WIDENER
HN P94I A



23610. 3.34
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY

VERDE
PURCHASED FROM THE
BOSTON LIBRARY SOCIETY
WITH INCOME FROM THE
AMEY RICHMOND SHELDON FUND
1941








THE
HERAPATH
PROPERTY


THE
HERAPATH
PROPERTY
u. BY
J. S. FLETCHER

NEW YORK
ALFRED · A · KNOPF
MCMXXII


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING, 9
II Is IT MURDER ? 18
III BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE, 27
IV THE PRESSMAN, 36
V THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH, 45
VI THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER, 54
VII Is THERE A WILL? 64
VIII THE SECOND WITNESS, 74
IX GREEK AGAINST GREEK, 83
X MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY, 91
XI THE SHADOW, 100
XII FOR TEN PER CENT, 109
XIII ADJOURNED, 118
XIV THE SCOTTISH VERDICT, 127
XV Young BBAINS, 136
XVI NAMELESS FEAR, 145
XVII THE LAW, 154
XVIII THE ROSEWOOD Box, 163
XIX WEAVING THE NET, 172
XX THE DIAMOND RING, 181


vi
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
XXI THE DESERTED FLAT, 190
XXII YEA AND NAY, 199
XXIII THE ACCUSATION, 208
XIV COLD STEEL, 217
XXV PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS, 226
XXVI THE REMAND PRISON, 235
XXVII THE LAST CHEQUE, 244
XXVIII THE HOTEL RAVENNA, 253
XXIX THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK, 263
XXX THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY, 273
XXXI THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY, 283
XXXII THE YORKSHIRE PROVERB, 290
XXXIII BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE, 294
XXXIV DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD, 304
XXXV THE SECOND WARRANT, 312


THE
HERAPATH
PROPERTY





CHAPTER I
JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING
This was the third week of Selwood's secretaryship
to Jacob Herapath. Herapath was a well-known man
in London. He was a Member of Parliament, the
owner of a sort of model estate of up-to-date flats,
and something of a crank about such matters as ven-
tilation, sanitation, and lighting. He himself, a
bachelor, lived in one of the best houses in Portman
Square; when he engaged Selwood as his secretary
he made him take a convenient set of rooms in Upper
Seymour Street, close by. He also caused a telephone
communication to be set up between his own house
and Selwood's bedroom, so that he could summon
his secretary at any hour of the night. Herapath
occasionally had notions about things in the small
hours, and he was one of those active, restless persons
who, if they get a new idea, like to figure on it at
once. All the same, during those three weeks he had
not once troubled his secretary in this fashion. No
call came to Selwood over that telephone until half-
past seven one November morning, just as he was
thinking of getting out of bed. And the voice which
then greeted him was not Herapath's. It was a
rather anxious, troubled voice, and it belonged to one


10 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Kitteridge, a middle-aged man, who was Herapath's
butler.
In the act of summoning Selwood, Kitteridge was
evidently interrupted by some person at his elbow;
all that Selwood made out was that Kitteridge wanted
him to go round at once. He dressed hurriedly, and
ran off to Herapath's house; there in the hall, near
the door of a room which Herapath used as a study
and business room, he found Kitteridge talking to
Mountain, Herapath's coachman, who, judging by the
state of his attire, had also been called hurriedly from
his bed.
“What is it, Kitteridge?” demanded Selwood.
“Mr. Herapath ill?”
The butler shook his head and jerked his thumb
towards the open door of the study.
“The fact is, we don't know where Mr. Herapath
is, sir,” he answered. “He hasn't slept in his bed,
and he isn't in the house."
“Possibly he didn't come home last night," sug.
gested Selwood. “He may have slept at his club, or
at an hotel."
The butler and the coachman looked at each other
—then the coachman, a little, sharp-eyed man who
was meditatively chewing a bit of straw, opened his
tightly-compressed lips.
“He did come home, sir,” he said. “I drove
him home-as usual. I saw him let himself into
the house. One o'clock sharp, that was. Oh, yes,
he came home!”
“He came home,” repeated Kitteridge. “Look


JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING 11
here, sir.” He led the way into the study and
pointed to a small table set by the side of Herapath's
big business desk. “You see that tray, Mr. Sel-
wood ? That's always left out, there, on that table,
for Mr. Herapath every night. A small decanter
of whiskey, a syphon, a few sandwiches, a dry bis-
cuit or two. Well, there you are, sir-he's had a
drink out of that glass, he's had a mouthful or so
of sandwiches. Oh, yes, he came home, but he's not
at home now! Charlesworth—the valet, you know,
sir-always goes into Mr. Herapath's room at a quar-
ter past seven every morning; when he went in just
now he found that Mr. Herapath wasn't there, and
the bed hadn't been slept in. So—that's where
things stand.”
Selwood looked round the room. The curtains had
not yet been drawn aside, and the electric light cast
a cold glare on the various well-known objects and
fittings. He glanced at the evidences of the supper
tray; then at the blotting-pad on Herapath's desk;
there he might have left a note for his butler or his
secretary. But there was no note to be seen.
“Still, I don't see that there's anything to be
alarmed about, Kitteridge,” he said. “Mr. Herapath
may have wanted to go somewhere by a very early
morning train "
"No, sir, excuse me, that won't do,” broke in the
butler. “I thought of that myself. But if he'd
wanted to catch a night train, he'd have taken a
travelling coat, and a rug, and a bag of some sort
-he's taken nothing at all in that way. Besides,


JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING 13
key in the latch as I drove off to our stables. And
that's all I know about it."
Selwood turned to the butler.
“I suppose no one was up at that time?” he in-
quired.
“Nobody, sir,” answered Kitteridge. “There
never is. Mr. Herapath, as you've no doubt observed,
is a bit strict in the matter of rules, and it's one of
his rules that everybody in the house must be in bed
by eleven-thirty. No one was ever to sit up for him
on any occasion. That's why this supper-tray was
always left ready. His usual time for coming in
when he'd been at the House was twelve o'clock.”
“Everybody in the house might be in bed," ob-
served Selwood, “but not everybody might be asleep.
Have you made any inquiry as to whether anybody
heard Mr. Herapath moving about in the night, or
leaving the house? Somebody may have heard the
hall door opened and closed, you know.”
“I'll make inquiry as to that, sir,” responded Kit-
teridge, “but I've heard nothing of the sort so far,
and all the servants are aware by now that Mr. Hera-
path isn't in the house. If anybody had heard any.
thing— "
Before the butler could say more the study door
opened and a girl came into the room. At sight of
her Selwood spoke hurriedly to Kitteridge.
“Have you told Miss Wynne?” he whispered.
“Does she know?”
“She may have heard from her maid, sir," replied


JACOB HERAPATH IS MISSING 15
rather an hour later than usual. Mountain brought
him home at one o'clock, and he saw him let himself
in with his latch-key."
Peggie Wynne turned to the coachman.
“You're sure that he entered the house?” she
asked.
“As sure as I could be, miss,” replied Mountain.
“He was putting his key in the door when I drove
off.”
“He must have come in,” said Kitteridge, point-
ing to the tray. “He had something after he got in."
"Well, go and tell the servants not to talk, Kit-
teridge,” said Peggie. “My uncle, no doubt, had
reasons for going out again. Have you said anything
to Mr. Tertius ?”
"Mr. Tertius isn't down yet, miss," answered the
butler.
He left the room, followed by the coachman, and
Peggie turned to Selwood. “What do you think?”
she asked, with a slight show of anxiety. “You don't
know of any reason for this, do you?”
“None,” replied Selwood. “And as to what I
think, I don't know sufficient about Mr. Herapath's
habits to be able to judge.”
“He never did anything like this before," she re-
marked. “I know that he sometimes gets up in the
middle of the night and comes down here, but I
never knew him to go out. If he'd been setting off
on a sudden journey he'd surely have let me know.
Perhaps "


