The MASTER
DETECTIVE
BEING SOME FURTHER
INVESTIGATIONS
CHRISTOPHER QUARLES
PERCY JAMES BREBNER


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THE MASTER DETECTIVE


“
1”了TT


THE MASTER DETECTIVE
Being some Further Investi-
gations of Christopher Quarles
BY
PERCY JAMES BREBNER
AUTHOR OF "CHRISTOPHER QUARLES."

NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
PUBLISHERS


23545.22,12o
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
BEQUEST OF
WINWARD PRESCOTT
JANUARY 27, 1933
Copyright, 1916
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I. THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR GRENVILLE RUSHOLM 1
II. THE KIDNAPING OF Eva WILKINSON . . . . 24
III. THE DELVERTON AFFAIR . . . . . . . .
IV. THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE IN MANLEIGH ROAD . .
V. THE DIFFICULTY OF BROTHER PYTHAGORAS. . 90
VI. THE TRAGEDY IN DUKE'S MANSIONS . . . . 110
VII. THE STOLEN AEROPLANE MODEL . . . . . 131
VIII. THE AFFAIR OF THE CONTESSA'S PEARLS . . . 152
IX. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MADAME VATROTSKI . . 173
X. THE MYSTERY OF THE MAN AT WARBURTON'S . . 196
XI. THE STRANGE CASE OF DANIEL HARDIMAN . . 216
XII. THE CRIME IN THE YELLOW Taxi . . . . . 236
XIII. THE AFFAIR OF THE JEWELED CHALICE . . 254
XIV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE FORTY-TON YAWL . . 276
XV. THE SOLUTION OF THE GRANGE PARK MYSTERY 298





THE MASTER DETECTIVE
CHAPTER I
THE STRANGE CASE OF SIR GRENVILLE RUSHOLM
CIR GRENVILLE RUSHOLM, Baronet, was dead.
The blinds were down at the Lodge, Queen's Square.
For the last few days lengthy obituary notices had ap-
peared in all the papers, innumerable wreaths and
crosses had arrived at the house, and letters of sympathy
and condolence had poured in upon Lady Rusholm.
The dead man had filled a considerable space in the so-
cial world, although politically he had counted for little.
Politics were not his metier, he had said. He had con-
sistently refused to stand for parliament, his wealth had
supported neither party, and perhaps his social success
was due more to his wife's charm than to his own im-
portance.
To-day the funeral was to take place. By his own de-
sire his body was not being taken to Moorlands, the fam-
ily seat in Gloucestershire, but was to be buried at
Woking. The family chapel did not appeal to him.
Indeed, he had never spent much of his time at Moor-
lands, preferring his yacht or the Continent when he was
not at Queen's Square.
Last night the coffin had been brought downstairs and
placed in the large drawing-room, the scene of many a
brilliant function, although by day it was a somewhat
dreary apartment. The presence of the coffin there


The Master Detective
added to the depression, and the scent of the flowers was
almost overpowering.
Many of the mourners were going direct to Woking,
but there was a large number of guests at the house who
were received by the young baronet. Naturally, Sir
Arthur was of a sunny disposition, and his personality
and expectations had made him a favorite in society
since he had left Cambridge a year ago. To-day his face
was more than grave. It was drawn as if he were in
physical pain, and it was evident how keenly he felt
his father's death. Lady Rusholm did not appear until
the undertakers entered the house. She came down the
wide stairs, a pathetic figure in her deep mourning,
heavier than present-day fashion has made customary.
She spoke to no one, but went straight to the drawing-
room and, standing just inside the doorway, watched
the men whose business is with death, as if she feared
some indignity might be offered to her dear one. In a
few moments her husband must pass out of that room
for ever, and it was hardly wonderful if she visualized
for an instant the many occasions on which he had been
a central figure there.
The bearers stooped to lift the coffin from the tres-
tles on to their shoulders, then they straightened them-
selves under their burden, but they did not move, at
least only to start slightly, while their faces changed
from gravity to horror. Lady Rusholm uttered a short
cry, and there was consternation in the faces of the
guests in the hall. There could be no mistake; the
sound, though dull and muffled, was too loud for that.
It was a knock from inside the coffin..
The man in charge whispered to the bearers. No,
none of them had inadvertently caused the sound. The
coffin was replaced on the trestles, and for a moment


The Master Detective
into a mystery which was certainly amongst the most re-
markable I have ever had to investigate.
Some of those invited to the funeral had left the
house before I arrived, but the more personal friends
were still there, and the story as I have set it down was
corroborated by different people with a wealth of de-
tail which seemed to leave nothing unsaid. Besides in-
terviewing Sir Arthur and the doctor, I saw Lady
Rusholm for a few moments. She was exceedingly agi-
tated, as was natural, and I only asked her one or
two questions of a quite unimportant nature, but I was
glad to see her. I like to get into personal touch with
the various people connected with my cases as soon as
possible.
I was in the house two hours or more, questioning
servants, examining doors and windows, and, to be can-
did, my investigations told me little. When I left
Queen's Square I knew I had a complex affair to deal
with, and it was natural my thoughts should fly to the
one man who might help me. If I could only interest
Christopher Quarles in the case!
I remember speaking casually of a well-known person
once and being met with the question, Who is he? It
may be that some of you have never heard of Christopher
Quarles, professor of philosophy, and one of the most
astute crime investigators of this or any other time. It
has been my privilege to chronicle some of our adven-
tures together, and his help has been of infinite benefit
to me. Without it, not only should I have failed to
elucidate some of those mysteries the solving of which
have made me a power in the detective force, but I
should never have seen his granddaughter, Zena, who
is shortly to become my wife.
For some months past the professor had given me no


The Master Detective
He looked at me sharply. I thought the remark would
pique his curiosity.
“That means you have had some failures lately."
“On the contrary, I have been remarkably success-
ful.”
“Glad to hear it,” he returned. “What makes you
say criminals are more clever then?”
“The Queen's Square Mystery.”
“I don't read the papers as carefully as I did,” he
remarked.
“It only happened this morning,” I answered. “I
daresay you noticed that Sir Grenville Rusholm died
the other day. Some one has stolen his body, that is
all.”
“Stolen his "
“Yes, it is rather a curious case, but we won't talk
about it. I know that sort of thing doesn't interest you
now."
I talked of other things—anything and everything-
but I noted that he was restless and uninterested.
“What did Sir Grenville die of ?” he asked suddenly.
“A sudden and most unexpected collapse after in-
fluenza."
“And the body has been stolen?”
“Yes.”
“I should like to hear about it, Wigan."
I hesitated until he began to get angry, and then I
told him the story as I have told it here. I had just fin-
ished when Zena came in.
“You, Murray! What has brought you here at this
hour of the day?” she asked in astonishment.
“Two pieces of lead," murmured Quarles.
“A case! Have you got interested in a case, dear?
I am glad. What is the mystery, Murray?”


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholmen
“Where is the key of my room, Zena ?” Quarles
asked.
She took it from the drawer in a cabinet.
"I am not going to begin again,” said the professor,
“but this—this is an exception. Come with us, Zena.
Come and ask some of your absurd questions. I wonder
whether my brain is atrophied. There are cleverer crim-
inals than there used to be in my time, are there, Wigan?
We shall see.”
He led the way to the empty room at the back of the
house, muttering to himself the while, and Zena and I
smiled at each other behind his back as we followed him.
He was like an old dog on the trail again, and I did not
believe for a moment this case would be an exception.
“Tell the story, Wigan,” he said when we were seated.
“All the details, mind, great and small.”
So I went through the facts again.
“I made a careful study of the house and garden,"
I went on. “The Lodge is a corner house, the garden is
small, and a garage with an opening into the other road
-Connaught Road-has been built there. A ‘Napier'
car was in the garage.”
"Did you see the chauffeur?” asked Quarles.
“Yes. The car had not been used for a week. I
could find no trace of an entry having been made from
the garden, but the latch of one of the French windows
of the drawing-room was unfastened. When I saw it
this window could be pushed open from outside. No
one seems to have undone it that morning, so the fact is
significant.”
Quarles nodded.
“Besides the servants only five people slept in the
house that night-Lady Rusholm, her son, two elderly
ladies-cousins of Sir Grenville's who had come from


8
The Master Detective
Yorkshire for the funeral—and a Mr. Thompson, a friend
of the family who was staying in the house when Sir
Grenville died.”
“Who closed the windows after the body was taken to
the drawing-room?” asked Quarles.
“One of the undertaker's men.”
“Is he positive he fastened them ?”
“He is, but under the circumstances he is not anxious
to swear to it.”
“And the door of the room, had that been kept
locked ?"
“Yes. The key was in Sir Arthur's possession.”
“Who first entered the room this morning ?”
“Sir Arthur when he took in two or three wreaths
which arrived late last night. The room was just as it
had been left on the previous day. The wreaths and
crosses were not disarranged in any way.”
“And there were only two pieces of lead in the coffin
when it was opened ?” queried Zena.
“A large lump and a small one,” I answered.
“Couldn't they have been packed in such a way that
they would not have slipped ?”
“Of course they could. No doubt that was the in-
tention, but the work was badly done because the thieves
did it hurriedly,” I answered.
“One of your foolish questions, Zena,” said Quarles,
looking keenly at her. He always declared that her fool-
ish inquiries put him on the right road.
“It is a good thing the lead did slip, or the gruesome
theft might never have been discovered," she said.
"Was the coffin a very elaborate one?” Quarles asked,
after nodding an acquiescence to Zena's remark.
“No, quite a plain one."
“Has the drawing-room more than one door?”


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm 9
“Only one into the hall. There is a small room out
of the drawing-room-a small drawing-room in fact.
Lady Rusholm does her correspondence there. It can
only be reached by going through the large room, and
the door between the rooms was locked. Sir Arthur got
the key from his mother and opened the door for me."
“What could any one want with a dead body?” asked
Zena.
“If we could answer that question we should be near-
ing the end of the affair,” said Quarles. "Years ago
there were two men—Burke and Hare—who—"
“Oh, the day of resurrectionists is past," I said.
"Don't be so dogmatic,” returned Quarles sharply.
“A corpse has been stolen; can you suggest any use a
corpse can be put to if it is not to serve some anatomical
or medical purpose? Remember, Wigan, that mentally
and materially there is always a tendency to move in a
circle. What has been will be again—altered accord-
ing to environment—but practically the same. Always
start with the assumption that a similar case has hap-
pened before. Our difficulties would be much greater if
Solomon had been wrong, and there were constantly new
things under the sun. Undoubtedly there are some in-
teresting points in this case. Have you arrived at a
theory?”
“No, at least only a very vague one. Sir Arthur
seems certain that his father had no enemies, and my
theory would require an enemy; some one who, having
failed to injure him in life, had found an opportunity of
wreaking vengeance on the dead clay by preventing the
body having Christian burial.”
“That is a very interesting idea, Wigan; go on."
“I daresay you remember that the Rusholm baronetcy
caused some excitement about twenty years ago. The


12
The Master Detective
Sir Arthur. “I had to get the key from my mother
when Mr. Wigan wanted to go in. It is my mother's spe-,
cial room, but she had been so occupied in nursing my
father that she had not used it for more than a week.”
Then Quarles looked at the wreaths, wanted to know
which ones had been left near the coffin when the room
was locked for the night, and the wreaths which Sir
Arthur pointed out he examined carefully. Then he
pointed to a large cross lying on an armchair.
“Has that one been there all the time?"
Sir Arthur explained that two or three wreaths had
come late in the evening. He had himself brought them
into the room on the morning of the funeral. That cross
was one of them.
“Ah, it is a pity you didn't bring them in that night.
You might have surprised the villains at work."
“We were in bed by eleven. Do you imagine they be-
gan before that?” :
"Possibly,” said Quarles, as he turned his attention
to the coffin. He examined the lid with a lens, for the
finger marks, he said, which one might expect to find
near the screw holes. Then he studied the sides of the
coffin. The two pieces of lead did not appear to interest
him very much, but he asked me to push the smaller piece
from the foot of the coffin. He examined the lining, felt
the padding, tried its thickness with the point of a pen-
knife, and in doing so he slit the lining.
“Sorry," he said. “My old hands are not as steady
as they used to be. Quite a thick padding, and quite
a substantial coffin.”
He had brought out some of the padding with his
knife, and this left part of the floor of the coffin near
the foot visible. This he tapped with the handle of his
penknife to test its thickness.


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm 13
“Quite an ordinary coffin-plain but good,” he went
on, looking at the brass fittings.
“It was my father's wish that it should be so," said
Sir Arthur.
“Strange what a lot of trouble some men take about
their funerals, while others never trouble at all,” said
the professor, looking round the room again. “I sup-
pose, Sir Arthur, like the rest of us your father had
enemies."
“Not that I know of.”
“An old rival, for instance, in your mother's affec-
tions."
"There was nothing of the kind. Mr. Thompson, who
is still in the house you saw him yesterday, Mr. Wigan
—will endorse this. He knew my mother before her
marriage."
“Still, some people must have envied your father.
But for him, another branch of the family would have
inherited the estates, I understand. Has he always
been on friendly terms with this branch of the fam-
ily ?”
“Always, and has helped them considerably."
"Experience teaches us that it is often the most diffi-
cult thing to forgive those who do us favors,” said
Quarles sententiously.
“Do you believe that some one out of wanton cruelty
has stolen the body with no purpose beyond mere re-
venge?”
“It looks like it, Sir Arthur. The body will prob-
ably be discovered presently. Possibly the thief will
furnish you with a clue so that you may know he or
she has taken revenge. I am afraid there is nothing
to be done but to wait. I feel greatly for Lady Rus-
holm."


14
The Master Detective
“The waiting will be dreadful.' I am trying to per-
suade my mother to go away at once.”
“Why not? You will remain in London, of course.
Your father's papers may throw some light on the mys-
tery.”
“I have interviewed lawyers, and I have already gone
through some of his private papers. I do not think any
light will come that way. Do you want to look at any-
thing else in the house ?”
“I think not,” I said.
“My specialty is finger prints,” said Quarles, “noth-
ing else. In this case my specialty has proved useless."
When we left the house Quarles turned toward Con-
naught Road.
"Is it your real opinion that the only thing to do is
to wait?” I asked.
“Let's go and see if we can find any more finger
prints,” he chuckled.
The garage was shut. Cut into the big gates was a
small door.
“Not a difficult lock," said Quarles. "I may have a
key that will fit it. We must get in somehow.”
“There is a door into the garage from the garden. We
could have gone that way."
“And advertised ourselves to the servants. I wanted
to avoid that.”
He found a key to open the door, and he made no
pretense of looking for finger prints now. He examined
the car. It was a big one-open-with a cape hood-
capable of carrying five or six persons besides the driver.
He was interested in the seating accommodation, and
the make of the car generally. There was a window
which had a shutter to it high up in the garage look-
ing into the side road, and a small window at the back


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm 15
looking into the garden which had no shutter. Quarles
got on a stool to examine the frame of this window, and
then inspected the cloths for cleaning and the towels
which were in the garage.
“Come on. The interest of this place is soon ex-
hausted,” he said.
In less than a quarter of an hour we were walking
along Connaught Road again.
“By the way, what is Dr. Coles's address?” asked
Quarles.
I gave it to him. It was a turning off Connaught
Road.
“I shall go and see him, and then I have a call
to make elsewhere. Come to Chelsea to-night, Wigan.
Take my word for it, criminals are no cleverer than they
used to be.”
When I went to Chelsea that evening I found the pro-
fessor and Zena waiting for me in the empty room. He
was evidently impatient to talk.
“My brain may possibly require oiling, Wigan, but
Zena's questions are just as absurd as they ever were,”
he began. “She wanted to know why the lead had been
packed so carelessly, and what use a dead body could
be to any one. No bad points of departure for an in-
quiry. Now, when the coffin was opened after the knock
had been heard, a little sawdust from the screw holes
fell on the carpet. It was there when we went into the
room this morning. We may reasonably argue that
some sawdust must have fallen when the coffin was
opened during the night. But no one seems to have no-
ticed it."
“It might easily have escaped casual notice even if
the thieves neglected to remove it, which is unlikely,” I
returned.


16
The Master Detective
“It would not be so easy to remove, for the carpet
is a thick one, and the thieves would be in a hurry, you
know. Also there were wreaths about and I could find
no trace of sawdust in them. But further, the screw
holes show a clear, perfect thread which one would
hardly expect if the coffin had been opened and closed
again. Small points, but they promote speculation.
Yesterday, before I met you in Queen's Square, I went to
see the undertakers, and the man who was in charge
of the arrangements says emphatically that there was no
sign of the coffin having been opened. A little sawdust
was the first thing he looked for.”
“Are you trying to prove that the lead was already in
the coffin when it was taken to the drawing-room?” I
asked.
“No. I am only trying to show that it is doubtful
whether the coffin was opened in the drawing-room.”
“The change could not have been made in the bed-
room, or the lead would have slipped during the journey
downstairs,” I said.
“I agree, and we are therefore forced to the assump-
tion that the body was actually carried to the drawing-
room, yet we are doubtful whether the coffin was opened
there.”
“I have no doubt,” I returned.
“That is a mistake on your part, Wigan. Doubts
are often the forerunners of convictions. My doubt led
me to a curious discovery. When I went to the under-
taker's I saw the men who actually made the coffin. It
was a very plain coffin, less expensive than might have
been expected for a man in Sir Grenville's position.
Now one of the men, in answer to a careful question
or two, mentioned a curious fact. In the floor of the
coffin, close to the foot of it, there was a wart in the


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm
17
mom of the con the contine body teed on
wood. This morning you saw me slit the lining and re-
move some of the padding. There was no wart in the
floor of the coffin, Wigan.”
“You mean the coffins were changed ?” said Zena.
“I do. One with the body in it was removed, and
another with lead in it was placed on the trestles in
its stead. The plainer the coffin the easier it would be
to duplicate it by description. The makers of the sec-
ond coffin would not have the original before them to
copy, you must remember.”
“But only Lady Rusholm and her son could possess
the necessary knowledge to give such a duplicate order,"
I said.
“You forget Mr. Thompson. He was an intimate
friend, and staying in the house at the time.”
“I do not understand why the lead was not packed
securely,” said Zena.
“It puzzles me,” said Quarles. “I could only find
one answer. It was such an obvious blunder that it must
have been intentional. The lumps of lead endorsed this
idea. Whilst the large piece was flat and difficult to
move, the small piece was like a ball and meant to roll
and strike the side the moment the coffin was moved. It
was presumably necessary that the theft should be dis-
covered, and your ingenious idea of a revengeful enemy
appealed to me, Wigan. I elaborated the idea to Sir
Arthur, you will remember.”
I had nothing to say—no fault to find with his argu-
ment so far. Quarles rather enjoyed my silence, I
fancy.
“Sir Arthur unconsciously gave me a great deal of
information,” he went on. “First, it was curious that
the wreaths which came that night should be left in the
hall. It would have been more natural to place them


18
The Master Detective
in the drawing-room. Why were they not put there?
It looked as if there were a desire not to open the room
again. Another wreath might have come later when it
would have been very inconvenient to open the door,
and not to have put the other wreath into the room
might have caused comment in the light of after events.
Again, influenza is a fairly common complaint, and
Sir Grenville died of a sudden and unexpected collapse;
yet Sir Arthur said it was by his father's desire that
the coffin was plain. A man suffering from influenza
does not expect to die, and it seemed strange to me
that he should arrange details of his funeral. By it-
self it is not a very important point, since Sir Gren-
ville's wishes may have been known for a long time,
but almost in the same breath, emphasis was laid on the
fact that Lady Rusholm had not used the small room
out of the drawing-room for more than a week. Why
not? There was absolutely no reason why she should
not continue to do her correspondence there, since her
husband was not seriously ill and could not require con-
stant nursing. I think an excuse was wanted for lock-
ing up that room, and I believe you will find that none
of the servants have entered the room during this period,
and that the blind has been down all the time. I believe
the duplicate coffin was hidden there.”
“But how was the duplicate coffin got into the house ?”
asked Zena.
“In much the same way as the real coffin was got out
of it, I imagine. You remember the arrangement of
the motor, Wigan; its size and swivel seats give ample
room to put the coffin on the floor of the car. In the
dead of night the coffin was carried across the garden,
placed in the car and driven away. On some previous


20
The Master Detective
keeping with the rest of her actions. We have ample
testimony and proof that Lady Rusholm is courageous
and resourceful. Dr. Coles is greatly impressed with her
character; her personality appealed to me when I heard
her speak at the technical institute. She would be pres-
ent when the undertakers were removing the body,
which is not customary. She remained while the coffin
was opened, and although she apparently fainted-it
was her son who caught her, remember-she saw you
soon afterwards. It seems to me two questions naturally
ask themselves. What was the ill news Mr. Thompson
brought from India ? Was Lady Rusholm prepared for
that knock from the coffin ?”
“We are becoming speculative, indeed," I said.
“Are we? Consider for a moment the amount of evi-
dence we have that the theft of the body could only be
contrived with the knowledge and help of Lady Rusholm,
her son, or Mr. Thompson; or, which is more likely, by
the connivance of all three. Then try to imagine their
purpose. What use could they make of a dead body?
Why take such trouble that the theft should be dis-
covered?”
“We have not accumulated enough facts to tell us,"
I answered.
“I think we may indulge in a guess," said Quarles.
“Sir Grenville, on his own showing, had not expected
to come into the title. Has it occurred to you, Wigan,
how exceedingly complete his claim was? Every possi-
ble doubt seems to have been considered and arranged
for. It was almost too complete. Now, supposing Sir
Grenville was not really Sir Grenville Rusholm, suppos-
ing he had acquired the family knowledge and papers
from the real man—when that man was dying, per-
haps-and in due time used them to claim the estates.


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm
21
For about twenty years he has enjoyed the result of
his fraud, his intimate friend, Mr. Thompson, being in
his confidence, and very likely receiving some of the spoil.
Suddenly Mr. Thompson learns that some one else knows
the secret, and hurries to England to warn Sir Gren-
ville.”
“But why steal the body?” asked Zena.
“On leaving Dr. Coles, Wigan, I went to see Pro-
fessor Sayle, who, with the exception of the German
physician Hauptmann, probably knows more about ori-
ental diseases and medicine than any man living. He
proved to me that it is possible by means of a certain
vegetable drug to produce apparent death. Fakirs often
use it. The ordinary medical man would certainly be
deceived. Ultimately actual death would ensue were
not the antidote to the drug administered, but the sus-
pension of life will continue for a considerable time."
“It is pure speculation,” I said. .
“We have got to explain the theft of a dead body.
I explain it by saying there was no dead body," said
Quarles sharply, as if I were denying a self-evident
fact. “I go still further. Judging by Coles's descrip-
tion of the man calling himself Sir Grenville, I doubt his
courage for carrying through either the original fraud
or the plan of escape. I believe his wife was the mov-
ing spirit throughout, and it is quite possible the drug
was administered without her husband's knowledge.”
“And where is the body now?" asked Zena.
“I do not know, but you tempt me to guesswork.
Sir Grenville was a keen yachtsman, and probably he is
on board his yacht still resting in his coffin, waiting for
his wife to bring the antidote to the drug. His son and
Mr. Thompson took the body that night in the car.
There must have been two of them to deal with the bur-


22
The Master Detective
den, for I imagine the yacht had no crew on her at the
time. They would hardly take others into their confi-
dence. As everything had to be accomplished between
eleven o'clock at night and before dawn the next day, I
imagine the yacht was lying somewhere in the Thames
estuary. I grant this is guesswork, Wigan.”
“I do not see why it was necessary the theft should be-
come known,” I said.
“It would occasion delay in the settlement of the
estate. It placed difficulties in the way of the right-
ful heir. It would help to throw a distinct doubt
whether, in spite of all the evidence that might be forth-
coming, Sir Grenville had committed fraud. There was
even a possibility that the son might be left in possession
after all. I daresay we shall learn more when we tackle
Lady Rusholm and her son to-morrow.”
When we went to Queen’s Square next morning we
found that Lady Rusholm was gone. She had, in fact,
already gone when her son told us he was trying to
persuade her to go. Mr. Thompson had left later in the
day.
We found that even Quarles's guesswork was very
near the actual facts, although he had hardly given
Lady Rusholm sufficient credit for the working out of
the scheme. The real heir, Sir John's nephew, had died
in Ceylon before Baxter-that was Sir Grenville's real
name—had married. On his death-bed he had entrusted
his papers to Baxter to send to England, and Baxter
had shown them to his future wife. The scheme came
full grown into her head. They left Ceylon to meet again
in India, and there they were married, Baxter giving his
name as Grenville Rusholm. Thompson was their only
confidant. He could not be left out because he had
known all about Rusholm. There was one other who


Strange Case of Sir Grenville Rusholm
23
knew, but they believed him to be dead. He was a
wanderer, somewhat of a ne'er-do-well, and to Thomp-
son's consternation, after twenty years, he had turned
up in Calcutta very much alive. He was going to Eng-
land to expose the fraud. He did not suspect Thomp-
son, who came to England first.
All this we heard from the son who for a short hour
or two had called himself Sir Arthur Rusholm. He was
able to prove quite conclusively that he was in entire
ignorance of the fraud until Thompson's arrival. His
mother confessed everything to him then. It was she
who had planned how to get out of the difficulty. The
duplicate coffin had been made at Harwich, for a yachts-
man who was to be taken abroad to be buried, they had
explained, but it was brought to Queen's Square and
hidden in the small drawing-room as Quarles had sur-
mised. It was only to spare his mother and father that
the son had entered into the scheme, and I fancy Quarles
was a little annoyed that he had not suspected this.
Mrs. Baxter was not caught. Indeed, there were many
people who disbelieved the whole story of the fraud,
even when the man who knew arrived from India—a
very strong proof of Mrs. Baxter's charm and personal-
ity. I have heard from her son that she is in South
America, and that her husband is not dead. So far as
I am aware the new baronet has taken no steps to bring
them to justice.
As Quarles says, she is a genius, and it would be a
thousand pities if she were in prison.


CHAPTER II
THE KIDNAPING OF EVA WILKINSON
THE Queen's Square affair seemed to have exhausted
1 Quarles's enthusiasm. I tried to interest him in
several cases without success, and I began to think we
really had done our last work together, when on his
own initiative he mentioned Ewart Wilkinson to me.
He had a personal interest in the man; I had only just
heard his name.
The multi-millionaire is not such a figure in this coun-
try as he is in America, but Ewart Wilkinson was un-
doubtedly on the American scale. He had made his
money abroad, how or exactly where remained matters
of uncertainty, and if one were inclined to believe the
stories told in irresponsible journals, there must have
been much in the past which he found it wiser not to
talk about. With such tales I have nothing to do. I
never met the millionaire, was, in fact, quite uninter-
ested in him until his wealth was concerned in a case
which came into my hands.
With Christopher Quarles it was different. For a few
days on one occasion he had stayed in the same house
with the millionaire in Scotland, and had been im-
pressed with him. Wilkinson was rough, but a diamond
under the rough, according to Quarles. He may have
had his own ideas of what constituted legitimate business,
but whatever his shortcomings, the professor found in
him a vein of sentiment which was attractive. He had
24


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson 25
a passion for his only daughter which appealed to
Quarles, partly, no doubt, because it made him think of
Zena, and there was a strain of melancholy in him which
made him apprehensive that his wealth would not be
altogether for his daughter's good. He had talked in
this way to Quarles. For all we knew to the contrary,
conscience may have been pricking him, but the fact re-
mained that he was prophetic.
Wherever and in whatever way Ewart Wilkinson made
his money, he undoubtedly had it. He rented a house
in Mayfair, and purchased Whiteladies in Berkshire.
The Elizabethan house, built on to the partial ruins of
an old castle, has no doubt attracted many of you when
motoring through South Berkshire. Having bought a
beautiful home, he looked for a beautiful wife to put in
it. Perhaps she was in the nature of a purchase, too,
for he married Miss Lavory, the only daughter of Sir
Miles Lavory, Bart., who put his pride in his pocket
when he consented to an alliance with mere millions.
It was said that Miss Lavory was driven into the match,
but however this may be, Ewart Wilkinson proved a
devoted husband, and his wife had ten years of a happy
married life in the midst of luxury. She died when her
daughter was eight.
For ten years after her mother's death Eva Wilkinson
and her father were hardly ever separated, and then
Ewart Wilkinson died suddenly. He left practically the
whole of his vast fortune to his daughter; and her uncle,
Mrs. Wilkinson's brother Michael, who had recently suc-
ceeded his father in the baronetcy, was left her guardian.
There was a curious clause in the will. Wilkinson, pos-
sibly because one or two cases had happened in America
at the time the will was made-half a dozen years before
his death-seemed particularly afraid that the heiress


26
The Master Detective
might be kidnaped, and her guardian was enjoined to
watch over her in this respect especially. Within six
months of his death the very thing he feared happened.
Eva Wilkinson was at Whiteladies at the time with her
companion, Mrs. Reville. After dinner one evening she
went alone on to the terrace, and from that moment had
entirely disappeared. A telegram was sent that night to
Sir Michael, who was in London, Scotland Yard was in-
formed, and the mystery was given me to solve.
I had commenced my inquiries when on going to Chel-
sea in the evening Quarles told me he had met Ewart
Wilkinson about three years before, and under the cir-
cumstances he was very interested in the mystery.
“The fact that he was afraid of something happen-
ing to his daughter suggests that he had some reason for
his fear,” I said.
“It does, Wigan-it does! He mentioned this very
thing to me three years ago, and I thought then there
was some one in his past of whom he was afraid."
“And his past seems to be a closed book," I returned.
“Eva Wilkinson must be between eighteen and nine-
teen,” Zena remarked. “Kidnaping a girl of that age is
a different thing from kidnaping a child.”
“True!” said Quarles.
“Isn't it more probable that she went away will-
ingly?” said Zena.
“You don't help me, my dear,” said the professor
with a frown, and the suggestion seemed to irritate him.
It stuck in his mind, however, for when we went to see
Sir Michael the idea was evidently behind his first ques-
tion.
“Is there any love affair?” asked Quarles. “Any
reason which might possibly induce the girl to go away
of her own accord ?”


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson 27
The suggestion seemed to bring a ray of hope into Sir
Michael's despair.
“I think she is too sensible a girl to do anything of
the kind, but there was a little affair, not very serious
on her side, I fancy, and there was probably a desire
for money on the man's part. Young Cayley has seen
Eva at intervals since they were children, but in her
father's lifetime there was no question of love. Directly
after Wilkinson's death, however, Edward Cayley came
prominently on the scene. I talked to Eva about him,
and although she was inclined to be angry, I think it was
rather with herself than at my interference."
“Cayley is quite a poor man, I presume?” said
Quarles.
“Yes; but that did not influence me. He is not the
kind of man I should like my niece to marry. Oh! I
have nothing definite against him.”
“May I ask whether, as guardian, you have control
over your niece's choice?” I asked.
“Until she is twenty-one, after that none at all,”
he answered. “If she marries without my consent be-
fore she is of age, I am empowered to distribute a mil-
lion of money to certain specified hospitals and chari-
ties. She has only to wait until she is twenty-one to do
exactly as she likes. It was my brother-in-law's way of
ensuring that his daughter should not act with undue
haste. Perhaps, for my own sake, I ought to explain
that in no way, nor under any circumstances, can I bene-
fit under the will. When my sister married Mr. Wilkin-
son, he behaved very generously to my father, paying off
the mortgages on our estate; in short, delivered us from
a very difficult position. Naturally, we never expected
any place in the will, but I hear the omission has caused
some people to speculate, and now that this has hap-


28
The Master Detective
pened there may be people who will speculate about me
personally.”
“You certainly have a very complete answer,” I re-
turned. “What is your own opinion of your niece's dis-
appearance?"
“I think she has been kidnaped, possibly for the sake
of ransom, possibly because" and then he paused for
a moment. “You know Mr. Wilkinson was afraid of this
very thing?"
“Three years ago he mentioned it to me,” said
Quarles.
“You knew him, then?”
“I was staying in the same house with him in Scot-
land; his daughter was not there. Such a fear, Sir
Michael, suggests something in the past, something Mr.
Wilkinson kept to himself.”
"I do not know of anything," was the answer. “Of
course, I have seen paragraphs in scandalous journals
concerning his wealth, but I knew Ewart Wilkinson ex-
tremely well. He was, and always has been, I am con-
vinced, a perfectly straightforward man.”
This conversation took place early on the morning fol-
lowing the night of Eva Wilkinson's disappearance, and
afterwards Sir Michael journeyed down with us to White-
ladies. The local police were already scouring the coun-
try, and under intelligent supervision had accomplished
a great deal of the spade work. I may just state the
facts as far as they were known.
Mrs. Reville, who was in the drawing-room when the
girl went out on the terrace, had heard nothing. A
quarter of an hour or twenty minutes later she went
out herself with the intention of telling Eva that she
ought to put on a wrap. The girl was nowhere to be
seen, and calling brought no answer. Becoming alarmed,
facts a deal of the sent supervis


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson
29
Mrs. Reville summoned the servants, and their search
proving fruitless, she had a telegram sent to Sir Michael.
When I questioned her with regard to Cayley, she was
sure there was nothing serious in the affair. He cer-
tainly could have had nothing to do with Eva's disap-
pearance, she declared, for he had gone to Paris two days
before. Since Sir Michael had spoken to Eva about him
he had hardly visited Whiteladies at all.
The servants had searched everywhere in the house,
in the grounds, and in the ruins, and later the police
had gone over the same ground, and had searched every-
where on the estate; not a sign of the missing girl had
been found. A footman, however, said he had heard
a motor-car in the road about the time of the disap-
pearance. He had listened, wondering who was coming
to Whiteladies at that hour. The house stood in one
corner of the estate, and there was a public road quite
close to it, but it was a road little frequented. The
marks of a car, which had stopped and turned at a
point near the house, were plainly visible, and so far
this was the only clue forthcoming. It proved an im-
portant one, because a tramp was found by the police
who had seen a closed car traveling at a great speed to-
ward the London road. The time, which he was able
to fix very definitely, was about a quarter of an hour
after Eva Wilkinson had gone on to the terrace.
“Has the tramp been detained ?” Quarles asked, and
being answered in the negative, said he ought to have
been.
The professor examined the marks of the car minutely.
There were two cars at Whiteladies, but neither of the
tire markings were those of the car which had turned
in the road.
It is only natural, I suppose, that when a number of


30
The Master Detective
persons are brought in contact with a mystery their be-
havior should tend to become unnatural. It is one of
a detective's chief difficulties to determine between inno-
cent and suspicious actions, the latter being often the
result of temperament or of a desire to emphasize inno-
cence. I never found a decision more difficult than in
the case of Eva Wilkinson's maid, a girl named Joan
Perry; and because I could not decide in her case I
was also suspicious of her young man Saunders, a game-
keeper on the estate. Joan Perry, a little later in the
day, claimed to have made a remarkable discovery. A
coat and skirt and a pair of walking shoes had been re-
moved from her mistress's wardrobe.
“What made you inspect her wardrobe?” I asked.
The question seemed to confuse her, but she finally
said it was because she wondered whether Miss Eva had
gone away on purpose. According to Perry the affair
with Edward Cayley was a serious one. To some ex-
tent her young mistress had confided in her, she de-
clared.
“Then she would hardly have gone away without let-
ting you into the secret,” I said.
“That is what I cannot understand," she answered.
Quarles agreed with me that this lent color to the idea
that Eva Wilkinson had gone of her own accord.
“It is possible—even probable,” he said, “but if she
did, I take it she has been deceived and walked into a
trap. If we can find that car we shall be on the right
road.”
When we set out on this quest in one of the motors
at Whiteladies we had considerable success. The car
had taken the direct road to London. We heard of it
at an inn on the outskirts of Reading. It had stopped
there, and a man had had his flask filled with brandy.


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson
31
A lady who was with him was not very well, he said.
Chance helped us farther. The car had stopped by a
roadside cottage. A man had come to the door full of
apologies, but seeing a light in the window he ventured
to ask if they could oblige him with a box of matches.
He was quite a gentleman-young, dark, and very merry
—the woman told us. He had led her to suppose that
he and a lady were making a runaway match of it, be-
cause he had declared that there would certainly be a
chase after them, but they had got a good start. The
car had been drawn up on the side of the road at a
little distance from the cottage, and it was undoubtedly
the car we were after. The tire markings were quite
distinct in the damp ground. At Hounslow we found
the car itself. There had been an accident. Two men
had walked into a garage, saying they had left the car
on the roadside. Would the garage people have it
brought in and repaired? The car should be sent for in
a day or two. One man made a payment on account,
and gave his name as Julius Hoffman, staying at the
Langham Hotel.
The car was of an old type, but the man at the garage
said the engines were in good condition. The tires were
burst, otherwise there was nothing much the matter with
the car beyond its age.
“Was anything found in the car?" I asked.
“An old glove and a handkerchief,” and the man
took them out of a drawer.
The glove told us nothing, but the handkerchief was a
lady's, and had “E. W." embroidered on it.
“This is a police matter," I told the man. “A watch
will be kept on the premises in case the car is claimed,
which is very unlikely, I fancy."
Quarles was perplexed.


32
The Master Detective
“I don't understand it, Wigan. That car looks to
me as if it had been purposely abandoned. Had they
another car waiting, or was Hounslow their destination ?
Of course you must warn the police here, but—well, I
do not understand it. I am going straight back to Chel-
sea.”
“I will see the Hounslow police, and then go on to the
Langham," I returned.
“Of course, that's just ordinary detective work, and
out of my line,” Quarles said somewhat curtly, “but I
don't suppose your inquiries will lead anywhere."
In this surmise he was perfectly correct. No one of
the name of Julius Hoffman was known at the Lang-
ham. The Hounslow police made no discovery, and the
car was not claimed.
Later, the press circulated a description of Eva
Wilkinson, with the result that scores of letters were
received, most of them obviously written by amateur
detectives, or by those peculiar kind of imbeciles whose
imagination is so vivid that any person seems to fit the
description of the person missing. The information in
a few of these letters seemed definite enough to follow
up, but in every case I drew blank. I gave my chief
attention to learning the recent movements of known
gangs who might be concerned in an enterprise of this
sort, and at the end of two days this persistency brought
a result. I received a letter posted in the West-central
district, written, or rather scrawled, in printed letters.
It was as follows:
“You may be on the right scent or you may not, but
take warning. If you got to know anything, it would be
the worse for E. W. We are in earnest, and our advice
is, leave the job alone. No harm will come to the old


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson son
33
devil's daughter, if you mind your own business. She'll
turn up again all right. If you don't mind your own
business you'll probably find her presently, and car.
bury her. You'll find her dead.—THE LEAGUE.”
With this letter I went to Chelsea, and the professor
met me with a letter in his hand. He had received a like
communication-word for word the same.
“An exact copy shows a barrenness of ideas,” said I.
“But they have begun to move, Wigan. That is a
great thing, and what I have been waiting for. Come
and talk it over. For once Zena is no help. All she
says is that this is not an ordinary case of kidnaping.
Well, it certainly is a little out of the ordinary. That
car, Wigan, the tramp who saw it, the stoppages it
made, the handkerchief in it-does anything strike
you?”
“Since we picked up the trail so easily to begin with,
I do not quite understand the subsequent difficulty,” I
said. “From Hounslow a much more astute person
must have taken charge of the enterprise.”
“A booby trap, Wigan. It was prepared for us, and
we walked into it. I am a trifle sick at having done so,
but perhaps it will serve us a good turn in the end.
The tramp no doubt was in the business. His definite
information to the police started us. If that car had
wanted to escape notice, do you suppose it would have
pulled up outside Reading, or at a cottage, where it
obligingly left its imprint on the roadside? Why should
the man explain the filling of a flask at a public house?
Why should he talk of a runaway match to the woman
at that cottage? He was laying a trail. Miss Wilkin-
son's handkerchief was found in that car, but I wager
she was never in the car herself,”


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson 35
until the scoundrels have made a further move. It won't
be many hours before they do so."
In the taxi he did not continue his negative argu-
ments, and he was not restless, as he usually was when
upon a keen scent. No doubt he had a theory, but I was
convinced he was not satisfied with it himself.
Sir Michael, who had a flat in Kensington, was not
alone. A young man was with him, and Sir Michael in-
troduced Mr. Edward Cayley.
“He has just arrived-came in ten minutes after I had
received this letter.”
Cayley's presence there was rather a surprise, but I
noted that his appearance did not correspond with the
woman's description of the young man who had asked
for a box of matches.
“I came as soon as I heard the news about Miss
Wilkinson,” Cayley said in explanation.
“How did you hear it?” Quarles asked.
“There was a paragraph in Le Gaulois. I left Paris
at once and came to Sir Michael, thinking it a time
when any little disagreement between us would be easily
forgotten.”
“You can quite understand that I agree with Mr. Cay-
ley," Sir Michael said, “especially in the face of this
letter."
"I can guess the contents of it," I said. “We have
had letters too."
But I was mistaken. This communication was
scrawled in the same printed letters, was signed in the
same way, but its purport was entirely different.
“Sir,—Your niece is in our hands, and you may be
sure that she is securely hidden. Every move you take


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson 37
“Yes—yes, I think you are right,” he said after a
pause. “What do you advise ?”
“Delay,” said the professor promptly. “They are
out for money, for a quarter of a million. They will not
hurt Miss Wilkinson while there is any chance of their
getting the money."
“How long would you make the delay ?” Cayley
asked.
“At least until after Mr. Wigan and I have visited
Whiteladies again. We propose to go there to-morrow.”
“I was going down to-morrow after seeing the solici-
tors about this money,” said Sir Michael.
“That will be excellent,” said Quarles. “You will be
able to assist us in a little investigation we want to make
at Whiteladies. May I suggest that you should arrange
preliminaries with the solicitors so as not to waste time,
but tell them to await your instructions before taking
final steps? There may be nothing in our idea, but there
may be a great deal in it."
“You do not wish to tell me what it is ?”
“Not until to-morrow evening.”
I was watching Cayley. I saw the ghost of a smile on
his lips for a moment. He evidently saw through
Quarles's reticence, and knew that the professor would
not speak before him.
“It will be evening before we reach Whiteladies,”
Quarles went on, “because there is an important inquiry
we must make in London first.”
“Very well,” said Sir Michael. “I will delay until
to-morrow night.”
“There can be no harm in that,” Cayley said. “We
are given forty-eight hours. I should like to do the
scoundrels, but I cannot forget that revenge may be as
much a motive as money."


