told the old gent inPortman Square what I did tell him. Now, you see, I wasn't called atthat inquest down there at Kensington--after what I'd told the old gent, I expected to be, but I wasn't. All the same, there's been a deal oftalk around about the corner of Orchard Street, and, of course, there isthem in that quarter as knows all the parties concerned, and this manBarthorpe, as you call him, was pointed out to me as the nephew--nephewto him as was murdered that night. And then, of course, I knew it washim as I took up at two o'clock that morning. "

"How did you know?" asked Triffitt. 

The taxi-cab driver held up a hand and tapped a brass ring on its thirdfinger. 

"Where I wears that ring, gentlemen, " he said triumphantly, "he wears afine diamond--a reg'lar swell 'un. That morning, when he got into mycab, he rested his hand a minute on the door, and the light from one o'the lamps across the street shone full on the stone. Now, then, whenthis here Barthorpe was pointed out to me in Orchard Street, a few daysago, as the nephew of Jacob Herapath, he was talking to anothergentleman, and as they stood there he lighted a cigar, and when he puthis hand up, I see that ring again--no mistaking it, guv'nor! He wasthe man. And, from what I've read, it seems to me it was him as put onhis uncle's coat and hat after the old chap was settled, and----"

"If I were you, I'd keep those theories to myself--yet awhile, at anyrate, " said Triffitt. "In fact--I want you to. Here!" he went on, removing the glass and pushing the folded banknotes towards the taxi-cabdriver, "put those in your pocket. And keep your mouth shut about havingseen and told me. I shan't make any use--public use, anyway--of whatyou've said, just yet. If the old gentleman, Tertius, comes to you, orthe police come along with or without him, you can tell 'em anything youlike--everything you've told me if you please--it doesn't matter, now. But you're on no account to tell them that I've seen you and that you'vespilt to me--do you understand?"

The informant understood readily enough, and promised with equalreadiness, even going so far as to say that that would suit him down tothe ground. 

"All right, " said Triffitt, "keep a still tongue as regards me, andthere'll be another fiver for you. Now, Carver, we'll get. "

Outside Triffitt gave his companion's arm a confidential squeeze. 

"Things are going well!" he said. "I wasn't a bit surprised at what thatfellow told me--I expected it. What charms me is that BarthorpeHerapath, who is certainly to be strongly suspected, is in touch withBurchill--I didn't tell you that I met him on the stairs at CalengroveMansions this afternoon. Of course, he was going to see my next-doorneighbour! What about, friend Carver?"

"If you could answer your own last question, we should know something, "replied Carver. 

"We know something as it is, " said Triffitt. "Enough for me to tellMarkledew, anyway. I don't see so far into all this, myself, butMarkledew's the sort of chap who can look through three brick walls andsee a mole at work in whatever's behind the third, and he'll seesomething in what I tell him, and I'll do the telling as soon as hecomes down tomorrow morning. "

Markledew listened to Triffitt's story next day in his usual raptsilence. The silence remained unbroken for some time after Triffitt hadfinished. And eventually Markledew got up from his elbow-chair andreached for his hat. 

"You can come with me, " he said. "We'll just ride as far as New ScotlandYard. "

Triffitt felt himself turning pale. New Scotland Yard! Was he then toshare his discoveries with officials? In spite of his awful venerationfor the great man before him he could not prevent two words ofdespairing ejaculation escaping from his lips. 

"The police!"

"Just so--the police, " answered Markledew, calmly. "I mean to work thisin connection with them. No need to alarm yourself, young man--I knowwhat you're thinking. But you won't lose any 'kudos'--I'm quitesatisfied with you so far. But we can't do without the police--and theymay be glad of even a hint from us. Now run down and get a taxi-cab andI'll meet you outside. "

Triffitt had never been within the mazes of New Scotland Yard in hislife, and had often wished that business would take him there. It wasvery soon plain to him, however, that his proprietor knew his way aboutthe Criminal Investigation Department as well as he knew the _Argus_office. Markledew was quickly closeted with the high official who hadseen Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Tertius a few days previously; while theytalked, Triffitt was left to kick his heels in a waiting-room. When hewas eventually called in, he found not only the high official andMarkledew, but another man whose name was presently given to him asDavidge. 

"Mr. Davidge, " observed the high official, "is in charge of this case. Will you just tell him your story?"

It appeared to Triffitt that Mr. Davidge was the least impressionable, most stolid man he had ever known. Davidge showed no sign of interest;Triffitt began to wonder if anything could ever surprise him. Helistened in dead silence to all that the reporter had to say; whenTriffitt had finished he looked apathetically at his superior. 

"I think, sir, I will just step round to Mr. Halfpenny's office, " heremarked. "Perhaps Mr. Triffitt will accompany me?--then he and I canhave a bit of a talk. "

Triffitt looked at Markledew: Markledew nodded his big head. 

"Go with him, " said Markledew. "Work with him! He knows what he'safter. "

Davidge took Triffitt away to Mr. Halfpenny's office--on the way thitherhe talked about London fogs, one of which had come down that morning. But he never mentioned the business in hand until--having left Triffittoutside while he went in--he emerged from Mr. Halfpenny's room. Then hetook the reporter's arm and led him away, and his manner changed to oneof interest and even enthusiasm. 

"Well, young fellow!" he said, leading Triffitt down the street, "you'rethe chap I wanted to get hold of!--you're a godsend. And so you reallyhave a flat next to that occupied by the person whom we'll refer to asF. B. , eh?"

"I have, " answered Triffitt, who was full of wonderment. 

"Good--good!--couldn't be better!" murmured the detective. "Now then--Idare say you'd be quite pleased if I called on you at your flat--quietlyand unobtrusively--at say seven o'clock tonight, eh?"

"Delighted!" answered Triffitt. "Of course!"

"Very good, " said Davidge. "Then at seven o'clock tonight I shall bethere. In the meantime--not a word. You're curious to know why I'mcoming? All right--keep your curiosity warm till I come--I'll satisfyit. Tonight, mind, young man--seven, sharp!"

Then he gave Triffitt's arm a squeeze and winked an eye at him, and atonce set off in one direction, while the reporter, mystified andinquisitive, turned in another. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE DESERTED FLAT

When Triffitt had fairly separated from the detective and had come toreckon up the events of that morning he became definitely conscious ofone indisputable fact. The police knew more than he did. The police werein possession of information which had not come his way. The police werepreparing some big _coup_. Therefore--the police would get all theglory. 

This was not what Triffitt had desired. He had wanted to find things outfor himself, to make a grand discovery, to be able to go to Markledewand prove his case. Markledew could then have done what he pleased; ithad always been in Triffitt's mind that Markledew would in allprobability present the result of his reporter's labours to the peopleat Scotland Yard. But Markledew had become somewhat previous--he hadinsisted that Triffitt should talk to the Scotland Yard folk at thisearly--in Triffitt's view, much too early--stage of the proceedings. AndTriffitt had felt all the time he was talking that he was only tellingthe high official and the apathetic Davidge something that they alreadyknew. He had told them about his memories of Bentham and the Scottishmurder trial--something convinced him that they were already wellacquainted with that story. He had narrated the incident of the taxi-cabdriver: he was sure that they were quite well aware that the man who hadbeen driven from Orchard Street to St. Mary Abbot church that morningafter the murder was Barthorpe Herapath. Their cold eyes and polite, yetalmost chillingly indifferent manner had convinced Triffitt that theywere just listening to something with which they were absolutelyfamiliar. Never a gleam of interest had betrayed itself in their stolidofficial faces until he had referred to the fact that he himself wasliving in a flat next door to Burchill's. Then, indeed, the detectivehad roused himself almost to eagerness, and now he was coming to seehim, Triffitt, quietly and unobtrusively. Why?

"All the same, " mused Triffitt, "I shall maybe prove a small cog in thebigger mechanism, and that's something. And Markledew was satisfied, anyway, so far. And if I don't get something out of that chap Davidgetonight, write me down an ass!"

From half-past six that evening, Triffitt, who had previously made someingenious arrangements with the slit of his letter-box, by which he couldkeep an eye on the corridor outside, kept watch on Burchill's door--hehad an instinctive notion that Davidge, when he arrived, would be glad toknow whether the gentleman opposite was in or out. At a quarter to sevenBurchill went out in evening dress, cloak, and opera hat, making a finefigure as he struck the light of the corridor lamp. And ten minutes laterTriffitt heard steps coming along the corridor and he opened the doorto confront Davidge and another man, a quiet-looking, innocent-visagedperson. Davidge waved a hand towards his companion. 

"Evening, Mr. Triffitt, " said he. "Friend of mine--Mr. Milsey. You'llexcuse the liberty, I'm sure. "

"Glad to see both of you, " answered Triffitt, cordially. He led the wayinto his sitting-room, drew chairs forward, and produced refreshmentswhich he had carefully laid in during the afternoon in preparation. "Drop of whisky and soda, gentlemen?" he said, hospitably. "Let me helpyou. Will you try a cigar?"

"Very kind of you, " replied Davidge. "A slight amount of the liquid'lldo us no harm, but no cigars, thank you, Mr. Triffitt. Cigars are apt toleave a scent, an odour, about one's clothes, however careful you maybe, and we don't want to leave any traces of our presence where we'regoing, do we, Jim?"

"Not much, " assented Mr. Milsey, laconically. "Wouldn't do. "

Triffitt handed round the glasses and took a share himself. 

"Ah!" he said. "That's interesting! And where are you going, now--if onemay ask?"

Davidge nodded his desires for his host's good health, and then gave hima wink. 

"We propose to go in there, " he said with a jerk of his thumb towardsBurchill's flat. "It's what I've been wanting to do for three or fourdays, but I didn't see my way clear without resorting to a lot ofthings--search-warrant, and what not--and it would have meant collusionwith the landlord here, and the clerk downstairs, and I don't know whatall, so I put it off a bit. But when you told me that you'd got thisflat, why, then, I saw my way! Of course, I've been familiar with thelie of these flats for a week--I saw the plans of 'em downstairs as soonas I started on to this job. "

"You've been on this job from the beginning, then--in connection withhim?" exclaimed Triffitt, nodding towards the door. 

"We've never had him out of our sight since I started, " replied Davidge, coolly, "except when he's been within his own four walls--where we'represently going. Oh, yes--we've watched him. "

"He's out now, " remarked Triffitt. 

"We know that, " said Davidge. "We know where he's gone. There's a firstnight, a new play, at the Terpsichoreum--he's gone there. He's safeenough till midnight, so we've plenty of time. We just want to have alook around his little nest while he's off it, d'you see?"

"How are you going to get in?" asked Triffitt. 

Davidge nodded towards the window of the sitting-room. 

"By way of that balcony, " he answered. "I told you I knew all about howthese flats are arranged. That balcony's mighty convenient, for thewindow'll not be any more difficult than ordinary. "

"It'll be locked, you know, " observed Triffitt, with a glance at hisown. "Mine is, anyway, and you can bet his will be, too. "

"Oh--that doesn't matter, " said Davidge, carelessly. "We're prepared. Show Mr. Triffitt your kit, Jim--all pals here. "

The innocent-looking Mr. Milsey, who, during this conversation, hadmechanically sipped at his whisky and soda and reflectively gazed at thevarious pictures with which the absent Mr. Stillwater had decorated thewalls of his parlour, plunged a hand into some deep recess in hisovercoat and brought out an oblong case which reminded Triffitt ofnothing so much as those Morocco or Russian-leather affairs in which aknife, a fork, and a spoon repose on padded blue satin and form anelegant present to a newly-born infant. Mr. Milsey snapped open the lidof his case, and revealed, instead of spoon or fork or knife a number ofshining keys, of all sorts and sizes and strange patterns, all ofdelicate make and of evidently superior workmanship. He pushed the caseacross the table to the corner at which Triffitt was sitting, andDavidge regarded it fondly in transit. 

"Pretty things, ain't they?" he said. "Good workmanship there! There'snot very much that you could lock up--in the ordinary way of drawers, boxes, desks, and so on--that Milsey there couldn't get into with thehelp of one or other of those little friends--what, Jim?"

"Nothing!--always excepting a safe, " assented Mr. Milsey. 

"Well, we don't suppose our friend next door keeps an article of thatdescription on his premises, " said Davidge cheerfully. "But we expecthe's got a desk, or a private drawer, or something of that nature inwhich we may find a few little matters of interest and importance--it'scurious, Mr. Triffitt--we're constantly taking notice of it in thecourse of our professional duties--it's curious how men will keep bythem bits of paper that they ought to throw into the fire, and objectsthat they'd do well to cast into the Thames! Ah!--I've known one case inwhich a mere scrap of a letter hanged a man, and another in which a bitof string got a chap fifteen years of the very best--fact, sir! Younever know what you may come across during a search. "

"You're going to search his rooms?" asked Triffitt. 

"Something of that sort, " replied Davidge. "Just a look round, you know, and a bit of a peep into his private receptacles. "

"Then--you're suspecting him in connection with this----" beganTriffitt. 

Davidge stopped him with a look, and slowly drank off the contents ofhis glass. Then he rose. 

"We'll talk of those matters later, " he said significantly. "Now that mygentleman's safely away I think we'll set to work. It'll take a bit oftime. And first of all, Mr. Triffitt, we'll examine your balcony door--Iknow enough about these modern flats to know that everything's prettymuch alike in them as regards fittings, and if your door's easy to open, so will the door of the next be. Now we'll just let Jim there go outsidewith his apparatus, and we'll lock your balcony door on him, and thensee if he finds any difficulty in getting in. To it, Jim!"

Mr. Milsey, thus adjured, went out on the balcony with his little caseand was duly locked out. Within two minutes he opened the door andstepped in with a satisfied grin. 

"Easy as winking!" said Mr. Milsey. "It's what you might call one ofyour penny plain locks, this--and t'other'll be like it. No difficultyabout this job, anyway. "

"Then we'll get to work, " said Davidge. "Mr. Triffitt, I can't ask youto come with us, because that wouldn't be according to etiquette. Sityou down and read your book and smoke your pipe and drink your drop--andmaybe we'll have something to tell you when our job's through. "

"You've no fear of interruption?" asked Triffitt, who would vastly havepreferred action to inaction. "Supposing--you know how things do andwill turn out sometimes--supposing he came back?"

Davidge shook his head and smiled grimly and knowingly. 

"No, " he said. "He'll not come back--at least, if he did, we should bewell warned. I've more than one man at work on this job, Mr. Triffitt, and if his lordship changed the course of his arrangements and returnedthis way, one of my chaps would keep him in conversation while anotherhurried up here to give us the office by a few taps on the outer door. No!--we're safe enough. Sit you down and don't bother about us. Come on, Jim--we'll get to it. "

Triffitt tried to follow the detective's advice--he was just then deepin a French novel of the high-crime order, and he picked it up when thetwo men had gone out on the balcony and endeavoured to get interested init. But he speedily discovered that the unravelling of crime on paperwas nothing like so fascinating as the actual participation in detectionof crime in real life, and he threw the book aside and gave himself upto waiting. What were those two doing in Burchill's rooms? What werethey finding? What would the result be?

Certainly Davidge and his man took their time. Eight o'clock came andwent--nine o'clock, ten o'clock followed and sped into the past, andthey were still there. It was drawing near to eleven, and they had beenin those rooms well over three hours, when a slight sound came atTriffitt's window and Davidge put his head in, to be presently followedby Milsey. Milsey looked as innocent as ever, but it seemed to Triffittthat Davidge looked grave. 

"Well?" said Triffitt. "Any luck?"

Davidge drew the curtains over the balcony window before he turned andanswered this question. 

"Mr. Triffitt, " he said, when at last he faced round, "you'll have toput us up for the night. After what I've found, I'm not going to losesight, or get out of touch with this man. Now listen, and I'll tell you, at any rate, something. Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock there's to be asort of informal inquiry at Mr. Halfpenny's office into the matter of awill of the date of Jacob Herapath's--all the parties concerned aregoing to meet there, and I know that this man Burchill is to be present. I don't propose to lose sight of him after he returns here tonightuntil he goes to that office--what happens after he's once there, youshall see. So Milsey and I'll just have to trouble you to let me stophere for the night. You can go to your bed, of course--we'll sit up. I'll send Milsey out to buy a bit of supper for us--I dare say he'llfind something open close by. "

"No need, " Triffitt hastened to say. "I've a cold meat pie, uncut, andplenty of bread, and cheese. And there's bottled ale, and whisky, andI'll get you some supper ready at once. So"--he went on, as he began tobustle about--"you did find--something?"

Davidge rubbed his hands and winked first at Milsey and then atTriffitt. 

"Wait till tomorrow!" he said. "There'll be strange news for younewspaper gentlemen before tomorrow night. "

CHAPTER XXII

YEA AND NAY

Mr. Halfpenny, face to face with the fact that Barthorpe Herapath meantmischief about the will, put on his thinking-cap and gave himself up toa deep and serious consideration of the matter. He thought things overas he journeyed home to his house in the country; he spent an evening infurther thought; he was still thinking when he went up to town nextmorning. The result of his cogitations was that after giving certaininstructions in his office as to the next steps to be taken towards dulyestablishing Jacob Herapath's will, he went round to BarthorpeHerapath's office and asked to see him. 

Barthorpe himself came out of his private room and showed somepoliteness in ushering his caller within. His manner seemed to begenuinely frank and unaffected: Mr. Halfpenny was considerably puzzledby it. Was Barthorpe playing a part, or was all this real? That, ofcourse, must be decided by events: Mr. Halfpenny was not going to loseany time in moving towards them, whatever they might turn out to be. Heaccordingly went straight to the point. 

"My dear sir, " he began, bending confidentially towards Barthorpe, whohad taken a seat at his desk and was waiting for his visitor to speak, "you have entered a caveat against the will in the Probate Registry. "

"I have, " answered Barthorpe, with candid alacrity. "Of course!"

"You intend to contest the matter?" inquired Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Certainly!" replied Barthorpe. 

Mr. Halfpenny gathered a good deal from the firm and decisive tone inwhich this answer was made. Clearly there was something in the air ofwhich he was wholly ignorant. 

"You no doubt believe that you have good reason for your course ofaction, " he observed. 

"The best reasons, " said Barthorpe. 

Mr. Halfpenny ruminated a little, silently. 

"After all, " he said at last, "there are only two persons reallyconcerned--your cousin, Miss Wynne, and yourself. I propose to make anoffer to you. "

"Always willing to be reasonable, Mr. Halfpenny, " answered Barthorpe. 

"Very good, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "Of course, I see no possible reason fordoubting the validity of the will. From our side, litigation must go on inthe usual course. But I have a proposal to make to you. It is this--willyou meet your cousin at my office, with all the persons--witnesses to thewill, I mean--and state your objections to the will? In short, let ushave what we may call a family discussion about it--it may prevent muchlitigation. "

Barthorpe considered this suggestion for a while. 

"What you really mean is that I should come to your offices and tell mycousin and you why I am fighting this will, " he said eventually. "Thatit?"

"Practically--yes, " assented Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Whom do you propose to have present?" asked Barthorpe. 

"Yourself, your cousin, myself, the two witnesses, and, as a friend ofeverybody concerned, Professor Cox-Raythwaite, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "No one else is necessary. "

"And you wish me to tell, plainly, why I refuse to believe that the willis genuine?" asked Barthorpe. 

"Certainly--yes, " assented Mr. Halfpenny. 

Barthorpe hesitated, eyeing the old lawyer doubtfully. 

"It will be a painful business--for my cousin, " he said. 

"If--I really haven't the faintest notion of what you mean!" exclaimedMr. Halfpenny. "But if--if it will be painful for your cousin to hearthis--whatever it is--in private, it would be much more painful for herto hear it in public. I gather, of course, that you have some strangerevelation to make. Surely, it would be most considerate to her to makeit in what we may call the privacy of the family circle, Cox-Raythwaiteand myself. "

"I haven't the least objection to Cox-Raythwaite's presence, nor yours, "said Barthorpe. "Very good--I'll accept your proposal--it will, as yousay, save a lot of litigation. Now--when?"

"Today is Tuesday, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "What do you say to next Fridaymorning, at ten o'clock?"

"Friday will do, " answered Barthorpe. "I will be there at ten o'clock. Ishall leave it to you to summon all the parties concerned. By the by, have you Burchill's address?"

"I have, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "I will communicate with him at once. "

Barthorpe nodded, rose from his seat, and walked with his visitortowards the door of his private room. 