16 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
She paused suddenly, seeing Selwood lift his eyes
from the papers strewn about the desk to the door.
She, too, turned in the same direction.
A man had come quietly into the room-a slightly-
built, little man, grey-bearded, delicate-looking, whose
eyes were obscured by a pair of dark-tinted spectacles.
He moved gently and with an air of habitual shyness,
and Selwood, who was naturally observant, saw that
his lips and his hands were trembling slightly as he
came towards them.
“Mr. Tertius," said Peggie, "do you know any.
thing about Uncle Jacob? He came in during the
night-one o'clock—and now he's disappeared. Did
he say anything to you about going away early this
morning?”
Mr. Tertius shook his head.
“No-no-nothing!” he answered. “Disap-
peared! Is it certain he came in ?”
“Mountain saw him come in,” she said. “Besides,
he had a drink out of that glass, and he ate something
from the tray-see!”.
Mr. Tertius bent his spectacled eyes over the supper
tray and remained looking at what he saw there for
a while. Then he looked up, and at Selwood.
"Strange!” he remarked. “And yet, you know,
he is a man who does things without saying a word
to any one. Have you, now, thought of telephon-
ing to the estate office? He may have gone there."
Peggie, who had dropped into the chair at Hera-
path's desk, immediately jumped up.
“Of course we must do that at once!” she ex-


CHAPTER II
IS IT MURDER ?
It struck Selwood, afterwards, as a significant thing
that it was neither he nor Mr. Tertius who took the
first steps towards immediate action. Even as he
spoke, Peggie was summoning the butler, and her
orders were clear and precise.
“Kitteridge,” she said quietly, “order Robson to
bring the car round at once-as quickly as possible.
In the meantime, send some coffee into the break-
fast-room-breakfast itself must wait until we return.
Make haste, Kitteridge.”
Selwood turned on her with a doubtful look.
“You-you aren't going down there?” he asked.
“Of course I am!” she answered. “Do you think
I should wait here—wondering what had happened !
We will all go—come and have some coffee, both of
you, while we wait for the car.”
The two followed her into the breakfast-room and
silently drank the coffee which she presently poured
out for them. She, too, was silent, but when she had
left the room to make ready for the drive Mr Tertius
turned to Selwood.
“You heard—what?” he asked.
“Nothing definite," answered Selwood. “All I
18


IS IT MURDER?
19
heard was that Mr. Herapath was there, and there
was something seriously wrong, and would we go
down at once.”
Mr. Tertius made no comment. He became thought-
ful and abstracted, and remained so during the jour-
ney down to Kensington. Peggie, too, said nothing
as they sped along; as for Selwood, he was wonder-
ing what had happened, and reflecting on this sud-
den stirring up of mystery. There was mystery
within that car-in the person of Mr. Tertius. Dur-
ing his three weeks' knowledge of the Herapath
household Selwood had constantly wondered who Mr.
Tertius was, what his exact relationship was, what
his position really was. He knew that he lived in
Jacob Herapath's house, but in a sense he was not
of the family. He seldom presented himself at
Herapath's table, he was rarely seen about the house;
Selwood remembered seeing him occasionally in Hera-
path's study or in Peggie Wynne's drawing-room.
He had learnt sufficient to know that Mr. Tertius had
rooms of his own in the house; two rooms in some
upper region; one room on the ground-floor. Once
Selwood had gained a peep into that ground-floor
room, and had seen that it was filled with books, and
that its table was crowded with papers, and he had
formed the notion that Mr. Tertius was some book-
worm or antiquary, to whom Jacob Herapath for
some reason or other gave house-room. That he was
no relation Selwood judged from the way in which
he was always addressed by Herapath and by Peggie
Wynne. To them as to all the servants he was Mr.


20 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Tertius—whether that was his surname or not, Sel-
wood did not know.
There was nothing mysterious or doubtful about
the great pile of buildings at which the automobile
presently stopped. They were practical and concrete
facts. Most people in London knew the famous
Herapath Flats—they had aroused public interest
from the time that their founder began building
them.
Jacob Herapath, a speculator in real estate, had
always cherished a notion of building a mass of high-
class residential flats on the most modern lines.
Nothing of the sort which he contemplated, he said,
existed in London—when the opportunity came he
would show the building world what could and should
be done. The opportunity came when a parcel of land
in Kensington fell into the market-Jacob Herapath
made haste to purchase it, and he immediately began
building on it. The result was a magnificent mass
of buildings which possessed every advantage and
convenience-to live in a Herapath flat was to live
in luxury. Incidentally, no one could live in one
who was not prepared to pay a rental of anything
from five to fifteen hundred a year. The gross rental
of the Herapath Flats was enormous—the net profits
were enough to make even a wealthy man's mouth
water. And Selwood, who already knew all this,
wondered, as they drove away, where all this wealth
would go if anything had really happened to its
creator.
The entrance to the Herapath estate office was in


IS IT MURDER?
21
Selo
about
mobile
Ocrete
amous
terest
Elding
e, had
E high-
lines
e said.
me he
should
an archway which led to one of the inner squares
of the great buildings. When the car stopped at it,
Selwood saw that there were police within the open
doorway. One of them, an inspector, came forward,
looking dubiously at Peggie Wynne. Selwood has-
tened out of the car and made for him.
“I'm Mr. Herapath's secretary-Mr. Selwood,” he
said, drawing the inspector out of earshot. “Is any-
thing seriously wrong?—better tell me before Miss
Wynne hears. He isn't-dead?”
The inspector gave him a warning look.
“That's it, sir," he answered in a low voice.
“Found dead by the caretaker in his private office.
And it's here-Mr. Selwood, it's either suicide or
murder. That's flat!”
Selwood got his two companions inside the building
and into a waiting-room. Peggie turned on him at
once.
“I see you know,” she said. “Tell me at once
what it is. Don't be afraid, Mr. Selwood—I'm not
likely to faint nor to go into hysterics. Neither is
Mr. Tertius. Tell us—is it the worst ?"
“Yes,” said Selwood. “It is."
“He is dead?” she asked in a low voice. “You
are sure? Dead?”
Selwood bent his head by way of answer; when he
looked up again the girl had bent hers, but she quickly
lifted it, and except that she had grown pale, she
showed no outward sign of shock or emotion. As
for Mr. Tertius, he, too, was calm-and it was he
who first broke the silence.
Of land
rapath
mas
se and
to live
in one
Jything
Tenta
profits
mouth
Ill this
Freali
to its
was in


22 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“How was it?” he asked. “A seizure?”
Selwood hesitated. Then, seeing that he had to
deal with two people who were obviously in full
control of themselves, he decided to tell the truth.
“I'm afraid you must be prepared to hear some
unpleasant news," he said, with a glance at the in-
spector, who just then quietly entered the room.
“The police say it is either a case of suicide or of
murder.”
Peggie looked sharply from Selwood to the police
official, and a sudden flush of colour flamed into her
cheeks.
“Suicide?” she exclaimed. “Never! Murder?
That may be. Tell me what you have found," she
went on eagerly. “Don't keep things back !—don't
you see I want to know?”.
The inspector closed the door and came nearer to
where the three were standing.
“Perhaps I'd better tell you what we do know,”
he said. “Our station was rung up by the caretaker
here at five minutes past eight. He said Mr. Hera-
path had just been found lying on the floor of his
private room, and they were sure something was
wrong, and would we come round. I came myself
with one of our plain-clothes men who happened to
be in, and our surgeon followed us a few minutes
later. We found Mr. Herapath lying across the
hearthrug in his private room, quite dead. Close
by- " He paused and looked dubiously at Peggie.
“The details are not pleasant,” he said meaningly.
“Shall I omit them ?”


