HN WIDENER
RNCLIFFE
P1I5 3
PUZZLE
BY THE AUTHOR OF
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE


23793-2:20
--
--
-
-

Albert Bushnell Bar
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
DIANA
KARDIA
ET
EMIA
a ISTO
VE RI
TAS
ECCLE
INNOT
USSIA
ADET
CHR
INV:10
THE GIFT OF
ALBERT BUSHNELL HART
OF CAMBRIDGE
Class of 1880








THE ARNCLIFFE PUZZLE





※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※
The
Arncliffe Puzzl
By
GORDON HOLMES
Author of " A Mysterious Disappearance”
不孝孝業潛落落亲来孝孝孝孝养孝孝米孝孝养卷类孝孝养港游客零零零器秦孝孝
​New York
Edward J. Clode
156 Fifth Avenue
1906


AL 17727890
AL 367. 3.3.10
AL 2379322-120 Sport
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
EDWARD J. CLODE
3793-2.12
Entered at Stationers Hall
NARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
GIFT OF
ALBERT BUSHNELL HART
NOV 16 1926
The Plim plon Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
I
LORD ARNCLIFFE Causes a DISPUTE .....
CHAPTER II
LORD ARNCLIFFE CONTINUES THE DISPUTE . . . .
24
CHAPTER III
THE THREADS OF CIRCUMSTANCE .
.
.
.
.
44
64
CHAPTER IV
FORTY THOUSAND POUNDS A YEAR . . . . . .
CHAPTER V
WARREN OBJECTS . . . . . . . . . .
CHAPTER VI
THE ADJOURNED INQUEST . . .
.
.
.
.
.
91
CHAPTER VII
SOME DISQUIETING REVELATIONS .
.
.
.
.
103
CHAPTER VIII
THE NEPHEW FROM AMERICA
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
117
.
137
CHAPTER IX
HARRY WARREN SUPPLIES A FRESH SENSATION . .
CHAPTER X
EDITH Holt's TRIBULATION - ... . . .
.
152


Contents
CHAPTER XI
MARY MANNERING'S LOVE IDYLL .
PAGE
.
.
.
.
.
164
CHAPTER XII
HOBSON BECOMES VERY ANGRY . .
.
.
.
.
.
179
CHAPTER XIII
EDITH RESOLVES TO FIGHT ALONE . .
.
.
.
.
192
CHAPTER XIV
BRADSHAW TAKES HOBSON IN HAND
.
.
.
.
.
202
CHAPTER XV
BRADSHAW HAS AN ADVENTURE . .
.
.
.
.
.
215
.
.
.
.
226
CHAPTER XVI
A Night OF STRANGE INCIDENTS . .
CHAPTER XVII
A TROUBLED IDYLL . . . . . .
.
.
.
243
CHAPTER XVIII
AN UNEXPECTED CLUE . . . . .
.
.
.
.
259
CHAPTER XIX
WHEREIN LESTER 18 CAGED . . .
.
.
.
.
.
271
CHAPTER XX
BRADSHAW “Makes Good ” .
.
.
.
.
.
283
CHAPTER XXI
MRS. WARREN IS SURPRISED . . .
.
.
.
.
299
CHAPTER XXII
. . . . . .
THE EXPIATION
.
.
.
.
.
314
vi


The Arncliffe Puzzle
of the Fisherman's Rest. Was it not at this precise
spot that the man in a rabbit-skin cap had warned
his new acquaintance to “keep an eye open for ť
big ’un?” Had not the speckled beauty not only
rewarded expectancy but actually curled its plump
body into the sunlight to gobble a May-fly? And
now it was a memory, a brown ghost hidden in the
black depths beneath the hazels and the willows!
Scoffers — those to whom a fish is a mere item on
a menu — might marvel at the bitterness of the
moment. Not so this fisherman, nor any other
brother of the rod.
Lester recovered his flies and whipped his line
clear. The wide-spreading pastures had narrowed
thereabouts into a lovely dingle, and the sylvan
mysteries of the rivulet were choked by a belt of
solemn firs. Gruffly insistent, where fences on
both sides ran into the willows, was a notice-board:
“Trespassers will be prosecuted — BY ORDER.”
He laughed.
“An educated fish, evidently,” he murmured.
“Here endeth the common right. Some bloated
colliery magnate probably owns the neighboring
property and that fish. What is the fine, I wonder?
Forty shillings and costs ? I'll pay so much cheer-
fully. But the local paper will publish the fell
details. By Jove, what a change a month plus a
mail-steamer can make! Wish I had this coal


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
merchant thigh-deep in the Banti swamp. He
would give me the free run of his preserves for life
to pull him out.”
Consoled by the imaginary spectacle of a plethoric
person in a frock-coat and a silk hat struggling
through the hinterland of Ashanti, George Lester
hitched the strap of his pannier out of a rut in his
shoulder, laid the rod on the grass, and produced a
pipe and tobacco-pouch. The mere thought of a
smoke was so pleasing that he found himself indul-
ging in the conceit that the trespass-forbidding ogre
might be amenable to a polite request for permission
to fish the protected waters.
And then, all unsuspected, the curtain rose on the
great drama of his life.
Having lit his pipe, he disjointed the rod, and
had turned to walk back to the village of Arncliffe
and its comfortable inn, when a slight shriek broke
the magic silence of the place. It appeared to come
from the midst of the dense plantation. It was the
cry of a woman in distress, and this young man was
not of hesitating temperament under such condi-
tions. Instantly he vaulted over a stout railing
that closed a gap in the quick-set hedge and ran
quickly through the trees, with eyes and ears
intent.
The soft carpet provided by generations of fir
spines rendered his passage almost noiseless. Once


The Arncliffe Puzzle
within the cathedral aisle of the straight trunks he
could see a considerable distance. Nothing was
visible in the wood except the white tails of several
scuttling rabbits and the golden-brown plumage of
an alarmed pheasant. Hence he concluded that
the scream must have come from the denser growth
by the banks of the little river. He hurried on,
soon discovering that the plantation narrowed
during its descent of the steep sides of the valley.
A vista of rolling park-land, studded with solitary
oaks, clumps of elms, and groups of short-horned
cattle gradually unfolded itself.
And now, in the angle formed by the fir-trees and
the stream, he discerned a big straw hat covering a
muslin dress. The wearer of these feminine acces-
sories seemed to be greatly interested in some thrill-
ing incident which was enacting itself in the water.
An open sunshade, thrown heedlessly aside, and a
book lying on the grass near a fallen tree, showed
that a reader's solitude had been rudely disturbed.
Lester, climbing another fence, thought it best
not to add to her alarm, whatever the cause, by
appearing unexpectedly. So he shouted: “Don't
be frightened! Can I help you ?”
His first impression of the face suddenly turned
toward him was that nature, playing one of her
pranks in the staid North of England, had trans-
ported to that secluded spot a Frenchwoman of


Lord Arncliffe Causes Uses
a Dispute
Versailles, some charming Duchesse or Marquise
such as Greuze loved to paint. There was a glimpse
of Titian red hair framing an oval face, a hint of
coral lips, a flash of eyes of myosotis blue. But
instantly the vision was withdrawn, and a sweet
voice wailed:
“Oh, it is too late!”
Lester was now near enough to witness the final
act of a tragedy.
A full-grown dog otter was making off with his
kill, a superb trout that could be none other than
the poacher's “big ’un.” A stream which yielded
fish averaging six ounces in weight could not harbor
two such monsters in one short reach. And there
was the sleek thief vanishing silently with the prize,
while the girl turned tear-dimmed eyes to the new-
comer.
“How horrid !” she cried. “I was sitting here
in absolute quiet when I heard a rush and a splash,
and I saw that nasty otter spring after the fish.
Poor thing! It tried to escape. But he turned
over some large stones quite easily, and caught it.”
“If there are no otter hounds in the neighbor-
hood, the keepers should trap or shoot the brutes.
They are perfect pests in a well-stocked river,” said
Lester.
“Lord Arncliffe will not permit anything on the
estate to be killed.”


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“He ought to be told that by encouraging otters,
weasels, stoats, and other destructive creatures, he
is sanctioning wholesale murder, though indeed it
is well not to push the theory too far, seeing that lex
talionis is the law of nature.”
“It may be; nevertheless I dislike such demon-
strations. It has ruined my afternoon, and I am
so sorry for the poor fish! Just imagine its feelings
when it was pounced on by a fierce beast with sharp
teeth and wicked eyes!”
Then the young woman became conscious that
she was speaking thus impulsively to a stranger.
Moreover, a squirm inside the creaking pannier
revealed that the difference between man and otter,
when equally intent on the capture of trout, would
demand careful definition. Quick to interpret and
anxious to remove the cause of her sudden embar-
rassment, Lester bent to recover the book and
parasol. Being an observant person, he noted that
the volume was a presentation copy of an irreproach-
able French novel, a rarity in itself. Nevertheless,
being a man of candid humor, he protested against
the girl's generic description of the angling tribe.
“My own want of skill alone saved the victim
from earlier disaster,” he said pleasantly. “More-
over, I saw him deliberately cut off a May-fly in its
prime, so my sympathy rests chiefly with you, who
were so disagreeably disturbed in this Arcady."


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
He was endowed with what his friends described
as a “reassuring” smile. It won the goodwill of
men, the confidence of women, and its present effect
was to restore Miss Edith Holt to her normal mood
of cheerful audacity. She glanced at his fishing
equipment.
“You must not be caught poaching here,” she
said with a gravity belied by her eyes. “The plea
that you are ignorant of the law will only enhance
your punishment.”
“My only offense is that I rushed to your assist-
ance. Does the action constitute me a poacher? If
so, I will suffer the penalty with Christian fortitude.”
“How could you know what was going on unless
you were in the wood ?” said she, sticking to her
text.
“Because you screamed.”
“I am sure I did nothing of the sort. I never
scream.”
“Then we have provided a case worthy of the
Psychical Research Society's records, for I was mys-
teriously influenced to jump two hedges and traverse
the wood in your behalf.”
“I must have scr -- cried out more loudly than
I fancied. And you reached me very quickly," she
added hastily, conscious that this unknown and
distinguished-looking young man better deserved
her thanks than dire threats of the fishery laws.


The Arncliffe Puzzle
He was tempted to seize the new opening and
prolong the conversation, but there was an element
of unfairness in taking advantage of the girl's con-
fusion. When all was said and done, he was an
interloper, and the first surprise of finding such a
dainty divinity in that solitary nook was yielding to
the surmise that he was addressing one who, in all
probability, was the nineteenth-century goddess of
Arncliffe Park.
So he lifted his hat with the polite ease of a man
of the world.
"My excuse for intruding on your domain is that
I thought my help was needed. Let me apologize
for myself — and the otter.”
“Indeed, I am very much obliged to you," she
replied.
“And I to the otter,” he could not resist saying,
though now he was half-turned towards the wood.
“Hello, there! Stop! What are you doing
here?” suddenly demanded a loud voice.
Neither Edith Holt nor her would-be protector
had noticed the rapid approach of a stoutly built,
bull-necked youngster of the country squire type,
who was striding across the park in a violent hurry.
Indeed, he had just ceased running. The exertion
gave an apoplectic tinge to his red face and brought
his skin into curious harmony with the vivid hue of
his leather gaiters and tan-colored boots. The cut


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
of his clothes, the pattern of his waistcoat, the shape
of his hat, bespoke a horsey individual. He carried
a hunting-crop with a bone handle carved to repre-
sent a dog's head, while the gold pin in his hunting
tie was fashioned as a fox at full gallop.
The manner of his coming no less than his per-
emptory hail was offensive. His attitude bespoke
the outraged upholder of property rights. “Wait
till I catch you, my fine fellow!” he seemed to say.
“I'll teach you not to try your poaching tricks
here!”
Lester, habited to classify mankind in the rough,
likened the truculent newcomer to a savage chief
who once waylaid him, unarmed, in the Ashanti
bush, but who was incontinently put to flight when
the Englishman, by a happy thought, planted the
tripod of a camera before him and dived his head
under the dark cloth. The warrior knew naught
of photography, but once he had seen a Maxim gun
in action — seen it from the front, too. The square
black thing induced doubt. A flap of the cloth and
a raised shutter caused the negro to fly with a yell.
Lester wondered now what would happen if he
charged the other man full tilt with his fishing-rod;
but the girl gave a fresh turn to his thoughts by
crying excitedly:
“Oh, Harry, I have had such a fright! I was
sitting here reading when an otter caught a fish


The Arncliffe Puzzle
the path. Well, if it gratifies mademoiselle — for
she is certainly of French descent, notwithstanding
the Saxon sound of 'Edith'- I am glad I came
this way.”
He encountered no keeper. When he reached
the village, the stout landlord of the “Fisherman's
Rest,” known to two generations of anglers as
“Jolly Jim ” Jones, greeted him at the door.
"Well, sir, what sport ?”
“Excellent, with a catastrophe thrown in."
“What was thrown in, sir?"
“A young lady, not to mention a fierce beast with
wicked eyes.”
“By gum!” said the landlord, doubtful whether
to believe the grave words or the laughing voice.
Handing the laden pannier to a maid-servant, the
fisherman became more explicit. Then Jones
yielded information.
“Aye, t' young leddy mun be Miss Edith Holt.
She's a soärt of a secriterry to his lordship. She
kem frae somewheer i' t' South, soom pleäce neämed
efter a coo. Dang me if I can think.”
“Named after a cow ?”
“Well, mebbe ť coo was called efter t pleäce.
Blow me — "
Suddenly light was vouchsafed to Lester. “Jer-
sey, Guernsey, Alderney ?” he tried.
“That's it, Alderney. Good cast, sir!"
12


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
“Ah, hence the marquise," murmured Lester.
Jones was puzzled again. He laughed, in case
there was a lurking joke. The word suggested a
circus or a fair to him, but his guest went on:
“And who is Mr. Warren ?”
“He's ťagent, Mrs. Warren's son. She's ť
housekeeper at ť Hall. A nice fat job she's gotten
him. A bonny agent to be sure! He doesn't know
wuts (oats) frae turnips till they're cooked. By
gum! Farmer Brown tell’t me t'other day —”
Any further gossip was cut short by the rapid
clatter of a horse hard ridden up the village street.
The rider, a groom, dismounted in great haste out-
side a house with a brass plate on the door.
“What's wrang noo ?” said the landlord. “Yon's
one o' Lord Arncliffe's men. Somebody ill, I'll be
bound, as sure as my name's J. J.!”
Lester, of course, was in a position to hazard a
guess on the point, but he said nothing. A con-
sultation between the messenger and a serving maid
caused the former to turn away, mopping his head
in perplexity. A glass of beer is the usual resource
of such a man if his brains are taxed unduly. The
groom, tucking his bridle under his arm, led his
horse toward the “Fisherman's Rest.”
“Here's a nice thing!” he cried, in response to
Jones's inquiry. “Lord Arncliffe at death's door,
an’ Dr. Smalley gone off on a round the Lord knows
13


The Arncliffe Puzzle
where! What's best to be done — ride to Moseley
or telegraph to Alnwick ?”.
“His lordship dyin'? S'welp me!” gasped the
innkeeper.
“So Mrs. Warren said. She told me to ride like
— well, as fast as I could, for Dr. Smalley, an' now
I'm in a fix.”
“Did you say mixed ale ?” was all Jones was able
to ask, for he was dazed by the news.
“Can I be of any service ?” interposed Lester.
“I am a doctor.”
“Are you, sir ?” cried the groom. “Can you
ride ?”
“Yes.”
“Well, sir, take my mare. It's a godsend to have
met you. Tell Mrs. Warren how it happened, an' say
I am following. I have left word for Dr. Smalley."
“Has Lord Arncliffe had a sudden seizure ? Is
he an old man ?”
“He is very old, sir, but, though ailing, he has
had nothing like this before.”
“Is he stout ?”
“Bless you, sir, he's thin as a herring!”
George Lester quickly ran up-stairs, grabbed a
small instrument case from his portmanteau, ob-
tained some directions from the groom as he swung
into the saddle, and was gone before Jones appeared
with a brimming tankard.
14


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
The inn-keeper had earned his nickname be-
cause he could laugh on any pretext. He grinned
now vacuously.
“So he's a docther, is he,” was his comment.
“Dang me, I thowt he was a gentleman!”
“Anyhow, he can ride,” said the groom.
A pleasant country road, a lodge, a well-kept
drive through a fine park sheltered by woods glo-
rious in their June boscage, whirled past Lester dur-
ing that strenuous gallop. The mare was a good
one, and her head was turned toward the stables;
so not many minutes elapsed ere he was breathlessly
asking for Mrs. Warren at the spacious entrance to
the fine mansion he already had seen amid the trees.
To avoid delay, he told the footman why he was
there, and he was surprised when the man returned,
white-faced, with a stammering message from Mr.,
not Mrs., Warren that he was too late. Lord Arn-
cliffe was dead. Yet the footman was obviously
startled by the news.
“Take my compliments to Mr. Warren,” said
Lester with some emphasis, “and tell him that he
has arrived at a serious decision. None except a
medical man can decide that question.”
The passive resistance apparently offered to pro-
fessional aid was astonishing. It tended to throw
George Lester into a critical, if not hostile, frame of
mind. A gardener offered to hold his horse, so he
15


The Arncliffe Puzzle
advanced a few steps into the wide hall. That Lord
Arncliffe, when living, was a dilettante of exquisite
taste and far-reaching knowledge was evident at a
glance. Here were Saracen and old Spanish coats
of mail, steel inlaid with gold, shields of Japanese
lacquer, bossed with carved dragons in oxidized
silver, portraits by Lely and Gainsborough, porce-
lain from Sèvres and Dresden, statuettes from Pom-
peii, squat figures of long-forgotten gods from
Southern India. Quaintly varied as were the trap-
pings of hall and splendid oak staircase, each object
was a gem in itself. Wealth alone could not have
gathered the display. The soul of a collector, the
cunning eye of a connoisseur, must have commanded
the purse of a millionaire, if the remainder of the
house was decked with an artistic hoard to match
this first sample of its treasures.
He was admiring a jade vase, embellished with
scrollwork in red gold, when the rustle of a dress
came from a corridor leading into the broad landing
of the stairs. Followed by the footman, an elderly
woman appeared. Her attire, a black gown of stiff
silk, her lace cap, a bunch of shining keys at her
waist, the lines in her pallid face expressing dis-
cipline and order, showed that this could be none
other than the housekeeper, Mrs. Warren. Lester,
prone to idle musings, wondered if she would object
to the dust on his garments, so prim was she, and
16


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
so spick and span the polished oak and tessellated
floor of the mansion she ruled.
But her somewhat harsh features softened into a
mechanical affability when Lester advanced to meet
her. She had been observing him narrowly as she
descended the stairs, and a woman of her position
might be trusted to sum up a stranger with exceeding
accuracy.
“My son did not quite understand the footman's
message,” she said in measured accents, though her
natural emotion was betrayed by the effort to speak
without constraint. “Of course we are only too
glad that a doctor should see his lordship. May I
ask your name, sir?”
“George Lester. Although not practising now,
I have recently been medical officer to the Associated
Gold-Fields Company on the West Coast of Africa."
“Are you staying in the village ?”
She turned to usher him to the upper floor, and
he briefly accounted for his presence as they went on
together. They traversed a long passage, adorned
throughout with rare pictures, ancient arms, and
fine china, with here and there a wonderful buhl
cabinet or marquetry table. Pausing at the end
door on the right, Mrs. Warren stepped aside.
"Lord Arncliffe's bedroom,” she whispered.
“We brought him here from the library when -
when Simpson found him.”
17


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Lester asked no questions. The time for ex-
planation was not yet. Some one, seemingly Lord
Arncliffe's agent, had spoken of death. Let that
all-important verdict be ratified first.
The room was dim. Green blinds shut out the
afternoon sun. On a narrow bed lay a diminutive
figure, fully dressed. Near a window stood the man
with the red gaiters. Nearer the still form on the
bed was a liveried servant, aged and bent, gulping
back his grief. Lester almost expected to find Miss
Holt there too, but the large room held no other
occupant. He noticed, but paid no heed to, the
surprised air of the agent when he entered the
room.
His first action was to raise the blind of the window
nearest the bed. Then he stooped over the shrunken
form stretched so stiffly on the coverlet. Waistcoat
and shirt had been disarranged at the breast. He
lifted an eyelid, and a glance sufficed. The cornea
was opaque. Though this sign is practically in-
fallible, Lester applied a stethoscope to the region
of the heart. He listened intently for a period that
must have seemed long to the watchers. Then he
straightened himself.
“Yes, he is dead,” he said.
There was a pause of tense silence. Even the
weeping domestic withheld his sobs. Lester leaned
over the bed again. Clearly, his attention was
:
al
18


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
drawn by a slight irritation of the skin of the neck
and scalp.
"He has been dead for more than an hour,”
volunteered Warren, speaking in the sharp, sus-
picious tone of one who resents, but cannot prevent,
an intrusion.
“Has Dr. Smalley been in regular attendance on
Lord Arncliffe ?” inquired Lester, still examining
the dead man's face.
Mrs. Warren answered. “Yes, in a sense,” she
said. “Dr. Smalley saw him two days ago.”
“Did the doctor prescribe any medicine ?”
“Lord Arncliffe would not touch any drug or
alcoholic stimulant.”
“Did he appear to be in his usual health to-day ?”
“Oh, yes. He was at work in the library with
Miss Holt until five o'clock. Then, as was her
usual habit, she brought him a cup of beef tea and
some biscuits, and left him with his papers.
“Did the beef tea and biscuits constitute his last
.meal ?”
“Yes, sir. Simpson went in soon after six. His
lordship was lying back in his chair, dead, to all
appearance.”
“He had — taken — the beef tea — but only
one — biscuit,” said Simpson, brokenly. George
Lester assumed that the man was the trusted at-
tendant of the deceased peer.
19


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Can you let me see the vessel which contained
the beef tea ?”
Mrs. Warren hesitated. The question was un-
expected. Then she said: “Simpson, go and bring
the tray from the table, if it is still in the library.”
The servant, faithful to his training, at once
recovered his self-possession when given an order.
He left the room. No word was spoken until he
returned with the message: "A housemaid took
the things to the kitchen, ma'am.”
“You heard this gentleman's request. Ask if
they have gone to the scullery,” said Mrs. Warren
sharply. Lester, listening, recalled his fleeting
thought about the dust. Not even the tragedy of
her master's sudden death could deprive the house-
keeper of her authoritative air. Yet she spoke as
if her social rank were far above her son's. When
she uttered a command there could be no disputing
Simpson came back quickly. Meanwhile, Lester
had peered again into both eyes of the dead man,
and had tested the rigidity of an arm.
The servant carried a tray containing a silver
biscuit box, a small covered jug, and a cup and
saucer.
· Lester glanced at the various articles. “They
have been washed,” he commented.
“Yes, sir. A house order."
20


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
“Well,” admitted Mrs. Warren, “that is so, of
course. I thought that in the excitement of his
lordship’s seizure the maids might not have been
so prompt. But do you think the beef tea was
harmful, Dr. Lester? It was prepared by the same
cook who has made it for several years almost without
exception."
“It is hard to say,” was the non-committal answer.
“Dr. Smalley believed his lordship’s heart was
affected. He told me so many a time,” growled
Harry Warren.
“I am sure of it,” said Lester. “No doubt Lord
Arncliffe suffered from occasional sickness, perhaps
fainting fits ?”
“Not that I know of,” replied Warren.
“Oh yes, he did!” broke in Simpson. “I told
you, Mrs. Warren, didn't I, ma'am ?”
“Certainly. Dr. Smalley was anxious about
these symptoms, though they were very slight and
far from frequent. Lord Arncliffe was sensitive
about such matters, so they were never discussed.”
There was a knock at the door. A tubby, bald-
headed little man, balancing gold-rimmed pince nez
on his nose, with drops of perspiration glistening
on his forehead, entered precipitately.
“Bless my soul! what is this I hear?” he cried.
“I am grieved to tell you that his lordship is dead,
Dr. Smalley,” said Mrs. Warren in her quiet well-
2)


The Arncliffe Puzzle
bred way. “This gentleman is Dr. Lester, who,
fortunately, met one of the grooms near your house
in the village.”
Dr. Smalley nodded with marked coolness. In
such wise did interlopers pry into a new prac-
tise!
But Lester paid no heed to his fellow-practi-
tioner's hauteur. He waited until Dr. Smalley had
concluded an examination on his own part. Then
he touched the village doctor's arm.
“Will you oblige me by coming into the corridor
a moment ?” he asked.
“There's nothing — " began the other stifly.
"Exactly. I only wish a word in private with
you.”
“Pooh! Why this air of mystery, my good sir ?
Lord Arncliffe died from aortic regurgitation. I
have warned him repeatedly."
Lester was nettled by the little man's absurd
introduction of professional rivalry into the affair.
Yet his demeanor was unruffled.
“I am an utter stranger in Arncliffe,” he explained.
“Even his lordship's name was unknown to me
before to-day. Therefore — "
“Pre-cisely, my dear sir. Lord Arncliffe's illness
and its sad conclusion are entirely within my prov-
ince.”
Dr. Smalley placed his hands behind his back
22


Lord Arncliffe Causes a Dispute
and glared up at Lester defiantly. More than once
had he frightened away possible competitors by
similar tactics. There was nothing else for it;
Lester must speak openly.
"I was going to tell you,” he said with cold dis-
tinctness, “that Lord Amcliffe's heart failure was
not due to natural causes. It arose from the ad-
ministration of arsenic in one of its many forms.
Lord Arncliffe has been poisoned!”
23


CHAPTER II
LORD ARNCLIFFE CONTINUES THE DISPUTE
“POISONED ?” cried Harry Warren, with the loud
scorn of a man asked to credit the incredible.
“Poisoned ?” echoed his mother, gazing af-
frightedly at Lester. Her thin face blanched and
she clutched at the steel chain which held the bunch
of jangling keys as though the suggestion conveyed
a sinister imputation against her household man-
agement.
And Dr. Smalley became angry indeed.
! "Stuff and nonsense!” he almost shouted. “How
dare you come here, sir, and make such ridicu-
lous statements ? His lordship has been my patient
for years. There is not the slightest ground for
your opinion. It is grotesque and untenable. It
amounts to a positive outrage. I absolutely refuse
to accept it.”
Lester looked the enraged little man straight in
the eyes. The wrathful obstinacy he found therein
would have amused him under different con-
ditions. As it was, he declined the threatened
argument.
24


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
“I have warned you, and I consider that my duty
ends there,” he said quietly. “I came to Arncliffe
in search of peace. Believe me, I have no wish to
be drawn into a distasteful controversy.”
But Dr. Smalley was not to be pacified.
“You seem to forget, sir,” he vociferated, “that
your idiotic charge contains a grave reflection on
my treatment of his lordship, and implies either that
he has killed himself or that some member of his
household has committed murder. Let me tell you,
sir -”
Lester waved a deprecating hand to stay the tor-
rent of words. He went out, closing the door behind
him. None of the others offered to stay his depart-
ure. It was only natural that they should take Dr.
Smalley's view of the dispute.
At the door, he told the waiting gardener to lead
the horse to the stables. Dr. Smalley's gig was
standing there, too. For the second time within
the hour he walked slowly back to the village.
Half-way he met the groom, who seemed to be
surprised.
“Is his lordship better, sir?” inquired the man.
“He is dead,” was the answer. Ere the groom
could gurgle forth his amazement, Lester asked him
if he had seen Dr. Smalley.
“No, sir,” he replied.
“Then the doctor must have heard of Lord Arn-
25


The Arncliffe Puzzle
cliffe's illness from some other source; he is at the
Hall now.”
“He may have come into the park by the West
Lodge, sir. It is possible he drove through on his
way home. But for goodness' sake, sir, what did
his lordship die of ?”
“Dr. Smalley has been in attendance on your
master. He will assign the cause of death,” was
the guarded answer. If Lester could help it, no
hint of a difference between doctors should pass
beyond the confines of the dimly lighted room where
lay the mortal remains of the owner of Arncliffe.
Before he reached the “Fisherman's Rest” he
had made up his mind to pursue a definite course.
His assumption that Lord Arncliffe had been poi-
soned, either by design or accident, rested on no
more firm basis than a guess, a scientific guess, it is
true, but without the essential warrant of thorough
investigation. Perhaps he was mistaken. An old
man, possibly somewhat eccentric in his ways, and
with dogmatic views anent food and medicine,
might easily have acquired symptoms calculated
to deceive the eye of even an experienced investi-
gator like George Lester.
The village doctor did not know that his imaginary
rival was one of the most eminent toxicologists of
the day. Passing out of Edinburgh University,
after taking the highest honors in materia medica
26


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
and chemistry, Lester was at once appointed lec-
turer in the first of these sciences; but no sooner had
he laid the foundations of a most successful career
than he imperiled his future by accepting a trivial
appointment on the staff of a West African explora-
tion company. In reality, he enhanced his reputa-
tion. His studies in plant and insect poison, carried
on in the Ashanti bush, earned him a world-wide
reputation. Before he was thirty he was famous.
Such credentials do not render a man bumptious
or intolerant. Only he who climbs the tree of knowl-
edge can tell how wary must be each upward step,
and George Lester, the brilliant investigator, hon-
ored by his own government, a recognized authority
in the medical schools of the Continent, was in a
curiously humble frame of mind as he entered the
village. He already regretted the momentary re-
sentment of Dr. Smalley's pompous air which in-
duced him to utter the drastic opinion. The little
doctor might have been profoundly amazed were
he able to read Lester's thoughts at that moment.
Conviction was rapidly yielding to doubt. There
was some chance that, ere night fell, the author of
“Toxic Analysis” would seek the fiery-eyed Smalley
and apologize to him.
But the circumstances which conspire against
human happiness wing their unseen flight from the
most unlikely quarters. “Jolly Jim” Jones, noted
27


The Arncliffe Puzzle
only for his laugh and his taste in beer, was the un-
conscious agent who quickened a lulled suspicion
into fresh activity.
Although genuinely sorry to hear that the Earl
was dead, Jones soon recovered his wonted buoyancy
and proceeded to entertain his guest with remi-
niscences of the deceased peer.
“By gum!” said he, “I thowt his lo’dship ’ud live
till he wur a hundred. He wur hard as nails, teuf
as a bit o' seasoned yak.” (Anglice, oak.) “An'
he wur a clever owd bird, too. He knew summat
about everythink. One day he chaffed me wi'
more ways o' hocussing spirits than I'd ivver heerd
tell of afore. Gosh! he med me roar.”
And Jones showed how he roared.
“Another time,” he went on, after regaining his
breath, “his lo'dship walked around my bit o'gar-
den, an' he nearly skeered me into a fit. By gum!
he said as how honey could be poisoned by bees
feedin' on rhodydendrums, and henbane or water
dropwort mistakken for parsnips. As for mush-
rooms, he called 'em sike neäms I've nivver had one
i' t' house since.”
Lester suddenly found the garrulous landlord's
talk exceedingly interesting.
“Did Lord Arncliffe really show much knowledge
of poisons ?” he asked.
“Poisons ?” repeated Jones, grinning widely.
28


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
"I'll take my solemn davy he aʼmost med me sus-
pect my own beer. He talked about some stuff he
called pick-row-somethin'-or-other — ”
"Picrotoxin ?"
“Ay, that's it. By gum! Give a man a taste o’
that in a pint an' you'll see things. You doctors
mun be rum fellers to quarrel wi', to my thinkin'."
Such obvious philosophy required a pull at the
beer-handle to soften its rigor. Lester escaped to
his room, sat down at a writing-table, and set forth
on paper, briefly but clearly, his reasons for thinking
that Lord Arncliffe had died from arsenical poison-
ing. After the landlord's curiously appropriate
story he had no other course left open. There
might be an inquest, with far-reaching consequences.
No matter what the inconvenience to himself, he
could not shirk the outcome of his own definite
pronouncement in the presence of four persons.
So George Lester wrote a short record of the facts,
sealed the paper in an envelope, and gave it to the
landlord, with a request that the latter should place
it in his safe.
“You will not forget the date and the hour?” he
said, noticing that Jones weighed the small package
in his hand with a certain air of doubt.
“Why, noä, sir,” grinned the other. “What is
it? It mun be a bank-note, or summat o'ť soart."
“No, it is merely a statement. You see I was
29


The Arncliffe Puzzle
called in accidentally to visit Lord Arncliffe. In
such cases it is always best to be accurate. I have
jotted down my observations. That is all. The
paper may not be wanted again, but you will oblige
me by keeping it and producing it if called on by
me.”
“Certainly, sir. I'm a careful man meself. I
nivver buy owt that I doän't enter t day an' t price
in a note-book. Once I bowt a pig — "
A maid reported that a fine trout and other deli-
cacies awaited Lester in the coffee-room, so the pig-
buying episode was interrupted. Lester dined alone.
There happened to be no other anglers staying at
the inn that day. Propping a London daily paper
against the cruet-stand, he endeavored to read an
article dealing with Anglo-American influences on
affairs in the Far East. In a word, he determined
to rid his thoughts of all further speculation about
the dead master of Arncliffe, and succeeded so well
that, with coffee and a cigar, he wheeled his chair
to secure a better light while he scanned the news-
paper in comfort.
Hence, he was positively surprised when the maid
brought a letter, correctly addressed to him, and
bearing the Arncliffe arms, a stag couchant proper
on a field d'or. But his surprise kindled into actual
amazement when he read:


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
“ DEAR SIR : Simpson, the man who was present to-day
when you met Dr. Smalley in Lord Arncliffe's bedroom, has
told me what you said. I was so shocked and grieved by the
death of one to whom I owe everything that I failed at first to
give your words their true significance. Now, however, I feel
it a sacred duty that I should acquaint you with certain matters
within my knowledge. I do not think I can ask you to come
to the Hall, and, in a small place like Arncliffe, it would cause
needless comment were I to call and see you at the inn. Can
you meet me at the East Lodge gate at nine o'clock? The ter-
rible occurrence of this afternoon must be my excuse for such
an unconventional request. Yours faithfully,
“Edith Hour.
“P.S. I have been Lord Arncliffe's secretary and amanuensis
during the past three years. I should add that it was to my
assistance you came to-day in the Fen Ghyll. E. H.”
Although not a man of hesitating mood, Lester
drew a deep breath of dubiety when he reached the
end of this short but decisive note. There are, in a
man's life, certain rare moments of divination.
They are mysterious, occult, fleeting as the gleam
of lightning in the depths of a somber cloud. They
carry an impalpable message of hidden fate, so
distinct as to be undeniable, yet so vague that no
sane intelligence can interpret them for good or evil.
One of these glimpses behind the veil of futurity
was vouchsafed to him now, and he wondered with
unaccustomed awe what the portent signified. He
was sure that the tryst fixed for the ensuing hour
would have an uncontrollable influence on his career.
Events were slowly but inexorably conspiring to
31


The Arncliffe Puzzle
enmesh him within a web of exceeding strength.
Should he escape while yet the way was open ?
A polite refusal to meet this lovely “marquise,"
on the plea that he was leaving Arncliffe at once,
showed the path of expediency. His eyes, fixed in
thought, fell again on the letter: "The death of one
to whom I owe everything,” she wrote. Once
before that day he had gone to her in a moment of
distress. Should he refuse her now in a greater
need ? George Lester might be a clever and clear-
sighted young man, nevertheless, he was a young
man.
"Tell the messenger I will keep the appointment,”
he said to the waiting servant. “Or, perhaps, I had
better write a note.”
“Please, sir, the boy said there was no answer.
He has gone."
Then Lester laughed. He was spared all hesi-
tancy. It was intolerable that Miss Edith Holt,
the girl with the Greuze face and figure, should be
allowed to wait in vain outside the East Lodge for
one who came not.
“No answer is the most conclusive of all answers,”
he said, and smiled.
The girl smiled, too, though she understood him
not at all.
"He is such a nice gentleman!” she confided to
the kitchen maid, who was dressed for going out.
32


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
“But he looks at you sometimes as if he didn't see
you.”
“An' that won't suit you,” commented the other
tartly, the house-maid being the better looking of
the pair.
“I'm not used to it like you are, Lizzie," was the
flippant retort.
Lizzie glared, but curiosity conquered pique when
her fellow-servant went on:
"I've just given him a note from the Hall. It
was in a lady's handwriting. I wonder who he
knows there?”
“Who brought it?”
“Jackson's little boy.” Jackson was a gardener
employed on the Arcliffe estate.
“If I meet him I'll ask who sent it.”
“It was to make an appointment of some
sort.”
“You don't say ? I'll just hurry out. Mebbe
I'll overtake him.”
So Lizzie hurried, and caught the Jackson urchin
swapping marbles with another boy on the outskirts
of the village. But she failed to extract any informa-
tion from him, a largesse of sixpence having insured
discretion.
Lizzie was baffled. She went to visit a friend,
and it was one of the queer coincidences of fate that
she should happen to catch sight of George Lester's
33