"Understand, Mr. Halfpenny, " he said, "I'm agreeing to this to obligeyou. And if the truth is very painful to my cousin, well, as you say, it's better for her to hear it in private than in a court of justice. All right, then--Friday at ten. "

Mr. Halfpenny went back to his own office, astonished and marvelling. What on earth were these revelations which Barthorpe hinted at--theseunpleasant truths which would so wound and hurt Peggie Wynne? Could itbe possible that there really was some mystery about that will of whichonly Barthorpe knew the secret? It was incomprehensible to Mr. Halfpennythat any man could be so cool, so apparently cocksure about matters asBarthorpe was unless he felt absolutely certain of his own case. Whatthat case could be, Mr. Halfpenny could not imagine--the only thingreally certain was that Barthorpe seemed resolved on laying it bare whenFriday came. 

"God bless me!--it's a most extraordinary complication altogether!"mused Mr. Halfpenny, once more alone in his own office. "It's veryevident to me that Barthorpe Herapath is absolutely ignorant that he'ssuspected, and that the police are at work on him! What a surprise forhim if the thing comes to a definite head, and--but let us see whatFriday morning brings. "

Friday morning brought Barthorpe to Mr. Halfpenny's offices in goodtime. He came alone; a few minutes after his arrival Peggie Wynne, nervous and frightened, came, attended by Mr. Tertius and ProfessorCox-Raythwaite. All these people were at once ushered into Mr. Halfpenny's private room, where polite, if constrained, greetingspassed. At five minutes past ten o'clock Mr. Halfpenny looked atBarthorpe. 

"We're only waiting for Mr. Burchill, " he remarked. "I wrote to himafter seeing you, and I received a reply from him in which he promisedto be here at ten this morning. It's now----"

But at that moment the door opened to admit Mr. Frank Burchill, who, allunconscious of the fact that more than one pair of sharp eyes hadfollowed him from his flat to Mr. Halfpenny's office, and that theirowners were now in the immediate vicinity, came in full of politeself-assurance, and executed formal bows while he gracefully apologisedto Mr. Halfpenny for being late. 

"It's all right, all right, Mr. Burchill, " said the old lawyer, a littletesty under the last-comer's polite phrases, all of which he thoughtunnecessary. "Five or ten minutes won't make any great difference. Takea seat, pray: I think if we all sit around this centre table of mine itwill be more convenient. We can begin at once now, Mr. BarthorpeHerapath--I have already given strict instructions that we are not to bedisturbed, on any account. My dear--perhaps you will sit here byme?--Mr. Tertius, you sit next to Miss Wynne--Professor----"

Mr. Halfpenny's dispositions of his guests placed Peggie and her twocompanions on one side of a round table; Barthorpe and Burchill at theother--Mr. Halfpenny himself sat at the head. And as soon as he hadtaken his own seat, he looked at Barthorpe. 

"This, of course, " he began, "is a quite informal meeting. We are here, as I understand matters, to hear why you, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, objectto your late uncle's will, and why you intend to dispute it. So Isuppose the next thing to do will be to ask you to state your grounds. "

But Barthorpe shook his head with a decisive motion. 

"No, " he answered. "Not at all! The first thing to do, Mr. Halfpenny, inmy opinion, is to hear what is to be said in favour of the will. Thewill itself, I take it, is in your possession. I have seen it--I mean, Ihave seen the document which purports to be a will of the late JacobHerapath--so I admit its existence. Two persons are named on thatdocument as witnesses: Mr. Tertius, Mr. Burchill. They are both presentnow; at your request. I submit that the proper procedure is to questionthem both as to the circumstances under, which this alleged will wasmade. "

"I have no objections to that, " answered Mr. Halfpenny. "I have noobjection--neither, I am sure, has Miss Wynne--to anything you propose. Well, we take it for granted that this document exists--it is, ofcourse, in my safe keeping. Every person has seen it, one time oranother. We have here the two gentlemen who witnessed Jacob Herapath'ssignature and each other's. So I will first ask the elder of the two totell us what he recollects of the matter. Now, Mr. Tertius?"

Mr. Tertius, who since his arrival had shown as much nervousness aswould probably have signalised his appearance in a witness-box, startedat this direct appeal. 

"You--er, wish me----" he began, with an almost blank stare at Mr. Halfpenny. "You want me to----"

"Come, come!" said Mr. Halfpenny. "This is as I have already said, aninformal gathering. We needn't have any set forms or cut-and-driedprocedure. I want you--we all want you--to tell us what you rememberabout the making of Jacob Herapath's will. Tell us in your own way, inwhatever terms you like. Then we shall hear what your fellow-witness hasto say. "

"Perhaps you'll let me suggest something, " broke in Barthorpe, who hadobviously been thinking matters over. "Lay the alleged will on the tablebefore you, Mr. Halfpenny--question the two opposed witnesses on it. That will simplify things. "

Mr. Halfpenny considered this proposition for a moment or two; thenhaving whispered to Peggie and received her assent, he went across to asafe and presently returned with the will, which he placed on awriting-pad that lay in front of him. 

"Now, Mr. Tertius, " he said. "Look at this will, which purports to havebeen made on the eighteenth day of April last. I understand that JacobHerapath called you into his study on the evening of that day and toldyou that he wanted you and Mr. Burchill, his secretary, to witness hissignature to a will which he had made--had written out himself. Iunderstand also that you did witness his signature, attached your own, in Mr. Herapath's presence and Mr. Burchill's presence, and that Mr. Burchill's signature was attached under the same conditions. Am I rightin all this?"

"Quite right, " replied Mr. Tertius. "Quite!"

"Is this the document which Jacob Herapath produced?"

"It is--certainly. "

"Was it all drawn out then?--I am putting these questions to you quiteinformally. "

"It was all written out, except the signatures. Jacob showed us that itwas so written, though he did not allow us to see the wording. But heshowed us plainly that there was nothing to do but to sign. Then he laidit on the desk, covered most of the sheet of paper with a piece ofblotting paper and signed his name in our presence--I stood on one sideof him, Mr. Burchill on the other. Then Mr. Burchill signed in hisplace--beneath mine. "

"And this, " asked Mr. Halfpenny, pointing to the will, "this is yoursignature?"

"Most certainly!" answered Mr. Tertius. 

"And this, " continued Mr. Halfpenny, "is Jacob Herapath's?--and this Mr. Burchill's? You have no doubt about it?"

"No more than that I see and hear you, " replied Mr. Tertius. "I have nodoubt. "

Mr. Halfpenny turned from Mr. Tertius to Barthorpe Herapath. ButBarthorpe's face just then revealed nothing. Therefore the old lawyerturned towards Burchill. And suddenly a sharp idea struck him. He wouldsettle one point to his own satisfaction at once, by one directquestion. And so he--as it were by impulse--thrust the will before andbeneath Burchill's eyes, and placed his finger against the thirdsignature. 

"Mr. Burchill, " he said, "is that your writing?"

Burchill, calm and self-possessed, glanced at the place which Mr. Halfpenny indicated, and then lifted his eyes, half sadly, halfdeprecatingly. 

"No!" he replied, with a little shake of the head "No, Mr. Halfpenny, itis not!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ACCUSATION

The old lawyer, who had bent forward across the table in speaking toBurchill, pulled himself up sharply on receiving this answer, and for asecond or two stared with a keen, searching gaze at the man he hadquestioned, who, on his part, returned the stare with calm assurance. Adeep silence had fallen on the room; nothing broke it until ProfessorCox-Raythwaite suddenly began to tap the table with the ends of hisfingers. The sound roused Mr. Halfpenny to speech and action. He bentforward again towards Burchill, once more laying a hand on the will. 

"That is not your signature?" he asked quietly. 

Burchill shook his head--this time with a gesture of something very likecontempt. 

"It is not!" he answered. 

"Did you see the late Jacob Herapath write--that?"

"I did not!"

"Did you see Mr. Tertius write--that?"

"I did not!"

"Have you ever seen this will, this document, before?"

"Never!"

Mr. Halfpenny drew the will towards himself with an impatient movementand began to replace it in the large envelope from which it had beentaken. 

"In short, you never assisted at the execution of this document--neversaw Jacob Herapath make any will--never witnessed any signature of histo this?" he said testily. "That's what you really say--what youaffirm?"

"Just so, " replied Burchill. "You apprehend me exactly. "

"Yet you have just heard what Mr. Tertius says! What do you say to that, Mr. Burchill?"

"I say nothing to that, Mr. Halfpenny. I have nothing to do with whatMr. Tertius says. I have answered your questions. "

"Mr. Tertius says that he and you saw Jacob Herapath sign that document, saw each other sign it! What you say now gives Mr. Tertius the directlie, and----"

"Pardon me, Mr. Halfpenny, " interrupted Burchill quietly. "Mr. Tertiusmay be under some strange misapprehension; Mr. Tertius may be sufferingfrom some curious hallucination. What I say is--I did not see the lateJacob Herapath sign that paper; I did not sign it myself; I did not seeMr. Tertius sign it; I have never seen it before!"

Mr. Halfpenny made a little snorting sound, got up from his chair, picked up the envelope which contained the will, walked over to hissafe, deposited the envelope in some inner receptacle, came back, produced his snuff-box, took a hearty pinch of its contents, snortedagain, and looked hard at Barthorpe. 

"I don't see the least use in going on with this!" he said. "We haveheard what Mr. Tertius, as one witness, says; we have heard what Mr. Frank Burchill, as the other witness, says. Mr. Tertius says that he sawthe will executed in Mr. Burchill's presence; Mr. Burchill denies thatin the fullest and most unqualified fashion. Why waste more time? We hadbetter separate. "

But Barthorpe laughed, maliciously. 

"Scarcely!" he said. "You brought us here. It was your own proposal. Iassented. And now that we are here, and you have heard--what you haveheard--I'm going to have my say. You have gone, all along, Mr. Halfpenny, on the assumption that the piece of paper which you have justreplaced in your safe is a genuine will. That's what you've said--Ibelieve it's what you say now. I don't say so!"

"What do you say it is, then?" demanded Mr. Halfpenny. 

Barthorpe slightly lowered his voice. 

"I say it's a forgery!" he answered. "That, I hope, is plain language. Aforgery--from the first word to its last. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny, a little sneeringly. "And who's theforger, pray?"

"That man, there!" said Barthorpe, suddenly pointing to Mr. Tertius. "He's the forger! I accuse him to his face of forging every word, everyletter of it from the first stroke to the final one. And I'll give youenough evidence to prove it--enough evidence, at any rate, to prove itto any reasonable man or before a judge and jury. Forgery, I tell you!"

Mr. Halfpenny sat down again and became very calm and judicial. And hehad at once to restrain Peggie Wynne, who during Barthorpe's last speechhad manifested signs of a desire to speak, and had begun to produce asealed packet from her muff. 

"Wait, my dear, " said Mr. Halfpenny. "Do not speak just now--you shallhave an opportunity later--leave this to me at present. So you say youcan prove that this will is a forgery, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath?" hecontinued, turning to the other side of the table. "Very well--since Isuggested that you should come here, you shall certainly have theopportunity. But just allow me to ask Mr. Tertius a question--Tertius, you have heard what Mr. Frank Burchill has just said?"

"I have!" replied Mr. Tertius. "And--I am amazed!"

"You stand by what you said yourself? You gave us a perfectly truthfulaccount of the execution of the will?"

"I stand by every word I said. I gave you--will give it again, anywhere!--a perfectly truthful account of the circumstances under whichthe will was signed and witnessed. I have made no mistakes--I am underno hallucination. I am--astonished!"

Mr. Halfpenny turned to Barthorpe with a wave of the hand. 

"We are at your disposal, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, " he said. "I leavethe rest of these proceedings to you. You have openly and unqualifiedlyaccused Mr. Tertius of forging the will which we have all seen, and havesaid you can prove your accusations. Perhaps you'd better do it. Mindyou!" he added, with a sudden heightening of tone, "mind you, I'm notasking you to prove anything. But if I know Tertius--and I think Ido--he won't object to your saying anything you like--we shall, perhaps, get at the truth by way of what you say. So--say on!"

"You're very kind, " retorted Barthorpe. "I shall say on! But--I warnedyou--what I've got to say will give a good deal of pain to my cousinthere. It would have been far better if you'd kept her out of this--still, she'd have had to hear it sooner or later in a court of justice----"

"It strikes me we shall have to hear a good deal in a court ofjustice--as you say, sooner or later, " interrupted Mr. Halfpenny, dryly. "So I don't think you need spare Miss Wynne. I should advise you to goon, and let us become acquainted with what you've got to tell us. "

"Barthorpe!" said Peggie, "I do not mind what pain you give me--youcan't give me much more than I've already been given this morning. But Iwish"--she turned appealingly to Mr. Halfpenny and again began to drawthe sealed packet from her muff--"I do wish, Mr. Halfpenny, you'd let mesay something before----"

"Say nothing, my dear, at present, " commanded Mr. Halfpenny, firmly. "Allow Mr. Barthorpe Herapath to have his say. Now, sir!" he went on, with a motion of his hand towards the younger solicitor. "Pray let ushear you. "

"In my own fashion, " retorted Barthorpe. "You're not a judge, you know. Very good--if I give pain to you, Peggie, it's not my fault. Now, Mr. Halfpenny, " he continued, turning and pointing contemptuously to Mr. Tertius, "as this is wholly informal, I'll begin with an informal yetpertinent question, to you. Do you know who that man really is?"

"I believe that gentleman, sir, to be Mr. John Christopher Tertius, andmy very good and much-esteemed friend, " replied Mr. Halfpenny, withasperity. 

"Pshaw!" sneered Barthorpe. He turned to Professor Cox-Raythwaite. "I'llput the same question to you?" he said. "Do you know who he is?"

"And I give you the same answer, sir, " answered the professor. 

"No doubt!" said Barthorpe, still sneeringly. "The fact is, neither ofyou know who he is. So I'll tell you. He's an ex-convict. He served aterm of penal servitude for forgery--forgery, do you hear? And his realname is not Tertius. What it is, and who he really is, and all abouthim, I'm going to tell you. Forger--ex-convict--get that into yourminds, all of you. For it's true!"

Mr. Tertius, who had started visibly as Barthorpe rapped out the firstof his accusations, and had grown paler as they went on, quietly rosefrom his chair. 

"Before this goes further, Halfpenny, " he said, "I should like to have aword in private with Miss Wynne. Afterwards--and I shan't detain hermore than a moment--I shall have no objection to hearing anything thatMr. Barthorpe Herapath has to say. My dear!--step this way with me amoment, I beg. "

Mr. Halfpenny's private room was an apartment of considerable size, having in it two large recessed windows. Into one of these Mr. Tertiusled Peggie, and there he spoke a few quiet words to her. BarthorpeHerapath affected to take no notice, but the other men, watching themclosely, saw the girl start at something which Mr. Tertius said. But sheinstantly regained her self-possession and composure, and when she cameback to the table her face, though pale, was firm and resolute. AndBarthorpe looked at her then, and his voice, when he spoke again, wasless aggressive and more civil. 

"It's not to my taste to bring unpleasant family scandals into publicnotice, " he said, "and that's why I rather welcomed your proposal thatwe should discuss this affair in private, Mr. Halfpenny. And now forwhat I've got to tell you. I shall have to go back a long way in ourfamily history. My late uncle, Jacob Herapath, was the eldest of thethree children of his father, Matthew Herapath, who was a medicalpractitioner at Granchester in Yorkshire--a small town on the Yorkshireand Lancashire border. The three children were Jacob, Richard, andSusan. With the main outlines of Jacob Herapath's career I believe weare all fairly well acquainted. He came to London as a youth, and heprospered, and became what we know him to have been. Richard, my father, went out to Canada, when he was very young, settled there, and there hedied. 

"Now we come to Susan, the only daughter. Susan Herapath, at the age oftwenty, married a man named Wynne--Arthur John Wynne, who at that timewas about twenty-five years of age, was the secretary and treasurer of arecently formed railway--a sort of branch railway on the coast, whichhad its head office at Southampton, a coast town. In Southampton, thisArthur John Wynne and his wife settled down. At the end of a year theirfirst child was born--my cousin Margaret, who is here with us. Whenshe--I am putting all this as briefly as I can--when she was abouteighteen months old a sad affair happened. Wynne, who had been living ina style very much above his position, was suddenly arrested on a chargeof forgery. Investigations proved that he had executed a number of mostskilful and clever forgeries, by which he had defrauded his employers ofa large--a very large--amount of money. He was sent for trial to theassizes at Lancaster, he was found guilty, and he was sentenced to sevenyears' penal servitude. And almost at once after the trial his wifedied. 

"Here my late uncle, Jacob Herapath, came forward. He went north, assumed possession and guardianship of the child, and took her away fromSouthampton. He took her into Buckinghamshire and there placed her inthe care of some people named Bristowe, who were farmers near Aylesburyand whom he knew very well. In the care of Mrs. Bristowe, the childremained until she was between six and seven years old. Then she wasremoved to Jacob Herapath's own house in Portman Square, where she hasremained ever since. My cousin, I believe, has a very accuraterecollection of her residence with the Bristowes, and she will rememberbeing brought from Buckinghamshire to London at the time I have spokenof. "

Barthorpe paused for a moment and looked at Peggie. But Peggie, who waslistening intently with downcast head, made no remark, and he presentlycontinued. 

"Now, not so very long after that--I mean, after the child was broughtto Portman Square--another person came to the house as a permanentresident. His name was given to the servants as Mr. Tertius. Theconditions of his residence were somewhat peculiar. He had rooms of hisown; he did as he liked. Sometimes he joined Jacob Herapath at meals;sometimes he did not. There was an air of mystery about him. What wasit? I will tell you in a word--the mystery or its secret, was this--theman Tertius, who sits there now, was in reality the girl's father! Hewas Arthur John Wynne, the ex-convict--the clever forger!"

CHAPTER XXIV

COLD STEEL

The two men who formed what one may call the alien and impartial audienceat that table were mutually and similarly impressed by a certain featureof Barthorpe Herapath's speech--its exceeding malevolence. As he went onfrom sentence to sentence, his eyes continually turned to Mr. Tertius, who sat, composed and impassive, listening, and in them was a gleamwhich could not be mistaken--the gleam of bitter, personal dislike. Mr. Halfpenny and Professor Cox-Raythwaite both saw that look and drew theirown conclusions, and when Barthorpe spat out his last words, the man ofscience turned to the man of law and muttered a sharp sentence in Latinwhich no one else caught. And Mr. Halfpenny nodded and muttered a wordor two back before he turned to Barthorpe. 

"Even supposing--mind, I only say supposing--even supposing you arecorrect in all you say--and I don't know that you are, " he said, "what youhave put before us does nothing to prove that the will which we have justinspected is not what we believe it to be--we, at any rate--the valid willof Jacob Herapath. You know as well as I do that you'd have to givestronger grounds than that before a judge and jury. "

"I'll give you my grounds, " answered Barthorpe eagerly. He bent over thetable in his eagerness, and the old lawyer suddenly realized thatBarthorpe genuinely believed himself to be in the right. "I'll give youmy grounds without reserve. Consider them--I'll check them off, point bypoint--you can follow them:

"First. It was well known--to me, at any rate, that my uncle JacobHerapath, had never made a will. 

"Second. Is it not probable that if he wanted to make a will he wouldhave employed me, who had acted as his solicitor for fifteen years?

"Third. I had a conversation with him about making a will just under ayear ago, and he then said he'd have it done, and he mentioned that heshould divide his estate equally between me and my cousin there. 

"Fourth. Mr. Burchill here absolutely denies all knowledge of thisalleged will. 

"Fifth. My uncle's handwriting, as you all know, was exceedingly plainand very easy to imitate. Burchill's handwriting is similarly plain--ofthe copperplate sort--and just as easy to imitate. 

"Sixth. That man across there is an expert forger! I have the account ofhis trial at Lancaster Assizes--the evidence shows that his work was mostexpert. Is it likely that his hand should have lost its cunning--evenafter several years?

"Seventh. That man there had every opportunity of forging this will. With his experience and knowledge it would be a simple matter to him. Hedid it with the idea of getting everything into the hands of his owndaughter, of defrauding me of my just rights. Since my uncle's death hehas made two attempts to see Burchill privately--why? To square him, ofcourse! And----"

Mr. Tertius, who had been gazing at the table while Barthorpe wentthrough these points, suddenly lifted his head and looked at Mr. Halfpenny. His usual nervousness seemed to have left him, and there wassomething very like a smile of contempt about his lips when he spoke. 

"I think, Halfpenny, " he said quietly, "I really think it is time allthis extraordinary farce--for it is nothing less!--came to an end. May Ibe permitted to ask Mr. Barthorpe Herapath a few questions?"