IS IT MURDER?
23
ad to
i full
truth
some
ze in
room.
or of
police
“No!" answered Peggie with decision. “Please
omit nothing. Tell us all.”
"There was a revolver lying close by Mr. Hera-
path's right hand,” continued the inspector. “One
chamber had been discharged. Mr. Herapath had
been shot through the right temple, evidently at close
quarters. I should say—and our surgeon says-he
had died instantly. And I think that's all I need
say just now."
Peggie, who had listened to this with unmoved
countenance, involuntarily stepped towards the door.
“Let us go to him," she said. “I suppose he's
still here?”
But there Selwood, just as involuntarily, asserted
an uncontrollable instinct. He put himself between
the door and the girl.
“No!” he said firmly, wondering at himself for
his insistence. “Don't! There's no need for that,
yet. You mustn't go. Mr. Tertius "
“Better not just yet, miss,” broke in the inspector.
"The doctor is still here. Afterwards, perhaps. If
you would wait here while these gentlemen go with
o her
don't
This
was
me.”
1 to
Lutes
Peggie hesitated a moment; then she turned away
and sat down.
“Very well,” she said.
The inspector silently motioned the two men to
follow him; with his hand on the door Selwood turned
again to Peggie.
“You will stay here?” he said. “You won't follow
us?”


24 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“I shall stay here,” she answered. “Stop a minute
-there's one thing that should be thought of. My
cousin Barthorpe "
"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath has been sent for, miss
-he'll be here presently,” replied the inspector.
“The caretaker's telephoned to him. Now gentlemen."
He led the way along a corridor to a room with
which Selwood was familiar enough-an apartment
of some size which Jacob Herapath used as a business
office and kept sacred to himself and his secretary.
When he was in it no one ever entered that room
except at Herapath's bidding; now there were
strangers in it who had come there unbidden, and
Herapath lay in their midst, silent for ever. They
had laid the lifeless body on a couch, and Selwood
and Mr. Tertius bent over it for a moment before
they turned to the other men in the room. The dead
face was calm enough; there was no trace of sudden
fear on it, no signs of surprise or anger or violent
passion.
“If you'll look here, gentlemen,” said the police-
inspector, motioning them towards the broad hearth-
rug. "This is how things were-nothing had been
touched when we arrived. He was lying from there
to here-he'd evidently slipped down and sideways
out of that chair, and had fallen across the rug.
The revolver was lying a few inches from his right
hand. Here it is.”
He pulled open a drawer as he spoke and produced
a revolver which he carefully handled as he showed
it to Selwood and Mr. Tertius.


IS IT MURDER?
25
Gnotz
ector.
with
ment
ܕܵܕܵin
Eart
Food
were
and
They
Food
efore
“Have either of you gentlemen ever seen that be-
fore?” he asked. “I mean-do you recognize it as
having belonged to-him? You don't? Never seen
it before, either of you? Well, of course he might
have kept a revolver in his private desk or in his safe,
and nobody would have known. We shall have to
make an exhaustive search and see if we can find any
cartridges or anything. However, that's what we
found-and, as I said before, one chamber had been
discharged. The doctor here says the revolver had
been fired at close quarters.”
Mr. Tertius, who had watched and listened with
marked attention, turned to the police surgeon.
“The wound may have been self-inflicted ?” he
asked.
“From the position of the body, and of the re-
volver, there is strong presumption that it was," re-
plied the doctor.
“Yet—it may not have been ?” suggested Mr. Ter-
tius, mildly.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. It was easy to
see what his own opinion was.
“It may not have been-as you say,” he answered.
“But if he was shot by some other person-mur-
dered, that is—the murderer must have been standing
either close at his side, or immediately behind him.
Of this I am certain—he was sitting in that chair,
at his desk, when the shot was fired.”
“And-what would the immediate effect be?” asked
Mr. Tertius.
“He would probably start violently, make as if
Head
dden
Olent
Llice
arth-
been
here
Tare
rug.
reed


26 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
to rise, drop forward against the desk and gradually
-but quickly-subside to the floor in the position
in which he was found,” replied the doctor. “As
he fell he would relinquish his grip on the revolver-
it is invariably a tight grip in these cases and it
would fall—just where it was found.”
“Still, there is nothing to disprove the theory that
the revolver may have been placed-where it was
found ?” suggested Mr. Tertius.
“Oh, certainly it may have been placed there!”
said the doctor, with another shrug of the shoulders.
“A cool and calculating murderer may have placed
it there, of course."
“Just so,” agreed Mr. Tertius. He remained si-
lently gazing at the hearthrug for a while; then he
turned to the doctor again. “Now, how long do you
think Mr. Herapath had been dead when you were
called to the body?” he asked.
“Quite eight hours," answered the doctor promptly.
“Eight hours!” exclaimed Mr. Tertius. “And you
first saw him at- "
“A quarter past eight,” said the doctor. “I should
say he died just about midnight.”
“Midnight!” murmured Mr. Tertius. “Midnight?
Then "
Before he could say more, a policeman, stationed
in the corridor outside, opened the door of the room,
and glancing at his inspector, announced the arrival
of Mr. Barthorpe Herapath.


CHAPTER III
BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE
The man who strode into the room as the police-
man threw the door open for him immediately made
two distinct impressions on the inspector and the
doctor, neither of whom had ever seen him before.
The first was that he instantly conveyed a sense of
alert coolness and self-possession; the second that,
allowing for differences of age, he was singularly like
the dead man who lay in their midst. Both were
tall, well-made men; both were clean-shaven; both
were much alike as to feature and appearance. Apart
from the fact that Jacob Herapath was a man of
sixty and grey-haired, and his nephew one of thirty to
thirty-five and dark-haired, they were very much alike
-the same mould of nose, mouth, and chin, the same
strength of form. The doctor noted this resemblance
particularly, and he involuntarily glanced from the
living to the dead.
Barthorpe Herapath bent over his dead uncle for
no more than a minute. His face was impassive, al-
most .stern as he turned to the others. He nodded
slightly to Mr. Tertius and to Selwood; then he gave
his attention to the officials.


28 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Yes ?” he said inquiringly and yet with a certain
tone of command. "Now tell me all you know of
this."
He stood listening silently, with concentrated at-
tention, as the inspector put him in possession of the
facts already known. He made no comment, asked no
questions, until the inspector had finished; then he
turned to Selwood, almost pointedly ignoring Mr.
Tertius.
“What is known of this in Portman Square, Mr.
Selwood ?” he inquired. “Tell me, briefly."
Selwood, who had only met Barthorpe Herapath
once or twice, and who had formed an instinctive
and peculiar dislike to him, for which he could not
account, accepted the invitation to be brief. In a
few words he told exactly what had happened at
Jacob Herapath's house.
“My cousin is here, then?” exclaimed Barthorpe.
“Miss Wynne is in the larger waiting-room down
the corridor," replied Selwood.
"I will go to her in a minute," said Barthorpe.
“Now, inspector, there are certain things to be done
at once. There will, of course, have to be an inquest
-your people must give immediate notice to the
coroner. Then—the body—that must be properly at-
tended to-that, too, you will see about. Before you
go away yourself, I want you to join me in collect-
ing all the evidence we can get on the spot. You
have one of your detective staff here?-good. Now,
have you searched-him ?”
The inspector drew open a drawer in the front


BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE 29
ertain
w of
of the
Led no
and be
apath
Active
d not
In
desk which occupied the centre of the room, and
pointed to some articles which lay within.
“Everything that we found upon him is in there,"
he answered. “You see there is not much—watch
and chain, pocket articles, a purse, some loose money,
a pocket-book, a cigar-case that's all. One matter
I should have expected to find, we didn't find.”
“What's that?" asked Barthorpe quickly.
“Keys," answered the inspector. “We found no
keys on him—not even a latch-key. Yet he must
have let himself in here, and I understand from the
caretaker that he must have unlocked this door after
he'd entered by the outer one."
Barthorpe made no immediate answer beyond a
murmur of perplexity.
“Strange," he said after a pause, during which
he bent over the open drawer. “However, that's
one of the things to be gone into. Close that drawer,
lock it up, and for the present keep the key yourself
-you and I will examine the contents later. Now
for these immediate inquiries. Mr. Selwood, will you
please telephone at once to Portman Square and tell
Kitteridge to send Mountain, the coachman, here-
instantly. Tell Kitteridge to come with him. In-
spector, will you see to this arrangement we spoke
of, and also tell the caretaker that we shall want him
presently? Now I will go to my cousin."
He strode off, still alert, composed, almost bustling
in his demeanour, to the waiting-room in which they
had left Peggie-a moment later, Selwood, following
him down the corridor, saw him enter and close the
ed at
Dorpe.
down
огре.
done
o the
e FOI
llect
You
NOW
front