38
The Master Detective
“I am not losing sight of that fact,” said Quarles,
“but I have little doubt it is the money."
As we drove back to Chelsea the professor was silent,
but when we were in the empty room he began to talk
quickly.
“I am puzzled, Wigan. Before we went out I was
saying some one was out for money, and the letter Sir
Michael has received proves it. We were engaged upon
a negative argument, and I should have gone on to show
why it was unlikely Cayley had had anything to do
with the affair. I confess that his sudden appearance
to-night tends to knock holes in the argument I should
have used. He comes from Paris, the money is to be
paid to the Credit Lyonnais, Paris. He is keen that the
money should be paid, had evidently been persuading
Sir Michael that it ought to be paid. This tends to
confuse me, and I cannot forget Zena's remark about
the girl's age and that this is not an ordinary kidnaping
case. If Cayley had met her on the terrace she would
naturally stroll away with him if he asked her to do so.
At a safe distance from the house he, and a confederate,
perhaps, may have secured her.”
“But why?" I asked.
“He may want a quarter of a million of money and
yet have no desire to marry. It is a theory, but unsat-
isfactory, I admit. One thing, however, we may take
as certain. Eva Wilkinson was not driven away in that
car. We have no news of any suspicious car being seen
in any other direction, nor of any suspicious people be-
ing seen about, and it seems obvious that a false trail
was laid for us. Wigan, it is quite possible that the
girl never left Whiteladies at all, that she is hidden there
now, in fact. Doesn't the disappearance of that coat
and skirt tend to corroborate this? She was in even-


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson
39
ing dress at the time. It would be natural to get her
another dress.”
“That would mean confederates in the house," I said.
“Exactly. This girl Perry, perhaps, in league with
her lover, the gamekeeper; or it may be Mrs. Reville
herself. We are going down to Whiteladies to-morrow
to try and find out, and we are going circumspectly to
work, Wigan. You shall go to the house in the ordinary
way, while I stroll across to the ruins. They are a
likely hiding place. It will be dark, and I may chance
upon some one keeping watch. In a few words you
can explain our idea to Sir Michael, and then, without
letting the servants know, you can come and find me in
the ruins."
It was nearly dark when we arrived at Whiteladies
on the following day, and as arranged, I left Quarles be-
fore we reached the lodge gates in fact, helped him
over a fence into the park before I went on to the house
alone. Near the front door I found Mrs. Reville giv-
ing a couple of pug dogs a run. She told me Sir Michael
was expecting me, and led the way into the hall.
“I think he is in the library,” she said, and opened
a door. “Oh, I am sorry, I thought you were alone, Sir
Michael. It is Mr. Wigan."
He called out for me to enter. He was standing by
a writing table, talking to a young farmer, apparently
a tenant on the estate because Sir Michael was dis-
missing him with a promise to consider certain repairs to
some outbuildings. As the farmer passed me on his way
to the door Sir Michael held out his hand.
“You are later than I expected, and I thought Mr.
Quarles"
Then he laughed. I had been seized from behind, a
rope was round me, binding my arms to my side, a sud-


40
The Master Detective
den jerk had me on my back. In that instant Sir Michael
was upon me, and I was gagged and trussed almost
before I realized what had happened. Never did the
veriest tyro walk more innocently into a trap.
“That's well done,” said Sir Michael to the farmer.
“You had better go and see that the other has been taken
as successfully.”
Alone with me, he removed the revolver from my hip
pocket and placed it in a drawer, which he locked.
“Rather a surprise for you, Mr. Wigan. I am afraid
Scotland Yard is likely to lose an officer, and your friend
Quarles is an old man who has had a very good inning.
I do not know exactly where he is at the present mo-
ment, but somewhere about the grounds he has been
caught and is in a similar condition to yourself. You
have both been very carefully shadowed to-day. The
quarter of a million will be paid, Mr. Wigan, and my
niece will reappear. She will be none the worse for her
adventure—will thank me for all the trouble I have
taken to rescue her from the kidnapers her father
dreaded so much-and she will never suspect that the
bulk of the ransom money has gone into my pocket.
It is money sorely needed, I can assure you. I shall
probably give my consent to her marriage with Cayley;
her marriage will make my guardianship less irksome.
He will be as unsuspicious of me as Eva. I. prevailed
upon him not to come to Whiteladies until to-morrow by
suggesting that you were foolish enough to suspect him.
I think it has all been rather cleverly managed. The
only regrettable thing will be the death of two-two
brilliant detectives. It may interest you to know that
you will be found dead-shot—which will account for
my having waited for you in vain at Whiteladies to-
night. You have helped me greatly by being secretive


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson
41
to-day and not arriving here until after dark. Your
death will be a nine days' wonder, but it will be a mys-
tery which will not be solved, I fancy."
His cold blooded manner left no doubt of his sinis-
ter intention, and I felt convinced that Quarles had been
trapped just as I had been. Sir Michael laughed again
as he bent over me to make sure that my bonds were se-
cure. Then he stood erect suddenly.
“Don't move,” said a voice, “or I shall fire.”
He did move, and a bullet ripped into a picture just
behind him. With an oath he stood perfectly still. A
door had opened across the room and a girl stood there.
It was Joan Perry.
"I missed you on purpose,” she said. “I shall not
miss a second time. Cut those ropes.”
For a moment he stood still, then he moved again,
but not with the intention of setting me free; the next
instant he stumbled, as if his leg had suddenly given
way, and he let out a savage oath.
"To show you I do not miss," said the girl. “Cut
those ropes, or the third bullet finds your heart.”
Sir Michael took a knife from his pocket, and the girl
came a little closer, but not near enough to give him a
chance of grabbing at her. Her calm deliberation was
wonderful.
“Do more than cut the ropes and you are a dead man,”
she said.
The instant my arms were free I had the gag from my
mouth and could do something in my own defense. I
was quickly on my feet.
"Keep him covered," I said to Perry. “I think we
change places, Sir Michael.”
Physically he was not a powerful man, and with Joan
Perry near him he seemed to have lost his nerve. Her


42
The Master Detective
courage had shaken him badly, and he made no resist-
ance. I was not long in having him bound and hand-
cuffed.
“I have to thank you,” I said, turning to the girl.
“Not yet. There is more to do. Mrs. Reville is in
it, and Mr. Quarles has no doubt been caught in the
grounds, as he said. I will ring. The servants are hon-
est, and I expect Mr. Saunders is in the house by now.
He usually comes up in the evening.”
Fortunately Mrs. Reville had not heard the revolver
shots, or she might have given the alarm to the two
men who had secured the professor in the ruins, and
they would very probably have killed him. I took the
lady by strategy. I sent a servant to tell her that Sir
Michael wished to speak to her, a summons which she
had evidently been expecting, and I secured her as
she came down the stairs. Then, leaving her and Sir
Michael in charge of Perry and Saunders and a foot-
man, I went with other servants to rescue Quarles. We
took the confederates in the ruins by surprise, but in
my anxiety that no harm should come to the professor,
who was bound just as I had been, they managed to get
away.
Now that he was captured, Sir Michael Lavory's pluck
entirely deserted him, and he told us where to find his
niece. She was in a secret chamber under a tower in
the ruins. She had been caught that night at the end
of the terrace by Sir Michael's accomplices, had been
rendered unconscious by chloroform, and taken to the
tower.
Quarles's deductions so far as they went were right,
but they had not gone nearly far enough. Neither of
us had thought of Sir Michael as the criminal, and had
it not been for the maid Perry I have little doubt that


The Kidnaping of Eva Wilkinson
43
inson
this would have been our last case. Perry herself had
not suspected Sir Michael until that day, but she had
always been suspicious of Mrs. Reville. That morn-
ing, however, when Sir Michael arrived at Whiteladies,
she had chanced to overhear a conversation. She heard
Sir Michael tell Mrs. Reville there would be visitors that
evening, and suggested that she should be near the front
door at the time to admit them, as it would be well if
they were not seen by the servants. Perry did not un-
derstand who the visitors were to be, but she thought
such secrecy might be connected with her young mis-
tress, and she had hidden herself earlier in the evening
in the small room adjoining the library.
“It is fortunate Saunders taught me how to use a
revolver,” she said, when Quarles thanked and compli.
mented her.
“A narrow escape, Wigan,” the professor said to me.
“One of our failures, eh? The fear expressed in the
will, the fact that Sir Michael could not benefit by the
death of his niece, confused me. He is a very clever
scoundrel, making no mistake, making no attempt to im-
plicate any one. His treatment of Cayley on his sud-
den return from Paris was a masterpiece of diplomacy;
so was his handling of us from the first. He concocted
no complicated story, so ran no risk of contradicting
himself. He was simple and straightforward, and when
a villain is that a detective is practically helpless. I
was thoroughly deceived, Wigan, I admit it, and it is
certain that had it not been for Joan Perry I should
not be alive to say so, and you would not be here to
listen. Do you know, I should not be surprised if it was
the fear expressed in the will which gave Sir Michael the
idea of kidnaping his niece and putting the ransom into
his own pocket.”


44
The Master Detective
At his trial Sir Michael confessed that the will had
given him the idea. Personally I think he got far too
light a sentence.
As I hear that Cayley and Miss Wilkinson are to be
married shortly, I suppose her guardian's consent to
her marriage has been obtained; at any rate, it will be
a good thing for her to have a husband to protect her
from such a guardian. I hear, too, that Saunders and
Perry are to be married on the same day as their mis-
tress, and I am quite sure of one thing, two of the hand-
somest wedding presents Joan Perry receives will come
from Christopher Quarles and myself.


CHAPTER III
THE DELVERTON AFFAIR
AFTER our experience at Whiteladies Christopher
- Quarles went into Devonshire. He declared that
excitement of that kind was a little too much for a man
of his years and he must take a long rest to recuperate
and get his nerves in order. Under no circumstances
whatever was I to bother him with any problems. Had
I been able to do so I should have gone away too. Sir
Michael Lavory had succeeded in giving me the jumps.
In her letters Zena told me the professor was playing
golf, and knowing something of him as a golfer, I rather
pitied the men he induced to play with him. It was not
so much that he was a very bad player, it was the pe-
culiar twist in his brain which convinced him that he
was a good one. To give him a hint was to raise his
anger at once.
One morning I received a letter from him, two pages
of golf talk, in which he opined he was playing at about
five handicap-pure imagination, of course, because he
never kept a card and didn't count his foozled shots-
and then he came to the raison d'être of his letter.
“I want you to look up a case,” he wrote. “It hap-
pened about three years ago. A man named Farrell,
partner in the firm of Delverton Brothers of Austin
Friars, was found dead in his office. An open ver-
dict was returned. It may have been a case of suicide.
Get all the facts you can. If you can obtain any in-
formation from some who were interested in the trag-
45


46
The Master Detective
edy, do. I am not sure that the result of your inquiries
will interest me, but it may. Send me along a full re-
port, it may bring me back to Chelsea, but I am so keen
to put another fifty yards on to my drive that I may re-
main here for three months. Why live in Chelsea when
there is such a place as Devonshire?”
I remembered that the Delverton case had caused a
considerable amount of excitement at the time, and had
remained an unsolved mystery, but I knew no more than
this. Three years ago I had been away from London
engaged on an intricate investigation, with neither time
nor inclination to think of anything else.
As it happened there was little difficulty in getting
a very full account of the affair. It had been in the
hands of Detective Southey, since retired, and it was a
persistent grievance with him that this case had beaten
him. He was delighted to talk about it when I went
to see him in his little riverside cottage at Twickenham.
Delverton Brothers were foreign bankers, and at the
time of the tragedy consisted of three partners, John
and Martin Delverton, who were brothers, and Thomas
Farrell, their nephew. John Delverton was an invalid,
and for a year past had only come' to the office for an
hour once or twice a week. He had died about six months
after the tragedy.
One day during a Stock Exchange settlement Thomas
Farrell left the office early, and Martin Delverton was
there until seven o'clock. When he left the only clerks
remaining in the outer office were Kellner, the second in
seniority on the staff, and a junior named Small.
These two left the office together ten minutes after
Mr. Delverton had gone. 'Next morning when the house-
keeper went to the offices he found Thomas Farrell sit-


The Delverton Affair
47
ting at the table in his private room, his head fallen on
his arms, which were stretched across the table. He had
died from the effects of poison, yet the tumbler beside
hiin showed no traces of poison.
Medical evidence proved that he had been dead some
hours, but there was nothing to show at what time he had
returned to the office.
“In view of the doctor's statement it must have been
between ten minutes past seven and midnight,” Southey
told me. "The poison would produce intense drowsi-
ness, then sleep from which there was no waking. The
time of its action would vary in different individuals.
I am inclined to think it was late when he returned.
He was a well-known figure in Austin Friars and Throg-
morton Street, and had he been about earlier in the even-
ing some one would almost certainly have seen him.
That part of the world is alive to a late hour during a
Stock Exchange settlement. The offices consist of a
large outer room, which accommodates seven or eight
clerks, and two private rooms opening into one another,
but opening into the outer office only from the first room.
This first room, which is the larger of the two, the
brothers Delverton occupied, Farrell having the smaller
inner room. From this there is a side door which gives
on to a short passage leading into Austin Friars. The
partners used this side door constantly, each of them hav-
ing a key to the Yale lock, and we know from Mr. Del-
verton that Farrell went out by the side door that aft-
ernoon. Presumably he returned by it. Everything
seemed to point to suicide, and possibly had there been a
shadow of a motive for Farrell taking his own life, a ver-
dict of suicide would have been returned. Apparently
there was no motive. His affairs were in perfect order,


48
The Master Detective
he was shortly to be married, and the only person who
suggested that he had looked in any way worried re-
cently was the junior clerk, Small.”
“What of the woman he was to have married ?”
“She was a Miss Lester, and she introduces a compli-
cation. Her people were comparatively poor, her fa-
ther being a clerk in a City bank. Mr. Farrell, accord-
ing to Miss Lester, had helped her father out of some
difficulty, and it was undoubtedly parental persuasion
which had arranged the marriage. It was a case of
gratitude rather than love. But that is not all. At the
Lesters' house there was another constant visitor, a
young doctor named Morrison, and he and Farrell be-
came friends in spite of the fact that they were two angles
of a triangle, Ruth Lester being the third angle. The
position was this: Morrison was in love with the girl,
but remained silent because he was too poor to marry;
the girl loved him, but, thinking that he was indiffer-
ent, consented to marry Farrell. Whether Farrell was
aware of this it is impossible to say. Now on the very
day of Farrell's death, Dr. Morrison called and asked
for him at the offices in Austin Friars. The clerk took
in his name, and was told by Mr. Delverton that Mr.
Farrell had left for the day. This was the first intima-
tion the clerks had that he had left, and seems an indi-
rect proof that no one in the office could have had any-
thing to do with the tragedy. Farrell had been gone
about an hour then. Morrison left no message, merely
asked that Mr. Farrell should be told he had called.”
“What was Morrison's explanation ?” I asked.
“He said Farrell had requested him to call. He was
going to give him a tip for a little flutter in the mining
market.”
“Is it known where Farrell went that afternoon?”


The Delverton Affair
49
“I see you think the doctor's explanation thin, just
as I did. Farrell told his partner that he had an ap-
pointment with Miss Lester; Miss Lester says there was
no appointment. Naturally I at once speculated whether
Farrell and Morrison had met later in the afternoon. I
followed that trail every inch of the way. The doctor
was poor and somewhat in debt, and—”.
“And Farrell, who died by poison, which is significant,
was his rival ?” I said.
“I thought of all that," Southey returned. “Fortu-
nately for him the doctor could account for every hour
of his time. Of course, the man in the street was sus-
picious of him-is still, perhaps, to some extent, but it
hasn't prevented his getting on. He married Ruth Les-
ter, and I hear is getting a good practise together."
“What conclusion did you come to ?”
“I am inclined to think there was some international
reason at the back of the mystery, some difficulty with
a foreign government, it may be. If Farrell had be-
come mixed up in such an affair suicide might be the
way out. I suggested this to Mr. Delverton, and he did
not scout it as altogether a ridiculous idea. These for-
eign bankers are sometimes very much behind the scenes
in European politics.”
• "Do you know whether the invalid brother was at the
office that day?” I asked.
"He was not. He was quite incapacitated at the
time."
I hunted up one or two points which occurred to me,
and then went to Austin Friars to call upon Mr. Delver-
ton.
He was out of town, yachting, but his partner came
into the clerks' office to see me. I told him that my busi-
ness with Mr. Delverton was private.


50
The Master Detective
This partner, I discovered, was Keller, who had
formerly been a clerk in the firm. He was the man
who, with the junior, had been the last to leave the of-
fice on the night of the tragedy. He was worth a little
attention, and I spent two days making inquiries about
him. He was as smart a man of business as could be
found within a mile radius of the Royal Exchange, I was
informed, a wonderful linguist, with a profound knowl-
edge of financial matters. Now he was a wealthy man,
but three years ago he had been in very low water.
This discovery sent me to Twickenham again. I said
nothing about Kellner having become a partner in Del-
verton Brothers'; I merely asked Southey whether he had
satisfactorily accounted for his time on the fatal night.
“Didn't I tell you ?” said Southey. “Oh, yes, he had
an absolute alibi; so had the youth Small. I made them
my first business.”
I did not call on Dr. Morrison, but I went to his neigh-
borhood, and asked a few questions. Everybody spoke
well of the doctor, which, of course, might mean much
or little, and I was fortunate enough to see him with his
wife in a motor. He looked like a doctor, a forceful
and self-reliant man, not one to lose his head or give
himself away. He would be likely to carry through any
enterprise he set his mind to. His wife, without being
beautiful, was attractive, the kind of woman you begin
to call pretty after you have known her a little while.
That night I wrote a full report to Christopher
Quarles with my own comments in the margin, and three
days later I had a wire from Zena, saying they were
returning to Chelsea at once.
There was no need to ask the professor whether the
case interested him or not. He began by being compli-
mentary about my report, praised my astuteness in not


The Delverton Affair
51
calling upon the doctor, and he made me give him a ver-
bal description of Morrison and his wife.
“Of course, Wigan, looks count for nothing, but they
are often misleading evidence, and we are told to be-
ware of that man of whom every one speaks well. The
most saintly individual I ever knew had a strong like-
ness to a notorious criminal I once saw, and on a slight
acquaintance you and I would probably have trusted
Cleopatra or Helen of Troy, neither of them very esti-
mable women, I take it. Now apparently this doctor and
his wife are near the center of this mystery.”
“It seems so, but,"
“Believe me, I am making no accusation,” he inter-
rupted; “indeed, I am more inclined to argue that they
occupy an eccentric point within the circle rather than
the true center. Still, we must not overlook one or two
facts which you have duly emphasized in your report.
The rivalry between Morrison and Farrell does supply,
as you say, a motive for the crime, if crime it was, and
it is the only motive that is apparent. Again, a doctor
could obtain and make use of poison with less risk than
most men. And, again, it is curious the doctor should
call on Farrell on that particular day. The visit might
be a subtle move to establish his innocence. True, ac-
cording to Southey, his time after the visit was accounted
for, but how about the time before the visit? Farrell
had already left the office an hour, and might have met
Morrison.”
“Do you suggest he was poisoned then, and came back
hours afterwards to die in the office ?”
“You think that unlikely ?”
“I do."
“Still, we must recollect the action of this particular
poison,” said Quarles. “It produces drowsiness, the


52
The Master Detective
time necessary to get to this condition varying in dif-
ferent persons, and the doctor, knowing Farrell, might
be able to gage how long it would take in his case. Of
course, we labor under difficulties. Three years having
passed, we cannot rely on direct investigation. Pur-
posely I gave you no bias when I asked you to gather
up the known facts, and from your report I judge you
have come to the conclusion that Farrell committed sui-
cide, possibly driven into a corner by some international
complication.”
“Yes, on the whole, I lean to that idea."
“It is not the belief of Mr. Delverton himself.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I met Martin Delverton in Devonshire. He was
yachting round the coast and came ashore for golf. We
played together several times, and became quite friendly.
It was not until he began to talk about it that I re-
membered there had ever been a Delverton mystery.
Practically he gave me the same history of the case
as your report does, missing some points certainly, but
enlarging considerably on others. That the villain had
escaped justice seemed to rankle in his mind, and he was
contemptuous of the intelligence of Scotland Yard. The
tragedy, he said, had hastened his brother's end, and I
judged he had no great love for the Morrisons.”
“He knew who you were, I suppose ?”.
“Oh, yes; and included my intelligence in the sneer
at Scotland Yard. He argued the point with me until he
forced me to admit that there was a large element of luck
in most of my successes."
“You admitted that?” I exclaimed.
“I did. I had just beaten him three up and two to
play, so was in an angelic frame of mind. Even then he
would not let me alone. He wanted to know how I


The Delverton Affair
53
should have gone to work had the case been in my hands.
To his evident delight I gave him arguments on the
lines of our empty room conferences, making one thing
especially clear, that I should have enquired far more
closely about the Morrisons than had been done. This
interested him immensely, and he did not attempt to hide
from me the fact that his suspicions lay in the same di-
rection. He became keen that I should look into the mys-
tery; indeed, he challenged my skill. I am taking up
that challenge, and I am going to tell the world the truth
about Farrell's death.”
“You know it?”
“Not yet, but the key to it is in this report of yours.
Do you know what has become of the junior clerk,
Small ?”
“No. He left the firm to go abroad, I understand.”
“I should like to have asked him whether John Delver-
ton, the invalid partner, had seemed worried when he
was last at the office."
“He was not at the office that day. I asked that ques-
tion, and Southey is certain upon the point.”
“Farrell might have left early to see him.”
“Of course, we might question Kellner," I suggested.
“Kellner has the interests of the firm at heart, and
is not personally connected with the affair. I don't
suppose he will be pleased to have the old mystery raked
up; naturally he will fear damage to the firm. I do not
think he would be inclined to help us in any way, and I
can imagine his being angry with Delverton for mention-
ing the affair to me.”
“Still, I think there is something that wants explain-
ing about Mr. Kellner,” said Zena. “You evidently
thought so too, Murray, since you made such minute in-
quiries about him.”


54
The Master Detective
“I do not think there is anything against him," I an-
swered.
“I am not very interested in Kellner's past,” said the
professor, “and as we cannot get hold of Small we must
do a little guessing."
“Is there anything further for me to do?” I asked.
“One thing. I want you to get hold of some stock-
broker you know, and get him to tell you whether there
was any kind of panic here, or on the Continent, with
regard to any foreign securities between three and four
years ago. Find out, if you can, the names of any mem-
bers of the House who were hammered during that
period, and the names of any firms considered shaky
at the time. I am not hoping for much useful infor-
mation, but we may learn something to assist our guess-
work.”
The information I obtained on the following day
amounted to little. As my friend in Threadneedle
Street said, three years on the Stock Exchange are a
lifetime. In the different markets there had been sev-
eral crises during the period I mentioned, and certain
men, chiefly small ones, had gone under. As for shaky
firms, it was impossible to speak unless you were closely
interested. A good firm, under temporary stress, would
probably be bolstered up, and a week or two might find
it in affluence again.
I went to Chelsea with the information, such as it
was, but only saw Zena. Quarles was out, and I did
not see him for nearly a week. Then he 'phoned to
me to call for him one evening and to come in evening
dress.
“I am dining with Mr. Delverton to-night," he said,
"and I asked him if I might bring you. He returned
to town at the beginning of the week, and I have seen him


The Delverton Affair
55
two or three times, once at the office in Austin Friars.
I did not see Kellner, he happened to be away that
day.”
Martin Delverton lived in Porchester Square, rather
a pompous house, and he was rather a pompous indi-
vidual. Of course he wasn't a bit like Quarles in ap-
pearance, yet I was struck by a certain characteristic re-
semblance between them. They both had that annoying
way of appearing to mean more than they said, and of
watering down their arguments to meet the requirements
of your inferior intellect.
I had become accustomed to it in Quarles, but in a
stranger I should have resented it had not the professor
told me of the peculiarity beforehand, and warned me
not to be annoyed.
He gave us an excellent dinner, and our conversation
for a time had nothing to do with the mystery.
“Well, Mr. Quarles, have you brought this affair to a
head?” Mr. Delverton asked at last.
“I think so."
“Sufficiently to bring the criminal to book ?”
“If not, I could hardly claim success, could I?”
“You might claim it,” laughed Delverton, “but I
should not be satisfied. Possibly I have my own opin-
ion, but I trust nothing I have said has influenced you
and led you to a wrong conclusion. I do not want you
to get me into trouble by saying that I suggested who the
criminal was.”
“Not if I could prove that the solution was cor-
rect?”
“That might be a different matter, of course.”
“It would prove your astuteness, Mr. Delverton,”
said Quarles. “Mine would be only the spade work
which any one can do when he has been told how. Per-


58
The Master Detective
petent man I knew. I may add that I have not re-
gretted it."
“Had the detective who had the case in hand known
that Kellner was to become a partner, he would un-
doubtedly have given him more attention,” said Quarles.
“He does not seem to have discovered that Kellner was
in financial straits at the time.”
“Was he ?'' said Delverton.
“I have found that it was so," I answered.
“I am surprised to hear it; but, after all, a clerk's
financial difficulties" And he laughed as a man will
who always thinks in thousands.
“We come to another person who profited by Far-
rell's death, Dr. Morrison,” said Quarles. “He mar-
ried Miss Lester not long afterwards. It is known that
he was friendly, or apparently friendly, with his rival,
for such Farrell was, although he may not have been
aware of the fact; and, curiously enough, Morrison called
at the office in Austin Friars on the fatal day, and
wanted to see Farrell an hour or so after he had left."
“Yes; I thought it was curious at the time.”
"He was able to account for his subsequent doings
that day,” Quarles went on; “so it seems impossible that
he could have been the person Farrell brought back to
the office that night. I think we must say positively he
was not. At the same time we must not overlook the
fact that in his case there was a motive for the crime.
Forgetting for a moment our conclusion that some one
must have been in the office with Farrell in order to
make the death appear like suicide, we ask whether in
any way it was possible for Morrison to administer
poison to Farrell. Supposing Farrell had met Morri-
son immediately upon leaving the office, could the doc-


The Delverton Affair
: 59
tor possibly have given him poison in such a manner
that it would not take effect for hours after ?”
“Stood him a glass of wine somewhere, you mean?”
“Or induced him to swallow a tablet,” said Quarles.
“It is really a new idea,” said our host.
“It is a possibility, of course,” Quarles answered;
“but not a very likely one, I fancy. It might account
for the tumbler. Farrell might have felt ill and drunk
some plain water, but why was he in the office at all ?
I find the whole crux of the affair in that question.
Why should he come back when he had left for the
day?”
“Then you are inclined to exonerate Morrison ?”
“On the evidence, yes.”
“You speak with some reservation, Mr. Quarles.”
"I want to bring the whole argument into focus, as
it were,” the professor went on. “It was a settlement
day on the Stock Exchange. I believe a point was
made three years ago that it was curious no one had
seen Farrell return, since many people who knew him
would be about Austin Friars late that night. This does
not seem to me much of an argument. If he returned
between nine and ten he might easily escape notice.
What does seem to me curious is that he should choose
such a day to leave the office early, and tell a lie about
it into the bargain. He said he had an appointment with
Miss Lester, and we know he had not.”
“Ought we not to say that we know she says he had
not?” Delverton corrected. “I do not wish to be cap-
tious, but—".
“You are quite right,” said Quarles; “we must be
precise. You knew Miss Lester, of course?”
“I did not see her until after Farrell's death, then


60
The Master Detective
I saw her several times. She seemed rather a charm-
ing person.”
“You have not seen her since her marriage ?”
"No."
“I saw her the other day,” said Quarles, “and I quite
endorse your opinion. She is charming, and I do not
think she is the kind of woman to tell a deliberate false-
hood. If Farrell had had an appointment with her I
think she would have said so.”
“I am making no accusation against her," was the
answer. “I was only sticking to the actual evidence.”
"And that does not tell us where Farrell went that
day,” said Quarles. “It seems strange that he did not
meet any of the scores of people who knew him as he left
the office that afternoon.”
“Undoubtedly he did meet many."
“They didn't come forward to say they had seen
him."
“I can see no reason why they should do so. There
was no question of fixing the time he left. I was able
to give definite information on that point.”
"Well, we seem to have used up our facts,” said
Quarles, “and are forced to theorize."
Delverton smiled.
“You must not jump to the conclusion that I have
failed,” said the professor quickly. “I did not promise
to tell you the name of the murderer to-night. Let
me theorize for a few moments. You told me you be-
lieved that Farrell's tragic end had hastened your broth-
er's death. Did your brother chance to come to the of-
fice that day?"
"No."
“Perhaps he came that night after you had left. I


The Delverton Affair
61
suppose you cannot bring evidence that he did not?”
“No; but,"
“Or it might have been with him that Farrell had
an appointment that day, which was connected with
some affair you were not intended to know anything
about. That would account for his telling you a lie.”
“I assure you "
“Let me follow out my idea to the end,” said
Quarles, leaning over the table, and emphasizing his
words by patting the cloth with his open hand. "Three
years ago things were rather bad on the Stock Ex-
change, one or two men in the House were hammered,
and several respected firms were shaky. Now suppos-
ing Farrell had been playing with the firm's money un-
known to his partners, or perchance unknown only to one
of them-yourself. Your brother may have"
“Really, Mr. Quarles, you are getting absurd.”
“I was going to say—"
“Oh, please, let me stop you before you say any.
thing more foolish,” said Delverton. “At that time my
brother was very ill and as weak as a rat. How could
he have administered poison to Farrell ?”
“It requires no strength to administer poison, only
subtlety," said Quarles. “A glass of wine, perhaps by
your brother's bedside, and the thing would be accom-
plished. Or there is another alternative. Your brother
may have been playing with the firm's credit, and Far-
rell may have found him out.”
“Any other alternative, Mr. Quarles? Your fertile
brain must hold others.”
“Yes, one more, and two opinions which lead up to
it,” was the quick reply.
Delverton laughed.


62
The Master Detective
“It is not so absurd as the others, I trust."
“The two opinions may lead you to change your ideas
concerning this mystery. First, I believe Kellner was
made a partner because he knew too much.”
“I am inclined to think the discussion of a glass of
my best port will be more profitable than these specu-
lations,” said our host with a smile, and he took up
the cradle which the servant had placed beside him.
“I offered you a glass in the office the other day, but it
was not such good wine as this.”
“And I was shocked at the idea of port in the middle
of the morning,” said Quarles.
“But not now, eh?” And Delverton filled our
glasses and his own.
“Of course not. My second belief is that Farrell did
not leave the office at all that day. We have only your
word for it, you know."
“Shall we drink to your clearer judgment?” said
Delverton.
I had raised my glass when Quarles cried out and
tossed a spoon across the table at me.
“So you don't drink, Mr. Quarles,” said Delverton,
putting down his emptied glass.
“Not this vintage. It is too strong for me, and also
for my friend Wigan.”
“Your judgment of a vintage leaves something to be
desired. That glass of port has made me curious to hear
the other alternative.”.
“I think it was you who had been playing with the
firm's money, and your nephew found you out,” said
Quarles very deliberately. “That Stock Exchange set-
tlement was a crisis for you. I think you induced Far-
rell to drink a glass of port with you, which was so
doctored that he soon fell into a sleep from which he


64
The Master Detective
and having failed, you now attempt to be wholesale in
your destruction.”
“I end by cheating you,” said Delverton.
“Not me, but the hangman. I will warn your butler
that the port is poisoned, and tell him to telephone for
the doctor.”
“You can go to the devil,” said Delverton.
He died that night, and the following day the Delver-
ton mystery filled columns of the papers. It was a dull
season, and the press made the most of it. It is only
right to say that Kellner was not generally believed to
have known that Farrell had been done to death by his
uncle. Quarles believes he was absolutely innocent in
this respect. I am doubtful on the point, I admit.


CHAPTER IV
THE MYSTERIOUS HOUSE IN MANLEIGH ROAD
M HE dramatic suicide 'of Martin Delverton, and the
solution of a mystery which had been relegated to
the list of undiscovered crimes produced a sensation.
The public clamored for intimate particulars concerning
Christopher Quarles, the house in Chelsea was besieged
by hopeful interviewers, and the professor could only
escape their attentions by going out of town. It was an
excellent excuse for golf, he declared, and an opportunity
to improve on his five handicap. I am bound to say that
while I was with him he never went round in less than
twenty over bogey, and when he only took twenty over
he had luck.
This sudden enthusiasm on the part of the public was
the cause of some difficulty and not a little annoyance so
far as I was personally concerned.
As I have said elsewhere, I have constantly received
the credit of unmasking a scoundrel simply because
Quarles chose to remain in the background, but I have
never claimed any credit to which I was not entitled.
It was distinctly hard, therefore, when all the praise
for bringing a series of crimes to light was given to him
when justly it should have been accorded to me. I had
been engaged on the work at the time the case of Eva
Wilkinson had cropped up, my investigations had pre-
vented my accompanying Quarles and Zena to Devon-
shire. He would be the first to deny that he had any
part in solving these problems. I daresay I mentioned
65


68
The Master Detective
bottom of this attempt, I fancy. You remember the fel-
low who got off over the first affair. There was little
doubt of his guilt, but you had insufficient evidence to
bring it home to him. He was the man who fired at
me last night.”
“Had you no chance of capturing him?”
“No, and the moment I saw his face clearly by the
light of a street lamp as he turned to run away, I made
up my mind not to give information. I should have got
away at once, only people were on the spot too quickly;
so I told the simple truth, and slipped away at the first
opportunity to avoid being recognized by the police. It
was rather neatly done, I think.”
“But I do not see why you should withhold informa-
tion," I said.
“I didn't want my name mentioned in connection with
the affair, and I did not want the man to know I had
recognized him. I think there is bigger game to go for.
All along I have believed that in these cases of yours
there was a connecting-link, a subtle personality in the
background. I believe you have only succeeded in bring-
ing some of the tools to justice.”
“And you want to get at the central scoundrel ?”
“I must, or he will get at me. Without knowing it I
have probably escaped other traps he has set. The fact
that I am only your scapegoat does not alter the position.
He means to have me if he can. We, or rather you, have
come very near to unmasking him, I imagine, and his
fear has made him desperate.”
“What is to be done?”
“I want you to go very carefully through those cases,
treating them as though they were all part of one prob-
lem. If necessary, you could get an interview with one
or two of the men who are doing time. When a man is


The House in Manleigh Road
69
undergoing punishment, and believes that an equally
guilty person has got off scot-free, he is likely to become
communicative."
“All this will take time, and in the meanwhile —”
“I am chiefly concerned with the meanwhile,” said
Quarles, “and it happens rather fortunately that I have
something to interest me and take my mind off the mat-
ter. These letters and pamphlets were sent to me a few
days ago by Dr. Randall. You have heard of him, no
doubt.”
“I don't think so.".
“He is a specialist in nervous diseases, so is naturally
interested in psychological matters. An article of mine
in a psychological review attracted his attention, and
through a mutual friend a barrister in the Temple-
we were introduced last night. To-night I am dining
with Randall at a little restaurant in Old Compton
Street, and-well, I want you to come too, Wigan.”
“But-"
“Oh, I can make it all right. I shall send him a note,
asking if I can bring a friend who is much interested in
these matters.”
“But I am not, and directly I open my mouth I shall
show my ignorance.”
“Then obviously you must keep your mouth shut,”
said Quarles. "The fact is, Wigan, last night has got
on my nerves. I am-I may as well be quite honest—I
am a little afraid of going about alone. I want you to
call for me and go with me.”
“Of course I will. But surely, with your nerves on
edge, it would be wiser to keep away from psychological
problems. What is the particular problem ?”
“Randall will explain to-night, and you must at least
pretend to be interested. As regards my nerves, I can


70
The Master Detective
assure you this kind of thing is a relief after the other.
I do not think I am a coward as a rule, but I am afraid
of this unknown scoundrel. I have a presentiment that
I am in very real danger.”
“You probably exaggerate it,” I said.
“Maybe. But I never ignore a strong presentiment,
and I-I slept with a loaded revolver under my pillow
last night, Wigan.”
There was no doubt as to his nervous condition; he
showed it in his restlessness, in his acute consciousness
of sounds in the house and in the street. He expected
to be brought suddenly face to face with danger, and was
afraid he would not be ready to meet it.
He certainly was not himself. Zena had gone to stay
with friends in the country for a few days, or I should
have got her to persuade the old man to give up this
psychological business—at least until he was in a normal
condition again.
The restaurant, where we found Dr. Randall waiting
for us, was one of those excellent little French places
which cannot be beaten until they have become too suc-
cessful and popular, when they almost invariably de-
teriorate. Randall said he was delighted the professor
had brought me, and dinner was served at once at a cozy
table in a corner.
“A patient of mine originally brought me here,” said
the doctor. “It is rather a discovery, I think, and per-
sonally I prefer dining where I am unlikely to come in
contact with a lot of people I know. In recent years we
have improved, of course; but in England we still eat,
while in France they dine. Here we are practically in
France.”
Certainly more French was spoken than English, and
the doctor spoke in French to the waiter. Quarles's


The House in Manleigh Road 71
nervousness, which had been apparent during the drive
from Chelsea, disappeared as dinner progressed, and I
did not suppose a stranger like Randall would notice it.
He would probably form rather a wrong impression of
the professor, would look upon him as a highly-strung
man, and would not realize that he was not in a normal
condition this evening. Randall carried his profession
in his face, but for the time being his medical manner
was laid aside; nor did he speak of the business which
had brought us together until we had got to the coffee
and liqueur stage.
“I suppose you read the papers I sent you, Profes-
sor?”
“Yes, but rather cursorily,” Quarles answered. “I
think if you told the whole story I should understand it
better; besides, my friend here knows nothing of it, and
will bring an unbiased mind to bear upon it."
“And may give us a new idea," said the doctor. “I
don't know whether you are acquainted with Manleigh
Road, Bayswater. There are about fifty houses in it—a
terrace, in fact, on either side. The houses are sixty or
seventy years old, I daresay, ugly but roomy, and some
few years ago a lot of money was spent in bringing them
up to date, putting in bath-rooms, modernizing them,
and redecorating them thoroughly. In spite of this,
however, they have not attracted the kind of tenant they
were intended for. Many of them have apartments to
let. The house we have to do with is No. 7. The even
numbers are on one side of the road, the odd on the
other. No. 5 is a boarding house of a very respectable
kind, frequented by young fellows in business chiefly.
No. 9 is occupied by a man who, after retiring from busi-
ness comparatively wealthy, had financial losses. His
four daughters have had to go out and work. I mention


172
- The Master Detective
these facts to show that the surroundings are entirely com-
monplace. The owner of No. 7 went abroad some years
ago, owing to the death of his wife, I understand, and
left the house in the hands of an agent. It was to be let
furnished, but, except for a caretaker, it remained empty
for several months. It was then taken by a newly-mar-
ried couple. They could not remain in it. The house
was haunted, they said, and I believe the agent threat-
ened them with legal proceedings if they spread such an
absurd report. He seemed to think they said so only to
repudiate their bargain. It was then let to a man named
Greaves, about whom nothing was known. He paid the
rent in advance, and lived there alone with a house-
keeper and a young servant. One morning he was found
dead in his bed, in the large room on the first floor at
the back. A piece of cord was fastened tightly round
his neck. There seemed little doubt that he had com-
mitted suicide, for when he did not come down to break-
fast the housekeeper went to his room and found the
door locked on the inside. It had to be broken open.
Perhaps you heard of the case ?”
Quarles shook his head.
“Well, the door was locked on the inside, the window
was shut and fastened, there was no sign that any one
had entered the room, and nothing was missing. Foul
play was out of the question, but the doctor who was
called in was troubled about the affair. It was from
him that I had these particulars. Dr. Bates had become
acquainted—not professionally, I believe with the young
couple who had lived in the house for a time, and they
had told him the place was haunted. In bringing his
judgment to bear upon Greaves' death, it is only right to
remember that his mind had received a bias.”