"So far as I am concerned, as many as you please, Tertius, " replied Mr. Halfpenny. "Whether he'll answer them or not is another matter. He oughtto. "

"I shall answer them if I please, and I shall not answer them if I don'twant to, " said Barthorpe sullenly. "You can put them, anyway. Butthey'll make no difference--I know what I'm talking about. "

"So do I, " said Mr. Tertius. "And really, as we come here to get at thetruth, it will be all the better for everybody concerned if you doanswer my questions. Now--you say I am in reality Arthur Wynne, thefather of your cousin, the brother-in-law of Jacob Herapath. What youhave said about Arthur John Wynne is unfortunately only too true. It istrue that he erred and was punished--severely. In due course he went toPortland. I want to ask you what became of him afterwards?--you say youhave full knowledge. "

"You mean, what became of you afterwards, " sneered Barthorpe. "I knowwhen you left Portland. You left it for London--and you came to Londonto be sheltered, under your assumed name, by Jacob Herapath. "

"No more than that?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"That's enough, " answered Barthorpe. "You left Portland in April, 1897;you came to London when you were discharged; in June of that year you'dtaken up your residence under Jacob Herapath's roof. And it's no useyour trying to bluff me--I've traced your movements!"

"With the aid, no doubt, of Mr. Burchill there, " observed Mr. Tertius, dryly. "But----"

Burchill drew himself up. 

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "That is an unwarrantable assumption, and----"

"Unwarrantable assumptions, Mr. Burchill, appear to be present in greatquantity, " interrupted Mr. Tertius, with an air of defiance whichsurprised everybody. "Don't you interrupt me, sir!--I'll deal with youbefore long in a way that will astonish you. Now, Mr. BarthorpeHerapath, " he went on, turning to that person with determination, "Iwill astonish you somewhat, for I honestly believe you really have somebelief in what you say. I am not Arthur John Wynne. I am what I havealways been--John Christopher Tertius, as a considerable number ofpeople in this town can prove. But I knew Arthur John Wynne. When heleft Portland he came to me here in London--at the suggestion of JacobHerapath. I then lived in Bloomsbury--I had recently lost my wife. Itook Wynne to live with me. But he had not long to live. If you hadsearched into matters more deeply, you would have found that he got hisdischarge earlier than he would have done in the usual course, becauseof his health. As a matter of fact, he was very ill when he came to me, and he died six weeks after his arrival at my house. He is buried in thechurchyard of the village from which he originally came--in Wales--andyou can inspect all the documents relating to his death, and see hisgrave if you care to. After his death, for reasons into which I need notgo, I went to live with Jacob Herapath. It was his great desire--andmine--that Wynne's daughter, your cousin, should never know her father'ssad history. But for you she never would have known it! And--that is aplain answer to what you have had to allege against me. Now, sir, let meask you a plain question. Who invented this cock-and-bull story? Youdon't reply--readily? Shall I assist you by a suggestion? Was it thatman who sits by you--Burchill? For Burchill knows that he has liedvilely and shamelessly this morning--Burchill knows that he did seeJacob Herapath sign that will--Burchill knows that that will was dulywitnessed by himself and by me in the presence of each other and of thetestator! God bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Tertius, thumping the tablevehemently. "Why, man alive, your cousin Margaret has a document herewhich proves that that will is all right--a document written by JacobHerapath himself! Bring it out, my dear--confound these men with anindisputable proof!"

But before Peggie could draw the packet from her muff, Burchill hadrisen and was showing signs of retreat. And Barthorpe, now pale withanger and perplexity, had risen too--and he was looking at Burchill. 

Mr. Halfpenny looked at both men. Then he pointed to their chairs. "Hadn't you better sit down again?" he said. "It seems to me that we'rejust arriving at the most interesting stage of these proceedings. "

Burchill stepped towards the door. 

"I do not propose to stay in company in which I am ruthlessly insulted, "he said. "It is, of course, a question of my word against Mr. Tertius's. We shall see. As for the present, I do. "

"Stop!" said Barthorpe. He moved towards Burchill, motioning him towardsthe window in which Peggie and Mr. Tertius had spoken together. "Here--aword with you!"

But Burchill made for the door, and Mr. Halfpenny nudged ProfessorCox-Raythwaite. 

"I say--stop!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "There's some explanation----"

He was about to lay a hand on the door when Mr. Halfpenny touched abell which stood in front of him on the table. And at its sharp soundthe door opened from without, and Burchill fell back at what hesaw--fell back upon Barthorpe, who looked past him, and started in histurn. 

"Great Scot!" said Barthorpe. "Police!"

Davidge came quickly and quietly in--three other men with him. And inthe room from which they emerged Barthorpe saw more men, many more men, and with them an eager, excited face which he somehow recognized--theface of the little _Argus_ reporter who had asked him and Selwood fornews on the morning after Jacob Herapath's murder. 

But Barthorpe had no time to waste thoughts on Triffitt. He suddenlybecame alive to the fact that two exceedingly strong men had seized hisarms; that two others had similarly seized Burchill. The pallor died outof his face and gave place to a dull glow of anger. 

"Now, then?" he growled. "What's all this!"

"The same for both of you, Mr. Herapath, " answered Davidge, cheerfullyand in business-like fashion. "I'll charge both you and Mr. Burchillformally when we've got you to the station. You're both under arrest, you know. And I may as well warn you----"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Arrest!--on what charge?"

"Charge will be the same for both, " answered Davidge coolly. "The murderof Jacob Herapath. "

A dead silence fell on the room. Then Peggie Wynne cried out, andBarthorpe suddenly made a spring at Burchill. 

"You villain!" he said in a low concentrated voice. "You've done me, youdevil! Let me get my hands on----"

The other men, Triffitt on their heels, came bustling into the room, obedient to Davidge's lifted finger. 

"Put the handcuffs on both of 'em, " commanded Davidge. "Can't take anychances, Mr. Herapath, if you lose your temper--the other gentleman----"

It was at that moment that the other gentleman took his chance. WhileBarthorpe Herapath had foolishly allowed himself to become warm andexcited, Burchill had remained cool and watchful and calculating. And nowin the slight diversion made by the entrance of the other detectives, hesuddenly and adroitly threw off the grasp of the men who held him, dartedthrough the open door on to the stairs, and had vanished before Davidgecould cry out. Davidge darted too, the other police darted, Mr. Halfpennysmote his bell and shouted to his clerks. But the clerks were downstairs, out of hearing, and the police were fleshy men, slow of movement, whileBurchill was slippery as an eel and agile as an athlete. Moreover, Burchill, during his secretaryship to Jacob Herapath, had constantlyvisited Mr. Halfpenny's office, and was as well acquainted with its insand outs as its tenant; he knew where, in those dark stairs there wasa side stair which led to a private door in a neighbouring alley. Andwhile the pursuers blundered this way and that, he calmly slipped out tofreedom, and, in a couple of minutes was mingling with the crowds in abusy thoroughfare, safe for that time. 

Then Davidge, cursing his men and his luck, took Barthorpe Herapath away, and Triffitt rushed headlong to Fleet Street, seething with excitement andbrimming with news. 

CHAPTER XXV

PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS

The _Argus_ came out in great style next morning, and it and Triffittcontinued to give its vast circle of readers a similar feast ofexcitement for a good ten days. Triffitt, in fact, went almost foodlessand sleepless; there was so much to do. To begin with, there was thedaily hue and cry after Burchill, who had disappeared as completely asif his familiar evil spirits had carried him bodily away from the verydoor of Halfpenny and Farthing's office. Then there was the bringing upof Barthorpe Herapath before the magistrate at Bow Street, and theproceedings at the adjourned coroner's inquest. It was not until thetenth day that anything like a breathing space came. But the position ofaffairs on that tenth day was a fairly clear one. The coroner's jury hadreturned a verdict of wilful murder against Barthorpe Herapath and FrankBurchill; the magistrate had committed Barthorpe for trial; the policewere still hunting high and low for Burchill. And there was scarcely asoul who had heard the evidence before the coroner and the magistratewho did not believe that both the suspected men were guilty and thatboth--when Burchill had been caught--would ere long stand in the OldBailey dock and eventually hear themselves sentenced to the scaffold. 

One man, however, believed nothing of the sort, and that man wasProfessor Cox-Raythwaite. His big, burly form had been very much inevidence at all the proceedings before coroner and magistrate. He hadfollowed every scrap of testimony with the most scrupulous care; he hadmade notes from time to time; he had given up his leisure moments, andstolen some from his proper pursuits, to a deep consideration of thecase as presented by the police. And on the afternoon which sawBarthorpe committed to take his trial, he went away from Bow Street, alone, thinking more deeply than ever. He walked home to his house inEndsleigh Gardens, head bent, hands clasped behind his big back, thevery incarnation of deep and ponderous musing. He shut himself in hisstudy; he threw himself into his easy chair before his hearth; heremained smoking infinite tobacco, staring into vacancy, until hisdinner-bell rang. He roused himself to eat and drink; then he went outinto the street, bought all the evening newspapers he could lay handson, and, hailing a taxi-cab, drove to Portman Square. 

Peggie, Mr. Tertius, and Selwood had just dined; they were sitting in aquiet little parlour, silent and melancholy. The disgrace of Barthorpe'sarrest, of the revelations before coroner and magistrate, of hiscommittal on the capital charge, had reduced Peggie to a state ofintense misery; the two men felt hopelessly unable to give her anycomfort. To both, the entrance of Cox-Raythwaite came as a positiverelief. 

Cox-Raythwaite, shown into the presence of these three, closed the doorin a fashion which showed that he did not wish to be disturbed, camesilently across the room, and drew a chair into the midst of thedisconsolate group. His glance round commanded attention. 

"Now, my friends, " he said, plunging straight into his subject, "if wedon't wish to see Barthorpe hanged, we've just got to stir ourselves!I've come here to begin the stirring. "

Peggie looked up with a sudden heightening of colour. Mr. Tertius slowlyshook his head. 

"Pitiable!" he murmured. "Pitiable, most pitiable! But the evidence, mydear Cox-Raythwaite, the evidence! I only wish----"

"I've been listening to all the evidence that could be brought beforecoroner's jury and magistrate in police court, " broke in the Professor. "Listening with all my ears until I know every scrap of it by heart. Andfor four solid hours this afternoon I've been analysing it. I'm going toanalyse it to you--and then I'll show you why it doesn't satisfy me. Give me your close attention, all of you. "

He drew a little table to his elbow, laid his bundle of papers upon it, and began to talk, checking off his points on the tips of his big, chemical-stained fingers. 

"Now, " he said, "we'll just go through the evidence which has beenbrought against these two men, Barthorpe and Burchill, which evidencehas resulted in Barthorpe being committed for trial and in the police'sincreased anxiety to lay hold of Burchill. The police theory, after all, is a very simple one--let's take it and their evidence point by point. 

 "1. The police say that Jacob Herapath came to his death as the result of a conspiracy between his nephew Barthorpe Herapath and Frank Burchill. 

 "2. They say that the proof that that conspiracy existed is found in certain documents discovered by Davidge at Burchill's flat, in which documents Barthorpe covenants to pay Burchill ten per cent. Of the value of the Herapath property if and when he, Barthorpe, comes into it. 

 "3. The police argue that this conspiracy to murder Jacob Herapath and upset the will was in existence before November 12th--in other words that the idea of upsetting the will came first, and that the murder arose out of it. 

 "4. In support of this they have proved that Barthorpe was in close touch with Burchill as soon as the murder was committed--afternoon of the same day, at any rate--and therefore presumably had been in close touch with him previously. 

 "5. They have proved to the full a certain matter about which there is no doubt--that Barthorpe was at the estate office about the time at which, according to medical evidence, his uncle was murdered, that he subsequently put on his uncle's coat and hat and visited this house, and afterwards returned to the estate office. That, I say, is certain--and it is the most damning thing against Barthorpe. 

 "6. According to the police, then, Barthorpe was the actual murderer, and Burchill was an accessory before the fact. There is no evidence that Burchill was near the estate office that night. But that, of course, doesn't matter--if, as the police suggest, there is evidence that the conspiracy to kill Jacob Herapath existed before November 12th, then it doesn't matter at all whether Burchill took an active part in it or not--he's guilty as accessory. "

The Professor here paused and smote his bundle of papers. Then he liftedand wagged one of his great fingers. 

"But!" he exclaimed. "But--but--always a but! And the but in this caseis a mighty one. It's this--did that conspiracy exist before November12th? Did it--did it? It's a great point--it's a great point. Now, weall know that this morning, before he was committed, Barthorpe, muchagainst the wishes of his legal advisers, insisted, forcibly insisted, on making a statement. It's in the evening papers here, verbatim. I'llread it to you carefully--you heard him, all of you, but I want you tohear it again, read slowly. Consider it--think of it carefully--rememberthe circumstances under which it's made!"

He turned to the table, selected a newspaper, and read:

 "'The accused, having insisted, in spite of evident strong dissuasion from his counsel, upon making a statement, said: "I wish to tell the plain and absolute truth about my concern with this affair. I have heard the evidence given by various witnesses as to my financial position. That evidence is more or less true. I lost a lot of money last winter in betting and gambling. I was not aware that my position was known to my uncle until one of these witnesses revealed that my uncle had been employing private inquiry agents to find it out. I was meaning, when his death occurred, to make a clean breast to him. I was on the best of terms with him--whatever he may have known, it made no difference that I ever noticed in his behaviour to me. I was not aware that my uncle had made a will. He never mentioned it to me. About a year ago, there was some joking conversation between us about making a will, and I said to him that he ought to do it, and give me the job, and he replied, laughingly, that he supposed he would have to, some time. I solemnly declare that on November 12th I hadn't the ghost of a notion that he had made a will. 

 "'"On November 12th last, about five o'clock in the afternoon, I received a note from my uncle, asking me to meet him at his estate office, at midnight. I had often met him there at that time--there was nothing unusual about such an appointment. I went there, of course--I walked there from my flat in the Adelphi. I noticed when I got there that my uncle's brougham was being slowly driven round the square across the road. The outer door of the office was slightly open. I was surprised. The usual thing when I made late calls was for me to ring a bell which sounded in my uncle's private room, and he then came and admitted me. I went in, and down the hall, and I then saw that the door of his room was also open. The electric light was burning. I went in. I at once saw my uncle--he was lying between the desk and the hearth, quite dead. There was a revolver lying near. I touched his hand and found it was quite warm. 

 "'"I looked round, and seeing no sign of any struggle, I concluded that my uncle had shot himself. I noticed that his keys were lying on the desk. His fur-collared overcoat and slouch hat were thrown on a sofa. Of course, I was much upset. I went outside, meaning, I believe, to call the caretaker. Everything was very still in the house. I did not call. I began to think. I knew I was in a strange position. I knew my uncle's death would make a vast difference to me. I was next of kin. I wanted to know how things stood--how I was left. Something suggested itself to me. I think the overcoat and hat suggested it. I put on the hat and coat, took the keys from the table, and the latch-key of the Portman Square house from my uncle's waistcoat pocket, turned out the light, went out, closed both doors, went to the brougham, and was driven away. I saw very well that the coachman didn't know me at all--he thought I was his master. 

 "'"I have heard the evidence about my visit to Portman Square. I stopped there some time. I made a fairly complete search for a will and didn't find anything. It is quite true that I used one of the glasses, and ate a sandwich, and very likely I did bite into another. It's true, too, that I have lost two front teeth, and that the evidence of that could be in the sandwich. All that's true--I admit it. It's also quite true that I got the taxi-cab at two o'clock at the corner of Orchard Street and drove back to Kensington. I re-entered the office; everything was as I'd left it. I took off the coat and hat, put the keys under some loose papers on the table, turned out the light and went home to my flat. 

 "'"Now I wish to tell the absolute, honest truth about Burchill and the will. When I heard of and saw the will, after Mr. Tertius produced it, I went to see Burchill at his flat. I had never seen him, never communicated with him in any way whatever since he had left my uncle's service until that afternoon. I had got his address from a letter which I found in a pocket-book of my uncle's, which I took possession of when the police and I searched his effects. I went to see Burchill about the will, of course. When I said that a will had been found he fenced with me. He would only reply ambiguously. Eventually he asked me, point-blank, if I would make it worth his while if he aided me in upsetting the will. I replied that if he could--which I doubted--I would. He told me to call at ten o'clock that night. I did so. He then told me what I had never suspected--that Mr. Tertius was, in reality, Arthur John Wynne, a convicted forger. He gave me his proofs, and I was fool enough to believe them. He then suggested that it would be the easiest thing in the world, considering Wynne's record, to prove that he had forged the will for his daughter's benefit. He offered to aid in this if I would sign documents giving him ten per cent. Of the total value of my uncle's estate, and I was foolish enough to consent, and to sign. I solemnly declare that the entire suggestion about upsetting the will came from Burchill, and that there was no conspiracy between us of any sort whatever previous to that night. Whatever may happen, I've told this court the absolute, definite truth!"'"

Professor Cox-Raythwaite folded up the newspaper, laid it on the littletable, and brought his big hand down on his knee with an emphatic smack. 

"Now, then!" he said. "In my deliberate, coldly reasoned opinion, thatstatement is true! If they hang Barthorpe, they'll hang an innocent man. But----"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE REMAND PRISON

Mr. Tertius broke the significant silence which followed. He shook hishead sadly, and sighed deeply. 

"Ah, those buts!" he said. "As you remarked just now, Cox-Raythwaite, there is always a but. Now, this particular one--what is it?"

"Let me finish my sentence, " responded the Professor. "I say, I do notbelieve Barthorpe to be guilty of murder, though guilty enough of aparticularly mean, dirty, and sneaking conspiracy to defraud his cousin. Yes, innocent of murder--but it will be a stiff job to prove hisinnocence. As things stand, he'll be hanged safe enough! You know whatour juries are, Tertius--evidence such as that which has been put beforethe coroner and the magistrate will be quite sufficient to damn him atthe Old Bailey. Ample!"

"What do you suggest, then?" asked Mr. Tertius. 

"Suggestion, " answered the Professor, "is a difficult matter. But thereare two things--perhaps more, but certainly two--on which I want light. The first is--nobody has succeeded in unearthing the man who went to theHouse of Commons to see Jacob on the night of the murder. In spite ofeverything, advertisements and all the rest of it, he's never comeforward. If you remember, Halfpenny had a theory that the letter andthe object which Mountain saw Jacob hand to that man were a note to theSafe Deposit people and the key of the safe. Now we know that's not so, because no one ever brought any letter to the Safe Deposit people andnobody's ever opened the safe. Halfpenny, too, believed, during theperiod of the police officials' masterly silence, that that man had puthimself in communication with them. Now we know that the police havenever heard anything whatever of him, have never traced him. I'mconvinced that if we could unearth that man we should learn something. But how to do it, I don't know. "

"And the other point?" asked Selwood, after a pause during whicheverybody seemed to be ruminating deeply. "You mentioned two. "

"The other point, " replied the Professor, "is one on which I am going tomake a practical suggestion. It's this--I believe that Barthorpe toldthe truth in that statement of his which I've just read to you, but Ishould like to know if he told all the truth--all! He may have omittedsome slight thing, some infinitesimal circumstance----"

"Do you mean about himself or--what?" asked Selwood. 

"I mean some very--or seemingly very--slight thing, during his twovisits to the estate office that night, which, however slight it mayseem, would form a clue to the real murderer, " answered the Professor. "He may have seen something, noticed something, and forgotten it, or notattached great importance to it. And, in short, " he continued, withadded emphasis, "in short, my friends, Barthorpe must be visited, interviewed, questioned--not merely by his legal advisers, but by somefriend, and the very person to do it"--here he turned and laid his greathand on Peggie's shoulder--"is--you, my dear!"

"I!" exclaimed Peggie. 

"You, certainly! Nobody better. He will tell you what he would tell noone else, " said the Professor. "You're the person. Am I not right, Tertius?"

"I think you are right, " assented Mr. Tertius. "Yes, I think so. "

"But--he's in prison!" said Peggie. "Will they let me?"

"Oh, that's all right, " answered the Professor. "Halfpenny will arrangethat like winking. You must go at once--and Selwood there will go withyou. Far better for you two young people to go than for eitherHalfpenny, or Tertius, or myself. Youth invites confidence. "

Peggie turned and looked at Selwood. 

"You'll go?" she asked. 