30 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
door. And Selwood cursed himself for a fool for hat-
ing to think that these two should be closeted together,
for disliking the notion that Barthorpe Herapath
was Peggie Wynne's cousin—and now, probably, her
guardian protector. For during those three weeks
in which he had been Jacob Herapath's secretary,
Selwood had seen a good deal of his employer's niece,
and he was already well over the verge of falling in
love with her, and was furious with himself for dar-
ing to think of a girl who was surely one of the rich-
est heiresses in London. He was angry with him-
self, too, for disliking Barthorpe, for he was inclined
to cultivate common-sense, and common-sense coldly
reminded him that he did not know Barthorpe Hera-
path well enough to either like or dislike him.
Half an hour passed-affairs suggestive of the trag-
edy of the night went on in the Herapath Estate
Office. Two women in the garb of professional nurses
came quietly, and passed into the room where Hera-
path lay dead. A man arrayed in dismal black came
after them, summoned by the police who were busy at
the telephone as soon as Selwood had finished with
it. Selwood himself, having summoned Kitteridge
and Mountain, hung about, waiting. He heard the
police talking in undertones of clues and theories,
and of a coroner's inquest, and the like; now and
then he looked curiously at Mr. Tertius, who had
taken a seat in the hall and was apparently wrapped
in meditation. And still Barthorpe Herapath re-
mained closeted with Peggie Wynne.
A taxi drove up and deposited the butler and the


BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE 31
coachman at the door. Selwood motioned them inside.
“Mr. Barthorpe Herapath wants both of you," he
said curtly. “I suppose he will ask for you pres-
ently."
Kitteridge let out an anxious inquiry.
“The master, sir?” he exclaimed. “Is-
“Good heavens!” muttered Selwood. “I-of
course, you don't know. Mr. Herapath is dead."
The two servants started and stared at each other.
Before either could speak Barthorpe Herapath sud-
denly emerged from the waiting-room and looked
round the hall. He beckoned to the inspector, who
was talking in low tones with the detective, at a little
distance.
“Now, inspector," he said, “will you and your
officer come in? And the caretaker-and you, Kit-
teridge, and you, Mountain. Mr. Selwood, will you
come in, too?”
He stood at the door while those he had invited
inside passed into the room where Peggie still sat.
And as he stood there, and Selwood wound up the
little procession, Mr. Tertius rose and also made as
if to join the others. Barthorpe stopped him by
intruding himself between him and the door.
“This is a private inquiry of my own, Mr. Tertius,”
he said, with a meaning look.
Selwood, turning in sheer surprise at this announce-
ment, so pointed and so unmistakable, saw a faint
tinge of colour mount to the elder man's usually pale
cheeks. Mr. Tertius stopped sharply and looked at
Barthorpe in genuine surprise.


BARTHORPE TAKES CHARGE 33
to know of his movements last night. And first I
think we'll hear what the caretaker can tell us. Han-
cock,” he continued, turning to an elderly man who
looked like an ex-soldier, “I understand you found
my uncle's body?”
The caretaker, obviously much upset by the affairs
of the morning, pulled himself up to attention.
“I did, sir,” he replied.
“What time was that?"
“Just eight o'clock, sir-that's my usual time for
opening the office."
“Tell us exactly how you found him, Hancock."
“I opened the door of Mr. Herapath's private room,
sir, to pull up the blinds and open the window. When
I walked in I saw him lying across the hearth-rug.
Then I noticed the—the revolver.”
“And of course that gave you a turn. What did
you do? Go into the room ?”
“No, sir! I shut the door again, went straight to
the telephone and rang up the police-station. Then
I waited at the front door till the inspector there
came along."
“Was the front door fastened as usual when you
went to it at that time?”
“It was fastened as it always is, sir, by the latch.
It was Mr. Herapath's particular orders that it never
should be fastened any other way at night, because
he sometimes came in at night, with his latch-key."
“Just so. Now these offices are quite apart and
distinct from the rest of the building-mark that,
inspector! There's no way out of them into the build-


34 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
!
ing, nor any way out of the building into them. In
fact, the only entrance into these offices is by the
front door. Isn't that so, Hancock?"
“That's quite so, sir-only that one door."
“No area entrance or side-door?".
“None, sir-nothing but that.”
“And the only tenants in here—these offices—at
night are you •and your wife, Hancock?”
"That's all, sir."
“Now, where are your rooms ?”
“We've two rooms in the basement, sir-living-
room and kitchen and two rooms on the top floor
a bedroom and a bathroom.”
“On the top-floor. How many floors are there?”
“Well, sir, there's the basement—then there's this
-then there's two floors that's used by the clerks-
then there's curs.”
“That's to say there are two floors between your
bedroom and this ground floor?”
“Yes, sir—two.”
“Very well. Now, about last night. What time
did you and your wife go to bed ?”
“Eleven o'clock, sir-half an hour later than
usual.”
“You'd previously looked round, I suppose ?”
“Been all round, sir-I always look into every room
in the place last thing at night—thoroughly.”
“Are you and your wife sound sleepers ?”
“Yes, sir—both of us. Good sleepers."
“You heard no sound after you got to bed ?”
“Nothing, sir-neither of us."


CHAPTER IV
THE PRESSMAN
The coachman, thus admonished, unconsciously
edged his chair a little nearer to the table at which
Barthorpe Herapath sat, and looked anxiously at his
interrogator. He was a little, shrewd-eyed fellow, and
it seemed to Selwood, who had watched him carefully
during the informal examination to which Barthorpe
had subjected the caretaker, that he had begun to
think deeply over some new presentiment of this
mystery which was slowly shaping itself in his mind.
"I understand, Mountain, that you fetched Mr.
Herapath from the House of Commons last night ?”
began Barthorpe. “You fetched him in the
brougham, I believe?”
“Yes, sir," answered the coachman. “Mr. Hera-
path always had the brougham at night-and most
times, too, sir. Never took kindly to the motor, sir.”
“Where did you meet him, Mountain ?"
“Usual place, sirin Palace Yard—just outside
the Hall.”
“What time was that?”.
“Quarter past eleven, exactly, sir—the clock was
just chiming the quarter as he came out.”
36


THE PRESSMAN
87
ISCIOK
It wait
Fatos
low,
arefni
arthur
egun
“Was Mr. Herapath alone when he came out ?”
“No sir. He came out with another gentleman-
a stranger to me, sir. The two of 'em stood talking
a bit a yard or two away from the brougham.”
“Did you hear anything they said ?”
“Just a word or two from Mr. Herapath, sir, as
him and the other gentleman parted.”
“What were they tell us the words, as near as
you can remmeber.”
“Mr. Herapath said, 'Have it ready for me to-
morrow, and I'll look in at your place about noon.'
That's all, sir."
“What happened then ?”.
“The other gentleman went off across the Yard,
sir, and Mr. Herapath came to the brougham, and
told me to drive him to the estate office-here, sir."
“You drove him up to this door, I suppose ?”
“No, sir. Mr. Herapath never was driven up to
the door-he always got out of the brougham in the
road outside and walked up the archway. He did
that last night."
“From where you pulled up could you see if there
was any light in these offices ?”
“No, sir-I pulled up just short of the entrance
to the archway.”
“Did Mr. Herapath say anything to you when he
got out?”
“Yes, sir. He said he should most likely be three-
quarters of an hour here, and that I'd better put a
rug over the mare and walk her about.”
“Then I suppose he went up the archway. Now,
did you see anybody about the entrance? Did you
of the
is mit:
Ted I
Night!
ad mix
outside
ck to


38 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
see any person waiting as if to meet him? Did he
meet anybody?”
“I saw no one, sir. As soon as he'd gone up the
archway I threw a rug over the mare and walked
her round and round the square across the road.”
“You heard and saw nothing of him until he came
out again ?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“And how long was he away from you?”
“Nearer an hour than three-quarters, sir.”
“Were you in full view of the entrance all that
time?”
“No, sir, I wasn't. Some of the time I was some
of it I'd my back to it."
“You never saw any one enter the archway during
the time Mr. Herapath was in the office?”
“No, sir."
“All the same, some one could have come here dur-
ing that time without your seeing him ?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“Well, at last Mr. Herapath came out. Where
did he rejoin you ?”
“In the middle of the road, sir-right opposite
that statue in the Square gardens."
“Did he say anything particular then?”
“No, sir. He walked sharply across, opened the
door, said 'Home' and jumped in."
“You didn't notice anything unusual about him?'
“Nothing, sir—unless it was that he hung his head
down rather as he came across-same as if he was
thinking hard, sir."