The House in Manleigh Road 73
“I take it he did not believe it was a case of suicide,"
said Quarles.
“His reason told him it must be, yet something beyond
reason told him it wasn't.”
“He thought it was murder?” I asked.
“No, not ordinary murder,” Randall answered. “He
thought it was a supernatural death."
“I have read the letter he wrote to you; there is noth-
ing very definite in it,” said Quarles.
“It was his indefinite state of mind which caused him
to relate the whole story to me. When the police failed
to make any discovery, he thought some one interested in
psychological research might solve the mystery.”
“What, exactly, were the experiences of this young
couple?” I asked.
“Chiefly noises, footsteps echoing through a silent
house. Once the shadow of a man, or so it seemed, was
thrown suddenly upon the wall by a ray of moonlight,
and once the curtains and sheets of a bed were found
torn, as if hands, finding nothing else to destroy, had
taken vengeance upon them. Of course, this all comes
second-hand from Dr. Bates.”
“And is probably unconsciously exaggerated,” said
Quarles. "The ordinary man is almost certain to over-
state and to emphasize unduly one part of the evidence.”
“That was my feeling exactly,” returned Randall,
“So I spent a night in that haunted room myself. The
result was disappointing.”
“Did nothing happen?” I asked.
“There was no direct manifestation—at least I saw
nothing, and I do not think I heard anything, but I am
sure that I felt something. It was very vague. You
know it is my theory,” Randall went on, addressing me,


74
The Master Detective
“that different individuals are sensitive to different in-
fluences. For example, let us suppose a certain spot is
haunted, a spot where something particularly desperate
has taken place in the past. Now I believe that A, B,
and C, all sensitive to supernatural influences, may
watch there and seeing nothing, but that D, being sen-
sitive to that particular influence, or moving on that par-
ticular plane, may be successful. In another case, where
D fails, A, B, or C may be successful. I think it is
this fact which accounts for the comparatively small
number of experiences which we are able to authenti-
cate. It was an article of the professor's, setting forth
similar views, which made me anxious to make his ac-
quaintance."
“Are you suggesting that he should spend a night in
this house?” I asked.
"I do not think I suggested such a thing,” said Ran-
dall with a smile, “but I believe that is the professor's
intention."
“It is,” said Quarles.
“When?” I asked.
“On Friday night.”
“Greaves died on a Friday night,” said Randall. “It
is a small point, perhaps, but, like myself, the professor
believes in small details."
“I suppose the agent will let me have the key,” said
Quarles.
“I do not know the agent. I got the key through
Dr. Bates, and I can give you a card of introduction to
him.”
“It will be a very interesting experiment,” I said,
looking as learned as I could. I thought I had kept my
end up very well, and far from having to pretend to


76
The Master Detective
close at the time. He had instructions, in fact, to give
warning to the burglars if there was any danger of
their being seen.
I had not burgled the house alone; I had taken a
young detective named Burroughs with me. Of course,
I might say it was because I wanted to give him a
chance, or because I thought we might encounter des-
perate characters in the house; but as a fact, it was the
supernatural element which decided me. I do not like
the idea of the supernatural; my nerves, excellent in
their way and in their own sphere, are inclined to get
jumpy under certain conditions.
We went up from the basement cautiously, and it
would have needed keen ears to have heard our move-
ments.
Without showing a light, we went into every room
in the house. Those in front had some light in them
from a street lamp outside, but those at the back were
dark, although, after a while, we got accustomed to the
dark, and could see to some extent. None of the blinds
was drawn, and although there was no moon, it was a
clear, starlit night.
Our special attention was devoted to the room where
Greaves had been found dead. It was substantially
furnished, mid-Victorian in character. The lock on the
door, which had been broken open, had been mended,
and the window. was fastened. Systematically we ex-
amined every article of furniture and the innocent-look-
ing cupboard. The walls were substantial, but we did
not subject them to tapping. I did not want to arouse
the neighbors to the fact that No. 7 was not empty to-
night.
“We have a long vigil before us, Burroughs." I said.
“What do you expect to discover, sir?”


The House in Manleigh Road
777
“I don't know, nothing most likely; but if anything
does happen it is going to happen in this room. I am
going to take up my position in this chair by the bed,
and I want you to keep watch on the landing. If you
hear any one about the house come in to me at once,
but if you only hear me move don't come in unless I
call. I shall not fasten the door, but I shall put it to.
If in some way it is possible to find out that this room
is occupied, I want to appear as if I were quite alone.
Do you understand?".
“Perfectly."
I saw Burroughs settled in a chair on the landing ;
then I entered the room and closed the door without
latching it, and there was a certain feeling down my
spine, in spite of the knowledge that I had a comrade
near at hand.
It was quite beyond me how Quarles could under-
take to stay there all alone. I could have done it had
I been convinced that danger could only come from
a material. foe; it was the idea of the supernatural
which beat me. I was not skeptic enough to be un-
moved.
I had determined to sit beside the bed; but remem-
bering that Greaves had been found on the bed I first
of all lay down for a minute or two. The bed was not
made up, but the mattresses were there with blankets
over them, and the hangings were in place. The key
to the mystery might lie in some hidden mechanism in
the bed. Then I settled myself in the chair beside the
bed, my hand in my pocket on my revolver.
This kind of waiting is always a trial. The silence,
the bodily inactivity while the mind is strained to be
keenly alert, have a sort of hypnotic influence. An un-
trained man will certainly fancy he hears and sees


78
The Master Detective
things, and even a trained man has to fight hard against
the desire to sleep. There comes a longing for some-
thing, anything, to happen. I think I got into a condi-
tion at last in which I should have welcomed a ghost.
There was no church clock near to break the monotony
with its striking; time seemed non-existent.
Once I thought I heard Burroughs shift his position
on the landing outside, and there presently came to me
an uncontrollable desire to move. I stood up. Just
to walk to the window and back would make all the dif-
ference.
My journey across the room was noiseless, and, com-
ing back, I stopped suddenly.
To my left there was movement, movement without
sound. In an instant my revolver was ready, and then
I felt a fool. In a recess there was a glass fixed to the
wall, we had noticed it when we examined the room,
and I had caught the dim reflection of my head and
shoulders in it. The glass was just at that height from
the floor.
I went to it and called myself a fool to my reflec-
tion. I could only see myself very dimly, so I cannot
say whether the incident had driven any color from my
face.
It had the effect of quieting my restlessness, at any
rate. I returned to my chair refreshed, feeling capable
of keeping a vigil, however long it might last.
Almost unconsciously I began to consider how many
deceptions looking-glasses were responsible for, and re-
membered some of the illusions I had seen at the
Egyptian Hall. No doubt looking-glasses had played a
large part in some of them.
And then I began to wonder why the mattresses had
been left upon the bed. Was the agent expecting to let


The House in Manleigh Road
79
the house again at once, or had they been put there for
Quarles's convenience to-morrow night?
How long my mind slid from one thing to another I
cannot say; but gradually my ideas seemed to dwindle
away into nothingness, and it is easy to imagine that I
slept. I do not think I did, however.
Although my mind was a blank for a time, I am con-
vinced I never lost consciousness of that room or of the
business I had in hand. There was absolutely no sensa-
tion of waking, only another sudden desire to move.
Again I walked to the window, and as I came back I
glanced in the direction of the glass. This time my
own reflection did not startle me; not because I was ready
for it, but because I did not see it.
I must have crossed the room at a different angle, or
my eyes-
I went to the glass, and then I started. There was no
reflection. I was not in the glass.
In a moment the knowledge that this room was haunted
came to me in full force. There was the glass, plainer
than I had seen it before, my eyes were not at fault.
Indeed, as I stared into it, there was a dim outline of
images in the glass, the furniture of the room, but of
me no reflection at all. Was I bewitched ? Surely I
must be in my chair, sleeping, dreaming, for suddenly
in the glass, moving as in a mist, there were shadows-
a bed and a man lying on it, and bending over him was
another man whose hands were twisting about his com-
panion.
I tried to call out to stop him, then I drew back, and
the next moment I was at the door, speaking to Bur-
roughs in a whisper.
"What is it?” he asked, coming swiftly into the
room.


80
The Master Detective
“Look!” and I seized him by the arm and drew him
to the looking-glass.
“Well, what is it?” he asked again.
His reflection and mine were looking out at us, one
scared face, mine; one full of questioning, his.
I told him what I had seen.
“You dropped off to sleep, Mr. Wigan, that's what
it was."
Had I? It couldn't have been a dream, and yet faith
in myself was shaken. It was possible I had only
walked across the room a second time in my dreams.
One thing is certain, I did not fall asleep again that
night.
I had arranged with the constable in Manleigh Road
that he should keep a careful watch at dawn. We
should leave then by the same way as we had entered,
and he was to signal to us if the coast was clear.
It was an essential part of my plan that no one should
know the house had been occupied that night. I had
kept watch, thinking that if harm were intended to
Quarles the trap would be made ready previously. How
and by whom I had not fully considered. Now I deter-
mined not to leave the house during the day.
I would be there when Quarles came that night.
I scribbled a note to him, explaining what I was do-
ing, and I said that if the agent should accompany him
to the house I would remain hidden until the agent had
gone. This note I gave to Burroughs, and instructed
him to explain matters to the constable,
I had provided myself with a flask and some dry bis-
cuits in case of contingencies, and prepared to pass the
day as comfortably as I could. It is needless to say
that in daylight I examined that haunted room again,
especially the looking-glass.


The House in Manleigh Road 81
It was in an ornamental wooden frame fixed on the
wall, formed, in fact, a finish to a wooden dado. It
was like the fixed overmantel one finds sometimes in
small modern villas, only it wasn't over the mantel-
piece.
I think there was nothing in the room which I did
not examine carefully, but I did not sit there; I pre-
ferred the front room.
It was an immense relief when I saw Quarles and an-
other man, the agent, come through the gate.
It was between eight and nine, and I retired to the
basement to be out of the way. The agent stayed about
half an hour, and they were chiefly in the haunted room
together.
“I sincerely hope your report will set at rest this
silly idea that the house is haunted,” I heard the agent
say as they came down to the hall. “When my client
returns he will be pretty mad about it.”
“When does he return?” asked Quarles.
“I don't know. I haven't had a line from him since
he went away, but the sum I have received for him in
rent doesn't amount to much, I can tell you.”
I expected to find the professor rather ill-tempered at
my interference, but I found him inclined to raillery.
“Are you hunting a murderer or a ghost, Wigan?”
he asked.
“I am not quite sure, but I think at the back of my
mind there is an idea to keep you out of the clutches
of the subtle personality of whom you are afraid. Come
up to the haunted room; we will talk there, but it must
be in whispers. If I have had any success it is believed
that you are in this house alone to-night.”
"A foolish old man alone, eh ?”
“In this instance I am inclined to answer yes."


82
The Master Detective
“You are quite right to say exactly what you think,”
he returned.
"Have you considered the possibility that some one
is trading on your known enthusiasm for psychological
research ?” I asked.
“Surely you do not mean Randall ?”
“No, but he may have been used as a tool. Frankly
now, would you have undertaken this business just at.
the present time had it not been for Dr. Randall ?”
“Probably not.”
“So if you are being deceived it is being managed
very subtly.”
“You are full of supposition. Let us get to work.
You speak in your letter of an experience you had last
night. What was it?”.
“You will say no doubt that my fear of the super-
natural got the better of me."
I told him the story of the looking-glass as we stood
in front of it, our two faces looking out at us dimly.
“Come away from it now, Wigan,” he said when I
had finished. “Burroughs thought you had fallen
asleep, did he? You are convinced you were not dream-
ing, I presume ?”
“At the time I confess Burroughs rather shook my
faith in myself, but during the day I have become cer-
tain that I did not sleep."
Sitting on the other side of the bed-Quarles was
very particular where he sat in the room-he questioned
me closely about the actions of the shadows, and I an-
swered him as well as I could. Only a very vague pic-
ture was in my mind.
“It may astonish you to know, Wigan, that it was
only your note this morning which brought me to this


The House in Manleigh Road
83
house at all to-night. I 'phoned to you at least a dozen
times yesterday.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid of to-night. Perhaps for the time be-
ing I have lost my grip a little on account of my nervous
condition. I have had a long talk with Dr. Bates, and
he tried to persuade me to give up the idea of spend-
ing a night here alone. He was rather doubtful about a
supernatural solution to the mystery. Then I didn't like
the agent when I went to him to arrange about the key.
I shouldn't have entered the house with him to-night had
I not known you were here.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Always that strong presentiment of danger,” he an-
swered. “Were these hangings on the bed last night?”
“It was exactly as you see it now.”?.
“The agent said the mattress and blankets had been
put here for my convenience.”
“Did he say when they were put here?”
“I thought he meant to-day,” said Quarles.
“No one has entered the house to-day," I answered.
“Yet, if Greaves was murdered, some one must have
gained access to this room somehow, in spite of the
locked door and fastened window."
“You have dropped the idea of the supernatural,
then ?”
“I am keeping an open mind."
“Shall we give it up and go, Professor?”.
“Certainly not. I am supposed to be alone in the
house, so we will await events. On the other side of
that wall where the glass hangs is No. 5, I suppose ?”
“Yes."
“That is the boarding house. Keep still a minute


84
The Master Detective
while I get an idea of the furniture against this opposite
wall. Randall said a man and his four daughters lived
at No. 9, didn't he?”
I whispered an affirmative, and could dimly see the
professor going slowly along the wall. He began tap-
ping things, apparently with a pocket knife.
I warned him not to make a noise.
“I am known to be here,” he answered, coming back
to me. “A man who undertakes to investigate the super-
natural would be expected to take precautions that no
tricks were likely to be played upon him. It would be
suspicious if I didn't make a little noise. Now we will
settle ourselves. I shall lie on the bed. You move a
chair under that glass and sit there. I have an elec-
tric torch with me. Don't fall asleep tonight, Wigan.”
“I didn't last night," I answered.
After that we were silent, and the vigil began. In
one way it was a repetition of the previous night. I
lost count of time, and had sudden desires to move, but
managed to control them.
Certainly I did not sleep, and I fought successfully
against the hypnotic influence which silence and dark-
ness exert. Not a sound of movement came from
Quarles, not a murmur from the world outside.
More than once I wanted to ask the professor whether
he was all right, but did not do so.
It seemed that this utter silence had lasted for hours,
when it was broken, not suddenly, but gradually. It
was not a sound so much as a movement which broke it.
Some one or something was near us. At first it did not
seem to be in the room, but as if it were trying to get
in. I could not tell where it was, but for a time it was
outside, and then just as certainly I knew that it was in.


The House in Manleigh Road
85
I cannot say positively that I heard a footfall on
the carpet, but I think I did, and then came an unmis-
takable sound, the swish of the bed hangings suddenly
drawn back.
“Quarles!”
Whether I shouted his name or whispered it, I do not
know, but the next moment a ray from the electric torch
cut the darkness like a long sword.
There was a low, almost inarticulate cry, then a light
thud upon the floor-so light it might have been some
clothes falling from the bed.
“Don't move, Wigan!” Quarles said, and a second
afterwards he fired-downwards it must have been, al-
though he had warned me to keep still, in case he should
hit me.
There was an unearthly yell, and something rushed
past my feet-a man on all fours, a little man, a-
“The glass, Wigan! Quick!”.
I sprang up. For just an instant I saw my own reflec-
tion, then it was gone; instead, I was looking into a
luminous mist out of which there suddenly flashed a face
looking into mine.
I saw it quite clearly, and then it went as quickly
as it had come. It appeared to have been jerked away.
“Look!"
Quarles was behind me, and in the glass, almost as I
had seen them last night, were the shadows, only now
they struggled and twisted first; it was afterwards that
one lay still across the bed.
“An ape, Wigan!” Quarles said excitedly. “An ape,
trained to imitate, and now did some one look through
the glass ?”
“Yes."


86
The Master Detective
“Was it Dr. Randall ?”
Directly he asked the question I knew that it was the
doctor's face which had been there.
“The subtle personality, Wigan.”
“When did you guess ?”
“I didn't guess—I didn't think it possible. Bates'
disbelief in the supernatural made me a little sus-
picious, but I didn't think it possible. To-night-that
ape—the whole plot-I could only think of Randall.
There was no one else.”
We left the house at once, both of us in an excited
state.
The constable I had on special duty soon had several
others with him, and before dawn No. 5 Manleigh Road
was raided.
It was only a garbled statement which got into the
papers, and probably the whole truth will never be
known; but I gradually gathered the main facts, partly
from the doctor's confederates, partly from some of his
victims.
Dr. Randall, posing as a nerve specialist, and fully
qualified to do so, had lived a double life. As a doctor
he was respected and was fairly successful; as the head
and organizer of a small army of miscreants he had
been eminent for years.
Under the guise of a respectable boarding-house, No.
5 had been used as the headquarters of the gang, and
the operations had been so widespread, so all-embrac-
ing in the field of crime, that after the raid many mys-
teries which the police had failed to unravel were cred-
ited to Randall. Many of these he could have had noth-
ing to do with, but he had quite enough to answer for.
He seems to have exercised a kind of terrorism over


88
The Master Detective
powerful and more than usually imitative, but was not
naturally vicious. Any action done in its presence the
animal would be certain to repeat at the first oppor-
tunity; but having done so, it did not repeat it again
unless the action was performed again. The action of
strangling a man in his sleep by means of a cord was
performed before the ape, and afterwards the animal was
allowed to steal through the hole in the chimney. The
result was that Greaves was found dead.
It was intended that Quarles should die in a like man-
ner, and special pains were taken with the ape to in-
sure success. The action was performed before the ani.
mal in every detail more than once, and it was kept in
strict confinement until the right moment came.
The ape was out of my sight, but I chanced to see
the imitation in progress on the Thursday night through
the glass, which had unaccountably been left open for
some minutes after it had been tried to see that it was
in working order. I saw only dimly because the imi-
tation was being done by the light of a single candle,
and that shaded as much as possible, to suggest to the
ape the gloomy conditions of the room in which it was
to repeat its lesson. Let into the wall of the room in
the boarding-house there was a glass backing on to the
one in the haunted room. A small handle swung aside
the back, which was common to both, and the looking-
glass became a window from one room to the other.
When he fired Quarles evidently hit the ape. Mad
with pain, the animal dashed back through the hole in
the chimney and attacked the doctor, who was probably
taken entirely unawares, as he was looking through the
glass to see what the revolver shot might mean.
The ape went through its part of the performance, and
the doctor fell a victim to his own diabolical ingenuity.


The House in Manleigh Road
89
The wounded animal had to be shot before any one could
get near the body.
Some people have declared that Dr. Randall was a
madman, but I think Quarles' answer hit the truth.
“Of course, in a sense, all criminals are mad,” he
said, “but Randall was the sanest criminal I ever came
in contact with.”


CHAPTER V
THE DIFFICULTY OF BROTHER PYTHAGORAS
W HETHER it was my statement that criminals
had grown cleverer than they used to be which
aroused Quarles's interest so effectually, or whether it
was that success made him thirst for further fields to
conquer, I do not know. I do know, however, that he
grew restless if any considerable time elapsed without
my having a clue worthy of his powers.
As it happened we had two or three cases close to-
gether which stretched his powers to the utmost, and the
extremely subtle manner in which he solved them shows
him at his best.
When I sent him a telegram from Fairtown, merely re-
questing him to join me there, I felt certain he would
come by the first available train, and was at the station
to meet him.
"Fine, invigorating air this, Wigan,” he remarked.
“Is there really a case for us to deal with, or did you
merely telegraph for the purpose of giving me a holi-
day?”
“The case is for you rather than for me. I am
still "
“Still waiting for something to turn up in the Bever-
ley affair?” he asked.
“Were I answering a layman, or even a rival detec-
tive, I should look very wise and talk indefinitely of
clues; to you I will admit a blank ten days, not a for-
ward step in any direction whatever."
90


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 91
“So you send for me."
“Upon a different matter altogether," I returned.
I had come to Fairtown ten days ago on the look-
out for a man named Beverley. His friends were anx-
ious about him, and said they believed he was suffering
from a loss of memory; the police had reason to sus-
pect that he was implicated in some company-promoting
frauds, and thought the family only wanted to find him
to get him out of the country. His people were cer-
tainly not aware that I was looking for him in Fairtown,
and I need not go into the reasons which made me ex-
pect to run my quarry to earth in this particular spot;
they were sound ones, or I should not have spent ten
days on the job.
To describe Fairtown would be superfluous. Every
one knows this popular seaside resort. This year, I be-
lieve for the first time, a large tent had been erected
behind the sea-baths building, which was occupied each
week by a different company of entertainers. In my sec-
ond week a troupe of pierrots was there, the “Classical
P's,” they were called, and hearing from some one in
the hotel that they were quite out of the ordinary, I
went on the Thursday evening. At the opening of the
performance the leader of the troupe announced that
Brother Pythagoras, after the performance on the pre-
vious evening, had been obliged to go to town, and un-
fortunately had not yet returned, so they would be
without his services that night. There was some disap-
pointment; he had a charming tenor voice, my neighbor
told me. The full troupe numbered six, described on the
program as Brothers Pluto, Pompey, and Pythagoras,
and Sisters Psyche, Pomona, and Penelope; that night,
of course, they were only five, but the entertainment was
excellent.


92
The Master Detective
Sister Pomona was altogether an exceptional pianist,
her interpretation of items by Schumann and Men-
delssohn being little short of a revelation. She was
pretty, too, and her scarlet dress with its white pom-
pons, and her pierrot's hat to match, suited her to per-
fection.
I was amongst the last left in the tent after the
performance, partly owing to the position of my seat,
partly, at least so Zena would have it later, and I did
not contradict her, because I was lingering in the hope
of getting another glimpse of Pomona. As I moved to-
ward the exit there came a short scream, a terrified
scream it seemed to me, from behind the stage. I turned
back and waited, and in a minute or two Brother Pluto
came from behind the curtains.
“Are you a doctor?” he asked.
“No, but,"
“I am a doctor," said a voice behind me.
I was not invited, but I followed the doctor. The
space available for the artistes was very small. There
was little more than passageway between the tent wall
and the stage built up some three feet from the ground,
and we had to step over the various paraphernalia which
was necessary for the performance. What had hap-
pened was this. A projecting piece of woodwork had
caught Pomona's dress as she passed, tearing off one of
the white pompons, which had rolled underneath the
platform. She saw it, as she supposed, lying in a dark
corner, and stooped to reach it. What she had caught
sight of, and what she caught hold of, was a man's
hand, a cold hand. Brothers Pluto and Pompey were be-
side her a moment afterwards, and had dragged a body
from under the stage. It was Brother Pythagoras, the
performer who was supposed to have gone to London


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras
93
on the previous night. He was dressed in his pierrot
costume, but had been dead some hours, the doctor said,
death being due to a blow on the head, from a stick,
probably.
I told the story to Quarles as we walked to the hotel
“Does the doctor suggest an accident?” he asked.
"No."
“How long, in his opinion, had the man been dead ?”'
“Some hours.”
“Twenty-four?”
“I particularly asked that question,” I answered.
“He thought death had taken place that day.”
“It may be an interesting case,” said Quarles doubt-
fully. “I suppose I can see the body.”.
“I have arranged that." .
“Who are these brothers and sisters ?”
“Pluto and Psyche are husband and wife, a Mr. and
Mrs. Watson. She is a Colonial, and he has been in
the Colonies for a year or two. It is their second sea-
son of entertaining in this country. Pompey, whose
name is Smith, and Penelope, otherwise Miss Travers,
have been with them from the first. Pomona, otherwise
Miss Day, only joined them this season, and is evidently
a lady. The dead man, Henley by name, joined them
after the season had commenced, taking the place of a
man who fell ill. He has been very reticent about him-
self.”
“According to Watson, I suppose ?'' said Quarles.
“They were all agreed upon that point,” I answered.
“On what points were they not agreed ?” Quarles
asked quickly.
“Well, although they all spoke in the warmest terms
of their comrade, it struck me they were not all so fond
of him as they made out.”


94
The Master Detective
“What makes you think that ?”
“The way they looked at the dead man. Naturally,
I was watching them rather keenly as the doctor made
his examination."
“That is rather an interesting idea, Wigan, and has
possibilities in it; still, a murdered man is not a pleas-
ant sight, and the artistic temperament must be taken
into consideration.”
We went to the mortuary that afternoon. The dead
man was still in the pierrot's dress I had arranged
this should be so, wishing to afford the professor every
facility in his investigation. He was more interested in
the dress than in the man, examining it very carefully
with his lens. The stockings and shoes came in for close
inspection, also the comical pierrot's hat, which he fitted
to the dead man's head for a moment.
“Had he his hat on when he was pulled from under
the platform ?” he asked.
“No. It was found after the doctor's examination,
close to where the body had been.”
“Who found it?”
“Watson-Brother Pluto.”
“Who first thought of looking for it?” Quarles asked.
“I think Watson just stooped down and saw it. He
would naturally think of it, since it was part of the
dress.”
The professor nodded, as if the explanation satisfied
him. Then he looked at the head, neck, and hands.
“He was a singer, you say?”
“Yes—a tenor.”
“What instrument did he play?”
“I don't know."
“Ah, a sad end. Henley, you say his name was I
see there is ‘H' marked in pencil in his hat."


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 95
“He called himself Henley," I answered; “it may not
have been his real name. As I said, his companions
know very little about him.”
“So his friends, if he has any, cannot be advised of
the tragedy. This company of mummers is alone in its
mourning for him. I should like to examine this hat
more closely, Wigan. Can I take it away with me?”
I arranged for him to do so, and we went back to the
hotel.
“Do you find it an interesting case, Professor ?” I
asked.
“It certainly presents some difficulties which are in-
teresting. The clue may lie in Henley's unknown past,
and that might be a difficulty not to be overcome; or we
may find the clue in jealousy.”
“You surely are not thinking that—".
“Oh, I have not got so far as suspecting Watson or
any of his companions,” said Quarles, “but certain facts
force us to keep an open mind, Wigan. To begin with,
there was apparently no struggle before death. The
blow was not so severe that a comparatively weak arm
might not have delivered it, a woman's, for the sake
of argument. We may, therefore, deduct two theories
at once. He probably had no suspicion or fear of the
person in whose company he was, and I think the doc-
tor will endorse our statement if we affirm that he was
not in a healthy condition. Personally, I should credit
Henley with a fairly rapid past, which may account for
his companions not looking upon the body with any par-
ticular kindness, as you noticed.”
“You seem to have built more on that idea of mine
than I intended,” I said.
“I have built nothing at all on it,” he answered.
“I argue entirely from the appearance of the dead man.


96
The Master Detective
Another point. I looked for some sign that the dress
had been put on after the man was dead. The signs all
point to an opposite conclusion.”
“The dress puzzles me,” I said.
“Of course, if the doctor were not so certain that
death had occurred during the day, we might place the
murder at some time on the previous night, after the
performance, when Henley would naturally be in his
pierrot's dress, but why should he put it on during the
day. There was no rehearsal, I suppose ?”
"Nothing was said about it; besides, Henley was sup-
posed to be in town.”
“Yes, I know. That is one of our difficulties. I take
it that neither Watson nor any of his company have of-
fered any explanation of the tragedy?”
“I believe not. I saw the local inspector this morn-
ing, and he said nothing further had transpired, nor had
any clue been found amongst the dead man's effects.
Of course, if his companions had any guilty knowledge
they would have made some explanation.”
“Why?”
"To mislead us."
“My dear Wigan, there are times when you jump as
far to a conclusion as a woman.”
“I am arguing from a somewhat ripe experience,” I
retorted somewhat hotly.
“Strengthened by an interest in Sister Pomona, eh?
Something of the old-fashioned school lingers about
you, which is picturesque but always a handicap in
these days. The methods of crime have changed just as
the methods of other enterprises have changed. Your
bungling villain has no chance nowadays; to succeed
a criminal must be an artist, a scientist even, and he
does not fall into the error of accusing himself by ex-


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 97
cusing himself. And since increased knowledge tends to
simplify those explanations with which we have sought
to explain away difficulties in the past, I think we shall
be wise to apply modern methods to any difficulty with
which we are confronted.”
Naturally, I argued the point, endeavoring to justify
myself, and in the process we nearly quarreled.
That night we went to the entertainment. It was an
exceedingly full house, showing the commercial wisdom
of the proprietors of the sea-baths in not canceling the
engagement. The verve and go in the performance as-
tonished me. One would not have supposed that a trag-
edy had happened in this little company of players. I
felt that they ought to be horribly conscious of the
ghastly thing which had been found under that platform
only a few hours since. I said something of the kind
to Quarles.
“Don't forget the artistic temperament,” he an-
swered.
“Surely it would be the very temperament to be in-
fluenced,” I said.
"Presently we shall find out, perhaps," he whispered
as Sister Pomona went to the piano.
It was Chopin she played to-night, and Quarles, who
had been more interested in her than in the rest of
the company, immediately lost himself in the music. He
applauded as vociferously as any one in the audience,
and after the performance would talk of nothing but
music. It pleased him to become learned on harmony
and counterpoint; at least, I suppose it was learned; I
could not understand him.
I had suggested that he should make the acquaintance
of the pierrots as soon as the curtain was down, but this
he would not do.


98
The Master Detective
“To-morrow will be time enough; besides, I want to
see them with the paint off.”
We called on them on the following morning. They
had rooms in a quiet street in Fairtown. The landlady
was accustomed to have strolling companies as lodgers,
and evidently had the knack of making them comfortable.
Quarles had a word or two with her before seeing her
visitors, and learnt that they were the nicest and quietest
people she had ever had. The poor gentleman who was
dead was the quietest of the company.
"Perhaps he was in love," laughed Quarles.
“I shouldn't be surprised,” the landlady answered.
“With whom ?”
“He seemed to spend most of his time looking at Miss
Day when he didn't think she would notice him. I don't
wonder. She is well worth looking at.”
“Admiration is not necessarily love,” remarked the
professor. “By the way, have you been to the mortuary
to see the body?”
“Me!” exclaimed the landlady in horror. “No. I
am not one of those who take a morbid pleasure in
that kind of thing. Nothing would induce me to
go."
“Very sensible of you,” Quarles said.
We were then taken to the Watsons' sitting-room, and
I explained the reason of our call, speaking of Quarles
as a brother detective. He did not at once act up to
his part. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were alone when we
first entered, but the others joined us almost at once,
and I fancy they were prepared for a visit from me; the
local inspector may have said it was likely. Quarles
began to talk of music, and judging by Miss Day's in-
terest I concluded that he knew what he was talking
about; in fact, all of them were immensely interested in


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras
99
the old man, and for at least half an hour the real rea-
son of our being there was not mentioned.
“Bach, no, I am not an admirer of Bach," said the
professor, in answer to a question from Miss Day.
“Bad taste, no doubt, but I always think musical opin-
ion is particularly difficult to follow. By the way, I
suppose Mr. Henley played some instrument?”
The sudden question seemed to change the whole at-
mosphere. Watson, I fancy, had been ready to enter
upon a defense of Shaw, and Miss Day to convert Quarles
to Bach worship; in fact, I firmly believe that every one
except myself had forgotten all about the dead man until
that moment.
“Why do you ask ?” Watson inquired after a pause.
“You are such a musical set, it would be strange if
one of your company could not play any instrument at
all. I am told he sang tenor songs, and was wondering
whether that was all he could do.”
“As a fact he played the banjo and the guitar,” said
Watson, “but he has not done so in Fairtown. The peo-
ple here are high-class people, and we have to vary our
performance to suit our audiences. At Brighton, where
we go next week, Henley's banjo playing might have
been the most popular item on the program.”
“I can understand that. You know very little about
Mr. Henley, I am told,” and he waved his hand in my
direction to show where he had got his information.
“Very little,” Watson replied. “He told us he had
no relations, and he received very few letters, which
seemed to be from agents and business people. I did not
question him very closely when he applied to me. I
judged that he was down on his luck, but he fitted my
requirements, and my wife was favorably impressed with
him."


100
The Master Detective
“And you have no reason to regret taking him into
your company?”
“On the contrary, he proved a great acquisition, a far
better man than the one whose place he took.”
“That is not quite what I meant,” said Quarles.
“Companies of entertainers vary, not only in ability, but
in individual tastes, in personnel. By engaging Mr.
Henley you were obliged to admit him into your private
circle, and I imagine".
“That is what I meant by saying my wife approved
of him," said Watson. “I wouldn't engage the finest
tenor in the world unless he were a decent fellow. It
wouldn't be fair to the rest of us.”
Quarles nodded his appreciation of such an attitude.
“Of course, as long as he behaves decently I am sat-
isfied,” Watson went on. “I don't make my enquiries
too particular. For instance, I shouldn't bar a man be-
cause he had got into trouble.”
“Have you any reason to suppose that Henley had
done so ?” Quarles asked. “That might account for his
mysterious death.”
“I have no such suspicion,” Watson answered; "in-
deed, he was not that kind of man. It is my way—my
clumsy way of explaining what I mean by decent.
Many a decent man has seen the inside of a prison. By
being there he pays his debt, and afterwards, in common
justice, he should be free, really free, free from his fel-
low-man's contempt.”
“You have started my husband on his pet hobby,”
laughed Mrs. Watson. “He always declares that our
prisons hold some of the best men in the world.”
“Some of the strongest and most potential,” corrected
her husband.
“I am inclined to agree with him," said Quarles.


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 101
“But I am taking up your time and not asking the one
or two questions I came especially to ask. You dress
for the performance in the tent, I suppose ?”
“The men do. The ladies dress here and go down with
cloaks over their costumes."
Quarles undid a small brown paper parcel—I had won-
dered what he had brought with him and produced the
pierrot's hat.
“That is Henley's, I suppose ?”
Watson looked at it.
“Undoubtedly. There is an ‘H' in it, you see. We
all put our initial in like that so that we should know
our own.”
“Now, can you suggest why Henley was wearing his
dress ?”' asked Quarles.
“That has puzzled us all,” Watson answered. “I am
inclined to think the doctor is wrong as regards the time
he had been dead. The last we saw of Henley was when
we left the tent that night. He was not coming back
with us, he was going straight to the station. He was a :
long time changing, and I told him he would have to
hurry to catch his train.”
“Is there such a late train up?”
“Only during the summer."
“And none of you went down to the tent until the
evening of the next day?”.
They all replied in the negative.
“We are perhaps fortunate in being able to substan-
tiate the denial,” said Watson. “We all drove to Cray-
bourne and spent, the day there, starting soon after ten
and not getting back until six."
“And in the ordinary way Henley would have gone
with you?”
“Certainly. It was only just before the perform-


102
The Master Detective
ance that evening that he announced his journey to town.
He said it was a matter of business."
“One more question,” said Quarles, “a delicate one,
but you will forgive it because you are as desirous of
clearing up this mystery as any one. Have you any rea-
son to suppose poor Henley was in love?”
“I have no reason to think so,” said Watson.
“Nor you, Miss Travers?” said Quarles, turning to
Sister Penelope.
“He certainly was not in love with me.”
“I ask the question just to clear the ground,” said
the professor after a short pause, and rising as he spoke.
"The man whose place Henley took might have fallen in
love with one of you young ladies, and if he thought
Henley had supplanted him he might have taken a mad
revenge. Such things do happen.”
“There was nothing of that sort,” said Mrs. Wat-
son. “Russell, that was the other man, has gone on
a voyage for his health. Only a week ago I had a
picture postcard from him from a port in South Amer-
ica."
“That absolutely squashes the very germ of the the-
ory,” said the professor with a smile. “Sometime I
hope to enjoy your charming entertainment again, and
to hear you play, Miss Day. I hope it won't be Bach.
Good-by.”
As we walked back to the hotel I asked Quarles why
he had not suggested that Henley might be in love with
Miss Day instead of Miss Travers.
“My dear Wigan, you have yourself said she is un-
doubtedly a lady. Can you imagine her allowing a man
like the dead man to have anything to do with her?”
“Circumstances have thrown them into each other's


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras
103
company," I answered. “In such a small circle she
could hardly avoid him.”
“I am inclined to think the company will get on bet-
ter without him,” he answered.
To my astonishment the professor insisted on going
back to town that afternoon. No, he was not giving up
the case, but he wanted to be in Chelsea to think it
out, and to see if Zena had got any foolish questions to
ask. This was Saturday, and on Monday I received a
telegram from him, requesting me to come to town. It
was important. Of course I went, and the three of us
adjourned to the empty room.
“I am sorry to bring you off the Beverley affair,
Wigan, but I think we ought to settle this pierrot busi-
ness.”
“Then you have formed a theory?”
“Oh, yes, and it is for you to prove whether I am
right or wrong. If my theory be correct, it is rather
a simple case, although it appears complicated. We
will accept the doctor's statement that the man had
been murdered that day, and not on the previous night.
He was done to death, therefore, during the morning
probably, when for some reason he had visited the tent,
and for some reason had put on his pierrot's dress.
Watson is inclined to think that the doctor is wrong
as regards time, but we may dismiss his opinion. The.
dead man's face had no make-up on it; had the murder
been committed on the previous night before he had got
out of his costume, the grease paint would have been
still on him."
“I think that conclusion is open to argument,” I
said.
"I base the conclusion rather on the doctor's opinion


104
The Master Detective
than on the paint,” said Quarles. “Now, it seems to
follow that Henley's tale about being called to town was
false, was apparently told for the purpose of getting out
of the excursion with his comrades; and we may fairly
assume that his visit to the tent was for some purpose
which he did not want his companions to know anything
about."
“Why did he put on the dress ?” said Zena.
"That is her persistent question, Wigan, and she also
asks another almost as persistently: Why, in spite of
friendly words concerning Henley, should they look upon
the dead body with such repugnance ?”
“You make too much of that idea of mine, as I have
said before," I objected.
“Let me put it another way,” said Quarles. "How
was it possible for them to show so little concern about
a comrade they liked? They might screw themselves
up to go through their performance and hide their sor-
row from the public, but in private one would have ex-
pected to find them depressed. I hardly think they
showed great sorrow while we were with them.”
“They did not, certainly.”
“May I say that Watson and Miss Day seemed the
least concerned, and even venture a step further and
guess that they were the two who seemed to you to look
upon the dead man with repugnance?”
I admitted that this was the case, and it was then
that Zena, having heard the whole story from her grand-
father, accused me of lingering in the tent that night for
the purpose of seeing Sister Pomona again.
“Now, two points as we go,” said Quarles, interrupt-
ing our little side-spar. “Miss Day volunteered no
statement when I talked of love. Could she have made
an unqualified denial I think she would have done so.