Selwood felt his cheeks flush and rose to conceal his sudden show offeeling. "I'll go anywhere and do anything!" he answered quietly. "Idon't know whether my opinion's worth having, but I think exactly asProfessor Cox-Raythwaite does about this affair. But--who's the guiltyman? Is it--can it be Burchill? If what Barthorpe Herapath says aboutthat will affair is true, Burchill is cunning and subtle enough for----"

"Burchill, my dear lad, is at present out of our ken, " interruptedCox-Raythwaite. "Barthorpe, however, is very much within it, andHalfpenny must arrange for you two to see him without delay. And oncecloseted with him, you must talk to him for his soul's good--get him tosearch his memory, to think of every detail he can rake up--aboveeverything, if there's anything he's keeping back, beg him, on yourknees if necessary, to make a clean breast of it. Otherwise----"

Two days later Peggie, sick at heart, and Selwood, nervous and fidgety, sat in a room which gave both of them a feeling as of partial suffocation. It was not that it was not big enough for two people, or for six people, or for a dozen people to sit in--there was space for twenty. Whatoppressed them was the horrible sense of formality, the absence oflife, colour, of anything but sure and solid security, the intrusivespick-and-spanness, the blatant cleanliness, the conscious odour of somesort of soap, used presumably for washing floors and walls, the wholecrying atmosphere of incarceration. The barred window, the picturelesswalls, the official look of the utterly plain chairs and tables, thegrilles of iron bars which cut the place in half--these things oppressedthe girl so profoundly that she felt as if a sharp scream was the onlything that would relieve her pent-up feelings. And as she sat there withthumping heart, dreading the appearance of her cousin behind those bars, yet wishing intensely that he would come, Peggie had a sudden fearfulrealization of what it really meant to fall into the hands of justice. There, somewhere close by, no doubt, Barthorpe was able to move handsand feet, legs and arms, body and head--but within limits. He could pacea cell, he could tramp round an exercise yard, he could eat and drink, he could use his tongue when allowed, he could do many things--butalways within limits. He was held--held by an unseen power which couldmaterialize, could make itself very much seen, at a second's notice. There he would stop until he was carried off to his trial; he would comeand go during that trial, the unseen power always holding him. And oneday he would either go out of the power's clutches--free, or he would becarried off, not to this remand prison but a certain cell in anotherplace in which he would sit, or lounge, or lie, with nothing to do, until a bustling, businesslike man came in one morning with a littlegroup of officials and in his hand a bundle of leather straps. Held!--bythe strong, never-relaxing clutch of the law. That----

"Buck up!" whispered Selwood, in the blunt language of irreverent, yetgood-natured, youth. "He's coming!"

Peggie looked up to see Barthorpe staring at her through the iron bars. He was not over good to look at. He had a two days' beard on his face;his linen was not fresh; his clothes were put on untidily; he stood withhis hands in his pockets lumpishly--the change wrought by incarceration, even of that comparative sort, was great. He looked both sulky andsheepish; he gave Selwood no more than a curt nod; his first response tohis cousin was of the nature of a growl. 

"Hanged if I know what you've come for!" he said. "What's the good ofit? You may mean well, but----"

"Oh, Barthorpe, how can you!" exclaimed Peggie. "Of course we've come!Do you think it possible we shouldn't come? You know very well we allbelieve you innocent. "

"Who's all?" demanded Barthorpe, half-sneeringly. "Yourself, perhaps, and the parlour-maid!"

"All of us, " said Selwood, thinking it was time a man spoke. "Cox-Raythwaite, Mr. Tertius, myself. That's a fact, anyhow, so you'dbetter grasp it. "

Barthorpe straightened himself and looked keenly at Selwood. Then hespoke naturally and simply. 

"I'm much obliged to you, Selwood, " he said. "I'd shake hands with you ifI could. I'm obliged to the others, too--especially to old Tertius--I'vewronged him, no doubt. But"--here his face grew dark and savage--"if youonly knew how I was tricked by that devil! Is he caught?--that's what Iwant to know. "

"No!" answered Selwood. "But never mind him--we've come here to see whatwe can do for you. That's the important thing. "

"What can anybody do?" said Barthorpe, with a mirthless laugh. "You knowall the evidence. It's enough--they'll hang me on it!"

"Barthorpe, you mustn't!" expostulated Peggie. "That's not the way totreat things. Tell him, " she went on, turning to Selwood, "tell him allthat Professor Cox-Raythwaite said the other night. "

Selwood repeated the gist of the Professor's arguments and suggestions, and Barthorpe began to show some interest. But at the end he shook hishead. 

"I don't know that there's anything more that I can tell, " he said. "Whatever anybody may think, I told the entire truth about myself andthis affair in that statement before the magistrate. Of course, you knowthey didn't want me to say a word--my legal advisers, I mean. They weredead against it. But you see, I was resolved on it--I wanted it to getin the papers. I told everything in that. I tried to put it as plainlyas I could. No--I've told the main facts. "

"But aren't there any little facts, Barthorpe?" asked Peggie. "Can't youthink of any small thing--was there nothing that would give--I don'tknow how to put it. "

"Anything that you can think of that would give a clue?" suggestedSelwood. "Was there nothing you noticed--was there anything----"

Barthorpe appeared to be thinking; then to be hesitating--finally, helooked at Selwood a little shamefacedly. 

"Well, there were one or two things that I didn't tell, " he said. "I--the fact is, I didn't think they were of importance. One of them wasabout that key to the Safe Deposit. You know you and I couldn't find itwhen we searched the office that morning. Well, I had found it. Orrather, I took it off the bunch of keys. I wanted to search the safe atthe Safe Deposit myself. But I never did. I don't know whether thedetectives have found it or not--I threw it into a drawer at my officein which there are a lot of other keys. But, you know, there's nothingin that--nothing at all. "

"You said one or two other things just now, " remarked Selwood. "That'sone--what's the other?"

Barthorpe hesitated. The three were not the only occupants of thatgloomy room, and though the official ears might have been graven out ofstone, he felt their presence. 

"Don't keep anything back, Barthorpe, " pleaded Peggie. 

"Oh, well!" responded Barthorpe. "I'll tell you, though I don't knowwhat good it will do. I didn't tell this, because--well, of course, it'snot exactly a thing a man likes to tell. When I looked over UncleJacob's desk, just after I found him dead, you know, I found ahundred-pound note lying there. I put it in my pocket. Hundred-poundnotes weren't plentiful, you know, " he went on with a grim smile. "Ofcourse, it was a shabby thing to do, sort of robbing the dead, you know, but----"

"Do you see any way in which that can help?" asked Selwood, whose mindwas not disposed to dwell on nice questions of morality or conduct. "Does anything suggest itself?"

"Why, this, " answered Barthorpe, rubbing his chin. "It was a brand-newnote. That's puzzled me--that it should be lying there amongst papers. You might go to Uncle Jacob's bank and find out when he drew it--orrather, if he'd been drawing money that day. He used, as you and I know, to draw considerable amounts in notes. And--it's only a notion--if he'ddrawn anything big that day, and he had it on him that night, why, there's a motive there. Somebody may have known he'd a considerableamount on him and have followed him in there. Don't forget that I foundboth doors open when I went there! That's a point that mustn't beoverlooked. "

"There's absolutely nothing else you can think of?" asked Selwood. 

Barthorpe shook his head. No--there was nothing--he was sure of that. And then he turned eagerly to the question of finding Burchill. Burchill, he was certain, knew more than he had given him credit for, knew something, perhaps, about the actual murder. He was a deep, craftydog, Burchill--only let the police find him!----

Time was up, then, and Peggie and Selwood had to go--their lastimpression that of Barthorpe thrusting his hands in his pockets andlounging away to his enforced idleness. It made the girl sick at heart, and it showed Selwood what deprivation of liberty means to a man who hashitherto been active and vigorous. 

"Have we done any good?" asked Peggie, drawing a deep breath of free airas soon as they were outside the gates. "Any bit of good?"

"There's the affair of the bank-note, " answered Selwood. "That may be ofsome moment. I'll go and report progress on that, anyway. "

He put Peggie into her car to go home, and himself hailed a taxi-cab anddrove straight to Mr. Halfpenny's office, where Professor Cox-Raythwaiteand Mr. Tertius had arranged to meet him. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE LAST CHEQUE

The three elderly gentlemen, seated in Mr. Halfpenny's private room, listened with intense, if silent, interest to Selwood's account of theinterview with Barthorpe. It was a small bundle of news that he hadbrought back and two of his hearers showed by their faces that theyattached little importance to it. But Professor Cox-Raythwaite caughteagerly at the mere scrap of suggestion. 

"Tertius!--Halfpenny!" he exclaimed. "That must be followed up--we mustfollow it up at once. That bank-note may be a most valuable andeffective clue. "

Mr. Halfpenny showed a decided incredulity and dissent. 

"I don't see it, " he answered. "Don't see it at all, Cox-Raythwaite. Whatis there in it? What clue can there be in the fact that Barthorpe pickedup a hundred pound bank-note from his uncle's writing-desk? Lord blessme!--why, every one of us four men knows very well that hundred poundnotes were as common to Jacob Herapath as half-crowns are to any ofus! He was a man who carried money in large amounts on him always--I'veexpostulated with him about it. Don't you know--no, I dare say you don'tthough, because you never had business dealings with him, and perhapsTertius doesn't, either, because he, like you, only knew him as afriend--you don't know that Jacob had a peculiarity. Perhaps Mr. Selwoodknows of it, though, as he was his secretary. "

"What peculiarity?" asked the Professor. "I know he had several fads, which one might call peculiarities. "

"He had a business peculiarity, " replied Mr. Halfpenny, "and it was wellknown to people in his line of business. You know that Jacob Herapathhad extensive, unusually extensive, dealings in real property--land andhouses. Quite apart from the Herapath Flats, he dealt on wide lines withreal estate; he was always buying and selling. And his peculiarity wasthat all his transactions in this way were done by cash--bank-notes orgold--instead of by cheque. It didn't matter if he was buying a hundredthousand pounds' worth of property, or selling two hundred thousandpounds' worth--the affairs had to be completed by payment in thatfashion. I've scolded him about it scores of times; he only laughed atme; he said that had been the custom when he went into the business, andhe'd stuck to it, and wasn't going to give it up. God bless me!"concluded Mr. Halfpenny, with emphasis. "I ought to know, for JacobHerapath has concluded many an operation in this very room, and at thisvery table--I've seen him handle many a hundred thousand pounds' worthof notes in my time, paying or receiving! And, as I said, the merepicking up of a hundred pound note from his desk is--why, it's no morethan if I picked up a few of those coppers that are lying there on mychimney-piece!"

"Just so, just so!" observed Mr. Tertius mildly. "Jacob was a verywealthy man--the money evidence was everywhere. "

But Professor Cox-Raythwaite only laughed and smote the table with hisbig fist. 

"My dear Halfpenny!" he exclaimed. "Why, you've just given us the verybest proof of what I've been saying! You're not looking deeply enoughinto things. The very fact to which you bear testimony proves to me thata certain theory which is assuming shape in my mind may possibly have agreat deal in it. That theory, briefly, is this--on the day of his death, Jacob Herapath may have had upon his person a large amount of money inbank-notes. He may have had them paid to him. He may have drawn them fromhis bank, to pay to somebody else. Some evil person may have been aware ofhis possession of those notes and have tracked him to the estate offices, or gained entrance, or--mark this!--have been lurking--lurking!--there, inorder to rob him. Don't forget two points, my friend--one, that Barthorpe(if he's speaking the truth, and I, personally, believe he is) tells usthat the doors of the offices and the private room were open when hecalled at twelve o'clock; and, too, that, according to Mountain, thecoachman, Jacob Herapath had been in those offices since twenty-fiveminutes to twelve--plenty of time for murder and robbery to take place. I repeat--Jacob may have had a considerable sum of money on him thatnight, some one may have known it, and the motive of his murder may havebeen--probably was--sheer robbery. And we ought to go on that, if we wantto save the family honour. "

Mr. Tertius nodded and murmured assent, and Mr. Halfpenny stirreduneasily in his chair. 

"Family honour!" he said. "Yes, yes, that's right, of course. It wouldbe a dreadful thing to see a nephew hanged for the murder of hisuncle--quite right!"

"A much more dreadful thing to stand by and see an innocent man hanged, without moving heaven and earth to clear him, " commented the Professor. "Come now, I helped to establish the fact that Barthorpe visited PortmanSquare that night--Tertius there helped too, by his quickness in seeingthat the half-eaten sandwich had been bitten into by a man who had losttwo front teeth, which, of course, was Barthorpe's case--so the least wecan do is to bestir ourselves now that we believe him to have told thetruth in that statement. "

"But how exactly are we to bestir ourselves?" asked Mr. Halfpenny. 

"I suggest a visit to Jacob Herapath's bankers, first of all, " answeredthe Professor. "I haven't heard that any particular inquiry has beenmade. Did you make any, Halfpenny?"

"Jacob's bankers are Bittleston, Stocks and Bittleston, " replied the oldlawyer. "I did make it in my way to drop in there and to see Mr. Playbourne, the manager of their West End branch, in Piccadilly. Heassured me that there was nothing whatever out of the common in JacobHerapath's transactions with them just before his death, and nothing atall in their particulars of his banking account which could throw anypossible light on his murder. "

"In his opinion, " said the Professor, caustically, "in his opinion, Halfpenny! But--you don't know what our opinion might be. Now, I suggestthat we all go at once to see this Mr. Playbourne; there's ample timebefore the bank closes for the day. "

"Very well, " assented Mr. Halfpenny. "All the same, I'm afraidPlaybourne will only say just what he said before. "

Mr. Playbourne, a good typical specimen of the somewhat old-fashionedbank manager, receiving this formidable deputation of four gentlemen inhis private room, said precisely what he had said before, and seemedastonished to think that any light upon such an unpleasant thing as amurder could possibly be derived from so highly respectable a quarter asthat in which he moved during the greater part of the day. 

"I can't think of anything in our transactions with the late Mr. Herapath that gives any clue, any idea, anything at all, " he said, somewhat querulously. "Mr. Herapath's transactions with us, right up tothe day of his death, were just what they had been for years. Of course, I'm willing to tell you anything, show you anything. You're acting forMiss Wynne, aren't you, Mr. Halfpenny?"

"I have a power of attorney from Miss Wynne, for that matter, " answeredMr. Halfpenny. "Everything of that sort's in my hands. "

"I'll tell you what, then, " said the bank manager, laying his hand on abell at his side. "You'd better see Jacob Herapath's pass-book. Irecently had it posted up to the day of his death, and of course we'veretained it until you demanded it. You can't have a better index to hisaffairs with us than you'll find in it. Sellars, " he went on, as a clerkappeared, "bring me the late Mr. Herapath's pass-book--Mr. Ravensdalehas it. "

The visitors presently gathered round the desk on which Mr. Playbournelaid the parchment-bound book--one of a corresponding thickness with thedead man's transactions. The manager turned to the pages last filled in. 

"You're aware, of course, some of you at any rate, " he said, "you, Mr. Halfpenny, and you, Mr. Selwood, that the late Jacob Herapath dealt inbig sums. He always had a very large balance at this branch of our bank;he was continually paying in and drawing out amounts which, to men ofless means, must needs seem tremendous. Now, you can see for yourselveswhat his transactions with us were during the last few days of his life;I, as I have said, see nothing out of the way in them--you, of course, "he continued, with a sniff, "may see a good deal!"

Professor Cox-Raythwaite ran his eye over the neatly-written pages, passing rapidly on to the important date--November 12th. And he suddenlythrust out his arm and put the tip of a big yellow finger on oneparticular entry. 

"There!" he exclaimed. "Look at that. 'Self, £5, 000. ' Paid out, you see, on November 12th. Do you see?"

Mr. Playbourne laughed cynically. 

"My dear sir!" he said. "Do you mean to say that you attach anyimportance to an entry like that? Jacob Herapath constantly drew chequesto self for five, ten, twenty, thirty--aye, fifty thousand pounds! Hedealt in tens of thousands--he was always buying or selling. Fivethousand pounds!--a fleabite!"

"All the same, if you please, " said the Professor quietly, "I shouldlike to know if Jacob Herapath presented that self cheque himself, andif so, how he took the money it represents. "

"Oh, very well!" said the manager resignedly. He touched his bell again, and looked wearily at the clerk who answered it. "Find out if the lateMr. Herapath himself presented a cheque for five thousand on November12th, and if so, how he took it, " he said. "Well, " he continued, turningto his visitors. "Do you see anything with any further possible mysteryattached to it?"

"There's an entry there--the last, " observed Mr. Halfpenny. "That. 'Dimambro: three thousand guineas. ' That's the same date. "

Mr. Playbourne suddenly showed some interest and animation. His eyesbrightened; he sat up erect. 

"Ah!" he said. "Well, now, that is somewhat remarkable, that entry!--thoughof course there's nothing out of the common in it. But that cheque wasmost certainly the very last ever drawn by Jacob Herapath, and accordingto strict law, it never ought to have been paid out by us. "

"Why?" asked Professor Cox-Raythwaite. 

"Because Jacob Herapath, the drawer, was dead before it was presented, "replied the manager. "But of course we didn't know that. The cheque, yousee, was drawn on November 12th, and it was presented here as soon asever the doors were opened next morning and before any of us knew ofwhat had happened during the night, and it was accordingly honoured inthe usual way. "

"The payee, of course, was known?" observed Mr. Halfpenny. 

"No, he was not known, but he endorsed the cheque with name and address, and there can be no reason whatever to doubt that it had come to him inthe ordinary way of business, " replied the manager. "Quite a usualtransaction, but, as I say, noteworthy, because, as you know, a chequeis no good after its drawer's demise. "

Professor Cox-Raythwaite, who appeared to have fallen into a brown studyfor a moment, suddenly looked up. 

"Now I wonder if we might be permitted to see that cheque--as acuriosity?" he said. "Can we be favoured so far?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly, " answered Mr. Playbourne. "No trouble. I'll--ah, here's your information about the other cheque--the selfcheque for five thousand. "

He took a slip of paper from the clerk who just then entered, and readit aloud. 

"Here you are, " he said. "'Mr. Herapath cashed cheque for £5, 000himself, at three o'clock; the money in fifty notes of £100 each, numbered as follows'--you can take this slip, if you like, " hecontinued, handing the paper to Professor Cox-Raythwaite, as theobviously most interested man of his party. "There are the numbers ofthe notes. Of course, I can't see how all this throws any light on themystery of Herapath's murder, but perhaps you can. Sellers, " hecontinued, turning to the clerk, and beckoning him to look at thepass-book, "find me the cheque referred to there, and bring it here. "

The clerk returned in a few minutes with the cheque, which Mr. Playbourne at once exhibited to his visitors. 

"There you are, gentlemen, " he said. "Quite a curiosity!--certainly thelast cheque ever drawn by our poor friend. There, you see, is hiswell-known signature with his secret little mark which you wouldn'tdetect--secret between him and us, eh!--big, bold handwriting, wasn'tit? Sad to think that that was--very likely--the last time he used apen!"

Professor Cox-Raythwaite in his turn handled the cheque. Its face gavehim small concern; what he was most interested in was the endorsement onthe back. Without saying anything to his companions, he memorized thatendorsement, and he was still murmuring it to himself when, a fewminutes later, he walked out of the bank. 

"Luigi Dimambro, Hotel Ravenna, Soho. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HOTEL RAVENNA

Once closeted together in the private room at Halfpenny and Farthing'soffice, Mr. Halfpenny, who had seemed somewhat mystified by thehappenings at the bank, looked inquiringly at Professor Cox-Raythwaiteand snapped out one suggestive monosyllable:

"Well?"

"Very well indeed, " answered Cox-Raythwaite. "I consider we have donegood work. We have found things out. That bank manager is a pompous ass;he's a man of asinine, or possible bovine, mind! Of course, he ought tohave revealed these things at both the inquest and the magisterialproceedings!--they'll certainly have to be put in evidence at BarthorpeHerapath's trial. "

"What things?" demanded the old lawyer, a little testily. 

"Two things--facts, " replied the Professor, composedly. "First, thatJacob Herapath drew five thousand pounds in hundred pound notes at threeo'clock on the day of his death. Second, that at some hour of that dayhe drew a cheque in favour of one Luigi Dimambro, which cheque wascashed as soon as the bank opened next morning. "

"Frankly, " observed Mr. Halfpenny, "frankly, candidly, Cox-Raythwaite, I do not see what these things--facts--prove. "

"Very likely, " said the Professor, imperturbable as ever, "but they'reremarkably suggestive to me. They establish for one thing the fact that, in all probability, Jacob Herapath had those notes on him when he wasmurdered. "

"Don't see it, " retorted Mr. Halfpenny. "He got the fifty one-hundred-poundnotes from the bank at three o'clock in the afternoon. He's supposed tohave been murdered at twelve--midnight. That's nine hours. Plenty of timein which to pay those notes away--as he most likely did. "

"If you'll let your mind go back to what came out in evidence at theinquest, " said the Professor, "you'll remember that Jacob Herapath wentto the House of Commons at half-past three that day and never left ituntil his coachman fetched him at a quarter-past eleven. It's not verylikely that he'd transact business at the House. "

"Plenty of time between three and half-past three, " objected Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Quite so, but we haven't heard of any transaction being carried outduring that time. Make inquiry, and see if he did engage in any suchtransaction, " said the Professor. "If he didn't, then my theory that hehad the notes on him is correct. Moreover, Barthorpe has told Selwoodthat he picked up one note from the desk in his uncle's private room. "

"One note!" exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. 