THE PRESSMAN
39
Did
le up to
d wak
road"
he con
15—
“You drove straight home to Portman Square,
then. What time did you get there?”
“Exactly one o'clock, sir.”
“You're certain about that time?”
“Certain, sir. It was just five minutes past one
when I drove into our mews."
“Now, then, be careful about this, Mountain. I
want to know exactly what happened when you drove
up to the house. Tell us in your own way.”
The coachman looked round amongst the listeners
as if he were a little perplexed. “Why, sir," he
answered, turning back to Barthorpe, “there was
nothing happened! At least, I mean to say, there
was nothing happened that didn't always happen
on such occasions—Mr. Herapath got out of the
brougham, shut the door, said “Good night,' and
went up the steps, taking his latch-key out of his
pocket as he crossed the pavement, sir. That was
all, sir.”
“Did you actually see him enter the house?”
“No, sir,” replied Mountain, with a decisive shake
of the head. “I couldn't say that I did that. I
saw him just putting the key in the latch as I drove
off.”
“And that's all you know?''.
“That's all I know, sir-all."
Barthorpe, after a moment's hesitation, turned to
the police-inspector.
"Is there anything that occurs to you?” he asked.
“One or two things occur to me,” answered the
inspector. “But I'm not going to ask any questions
ere du
ppírito
Led the
him."
s heel
de wa


40 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
now. I suppose all you want at present is to get a
rough notion of how things were last night?”.
“Just so," assented Barthorpe. “A rough notion
-that's it. Well, Kitteridge, it's your turn. Who
found out that Mr. Herapath wasn't in the house this
morning ?”
“Charlesworth, sir-Mr. Herapath's valet,” replied
the butler. “He always called Mr. Herapath at a
quarter past seven every morning. When he went
into the bedroom this morning Mr. Herapath wasn't
there, and the bed hadn't been slept in. Then
Charlesworth came and told me, sir, and of course I
went to the study at once, and then I saw that, wher-
ever Mr. Herapath might be then, he certainly had
been home.”
“You judged that from-what?” asked Barthorpe.
“Well, sir, it's been the rule to leave a supper-tray
out for Mr. Herapath. Not much, sir—whisky and
soda, a sandwich or two, a dry biscuit. I saw that
he'd had something, sir.”
“Somebody else might have had it-eh?”
“Yes, sir, but then you see, I'd had Mountain
fetched by that time, and he told me that he'd seen
Mr. Herapath letting himself in at one o'clock. So
of course I knew the master had been in.”
Barthorpe hesitated, seemed to ponder matters for
a moment, and then rose. “I don't think we need
go into things any further just now,” he said. “You,
Kitteridge, and you, Mountain, can go home. Don't
talk—that is, don't talk any more than is necessary.
I suppose,” he went on, turning to the inspector when


THE PRESSMAN
41
the two servants and the caretaker had left the room.
“I suppose you'll see to all the arrangements we
spoke of ?”
“They're being carried out already," answered the
inspector. “Of course," he added, drawing closer
to Barthorpe and speaking in lower tones, “when
the body's been removed, you'll join me in making
a thorough inspection of the room? We haven't done
that yet, you know, and it should be done. Wouldn't
it be best,” he continued with a glance at Peggie
and a further lowering of his voice, “if the young
lady went back to Portman Square?”.
“Just so, just so—I'll see to it," answered Bar-
thorpe. “You go and keep people out of the way
for a few minutes, and I'll get her off.” He turned
to his cousin when the two officers had left the room
and motioned her to rise. “Now, Peggie,” he said,
"you must go home. I shall come along there myself
in an hour or two_there are things to be done which
you and I must do together. Mr. Selwood—will you
take Miss Wynne out to the car? And then, please,
come back to me I want your assistance for a while."
Peggie walked out of the room and to the car with-
out demur or comment. But as she was about to
take her seat she turned to Selwood.
“Why didn't Mr. Tertius come into the room just
now?” she demanded.
Selwood hesitated. Until then he had thought that
Peggie had heard the brief exchange of words between
Barthorpe and Mr. Tertius at the door.
“Didn't you hear what was said at the door when


44 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Don't tell this man too much-give him the bare
outlines on how matters stand.”
The reporter wrote at lightning speed while Sel.
wood, who had some experience of condensation, gave
him the news he wanted. Finding that he was get-
ting a first-class story, Triffitt asked no questions and
made no interruptions. But when Selwood was
through with the account, he looked across the table
with a queer glance of the eye.
“I say!” he said. “This is a strange case!"
“Why so strange?”' asked Selwood.
“Why? Great Scott !—I reckon it's an uncom-
monly strange case," exclaimed Triffitt. “It's about
a dead certainty that Herapath was in his own house
at Portman Square at one o'clock, isn't it?"
“Well?” said Selwood.
“And yet according to the doctor who examined
him at eight o'clock he'd been dead quite eight
hours!” said Triffitt. “That means he died at twelve
o'clock—an hour before he's supposed to have been
at his house! Queer! But all the queerer, all the
better-for me! Now I'm off-for the present.
This'll be on the streets in an hour, Mr. Selwood.
Nothing like the press, sir!”
Therewith he fled, and the secretary suddenly found
himself confronting a new idea. If the doctor was
right and Jacob Herapath had been shot dead at
midnight, how on earth could he possibly have been
in Portman Square at one o'clock, an hour later ?


CHAPTER V
THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH
Mr. Tertius, dismissed in such cavalier fashion by
Barthorpe Herapath, walked out of the estate office
with downcast head-a superficial observer might
have said that he was thoroughly crestfallen and brow-
beaten. But by the time he had reached the road out-
side, the two faint spots of colour which had flushed
his cheeks when Barthorpe turned him away had van-
ished, and he was calm and collected enough when,
seeing a disengaged taxi-cab passing by, he put up his
hand and hailed it. The voice which bade the driver
go to Portman Square was calm enough, too-Mr.
Tertius had too much serious work immediately in
prospect to allow himself to be disturbed by a rude-
ness.
He thought deeply about that work as the taxi-cab
whirled him along; he was still thinking about it when
he walked into the big house in Portman Square.
In there everything was very quiet. The butler was
away at Kensington; the other servants were busily
discussing the mystery of their master in their own
regions. No one was aware that Mr. Tertius had
returned, for he let himself into the house with his
own latch-key, and went straight into Herapath's
study. There, if possible, everything was still quieter
45


46 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
-the gloom of the dull November morning seemed
to be doubly accentuated in the nooks and corners;
there was a sense of solitude which was well in keep-
ing with Mr. Tertius's knowledge of what had hap-
pened. He looked at the vacant chair in which he
had so often seen Jacob Herapath sitting, hard at
work, active, bustling, intent on getting all he could
out of every minute of his working day, and he sighed
deeply.
But in the moment of sighing Mr. Tertius reflected
that there was no time for regret. It was a time
his time for action; there was a thing to do which
he wanted to do while he had the room to himself.
Therefore he went to work, carefully and method.
ically. For a second or two he stood reflectively
looking at the supper tray which still stood on the
little table near the desk. With a light, delicate touch
he picked up the glass which had been used and
held it up to the light. He put it down again pres-
ently, went quietly out of the study to the dining-
room across the hall, and returned at once with an-
other glass precisely similar in make and pattern
to the one which he had placed aside. Into that
clear glass he poured some whisky, afterwards mix-
ing with it some soda-water from the syphon-this
mixture he poured away into the soil of a flower-pot
which stood in the window. And that done he
placed the second glass on the tray in the place where
the first had stood, and picking up the first, in the
same light, gingerly fashion, he went upstairs to his
own rooms at the top of the house.