The Arncliffe Puzzle
tall figure as he strolled toward the park a few
minutes before nine o'clock.
“Well, I must be off now,” she cried, a sudden
impulse moving her to follow him.
“Why, this is no time to go!” protested her gossip.
“You needn't be home yet for another hour or
more.”
“I've got to meet me sweetheart,” grinned Lizzie.
“You told me he was given a job in Newcastle
as a porter.”
“This is a friend of his who takes care of me on
his account,” was the jaunty reply, and Lizzie darted
forth into the soft shadows of a fine June night.
Within the nearest gate of the park Lester saw
Edith Holt. Though, of course, she was attired in
different garments from the summer-like costume
of their earlier meeting, he recognized her at the
first glance. She walked with a free elegance, and
carried herself with a distinction that would serve
to single her out from a crowd anywhere. Here,
with never a rival, Edith Holt had the semblance
of a rank far higher than that accorded her by the
landlord's chatter.
Being neither a prude nor a gallant, Lester won-
dered what their strange meeting really meant. He
realized that the girl must have yielded to some
powerful motive ere she wrote to him, and he felt,
too, that it lay with him to redeem her from the
34


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
natural embarrassment of their first exchange of
words. Hence, the surprises of that day of bewilder-
ment were only increased when he found that Miss
Holt, who passed through the gate before he could
reach it, took the lead in their conversation.
“It is very good of you to be so punctual," she
said. “Shall we walk this way?”
She indicated the high road, leading away from
the village.
“I am entirely at your service,” said Lester.
“I need hardly apologize for my letter,” she began
again instantly. “Most fortunately, you are a doc-
tor, and, in grave trouble, one turns to a doctor for
help as instinctively as to a lawyer or a clergyman.”
“You have my sympathy already, and believe
me you shall have my best counsel,” said he.
Now, the truth was that Lester was taken aback
by the girl's demeanor. He was in no way con-
ceited, nor could his detractors, if such existed,
describe him as a “ladies' man.” But that this
beautiful young woman should so calmly relegate
him to the category of fatherly gray-heads gave him
a twinge of annoyance that none of her sex had
succeeded in inflicting before.
Utterly unconscious of her own attitude, Edith
Holt passed a hand over her eyes as though to clear
away a baffling mist.
"The Earl was my only friend," she continued
35


The Arncliffe Puzzle
in a strained, nervous manner which told how
feverishly she was controlling her emotions. “I
did not exaggerate when I said that I owed every-
thing in the world to him. When my dear father
died, nearly ten years ago, I was left alone, a little
girl of nine, but Heaven inspired my father on his
death-bed to write to his old school-fellow, Sir
William Bradshaw, as he was then, and ask him to
care for me.”
“Sir William Bradshaw, the great cotton manu-
facturer! Did he become Earl of Arncliffe ?”.
“Yes, only three years since. His gifts to the
nation, his endowment of two universities, brought
him a peerage, which he accepted only as a joke.
'It will inter me decently,' he used to say. “People
will forget that such an old fossil as Bradshaw is
still living.' My dear old friend and benefactor!
Who could have wished him harm?” She stopped
to choke back a sob.
Lester, wishing to soothe her, said quietly: "Do
not be too ready to adopt my hasty conclusion, Miss
Holt. Lord Arncliffe, whose career is, of course,
well known to me, was an old man. It is amazing
to me now to realize that I, too, owe him a certain
measure of success in my profession. It was Sir
William Bradshaw who provided funds for the
Tropical Fevers Commission which came to West
Africa -”
36


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
“And are you the Dr. George Lester who dis-
covered the Micrococcus Africanus ?” she inter-
rupted.
They halted and gazed at one another with re-
newed interest. As for Lester, he was astounded.
Not many young ladies of nineteen could speak thus
glibly of the tiny organism he had detected in the
fever-laden blood of a Congo nomad only a few
months earlier. But the transient gleam fled from
the girl's brilliant eyes.
“Lord Arncliffe followed your researches care-
fully,” she explained. “I compiled a small record
of them. How delighted he would have been to
talk to you! And now he is dead, and you have
come too late to save him! For you could have
saved him, Dr. Lester. I believe now he was
poisoned. I am sure of it.”
"It is a difficult matter of which to speak so con-
fidently. I may have been mistaken, and I gather
that the suspicion in your mind was created only
by my words.”
“It is hard to make things clear; but the Earl
believed he was being poisoned. He often hinted
at it, especially of late. I fancied he was giving
way to the vagaries of old age, though, indeed, his
fine intellect might have shown me the folly of such
a doubt. I assure you, Dr. Lester, he strongly
suspected, I may almost say he knew, that some
37


The Arncliffe Puzzle
one was killing him. Oh! why did I not listen to
him? Even I might have helped a little bit to
thwart a murderous design."
There was no denying the girl's implicit faith.
Her sorrowful eyes looked up into the starlit sky. Her
grief was such that the tears could not be checked.
“That is a very serious statement to make, Miss
Holt. Can you help my judgment by any specific
fact? In a word, do you yourself suspect any-
body?”
Lester felt that she would be calmer if recalled
to the direct issue of the tragedy. Nor was he un-
prepared for her answer.
“Suspect ? I? You saw me to-day in the park,
reading some stupid book in the very hour when
Lord Arncliffe was dying. Would I have been
there were I suspicious of a poisoner? I am in a
maze, Dr. Lester, a maze of terror. I am only
certain of the one dreadful thing: some loathsome
creature has killed my friend."
They were walking slowly along a road bordered,
on one hand, by the dense belt of fir-trees which
guarded the park, and, on the other, by a steep bank
covered with brambles and hazel-bushes. Lester
was not aware that a foot-path traversed its higher
ground - it was indeed the ancient track of moss-
trooping days superseded by a graded highway.
But a man who has led expeditions through the
38


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
forests and swamps of the Congo should possess
hearing trained to a marvelous degree where lurking
foe or prowling beast is concerned. A slight rustle
of grass on the elevated path conveyed a warning,
the first time — there was no doubt the second.
“Pardon me one moment,” said he to his com-
panion. Then he sprang lightly up the bank, and
peered through a clump of nut-trees. Edith Holt
heard a slight cry of dismay as Lester confronted
the shrinking form of the enterprising Lizzie.
“Why are you trying to overhear our conversa-
tion ?” he demanded sternly.
“Please, sir, I wasn't,” she stuttered, alternately
blushing and paling.
“If you are not a spy, you should not behave like
one. Which way are you going?”
“Back to the village, sir.”
The words had scarcely left her lips before Lizzie
realized her error. She had practically admitted
her eavesdropping tactics. Her face burned as she
turned and hurried away. But she was exceedingly
angry, and, with a queer, feline spite, she longed to
revenge her humiliation on the fair woman who
had not even seen her.
“Who is she, I'd like to know ?” snorted the
kitchen-maid. “With all her fine airs an' her long
words, she's only a servant like me."
She was passing the lodge when the rhythmic beat
39


The Arncliffe Puzzle
of a horse's hoofs, hard driven, came from the park.
Being out of sight of Miss Holt and Lester, she
slackened her pace. The lodge-keeper opened the
gate, and Harry Warren drove through in a dog-cart.
An elfish spirit of mischief moved the girl to cry
out to him:
“Are ye lookin' for Miss Holt, sir ?”
“No," answered he in surprise; then, taking
thought, he pulled up the horse.
“Why did you ask me that ?” he went on sharply.
Lizzie was demure. “I only wanted to save you
trouble, sir, in case ye were seekin' her.”
“Miss Holt is at the Hall,” said he.
“Oh no, she's not. She is walkin' up the road
there, with Mr. Lester, a gentleman who is stayin'
at the ‘Fisherman's Rest.'”
The vindictive note in her voice might have aston-
ished the estate agent if her statement had not set
other speculations jarring in his brain.
He hesitated, handled the reins irresolutely as
though minded to turn the vehicle, but seemingly
changed his half-formed intention, and drove off at
a rare rate toward the village. A groom, seated
stiffly on the back seat, watched the girl curiously
until the trap whirled him into the night.
“That's one for her,” said Lizzie with a sour
smile. “And now I'll give her another, if only I
can find May Mannering."
40


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
The railway-station, as in many English country
districts, was situated a needless half-mile away
from the village, practically as far to the east as the
Hall lay to the west. Warren tore through the
village street and reached the station ten minutes
too soon, his apparent mission being to meet the
last train due to arrive that night.
The train was punctual, and an elderly man
alighted from a first-class carriage. He moved
briskly enough, although his head and shoulders
had the student's stoop. His sharply cut, some-
what wizened features wore a distinctly legal aspect,
and his remarkably bright eyes, peering under heavy,
white-haired brows, discerned Warren standing on
the platform long before the younger man could
pick him out amid the crowd of hurrying passen-
gers.
The newcomer was Mr. Aingier, of Aingier,
Smith & Co., solicitors, Grey Street, Newcastle,
and King's Bench Walk, London. Aingier greeted
Warren cordially, but he had an imperative way
with him, and he showed it in his manner of ordering
the groom to place a couple of portmanteaus on the
back of the dog-cart and walk to the Hall.
“I wish to talk without a servant being a listener,”
he explained to Warren. “But why are we travel-
ing at such a pace ?” he demanded.
“The mare is rather fresh,” said Warren.
41


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“So it would appear. You must either moderate
her ardor or I shall walk with the groom.”
Thus admonished, Warren steadied the animal,
and Aingier began to question him. The estate
agent gave an accurate account of events at the Hall,
and did not scruple to express his contempt for the
view taken by Lester as to the probable cause of the
Earl's death.
But Aingier was much interested.
“Who is this young man ?” he asked. “Where
is he staying? Is he known to any one locally ?”
“I never heard of him before to-day. As a matter
of fact, if you wish to see him, we may meet him on
the road. I was told that Miss Holt and he were
walking together half an hour since.”
“Miss Holt? Is he a friend of hers ?”
“Not to my knowledge. I am almost sure that
she, too, met him to-day for the first time.”
“This is a very strange story, Mr. Warren.”
“It is, indeed."
"I am not alluding to Miss Holt's penchant for
an evening stroll with a stranger. I am thinking
of this Mr. Lester's statement. You are aware, I
suppose, that in addition to my partnership in a
firm which conducts Lord Arncliffe's legal affairs,
I am one of the trustees under his lordship's will.
Under the circumstances, your communication
warrants me in divulging one, at least, of his lord-
42


Lord Arncliffe Continues the Dispute
ship’s testamentary conditions somewhat in advance
of the ordinary course of events. Early in the pres-
ent year my poor old friend added a codicil to his
will. I tried to dissuade him, and even argued that
he was indulging in a piece of folly which might have
most unpleasant results. But what you have now
told me compels, as I have said, a remarkable
avowal. Lord Arncliffe, in his codicil, deliberately
states that some one was endeavoring to poison him.
He directs that, in the event of his sudden death, a
post-mortem examination shall be held by Home
Office experts, and, finally, he sets apart the sum of
ten thousand pounds as a reward to the person who,
in the opinion of his trustees, is chiefly responsible
for the conviction of his murderer.”


CHAPTER III
THE THREADS OF CIRCUMSTANCE
HARRY WARREN was so startled that he forgot
the lawyer's prohibition and brought down his whip
smartly on the mare's shoulders. He was a man
prone to vent his feelings with violence. He never
scrupled to lash a horse or kick a dog should the
animal be near enough at the moment to gratify
this brutal trait.
“Let me get out!” cried Aingier with some heat.
“Oh! I am sorry. Whoa, beauty! There now,
she is all right. I forgot myself. If I have a whip
in my hand I must use it. But, look here, Mr.
Aingier, this is all rot! Dr. Smalley has given a
certificate. His lordship died of heart-disease.”
“So shall I, unless you drive properly," was the
curt response. For a little time the solicitor sat in
silence, clinging to the side rail and nervously watch-
ing the horse's ears. Warren, cursing his own
stupidity in checking the other man's confidences,
gave closer heed to his task. Nevertheless, they
passed through the village rapidly.
Two girls, chatting at the garden gate of a neat


The Threads of Circumstance
cottage, watched the dog-cart go by. In the dim
light it was difficult to distinguish the occupants of a
fast-moving vehicle.
“Isn't that Harry Warren ?” asked one of the
pair, an apple-cheeked young woman whose indoor
attire betokened that the cottage was probably her
residence.
“Yes. I saw him as he came from the Hall. He
has been to fetch some one from the station, most
likely.”
There was an indecisive pause. Then the first
speaker said with a pout: “I wonder he didn't call,
or at least wave his hand in passing. Ever since
the New Year he makes out he has been so busy
that he can hardly give me half an hour a week.”
The rattle of the vehicle died away. The solemn
calm of a summer's night settled down again on the
quiet hamlet.
“Harry and you are engaged, aren't you, May ?”
said her friend.
“Of course we are. Every one knows that. If
it wasn't for his mother we should have been mar-
ried last year. As soon as Harry feels he is his own
master there will be no more waiting, I assure you."
The assertive note was needlessly shrill. Perhaps
Lizzie felt that she had meddled enough in other
people's business that evening, or it might be that
the walk homeward had cooled her temper. Any-
45


The Arncliffe Puzzle
how, she refrained now from positive assertions,
and dread of a searching cross-examination kept her
from repeating the stray phrases she had gathered
from Edith Holt's words. But she would not be a
mischief-maker were she to leave the topic wholly.
“Will his lordship's death make any difference?”
she asked.
“Difference? To me and Harry ?”
“Don't snap at me in that fashion, May. I only
mean that somebody else will own the Hall. Who
is it; have you heard ?”
“No one knows. That is, Harry doesn't, and he
could hear any news that was going. But the Earl
told him that he and his mother would not suffer,
no matter what happened. Not that I don't mind
telling you I shall be glad when everything is set-
tled.”
The girl sighed deeply. The camaraderie of
feminine sentiment caused Lizzie to twist her next
question out of its imminent form. “Do you know
- I mean, have you seen much of that pale-faced,
fluffy-haired girl at the Hall, the girl who writes his
lordship's letters ?”
“Miss Holt? No. She is always either reading
by herself or doing all sorts of odd jobs about pic-
tures and china. I don't rightly understand her
situation. Harry says he hardly ever sees her."
“Oh!” said Lizzie, whose acquaintance with
46


The Threads of Circumstance
Mrs. Jackson, wife of gardener Jackson, led her to
hold precisely the opposite view. “Well, good-by,
dear. It is nearly ten — closing time, you know.
Ask me to the wedding.”
“Good-by!”
They kissed and parted.
“I'm sorry for May,” mused Lizzie, speeding to
the inn. “Ought I to have spoken, I wonder ?
Better not, perhaps, I do so hate tittle-tat-
tling!”
Harry Warren's reputed fiancée did not re-enter
the cottage. She was disturbed by vague mis-
givings. She looked up at the stars wistfully, stri-
ving to find sympathy in their fine aloofness from
such petty troubles as centered in Arncliffe, though
the tame astrologer of a woman's fashion paper
had told her she must beware of Sirius the dog-star,
ascendant in July.
“Half an hour a week!” she murmured bitterly.
“If I had said half an hour a month I'd have been
nearer the mark. And why did Lizzie mention
Miss Holt? He swore to me he hated the sight of
her, with her pretty ways and her mincing talk.
Of course, he may have had things to occupy him;
but it used not to be so. Maybe, now that the Earl
has gone – ”
She heard some one walking smartly down the
road. She peered intently at the figure, and the
47


The Threads of Circumstance
"No. I am usually reckoned a trustworthy
person.”
“No one need tell me that, miss, Well, there's
a strange gent here, a fishing gent staying at ‘Jolly
Jim's' place, who up and said to-day that his lord-
ship had been poisoned.”
“Wilson!”
“It's the truth I'm telling you, sure as my
name's Bob. Did you know my name was Bob,
miss ?”
He was standing so close to her now that he could
see the troubled droop of her full lips. Yet his
attitude was so respectful that she thought only of
his mysterious revelation.
“I believe you are not making up a story," she
said. “But what is behind it? Did the Earl
poison himself ?”
“By gum! you have me there, miss. The strange
gent said nothing about that. Only, you mark my
words, there will be wigs on the green here to-mor-
row! Simpson, his lordship's man, you know,
miss, is crazed about the master's death. He swears
he'll speak out, no matter what happens.”
“You are hinting at something. Out with it!'
"Simpson says the Earl was killed a-purpose.
He knows something; but I don't know what. If I
did, miss, I'd tell you, honor bright, for I'd trust
you more than anybody.”
49


The Arncliffe Puzzle
He leaned against the gate, and the girl felt that
he was nervous, even a little excited.
She was surprised, and retired a pace.
“The scandal will not be spread by me,” she said
coldly. “Of that you may be sure. Naturally, I
am very sorry to think that the person lives who
could wish harm to a dear old gentleman like Lord
Arncliffe. Good night, Wilson.”
“Good night, miss,” he sighed.
“And, by the way, should you be passing to-
morrow you might call if you have any further
news.”
He brightened up considerably. “You may
rely on me, miss. Something will turn up, that's
certain, and I'll get out somehow.” He strode off,
softly whistling a popular air.
She watched him from the porch. “I do believe,”
she said to herself, “that Wilson was sheepishly
anxious to flirt with me. Yet he is aware that I
am engaged to Harry. And they say Lord Arncliffe
was murdered! What can it all mean?”
“Now, honey, it's time that lass was yam (home)
an' i bed,” came a thin voice from within the
cottage.
"All right, mother. I'm coming."
The girl pressed her hands against her bosom
in a tumultuous rush of agonizing doubt. Then
she went in and barred the door on specters;
50


The Threads of Circumstance
but it is hard to say whether or not she was suc-
cessful.
Warren, who was really a skilful driver, succeeded
in restoring Aingier's confidence before they reached
the first gate of the park.
“Would you mind if I drove round to the West
Lodge ?” he asked.
“Why do you wish to take the longer route?” was
the cautious query.
“We may meet Mr. Lester. I thought that you
might like to have a word or two with him.” Warren
was prepared with this explanation. It was forth-
coming readily.
“Not a bad idea. It is late already, and I can do
little at the Hall to-night.” In reality, the old
lawyer was tickled with the notion that he might
have a chance to question an important witness
taken unawares.
The maneuver failed, for the good reason that
Lester not only escorted Edith Holt back to the East
Lodge, but obtained her permission to walk with her
to the door of the Hall.
The pair in the dog-cart encountered no one on
the highway, nor was any person other than a
gamekeeper to be seen on the white ribbon of the
open drive within the park. Harry Warren un-
consciously flicked the mare again, and Aingier
stifled a protest, mentally registering a vow that
51


The Arncliffe Puzzle
he would secure another Jehu while he dwelt at
Arncliffe.
“Beg pardon," said Warren, briefly. “I was
thinking of the outlook.”
“Your thoughts take an unnecessarily active
form,” growled the lawyer.
“The fact is, Mr. Aingier, I was wondering who
would be my new employer. You see it is a serious
thing for me.”
“At present I am in charge of the estate as resi-
dent trustee, and it will certainly be a most serious
thing for you if you throw me out of this infernal
conveyance!” was the unexpected retort.
“I suppose some distant cousin will get the title
and the bulk of the property ? " persisted Warren.
“The title becomes extinct, there being no direct
descendant of his lordship,” the lawyer answered
dryly. “You, as agent, know well enough that the
estate is not entailed. Lord Arncliffe was what is
styled a self-made man. He could, if he chose, leave
everything he possessed to you, Mr. Harry Warren.”
“By gad! No such luck!”
Warren rolled his tongue in his mouth. He col-
lected rents amounting to ten thousand a year.
Thrice that sum came from cotton and cloth mills
in Lancashire and Yorkshire, and the deceased Earl
was credited with enormous deposits of ready money
in two banks.
52


The Threads of Circumstance
Aingier enjoyed the analysis of Warren's feelings.
How this beefy youngster would revel in the delights
of millionairedom! Already the mare was lifting
her head under the urging of the reins.
“Failing you,” he went on, “his lordship might
devise his money to establishing a home for idiots.”
“Don't be severe on me, Mr. Aingier. I am a
bit upset by to-day's events, and I assure you there
is not the slightest danger in sitting behind a quiet
animal like this. All I want to say is that I hope,
whoever succeeds to the property, it will make no
difference to me."
“When I was a young man I gave no heed to con-
siderations of that sort. I always endeavored to
serve my employers faithfully and well, trusting to
my services to secure my position.”
Harry Warren would indeed have been slow-
witted if he misapprehended this tart rejoinder.
For the remaining quarter of a mile his nervous
companion had no occasion for further protest. It
was a pleasant night for a drive, and the lawyer
recovered his equanimity before they reached the
house.
Edith Holt, standing near the door after Lester
had left her, heard the approaching vehicle. She
recognized the sound of the wheels, and wondered
idly why Warren had brought the solicitor by a
circuitous way from the station.
53


The Arncliffe Puzzle
She greeted Aingier cordially, telling him that
Mrs. Warren, sorely tried by the Earl's sudden
death, was compelled to retire, and had requested
her to await his arrival.
Instantly Warren began to reckon the sequence
of events. When had his mother seen Edith ? It
was evident that the latter had cut short her con-
versation with Lester. He was mistaken. Mrs.
Warren, completely prostrated, had left a message
for Miss Holt with a footman, but the belief served
to banish her son's ill humor.
The old man seemed to be delighted that he was
to have Miss Holt's company while he partook of
some supper. He promised to join her immediately,
and Harry Warren, anxious for a word, seized the
moment's interval afforded by the safe transference
of the solicitor's baggage to his room.
“Edith,” he whispered, “don't forget that Mr.
Aingier is a trustee. He can do a lot for us.”
"In what way?” she asked.
“Well, he can smooth away difficulties, you know.
You should — be quite nice to him.” He nearly
said “play up to him,” but the words faltered on
his tongue. The girl seemed to be so lost in the
great sorrow of her benefactor's fate that even he
felt the jar of the suggestion.
“Of course, I will endeavor to make him com-
fortable,” she said simply. “But I have had a long
54


The Threads of Circumstance
talk with Dr. Lester, and I am profoundly moved by
Lord Arncliffe's extraordinary death. I fear I shall
prove a very indifferent hostess to-night, Harry."
Now, the last thing a man of Warren's shifty dis-
position expected was this candid admission. It
astounded him. A new-born tact induced him to
be content with a growling comment about “inter-
ference by outsiders.”
“You and Dr. Smalley are quite mistaken in that
respect,” she assured him earnestly. “Dr. Lester
has been quite frank with me. His presence, as
you are aware, was a sheer accident, and it is still
more extraordinary that for some years he should
have been engaged in the research planned by his
lordship in West and Central Africa. You have
heard me speak of it — the malarial mosquito, you
remember. Dr. Lester forgot Sir William Brad-
shaw's new title. Indeed, he thinks he never heard
of it, which was quite possible for a man who lived
during months at a time on the head waters of the
Niger. He is recognized as a great authority on -
poisons.”
She dwelt solemnly on the dread word. - War-
ren's natural petulance resented the certainty of her
convictions, nor was he pleased by her defense of
Lester.
“Between Lester and Aingier we are in for a fine
old scandal,” he said with a scowl.
55


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Mr. Aingier? What does he know about it?”
“Mr. Aingier will tell you himself, my dear young
lady,” said the solicitor, speaking from the open
doorway. He had overheard Warren's exclama-
tion, and the latter, somewhat abashed, drove off
to the stables in sulky silence.
Lester, stepping out briskly, met a keeper with a
dog, who questioned him as to his business. He
satisfied the man's doubts, and thinking it was
unusual, to say the least, that a visitor leaving the
Hall by the proper road at such an hour should be
called on to explain his presence, produced a cigar-
case and invited the keeper to accompany him as
far as the gate.
In a quiet country place unwonted excitement
will loosen tongues more than ordinarily cautious.
“Velveteens” was no exception to the rule.
“His lordship was what people call a recluse, sir,”
he said. “Nobody, not even a village tradesman,
was allowed to approach the Hall without his per-
mission. There was never any company. His
lordship took his pleasure either in readin' or writin'.
Sometimes, on a fine mornin', he would sit for hours
on a canvas chair hidden by bushes and watch the
birds and rabbits in the woods."
“He was a man after my own heart.”
“I shouldn't have thought that, sir,” said the
keeper with a canny humor in his tone.
56


The Arncliffe Puzzle
tutor who contracted a marriage somewhat late in
life with a woman belonging to a poor and proud
Channel Islands family.
“My great-grandfather was a Rochambert, an
emigré, who married Mademoiselle Helène de
Grammont, and I have been told that in a famous
private collection in London there is a miniature
of my great-grandmother to which I bear a remark-
able likeness,” she said.
“I can fully credit the statement,” put in Lester,
smiling in the darkness at his recollection of the
bewitching “marquise” of the afternoon.
“I once told dear Lord Arncliffe about it," she
continued, “and if I didn't so want to cry I could
laugh now at the way in which the other wealthy
connoisseur fenced with him when he wrote offering
to buy it. Neither would sell, but each wanted to
purchase the other's complete cabinet. Soon my
poor Helène de Grammont was swamped in the
galaxy of stars which illuminated the letters. You
see, each collector tried, with the most elaborate
courtesy, to show his rival that his own gallery of
celebrities was so nearly perfect that it was a pity to
withhold trifling exceptions from its completion,
especially when price was no object.”
“Would not you have been the most suitable
person to buy your great-grandmother?”
“Ah, you know little of the ways of collectors.
58


The Threads of Circumstance
Half the joy of ownership consists in the knowledge
that you have something another man wants and
cannot obtain.”
The girl's lively wit made her possible engage-
ment to a man of Harry Warren's type wholly in-
-
comprehensible to Lester. He paid little heed to
the plausible explanation that a secretary and
amanuensis might well regard the estate agent as a
desirable spouse. Unreasonable though the feeling
was, Lester longed to kick Warren for his imper-
tinence in asking this spirituelle, graceful creature
to be his wife. He had no manner of doubt that
such was the position between these two. Even
now, when the fragrance of her presence was gone,
and her clear sweet voice was only a memory, Lester
was furiously, inexplicably angry with Warren.
The absurd fit passed, however, and he laughed at
his own folly. It was in a state of placid good
humor that he entered the bar of the “Fisherman's
Rest,” where “Jolly Jim” and his sturdy poacher
acquaintance were far more eager to learn details
of the sad end of the giant trout than to glean gossip
from the Hall, even if Lester was disposed to give it.
The hour of ten disposed of external visitors, and
Lester yielded so far to a personal curiosity as to ask
the landlord if he knew whether or not Harry Warren
was engaged to be married.
Jones laughed loudly. “Engaged ?” he bellowed.
59


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“By gum, engaged isn't the word, sir! He's hot, is
that young man, very hot! But, mark me, he'll get
into deep watter if he isn't careful. I say nowt
about Betsy Spence or Polly Renwick, nor do I
reckon much on Mary Brown's affair; but when it
comes to playin' fast an' loose wi' sike a lass as May
Mannering, why, my name isn't J. J. if she don't
bring him up wi' a tight line.”
Lester suddenly found the conversation disagree-
able. Was Edith Holt the latest fancy of this village
Lothario? The mere idea was nauseating. He
must to bed and dispel these vapors. When all was
said and done, how did it concern him ?
About one o'clock in the morning, Aingier, a light
sleeper at any time, but rendered more than ordi-
narily wakeful by a long journey, the loss of his
friend, and a certain air of mystery attached to a
professional incident which might otherwise be
colorless, thought he heard some person walking
stealthily along the corridor in which his room was
situated.
Notwithstanding his nervousness about spirited
horses and high-perched dog-carts, the old lawyer
was plucky enough in other respects. He sprang
up with remarkable alertness for one of his years,
opened the door noiselessly and looked out. The
corridor was dark, and, as far as he could judge,
untenanted.
60


The Threads of Circumstance
“I don't remember having heard of a night watch-
man being employed here,” he communed, “and it
is a queer hour for any one to be wandering about
the house."
He closed the door again, turned up the gas and
dressed partially. He had the student's habit of
reading late at night. If he tackled a stiff book for
an hour the effort might induce sleep. His hobby,
strangely enough, was ship-building; within a few
minutes he was deeply immersed in a recent treatise
on naval architecture.
Then came that soft, guarded tread again, which,
were it not for the creaking age of the oak floor, must
have passed unheard. This time Aingier was pre-
pared. He flung his bedroom door wide, and the
flood of light from within fell on Harry Warren,
standing, pale and open-mouthed, in the corridor.
He was without his boots; he carried an extinguished
candle in his left hand, with his right arm he en-
circled a sleepy-eyed puppy.
“What on earth have you been doing ?” demanded
Aingier sharply.
“I-I went to find — this little chap,” said
Warren confusedly, his naturally red face flaming
back from white to brick color.
“ Hunting for a dog at this hour? Absurd!”
“Really — I lost him. He ran out of my room,
and – I had to follow him.”
61


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Aingier glanced at his watch. “You followed
him for half an hour ?” he cried with increasing
suspicion in his voice.
“I — don't understand you."
“My words are exceedingly plain. You passed
my door exactly thirty-two minutes since.”
“That I swear I did not,” cried Warren with
more self-possession. “My room is on the next
floor, and I — followed the dog along several pas-
sages until I caught him. This is the nearest way
back.”
“Then who passed here earlier ?”
“I don't know. Shall I search the upper floors
to see if any one is about ?”
“It seems to me that there are some extraordinary
happenings in this house!” snapped Aingier, without
answering Warren's question directly.
The younger man appeared to be annoyed too.
“There is nothing very odd about a young dog
wandering a bit,” he said brusquely.
“That puppy is nearly sound asleep. He wants
to run nowhere,” growled the lawyer.
"I have been nursing him, you see.”
“You impress me as a tender-hearted person.
May I ask if your nocturnal rambles have ended ?”
“I tell you I have not passed your door before!
You can believe me or not, just as you please,” said
Warren, and he stalked off.
62


The Threads of Circumstance
For some considerable time thereafter Aingier
tried to guess the true reason of Harry Warren's
nocturnal prowling, for he dismissed the excuse of
the straying puppy as a stupidly conceived pretext.
Warren himself, though vexed and somewhat
frightened because he was discovered, was far more
perturbed to think that another had passed along
the corridor at the time stated by the keen-witted
old solicitor. Who could it have been ? What was
the secret watcher's object ? Harry Warren did
not sleep until long after he had restored the puppy
to its dam, lying cosily amid the straw of a distant
stable.


CHAPTER IV
FORTY THOUSAND POUNDS A YEAR
Although his rest had been disturbed, there was
no trace of lassitude in the old lawyer's appearance
when he entered the breakfast-room next morning.
Mrs. Warren was there to greet him with her
stately courtesy, in which a certain assertion of her
own important position in the household was blended
with recognition of one who was not only Lord Arn-
cliffe's legal adviser, but also trustee of the estate.
“I trust you are better this morning, Mrs. War-
ren,” said Mr. Aingier, cheerfully. “You must not
let his lordship's death depress you too greatly. He
was an old man, you know, old enough to make
you and me feel quite youthful.”
“Death is always a terrible thing,” she replied,
"and its terror is added to if there is even a sugges-
tion of foul play.”
“Oh, that is the last thing you should think of.
Our poor friend was slightly eccentric, eh? It is
probable that all these disturbing rumors will be
set at rest within the next twenty-four hours. By
the way, has Miss Holt breakfasted yet ?”
64


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
“I do not know, Mr. Aingier.”
“Will you ask her to favor me with her company,
in any case ? And — er — I might mention that I
am telegraphing to my wife to come here to-day and
bear the young lady company during this trying
time. In future, we three will take our meals to-
gether.”
Mrs. Warren had the rare gift of not asking
questions. She smiled pleasantly, and contented
herself with saying that she hoped Mr. Aingier
would tell her instantly if the servants failed to
execute his commands. Many housekeepers might
have wondered why Lord Arcliffe's representative
should be so concerned about the welfare of a girl
who was only an amanuensis. If Mrs. Warren
indulged in any natural speculation on the point
she uttered no word. She passed from the room
with a quiet jingle of her inseparable keys.
Soon Edith appeared, pale but delightfully fresh-
looking, wearing an unrelieved black dress which
supplied a wonderful setting to the sunlit glory of
her hair. .
"I could almost condemn you to wear black for
the remainder of your life, it becomes you so well,
Miss Holt,” said the lawyer, gallantly.
“I am beginning to wear it with a frequency that
is saddening,” was her quiet answer.
But Aingier was not to be deterred from his
65


The Arncliffe Puzzle
avowed object. Some part of the gloom which
enshrouded Arncliffe Hall this bright morning must
be banished.
“Of course you are greatly grieved by the sudden-
ness of yesterday's event,” he said. “Knowing
your loneliness, I have asked Mrs. Aingier to come
here for a few days.”
"That is indeed kind and thoughtful of you.
But why should my poor little troubles be allowed
to interfere with Mrs. Aingier's arrangements ? It
will disturb her greatly to travel from Alnwick.
And I suppose I must leave Arncliffe soon. May I
remain until after the — the —” The blue eyes
became a deeper shade. Her voice faltered. She
must have yielded to the overwhelming sense of her
own utter isolation had not the old man caught her
by the shoulder.
“Now you are talking nonsense!” he cried. “You
have known me some years. Surely you can trust
me ?”
“Yes, indeed. I have not forgotten your kind
words last night.”
“Yet you did not believe me, it seems. I told
you not to bother your pretty head in the slightest
degree as to the future, and now I find a disconso-
late little maid to greet me, instead of the lively
young party I expected to cheer my breakfast.”
“Please forgive me. I am so sorry. I -"
66


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
“No excuses, and no more tears. I have ordered
breakfast for two. You will oblige me by sitting
down and showing that your early morning in the
garden has not destroyed your appetite."
"You saw me, then ?”
“Who could help it ? Even if the rose-trees had
hidden you, Mr. Warren's desperate anxiety to over-
take you would have revealed your whereabouts.”
A little smile brought a faint blush to her white
cheeks. “At any rate I shall not lack friends," she
murmured.
“No, indeed,” was the gruff comment, and Edith
was surprised by the lawyer's emphasis.
“What did Mr. Warren say to manifest his friend-
liness ?” he went on.
She flushed still more deeply. “I ought to tell
you, I think,” she said, with a hesitancy that did
not escape the keen old eyes. “Mr. Warren has
asked me more than once of late to marry him.
He renewed his proposal this morning.”
“A highly appropriate time, indeed! And what
was your answer? You are your own mistress, but
I hope you will not refuse me your confidence.”
“Why should I? I have very few friends. You
are the only person I can speak to on such a matter.
I cannot help feeling grateful to Mr. Warren, but
I have told him that the present was no time for
such considerations.”
67


The Arncliffe Puzzle
"In other words, you did not decline the proffered
honor ?”
The lawyer, from sheer force of habit, could
scarce control the cross-examining ring of his voice.
Again Edith looked her surprise. “I found it
hard to be as decided in my answer as would have
been the case under different circumstances. Though
it was not, perhaps, in the best of taste on his part
to discuss the subject at such an hour, I cannot but
appreciate the kindness which prompted a renewal
of his offer. However, I do not think I shall ever
marry Mr. Warren.”
"I should think not, indeed! It is like his con-
founded impudence even to dream of it. He must
be an idiot!"
Whatever her sentiments toward a declared
admirer, it is not in feminine nature for a girl to
regard as an idiot one who has given so convincing
a proof of his intelligence as to be most anxious to
wed her.
“I think you are rather unjust,” said Edith, dis-
consolately. “After all, I am a poor, friendless girl,
and although my feelings do not permit me to accept
Mr. Warren's proposal, I should be none the less
grateful. I am sure his only idea was to let me know
that I need not be without a protector."
“Fiddlesticks! When you grow a little older,
my dear, you will learn to regard all your fellow-
68