"One note--quite so, " agreed the Professor. "May it not have been--it'sall theory, of course--that Jacob had all the notes on the desk when hewas murdered, that the murderer grabbed them afterwards, and in hishaste, left one? Come, now!"

"Theory--theory!" said Mr. Halfpenny. "Still, I'll make inquiries allaround, to see if Jacob did pay five thousand away to anybody thatafternoon. Well, and your other point?"

"I should like to know what the cheque for three thousand guineas wasfor, " answered the Professor. "It was paid out to one Luigi Dimambro, whose address was written down by himself in endorsing the cheque asHotel Ravenna, Soho. He, presumably, is a foreigner, an Italian, or aCorsican, or a Sicilian, and the probability is that Jacob Herapathbought something from him that day, and that the transaction took placeafter banking hours. "

"How do you deduce that?" asked Mr. Halfpenny. 

"Because Dimambro cashed his cheque as soon as the bank opened its doorsnext morning, " answered the Professor. "If he'd been given the chequebefore four o'clock on November 12th, he'd have cashed it then. "

"The cheque may have been posted to him, " said Mr. Halfpenny. 

"May be; the point is that it was drawn by Jacob on November 12th andcashed at the earliest possible hour next day, " replied the Professor. "Now, though it may have nothing to do with the case, I want to knowwhat that cheque referred to. More than this, I have an idea. May notthis man Dimambro be the man who called on Jacob Herapath at the Houseof Commons that night--the man whom Mountain saw, but did not recognizeas one of his master's usual friends or acquaintances? Do you see thatpoint?"

Mr. Tertius and Selwood muttered expressions of acquiescence, but Mr. Halfpenny shook his head. 

"Can't see anything much in it, " he said. "If this foreign fellow, Dimambro, was the man who called at the House, I don't see what that's gotto do with the murder. Jacob Herapath, of course, had business affairswith all sorts of queer people--Italians, Spaniards, Chinese--many a Tom, Dick, and Harry of 'em; he bought curios of all descriptions, and oftensold them again as soon as bought. "

"Very good suggestion, " said Professor Cox-Raythwaite. "He may havebought something extremely valuable from this Dimambro that day, or thatnight, and--he may have had it on him when he was murdered. Clearly, wemust see this Luigi Dimambro!"

"If he's the man who called at the House, you forget that he's beenadvertised for no end, " said Selwood. 

"No, I don't, " responded the Professor. "But he may be out of thecountry: may have come to it specially to see Jacob Herapath, and leftit again. I repeat, we must see this man, if he's to be found. We mustmake inquiries--cautious, guarded inquiries--at this hotel in Soho, which is probably a foreigners' house of call, a mere restaurant. Andthe very person to make those inquiries, " he concluded, turning toSelwood and favouring him with a smack of the shoulder, "is--you!"

Selwood flinched, physically and mentally. He had no great love of theproposed rôle--private detective work did not appeal to him. And hesuggested that Professor Cox-Raythwaite had far better apply to ScotlandYard. 

"By no means, " answered the Professor calmly. "You are the man to do thework. We don't want any police interference. This Hotel Ravenna isprobably some café, restaurant, or saloon in Soho, frequented byforeigners--a place where, perhaps, a man can get a room for a night ortwo. You must go quietly, unobtrusively, there; if it's a restaurant, asit's sure to be, or at any rate, a place to which a restaurant isattached, go in and get some sort of a meal, keep your eyes open, findout the proprietor, get into talk with him, see if he knows LuigiDimambro. All you need is tact, caution, and readiness to adapt yourselfto circumstances. "

Then, when they left Mr. Halfpenny's office he took Selwood aside andgave him certain hints and instructions, and enlarged upon theadvantages of finding Dimambro if he was to be found. The Professorhimself was enthusiastic about these recent developments, and hesucceeded in communicating some of his enthusiasm to Selwood. After all, thought Selwood, as he went to Portman Square to tell Peggie of theafternoon's doings, whatever he did was being done for Peggie; moreover, he was by that time certain that however mean and base BarthorpeHerapath's conduct had been about the will, he was certainly not themurderer of his uncle. If that murderer was to be tracked--why, therewas a certain zest, an appealing excitement in the tracking of him thatpresented a sure fascination to youthful spirits. 

That evening found Selwood, quietly and unassumingly attired, examiningthe purlieus of Soho. It was a district of which he knew little, and forhalf an hour he perambulated its streets, wondering at the distinctlyforeign atmosphere. And suddenly he came across the Hotel Ravenna--thereit was, confronting him, at the lower end of Dean Street. He drew backand looked it well over from the opposite pavement. 

The Hotel Ravenna was rather more of a pretentious establishment thanSelwood had expected it to be. It was typically Italian in outwardaspect. There were the usual evergreen shrubs set in the usual greenwood tubs at the entrance; the usual abundance of plate-glass and garishgilt; the usual glimpse, whenever the door opened, of the usual vista ofwhite linen, red plush, and many mirrors; the waiter who occasionallyshowed himself at the door, napkin in hand, was of the type whichSelwood had seen a thousand times under similar circumstances. But allthis related to the restaurant--Selwood was more interested that theword "Hotel" appeared in gilt letters over a door at the side of theestablishment and was repeated in the windows of the upper storeys. Hewas half-minded to enter the door at once, and to make a guarded inquiryfor Mr. Luigi Dimambro; on reflection he walked across the street andboldly entered the restaurant. 

It was half-past seven o'clock, and the place was full of customers. Selwood took most of them to be foreigners. He also concluded after afirst glance around him that the majority had some connection, more orless close, with either the dramatic, or the musical, or the artisticprofessions. There was much laughter and long hair, marvellous necktiesand wondrous costumes; everybody seemed to be talking without regard toquestion or answer; the artillery of the voices mingled with therattling of plates and popping of corks. Clearly this was no easy placein which to seek for a man whom one had never seen!

Selwood allowed a waiter to conduct him to a vacant seat--a plush thronehalf-way along the restaurant. He ordered a modest dinner and a bottleof light wine, and following what seemed to be the custom, lighted acigarette until his first course appeared. And while he waited he lookedabout him, noting everything that presented itself. Out of all the folkthere, waiters and customers, the idle and the busy, he quickly decidedthat there was only one man who possessed particular interest for him. That man was the big, smiling, frock-coated, sleek-haired patron orproprietor, who strode up and down, beaming and nodding, sharp-eyed andcourteous, and whom Selwood, from a glance at the emblazoned letteringof the bill-of-fare, took to rejoice in the name of Mr. AlessandroBioni. This man, if he was landlord, or manager, of the Ravenna Hotel, was clearly the person to approach if one wanted information about theLuigi Dimambro who had given the place as his address as recently asNovember 12th. 

While he ate and drank, Selwood wondered how to go about his business. It seemed to him that the best thing to do, now that he had seen theplace and assured himself that it was a hotel evidently doing a properand legitimate business, was to approach its management with a plainquestion--was Mr. Luigi Dimambro staying there, or was he known there?Since Dimambro, whoever he might be, had given that as his address, something must be known of him. And when the smiling patron presentlycame round, and, seeing a new customer, asked politely if he was beingserved to his satisfaction, Selwood determined to settle matters atonce. 

"The proprietor, I presume?" he asked. 

"Manager, sir, " answered the other. "The proprietor, he is an oldgentleman--practically retired. "

"Perhaps I can ask you a question, " Selwood. "Have you got a Mr. LuigiDimambro staying at your hotel? He is, I believe"--here Selwood made abold shot at a possibility--"a seller of curios, or art objects. I knowhe stops here sometimes. "

The manager rubbed his hands together and reflected. 

"One moment, sir, " he said. "I get the register. The hotel guests, theycome in here for meals, but always I do not recollect their names, andsometimes not know them. But the register----"

He sped down the room, through a side door, vanished; to return in amoment with a book which he carried to Selwood's side. 

"Dimambro?" he said. "Recently, then? We shall see. "

"About the beginning or middle of November, " answered Selwood. 

The manager found the pages: suddenly he pointed to an entry. 

"See, then!" he exclaimed dramatically. "You are right, sir. There--LuigiDimambro--November 11th to--yes--13th. Two days only. Then he go--leaveus, eh?"

"Oh, then, he's not here now, " said Selwood, affecting disappointment. "That's a pity. I wanted to see him. I wonder if he left any address?"

The manager showed more politeness in returning to the hotel office andmaking inquiry. He came back full of disappointment that he could notoblige his customer. No--no address--merely there for two nights--thengone--nobody knew where. Perhaps he would return--some day. 

"Oh, it's of no great consequence, thank you, " remarked Selwood. "I'mmuch obliged to you. "

He had found out, at any rate, that a man named Dimambro had certainlystayed at the Hotel Ravenna on the critical and important date. Presumably he was the man who had presented Jacob Herapath's cheque atBittleston's Bank first thing on the morning after the murder. Butwhether this man had any connection with that murder, whether todiscover his whereabouts would be to reveal something of use inestablishing Barthorpe Herapath's innocence, were questions which hemust leave to Professor Cox-Raythwaite, to whom he was presently goingwith his news. 

He had just finished his coffee, and was about to pay his bill when, looking up to summon the waiter, he suddenly saw a face appear behindthe glass panel of the street door--the face of a man who had evidentlystolen quietly into the entry between the evergreen shrubs and wished totake a surreptitious peep into the interior of the little restaurant. Itwas there, clearly seen through the glass, but for one fraction of asecond--then it was withdrawn as swiftly as it had come and the panel ofglass was blank again. But in that flash of time Selwood had recognizedit. 

Burchill!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK

Selwood hurried out of that restaurant as soon as he had paid his bill, but it was with small hopes of finding the man whose face had appearedat the glass panel for the fraction of a second. As well look for onesnowflake in a drift as for one man in those crowded streets!--all thesame, he spent half an hour in wandering round the neighbourhood, looking eagerly at every tall figure he met or passed. And at the end ofthat time he went off to Endsleigh Gardens and reported progress toProfessor Cox-Raythwaite. 

The Professor heard both items of news without betraying any greatsurprise. 

"You're sure it was Burchill?" he asked. 

"As sure, " answered Selwood, "as that you're you! His is not a face easyto mistake. "

"He's a daring fellow, " observed the Professor, musingly. "A very boldfellow! There's a very good portrait of him on those bills that the policehave put out and posted so freely, and he must know that every constableand detective in London is on the look-out for him, to say nothing of folkwho would be glad of the reward. If that was Burchill--and I've no doubtof it, since you're so certain--it suggests a good deal to me. "

"What?" asked Selwood. 

"That he's not afraid of being recaptured as you'd think he wouldbe, " replied the Professor. "It suggests that he's got some cardup his sleeve--which is what I've always thought. He probably knowssomething--you may be certain, in any case, that he's playing a deepand bold game, for his own purpose, of course. Now, I wonder ifBurchill went to that restaurant on the same errand as yourself?"

"What!--to look for Dimambro?" exclaimed Selwood. 

"Why not? Remember that Burchill was Jacob Herapath's secretary beforeyou were, " answered the Professor. "He was with Jacob some time, wasn't he? Well, he knew a good deal about Jacob's doings. Jacob mayhave had dealings with this Dimambro person in Burchill's days. Youdon't remember that Jacob had any such dealings in your time?"

"Never!" replied Selwood. "Never heard the man's name untilyesterday--never saw any letters from him, never heard Mr. Herapathmention him. But then, as Mr. Halfpenny said, yesterday, Mr. Herapathhad all sorts of queer dealings with queer people. It's a fact that heused to buy and sell all sorts of things--curios, pictures, preciousstones--he'd all sorts of irons in the fire. It's a fact, too, that hewas accustomed to carrying not only considerable sums of money, butvaluables on him. "

"Ah!" exclaimed the Professor. He rose out of his chair, put his handsbehind his broad back, and began to march up and down his study. "I'lltell you what, young man!" he said earnestly. "I'm more than everconvinced that Jacob Herapath was robbed as well as murdered, and thatrobbery and murder--or, rather, murder and robbery, for the murder wouldgo first--took place just before Barthorpe entered the offices to keepthat appointment. Selwood!--we must find this Dimambro man!"

"Who's most likely left the country, " remarked Selwood. 

"That's probable--it may be certain, " said the Professor. "Nevertheless, he may be here. And Burchill may be looking for him, too. Now, if Dimambrostopped two days at that Hotel Ravenna, from November 11th to 13th, theremust be somebody who knows something of him. We must--you must--make moreinquiry--there at the hotel. Talk quietly to that manager or the servants. Get a description of him. Do that at once--first thing tomorrow morning. "

"You don't want to tell the police all this?" asked Selwood. 

"No! Not at present, at any rate, " answered the Professor. "The policehave their own methods, and they don't thank anybody for putting themoff their beaten tracks. And--for the present--we won't tell themanything about your seeing Burchill. If we did, they'd be incredulous. Police-like, they'll have watched the various seaports much more closelythan they'll have watched London streets for Burchill. And Burchill's aclever devil--he'll know that he's much safer under the very nose of thepeople who want him than he would be fifty miles away from their toes!No, it's my opinion that Master Burchill will reveal himself, when thetime comes. "

"Give himself up, do you mean?" exclaimed Selwood. 

"Likely--but if he does, it'll be done with a purpose, " answered theProfessor. "Well--keep all quiet at present, and tomorrow morning, goand see if you can find out more about Dimambro at that hotel. "

Selwood repaired to the polite manager again next day and found nodifficulty in getting whatever information the hotel staff--representedby a manageress, a general man-servant, and a maid or two--could give. It was meagre, and not too exact in particulars. Mr. Dimambro, who hadnever been there before, had stopped two days. He had occupied Room5--the gentleman could see it if he wished. Mr. Dimambro had been in andout most of the time. On the 13th he had gone out early in the morning;by ten o'clock he had returned, paid his bill, and gone away with hisluggage--one suit-case. No--he had had no callers at the hotel. But awaiter in the restaurant was discovered who remembered him as Number 5, and that on the 12th he had entertained a gentleman to dinner at seveno'clock--a tall, thin, dark-faced gentleman, who looked like--yes, likean actor: a nicely dressed gentleman. That was all the waiter couldremember of the guest; he remembered just about as much of Number 5, which was that Dimambro was a shortish, stoutish gentleman, with aslight black beard and moustache. There was a good reason why thewaiter remembered this occurrence--the two gentlemen had a bottle of thebest champagne, a rare occurrence at the Hotel Ravenna--a whole bottle, for which the surprising sum of twelve shillings and sixpence wascharged! In proof of that startling episode in the restaurant routine, he produced the desk book for that day--behold it, the entry: Number5--1 Moet & Chandon, 12_s. _ 6_d. _

"It is of a rare thing our customers call for wine so expensive, " saidthe polite manager. "Light wines, you understand, sir, we mostly sell. Champagne at twelve and six--an event!"

Selwood carried this further news to Professor Cox-Raythwaite, whoroused himself from his microscope to consider it. 

"Could that tall, dark, nicely-dressed gentleman have been Burchill?" hemuttered. "Sounds like him. But you've got a description of Dimambro, atany rate. Now we know of one man who saw the caller at the House ofCommons--Mountain, the coachman. Come along--I'll go with you to seeMountain. "

Mountain, discovered at the mews wherein the Herapath stable was kept, said at once that he remembered the gentleman who had come out of theHouse of Commons with his late master. But when he came to be taxed witha requirement of details, Mountain's memory proved to be of no realvalue. The gentleman--well, he was a well-dressed gentleman, and he worea top hat. But whether the gentleman was dark or fair, elderly ormiddle-aged, short or medium-heighted, he did not know--exactly. Nevertheless----

"I should know him again, sir, if I was to set eyes on him!" saidMountain, with such belief in his powers. "Pick him out of a thousand, Icould!"

"Queer how deficient most of our people are in the faculty of observation!"remarked the Professor as he and Selwood left the mews. "It really is mostextraordinary that a man like that, with plenty of intelligence, and is nodoubt a good man in his own line, can look at another man for a full minuteand yet be utterly unable to tell you anything definite about him a monthlater! No help there, Selwood. "

It seemed to Selwood that they were face to face with an impossiblesituation, and he began to feel inclined to share Mr. Halfpenny'spessimistic opinions as to the usefulness of these researches. ButProfessor Cox-Raythwaite was not to be easily daunted, and he was nosooner baulked in one direction than he hastened to try another. 

"Now, let's see where we are, " he said, as they went round to PortmanSquare. "We do know for a certainty that Jacob Herapath had a transactionof some sort with one Luigi Dimambro, on November 12th, and that itresulted in his handing, or sending, the said Luigi a cheque for threethousand guineas. Let's see if we can't find some trace of it, or somemention of it, or of previous dealings with Dimambro, amongst Jacob'spapers. I suppose we can get access to everything here at the house, and down at the office, too, can't we? The probability is that thetransaction with Dimambro was not the first. There must be something, Selwood--memoranda, letters, receipts--must be!"

But Selwood shook his head and uttered a dismal groan. 

"Another of my late employer's peculiarities, " he answered, "was thathe never gave or took receipts in what one may call word-of-mouthtransactions! He had a rooted--almost savage--objection to anybodyasking him for a receipt for cash; he absolutely refused to take one ifhe paid cash. I've seen him pay several thousand pounds for a purchaseand fling the proffered receipt in the fire in the purchaser's presence. He used to ask--vehemently!--if you wanted receipts for a loaf of breador a pound of beef-steak. I'm afraid we shan't find much of that sort. As to letters and memoranda, Mr. Herapath had a curious habit which gaveme considerable trouble of mind when I first went to him, though I admitit was a simple one. He destroyed every letter he ever got as soon ashe'd answered it. And as he insisted on everything being answered thereand then, there's no great accumulation of paper in that way!"

"We'll see what there is, anyhow, " said the Professor. "If we could findsomething, anything--a mere business card, a letter-heading--that wouldgive us Dimambro's permanent address, it would be of use. For I'm moreand more convinced that Dimambro was the man who called at the House ofCommons that night, and if it was Burchill who dined with him that sameevening, why, then--but come along, let's have a look at Jacob's deskin the house here, and after that we'll go down to the estate officesand see if we can find anything there. "

This was a Saturday morning--during the whole of that afternoon andevening the Professor and Selwood examined every drawer and receptaclein which Jacob Herapath's papers lay, both at Portman Square and atKensington. And, exactly as Selwood had said, there was next to nothingof a private nature. Papers relating to Parliamentary matters, tobuilding schemes, to business affairs, there were in plenty, duly filed, docketed, and arranged, but there was nothing of the sort thatCox-Raythwaite hoped to find, and when they parted, late at night, theywere no wiser than when they began their investigations. 

"Go home to bed, " counselled the Professor. "Put the whole thing out ofyour head until Monday morning. Don't even think about it. Come and seeme on Monday, first thing, and we'll start again. For by the Lord Harry!I'll find out yet what the real nature of Jacob Herapath's transactionwith Dimambro was, if I have to track Dimambro all through Italy!"

Selwood was glad enough to put everything out of his mind; it seemed to hima hopeless task to search for a man to whose identity they only had thevery faintest clue. But before noon of the next day--Sunday--he was faceto face with a new phase of the problem. Since her uncle's death, Peggiehad begun to show a quiet reliance on Selwood. It had come to be tacitlyunderstood between them that he was to be in constant attendance on herfor the present, at any rate. He spent all his time at the house inPortman Square; he saved its young mistress all the trouble he could; heaccompanied her in her goings and comings. And of late he had taken toattending her to a certain neighbouring church, whereto Peggie, like awell-regulated young lady, was constant in her Sunday visits. There inthe Herapath family pew, he and Peggie sat together on this particularSunday morning, neither with any thought that the Herapath mystery hadpenetrated to their sacred surroundings. Selwood had been glad to takeCox-Raythwaite's advice and to put the thing out of his mind for thirty-sixhours: Peggie had nothing in her mind but what was proper to the occasion. 