RTV
THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH 47
ruing met
and content
well in
hat had to
in whe
ting, bar
all be er
and he eine
Etios redar
Was a to
- to do TË
? to hise
and media
reflate
stood on 1
lelicate tre
in used a
Five minutes later Mr. Tertius emerged from his
rooms. He then carried in his hand a small, square
bag, and he took great care to handle it very care.
fully as he went downstairs and into the square. At
the corner of Orchard Street he got another taxi-cab
and bade the driver go to Endsleigh Gardens. And
during the drive he took the greatest pains to nurse
the little bag on his knee, thereby preserving the
equilibrium of the glass inside it.
Ringing the bell of one of the houses in Endsleigh
Gardens, Mr. Tertius was presently confronted by
a trim parlourmaid, whose smile was ample proof
that the caller was well-known to her.
“Is the Professor in, Mary?” asked Mr. Tertius.
“And if he is, is he engaged ?”.
The trim parlourmaid replied that the Professor
was in, and that she hadn't heard that he was par-
ticularly engaged, and she immediately preceded the
visitor up a flight or two of stairs to a door, which
in addition to being thickly covered with green felt,
was set in flanges of rubber—these precautions being
taken, of course, to ensure silence in the apartment
within. An electric bell was set in the door; a mo-
ment or two elapsed before any response was made to
the parlourmaid's ring. Then the door automatic-
ally opened, the parlourmaid smiled at Mr. Tertius
and retired; Mr. Tertius walked in; the door closed
softly behind him.
The room in which the visitor found himself was
a large and lofty one, lighted from the roof, from
which it was also ventilated by a patent arrangement
| again for
the diss
nce wide
and pattern
· Into the
wards ni
Iphon
a flowers
at done!
place when
first, in
stairs to be


48 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
of electric fans. Everything that met the view be.
tokened science, order, and method. The walls, des-
titute of picture or ornament, were of a smooth neu-
tral tinted plaster; where they met the floor the
corners were all carefully rounded off so that no dust
could gather in cracks and crevices; the floor, too,
was of smooth cement; there was no spot in which a
speck of dust could settle in improper peace. A
series of benches ran round the room, and gave
harbourings to a collection of scientific instruments
of strange appearance and shape; two large tables,
one at either end of the room, were similarly
equipped. And at a desk placed between them, and
just then occupied in writing in a note-book, sat a
large man, whose big muscular body was enveloped
in a brown holland blouse or overall, fashioned some-
thing like a smock-frock of the old-fashioned rural
labourer. He lifted a colossal, mop-like head and a
huge hand as Mr. Tertius stepped across the thresh-
old, and his spectacled eyes twinkled as their glance
fell on the bag which the visitor carried so gingerly.
“Hullo, Tertius!” exclaimed the big man, in a deep,
rich voice. “What have you got there? Speci.
mens ?”
Mr. Tertius looked round for a quite empty space
on the adjacent bench, and at last seeing one, set
his bag down upon it, and sighed with relief.
“My dear Cox-Raythwaite!” he said, mopping his
forehead with a bandanna handkerchief which he
drew from the tail of his coat. “I am thankful to
have got these things here in—I devoutly trust! -


THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH 49
safety. Specimens? Well, not exactly; though, to
be sure, they may be specimens of—I don't quite
know what villainy yet. Objects ?-certainly! Per-
haps, my dear Professor, you will come and look at
them.”
The Professor slowly lifted his six feet of muscle
and sinew out of his chair, picked up a briar pipe
which lay on his desk, puffed a great cloud of smoke
out of it, and lounged weightily across the room
to his visitor.
“Something alive?” he asked laconically. “Likely
to bite?”
"Er-no!" replied Mr. Tertius. “No—they won't
bite. The fact is,” he went on, gingerly opening the
bag, “this-er--this, or these are they."
Professor Cox-Raythwaite bent his massive head
and shoulders over the little bag and peered narrowly
into its obscurity. Then he started.
“Good Lord !” he exclaimed. “A glass tumbler!
And—is it a sandwich? Why, what on earth "
He made as if to pull the glass out of the bag, and
Mr. Tertius hastily seized the great hand in an agony
of apprehension.
“My dear Cox-Raythwaite!” he said. “Pray
don't! Allow me--presently. When either of these
objects is touched it must be in the most, quite the
most, delicate fashion. Of course, I know you have a
fairy-like gentleness of touch—but don't touch these
things yet. Let me explain. Shall we-suppose we
sit down. Give me-yes—give me one of your
cigars."


50 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
The Professor, plainly mystified, silently pointed
to a cigar box which stood on a corner of his desk,
and took another look into the bag.
“A sandwich-and a glass !” he murmured re-
flectively. “Um! Well?” he continued, going back
to his chair and dropping heavily into it. “And
what's it all about, Tertius? Some mystery, eh?”
Mr. Tertius drew a whiff or two of fragrant Havana
before he replied. Then he too dropped into a chair
and pulled it close to his friend's desk.
“My dear Professor!” he said, in a low, thrilling
voice, suggestive of vast importance, “I don't know
whether the secret of one of the most astounding
crimes of our day may not lie in that innocent-look-
ing bag-or, rather, in its present contents. Fact!
But I'll tell you—you must listen with your usual
meticulous care for small details. The truth is
Jacob Herapath has, I am sure, been murdered!"
“Murdered !” exclaimed the Professor. “Hera-
path! Murder-eh? Now then, slow and steady,
Tertius—leave out nothing!”
“Nothing!” repeated Mr. Tertius solemnly.
“Nothing! You shall hear all. And this it is
point by point, from last night until-until the pres-
ent moment. That is—so far as I know. There may
have been developments—somewhere else. But this is
what I know.”
When Mr. Tertius had finished a detailed and
thorough-going account of the recent startling dis-
covery and subsequent proceedings, to all of which
Professor Cox-Raythwaite listened in profound si-


THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH 51
- poizte
his dat
ured
ing back
I, eb!"
Harab
a chart
Chrillis
t know
Jundim
nt-lock
Facet
r USU
lence, he rose, and tip-toeing towards the bag, mo-
tioned his friend to follow him.
“Now, my dear sir,” he said, whispering in his
excitement as if he feared lest the very retorts and
crucibles and pneumatic troughs should hear him,
“Now, my dear sir, I wish you to see for yourself.
First of all, the glass. I will take it out myself-
I know exactly how I put it in. I take it out-
thus! I place it on this vacant space—thus. Look
for yourself, my dear fellow. What do you see?”
The Professor, watching Mr. Tertius's movements
with undisguised interest, took off his spectacles,
picked up a reading-glass, bent down and carefully
examined the tumbler.
“Yes,” he said, after a while, "yes, Tertius, I cer-
tainly see distinct thumb and finger-marks round the
upper part of this glass. Oh, yes—no doubt of that !”
“Allow me to take one of your clean specimen
slides,” observed Mr. Tertius, picking up a square
of highly polished glass. “There! I place this slide
here and upon it I deposit this sandwich. Now, my
dear Cox-Raythwaite, favour me by examining the
sandwich even more closely than you did the glass-
if necessary."
But the Professor shook his head. He clapped Mr.
Tertius on the shoulder.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Good! Pooh !-no
need for care there. The thing's as plain as-as I
am. Good, Tertius, good!”
“You see it ?” said Mr. Tertius, delightedly.
“See it! Good Lord, why, who could help see it?"
th is
ered!"
Hent
steatt
- pre
e ma
This is
shid
ds


52 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
I see it: ve must take the
particular care.How
answered the Professor. “Needs no great amount
of care or perception to see that, as I said. Of course,
I see it. Glad you did, too!”
“But we must take the greatest care of it,” urged
Mr. Tertius. "The most particular care. That's
why I came to you. Now, what can we do? How
preserve this sandwich-just as it is?”
“Nothing easier,” replied the Professor. “We'll
soon fix that. We'll put it in such safety that it will
still be a fresh thing if it remains untouched until
London Bridge falls down from sheer decay."
He moved off to another part of the laboratory,
and presently returned with two objects, one oblong
and shallow, the other deep and square, which on
being set down before Mr. Tertius proved to be glass
boxes, wonderfully and delicately made, with remov.
able lids that fitted into perfectly adjusted grooves.
“There, my dear fellow," he said. “Presently I
will deposit the glass in that, and the sandwich in
this. Then I shall adjust and seal the lids in such a
fashion that no air can enter these little chambers.
Then through those tiny orifices I shall extract what-
ever air is in them—to the most infinitesimal remnant
of it. Then I shall seal those orifices—and there
you are. Whoever wants to see that sandwich or
that glass will find both a year hence—ten years hence
-a century hence !-in precisely the same condition
in which we now see them. And that reminds me,"
be continued, as he turned away to his desk and picked
up his pipe, “that reminds me, Tertius—what are
you going to do about these things being seen?


THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH 53
e. The
00! E
that it
lehed =
F."
laborato
one de
which
to be geles
They'll have to be seen, you know. Have you thought
of the police—the detectives ?”.
“I have certainly thought of both,” replied Mr.
Tertius. “But-I think not yet, in either case. I
think one had better await the result of the inquest.
Something may come out, you know.”
“Coroners and juries,” observed the Professor orac-
ularly, “are good at finding the obvious. Whether
they get at the mysteries and the secrets "
"Just so—just so!” said Mr. Tertius. “I quite
apprehend you. All the same, I think we will see
what is put before the coroner. Now, what point
suggests itself to you, Cox-Raythwaite?”
“One in particular,” answered the Professor.
“Whatever medical evidence is called ought to show
without reasonable doubt what time Herapath actually
met his death."
“Quite so," said Mr. Tertius gravely. “If that's
once established— ".
“Then, of course, your own investigation, or sug-
gestion, or theory about that sandwich will be vastly
simplified,” replied the Professor. “Meanwhile, you
will no doubt take some means of observing-eh?”
“I shall use every means to observe,” said Mr.
Tertius with a significant smile, which was almost
a wink. “Of that you may be dead certain!”
Then he left Professor Cox-Raythwaite to hermetic-
ally seal up the glass and the sandwich, and quitting
the house, walked slowly back to Portman Square.
As he turned out of Oxford Street into Orchard Street
the newsboys suddenly came rushing along with the
Argus special.
rith red
d grun
resen:
ndwich
in such
chamber
Tact wit
I remini
and the
adwich i
Pars bero
conditii
nds me.
nd pick
-whats
Jag SARI


THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER 55
paper, at
h much i
keen as
Friting be
glana
ing, be
nilarlse
Mr. Tertius went slowly homeward, head bent and
eyes moody. He let himself into the house; at the
sound of his step in the hall Peggie Wynne looked
out of the study. She retreated into it at sight of
Mr. Tertius, and he followed her and closed the door.
Looking narrowly at her, he saw that the girl had
been shedding tears, and he laid his hand shyly yet
sympathetically on her arm. “Yes,” he said quietly,
“I've been feeling like that ever since-since I heard
about things. But I don't know-I suppose we shall
feel it more when—when we realize it more, eh? Just
now there's the other thing to think about, isn't
there?”
Peggie mopped her eyes and looked at him. He
was such a quiet, unobtrusive, inoffensive old gentle-
man that she wondered more than ever why Bar-
thorpe had refused to admit him to the informal con-
ference.
“What other thing ?” she asked.
Mr. Tertius looked round the room-strangely
empty now that Jacob Herapath's bustling and
strenuous presence was no longer in it-and shook
his head.
“There's one thought you mustn't permit yourself
to harbour for a moment, my dear," he answered.
“Don't even for a fraction of time allow yourself
to think that my old friend took his own life! That's
-impossible.”
“I don't,” said Peggie. “I never did think so.
It is, as you say, impossible. I knew him too well
to believe that. So, of course, it's "
headed by
HERAPIE
s this als
atents Les
Tith this
- that
starok
were bu
the dark
amari
Jone e
his pape
7! Call
a dence


56 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Murder," assented Mr. Tertius. “Murder! I
heard a man in the street voice the same opinion just
now. Of course! It's the only opinion. Yet in the
newspaper they're asking which it was. But I sup-
pose the newspapers must be sensational.”
“You don't mean to say it's in the newspapers
already?” exclaimed Peggie.
Mr. Tertius handed to her the Argus special, which
he had carried crumpled up in his hand.
"Everybody's reading it out there in the streets,"
he said. “It's extraordinary, now, how these affairs
seem to fascinate people. Yes—it's all there. That
is, of course, as far as it's gone."
“How did the paper people come to know all this?”
asked Peggie, glancing rapidly over Triffitt's leaded
lines.
“I suppose they got it from the police," replied
Mr. Tertius. “I don't know much about such mat-
ters, but I believe the police and the Press are in
constant touch. Of course, it's well they should be
-it attracts public notice. And in cases like this,
public notice is an excellent thing. We shall have to
hear—and find out—a good deal before we get at the
truth in this case, my dear.”
Peggie suddenly flung down the newspaper and
looked inquiringly at the old man.
“Mr. Tertius,” she said abruptly, “why wouldn't
Barthorpe let you come into that room down there
at the office this morning?”.
Mr. Tertius did not answer this direct question at
once. He walked away to the window and stood look-


THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER 57
ing out into the square for a while. When at last
he spoke his voice was singularly even and colour-
less. He might have been discussing a question on
which it was impossible to feel any emotion.
“I really cannot positively say, my dear,” he re-
plied. “I have known, of course, for some time that
Mr. Barthorpe Herapath is not well disposed towards
me. I have observed a certain coldness, a contempt,
on his part. I have been aware that he has resented
my presence in this house. And I suppose he felt
that as I am not a member of the family, I had no
right to sit in council with him and with you."
“Not a member of the family!” exclaimed Peggie.
“Why, you came here soon after I came-all those
years ago!"
“I have dwelt under Jacob Herapath's roof, in
this house, fifteen years," said Mr. Tertius, reflec-
tively. “Fifteen years !-yes. Yes-Jacob and I
were good friends."
As he spoke the last word a tear trickled from be-
neath Mr. Tertius's spectacles and ran down into
his beard, and Peggie, catching sight of it, impulsively
jumped from her seat and kissed him affectionately.
“Never mind, Mr. Tertius!” she said, patting his
shoulders. “You and I are friends, too, anyway. I
don't like Barthorpe when he's like that I hate that
side of him. And anyhow, Barthorpe doesn't mat-
ter-to me. I don't suppose he matters to anything
-except himself."
Mr. Tertius gravely shook his head.
“Mr. Barthorpe Herapath may matter a great deal,


THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER
59
Mr. Tertius glanced at Peggie, who was intently
watching the caller.
"Ah!” he said, turning again to the driver, "you
think you drove either Mr. Herapath or a gentleman
of his appearance this morning. You did not know
Mr. Herapath by sight, then?”
“No, sir. I've only just come into this part-
came for the first time yesterday. But I'm as cer-
tain— "
“Just tell us all about it,” said Mr. Tertius, in-
terrupting him. “Tell us in your own way. Every-
thing, you know.”
“Ain't so much to tell, sir,” responded the driver.
“All the same, soon's I'd seen this piece in the paper
just now I said to myself, ‘I'd best go round to Port-
man Square and tell what I do know,' I says. And
it's like this, sir-I come on this part yesterday-
last night it was. My taxi belongs to a man as keeps
half a dozen, and he put me on to night work, this
end of Oxford Street. Well, it 'ud be just about
a quarter to two this morning when a tall, well-built
gentleman comes out of Orchard Street and made for
my cab. I jumps down and opens the door for him.
'You know St. Mary Abbot's Church, Kensington ?' he
says as he got in. 'Drive me down there and pull up
at the gate.' So, of course, I ran him down, and
there he got out, give me five bob, and off he went.
That's it, sir.”
“And when he got out, which way did he go?”
asked Mr. Tertius.