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 105
I did not ask her a direct question on purpose; I thought
she would be more likely to answer an indirect one.
Her silence, I fancy, was the answer. In view of what
the landlady told us, I think we are safe in assuming
that Henley admired her, and that she was aware of
the fact. The second point is Watson's defense of the
men who had been in prison, his hobby, as his wife called
it. We will come back to both these points in a mo-
ment. Let us consider the dead man first. The face
was evidently that of a fast liver, not that of a decent
man such as Watson spoke of; the throat and neck were
not of the kind one expects in a singer, but, of course,
we must not argue too much from this; the hands showed
hreed, certainly, but they had never been used to twang
the strings of a banjo or guitar.”
“But Watson distinctly said,"
“And the hat with 'H' in it had never fitted the dead
man,” said Quarles. “Oh, I remember perfectly what
Watson said, and, moreover, I believe I heard a good
many of his thoughts which were not put into words
you can hear thoughts, you know, only it is with such
delicacy that the very idea of hearing seems too heavy
and materialistic to describe the sensation. Watson
said the hat was Henley's, he also said that Henley
played these instruments; but the pierrots all wore hats
that fitted, well-made hats, and for this reason each of
them marked his hat, and the skin at the finger tips
of a banjo player always hardens. The dead man was
certainly not Brother Pythagoras, and so far the deduc-
tion is simple.”
I made no comment.
“Now it is obvious since these entertainers agreed
that it was the body of their comrade, they are in a
conspiracy to deceive. Why? More than one compli-


106
The Master Detective
cated reason might be found, but let us remain simple.
They knew who the dead man was, and because of what
they knew of him concluded that their comrade was re-
sponsible for his death. Have you any fault to find with
that deduction, Wigan?”
“I don't think it follows," I said.
“If they did not know the dead man, if they had
nothing to conceal, why did they allow it to be supposed
that the dead man was Henley ?” said Quarles. “There
would be no object. They were running a risk for noth-
ing. As it was, their action protected Henley. No one
was likely to question their identification. The dead man
would be buried as Henley, and there would be an end
of the matter."
“But the dead man might be identified by his friends,"
I said.
“Evidently they thought it worth while to run that
risk, knowing perhaps that it was not a very great one.
Apparently it was not, for up to now no one has made
anxious inquiries for the dead man.”
“But some of the people about the sea-baths and the
tent attendants would know it was not Henley,” said
Zena.
“We have evidence that he was a very quiet, reti-
cent man,” said Quarles. "They probably hardly saw
him in the daytime, and at night he would have a painted
face, and the fact that he was wearing the dress would
go a long way to convince any one who chanced to see
him in the dim light at the back of the stage that
night."
“And who do you suppose he was ?” I asked.
“We will go back to Watson and Miss Day," said
Quarles. “Miss Day was silent on the question of love,
fearful, I take it, that her natural repugnance to the


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 107
man might serve to betray the conspiracy. I believe the
conspiracy was formed on the spur of the moment, just
before Watson came from behind the curtains that even-
ing and asked whether you were a doctor. I should
say the dead man had pestered her, and that she was
relieved by his death. I find some confirmation of this
in Watson's attitude. He talks of some of the best men
having been in prison, in such a way, in fact, that his
wife hastens to laugh at his hobby, afraid that he will
betray himself. Now he could hardly have been re-
ferring to the dead man; he declared himself that he
was not thinking of Henley; I suggest that he was think-
ing of himself.”
“And you accused me of jumping to a conclusion!”
I exclaimed.
"I haven't finished yet,” answered the professor.
“Here is my complete theory. The dead man knew
something of Watson's past, and was holding that knowl-
edge over him, blackmailing him, in fact, and I think
the company knew it. At the same time he pesters Miss
Day with his attentions, which Henley, more than half
in love with Miss Day himself, resents and determines
to rid the troupe of a blackguard. He begins by pre-
tending some friendship for his victim, and after giv-
ing out that he is going to town, suggests to the dead
man that his absence may be an opportunity for the
other to get into Miss Day's good graces. Why should
he not dress up and take his place on the following
evening? I have little doubt that Henley expected him
to come to try on the dress that night after the perform-
ance, which would account for his being such a long
time changing. The victim did not come; by the look
of him in death I should say he had not been sober,
which would account for his not coming. Next morn-


108
The Master Detective
ing Henley goes to find him, takes him to the tent, not
through the door, which would be fastened probably in
some way, but surreptitiously, through some weak spot in
the pegging down very likely.”
“But why should he wait until the man had got into
the pierrot's dress before murdering him?” said Zena.
“Because, my dear, he hoped the body would not be
discovered until another troupe took possession of the
tent. A dead pierrot would be discovered, and the
troupe at Brighton would be communicated with. In
the meanwhile Henley would have warned them, and the
same tale would have been told, and the body been iden-
tified as Henley's. There would be no hue and cry after
the murderer. Had it not been for Miss Day's pom-
pon being torn off, I have no doubt this would have been
the course of events. You will have to travel to
Brighton, Wigan, and put one or two questions to our
friend Watson.”
“And who was the man?” I asked.
“Since no one seems to have missed him I should say
he was a man not too anxious to have inquiries made
about him, one careful to cover up his tracks, perhaps one
not altogether unknown in criminal circles, a man of the
type of your Beverley, for instance. By the way, have
you ever seen Beverley?”.
“No."
“How were you to know him, then ?”
“By the man in whose company he would be.”
“And you have good reasons for expecting to run him
to earth at Fairtown?”.
“Excellent reasons," I answered.
“Wigan, get some one who knows Beverley to go and
look at the dead pierrot. The result might be interest-
ing."
w him, there would be on him


Difficulty of Brother Pythagoras 109
It was. Quarles admitted that the idea was a leap in
the dark, but he pointed out that the dead man was the
type he imagined Beverley to be. The fact remains he
was right. The dead man was Beverley. And, more-
over, the professor's deduction was right throughout as
far as we were able to verify it. Watson had been in
prison, quite deservedly he admitted, but having paid
the debt for his fall, he was facing the world bravely.
Then came Beverley, who knew of the past, and Wat-
son admitted that his death was a thing that he could
not help rejoicing over. He had heard nothing from
Henley, who had no doubt read of the discovery in the
paper, and thought it wiser to obliterate himself alto-
gether.


CHAPTER VI
THE TRAGEDY IN DUKE'S MANSIONS
I BELIEVE Beverley's exit from this life was a re-
lief to his family. Whether any very strenuous ef-
forts were made to find Henley, I do not know. Pos-
sibly the “Classical P’s” are interrogated concerning
him from time to time, for they are still appearing at
well-known watering places, though whether Miss Day
is still of the company, I cannot say.
I quickly forgot all about Henley, being absorbed in
a new case, which created considerable attention. At the
outset it brought me in contact with rather a fascinat-
ing character, a man whose personality sticks in your
memory.
He was an Italian by birth, cosmopolitan by circum-
stances, and by nature something of an artist. Fate
had ordained that he should be man-servant to an
English M.P.; he would have looked more at home in a
Florentine studio or in a Tuscany vineyard, but then
Fate is responsible for many incongruities.
In well-chosen words, and in dramatic fashion, he
drew the picture for me.
“The little dinner was over,” he said, using his hands
to illustrate his speech. “I had removed everything
but the wine. It had not been a merry party, no; it
was all business, I think, and serious. When I enter
the room to bring this or take that, they pause, say
something of no consequencemevidently I am not to
110


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions
111
hear anything of what they are talking. They talk
English, though only my master was English. One of
his guests was German, the other a countryman of my
own, but not of Tuscany, no, I think of the South. So
there was only the wine on the table, and cigars, and
the silver box of cigarettes. My master had in his hand
a sheet of paper, and the German had taken a map
from his pocket, and my countryman was laughing at
something which amused him. I can see it all just as
it was.”
He paused, closed his eyes, as if he would impress for
ever on his memory what he had seen.
“And now—this,” he said, throwing out his arms.
“This, and not two hours afterwards."
This was certainly tragic enough. A shaded electric
light hanging over the table left the corners of the
room in shadow. The wine, the cigars, the silver ciga-
rette box were still on the table, the smoke was heavy in
the atmosphere. A tray contained cigar and cigarette
ends. On either side of the table was a chair pushed
back as it would be by a man rising from it. At the
end was a chair, with arms, also pushed back a little,
but it was not empty. In it was a man in evening dress,
leaning back, his head fallen a little to one side, his
arms hanging loosely. But for the arms of the chair
he would have fallen to the floor. He was dead. How
he had died was uncertain. A casual examination told
nothing, and I had not moved him. I had arrived first
and was expecting the doctor every moment. I happened
to be in my office when the telephone message came
through that Arthur Bridwell, M.P., had been found
dead under suspicious circumstances in his flat at Duke's
Mansions, Knightsbridge. I went there at once and
found a constable in possession. It was barely half-past


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 113
No answer. My voice had evidently betrayed me.
The woman at the other end had discovered that she was
speaking to the wrong man. I looked at the Chesterfield.
There was no bag of any kind upon it now. Then I tele-
phoned to Quarles, telling him there was a mysterious
case for him to investigate.
“Had your master any other visitors to-day?” I asked
casually, turning to Masini.
“Not to my knowledge. All the afternoon I was out."
“Where were you?”
“Out for my master. I took a parcel to a gentleman
at Harrow."
"To whom?"
“It was to a Mr. Fisher. It was a small parcel, a big
letter rather, for it was in an envelope that—that size.
There was no answer. I just told my master that Mr.
Fisher said it was all right.”
“So Mr. Bridwell might have had visitors while you
were out?"
“Certainly.”
“Did he have many visitors as a rule?”
“Sometimes from what you call his constituency.”
“Any ladies?”
“Ah, no, signore; my master was of the other kind.
He did not like the vote for women.'
“And you say you have moved nothing in this room ?”
“Nothing at all.”
Quarles arrived soon after the doctor had begun to
examine the dead man, so I could not then give him the
particulars as far as I knew them. It chanced that the
doctor, a youngish man, was acquainted with the pro-
fessor, and was quite ready to listen to his suggestions.
“What do you make of it, Professor ?” he asked.
"Is it poison ?" said Quarles interrogatively.


114
The Master Detective
· The doctor had already examined the glasses on the
table.
“I can find no signs of poison,” he said. “And two
hours ago the man was alive.”
“That is according to the servant,” I said. Masini
was not in the room at this time.
“There is no reason to doubt the statement, is there?”
the doctor asked.
“No, but we have not yet corroborated it,” I returned.
Quarles was already busy with his lens examining the
dead man's shirt front.
“You have begun trying to find out who killed him
before I have pronounced upon the cause of death,” said
the doctor. "I am inclined to think it is poison, but,"
“He didn't inject a drug, I suppose ?” said Quarles.
“Not in his arm, you can look and satisfy yourself
on that point. It is just possible that he made an injec-
tion through his clothes. It requires a more careful in-
vestigation than I can make to-night before I can give a
decided opinion.”
“Quite so, but you do not mind my looking at the body
rather closely? A little thing so often tells a big story,
and the little things are sometimes difficult to find once
the body has been moved.”
The doctor watched Quarles's close investigation with
some amusement. The shirt front came in for a lot of
attention, and the collar was examined right round to the
back of the neck. It was a long time before Quarles
stood erect and put the lens in his pocket. I got the im-
pression that he had prolonged the investigation for the
purpose of impressing the doctor.
“It would be virulent poison which would kill a man
so quickly and while he sat in his chair,” Quarles said
reflectively.


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions
115
“It would, indeed,” the doctor returned.
“You have formed no idea what the poison was?”
“Not yet.”
“No hypodermic syringe has been found, I suppose ?”'
said Quarles, turning to me.
"No."
“You see, doctor," he went on, “if the glasses there
show no evidence of poison, and nothing has been moved,
and you decide that poison was the cause of death, one
might jump to the conclusion that it had been self-ad-
ministered with a syringe; that is why I ask about a
syringe.”
“There are such things as tablets," said the doctor,
“or the poison may have been in the food he has eaten
to-night.”
“Exactly,” Quarles snapped irritably.
The doctor smiled; he had certainly scored a point and
was evidently pleased.
“Besides, Professor, you are a little previous with your
questions. This isn't the inquest, you know; we haven't
got through the post-mortem yet.”
"I generally form an opinion before the inquest,” said
Quarles as he looked at each glass in turn and stirred the
contents of the ash-tray with a match.
“You must often make mistakes,” remarked the doc-
tor. “I propose having the body moved to the bed-
room; there is nothing else you would like to look at be-
fore I do so?”
“Thanks, doctor, nothing," said Quarles with a smile
which showed that he had recovered his lost tem-
per.
After the removal of the body the doctor departed,
fully convinced, I believe, that the professor was a much
overrated person.


116
The Master Detective
“Well, Wigan, shall I tell you what the result of the
post-mortem is likely to be?” said Quarles.
“If you can. Remember you have not heard what I
have to say yet.”
“No sign of poison will be found. No sign of violence
will be discovered anywhere upon the body. Sudden
heart failure that will be apparent. The cause obscure.
Organs seemingly healthy; no discernible disease.
Muscular failure. Death from natural causes. A case
interesting to the medical world, perhaps, but with no
suggestion of foul play about it. Now let me have your
tale."
“But surely you—"
“I assure you I have formed no definite theory yet.
How can I until I have your story?"
I repeated what Masini had told me, and I told him
about the telephone message.
“It was a woman. You are quite sure it was a
woman?”
“Quite certain."
He went to the telephone.
“There is a directory here, I see; did you touch it?”
"No."
“It wasn't open ?”
“It was just as you see it now."
He took a piece of paper and made one or two
notes.
“I imagine that particular call would be difficult to
trace," he said. “Duke's Mansions has a number, and
from the office in the building the particular flat re-
quired is switched on. There must have been scores of
calls during the evening. I don't remember anything
particular about Arthur Bridwell's parliamentary career,
do you?”


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 117
“No, beyond the fact that he is Member for one of the
divisions of Sussex.”
Quarles looked slowly round the room.
“A bag,” he mused; “one of those small chain or
leather affairs which women carry, I suppose; a purse
in it, a handkerchief, perhaps a letter or two. Bridwell
would see it in all probability after the lady had left,
and he would-he would put it on a side table or slip it
into a drawer out of the way. Shall we just have Masini
in and ask him a question or two ?”
Instead of questioning the Italian the professor got
him to repeat the story as he had told it to me. It was
exactly the same account.
“You know nothing about these two visitors ?”
“Nothing, signore. I had never seen them before, but
I should know them again.”
“No names were mentioned in your presence?”
"No."
“Have you ever taken parcels to this Mr. Fisher be-
fore?” asked Quarles.
“Never.”
“Was the parcel hard; something of metal or leather?”
“Oh, no, signore; it was papers only.”
“And you saw Mr. Fisher?”
“Yes.”
“What was he like? Was he English ?”
Masini said he was, and gave a description which
might have fitted any ten men out of the first dozen en-
countered in the street. He also described the two visi-
tors, but the portraits drawn were not startling.
“What did Mr. Fisher say when you gave him the
packet? What were his exact words, I mean?”
“He said: “All right, tell Mr. Bridwell I shall start
at once.'"


118
The Master Detective
“How long have you been in Mr. Bridwell's service ?”
"Three years,” was the answer. “He was traveling
in Italy, and I was a waiter in an hotel at Pisa. He liked
me and made me an offer, and I became his servant. I
have traveled much with him in all parts of Europe.”
“Are you sure you never saw either of the men who
dined here to-night while you were traveling with your
master in Italy?”
“I am sure, but on oath-it would be difficult to take
an oath. His friends were of a different kind. My
master was writing a book on Italy; he is still at work on
it. Ah, signore, I should say he was at work on it.
Shall I show you his papers in the other room ?”
The voluminous manuscripts proved that Bridwell was
engaged upon a monumental work dealing with the
Italian Renaissance.
"Most interesting,” said Quarles. “I should like to
sit down at once and spend hours with it. This is valu-
able. Mr. Bridwell's business man ought to take charge
of these papers. Do you know the name of his solici-
tors ?”
“Mr. Standish, in Hanover Square,” Masini answered.
The Italian declared he knew nothing about a lady's
bag, and we searched for it in vain. Then Quarles and I
interviewed the hall porter. He knew that Bridwell
had had two gentlemen to dine with him that evening,
but he had not taken any particular notice of them.
They left soon after eight, he said. He corroborated the
Italian's statement that he had gone out at seven, and
had returned just before nine.
“You didn't see a lady go up to Mr. Bridwell's flat?”.
“No, sir, but I was not in the entrance hall at the time
from eight to nine. It is usually a slack time with
me."


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 119
“I did not mean then,” said Quarles. "I meant at
any time during the day.”
“I do not remember a lady calling on Mr. Bridwell at
any time.”
It was early morning when the professor and I left
Duke's Mansions.
“There are two obvious things to do, Wigan,” said
Quarles. “First, we must know something of this man
Fisher. I think you should go to Harrow as soon as
possible. Then we want to know something of Brid-
well's parliamentary record. You might get an inter-
view with one or two of his colleagues, and ask their
opinion of him as a public man and as a private indi-
vidual. Come to Chelsea to-night. You will probably
have raked up a good many facts by then, and we may
find the right road to pursue. I will also make an
inquiry or two. At present I confess to being puz-
zled.”
“You told the doctor that you usually formed an
opinion before the inquest," I reminded him with a
smile.
“And he immediately talked of tablets and poisoned
foods, and looked horribly superior. He is a young man,
and I knew his father, who once did me a good turn. I
shall have to repay the debt and prevent the son making
a fool of himself.”
“You have no doubt that it was murder?” I asked.
“Why, you told me it was yourself when you rang me
up on the 'phone,” he answered.
As had often happened before, Quarles's manner of
shutting me up annoyed me, but when you have to deal
with an eccentric it is no use expecting him to travel in
an ordinary orbit.
To obviate unnecessary repetition I shall give the re-


120
The Master Detective
sult of my inquiries as I related it to Quarles and Zena
when I went to Chelsea that night.
“You look satisfied and successful, Wigan,” said the
professor.
“I am both,” I answered. “Whether we shall catch
the actual criminal is another matter. We may at least
lay our hands on one of his accomplices. Will it sur-".
prise you to learn that I am having the Italian Masini
carefully watched ?”
“It is a wise precaution."
“I am inclined to adopt the method you do sometimes,
professor, and begin at the end,” I went on. “First, as
regards Mr. Bridwell's parliamentary friends and ac-
quaintances, and his political career. Although he is a
Member whose voice is not often heard in the House, his
intimate knowledge of Europe, its general history and
politics, gives him importance. He is constantly con-
sulted by the Government, and his opinion is always con-
sidered valuable. His colleagues are unanimous on this
point, and generally he seems to be respected.”
“But the respect is not unanimous, you mean?”
“It is not."
“And in his private life?”
“I have not found any one who was intimate with him
in private.”
“I see; kept politics and his private life entirely sepa-
rate,” said Quarles.
"I am not prepared to say that," I answered. “I
have not had time to hunt up anybody on the private
side yet, and I do not think it will be necessary. One of
the men I saw was Reynolds, of the War Office. I was
advised to go and see him, as he was supposed to know
Bridwell well. He did not have much good to say about
him, It seems that for some time past there has been


122
The Master Detective
“It would appear then that Fisher could have had
nothing to do with Bridwell's legitimate political busi-
ness or he would certainly have spent some time in the
constituency. Well, Wigan, what do you make of the
case ?”
“I think it is fairly clear in its main points," I an-
swered. “Bridwell has been selling information to for-
eign powers, and would naturally deal with the highest
bidders. Fisher is a foreign agent, and having received
valuable information yesterday, left England with it at
once. The two men who came to dinner represented
some other power, came no doubt by appointment to re-
ceive information, but probably knew that their host was
dealing doubly with them. Bridwell's commercial in-
genuity in the matter has been his undoing, hence his
death. Whether Masini was attached to Fisher, or to the
schemes of the other two, it is impossible to say, but I
believe he was an accomplice on one side or the other.”
“I built up a similar theory, Wigan; not with the com-
pleteness you have, of course, because I knew nothing of
the suspicions concerning Bridwell, but when I had
made it as complete as I could, I began to pick it to
pieces. It fell into ruins rather easily, and you do not
help me to build it again.”
“It seems to me the main facts cannot be got away
from,” I said.
“Zena assisted in the ruining process by saying,
*Cherchez la femme.'”
“You see, Murray, you do not account for the woman
and the bag,” said Zena.
“They are extraneous incidents belonging to his pri-
vate life. It is remarkable how distinct he kept his pri-
vate from his political life.”
“Very remarkable,” Quarles said. “Yet the woman


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 123
is also a fact, and she seems to me of the utmost impor-
tance. We must account for her, and your explanation
brings me no sense of satisfaction. Let me tell you how
I began to demolish my theory, Wigan. I started with
Masini. Now, he seemed honest to me. He was very
ready to repeat Fisher's exact words, and the very fact
of my asking for them would have made him suspicious
and put him on his guard had he possessed any guilty
knowledge, whether it concerned Fisher or the two visi-
tors. Further, had he been in league with the two visi-
tors and knew they had murdered his master, he would
hardly have been so ready to block suspicion in other di-
rections. He would not have said his master's visitors
came chiefly from his constituency, and he certainly would
not have scouted the idea of a woman caller. He would
have welcomed such a suggestion, fully appreciating how
valuable a woman would be in starting an inquiry on a
false trail.”
“But you mustn't attribute to an Italian servant all
the subtlety you might use under similar circumstances,”
I said.
“I am showing you how I picked my own theory to
pieces,” he answered. “I next considered the visitors.
I assumed they were there for an unlawful purpose-
your facts go to show that my assumption was right—and
I asked myself why and how they had murdered Brid-
well. If he were a schemer with them, there would be no
need to murder him, no need to silence him; were he to
talk afterwards he would only injure himself, not them.
If they were there to force papers from their host, it
seems unlikely that he would be so unsuspicious of them
that he would have asked them to dinner, and, even if he
were, a moment must have come during, or after dinner,
when they must have shown their hand. A man who


124
The Master Detective
deals in this kind of commerce does not easily trust
people. Bridwell's suspicions would certainly have been
aroused; he would in some measure, at any rate, have
been prepared, and we should have found some signs of a
struggle.”
“I admit the soundness of the argument,” I an-
swered. “For my part I incline to Reynolds' opinion
that it was suicide after all.”
“Oh, no; it was murder," said Quarles.
“A tablet—" I began.
“I know it was murder," returned the professor
sharply, “and the manner of it has presented the chief
difficulty I have found in demolishing my theory alto-
gether. Bridwell was poisoned by an injection. The
hypodermic needle was inserted under the hair at the
back of the head, here in the soft part of the base of the
skull, the hair concealing the small mark it made. I
believe the secret of the poison used is forgotten, but you
may read of it in books relating to the Vatican of old
days and concerning the old families of Italy. I might
mention the Borgias particularly. So you see my diffi-
culty, Wigan. The crime literally reeked of Italy, and
we had two Italians amongst our dramatis personæ.”
“A significant fact,” I said.
“Of course I am letting the doctor know of my dis-
covery; that is the good turn I shall do him. He will be
considered quite smart over this affair. Now consider
this point. It would surely have been very difficult,
once the host's suspicions had been aroused, to make the
injection without a struggle on the victim's part."
“No suspicion may have been aroused,” I said.
“Masini has told us of a map. The murderer might have
been leaning over his victim examining it.”


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 125
"That is true. You pick out the weak point," said
Quarles.
“Even then there would have been some sort of strug-
gle, surely,” said Zena. "The poison can hardly act in-
stantaneously."
“Practically it does," Quarles answered. “I have
read of it, of the different methods of its administra-
tion, and of its results, and no doubt any one acquainted
with old Italian manuscripts would be able to get more
detailed information than I have; but it produces al-
most instant paralysis, acts on the nerve centers, and
stops the heart's action, leaving no trace behind it.
What struggle there was could be overcome by the pres-
sure of a man's hand upon the victim's chest, to keep
him from rising from his seat, for instance. I found
signs of such a detaining hand on Bridwell's shirt front.
Of course, Wigan, while pulling my theory to pieces I
knew nothing of your facts about Bridwell, but now that
I do know them, the theory is not saved from ruin.
Have you ever watched trains rushing through a great
junction—say Clapham Junction ?”
“Yes; often.”
“And haven't you noticed how the lines, crossing and
recrossing one another, seem to be alive, seem to be try-
ing to draw the train to run upon them, to deviate it
from its course, until you almost wonder whether the
train will be able to keep its right road? There seems
to be great confusion; yet we know this is not so. We
know those many lines are mathematically correct. If
you want to keep your eye on the main line, you mustn't
be misled by the lines which touch and cross it, which
seem to belong to it, until they suddenly sweep off in an-
other direction. In this Bridwell affair we have to be


126
The Master Detective
careful not to be misled by cross lines, and I grant there
are many. You say the woman is an extraneous epi-
sode; but is she? She left a bag, which is not to be
found. Had Masini known of her existence I do not
think he would have denied all knowledge of her, for the
reasons I have already given, and I argue that her visit
to the flat was timed to occur when the servant was out,
so that he should know nothing about her. The hall
porter knew nothing about a lady visiting the flat at any
time, so we must assume the woman was not a constant
visitor. Moreover, we know that she had something to
hide, some secret, or she would not have ceased speaking
directly she found she was addressing a stranger. She
probably belonged to Bridwell's private life. Now Zena
says, 'Cherchez la femme,' but there is no need to look
for her; she forces herself upon our notice. We know
that Bridwell was alive at seven o'clock; we know his
visitors did not leave him until eight. It is hardly con-
ceivable that the woman came to the flat after that to
commit a crime, impossible to believe that she would leave
her bag there to be evidence against her, and then tele-
phone about it to a man she knew to be dead. We may
dismiss from our minds any idea that she committed mur-
der.”
“I can see a possibility of immense subtlety on her
part," I said.
“That is to be deceived by a crossing line, which
ought not to deceive you, which leads only into a siding,"
said Quarles. “We have to remember that there was a
bag, and that it has disappeared.”
“She may have made a mistake and left it somewhere
else,” said Zena.
“I think we may be sure it was left there, because she
states distinctly where it was left-on the Chesterfield.


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions 127
There was something in her mind to fix the place. More-
over, she says, “Better not send it.' Very significant,
that. Bridwell is to keep it until she comes again.
Therefore there was some person she would not have
know of her visit to the flat, some person who might pos-
sibly find out if the bag were returned. I suggest that
person was her husband.”
“I think you have struck the side line,” I remarked.
“Let me continue to build on the private life of Mr.
Bridwell,” Quarles went on. “I find a foundation in his
literary work—no mean work, absorbing a great part of
his life. There would be constant need to refer to li-
braries, to pictures and other works of art, some of them
in private collections. A great deal of this work could
be done by an assistant. Shall we say the name of this
assistant was Fisher? I observe you do not think it
likely."
“I certainly do not.”
“But a secret agent engaged in stealing Government
information would hardly advertise his movements to his
landlady; he would surely have been more secret than
that. On the other hand, the places Fisher mentions
have famous libraries and picture galleries. What
would a secret agent want at Oxford? A man bent on
research would be going to the Bodleian. Country seats
with famous works of art in their galleries would ac-
count for Fisher's presence in other places mentioned by
the landlady.”
“Is it not strange the Italian servant knew nothing
about this wonderful assistant ?” I said.
“No doubt Bridwell usually saw him in town, at his
club, or elsewhere, or communicated with him through
the post; but on this occasion Masini was purposely sent
to be out of the way when the lady came. We know


128
The Master Detective
there was some need for secrecy, and I suggest that Brid-
well was in love with another man's wife. In passing,
I would point out that the answer Fisher sent back bears
out my idea of the assistantship.”
“It may,” I answered.
“Now Bridwell's work on the Italian Renaissance no
doubt has much information concerning the Vatican, and
much to say about the prominent Italian families. As a
student, Bridwell would be likely to know all about the
romances of poisoned bouquets, gloves, prepared sweet-
meats, and the rest of the diabolical cunning which ex-
isted."
“But we know that he didn't kill himself,” I said.
“Exactly. We have to find some one who shared the
knowledge with him. Let me go back to the missing bag
for a moment. Since it was on the Chesterfield, Bridwell
must have seen it. What would he do with it? What
would you have done with it, Wigan? I think you would
have just put it on a side table or in a handy drawer; yet
it had gone. The fact of its disappearance stuck in my
mind from the first, although I did not at once see the
full significance of it. On the cover of the telephone
directory there were two or three numbers scribbled in
pencil; I made a note of them with the idea that the
woman might be traced that way. However, arguing
that a man would be likely to know the telephone num-
ber of a woman he was in love with, and have no neces-
sity to write it down, I took no trouble in this direction.
I went to see Bridwell's solicitor instead. I led him to
suppose that I was interested in the study of the Renais-
sance, and asked him if Bridwell had had a companion
during his wanderings in Italy three years ago. For
part of the time, at any rate, he had a partner rather
than a companion, a man named Ormrod-Peter Orm-


The Tragedy in Duke's Mansions
129
rod. I knew the name at once, because Ormrod has
written many articles for the reviews, and all of them
have been about Italy in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. Ormrod’s telephone number is 0054 Croydon,
and he is married, and I think it was his wife who spoke
to you over the telephone. My theory is that Ormrod
had discovered that his wife was in love with his friend,
and used his knowledge of this poisoning method, which
could not be detected, remember, to be revenged. I
think he came to the flat that evening after Bridwell's
guests had gone, perhaps he expected to find his wife
there. I do not think he quarreled with his false friend.
I think he showed great friendliness, talked a little of the
past perhaps; and then, in examining some book or paper,
leant over his friend as he sat at the table, and the deed
was done. If the bag was lying on a side table he saw it
and took it away; if it was lying in a drawer no doubt
he found it while he was looking for letters from his
wife to Bridwell, or for her photograph-anything which
would connect her name with Bridwell. Somehow, he
found it and took it away. There is no one else who
would be likely to take it.”
This was the solution. It was proved beyond all doubt
that Bridwell had been dealing in Government secrets,
and changes had to be made to ensure that the informa-
tion he had sold should be useless to the purchasers; but
this crime had nothing to do with his murder. The dé-
nouement was rather startling. When we went to Orm-
rod's house next day we found that he had gone. His
wife, after fencing with us a little, was perfectly open.
She had arranged to go away with Bridwell and had
visited him that day to talk over final arrangements. It
was the first time she had ever been to the flat. Yester-
day, a telegram had come for her husband. He opened


180
The Master Detective
it in her presence, and told her he was going away at
once, and for good. Then he gave her the bag, saying
he had found it in Bridwell's rooms on the previous eve-
ning. Bridwell was dead, that was why he was going
away.
The solicitor Standish was a friend of Ormrod's, and
after Quarles had gone had suddenly realized what the
inquiry might mean, so had telegraphed a warning.


132
The Master Detective
what his master kept in the safe or in the cupboard.
Well, all I can say is, I do not believe him.”
I was inclined to agree with her, but in silence I went
on looking through the notes I had made concerning the
extraordinary case which must be solved quickly if the
solution were to be of any benefit to the country.
Quarles was also silent, continuing his work as an amateur
cubist.
He had expressed no definite opinion since the case
had come into his hands, nor had he laughed at any specu-
lation of mine, a sure sign that he was barren of ideas.
I had never known him so reticent.
It was his case entirely, not mine, and the fact that the
government had considered he was the only man likely
to get to the bottom of the mystery was a recognition of
his powers, which pleased him no doubt. Twenty-four
hours had elapsed since he had been put in possession of
the facts, and although they had been spent in tireless
energy by both of us—for he had immediately sent for
me—we seemed as far from the truth as ever.
On the previous Tuesday Lady Chilcot had given a
dance in her house in Mayfair. Her entertainments al-
ways had a political flavor, and on this particular eve-
ning her rooms seemed to have been full of conflicting
influences.
There was considerable political tension at the time,
consequent upon one of those periodical disturbances in
the Balkans, and people remarked upon the coolness be-
tween the Minister for War and certain ambassadors who
were all present at Lady Chilcot's.
Imagination may have had something to do with this
conclusion, but two apparently trivial incidents assumed
importance as regards the case in hand. The Silesian
ambassador was seen in very earnest conversation with a


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 133
young man attached to the Silesian Embassy; and the
Minister of War had buttonholed young Lanning.
Of course, we did not know what the Silesians had
talked about, but to Lanning the minister had remarked
that, in view of the political situation, the experiments
which had been witnessed that day might prove to be
of supreme importance. Lanning expressed gratification
that the experiments had been found convincing, and
ventured to hope the government would not delay get-
ting to work.
With the minister's assurance that the government
was keen, Richard Lanning went to find Barbara Chilcot,
Lady Chilcot's daughter, but not to talk about the Min-
ister of War or about any experiments. He was in love
with her, and had every reason to believe that she liked
him.
She was, however, very cool to him that evening, and
sarcastically inquired why he was not in attendance upon
Mademoiselle Duplaix as usual. She only laughed at
his denials, and when he suggested that she should ask
his friend, Perry Nixon, whether there was any ground
for her suspicions, said that when she danced with Mr.
Nixon later in the evening she hoped to find something
more interesting to talk about than Mademoiselle
Duplaix.
Lanning comforted himself with the reflection that if
Barbara were indifferent to him she would have said
nothing about Yvonne Duplaix, and as he had another
dance with her at the end of the program hoped to make
his peace then.
When this dance came, however, he could not find her,
and afterwards discovered that she had sat it out with
the young Silesian. He was angry and felt a little re-
vengeful, but he did not mention Barbara to Perry Nixon


134
The Master Detective
when they left the house together and walked to Picca-
dilly.
He left Nixon at the corner of Bond Street and went
to his flat in Jermyn Street.
He found his man, Winbush, lying on the dining-room
floor, gagged and half unconscious. The safe in his bed-
room had been broken open, important papers had been
stolen from it, and a wooden case, which he had locked in
a cupboard there, had been taken away.
Fully alive to the gravity of the loss, and oblivious of
the fact that neglect would be attributed to him, he im-
mediately telephoned to the Minister of War.
Then he 'phoned to Nixon's rooms in Bond Street, and
Nixon came round at once. Up to that time Lanning had
said nothing about the experiments to his friend; now he
told him the whole story.
Richard Lanning belonged to the Army Flying Corps,
and was not only a good airman, but was an authority
upon flying machines. For some time past there had
been secret trials of various types of stabilizers, and one
invention, somewhat altered at Lanning's suggestion,
had proved so successful that safety in flight seemed as-
sured in the near future.
Detailed plans had been prepared, a working model
constructed, and only that afternoon these had been
secretly exhibited by Lanning in London to a few mem-
bers of the government and some War Office officials.
Only four men at the works knew anything about the
secret, and even their knowledge was not complete, so
it seemed impossible that information could leak out,
yet the plans and the working model had been stolen.
Of course Lanning was blamed for having them at his
flat; he ought to have taken them back to the works. The
fact that this would have meant missing Lady Chilcot's


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 135
dance was an added mark against him, and suggested a
neglect of duty.
Under the circumstances publicity was not desirable,
and Christopher Quarles was asked to solve the mystery.
Instructions were telegraphed to the various ports with a
view to preventing the model and the plans being taken
out of the country, and, as I have said, the professor and
I entered upon a strenuous time.
All our preliminary information naturally came from
Lanning, who appeared quite indifferent to his own posi-
tion so long as the stolen property was recovered.
The man Winbush could throw little light upon the
affair. He was in his own room when he had heard a
noise in the passage and supposed his master had re-
turned earlier than he expected. To make sure, he had
gone to the dining-room, but before he could switch on
the light he had been seized from behind, a pungent smell
was in his nostrils, and he was only just beginning to re-
cover consciousness when his master found him.
He had not seen his assailants, he could not say how
many there were, and he was inclined to think one of
them was a woman, he told Quarles, because when he
first entered the dining-room there was a faint perfume
which suggested a woman's presence.
“It was like a woman when she is dressed for a party,”
he said in explanation.
He had seen his master bring in the wooden case that
afternoon, but he did not know what it contained.
As Zena said, it sounded a lame story, but Lanning be-
lieved it. Winbush had been connected with the family
all his life, was devoted to him, and it was not likely he
would know what the case contained. Lanning could
only suppose that some man at the works had turned
traitor, while Mr. Nixon gave it as his opinion that either


136
The Master Detective
France or Germany had pulled the strings of the robbery.
Acting under Quarles's instructions, I had an interview
with Miss Chilcot. She corroborated Lanning's story in
every detail so far as she was concerned, and incidentally
I understood there was no more than a lover's quarrel
between them. She had sat out with the young Silesian
on purpose to annoy Richard. Certainly they had talked
of aeroplaning; it was natural, since two days before she
had seen some flying at Ranelagh, but Lanning's name
had not been mentioned. Miss Chilcot knew nothing
about the experiments which had taken place, nor was
she aware that her lover was responsible for some of the
improvements which had been made in stabilizers.
Rather inconsequently she was annoyed that he had not
confided in her. Miss Chilcot carried with her a faint
odor of Parma violets. Quarles had told me to note par-
ticularly whether she used any kind of perfume.
I was convinced of two things; first, that she was tell-
ing the truth without concealing anything, and, secondly,
that Mr. Lanning was likely to marry a very charming
but rather exacting young woman. When I said so to
Quarles he annoyed me by remarking that some women
were capable of making lies sound much more convincing
than the truth.
I did not attempt to get an interview with Mademoiselle
Duplaix, but I made inquiries concerning her, and had.
a man watching her movements.
Apparently she was the daughter of a good French
family, and was making a prolonged stay with the Payne-
Kennedys, who moved in very good society. You may
see their name constantly in the Morning Post. It was
whispered that they were not above accepting a hand-
some fee for introducing a protégée into society, a form
of log-rolling which is far more prevalent than people


The Stolen Aeroplane Model
137
imagine. Whether the girl's entrance into London so-
ciety had been paid for or not I am unable to say, but
she had quickly established herself as a success. It was
generally agreed that she was both witty and charming,
the kind of girl men easily run after, but not the sort
they usually marry.
She had evidently managed to cause dissension in
various directions, so the suggestion that there was some-
thing of the adventuress about her might be nothing
more than a spiteful comment. It justified us in keeping
a watch upon her, but I had no definite opinion in the
matter, not having seen the lady, and, as Quarles said, a
fascinating foreigner is easily called an adventuress.
I also made careful inquiries concerning the young
Silesian, and had him pointed out to me. He had re-
cently come from his own capital, and was remaining in
London only for a short time. He was a relative of the
ambassador, and was not here in any official capacity, it
was stated. This might be true so far as it went, but at
the same time he might be connected with the secret
service.
The professor said very little about his investigations,
and I concluded he had met with no success. He had
spent some hours with Lanning at the works, I knew, but
if he had tapped any other sources of information he did
not mention them.
He was still engaged in his cubist's drawings when
the telephone bell rang.
“I'll go,” he said as Zena jumped up; “I am expect-
ing a message.”
He went into the hall, and when he returned told us
that Lanning and Nixon were on their way to Chelsea.
“I told them to 'phone me if anything happened,” he
said.