Jacob Herapath had been an old-fashioned man in many respects; one ofhis fads was an insistence upon having a family pew in the church whichhe attended, and in furnishing it with his own cushions, mats, andbooks. Consequently Peggie left her own prayer-book in that pew fromSunday to Sunday. She picked it up now, and opened it at the usualfamiliar place. And from that place immediately dropped a folded note. 

Had this communication been a _billet-doux_, Peggie could hardly havebetrayed more alarm and confusion. For a moment she let the thing restin the palm of her hand, holding the hand out towards Selwood at herside; then with trembling fingers she unfolded it in such a fashion thatshe and Selwood read it together. With astonished eyes and beating heartsthey found themselves looking at a half-sheet of thin, foreign-lookingnotepaper, on which were two or three lines of typewriting:

 "If you wish to save your cousin Barthorpe's life, leave the church and speak to the lady whom you will find in a private automobile at the entrance to the churchyard. "

CHAPTER XXX

THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY

The two young people who bent over this mysterious message in the shelterof that old-fashioned pew were each conscious of a similar feeling--theywere thankful that they were together. Peggie Wynne had never been so gladof anything in her life as for Selwood's immediate presence at that moment:Selwood felt a world of unspeakable gratitude that he was there, just whenhelp and protection were wanted. For each recognized, with a sure instinctand intuition, that those innocent-looking lines of type-script signifiedmuch, heralded some event of dire importance. To save Barthorpe Herapath'slife!--that could only mean that somebody--the sender of the note--knewthat Barthorpe was innocent and some other person guilty. 

For a moment the girl stared with startled eyes and flushed cheeks atthe scrap of paper; then she turned with a quick, questioning look ather companion. And Selwood reached for his hat and his stick, andmurmured one word:

"Come!"

Peggie saw nothing of the surprised and questioning looks which were turnedon Selwood and herself as they left the pew and passed down the aisle ofthe crowded church. She had but one thought--whom was she going to meetoutside, what revelation was going to be made to her? Unconsciously, shelaid a hand on Selwood's arm as they passed through the porch, and Selwood, with a quick throb of pride, took it and held it. Then, arm in arm, theywalked out, and a verger who opened the outer door for them, smiled as theypassed him; he foresaw another passing-out, whereat Peggie would wearorange blossoms. 

The yard of this particular church was not a place of green sward, ancient trees, and tumble-down tombs; instead it was an expanse of bareflagstones, shut in by high walls which terminated at a pair of irongates. Outside those gates an automobile was drawn up; its driver stoodattentively at its door. Selwood narrowly inspected both, as he andPeggie approached. The car was evidently a private one: a quiet, yetsmart affair; its driver was equally smart in his dark green livery. Andthat he had received his orders was evident from the fact that as thetwo young people approached he touched his cap and laid a hand on thedoor of the car. 

"Be watchful and careful, " whispered Selwood, as he and Peggie crossedthe pavement. "Leave all to me!"

He himself was keenly alert to whatever might be going to happen. Itseemed to him, from the chauffeur's action, that they were to beinvited, or Peggie was to be invited, to enter the car. Very good--buthe was going to know who was in that car before any communications ofany sort were entered upon. Also, Peggie was not going to exchange oneword with anybody, go one step with anybody, unless he remained in closeattendance upon her. The phraseology of the mysterious note; theclandestine fashion in which it had been brought under Peggie's notice;the extraordinary method adopted of procuring an interview with her--allthese things had aroused Selwood's suspicions, and his natural sense ofcaution was at its full stretch as he walked across to the car, wondering what he and Peggie were about to confront. 

What they did confront was a pleasant-faced, white-haired, elderly lady, evidently a woman of fashion and of culture, who bent forward from herseat with a kindly, half-apologetic smile. 

"Miss Wynne?" she said inquiringly. "How do you do? And this gentlemanis, no doubt, Mr. Selwood, of whom I have heard? You must forgive thisstrange conduct, this extraordinary manner of getting speech with you--Iam not a free agent. Now, as I have something to say--will you both comeinto the car and hear it?"

Peggie, who was greatly surprised at this reception, turned diffidentlyto her companion. And Selwood, who had been gazing earnestly at theelderly lady's face, and had seen nothing but good intention in it, felthimself considerably embarrassed. 

"I--well, really, this is such a very strange affair altogether that Idon't know what we ought to do, " he said. "May I suggest that if youwish to talk to Miss Wynne, we should go to her house? It's only justround the corner, and----"

"But that's just what I am not to do, " replied the lady, with an amusedlaugh. "I repeat--I am not exactly a free agent. It's all very strange, and very unpleasant, and sounds, no doubt, very mysterious, but I amacting--practically--under orders. Let me suggest something--will youand Miss Wynne come into the car, and I will tell the man to drivegently about until you have heard what I have to say? Come now!--I amnot going to kidnap you, and you can't come to much harm by drivinground about Portman Square for a few minutes, in the company of an oldwoman! Dickerson, " she went on, as Selwood motioned Peggie to enter thecar, "drive us very slowly round about here until I tell you to stop--goround the square--anywhere. "

The car moved gently up Baker Street, and Selwood glanced inquiringly attheir captor. 

"May we have the pleasure of----"

The elderly lady brought out a card-case and some papers. 

"I am Mrs. Engledew, " she said. "I live in the Herapath Flats. I don'tsuppose you ever heard of me, Miss Wynne, but I knew your uncle verywell--we had been acquaintances, nay, friends, for years. I thought itmight be necessary to prove my _bona fides_, " she continued, with alaugh, "so I brought some letters of Jacob Herapath's with me--letterswritten to me--you recognize his big, bold hand, of course. "

There was no mistaking Jacob Herapath's writing, and the two youngpeople, after one glance at it, exchanged glances with each other. 

"Now you want to know why I am here, " said Mrs. Engledew. "The answeris plain--if astonishing. I have managed to get mixed up in this matterof Jacob Herapath's murder! That sounds odd, doesn't it?--nevertheless, it's true. But we can't go into that now. And I cannot do more than tellyou that I simply bring a message and want an answer. My dear!" shecontinued, laying a hand on Peggie's arm, "you do not wish to seeBarthorpe Herapath hanged?"

"We believe him innocent, " replied Peggie. 

"Quite so--he is innocent--of murder, anyway, " said Mrs. Engledew. "Now--I speak in absolute confidence, remember!--there are two men whoknow who the real murderer is. They are in touch with me--that is, oneof them is, on behalf of both. I am really here as their emissary. Theyare prepared to give you and the police full particulars about themurder--for a price. "

Selwood felt himself grow more suspicious than ever. This lady was ofcharming address, pleasant smile, and apparently candid manners, but--price!--price for telling the truth in a case like this!

"What price?" he asked. 

"Their price is ten thousand pounds--cash, " answered Mrs. Engledew, witha little shrug of her shoulders. "Seems a great deal, doesn't it? Butthat is their price. They will not be moved from it. If Miss Wynne willagree to pay that sum, they will at once not only give their evidence asto the real murderer of Jacob Herapath, but they will point him out. "

"When?" demanded Selwood. 

"Tonight!" replied Mrs. Engledew. "Tonight--at an hour to be fixed afteryour agreement to their terms. "

Selwood felt himself in a difficult position. Mr. Tertius was out oftown for the day, gone to visit an antiquarian friend in Berkshire: Mr. Halfpenny lived away down amongst the Surrey hills. Still, there wasCox-Raythwaite to turn to. But it seemed as if the lady desired animmediate answer. 

"You know these men?" he asked. 

"One only, who represents both, " answered Mrs. Engledew. 

"Why not point him out to the police, and let them deal with them?"suggested Selwood. "They would get his evidence out of him without anyquestion of price!"

"I have given my word, " said Mrs. Engledew. "I--the fact is, I am mixedup in this, quite innocently, of course. And I am sure that no livingperson knows the truth except these men, and just as sure that they willnot tell what they know unless they are paid. The police could not makethem speak if they didn't want to speak. They know very well that theyhave got the whip-hand of all of us in that respect!"

"Of you, too?" asked Selwood. 

"Of me, too!" she answered. "Nobody in the world, I'm sure, knows thesecret but these men. And it's important to me personally that theyshould reveal it. In fact, though I'm not rich, I'll join Miss Wynne inpaying their price, so far as a thousand pounds is concerned. I wouldpay more, but I really haven't got the money--I daren't go beyond athousand. "

Selwood felt himself impressed by this candid offer. 

"Precisely what do they ask--what do they propose?" he asked. 

"This. If you agree to pay them ten thousand pounds, you and ProfessorCox-Raythwaite are to meet them tonight. They will then tell the truestory, and they will further take you and the police to the man, thereal murderer, " answered Mrs. Engledew. "It is important that all thisshould be done tonight. "

"Where is this meeting to take place?" demanded Selwood. 

"It can take place at my flat: in fact, it must, because, as I say, I amunfortunately mixed up, " said Mrs. Engledew. "If you agree to the terms, you are to telephone to me--I have written my number on the card--at twoo'clock this afternoon. Then I shall telephone the time of meetingtonight, and you must bring the money with you. "

"Ten thousand pounds in cash--on Sunday!" exclaimed Selwood. "That, ofcourse, is utterly impossible. "

"Not cash in that sense, " replied Mrs. Engledew. "An open cheque willdo. And, don't you see, that, I think, proves the _bona fides_ of themen. If they fail to do what they say they can and will do, you can stoppayment of that cheque first thing tomorrow morning. "

"Yes, that's so, " agreed Selwood. He glanced at Peggie, who wassilently listening with deep interest. "I don't know how things stand, "he went on. "Mr. Halfpenny, Miss Wynne's solicitor, lives a long way outof town. Miss Wynne would doubtless cheerfully sacrifice ten thousandpounds to save her cousin----"

"Oh, twenty thousand--anything!" exclaimed Peggie. "Don't let ushesitate about money, please. "

"But I don't know whether she can draw a cheque, " continued Selwood. "Atleast, for such an amount as that. Perhaps Professor Cox-Raythwaite cantell us. Let me ask you a question or two, if you please, Mrs. Engledew, " he went on. "You say you only know one of these men. Do youknow his name?"

"No--I don't, " confessed Mrs. Engledew. "Everything is secret andmysterious. "

"Are you convinced--has he done anything to convince you--of his goodfaith?"

"Yes--absolutely!"

"You don't doubt his--their--ability to clear all this up?"

"I'm quite sure they can clear it up. "

"Have you any idea as to the identity of the real murderer?"

"Not the least!"

"One more question, then, " concluded Selwood. "Are the police to bethere when Cox-Raythwaite and I come tonight?"

"That I don't know, " replied Mrs. Engledew. "All I know is--just what Iam ordered to say. Pay them the money--they will tell the truth and takeyou and the police to the real criminal. One more thing--it isunderstood that you will not approach the police between now and thisevening. That part--the police part--is to be left to them. "

"I understand, " said Selwood. "Very well--we will get out, if youplease, and we will go straight to Professor Cox-Raythwaite. At twoo'clock I shall ring you up and give you our answer. "

He hurried Peggie into a taxi-cab as soon as Mrs. Engledew's car hadgone away, and they went hastily to Endsleigh Gardens, where ProfessorCox-Raythwaite listened to the strange story in dead silence. 

"Mrs. Engledew--lady living in Herapath Flats--old friend ofJacob's--possessed letters of his--instrument for two men in possession ofsecret--willing to fork out a thousand of her own, " he muttered. "Gad!--Itake that to be genuine, Selwood! The only question is for Peggiehere--does she wish to throw away nine thousand to save Barthorpe's neck?"

"The only question, Professor, " said Peggie, reprovingly, "is--can I doit? Can I draw a cheque for that amount?"

"Why not?" replied the Professor. "Everything's in order. Barthorpewithdrew that wretched caveat--the will's been proved--every penny thatJacob possessed is yours. Draw a cheque for fifty thousand, if youlike!"

"And you will go with Mr. Selwood?" asked Peggie, with a touch ofanxiety which was not lost on the Professor. 

"Go with him--and take care of him, too, " answered the Professor, digging his big fingers into Selwood's ribs. "Very good. Now stop hereand lunch with me, and at two o'clock we'll telephone. "

He and Peggie stood breathlessly waiting in the hall that afternoonwhile Selwood was busy at the telephone in an adjacent lobby. Selwoodcame back to them nodding his head. 

"All right!" he said. "You and I, Professor, at her flat--tonight, atnine o'clock. "

CHAPTER XXXI

THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY

Triffitt's recent inquiries in connection with the Herapath affair had beenall very well from a strictly professional point of view, but not so wellfrom another. For nearly twelve months he had been engaged to a sweet girl, of whom he was very fond, and who thoroughly reciprocated his affection;up to the time of the Herapath murder he had contrived to spend a certainportion of each day with her, and to her he had invariably devoted thewhole of his Sundays. In this love affair he was joined by his friend, to whom Triffitt's young lady had introduced her great friend, with whomCarver had promptly become infatuated. These ladies, both very young andundeniably charming, spent the greater part of the working week at theSchool of Needlework, in South Kensington, where they fashioned variousbeautiful objects with busy needles; Sundays they gave up to theirswains, and every Sunday ended with a little dinner of four at some cheaprestaurant whereat you could get quite a number of courses at the fixedprice of half a crown or so and drink light wine which was very littledearer than pale ale. All parties concerned looked forward throughout theweek to these joyful occasions; the girls wore their best frocks, and theyoung men came out bravely in the matter of neckties; there was laughterand gaiety and a general escape from the prosaic matters which obtainedfrom Monday to Saturday--consequently, Triffitt felt it a serious thingthat attention to this Herapath business had come to interfere with hislove-making and his Sunday feast of mirth and gladness. More than once hehad been obliged to let Carver go alone to the usual rendezvous; he himselfhad been running hither and thither after chances of news which nevermaterialized, while his sweetheart played gooseberry to the more favouredpeople. And as he was very much in love, Triffitt had often been tempted tothrow his clues and his theories to the winds, and to vow himself to theservice of Venus rather than to that of Mercury. 

But on that Sunday which saw the white-haired lady interviewing PeggieWynne and Selwood, Triffitt, to his great delight, found that newspaperrequirements were not going to interfere with him. The hue-and-cry afterthe missing Burchill was dying down--the police (so Davidge told Triffittin strict confidence) were of the firm opinion that Burchill had escapedto the continent--probably within a few hours of the moment wherein hemade his unceremonious exit from Mr. Halfpenny's office. Even Markledew wasnot so keen about the Herapath affair as he had been. His policy was--anew day, a new affair. The Herapath mystery was becoming a little stale--itwould get staler unless a fresh and startling development took place. Asit was, nothing was likely to arise which would titillate the public untilBarthorpe Herapath, now safely lodged in the remand prison, was broughtto trial, or unless Burchill was arrested. Consequently, Triffitt was notexpected to make up a half or a whole column of recent and sensationalHerapath news every morning. And so he gladly took this Sunday for a returnto the primrose paths. He and Carver met their sweethearts; they took themto the Albert Hall Sunday afternoon concert--nothing better offering inthe middle of winter--they went to tea at the sweethearts' lodgings; laterin the evening they carried them off to the accustomed Sunday dinner. 

Triffitt and Carver had become thoroughly seasoned men of the world inthe matter of finding out good places whereat to dine well and cheaply. They knew all the Soho restaurants. They had sampled several in OxfordStreet and in Tottenham Court Road. But by sheer luck they had foundone--an Italian restaurant--in South Kensington which was, in theiropinion, superior to all of their acquaintance. This establishment hadmany advantages for lovers. To begin with, it bore a poetical name--theCafé Venezia--Triffitt, who frequently read Byron and Shelley to hisadored one, said it made one think of moonlight and gondolas, andsimilar adjuncts to what he called _parfaite amour_. Then it was dividedoff into little cabinets, just holding four people--that was anadvantage when you were sure of your company. And for the _prix fixe_ oftwo shillings they gave you quite a good dinner; also their Chianti wasof exceptional quality, and according to the proprietor, it camestraight from Siena. 

On this Sunday evening, then, Triffitt on one side of a table with hislady-love, Carver on the other with his, made merry, with no thought ofanything but the joys of the moment. They had arrived at the last stagesof the feast; the heroes puffed cigarettes and sipped Benedictine; theheroines daintily drank their sweetened coffee. They all chatteredgaily, out of the fulness of their youthful hearts; not one of them hadany idea that anything was going to happen. And in the midst of theirlightsomeness, Triffitt, who faced a mirror, started, dropped hiscigarette, upset his liqueur glass and turned pale. For an instant heclutched the tablecloth, staring straight in front of him; then with agreat effort he controlled his emotion and with a cautious hissing ofhis breath, gazed warningly at Carver. 

"'Sh!" whispered Triffitt. "Not a word! And don't move--don't show asign, any of you. Carver--turn your head very slowly and look behindyou. At the bar!"

At the entrance to that restaurant there was a bar, whereat it waspossible to get a drink. There were two or three men, so occupied, standing at this bar at that moment--Carver, leisurely turning toinspect them, suddenly started as violently as Triffitt had started amoment before. 

"Good heavens!" he muttered. "Burchill!"

"Quiet!" commanded Triffitt. "Quiet, all of you. By Gad!--this is----"

He ended in an eloquent silence and with a glare at his companionswhich would have imposed silence on an unruly class-room. He was alreadyat work--the quick, sure journalistic instinct had come up on top andwas rapidly realizing the situation. That the man standing there, openly, calmly, taking a drink of some sort, was Frank Burchill he hadno more doubt than of his own identity. The thing was--what was to bedone?

Triffitt was as quick of action as of thought--in two seconds he hadmade up his mind. With another warning glance at the startled girls, hebent across the table to Carver. 

"Carver!" he whispered. "Do exactly what I tell you. When Burchill goesout, Trixie and I'll follow him. You pay the bill--then you and Lettiejump into the first taxi you can get and go to Scotland Yard. FindDavidge! If Davidge isn't there, get somebody else. Wait there until Iring you up! What I'll do will be this--we'll follow Burchill, and if Isee that he's going to take to train or cab I'll call help and stop him. You follow me? As soon as I've taken action, or run him to earth, I'llring up Scotland Yard, and then----"

"He's going, " announced Carver, who had taken advantage of the manymirrors to keep his eye on Burchill. "He's off! I understand----"

Triffitt was already leading his sweetheart quietly out. In the gloom ofthe street he saw Burchill's tall figure striding away towards CromwellRoad. Triffitt's companion was an athletically inclined young woman--longwalks in the country on summer Sundays had toughened her powers oflocomotion and she strode out manfully in response to Triffitt's commandto hurry up. 

"Lucky that you were with me, Trixie!" exclaimed Triffitt. "You make asplendid blind. Supposing he does look round and sees that he's beingfollowed? Why, he'd never think that we were after him. Slip your hand inmy arm--he'll think we're just a couple of sweethearts, going his way. Gad!--what a surprise! And what a cheek he has--with all those bills outagainst him!"

"You don't think he'll shoot you if he catches sight of you?" askedTrixie, anxiously. "He'd be sure to recognize you, wouldn't he?"

"We'll not come within shooting distance, " replied Triffitt grimly. "AllI want to do is to track him. Of course, if he gets into any vehicle, I'll have to act. Let's draw a bit nearer. "

Burchill showed no sign of hailing any vehicle; indeed, he showed nosign of anything but cool confidence. It was certainly nearly nineo'clock of a dark winter evening, but there was plenty of artificiallight in the streets, and Burchill made no attempt to escape its glare. He walked on, smoking a cigar, jauntily swinging an umbrella, he passedand was passed by innumerable people; more than one policeman glanced athis tall figure and took no notice. And Triffitt chuckled cynically. 

"There you are, Trixie!" he said. "There's a fellow who's wanted about asbadly as can be, whose picture's posted up outside every police-station inLondon, and at every port in England, and he walks about, and stares atpeople, and passes policemen as unconcernedly as I do. The fact of the caseis that if I went to that bobby and pointed Burchill out, and told thebobby who he is, all that bobby would say would be, 'Who are you a-kiddin'of?'--or words to that equivalent. And so--still ahead he goes, and weafter him! And--where?"

Burchill evidently knew very well where he was going. He crossed CromwellRoad, went up Queen's Road, turned into Queen's Gate Terrace, andleisurely pursuing his way, proceeded to cut through various streets andthoroughfares towards Kensington High Street. Always he looked forward;never once did he turn nor seem to have any suspicion that he was beingfollowed. There was nothing here of the furtive slink, the frightenedslouch of the criminal escaped from justice; the man's entire bearingwas that of fearlessness; he strode across Kensington High Street in thefull glare of light before the Town Hall and under the noses of severalpolicemen. 