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
creatures with suspicion. Besides, how dare you
say you are friendless ? Doesn't a certain old fogy
named Aingier count for anything ?”
“You tell me to mistrust all my fellow-creatures,"
retorted Edith.
“Ah! That is more like your old self. Of course
I am the exception that proves the rule. In any
case, please do not listen to any proposals of marriage
just at present. For all you can tell, our dear old
friend may have left you a snug little fortune; and,
though I know you too well to suppose that mone-
tary questions would influence you in the slightest
degree, yet experience has taught me that in the first
flush of a bereavement women are apt to attach an
altogether exaggerated value to any trivial act of
kindness or expression of sympathy."
“I have the best of reasons for knowing that I
have nothing to expect from Lord Arncliffe's estate,"
said Edith, with a wan little smile. “I owe that
dear old man even more than you can guess, but it
was thoroughly understood between us that what-
ever benefits I was to receive from him would be
conferred during his lifetime.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the lawyer,
sharply. “Has Lord Arcliffe made any fresh will
since I was here last ? ”
“Why, no, I do not think so. But —”
“Then don't talk nonsense, child. I find I must
69


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
Mrs. Warren bowed and sat down, while Simpson
poised himself perilously on the edge of a seat. He
knew his place, even if the solicitor were pleased to
treat him so civilly. One wonders what happens
when a genuine English servant of the upper class
meets his employers in the next world.
“I have requested your attendance,” explained
Mr. Aingier, looking at them severely over the edge
of the manuscript, and speaking in dry, professional
tones, “in order to communicate to you the terms
of the late Lord Arncliffe's will. Under ordinary
circumstances I should, as is usual, have deferred
this melancholy duty until after my dear old friend
had been laid to rest, but in view of certain direc-
tions left by his lordship I think it better that those
interested should be acquainted with his testament-
ary dispositions at once.”
He coughed authoritatively. The others sat in
breathless surprise, and the lawyer went on: “I
think I may say, without disrespect, that his lord-
ship, like all the rest of us, indulged certain little
amiable fads; and while I am proud to believe that
my firm enjoyed his entire confidence, it was his
lordship's pleasure to draw up his will without legal
assistance. It is, therefore, a holograph will, but
while it is not, perhaps, set out as I could wish”
(that was to say, Lord Arncliffe had condensed into
one page what might very well have been said in
71


The Arncliffe Puzzle
twenty), “it is, I think, sufficiently clear.
terms are as follows:
The
“This is the last will and testament of me, William Bradshaw,
Baron Arncliffe, of Arncliffe Hall in the county of Northumber-
land. I give and devise to my legal adviser and esteemed
friend, Thomas Aingier, (ahem! ahem!) solicitor, of Grey Street,
Newcastle-on-Tyne, the sum of one thousand pounds and the
entire contents of my wine-cellars. I give and bequeath to my
housekeeper, Adelaide Warren, the sum of one thousand pounds
and my house in Arncliffe village known as Briar Lodge, with
the grounds appertaining thereto. And, in further recognition
of her services, I direct my trustees and executors, their heirs
and assigns, to pay to the said Adelaide Warren the sum of one
hundred pounds per annum during her lifetime.”
Aingier paused for a moment. Mrs. Warren put
a tremulous hand to her eyes, but recovered herself
immediately. She was exceedingly pale. Prob-
ably she had not expected such generosity from her
late master. The lawyer continued:
“To my attached friend and faithful servant, David Simpson
(a strangled sob came from the old valet), the sum of one hun-
dred pounds, all my wearing apparel and a cottage on my estate
to be selected by my trustees. I further direct that a sum of
one pound weekly shall be paid to the said David Johnson dur-
ing his lifetime. It is my wish that all the above-mentioned
legacies be paid free of duty."
Then Mr. Aingier focused the paper in a clear
light and read, very slowly:
“I leave the entire residue of my estate, real and personal,
to my secretary and amanuensis, Edith Holt, whom I have long
72


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
regarded as a beloved daughter. I make this bequest in the firm
conviction that she will make good use of my money, retain, as
far as practicable, my present establishment, take loving care of
the artistic treasures accumulated at Arncliffe, and carry out, by
personal interest and endowment, the investigations which have
occupied the concluding years of my life. My personal advice
to her is not to marry. Should she, however, elect to enter the
married state, I trust she will be guided in the choice of a hus-
band by qualities of mind rather than body, by attainment
rather than inherited rank. I appoint the aforesaid Thomas
Aingier and Edith Holt sole trustees and executors of this my
will, and I revoke all former wills and codicils.”
The lawyer's crisp tones ceased. An awesome
hush fell on the little gathering. Simpson, with
bowed head, and tears trickling down his furrowed
cheek, had probably heard little since the mention
of his own name. Mrs. Warren, who exhibited
marvelous self-control, had laid a motherly hand on
Edith's shoulder, but the young girl who suddenly
found herself the inheritor of wealth indeed “be-
yond the dreams of avarice” sat with blanched
cheeks and startled eyes, her lips quivering with an
emotion that tried vainly to find expression in words.
“Come, come, my dear Miss Holt,” began the
lawyer, soothingly, "you must not break down.
After all — ”
“You don't understand!” she gasped, as though
the words restored her faculties. “It is all a ter-
rible mistake! He did not mean me to have it.”
“Oh, yes, indeed he did,” retorted Aingier with
73


The Arncliffe Puzzle
decision. “But pray calm yourself. There is, I
regret to say, a codicil, added by Lord Arncliffe a
month ago, which I have yet to read.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Edith. The truant color did
not return to her cheek, but she smiled bravely at
her old friend. He smiled back reassuringly.
“A moment and I shall have finished,” he said.
Then he bent over the paper again:
“This is a codicil to the will of me, William Bradshaw,
Baron Arncliffe, of Arncliffe Hall in the County of Northumber-
land, the said will bearing date 23rd of July, 190— I have
reason to believe that poison has been administered to me, and
that I shall owe my death to that cause. I hereby direct my
trustees and executors as aforesaid to pay the sum of ten thou-
sand pounds to the person or persons who shall, in their opinion,
be mainly instrumental in discovering the person by whom such
poison may have been administered, and this without regard to
the question whether such poison has been given to me wilfully
or otherwise. And I further direct that as soon as shall be con-
venient after my death a post-mortem examination of my re-
mains shall be made by some specialist of standing, preferably
the expert employed in such cases by the Home Office.”
During this recital the valet, Simpson, listened
with rapt attention. Now he sprang to his feet with
an exclamation that startled even Mrs. Warren out
of her habitual calm.
“I knew it!” he cried. “By Heaven, I knew it!
My poor old master was murdered!”
“Will you kindly be quiet, Simpson ?” said Ain.
gier, sternly.
74


Forty Thousand Pounds a Year
The man hesitated, but the habit of subordination
was strong, and he relapsed into silence, only glower-
ing sullenly around him as though he expected to
find the murderer within his reach.
“I need hardly say,” continued the solicitor,
“that I do not believe there is the smallest founda-
tion for this unfortunate notion of Lord Arncliffe's.
People who pursue gruesome studies such as toxi-
cology are apt to harbor morbid ideas, just as those
who are always dipping into medical works imagine
themselves to be afflicted with all sorts of diseases.
However, Lord Arncliffe's wishes must be carried
out; and I have already communicated with Sir
Henry Mathieson, the Home Office analyst, from
whom, no doubt, I shall hear in the course of the
day. Meanwhile, it is desirable that scandal should
be avoided if possible, and I hope that no one —
you hear me, Simpson ? — no one, I say, will discuss
anything that has passed between us.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the man, humbly. “But
-” and there was a note of peasant obstinacy in
his voice —“I know my master was poisoned. He
told me so himself — told me almost to the day when
he expected to die. And if it costs me every penny
I owe to his goodness, I'll never rest until I've brought
his murderer to the gallows!”


CHAPTER V
WARREN OBJECTS
MRS. WARREN and the valet had retired, but
Aingier signed to Edith to remain. When they were
alone he strove to rally her into a less despondent
mood.
“Upon my word,” he cried, "for a young lady
who has just come into forty-odd thousands a year
you are not unduly jubilant.”
But Edith could not respond to his mood.
“Not even forty thousand pounds a year can help
me to disguise the fact that I am in great trouble,”
she murmured brokenly. “I have grave reason to
believe that had Lord Arncliffe lived he would have
made another will of very different significance to
that which you have just read.”
“Well, then, let us be thankful he didn't,” re-
torted the lawyer, somewhat brusquely. “I don't
mean we should be glad he didn't live, but that he
didn't make another will. I'm sure he could not
have improved upon this one. What possible
foundation have you for what you say ?”.
“I cannot tell you exactly,” she faltered; "the
76


Warren Objects
secret is not my own. But I was so unfortunate as
to vex Lord Arncliffe very much some few weeks
ago, and, although he treated me with the greatest
kindness, he gave me clearly to understand that I
must not expect to benefit in any way under his
will.”
“Strange,” said Mr. Aingier, musingly. “When
did this most potent secret event occur?”
“About six weeks since.”
“And it is scarcely a month since he added the
codicil to his will. My dear child, if he had intended
to cut you out of his will he would have done so
then.”
“He might have forgotten,” protested Edith, with
a truly feminine lack of the sense of proportion.
“Forgotten that you were his heiress! Non-
sense! In any case — I am an old fool! people do
forget sometimes. Lord Arncliffe left a letter with
me to be given to you privately after his will was
read, and here am I keeping it in my pocket when
it may be the key to the mystery which is troubling
your little head so much. Here it is. Now just see
whether it throws any light on the subject.”
Edith opened the letter in silence. For a moment
the sight of the well-remembered handwriting so
blurred her eyes with emotion that she could not
read a line. Then the words focused into cohe-
rence, and, as she realized their import, her face
77


The Arncliffe Puzzle
lightened into such happiness that the tears burst
forth afresh.
“Oh, Mr. Aingier,” she sobbed, “now, indeed,
I know that all is well.”
“I must say you have a remarkable way of show-
ing it. However, you certainly look more like a
residuary legatee than you did five minutes ago.
So everything is all right?”
“Look!”
She handed him the letter and he, adjusting his
glasses, read it aloud as people do whose eyes are
not so young as they used to be:
MY DEAR CHILD :
Forgive an old man for the prank he has played upon you.
I was stupid enough to wish to test you, though I might have
known that you would follow the nobler course whatever the
cost to yourself. You will know ere you read this that I have
made you my heiress. I need not tell you to use the wealth
entrusted to you wisely and generously; and if unselfishness and
purity of heart have their reward on earth I need not wish you
happiness. Think kindly sometimes of your old friend,
ARNCLIFFE.
"A very sensible letter," commented the lawyer,
“though I don't know what on earth it means.
Still, that doesn't matter. Now I think, for the time
being, we had better forget you are so important a
personage as Miss Holt of Arncliffe Hall, and then
I can give orders which I shall expect to be obeyed.
My commands are that you go and bathe those
78


The Arncliffe Puzzle
you as to the circumstances of his lordship's death.
I am the more pleased to meet you because I under-
stand you are the gentleman who so successfully
carried out certain bacteriological researches in
which Lord Amcliffe was deeply interested.”
“I never saw Lord Arncliffe in his life,” replied
the other, “although, in the sense that we corre-
sponded with each other voluminously, we were
somewhat intimate some years since. As you are
probably aware, he took a keen interest in toxi-
cology; and I have devoted some little attention to
that branch of medical science —”.
“That is really the point upon which I wished to
have your advice," interrupted the lawyer. “You
made an examination of Lord Arncliffe's body, did
you not ?”
“I was certainly present soon after he died,”
replied Lester, “but I retired almost immediately
in favor of his regular medical attendant — who, I
may say, treated me with rather scant courtesy.”
“Dr. Smalley is an old woman!”
“I should heartily agree with you, were it not
contrary to professional etiquette.”
“However, you made a grave suggestion as to
the cause of Lord Arncliffe's death ?”
“My dear sir,” rejoined Lester, “you must be
aware that neither I nor any other can decide in
such a case without a thorough investigation. It
80


Warren Objects
merely happened that the very cursory examina-
tion I made revealed certain indications which
led me to suspect poisoning. It is not impos-
sible that I was mistaken, though I do not think
so. Nevertheless, it was my duty to mention my
suspicions.”
"Then your view is — ”
“My view is that my responsibility in the matter
is at an end. Dr. Smalley is, I presume, a reputable
practitioner. If Lord Arncliffe's relatives are satis-
fied there is no more to be said. From what I hear,
however, it appears to be a case for inquiry. Per-
sonally, I have not the least doubt that there will be
an inquiry.”
“There are no relatives. The matter rests with
me. To be frank, Dr. Lester, my principal object
in coming to see you was to ask you to say nothing
about it for the present. You may feel assured
that there will be a full investigation. In fact, Sir
Henry Mathieson, the Home Office analyst, arrives
to-morrow for that purpose.”
“Ah!” murmured the young doctor, thoughtfully.
“I should rather like to be present.”
“Why, indeed, if Sir Henry has no objection — "
“Oh, Mathieson and I are old friends. I was a
pupil of his.”
“Then I will let you know. If, as I hope, Lord
Arncliffe's death turns out to have been due to
81


The Arncliffe Puzzle
natural causes, there need not, of course, be any
publicity.”
“Well," said Lester, dryly, “as it is current in the
village that Lord Arncliffe was poisoned, shot,
stabbed, strangled, and blown up with dynamite, I
fear there is likely to be some little publicity. It
seems to be a matter of common knowledge that he
suspected an attempt was being made upon his life.”
“But this is terrible!” cried Aingier, almost
wringing his hands.
“A mere nine days' wonder,” Lester assured him,
with that serene philosophy which enables us to
bear up so well under other people's troubles.
“Nine days' wonders last about three generations
in a village like this," retorted the old solicitor
shortly. “Well, I must say good-by now, Dr.
Lester, as I have an appointment. I shall, no
doubt, have the pleasure of seeing you at the Hall
to-morrow.”
They had wandered into Arncliffe Park during
their conversation, and Lester strolled on unthink-
ingly, though the trout stream lay behind him. He
was recalling the events of the last twenty-four hours,
but, strangely enough, the mystery of Lord Am-
cliffe's death had no place in his thoughts. For
him the events of a memorable day all resolved
themselves into one picture — a vision from Trianon
of old, a vision with hair of ruddy brown with sun-
82


Warren Objects
shine tangled in it; the eyes a mystery behind a veil
of azure crystal; the mouth a love-poem, and the
delicate curves of the oval face -
George Lester was, in fact, suffering from a
disease not dreamed of in all his bacteriology. The
symptoms included an unreasoning but not the less
intense hatred of Harry Warren; an earnest (and,
of course, unselfish) desire that Miss Holt should
not waste her affections on an unworthy object; and
a species of mild delirium accompanied by hallucina-
tions, in which Edith appeared as beaming at him
across the breakfast-table, or waving a smiling
farewell as he left her for the day's work at the
laboratory. And then a memory of Harry Warren,
with his insufferable air of proprietorship, would
spoil it all.
Good heavens! what could such a woman find
admirable in a clodhopper like that? Almost
repulsive in appearance (this, by the way, was un-
just, since Warren was well-looking enough, albeit
of an animal type), with rather less brains than an
ox. And then the grim humor of it all appealed
and he reproached himself.
“What an idiotic frame of mind I am in!” he
thought, smiling sourly. “I don't know how it is,
but I'd give anything for a decent opportunity to
punch that fellow's head!”
It was while Lester was giving utterance to this
83


The Arncliffe Puzzle
kindly thought that he emerged into an open glade
of the wood and found the object of his solicitude
thirty paces in front of him, engaged in earnest
conversation with Miss Holt.
Warren's voice was raised, though his words were
indistinguishable; and there seemed to be some-
thing of agitation in the girl's manner. It came to
Lester with a sharp pang that here was perhaps a
lover's quarrel. For a moment he hesitated. Then
he realized that to turn back would be a piece of
gaucherie worthy of the despised Warren, so he
made the best of an awkward situation and went
forward.
The vision of Edith Holt pouring out the matu-
tinal coffee had grown distressingly shadowy, and
his heart had dropped down into his boots, a dis-
tance of rather more than a thousand miles. But
he greeted the young people pleasantly enough, met
Warren's black scowl with a smile of polite indiffer-
ence, and would have passed on, had not Edith Holt
given him a glance so pregnant with entreaty that
he constituted himself her faithful knight on the
spot. And lo! his heart bounded back those thou-
sand miles and beat bravely in his bosom again.
But the craving to assault and batter Warren re-
mained painfully insistent.
Warren's attitude was not, indeed, calculated to
allay that craving. His face was flushed with sullen
84


Warren Objects
rage. There was open insolence in the baleful gaze
he turned upon the interrupter of his tête-à-tête with
Miss Holt.
“We seem fated to meet, Miss Holt, and, as usual,
I am a trespasser,” said Lester, gaily. He recked
little of Warren's black looks, since Edith's glance
told him so plainly that he was welcome.
An inarticulate growl broke from Warren's lips.
Edith glanced at him in a haughty astonishment
that was not lessened by the almost uncontrollable
passion she saw depicted on his features. Now,
indeed, Lester recognized the marquise of the ancien
régime. The dainty head took a higher poise; the
flower-like mouth hardened, and there was a note
of freezing superiority in her voice as she addressed
the young man who stood before her like a culprit,
still sullen and glowering, yet not daring to meet
her eyes.
“I need not detain you any longer, Mr. Warren,"
she said. “Dr. Lester, there is a gentleman at the
Hall, Lord Arncliffe's solicitor, who is very anxious
to see you. If you have nothing else to do, will you
walk in that direction ?”
"Nothing could give me greater pleasure,” he
replied.
Edith instantly turned in the direction of the Hall,
but Lester's quick ears told him that the discom-
fited agent did not move. It required little imagi-
85


The Arncliffe Puzzle
nation to picture the malignant glance which fol-
lowed them. Lester was happy enough to feel
rather sorry for him. After all, poor devil! who
could blame him for worshiping this divinity ?
“Mr. Aingier went into the village in the hope of
finding you,” said Edith, “but I expect he will
return soon.”
“As a matter of fact, I have only recently left
him,” confessed Lester. “Nevertheless, I hope
you will let me accompany you to the Hall.”
Nothing was said of Warren's offensive behavior,
but there was necessarily a tacit understanding; and
Edith accepted the proffered escort with simple
thanks. They talked little: the girl was over-
wrought, and Lester was tactful enough to realize
that she was best left to herself. He took his leave,
therefore, directly they came in sight of the house.
And, though he parted from her with a strange re-
luctance, his blood tingled with most unscientific
ardor when Edith gave him a grateful little pressure
of the hand at parting.
Meanwhile, Harry Warren, nursing a deep wrath,
awaited Lester's reappearance. Here was one fallen
from the clouds, a possible and most dangerous
rival. He meant to declare instant war.
Lester, contrary to his wonted habit, was so ob-
livious to his surroundings that it was only when he
came right upon the other that he awoke from his
86


Warren Objects
day-dreams. He had no desire to bandy words
with Warren, whose face was a sufficient index of
the fact that nothing would please him better than a
quarrel. It is all well enough in the abstract to
think of punching heads, but a gentleman does not
act in that strenuous way unless he is absolutely
forced to it. For Miss Holt's sake alone, if for no
other reason, a stupid scuffle was to be avoided.
Lester therefore nodded politely, and would have
passed on, but the other seemed bent on provoking
him.
“By this time you ought to be aware that these
grounds are private,” he said insolently.
“I am quite aware of the fact,” rejoined Lester,
quietly; “but I presume that both Mr. Aingier and
Miss Holt have the privilege of admitting their
acquaintances.”
“And failing them, you come here to spy on your
own account?” asked Warren, with a sneer.
“I am rather at a loss to understand you.”
"Perhaps you will understand me when I say
that if I catch you meddling in what does not con-
cern you again it will be the worse for you.”
Lester looked at him curiously. The flushed
cheek and slightly thick speech seemed to point to
something more potent than mere temper.
“My friend,” he said calmly, “let me tell you that
to a man of your build alcohol is absolutely poison.”
87


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Warren took a step forward. “Confound you!
what do you mean ?” he snarled.
“I mean that your neck is like your head — ab-
normally thick. One of these days you will die of
apoplexy if you are not careful.”
Lester never showed anger, but his mood was
none the more benevolent on that account. And
he had not forgotten that there were tears in Edith's
eyes.
Warren clenched his fists, and his muscles tau-
tened. Yet he did not strike. He had a fair
enough share of brute courage, but there was some-
thing he did not understand in the cool, unruffled
look of his opponent. He was like a wild beast held
in check by the power of the human eye; and, with
the wild beast's fear of an unknown force, he tried
to lash himself into sufficient fury for attack. In
his case the effort took the form of a volley of abuse.
Lester half turned away. His action was elo-
quent of unspoken contempt.
It was enough. The spell of those steady eyes
was broken, and with a hoarse cry Warren sprang
forward. Lester, seeing what was coming, stepped
back lightly. The vicious blow just missed him.
He countered, with a skill born of many a bout with
the gloves.
It seemed, for an instant, that this unexpected
reply was only a ward to gain distance, for Warren
88


Warren Objects
did not even stagger. But it was only for an in.
stant. Then his knees bent and he collapsed quietly
into a limp heap.
Lester smiled grimly, stooped over his adversary,
and proceeded to light a cigar. Master Warren
would come to his senses in a minute or two, a trifle
dazed, but not much the worse. And so it proved.
The fallen hero rose to his knees presently. He
was not absolutely certain what had happened, but
evidently the placid-looking man with the cigar was
in some way responsible for his discomfiture.
“You are going to have a very bad headache
soon,” remarked Lester, cheerfully, “and I rather
think you will be sick. If you take my advice you
will go home and get to bed. You may apologize
for your conduct next time I see you. Can you
walk ?”
Warren struggled to his feet. He was very
shaken, and pale.
“As I said, you may apologize later on,” went on
Lester. “As you do not seem to be in need of my
professional assistance, I will bid you good day.”
He walked slowly away, followed by certain
assurances as to Warren's future intentions which
it is not necessary to repeat. Lester smiled again
pleasantly. Reflection, with its unkind candor,
had not yet overtaken him.
“Useful blow, that, on the point of the jaw,” he
89 .


The Arncliffe Puzzle
murmured. “It doesn't leave any mark; and I
should not have liked Edith to have seen him with a
black eye. But I am glad I punched his head. It
seems to have adjusted matters.”
Clearly, George Lester was in an unusual frame
of mind. Else why did he think of a girl whom he
had seen twice in his life, as “Edith ” ?


CHAPTER VI
THE ADJOURNED INQUEST
THERE was an atmosphere of subdued activity,
of hushed expectancy, in and about Arncliffe Hall.
Near the main entrance groups of villagers discussed
the situation in whispers, or listened, open-mouthed,
to the astounding theories of local oracles. Each
minute swelled the number of morbid curiosity-
mongers. For twelve good men and true were to
inquire into the circumstances surrounding Lord
Arncliffe's death, and the place was all agog with
excitement.
Harry Warren, indeed, made strenuous efforts to
disperse the crowds which invaded the sacred pre-
cincts of the Hall. Nevertheless, though tenants
to whom quarter-day was a period of humiliation
shrank away from the presence of the dreaded
agent, they only vanished from one spot to gather
more thickly in another.
Joshua Perkins, cobbler and village Hampden,
was in no small degree responsible for this con-
tumacy. He pointed out that at an open court the
rights of all were equal; and his spirited references


The Arncliffe Puzzle
ses.
to wealthy drones who passed their time lolling in
carriages received the usual enthusiastic approval
of certain gentlemen who passed their time lolling
in public-houses.
As a matter of fact, the question of admitting
the general public, as distinct from any local mag-
nates who might choose to be present, had already
been decided by P. C. Fox, who, as sole repre-
sentative of law and order in Arncliffe, naturally
had charge of such arrangements. This intelligent
officer realized that the circumstance of the inquest
being held at the Hall called for the exercise of dis-
cretion, and he had made up his mind to exclude
all who did not attain to a certain standard of
respectability. What that standard was it is not
necessary to mention, but it was not unconnected
with a desire on the part of P. C. Fox to lay up an
honorable competency for his declining years.
The inquest, adjourned a week previously, after
the hearing of formal evidence of identification, was
the inevitable corollary of the post-mortem exam-
ination — an examination from which Dr. Smalley,
whose presence had been invited as a matter of
professional courtesy, emerged nervous and crest-
fallen, while Lester and Sir Henry Mathieson ex-
hibited, in contradistinction, the bland, decorously
cheerful satisfaction of the scientist who has lighted
upon an unusually interesting exhibition of some
92


The Adjourned Inquest
rare phenomenon which he thoroughly under-
stands.
The time arrived for the resumption of the in-
quiry; and the jury, looking more like condemned
criminals than men who were to sit in judgment,
shuffled into their places. There was, however,
one exception to the general air of dejection. The
unabashed Perkins was appointed foreman, and he
intended to justify the liquid refreshment he had
received and hoped to receive from his appreciative
fellow-villagers.
For convenience, the proceedings were held in the
library, and the unwonted scene offered ample scope
to the reporters — impressionists from the great
dailies — who would describe the glint of sunshine
athwart the Coroner's desk in a column and the
story of Lord Arncliffe's death in a phrase.
Mrs. Warren, the essence of dignified bereave-
ment; her son, flushed with the effort to appear at
his ease; Edith Holt, tremulous, but smiling wistful
gratitude for the sympathy of Aingier and his wife;
these were the chief personages present, and, for a
background, the huddled servants and gaping
yokels. There were, too, the doctors and a granite-
faced man from Scotland Yard, but these last, im-
passive and apparently indifferent, added no touch
of human interest to the scene.
The Coroner briefly recapitulated the formal
93


The Arncliffe Puzzle
S
evidence taken at the previous sitting, and then re-
called Simpson, the valet, who had deposed to find-
ing Lord Amcliffe dead in his study.
“When did you last see Lord Arncliffe alive ?”
asked the Coroner.
“At five in the afternoon, sir.”
“He did not appear to be unwell ?”
“No, sir. He asked for his beef tea, and I went
to the kitchen for it, but found that Miss Holt had
already fetched it.”
“Did Miss Holt usually give Lord Amcliffe his
beef tea ?”
“Yes, sir. I went back and just met her taking
it in. She had been into the laboratory for some
of his lordship’s papers.”
“Very well. Now, Mr. Simpson, you have been
in Lord Arcliffe's employment for a very long
period, have you not ?”
“Thirty-eight years, sir. And a better master —”
“Quite so. Tell me, have you ever had reason
to suppose that there was anyone who bore a
grudge against his lordship - in short, that he had
an enemy ?”
"No, sir,” said the man, positively, “in all the
years I served Lord Arncliffe, I don't believe he ever
harmed so much as a fly. But I know he was poi-
soned, and I'll never forgive myself for not believing
him when he told me so.”
94


The Adjourned Inquest
"Ah! he told you so. Please explain the circum-
stances to the jury as well as you can remember
them.”
"Well, sir, it was just after one of his lordship’s
fainting fits, and he said to me: 'Simpson,' said he,
'I'm being murdered! Of course I was a bit taken
aback, but I thought his mind was wandering a
little, though he was a wonderful intelligent gentle-
man, for all his age, and I tried to speak cheerful
like. “Not a bit of it,' I told him. “Your lordship
will live to be a hundred yet, if you only do as Dr.
Smalley tells you.""
“And what did Lord Arncliffe reply ?” asked the
Coroner.
Dr. Smalley coughed modestly.
“If you will excuse me for using such language
about a gentleman above my station, sir,” answered
Simpson, “his lordship replied that Dr. Smalley was
a confounded old fool!”
With one exception, everybody tittered. The
Coroner busied himself with some imaginary notes
for a moment, and then continued his examination
of the witness.
“Did Lord Arncliffe persist in his assertion that
an attempt was being made to kill him ?”
“Yes, sir. He said he would be a dead man
within a fortnight.”
“You did not mention this matter to anybody ?"
95


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“No, sir. His lordship forbade me to do so. He
told me that nothing could save him, and he did not
want to be bothered.”
“But it was your duty to take some steps."
: “I did not think for a moment it was true, but,
in any case, I knew my place better than to inter-
fere with his lordship’s wishes.”
“Very well,” said the Coroner, wearily; “you can
stand down.” He knew the hopelessness of argu-
ing with a witness of this stamp.
“Just hold on a moment,” interrupted Perkins,
the foreman. “Did you notice anything strange
in the young lady's manner when she brought
in his lordship’s beef tea ? Did she seem up-
set?”
“No, not then — "
“Has Miss Holt appeared to be upset at any time
recently?” asked the Coroner, quickly.
“Well, sir,” said Simpson, with some reluctance,
“I thought she had been crying when I went in
earlier in the day. And his lordship certainly spoke
rather sharper than usual.”
Edith, listening tensely, went deathly pale, and
leaned forward as though eager not to miss a word.
The fickle attention of the spectators was instantly
concentrated on her. This callous scrutiny in itself
was sufficient to deepen the agitation of a young girl
suddenly placed in so trying a position. But, in
96


The Adjourned Inquest
reality, she was oblivious to the glances leveled at
her, and one person at least, the detective from
Scotland Yard, noted the fact.
“You say Lord Arncliffe spoke sharply,” con-
tinued the Coroner. “Can you tell me the sub-
stance of his conversation ?”
“Why, sir, I was taking his lordship a letter, and
Miss Edith - I'd scorn to listen, but the door was
on the jar — said something about not letting a
young life be ruined because of one false step. Then
his lordship said: 'It's three hundred pounds now;
next time it will be three thousand.'”
“And what did Miss Holt reply?”
"I didn't hear any more, sir. I knocked at the
door and went in. It was then I noticed that the
young lady seemed a bit upset.”
“And that was all ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, gentlemen," said the Coroner. “I pro-
pose to call the medical evidence, as I understand
one of the witnesses is anxious to return to London.
Sir Henry Mathieson!”
The Home Office expert stepped forward, the
embodiment of that frock-coated urbanity which
regards poor human clay as a mere adjunct of the
laboratory. At this juncture, Inspector Hobson,
the officer sent to Arncliffe by the Scotland Yard
authorities, slipped quietly out of the room, taking
97


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Mr. Aingier with him. He did not return until the
evidence of the expert was nearly finished.
“I believe, Sir Henry, you conducted the post-
mortem examination of Lord Arcliffe's body?”
commenced the Coroner.
“That is so."
“Have you formed any opinion as to the cause of
his lordship’s death ?”.
“Yes; he unquestionably died of arsenical poi-
soning.”
"And can you tell us, approximately, when the
poison was administered ?”
"I don't know,” said Sir Henry, bluntly. “I
found altogether twelve grains of arsenious acid in
the abdominal viscera. Of that quantity the stomach
contained nearly two grains, which were unab-
sorbed, and no doubt had been recently adminis-
tered. In addition, there were rather more than
four grains in the brain, and the latter fact proves
conclusively that some considerable time elapsed
between the first and the last doses.”
“Arsenic is a cumulative poison, is it not?”
“Yes, but the quantities I have mentioned are
absolutely preposterous. Arsenic is not, compara-
tively speaking, a rapid poison, but four grains alone
would kill a man before a quarter of that amount
found its way to his brain.”
“Then what is your conclusion, Sir Henry?"
98


The Adjourned Inquest
“I have reached none, excepting that death was
due to arsenical poisoning. As you are no doubt
aware, arsenic is highly irritant in its effects; we
expect to find definite indications even in the case
of a slight overdose. But Lord Arncliffe exhibited
few of the usual signs, and none of them in a marked
degree. In fact, I must confess myself at a loss to
account for this exceptional absence of the ordinary
symptoms.”
Sir Henry Mathieson could afford to admit
ignorance. That is one of the privileges of real
knowledge. He retired, and Lester, taking his place,
described how he had been called to see Lord Arn-
cliffe, and how the slight irritation of neck and
scalp had led him to suspect arsenical poisoning.
“I should like to add,” he said, with a generosity
which the fussy local practitioner scarcely deserved,
" that had I been in regular attendance on Lord
Arncliffe, and thus without an open mind on the
point, these indications might possibly have escaped
me. Lord Arncliffe was suffering from a form of
heart disease which must inevitably have had a
fatal termination at some early date. Under the
circumstances, the very suddenness of his death
pointed to natural causes."
"I presume, Dr. Lester, that you are in accord
with Sir Henry Mathieson ?”
“Entirely. Perhaps I should mention that
99


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Lord Arncliffe was extremely emaciated. He was
naturally a man of spare build, but Dr. Smalley
tells me that the loss of flesh since he examined him
about a month ago is remarkable.”
“Is that a condition you would expect in a case
of slow poisoning by arsenic?”
“Certainly; but the quantity of arsenic found in
the body is not compatible with the theory of slow
poisoning, nor are the other symptoms nearly so
definite as they should be. I am afraid I can offer
no suggestion, excepting that Lord Arncliffe was
poisoned by arsenic, administered in some form not
at present known to medical science."
The evidence of Dr. Smalley opened up fresh
ground. He dealt lightly with his own failure to
detect the presence of poison, but he had a great
deal to say about the foibles and eccentricities of
the deceased peer.
“He was a most difficult patient,” he said. “Al-
though I visited him frequently, he had a strong
objection to discussing the state of his health, and,
under no circumstances, would he take medicine
in any form.”
“Was he, of late years, what you would describe
as a mentally vigorous man?”
“He was a man of high intellect and considerable
attainments, and, in one sense, I should say his
powers were retained to the last. But his conduct
100


The Adjourned Inquest
in respect to the alleged poisoning points strongly,
in my opinion, to mental derangement. We have
the extraordinary codicil to his will, and on top of
that he imparts his suspicions — to three persons.
I understand - under a strict pledge of secrecy —
all the time, mark you, without taking any steps for
his protection and without seeking medical assist-
ance. If we are to accept the evidence of the valet
as to his lordship’s estimate of my abilities," added
Dr. Smalley with some bitterness, “it may account
for his omission to make me acquainted with his
suspicions, but one would surely expect him to seek
some advice.”
“Will you allow me to say, Mr. Coroner,” inter-
posed Lester, “that Dr. Smalley's general deduc-
tions are such as most medical men will indorse.
But Lord Arncliffe was one of the greatest authorities
on poisons, and eminently qualified to deal with his
own condition. I do not think there is the shadow
of a doubt that he knew the nature of the poison
from which he was suffering, whether it was self-
administered or not, and that he was perfectly aware
no earthly skill could avail him."
“Is there no antidote ?”
“I know of none to arsenic, except the stomach-
pump," answered Lester, with decision. “When
once a fatal dose has been absorbed into the system,
the patient is doomed, and although certain drugs —
101


The Arncliffe Puzzle
magnesia, hydrated sesquioxide of iron, and the like
- are often exhibited as a forlorn hope, I have never
known them do any good.”
Lester retired, with an apology for his interrup-
tion, and Dr. Smalley, rather ruffled at this fresh
instance of what he considered the younger man's
interference, continued his evidence.
"Are we to assume, Dr. Smalley, that you con-
sider it probable Lord Arncliffe was responsible for
his own death ?”
“I consider it highly probable. We have just
been reminded of his attainments as a toxicologist,
and I think you will agree with me that such studies
are highly dangerous to a layman. Even from the
little I have seen of his laboratory, I should imagine
it contains sufficient poisons to destroy countless
thousands of people. He may have taken some
fatal draft by accident; he may have experimented
upon himself with some newly discovered solution
of arsenic. But his semi-mysterious references to
an attempt upon his life certainly suggest the pur-
poseless cunning of a deranged mind.”
With this dignified pronouncement, Dr. Smalley
stepped down, fairly well satisfied with himself, all
things considered.
It was now the turn of Edith. As she moved
forward to the witness-stand there was a little buzz
of excitement.
102


CHAPTER VII
SOME DISQUIETING REVELATIONS
It was common knowledge that Lord Arncliffe
had made her his heiress, and there are no conceiv-
able circumstances under which a beautiful young
woman with forty thousand a year is not an object
of interest.
“Sweet young creature!” murmured women with
marriageable sons.
“Peroxide of hydrogen, my dear!” whispered the
mother of three hopeless daughters. “I expect her
hair is nearly black at the roots."
Edith took her place with quiet dignity. Her
cheeks remained colorless, and the fear that had
come upon her when Simpson spoke of the con-
versation he had overheard still gripped her heart.
But unconscious pride of blood kept her head erect,
freed her voice from tremor, and gave her courage
to return, at least with her eyes, the smile of kindly
encouragement which met her as she passed close
to Lester.
“I believe, Miss Holt, you acted as private sécre-
tary to the late Lord Arncliffe ?” was the first query.
103