138
The Master Detective
bly have to get a to say, Wigan, antney. We
“And you expected to hear from them?” I asked.
“My name is Micawber when I am in a hole, and I
wait for something to turn up. Waiting is occasionally
the best way of getting to the end of the journey. We
will hear what they have to say, Wigan, and then we
shall possibly have to get a move on.”
Evidently he had a theory, but he would say nothing
about it. He amused himself by explaining that me-
chanical action, such as drawing meaningless lines and
curves, as he had been doing, had the effect of giving the
brain freedom to think, and declared that it was during
times of this sort of freedom that inspiration most usually
came.
He was still engrossed with the subject when Lanning
and Nixon arrived.
Quarles introduced them to Zena, saying that she al-
ways helped him in his investigations.
“Oh, no, not as a clairvoyant,” he said with a smile as
both men looked astonished. “She just uses common
sense, a very valuable thing in detective work, I can as-
sure you.”
“Are you any nearer a solution ?” Lanning asked. .
"I thought you had come to give me some informa-
tion,” Quarles returned.
“I have, but,"
“Sit down, then, and to business. I am still wanting
facts, which are more useful than all my theories."
"Mademoiselle Duplaix telephoned to me this morn-
ing,” said Lanning. “A man called on her to-day, a
mysterious foreigner. He gave no name, but she thinks
he was a Silesian, although he spoke perfect French. He
talked to her in French, his English being of a fragmen-
tary kind. He asked her to give him the plans of the
new aeroplane. You can imagine her surprise. When


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 139
she said she had got no plans he expressed great aston-
ishment and plunged into the whole story of how I had
been robbed. Until that moment Mademoiselle knew
nothing of what had happened in my flat, but this for-
eigner had evidently got hold of the whole story.".
“Who had told him to call upon her?” Quarles asked.
“In the course of an excited narrative he mentioned
two or three names entirely unknown to her, but the
man seemed to think that I should have sent her the
plans.”
“Very curious,” Quarles remarked.
“He then became apologetic,” Lanning went on, “but
all the same left the impression that he did not believe
her; in fact, she describes his attitude as rather threaten-
ing. It wasn't until after he had gone that she thought
she ought to have him followed, and then it was too late.
He was out of the street. Probably he had a motor
waiting for him. Then she telephoned to me, but I was
out, and have only just received her message. What
do you make of it?”
“It gives a new turn to the affair,” said Quarles re-
flectively. “It leaves an unpleasant doubt whether
Mademoiselle Duplaix is as innocent as she ought to be,
doesn't it?”
“I don't think so."
“Would she have telephoned to Lanning if she were
guilty?” said Nixon.
“My experience is that where women are concerned it
is very difficult to tell what line of action will be fol-
lowed. Women are distinctly more subtle than men.”
Then after a pause the professor went on: “It is diffi-
cult to understand how this foreigner could have made
such a mistake. You have told us, Mr. Lanning, that
there is nothing between you and this lady, but Miss


140
The Master Detective
Chilcot had her suspicions, remember, which suggests
that, without intending to do so, you have paid her at-
tentions which other people have misunderstood. Now,
do you think you have given Mademoiselle Duplaix a
wrong impression, made her believe, in short, that you
cared for her, and so caused her to be jealous and per-
haps inclined to be revengeful ?”
“I am sure I have not.”
“Think well, it is a very important point. For in-
stance, has she ever given you any keepsake, a glove, a
handkerchief, something-some trifle she was wearing
at a dance when—when you flirted with her? Girls
do that kind of thing, so my niece there has told
me.”
Zena smiled and made no denial.
“Nothing of the kind has happened between Made-
moiselle and myself,” said Lanning.
“And yet there seems to be a distinct attempt on
some one's part to implicate you."
“That is true, and I am quite at a loss to understand
it.”
“I have wondered whether it is not a clever device to
put us off the trail," said Nixon. "Your investigations
may have led you nearer the truth than you imagined,
Mr. Quarles, and this may be an attempt to set you off on
a wrong scent. It seems such an obvious clue, doesn't
it? They would guess that Lanning would communicate
with you.”
“That hardly explains why they went to Mademoiselle
Duplaix, does it?'
“But the fact that she is French may,” Nixon an-
swered. “Perhaps I am prejudiced, but I believe Silesia
has pulled the strings of this affair, and that would be a
very good reason for trying to implicate France. It has


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 141
occurred to Lanning whether the plot might not be frus-
trated at the other end of it, so to speak. Lanning thinks
it would be a good idea if we went to Silesia.”
“What do you think of the idea ?”' Lanning asked. “I
should have our Embassy there behind me, and I should
probably manage to get in touch with the men who are
active in Silesia's secret service. I mentioned it to my
chief this morning, and he thought there was a great deal
in it, but advised a consultation with you first."
“I think it is a good idea,” said Quarles, “and it sug-
gests another one. I am still a little doubtful about
Mademoiselle Duplaix, and I have a strong impression
that she could at least tell us more if she would, but
that she is afraid of hurting you."
“It is most unlikely.”
“Well, let me put it to the test, Mr. Lanning. Just
writem let me see, how will it be best to word it? 'I am
going to Silesia—' By the way, when will you go?”.
“I thought to-night.”
“It is as well not to waste time,” said Quarles. “Then
write, 'I am going to Silesia to-night. I want you to be
perfectly open with the bearer of this note and do what-
ever he advises. If you would be a true friend to me,
tell him everything. Put your ordinary signature to it.
With that in my possession I will get to work at once, and
if I discover anything of importance, and it should be
necessary to stop your journey, I will meet your train
to-night."
“It seems like an impertinence,” Lanning said as he
wrote the note.
“When there is so much at stake I shouldn't let that
worry you," said Nixon.
No sooner had they gone than Quarles became alert.
“Now we move, Wigan. First of all, we have an ap-


142
The Master Detective
pointment in Kensington, at the Blue Lion, near the
church, quite a respectable hostelry.”
“Not to meet Mademoiselle Duplaix, surely?”
“No, she can wait. Respectable as it is, I do not sup-
pose Mademoiselle frequents the Blue Lion, but we may
find there the man who called upon her this morning.”
We took a taxi to Kensington. Every moment seemed
to be bursting with importance for Quarles now.
The first person I caught sight of at the Blue Lion was
Winbush, evidently waiting for some one. He recognized
us, and Quarles went to him.
“You are waiting for Mr. Lanning.”
The man hesitated.
“I know,” Quarles went on, “because I have just left
your master. He is in trouble.”
“In trouble!”
“Oh, we shall get him out of it all right. There is
some mistake. I have a message for you. Come inside.”
We found a corner to ourselves, and the professor, hav-
ing ordered drinks, showed Winbush the note which Lan-
ning had written to Mademoiselle Duplaix. It was not
addressed to her, and was so worded that it might be
meant for any one. Winbush read it and looked at
Quarles.
“While your master is in Silesia I have certain work
to do here, and to do it I must have your complete story,”
said the professor. “You appreciate the fact that Mr.
Lanning looks upon you as a friend and wishes you to
tell me all you know.”
“I do, sir, only I don't see how my story is going to
help him.”
“It is going to help us to put our hand on the man
who is really guilty.”
“It has all been very mysterious,” said Winbush, “and


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 143
I have not been able to understand my master at all.
What I have said about hearing a noise in the passage
and being seized before I could switch on the light in the
dining-room is all true, but the stuff which was put into
my face and made me unconscious wasn't there before I
had time to call out.”
“You called out, then?”
“No, I didn't, because the man spoke to me.”
“Oh, it was a man—not a woman?”
“It was Mr. Lanning himself,” said Winbush.
This was so unexpected that I nearly exclaimed at it,
but Quarles just watched the speaker as if he would make
certain that he was telling nothing but the truth.
“He spoke quickly and excitedly,” Winbush went on.
“Said it was necessary that the flat should appear to
have been robbed. I should presently be discovered
bound. I was to say that I had been attacked in the dark
and that I did not know by whom nor by how many. I
was not to speak about the matter to him again under
any circumstances, and even if he questioned me alone
or before others. I was to stick to my story of utter igno-
rance. I had just said that I understood and heard him
say that he would probably question me to prove my
faithfulness, when he put the stuff over my mouth and
nose, and I knew no more until he found me there later
on."
“Has he questioned you since?”
"Not since he first found me lying on the floor. He
did then, and I obeyed his instructions just as I did when
you talked to me afterwards.”
“Did he suggest you should say a woman was pres-
ent?”
“No, sir.”
“That was a little extra trimming of your own, eh?”


144
The Master Detective
“No, it was a bit of truth that crept in. I thought a
woman was there.”
“By the perfume?"
“Yes, sir.”
Quarles brought from the depth of a pocket a tissue-
paper parcel, from which he took a handkerchief.
"Was that the perfume?”
Winbush smelt it.
“It may have been. It was the perfume that hangs
about a woman in evening dress.”
“That's Parma violets, Wigan,” said the professor,
waving the handkerchief towards me. It was one of his
own, so had evidently been specially prepared for this
test. “I wonder what percentage of women use the
scent? It is not much of a clue for us, I am afraid.”
He put the handkerchief away, and then from another
pocket produced a second handkerchief, also wrapped in
tissue paper.
This time it was a fragile affair of lawn and lace.
“Smell that, Mr. Winbush.”
"That's it!” the man exclaimed; no hesitation this
time.
“You can swear to it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rather a pleasant scent but peculiar, Wigan. I do
not know what it is.”
Nor did I, but the handkerchief interested me.
Worked in the corner were the letters “Y. D.”
“I can get to work now, Mr. Winbush,” said Quarles.
“Your master tells you to do whatever I advise. Of
course, I understand that in keeping these facts to your-
self you were acting in your master's interests, but were
it generally known that you had suppressed the truth


The Stolen Aeroplane Model 145
you might get into trouble. Have you any relatives in
town?"
“I have a married nephew out Hampstead way.”
“Most fortunate. You go straight off and see him, get
him to put you up for the night, but whatever you do
keep away from Jermyn Street until to-morrow morning.
You will spoil my efforts on your master's behalf if you
turn up at the flat before then.”
Winbush promised to obey these instructions, and
Quarles and I left the Blue Lion.
“After hearing that Lanning was coming to see me this
afternoon, I telephoned a telegram to Winbush,” ex-
plained the professor when we were outside. “He
thought it came from his master telling him to meet him
at the Blue Lion. Lanning will have to do his own pack-
ing for once. Winbush's story is rather a surprising one,
eh, Wigan?'
“And most unexpected,” I said.
“Well, no, not quite unexpected,” he answered in
that superior manner which is so exasperating at times.
“I got that note from Lanning for the purpose of getting
the man to tell me the truth.”
“At any rate, you were mistaken in supposing that
Mademoiselle's mysterious foreigner would be at the Blue
Lion,” I returned.
“Not at all. He was there."
“Winbush!” I exclaimed.
“No, Christopher Quarles. I called on Mademoiselle
Duplaix this morning. I thought she would communi-
cate directly or indirectly with Lanning; that is why I
was expecting a message from him. I was also fortunate
enough to appropriate her handkerchief. To-night I be-
come the distinguished foreigner again; you had better


146 The Master Detective
be an elderly gentleman with a stoop. We are traveling
to Harwich. Don't forget a revolver; it may be useful.
We must get to Liverpool Street early; we shall want
plenty of time at the station."
He left me without waiting to be questioned. I was
annoyed, and was pretty certain that he had overlooked
one important fact. Surely Lanning must have realized
how dangerous it was to give such a note to Quarles ?
Knowing the story Winbush could tell, he would not have
been deceived by the statement that the letter was in-
tended for Mademoiselle Duplaix. He was far too clever
for that. He and Winbush were no doubt working to-
gether, and the man's story was no doubt part of an ar-
ranged scheme. It seemed to me that the immediate
recognition of the second scent was suspicious. The
man was probably prepared for the test.
I thought it likely that Quarles had met his match this
time, and I did not expect to see Richard Lanning at the
station.
However, he was there with Mr. Nixon.
“Are they both in it?" I asked Quarles as we watched
them.
“No, I don't think so," was his doubtful answer.
We were still watching them as they spoke to the
guard, when I started and called the professor's at-
tention to a tall, military-looking man who was hurrying
along the platform.
"That is the young man at the Silesian Embassy,” I
said. “He is evidently going back. Are we to see
Mademoiselle Duplaix come along next?”
“We are only concerned with Lanning for the pres-
ent,” Quarles answered, “and we have got to travel in
the same carriage with him and Nixon. I expect they


148
The Master Detective
“Steady,” said the professor. “If your hand does not
from your pocket come in one blink of an eye you are a
dead man. This is a big matter."
Quarles had covered him with a revolver, and follow-
ing his lead I covered Nixon.
For a moment it was a tableau, not a sound nor a move-
ment in the carriage.
“As you say, it is a big matter," said Lanning, taking
his hand from his pocket.
He was for diplomacy rather than force, or perhaps
he was a coward at heart. Nixon showed more courage
and was quicker in his movements. His revolver was
halfway out before I had slid along the seat and had my
weapon at his head.
“It is of no use," said Quarles. “It is not by accident
we are here. We know, no matter how, but we know for
certain that the plans of a wonderful aeroplane which
cannot come to harm, and a model of it, are traveling by
this train to-night. We came here to take them. We
are sorry to disturb you, but it is necessary.”
Lanning laughed.
“Would it astonish you to hear we are after the very
same things ?”
“It would, because I tell you they are in this car-
riage.”
“Where?'' asked Lanning, still laughing.
"There, in that big portmanteau.” And Quarles
pointed to one on the rack above Nixon's head.
I was only just in time to bring my weapon down on
Nixon's wrist as he whipped out-his revolver.
“Hold him, Wigan; he is dangerous,” said Quarles,
speaking in his natural voice. “We will have a look in
that portmanteau, Mr. Lanning.”
The plans and the model in its wooden case were


150
The Master Detective
might have been aroused in your mind. Winbush, how-
ever, went a little beyond his instructions, and said he
thought a woman was present, because of a perfume he
noticed when he first entered the room. That particular
perfume is used by Mademoiselle Duplais, and I should
hazard a guess that Mr. Nixon had stolen her handker-
chief that evening, not a criminal offense, but a matter
of flirtation.”
“But he was at Lady Chilcot's, and left there with
me," said Lanning.
“If he has kept his program I expect you will find
some consecutive places in it blank. Until this after-
noon, Mr. Lanning, I confess that I was uncertain
whether you had been your own burglar or not, for it
was evident to me that your man knew something. I
was convinced you were innocent when you wrote that
note for me. I rather wonder Mr. Nixon did not real-
ize the danger, but I suppose he felt confident that
Mademoiselle's visitor had entirely put me on the wrong
trail. I do not think Mademoiselle Duplaix is in any
way a party to the theft, but I think it is up to Mr. Nixon
to make this quite clear."
It is only doing Perry Nixon justice to say that he did
clear up this point, but not by word of mouth.
At Harwich he ingeniously gave us the slip, but in a
letter to Lanning, received from Paris a week later, he
said that he alone was responsible for the theft, and that
neither Mademoiselle Duplaix nor any one else had any
hand in it, nor any knowledge of it.
From some remarks Lanning had let fall he concluded
that some important development had occurred in the
stabilizing of flying machines—a matter his employers
were interested in and he had watched his friend's
movements. He guessed that secret experiments had


The Stolen Aeroplane Model
151
been tried that day when he saw Lanning take the
wooden case to his flat, and during the evening he had
slipped away from Lady Chilcot's dance, returning
when he had deposited the model and the plans in a safe
place.
He did not say where this safe place was, and since he
had persistently suggested that either France or Ger-
many had pulled the strings of the robbery, he was prob-
ably working for neither of these countries.
Shortly afterwards Richard Lanning's engagement to
Miss Chilcot was announced, and I imagine he is still
working to perfect a stabilizer, for, although the model
appears to have done all that was required of it, the ac-
tual machine proved defective, I understand.


CHAPTER VIII
THE AFFAIR OF THE CONTESSA’S PEARLS
I THINK it was when talking about the stolen model
1 that Quarles made the paradoxical statement that
facts are not always the best evidence. I argued the
point, and remained entirely of an opposite opinion un-
til I had to investigate the case of a pair of pearl ear-
rings, and then I was driven into thinking there was
something in Quarles's statement. It was altogether a
curious affair, and showed the professor in a new light
which caused Zena and myself some trouble.
The Contessa di Castalani occupied rooms at one of
the big West End hotels, a self-contained suite, consist-
ing of a sitting-room, two bedrooms, and vestibule. She
had her child with her, a little girl of about three years
old, and a French maid named Angélique.
Returning to the hotel one afternoon unexpectedly,
she met, but took no particular notice of, two men in
the corridor which led to her suite. Hotel servants
she supposed them to be, and as she entered the little
vestibule Angélique came from the contessa's bedroom.
There was no reason why she should not go in there; in
fact, she carried a reason in her hand. She had been
to get a clean frock for the child. The one she had
worn on the previous day was too soiled to put on.
That evening the contessa wished to wear a special
pair of pearl earrings, but when she went to get the
little leather case which contained the pearls, it was
missing.
152


The Contessa's Pearls
153
40.
Although her boxes and drawers were not much dis-
arranged, it was quite evident to her that they had
been searched, but nothing else had been taken ap-
parently.
It did not occur to her to suspect the maid, partly,
no doubt, because she remembered the men in the corri-
dor, and she immediately sent for the manager.
The police were called in. The men in the corridor
could not be accounted for, but a search resulted in the
finding of the leather case under the bed. The earrings
had gone.
Naturally police suspicion fell on the French maid,
but the contessa absolutely refused such an explanation.
Angélique, who was passionately fond of her and of the
child, would not do such a thing.
The case looked simple enough, but it proved to be one
in which facts did not constitute the best evidence. In-
deed, they proved somewhat misleading.
Beautiful, romantic, eccentric, superstitious, and
most unfortunate according to her own account, the
Contessa di Castalani was the sensation of a whole Lon-
don season.
As a dancer of a bizarre kind, she had set Paris nod-
ding to the rhythm of her movements and raving about
the beauty of her eyes and hair. Her reputation had
preceded her to London, and when she appeared at the
Regency it was universally admitted that she far sur-
passed everything that had been said about her.
The press had duly informed the public that Castalani
was one of the oldest and most honored names in Italy.
There had been a Castalani in the Medici time, a close
friend of the magnificent Lorenzo, it was asserted.
One paper declared that a Castalani had worn the triple
tiara, which a learned don of Oxford took the trouble


154 The Master Detective
to write and deny. And it would appear that no one
who had ever borne the name had been altogether unim-
portant.
How the family, resident in Pisa, liked this publicity,
I do not know. They made no movement to repudiate
this daughter of their house, and I have no reason what
ever to doubt that the lady had a perfect right to her
title. I never heard any scandalous tale about her
which even seemed true, and if she and her husband
were happier going each their own way, it was their af-
fair.
So much mystery was woven round her during her
appearances in the European capitals, that I do not guar-
antee the correctness of my statements when I say she
was of humble origin, a Russian gipsy, I have heard,
seen in a Hungarian village by young Castalani, who
immediately fell in love with her and married her.
Although in the course of this investigation I saw her
many times and she talked a great deal about herself,
she was always vague when she was dealing with facts.
I am only concerned with her appearance in London.
She attracted overflowing houses to the Regency. A
real live countess performing bizarre and daring dances
was undoubtedly the attraction to some, the woman's
splendid beauty charmed others, while a third section
could talk of nothing but her wonderful jewelry.
At least two foolish young peers were said to be in
love with her, and there were tales of a well-known
Cabinet Minister constantly occupying a stall at the
Regency when he ought to have been in his seat in the
House.
Had I not taken Christopher Quarles and Zena to
the Regency one evening I should probably never have
known anything further of the contessa, but it so hap-


The Contessa's Pearls
155
pened that the professor was very much attracted by
her.
He went to the Regency three times in one week to
study the inward significance of her dances, he de-
clared. He treated me to a learned discourse concern-
ing them, and was furious when one journal, slightly
puritanical in tone, perhaps, said that they were gen-
erally unedifying, and in one case, at any rate, im-
modest.
Zena and I began by laughing at the professor, but
he did not like it. He was quite serious in his admi-
ration, and declared that nothing would afford him
greater pleasure than an introduction to the dancer.
To his delight he got what he wanted, and inciden-
tally solved one of the most curious cases we have ever
been engaged in together.
In the ordinary way the case would never have come
into my hands. It was at Quarles's instigation that I
asked to be employed upon it, and since small and in-
significant affairs are sometimes ramifications of big
mysteries, no surprise was caused by my request.
I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that it
was the introduction to the woman which interested
Quarles rather than her pearls. Indeed, he appeared to
think of nothing else beyond making himself agreeable.
It seemed to me she was just as interested in him,
talked about herself in a naïve kind of way, and was
delighted when her little girl, Nella, took a tremendous
fancy to the professor, demanding to be taken on his
knee and to have his undivided attention.
Christopher Quarles, in fact, presented quite an un-
familiar side of his character to me, and I do not think
he would have bothered about the pearls at all but for
the fact that the contessa was superstitious about them.


156
The Master Detective
“They were given to me by a Hungarian count,” she
said in her pretty broken English; “just two pearls.
I had them made into earrings. It was the best way
I could wear them. They are perfect, and they have
a history. They were a thank-offering to some idol in
Burmah, but were afterwards sold or stolen–I do not
know which. It does not matter; it was a very long
time ago; but what does matter is that they bring good
luck. I shall be nothing without them, do you see?''
“That I will not believe You will always be—”.
“Beautiful,” she said before Quarles could complete
the sentence. “Ah, yes, I know that. I have been told
that when I cease to be beautiful I shall cease to live.
A gipsy in Budapest told me so. But what is beauty if
you have no luck?”
“When were they given to you?” Quarles asked.
“A year after I married. Listen, I will tell you a
secret. It was the beginning of the little difference
with my husband. He was jealous."
“It was natural.”
“No, it was not,” she answered. “My Hungarian
friend, he loved me of course. That is the natural
part. I was born like that. Some women are. It is
not their fault. It just is so, and yet people think evil
and say, shocking! It is in their own mind—the evil
-and nowhere else, and I say 'basta,' and go my way,
caring not at all. Why, every night in my dressing
room at the Regency there is a pile of letters like that,
and flowers. The room is full of them—all from peo-
ple who love me and I do not know one of them. I
like it, but it makes no difference to me. I told my hus-
band that it was nothing, but no, he went on being jeal-
ous. He was very foolish, but I think some day he
will grow sensible. Then I shall very likely say it is


The Contessa's Pearls
157
.
too late. The world has said it loves me, and that is
better than one, Castalani. You do not know the Cas-
talanis?”
"No."
“Ah, they are what you call thoughtful for them-
selves, very high, and very few people are quite as good,
so we had little quarrels, and then a big one, because
he said he would throw my pearls into the Arno. I
hid them, and he could not find them. If he had found
them and thrown them away I would have killed him.”
Quarles nodded, as if such a tragedy would have been
the most natural thing possible.
“His mother made it worse," the contessa went on,
“So we have one fierce quarrel and I speak my mind.
I say a great deal when I speak my mind, and I am not
nice then. I went away with my little girl. It was
very unfortunate, but what could I do? I love danc-
ing, so I go on the stage, and-and I have lost my pearls.
See, there is the case, but it is empty.”
Quarles looked at it, but I was sure he was not think-
ing of what he was doing, and he did not even ask the
most obvious questions.
I did that, and received scant answers. She was not
a bit interested in me.
"My pearls,” she went on, “I want my pearls. There
are some women pearls love. I am one. When I wear
them a little while they are alive. The colors in them
glow and palpitate. They are never dull then. I do
not wear them always, only on certain days—on feasts,
and when I am very happy.”
“We must find them,” said Quarles.
“Of course. That is why I come to know you, isn't
it?"
The professor was full of her as we left the hotel.


158
The Master Detective
“A most charming woman,” he said.
"I doubt if you will find her so when you fail to re-
store her pearls."
“I shall restore them,” he said, with that splendid
confidence which sometimes characterized him, but, hav-
ing no faith in his judgment on this occasion, I went
my own way. I searched the maid's boxes and found
that she had purloined many of the contessa's things
garments which had hardly been worn, silk scarves,
laces—in fact, anything which took her fancy, and
which her mistress would not be likely to miss. Of the
two men in the corridor I could find no trace. The
manager said there were no workmen about the hotel
at that time, and the only description I could get from
the contessa was so vague that it would have fitted any.
body from the Prime Minister to the old bootlace-seller
at the end of the street. One of the hotel servants was
confident that he had seen the French maid speak to
a man in the street outside the hotel on more than one
occasion, but he was not inclined to swear to anything.
However, the French maid was finally arrested on sus-
picion.
I knew that Quarles had been to see the contessa once
or twice by himself, and when I went to the Bruns-
wick Hotel on the day after Angélique's arrest, I found
him there.
“Ah, you have taken an innocent woman,” the
contessa exclaimed.
“I think not."
“What you think does not matter at all, it is what
I know. I asked her, and she said she had not taken
the pearls. Voila! She would not tell me anything that
was not true.”
“But, contessa,"


The Contessa's Pearls
159
“I say there is no evidence against her. You just
find two or three of my stupid things in her room, but
that is nothing. French maids always take things like
that-one expects it. But I am not angry. You think
what is quite quite silly, but you do something which
is quite right.” And then, turning to the professor, she
went on, “But you—you do nothing at all. You come to
tea. You come and look at me, and think me very beau-
tiful, which is quite nice and very well, but it does not
give me back my pearls.”
“It will,” said Quarles.
“I have no opinion. I only know I have not the
pearls. I gave you the empty case. I want it back with
the earrings in it. I have heard that Monsieur Quarles
is very clever—that he finds out everything, butą".
“It takes time, contessa,” he said, rising. “There
is one thing I want to see before I go.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“The dress the maid was wearing that afternoon, and
if she wore an apron I want to see that too."
The contessa fetched them, and for some minutes
Quarles examined them closely.
I did not think he had started a theory. I thought
the contessa's words had merely stung him into doing
something. He had probably come to the conclusion
that he had been making rather a fool of himself.
However, he was theoretical enough that night in the
empty room at Chelsea.
“I think the arrest was a mistake, Wigan,” he be-
gan.
“Surely you are not influenced by the contessa's opin-
ion?”
“Well, she probably knows more about French maids
than you do. I am inclined to trust a woman's intui.
a them closely red a theory. In
doing


160
The Master Detective
tion sometimes. The contessa is delightfully vague. It
is part of her great charm, and it is in everything she
does and says. She tells you something, but her real
meaning you can only guess at. She dances, but the
steps she ought to do and doesn't are the ones which
really contain the meaning.”
“Can she possibly be more vague, dear, than you are
at the present moment?” laughed Zena.
“I think this is a case in which one must try to get
into the contessa's atmosphere before any result is pos-
sible. You will agree, Wigan, that her point of view
is peculiar.”
“I should call it idiotic," I answered.
“Your opinion is all cut and dried, I presume ?”
“Absolutely," I answered. “I believe the maid took
the jewels and handed them to her confederates who
were waiting in the corridor.”
“It is possible,” said Quarles, “but it seems curious
that the contessa should return just in time to see, not
only the men in the corridor, but also the maid leaving
her room. Have you considered why only the earrings
were stolen ?”
“There was nothing else to steal,” I answered.
“Why, everybody has talked of her jewels!” Zena
exclaimed.
“All sham.”
“Who told you so ?” asked Quarles.
“The maid.”
“She didn't suggest the pearls were sham?”
"No."
“That was thoughtless of her, since suspicion rests
upon her. I am not much surprised to hear that the
much-talked-of jewelry is sham. There is a vein of
wisdom in the contessa, and we shall probably find she


The Contessa's Pearls
161
has put her jewelry into safe keeping, and wears paste
because it has just as good' an effect across the foot-
lights. I should judge her wise enough not to take risks,
and to have an eye for the future. It was only her
superstition, and the fact that she wore the earrings
fairly constantly, which prevented her depositing them
in a safe place too. Zena asked me yesterday whether I
should consider her a careless person. What do you
think, Wigan ?”
“It occurred to me that she might have put the case
away when it was empty and carelessly put the pearls
somewhere else,” said Zena.
“Such a vague kind of person is capable of any.
thing,” I returned. “But there is no doubt that a
search in her room was made, and it is significant that
things were not tossed about anyhow, as one would ex-
pect had a stranger made that search.”
“True,” said Quarles, “but if the maid took them
there would have been no disarrangement at all. She
would have known where to look. If she had wanted
to suggest ordinary thieves she would have thrown things
into disorder on purpose.”
“Naturally she did not know exactly where to look,"
I said.
“Why not? The contessa evidently trusts her im-
plicitly. In any case, I fancy we are drawn back to the
supposition that the contessa is careless. When Zena
asked the question, I was reminded of one or two in-
consistencies in her surroundings. I should not call her
orderly. Her carelessness must form part of my the-
ory."
“I am surprised to hear you have formed one,” I
said.
“I have found the woman far more interesting than


162
The Master Detective
the pearls,” he admitted, “but I am pledged to return
the earrings, Wigan. You will find her smile of delight
an excellent reward."
I shrugged my shoulders a little irritably.
“Now I will propose three propositions against
yours. First, the jewels belonged to an idol, and were
either sold or stolen–the contessa does not know which.
Such things are not usually sold, so we may assume they
were stolen. Their disappearance from the hotel may
mean that they have merely been recovered. The idea
is romantic, but such happenings do occur. Your
French maid may have been pressed into the plot either
through fear or by bribery."
“My facts would fit that theory,” I said.
“Secondly, the husband may be concerned,” Quarles
went on. “There may be real love underlying his jeal-
ousy. He may think that if he can obtain possession
of the pearls his wife will return to him. Again, your
French maid may have been employed to this end."
“That theory would not refute my facts," I returned.
“Thirdly, the contessa herself. It is conceivable
that for some reason she wished to have the pearls stolen,
perhaps for the sake of advertisement-such things are
done-or for the sake of insurance money, or for some
other reason which is not apparent. This supposition
would account for the contessa refusing to believe any-
thing against the maid. It would also account for the
men in the corridor, seen only by the contessa, remem-
ber, and therefore, perhaps, without any real exist-
ence."
“Of the three propositions, I most favor the last,"
I said.
“So do I,” Quarles answered. “The first one is pos-
sible, but I fail to trace anything of the Oriental method


The Contessa's Pearls
163
in the robbery, the supreme subtlety which one would
naturally expect. The second, which would almost of
necessity require the help of the maid, would in all like-
lihood have been carried out before this, since the con-
tessa has always had the pearls at hand. If she had
only just got them out of the bank I should favor this
second proposition. You remember the contessa sug-
gested that her husband might at some time become
more sensible. I should hazard a guess that she is still
in communication with him. The death of the strife-
stirring mother may bring them together again.”
“That is rather an ingenious idea," I admitted.
“Now, the third proposition would appeal to me more
were I not so interested in the woman," Quarles said.
“Is she the sort of woman, for vain or selfish reasons,
to enter into such a conspiracy with her maid? I grant
the difficulty of plumbing a woman's mind—even Zena's
there; but there are certain principles to be followed.
A woman is usually thorough if she undertakes to do a
thing, and had the contessa been concerned in such a
conspiracy, we should have had far more detail given to
us in order to lead us in another direction. This third
proposition does not please me, therefore.”
“It seems to me we come back to the French maid,”
said Zena.
“We do,” said Quarles. "That is the leather case,
Wigan. Does it tell you anything?”
I took it and examined it.
“You seem to have got some grease on it, Professor.”
“It was like that. Greasy fingers had touched it-
recently, I judge-although, of course, the case may be
an old one, and not made especially for the earrings.
It is only a smear, but it could not have got there while
the case was lying in a drawer amongst the contessa's


164
The Master Detective
things. Now open it. You will find a grease mark on
the plush inside, which means that very unwashed fin-
gers have handled it. That does not look quite like a
dainty French maid-for she is dainty, Wigan.”
“That is why you examined her dress, I suppose.”
“Exactly! There was no suspicion of grease upon
it. Facts have prejudiced you against Angélique. I do
not see a thief in her, but I do see a certain watchful-
ness in her eyes whenever we meet her. She knows
something, Wigan, and to-morrow I am going to find
out what it is. I think a few judicious questions will
help us."
Quarles had never been more the benevolent old gen-
tleman than when he saw the French maid next day.
He began by telling her that he was certain she was
innocent, that he believed in her just as much as her mis-
tress did.
“Now, when did you last see the pearls?” Quarles
asked.
“The day before they were stolen.”
“Your mistress was wearing them ?”
“No, monsieur, but the case was on the dressing table.
It was the case I saw, not the pearls."
“So for all you know to the contrary, the case may
have been empty?”.
“I do not see why you should think that,” she an-
swered, and it was quite evident to me that she was be-
ing careful not to fall into a trap.
"Just in the same way, perhaps, as you speak of the
day before they were stolen. We do not know they are
stolen. Were the pearls very valuable ?”
“I do not know. The contessa valued them.”
“She wears one or two good rings, I noticed,” said


•
165
The Contessa's Pearls
Quarles, “but I understand the jewels she wears on the
stage are paste.”
“Yes, monsieur, all of it.”
“Her real jewelry being at the bank ?”
“That is so, monsieur.”
“It is possible that the contessa has deceived us,”
Quarles went on, “and wants to make us believe the ear-
rings are stolen.”
“Oh, no, monsieur!”
“Why not?”
“I am sure.”
“Come, now, why are you so sure? Tell me what you
know, and we will soon have you back at the Brunswick
Hotel. Had you told the men in the corridor that all the
contessa's jewelry was sham?”
“I know nothing of—".
“Wait!” said Quarles. "Think before you speak.
You do not realize how much we know about the men in
the corridor. The contessa saw them, remember.”
The girl began to sob.
Very gently Quarles drew the story from her. One
of the men was her brother. She had been glad to come
to England to see him, but she found he had got into
bad hands. She had helped him a little with money.
She had talked about the contessa, and when he had
spoken about her wonderful jewels she had told him they
were sham.
“Did he believe you?”
“No, monsieur, he laughed at me because I did not
know the real thing from paste. I said I did, and, to
prove it, mentioned the pearls.”
“Was this before you knew he had fallen into bad
hands ?”


166
The Master Detective
“Yes, monsieur. On the afternoon the pearls were
stolen he came to see me at the hotel with a friend.
How they got to our rooms I do not know. I opened
the door, thinking it was the contessa. My brother
laughed at my surprise, and said he and his friend
wanted to see whether the contessa's pearls were real-
they had a bet about them. He thought I was a fool,
but I was quickly thinking what I must do. “She is
here,' I said. "Come in five minutes, when she is gone.'
This was unexpected for them, and they stepped back,
and I shut the door. To get the door shut was all I
could think of. I was afraid. I waited; then I went to
the bell, but I did not ring. After all, he was my
brother. Then Nella called out from my room; I was
on my way to fetch a clean frock for her from the
contessa's room when my brother came. Now I fetched
it, and as I came out of the room the contessa came in.
It was a great relief.”
“Did she say anything about the men in the corri-
dor?”
“Not then—not until afterwards, when she found the
pearls had been stolen.”
“And you said nothing?”
“No, it was wrong, but he was my brother. How
he got the pearls I do not know.”
“Where is he now?”
"I do not know.”
“But you are sure he stole the pearls?”
“Who else ?” and she began to sob again.
“Perhaps when he hears you have been arrested, he
will tell the truth.”
"No, no, he has become bad in this country. I do not
love England.”
“Anyhow, we will soon have you out of this,” said


The Contessa's Pearls 167
Quarles, patting her shoulder in a fatherly manner.
“I am afraid your brother is not much good, but per-
haps the affair is not so bad as you imagine."
We left her sobbing.
“A woman of resource," said Quarles.
“Very much so," I answered. “You do not think the
arrest was a mistake now, I presume?”
“Perhaps not; no, I am inclined to think it has helped
us. It is not every woman who would have got rid of
two such blackguards so dexterously.”
“It is the very thinnest story I have ever heard,” I
laughed.
We walked on in silence for a few moments.
“My dear Wigan, I am afraid you are still laboring
under the impression that she stole the pearls.”
"I am, and that she handed them to the men in the
corridor, one of whom may have been her brother or may
not."
“She didn't steal them,” said Quarles.
“Why, how else could the men þave got in?” I said.
“You are not likely to see that rewarding smile on the
contessa's face which you talked about.”
“I think I shall, but first I must face the music and
explain my failure. We will go this afternoon. Per-
haps she will give us tea, Wigan.”
I am afraid I murmured, “There's no fool like an old
fool,” but not loud enough for Quarles to hear.
When we entered the contessa's sitting-room that
afternoon the child was playing on the floor with a small
china vase, taken haphazard from the mantelpiece, I
imagine.
Whether our entrance startled her, or whether she was
in a destructive mood, I cannot say, but she dashed down
the vase and broke it in pieces.


The Contessa's Pearls
169
“Why, yes. How did you guess that?”.
“Didn't you meet the maid coming out of your room
on the next afternoon? She had gone to fetch a clean
frock.”
“Ah! yes, Nella got her frock dirty," said the
contessa.
“Pretty frock,'' said the child.
“Was she playing with anything-anything off the
mantelpiece ?” asked Quarles.
"No."
“Are you sure? You give her queer things to play
with,” and he pointed to the fragments on the floor.
“It does not matter,” said the contessa, a little angry
at his criticism. “I shall pay for it.”
“Pretty frock," said the child again.
“Is it, Nella? I should like to see it.”
The child slipped from his knee.
“Where are you going?” asked the contessa.
“To fetch my dirty, pretty frock.”
“Don't be silly, Nella.”
“I should like to see it,” said Quarles.
“I wish you would take less interest in the child and
more in my pearls.”
“Humor the child and let her show me the frock, then
we will talk about the pearls."
With a bad grace the contessa went with Nella into
the maid's room.
Quarles looked at me and at the fragments of the vase
on the floor.
“Do you find them suggestive?”
“I am waiting to see the contessa in a real temper,”
I answered.
The child came running in with the frock, delighted
to have got her own way.


170
The Master Detective
“Aye, but it is dirty,” said Quarles, and he became
absorbed in the garment, nodding to the prattling child
as she showed him tucks and lace.
“And now about my pearls," said the contessa.
Quarles put down the frock and stood up.
“There is the case,” he said, taking it from his pocket;
“we have got to put the pearls into it. Contessa, may I
look into your bedroom ?”
The request astonished her, and it puzzled me.
“Why, yes, if you like."
She went to the door, and we all followed her.
“A dainty room,” said the professor. “It is like you,
contessa.”
She laughed at the absurdity of the remark, and yet
there was some truth in it. The room wasn't really
untidy, but it was not the abode of an orderly person.
A hat was on the bed, thrown there apparently, a pair
of gloves on the floor.
“I can always tell what a woman is like by seeing
where she lives,” said Quarles. “There is no toy on
the mantelpiece which Nella could break. A pretty
dressing-table, contessa.”
He crossed to it and began examining the things upon
it-silver-mounted bottles and boxes.
He lifted lids and looked at the contents—powder in
this pot, rouge in that—and for a few moments the con-
tessa was too astonished to speak.
Then there came a flash into her eyes resenting the
impertinence.
“Really, monsieur-".
“Ah!” exclaimed Quarles, turning from the table
with a pot in his hand.
“I want it,” said the child, stretching herself up for
it.


The Contessa's Pearls
171
"Evidently Nella has played with this before, con-
tessa. A French preparation for softening the skin, I
see. I should guess she was playing with it as she
crawled about the floor that afternoon. You didn't no-
tice her. I can quite understand a child being quiet
for a long time with this to mess about with. There was
grease on her frock, and look! the smoothed surface of
this cream bears the marks of little fingers, if I am not
mistaken. It is quite a moist cream, readily disar-
ranged, easily smoothed flat again. Let us hope there
is no ingredient in it which will hurt-pearls.”
- He had dug his fingers into the stuff and produced the
earrings.
“You will find a grease mark on the case,” he went
on. “It is evident you could not have put the case away.
Nella possessed herself of it when your back was turned,
and, playing with this cream, amused herself by bury-
ing the pearls in it—just the sort of game to fascinate a
child."
“I remember she was playing with that pot. I did
not think she could get the lid off.”
“She did, and somehow the case got kicked under the
bed.”
“Naughty Nella!" said the contessa.
“Oh, no,” said Quarles. “Natural Nella. May I
wash my hands?”
Well, we had tea with the contessa, and I saw the smile
which rewarded Christopher Quarles.
I suppose he had earned it.
“When did you first think of the child ?” I asked him
afterwards.
“From the first,” he answered; "but I was too inter-
ested in the mother to work out the theory.”
How exactly in accordance with the truth this answer


172
The Master Detective
was I will not venture to say. That he was interested in
the woman was obvious, and continued to be obvious
while she remained in London.
Zena and I were rather relieved when her professional
engagements took her to Berlin.