Five minutes later Triffitt pulled himself and Trixie up with a gasp. Thechase had come to an end--for that moment, at any rate. Boldly, openly, with absolute nonchalance, Burchill walked into a brilliantly-lightedentrance of the Herapath Flats!

CHAPTER XXXII

THE YORKSHIRE PROVERB

In the course of Triffitt's brief and fairly glorious journalisticcareer, he had enjoyed and suffered a few startling experiences. He hadbeen fastened up in the darker regions of a London sewer in flood, wondering if he would ever breathe the fine air of Fleet Street again orgo down with the rats that scurried by him. He had been down a coal-minein the bad hour which follows an explosion. He had several times riskedhis neck; his limbs had often been in danger; he had known what it wasto feel thumpings of the heart and catchings of the breath from sheerfright. He had come face to face with surprise, with astonishment, withaudacious turnings of Fortune's glass. But never in all his life had hebeen so surprised as he now was, and after one long, low whistle herelieved his feelings by quoting verse:

 "Is things what they seem? Or is visions about?

"Trixie!" he went on in a low, concentrated voice. "This licks all! Thisbangs Banagher! This--but words fail me, Trixie!"

"What is it, Herbert?" demanded Trixie anxiously. "What does it allmean?"

"Ah!" responded Triffitt, wildly smiting the crown of his deerstalker. "That's just it! What does it all mean, my dear! Gad!--this is--to usethe common language of the common man, a fair licker! That that chapBurchill should march as bold as brass into those Herapath Flats, is--well, I couldn't be more surprised, Trixie, than if you were to tellme that you are the Queen of Sheba's grand-daughter! Not so much so, infact. You see----"

But at that moment a taxi-cab came speeding round the corner, and fromit presently emerged Carver and Davidge. The detective, phlegmatic, quiet as ever, nodded familiarly to Triffitt and lifted his hat toTrixie. 

"Evening, Mr. Triffitt, " he said quietly. 

"He's in there!" exclaimed Triffitt, grabbing Davidge's arm and pointingwildly to the brilliantly lighted entrance, wherein two or threeuniformed servants lounged about to open doors and attend to elevators. "Walked in as if the whole place belonged to him! You know--Burchill!"

"Ah, just so!" responded Davidge unconcernedly. "Quite so--I wouldn'tname no names in the street if I were you, Mr. Triffitt. Ah!--to besure, now. Well, of course, he would have to go in somewhere, wouldn'the?--as well here as anywhere, perhaps. Yes. Now, if this young ladywould join the other young lady in the cab, Mr. Carver'll escort 'emhome, and then he can come back here if he likes--we might have a bit ofa job for him. And when the ladies retire, you and me can do our bit ofbusiness, d'ye see, Mr. Triffitt. What?"

Trixie, urged towards the cab, showed signs of uneasiness. 

"Promise me you won't get shot, or poisoned, or anything, Herbert!" sheentreated. "If you do----"

"We aren't going in for any shooting tonight, miss, " said Davidgegravely. "Some other night, perhaps. All quiet and serene tonight--justa little family gathering, as it were--all pleasant!"

"But that dreadful man!" exclaimed Trixie, pointing to the door of theflats. "Supposing----"

"Ah, but we won't suppose, " answered Davidge. "He's all right, he is. Mild as milk we shall find him--my word on it, miss. Now, " he continued, when he had gently but firmly assisted Trixie into the cab, said a wordor two to Carver, taken Triffitt's arm, and led him across the street, "now we'll talk a bit, quietly. So he's gone in there, has he, Mr. Triffitt? Just so. Alone, now?"

"Quite alone, " replied Triffitt. "What's it all about--what does itmean? You seem remarkably cool about it!"

"I shouldn't be much use in my trade if I didn't keep cool, Mr. Triffitt, " answered Davidge. "You see, I know a bit--perhaps a gooddeal--of what's going on--or what's going to go on, presently. So willyou. I'll take you in there. "

"There? Where?" demanded Triffitt. 

"Where he's gone, " said Davidge. "Where--if I'm not mistaken--thatchap's going. "

He pointed to a man who had come quickly round the corner from thedirection of the High Street, a middle-sized, apparently well-dressedman, who hurried up the broad steps and disappeared within theglass-panelled doors. 

"That's another of 'em, " observed Davidge. "And I'm a Dutchman if thistaxi-cab doesn't hold t'other two. You'll recognize them, easy. "

Triffitt gaped with astonishment as he saw Professor Cox-Raythwaite andSelwood descend from the taxi-cab, pass up the steps, and disappear. 

"Talk of mysteries!" he said. "This----"

Davidge pulled out an old-fashioned watch. 

"Nine o'clock, " he remarked. "Come on--we'll go in. Now, then, Mr. Triffitt, " he continued, pressing his companion's arm, "let me give youa tip. You mayn't know that I'm a Yorkshireman--I am! We've a good oldproverb--it's often cast up against us: 'Hear all--say naught!' You'llsee me act on it tonight--act on it yourself. And--a word in yourear!--you're going to have the biggest surprise you ever had in yourlife--and so's a certain somebody else that we shall see in fiveminutes! Come on!"

He took Triffitt's arm firmly in his, led him up the stairs, in at thedoors. The hall-porter came forward. 

"Take me up, " said Davidge, "to Mrs. Engledew's flat. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE

It seemed to Triffitt, who possessed, and sedulously cultivated, a senseof the dramatic, that the scene to which he and Davidge were presentlyconducted by a trim and somewhat surprised-looking parlour-maid, was onewhich might have been bodily lifted from the stage of any theatredevoted to work of the melodramatic order. The detective and thereporter found themselves on the threshold of a handsomely furnisheddining-room, vividly lighted by lamps which threw a warm pink glow overthe old oak furniture and luxurious fittings. On one side of the bigtable sat Professor Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood both looking a littlemystified; at the further end sat a shortish, rather fat man, obviouslya foreigner, who betrayed anxiety in every line of his rather oilycountenance. And posed in an elegant attitude on the hearthrug, oneelbow resting on the black marble of the mantelpiece, one hand toyingwith a cigarette, stood Burchill, scrupulously attired as usual, andconveying, or endeavouring to convey to whoever looked upon him, thathe, of all people present, was master of himself and all of the scene. 

Triffitt took all this in at a glance; his next glance was at theelegant, white-haired lady who came forward to meet him and hiscompanion. Davidge gave him a nudge as he executed a duck-like bow. 

"Servant, ma'am, " said Davidge in his quietest and coolest manner. "Itook the liberty of bringing a friend with me. You see, ma'am, as theseproceedings are in what we may call the public way, Mrs. Engledew, noobjection I'm sure to having a press gentleman at them. Mr. Triffitt, ma'am, of the _Argus_ newspaper. Known to these gentlemen--all of'em--unless it's the gentleman at the far end, there. Known, at anyrate, to Mr. Selwood and the Professor, " continued Davidge, nodding withmuch familiarity to the person he named. "And likewise to Mr. Burchillthere. How do you do, sir, this evening? You and me, I think, has metbefore, and shall no doubt meet again. Well, ma'am, and now that I'vecome, perhaps I might ask a question. What have I come for?"

Davidge had kept up this flow of talk while he took stock of hissurroundings, and now, with another nudge of his companion's elbow, hetook a chair between the door and the table, planted himself firmly init, put his hands on top of his stout stick, and propped his chin on hishands. He looked at Mrs. Engledew once more, and then let his eyes makeanother inspection of her guests. 

"What have I come for, ma'am?" he repeated. "To hear those revelationsyou spoke of when you called on me this afternoon? Just so. Well, ma'am, the only question now is--who's going to make 'em? For, " he added, sitting up again after his further inspection, and bestowing a generalsmile all round, "revelations, ma'am, is what I chiefly hanker after, and I shall be glad--delighted!--to hear any specimens from--anybody aschooses to make 'em!"

Mrs. Engledew looked at Burchill as she resumed her seat. 

"I think Mr. Burchill is the most likely person to tell you what thereis to tell, " she said. "His friend----"

"Ah!--the gentleman at the other end of the table, no doubt, " observedDavidge. "How do you do, sir? And what might that gentleman's name be, now?"

Burchill, who had been watching the detective carefully, threw away hiscigarette and showed an inclination to speak. 

"Look here, Davidge!" he said. "You know very well why you're here--you'rehere to hear the real truth about the Herapath murder! Mrs. Engledew toldyou that this afternoon, when she called on you at Scotland Yard. Now theonly two people who know the real truth are myself and my friend there--Mr. Dimambro. "

Selwood and Cox-Raythwaite, who until then had remained in ignorance of thelittle foreigner's identity, started and looked at him with interest. Sothis was the missing witness! But Davidge remained cool and unimpressed. 

"Ah, just so!" he said. "Foreign gentleman, no doubt. And you and Mr. Dimambro are the only persons who know the real truth about that littleaffair, eh, Mr. Burchill. Very good, so as----"

"As Mr. Dimambro doesn't speak English very well----" began Burchill. 

"I speak it--you understand--enough to say a good many words--but not sogood as him, " observed Mr. Dimambro, waving a fat hand. "He say it forme--for both of us, eh?"

"To be sure, sir, to be sure, " said Davidge. "Mr. Burchill is giftedthat way, of course. Well, Mr. Burchill, and what might this story be, now? Deeply interesting, I'll be bound. "

Burchill pulled a chair to the table, opposite Selwood and theProfessor. He put the tips of his fingers together and assumed anexplanatory manner. 

"I shall have to begin at the beginning, " he said. "You'll all please tofollow me closely. Now, to commence--Mrs. Engledew permits me to speak forher as well as for Mr. Dimambro. The fact is, I can put the circumstancesof the whole affair into a consecutive manner. And I will preface what Ihave to say by making a statement respecting a fact in the life of the lateMr. Herapath which will, I believe, be substantiated by Mr. Selwood, mysuccessor as secretary to the deceased gentleman. Mr. Herapath, in additionto being an authority on the building of up-to-date flats, was also more orless of an expert in precious stones. He not only bought and sold in thesethings, but he gave advice to his friends in matters relating to them. Mr. Selwood has, I am sure, had experience of that fact?"

"To a certain extent--yes, " agreed Selwood. "But I had not been longenough in Mr. Herapath's employ to know how much he went in for that sortof thing. "

"That is immaterial, " continued Burchill. "We establish the fact thathe did. Now we come to the first chapter of our story. This lady, Mrs. Engledew, a tenant of this flat since the Herapath Estate was built, isan old acquaintance--I am permitted to say, friend--of the late JacobHerapath. She occasionally consulted him on matters of business. OnNovember 12th last she consulted him on another affair--though it had, ofcourse, a business complexion. Mrs. Engledew, by the death of a relative, had just come into possession of some old family jewels--chiefly diamonds. These diamonds, which, Mrs. Engledew tells me, had been valued by Spinks atabout seven thousand pounds, were in very old, considerably worn settings. Mrs. Engledew wished to have them reset. Knowing that Jacob Herapath hadgreat taste and knowledge in that direction, she saw him at his office onthe noon of November 12th, showed him the diamonds, and asked his advice. Jacob Herapath--I am giving you Mrs. Engledew's account--told her to leavethe diamonds with him, as he was going to see, that very day, an expert inthat line, to whom he would show the stones with the idea of his givinghim his opinion on what ought to be done with them. Mrs. Engledew handedhim the diamonds in a small case, which he put in his pocket. I hope, "added Burchill, turning to Mrs. Engledew, "that I have given all thisquite correctly?"

"Quite, " assented Mrs. Engledew. "It is perfectly correct. "

"Then, " continued Burchill, "we pass on to Mr. Dimambro. Mr. Luigi Dimambrois a dealer in precious stones, who resides in Genoa, but travels widelyabout Europe in pursuance of his business. Mr. Dimambro had had severaldealings with Jacob Herapath during past years, but previous to November12th last they had not met for something like twelve months. On their lastprevious meeting Jacob Herapath told Mr. Dimambro that he was collectingpearls of a certain sort and size--specimens of which he showed him--with aview to presenting his niece, Miss Wynne, with a necklace which was to beformed of them. He gave Dimambro a commission to collect such pearls forhim. On November 11th last Dimambro arrived in London from the Continent, and wrote to Mr. Herapath to tell him of his arrival, and to notify himthat he had brought with him some pearls of the sort he wanted. Mr. Herapath thereupon made an appointment with Dimambro at the House ofCommons on the evening of November 12th at half-past ten o'clock. Dimambrokept that appointment, showed Mr. Herapath the pearls which he had brought, sold them to him, and received from him, in payment for them, a cheque forthree thousand guineas. This transaction being conducted, Mr. Herapath drewfrom his pocket (the same pocket in which he had already placed the pearls, which I understand, were wrapped up in a small bag or case of wash-leather)the diamonds which Mrs. Engledew had entrusted to him, showed them toDimambro, and asked his opinion as to how they could best be reset. Itis not material to this explanation to repeat what Dimambro said on thatmatter--suffice it to say that Dimambro gave an expert opinion, that Mr. Herapath once more pocketed the diamonds, and soon afterwards left theHouse of Commons for his estate offices with both lots of valuable stonesin his possession--some ten thousand pounds' worth in all. As for Dimambro, he went home to the hotel at which he was stopping--a little place calledthe Ravenna, in Soho, an Italian house--next morning, first thing, hecashed his cheque, and before noon he left for the Continent. He had notheard of the murder of Jacob Herapath when he left London, and he did nothear of it until next day. I think I have given Mr. Dimambro's accountaccurately--his account so far, " concluded Burchill, turning to theItalian. "If not, he will correct me. "

"Quite right, quite right!" said Dimambro, who had listened eagerly. "Ido not hear of the murder, eh, until I am in Berlin--it is, yes, nextday--day after I leave London--that I hear of it, you understand? I thensee it in the newspaper--English news, eh?"

"Why did you not come back at once?" asked Cox-Raythwaite. 

Dimambro spread out his hands. 

"Oh, I have my business--very particular, " he said. "Besides, it hasnothing to do with me, eh? I don't see no--no connection between me andthat--no! But in time, I do come back, and then--he tell you, " he brokeoff, pointing to Burchill. "He tell you better, see?"

"I am taking everything in order, " said Burchill. "And for the present Ihave done with Mr. Dimambro. Now I come to myself. I shall have to gointo details about myself which I should not give if it were not forthese exceptional circumstances. Mr. Davidge, I am sure, will understandme. Well, about myself--you will all remember that at both the coroner'sinquest and at the proceedings before the magistrate at which BarthorpeHerapath was present and I--for reasons well known!--was not, there wasmention made of a letter which I had written to Jacob Herapath and wassubsequently found in Barthorpe's possession, on his arrest. That letterwas taken to be a blackmailing letter--I don't know whether any of youwill believe me, and I don't care whether you do or not, but I declarethat it was not meant to be a letter of that sort, though its wordingmight set up that opinion. However, Jacob Herapath resented that letter, and on its receipt he wrote to me showing that it had greatly displeasedhim. Now, I did not want to displease Jacob Herapath, and on receipt ofhis letter, I determined to see him personally at once. Being, ofcourse, thoroughly familiar with his habits, I knew that he generallyleft the House of Commons about a quarter past eleven, every night whenthe House was sitting. I accordingly walked down to Palace Yard, intending to accost him. I arrived at the entrance to the Hall soonafter eleven. A few minutes later Mountain, the coachman, drove up withthe coupé brougham. I remained within the shadow of the porch--therewere other people about--several Members, and men who were with them. Ata quarter past eleven Jacob Herapath came down the Hall, accompanied byDimambro. I knew Dimambro, though I had not seen him for some time--Iused to see him, very occasionally, during my secretaryship to Mr. Herapath. When I saw these two in conversation, I drew back, and neitherof them saw me. I did not want to accost Mr. Herapath in the presence ofa second party. I watched him part from Dimambro, and I heard him tellMountain to drive to the estate office. When both he and Dimambro hadgone, I walked out into Parliament Square, and after thinking thingsover, I hailed a passing taxi-cab, and told the driver to go toKensington High Street, and to pull up by the Metropolitan Station. "

Burchill here paused--to give Davidge a peculiarly knowing look. 

"Now I want you all--and particularly Mr. Davidge--to follow closelywhat I'm going to tell you, " he continued. "I got out of the cab at thestation in the High Street, dismissed it, walked a little way along thestreet, and then crossed over and made for the Herapath Flats--for theestate office entrance. I think you are all very well acquainted withthat entrance. You know that it lies in a covered carriage way whichleads from the side-street into the big quadrangle round which the flatsare built. As I went up the side-street, on the opposite side, mind, tothe entrance, I saw a man come out of the covered carriage way. Thatman I knew!"

Burchill made a dramatic pause, looking impressively around him amidst adead silence. 

"Knew!" he repeated, shaking his finger at the expectant faces. "Knewwell! But--I am not going to tell you his name at this moment. For thepresent we will call him Mr. X. "

CHAPTER XXXIV

DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD

Burchill paused for a moment, to give full effect to this dramaticannouncement, which, to tell truth, certainly impressed every member ofhis audience but one. That one skilfully concealed his real feelingsunder a show of feigned interest. 

"You never say!" exclaimed Davidge, dropping into a favourite colloquialismof his native county. "Dear me, today! A man that you knew, Mr. Burchill, and that for the present you'll call Mr. X. You knew him well, then?"

"Better than I know you, " replied Burchill. He was beginning to besuspicious of Davidge's tone, and his resentment of it showed in hisanswer. "Well enough to know him and not to mistake him, anyhow! Andmind you, there was nothing surprising in his being there at that timeof night--that's a point that you should bear in mind, Davidge--it's inyour line, that. I knew so much of Jacob Herapath's methods and doingsthat it was quite a reasonable thing for this man to be coming out ofthe estate offices just before midnight. "

"Exactly, sir--I follow you, " said Davidge. "Ah!--and what might thisMr. X. Do then, Mr. Burchill?"

Burchill, who had addressed his remarks chiefly to the listeners on theother side of the table, and notably to Cox-Raythwaite, turned away fromthe detective and went on. 

"This man--Mr. X, " he said, "came quickly out of the door, turned down theside-street a little, then turned back, passed the carriage-entrance, andwent away up the street in the opposite direction. He turned on his owntracks so quickly that I was certain he had seen somebody coming whom hedid not wish to meet. He----"

"Excuse me a moment, " broke in Cox-Raythwaite. "How was it X. Didn't seeyou?"

"Because I was on the opposite side of the street, in deep shadow, "replied Burchill. "Besides that, the instant I caught sight of him Iquietly slipped back into a doorway. I remained there while he turnedand hurried up the street, for I was sure he had seen somebody coming, and I wanted to find out who it was. And in another minute BarthorpeHerapath came along, walking quickly. Then I understood--X. Had seen himin the distance, and didn't want to meet him. "

"Just so, just so, " murmured Davidge. "To be sure. "

"Barthorpe Herapath turned into the carriageway and went into theoffice, " continued Burchill. "Now, as I've already said, I knew JacobHerapath's methods; I hadn't served him for nothing. He was the sort ofman who makes no distinction between day and night--it was quite acommon thing for him to fix up business appointments with people atmidnight. I've been present at such appointments many a time. So, Idare say, has Mr. Selwood; any one who acted as secretary to JacobHerapath knows well that he'd think nothing of transacting business atthree o'clock in the morning. So I knew, of course, that Barthorpe hadgone there to keep some such appointment. I also knew that it wouldprobably last some time. Now I wanted to see Jacob Herapath alone. Andas there didn't seem to be any chance of it just then, I went home to myflat in Maida Vale. "

"Walked in?" asked Davidge. 

"If you're particular as to the means, I took a taxi-cab at the Gardensend of the High Street, " replied Burchill, half-contemptuously. Heturned his attention to Selwood and the Professor again. "Now, I'm goingto tell you the plain truth about what happened afterwards, " hecontinued. "This part of the story is for the particular benefit of youtwo gentlemen, though it has its proper connection with all the rest ofthe narrative. I sat up rather late when I got home that night, and Ilay in bed next day until afternoon--in fact, I'd only just risen whenBarthorpe Herapath called on me at three o'clock. Now, as I don't havepapers delivered, but go out to buy what I want, it's the fact that Inever heard of Jacob Herapath's murder until Barthorpe told me of it, then! That's the truth. And I'll at once anticipate the question thatyou'll naturally want to ask. Why didn't I at once tell Barthorpe ofwhat I'd seen the night before?--of the presence of the man whom we'recalling Mr. X. ?"

"Just so!" murmured Davidge. "Ah, yes, why not?"

"I'll tell you, " continued Burchill. "Because Barthorpe immediatelysprang upon me the matter of the will. And I just as immediatelyrecognized--I think I may count myself as a quick thinker--that thereally important matter just then was not the murder of Jacob Herapath, but the ultimate disposal of Jacob Herapath's immense wealth. "

"Clever!" sighed Davidge. "Uncommonly clever!"