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Yes.”
“How long were you employed in that capacity ?”
“In the full sense, only about four years, but I
have assisted him with his papers ever since he
undertook my guardianship ten years ago.”
“Then I presume you became Lord Arncliffe's
amanuensis merely as a matter of what might be
termed family arrangement ?”.
“Not at all. I owed my later education to him,
but I had my living to earn, and, as I had some
experience of his methods, he was good enough to
engage me. Lord Arncliffe showed me unvarying
kindness, and did not treat me as a servant; but he
had strict ideas of business.”
“You did not, then, regard yourself in the light
of his heiress ?”
“No. Such a thought never entered my mind.
Lord Arncliffe had always impressed upon me that
I must consider myself dependent on my own exer-
tions."
“Now, Miss Holt, you have heard the evidence
of the witness Simpson that you gave Lord Arn-
cliffe his beef tea on the day of his death. Is that
correct ?"
“Yes; and it is also correct that I went into the
laboratory on my way back for a book Lord Arn-
cliffe wanted.”
“Was the beef tea ever out of your possession
104


Some Disquieting Revelations
from the time the cook handed it to you until you
brought it to Lord Arncliffe ?”
“I am not sure. I could not find the book I was
looking for, and I went to ask Lord. Arncliffe where
he had put it; but I cannot say whether I left the
beef tea in the laboratory. If I did, it was not for
more than a minute.”
“Did Lord Arncliffe ever mention to you his
belief that he was being poisoned ?”
“Yes, several times within the last month. But
his state of health was very low, and I really thought
it was a delusion brought on by constant study of
works dealing with toxicology. He seemed so
positive, however, that I begged him to consult Dr.
Smalley, but he said — he said — "
Edith hesitated in some confusion, and her pale
lips parted into the ghost of a smile. Dr. Smalley,
by some strange instinct conscious of impending
calamity, wiped the perspiration from his brow,
while a ripple of laughter went round the room.
"Go on, Miss Holt, go on," said the Coroner,
encouragingly.
"He said that — that he himself knew more about
the subject than any doctor."
Smalley recovered his self-possession. The crisis
had passed.
Miss Holt was obviously keeping something
back, but the Coroner was merciful. “And, as he
105


The Arncliffe Puzzle
insisted that I should not speak of what he had
told me, there was nothing more to be done,” she
added.
“But did you not think it your duty to take some
steps in so serious a matter ?”
“Lord Arncliffe would never have tolerated dis-
obedience. Moreover, I did not regard it seriously.
Had I done so I should, of course, have disregarded
his prohibition.”
“Do you think Lord Arncliffe was a man to
commit suicide ?"
“No, most decidedly not. He regarded self-
destruction as a cowardly act under any circum-
stances. Nor do I imagine that he poisoned himself
accidentally. He was always most scrupulously
careful in handling poisons.”
“Did anybody except Lord Arncliffe have access
to the various poisons in his laboratory ? ”.
“Only myself. All the drugs were kept under
lock and key, and no servant, excepting Simpson,
was allowed to enter the laboratory.”
“But how came you to have access to all these
poisons ?”
Edith opened her eyes in astonishment. “I
assisted Lord Arncliffe in his experiments," she
explained. “I have done so for years. You must
remember he was working for the good of humanity.”
The girl saw nothing extraordinary in this, but
106


Some Disquieting Revelations
in the eyes of the jury — hopelessly thick-headed,
as Coroner's juries often are — it made her a po-
tential murderess at once. Perkins, the foreman,
rubbed his hands. He intended to figure promi-
nently in the public eye presently.
“I do not think we need trouble you any further,
Miss Holt,” said the Coroner.
“I presume, gentlemen,” to the jury, "you have
no questions to ask the witness ?”
“Oh, yes, we have, begging your pardon,” broke
in Perkins, offensively. “We should like to know
what the young lady and the old gentleman was
quarrelin' about afore his lordship died.”
“I certainly was not quarreling with Lord Arn-
cliffe, then or at any other time,” said Edith,
haughtily. She did not flinch, but it was patent
that she was agitated to a far greater degree than
the occasion seemed to warrant.
The Coroner saw that she was overwrought, and
decided to give her some little time to recover her-
self. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I think we
had better adjourn for luncheon now. No doubt,
when the court reassembles, Miss Holt will explain
any doubtful points to your satisfaction.”
Edith retired to a private room with Mr. and Mrs.
Aingier. When the solicitor's wife gave her a sym-
pathetic squeeze of the arm, she promptly burst
into tears.
107


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“There, there, my dear!” said Mrs. Aingier
soothingly.
Probably none but a woman knows precisely
what “There, there!” means, but the formula
appears to have a mysterious efficiency.
“Don't cry, my child,” entreated the old lawyer.
“Confound it! What does that idiot of a juryman
mean by bothering you with his absurd questions?
Things are coming to a pretty pass if you are to be
badgered on account of an eavesdropping servant."
“I would not mind, Mr. Aingier, if it were only
that,” murmured Edith, tearfully; " but what Simp-
son says is true. I was discussing a very private
matter with Lord Arncliffe — a matter which I must
keep secret at any sacrifice.”
“Well, my dear young lady, you are not com-
pelled to tell your private affairs to a Coroner's jury,
though, of course, secrecy often makes a mountain
out of what is probably only a mole-hill. But what
is this wonderful matter? Don't you think you
had better let me judge what is best ?”
Edith shook her head. “I am sorry,” she fal-
tered. “Don't think me ungrateful — you are so
kind and good that I would tell you instantly if it
only concerned myself. But the secret is not my
own.”
The solicitor was disappointed, even somewhat
hurt. A man who has kept inviolable for years
108


Some Disquieting Revelations
whole cupboards' full of other people's family skele-
tons does not like his clients to withhold confi-
dences. But he was mainly concerned because he
foresaw that Edith's reticence would be productive
of illimitable gossip.
However, he pursued the subject no further.
Edith, under the combined influence of cheerful
conversation and a glass of wine, which her friends
insisted she should take, became more composed.
When the court reassembled she was calm enough,
at least, outwardly.
The Coroner, with a rather puzzled expression,
was studying a slip of paper which had been handed
to him by the London detective. But he spoke
encouragingly enough to Edith.
“I hope, Miss Holt, we shall not have to detain
you long. The witness Simpson has deposed that
on the day of Lord Arncliffe's death he heard his
lordship addressing you in tones rather at variance
with his usual manner. As anything bearing on
the mental condition of the deceased is important,
the jury would like to hear from you exactly what
took place.”
The question was skilfully put. Edith began to
think she had absurdly exaggerated the ordeal
before her. But shrewd old Mr. Aingier meta-
phorically tore his hair; he knew that such suavity
boded ill for a witness.
109


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Simpson has reported our conversation cor-
rectly,” Edith answered. “Lord Arncliffe and I
had merely reopened the discussion of some private
business upon which we had a difference of opinion.
Lord Arncliffe was at all times rather impatient of
opposition, and no doubt he spoke more sharply
than was his wont.”
“May I ask the nature of that business? You
are not, of course, compelled to answer the question
if you do not wish to do so."
“The business was purely of a private nature."
“There was some reference to a sum of three
hundred pounds. Was that an item of the business
under discusion ?”
“Yes,” admitted Edith faintly, lifting startled
eyes to the Coroner. The moment she was dread-
ing had come at last. “Lord Arncliffe had lent -
perhaps I should say given — me three hundred
pounds some little time previously."
"For what purpose did he give you this
money ?”
m
“That, sir, is my business.” The “marquise"
spirit was beginning to assert itself.
Mr. Aingier rose to his feet with well-simulated
indignation. “Surely, sir," he protested, “it is not
extraordinary that Lord Arncliffe should give so
paltry a sum as three hundred pounds to the lady
he had chosen to inherit his vast wealth ?”
110


Some Disquieting Revelations
“Not at all, Mr. Aingier,” returned the Coroner.
“Nevertheless, we must remember that he took
pains to prevent Miss Holt from anticipating any
such conclusion. I presume, Miss Holt, Lord Arn-
cliffe was not in the habit of giving you such amount
of money ?”
“No.”
“Nor anything approaching such an amount ?”
“No. I had my salary, sixty pounds a year, and
Lord Arncliffe occasionally gave me a check for
tenor fifteen pounds. I had to entertain such
guests as visited him, and it was his wish that I
should dress suitably. The three hundred pounds
were given at my earnest request. I required the
money urgently, and Lord Arncliffe was the only
person to whom I could turn.”
“Very well. I have here a canceled check of
Lord Arcliffe's for three hundred pounds, dated
six weeks before he died. Would this represent
the payment to you ?”
A more skilled hand than the Coroner's revealed
itself. Detective-Inspector Hobson was beginning
to move.
“Yes."
“You collected the amount personally from the
Alnwick branch of the Great Northern Bank ?"
“Yes.”
“All in gold ?”
111


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Yes; I required it in gold.” She was all spirit
now. Those myosotis blue eyes had a glint of steel
in them.
"A rather cumbersome method, I should imag-
ine,” commented the Coroner. He had been
friendly disposed hitherto, but he began to feel
nettled by the haughty indifference which had taken
the place of maiden timidity.
“If you are suggesting that I asked for gold so
that the money could not be traced,” she said dis-
dainfully, “I can only say that each attendant at the
bank is acquainted with me.”
The weather-cock sympathies of the crowd in-
stantly veered towards Edith.
The Coroner, rather at a loss, pretended to busy
himself with his papers, and a murmur of comment
relieved the tension of the audience.
"She has soon acquired the forty-thousand-a-year
manner!” was the common thought.
Yet each complacent critic asked: “Why did she,
then a poor girl, want so much money ?”
Edith's examination might have reached an
abrupt conclusion, had not the watchful Hobson
sent the Coroner another note. The official tones
became ominously suave again.
“Pray do not misunderstand me, Miss Holt, I
mentioned the matter because I understand that
on another occasion you cashed a check of Lord
112


Some Disquieting Revelations
Arncliffe's for two hundred and fifty pounds, which
was also paid in gold.”
“Yes. It was distributed by Lord Arncliffe to
relieve the winter distress in the district, and I
fetched the money because Mr. Warren, the agent,
was suffering from a riding accident.”
“So the bank officials would not think this second
application for a large sum of gold in any way
strange?”
“I have not considered the possibility of the bank
people presuming to comment upon any act of
mine.”
“No doubt. The signature to the check is pre-
sumably that of Lord Arncliffe; but the amount
was filled in by yourself, was it not ?”
Steel was striking flint now, and the sparks were
flying.
Aingier had thought it wise that Edith should
avoid the least appearance of concealment; but he
thought it high time to protest.
“If your object is to prove that the check for three
hundred pounds was improperly obtained by Miss
Holt,” he said severely, “I shall strongly advise her
not to answer any further questions. You must be
perfectly aware, sir, that such a line of cross-exam-
ination as you have pursued should have been pre-
ceded by a caution.”
The Coroner felt the injury inflicted by so public
113


The Arncliffe Puzzle
a rebuke. Much as he would have liked to assert
the dignity of the court, policy dictated an attitude
of conciliation. The lawyer was a mighty power
in the county and could make things extremely
unpleasant if he so listed.
"I fear I have expressed myself badly if I have
given so unfortunate an impression," said the
Coroner. “However, I will not trouble Miss Holt
further; and I trust she will pardon me if in the
performance of a public duty I have caused her
any pain.”
Edith bowed, and returned to her seat by
Mrs. Aingier. In a sense the ordeal was a tonic.
The scornful indignation excited by the Coroner's
masked battery of innuendo was a far healthier
emotion than the chilling fear which had possessed
her before. Her indignation was nothing, how-
ever, to that of Lester, who had more than once
endeavored to estimate what would be the penalty
of throwing the King's representative out of the
window.
The remaining evidence was of little importance.
After Mrs. Warren and Aingier had indorsed the
statements of previous witnesses, the Coroner pro-
ceeded to sum up.
“You will have judged from the evidence, gentle-
men," he said, “that this is either a very simple or
a very mysterious case. The most extraordinary
114


Some Disquieting Revelations
feature is undoubtedly Lord Amcliffe's assertion
that he was being poisoned. No doubt you will
give that point full consideration. If his mental
condition was normal when he made that statement,
then it is clear that he has been the victim of foul
play; but, on the other hand, if his mind was im-
paired by his long illness, we should be justified
in assuming that he knew he was being poisoned
for the very good reason that the poison was self-
administered. In this connection I should like to
remind you that two of the highest authorities are
unable to say what form of arsenic was used; so it
is evident the poisoner was no ordinary person.
Here again, one cannot but recall Lord Amcliffe's
intimate knowledge of poisons. However, I do not
think there is sufficient evidence to justify us in
assuming the deceased to have been insane, and
without that assumption we cannot entertain the
idea of suicide.
“If we consider the possibility that murder
has been committed, the question of motive
naturally suggests itself. The members of the
household seem to have been devoted to their
master, as, indeed, they had every reason to be.
Mrs. Warren, Simpson, Mr. Harry Warren, Miss
Holt-”
Another note from Inspector Hobson found its
way unostentatiously to the Coroner's desk. He
115


The Arncliffe Puzzle
paused to read it. Then he looked up at the
jury.
“There is a quite unexpected development,
gentlemen,” he said. “A fresh witness has just
arrived from New York, and I am informed that
his evidence is of the highest importance!”
116


CHAPTER VIII
THE NEPHEW FROM AMERICA
The Coroner's announcement naturally centered
attention on the witness from New York. Only
two people among the occupants of the crowded
court knew that Edith had fainted where she sat.
Those two were the detective and Lester. They
watched the girl from widely different motives.
Each, in his own way, was conscious of a mutual
distrust. Lester's first instinct — whether the in-
stinct of a lover or of a medical man he did not seek
to discover — was to rush to her assistance. But
he realized that Edith's overwrought condition was
due to something more than the mere ordeal she had
undergone. And the suspicion came to him with
a chilling shock that people were even now prone
to regard this bright and charming young woman
not only as Lord Arncliffe's heiress but as his mur-
deress.
So he sat there, watching in an agony of appre-
hension for the drooped head to rise again from its
resting-place on Mrs. Aingier's ample shoulder.
Only in the last resort would he draw the attention
117


The Arncliffe Puzzle
of the eager crowd, already gorged with excitement,
to this fresh evidence of agitation on her part. In
a moment, nature asserted itself, for Edith was
normally as healthy a girl as ever breathed. The
blue eyes opened slowly and rested on the new
witness with something of amazed inquiry. Then
the color came back to the blanched cheeks with a
rush, and Edith took a deep breath or two, scarcely
conscious of her momentary lapse, but much
awake to the astounding incidents which were tak-
ing place.
For the stranger had repeated the quaint formula
of the oath administered on such occasions. He
would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth — “So help me, God!”
The witness glanced with some disfavor at the
Book, its soiled cover reeking of contact with the
lips of many liars, which the Coroner's officer
handed to him. Then he raised his hand aloft
after the Scottish fashion.
“Go ahead, Judge,” he said.
The Coroner darted a frowning glance at the
lean-faced, alert young man who addressed him
thus curtly, but seeing nothing of studied disrespect
in the cool indifference which met his scrutiny,
checked the impending rebuke.
“What is your name?”
“William Lincoln Bradshaw."
118


The Nephew From America
“I understand you are able to give certain ma-
terial evidence regarding Lord Arncliffe's death ?”
"I don't know anything about Lord Arncliffe's
death, beyond what I have read in the newspapers,”
rejoined Bradshaw. “Indeed, I am on the lookout
for some information in that direction myself.”
“Yes, yes!” cried the Coroner, impatiently. “But
the object of this inquiry is to elicit information, not
to impart it. You bear the same family name as
the late Lord Arncliffe. Am I to understand that
you are a relative ?”
“Yes, sir. Lord Arncliffe was my uncle.”
Mr. Aingier sprang up promptly. Hobson had
prepared him for this staggering statement, but he
felt that a legal veto must be registered forthwith.
“I must be allowed to say, sir,” he exclaimed with
impressive slowness, “that I enjoyed Lord Arn-
cliffe's confidence for the last twenty-five years, and
during that time he told me repeatedly that he had
no relatives in existence, with the exception of the
most distant cousins. Indeed, he has often deplored
the fact.”
The New Yorker shrugged his shoulders. “I
guess I am here,” he pointed out.
“What are the facts, Mr. Bradshaw?” demanded
the Coroner. “Have you never made yourself
known to Lord Arncliffe ?”
“Why, yes — and that is what is puzzling me.
119


The Arncliffe Puzzle
I wrote Lord Arncliffe from New York nearly two
months ago, introducing myself, but received no
reply. I wrote again ten days ago, saying that I
was coming to Europe and would call on him. It
appeared to me,” added the witness, dryly, “that as
I neither wanted nor asked for any favor, beyond a
mere acquaintance, Lord Arncliffe might be reason-
ably glad to meet the son of his only brother."
The Coroner bent his brows in a legal frown; the
inquiry had reached bounds he had never foreseen.
“I suppose, Mr. Bradshaw,” he said, "you are
prepared to substantiate your claim to be Lord
Arncliffe's nephew ?”.
“Of course, I can do that, though I don't know
that it yould be any particular advantage under
the circumstances. I understand he held only a
life-peerage, and, in any case, I have no use for a
title."
"If he can't prove it, I can, sir!” broke in old
Simpson. “The gentleman standing there might
be his lordship's son; only that he is taller and more
strongly built, he is the himmige — ”
“Oh, do be quiet!” snapped the Coroner.
Inspector Hobson handed up yet another note,
and, during a brief interlude, it seemed that an
exaggerated importance had been attached to the
evidence of this new witness.
“You were naturally surprised, Mr. Bradshaw,
120


The Nephew From America
at receiving no reply to your letters to Lord Arn-
cliffe ?” resumed the court.
"Not so much at the time, because I thought he
might possibly be abroad, but I am much surprised
now that I learn he must have received my letters.
I have only recently discovered the relationship, but
he wrote so affectionately up to the date of my
father's death, that it seems incredible he should
have utterly ignored my communications.”
“That will do, for the present, Mr. Bradshaw.
Call Samuel Barnes."
An asthmatic old man hobbled forward.
“You act as village postman, I believe, Barnes ?”
“Yes, sir, forty years come Christmas —"
“Never mind that. Do you remember having
delivered any letters at the Hall recently, letters
bearing American stamps ?”.
“Yes, sir; there was two of 'em. One a few days
ago, and one sometime back. I noticed them
because we don't often have letters from Ameriky.
Forty years come Christmas —"
“You can stand down, Barnes," interrupted the
Coroner. “Now can any one tell me whose duty
it was to receive such letters as were delivered at
the Hall ?”
"Mine,” answered Edith at once. The shock
which caused her faintness had apparently passed
away, but she was very pale, and her voice had lost
121


The Nephew From America
person who kept back those letters we shall not be
very far off the murderer.”
The Coroner raised his hand in deprecation of
such strong language.
“Of course,” he assented, “in a case of this sort,
any one shown to be guilty of such an act would
naturally be regarded with suspicion. But letters
pass through so many hands that it is extremely
difficult to fix responsibility. For instance, Miss
Holt tells us she had charge of Lord Arncliffe's cor-
respondence. Yet it is possible that before the mail
reached her it might be scrutinized by a footman or
some of the maids. However, as I have told you,
gentlemen, none of these matters will be neglected,
nor do they really concern you, and you may retire
to consider your verdict, in confidence that every-
thing possible will be done to further the ends of
justice.”
Juries usually do as they are told, sooner or later.
Although the obstinacy of the foreman was respon-
sible for an unconscionable waste of time, the twelve
wise-heads ultimately returned a verdict on the lines
suggested by the Coroner.
Lester and the stranger from America remained
to dinner, at Aingier's invitation. The lawyer was
naturally anxious to look into the claims of Lord
Arcliffe's self-styled nephew. He could not dis-
guise from himself that if a suppression of letters
123


The Arncliffe Puzzle
had really taken place the young man had been
hardly dealt with. Lord Arncliffe, whatever his
regard for Edith, could not have failed to look upon
his brother's son in the light of an heir.
Edith, too, had realized the same thing at once,
and she lost no time in communicating her ideas to
Aingier.
“If this gentleman is Lord Arcliffe's nephew,”
she said, “of course he is entitled to all the property."
“He is not entitled to sixpence,” answered the
solicitor, bluntly — "that is, legally speaking. At
the same time, morally — and I hope I shall not be
struck off the rolls for suggesting such a considera-
tion - I think it is unquestionably your duty to
make some handsome provision for the young man
— always, of course, presuming that he establishes
his claim.”
“I shall give him everything,” persisted Edith
with Spartan determination, albeit a little tragically.
Since inheriting forty thousand a year she had
builded castles in the air. Not having the least
notion what so much money meant she could have
fulfilled all her delightful little schemes with a tithe
of her income. At this moment the relinquishment
of her innocent plans brought with it something of
a wrench.
“Pooh! Nonsense, my dear! Act as generously
as you like, but do not talk in that way. After all,
124


The Nephew From America
you have plenty and to spare, even if there are other
Richmonds in the field, and I should be the last to
advise you otherwise. But there is no need for you
to be Quixotic. The terms of the will are so em-
phatically favorable toward you that I am beginning
to doubt whether, in any event, Lord Amcliffe
would have allowed an utterly unknown nephew to
affect your position.”
“Is that your honest opinion, Mr. Aingier?”
asked Edith, looking at him with an open-eyed
candor which caused him to laugh a trifle uneasily.
“Oh, come, you must not ask a lawyer for an
honest opinion. Your duty is to carry out Lord
Arncliffe's wishes as you know them. For instance,
how do we know that this young American would
respect Lord Arncliffe's plans regarding the various
researches in which he was interested ? On the con-
trary, he might apply the entire fortune to the crea-
tion of some gigantic 'trust,' or 'corner,' and you
would find yourself indirectly responsible for dear
bread, or a rise in cotton, bringing loss and starva-
tion to those very operatives whose condition Lord
Arncliffe did so much to ameliorate.”
"And then again,” broke in a level voice, “how
do we know that this young American would be
such a mean skunk as to take money from an un-
protected girl ?”
Aingier and Edith sprang to their feet aghast.
125


The Arncliffe Puzzle
They turned to see Willam Lincoln Bradshaw
quietly examining an old scimitar of Rajputana,
exquisitely inlaid with golden line-drawings of the
life of Buddha.
“I think, sir,” stammered the lawyer, very red of
face and striving to cover his confusion with an
assumption of great indignation, “a private con-
versation such as this might have been respected by
you. I don't know what the custom is in your
country —”.
“Just the same as anywhere else,” said Brad-
shaw, in the same unemotional voice. “You left
me in here ten minutes ago, and asked me to excuse
you and amuse myself with some of these old curios,
and I could hardly suppose you would bring the
lady here for a private conversation.”
Mr. Aingier almost struck his forehead in despair.
In all the worry of the moment he had completely
forgotten the circumstance, and now he found him-
self not only in the wrong, but, what was worse,
looking somewhat ridiculous.
“Don't say a word,” said Bradshaw, cutting
short the other's rather lame apologies. “As a
matter of fact, I ought to have spoken directly I
understood the conversation had reference to my-
self. As it was, I could not resist listening to this
lady's benevolent plans in my behalf, because I
never had a girl take so much stock in me before.
126


The Nephew From America
And I should like to say right here,” he added, step-
ping forward and addressing himself directly to
Edith, “that this gentleman has taken a very proper
view of the situation. I am a business man, and,
if I owned a place like this, just as likely as not I
should turn it into a dime museum.”
He was goodly to look at, not essentially hand-
some, but endowed with the steady eyes and tenderly
firm mouth that women like. Edith seemed to
detect a lurking humor in his concluding lamentable
confession. She held out her hand with a frankly
friendly smile.
“We will go into business later, Mr. Bradshaw,”
she said. “Meanwhile, I hope you will consider
Amcliffe in every way at your disposal.”
“You two are providing quite a little romance,”
remarked the solicitor in a diplomatic attempt to
learn something of the young man's credentials.
“The amazing thing is that you should not have
discovered your relationship until all these years
had passed.”
Bradshaw was far too shrewd not to see through
the ruse, but he had no object in frustrating it. “It
is very simple,” he said. “I was not born until
several months after my father's death. Naturally,
my mother turned in her trouble to her own people
rather than to those of her husband. As luck would
have it, I happened across some letters from Lord
127


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Arncliffe to my father - perhaps you would like
to see them,” he interpolated, and he handed Ain-
gier a packet of time-yellowed papers, “and I felt
I would like to know something of my father's
family. As a matter of fact, Miss Holt, most every-
body in the United States has had a grandfather,
though I know that some people on this side will
never believe it.”
Aingier glanced through the letters. The hand-
writing was unmistakably that of Lord Amcliffe,
though it had the steadiness of a man in full vigor.
He noted that the letters were dated thirty years
back, and his legal mind seized on the point at
once.
“I see,” he said, “that these letters were written
from Manchester, long before Lord Arncliffe was
elevated to the peerage. How did you learn that
he was one and the same with your uncle Willam
Bradshaw ?”
“Miss Holt, promise you will never give me
away!" said the American, who lost no opportunity
of directing his conversation to Edith. “You must
understand that in the little town where my mother
lives, people don't have much to do, and some of
the ladies have lately been causing considerable
jealousy by discovering that their ancestors were
among the teeming millions who came over in the
Mayflower. Now, my mother would not have wor-
128


The Nephew From America
ried much about that, but somebody dug up her
grandfather. I mean they found out that he was a
Congressman, and people were always bringing it
up against her. So, with a thing like that on her
side of the family, she reckoned it would be better
to look up my paternal ancestors a little, and I
rather agreed with her, because I thought I was just
as likely as not to be descended from some aristo-
cratic pirate. Anyway, a man in Boston undertook
to establish my relationship to anybody, from a
duke downward, on certain terms, and as I could
not afford to go any higher than just a plain peer,
he discovered that I was Lord Arncliffe's nephew.
By the way, Miss Holt, if you really want to give me
anything, I would be powerfully gratified by that
battle-ax over there. I could tell the folks at home
that my ancestor, Sir Galahad de Bradawl, knocked
out William the Conqueror's brains with it.”
Edith appreciated the kindly badinage which
endeavored to cheer her under painful circum-
stances. Though she was none the less resolved
to make restitution, she felt that her task would be
fraught with many difficulties and objections. It
was the fault, perhaps, of her single-hearted honesty
that she did not yet realize how slanderous tongues
were already branding her as a schemer who had
supplanted Lord Arncliffe's rightful heir. She had,
indeed, grave misgivings that her purity of motive
129


The Arncliffe Puzzle
was being impugned, but the episode of the three
hundred pounds given to her by Lord Arncliffe was
more nearly in her mind. Had she only taken the
experienced and trustworthy lawyer into her con-
fidence in that matter, she might have saved herself
many heartburnings.
She had a brother, two years younger than her-
self, to whom the affections of her orphan heart were
given without stint. She had regarded him with
a selfless devotion which governed her whole life.
Lord Arncliffe had helped the boy as he had helped
her, and would have forwarded his career with no
niggard hand had he shown himself worthy. But
Lord Arncliffe, a man who had won a vast fortune
by his own unaided efforts, would encourage no
drones. Thus it was that the youngster, after
receiving a sound education, was placed in a com-
mercial house on probation, with the ultimate
prospect of a substantial position in one of the
great enterprises under Lord Arncliffe's control,
directly he should win his spurs in the arena of
business.
And then came the old, old tragedy - a lad
spending a little more than his salary so that he
might “do as the other fellows did” – a loving
sister making matters worse by sending him every
penny she could save out of her own earnings. And
finally, a tampering with money-lenders, a juggling
130


The Nephew From America
with accounts, a dread of disgrace, and a despairing
threat that was not, perhaps, merely a threat, of
suicide.
It was only three hundred pounds, but Edith had
already given him all she had, and it was at that
moment, in a frenzy of anguish, she appealed to
Lord Arcliffe. The old peer had, indeed, given
her the money — he would have saved young Holt
from the consequences of his folly, even without
Edith's intervention — but he had no sympathy
with one who transgressed the first rule of a business
career. He was so angry that Edith, for the time
being, supposed her benefactor to be hopelessly
offended with her.
“You can have the three hundred pounds you
ask for,” he said, “but it will be the last money you
can hope to receive from me. I had, of course,
intended to make some provision for you after my
death, but I should do you no kindness in giving
you an income that would only be drained from you
by your scamp of a brother.”
Edith had not regretted her sacrifice. She felt
that her brother, who was really a good-hearted lad,
would yet show himself a worthy member of society.
Whatever happened, his lapse from rectitude should
remain a secret. This, then, was the cause of her
agitation when she had been questioned so search-
ingly respecting the check for three hundred
131


The Arncliffe Puzzle
pounds. It also explained her fainting fit when
the witness from New York was announced. For
it was to New York her brother had gone when
Lord Arncliffe insisted that he should leave the
firm whose confidence in him was weakened,
and make a fresh start. And for one unreason-
ing moment she imagined her brother had come
forward to clear her reputation at the expense of
his own.
She now slipped out on to the balcony, and left
the two men talking together. Her thoughts wan-
dered again to the rosy future she had mapped out
for her bright, careless brother. He was to return
to college for a year or two, grow steadier under a
good tutor, and then, perhaps, enter the army.
And presently he would meet some nice girl, and
Edith would buy them a pretty little place, and look
after them until her reckless boy had learned to
know the value of money so that he could be trusted
with a great, great income of his own. And to-day
it seemed that people were trying to drag that whole
miserable business into the light — to ruin the boy's
future all for one youthful folly.
“Never, if I die for it!” she exclaimed, bringing
her little white teeth together with a snap. And
then, womanlike, she began to sob hopelessly.
It was at this moment that Lester, who had been
listening with exemplary patience to the placid
132


The Arncliffe Puzzle
day. And people appear to think such dreadful
things of me —”
“My dear Miss Holt,” protested Lester, “you
must not notice all the vulgarities of a Coroner's
inquest. It is not conducted according to ordinary
legal rules, and any idiot can make himself as
offensive as he pleases. I wouldn't give another
thought to the matter.”
“There is one thing I must think of. Of course,
Dr. Lester — " Edith suddenly regained possession
of her hand — "the appearance of Lord Arncliffe's
nephew will make a great difference to me.”
“But why ?”
“Can't you see?” she cried, almost petulantly,
“I dare not keep all this money when I know that
Lord Arncliffe would have given it to his nephew if
he had lived long enough to meet him."
“Well,” admitted Lester, “I suppose the meeting
might have brought about some change in the be-
quests; but, under the circumstances — ”
“I shall hand over the estate to Mr. Bradshaw,"
said Edith with determination. “I want you to
believe this, because I would not have you think me
capable of acting dishonorably.”
“You may count on my implicit belief,” he ex-
claimed so earnestly that the girl's eyes fell in con-
fusion. “Of course,” he added hurriedly, “ you are
right, in a way, but, from the little I have seen of
134


The Nephew From America
him, Bradshaw does not impress me as a man to
take anything he is not legally entitled to. In any
case, it is quite evident that Lord Arncliffe would
have made handsome provision for you.”
“That is another matter,” rejoined Edith. “But
the real fortune must go to Mr. Bradshaw. I shall
never accept it. I am coming to think, really, I
shall be happier without such a great responsibility."
Lester, ordinarily so self-possessed, began to feel
a delicious tremor of anxiety. He had regarded
Edith's wealth as offering an insurmountable bar-
rier to his suit. Although not so foolish as to prefer
a dowerless maid to one who brought an income
which should preserve her from want in the event
of his death, he never contemplated marrying an
heiress, a woman who would rank with the few
really wealthy people in the land. Now, Edith's
determination to relinquish Lord Arncliffe's millions
opened up infinite vistas.
"Perhaps you are right,” he said quietly, though
his heart went pit-a-pat in the most unprofessional
way. “After all, a lot of money must be a nuisance.
Now, about fifteen hundred a year —”
“Yes ?”
“I made fifteen hundred last year, but I shall do
better next. And — and — ”
He had managed to take her hand again, and
with it seemed to go all the troubles which harassed
135


CHAPTER IX
HARRY WARREN SUPPLIES A FRESH SENSATION
The shadows were lengthening, and the first
suggestion of evening's hush were softening the
vivid hues of the summer landscape, as Harry War-
ren strode through the Arncliffe grounds on the day
following Bradshaw's arrival. There was a hint
of unsteadiness in his gait. His face was deeply
flushed. The haggard misery in his eye was of that
enduring type which may be dulled, but cannot be
drowned, by potations. He was taking his troubles
like a child, blaming himself for his own folly, and
almost ready to weep at the monstrous injustice of
it all. He was indeed a child, in the sense that the
savage is childish, an overgrown booby, absolutely
deficient in self-control, and ready to gratify any
passing fancy without a thought for the day of
reckoning
And now, when that most unpleasant date in the
calendar of life loomed dangerously near, he was
nerving himself to meet it, not with calm front and
cool judgment, but with the fortitude of the brandy
bottle. He walked on, slashing at leaves and twigs
with his hunting-crop, and muttering inarticulate
137


The Arncliffe Puzzle
threats against every one in general, and Edith
Holt and Lester in particular.
So oblivious to his surroundings was he that he
almost ran into his mother, who was making her
way in the direction of the village. If Harry War-
ren's vices far outweighed his virtues, let it be placed
to his credit, nevertheless, that there was no alloy
in the gold of his affection for his mother. Her
austerity awed him a little, though to him she some-
times unbent sufficiently to show the woman's heart
hidden beneath the exterior of marble placidity.
And, if Warren loved his mother, she devoted her-
self to him with the intensity of which, perhaps,
only the self-contained are capable. She was under
no illusions as to his intellectual capacity, nor was
she blind to faults beyond glossing over as youthful
follies. But, to her, he was still only a wayward
child, and his very roguery seemed only roguishness.
She now realized that without the assistance of a
firm, unfaltering hand, he would be submerged by
the flood-tide of misfortune creeping in on him.
The pitifully weak link in the chain of her calcu-
lations was that she had never considered the
possibility of Edith Holt, whether rich or poor, in
gladness or in sorrow, hesitating to embrace eagerly
the prospect of illimitable bliss opened up by mar-
riage with this paragon.
Warren's greeting to his mother was a trifle con-
133


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“So would your dog," retorted Mrs. Warren,
coldly. “I prefer not to discuss people of that class.
The most important matter at present is your finan-
cial position. You must be aware that every mo-
ment threatens you with unspeakable dangers ?”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed Harry, with
a gasp of very real anxiety.
“Oh, my son, do not try to deceive me! I may
not know all, but I know enough to realize that when
Mr. Aingier examines certain of Lord Arncliffe's
books, it means utter ruin to you.”
Warren looked at his mother aghast. Then he
began to whimper with maudlin self-pity. “It was
not my fault,” he protested. “I dropped four
hundred over the Leger, but I should have pulled
it all back. And if the Grand National favorite
had not gone lame! — Besides, what did a few hun-
dreds matter to old Arncliffe ?”
“A few hundreds!” murmured his mother, re-
proachfully.
“Well, then,” he growled sullenly, “a few thou-
sands."
"And so," continued Mrs. Warren, "you opened
a private account with Lord Amcliffe's bankers to
enable you to supply him with a forged pass-book.”
“Yes,” admitted Harry, hopelessly. He did not
attempt to inquire how his mother had obtained her
information.
140


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
"Well, now, do you not see that your only safety
lies in destroying that forged pass-book, and the
book which Lord Arncliffe kept to check his bank-
ing-account? If that is done, people may, indeed,
know that something is wrong, but they are not likely
to suspect you, and it will be impossible to prove
anything.”
“I tried to secure the books the night Aingier
arrived,” said Harry, “but I heard somebody mov-
ing, and did not dare to remain in the library. As
it was, Aingier caught me on the stairs, and seemed
very suspicious. I have not had a chance again,
but I was hoping that Edith would accept my pro-
posal, and then, of course, things would easily have
come right.”
"I hoped so, too,” rejoined his mother, bitterly;
“but I fancy that few girls would be likely to accept
a proposal that reeked of brandy. Still, we must
leave that matter for the present. The main thing
is to secure those books at any hazard. Mr. Ain-
gier ordered a fire to be lighted in the library before
I came out, and, for all we know, he may be exam-
ining those very accounts at this moment.”
“But what am I to do?” demanded Warren,
looking around as though he expected instant
arrest.
“Do anything,” returned Mrs. Warren, stamping
her foot with impatience, “so long as you do not
141