CHAPTER IX
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MADAME VATROTSKI
I FIRMLY believe the contessa had succeeded in flut-
1 tering the professor's heart, and I think it was
fortunate that he was soon engaged upon another case.
The fact that it was also connected with theatrical people
may have made him go into it with more zest. The con-
tessa had given him a taste for the theater.
The three of us were in the empty room, and after a lot
of talk which had led nowhere, had been silent for some
time.
“I never believe in any one's death until I have seen
the body, or until some one I can thoroughly trust has
seen it,” said Quarles, suddenly breaking the silence.
“You have said something like that before," I
answered.
“It still remains true, Wigan.”
“Then you think she is alive? Is it the advertisement
theory you cling to, or do you suppose she is a Nihilist ?”
“I suppose nothing, and I never cling; all I know is
that I have no proof of death,” said the professor, and
he launched into a discourse concerning the difficulties
of concealing a body, chiefly, I thought, to hide the fact
that he had no ideas at all about the strange case of
Madame Vatrotski.
The rage for the tango, the sensational revue, for the
Russian ballet, was at its height when Madame Vatrot-
ski's name first appeared on the hoardings in foot-long
letters.
173


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 175
I do not believe she was in any way connected with one
of the royal houses of Europe, as rumor said, nor that
she was the morganatic wife of an Austrian archduke.
I have said that I had never seen her. I may add that
I was not in the least interested in her.
Even when I read the headline in the paper, "Mys-
terious disappearance of Madame Vatrotski,” I remained
unmoved; indeed, I had to think for a moment who
Madame Vatrotski was, and when the paragraph con-
cluded that the disappearance was probably a smart ad-
vertisement I thought no more about the matter.
Before the end of the week, however, I was obliged to
think a great deal about this woman. It was a tribute
to the dancer's popularity that her disappearance caused
widespread interest not only in London, but in the
provinces, and it speedily became evident that her friends
were legion.
She had dined, or had had supper, at various times,
with a score of well-known men; she had received pres-
ents and offers of marriage from them; she had certainly
had two chances of becoming a peeress, she might have
become the wife of a millionaire, and half a dozen
younger sons had kept their families on tenter-hooks.
It was said the poet laureate had dedicated an ode to
her—that Lovet Forbes, the sculptor, was immortalizing
her in stone, and Musgrave had certainly painted her
portrait.
From all sides there was a loud demand that the mys-
tery must be cleared up, and the investigation was en-
trusted to me.
From the outset it was apparent that Madame Vatrot-
ski had played fast and loose with her many admirers.
She had not definitely refused either of the coronets
offered her, nor the millions. I say her behavior was ap-


176
The Master Detective
parent, but I ought to say it was apparent to me, because
many of those who knew her personally would not believe
a word against her.
. This was the case with Sir Charles Woodbridge, a very
level-headed man as a rule, and also with Paul Renaud,
the proprietor of the great dress emporium in Regent
Street, an astute individual, not easily deceived by either
man or woman.
Both these men were pleased to believe themselves the
serious item in Madame Vatrotski's life, and Sir Charles
in hot-headed fashion, and Renaud, in cold contempt,
told me very plainly what they thought of me when I
suggested that the lady might not be so innocently trans-
parent as she seemed.
Up to a certain point it was comparatively easy to fol-
low Madame's movements. After the performance on
Monday evening she had gone to supper with Sir Charles
at a smart restaurant, and many people had seen her
there. His car had taken her back to her rooms, and
he had arranged to fetch her next morning at half-
past eleven and drive her down to Maidenhead for
lunch.
When Sir Charles arrived at her rooms next morning
he was told she had gone out and had left no message.
He was annoyed, but he had to admit it was not the first
time she had broken an appointment with him.
It transpired that she had gone out that morning soon
after ten, and half-an-hour afterwards was at Renaud's.
Paul Renaud did not see her there and had no appoint-
ment with her.
She made some trivial purchases-a veil, some lace
and gloves, which were sent to her rooms later in the day,
and she left the shop about eleven. The door-porter was
able to fix the time, and was quite sure the lady was


178
The Master Detective
ing on purpose to keep it. If she had gone with him
at once her maid would not know she had returned.”
Quarles looked at me.
“The same idea occurred to Paul Renaud,” I said.
“I can find no evidence that Sir Charles went to Maiden-
head that day, and at three o'clock in the afternoon
he was certainly at his club.”.
“Did he telephone to madame or attempt to communi-
cate with her in any way?” Quarles asked.
“He says not.”
“But you do not altogether believe him, eh ?”
“My opinion is in abeyance,” I returned. “It is only
fair to say that Sir Charles suggested that Paul Renaud
may have seen her at the shop in Regent Street. They
are suspicious of each other. Renaud was certainly on
the premises at the time she was there. Personally I
do not attribute much weight to these suspicions. I be-
lieve both men are genuine lovers, and would be the last
persons in the world to do the dancer any harm.".
“Or the first,” said Zena quickly. “Jealousy is a
most usual motive for crime.”
“I think the child strikes a true note there, Wigan,"
said Quarles. “We must keep the idea of jealousy be-
fore us—that is, if we are compelled to believe there has
been foul play. Now, one would have expected Sir
Charles to telephone to madame; that he did not do so is
strange."
“His disappointment had put him in a temper."
“That hardly appeals to me as a satisfactory explana-
tion,” Quarles returned ; “but there is indirect evidence
in Sir Charles's favor. Had Madame Vatrotski intended
to return to her rooms at once she would almost cer-
tainly have taken such a small parcel as her purchases
made with her. That she did not do so suggests she had


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 179
another appointment to keep. Have you a list of ma-
dame's admirers, Wigan?”
“I am only human, professor, and you ask for the
impossible,” I said, smiling. “I have a few names here,
and I think they may be dismissed from our calcula-
tions. One of the strangest points in the case is the
lack of reticence amongst her dupes.”
“Dupes !” said Zena.
“I think the term is justified,” I went on. “They
all seem quite proud of having been allowed to pay for
sumptuous dinners and expensive presents. Usually
one expects a shrinking from publicity in these affairs,
but in this case there is nothing of the kind. I have
never seen Madame Vatrotski, but she must have had a
peculiar fascination.”
“I have not seen her either," said Quarles; “but I
was at the Academy yesterday, and saw Musgrave's por-
trait of her. Go and see it, Wigan. I consider Mus-
grave the greatest portrait painter we have, or ever have
had, perhaps. His opinion of the dancer might be use-
ful. Judging from his canvases he must have a strange
insight into character.”
My opinion of pictures is worth nothing, and, to
speak truthfully, I saw little remarkable in Musgrave's
portrait of Madame Vatrotski. The mystery had
caused a large number of people to linger round the por-
trait, and so far as I could gather the general impression
was that it did not do her justice. Some even called it
a caricature.
“You never can tell what a woman is really like
across the footlights,” I overheard one man say to his
companion.
“Perhaps not,” was the answer; “but I have seen her
out of the theater. I dropped in at Forbes's studio the


180
The Master Detective
other day. He was finishing a bust of her, and she
was giving him a sitting. It is a jolly good bust, but
the woman,"
“Is she pretty?” asked the other.
“Upon my word, I don't know; what I do know is that
I wanted to look at her all the time, and when she had
gone life seemed to have left the studio.”
I did not know the speaker, but I did not lose sight
of him until I had tracked him to a club in Piccadilly
and discovered that his name was Tenfield, and that he
was a partner in a firm of art dealers in Bond Street.
When I repeated this conversation to Quarles he won-
dered why I had taken so much trouble over the art
dealer.
“Looking for a clue," I answered.
Quarles shrugged his shoulders.
“What did you think of the portrait?”
i “Frankly, not much.”
“But you got an impression of Madame Vatrotski's
character.”
"I cannot say I got any great enlightenment. It made
me wonder why she had made such a great reputation."
"The fact that it made you wonder at all shows there
is something in the portrait,” said Quarles. “Let us
argue indirectly from the picture. You will agree that
the lady was fascinating, since she had so many admirers,
but in the portrait you discern nothing to account for
that fascination. We may conclude that the painter
saw the real woman underneath the superficial charm.
She could not hide herself from him as she did from
others. Now in that portrait I see rather a common-
place woman, essentially bourgeoise and vulgar, not
naturally artistic. I can imagine her the wife of a


182
The Master Detective
-I had almost said her executioner-amongst the de-
cent men who have been caught for a while in her
toils.”
"The only decent man seems to be Sir Charles,” said
Zena.
“And I am convinced he was genuinely in love with
her,” I said.
“Well, we are at a dead end,” said Quarles. “I think
I should go and see Musgrave and ask his opinion of
her. It may help us.”
I went simply because there was nothing else to do,
and I felt that I must be doing something. The author-
ities seemed to think that I was making a great muddle
over a very ordinary affair, possibly because rather con-
temptuous comments in the press had annoyed them,
while the letters from amateur detectives had been more
abundant than usual. Oh, those amateur detectives !
I found Musgrave quite willing to talk about Madame
Vatrotski, and before I had been with him ten minutes
I discovered that his opinion of her very nearly coin-
cided with Quarles's.
He put it differently, but it came to the same thing.
“To tell you the truth, she rather appealed to me
when I first saw her,” he said. “It was at an artists'
affair in Chelsea. She came there with a man named
Renaud, who has a big shop in Regent Street, and had
spent money on her, I imagine. She was interesting be-
cause she was something new in the way of vulgarity.
It was for this man Renaud that I did the portrait, but
when it was finished he repudiated the bargain. He
said it wasn't a bit like her. You see, I was not looking
at her with his eyes.”
“Had she no beauty, then ?”
“I cannot say that,” Musgrave answered. “She had


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 183
a beautiful figure, and her face-well, I painted it as
I saw it. Renaud said it wasn't in the least like her,
and I am bound to admit that most of the people who
knew her and have seen the portrait in the Academy
agree with him.”
“You claim that you show her character, I sup-
pose?”
“No; I merely say I painted what I saw."
“Can you account for the fascination she exerted?” I
asked.
“I answer that question by asking you another.
Can you account for the fascination which sin exerts
over a vast number of people in the world? See sin
as it really is, and it repels you; but sin seldom lets
you see the reality, that is why it is so successful. A
man requires grace to see sin as it really is, and that
is his salvation. I was in a detached position when
I painted Madame Vatrotski's portrait, and you have
seen the result; had I been under her spell the result
would undoubtedly have been different. I should have
painted only the mask of the moment, and that would
have satisfied her admirers, I imagine. I suppose you
know that my ideas of the true functions of art have
caused many people to call me a crank?”.
“I know little of the artistic world,” I answered;
“but any man who takes himself seriously always ap-
peals to me.”
Musgrave smiled. I fancy he was about to favor me
with his ideas, but concluded I was not worth the trou-
ble. I had not got much out of my visit beyond the
knowledge that Quarles was not alone in his estimate of
Madame Vatrotski.
The professor's opinion combined with the artist's in-
fuenced me, and gave me a kind of rough theory. A


184
The Master Detective
man might be fascinated, then repelled, the repulsion be-
ing far stronger than the attraction.
To make this possible the man must normally be de-
cent, and because Sir Charles Woodbridge seemed the
only person who fitted all the conditions I gave his
movements a considerable amount of my attention dur-
ing the next few days. He had certainly been amongst
the most assiduous of her admirers, and I discovered
that he had put a private detective on to the business who
was chiefly concerned in shadowing Paul Renaud.
Sir Charles was evidently convinced that Renaud was
at the bottom of the mystery.
Nearly a month went by, and, except to those chiefly
concerned, interest in the dancer's disappearance was
fading out, when it was suddenly revived by the notice
of a picture exhibition in Bond Street, at the gallery
belonging to the firm in which Tenfield was a partner.
The pictures were the work of French artists of the
cubist school, but also on view was a portrait bust of
Madame Vatrotski by Lovet Forbes. It was evidently
the bust I had overheard Tenfield speak about that day
in the Academy, and I discovered that his firm had
bought it as a speculation.
Lovet Forbes had been only a vague name until a few
days ago, when a symbolic group of his had been placed
in the entrance hall of the Agricultural Institution, and
had at once attracted attention. The critics spoke of
him as a new force in art, and a bust of the famous
dancer by him was therefore, under the circumstances,
an event.
“People will go to see it who wouldn't cross the road
to look at a cubist's picture,” said Quarles. “It is for
sale, no doubt, and the dealers may clear a very nice
little profit over it. Not a bad speculation, I should say;


188
The Master Detective
“I don't know,” returned Quarles. “We will go and
have another look at the bust, and I think on the way
home we might drop in and have another look at Mus-
grave's picture.”
“That portrait bothers me,” I said. “One might sup-
pose it was the key to the mystery.”.
“I am not sure that it isn't,” Quarles answered.
Further acquaintance with the Academy picture had
rather a curious effect upon me. I do not think I lost
anything of my original sense of repulsion, but I was
strangely conscious that there was something attractive
in the face. I was astonished to find what a likeness
there was between the portrait and the bust. The im-
pression created by one became mingled with the im-
pression made by the other.
I said as much to Quarles.
“That is tantamount to saying they are both fine pieces
of work,” he answered.
“And means, I suppose, that the real woman was
somewhere between the two,” said Zena.
“Possibly, but with Musgrave's idea the predominant
truth,” said Quarles.
“Why?” asked Zena.
Quarles shrugged his shoulders. He had no answer
to give.
“The day after to-morrow, Wigan, we will go to the
Agricultural Institute.”
“Why not to-morrow?”
“To-morrow I am busy. Did you know I was writ-
ing an article for a psychological review ?”
On the following evening I took Zena to a theater-
to the Olympic. I suppose I chose the Olympic with
a sort of idea that I was keeping in touch with the case
I had in hand, that if any one chanced to see me there


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 189
they would conclude that I was following up some clue.
It is hateful to feel that there is nothing to be done, more
hateful still that people should imagine you are beaten or
are neglecting your work.
Zena told me the professor had been out all day, but
she did not know what business he was about. He was
certainly not engaged in writing his article.
The Olympic was by no means full that night; the
disappearance of the dancer was evidently having a dis-
astrous effect upon the receipts.
The next day I went to the Agricultural Institute with
Quarles. He had got a card of introduction to the sec-
retary.
The building had recently been enlarged, and at the
top of the first flight of the staircase stood a group rep-
resenting the triumph of modern methods.
Standing or crouching, and full of energy, were fig-
ures symbolic of science and machinery, while in the
foreground was a recumbent figure from whose hands the
sickle had fallen.
The woman was sleeping, her work done; yet she sug-
gested that there was beauty in those old methods which,
for all their utility, was lacking in the new.
“It is probably the best work that Lovet Forbes has
done,” said the secretary, who came round with us.
“He is the coming man, they say,” Quarles remarked.
“He has surely arrived," was the answer, "for the
critics are unanimous as to the beauty of this.”
“Yes, it is remarkable in idea and execution. I am
told the famous dancer, who has recently disappeared,
was the model for the recumbent figure.”
"So I understand. The figure is the gem of the whole
composition.”
Quarles was not inclined to endorse this opinion, and


190
The Master Detective
the secretary was nothing loath to argue the point.
The discussion led to a close examination of the fig.
ure, Quarles arguing that it was out of proportion in
comparison with the standing figures, a comment which
the secretary met with some learned words on the laws
relating to perspective.
They were both a little out of their depth, I thought,
and after a few moments I did not pay much attention
to them. My thoughts had gone back to Musgrave's
picture and to Forbes's bust of Madame Vatrotski.
Zena had said that the real woman was probably some-
where between the two, and as I looked at the figure
for which the dancer had been the model I felt she was
right.
I suppose the limbs were perfect, but it was the face
which chiefly interested me. It was like Musgrave's
picture, but it was more like Forbes's bust, with some-
thing in it which differed entirely from the bust and
from the picture.
It was a beautiful figure, and I think the face was
beautiful, but I am not sure.
The secretary had just measured the figure, and the re-
sult seemed to have established the fact that Quarles's
contention was right. This evidently pleased him, and
he was inclined to give way on minor points of differ-
ence.
“No doubt the sculptor's perspective has something
to do with it,” he said; “but we must not forget that
the group is symbolic. I should not be surprised if
the figure in the foreground is larger to illustrate the
fact that modern methods are of yesterday, while the
sickle has reaped the harvests of the world from old
time. The sickle is not broken, you observe, and the ar.


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 193
said Quarles. “For instance, he was certain she was
dead, or he would hardly have sold the bust he had
executed specially for her. Why was he so certain ?
Again, he suggested she was French and not Russian,
scorned the idea of her being afraid of any one, and
altogether he showed rather an intimate knowledge of
her, which makes one fancy that she had been more open
with him than she had been with others.”
“The fact that she was sitting to him might account
for that,” said Zena.
“One would also expect that it would have made him
come forward and give what help he could in clearing
up the mystery,” Quarles answered; "but he does noth-
ing of the kind. We do not hear that he has used her
as a model for his Agricultural group until we hear it
casually on the day the bust was exhibited, and he tells
us that he did not know of her disappearance until he
telephoned to her rooms two days afterwards. Does that
sound quite a likely story, Wigan?”
“I think you are building a theory on a frail founda-
tion, Professor.”
“It has served its purpose; I have built my theory
-the artistic mind fascinated and becoming revengeful
in a moment of repulsion. I think Madame Vatrotski
had an appointment with Forbes that day, and more,
that she kept it.”
“Where?”
“At his studio. It may have been to give him a
final sitting, or it may have been a lovers' meeting.
Forbes could only see her beauty and fascination; he
put what he saw into the bust. He loved her with all
the unreasoning power that was in him; it is possible
that in her limited way she loved him, that he was more
to her than all the rest. Then came the sudden revul-


194
The Master Detective
sion, perhaps because stories concerning her had reached
Forbes, stories he was convinced were true. She was
alone with him in the studio, and—well, I do not think
she left it alive."
“But the body?” I said.
“Always the great difficulty,” Quarles returned.
“Yesterday I spent an interesting day in Essex, Wigan,
watching the various processes used in making artificial
stone, from its liquid and plastic state to its setting
into a hard block. I was amazed at what can be done
with it."
“You mean that,".
"It is impossible!” Zena exclaimed.
"It is not a very difficult matter to treat a body so
as to preserve it, but to cover it with a preparation and
with such precision that when it is set you shall see
nothing but a stone figure is, of course, only possible to
an artist.”
“But she had sat for him, the figure must have been
far advanced before_before she disappeared.”
“I have no doubt it was, Wigan; but, far advanced
as it was, that stone figure was removed and replaced by
one that only superficially was stone."
"I do not believe it. It is absurd.”
“Measurement proved that the recumbent figure was
out of proportion in comparison with the other figures,
accounted for by the stone casing. Of course with the
secretary there I could not look too closely.”
“No, or you would have found—”.
“You seem to forget that I went back for my gloves,"
said Quarles. “I left them on purpose. I ran up to
the library; no one was about. I had a chisel and ham-
mer with me. By this time some one may have dis-


Disappearance of Madame Vatrotski 195
covered that the group has been chipped. There are the
pieces.”
He took from his pocket some fragments of stone,
pieces of a stone mold, in fact.
“Whether they will realize what it is that is dis-
closed where that piece is missing is another matter, but
we know, Wigan. It is the body of Madame Vatrotski.
Can you wonder, my dear Zena, that I felt more like a
little brandy and water than tea?”
How far Quarles was right in his idea of the rela-
tions between Forbes and the dancer no one will ever
know. When the police went fo arrest him he was found
dead in his studio. He had shot himself. How had he
heard of Quarles's discovery? How did he know that
his ingenious method of concealing the body had been
found out?
It was so strange that I asked Quarles whether he had
warned him.
“Do you think I should be likely to do such a thing?”
was his answer.
He would give me no other answer, and all I can say
positively is that he has never actually denied it.
. this idea with
that of Vient, white and
Beautiful "dy Turl Robbina


CHAPTER X
THE MYSTERY OF THE MAN AT WARBURTON'S
wo days later Zena went to visit friends in the
1 country, and for some weeks I did not go near Chel-
sea. Quarles was busy with some Psychological Society
which was holding a series of meetings in London, and
was quite pleased, no doubt, to be without my society for
a while.
Except when I have a regular holiday, my leisure
hours are limited, but I was taking a night off. It was
not because I had nothing to do, but because I had so
many things to think of that my brain had become hope-
lessly muddled in the process, and a few blank hours
seemed to be advisable. When this kind of retreat be-
comes necessary, I invariably find my way to Holborn,
to a very plain-fronted establishment there over which
is the name Warburton. If you are a gastronomic con-
noisseur in any way you may know it, for Warbur-
ton's is a restaurant where you can get an old-fashioned
dinner cooked as nowhere else in London, I believe, and
enjoy an old port afterwards which those delightful
sinners, our grandfathers, would have sat over half the
night, and been pulled out from under the table in the
morning perchance. I am not abnormally partial to the
pleasures of the table, but I have found a good dinner
in combination with first-rate port, rationally dealt with,
an excellent tonic for the brain.
I do not suppose any one knew my name at War-
burton's, and I have always prided myself on not carry-
196


The Man at Warburton's
197
ing my profession in my face. The man who dined
opposite to me that night possibly began by taking me
for a prosperous city man, to whom success had come
somewhat early, or perhaps for a barrister, not of the
brilliant kind, but of the steady plodders who get there
in the end by sheer force of sticking power. I was
not in the least interested in him until he spoke to me
-asked me to pass the Worcester sauce, in fact. His
voice attracted me, and his hands. It was a voice which
sounded out of practise, as if it were seldom used, and
his hands were those of an artist. I made some casual
remark, complimentary to Warburton's, and we began
to talk. He seemed glad to do so, but he spoke with
hesitation, not as one who has overcome an impediment
in his speech, but as one who had forgotten part of his
vocabulary. The reason leaked out presently.
"I wonder whether there is something—how shall I
put it?—simpatica between us?” he said suddenly.
“Why the speculation ?” I asked.
“Otherwise I cannot think why I am talking so
much,” he said with a nervous laugh. "I live alone,
I hardly know a soul, and all I say in the course of a
week could be repeated in two minutes, I suppose.”
“Not a healthy existence,” I returned.
“It suits me. I dine here most nights; the journey
to and fro forms my daily constitutional. You are not
a regular customer here?”
“No, an occasional one only. I should guess that you
are engaged in artistic work of some kind.”
“Right!” he said with a show of excitement. “And
when I tell you I live in Gray's Inn do you think you
could guess what kind of work it is?”
“That is beyond me," I laughed. “Gray's Inn
sounds a curious place for an artist.”


200
The Master Detective
"Thanks,” I answered, as I went down, but I made no
promise as I looked up at him silhouetted against the
light from his open door. Little did I guess how soon I
was to climb those stairs again.
Next morning I was conscious that the night off, al-
though not spent exactly as I had intended, had done
me good. Some knotty points in a case I was engaged
upon had begun to unravel themselves in my mind, and
I reached the office early to find that the chief was al-
ready there and wanted to see me.
“Here is a case you must look after at once, Wigan,”
he said, passing me the report of the murder of a man
named Parrish, in Gray's Inn.
Now, one of the essentials in my profession is the abil-
ity to put the finger on the small mistakes a criminal
makes when he endeavors to cover up his tracks. I sup-
pose nine cases out of ten are solved in this way, and
more often than not the thing left undone, unthought of,
is the very one, you would imagine, which the criminal
would have thought of first. I fancy the reason lies
in the fact that the criminal does not believe he will be
suspected. I said nothing to my chief about my visit
to Gray's Inn last night. Experience has shown me the
wisdom of a still tongue, and knowledge I have picked
up casually has often led to a solution which has startled
the Yard. The Yard was destined to be startled now,
but not quite in the way I hoped.
When I arrived at Gray's Inn, a small crowd had col-
lected before the entrance door of the house, as if mo-
mentarily expecting some information from the consta-
ble who stood on duty there—a man I did not happen
to know.
“That's him! That's him!”
A boy pointed me out excitedly to the constable, who


The Man at Warburton's
201
looked at me quickly. I smiled to find myself recog-
nized, but I was laboring under a mistake.
“Yes, that's the man,” said a woman standing on the
edge of the crowd.
The explanation came when the constable understood
who I was.
“Both of them declare they saw the dead man in com-
pany with another man last night, described him, and
now-"
“I saw you with him," said the boy. “I never saw
him with any one before, that's why I took particular
notice.”
The woman nodded her agreement.
“Better take the names and addresses, constable.”
“I've already done that, sir.”
I entered the house inclined to smile, but the inclina-
tion vanished as I went upstairs. No doubt these two
had seen me last night, and it was fortunate, perhaps,
that I was a detective, and not an ordinary individual.
And yet a detective might commit murder. It was an
unpleasant thought, unpleasant enough to make me wish
I had mentioned last night's adventure to the chief.
A constable I knew was on the top landing, and en-
tered the rooms with me. Parrish had not been moved.
He was lying by the table; had probably fallen forward
out of his chair.
A thin-bladed knife had been driven downwards, at
the base of the neck, apparently by some one who had
stood behind him. I judged, and a doctor presently
confirmed my judgment, that he had been dead some
hours; must have met his death soon after I had left
him. As far as I could tell, the papers on the table
were in exactly the same position as I had seen them, and
the finished work which he had taken out of his drawers


202
The Master Detective
to show me had not been replaced. The fact seemed to
add to the awkwardness of my position.
The first thing I did was to telegraph to Christopher
Quarles. I do not remember ever being more keen for
his help. I occupied the time of waiting in a careful
examination of the rooms and the stairs, and in making
enquiries in the offices in the building.
The first thing I told Quarles, on his arrival, was my
adventure last night, and the awkward fact that two peo-
ple had recognized me this morning.
“Then we mustn't fail this time, Wigan," he said
gravely. “It is a pity you did not mention the adven-
ture to your chief.”
“Yes, but,"
“You'd suspect a man with less evidence against
him,” Quarles answered quickly. “We'll look at the
rooms, and the dead man, then you had better go back
to the Yard and tell your chief all about it.”
Our search revealed very little. It was evident that
Parrish had lived a lonely life, as he had told me.
His evening dinner at Warburton's appeared to have
been his only real meal of the day. There was a half-
empty tin of biscuits in the cupboard, and some coffee
and tea, but no other food whatever, nor evidence that
it was ever kept there. I have said the clothes he was
wearing were shabby, but there was a shabbier suit
still lying at the bottom of a drawer, and his stock of
shirts and underclothing reached the minimum. Prac-
tically, there were no papers, only a few receipted bills
for material for his work, a few advertisements still
in their wrappers, and two letters which had not been
opened.
“We will examine these later, Wigan,” said Quarles.
“I want to get an impression before anything definite


The Man at Warburton's
203
puts me on the wrong road. What about his work ?”
and the professor examined it with his lens. “Good,
of its kind, I should imagine, and what is more to the
point, requiring expensive materials. These bills show
a good many pounds spent in less than four months.
He was not poverty-stricken, in spite of shabby clothes,
and holes in the carpet. Where did he get his money
from? There is no check book here, no money except
a few shillings in his pocket. That is a point to remem-
ber.”
“The murderers may have taken it," I said.
“This doesn't look like a place ordinary thieves would
come to.”
There was a shelf in one corner, with books on it,
perhaps a score in all. Quarles took down every one of
them, and opened them.
“John Parrish. Did you know his name was John?”
“No. He didn't mention his Christian name.”
“Here it is, written in every book," said Quarles
as he deliberately tore a fly-leaf out of one and began to
put down on it the titles of some of the books. “Evi-
dently he did not read much, the dust here is thick.
Did he open his door with a key when you came in with
him last night?”
“I couldn't swear to it.”
“You see it does not lock of itself. He might have
left it merely closed. Did he go into the bedroom while
you were here?”
"No."
“Then the murderer may have been there while you
were with him. You have made enquiries about him in
this building, of course ?”
“Yes.”
“About his personal appearance and habits, I mean.


204
The Master Detective
You see, Wigan, your own idea of him is not sufficient.
He may have deceived you entirely regarding his char-
acter, assuming eccentricity for some purpose. Think
the affair out from that point of view, and when you
have been to the Yard, come to Chelsea. If you do not
mind I will take these two unopened letters. We will
look at them together presently.”
As a matter of fact, Quarles had opened them before
I saw him; indeed, their contents took him out of town,
and I did not see him for three days. They were very
trying days for me, for the chief took me off the case
when he had heard my story. He could not understand
why I had not mentioned at once that I had been with
the dead man on the previous night, and his manner
suggested that my being the criminal was well within
the bounds of possibility. I suppose every one likes to
have a cut at a successful man occasionally, but I am
bound to admit he had some reason for his action. He
showed me a halfpenny paper in which an enterpris-
ing scribbler, under the headline “Murder in Gray's
Inn,” had heightened the sensation by another headline,
“Strange recognition of a well-known detective by a
woman and a boy."
“We mustn't give the press any reason to suppose that
we want to thwart justice for the purpose of shielding
an officer,” the chief said. “Cochran will take charge
of the case, and I am letting the press know this.”
There was nothing to be said, and I left him feeling
very much like a criminal, and very conscious of be-
ing in an awkward position. Unless the case were sat-
isfactorily cleared up there would be plenty of people to
suspect me.
Quarles, when at last we foregathered in the empty
room, was sympathetic but not surprised; Zena, who


The Man at Warburton's
205
had come back to town immediately on receiving a letter
from me, was furious that I should be suspected.
“I have been busy,” said the professor. “I opened
those letters, Wigan. Of course Zena's first question on
her arrival was why Mr. Parrish had not opened them.
Her second question was: Why did he live the life of
a recluse in Gray's Inn? How would you answer those
questions ?”
“I see no reason why a recluse should not live in
Gray's Inn," I answered, “and an eccentric person, ob-
sessed with one idea in life, might throw letters aside
“Quite a good answer,” said Quarles. “Now, here
are the letters. This one is dated eighteen months ago,
postmark Liverpool, written at Thorn's Hotel, Liver-
pool. 'Dear Jack,—Back again like the proverbial bad
penny. Health first class; luck medium. Pocket full
enough to have a rollick with you. Shall be with you
the day after to-morrow.-Yours, C. M.' Your friend
Parrish was not a man you would expect to rollick, I
imagine?”
"No."
“So either he entirely deceived you or had changed
considerably since 'C. M.' had seen him. Here is the
other letter. Postmark Rome, dated three years ago,
but no address. Just a message in indifferent English:
‘Once more you do me good and I repay in interest. B.
knows and comes to you. Beware.—Emanuele.'”
“Parrish told me he was in Italy for some time," I
said.
“The first letter took me to Liverpool,” Quarles went
on. “Thorn's Hotel is third-rate, but quite good enough
for a man who does not want to burn money. “C. M.'
stands for Claude Milne. That was the only name with


The Man at Warburton's
207
Quarles took from some papers the fly-leaf he had torn
from one of the books.
"That is Parrish's signature," said Quarles. “The
agents recognize it, the bank confirms it; the account is
not closed, but has not been used for three years. The
rooms he occupied in Windsor are now in other hands,
and nothing is known of him there. Inspector Cock-
ran made these inquiries at Windsor. You see, as you
are off the case I am helping him. Having no official
position in the matter I must attach myself to some one
to facilitate my investigation. Cockran thinks I am an
old fool with lucid moments, during which I may pos-
sibly say something which is worth listening to.”
“He is generally looked upon as a smart man,” I
said.
“Oh, perhaps he is right in his opinion of me, also
in his judgment of you."
“What has he got to say about me?”
“He says very little, but as far as I can gather his
investigations are based on the assumption that you killed
Parrish. Don't get angry, Wigan. It is really not
such an outrageous point of view, and for the present
I am shaking my head with him and am inclined to his
opinion.”
“It is a disgraceful suspicion,” said Zena.
“Those who plead not guilty always say that, but it
really does not count for much with the judge,” Quarles
answered. “We will get on with the evidence. I jotted
down on this fly-leaf the names of some of the books
on that shelf, Wigan. Nothing there, you see, bears any
reference to his illuminating work.”
“Are you suggesting it was a blind ?”
“No, I haven't got as far as that yet, but it is curious
that none of his books should relate to his hobby in any


208
The Master Detective
way. I have ascertained that he always bought his ma-
terials personally, never wrote for them. From the post-
man I discover that it was seldom they had to go to
the top floor; the advertisements and letters we have
found may be taken to be all the communications he has
received through the post. At the same time we have
evidence that he had command of money, since he paid
his rent promptly, bought expensive materials, and dined
every night at Warburton's. Since he did not sell his
work, where did the money come from?”
“Some annuity,” I suggested.
"Exactly, which he must have collected himself, since
he received no letters, and taken away in cash, since he
had given up using a banking account. Cockran has
made inquiries at the insurance offices, and in the name
of Parrish there exists no such annuity, apparently. It
was, therefore, either in another name or came from a
private source.”
“So we draw blank,” I said.
“In one sense we do, in another we do not,” returned
Quarles. “We come back to the letters and to Zena's
questions. First, why did he live the life of a recluse
in Gray's Inn? The answer does not seem very diffi-
cult to me. He had something to hide, something which
made him cut himself off from the world, and that some-
thing had its beginning about three years ago, when
he ceased paying his rent by check, when he gave up
his rooms at Windsor; in short, when he entirely be-
came a changed character. We may take 'C. M.’s' let-
ter, with its talk of rollicking, as confirming this view.”
“But he did not open either letter. He did not see
Emanuele's warning," I said.
“True, but I believe, Wigan, the first two words in
Emanuele's letter should stand by themselves; that the


The Man at Warburton's
209
letter should read thus: “Once more. You do me good,
I repay, etc.' I think there was a previous letter which
Parrish did see.”
“A far-fetched theory,” I returned.
“The key to it is in Zena's question: Why didn't
Parrish open his letters ?”.
“Why, indeed?” I said. “He might throw 'C. M.'s'
letter aside, but if there had been a previous letter warn-
ing him that danger threatened him from Italy, do you
imagine he would have failed to open one with the Rome
postmark on it?”
“That does seem to knock the bottom out of my argu-
ment,” said Quarles.
“I am afraid the theory is too elaborate altogether,"
I went on. “Parrish was an eccentric. I was not de-
ceived. I am astonished there should ever have been
an episode in his life which should necessitate a warn-
ing from Emanuele. Probably the Italian exaggerated
the position. That B. is stated to have come to England
three years ago, and the murder has only just occurred,
would certainly confirm this view.”
“It does, but you throw no light on the mystery, and
the fact remains that Parrish was murdered. You have
not knocked the bottom out of my theory, and with
Cockran’s help I am going to put it to the test. For
the moment there is nothing more to be done. I must
wait until I hear from Cockran. I will wire you some
time to-morrow. You must meet me without fail wher-
ever I appoint. I think Cockran is fully persuaded that
I am helping him to snap the handcuffs on to your
wrists. The capture of a brother detective would be a
fine case to have to his credit, wouldn't it?”
“I hope you are not doing anything risky, dear,"
said Zena.


212
The Master Detective
I saw Cockran look enquiringly at Quarles, but he did
not say anything. The professor had evidently per-
suaded the inspector to let him carry out this investiga-
tion in his own way.
“Of course, a man has been killed,” he went on,
“but it wasn't Parrish, I fancy. He lived in Parrish's
chambers; was a lonely man with a hobby, and if the
people who saw him about liked to think his name was
Parrish, well, it didn't trouble him. You didn't happen
to know the real Parrish, I suppose ?”
“Of course not.”
“No, I didn't expect you would,” said Quarles, “but
tell me how it was you so promptly recognized the man
we are after.”
“I am not sure it was the same man.”
“But you were when the boy recognized him.”
“I say now I am not sure.”
“Oh, but you are,” returned Quarles. “You could
not possibly be mistaken. From the inner room of Par-
rish's chambers you must have watched both the men
for the best part of an hour.”
A teaspoon clattered in a saucer as the woman sprang
to her feet, and I saw she was the woman who had pointed
me out to the constable when I had entered Gray's Inn
on the morning after the murder. Cockran's face was a
study.
“You made a mistake,” Quarles went on quietly. “I
have worked it all out in my own mind and I daresay
there are some details missing. I will tell you how I ex-
plain the mystery. Parrish, when in Italy, wronged
some one dear to you. You only heard of it afterwards.
Personally you did not know Parrish, but you found out
what you could about him: that he was connected with
the law, that he lived in London, in one of the places


The Man at Warburton's
213
where lawyers do live. You determined to come to Eng-
land for revenge. I do not say you were not justified.
I do not know the circumstances. That was three years
ago. An accident-was it the one at Basle, which oc-
curred about that time?-detained you, laid you aside
for some months, perhaps. You had not much money,
you had to live, so your arrival in England was delayed.
When you got here, you took a post as waitress in Soho.
Only in your leisure time could you look for Mr. Parrish.
- At first, probably, you knew nothing about the London
Directory, and when you did, looked for the name in
the wrong part of it, and, of course, you would not ask
questions of any one. That might implicate you later
on. At last you found him; saw the name on the door.
Possibly you have been waiting your opportunity for
some little time, but the other night it came. Of course,
you could not know there was a mistake. You heard
Parrish speak of Italy, and when the other man had de-
parted you crept from your hiding place and struck your
blow; but you did not kill Parrish. Three years ago he
was warned of his danger, and got out of your way. He
was warned that you had started for England by
Emanuele. Do you know him?”.
The woman had stood tense and rigid, listening to this
story of the crime; now she collapsed.
“Emanuele!” she cried.
“I see you do know him,” Quarles said. “You have
my sympathy. It is possible that the man Parrish de-
served his fate, only it happens that another has suf-
fered in his place.”
“It was my sister he wronged," said the woman.
“Was it fear that some evidence might be found
against you which made you point out a man whom you
knew was innocent ?” said Quarles.


214
The Master Detective
She nodded, still sobbing.
“The rest is for you to manage,” said Quarles, turn-
ing to the inspector. “I suppose you are not likely to
make any further mistakes. This would all have been
cleared up days ago if Wigan had not been taken off the
job.”
I suppose Cockran felt a fool, as the professor intended
he should.
There was little to be explained when I went to Chel-
sea later. Quarles's reconstruction of the crime had
showed me the lines along which he had worked. The
unopened letter from Rome had set him speculating with
a view to proving that the dead man was not Parrish;
and whilst I had only considered the change in character,
he had had before him the possibility of a separate
identity.
“Still, I do not understand how you came to suspect
the woman,” I said.
“Her recognition of you was too prompt to carry con-
viction under the circumstances,” he answered. “The
boy, who is in an office in Gray's Inn, might have met you
together. I have no doubt he did; but since the woman
had no business there, and if my theory were right, was
concealed in Parrish's chambers at the time, she could
not have seen you, except in the way I explained to her.
Poor soul! I feel rather a cur for trapping her, but you
were in a tight hole, Wigan, and I had to get you out.”
Evidence showing that Parrish was a heartless scoun-
drel, the jury found extenuating circumstances for the
woman, in spite of the fact that she had murdered an in-
nocent man, so she escaped the extreme penalty. I was
glad, although the strict justice of the verdict may be
questioned. From Italy, from Emanuele, who was the
woman's cousin, we learnt that when Parrish was in


CHAPTER XI
THE STRANGE CASE OF DANIEL HARDIMAN
N OT infrequently I am put in charge of cases which
NV are of small importance and might well be left to a
less experienced man. I thought the mystery of Daniel
Hardiman was such a case. I even went further and
imagined that it was given to me because I was a bit
under a cloud over the Parrish affair. Quarles jeered
at my imagination and was interested from the outset,
perhaps because he had had rather more of the Psycho-
logical Society than was good for him. Anyway, he
traveled north with me to meet the liner Slavonic.
On the passenger list was the name Daniel Hardiman.
He had come on board at Montevideo in company with
his man, John Bennett, who appeared to be half servant,
half companion. They had only a small amount of
personal luggage, one trunk each, but several stout pack-
ing-cases of various sizes had been stored away in the
hold. Hardiman had a first-class cabin to himself; his
man traveled second-class, but spent much of his time in
his master's cabin ; indeed, for the first few days of the
voyage Hardiman was not seen except at meal times.
It was said amongst the crew-probably the servant
had mentioned the fact—that they were returning to
England after an absence of many years, during which
time they had lived much alone; and amongst the pas-
sengers it was agreed that there was something curious
about the pair. There was speculation upon the prome-
nade deck and in the smoking-room; the gossip was a
216


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 217
pleasant interlude in the monotony of a long voyage. At
the end of a week, however, Mr. Hardiman no longer
stayed in his cabin. At first he paced the deck, thought-
fully, only in the early morning or late in the evening,
but later was to be found in a deck-chair, either gazing
fixedly at the horizon or interested in the games of the
children on board. One sturdy youngster, when re-
covering a ball which had rolled to Hardiman's feet,
spoke to him. All the answer he got was a nod of the
head, but the boy had broken the ice, and two men after-
wards scraped acquaintance with the curious traveler.
One was a Mr. Majendie, who was going to England on
business; the other Sir Robert Gibbs, a Harley Street
specialist, who had broken down with hard work, and
was making the round trip for the benefit of his health.
By wireless, when the ship was two days from Liver-
pool, came the news that Hardiman had been murdered
by his man-servant, and it was in consequence of this
message that Christopher Quarles and I had gone north
to meet the boat on its arrival.
When we went on board the captain gave us the out-
line of Hardiman's behavior during the voyage as I have
here set it down. Quarles asked him at once whether
he thought that all the passengers, after landing, could
be traced if necessary. The captain seemed to consider
this rather a tall order, but thought all those who could
possibly have had access to Mr. Hardiman might be
traced.
“It is a pity we cannot forbid any one to land until we
like," said the professor.
“There is not so much mystery about it as all that,”
said the captain, “although it isn't quite plain sailing.
One of our passengers, a swell doctor, who examined the
body with our ship's doctor directly after the discovery,


218
The Master Detective
will give you the benefit of his opinion, and I am de-
taining another passenger, a Mr. Majendie.”
“Then there is some doubt as to the servant's guilt ?” I
said.
“I don't think so, but you shall hear the whole story.”
“First, we should like to see the body,” said Quarles.
“We might be influenced unconsciously by your tale. It
is well to come to the heart of the matter with an open
mind.”
- The captain sent for the ship's doctor and a steward-
ess, and with them we went to the cabin, which had been
kept locked.
The body, which lay in the berth where it had been
found, an upper berth with a porthole, had been washed
and attended to by the stewardess. The lower berth had
been used by the traveler for some of his clothes—they
were still there, neatly folded. The dead man's trunk
was on a sofa on the opposite side of the cabin, a sofa
which could be made into a third berth if necessary. Ex-
cept that the body had been attended to, the cabin was
just as it had been found.
“I took the stained sheets away,” said the stewardess,
“but I thought it would be wiser not to move him from
the upper berth.”
"It is a pity he couldn't have been left just as he
was,” Quarles answered; “you have no doubt washed
away all the evidence.”
He was a long time examining the wound, a particu-
larly jagged one in the neck, a stab rather than a cut, but
with something of both in it.
“Has the—the knife been found?” Quarles asked.
“No," answered the captain. “You hesitate in your
question a little. You are certain it was a knife, I sup-
pose?”