"Now, Professor Cox-Raythwaite, and you, Mr. Selwood, " Burchill went on, adding new earnestness to his tone. "I want you to fully understand thatI'm giving you the exact truth. I firmly believed at that moment, and Icontinued to believe until the eventful conference at Mr. Halfpenny'soffice, that the gentleman whom I had known as Mr. Tertius was inreality Arthur John Wynne, forger and ex-convict. I say I firmlybelieved it, and I'll tell you why. During my secretaryship to JacobHerapath, he one day asked me to clear out a box full of old papers anddocuments. In doing so I came across an old North-country newspaperwhich contained a full account of the trial at Lancaster Assizes ofArthur John Wynne on various charges of forgery. Jacob Herapath's name, of course, cropped up in it, as a relative. The similarity of the namesof Jacob Herapath's ward, Miss Wynne, and that of the forger, roused mysuspicions, and I not only put two and two together, but I made someinquiries privately, and I formed the definite conclusion that Tertiusand Wynne were identical, and that the semi-mystery of Tertius'sresidence in Jacob Herapath's house was then fully accounted for. Sowhen Barthorpe told me what he did, and explained his anxiety about thewill, I saw my way to upsetting that will, for his benefit and for myown. If I swore that I'd never signed that will, and could prove thatTertius was Wynne, the forger, why then, of course, the will would beupset, for it seemed to me that any jury would believe that Tertius, orWynne, had forged the will for his daughter's benefit. And so Barthorpeand I fixed that up. Reprehensible, no doubt, gentlemen, but we all haveto live, and besides, Barthorpe promised me that he'd treat Miss Wynnemost handsomely. Well, that procedure was settled--with the result thatwe're all aware of. And now I'd like to ask Mr. Davidge there aquestion--as I'm about to tell him who the real murderer of JacobHerapath was, perhaps he'll answer it. I take it, Davidge, that the onlyevidence you had against me in regard to the murder was the documentwhich you found at my flat, by which Barthorpe Herapath promised to payme ten per cent. On the value of the Herapath estate? That and the factthat Barthorpe and I were in league about the will? Come now--as all'sbeing cleared up, isn't that so?"

Davidge rubbed his chin with affected indifference. 

"Oh, well, you can put it down at something like that, if you like, Mr. Burchill, " he answered. "You're a very clever young fellow, and I daresay you're as well aware of what the law about accessories is as I am. 'Tisn't necessary for a party to a murder to be actually present at theexecution of the crime, sir--no! And there's such a thing as beingaccessory after the crime--of course. Leave it at that, Mr. Burchill, leave it at that!"

Cox-Raythwaite, who had been eyeing Burchill with ill-concealed disgust, spoke sharply. 

"And--the rest?" he asked. 

"I'm going along in order, " answered Burchill coolly. "Well, I come tothe time when Davidge there arrested Barthorpe and myself at Halfpennyand Farthing's, and when I escaped. There's no need to tell you what Idid with myself, " he went on, with an obvious sneer in the detective'sdirection. "But I can tell you that I didn't particularly restrict mymovements. And eventually--a few days ago--I come into touch withDimambro, who had returned to England. As I said before, we had metduring the time I was secretary to Jacob Herapath. Dimambro, when I methim--accidentally--was on his way to the police, to tell them what heknew. I stopped him--he told his story to me instead. I told him mine. And the result of our deliberations was that we got an interview--atleast I did--with Mrs. Engledew here, with respect to the diamonds whichshe had entrusted to Jacob Herapath. And----"

"I should like to ask you a question, Mrs. Engledew, " said Cox-Raythwaite, interrupting Burchill without ceremony. "Why did you not inform the policeabout your diamonds as soon as you heard of the murder?"

Mrs. Engledew betrayed slight signs of confusion, and Davidge gave thequestioner a look. 

"I think if I were you, I shouldn't go into that matter just now, Professor, " he said apologetically. "Ladies, you know, have their reasonsfor these little--what shall we call 'em?--peculiarities. No, I wouldn'tpress that point, sir. We're having a nice, straight story--quite likea printed one!--from Mr. Burchill there, and I think we'd better lethim come to what we may term the last chapter in his own way--what?"

"I'm at the last chapter, " said Burchill. "And it's a short one. I saw Mrs. Engledew and made certain arrangements with her. And just after they weremade--yesterday in fact--Dimambro and I got a new piece of evidence. WhenDimambro was collecting those pearls for Jacob Herapath he bought somefrom a well-known dealer in Amsterdam, a specialist in pearls. Yesterday, Dimambro got a letter from this man telling him that a small parcel ofthose very pearls had been sent to him from London, for sale. He gaveDimambro the name and address of the sender, who, of course, was the Mr. X. Of whom I have spoken. So then Dimambro and I resolved to act, through Mrs. Engledew----"

"For a slight consideration, I think, " suggested Davidge dryly. "A matterof a little cheque, I believe, Mr. Burchill. "

"We've quite as much right to be paid for our detective services, amateur though they are, as you have for yours, Davidge, " retortedBurchill. "However, I've come to an end, and it only remains for me totell you who Mr. X. Really is. He hasn't the slightest notion that he'ssuspected, and if you and your men, Davidge, go round to his house, which isn't half a mile away, you'll probably find him eating his Sundayevening supper in peace and quietness. The man is----"

Davidge suddenly rose from his chair, nudging Triffitt as he moved. Helaughed--and the laugh made Burchill start to his feet. 

"You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Burchill!" said Davidge. "Muchobliged to you for your talk, there's nothing like letting some folkswag their tongues till they're tired. I know who murdered Jacob Herapathas well as you do, and who your Mr. X. Is. Jacob Herapath, gentlemen, "he added, turning to his astonished listeners, "was shot dead and robbedby his office manager, James Frankton, and if James Frankton's eatinghis Sunday supper in peace and quietness, it's in one of our cells, forI arrested him at seven o'clock this very evening--and with no help fromyou, Mr. Burchill! I'm not quite such a fool as I may look, my lad, andif I made one mistake when I let you slip I didn't make another when Igot on the track of the real man. And now, ma'am, " he concluded, with anold-fashioned bow to Mrs. Engledew, "there's no more to be said--by me, at all events, and I've the honour to wish you a good night. Mr. Triffitt--we'll depart. "

Outside, Davidge took the reporter's arm in a firm grip, and chuckled ashe led him towards the elevator. 

"That's surprise one!" he whispered. "Wait till we get downstairs andinto the street, and you'll have another, and it'll be of a bit liveliernature!"

CHAPTER XXXV

THE SECOND WARRANT

Davidge preserved a strict silence as he and Triffitt went down in theelevator, but when they had reached the ground floor he took thereporter's arm again, and as they crossed the entrance hall gave it asignificant squeeze. 

"You'll see two or three rather heavy swells, some of 'em in eveningdress, hanging about the door, " he murmured. "Look like residents, coming in or going out, puffing their cigars and their cigarettes, eh?They're my men--all of 'em! Take no notice--there'll be your friendCarver outside--I gave him a hint. Join him, and hang about--you'll havesomething to do a bit of newspaper copy about presently. "

Triffitt, greatly mystified, joined Carver at the edge of the pavementoutside the wide entrance door. Glancing around him he saw several menlounging about--two, of eminently military appearance, with eveningdress under their overcoats, stood chatting on the lower steps; two orthree others, all very prosperous looking, were talking close by. Therewas nothing in their outward show to arouse suspicion--at any othertime, and under any other circumstances Triffitt would certainly havetaken them for residents of the Herapath Flats. Carver, however, winkedat him. 

"Detectives, " he said. "They've gathered here while you were upstairs. What's up now, Triffitt? Heard anything?"

"Piles!" answered Triffitt. "Heaps! But I don't know what this is allabout. Some new departure. Hullo!--here's the secretary and theProfessor. "

Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood just then appeared at the entrance door andbegan to descend the steps. Davidge, who had stopped on the steps tospeak to a man, hailed and drew them aside. 

"What has gone on up there?" asked Carver. "Anything really----"

Triffitt suddenly grasped his companion's shoulder, twisting him roundtowards the door. His lips emitted a warning to silence; his eyessignalled Carver to look. 

Burchill came out of the doors, closely followed by Dimambro. Jauntilyswinging his walking-cane he began to descend, affecting utterunconsciousness of the presence of Cox-Raythwaite, Selwood, and Davidge. He passed close by the men in evening dress, brushing the sleeve of one. And the man thus brushed turned quickly, and his companion turnedtoo--and then something happened that made the two reporters exclaimjoyfully and run up the steps. 

"Gad!--that was quick--quick!" exclaimed Triffitt, with the delight of aschoolboy. "Never saw the bracelets put on more neatly. Bully for you, Davidge, old man!--got him this time, anyhow!"

Burchill, taken aback by the sudden onslaught of Davidge's satellites, drew himself up indignantly and looked down at his bands, around thewrists of which his captors had snapped a pair of handcuffs. He lifted aface white with rage and passion and glanced at Cox-Raythwaite andSelwood. 

"Liars!" he hissed between his teeth. "You gave me safe conduct! It wasunderstood that I was to come and go without interference, you hounds!"

"Not with me, nor I should think with anybody, my lad, " exclaimedDavidge, bustling forward. "Not likely! You forget that you're underarrest for the old charge yet, and though you'll get off for that, youwon't go scot-free, my friend! I've got a second warrant for you, andthe charge'll be read to you when you get to the station. You'll clearyourself of the charge of murder, but not of t'other charge, I'mthinking!"

"Second warrant! Another charge!" growled Burchill. "What charge?"

"I should think you know as well as I do, " replied Davidge quietly. "You're a bigger fool than I take you for if you don't. Conspiracy, ofcourse! It's a good thing to have two strings to one's bow, Mr. FrankBurchill, in dealing with birds like you. This is my second string. Takehim off, " he added, motioning to his men, "and get him searched, and puteverything carefully aside for me--especially a cheque for ten thousandpounds which you'll find in one of his pockets. "

When the detectives had hurried Burchill into a taxi-cab which suddenlysprang into useful proximity to the excited group, Davidge spat on theground and made a face. He motioned Cox-Raythwaite, Selwood, and thetwo reporters to go down the street; he himself turned to Dimambro. Whathe said to that highly-excited gentleman they did not hear, but theItalian presently walked off looking very crestfallen, while Davidge, joining them, looked highly pleased with himself. 

"Of course, you'll stop payment of that cheque at the bank first thingtomorrow, gentlemen, " he said. "Though that'll only be for form's sake, because I shall take charge of it when I go round to the police-stationpresently--they'll have got Burchill searched when I get there. Ofcourse, I wasn't going to say anything up there, but Mrs. Engledew hasbeen in with us at this, and she took Burchill and Dimambro in asbeautifully as ever I saw it done in my life! Clever woman, that! Weknew about her diamonds, gentlemen, within a few hours of the discoveryof the murder, and of course, I thought Barthorpe had got them; I did, mistaken though I was! I didn't want anybody to know about thosediamonds, though, and I kept it all dark until these fellows came on thescene. And, anyway, we didn't get the real culprit through the diamonds, either!"

"That's what we want to know, " said Selwood. "Have you got the realculprit? Are you certain? And how on earth did you get him--a man thatnone of us ever suspected!"

"Just so!" answered Davidge with a grim laugh. "As nice and quiet-mannereda man as ever I entered as a candidate for the gallows! It's very oftenthe case, gentlemen. Oh, yes--it's true enough! He's confessed--crumpledup like a bit of tissue paper when we took him--confessed everything to mejust before I came along here. Of course we didn't get him through anythingwe've heard tonight; quite different line altogether, and a simple one. "

"We should like to know about it, " said Cox-Raythwaite. "Can't you giveus a mere outline?"

"I was going to, " answered Davidge. "No secret about it. I may as welltell you that after hearing what Barthorpe Herapath insisted on sayingbefore the magistrate, I began to feel that he was very likely tellingthe truth, and that somebody'd murdered and robbed his uncle just beforehe got to the offices. But, of course, there was nothing to connect themurder and robbery with any person that I knew of. Well, now then, thisis how we got on the track. Only two or three days ago a little, quietman, who turned out to be a bit of a property-owner down at Fulham, cameto me and said that ever since Mr. Jacob Herapath's murder he'd beenwhat he called studying over it, and he thought he ought to tell mesomething. He said he was a very slow thinker, and it had taken him along time to think all this out. Then he told me his tale. He said thatfor some time Jacob Herapath had been waiting to buy a certain bit ofland which he had to sell. On November 12th last he called to see Jacobat these offices, and they agreed on the matter, price to be £5, 000. Jacob told him to come in at ten o'clock next morning, and in accordancewith his usual way of doing business, he'd hand him the money incash--notes, of course. Well, the chap called next morning, only to hearof what had happened, and so his business had fallen through. And itwasn't until some time later--he's a bit of a slow-witted fellow, dullish of brain, you understand, " continued Davidge indulgently, "thathe remembered a certain conversation, or rather a remark which JacobHerapath made during that deal. This man, James Frankton, the manager, was present when the deal was being effected, and when they'd concludedterms, Jacob said, turning to Frankton. 'I'll get the money in notesfrom the bank this afternoon, Frankton, and if I don't give it to you inthe meantime, you'll find the notes in the top left-hand drawer of mydesk tomorrow morning. ' Well, that was what the man told me; said he'dbeen bothering his brains in wondering if Jacob did draw that money, andso on--Frankton, of course, had told him that he knew nothing about it, and that as Jacob was dead, no more could be done in the matter. Now onthat, I at once began some inquiries. I found out a thing or two--nevermind what--one was to trace a hundred pound note which Frankton hadcashed recently. I found, only yesterday morning, that that note was oneof fifty similar notes paid to Jacob Herapath by his bankers in exchangefor his own cheque on the afternoon of November 12th. And, on that, Ihad Frankton watched all yesterday, last night, and today, and as Isaid, I arrested him tonight--and, in all my experience I never saw aman more surprised, and never knew one who so lost his nerve. "

"And his confession?" asked Selwood. 

"Oh! ordinary, " answered Davidge. "Jacob had made an appointment withhim for half-past eleven or so. Got there a bit late, found his mastersitting at his desk with a wad of bank notes on the blotting-pad, apaper of pearls on one side of him, a lot of diamond ornaments at theother--big temptation to a chap, who, as it turns out, was hard up, andhad got into the hands of money-lenders. And, oh, just the ordinarything in such cases, happened to have on him a revolver that he'd boughtabroad, yielded to temptation, shot his man, took money and valuables, went home, and turned up at the office next day to lift his hands inhorror at the dreadful news. You see what truth is, gentlemen, when youget at it--just a common, vulgar murder, for the sake of robbery. Andhe'll swing!"

"'Just a common, vulgar murder, and he'll swing!'" softly repeatedCox-Raythwaite, as he and Selwood walked up the steps of the house inPortman Square half an hour later. "Well, that's solved, anyway. As forthe other two----"

"I suppose there's no doubt of their guilt with respect to theirconspiring to upset the will?" said Selwood. "And that's a seriousoffence, isn't it?"

"In this eminently commercial country, very, " answered Cox-Raythwaite, sententiously. "Barthorpe and Burchill will inevitably retire to theshelter of a convict establishment for awhile. Um! Well, my boy, goodnight!"

"Not coming in?" asked Selwood, as he put a key in the latch. 

The Professor gave his companion's shoulder a pressure of his big hand. 

"I think, " he said, turning down the steps with a shy laugh, "I thinkPeggie will prefer to receive you--alone. "

THE END

 _THE MYSTERY STORIES OF_

 _J . S . F L E T C H E R_

 "_We always feel as though we were really spreading happiness when we can announce a genuinely satisfactory mystery story, such as J. S. Fletcher's new one. _"--N. P. D. In the New York Globe. 

THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER [1918]

"Unquestionably, _the_ detective story of the season and, therefore, onewhich no lover of detective fiction should miss. "--_The Broadside. _

THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM [1920]

"A crackerjack mystery tale; the story of Linford Pratt, who earnestlydesired to get on in life, by hook or by crook--with no objectionwhatever to crookedness, so long at it could be performed in safety andsecrecy. "--_Knickerbocker Press. _

THE PARADISE MYSTERY [1920]

"As a weaver of detective tales Mr. Fletcher is entitled to a seat amongthe elect. His numerous followers will find his latest book fully asabsorbing as anything from his pen that has previously appeared. "--_NewYork Times. _

DEAD MEN'S MONEY [1920]

"The story is one that holds the reader with more than the mere interestof sensational events; Mr. Fletcher writes in a notable style. "--_NewarkEvening News. _

THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND [1921]

". . . A rattling good yarn. . . . An uncommonly well written tale. "--_NewYork Times. _

THE CHESTERMARKE INSTINCT [1921]

"Mr. Fletcher is a master of plot. . . . To tell a story as well as thisis a literary achievement. "--_Boston Transcript. _

THE BOROUGH TREASURER [1921]

"As mystifying a tale as even Mr. Fletcher himself has written. "--_NewYork Times. _

THE HERAPATH PROPERTY [1921]

Numerous complications lead from the murder of Jacob Herapath and thesearch for his will. 

SCARHAVEN KEEP [1922]

The mystery of the disappearance of Bassett Oliver, famous actor. 

RAVENSDENE COURT [1922]

Two men are struck down by an unseen hand, at the same time in widelyseparated places--who killed them?

 _$2. 00 net each at all booksellers or from the Publisher_

 ALFRED A. KNOPF, New York. 

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

The advertisement "The Mystery Stories of J. S. Fletcher" has been movedfrom the front of the book to the back. 

Spacing around ellipses and em-dashes is as in the original. 

The following corrections have been applied:

 Advertisement: "As mystifying{original had mystifyng} a tale as even Mr. Fletcher himself has written. "

 Page vi: XXIV{original had XIV} COLD STEEL

 Page 18: but when she had left the room to make ready for the drive Mr. {original omitted period} Tertius turned to Selwood. 

 Page 66: the detective, armed with a magnifying glass, was examining the edges of the door, the smooth backs of chairs, even the surface of the desk, presumably for finger-marks{original had fingermarks}. 

 Page 72: "Mr. Selwood!" she exclaimed imploringly. "You--I can't. {The original text has no em-dash, and it's not clear what the author's intention was. } You open it, and--"

 Page 85: "Pardon, " interrupted Burchill, "a{original had A} holograph?

 Page 128: And it was as well that he was not looking{original had look-} at Triffitt

 Page 160: perhaps you'll{original had you'l} drop me a line and make an appointment at your office some day--then I'll call, d'you see?"{original omitted closing quotation mark}

 Page 166: "So long as justice is done, " remarked Peggie. {original omitted period}

 Page 178: There were peculiarities about the fellow, said Triffitt{original had Triffit}, which you couldn't forget

 Page 186: "All right, " said Triffitt, "keep{original had Keep} a still tongue as regards me

 Page 186: {original had a quotation mark here}Outside Triffitt gave his companion's arm a confidential squeeze. 

 Page 187: Markledew{original had Markledek} listened to Triffitt's story next day in his usual rapt silence. 

 Page 196: "Then we'll get to work, " said Davidge. "{original omitted quotation mark}Mr. Triffitt, I can't ask you to come with us

 Page 201: "I haven't{original had haven'} the least objection to Cox-Raythwaite's presence, nor yours, " said Barthorpe. 

 Page 211: Peggie Wynne, who during Barthorpe's last speech had manifested signs of a desire to speak, and had begun to produce a sealed packet from her muff. {original had a superfluous quotation mark here}

 Page 214: as they{original had ast hey} went on, quietly rose from his chair. 

 Page 218: Is it not probable that if he wanted to make a will he{original had be} would have employed me

 Page 273: Peggie{original had Peggy} Wynne had never been so glad of anything in her life as for Selwood's immediate presence at that moment

 Page 287: You follow me? As soon as I've taken action, or run him to earth, I'll ring up Scotland Yard, and{original had an} then----"

 Page 293: "Nine o'clock, " he remarked. "{original omitted this quotation mark}Come on--we'll go in. Now, then, Mr. Triffitt, " he continued, The following unusual spellings are as printed:

 Page 143: He flung Markledew's half-sheet of notepaper before the news editor, and the news editor, seeing the great man's sprawling caligraphy{sic}, read, wonderingly:--

The following words appear with and without a hyphen. They have beenleft as in the original. 

 bank-notes/banknotes

 business-like/businesslike

 hearth-rug/hearthrug

 note-book/notebook

 note-paper/notepaper

 parlour-maid/parlourmaid