The Arncliffe Puzzle
absolutely commit yourself. Until those books are
destroyed you run a risk, not only of prosecution for
forgery and embezzlement, but for something much
more serious. You must not forget that Lord Arn-
cliffe was murdered."
Warren's face paled grayly, and his hand went
up to his throat. Brandy helps a man to feel cer-
tain emotions too keenly.
“That is all a beastly plot. I don't believe a
word of it,” he murmured.
“Yet it may be true. And people are seeking for
some one who might have a motive in taking the
old man's life,” went on his mother, relentlessly.
“Hobson, the detective, seems to suspect Edith Holt
at present. But he is a dangerously shrewd man,
and may look in another direction at any moment."
Warren turned haggard eyes on his mother. He
was almost sober again. “I must go and get the
books now," he said, as if repeating a lesson. “I
must go and get them now.”
“You must go now," repeated Mrs. Warren,
firmly. “Hobson is the person most to be feared,
and he has just driven to the village. If I meet him
on my way I will detain him as long as possible.
Be careful; but, for my sake as well as your own,
make a bold effort. You may never have another
chance.”
She kissed him tenderly, and then, as if ashamed
142


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
of her emotion, walked away, her gray head erect,
her step unfaltering.
Warren looked after her irresolutely. Then he
experienced an overwhelming impulse to act. Some-
thing must be done. He glanced nervously at the
wan shadows of the fading day, and turned back
mechanically toward the Hall.
“I must get them now," he muttered, half un-
comprehending.
The difficulty of the task before him was greater
than he realized in his agitated, drink-dazed con-
dition. Hitherto, Aingier had been busily engaged
in preparing for the inquest and in going through
Lord Arncliffe's various papers, but, as Mrs. War-
ren said, he might turn his attention to the estate
books at any moment. Worst of all, there was the
danger that he might send the forged pass-book to
the bankers at Alnwick, and that, of course, would
mean irretrievable calamity. Since Inspector Hob-
son had taken up his abode at the Hall, there seemed
to be in the air a relentless vigilance that, apparently
objectless, was yet all-embracing. Warren bitterly
regretted the timidity which sent him rushing empty-
handed from the study at the sound of the creaking
stair that night of Lord Amcliffe's death. The
incriminating books could then have been had for
the taking; now it would be a miracle if he accom-
plished his purpose.
143


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Oddly enough, this bull-headed young man had a
talent for figures. Had he directed his bookkeeping
abilities into legitimate channels he would have
been a model accountant. The business between
Lord Arncliffe and his ordinary bankers had almost
invariably been conducted by the agent. Lord
Arncliffe's account was so large that there was little
danger of an unusually heavy item drawing atten-
tion to the irregularities. Moreover, Warren had
made a point of always fetching and delivering the
pass-book personally. Except when it was at the
bank, the genuine pass-book never left his possession
for a moment, while the forged one had always been
filled in with the utmost care and attention to detail.
Now, as he neared the Hall, his dazed mind tried
to formulate some definite plan of campaign. His
only hope, apparently, was to inveigle the solicitor
out of the room, if only for a single moment. Yet
to accomplish this without laying himself open to
suspicion appeared to be impossible. But he must
get the books now! To-morrow might be too late.
The library was on the ground floor, and Warren
saw, with a chill of apprehension, that there was a
dim light within the room. He knew the light well.
It came from a shaded desk-lamp. He pictured
the old solicitor poring over the fatal books. At
the thought, the fumes of alcohol rose again to his
brain. He became almost frantic with fear.
144


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
He crept softly close to the window, and from the
shadow of a clump of bushes peered in, though his
eyes were blurred and his forehead clammy. Mr.
Aingier, with spectacles on nose, was actually study-
ing the ledger. At his elbow lay the pass-book.
This, however, as Warren noted with the quick
appreciation of nerves at full tension, was as yet
unopened. How long would it remain unopened ?
And then there came to him an insane desire to
scream out — to do anything that might end it all,
and relieve the suspense that was making an Inferno
of his life — but he quieted the mocking fiend of
conscience and stepped lightly up to the French
windows which gave access to the library from the
garden.
He turned the latch softly. Even now he had
not decided on any course of action, though he had
some vague hope of engaging the lawyer's attention,
perhaps till dinner time, when the books might be
left unguarded. So he advanced across the soft
carpet, trying to frame a greeting with his dry lips.
The old man's back was toward him. Absorbed
in his work, Aingier did not look up, because, as it
chanced, he thought the newcomer was a servant.
Warren stood for an instant with an “Excuse
me!” trembling on his lips. Suddenly a murderous
impulse leaped to his eyes like a sheet of flame, and
he struck savagely at the bald head with his heavy
145


The Arncliffe Puzzle
hunting-crop. His victim sat for a moment as
though nothing had happened, and Warren waited,
staring stupidly. Then the old head dropped to
the desk, and the wet gap where the blow had fallen
lost its clean-cut edges and began to dribble red
streaks across the tense skin, and so down to the
pages of the open ledger. Warren almost shouted
for help. It seemed impossible that he could have
done this awful thing. He never meant to hurt the
old man. Of course, he would not hurt him for the
world! Nevertheless, the ruling instinct made him
active in self-preservation. While he was protest-
ing to himself the innocence of his intentions, he
was still reaching feverishly for the books for which
he had risked so much.
To take up the forged pass-book and put the
genuine one in its place was the work of an instant.
Then, with something of shuddering horror, he
pulled the ledger from beneath the senseless head.
He saw a red smear across his hands, and again the
desire to scream aloud came upon him, but not so
strongly that selfish terror did not master it. One
glance was enough. He had the right books. His
trembling fingers buttoned them under his coat,
and he knew he might laugh at investigation, pro-
vided he could conceal the fact that he had entered
that room just then.
His mind was clear, with the dazzling radiance of
146


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
a lightning flash amid dark clouds. He remem-
bered that this quiet, oak-paneled apartment had,
twice within a fortnight, been the scene of a crime.
With the thought, blind terror gripped him again in
its icy clutches. He must run away — away from
the silent figure with its nerveless hands and accus-
ing blood. He went, on tiptoe, half-way to the
window, and then, with a gasp of panic born only of
his conscience, rushed out as though all Scotland
Yard pursued him — rushed, and catching his foot
on the raised lintel of the window, fell heavily, his
head striking the pedestal of a grinning figure of
Pan, the goat-god.
For a few moments he lay utterly unconscious.
He was not seriously hurt, though the breath had
been knocked out of his body and his half-frenzied
brains were rudely stilled. But the brief oblivion
arose more from his overmastering fear than from
any physical cause. The sense of danger supplied a
prompt restorative. He struggled to his feet and
began to run again, pressing his arm to his side to
secure the precious books. Then he stopped and
groped madly at the earth around the spot where
he had fallen.
The books were gone!
And now, indeed, he was perilously near the preci-
pice of utter insanity. The ledger and the pass-
book could not have been swallowed up by the
147


The Arncliffe Puzzle
smooth lawn. He tried to force himself to believe
he had left them in the library. He knew it was
not so, and, had it been otherwise, he could not
face that room, with its stricken tenant, a second
time.
So, they must be where he had fallen. A match
might help. Whatever the risk of showing a light,
there was no other way. How he anathematized
the overhanging trees for the dense shade they cast
on the ground! He fumbled with his match-box,
and then he was nearly paralyzed with fright as an
iron grip on his arm restrained him and a hoarse
voice whispered:
"I've got 'em, Mister Warren, an' I've got you,
an' I mean to keep both! But come away from
here, quick, or the game is up!”.
Warren was a bully. He had a certain rude
physical courage which might have sustained him
in a battle. But he yielded now as he might have
yielded to the specter of Death, and his tongue clove
to the roof of his mouth.
A firm hand on his arm guided him unerringly
across the lawn into a thicket of laurels. Utterly
cowed, he accompanied his guide unresistingly.
Mortal terror had so mastered him that he was
ready to meet any fate, good or bad, that might
befall him, and he walked with the mechanical calm
of a convict on his way to the scaffold. Yet the
148


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
voice was human enough, and it sounded familiar
in his ears, so presently, when reason reasserted
itself, he began to see a glimmer of hope.
His captor led him along at breathless speed, but
always with a caution that was in itself a warning
for silence and a light step. At length they plunged
into a dark spinney, and Warren, still guided by the
compelling hand, crouched down in the under-
brush for a moment's breathing space. In the
black darkness it was impossible to distinguish face
or form. From the few whispered words, it was
impossible for Warren to form any clear idea as to
the identity of his companion. This man had
spoken in the rugged Northumbrian accents, and
Warren had reached a state of mind in which he
could bear anything rather than suspense, so he
put a curt question to settle things, one way or
another.
“Who are you ?” he whispered imperatively.
The reply came in a whisper too, but these were
whispers in which there was all the light and shade
of any measured conversation.
“Don't you know me, Master Harry?” answered
the other, banteringly. “Surely you must remember
getting me six months last year over a little matter
of a brace of pheasants. But there, there — ” he
chuckled, “a gentleman like you might easily forget
a trifle of that sort.”
149


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Warren shivered.
“Bob Leigh!” he muttered despairingly. He
was delivered, fettered for life, into the hands of a
notorious poacher, the man who first sent Lester to
whip the trout stream which flowed through Arn-
cliffe Park.
“Yes, sir, Bob Leigh,” repeated the man in the
same jeering tones. “But bless you, don't think
that I bear any malice. Why, I daresay, if the
truth was known, gaol did me a power of good. It
sharpened my hearin', for one thing; so, when I
heard you and your ma talkin' awhile ago, I thought
it best to follow you. Now, Mr. Warren, just you
listen to me, and do as I tell yer. Go to my cot-
tage, wash your hands, an' call at ‘Jolly Jim's'
for a drink. Be sure he sees you. Don't hurry.
Let a servant from the Hall find you, by accident-
like — ”
“Yes, I'll do that,” broke in Warren. “I'll pay
you well, Leigh, for your help. If — if you saw —
everything, you will know I didn't mean — But I
must have those books!”
“You'll get nowt but what I gie thee," came the
poacher's menacing whisper. “Now, be off! I'll
take good care o'ť books, Mr. Warren, an', what's
more, I'll see you in t morning, when we'll have a
bit crack aboot things, an' particular aboot my
allowance. Not that way, you rabbit-hearted fool.
150


Harry Warren Supplies a Fresh Sensation
You'll meet a keeper or some one comin' to t’ Hall.
Make for ľBeck, and then go up to my cottage by
way of the meadows. The door's on the latch.
And hurry, I tell thee! Hurry, or you'll spoil every-
thing!”.
151


CHAPTER X
EDITH HOLT'S TRIBULATION
HARRY WARREN followed the advice of the
poacher so faithfully that when he left the "Fisher-
man's Rest" late that night he had ceased to specu-
late as to whether Aingier was alive or dead. In
fact, he told himself in maudlin self-confidence that
he did not care much one way or the other. It was
in this spirit of bravado that he lurched into Lester's
room at the inn, and hiccoughed himself out again.
The old solicitor was not dead, but his condition
was extremely critical. He was found by Simpson
about an hour after he was struck down, still in-
sensible, but breathing stertorously like a man with
apoplexy. This new evidence of an assassin's hand
caused something akin to a panic at the Hall. One
mounted messenger clattered in hot haste for Dr.
Smalley, and another was despatched in search of
Lester by Edith, who had small faith in the pompous
village doctor.
Perhaps the only two people who remained out-
wardly calm were Mrs. Warren and Inspector
Hobson, both of whom had returned to the house
were
152


Edith Holt's Tribulation
together some little time before the discovery of the
crime. Mrs. Warren had no doubt as to the would-
be murderer's identity. She was in an agony of
anxiety to question her son and learn the exact cir-
cumstances of the crime from his lips. She dreaded
lest Aingier might have recognized his assailant.
Had there been a quarrel, open threats? If the
solicitor regained consciousness, he might make
disclosures that would bring disaster upon Harry,
whose absence served to intensify her anxiety.
Had he fled, or was he skulking in the Park in the
fancied security of Aingier's death ? If so, it was
utter madness not to make sure of his work. The
most timid of animals will become a vengeful fury
in maternal defense, and Mrs. Warren was no ex-
ception to the law which governs nature.
Lester arrived shortly after Dr. Smalley, but this
was an instance in which the village doctor was glad
to welcome his distinguished colleague, realizing
that the case was somewhat beyond his own powers,
and, what was more important, that rivalry was no
longer to be feared. In any event, Lester would not
have permitted considerations of etiquette to inter-
fere with his determination to take charge of the
patient. If much junior to Dr. Smalley in years, he
was as greatly his senior in qualifications, and he let
the local practitioner understand plainly that he was
to act as helper and obey orders. An immediate
153


The Arncliffe Puzzle
operation offered the only hope of saving Mr. Ain-
gier's life, and that operation Lester performed,
with only Dr. Smalley and Simpson, the valet, in
the bedroom to which the elderly solicitor was car-
ried at the first alarm.
Detective Hobson was in no way surprised that
a fresh crime should follow on the heels of Lord
Arncliffe's murder. The suspicion he had enter-
tained against Edith was strengthened rather than
weakened by the attack on her trustee. Of course,
this was no woman's work, but the all-important
question of motive was, to his thinking, as clear in
the one case as in the other. He saw, however, that
matters had scarcely yet reached the point where
open measures were justifiable, nor was he entirely
anxious to make an arrest at this stage, since a caged
criminal is effectually prevented from adding to the
evidence against himself, or herself — unless, in-
deed, he, or she, is obliging enough to confess.
But now that Aingier's authority was no longer
available, the detective asserted himself more than
ever. Unobtrusively, yet none the less effectively,
he took over the superintendence of affairs at the
Hall. One of his first acts was to exercise a strict
personal censorship on everybody and everything
that entered Mr. Aingier's room. It seemed that a
search for the murderer of Lord Arncliffe and for
the elderly lawyer's assailant would involve only a
154


Edith Holt's Tribulation
single quest, and Hobson was resolved that no com-
bination of beef-tea and misapplied science should
interfere with the latter's chance of recovery. With
the exception of Mrs. Aingier and the medical at-
tendants, no one, in fact, was admitted to the sick-
room, pending the arrival of trained nurses.
The stricken man recovered consciousness as
soon as the portion of bone pressing on the brain
was raised. Though he remained in a weak state,
his mind was perfectly clear, and he had not the
slightest idea as to how or by whom he had been
attacked.
This was a sore disappointment to the detective,
who, however, hinted strongly to inquirers that Mr.
Aingier had given an important clue bearing on the
identity of his assailant. Hobson's theory was, of
course, that he would be able to judge by demeanor
if any of the household were concerned in the crime.
This notion was shrewd enough under certain con-
ditions; its weak spot was that he did not allow for
the possibility of a master mind being opposed to
his own.
Harry Warren, or, indeed, any ordinary assassin,
would probably have made tacit confession by an
immediate flight in the direction of the nearest sea-
port. But Mrs. Warren was on guard over her son,
and she paid the detective the compliment of sup-
posing that he was not such a novice in his profession
155


The Arncliffe Puzzle
as to take all and sundry into his confidence if he
had, indeed, discovered anything.
Happily for himself, Warren arrived home in a
condition that exempted him from any questioning
on the night of the crime. If, next day, he was pale
and a little nervous about things, it was excusable
in a man who was pursuing a course of study likely
to lead him to remarkable discoveries in natural
history, studies which, if continued, involved ac-
quaintance with heliotrope boa-constrictors and
yellow rats bearing pink stripes.
To his mother Warren confessed that it was he
who had attacked Aingier, but it was characteristic
of him that he said nothing of his encounter with
the poacher. Presently, when Leigh began to press
too hardly upon him, he would confess that diffi-
culty also, but he was cursed with a spirit of distrust
which led him to lie until the last moment. Thus,
his mother, the one person who would help him at
all hazards, was likely to learn of his new danger
only when it would be too late to save him.
Probably no one suffered more than Edith Holt
at this period. She was not blind to the fact that
popular suspicion coupled her name with the murder
of Lord Arncliffe. But she had been cheered by
her trustee's fatherly benevolence and the motherly
kindness of his wife. Mr. Aingier, as a man learned
in the law, knew perfectly well that although mali-
156


Edith Holt's Tribulation
and it was owing to his indiscretion in repeating to
his wife Inspector Hobson's suggestions against
Edith that the unpleasantness of the last few days
had arisen.
Having made up her mind, Edith did not delay.
She sent a servant to request the presence of Mrs.
Aingier, who made her appearance looking almost
as though she had borrowed some of Mrs. Warren's
austerity.
“You wish to see me, Miss Holt ?” she said stiffly.
“Yes,” returned Edith, quietly. “Now that Mr.
Aingier is practically convalescent I think the time
has come for an explanation of the extraordinary
attitude you have thought fit to adopt toward me
since he was attacked.”
"I think my husband's condition should be a
sufficient answer to you,” rejoined Mrs. Aingier,
with as much scorn as she could throw into voice
and manner.
“I am trying to make every allowance for your
terrible anxiety. But we really need not fence with
each other, Mrs. Aingier. I suggest that you have
deliberately behaved in a most unfriendly manner
toward me, and under the circumstances, I think
I am entitled to know your grievance.”
“I have already given you an adequate reason.”
“What am I to suppose from such an answer ?”
cried Edith, losing all patience. “You cannot
159


Edith Holt's Tribulation
havior was not altogether generous, “after all, you
have only yourself to blame. People see nothing
strange in Lord Arncliffe's giving three hundred
pounds to his intended heiress; but, in view of your
professed ignorance of the contents of his will, they
do think it strange that you should ask for such a
sum. I tell you frankly there are very strong hints
that you did not obtain that money from Lord Arn-
cliffe's bankers legitimately.”
“So, Mrs. Aingier, I am already suspected of
forgery: I presume I shall be charged with murder
next ?”
“There are more unlikely things!” snapped Mrs.
Aingier. The mention of murder brought to mind
the attack on her husband, and with it all her bitter
suspicions. “I know well enough that you did not
strike the actual blow at my husband; but it simply
comes to this, Miss Holt, that since you could not
reasonably want three hundred pounds for yourself,
you must have wanted it for somebody else. And,”
she concluded grimly, “I have not been a solicitor's
wife for nearly forty years without being aware that
the 'somebody else' is always a man where a woman
is concerned.”
“Well,” answered Edith, with a coolness which
might have warned her adversary, “let us assume
that it was a man.”
“Then,” came the retort, in a voice shrill with
161


The Arncliffe Puzzle
anger and rendered strident by what was deemed
the invincible logic of the situation, “it was that
man who nearly murdered my poor husband!”
Edith, one of the gentlest creatures breathing,
could not brook the insult conveyed by that unjust
taunt. She would cower and flinch like any timid
maid in the minor straits of life, but in her veins
flowed the bluest blood of France, and this blow
from the hand of a friend was not to be endured.
Had Mrs. Ainger been gifted with greater acumen
than that due to the semi-legal training she boasted
of, she could not have failed to see and wonder at
the calm courage which sparkled in this girl's eyes
and gave unwonted firmness to her lips.
“You have told me what I wanted to know.
Now you may go!"
The young marquise pointed imperiously to the
door. The woman of a lower order found naught
else to say. Indeed, she was fit to choke with rage,
and her passion was fanned by the knowledge that
she had met her mistress. She went out, quivering
with passion, yet abashed.
Edith did not weep nor wring her hands impo-
tently. She walked slowly to the window and
looked out across the smiling park, all radiant in
sunshine. “What is this horror that has come into
my life?” she asked herself. “Who did kill Lord
Arncliffe, and who was the person to gain by the
162


Edith Holt's Tribulation
maiming of my poor old friend, that mistaken
woman's husband ?”
These two questions were occupying others in
Arncliffe Hall, and the common belief was that to
answer one would be to answer both. Was it so ?
That was the puzzle.
163


CHAPTER XI
MAY MANNERING'S LOVE IDYLL
May MANNERING was standing a little back from
a bend in the road leading from the village to the
Hall. She was evidently waiting for some one, and
the petulant tapping of her foot suggested that the
some one was not punctual.
The girl was weary of these secret meetings at
twilight. They were well enough in the days of
preliminary courtship, but now Harry Warren and
she were definitely engaged, she naturally wished to
exhibit him at her chariot wheels. It was true he
had enjoined her to keep their engagement secret,
giving more or less specious reasons for his wish.
And May obeyed him, in so far that she imparted
the news to her girl friends under a strict pledge
of silence. It was, in fact, a secret which most of
the village maids in turn had promised not to tell.
Possible objections from Lord Arncliffe had hither-
to provided Warren with an excuse. But the death
of the old peer in no way altered matters. Indeed,
in the few hurried interviews that had taken place
between them, Warren had insisted on the necessity
164


May Mannering's Love Idyll
for concealment more strongly than ever. The girl
was shrewd enough to realize that her lover, if his
intentions were good, would only be too proud to
proclaim her as his promised wife, but she allowed
herself to be tricked — knowing she was tricked —
by lame plea and shuffling evasion, after the manner
of woman yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow.
She looked at her watch, first with a brief glance
at the face, and then, lingeringly, at the back, the all
too assertive gold case being blatant with turquoise
forget-me-nots. It was a gift from Harry, and May
- who belonged to a class to which charms and
tokens are an essential part of true love; the breaking
of a sixpence an infallible method of ensuring con-
stancy; which regard any ring as incomplete unless
there be “Mizpah" upon it — May, then, looked
on those forget-me-nots as among the beautiful
things of the world.
Half an hour late! Twice he had failed her in
the last week, and not another minute would she
wait. And so, of course, she waited on, vowing
to herself, as she had vowed before, that she would
endure such treatment no longer.
From the direction of the Hall there came a faint
thudding of horse's hoofs. He was coming at last!
The expression of mortification and anger left her
face, giving place to the pout of the offended maiden
who is not unwilling to be coaxed and petted into
165


The Arncliffe Puzzle
good temper again. She went forward a little,
sauntering with coquettishly downcast eyes. The
hoof-beats sounded nearer, until, with a jerk, the
horse was pulled up almost at her feet.
“Why, Miss May,” said the voice of Wilson the
groom, “I almost ran over you!”
“Is that you, Wilson ? I was just taking a stroll,
and I suppose my wits were wool-gathering, for I
never heard you coming. By the way, you did not
come to tell me the news as you promised you would.”
"I came twice, miss,” protested Wilson, “but you
were out both times. Anyway, there isn't much
news. I suppose you heard all about the inquest,
and Lord Amcliffe's nephew turning up from
America ?”
“Oh, yes, I did hear about that.”
“And of course,” continued Wilson, “you heard
how old Mr. Aingier was nearly murdered ?"
“Yes, that is the sort of thing everybody hears.
But how are affairs going generally? I suppose
that stuck-up Miss Holt is putting on fine airs, now
she has come into such heaps of money.”
“Well, miss," answered Wilson, “people are
saying some very queer things about her, and that
detective chap from London watches her like a cat
watching a mouse. Still, I must say the young lady
is civil enough to all of us, though she doesn't seem
quite so thick with Mr. Warren lately."
166


May Mannering's Love Idyll
“Thick with Mr. Warren!” exclaimed May,
shrilly. “What are you talking about ?”.
“Bless you, miss,” said Wilson, dismounting, so
that he might speak more confidentially, “any one
with half an eye can see that the agent is sweet on
her. It's my belief they were secretly engaged, for
she used to be like honey to him, with her 'Please,
Harry,' and 'Thank you, Harry.' I daresay, now
she's got all this brass, she thinks she can look a bit
higher. It's an easy matter to become 'my lady'
or “your grace' when you can put your hand on nigh
a million.”
Miss Mannering tossed her head. “Look higher,
indeed!” retorted she, scornfully, trying to keep the
quiver of rage from her voice. “I don't think Mr.
Warren would look at her, with her pale face and
mincing airs, for all her money.”
“Don't you believe it, miss,” said Wilson. “Any
one at the Hall can tell you he has been hanging
after her for a long time. I don't say it wasn't
because he felt pretty sure she would get a bit of a
legacy from the old man. Nobody," with a senti-
mental leer, “could prefer Miss Holt to you. But
he's a bad egg, is Mr. Harry, and it has made my
blood boil many a time to think of the way he has
been deceiving you.”
All May Mannering's doubts came back to her,
intensified a hundred-fold as she listened to Wilson.
167


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Warren's desire for secrecy, his continual excuses,
pointed unerringly to wilful deceit. Nevertheless,
she clung to the hope that he might be able to ex-
plain matters.
“I cannot allow you to speak of Mr. Warren in
that way,” she protested loftily. “You must know
that he and I are engaged to be married, though it
has not been made public."
“Yes, miss, I do know it, and very sorry I am.
Why, if you were to ask Mary Brown or Betsy
Spence at this moment, they'd tell you they were
engaged to him too. And I should not be surprised
if Polly Renwick believed the same story. I know
his game — ‘must keep it a secret,' says he. And
so the silly lasses look down on the honest chaps
who would make them good husbands, because
they think the agent, with his fine clothes and his
mixing with the gentry, is going to make ladies of
them - d-n him!”
May began to sob, not softly, as she had always
read a young lady should do when faced with proofs
of her lover's perfidy, but with the primeval vigor
of the country maid. She was, indeed, a little
higher in the social scale of the village than the rivals
Wilson had suggested, having spent a few years
with an aunt in one of the big cities, and so acquired
some knowledge of the piano and a few similar
affectations of the higher life. But she knew in her
168


May Mannering's Love e
Idyll
heart that Harry Warren was immeasurably above
her in station. And, if he were capable of playing
fast and loose with other girls in the village, it might
well be that he was only amusing himself with her.
"Don't cry, Miss May. Don't cry on account of
a brute like that!” pleaded Wilson. “If you'd only
let a poor fellow like me care for you, there should
never a tear come into those pretty eyes again!”
May peeped through her fingers at him in blank
amazement. Marry a groom, after she had flaunted
her conquest of the agent in the faces of her girl
friends! She had grown to regard herself as some-
body quite superior, occupying a niche in the village
Pantheon only just inferior to that of the daughters
of the vicar, or the doctor. Yet, in sober reality,
Wilson was not so much beneath her, and had there
been no Harry Warren he might have proved ac-
ceptable enough, for he was stalwart of limb, and
not without good looks. May had all the innate
coquetry of the village belle. She was not disposed
to resent admiration so patently honest, even though
the admirer might be an inferior. Therefore, there
was rather timidity than rebuke in the movement
with which she drew away from him.
“You, Wilson ?” she exclaimed.
“Yes, miss, me; but don't call me “Wilson.'
Call me ‘Bob,' won't you ?”.
“Well, then, Bob,” murmured Miss Mannering,
169


The Arncliffe Puzzle
with a bewildering if tearful smile. Her fury at
Harry Warren's perfidy did not prevent her from
being willing to do a little heart-breaking on her
own account.
“Yes, me!” repeated Wilson, earnestly. “I
know I am only a groom and no match for you; but
I've got a bit of money laid by, and it mightn't be
long before I could give you as many silks and satins
as Mr. Harry Warren. Old Bill Higgs, the book-
maker at Alnwick, could tell a tale or two if he
chose, and Master Harry may find himself in 'Queer
Street' before long.”
Wilson had drawn nearer to the girl, and now he
held her right hand clasped tightly in his own. May
did not resent this. She pretended to herself that
she was sorry for the poor fellow, when, as a matter
of fact, she felt no emotion save gratified vanity.
And so she let him pour forth his impassioned story,
standing with shyly averted head the while.
It was at this interesting stage of affairs that a
scornful laugh caused them to fly apart guiltily.
Harry Warren, walking on the grass-grown path,
had come upon them unheard; and it was he who
had given that contemptuous guffaw as he passed
them, without pausing in his stride.
"Sorry to have interrupted such a pretty little
scene,” he flung back over his shoulder.
May pushed Wilson from her with an angry ges-
170


May Mannering's Love Idyll
ture. “Go!” she cried impatiently, “go away, or
I shall never speak to you again — yes, yes, I will
see you to-morrow, but go now!” And without
giving him time to reply she began to run after
Harry's rapidly disappearing figure.
“Harry,” she cried, “oh, Harry! Do stop!
Harry!”
Warren laughed again. But he did not moderate
his pace. May was fully aware that according to
all the canons which govern these matters she ought
to sink fainting by the roadside, and recover con-
sciousness to find Harry bending over her in a frenzy
of alarm, frantically beseeching her to forgive him;
but she had doubts as to the efficacy of this method
in real life, and preferred, therefore, to depend on
her running powers.
“Oh, Harry!” she said, catching him at last, and
clasping his arm between her two hands. “How
can you be so unkind ?”
“Unkind ?” retorted Harry, sneeringly. “I think
it was kindness itself not to interrupt you. When
a gentleman comes to meet a girl, and finds her
whiling away the time by spooning with a groom,
he naturally concludes his presence is not re-
quired.”
"Spooning!” repeated May, reproachfully. “How
can you say such a thing to me, Harry ?”
There was a quiver in her voice that foreshadowed
171


The Arncliffe Puzzle
tears, but Warren seemed hardly amenable to that
form of persuasion.
"If you think you can fool me by turning on the
water-works,” he said with brutal frankness, “you
are very much mistaken. I am not blind. Why,
the fellow had hold of your hand!”
“I know,” said May, with hurt dignity, “but it
was only just the moment you came up, and the
man's manner seemed so strange that I was fright-
ened. I really do believe he had been drink-
ing."
“Wilson is a teetotaler,” said Warren, curtly.
May's comment was a somewhat unfortunate allu-
sion from his standpoint.
"Well, then, the poor fellow must be wrong in his
head. Why," with a little laugh, as if at the irre-
sistible humor of recollection, “he asked me to
marry him!”
“Well,” shortly, “why don't you ?”
“If you are joking,” she said stiffly, “I think it
very bad taste. A groom! Besides, he knows very
well that I am engaged to you."
“Were,” he corrected.
The girl's healthy red cheeks whitened and she
stopped. “Harry,” she said tremulously, and now
there was no art in the quiver of her voice, “what
does all this mean? You insisted upon our engage-
ment being kept a secret, and you have made the
172


May Mannering's Love Idyll
most paltry excuses. Now you talk of our engage-
ment being at an end. But I will not allow you to
make the impertinence of that man Wilson the
excuse. Why don't you tell the truth, and say you
are hankering after Miss Holt ?”
Warren was not entirely sorry that May herself
had broached the subject. He imagined it would
serve to smooth the way for him.
“Look here, May,” he said, with a sudden access
of sentiment not wholly assumed, “there is not a
girl in all the world I think fit to wipe your shoes.
And, as long as I live, I shall never love any other
woman. But I am in the very deuce of a hole, and
there is nothing excepting a marriage with Edith
Holt that will get me out of it. Of course, dear, it
need not make any real difference to us —”
May Mannering started as though a snake had
bitten her.
“Thank you, Mr. Warren, for your good opinion
of me," she almost screamed. “I am not the sort
of person to run after other people's husbands, and
when you are married to your heiress, you won't be
troubled by me. But, before that time comes, there
are some letters for Miss Holt to see which I think
will interest her. I won't be thrown aside like an
old glove for nothing."
Warren grew livid with fury. “By gad, if you
do — " he began hoarsely.
173


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Well, and what if I do, Mr. Warren ?” mocked
the girl. She was on the verge of hysterics and
ready to defy him utterly.
Warren saw he had made a mistake. He changed
his tactics. “Forgive me,” he said, dropping his
voice to what he meant to sound like a tender whis-
per. “I'm so worried that I don't know half I am
saying. But there, little girl, don't think I could
ever give you up under any circumstances. If I
cannot marry you, I can at least put a bullet through
my head and end it all.”
"Well, that would be less cowardly than marry-
ing Miss Holt, just for the sake of her money,” re-
torted May, softening a little, nevertheless, at the
horrid picture of her lover stretched stark with a
bullet in his brain. “But why need you marry
Miss Holt, even if you are in difficulties ? I am
sure,” with a languishing look, “I would be willing
to share a crust with you.”
Warren's ideas on diet inclined toward the stalled
ox rather than the dinner of herbs, and he received
this last suggestion without any marked enthusiasm.
“You don't understand, dear," he said. “It is
not that I have any idea of actually marrying Miss
Holt. But, if it could be announced that I was
engaged to her, I might secure time to find some
way out of my troubles, and then it would be easy
enough to break the whole thing off. You surely
174


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“What do you mean ?” he demanded impera-
tively. His tone was so harsh that May drew back
in alarm. She had introduced another specter, and
a more affrighting one than liquor.
“Why,” she faltered, “Wilson said that Higgs
the bookmaker —”
Warren turned upon her with a burst of uncon-
trollable fury. He could be brave with a woman,
and had regained much of his wonted truculence
since Aingier's recovery became assured.
“So you have been discussing me with your
friend the groom, have you ?” he shouted, “plotting
to ruin me — " He poured forth a volley of abuse.
His intent was now so clear that the girl shrank
away aghast, with her hands to her ears.
“Oh, Harry!” she gasped, “oh, Harry!”
“Now listen to me, my fine lady,” he went on, his
voice taking a feminine note of sheer passion. “I
have told you that unless I make up to Edith Holt
I am ruined, and —”
The girl laid her hand over his mouth and dragged
him quickly into the shadows. Not far away, on
the side of the road, the red glow of a cigar shone
out from the dusk, wavering with each onward
movement of the smoker.
Warren stepped back still farther into the shrub-
bery. He gripped his companion's arm to enjoin
silence, silently reviling the sudden passion which
176


May Mannering's Love Idyll
had betrayed him into the indiscretion of raising
his voice.
They waited, and the glow of the cigar grew
gradually brighter and brighter, until it passed them
and disappeared. Warren breathed a sigh of relief.
It must have been a long way off, after all, judging
by the time it took to reach them. He could not be
certain as to who had passed. The figure was too
slight for that of Lester, but it might have been
Lord Arncliffe's American nephew — the latter,
most likely, judging by the aroma the cigar left
behind it. Anyway, the man was evidently too
distant to distinguish the words, and, thus reassured,
Warren softened his tone toward the trembling girl.
Presently, with a few honeyed falsehoods, he bade
her farewell.
What he foolishly believed to be more important
business demanded his attention. Edith had offered
a reward of five hundred pounds for the discovery
of Aingier's assailant, and Leigh the poacher, as a
natural sequence, had respectfully requested the
loan of a few pounds. Warren knew well enough
that he was being blackmailed, that he might be
sacrificed at any moment. But there was always
the hope of staving things off until he raised a suf-
ficient sum to tempt Leigh's cupidity. Once in
possession of the books which alone could convict
him, he was safe.
Well.
177


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Meanwhile, the American, for Warren was right
in his final surmise as to the identity of the person
who came unheard and so inopportunely, walked on
with the calmness of one engaged in the peaceful
contemplation of nature.
But Warren was mistaken in supposing Bradshaw
to be too far away to overhear his conversation.
When a man shouts in a rage, it naturally excites
attention, and when Bradshaw heard some one
exclaim that “nothing save a marriage with Edith
Holt can save me from ruin,” he began to take an
interest in the proceedings.
He recognized Warren's voice instantly. The
words were startling enough to one who was bound
up in the strange events at Arncliffe. It was no
part of his mission to let the agent know that he
had betrayed himself. And so, when the sudden
hush of the strenuous tones showed that his ap-
proach had been detected, the American promptly
marked time in military fashion, making it appear
that he had been far more distant than he was in
reality.
“So,” he mused, “ that surly skunk Warren is
likely to be ruined if he doesn't marry Miss Holt?
Well, as I don't think he will marry Miss Holt, I
will bet dollars to cents he is ruined all right.”
178


The Arncliffe Puzzle
post-office, and its front was resplendent with the
glory of a red-painted letter-box. This shop was a
little to the left of the “Fisherman's Rest” and on
the opposite side. From Lester's room be obtained
an oblique view of it when his glance wandered in
that direction.
To a man whose recollections of swamp and
jungle were yet vivid, the rustic picture was delight-
ful. The peaceful atmosphere harmonized with
his thoughts, which were of the character associated
with spring-time and youthful fancy. Your true
lover is generally said to suffer from extreme de-
spondency, but Lester by no means despaired of
ultimate success. Edith's manner showed that at
least she regarded him as a trusted friend, despite
their brief acquaintance; and Lester, indomitable
of will, made up his mind to win.
His thoughts wandered back to that first meeting
on the banks of the trout-stream, and in imagination
he saw Edith as she had appeared on that day,
her cheeks flushed with health, and in her blue eyes
the brightness of innocent joy in the sunshine and
flowers and all the beautiful world.
Poor girl! What a difference a few short weeks
had made! The delicate bloom had fled from
cheeks now wan and sunken. The tender mouth
had taken a piteous downward curve. Eyes made
for happiness had now an expression of entreaty,
180