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 219
“Yes. Why do you ask?”.
“His man says it was a bullet."
“A bullet !” and Quarles looked back at the wound.
"The servant Bennett does not deny that he killed his
master," said the doctor; “but he persists in saying that
he had no knife.”
“Has a revolver been found ?” I asked.
“No, and no one heard any report,” said the captain.
“I cannot make this fellow Bennett out. He seems to me
rather mad. Besides, there are one or two curious points.
Would you like to hear them now?”
“Please," said Quarles.
With sailor-like directness the story was told in a
straightforward narrative, destitute of trimmings of
any kind. A steward had gone to Mr. Hardiman's cabin
to take him a weak brandy-and-water; he had done the
same first thing every morning during the voyage. He
saw Hardiman lying with his face toward the cabin, one
arm hanging over the side of the berth. There was
no sign of a struggle. The clothes were not thrown
back, but there was a considerable quantity of blood.
Curiously enough, the porthole had been unscrewed and
was open. The steward fetched Dr. Williams, the ship’s
doctor, who said death had probably occurred five or six
hours previously, a statement Sir Robert Gibbs cor-
roborated. There was no knife anywhere.
“The time of death is important,” the captain went
on. “Bennett has occupied a second-class cabin with a
man named Dowler, and on the night of the murder
Dowler, having taken something which disagreed with
him, was awake all night, and he declares that Bennett
never stirred out of his bunk. If the doctors are right,
then Dowler's evidence provides Bennett with an alibi,
of which, however, he shows no anxiety to take advan-


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 221
Gibbs it would be useful,” said Quarles. "Have you the
canvas bag of stones?”
“Yes, locked up in my cabin. I will send and ask Sir
Robert to join us there.”
“And could you get a knife?” asked the professor.
“Any old knife will do, a rusty one for preference.”
A few minutes later we were in the captain's cabin,
and on the table was the bag of stones and a rusty and
much-worn table-knife. Dr. Williams had just explained
to us his reasons for fixing the time of death when Sir
Robert entered. He was a man with a pronounced man-
ner, inclined to take the lead in any company in which he
found himself, and was very certain of his own opinion.
On the way to the cabin Quarles had whispered to me
to take the lead in asking questions, and to leave him in
the background as much as possible, so after the captain's
short introductions I began at once:
“I may take it, Sir Robert, that you agree with Dr.
Williams as to the time Hardiman had been dead when
you saw the body?”
“Certainly.”
“And in your opinion the wound could not, under any
circumstances, have been caused by a bullet?”
“Certainly not,” and he smiled at the futility of the
question.
“The bullet might have been a peculiar one,” I sug-
gested, “different from any with which we are familiar.
The servant, who does not deny his guilt, says it was a
bullet.”
“And I say it was not,” Sir Robert answered. “No
kind of bullet could make such a wound. A knife with
a point to it was used. The action would be a stab and a
pull sideways. I am of the opinion that the blow was


222
The Master Detective
struck while the victim was in a deep sleep. I think
Dr. Williams agrees with me."
Williams nodded.
“You would otherwise have expected to find some
signs of a struggle?” I said.
"I should. It is quite possible, I think, that at times
Mr. Hardiman had recourse to a draught or a tablet to
induce sleep.”
“I understand that you had some conversation with
Mr. Hardiman during the voyage, Sir Robert. Were you
struck by any peculiarity in him ?”.
“He was an eccentric man, but a man of parts un-
doubtedly. He told me very little about himself, but I
gathered that he had traveled extensively, and out of the
beaten track. I put down his difficulty in sustaining a
conversation to this fact. He seemed in good health-
one of those wiry men who can stand almost anything."
“Sir Robert, could it possibly have been a case of sui-
cide?” Quarles asked, suddenly leaning forward.
“Have you examined the wound carefully?” asked the
doctor.
“I have."
“If you will try to stab yourself like that you will see
how impossible it is. Besides, you forget that no knife
has been found, and in a case of suicide it would have
been. I may add that the knife used was not in the
least like the one I see on the table there.”
“It must have had a point, you think?” said Quarles.
“I do not think-I am certain."
“Did Mr. Hardiman ever say anything about these
bits of rock to you?”
“Never," answered the doctor. “I think I suggested
to the captain that they might be valuable. I have no
· knowledge on the point, but I cannot conceive a man


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 223
like Hardiman carrying them about unless they were of
value.”
“I take it he is a geologist,” Quarles said carelessly.
Sir Robert would like to have been present throughout
our inquiry, but the professor firmly but courteously ob-
jected. He said it would not be fair to those chiefly con-
cerned, and he appealed to me to endorse his opinion.
The doctor had raised a spirit of antagonism in him.
The sailor of the watch was next interviewed, a good,
honest seaman who evidently had a wholesome dread of
the law in any form. He thought it was Mr. Majendie he
had seen on the deck that night, but he would not swear
to it.
“Are you sure it wasn't Bennett?” I asked.
“Ay, sir, I'm pretty sure of that.”
“What is it that particularly makes you think it was
Mr. Majendie?”
“I just think it, sir; I can't rightly say why."
“What did he do, exactly?” said Quarles. “Just
show me-show me his action. Here are the bits of rock
in the bag; take the bag up and pretend to pitch it into
the sea, as he did.”
The sailor took up the bag and did so. His pantomime
was quite realistic.
“I note that you turn your back to us," said Quarles.
“Ay, sir, because his back was turned to me. It
wasn't until he made the action of throwing—just like
that, it was that I knew he had anything in his hand.”
“Did you call out to him ?”
“No; he was there and gone directly."
“It was a bad throw, too?”
“Ay, sir, it was; he did it awkward, something like
women throws when they ain't used to throwing."


224
The Master Detective
“That good fellow would feel far more uncomfortable
in the witness-box than most criminals do in the dock,”
said Quarles when the sailor had gone. “He is as cer-
tain that it was Mr. Majendie as he is certain of anything,
but he is not going to commit himself. Shall we have a
talk with Mr. Majendie next? Let me question him,
Wigan.”
Majendie's appearance was in his favor. He might
be a villain, but he didn't look it. There was Southern
warmth in his countenance and temper in his dark eyes,
but his smile was prepossessing.
“A sailor's absurd mistake has put you to great in-
convenience, I fear,” said Quarles.
“The inconvenience is nothing," was the answer. “I
court enquiry.”
“Of course you were not on the deck that night?”
"No."
“It is Mr. Hardiman's past I want to get at,” said the
professor. “You had some talk with him during the
voyage; what did you think was his business in life?”
“He was a traveler. I think he had been where no
other civilized man has been. He did not directly tell
me so, but I fancy he had wandered in the interior of
Patagonia.”
“Should you say he was a geologist ?”
“No,” said Majendie with a smile. “He showed me
some pieces of rock he had with him; indeed, I am sus-
pected of flinging some of these bits of rock away in that
canvas bag I see there. Is it likely I should do anything
so foolish? It is part of my business to know something
of bits of rock and blue clay and the like, and unless I
am much mistaken those bits of rock are uncut dia-
monds."
“Diamonds!” I exclaimed.


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 225
“Yellow diamonds of a kind that are very rarely
found,” Majendie answered. “I may be mistaken, but
that is my opinion. If I am right, the actual gem, when
cut, would be comparatively small. It is enclosed, as it
were, in a thick casing of rock.”
“Did Hardiman know this?” Quarles asked.
“I am not sure. In the course of conversation I told
him that I knew something about diamonds, and he asked
me into his cabin to show me some bits of rock he had in
his trunk. He spoke of them as bits of rock, but he may
have known what they really were.”
“Did he give you this invitation quite openly?” asked
Quarles.
“Oh, yes. There were others sitting near us who must
have overheard it. I went with him, and gave him my
opinion as I have given it to you. Of course, there may
not be a jewel at the heart of every bit of rock; no doubt
there are a great many quite useless bits in Hardiman's
collection.”
“This is very interesting,” said Quarles. “Would
you look at the pieces in that bag and tell us if any of
them are useless."
Majendie spent some minutes in examining them, and
then gave it as his opinion that they all contained a jewel.
“Now that knife "
“I thought no knife had been found,” said Majendie.
“That has just been found on the ship,” said Quarles.
“It is an absurd question, but as a matter of form I must
ask it. Have you ever seen that knife before?”
Majendie took it up and looked at it.
“Hardiman was apparently stabbed with a rusty
knife,” Quarles remarked.
“Stabbed! You could not stab any one with this, and
certainly I have never seen it before."


226
The Master Detective
I did not understand why Quarles was passing this off
as the real weapon. He took it up, grasped it firmly, and
stabbed the air with it.
“I don't know, it might—".
He shook his head and put the knife on the table
again. Majendie took it up and in his turn stabbed the
air with it.
“Utterly impossible,” he said. “This could not have
been the knife used; besides, there would surely be stains
on it."
“I am inclined to think you are right,” said Quarles.
“You must forgive the captain for detaining you, Mr.
Majendie, and of course you can land this afternoon.
The captain wishes us to lunch on board; perhaps you
will join us?”
“With pleasure. So long as I am in London to-night
no harm is done.”
When he had gone Quarles turned to the captain.
“Pardon my impudence, but we must not lose sight of
Majendie. You must follow him this afternoon, Wigan,
and locate him in London. You must have him watched
until we get to the bottom of this affair. Now let us see
Bennett.”
The man-servant proved to be a bundle of nerves, and
it was hardly to be wondered at if the story he told was
true. A question or two set him talking without any
reticence apparently.
Time seemed to have lost half its meaning for him.
He could not fix how long he and his master had been
away from England; many years was all he could say.
They had traveled much in South America, latterly in
the wilds of Patagonia. There they had fallen into the
hands of savages, and for a long time were not sure of
their lives from hour to hour. Always Mr. Hardiman -


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman
227
seemed able to impress their captors that he was a dan-
gerous man to kill; fooled them, in fact, until they
came to consider him a god. Master and man were pres-
ently lodged in a temple, and were witnesses of some
horrible rites which they dared not interfere with.
Finally, at a great feast, Hardiman succeeded in con-
vincing them that he was their national and all-powerful
deity, and that he had come to give them victory over all
their enemies. By his command the wooden figure of
one of their gods was taken from the temple, and, to-
gether with two curious drums used for religious pur-
poses, and other sacred things, was carried through the
forest to a certain spot which Hardiman indicated. The
whole company was then to go back three days' march,
spend seven days in religious feasting, and return. In
the meanwhile he and his servant must be left quite alone
with these sacred things.
“I suppose they returned,” Bennett went on, “but
they did not find us. They did not find anything. The
spot my master had fixed upon was within a day's march
of help. We set out as soon as those devils had left us,
and, having got assistance, my master would go back
and fetch the wooden figure and the other things. They
are in the cases in this ship.”
“What was the main object of your master's travels ?”
I asked.
“He was writing a book about tribes and their cus-
toms.”
“And he took a great interest in stones and bits of
rock ?”
“That was only recently, and I never understood it,
sir. He put some in my trunk and some in his own, but
what they were for I do not know. I don't suppose he
did himself. He was always peculiar.”


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 231
in a thousand would have done that, no matter what
state of agitation he was in. The packet was deliberately
thrown away, remember; it was not done in a moment
of sudden fear."
“I am all attention to hear what theory you base upon
it," I returned.
“We will begin with the wound,” said Quarles. “Sir
Robert Gibbs and Dr. Williams agree that it could not
have been self-inflicted. Sir Robert suggested that I
should try to stab myself in the same way and see how
impossible it was. Remember it was a stab and a pull of
the blade to one side. It was impossible for a right-
handed man, difficult even for a left-handed one, but
not impossible. That was the first point I made a mental
note of.”
“Why did you not speak of the possibility?”
“Chiefly, I think, because I was convinced that Sir
Robert expected me to do so, was waiting for me to do so,
in fact. He is far too cute a man not to have considered
the possibility, and was prepared to prove that Hardiman
was a right-handed man, as we know he was from his
servant. In all probability Sir Robert knew that Ben-
nett had to cut his master's nails. I was not disposed to
give the doctor such an opening as that, although no
doubt he thought me a fool for not thinking of it.”
“Then we do away with the theory of suicide?” I said.
“Well, the absence of any weapon appears to do
that,” said Quarles. “What was the weapon? A knife
of some kind, a rusty knife and rather jagged, I fancy.
The wound suggested that it was jagged, and in spite of
the washing my lens revealed traces of rust. Rather a
curious knife to commit murder with. That was my
second mental note. We had to be prepared for a curi-
ous personality somewhere in the business."


232
The Master Detective
“Mr. Majendie,” I said.
“He is hardly such an abnormal individual as the
servant Bennett. We will consider Bennett first. His
story is a straightforward one, nervously told, dramati-
cally told. We might easily assume that imagination
had much to do with that story were it not for the con-
tents of those packing-cases. They are corroborative
evidence. We may grant that the man's recent expe-
riences have had their effect upon him, have laid bare his
nerves, as it were, but since the most unlikely part of his
story is true we may assume that the rest of it is. We
need not go over it again in detail. The man was evi-
dently attached to his master, and was prepared to shoot
him if he exhibited signs of madness. Considering the
state of his own nerves, I can believe that Bennett
watched for these signs, and felt convinced of his master's
madness when he spoke of a wealth of diamonds. Ben-
nett knew they had no diamonds in their possession. He
only knew of those bits of rock. So he determined to
shoot Hardiman. However, I am convinced that he did
not leave his cabin that night. Sleep prevented his
carrying out the intention, but when in the morning he
found that his master was dead-murdered—he imme-
diately translated his intention into action, and concluded
that he had done it. There was no one else who would
be likely to murder him. That he should do it was nat-
ural under the circumstances. He would not look upon
it as a crime. He had only carried out his instructions
to the letter, as I have little doubt he has been accus-
tomed to do for years."
“It is a theory, of course, but,"
“Oh, it is more than a theory now,” said Quarles, in-
terrupting me. “He admits his guilt, yet we know that
Hardiman was stabbed, not shot. We conclude, there-


234
The Master Detective
bits of rock, else how came they in that canvas bag, and
why were they thrown away? Majendie told us that
only certain of those stones had at the heart of them a
diamond, yet he also said that all those in the bag had.
That looks as if they had been picked out and stolen by
an expert, and when we remember that Hardiman had
shown him the contents of the trunk suspicion points
very strongly to Majendie as the thief. Of course, when
Hardiman was found dead, he would get rid of evidence
which must incriminate him. We must see Majendie,
Wigan, and ask him a few questions."
“Then he did not kill Hardiman?” said Zena.
“I do not think so."
"Who did ?".
“Nobody. Hardiman was mad and committed sui-
cide, and in a particular way. Think of Bennett's de-
scription of that Patagonian temple, Wigan. Those sav-
ages were persuaded that Hardiman was a god; possibly
human sacrifices were offered to him, and he dared not
interfere. That was sufficient to start a man on the
road to madness. That wooden god he brought home
tells us something. It was the left arm which was
stretched out, and in the closed fist was a hole into
which a knife had been fixed, a symbol of vengeance and
sacrifice, a symbol, mind you, not a weapon which was
actually used. I imagine that time had caused it to be-
come rusty and jagged. Now, I think Hardiman re-
moved that knife before packing the figure, kept it near
him, because obsessed with it; went mad, in short. We
know from Bennett that he believed his left hand was
becoming stronger, and I believe his madness compelled
him to practise his left hand until it became strong
enough to grasp the knife firmly and strike the blow.
Since the god was left-handed, his priests were probably


The Strange Case of Daniel Hardiman 235
so too, and the victims would be slain with the left hand.
There was some religious significance attached to the
fact, no doubt, and Hardiman's madness would compel
him to be exact.”
“But what became of the knife?” I asked.
“The porthole was found open,” said Quarles. “I
think he deliberately put it out of the porthole, his mad-
ness suggesting to him that no one should know how he
died. He would have strength enough to do this, for he
died quietly, bled to death, in fact, and gradually fell
into a comatose condition, hence no sign of a struggle.
It is impossible to conceive what devilish power may
lurk about those things which have been used for devil-
ish purposes. I am very strong on this point, as you
know, Wigan.”
Of course it was quite impossible to prove whether
Quarles was right about the knife, but he was correct as
regards Majendie, who had hoped to get possession of a
few of these stones without Hardiman missing them, and
then, when the unexpected tragedy happened, had tried
to get rid of them, using his right hand to throw them
away. Amongst the dead man's papers there was a will
providing amply for his servant Bennett—who, I may
add, recovered his normal health after a time—and leav-
ing his relics to different museums, and any other prop-
erty he was possessed of to charities. I believe the yel-
low diamonds proved less valuable than Majendie imag-
ined, but at any rate the various charities benefited
considerably.


CHAPTER XII
THE CRIME IN THE YELLOW TAXI
NE'S last adventure is apt to assume the place of
first importance, the absorption in the details is so
recent and the gratification at solving the problems still
fresh. Used to his methods as I had become, Quarles's
handling of the Daniel Hardiman case was constantly in
my mind until I had become acquainted with the yellow
taxi. I will not say his deductions in the taxi affair
were more clever-you must judge that—but I am sure
they were more of a mental strain to him, for he lost his
temper with Zena.
We had been arguing various points, and seemed to
have exhausted all our ideas.
“Give a dog a bad name and hang him," said Zena,
breaking the silence which had seemed to indicate that
our discussion was at an end.
“I repeat that had he been in a different position he
would have been arrested at once,” said Quarles testily ;
“but because he happens to be a prominent Member of
Parliament, goes everywhere which is anywhere, and
knows everybody who is anybody, it suits people to for-
get he is a blackguard and it suits Scotland Yard to neg-
lect its duty.”
An inquest in connection with a very extraordinary
case had taken place that day, and had been adjourned.
On the previous Monday, between seven and eight in
the evening, the traffic had become congested at Hyde
236


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
237
Park Corner, chiefly owing to the fog, and the attention
of a gentleman standing on the pavement-a Mr. Lester
Williams-had been drawn suddenly to the occupant of
a taxi. Possibly a street lamp, or the light on an ad-
jacent motor, picked out the lady's face particularly, and
he had opened the door before he called to the driver.
The lady was leaning back in the corner, but he saw
at once that something was wrong, and when he touched
her the horrible truth became apparent.
She was dead.
He called to the driver to draw up to the curb and
then called a policeman. Williams jumped at once to
the conclusion that a crime had been committed, and
the police took the same view.
There was no difficulty as regards identification. She
was Lady Tavener, wife of Sir John Tavener, M.P.
The driver, Thomas Wood, had come from the other side
of Twickenham and had taken up Sir John and his wife
at their own front door. He had constantly driven them
up to town and elsewhere, sometimes separately, some-
times together. On this occasion he had driven to a
house on Richmond Green, where Sir John had got out.
Lady Tavener was going on to the Piccadilly Hotel.
Wood had got as far as Hyde Park Corner when a gentle-
man called to him. He had not seen the gentleman open
the door of the taxi, knew nothing in fact until he was
told to drive up to the curb and Lady Tavener was taken
out dead.
At the inquest the evidence took rather a curious turn.
It was common knowledge that Sir John had married
Lady Tavener after her divorce from a Mr. Curtis, since
dead, and Sir John's reputation was none of the best.
Veiled accusations were constantly made against him
in those would-be smart journals catering for that public


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi 239
“I was there,” he snapped.
I had not seen him and was astonished.
“Arrest Tavener,” he went on, “and then you may be
able to solve the problem. There may be extenuating
circumstances, but they can be dealt with afterwards.
Let us go into another room."
He got up and brought the discussion to a close. He
was in one of those moods in which there was no doing
anything with him.
Although I was at the inquest, I had had little to do
with the case up to this point; now it came entirely into
my hands, and it may be that Quarles's advice was at the
back of my mind during my inquiries.
I made one or two rather interesting and significant
discoveries. The Folliotts, with whom it was said Lady
Tavener was dining that night, did not know Sir John,
and moreover, they had no appointment with Lady Tav-
ener that evening, nor were they dining at the Piccadilly
Hotel. The people on Richmond Green, with whom Sir
John had dined, admitted that he was in an excited con-
dition. He made an expected division in the House of
Commons an excuse for leaving early, directly after din-
ner in fact, but he had not gone to the House and did
not arrive home until after midnight, when he found a
constable waiting for him with the news of his wife's
death.
These facts were given in evidence at the next hear-
ing, but it was less due to them than to public feeling, I
fancy, that a verdict of murder against Sir John Tavener
was returned.
That night I went again to Chelsea.
“I see that you have arrested him, Wigan," was the
professor's greeting.
“I don't believe he is guilty," I answered.


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
241
fense, Wigan, and it will be exceedingly hard to get
any judge and jury to convict him. Nothing carries
greater weight than medical evidence, and you will find
the doctors sticking to their opinion no matter what hap-
pens. No, Wigan, your reasons do not prove that he is
not an exceedingly clever and calculating rascal. On
the present evidence I think he would escape the hang-
man, but the public will continue to think him guilty
unless some one else stands in the dock in his place."
“I wonder whether the Folliotts have told the truth,”
said Zena.
"Intuition, Wigan,” laughed Quarles, "jumps to the
end of the journey and wants to argue backwards."
“Do you not often do the same, dear?”
“Perhaps, but not this time. I think you said the taxi
had been in charge of the police ?"
“Yes," I answered.
“I should like to see it."
“We can go to-morrow.”
I had already spent a couple of hours with that taxi,
and I was rather anxious to see how Quarles would go to
work with it.
He began with the metal work and the lamps, nodded
his admiration at the way they were kept, and remarked
that but for the vehicle number and the registering ma-
chine it might be a private car. He examined the engine
and the tires, using his lens; seemed to be particularly
interested in the texture of the rubber, and picked out
some grains of soil which had stuck in the tire. All four
tires came in for this close inspection.
Inside the taxi his lens went slowly over every inch
of the upholstering, and with the blade of a penknife he
scraped up some soil from the carpet. This he put on a
piece of white paper and spent a long time investigating


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
243
hardly spoke a word the whole way, but sat leaning for-
ward, looking keenly from one side of the road to the
other, as if he were bent on obtaining a mental picture of
every yard of the way. . Arriving at Richmond Green
he did no more than just glance at the house where Sir
John had dined that night, and then told the man to
drive to Twickenham as fast as he liked to go.
“Stop him when we reach Tavener's house, Wigan.
You know it, I suppose ?”
I did, and stopped the driver when we got there.
Quarles had the car turned round, then he got out and
examined the tires with his lenses. The driver winked
at me, and I nodded to assure him that I knew the ec-
centric gentleman I had to deal with, and that he was
quite harmless.
We then drove back to Richmond rapidly, and from
there went toward town, but more slowly. By Kew
Gardens along to Kew Bridge Quarles did not seem
particularly interested in the journey, but as we drew
near Hammersmith he became alert again.
We were going slowly past St. Paul's school when he
told the driver to take the second turning to the left. It
was a narrow street, a big warehouse, which was being
enlarged, on one side, and a coal yard on the other.
About fifty yards down this street, the driver was in-
structed to stop.
“We will get out for a minute and look at the view,”
said Quarles facetiously.
I confess I found nothing whatever to interest me, but
Quarles seemed to find the blank walls of the warehouse
and coal yard attractive.
“Now, driver, you can turn round and get us back to
Hyde Park Corner as quickly as you like," said the pro-
fessor as we got into the taxi again.


244
The Master Detective
Arriving at our destination he told the driver to go
into the park, and there stopped him. Again he ex-
amined the tires and the texture of them, picking some
soil from the rubber, and he scraped up some dust from
the floor of the taxi with a penknife and put it in an
envelope.
“Thank you, my man,” he said, paying a substantial
fare.
“You're welcome, guv'nor," said the driver with a
grin.
“He is fully persuaded that he has been driving a
lunatic and his keeper,” Quarles said as he walked away.
“I suppose you can find the driver of the other taxi,
Wigan.”
“We might have found him this morning. He lives
at Twickenham."
“I want you to see him and ask him two questions.
First, was the fog in Hammersmith, or elsewhere on the
journey, thick enough to bring him to a standstill before
he reached Hyde Park Corner? Secondly, is he quite
sure that the man who opened the door and called to him
had not just got out of the taxi ?”
“But-"
“You ask him these two questions and get him to an-
swer definitely,” said Quarles in that aggravating and
dictatorial manner he sometimes has. “To-morrow night
come to Chelsea. I am not prepared to talk any more
about the Tavener case until then.”
Without another word he went off in the direction of
Victoria, leaving an angry man behind him. I am
afraid I swore. However, I hunted up the driver of the
taxi, and went to Chelşea the following night, still some-
what out of temper.


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
245
Quarles and Zena were already in the empty room
waiting for me.
“Well, what did the man say?” asked the professor.
“The fog did not stop him anywhere until he got to
Hyde Park Corner, and he is sure Lady Tavener was
alone after leaving Richmond.”
“He stuck to that?”
“He did, but after some consideration he said that he
had almost come to a standstill in Hammersmith Broad-
way on account of the trams. I suggested that some
one might have got into the taxi then, but while admit-
ting the bare possibility, he did not think it likely.”
“Did he give you the impression that he believed
Tavener guilty ?”
“Yes. He seemed to consider his arrest a proof of
it.”
“Naturally,” said the professor.
“Your whole investigation seems to be for the pur-
pose of proving Sir John innocent,” I said. “Why were
you so anxious to have him arrested ?”
“Pardon me, my one idea is to get at the truth. Al-
ways be careful of your premises, Wigan. That is the
first essential for a logical conclusion. Zena has said that
because a dog has a bad name I want to hang him. Well,
she gave me an idea; started a theory, in fact. Let us
go through the case. First there is the question of sui-
cide. It must come first, because if we are logical—the
law is not always logical, you know—if we are logical,
it is obvious no man could be hanged while the doctors
stuck tight to their opinion. However, I have reason
for leaving the question of suicide until last. There-
fore we investigate the question of murder. Had Sir
John disappeared after visiting the house on Richmond


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
249
“If we have no very definite facts,” Quarles went on,
"we have many peculiar circumstances, and I will try
and reconstruct the tragedy for you. Sir John and his
wife have quarreled at times we know, and to some ex-
tent at any rate have gone each their own way recently.
The fact that Sir John was the cause of her divorce, and
married her, may be taken as proof that he was fond
of his wife. A reformed rake constantly is, and often
develops a strong vein of jealousy besides. That Lady
Tavener was supposed by her husband to be dining with
the Folliotts, who, as a fact, had no appointment with her
that night, shows that she did not always explain her
going and coming to her husband. I suggest that Sir
John had begun to suspect his wife, and that his reason
for leaving Richmond early was to ascertain whether she
was going to the theater with the Folliotts as she had
told him.”
“It is an ingenious theory," I admitted.
“We follow Lady Tavener,” said Quarles. “It is not
likely she was going to spend the evening alone, or the
Folliotts would never have been mentioned. She was
going to meet some one. I suggest it was Lester Williams
who had arranged to meet her at Hyde Park Corner.
Whether the idea was to join her in the taxi, or that she
should leave the taxi there with orders that the driver
should meet her after the theater, I cannot say. I am in-
clined to think it was the former, and I hazard a guess
that Lady Tavener had not known Williams very long.
Of course, his explanation goes by the board. He was on
the lookout for the taxi. From the pavement he only
saw the taxi, but when he opened the door he found a
tragedy."
“But why should you think he was a new acquaintance
of Lady Tavener's?” asked Zena.


250
The Master Detective
“Since he hurried to the door instead of waiting for
the taxi to draw to the curb, I conclude he was taking
advantage of the stoppage to join Lady Tavener in the
taxi. Had she intended to leave the taxi there, he would
have waited until it came to the pavement. But my
theory demands that he should have been on the watch for
the taxi, therefore he must have known it. Had Lady
Tavener often used the taxi when she met Williams,
Wood, the driver, would have recognized Williams.
This does not appear to have been the case, therefore I
conclude they were comparatively new friends.”
“Do we come back to the theory of suicide, then?” I
asked.
“Not yet,” Quarles answered. “At present we
merely find a reason why Sir John and Lester Williams
have said so little, the one concerning his suspicions, the
other about his knowledge of Lady Tavener. Since his
wife was dead, why should Sir John say anything to cast
a reflection upon her. For the same reason, why should
Williams implicate himself in any way. From their dif-
ferent viewpoints they are both anxious to shield Lady
Tavener's name. Therefore, Wigan, since we wanted to
learn the truth, it was a good move to put Sir John in
such a position that, to save himself, he must speak.
Had we left him alone I have little doubt he would
have ended by accepting the doctor's opinion and,
rather than explain anything, would have remained
silent."
“And allowed suspicion to rest on his name?” said
Zena.
“It wouldn't. The doctor's evidence would have made
people sympathize with him and regret that he should
ever have been under suspicion. I am not saying he had
made a deep calculation on these chances, but he was


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
251
content to wait and let things take their course. He is
still doing so. His arrest has not brought any explana-
tion from him.”
“But he has said he believes his wife met with foul
play,” persisted Zena. “Do you believe he would do
nothing to bring the murderer to justice ?”
“I think not. I think he would value his wife's name
more than his revenge. If Sir John knew that his wife
was meeting Williams that night, he might presently lose
his temper and cause a scandal.”
“And he will know later, if your theory is right?” I
said.
"Perhaps not,” said Quarles. “Let us get back to the
contents of this envelope. The driver would have us be-
lieve that the first taxi came direct from Richmond to
Hyde Park Corner. We have strong reasons for believ-
ing it did not. Therefore, either he went out of his way,
by Lady Tavener's orders, to call for some one, or some
one got into the taxi without his knowledge. I sat on the
driver's seat, Wigan, and I admit that, if fully occupied
with driving, as he would be on a foggy night, entrance
might have been made without his knowledge, but on one
condition. The door must have been easy to open. The
door of that taxi isn't easy. I tried it. It is exceed-
ingly stiff, difficult to open, and impossible to close with-
out a very considerable noise. Therefore Wood knows
that some one entered, and we know that that some one
must have walked on a road covered with brick dust and
coal dust."
“Who is it?" I asked.
“Wood himself. He turned into the road we turned
into. If Lady Tavener noticed that he had done so, she
would not think anything of it. She would imagine the
road was up and a detour necessary. As a matter of


252
The Master Detective
fact, she would not have time to think much, and I do
not think she was alarmed, not even when Wood opened
the door. As he did so I imagine he said something of
this sort: ‘I think it only right to warn your Ladyship
that Sir John is suspicious.' He had to give some excuse
for stopping the taxi and going to his fare. Whether he
knew that Sir John was suspicious or not is immaterial.
He had constantly driven Lady Tavener, and was prob-
ably aware that some of her friends were not her hus-
band's. At any rate, some remark of this kind would
allay her suspicions, and then—"
“He murdered her?” asked Zena sharply.
“Well, I fancy this is where we come to the question of
suicide,” said Quarles. “He intended to murder her,
had his fingers on her throat, in fact, but the sudden ex-
citement saved him. I think she actually died of shock,
as the doctors declare. I think he was able to say some-
thing to her which caused that shock.”
“I can hardly believe”.
“Wait, Wigan,” the professor said, interrupting me.
“You will agree that, from the first, Wood's evidence
would naturally accuse Sir John. When you saw him
and pressed him with the two questions I suggested he
still sought to leave the impression upon you that Sir
John was guilty; but since your questions showed there
was a doubt in your mind, he admitted, to safeguard him-
self, the possibility of some one having entered the taxi
surreptitiously. One other point which counts, I think.
One of the lamps of the taxi, and only one of them, had
recently been removed from its socket. I imagine he
took it to make quite sure that Lady Tavener was dead."
"But he had often driven Lady Tavener. Why had
he waited so long ?” said Zena.
“And what reason had he for the murder?” I asked.


The Crime in the Yellow Taxi
253
“It was probably the first time he had driven them
together, when Sir John had left his wife during the
journey, and he wanted to implicate Sir John. In
short, this was his first opportunity for the double re-
venge he was waiting for. I have shown, at least I
think I have, that the taxi was not often used. We
being purchased on the hire system. I should say he
rarely hired himself out except to Sir John and Lady
Tavener. He was not an ordinary driver, but a very
clever schemer, and, like a clever schemer, I think one
little point has given him away altogether. Curtis,
from whom Lady Tavener was divorced, died shortly
afterwards, you may remember, of a broken heart, his
friends said, which means that he grieved abnormally at
the breaking up of his happiness. It is natural that
his friends and relations should hate the Taveners, and
one of them conceived the idea of revenge. It is curious
that several of the Curtises are called Baldwood Curtis.
Baldwood is a family name. It was easy to assume the
name of Wood. It would be likely to jump into the
mind if one of them wanted to assume a name.”
“What a horrible plot," said Zena, with a shudder.
“Horrible and clever,” said Quarles.
“I wonder if you are right, dear.”
“I have no doubt, but Wigan will be able to tell us
presently."
He was right, I think, practically in every particular.
I am not sure what would have happened to Wood.
Technically he had not actually killed Lady Tavener, but
pecting the worst, I suppose, he managed to hang himself
in his cell.


256
The Master Detective
vestry and the safe first,” he said as the taxi stopped.
I found the vestry in charge of a constable, and as
we entered a clergyman joined us. The vicar intro-
duced me to the Rev. Cyril Hayes, his curate. The ves-
try and the safe were just as they had been found that
morning; nothing had been moved. Yesterday had been
wet, and the flooring of wooden blocks in the choir ves-
try bore witness to the fact that neither men nor boys
had wiped their feet too thoroughly. Even in the clergy
vestry, which was carpeted, there were boot marks, so
it seemed probable that the weather had rendered abor-
tive any clue there might have been in this direction.
There were two safes in the clergy vestry, a large one
standing out in the room and a small one built into the
wall. It was in the latter that the chalice had been kept,
and the door was open. · Apparently two or three blows
had been struck at the wall with a chisel, or some sharp
instrument, and there were several scratches on the edge
of the door and around the keyhole; but it was quite
evident to me that the safe had been opened with a key.
I asked the vicar for his key, but it would not turn in
the lock.
“Was anything besides the chalice stolen ?" I asked.
“No,” the vicar returned. “As you see, there is an-
other chalice and two patens in the safe, one paten of
gold, but it was not taken, not even touched, I fancy.
It was the chalice and the chalice only that the thieves
came for.”
“It seems foolish to keep such a valuable chalice in
the vestry,” I said.
“It is kept in the bank as a rule," the vicar answered.
“I got it from the bank on Saturday and it would have
gone back this morning. Of course it was not possible
to keep such a gift a secret. The church papers had


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice 257
paragraphs about it, which some of the daily papers
copied.”
“Every gang in London knew of its existence then,”
I said.
"True," said the curate, "and you might go further
than that and remember that much of our work here
lies in some very poor and some very disreputable neigh-
borhoods.”
“It does,” said the vicar. "Amongst our parishion-
ers we must have many thieves, I am afraid.”
“There are thieves and thieves," said Mr. Hayes, "and
I fancy there are many who would not meddle with the
sacred vessels of a church. Superstition perhaps, but a
powerful deterrent.”
The vicar shook his head, evidently not agreeing with
this opinion.
"Probably I have had more to do with thieves than
you have, vicar," he said with a smile, and turning to
me he went on: “I am very interested in a hooligans'
club we have. They are a rough lot I can assure you.
Many of them have seen the inside of a jail, some of
them will again possibly; but there's a leaven of good
stuff in them. Saints have been reared from such poor
material before now.”
“When do you meet?” I asked.
"Mondays and Thursdays.”
“To-night. I'll look in to-night."
“But-"
“I may find the solution to the theft at your club,”
I said. The suggestion seemed to annoy him.
That the safe had been opened with a key and not
broken open indicated that some one connected with the
church was directly or indirectly responsible for the
theft, and this idea was strengthened by the fact that


258
The Master Detective
it was impossible to tell how the robbers had entered the
church. The verger had come in as usual that morning
by the north door which he had found locked, and it
was subsequently ascertained that all the other doors
were locked. Some of you may know the church and
remember that it is rather dark, its windows few and
high up; indeed, only by one of the baptistry windows
could an entry possibly have been effected, and I could
find nothing to suggest that this method had been used.
A few keen questions did not cause the verger to con-
tradict himself in the slightest particular, and his fif-
teen years' service seemed to exonerate him.
"Is it possible that you left the door unlocked last
night by mistake?” I queried.
“I should have found it open this morning,” he said,
as if he were surprised at my overlooking this point.
I had not overlooked it. I was wondering whether he
had found it open and was concealing the fact, fearing
dismissal for his carelessness.
A little later I had a private talk with the vicar.
“I think you had better tell me your suspicions," I
said.
“There is nothing which amounts to a suspicion," he
answered reluctantly. “It does not take a skilled de-
tective, Mr. Wigan, to see that some one connected with
the church must have had a hand in the affair. It is not
the work of ordinary thieves. Therefore, as I said, ab-
surd ideas will come. It happens that my curate, Mr.
Hayes, is much in debt, and has had recourse to money
lenders. He has said nothing to me about it; indeed, it
was only last week that I became aware of the fact, and
I decided not to speak to him until after Sunday. I was
going to talk to him this morning. It was a painful
duty, and naturally—".


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice
259
“Naturally you cannot help thinking about it in con-
nection with the chalice."
The vicar nodded as though words seemed to him too
definite in such a delicate matter. That the two things
had become connected in his mind evidently distressed
him, and he was soon talking in the kindest manner about
his curate, anxious to impress me with the excellent work
Mr. Hayes was doing in the parish.
“The hooligans' club, for instance?” I said.
“That amongst other things,” he answered.
“Miss Morrison was one of your rich parishioners, I
presume."
“She was not a parishioner at all," said Mr. Harding.
“She lived at Walham Green. She came to St. Ethel-
burga's because she liked our services, drove here in a
hired fly every Sunday morning. I visited her, at her
request, when she was ill some three years ago, but I
really knew little of her. To be quite truthful I thought
her somewhat eccentric, and never supposed she was
wealthy. The presentation of the chalice came as a great
surprise."
“Have you a photograph of the chalice?"
“No; but Miss Morrison's niece might have. I know
Miss Morrison had one taken, a copy of it appeared in
the church papers. The niece, Miss Belford, continues
to live at Walham Green-No. 3 Cedars Road.”
“Does she attend the church?” I asked, as I made a
note of the address.
“Oh, yes. She used to come with her aunt, and since
Miss Morrison's death she has taken up some parish
work. I know her much better than I did her aunt."
“Of course she has not yet heard of the theft ?”
“No, I have not talked about it to any one. I thought
silence was the best policy.”