The Arcliffe Puzzle
walked over to the inn; but from Lester's position it
appeared that the detective had adjusted something.
Certainly he had posted no letter.
"I think," murmured Lester to himself, “that
here is a situation worth watching.” Drawing back
a little behind a curtain, he settled himself patiently
to await developments.
Nothing happened for some considerable time.
The good people of Arcliffe were not mạch given
to letter-writing, since about ninety-five per cent. of
the adult population understood spades and dolly-
sticks better than pens. Lester, however, had
learned patience in a good school. He had inter-
viewed African chiefs who made it a rigid point of
etiquette to sit in dignified silence for at least half
an hour before discussing any business, however
important. He had dealt with native bearers who
procrastinated with a fervor almost religious. And
he had waited hours in a malarious jungle for a
specimen or a photograph, rarely missing his aim
in the end, whether the shot was with rifle or with
camera. One thing which determined him to see
the thing through was that Hobson had not quitted
the inn. Evidently he, too, was awaiting develop-
ments, and Lester did not like Hobson.
Ten minutes more, and Lester saw Edith ap-
proaching. For an instant be forgot all about
Hobson and the letter-box. He had a wild idea of
182


Hobson Becomes Very Angry
sauntering out and meeting her accidentally. And
of course he could offer his escort back to the Hall,
and — and —
Edith stopped at the post-office and dropped
something into the box. Lester pulled himself
together with a jerk. He had never thought of
Hobson's curious trap being possibly directed
against Edith. Now the situation took a new
significance; and the delightful possibility of a stroll
with the lady of his heart was relinquished at once.
Edith, her correspondence posted, retraced her
steps, stopping a moment to speak to a pretty, curly-
headed mite at one of the cottage gates. Then the
mother, a bloated slattern, came out, and Lester,
in a white heat of fury, saw her snatch the child
away.
The coarse gibe accompanying the action was
inaudible, but Edith's shrinking, as though from a
blow, the haughty poise of her head as she walked
on, told the whole story. That a villager should
dare to be rude to the woman who owned the manor
of Arcliffe was an amazing thing. What deadly
venom was it that some one was instilling into the
public mind? And what object was served thereby ?
This incident did not tend to improve matters for
Hobson. Lester was already burning to avenge
Edith's wrongs, and it boded ill for any one who
might offer the least whipping-block.
183


The Arncliffe Puzzle
In the management of his own business, the de-
tective acted judiciously. He allowed another ten
minutes to elapse before sauntering over to the post-
office with an ostentatious letter in his hand. This
he dropped into the box, and then again developed
that remarkable interest in the commonplace con-
tents of the shop window. But Lester saw his hands
busy near the slot again. Ultimately Hobson
sauntered off, and Lester, jamming on a hasty hat,
followed, his jaw set grimly.
Inspector Hobson made his way toward the out-
skirts of the village, evidently in search of solitude.
Slowly as he was walking, he moderated his pace
at the sound of Lester's decided footsteps. The
detective's quick ear noted that here was not the
slouching step of a peasant in hobnails — nor even
the step of a man in a hurry. It was the step of
a man with a purpose, and whether that purpose
was connected with himself or not, the detective
saw that his best policy was an assumption of
indifference.
So, when Lester was near, he looked round as a
man naturally would, hearing so resolute a pursuit
at his heels.
“Ah! Dr. Lester,” he said, with a smile in which
friendliness and respect were judiciously blended.
“why have you not your fishing-tackle with you on
this fine day ?”
184


The Arncliffe Puzzle
excellent thing that we are alone. But you will,
perhaps, be disappointed to hear that my discovery
has nothing to do with the death of Lord Arncliffe.”
“No, sir?” the query was put a little uneasily.
“No, Mr. Hobson. What I have found out is a
very ingenious method of robbing his majesty's
mails!”
Hobson saw instantly that his manipulation of
the letter-box had not passed unnoticed. Never-
theless, he determined not to lose the fruits of his
industry without a struggle.
"Indeed, sir,” he said coolly, “I am afraid that
won't help our case along very much. Still, the
postal authorities are always very glad to hear about
any new dodge of that sort.”
“Oh, I do not think there will be any necessity
to approach the post-office over this matter. Just
hand me over Miss Holt's letter, and, as I wish that
lady to be spared annoyance as far as possible, we
will say no more about it.”
“Miss Holt's letter ?” exclaimed the other, as-
suming an expression of wooden surprise. “I
don't — "
“Don't waste your finesse on me, my man, if you
please!” said Lester, sharply. “I watched the whole
business from my window, from the time you fixed
up your contrivance in the mail-box until you went
back and fetched it away, and with it Miss Holt's
186


Hobson Becomes Very Angry
letter — the letter you are now carrying in your
breast pocket.”
Hobson, finding himself cornered, tried bluster.
“Look here,” he began in the pompous tone of the
policeman, "you must not interfere with me in the
execution of my duty! I have authority for all I do,
and it is a serious matter to attempt to defeat the
ends of justice.”
“Don't talk nonsense,” said Lester, contemptu-
ously. “You have no authority to rob letter-boxes.
You know as well as I do that it is an offense which
might send you to penal servitude. However, I am
not going to argue the point with you. Give me
that letter, please!”
The detective tried another tack. “It's all very
well, sir, for you to accuse me of taking letters from
the box, but I am not to be bluffed by you or any
one else. You may accuse me; your accusation
will take a lot of proving.”
Lester laughed — a laugh that had in it a quality
which caused his companion to eye him alertly. In
the course of a long experience of hard men he had
never heard that kind of laugh without somebody
receiving bodily injury in the near future.
"It will not take any proving,” said Lester, curtly.
“I am a bigger man than you, Hobson, and a younger
man, and a stronger man. If you do not give me
that letter this instant I shall remove it from your
187


Hobson Becomes Very Angry
“Bless you, sir!” was the cheerfully brazen answer,
“if it is just harmless correspondence, I should not
remember a word of it five minutes after I had read
it. I have enough to keep in mind without bother-
ing myself with other people's private affairs. But
one thing is certain. There is a man in this case.
And when we get hold of that man we shall be on
the right track.”
The detective noted with instant satisfaction that
Lester's bronzed cheek paled a little. Here, then,
was the opportunity. He had already suspected
that the young doctor was in love with Miss Holt,
and a magic touch of jealousy might transform the
implacable enemy into a useful ally. Hobson was
an astute judge of erring human nature, but he fell
into the error of deeming all men base.
“Likely enough,” he went on, assuming a tone
of parental benevolence, “the young lady has
fallen into the hands of some scamp. It will be
doing her a kindness to find out who he is and
put a stop to his game. To tell you the truth, sir,
I have a particular reason for believing that letter
to be important. Now, if we just have a peep
at it —”
"If you suggest such a thing to me again, I fear
I shall be tempted to try and break your neck.
Remember, I shall not tolerate any more pilfering
of letters. Miss Holt has nothing to fear from you,
189


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Hobson, and her personal correspondence must
certainly be sacred.”
Lester walked away abruptly. Then, moved by
a sudden impulse, he turned back. “Here,” he
said, with something of apology in his voice. “Take
this,” and, dropping a sovereign into the detective's
unsuspecting palm, he nodded and went off again
at a brisk pace.
Indeed, he was already somewhat ashamed of
himself. In his fiery zeal for Edith he had behaved
rather like the hero of a melodrama, and he had all
the true Englishman's horror of betraying emotion
of any sort. Then again, this busybody of a police-
man was acting only according to his lights, and
those lights meant what the average man calls a
disagreeable prying into other people's business.
Inspector Hobson's income, what with matters of
private generosity and et ceteras — many et ceteras
- approximated to five hundred pounds a year, and
Lester's sovereign was the most unkind cut of all.
He looked at it, and flung it to the ground, stamping
upon it in a sudden access of fury.
“The cursed impudence of it!” he muttered.
The sovereign twinkled up at him from the gravel.
“I'll get level with him before I've finished," he
growled, but the sovereign sparkled so that he
picked it up and put it in his waistcoat pocket.
And then he chuckled in his wrath.
190


Hobson Becomes Very Angry
“There were two letters,” he said. “Let me see
whether I have managed to keep the best one.
You're clever, Dr. Lester, but you've made a mis-
take this time.”
Edith had, in fact, posted two letters, and Hobson
had given Lester only the first which came to hand.
Now he sat on a grassy bank to investigate.
“Sidney Holt,"” he read on the envelope — “I
don't like that — and ‘U.S.A.' – I don't like that
either.”
He produced a little implement like a pair of
miniature curling-tongs, and inserting it in the
corner of the envelope, gripped the edge of the letter
and began to twist. This is an invention for which
the world is indebted to the Russian censor. In
two minutes Hobson had the letter out and in front
of his eager eyes. He read:
MY DEAR REGGIE. — Come home at once. I am in dreadful
trouble. You can put things right for me. Lord Arncliffe's
letter will explain that he gave the three hundred pounds to
start you in America. Tell nothing to any one until you have
seen me.
The eager critic read the letter through many
times, but could find only transparent honesty in
every line.
“Sometimes,” he murmured, carefully returning
it to the envelope, “I am almost afraid that the
young lady is innocent!”.
191


CHAPTER XIII
EDITH RESOLVES TO FIGHT ALONE
LESTER hastened onward, confident of catching
Edith ere she reached the Hall. At the post-office
he delayed to register her letter. With a man of
Hobson's perverted ingenuity in the locality, this
seemed to be the only safe course. The detective's
suggestion that Edith was in correspondence with
some unknown man caused Lester scrupulously to
avoid reading the address. But he had been bound
to glance at it in order to identify Edith's writing
when Hobson handed it to him, and that fleeting
glance had shown him that the letter was addressed
to a “Miss" somebody or other. He was not alto-
gether sorry.
This business concluded, he pushed forward at a
swinging pace. Short cuts to the Hall were familiar
enough to him now, and there was little chance that
he would miss Miss Edith. As it was, he came upon
her sooner than he expected, for she had sat down
on a rustic railing that protected a young tree.
Musing over the tangled growth of mystery which
surrounded her, she forgot time itself for a while.
And so he found he, her hands clasping her knees,
192


Edith Resolves to Fight Alone
and a whole tragedy of dejection in the melancholy
droop of her head. She looked up at the sound of
his footsteps, and greeted him with a smile of infinite
sweetness.
“I am grown indolent, you see,” said she, with
a brave attempt at cheerfulness.
“I am glad of it,” was the reply. “Had you con-
tinued your walk to the Hall I might have failed to
overtake you."
“Then you knew I was in the Park ?”
“Yes, indeed. I saw you from my room at the
Inn when you posted your letter.”
“But that is ages ago!" exclaimed Edith, un-
consciously reproachful.
“I know it is,” said Lester, “but I was engaged
in some investigations at the time, and the result is
that I strongly advise you to register all your letters
of any importance until matters have passed out of
their present ridiculous impasse.”
Edith looked at him in astonishment. “Register
all my letters ? But why?”
“I suppose I must tell you the whole story,” said
Lester. “I saw that detective, Hobson, fastening
some contrivance in the letter-box — a kind of wire
cage which fitted into the slot and was practically
invisible. Directly you were out of sight he pre-
tended to post a letter of his own and took the op-
portunity of securing yours.”
193


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Edith crimsoned with resentment. She sprang
to her feet. That her correspondence should be at
the mercy of such a man outraged every womanly
instinct. Now Lester saw a new phase of her
character. She was royally enraged; and the slen-
derness of the erect figure, and the tininess of the
clenched hands, detracted nothing from the dignity
of her anger.
“But this is infamous!” she exclaimed passion-
ately, “infamous!”
“Infamous, indeed! but pray do not be in the
least concerned about it. Of course, I compelled
him to hand me the letter at once, and I have taken
the liberty of registering it in case he might tamper
with the letter-box again.”
“But did you get only one of my letters, Dr.
Lester ?” asked Edith, with a puzzled air, “I posted
two, and — ”
Lester flushed darkly with mortification and
anger. “Good Heavens!” he cried, “idiot that I
am! Wait, Miss Holt, and I will go back.” He
turned toward the village, intent to reach Hobson,
literally at breakneck speed.
“Stop!” cried Edith. “Oh, Dr. Lester, please
do stop!”
So Lester perforce returned to her, though re-
luctantly, and looking disconcerted.
“You cannot possibly do any good now," she
194


Edith Resolves to Fight Alone
Docu.
said. “When he found himself detected, you may
be sure he would lose no time in making himself
acquainted with the contents of the other letter.
But tell me, to whom was the one he gave you
addressed ?”
"I did not look," was his reply, “but it will be on
the registration receipt.”
He handed her the slip of paper. Edith, reading
the name, breathed a sigh of relief. The letter
was to an old and trusted school friend whom she
was inviting to come and stay with her.
Not for worlds would she have had its contents
betrayed. It contained no confession of crime, no
clue to the mysteries agitating Arncliffe, but in it
George Lester was mentioned, and she had described
him as a darling!
In her relief at this escape she was almost ready
to forgive Hobson. “The other letter doesn't
matter a bit,” she assured Lester. “It is only to
my brother in New York, and really there is nothing
in it of real importance. I may tell you now, Dr.
Lester, as this detective must know it, that the three
hundred pounds which my kind friends seem to
imagine I stole from Lord Arncliffe was given to
me to — to start my brother in life.”
Edith was a poor hand at concealment. Had
Hobson been there to hear that little falter in her
voice he would have scented a fresh intrigue, but
195


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Lester was ready to accept whatever she might say
without question.
"I did not wish to speak of the matter,” she went
on, "since, after all, it is purely my own business;
but it has led to so much malicious talk and has
caused even my letters to be overhauled, that I
think it best to explain. My brother has in his
possession a kind message from Lord Arncliffe, in
which the subject is referred to, and I have therefore
asked him to come home and help me to face things.
I think it will all be a little easier to bear if I have
somebody to stand by me.”
“I did not know you had a brother,” said Lester,
“Is he older than yourself?” He asked the ques-
tion a little anxiously: an elder brother might have
ambitions for his sister which would clash decidedly
with Lester's aspirations.
"Oh, no, he is a mere boy; but he is all I have in
the world. And he is at least man enough to pro-
tect me from insolence such as that of Hobson's
to-day.”
"Miss Holt, I beg you to believe that you are not
without friends who would — "
“I know," she interrupted, “and that reminds
me that I have not yet thanked you for your prompt
interference on my behalf.”
“Please do not make me recall how egregiously
I blundered,” he protested. “I am still wondering
196


The Arncliffe Puzzle
away. She strove to frame some flippant reply,
and thus twist the incident into badinage, but a
stolen glance at Lester's face had so demoralizing
an effect that she only said “Oh!” again.
Lester had taken the plunge, and he meant to go on.
“I am not going to say anything about the dis-
parity of our positions,” he said, “because, if you
think me the sort of man to be influenced by your
wealth, it would be utterly hopeless for me to ad-
dress you at all. But you know that it is only your-
self I want. I love you, and — and — "
The timidity of the uncertain lover asserted itself,
and he began to hesitate — and, hesitating, might
have been lost, because, as his confidence waned,
Edith gathered courage proportionately.
“I love you,” he repeated with a curious iteration
for a man wont to be so glib of speech.
Fortunately, it was a statement which Edith
found interesting. For a moment she experienced
an almost overmastering desire to fling herself into
the sanctuary of his arms. He looked goodly and
big and strong. Let him but stand at her side, and
no one would dare attack her. And he loved her!
She put out a tremulous hand and touched him,
as though to see if he were real. She lifted her
brimming eyes to meet his ardent gaze. For an
intoxicating instant she knew that she clung to him
while he pressed hot kisses on her lips.
198


Edith Resolves to Fight Alone
“Oh, no!” she cried piteously. “Oh, no! Not
that! You must not!”
“But it is irrevocable, my darling,” he whispered
exultantly. “Oh, my little love, I have kissed you,
and you are not angry! Say you are not angry!”.
Edith put out her hands and held him from her.
Let his arms close upon her once again, and she
would have no courage to send him away. She
sped off toward the Hall, Lester walking by her side
and making earnest appeals to her to place all her
trust in him. At last she recovered her self-pos-
session. And she knew now that she too loved, but
loved, as all good women love, with an utter lack of
selfishness.
“I am not angry, Dr. Lester,” she said, her voice
faltering, but her face alight with a noble courage.
“I believe — nay, I know — you are a good and
honorable man, and as long as I live I shall be proud
of the love you offer me. But I am proud, too, in
another sense. If ever I become a wife I will go to
my husband without a blot upon my name. It is
not enough that I should know myself to be unsul-
lied — I will be 'above suspicion' in the eyes of the
world as well.”
“But, my dearest, do you think I care — ”
“No, it is I who care,” interrupted Edith, gently.
“Can you think me so reckless as to suppose I
would put an end to your splendid career — expose
.
199


The Arncliffe Puzzle
you to the gibes of petty rivals as the man who mar-
ried Edith Holt the murderess? You would end
by hating me!”
“My career!” he retorted bitterly. “What is
my career worth in comparison with you? You
take an altogether morbid view of the matter.
These things are forgotten in six months; and in any
case the whole mystery will probably be cleared up
before long.”
“When it is, come to me and say again what you
have said to-day — if you have not changed your
mind.”
“And then ?” he whispered eagerly.
“I will tell you what I think about it,” said Edith,
with a tantalizing smile. They were almost at the
Hall now, and by sheer force of the joy in her heart,
she gave rein to her innate coquetry.
“Good-by!” she cried, holding out her hand.
Lester looked dangerous, but she frowned and
stamped her little foot, and he, losing courage,
dared only to press his lips to her glove. He turned
away dejectedly, and Edith looked after him with
something of surprise. Had she driven him away
from her, this knight errant who had found her in
the wilderness? Then she ran back toward him,
her cheeks aglow.
"Shut your eyes,” she commanded imperiously,
“and don't dare to move!”
200


Edith Resolves to Fight Alone
Lester obeyed, in sheer astonishment. He felt
a delicious touch, light as thistledown, on his lips,
and awoke to find himself alone, alone in a smiling
world which had suddenly changed into a Para-
dise.
201


CHAPTER XIV
BRADSHAW TAKES HOBSON IN HAND
William L. BRADSHAW had made a friend of
the detective. He had, indeed, made a friend of
every person with whom he came in contact, being
gifted with a calmly persuasive manner which in-
spired confidence in all men, not to mention women.
A reckless prodigality in the matter of half-crowns,
too, caused the villagers to imagine that the millen-
nium was imminent, if not already in their midst.
So far as Hobson was concerned, he took special
pains to establish good relations, because he saw
that the detective was endowed with infinite capa-
bilities, though wrapped in the red-tape of Scotland
Yard.
The American was deeply interested in the mys-
tery of Lord Arncliffe's death. The sentimental
aspect appealed little to him, since he had never set
eyes on his relative. But it was clear that influences
had been at work which had caused great injury to
his own personal prospects. . Lord Arncliffe would
certainly have taken the claims of so near a relative
into consideration in disposing of his wealth, had not
202


Bradshaw Takes Hobson in Hand
the fact of the existence of a nephew been kept
from him.
It was impossible to avoid the doubt that Edith
might have been responsible, at least for the sup-
pression of Bradshaw's letters. Yet, from the first,
the hard-headed American had resolutely refused
to regard her as guilty in the smallest degree. There
was a mystery, and that mystery he intended to
solve. In all his friendly visits to the Hall he had
kept his eyes open for the slightest clue tending to
throw light upon the subject. The first thing
essential was to win the trust of the detective, and
now he had so far succeeded that the inspector was
installed in his private sitting-room at the “Fisher-
man's Rest,” ready to discuss developments and to
impart his latest theories.
The quaint old room, with its carved wainscoting
and its time-ensabled beams, exercised a restful
influence over the nervous American. After he had
pushed a tray laden with whisky and cigars — cigars
which were real Havanas and not doped imitations
- across the table to the detective, he sat for a long
time silently meditative, with something of that red-
Indian imperturbability which seems to be the
natural inheritance of men born in the great new
land.
Hobson was quiet too. He was not a waster of
words, nor was it part of his policy to hurry any
203


Bradshaw Takes Hobson in Hand
ably he would have treated her handsomely in any
case; yet I do not think there can be much doubt
you would have been the heir instead of Miss Holt.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Bradshaw, “but that does
not prove Miss Holt to be a fraud. There is some-
thing in that girl's face —”
“I know,” smirked Hobson, with an insufferable
wink. “She is a perfect little angel to look at, and
her soul is mirrored in her eyes. Bless you! I know
ladies who are doing their 'ten years penal' at this
moment who could give Miss Holt points — ”
“Sometimes you talk like a perfect idiot,” broke
in Bradshaw, speaking with icy deliberation. “You
British policemen are not taught anything, except
the regulation of traffic. You do that well enough,
I'll admit, but when it comes to a delicate case like
this you are not in the same catalogue as the French
detectives, or, as far as that goes, the American.
Why, man alive, a New York headquarters sleuth
would have discovered the murderer a week ago;
and, unless he coughed up handsomely, would have
delivered him to the inexorable clutches of the law,
there to be held until the jury disagreed on the
twenty-first appeal, and most all the interested
parties were dead.”
"That is all very pretty, Mr. Bradshaw,” was the
self-sufficient reply; "but if you come down to real
results, I think you will find that English detectives
205


The Arncliffe Puzzle
without reference to the subject under discussion,
“I have been spending quite a lot of my time lately
in the bar down-stairs. I do not mean the parlor,
but right among all the horny-handed sons of toil
who come here to measure their wages against
Jones's beer. They are quite an interesting lot of
men and remarkably fond of strong drink.”
“So they are, but I don't think you will pick up
much information from those yokels.”
"Perhaps not. Anyway, a chap they call Leigh,
a sort of poacher and never-work, seems to have
struck it pretty rich lately. The old landlord tells
me that this fellow used not to have two cents to rub
together, and was always cadging from some one or
other. Now he has taken to setting up drinks for
the crowd and changing gold right and left.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Hobson, with a nod of compre-
hension. Here was a situation which came within
his province. “We will just keep an eye on this
gentleman who has become rich so suddenly. I can
see, sir, you have got the makings of a first-class
detective in you. Of course, it would be easy
enough for the young lady to bribe a fellow like that
to do any sort of crooked work.”
“Why in thunder can't you leave the young lady
out of your calculations ?” cried Bradshaw with
renewed impatience. “If she is guilty, you can
always lay your hands on her when the proper time
208


Bradshaw Takes Hobson in Hand
comes. Judging by the way you are going on, you
will end by letting the real murderer slip through
your fingers.”
“I suppose I shall have to telegraph to the Yard
for another man,” said Hobson, ruefully. “I hate
to do it. You get a case like this all cut and dried,
with only one little thing lacking to make the chain
of evidence complete. And then a new man comes
along, hits on the clue by accident, and takes all the
credit while you have done all the work.”
“Still, you have the local policeman to help,
haven't you ?”
“Don't talk to me about the local policeman!”
exclaimed the Scotland Yard official, in tones of
intense disgust. “Fox is his name; it ought to have
been Goose. The night Aingier was attacked I
found some splendid footprints on the soft ground
outside the study window, and I set Fox to keep
guard over them until I could take a proper cast.
It appears that Fox had heard of taking a cast too
– read it in “Sherlock Holmes' or somewhere -
and when I returned I found he had saved me the
trouble. He sent for some plaster of Paris, he did,
and poured it, thin as pea-soup, all over the ground.
Of course, when you are dealing with soft dry ground
you must oil it very carefully before doing anything
else — and the result was that the impressions Mr.
Fox got might have been made by anything from
209


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Man Friday to an elephant. No, sir; the less we
have to do with P. C. Fox the better.”
“See here,” said Bradshaw, “I have nothing
particular to occupy me just at present, and I fancy
I would like to take a hand in the game myself.
Supposing I were to take care of this ‘got-rich-
quick' gentleman ?”.
“Well, sir,” said Hobson, doubtfully, “it is rather
against the rules of the force to have anything to do
with amatoors, but as a special favor to you — ”
“Oh, come off the fence, and don't talk that kind
of nonsense to me!” interrupted Bradshaw. “So
far as I can gage the situation you want to secure
all the credit for this business and any dollars at-
tached to it — and you don't care tuppence who gets
hanged in the process. Anyway, the thing interests
me, and I am going to see it through. And, believe
me, Hobson, I am not worrying any whether it is
according to the rules of the force or not. Have
another drink?”
The whisky was good, and the quietly expressed
determination of Bradshaw unanswerable, so Hob-
son helped himself discreetly and awaited the de-
velopments which he fancied lay behind this offer
of help.
It appeared strange that a detective of his stand-
ing at Scotland Yard — for he was unquestionably
regarded as the star man of the Criminal Investiga-
210


Bradshaw Takes Hobson in Hand
tion Department — should discuss things so freely
with a comparative stranger. But the American
had quietly intimated to him that he was prepared
to hand over a handsome reward — without any
undesirable publicity and entirely apart from Lord
Arncliffe's strange bequest — should Hobson suc-
ceed in securing the conviction of Lord Arncliffe's
murderer. The police regulations abound with
vexatious restrictions in the matter of fees, or per-
sonal remuneration, and five hundred pounds pass-
ing as a mere private matter between gentlemen
was a sum of money not to be thrust aside with lofty
indifference.
Bradshaw did not give any further opening, so
Hobson resumed the conversation.
“There is another point,” he said, “which re-
quires a good deal of explanation. This Dr. Lester,
who headed the scientific expedition sent to West
Africa by Lord Arncliffe, arrives here on a fishing
excursion. By some extraordinary lack of knowl-
edge he was not aware that his patron lived in
the neighborhood. We may note, in passing, that
Dr. Lester is a very eminent authority on poisons.
Now, on the very day of Lord Arncliffe's death, Dr.
Lester and Miss Holt are admittedly found together
by young Warren. They pretend to be strangers,
and tell some cock-and-bull story about an otter
and a trout."
211


The Arncliffe Puzzle
"Did you say you were Irish ?” asked Bradshaw
suddenly, with a disconcerting smile.
“Well, sir, you know what I mean. Who is to
say that Miss Holt and the doctor were really
strangers — that they were not, as a matter of fact,
old lovers ? I have had my eyes pretty wide open,
as you may imagine, and if those two are not sweet
on each other, I will eat my hat.”
“That may or may not be true,” said the Ameri-
can, shortly. Somehow, the suggestion of an under-
standing between Edith and George Lester was not
particularly pleasing to him. “Anyway, Dr. Lester
is a sure-enough white man, and everybody knows
that he has only just returned from the Ashantee
swamps. If that is the best you can do, go and
place your head under the pump in the yard, my
good Hobson."
"All very well,” returned the detective, somewhat
ruffled at last by the repeated aspersions on his
intellectual capacity. “It is not impossible, never-
theless, that the meeting by the trout stream was
not the first one. If it was, they have gone ahead
with remarkable rapidity. Young Warren says —”
“Did it ever strike you to devote a little more
attention to Mr. Harry Warren ?” interrupted Brad-
shaw. “There is something very queer about that
interesting person.”
“Oh, nonsense, sir!" cried Hobson. “He is the
212


Bradshaw Takes Hobson in Hand
sort of man you will find by the hundred in the
rural districts of England — not overburdened with
brains, and with a little of the atmosphere of the
stable about him. But he is not of the type which
makes a cunning murderer.”
“I know all about the type,” Bradshaw assured
him. “I have read about them. They always
break their necks riding to hounds. But what I
have particularly noticed is that Mr. Warren has
taken up a special branch of toxicology. I will bet
you any reasonable sum that he is in the parlor
down-stairs right now, experimenting on himself
with brandy high-balls — 'B-and-S,' I think you
call them. Now, I don't know how long Mr. War-
ren has been making himself a martyr to science, but
I am willing to swear he has not been going his
present gait for much more than a week or two,
because there is no man living who could stand it.”
“I am afraid it is not a habit of which he has the
monopoly," was Hobson's reply.
“Hobson, I do believe that a week's steady talk
with you would do me a world of good. It would
clear my ideas. What I am trying to say is that
there is something strange in the coincidence of
Warren's sudden outbreak of intemperance follow-
ing so closely on the beginning of all those troubles
at the Hall. I have made considerable inquiries
in a quiet way, and I hear that although he was not,
213


The Arncliffe Puzzle
perhaps, exactly a temperate man, yet there was
nothing marked in his dissipation until the last few
weeks. I do not know how it strikes you, but it
appears to me to be a toss-up between an uneasy
conscience and a coward's attempt to gain courage.
Keep an eye on Warren! It may be helpful.”
214


CHAPTER XV
BRADSHAW HAS AN ADVENTURE
THERE was a knock at the door, and Lester
entered. He and Bradshaw had been thrown
together a good deal. Staying, as they did, at the
same inn, they met frequently, and each man recog-
nized qualities in the other which tended to establish
confidence and friendship.
“Poison yourself,” was the American's welcome,
as he pushed the whisky-decanter toward his new
visitor.
Hobson, unaware that Lester was acquainted
with his theft of Edith's second letter, looked up at
the young doctor with the ingratiating smile of one
who would have bygones be bygones. He was
quickly undeceived.
“Well,” said Lester, addressing him with scant
courtesy, "may I ask if you have posted that other
letter of Miss Holt's, or have you appropriated to
your own use the draft contained in it?”
For once, Hobson's inscrutable countenance be-
trayed emotion. He went deathly pale, and the
excuse that was trembling on his lips gave place to
215


The Arncliffe Puzzle
the truthfulness of honest indignation. “I don't
think I have deserved that,” he said with something
of natural dignity. “Miss Holt's letter, with the
money it held, has been posted safely enough, and
I am bound to say, in justice to the young lady, that
what she wrote clears her at least from one suspicion.
Now, sir, technically, I have committed a crime
which might have grave consequences for me.
Though you really have no evidence against me,
I am not going to attempt any concealment. I have
only taken reasonable measures to unravel a mys-
terious murder, and I am willing to put it to Mr.
Bradshaw, here, whether in the interests of justice
I did not act rightly.”
“Why, say,” remarked Bradshaw, “I don't know
a thing about the matter yet. You say you have
committed a crime. I am open to believe that about
anybody. Don't be discouraged, Hobson. At your
age, it can't be the first crime you have committed.
And I am dead sure it won't be the last.”
The answer came from Lester, who found the
American's lazy cynicism a little jarring. “In-
spector Hobson's crime is simply this,” he said
curtly: "he has been tampering with the post-office
in order to get hold of Miss Holt's private correspond-
ence.”
“I don't think we ought to blame him for that,"
said Bradshaw, dispassionately. “A man does not
216


Bradshaw Has An Adventure
become a detective, anyway, unless he has the in-
stincts of a horse thief. Sit down, Hobson," he
went on, as the official, really hurt, half rose. “I
don't mean that as personal — in fact, I am trying
to justify you. See here, Dr. Lester, if you face
things fairly and squarely, you must realize that no
detective work is possible without what you and I
would call underhanded methods. After all, noth-
ing of the sort will injure an innocent person in the
long run; and your British police have the reputa-
tion of being reasonably honest, though,” he ad-
mitted, when Hobson's countenance cleared a little,
“I am not much of a believer in miracles myself.
Look cheerful, Hobson, and have another drink.
Dr. Lester is going to forgive you.”
William Lincoln Bradshaw suggested the con-
sumption of alcohol with appalling frequency, but
as his own habit was to take rather less than a tea-
spoonful on each occasion, he, at least, suffered no
ill effects from his pressing hospitality.
"I want no forgiveness from anybody," said the
detective, sulkily. “I am only doing my duty.
Miss Holt may be as innocent as you or I, but you
can't dispute that Lord Arncliffe was murdered,
Mr. Aingier nearly murdered, and possibly other
crimes committed which these more serious ones
were meant to cloak. I don't profess to be a Sher-
lock Holmes. My system is to give my attention to
217


The Arncliffe Puzzle
the person who benefits most from a crime. And
I have never drawn blank yet.”
“Well, now,” said Bradshaw to Lester, “I was
just telling this unerring sleuth-hound of some
peculiarities which had struck me in the conduct
of that blatant Britisher, Warren. Don't wink the
nap off your eyelids at me, friend Hobson. Just
at present I propose to make my calculations on
the basis that Dr. Lester is a square man, and if you
don't like it you can do the other thing, for the
proposition is my own. Now, Lester, I have also
been telling our friend here about that poacher
fellow whose extraordinary access of wealth we have
both noticed. And I have further drawn his atten-
tion to the fact that Harry Warren is drinking a
great deal more than any one takes out of mere
devotion to liquor. He gives one the impression of
a man so harassed that he is endeavoring all the
time to escape from his own vicinity. I am inclined
to attribute all this to the workings of a trouble-
some imp called conscience, which we read about in
fairy tales. I have also made some considerable
study of Arncliffe Hall lately, and I notice there is a
light in one of the rooms half through the night -
conscience again. People who live in a Sleepy
Hollow like this go to bed early, in the hope of dream-
ing they are alive. If we could take a peep into that
room we might see something to enlighten us.”
218


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“I haven't any rheumatism,” replied the Ameri-
can, cheerfully, “and I guess I can climb that tree.
I will tell you a fairy tale about what I see after-
ward. Things ought to be reasonably quiet at
the Hall about eleven; and if we reach there half
an hour later, that will do. Smoke!” and he
handed over a Havana from his waistcoat pocket,
“but don't talk to me; I want to figure things some
more.”
And so they sat again in silence, until presently
Bradshaw looked at his watch and closed it with a
snap.
“Ten past eleven,” he said. “Twenty minutes'
walk to the Hall. Come along, partner, we had
better make a move."
They went down-stairs softly. "Jolly Jim”
Jones was just clearing away the empty tankards
of his village customers.
“Going out to breathe for awhile, boss," said
Bradshaw. “Don't worry about me; I have my
key.”
“All right, sir. You won't take a drop of my
special to keep the cold out before you go?”.
“No, thank you, I have people dependent on me
in the United States. Good night."
The country lane was utterly deserted. It was
silent enough to ears not tuned to the myriad voices
of the night — the chirp of the cricket, the rustling
222


Bradshaw Has An Adventure
of a dry leaf as an errant breeze kissed it, the trem-
bling of a branch touched by a weazel gliding forth
on foray, the sudden soft whir of wings as an owl
swept down on its prey, the stirring of the under-
growth in the Park by the unseen animals which
abounded in its fastnesses.
And so the two advanced, as noiselessly as pos-
sible, until there came a fitful gleam between the
trees. It was the light for which they had come to
look; the light which had shone night after night -
telling what story? Perhaps only the story of a
mother's anguish — the anguish of a mother whose
son was coming home with dimmed eyes and falter-
ing steps. All this Bradshaw thought of, but he
thought of Edith Holt too, and went on.
A short cut through the woods and they found
themselves beneath the lighted window. There
was an oak which spread its branches close to the
room, thirty feet above. Without a needless word,
Bradshaw drew his companion close to the trunk
and climbed upon his shoulders to reach the first
stout limb of the tree.
Once within the boughs, the American climbed up
like any school-boy, and settled himself on the
branch nearest to the window, perching precariously
at the extreme limit of safety. He found that the
window was closed; therefore, nothing could be
heard, yet the scene within the room offered ample
223


The Arcliffe Puzzle
material for speculation when he came to ponder on
it afterwards.
Harry Warren, looking utterly cowed, was sitting
in an arm-chair, while his mother stormed up and
down the room like a very fury. There was, through
all her anger, the repression characteristic of the
woman. It was no exaggeration to say that she
stormed, yet her voice was never raised; strain his
ears as he might, Bradshaw could hear no syllable
of the conversation. He waited until he grew
cramped and until Hobson beneath was hoarsely
impatient, and still Mrs. Warren talked with fiery
animation, but always, it seemed, with her natural
restraint.
Then, at last, she quitted the room. Her son,
who had sat dejected and nervous during the ha-
rangue, jumped up alertly. He pulled open drawer
after drawer of the desk and searched them so fran-
tically, with such bungling haste, that he did not
notice his mother's return. She entered, with a
certain stealth, and stood behind him, impassive as
ever. Warren apparently found what he sought
and thrust it guiltily into his pocket. And so the
incident might have rested a mere matter between
Harry Warren and his mother, if Bradshaw had not
coughed. It was a little cough, altogether too slight
to be noticed, one would have thought.
Mrs. Warren laid a caressing hand on her son's
224


Bradshaw Has An Adventure
shoulder, seeming to reason with him. Then she
stooped to one of the drawers he had ransacked,
and, turning swiftly, fired point-blank through the
glass at the figure she could see dimly outlined in
the branches of the oak.
225


CHAPTER XVI
A NIGHT OF STRANGE INCIDENTS
As the shot rang out, Bradshaw fell crashing
through the branches, clutching frantically at
boughs and twigs in his descent, stripping away the
young bark and searing the palms of his hands into
patches of white-hot agony. But it was one of those
cases in which a man must break either his fall or
his neck, and the American's sympathies were
largely in favor of the first alternative. Neverthe-
less, during fifteen feet of a sheer drop there was
only thin air between himself and mother earth, and
this distance he fell like a stone, landing heavily at
Hobson's feet. Luckily the ground was soft, and
he stood up in an instant, apparently sound in limb
and otherwise fit for action, except that he was
breathless.
“Quick!” he gasped, dragging the detective close
under the shadow and shelter of the house. Not a
moment too soon were they. Mrs. Warren had
thrown up the window now and was firing shot after
shot into the gloom where Bradshaw had fallen.
“Keep cover,” gasped Bradshaw again, “or you
226


The Arncliffe Puzzle
right here and make myself as tidy as I can under
the circumstances. I will call for help presently
and put up a big yarn of how I heard the shots fired,
and grappled with a man whom I met running from
the Hall. I don't like having to admit that any one
has licked me, but it can't be helped.”
“But why — " began the detective.
“Because I raked in a blow on the forehead from
a bough when I fell, and it appears to have bled
enough. I must explain it somehow, and I don't
see any other way out of the difficulty. Don't you
worry. I will arrange a scenario about that fight
that will make your hair curl. Don't stop to argue
- we are running a risk every moment we delay.
Of course, you will say that I strolled part of the way
with you, and said good-by a little while before you
heard the shots.”
Hobson, not quite clear as to the outcome of the
affair, hurried off. Left to himself, the American
proceeded to arrange the battle-ground, crushing
down the softer vegetation and scoring the earth as
it might be scored by the feet of men engaged in
deadly grapple. The only thing that troubled his
imagination was the state of his hands. As far as
he could judge from his sensations, there did not
appear to be an inch of skin left on the palms.
However, he must endeavor not to let them come into
evidence. When he thought his efforts had attained
228


A Night of Strange Incidents
a sufficient degree of realism, he flung himself down
and waited, utterly exhausted.
The fall from the tree had shaken him badly, and
the cut on his forehead had bled far more profusely
than he had told Hobson.
Once or twice, when he caught sight of a moving
light in the distance, he shouted, but was evidently
unheard. There was nothing for it but to wait
until Hobson reached the Hall, when the detective
might be trusted to engineer the search parties in
his direction.
At last! there came the close sound of footsteps.
Bradshaw, in accordance with the part he had to
play, raised a feeble call for help. His cry was
answered by a quick rush through the undergrowth,
and Wilson, the groom, knelt violently on his chest,
yelling triumphantly: “I've got him, I've got him!”
“Let go, you blithering idiot!” gasped Bradshaw,
tearing away the coarse fingers striving to encircle
his throat. “What in thunder do you think you
are playing at ? I am Mr. Bradshaw.”
Wilson peered down at him, trying to pierce the
darkness, but he did not relinquish his advantage.
“I want to be sure of that,” was his reply, uttered
with grim determination. “Besides, even if you
are Mr. Bradshaw, what are you doing here at this
hour?”
The American was spared any explanation by
229


The Arncliffe Puzzle
the arrival on the scene of Inspector Hobson, Harry
Warren, and several servants carrying lanterns and
armed with miscellaneous weapons. As the light
fell on Bradshaw's pallid, blood-streaked counte-
nance, the detective sprang forward with a well-
simulated expression of surprise. Wilson, too,
released his prisoner, when he saw it was indeed
the nephew of Lord Arncliffe whom he had handled
so unceremoniously.
“Good Heavens! Mr. Bradshaw!” cried Hobson
with anxious solicitude. “What has happened to
you ?”
“I am not sure yet whether it was an earthquake
or a dynamite explosion,” answered the American,
rubbing his head ruefully. “I heard two or three
shots fired shortly after we parted. I ran back
toward the Hall to find uut what the trouble was.
Then I heard some one making his way rapidly
through the wood. Naturally enough, in view of
the shooting, I tried to stop him; but,” and he
glanced at his torn and blood-spattered clothes, “I
think he must have regarded my interference as
impertinent. But do, for goodness' sake, my dear
fellow, help me up to your rooms, and let me wash
some of the dirt out of my eyes. My friend appears
to have given it to me good and hard, and just at
present I feel like walking on air.”
He looked and felt really on the verge of collapse.
230


A Night of Strange Incidents
It was only by leaning heavily on the shoulders of
Wilson and the detective that he was able to walk
the short distance to the Hall. When the cortège
arrived there, an eager crowd of women were waiting
for tidings. Mrs. Warren, unruffled as though she
had been shooting at clay pigeons, still had the re-
volver in her hand, and Bradshaw noticed with the
quick appreciation of a man who has carried a “gun”
all his adult life, that it was of a caliber built to kill.
Your man of the frontiers has no use for the “deadly
toy” so beloved of the lady novelist.
Edith, in a dressing gown, and with her glorious
hair rippling over her shoulders, was endeavoring
to calm the fears of the huddled maids, and to
soothe Mrs. Aingier, who was tearfully protesting
that she would never have left her own home had
she known she was to be continually murdered in
her bed. The young mistress of Arncliffe made so
fascinating a picture that Bradshaw, who at once
found himself an object of tender solicitude, would
willingly have lingered near her despite the pain he
was suffering.
Hobson, however, silenced all questioning and
hurried the American to his room. The stains of
moss on Bradshaw's boots and clothes would sug-
gest tree-climbing to the least astute of observers,
and both were glad when the door of the bedroom
closed behind them. Harry Warren had followed,
231


A Night of Strange Incidents
it is difficult, if not impossible to, relate a "tall yarn "
more than once, without some little deviation from
its original beauty. Like a conjuring trick, such an
effort of the invention should never be submitted to
the same audience twice.
He was no more shy than the majority of his
fellow-countrymen, but he found the situation de-
cidedly embarrassing. Wilson had already de-
scribed a blood-curdling combat in the depth of the
woods. When its hero appeared, interestingly pale,
and with just enough of disorder in his appearance
to support Wilson's story, he was overwhelmed
with attention.
Edith herself led him to an armchair and tenderly
placed a cushion beneath his aching head. Then
she sat beside him, and, with all a woman's admira-
tion of a brave man dilating her eyes, begged for
particulars of this latest outrage. This unnerved
him. He felt he must gain time.
“Why, really, Miss Holt, the matter is of no con-
sequence, so far as I am concerned,” he protested.
“Won't you tell me, what caused the shots I heard
- has any one been injured ?”.
"No. Mrs. Warren noticed a man in the tree
outside her window, and, as she has provided her-
self with a pistol since we have had so much trouble
here, she bravely fired at him. He fell from the
tree, but he has escaped. No doubt the police will
233


The Arncliffe Puzzle
find him. How came you to be so dreadfully in-
jured, Mr. Bradshaw ? Could it be the same man
who attacked you ?”.
So, for the sake of the sweet girl who was hanging
on to his words, Bradshaw was forced to carry
through his disagreeable task. “It is nothing to
make a song about,” he said. “I had strolled part
of the way with Mr. Hobson, and, soon after the
shots were fired, I intercepted some one who evi-
dently had urgent business in another direction.
But don't make me talk about it, Miss Holt. I
have been soundly licked. The proud crest of the
American eagle is drooping; the Stars and Stripes
are trailing in the dust!”.
“Oh, do try to be serious for once, Mr. Bradshaw,
and tell us what actually happened. Do you think
you could identify your assailant if you saw him
again ?”
“My belief is," answered the American, solemnly,
" that he was a grizzly bear. Mercy!” as Edith
held up a threatening finger, “I will tell you every-
thing. He was a very powerful man — I am pretty
strong myself, and he handled me as if I were an
infant – but I should not know him again. We
rolled over, I guess, two or three times; and then
he managed to hit me on the head with a club he
was carrying. The subsequent proceedings inter-
ested me no more."
234


The Arncliffe Puzzle
on Bradshaw, entering into the spirit of the thing,
“that I could not hold him. It was then that he
got his blow home.”
“So,” said Edith, severely, “you had nothing to
defend yourself with against that dreadful stick -
I know what they are like — and yet you gallantly
tried to stop him. Mr. Bradshaw, I think,” she
asserted, with a delightful sincerity, "you are the
bravest man I have ever met!”
The American cast a piteous glance toward Hob-
son, who was eyeing him with malicious enjoyment.
No succor was to be expected from that quarter.
The detective had not forgotten certain allusions
to “idiots” and “men with the instincts of a horse-
thief." Far from coming to Bradshaw's rescue, he
added to the chorus of praise showered upon him.
“You may well say that, Miss Holt,” he broke
in earnestly. “If you had seen the place where we
found this gentleman you would have thought there
had been a battle between two lions. The ground
was so torn and trampled that they must have been
at it for a quarter of an hour at least. And the
blood Mr. Bradshaw had lost!”
The wounded “lion” uttered a queer little cough.
It conveyed a warning to Hobson, but the detective
was desperate. He would pay off old scores that
night, at any rate.
“There is one thing which may give us a clue,”
236


A Night of Strange Incidents
said Edith. “Do any of you know a man in the
district who carries a blackthorn ?"
“Yes, miss,” volunteered Wilson, “Bob Leigh,
the poacher, him that Master Harry caught and
gave six months to last year — he is hardly ever
without one in his hands. He would only be out
of prison a few weeks, and no doubt he bears a
grudge against Master Harry. There's another
thing, miss, he is a mortal strong man; there's no
one in the village can stand up against him.”
“Then that completely proves it!” asserted
Edith, calmly ignoring the first principles of justice.
“You had better go and arrest the man at once,
Mr. Hobson.”
“Oh, dash it all!” broke in Warren, excitedly, too
agitated by this new peril to realize that his mode
of address left much to be desired, “you can't arrest
a man for having a blackthorn stick.”
Except for a contemptuous curl of her lip, Edith
appeared as though she had not heard him. “At
once, Mr. Hobson,” she repeated.
Warren's anxiety on behalf of the poacher was
not lost on the detective. This development was
likely to prove highly embarrassing to himself,
however, so he welcomed any diversion.
“Mr. Warren is quite right, Miss Holt,” he
pointed out. “We require more evidence than that
before we are justified in making an arrest. Still,
237


The Arnclife Puzzle
I will institute some inquiries as to his move-
ments, and keep an eye on him generally.”
Bradshaw, too, was glad to divert attention from
his homeric combat. “It is absolutely impossible
for me to identify the man,” he joined in. “There-
fore, I could not prove anything against him, even
if we were to get hold of the right person by chance.
Now, Miss Holt, I think I will go back to the inn.
I am ashamed to have given you so much trouble
at such an hour.”
“Go back to the inn, indeed!” exclaimed Edith,
with fine scorn. “I have ordered a room to be pre-
pared for you, and when you have taken this”
(“this” was a huge bowl of chicken broth, one of
the invalid delicacies provided for Aingier) “you
are to go straight to bed.”
“But really, I am perfectly well,” he protested.
“What? When Mr. Hobson says that your
wound bled so dreadfully? Besides,” she went
on triumphantly, “I have sent a messenger for Dr.
Lester, and here he comes. We shall soon see
whether you are perfectly well or not.”
Lester, knowing the errand upon which the pair
had set forth, was naturally in a maze of conflicting
theories as to the cause of Bradshaw's injuries.
The footman who summoned him told an incoherent
story, in which burglars and pistol-shots figured
largely.
238


A Night of Strange Incidents
I suppose one must not expect any sympathy from
a licensed assassin and a — a detective. I was
trying to think of something nasty to say to you,
Hobson, and I think I have struck it. And now,
if the professional murderer will be so good as to
bandage up my head and hands properly, I should
like to go to sleep.”
Lester, still smiling, attended to him, but Hobson,
true to his craft, anxiously asked for details of the
scene in Mrs. Warren's room.
Bradshaw took inadequate vengeance by piquing
the detective's curiosity. It was only when he felt
that he would really like to sleep that he conde-
scended to explain matters.
“Well,” he said, “when first I looked into the
window, young Warren was evidently in a pretty
bad frame of mind. He look thoroughly scared
over something. His mother seemed to be trying
to pacify him. After a few minutes she went out
of the room for a moment, and her son began rum-
maging in the drawers, presently finding something
which he put in his pocket. Meanwhile, Mrs. War-
ren had returned, and she too took something from
one of the drawers of the desk. I did not see what
it was, but, as she started shooting at me right then,
I am willing to believe it was a revolver.”
“What was it her son took out ? Could you see
that ?”
241


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Well,” replied Bradshaw, "it was an article of
a very queer shape, and a very queer color — in fact
all sorts of colors, like a soap-bubble. And I am
quite certain it was a bottle of some sort."
242


CHAPTER XVII
A TROUBLED IDYLL
LESTER remained at the Hall all night. After
such a disturbance he was not surprised to find only
the servants stirring when he went down-stairs about
ten o'clock. He strolled out on to a long balcony
which overlooked the broad, smooth lawn, and
presently came upon Aingier, now a hearty con-
valescent, who had been wheeled out to enjoy the
fresh morning air.
He had slept soundly enough through the excite-
ment of the previous night, and it was not thought
advisable to agitate him with a recital of the latest
outrage. Lester chatted absently for a time with
the old lawyer. His thoughts were fixed on Edith,
and he reproached himself bitterly for the absurd
jealousy which had led him to treat her so coldly.
In other words, though he would not admit it, the
ridiculous position in which Bradshaw was placed
put an entirely different complexion on affairs.
In the midst of a discussion anent the state of the
money-market, Lester was surprised to find his com-
panion giving vent to a series of dry chuckles. For
243


A Troubled Idyll
The couple strolling beneath were near at hand
now. Edith was smiling up at her companion, with
more of careless merriment in her face than her
lover had seen there since that first meeting in the
park.
“The best thing that could have happened,” he
repeated dully. Though Aingier rattled on, Lester
was too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear or care
what was said. He realized, with a soul-shaking
pang, that this was, indeed, the natural solution of
the difficulties created by Bradshaw's appearance
on the scene. Love-blinded, he had never for a
moment thought of such a development. What a
fool he had been! Edith, of course, by this means
would do justice to Lord Arncliffe's nephew and at
the same time retain her proud position as mistress
of Arncliffe Hall. And the American was a nice
fellow and a good fellow and — his thoughts flying
to the thinning hair of his own temples — a some-
what younger-looking and more attractive man than
himself. He passed through an inferno of agony
before he was able to address the lawyer in his usual
quiet tones.
“I must be off now — good-by.”
He strode away from the balcony and made for
the entrance hall. He must be alone. He felt that
his face would betray him, though he was unaware
of the extent to which that sudden anguish had
245


The Arncliffe Puzzle
carved its record. He was ashen pale, with the
peculiar grayness which pallor brings to the cheek
of a deeply bronzed man, and his eyes were con-
tracted as though some sudden light had dazzled
them.
He took his hat and went out. There was a tur-
quoise sky; the breeze was gentle and balmy; a little
way off an angel-throated thrush was singing the
story of the sunshine; wherever Lester's gaze wan-
dered, gay flowers flaunted themselves shamelessly
at him. The very joyousness of nature smote him
with a sense of outrage. Almost he could have
wept. But the sound of a liquid laugh brought
him back into defiant manhood; when, a moment
later, he met Edith and the American, still arm in
arm, there was little except his extreme paleness to
betray the ordeal he was undergoing.
“You see I have cheated you,” called Bradshaw,
gaily, as they approached.
“My dear fellow,” said Lester, “this is really
very imprudent of you. There is nothing serious
the matter, but a cut like that may develop erysipe-
las, if you don't take care. You ought to have
remained in bed at least twenty-four hours.”
“So I have been telling him, Dr. Lester," began
Edith, instantly pausing, however, as she noticed
his expression. She had intended to exact humble
repentance for his manner at their last parting, but
246


A Troubled Idyll
now such trivialities were forgotten. He must be
ill, she thought, looking up at him with tender
anxiety.
Lester met her gaze with calmly inscrutable eyes.
There was nothing of resentment in them; nor was
there any sign of that wondrous telegraphy Edith
expected to meet, and she began to feel deeply
wounded. Then, all at once, her face and neck
were flooded with crimson. She had just realized
that Bradshaw was still clinging to her arm with
apparent affection.
She drew away, blushing yet more furiously.
The action in itself was guilty, and it seemed to her
that there came a gleam of contempt into Lester's
eyes and that his mouth hardened. Yet she met
his gaze truthfully and steadfastly, though she felt
it was crushing her, and it was Lester who at length
retired from the moral contest. After all, it was
cowardly to shame a woman, whatever the circum-
stances.
“Pray make this unruly patient return to his bed,
Miss Holt,” he said, in tones so unimpassioned that
they chilled Edith more than any reproach. “It is
hopeless to expect that he will obey me, but perhaps
you may be more successful. And now I will thank
you for your hospitality, and say good-by. I have
some important business which requires a return
to my rooms at once.”
247


The Arncliffe Puzzle
disclosure. He therefore made a clean breast of
the whole affair to Edith, telling his story with so
much naïve humor that, although she strongly dis-
approved of his conduct in spying on Mrs. Warren
and her son, Bradshaw escaped lightly on that score.
Best of all, he succeeded in making Edith laugh
with him rather than at him.
So much for the bright looks to which Lester so
unreasonably objected. As for the linked arms,
the explanation was one which might satisfy the
most jealous of lovers. Bradshaw, to excite sym-
pathy, and to start well, had basely pretended to be
weak, and Edith, in all innocence and womanly
tenderness, insisted that he should lean upon her
arm. Bradshaw would have been more than human
had he resisted such an offer from the lovely young
woman who had more than half won his heart.
Still, trivial as the incident was, it was enough to put
a serious barrier between Edith and George Lester.
She was too proud to justify a perfectly innocent
action, and he, equally proud, had the question of
Edith's fortune brought vividly before him.
The feelings of Edith, when her fit of weeping
had abated a little, underwent some change. At
first, her emotion had been pure grief that the per-
son she loved best on earth could misjudge her so
cruelly. But now anger assumed its sway. It was
no longer “How could he?” but “How dared he?”
250


A
Troubled Idyll
keeper, has shown me many thoughtful kindnesses,
she is so unemotional that one might as well make
friends with a fish.”
“I know,” nodded Phyllis; “I saw her - a
stately old party with a face like a graven image.
She looked respectful disapproval when I rushed up
here without even waiting to be properly announced.
But tell me all about yourself — why, you bad girl!
I do believe you have been crying!”
There was a marked contrast between the two
girls. While “beautiful” was the term invariably
applied to Edith, no one ever thought of calling her
companion anything but “pretty.” And ravish-
ingly pretty she was — small, but exquisitely pro-
portioned, and having that deadly combination of
demure eyes and saucy mouth which works such
havoc on impressionable man. She was fashioned
by nature to be a breaker of hearts.
Edith's lips began to quiver again. Phyllis,
sitting on the edge of the bed, drew her to her side
with motherly tenderness.
“There, now,” she whispered soothingly, “tell
me all about it. Surely you are not allowing the
tittle-tattle of a lot of spiteful and envious people
to upset you?”
“No, it is not that.”
“But, Edith,” interrupted her friend severely,
"you are not going to tell me you are crying on
253


The Arncliffe Puzzle
account of a mere man ? I have a shrewd suspicion
that your dear doctor is responsible for all this?”
Edith's pride came to the rescue. She would not
have it supposed she was wearing the willow on
Lester's account.
“Oh, dear no!” she said, with an airy indifference
that was, perhaps, a little too marked. “There is
absolutely nothing between Dr. Lester and myself.”
“That settles it,” remarked Phyllis, nodding her
head with an air of sage conviction. “My dear
girl, I have been in love thousands and thousands
of times, while I positively believe this precious
doctor is the first man you have ever looked at twice.
Your childlike efforts to deceive me are quite use-
less, so you had better tell me the truth. Besides,
I am counsel's opinion in matters of this sort.”
Herein Miss Phyllis did herself no more than jus-
tice. She was probably the most outrageous flirt in
the Three Kingdoms.
“Oh, Phyllis," murmured Edith, abandoning
her policy of concealment, “he has treated me so
cruelly, so infamously.”
"I know, I know," answered the expert, sooth-
ingly, “they always do. But what has he done?
There is not another woman, is there?”
“Certainly not!” said Edith, scornfully. “Do
you suppose I would waste a second thought on any
man who could be capable of such conduct ?”
254


A Troubled Idyll
"Don't be too trustful, my child. Men are capa-
ble of anything. However, if there is not another
woman in the case, the obvious and only conclusion
is that there is another man.”
“Phyllis, how dare you?” Edith's cheeks were
aflame with indignation.
“Pooh! Bless its good little heart! Did it never
have a flirtation in all its life? Come, now, tell me
about the other man. Why, an occasional touch
of jealousy will do your excellent doctor a world of
good!”
Thus adjured, Edith told the story of her stroll
in the grounds with Bradshaw, and the subsequent
misconstruction of her harmless action by Lester.
Women are far less reticent than men in affairs of
the heart, and Edith was so absorbed in drawing a
dramatic picture of her lover's awful sternness that
not until the end of her story was reached did she
become aware that her sworn friend was convulsed
with merriment.
"I did not expect this of you at least, Phyllis,”
said Edith, deeply hurt.
“Oh, you dear baby — you will kill me! Why,
don't you see that this is one of the best things that
could have happened. Your doctor is probably
calling himself a brute by this time, and thinking of
all sorts of plans for a reconciliation. Now, when
you meet him, you must have a sort of 'wounded
255


The Arncliffe Puzzle
animal' look in your eyes, and yet bear yourself with
pathetic dignity. You must avoid being alone with
him for some little time, because that would precipi-
tate matters. And, of course, you want to torture
him.”
“I don't!” exclaimed Edith, with real indignation.
"Be quiet! Yes, you do. And then at last, when
you have forgiven him, he will be so abject that you
will have him right under your thumb. After that,”
concluded this implacable chastener of man, “it
will be your own fault if you ever let him get up
again.”
“But I do not want him to be tortured and abject
and under my thumb,” repeated Edith, emphati-
cally. “I could not respect such a man!”
“Are you afraid of him?" asked Phyllis, bluntly.
Edith looked startled and blushed. “Yes," she
whispered reluctantly, “I suppose I am a little bit
afraid of him.”
"I see — and you rather like it, I expect. I know
the type of person — horrid square jaws and mouth
cut out of granite. Nasty creature! However,
you are evidently quite hopeless. But what a
strange thing it is that you, who ordered people
about as though you were a queen, and always
seemed to get your own way, should glory in having
some one to domineer over you."
“Oh!” rejoined Edith, proudly. “I like a man
256


A Troubled Idyll
to be a man! How beautifully fresh and elegant
you look," she cried suddenly, changing the subject,
as her friend's banter was not wholly to her liking.
“No one would dream that you had been traveling
all night.”
“My dear simpleton, when I had to change at
Newcastle, I replaced my traveling dress with this
muslin, and underwent a general course of renova-
tion. Somehow, one always looks dusty and be-
draggled after a long railway journey, and I was not
going to risk meeting some nice man before I had
time to make myself presentable.”
“Always men — you shameless flirt!” said Edith,
with an indulgent smile.
“Of course," said Phyllis, coolly. “And that
reminds me, I had to make my choice between
beautifying and breakfast. With Spartan resolu-
tion, I chose the first. I have had nothing except
a glass of milk and an unutterable bun, and I am
simply starved.”
“Shall we breakfast alone together this morning ?”
asked Edith. “I generally join Mr. and Mrs.
Aingier, now he is convalescent; but —”
“How old is Mr. Aingier," interrupted Phyllis.
“Nearly sixty.”
“No other men ?”
“No. Mr. Bradshaw has gone to bed again.”
"Then we will breakfast with them, by all means.
257


The Arncliffe Puzzle
perilously near to becoming a reality. Edith was
exceedingly anxious to arrive at some arrangement
with Bradshaw, as to the division of Lord Arncliffe's
property, and, when the American refused to be
treated as an invalid any longer, she sent for him,
thoroughly determined to settle things on an equi-
table basis.
“Now, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said, pointing to an
armchair with a pretty gesture of command, “ you
are to sit right there, as you would put it, and you
are not to get up again until you have agreed to
everything I wish.”
He sat down with an air of resignation. “Am I
to be fed ?” he asked pathetically.
“No, you are to be starved into submission. But
my terms are easy. I only want to arrange with
you about your share of your uncle's estate."
“But I haven't any share, except that battle-ax
with which my illustrious ancestor —”
“Mr. Bradshaw!” exclaimed Edith, impatiently,
“I would really like to shake you. You know per-
fectly well that if Lord Arncliffe had known of your
existence, as he should have known, you would be
his heir."
“I don't know anything of the sort,” said Brad-
shaw, obstinately. “He had known you and loved
you nearly all your life, while he had never even seen
me. Besides, I am quite sure if I had any money
260


An Unexpected Clue
to leave, I would much rather leave it to you than
to me.”
“Cannot you see what a painful position I am
in ?” pleaded Edith. “It seems as though I have
robbed you of your birthright — in fact, you know
quite well that people do not scruple to say that I
intercepted your letters to Lord Arncliffe.”
“Oh, that is altogether ridiculous! Now, do please
believe that I am quite satisfied. My uncle made a
wise and proper disposition of his money, and I have
no idea of interfering with it in any way.”
“You must!” insisted Edith.
“Well, Miss Holt,” he said deliberately, “there
is only one condition on which I will take any share
of Lord Arncliffe's property.”
“Why, I am quite willing to meet you in every
possible way,” cried Edith, glad to find that there
was some opportunity for compromise. “What is
your condition ?”
“That you give me yourself with it.”
This sudden declaration so startled Edith that
she put up her hands as if to shield herself. The
very fact of Bradshaw's proposal seemed to accuse
her of the disloyalty suspected by Lester.
“Oh, no, no!” she cried. “Please do not suggest
such a thing, Mr. Bradshaw."
“I know you could do a whole heap better,” he
went on; "but really and truly, Miss Holt, I am not
261


The Arncliffe Puzzle
half a bad chap. And, you know, Americans make
the best husbands in the world.”
“I am sure you will be a very good husband,”
replied Edith, kindly, “a good and kind husband
for some nice girl who will make you a great deal
happier than I could.”
Bradshaw, who was deeply moved, spoke with
gentle deference. “Miss Holt, if there is anybody
else, please forgive me for having made this proposal
to you; if there is not, then I beg of you to think the
matter over. But pray do not allow yourself to be
influenced in the least by your anxiety to share my
uncle's wealth with me. I come from a country
where men are not happy unless they are working,
and it would be utterly impossible for me to lead
the life of one of your English country gentlemen.
As for money, you may rest assured that I earn quite
sufficient for my needs.”
“There cannot be anyone else,” said Edith,
almost inaudibly.
Was it not so, in sober earnest ? Could Lester
have made her suffer had he really loved her ? For
one brief moment she almost thought of accepting
Bradshaw's offer. He was kind and honest and
chivalrous, bearing the hall-mark of true manhood
no less clearly than did the lover who had discarded
her. And it would be an easy way of giving him
the inheritance that should be his.
262


An Unexpected Clue
But no! Let Lester deem her false if he chose.
She would remain faithful to the troth she had
plighted in her heart.
"Well, then think the matter over,” repeated
Bradshaw. “Meanwhile,” he cried gaily, with a
quick return to his usual manner, “I really think
you had better let me get up.”
“Yes, you may get up,” said Edith, glad to end
a tête-à-tête which had developed so unexpectedly.
"And if you will come with me, I will introduce you
to the dearest, sweetest, prettiest, and nicest girl in
all the world.”
“I know her already,” murmured Bradshaw, with
a look which made Edith hasten their departure.
Miss Phyllis Harland, dressed with elaborate
simplicity to support her favorite opening, which
was to pose as a demure, timid little maid, was
waiting with growing indignation for Edith to
present the "nice American.” She had arranged
herself on a shady garden seat, with a sunbonnet
dangling from her rosy fingers, her head thrown
back, her lips just parted to show a gleam of pearly
teeth, and her long lashes resting on her flushed
cheeks. She offered a delightful picture of a tired
child fallen into unconscious sleep. When Bradshaw
appeared on the scene it was her intention to give
him time to take in all the details, and then to raise
slowly those long, curved lashes and look at him with
263


The Arncliffe Puzzle
shy, startled eyes. She had never yet known this
attack to fail. But the position was trying, and at
length, when the pins and needles in her shoulders
grew unbearable, she rose to her feet and stamped
on the ground pettishly.
At this unpropitious moment Edith and Brad-
shaw came upon her suddenly from an unexpected
direction, and Phyllis, all her elaborate arrangements
wasted, shook a mental fist at her friend. Miss
Harland had, however, almost as many gambits as
a chess expert; if the conditions were unfavorable
for the display of appealing trustfulness, her mood
of happy, innocent roguishness was none the less
fascinating. Edith, silent and distrait, suffered by
comparison with her sparkling friend. Bradshaw
found Phyllis a companion after his own heart.
Down at the “Fisherman's Rest” George Lester
was gloomily debating whether to stay on for awhile
or end the whole business by taking the next train
to London.
The tide of suspicion seemed to be ebbing away
from Edith, and she had a strong and alert pro-
tector in Bradshaw. Yet, though it seemed to him
that he was irresolute, in reality he had made up his
mind to wait for some definite indication of Edith's
engagement to the American. During those days
he went out little. A meeting with Edith would be
painful to both of them, and though Bradshaw, who
264


An Unexpected Clue
had now returned to his quarters at the inn, pressed
him to accompany him to the Hall and on various
other expeditions, Lester pleaded urgent work in
connection with a forthcoming book.
Meanwhile, though fond hearts might suffer, the
detective was untiring and unceasing in his efforts
to follow up the shadowy clues in his hands.
Leigh, the poacher, and his mysterious accession
to wealth, had not been neglected. Hobson, with
an ingenious air of good-fellowship, made several
attempts to hobnob with him; but Leigh, who had
a natural antipathy to policemen in any shape or
form, received all advances with churlish silence.
Hobson, nothing daunted, decided to keep him
under observation. To this end, he slipped out
quietly after Leigh one night when the poacher
quitted the tap-room of the inn. But, alas! it is one
thing to shadow a man through the streets of a great
city, and another to follow on the steps of a trained
woodsman whose ear is alert for every crackling
twig, and whose eye does not miss so much as a
moving leaf. Ere they had covered a quarter of a
mile the detective discovered that by some mys-
terious process his quarry was behind instead of in
front of him.
“Lord love you, maister!” said Leigh with genial
irony as he caught up with his tracker, "you ought
to keep your eyes open when you are about at this
265


The Arncliffe Puzzle
consult Dr. Smalley. Still, I will see your mother
with pleasure. As for payment, I am on a holiday,
and I refuse to work, save in a friendly way, for
anybody."
“Thankee, sir.” For the first time Lester saw
something approaching emotion in the rugged,
sinister face of the poacher.
“What is the matter with your mother?”
“Well, sir, she's took to her bed a bit earlier than
usual of late, and this mornin' she was very quiet –
lay still and followed me about with her eyes without
saying a word. Nor she don't care for her cup o'
tea or her pipe o' 'bacca as she used to."
"Is she very old ?”
“Why, doctor, she might be ninety, or she might
be a little more, but she's allus been strong."
“You see,” said Lester, gently, “when people
reach ninety years of age you must expect all sorts
of ailments, and you must be prepared for the worst.
At the same time, it is quite possible that with a
little care she will be all right again for some time
to come. You may be sure I will do my best for
her. Would you like me to see her now ?”
“If you would be so kind, sir.”
They strolled on to that little hovel on the out-
skirts, where Warren, half mad with fear, had re-
moved the stains of his attack on the solicitor.
Lester, on entering, recoiled with disgust from the
268


An Unexpected Clue
horrible atmosphere — an atmosphere which brought
vivid recollections of African Kraals.
“Good Heavens, man!” he exclaimed, “no
wonder your mother is ill! Why, this air is enough
to poison her!”
“Oh, it's the way she's lived all her life. You
mustn't judge us folk the same as you would the
gentry.”
“I know; but — here, won't this window open ?
Then keep the door wide, for goodness' sake, or I
shall be stifled!”
The atmosphere cleared a little, and Lester turned
his attention to the old woman lying on the heap of
foul rags which served for a bed. He saw at once
that she was verging on delirium. There was a
vacant uneasiness in her eyes, and she moved her
skinny hands about restlessly. She was going to
die presently.
“Is that Maister Harry Warren ? she asked,
peering through the gloom at Lester. “I've got
the books safe enough, Maister Warren, I've got
'em safe enough.”
“Shut up, mother!” growled the son, savagely.
“This is the doctor come to see you. I'm afraid,
sir,” he explained apologetically to Lester, "she's a
bit off her head.”
“Oh, no, it isn't the doctor. I may be old, Bob,
but I'm not blind yet. It's Harry Warren — War-
269


CHAPTER XIX
WHEREIN LESTER IS CAGED
WARREN's burly frame, rigid as a statue, blocked
up the doorway. For a moment Lester and the
poacher, watchful and immobile, gazed at him.
Then the young agent stepped forward and closed
the door with a bang. He had the truculent air of
one who challenged the right of way.
Lester, to whom danger was no new thing, took
in the position at a glance. He stood quietly, only
clenching and unclenching his hands with the un-
conscious movement of the athlete who is presently
going to put forth all his strength. He looked to-
ward Leigh inquiringly, but the poacher's eyes were
dropped in sullen inability to deal with a difficult
situation. So Lester squared back his shoulders,
seemingly paying heed to neither man, but really
suspicious of both.
“Maister Harry Warren!” cackled the old woman
again.
“Shut up, mother!” Leigh's hand was raised
now, with the action of the coster who threatens a
blow without meaning it.
271


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Off her head, sir,” he explained to Lester again.
“I will send you some medicine for her,” replied
Lester, calmly professional. “Meanwhile, keep
her quiet and try to improve the ventilation a
little.”
He made to walk toward the door, with seeming
indifference, and, though he knew it was coming,
the clutch of Leigh on his arm sent something of a
chill through him.
“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” he
asked suavely.
Warren was looking on with white-hot eyes.
“Oh, good God, Leigh,” he broke out, “we can't
let him go!"
Lester wrenched himself free and stood, back to
the wall, with all his muscles tense.
“Who will stop me ?” he asked, with the tense
note in his voice of the man who will kill if needs be.
The agent did not answer. He had already tasted
something of the young doctor's methods. Al-
though he did not lack brute courage, previous
experience counseled prudence.
“Well now, Maister Lester," began the poacher,
" you see — "
“I see that there is something I am going to in-
vestigate,” interrupted Lester, sternly. “I don't
know how far you are concerned in it, but if you
take my advice you will refuse to be concerned any
272


Wherein Lester is Caged
further. And now open that door, or it will be the
worse for you!”
“Oh, come, sir,” growled Leigh, with some of
that crude irony which had so galled Hobson. “You
mustn't give your orders as though we were a lot of
servants. If you come here as the friend of the
Romany people, you must do as they tell you."
“You are not telling the truth," interjected Lester,
sharply. “I came here at your request to do you a
service; and you are now acting like a treacherous
cur. Don't think that you and your fellow dog
there can hold me. I am quite man enough to deal
with two pariahs of your type.”
Lester's withering glance made Leigh draw back
— the shrinking of brawn from blood — and Lester
strode to the door. There stood Harry Warren,
still barring the way, and Lester, with old contempt
and reawakened antipathy, put up a scornful hand.
“Let me pass,” he said curtly, and then, as Warren
did not move: “Get out of my way, you fool. You
cannot hinder me!”
For an instant he glowed with the instincts of the
primeval savage. Warren, not deficient in pluck,
leaped warily to meet him and parried a glancing
blow which took a square quarter of an inch from
one of his eyebrows. Lester drew back and gath-
ered himself to hit again. He had forgotten all
about possible interference by the gypsy, and it
273


Wherein Lester is Caged
am friendly toward you, but I won't take insult
from any man.”
“Won't you?” said Lester, his back to the wall
again; and he faced the two men — one a towering
figure, sullen but determined, and the other, malevo-
lent, half crouching to spring upon him. “Won't
you? Then open your door and move that oaf
from in front of it.”
Lester stepped forward, but the bear's hug of the
old poacher was around him. He struggled des-
perately but ineffectively. There was no room.
Nevertheless, he forced Leigh close to the bed on
which the old woman lay dying. And then Warren
stepped forward and hit him a crushing blow behind
the ear.
Lester dropped, and lay a limp bundle between
his two assailants. Leigh sprang upright, his great
hand gripping deep into Warren's shoulder.
"I won't have him hurt,” he vociferated.
“You fool!” snarled Warren, contemptuously,
“can't you see that he will ruin us ?”
“Ruin you !” retorted the poacher. “He can't
ruin me.”
“Can't he?" retorted Warren, ferociously. "What
do you suppose people will think? They will say,
if it comes to the worst for me, that I hired you to
attack old Aingier, and you can't turn King's evi-
dence against me on that. What are we to do
275