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice 261
“How came she to give the jewels to the church then?”
“I hardly know, and I will confess that I was a little
disappointed when she did so. Does that sound very
ungrateful in view of the fact that she left me every-
thing else?”
“No. It is natural under the circumstances.”
“She was very fond of me, but as I have said, she
was secretive and she certainly did not give me her en-
tire confidence. I fancy the jewels were connected with
some romance in her past life, and for that reason she
did not wish any one else to possess them.”
“You can't give me any idea of the nature of this ro-
mance, Miss Belford ?”.
"No."
“It might possibly help me.”
“There is one thing I could do,” she said. “My aunt
had a very old friend living in Yorkshire. She would
be likely to know, and under the circumstances might
tell. If you think it would be any use I will write to
her."
“I wish you would.”
“If a romance in my aunt's life had something to do
with the robbery, it seems strange that the jewels have
been safe so long. They were always kept in the house.
I should have thought it would have been easier to steal
them from here than from the church.”
“I do not think we can be sure of that,” I said.
“Besides, the jewels have been quite safe at St. Ethel-
burga's for eighteen months,” she added.
“That is a point I admit. I understand that you work
in Mr. Harding's parish, so you know Mr. Hayes, of
course.”
“I have not been brought much in contact with him.
I have sung once or twice at his hooligan club enter-


262
The Master Detective-
tainments. He has made a great success of the club."
“Regenerating ruffians and drafting them into church
work, eh?”
“I believe he has had great influence with them.”
“I am going to visit that club to-night.”
“You will find he is doing a great work. You will
surely you are not thinking—"
“That reformation may be only skin deep? I am,
Miss Belford. The daily environment of these fellows
makes it easy for them to slip back into their old ways."
From Walham Green I went to Chelsea. I wanted to
see Zena Quarles, and there was nothing more to be done
in the chalice case until I had visited the hooligan club.
Not for a moment would I appear to sneer at the regen-
erating work which may be accomplished by such in-
stitutions, but experience has taught me that it is often
the cakes and ale, so to speak, which attract, while char-
acter remains unchanged, or at the best very thinly
veneered. There are always exceptions, of course. It is
difficult for the uninitiated to realize that men go in
for crime as a means of livelihood, and are trained to
become expert even as others are trained to succeed in
respectable professions. Many grades go to make up a
successful gang, and I had great hope of recognizing
some youngster's face at the club which would give me
a clue to the gang which had worked this robbery.
“You're the very man I was thinking about," said
Quarles when I was shown into the dining-room. “You
have come to tell me that you are on these hotel robber-
ies. Sit down, Wigan. How goes the inquiry?”
“You are wrong, professor. I was on the job for a
day and a half, but I'm off it again. I am investigating
the theft of a jeweled chalice."
“Left in a cheap safe in an insecure vestry, I sup-


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice
263
pose,” he said in a tone of disgust. “Serves them right.
Such things should be kept in a bank.”
I explained that it was only kept in the vestry safe
until it could be returned to the bank, but the fact did
not seem to impress him.
He made no suggestion that we should adjourn to that
empty room, where we had discussed so many cases. I
told him the story, although I was not seeking his help,
and he was not interested enough to ask a single ques-
tion when I had finished. He only wanted to discuss
the hotel robberies.
“I am going to that club this evening," I went on.
“The fact doesn't interest me,” he returned snap-
pishly.
“Fortunately I didn't come for your help; I wanted
to see Zena.”
“She's out and won't be home until late."
“And your temper's gone out, too, eh, Professor ?”
“What do you mean?”
“That you are simply lusting to be on the warpath,”
I laughed. “It might do you good to come and see the
hooligans with me to-night. Besides, if we could settle
the chalice case promptly we might be investigating the
hotel robberies before the end of the week.”
This suggestion clinched the matter. He came, be-
lieving possibly that I congratulated myself upon hav-
ing drawn him into the affair, which was not a fact. I
was glad of his company, but I did not want his help.
Knowing something of such places, this hooligans' club
astonished me. The raw material was rough enough, but
Mr. Hayes had worked wonders with it. His personality
had made no particular impression on me that morning,
but his achievement proved him a man of force and char-
acter. Quarles was evidently interested in him and his


264
The Master Detective
work. If what the vicar had told me about his curate
had left even a faint speculation regarding his integrity
in my mind, it was dissipated.
Visitors to the club were not an infrequent occurrence,
Mr. Hayes told us. He was rather proud that the in-
stitution had served as a type on which to form others.
"There mustn't be too much religion,” he said. “The
flotsam and jetsam of life have to learn to be men and
women first. Some of them are learning to be men here."
While I listened to him I had been eagerly scanning
the faces before me. There was not one I recognized.
I wandered about the room, feigning interest in the game
of bagatelle which was going forward with somewhat
noisy excitement, and stood by chess and draught play-
ers for a few moments to study their faces closely. I
looked keenly at each new arrival, but my clue was yet
to seek.
Suddenly a young fellow entered, rather smarter than
most of them, and I recognized him at once. Possibly
the hooligans' club had been his salvation, but he had
been bred amongst thieves, thieves I knew and had han-
dled at times.
“I began to think you weren't coming to-night,
Squires."
“Just looked in to say I can't come, sir," was the an-
swer. “Got a chance of a place, sir, and going to look
after it."
“That's right. Good luck to you. You can refer to
me, you know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With a careless word to two or three of the youths as
he passed down the room, Squires sauntered out.
“That's our man," I whispered to Quarles, and with-


266
'The Master Detective
“But it's not so evident that one of us ought not to
have followed the man and woman,” said Quarles.
“They may have gone to do the warning.”
“I think not,” I answered. “If you have noted our
direction you will find we have traveled a pretty cir-
cuitous route. He'll wait until he thinks he is safe from
pursuit, and then take a bee line for his destination.”
As if he would prove my words Squires mended his
pace, swinging down one street and up another as if
he had suddenly become definite. At corners he gained
on us, I think he must have run the moment he was out
of sight, and in one short street we were only just in
time to see him disappear round a corner.
“I'm going to give this up soon, Wigan,” said Quarles
as we hurried in pursuit. “I don't care how many
jewels the chalice had in it."
We were round the corner. Squires had disappeared,
but we could hear running feet in the distance.
“That settles it,” said Quarles, coming to halt a dozen
yards from the corner. “Go on if you like, Wigan,
but-"
I heard no more. Something struck me, enveloped
me, and there was an end. I am not very sure when a
new beginning happened. Perhaps it is only an after
consideration which makes me remember a whirring
sound in my ears, and a certain swinging motion, and a
murmur which was soothing. I am quite sure of the
pain which subsequently came to me. My head was big
with it, my limbs twisted with it. I was conscious of
nothing else for a period to which I cannot place limits.
Then there was fire in my throat.
I was sitting in the angle of a wall, on the floor; at
a little distance from me was a light which presently
resolved itself into a candle stuck in the neck of a bottle.


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice 267
There were moving shadows—I saw them, I think, before
I was conscious of the man and woman who made them.
The man had just poured brandy down my throat, the
girl, with her arms akimbo, watched him.
“He'll do now," said the man.
“Can't see why we take such trouble to keep death
away,” was the woman's answer.
“Are you in love with the hangman?”
The girl laughed, caught up the bottle, making the
shadows dance like a delirium, then I slipped back into
darkness again.
All kinds of things came into my mind after that, dis-
ordered dreams, and then I heard my name.
“Wigan! Wigan!"
I was still sitting in an angle of a wall, trussed like
a fowl, but I was awake.
“Is that you, Professor ?”
“No more hooligan clubs, Wigan.”
“What happened?”
“I remember turning a corner,” Quarles answered,
"and I woke up here. We were sandbagged, or some-
thing of the kind, and serves us right. If we wanted to
follow any one we ought to have followed the man and
woman. Can you drag yourself over to this corner ?
We can talk quietly then.”
It was rather a painful and lengthy operation, but I
fancy the effort did me good. My brain was clearer, I
began to grip things again.
“Where are we?” I said.
“Locked in a cellar, but where I do not know. We're
lucky to be no worse off, and probably I'm especially
lucky in not having been sandbagged by the man who
dealt with you. He would probably have closed my ac-
count, for he must have hit you a tremendous blow. I


270
The Master Detective
I fancy you would have followed this trail more keenly.
According to Miss Belford, apart from the jewels, her
aunt had not left sufficient to enable the niece to go on
living in Cedars Road, yet while Miss Morrison was alive
it was sufficient, apparently. Of course the niece may
have more expensive tastes, but under the circumstances
it was rather a curious statement. She believes that a
past romance was the reason why the jewels were left
to the church, and she admits that she was disappointed
they were not left to her. It seems possible, doesn't it,
that at one time she hoped to have them after her aunt's
death? That would mean there was no valid reason why
she shouldn't, and I think you might reasonably have
speculated that she knew more of the romance than she
admitted.”
“You wouldn't have thought so if you had talked with
her."
"Possibly not,' returned Quarles. “I started handi-
capped in this case, I was not interested in it; Zena was
not at hand to ask one of her absurd questions, which have
so often put me on the right road. The road we have
traveled has landed us here, and I have been thinking
of another road we might have traveled. We will forget
the hooligans' club. We start with the assumption that
the robbery was the work of an amateur, we have ample
reasons for thinking so. We do not suspect the vicar, we
are inclined to exonerate the verger, and we finally de-
cide that Mr. Hayes is innocent. We are met with a
difficulty at once. How was the church entered? We
may assume that some person in the Sunday evening con-
gregation remained hidden in the church, committed the
burglary, opening the safe with a duplicate key, marking
the wall and the door, and giving a wrench to the lock
to suggest ordinary thieves. Had it not been for the


272
The Master Detective
he knew her very well, remember; and moreover she is
closely connected with the jewels. It is possible, even,
that she knows the romance behind the jewels and feels
that they are hers by right and ought never to have
been given to the church. This would account entirely
for such a woman turning thief.”
“The fact remains we are in this cellar," I said.
“It is a very interesting fact,” said Quarles. “Of
course I cannot be sure that the man and woman who
were in this cellar were the same young Squires met,
but I believe they were. The woman stood with her
arms akimbo in each case, the position was identical.
They learnt from young Squires that we were following
and went off to warn some of their fellows who waited
for us, Squires leading us into the trap by arrangement.
The gang has beaten us, Wigan.”
“And the chalice is in the melting pot,” I remarked.
“I don't believe the gang knows anything about the
chalice,” said the professor quietly.
“Not know! Why—”.
“Wigan, you stopped to speak to a colleague engaged
on the hotel robberies this morning. You were seen, I
believe. It was immediately assumed that you were on
that job, and when Squires saw you to-night at the club
he thought you were after the hotel robbers. Without
being aware of it we were probably hot on their track."
“It is impossible,” I said.
“Why should it be?” Quarles asked. “Once get a.
fixed idea in the mind, and it is exceedingly difficult to
give opposing theories their due weight. The hooligan
club got into your mind. There were many reasons why
it should, especially with Mr. Hayes as the connecting
link; you could not believe him guilty so you fell back
upon the club. One other point, a very important one.


The Affair of the Jeweled Chalice 273
The chalice was only used on great festivals and certain
Saints' days. There are several reasons why the rob-
bery would be difficult on a great festival. The church
would not be in its normal condition, owing to decora-
tions or increased services, perhaps; besides, the thief-
a church worker we assume-might be missed from some
function connected with the church which would cause
suspicion. On the other hand, many Saints' days occur
in the week when there is no late evening service, per-
haps, and if there is, only a small congregation. It
would be remembered who was present. The chalice was
stolen on a Saints' day which happened to fall on a Sun-
day, and must therefore remain in the church all night.
How many people do you suppose know which Saints'
days were specified by Miss Morrison? Very few. I
warrant you were not far from the chalice when you
were talking to Miss Belford. How are you getting on
with your knots, Wigan?”
“I am not tied so tightly as I might be.”
“Good. With luck you may yet be in time to pre-
vent Miss Belford getting away.”
“I don't believe she has anything to do with the chal-
ice," I answered.
“All the same, I should take another journey to Wal-
ham Green,” said Quarles. “When one is dealing with
a woman it is well to remember that she is more direct
than a man, is inclined to use simpler methods, and is
often more thorough. Witness the man and woman in
this cellar. The man gave you brandy to revive you ;
the woman didn't see any reason why you shouldn't die.
She interested me. A woman like that is a source of
strength to a gang. I fancy there is a glimmer of day-
light through a grating yonder.”
I got free from my bonds after a time, and I undid


274
The Master Detective .
Quarles. The cellar door was a flimsy affair, my shoul-
der against the lock burst it open at once. No one
rushed to prevent our escape. The house was as silent
as the grave.
“Our captors have decamped," said Quarles. “We
must have been hot upon the trail last night, Wigan.”
The house was empty apparently, but we did not
search it thoroughly then. Escape was our first thought.
I could give instructions to the first constable we met
to keep a watch on the house. We left by an area and
found ourselves at the end of a blind road in Hampstead.
The house was detached, and fifty yards or more from
its nearest neighbor.
“Reserved for future investigation,” Quarles re-
marked. “Our first business is the jeweled chalice.”
Only a dim light had found its way through the cellar
grating, but the day had begun. There was the rumble
of an early milk cart. In spite of aching head and stiff
limbs, only one idea possessed us; and the first taxi we
found took us to Walham Green.
Miss Belford had gone. She must have left the house
yesterday within half an hour of my leaving it. In-
quiry subsequently proved that her servant had left on
the Saturday, and that during the last week Miss Belford
had disposed of her furniture just as it stood.
Quarles was right, although we had no actual proof
until some months later, when we had almost forgotten
the jeweled chalice.
Miss Belford wrote to Mr. Harding. The jewels were
left to Miss Morrison, she said, by an old lover. Why
they had not married she could not say, but from old
letters it appeared there had been a quarrel, and the
man had married elsewhere. Miss Belford was the
daughter of that marriage. She was not really Miss


CHAPTER XIV
THE ADVENTURE OF THE FORTY-TON YAWL
---
D RILLIANT sunshine and a sufficient breeze, a well-
appointed forty-ton yawl, nothing to do but lie
basking on the warm deck, conscious of a very pretty
woman at the helm-well, you may go a long way before
you find anything to beat it for pure enjoyment.
How I came to be spending my time under such en-
viable circumstances requires some explanation, espe-
cially when I state that the exceedingly pretty woman
was not Zena Quarles.
It will be remembered that to attend to the jeweled
chalice case, which proved to be an affair of a day and a
night only, I had been taken off a job concerning a series
of hotel robberies, and I was particularly glad to be put
back upon this case, because Quarles was so intensely in-
terested in it. Although the chalice case was not actu-
ally cleared up satisfactorily for some months, it was
practically certain that the attack made upon us had
nothing to do with the theft of the chalice.
The professor was convinced that, unconsciously, we
had been hot upon the trail of the hotel robberies, that
the trails of the two cases had, in fact, crossed each other.
It seemed to me that he had jumped to this conclusion
upon insufficient evidence, but I determined to make a
thorough investigation of the house at Hampstead at
once.
The house was in charge of a caretaker named Mason,
who lived there in one sparsely furnished room, but on
-
276


280
The Master Detective
the end of the wee hand to-morrow.it as if s
“You will send me back to work sooner than I ex-
pected.”
“When?"
“At the end of the week.”
"And I expect my husband to-morrow."
I don't suppose she meant it, but she said it as if she
regretted his coming.
“Is he fond of yachting?” I asked.
“It bores him to tears," she laughed. “Most of the
things which I like do. Still, he is very good to me. I
am an old man's darling, you know.”
It was the first time she had mentioned her husband,
and she had not shown the slightest curiosity in my af-
fairs. She was just a good pal for the time being. That
was how she had impressed me, but this afternoon she was
-how shall I put it?—she was rather more of a woman
than usual. I might easily imagine she had given me
an opening for a serious flirtation. Her manner might
suggest that I had become more to her than she had in-
tended. I put the idea away from me, mentally kicking
myself for allowing it to get into my head at all.
“We shall sail as usual to-morrow," she told her skip-
per when we landed.
“Very good, ma'am.”
“Mr. Selborne arrives to-morrow night. Let some
one go up for his luggage. Half past ten.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Mrs. Selborne and I walked back to the hotel and stood
on the lawn talking for a little while before going to
dress for dinner.
"To-morrow will be our last cruise, I am afraid," she
said, looking across the Leas. “I hope it will be fine."
“I hope so.”
“It would really be a terrible disappointment to me


Adventure of the Forty-ton Yazel
281
me.',
if it were not. I would go — Ah, now I am being
tempted to talk foolishly.”
She turned from me a little defiantly. She was cer-
tainly very attractive, and naturally fell into poses which
showed her off to the best advantage. A man, sitting
on the lawn, paused in the act of taking a cigarette from
his case to look at her. His interest pleased me. I was
human, and it flattered my vanity to know that I counted
with this woman.
“What desperate thing were you going to say?" I
asked.
“You will laugh at me.”
“I am more likely to match you in desperation.”
“I was going to say I would go to-morrow, wet or
fine, wind or sunshine, rather than miss our last day.”
Could I do less than make a compact that it should be
so? If I admit there was no sign of a coming change
in the weather it must not be supposed that I am trying
to make out that her beauty and personality did not
affect me. They did.
“I could almost pray for bad weather just to see that
you are a man of your word,” she laughed. “Is it a
promise?”
“It is.”
She went in to dress, and I smoked a cigarette before
doing likewise.
As I entered my room and closed the door, a man
stepped from behind the wardrobe. It was the man who
had been interested in Mrs. Selborne on the lawn.
“Pardon. I wished to speak to you alone, and this
seemed the only method.”
“I'll hear what you have to say before I hand you
over to the management,” I answered.
“It is a delicate matter," he returned, with a simper,


282
The Master Detective
which made me desire to kick him. “It concerns a lady.
You are Mr. James Murray; at least, that is the name
you entered in the hotel books.”
“It is my name," I answered.
“Part of it, I think, part of it. You are usually
called Murray Wigan, I believe, and you are engaged to
Miss Quarles-Miss Zena Quarles, the granddaughter of
a rather stupid professor.”
“What has this to do with you?”
“I said it was a delicate matter," he went on. “My
client has reason to believe that you are shall I say
enamored of a lady staying in this hotel? You may
have noticed me on the lawn just now when you were
talking to the lady-I judge it was the lady. Your
taste, sir, appeals to me, but I am bound to say—"
“Are you a private detective?”
"Just an inquiry agent; helpful in saving people
trouble sometimes.”
“Do you mean to tell me that Miss Quarles—".
“No, not exactly, but, my dear Wigan—".
It was Quarles. He changed his voice, seemed to alter
his figure, but of course the make-up remained. He
was a perfect genius in altering his appearance.
"Was that the lady?” he asked. “Zena mentioned
you were yachting with a Mrs. Selborne down here. I
don't think she quite liked it. She was woman enough
to read between the lines of your letter."
“Oh, nonsense!” I exclaimed.
“Quite so; still the lady is decidedly attractive, and
Murray Wigan is a man. The man who holds himself
barred from admiring one woman just because he hap-
pens to be engaged to another is not a very conspicuous
biped. I am not reproaching you, I should probably
do the same myself, but Zena will take you to task no


Adventure of the Forty-ton Yarl 283
doubt, and you will explain and promise not to do it any.
more, and"
“I haven't done anything which requires explana-
tion,” I said irritably.
“Of course not, but that may not be Zena's view, and
I daresay Mrs. Selborne believes you are more than half
in love with her. I happened to overhear part of your
conversation. She was putting your admiration to the
test, rather a severe test, by the way, since you are an
invalid. Probably she is smiling to herself in the glass
as she dresses for dinner, which reminds me you have
none too much time to dress, and you must not be late
to-night.”
“Why not? I am feeling quite fit again. If there
is anything to be done I am quite capable of doing it.”
“Dress, Wigan, while I talk. Since you broke down
at a crucial point I have been helping Percival. I dare-
say he will get the kudos in this case, but you mustn't
grudge him that.”
“I don't."
“We have progressed,” Quarles went on. “I will
give you my line of argument and the result so far. We
start with Squires. He led us into a trap, but the gang
with which he was formerly connected has practically
ceased to exist. His old companions have seen nothing
of him; he is supposed to have turned good, and I find
he has been a member of that hooligan club for over a
year with an irreproachable record during that time.
Two conclusions seem to arise; either Squires is con-
nected with another gang, or some compulsion was put
upon him to betray us. I incline to the second idea, and
if I am correct there must have been a strong incentive
to persuade Squires to do what he did. Perhaps he
wished to protect some one."


Adventure of the Forty-ton Yawl 287
is going to happen I do not know, but at the end of your
cruise to-morrow you may want all your wits about
you.”
“Are you staying in the hotel ?” I asked.
“No, at Hythe, and I spend some of my time on Rom-
ney Marsh. I am interested in a lonely house there.
You must go; there is the gong. I must tell you about
the house another time.”
“When shall I see you again?”
“To-morrow night. Leave me here. I will sneak out
after you have gone.”
It was natural my eyes should wander round the din-
ing-room that night, trying to discover by intuition
which was the man who might engineer a robbery at
the hotel.
Once the manager entered the room, and, knowing
what I did, I could not doubt he wanted to satisfy him-
self that I was there. It did not worry me that Quarles
had made use of me in this way; I was quite prepared
to be arrested if the robbery did take place, but I was
annoyed that the professor had told me so little.
It was his way; I had had experience of it before,
but it was treatment I had never been able to get used to.
After dinner Mrs. Selborne joined me in the lounge
for a little while, and talked about our sail next day, and
then I was asked to make up a bridge table.
Remembering Zena's attitude, according to Quarles,
I was rather glad to get away from Mrs. Selborne. She
played bridge, too, but not at my table.
There was no burglary that night, and the following
morning was as good for yachting as one could desire.
However, we could not start at our usual time. The
crew consisted of the skipper and two hands, and one of
..


288
The Master Detective
the hands came up to say that it was necessary to re-
place some gear, which would take until midday. Mrs.
Selborne was very angry.
“We shall have to kill time until twelve o'clock,” she
said, turning to me. “It is a pity, but we'll get our
sail somehow if all the gear goes wrong. It is very likely
only an excuse to get a short day's work, but I am not
expert enough to challenge my skipper.”
When we got aboard soon after noon, however, she
had a great deal to say to the skipper; would have him
point out exactly what had gone wrong, and showed
him quite plainly she did not believe there need have
been so long a delay; but she soon recovered her tem-
per when she took the helm, and her good spirits be-
came infectious.
I was on holiday, and was not inclined to bother my
head with problems. If for a moment I wondered what
Quarles was doing, I quickly forgot all about him.
I repeat, when you have got a pretty woman on a
yacht, and she is inclined to be exceedingly gracious,
nothing else matters much for the time being.
We had lunch, and Mrs. Selborne smoked a cigarette
before we returned to the deck. The skipper was at
the tiller, but she did not relieve him. She was in a
lazy mood, and I arranged some cushions to make her
comfortable. We were standing well out from Dunge-
ness. .
Mrs. Selborne seemed a little surprised at our posi-
tion.
“We must get back to dinner,” she said to the skipper.
“That'll be all right, ma'am,” he answered.
“We must pay some attention to the conventions,”
she laughed, speaking to me in an undertone. “We


290
The Master Detective
Quarles! I thought of him now. The hotel gang
was at work, and this was one of the moves. How it
was going to serve their ends I did not see, unless—
unless I was presently dropped overboard.
It was an unpleasant contemplation, and I am afraid
I cursed Quarles. If he had only told me a little more
I might at least have been prepared and made a fight
for it. What about Mrs. Selborne? Would they drown
her, too? They might put her ashore somewhere.
The coast about Dungeness is desolate enough. It
would be easy to slip in after dark and leave her. Not
a sound came from the cabin, and the two hands returned
to the deck. By the skipper's orders they lashed me in
a sitting position to a skylight.
We were still standing out to sea, and one of the
hands took the tiller; the other received instructions to
kick the wind out of me if I shouted or began asking
questions. Then the skipper went below.
I listened, but I could not hear him speak to Mrs. Sel-
borne.
It was fine sunset that evening. When we presently
came round and stood in towards shore I got a feast
of color over Romney Marsh. Watching the ever-chang-
ing colors as the night crept out of the sea, I remem-
bered that Quarles was interested in Romney Marsh,
in a lonely house there about which he had had no time
to tell me last night; had this lonely house an interest
for me? I tried to work out the plot in a dozen ways,
endeavoring to understand how the thieves could se-
cure themselves if I were allowed to live.
That gorgeous sunset was depressing. The coming
night might be so full of ominous meaning for me.
It was dark by the time we drew in towards the shore.


292
The Master Detective
sail together, a notable one, and not yet over. You're
a more pleasant companion than I expected to find you,
but you are not such a great detective as I had been
led to suppose.”
I was too astonished to make any kind of answer.
She was quite right. I had never detected a criminal
in her. All her kindness was an elaborate scheme to
get me in her power. Did Quarles know? Surely not,
or he would have put me on my guard.
“Posing as an invalid was an excellent notion," she
went on, “and you are not altogether a failure. You
have prevented a haul being made at the Folkestone
Hotel because we could not discover what men you had
at work. I wonder how you got on my track?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I hadn't,
to say that my being there was chance, that I really
was an invalid, but I kept the confession back. I re-
membered Quarles saying I might want all my wits
about me at the end of this cruise. This seemed to be
the end as far as I was concerned.
“I don't suppose you are going to tell me how these
robberies have been managed,” I said, “so you cannot
expect me to give away my secrets."
“I will tell you one thing,” she answered; “there
will be no more robberies by us. From to-night we be-
gin to enjoy the proceeds."
“That is interesting.”
“And you will quite appreciate that, although you
are not so clever as people imagine, you are a difficulty.”
“It is no use my petitioning you to let me go for the
sake of-of our friendship?”
“I am afraid not."
“What then ?”
“Dead men tell no tales,” she said.


294
The Master Detective
“As I cannot be allowed to live, a sketch of your ca-
reer would interest me. It would serve to pass the
time."
“The past does not concern me, the future does," she
answered. “You may appreciate my general idea of
making things safe. I fancy this yacht will be cast
away on a lonely spot on the French coast. I know the
spot, and I expect one or two persons will be drowned.
That will be quite natural, won't it? Should the ac-
cident chance to be heard of at Folkestone, it will be
surmised that I am drowned. Bodies do not always
come ashore, you know. One thing is quite certain;
Mrs. Selborne and all trace of her will have disap-
peared.”
“It is rather a diabolical scheme,” I said.
“I regret the necessity. I daresay you have some-
times done the same when a victim of your cleverness
has come to the gallows."
She got up and walked away from me, but she did
not cease to watch me. I wondered if she would fire
should I venture to shout.
It was a long hour, but presently there came the dis-
tinct dip of oars. In spite of my unenviable position
I felt excited. I thought there were two boats. Nat-
urally there would be. The dinghy was small; crew
and confederates could not have got into it.
There was the rattle of oars in the rowlocks, then a
man climbed on deck, others coming quickly after him,
and in that moment Mrs. Selborne swung round and
fired. The bullet struck the woodwork of the skylight
close to my head. I doubt if I shall ever be so near
death again until my hour actually sounds.
Her arm was struck up before she could fire again,
and a familiar voice was shouting:


Adventure off the Forty-ton Yawl 295
“It's all right, the house, Wigany completes the busi-
ness. We h whole of the six mor
Christopuidn't you put me on re aboard with the po-
lice, those Wigan, I think you ig the coats and caps the
crew hrou were fascinated, ne watching on the yacht
for thɔuld not have helped weived.
Ther to prove me wrong; the hands of the police,
and e in you, grown suspiciand myself back to Folke-
stone thing at the eleventh le story before we slept that
nig aken we shall discover
Jas of the gang.” Romney Marsh had been bought
by it proved whannths ago in the name of Reynolds.
He han Ort be known that, after certain alterations
had been made, he was coming to live there, so it was
natural that a couple of men, looking like painters,
should presently arrive and be constantly about the
place. If three or four men were seen there on occa-
sion no one was likely to be curious.
Watching Wibley when he came down to Hythe,
Quarles found he had a liking for motoring on the Dym-
church Road. He saw him pull up one morning to
speak to a man on the roadside. He did the same thing
on the following morning, but it was a different man,
and Quarles recognized young Squires.
Squires afterwards went to this empty house, and
Quarles speedily had men on the Marsh watching it
night and day. It looked as if the house were the
gang's meeting-place. Either another coup was being
prepared, or an escape was being arranged.
During a hurried visit to town the professor had seen
my letter to Zena, and this had given him a clue.
“It was the name Selborne,” Quarles explained. “I
told you, Wigan, that Wibley's daughter-or supposed
daughter-was not with him in Hampshire. Her


Christop
'Well, w
Adventure of Adventure of the Forty-ton Yawl 297
"It's all right run we went to the house, Wigan. Got them all, and
nege Web believe the whole of the six months' spoil.''
Christon “Why didn't you put me on my guard ?” I asked.
lice, those
"Well, Wigan, I think you would have scouted the
operth idea. You were fascinated, you know. In any case,
for the you could not have helped watching her for confirma-
tion or to prove me wrong; she would have noted the
change in you, grown suspicious, and might have ruined
everything at the eleventh hour. Unless I am much
mistaken we shall discover that the woman was the
brains of the gang.”
So it proved when the trial came on, and in another
direction Quarles was correct.
Squires was Mason's son. The lad had cut himself
loose from his old companions, and had only meant to
warn his father. He knew where he was likely to find
him, but meeting the man and woman unexpectedly, he
was frightened into trapping us.
There can be little doubt that it was intended to cast
away the yacht as Mrs. Selborne had explained to me,
and to drown those who were not meant to share in the
spoil, but who knew too much to be allowed to go free.
I should certainly have been amongst the missing, and
young Squires, too, probably.
I shall always remember this case because—no, Zena
and I did not quarrel exactly, but she was very much
annoyed about Mrs. Selborne.


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery 299
whistle to summon another officer, and after searching
the house they communicated with headquarters.
Grange Park, as many of you may know, is an estate
which was developed some years ago in the Northwest
of London, on land belonging to the Chisholm family.
It got into the hands of a responsible firm of builders,
and artistic, well-built houses were erected which at-
tracted people of considerable means. It wasn't pos-
sible to live in Grange Park on a small income.
A few months ago the sedate tranquillity of the neigh-
borhood had been broken by an astonishing series of
burglaries, which had occurred in rapid succession.
Half a dozen houses were entered; valuables, chiefly jew-
elry, worth many thousands of pounds, had been taken,
and not a single arrest, even on suspicion, had been made.
The known gangs had been carefully shadowed without
results, and not a trace of the stolen property had been
discovered. The thieves had evidently known where to
go for their spoil, not only the right houses but the
exact spot where the spoil was kept. There had been
no bungling; indeed, in some cases, it was doubtful how
an entrance had been effected. Not in a single instance
had the inmates been aroused or alarmed, no thief had
been seen or heard upon the premises, nor had the po-
lice noticed any suspicious looking persons about the
estate.
The investigation of these robberies was finally en-
trusted to me, and I suppose the empty room in Chelsea
had never been used more often and with less result
than over the Grange Park burglaries. It was not only
one chance we had had of getting at the truth, for half
a dozen houses had been broken into; and it was not
the lack of clues which bothered us so much as the num-
ber of them. The thieves seemed to have scattered clues


304
The Master Detective
“Quite well by sight, sir.”
Quarles nodded, but the nephew was evidently not
disposed of to his satisfaction.
I interviewed the servants closely, including the chauf-
feur who had heard nothing of the affair until aroused
by the police. Hollis was certain that all the doors and
windows were securely fastened. Quarles rather an-
noyed me by suggesting that the thieves might have en-
tered by an upstairs window or even by the front door.
“If you look at the upstairs windows I think you will
find that impossible,” said Hollis.
“We will look, and also at the front door.”
The professor made a pretense of examining the front
door rather carefully.
“You're sure this was locked and bolted last night?”
“Quite, sir."
“It looks substantial and innocent.”
The only window which interested Quarles upstairs
was that of a small room in the front of the house over-
looking the drive, but, as the butler pointed out, no
one could have got in there without a ladder.
“No, no, I suppose not,” and Quarles did not say
another word until we saw Mr. Crosland again. Then
he immediately inquired about the nephew.
“George is in Paris, at least he was three days ago,"
and Crosland produced a picture postcard sent to his
mother. “We are expecting him back at the end of the
week.”
“I suppose, Mr. Crosland, you have no suspicions re-
garding this affair?”
“I don't quite understand what you mean."
“Let me put it in another way,” said the professor,
"and please do not think that I am suggesting you fired
too hastily. Immediately you heard the noise, you re-


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery 307
"I'll talk to him," said the doctor. "The old lady
is not so bad as he supposes. To tell you the truth I
think the nurse is rather a fool and frightens her. I
tried to get them to change her, but she seems to be a
sort of relation."
“That's the worst of relations, they're so constantly
in the way,” said Quarles.
We left the doctor not much wiser than when we went,
it seemed to me, but Quarles appeared to find consid-
erable food for reflection. He was silent until we were
in the train.
“Wigan, you must see that a watch is kept upon
Clarence Lodge day and night. Have half a dozen men
drafted into the neighborhood. You want to know who
goes to the house, and any one leaving it must be fol-
lowed. Poulton's a good man, I should keep him there,
and let him be inquisitive about callers. Then tele-
graph at once to the Paris police. Ask if George Rad-
ley is still at the Vendôme Hotel. If he is tell them to
keep an eye on him. Now, here's my card. Take it to
Schuster, 12 Grant Street, Pimlico, and ask him if he
knows anything of a man named Bush, a quack special-
ist in rheumatism. Find out all you can about Bush.
To-morrow morning you must go to Grange Park again,
and see young Crosland. He may complain about the
watch which is being kept over the house. If he does,
spin him the official jargon about information received,
etc., intimate your fear that the gang may attempt re-
prisals, and tell him you are bound to take precautions.
After that come on to Chelsea. We ought to be able to
arrive at some decision then. Oh, and one other thing,
you might see if you have any one resembling the dead
man in your criminal portrait gallery at the Yard."
“A fairly full day's work,” I said with a smile.


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery. 309
good specimens. I should say his temperament is ar-
tistic.”
“That is an interesting conclusion," said the profes-
sor. “You didn't get any idea of his age?”
“No. This morning I went to Clarence Lodge and
find you are by no means liked there."
“Indeed.”
“An old gentleman called there yesterday afternoon
saying you had asked him to go and see Mrs. Crosland
about her rheumatism--a Mr. Morrison.”
“The silly old ass!” exclaimed the professor. “He
is the man I told Crosland of, the man who cured
rheumatism so marvelously. I suppose Morrison mis-
read my letter and went at once instead of waiting to
be sent for.”
“Crosland appears to have given him a piece of his
mind,” I laughed, “and called you a meddlesome fool.”
“Poor old Morrison, but it serves him right.”
“He managed to see Mrs. Crosland,” I said. “When
the old lady heard he was there she would see him. As
the son was anxious his mother shouldn't know of the
tragedy, it was arranged that she should be told that
Morrison's visit was the outcome of a casual remark
Crosland had dropped to a friend concerning Mrs. Cros-
land's suffering. The old lady appears to have put the
old man through his paces, but ended by being con-
vinced that Morrison knew what he was talking about.
He has been asked to call again.”
“Then I appear to have done the old lady a good turn
after all,” said Quarles. “Did you see Mrs. Crosland,
Wigan ?”
“No. The butler opened the door, and I only saw
young Crosland besides. I explained to him the neces-
sity of having the house watched, and I think he be-


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery 313
there he could have prompted the girl when to start.”
“You seem to be overloading the theory too much,”
I said, “and I do not see many real facts yet.”
“I am coming to some facts presently,” said Quarles.
“I am showing you my working. Now, having done
away with the gang of burglars, we ask how did the
man get into the house. Your argument that no one
could have escaped through that window in the pas-
sage was sound, I think, Wigan, and considering the im-
maculate condition of the latch and the lack of signs
on the sill and the flower bed, I doubt if any one got in
that way, either. On the whole, I am inclined to think
he came through the front door, which was opened for
him by Hollis the butler or by one of the servants.”
“Still no facts,” I said.
“Still theory,” admitted Quarles. “By my theory it
follows that the dead man was known to the Croslands.
We will assume that in some family quarrel he was
killed that night. The death-the murder-had to be
concealed, so they pitched on the idea of the burglars,
put the body in the hall, fired a shot into the landing
wall, and threw open the passage window. It was
smartly conceived, but, of course, took some little time,
which had to be accounted for. Crosland could only
say that he could not tell how long a time elapsed be-
tween the firing and the arrival of Poulton. Every-
thing had to be thought of before Helen Crosland
rushed out for the police.”
“You assume that the whole household was in the
conspiracy?" I asked.
“Yes, and that they are exceedingly clever. What
do you think of the theory?”
“As a theory rather interesting, but I am still wait-
ing for a fact or two."


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery 315
hands were curiously capable and artistic. It struck
me the moment I looked at them.”
“I am not convinced, Professor.”
"Nor was I,” said Quarles, “So I mentioned the
rheumatic specialist who had cured me.”
“You, grandfather!” Zena exclaimed.
“Ah, you have evidently forgotten how I used to
suffer," was the smiling answer. “I allowed Morri-
son to make a mistake on purpose and go to Clarence
Lodge, his one idea to get an interview with Mrs. Cros-
land.”
“And you have seen him since?” I asked.
“Came home with him from Grange Park," answered
Quarles. "He was roundly abused to begin with, but,
as you were told, he saw Mrs. Crosland. It was an in-
teresting interview. The first thing that struck him was
that the old lady was totally unlike her children, a dif-
ferent type altogether. She is a hard, masculine kind
of woman, not at all of the nervous temperament he
had been led to expect; and he was convinced that she
had only consented to see him to make sure that he was .
no more than he had proclaimed himself-a specialist
in rheumatism. My friend Morrison came to the con-
clusion that the nurse, as a nurse, was incompetent, and
that the room he entered would not have been the one
constantly occupied by the invalid. He was exceed-
ingly interested in Mrs. Crosland, seeing in her a woman
of extraordinary force of character and intellectual ca-
pacity, and he came to the conclusion that there was
nothing whatever the matter with her.”
“No rheumatism?” said Zena.
“About as much as I suffer from,'' said Quarles. “In
short, Morrison was rather glad to get safely out of the


Solution of the Grange Park Mystery 317
us until they quarrel between themselves. Now what
do you think of my theory?”
“It takes me back to Grange Park without unneces-
sary delay," I said, getting up quickly.
"I thought it would. You have got the men waiting
for you there, and I should raid the house forthwith.
But caution, Wigan. I don't think they have any sus-
picion of Morrison, but the moment they tumble to your
intentions they'll show fight, and probably put up a hot
one. And don't forget the nephew in Paris. Take him,
too.”
The raid upon Clarence Lodge took place that even-
ing, and was so managed that the servants and the chauf-
feur were taken before Crosland and his sister, who
proved to be no relation as Quarles had surmised, were
aware of the fact. Faced with the inevitable they made
no fight at all, but the old lady was made of entirely
different metal. She barricaded herself in her room, and
swore to shoot the first man who forced the door. She
had the satisfaction of wounding me slightly in the
shoulder, and then before we could stop her she had
turned the weapon upon herself and shot herself through
the head.
The nephew was taken in Paris, and with the rest of
the gang was sent to penal servitude. The evidence at
the trial proved Quarles's theory to be very much as
the tragedy had happened. The dead man was Bush,
and it was his threat to give the burglaries away unless
he had a larger share of the spoil than had been assigned
to him which made the old lady shoot him in an ungov-
ernable fit of rage.
“A master mind, Wigan,” Quarles remarked, “and
it is just as well not to have her as a neighbor. Your
wound is not likely to put off your wedding?”


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