Wherein Lester is Caged
Leigh, doggedly, “but I want that thousand pounds
from you, and when you give it to me you can have
the books and go your own road. Still, I can see
we must keep the doctor quiet, and I know where to
keep him quiet if only we can get him there. There
is the empty shooting-box at Foxgill — ”
Warren knew now that all his raving would not
move Leigh. So, perforce, he fell in with the half-
suggested plan.
“There is my dog-cart down the road ” he said,
“and we can reach Foxgill in less than an hour.
Guarantee to keep him quiet. Once the books are
destroyed, he can say what he likes. It is only his
word against mine.”
Leigh gave a gruff assent. They wasted no fur-
ther time in discussion, but hoisted Lester, still
insensible from Warren's cowardly blow, into the
dog-cart and covered him over with the knee-cloth.
The hour was late, and the shadows were deepen-
ing. Nevertheless, though they were not likely to
meet many wayfarers on the road they followed, it
was desirable, from their point of view, that they
should get clear of the outskirts of the village as
soon as possible.
Aingier had complained of Warren's reckless
driving, but had he been in the trap on this occasion,
he would probably have turned gray for the second
time in his life. Warren lashed the mare until she
277


The Arncliffe Puzzle
it up and swung it in the air. But his head swam.
Leigh took the chair from his hands with what
might almost be called gentle courtesy.
“I think we can,” said he. “Now, sir, will you
promise to stop here quietly until I tell you you
can go ?”
“You infernal idiot!” broke in Warren.
“Leave me alone,” growled the poacher. “I
know a gentleman when I see one. Will you prom-
ise, doctor?”
“No, by Heaven, I will not!” cried Lester.
“Very well, sir. Then I shall have to shut you
up.”
4.
Warren dragged the poacher to one side, while
Lester, still half-dazed, watched them with the
abstract curiosity of a man who sees arrangements
being made for his own execution yet cannot appre-
ciate the imminence of his peril.
“You are mad!” he heard Warren say peevishly.
“Can't you see that he may attract attention to
himself? This place is isolated, I know; but some
one may pass.”
"I will take care of that," muttered Leigh. He
walked back to Lester again.
“Doctor," he said, “a man must look after him-
self, and if you go scot-free just at present I must
suffer for it. You won't promise not to escape.
Will you promise to keep quiet ?”
280


Wherein Lester is Caged
"No," answered Lester, shutting his jaws with
a snap.
“Then when we leave you here, you will not only
be bound, but gagged.”
Lester was seething with hot rage, but he saw the
determination in the gypsy's eyes, and he was quite
alive to the terrible prospect of lying for hours with
a gag between his teeth. It was folly to resist under
the circumstances, and he was wont to make up
his mind quickly.
“Very well,” he said. “I will keep quiet for a
couple of days, but again I warn you that you will
pay bitterly for this outrage.”
Leigh wasted no words. “Come along; I know
the house,” he said to Warren. “Many is the time
I have taken refuge here when your cursed game-
keepers were after me.”
He led the way up to the first floor and into a tiny
room entirely bare of furniture.
Lester followed quietly, with Warren at his heels.
More than ever did he see the futility of resistance
in his present state; therefore he made the best of
the situation.
“There you are, sir,” continued the poacher.
“They are hard quarters for a gentleman, but from
what you have told me, I think you have been in
harder in your time. And don't forget that I have
your word, the word of a gentleman, you won't
281


The Arcliffe Puzzle
Between Bradshaw and Lester the close friend-
ship which sprang up, although they had known
each other for so short a time, was in no way weak-
ened by recent events. Next morning, when the
American learned that Lester had not been in the
inn all night, he was genuinely disturbed. His first
idea was that the young doctor had returned to
London, but the presence of Lester's luggage, sup-
plemented by an inquiry at the local station, effec-
tually disposed of that theory. The individual who
combined within himself the post of booking-clerk,
ticket collector, and station-master at Arncliffe said
emphatically that Lester had not been near the
station during the past three days. Obviously, he
must have gone to the Hall and stayed there. To
the Hall Bradshaw went without any delay.
In the grounds he met Phyllis Harland, who,
indeed, expected him, and who had arranged a
special curl on her forehead for his benefit.
Miss Harland knew perfectly well that he would
arrive early. She had made a gratifying conquest
in a record time, and the only thing which troubled
her was a “nasty, mean, unfair” habit, to use her
own adjectives, the American had of making her
do as he told her. She was always planning how
she would bring him to his knees, but, somehow, her
plans just failed. He knelt metaphorically, and
pleaded as nicely as she could wish; nevertheless,
284


Bradshaw “Makes Good”
his plea always seemed a command. It was in-
tolerable.
Poor Phyllis had tried demureness, sauciness, and
trustful dependence, without attaining that tyran-
nical ascendancy over him which she wished to
establish. Now, as a last desperate resort, she tried
being natural.
“How are you, Mr. Bradshaw ?” she said, holding
out her hand and looking at him with frank, honest
eyes.
“I am very well,” said Bradshaw, “but at the
same time very worried. Dr. Lester has disappeared
mysteriously, and this neighborhood appears to be
so unhealthy that I am rather afraid he may have
struck trouble of some sort.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Phyllis. “Poor Edith!”
“Poor Edith ?” cried Bradshaw, curiously.
With true masculine density, he had not realized
that there was any sort of tender feeling in existence
between his friend and the young mistress of Arn-
cliffe.
“How silly men are! And I think you are the
silliest of all of them.”
"Well, but — "began Bradshaw, rather ruf-
fled.
“Silly, silly, silly! Come and tell dear Edith
about Dr. Lester. I am sure the news will nearly
kill the poor girl.”
285


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Well,” said Bradshaw again, mildly. “Why
should it kill the poor girl ?”
“Oh!” — Phyllis was out of patience — “if ever I
have charge of you —” she stopped in utter con-
fusion, and made what Bradshaw would have called
a “bee line" to the Hall.
The American, alternating between effulgent
joy and intense gloom, walked at her side. He was
wondering whether Edith would relent and accept
his proposal. Had it not been for that now appall-
ing possibility, he was capable of prostrating him-
self at the feet of Miss Phyllis then and there,
although he had known her only three days — and,
be it confessed, Miss Phyllis was entirely capable of
accepting him. She had met what she urgently
needed, a man of whom she was afraid.
Edith, sunning herself on the balcony, gave them
a smiling welcome, delighted, though, it may be, a
trifle surprised, to see the pair such good friends.
“Well, young people,” she called out brightly.
Phyllis was full of her news. She adored Edith,
but there was a breathless joy in telling of Lester's
disappearance which overcame all other considera-
tions. She arrested Bradshaw with an imperious
gesture. “Stop there!” she said. Then, rushing
to her friend and clasping her in her arms, she poured
forth a narrative from which little was to be gathered
save that some calamity had befallen Lester.
286


Bradshaw “Makes Good”
Edith stiffened and drooped her head. The
situation justified a fainting fit; but she was not the
fainting type of woman, though she had fainted
once at the inquest under deep stress. Besides,
there was Bradshaw looking on.
“My dear girl,” she cried with a forced laugh,
“Dr. Lester is not a child. You must not think
that because there have been two extraordinary
incidents here, the place is abounding in murderers
and brigands.”
Yet she had become exceedingly pale, and her
mouth was awry with what she meant to be a smile
of indifference.
“Of course,” said Bradshaw, coming to the rescue.
“Lester's all right. So far as I could judge him, he
is a man who could easily lick his weight in wild-
cats. At the same time, I'd feel pretty good if he'd
put in an appearance.”
“Do not let us worry ourselves about Dr. Lester,"
repeated Edith. “He is, I am sure, quite capable
of taking care of himself. If you will come in,
Phyllis, I will give you some of the loveliest choco-
lates you have ever tasted."
Bradshaw, slightly surprised by her seeming flip-
pancy, strolled away with Phyllis toward a flight of
steps leading to the veranda. But, when they reached
the top, Edith had left the garden to see Wilson, who
had sent an earnest request for an interview.
287


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Edith was beloved and respected by all the ser-
vants — respected all the more because, whether as
Lord Arncliffe's paid secretary or as the mistress of
Arncliffe Hall, she had always treated them with
the same unfailing and kindly dignity.
“Well, Wilson ?" she asked, as the groom stood
twirling his cap uneasily in his hand. “What
is it?"
“Why, miss, I -I- of course it may be nothing,
but I thought it my duty to tell you. I heard down
at the inn that Dr. Lester has not been there all
night, and something has come to my knowledge
which makes me think it possible the gentleman
has met foul play.”
“Yes,” said Edith, wondering what there could
be behind all this mystery, “yes, go on!”
“Well, miss, there's a young lady I – I am keep-
ing company with, and last night she saw Master
Harry driving like mad with some one in the gig.
There seemed to be a sort of bundle under the apron,
and she's pretty sure that there was a foot sticking
out at the side of the trap, I know it's not my place
to speak against Mr. Warren, but there are some
queer rumors. Any one could see that Master
Harry was jealous of the doctor —"
“That will do, Wilson,” interrupted Edith, haugh-
tily. “You will remain here until I return."
She walked back to Bradshaw and Phyllis, out-
288


The Arncliffe Puzzle
him to show me where Mr. Warren was driving that
peculiar load.”
Phyllis tripped away elegantly. She would be
elegant on the Day of Judgment. And when she
had gone Bradshaw turned and took Edith's hands
in his.
"Little girl," he said gravely, “I think I had
better withdraw that proposal of mine. You told
me a dreadful fib. There is another man, after all.
What are you going to do if I bring him back? Will
you promise not to say any more nasty things to me
about Lord Arncliffe's money ?”.
“I will promise anything! said Edith, fervently.
Wilson cantered up, leading a horse for Bradshaw,
who turned to bid farewell to the two girls.
“Don't worry, Miss Holt,” he said. “Ten to
one Lester is all right; but if he isn't I will see him
through the game.”
“But you won't run any risks ?” pleaded Phyllis,
with the nearest approach to real anxiety she had
ever exhibited.
When an Englishman boasts, his hearers put him
down rightly as a mere braggart, but it is dangerous
to judge an American on the same lines. He may
boast, but, in his own language, he “makes good.”
"Say,” remarked Bradshaw, confidently, “there
aren't any two men in the county who are going to
get ahead of me when I spread myself.”
290


Bradshaw “Makes Good”
He swung himself lightly into the saddle, took his
hat off, with a kindly smile to Edith and an ardent
glance at Phyllis, and cantered off with the easy
swing of a horseman bred on the Western prairies.
On to the village; two minutes of hasty chat with
Inspector Hobson, who, according to custom, had
gone down to the post-office, and then onward, ac-
companied by Wilson, until he reached the point
where May Mannering had seen Warren drive past.
“That will do,” said Bradshaw. “I will play a
lone hand now. Keep your mouth shut, partner,
and you are liable to earn money."
The American trotted slowly along the narrow
lane, scanning it closely as he went. There was
no trail that it was possible to follow. But he was
not looking for tracks, on the road. There were
altogether too many of them. What he wanted was
an indication of tracks leaving the road. And
presently he found them. The line of the dog-cart
over the moor was so distinct that he could follow
it at a hand gallop. To a man who had ridden the
prairies, the inequalities of the ground offered no
obstacles. He just hung his rein loose and left
matters to the horse.
He held on until he came in sight of the deserted
shooting-box, a place built almost like a Martello
tower. He pulled up his horse.
“I guess,” he murmured softly, and then, as the
291


The Arncliffe Puzzle
face of Leigh appeared at one of the windows,
“Surest thing, you know," he added, still quietly.
Without further ado, he tethered his horse to a
stump and walked briskly toward the door.
Leigh met him. Bradshaw had expected him to
meet him, and the two men stood a little apart
eyeing each other warily.
“Now," said Bradshaw, in placid self-commun-
ing, “if I didn't have a little gun in my pocket,
thirty-eight caliber, self-cocking, safety trigger, I'd
get licked out of my socks. I wouldn't fight that
man in a square rough and tumble for eleven and
a half million dollars.”
Leigh, however, did not seem inclined to fight.
He had often seen Bradshaw at the inn, and he made
a clumsy attempt to pass matters over.
“Good day, sir,” he said, pulling at his greasy cap.
“I know,” replied Bradshaw. “But where is
Dr. Lester ?"
The gypsy started, and then stepped forward
threateningly. “You know too much, maister,"
he growled.
“Not a bit,” said Bradshaw, cheerfully. “You
can never learn too much. But you had better
show me up to Dr. Lester, who, I presume, is
partaking of your hospitality at the present mo-
ment.”
Leigh cast a comprehensive eye around; he saw
292


Bradshaw “Makes Good”
that Bradshaw was alone. The American's lean
figure seemed to amuse him.
“Maister,” he said, “I am either going to put
you with Dr. Lester up there, or else I am going
to hurt you. But if I do that, it will be your own
fault.”
Bradshaw smiled grimly. “Partner,” he said
cheerfully, “there are two notches on the butt of
my gun, and they represent two men who are prob-
ably complaining of the drought at this very moment.
Throw up your hands, quick!”
And now that thirty-eight was covering the burly
figure of the poacher.
“I am giving you a little license because people
don't seem to know how to get shot in this God-
forsaken country, but I'll surely kill you in a min-
ute,” cried Bradshaw again.
He was indeed right when he said that English
people did not understand getting shot. Leigh did
not realize the peril of a pistol pointed at him by a
man who meant to shoot, and he ran forward like a
bull. Bradshaw, cool as ice, took a quiet aim at his
antagonist's body. He was going to hit him in the
solar plexus — that spot beloved of the prize-fighter.
If you hit a man there he goes down, and in addition
there is always the pleasing possibility of cutting
his spine in two. And so Bradshaw pulled the
trigger of his pistol. The hammer dropped, but
293


The Arncliffe Puzzle
no report followed. He pulled the trigger again,
but the hammer did not answer.
That beautiful thirty-eight “gun,” which had
faithfully killed two men, had gone out of order at
one of the most crucial moments of his life.
Bradshaw dodged away alertly, still pulling the
trigger in desperation, though he knew well that it
was hopeless to expect any result. Then he flung
the useless weapon at his adversary and bolted.
It was not a retreat, but merely a strategic retire-
ment. He could see clearly that he must be worsted
in a hand-to-hand fight with the gigantic poacher,
and he was looking around for some weapon with
which to equalize matters a little. He lighted
presently on a gnarled stick, a fair enough cudgel,
and returned to the fray with set teeth. Leigh sent
the disabled revolver spinning through the air to
him, and greeted this new attack with a burst of
bucolic laughter.
"Don't do it, maister," he cried. “You're a
rare plucked 'un, but there's nobody on all the bor-
der that can stand against me, old as I am."
“Isn't there?” said Bradshaw, dangerously calm.
"I don't belong here. The only border I know is
the Mexican border, and down there we see things
through to a finish.”
He was still advancing, and Leigh, realizing that
in the matter of activity he was at a serious disad-
294


The Arncliffe Puzzle
foe, from whose head there ran an ugly trickle of
blood. “And now for Lester.”
He strode into the house and instinctively made
his way to the upper rooms, coming at length to a
locked door.
“Lester!” he shouted: “Lester!”
There was no answer.
“Good Lord! They've wiped him out! I must
go and see if that old border champion has the key."
He went down again, and, to his surprise, found
Leigh sitting up and rubbing his head, a little dazed,
but apparently not much the worse for his injuries.
Bradshaw was frankly afraid even now of this man
with the sinister face and enormous chest develop-
ment, but he went up to him with all the arrogance
of a conqueror.
“Now, then,” he said, sharply, “Where is Dr.
Lester? No, no, sit quiet, my friend, or this time
I'll kill you for keeps!”
Leigh was thoroughly cowed. He had not for-
gotten that merciless blow, dealt him when he lay
helpless on the ground. This slightly built man,
with the thin mouth and unflinching eyes, was a
revelation to him.
“Don't be hard on a poor chap,” he whined.
“The doctor is up-stairs, as well as you are. I'd
just taken him a bit of grub when you came.”
“You're a liar!” was Bradshaw's uncompromis-
296


Bradshaw “Makes Good”
ing retort. “I've shouted myself hoarse without
obtaining any reply.”
Leigh almost chuckled.
“By gum!” he cried, “I told Maister Warren the
doctor was a real gentleman! He gave his word
he wouldn't utter a sound if we didn't gag him, and
I trusted him.”
“Here,” said Bradshaw, “ go up ahead of me and
let him out. No nonsense, mind, or I'll brain you."
Thus politely adjured, Leigh led the way to
Lester's prison-room, and in a minute rescued and
rescuer were clasping hands.
“Why in thunder didn't you answer when I
called just now ?" asked Bradshaw.
"I could not,” answered Lester, simply. “I had
given my word.”
“Say,” exclaimed his rescuer with some disgust,
"you are too good to be true. However, it's all
right now, and the sooner I restore you to your sor-
rowing friends the better. Do you know that Miss
Holt is worrying about you just a million times
more than you deserve ?”
“Miss Holt?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Holt. But come along -
you can ride behind me on my horse — and tell me
about things on the way. As for you, my friend,”
to Leigh, “I guess the British policeman will get
hold of you whenever you are wanted.”
297


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“I give up, sir,” said Leigh, calmly. “I saw Mr.
Warren knock the old gent on the head, and he's
been bribing me ever since to keep quiet. But I've
got the books he did it for, and I'm ready to hand
them over whenever they're wanted.”
“I have settled all that,” interposed Bradshaw.
“I suspected you directly Dr. Lester disappeared,
and by this time Detective Hobson has been through
your place with a search-warrant. Anyway, you
can vamoose now; but if you take my advice you
will stay and face the music."
Lester and Bradshaw mounted the horse and left
Leigh to consider the situation. Their mount was
a fine up-standing animal, and entirely capable of
carrying double weight for at least a fair portion of
the journey. Luckily, however, they fell in with a
farmer driving into the village when they reached
the road, and so Lester was given a lift.
Bradshaw was naturally eager for details of the
kidnapping of Lester, but, strangely enough, the
subject seemed utterly uninteresting to the young
doctor, who kept delicately engineering the con-
versation round to Edith. What he heard filled
his heart with happiness. Edith was true, after
all! And then came the despairing thought —
would she forgive him ?
Phyllis was right. Lester was going to be abject,
indeed.
298


CHAPTER XXI
MRS. WARREN IS SURPRISED
DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR HOBson fidgeted up and
down the broad drive leading to Arncliffe Hall.
True to his instincts, he lurked more or less among
the bordering bushes. To do him justice, he acted
so that he could see without being seen. That
humiliating experience with Leigh had not been lost
upon him.
But, when he caught sight of Lester and Brad-
shaw approaching the Hall there was no necessity
for concealment; so he ran out and waved them a
triumphant greeting. “I've got him!” he cried.
“I've got him!”
"Got whom?” asked Bradshaw, as they came
up. “Have you tracked the fell mare of night to
her nest at last ?”
"Oh, you may chaff, sir,” cried Hobson, cheerily.
“Anyway, I have laid by the heels the man who
knocked Mr. Aingier on the head, and I think I
have got hold of the man who murdered Lord Arn-
cliffe. He is one and the same person – Mr. Harry
Warren; and if Harry Warren does not stretch a
rope pretty soon you may call me an idiot!”
299


Mrs. Warren is Surprised
he had ceased to acknowledge compliments of the
sort with anything more than a sickly smile.
“Never mind, Sherlock," continued the New
Yorker, patting him on the shoulder. “I once met
an easier mark than you — in Sacramento about
ten years ago. Tell us how you got on.”
“Splendidly, sir,” answered Hobson, glad of an
opportunity to show himself in a favorable light.
"I obtained a search-warrant and went to Leigh's
cottage — accompanied, I don't mind telling you,
by P. C. Fox, who is as strong as a bull, for that
poacher would be a deuced nasty customer to
tackle.”
“Easy!” cried Bradshaw, complacently. “Dead
easy!”
He intended presently to allow the full details of
his battle with Leigh to be dragged from him.
“However, there was no need to produce the
warrant,” went on Hobson. “There was no one
in the place excepting an old woman who might
have been a hundred. And she was as dead as a
door-nail!”
“What I expected,” interposed Lester. “I might
have staved it off for a time, but when I told Leigh
my opinion he thought I was working for my own
ends, and would not believe me.”
“Well, gentlemen, we made a quick search.
There was not much furniture in the place, yet
301


The Arncliffe Puzzle
nothing turned up at first. There was an old iron-
bound box, and in it, if you'll believe me, we found
a stocking with nearly a hundred pounds, some of
the money dating back to George III.”
“Of course," said Bradshaw, with a little cough,
“P. C. Fox, as your subordinate, cannot expect to
share — "
“Oh, do let him tell his story, there's a good
chap,” interrupted Lester, earnestly. “This is a
serious matter, and considering what it means to
Miss Holt —”
Bradshaw shrugged his shoulders. “If I can't
infuse innocent joy into the proceedings, I'll dry
up," he said. “Proceed, Vidocq.”
“So,” continued the detective, “we moved the
poor old woman eventually, and searched the bed.
And there we found what we were looking for –
Lord Arncliffe's private account-book, and his pass-
book as well. Although the items in the private
book had all been checked, they did not tally with
the pass-book in dozens of cases. I should judge,
speaking roughly, that there is a defalcation of at
least three thousand pounds."
“But how does that incriminate Warren ?” asked
Bradshaw, aware that the detective was unaware
of Lester's exciting adventure, and wondering how
Hobson had reached his conclusions.
“Wait a minute, sir. I telephoned the bank at
302


Mrs. Warren is Surprised
So he built up a harrowing picture of himself
dying in an African swamp with her dear name
upon his lips, and in the midst of this pleasing
reverie, which lasted for perhaps ten minutes, he
was interrupted by the voice of Bradshaw.
"There you are, Miss Holt. Behold him, safe
and sound! Had a nasty smack on the head, but
I understand the great British people have re-
markably thick skulls. Good-by! I'll see you
later.”
Edith, lured into the room on utterly false pre-
tenses, stood spellbound at the sight of the man in
whose behalf she had been suffering agonies of
anxiety.
Lester, taken off his guard, bowed stiffly. "How
d'ye do ?” he said.
“Oh — how do you do? answered Edith, with
equal formality. She felt something of the instinct
which prompts a mother to slap her child because
he has just escaped being run over. She eyed him,
too, surreptitiously, and was indignant to see that
he looked well and strong as ever.
Lester stole a glance at her. The little red-gold
head was poised haughtily, and the scarlet flower
of a mouth was shut tightly as a poppy, at nightfall.
And lo! as Miss Phyllis predicted, Dr. Lester be-
came abject.
“Edith,” he began.
305


The Arncliffe Puzzle
“Dr. Lester!”
“I was jealous," he said. “Oh, my dearest,
forgive me: I was jealous!”
"Jealous ?” exclaimed Edith, with scornful in-
dignation. “I am not a housemaid, Dr. Lester, to
'walk out’ with this man to-day and that to-morrow.
I am glad I have learned in good time the sort of
estimation in which you hold me."
“In time!”
“Yes, in time. Jealous!”
“Well,” said he, miserably, “Mr. Aingier unfor-
tunately chanced to tell me it would be an ideal way
of settling the difficulty about Lord Arncliffe's
money; and Bradshaw had your arm in his, and —
and — you were laughing.”
“Terrible crimes! I gave my arm to a man who
was ill — and I was laughing! I won't detain you
any longer, Dr. Lester.” She moved toward the
door with graceful dignity.
With hopeless despair in his eyes, he stepped
forward mechanically to open it for her. Then, by
instinct, he did what he ought to have done at the
beginning of the interview — he took her in his
arms, resist she never so strenuously, kissed the
determined little mouth until it quivered into weak-
ness and her cheeks challenged its scarlet.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh! Please!”
“My little girl!”
306


Mrs. Warren is Surprised
“But I don't love you any more!” emphasizing
the fact by slipping a soft arm round his neck.
“Have you forgiven me, darling ?”
“Perhaps I have,” in a whisper.
“Then kiss me all by yourself.”
Bradshaw, coughing to an extent that was en-
tirely uncalled for, and apparently in serious diffi-
culties with the door-handle, entered the room.
“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said, looking merci-
lessly at Edith's rosy cheeks, “but Hobson is anx-
ious to see you both in the main hall. I told you,
Miss Holt, to expect developments, and although
any sort of scene must be unpleasant for you, I am
sure you will welcome anything which puts an end
to the strain of the past few weeks. Moreover, I
have a little surprise of my own for you."
“I shall indeed welcome an end to all these be-
wilderments and outrages,” was the reply. “I hope,
however, that your suprise will be a pleasant one?”
“Pretty good, I think.”
In one of the corridors they encountered Mrs.
Warren, and it seemed to Bradshaw that for a frac-
tion of a second her cheeks paled at the sight of
Lester. But her step remained so firm and her
voice so unbroken that he told himself he must be
mistaken.
“Good day, Dr. Lester,” she said. “I am glad
to see you safe and well. We were beginning to
307


The Arncliffe Puzzle
fear that you were fated to add another to the mys-
teries of Arncliffe." She passed on, with a jingle
of her keys.
Bradshaw looked after her curiously. “Have
you talked to Mrs. Warren about Lester's disap-
pearance ?” he asked Edith.
“Certainly not."
“Ah!” he said to himself, “a slip! She knows
the whole business. Well, I am sorry for the poor
woman.”
Arncliffe Hall was so extensive that ere they had
covered half their journey Edith was asking Brad-
shaw coaxingly what his surprise was.
“Patience is a virtue,” he said, with a smile.
But he broke out: “You won't have to wait. Here
comes the surprise, right in front of you!"
Edith looked up, and then, with a shriek of
“Reggie!” flung herself into the arms of a hand-
some youth, kissing him with a delighted abandon
which made Lester's blood run cold, until the like-
ness helped him to realize that this was the brother
whom Edith held so dear.
“You dear, bad boy! Why didn't you let me
know? Did you receive my letter? Of course not.
There has not been time. Why did you come ?”
And she asked so many questions in a breath that
the newcomer had no chance to answer a single one
of them.
308


Mrs. Warren is Surprised
“Cabled him to come over,” explained Bradshaw,
tersely, when order was at length restored.
“But how did you know?” asked Edith in utter
atsonishment.
“Clerk in my office. He used to talk so much
about the place in England where his sister lived
that he riled every free-born American in the place.
Said it knocked spots out of the Central Park —
which it does, for a fact. Anyway, I heard him
mention as a coincidence with my name that Lord
Arncliffe was originally Sir William Bradshaw, and
that is really the chance which led to my coming
here."
“I am so glad Reggie was in your office,” said
Edith. “I understood he was employed by one of
those horrid trusts.”
“The fact is, Miss Holt,” confessed the American,
"I am a “horrid Trust.' Amalgamated Lumber —
that's me.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” exclaimed Lester,
" that you are Bradshaw the millionaire ? Why, I
thought he was a middle-aged man.”
“Well, I am middle-aged — for the States."
“And do you force other people to sell their busi-
nesses to you or else crush them ?” asked Edith,
reproachfully.
“Sure,” answered Bradshaw, cheerfully. “That's
part of the game. And if you'll believe me, Miss
309


The Arncliffe Puzzle
Holt, I have a list of the widows and orphans I
have despoiled brought up to me every morning
before breakfast. It amuses me, and keeps me
from becoming a dyspeptic, like other masters of
the art.”
He said this so solemnly that Edith, a little be-
wildered by the events of the past quarter of an hour,
looked at him doubtfully. Then she saw light.
“But you would not take any of Lord Arncliffe's
money,” she cried triumphantly.
“Why no, I don't value any money unless I earn
it. And, to tell you the truth, I have rather more
than I know what to do with, anyway. If you like,
I will give a free library to Arncliffe. Or,” he added,
“if Dr. Lester intends to practise here I might endow
a cemetery.”
“You are a horrid man,” cried Edith with mock
indignation, “and I am glad Reggie won't be under
your influence any longer.”
“Why,” exclaimed young Holt, aghast, "you are
not going to get rid of me, Mr. Bradshaw ?”
"It is not that,” interrupted Edith. “Of course
you cannot remain a clerk under present cir-
cumstances. If you would like to go into the
army —”
“The army.' cried Reggie, with an emphatic
sniff, for he had imbibed much of the American
spirit in a short period. “I mean to work, and I
310


Mrs. Warren is Surprised
am going back to New York just as soon as you are
comfortably fixed.”
And later Edith realized that her brother was
right. Only in strenuous endeavor lay redemption
of the past and salvation for the future.
Mr. and Mrs. Aingier were sitting in a win-
dowed recess in the entrance hall listening to the
seemingly artless prattle of Miss Harland, when
Edith and the rest came up. Lester and Phyllis
had not, of course, met. Indeed, he was unaware
of her presence at the Hall — and hence he natur-
ally regarded the dainty little beauty with some
curiosity.
Phyllis also was interested in the man who had
caused her bosom friend so many heartburnings.
“Just as I said!” she commented to herself. “A
nasty square jaw and a mouth like a rat-trap. I
should like to punish him.”
Phyllis had only one way of punishing a man.
To Bradshaw's unutterable indignation, she left
her hand in Lester's for a full ten seconds, gazing
up at him the while with big trustful eyes that had
in them a suspicion of naive admiration. Men are
only human, and Lester regarded this welcome as a
natural tribute to his manly excellence.
Meanwhile Edith lost no detail of the pretty little
scene. Perhaps the ultimate results of Miss Har-
land's flirtatious habits might have been disastrous
311


CHAPTER XXII
THE EXPIATION
ONE person, however, had not forgotten it. At
the farther end of the spacious entrance hall De-
tective Hobson was watching the drive expectantly.
It was no part of his plan that Warren should meet
Leigh and thus learn of Lester's rescue. So he sent
Wilson to find the agent, with a message that Mrs.
Warren wished to see him immediately. Hobson
caught the sound of distant wheels, and his face
brightened. Then, at length, a dog-cart came into
view, driven in Warren's usual furious style. That
was enough for the detective. He walked up to
Lester and Bradshaw, drawing them aside for a
moment, and then he led them onward and out on
to the drive.
He hailed Warren, who pulled up his steaming
horse.
“Oh, Mr. Warren,” said the detective, genially,
"your mother has been asking for you everywhere.
I saw her inside there a moment ago."
Warren beckoned to a gardener's boy. “Here,
take the cart to the stables,” he said, striding toward
314


The Arncliffe Puzzle
The old housekeeper was so ghost white that the
very sight of her brought a tightening of the heart.
Warren laughed hysterically when he saw his mother
and he turned to Hobson with an air of bravado.
“All right!” he said gruffly, “I confess the whole
business. I poisoned Lord Arncliffe and I attacked
Mr. Aingier to obtain possession of the books which
showed my defalcations. Sorry, Mr. Aingier, but
'needs must when the devil drives' — you know.
Now, is that sufficient, or am I to be kept here any
longer to amuse the company and torture a poor
old woman ?”
“Yes,” broke in Lester, always generous. “This
is infamous, Hobson. “You might very well have
arrested Mr. Warren privately. In fact, I under-
stood -"
“You will please allow me to carry out my busi-
ness in my own way, Dr. Lester,” said the police
officer, with a certain stern dignity. “I represent
the crown now, and I will not allow you or anybody
else to interfere with me in the execution of my
duties.”
While this unexpected altercation was taking
place Mrs. Warren came forward slowly, with the
firm step and impassive face of a woman born to
command.
“It is all over, mother,” muttered Warren, hur-
riedly. “I have confessed to the murder of Lord
316


The Expiation
Amcliffe and everything else, so the less said the
better.”
“I am glad to hear you say that, Harry," she
answered, a gleam of the wonderful mother-love
coming for a fleeting instant into her calm eyes.
“You were always a loving son, whatever else you
have been. But this farce must stop before it be-
comes a tragedy."
“Not another word, mother!” growled Warren,
almost brutally. “Don't listen to her,” he shouted
in a frenzy, raising his manacled hands in entreaty.
He almost flung himself on Hobson. “Take me
away, d-n you. Why are you keeping me here?”
he bellowed again.
Mrs. Warren silenced him with a pitiful gesture.
“No, my boy,” she murmured. “At the best, I
could look forward to only a few more years, while
you, even if they imprison you, may yet enjoy some-
thing of life. Gentlemen, it was I who poisoned
Lord Arncliffe!”
Mrs. Aingier and the two girls looked at the stately
housekeeper in wondering horror, but the old solici-
tor, learned in the ways of the world, shook his head.
“What a miraculous thing is that maternal love
which lasts from the cradle to the grave!” he whis-
pered to Lester. “But it will not save her son, poor
woman.”
Hobson, however, seemed to be of a different
317


The Expiation
“Let us reach the end,” she cried imperiously.
“I killed Lord Arncliffe because I was afraid he
would discover my son's defalcations, and I knew
that from him no mercy was to be expected. Most
people have regarded Lord Arncliffe as the famous
philanthropist, the benefactor of his species. To
me he was an unrelenting and inveterate enemy."
She paused, and seemed to sway a little, but she
waved aside the chair which Lester offered her.
"Forty years ago,” she went on, “William Brad-
shaw and I were engaged to be married. Then I
met Harry Warren, and, although Mr. Bradshaw
was even then wealthy, I gave up riches for poverty
and married the man I loved. I never regretted it,
and my discarded lover never forgave me. When
my husband died, fifteen years after our marriage,
I was left destitute, with a baby three years old de-
pendent upon me. It was then that Lord Arncliffe
asked me to come and see him. As he was an in-
valid at the time, I thought," and her features
yielded to bitter memory for an instant, “he intended
to renew his old proposal. For my son's sake, I
was prepared to accept it, but I soon learnt that he
merely required a housekeeper — some one to look
after his servants and see that his table was kept
creditably.
“I was glad! A competence was forthcoming,
and I had my son at my side. And I was free to
319


The Arncliffe Puzzle
statement and the papers she left, that the police
will charge him with anything more, and, in case of
a mother and son, he will get off with next to nothing.
Of course, there are the three other charges — the
robbing of Lord Arncliffe, and the attacks on Mr.
Aingier and Dr. Lester. However, if those are
dropped, I do not suppose the public prosecutor
will take them up.”
“Well, Dr. Lester is not going to take any pro-
ceedings, and I am sure Mr. Aingier will not.”
“Why, my dear,” said the old lawyer, mildly,
“the young rascal hit me a very severe blow on the
head, and the place is exceedingly tender. Still, if
you wish it — ”
"I am sure,” interrupted Mrs. Aingier, who had
not slept all night, “I do not want to be vindictive
or unchristian, but my dear husband might have
been killed, and I really feel that Warren deserves
some little punishment. Fifteen or twenty years'
penal servitude —”
“I think, Mrs. Aingier,” interposed Edith with a
slight accession of the marquise manner, "you owe
me some reparation for the manner in which you
behaved toward me. Certainly, no one who dis-
obliges me now in this matter can again become
or remain my friend.”
“Oh, very well,” sighed the lawyer's wife, “but
don't blame me if we are all murdered in our beds."
324


The Expiation
“Very well, miss,” said Hobson. “You need
not have any further anxiety in the matter. What
is wanted is a little influence, and, considering what
an old friend Mr. Aingier is of the treasury solici-
tor, I do not think influence will be lacking.”
Aingier, thus attacked, had to admit that he was
not without power in certain quarters.
And it may here be said that Harry Warren was
acquitted, there being no direct evidence that he
was aware of his mother's crime. Edith’s liberality
gave him every chance of making a fresh start in
the world. When he bade Lester, ever kindly and
generous, good-by at Liverpool, he unquestionably
quitted Britain with the intention of living a clean,
honest life in the future.
Respecting Lord Arncliffe's legacy of ten thousand
pounds for the discovery of his murderer, Hobson
pointed out that from the first he had suspected
Mrs. Warren to be the guilty party, and he arrested
her son in such a dramatic manner only to force a
confession from her lips; but Edith, having dis-
cretionary powers, awarded half the money to him
and half to Wilson and May Mannering on their
marriage. The detective proved his statement,
but even he could not deny that the true dénoue-
ment came with the rescue of Lester. Further,
Edith was convinced that the fortunate accident
of May Mannering seeing something unusual in
325





.
.