60 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“West, sir-along the High Street, past the Town
Hall," promptly answered the driver. “And there
he crossed the road. I see him cross, because I stopped
there a minute or two after he'd got out, tinkering
at my engine.”
“Can you tell us what this gentleman was like in
appearance?" asked Mr. Tertius.
“Well, sir, not so much as regards his face,” an-
swered the driver. “I didn't look at him, not par-
ticular, in that way—besides, he was wearing one of
them overcoats with a big fur collar to it, and he'd
the collar turned high up about his neck and cheeks,
and his hat-one of them slouched, soft hats, like so
many gentlemen wears nowadays sir-was well pulled
down. But from what bit I see of him, sir, I should
say he was a fresh-coloured gentleman.”
“Tall and well built, you say?" observed Mr.
Tertius.
“Yes, sir-fine-made gentleman-pretty near six
feet, I should have called him," replied the driver.
“Little bit inclined to stoutness, like."
Mr. Tertius turned to Peggie.
“I believe you have some recent photographs of
Mr. Herapath,” he said. “You might fetch them
and let me see if our friend here can recognize them.
You didn't notice anything else about your fare?”
he went on, after Peggie had left the room. “Any.
thing that excited your attention, eh?”
The driver, after examining the pattern of the
carpet for one minute and studying the ceiling for


THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER
61
ERTY
- past this?
1. "IN
ecause Is
t out, t3
man was
a his feel
t him, D?
wearing
to it, as
pak and
ft batsd
ras el
m. sit, id
another, slowly shook his head. But he then sud-
denly started into something like activity.
“Yes, there was, sir, now I come to think of it!"
he exclaimed. “I hadn't thought of it until now,
but now you mention it, there was. I noticed he'd
a particularly handsome diamond ring on his left hand
an extra fine one, too, it was.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Tertius. “A very fine diamond
ring on his left hand? Now, how did you come to
see that?”
“He rested that hand on the side of the door as
he was getting in, sir, and I noticed how it flashed,"
answered the driver. “There was a lamp right
against us, you see, sir.”
“I see,” said Mr. Tertius. “He wasn't wearing
gloves, then?”
“He hadn't a glove on that hand, sir. He was
carrying some papers in it—a sort of little roll of
papers.”
“Ah!” murmured Mr. Tertius. “A diamond ring
-and a little roll of papers." He got up from his
chair and put a hand in his pocket. “Now, my
friend,” he went on, chinking some coins as he with-
drew it, you haven't told this to any one else, I sup-
- OBSEITE
retty m
ied the
Jhotograron
-ht fetek
pose ?”.
Secogniz:
e
t your bob
room.
“No, sir," answered the driver. “Came straight
here, sir.”
“There's a couple of sovereigns for your trouble,"
said Mr. Tertius, “and there'll be more for you if
you do what I tell you to do. At present that is,
and
the ceile


62 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
until I give you leave-don't say a word of this to
a soul. Not even to the police-yet. In fact, not a
word to them until I say you may. Keep your mouth
shut until I tell you to open it-I shall know where
to find you. If you want me, keep an eye open for
me in the square outside, or in the street. When the
young lady comes back with the photographs, don't
mention the ring to her. This is a very queer busi-
ness, and I don't want too much said just yet. Do
as I tell you, and I'll see you're all right. Under-
stand?”
The driver pocketed his sovereigns, and touched his
forehead with a knowing look.
“All right, sir,” he said. “I understand. Depend
on me, sir-I shan't say a word without your leave."
Peggie came in just then with a half a dozen cabinet
photographs in her hand. One by one she exhibited
them to the driver.
“Do you recognize any of these?” she asked.
The driver shook his head doubtingly until Peggie
showed him a half-length of her uncle in outdoor
costume. Then his eyes lighted up.
“Couldn't swear as to the features, miss,” he ex-
claimed. “But I'd take my 'davy about the coat
and the hat! That's what the gentleman was wear-
ing as I drove this morning-take my Gospel oath
on it."
"He recognizes the furred overcoat and the soft
hat,” murmured Mr. Tertius. “Very good—very
good! All right, my man—we are much obliged to
you."


CRTY
THE TAXI-CAB DRIVER 63
tord of He went out into the hall with the driver, and had
In fact I another word in secret with him before the footman
Toled opened the door. As the door closed Mr. Tertius
bli kort turned slowly back to the study. And as he turned he
Are One muttered a word or two and smiled cynically.
“A diamond ring!” he said. “Jacob Herapath
ponka never wore a diamond ring in his life!”
PIF que
just Te
right.
and tored
tand le
at your i
z dozen eta
e she erdi
he askat
y until
le
in the
miss, "
ibout the
nan mai
y Gospel
; and the
I good
uch oblic


CHAPTER VII
IS THERE A WILLI
When Triffitt hurried off with his precious budget
of news Selwood lingered on the step of the office
watching his retreating figure, and wondering about
the new idea which the reporter had put into his
mind. It was one of those ideas which instantly
arouse all sorts of vague, sinister possibilities, but
Selwood found himself unable to formulate anything
definite out of any of them. Certainly, if Mr. Hera-
path died at, or before, twelve o'clock midnight, he
could not have been in Portman Square at one o'clock
in the morning! Yet, according to all the evidence,
he had been there, in his own house, in his own study.
His coachman had seen him in the act of entering the
house; there was proof that he had eaten food and
drunk liquor in the house. The doctor must have
made a mistake-and yet, Selwood remembered, he
had spoken very positively. But if he had not made
a mistake —what then? How could Jacob Herapath
be lying dead in his office at Kensington and nibbling
at a sandwich in Portman Square at one and the same
hour? Clearly there was something wrong, something
deeply mysterious, something-
At that point of his surmisings and questionings
64


IS THERE A WILL?
65
ecious hi
of the i
derings
put int
ich
insti
sibilities
late anri
if Mr. B
midnight
at one of
Selwood heard himself called by Barthorpe Herapath,
and he turned to see that gentleman standing in the
hall dangling a bunch of keys, which Selwood in-
stantly recognized.
“We have just found these keys,” said Barthorpe.
“You remember the inspector said he found no keys
in my uncle's pockets? We found these pushed away
under some loose papers on the desk. It looks as if
he'd put them on the desk when he sat down, and had
displaced them when he fell out of his chair. Of
course, they're his perhaps you recognize them?”
“Yes," answered Selwood, abruptly. “They're
his."
“I want you to come with me while I open his
private safe,” continued Barthorpe. “At junctures
like these there are always things that have got to
be done. Now, did you ever hear my uncle speak of
his will—whether he'd made one, and, if so, where
he'd put it? Hear anything?”
“Nothing," replied Selwood. “I never heard him
mention such a thing.”
“Well, between ourselves," said Barthorpe,
“neither did I. I've done all his legal work for him
for a great many years—ever since I began to prac-
tice, in fact and so far as I know, he never made a
will. More than once I've suggested that he should
make one, but like most men who are in good health
and spirits, he always put it off. However, we must
look over his papers both here and at Portman
Square.”
Selwood made no comment. He silently followed
the evidi
s own
entering
en food
- must
emberei
ad not a
ob Heri
and nite
nd the sot
3, somet
question


66 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Barthorpe into the private room in which his late
employer had so strangely met his death. The body
had been removed by that time, and everything bore
its usual aspect, save for the presence of the police
inspector and the detective, who were peering about
them in the mysterious fashion associated with their
calling. The inspector was looking narrowly at the
fastenings of the two windows and apparently debat-
ing the chances of entrance and exit from them; the
detective, armed with a magnifying glass, was exam-
ining the edges of the door, the smooth backs of chairs,
even the surface of the desk, presumably for finger-
marks.
“I shan't disturb you,” said Barthorpe, genially.
“Mr. Selwood and I merely wish to investigate the
contents of this safe. There's no likelihood of find-
ing what I'm particularly looking for in any of his
drawers in that desk,” he continued, turning to Sel.
wood. “I knew enough of his habits to know that
anything that's in there will be of a purely business
nature-referring to the estate. If he did keep any.
thing that's personal here, it'll be in that safe. Now,
which is the key? Do you know?”.
He handed the bunch of keys to Selwood. And
Selwood, who was feeling strangely apathetic about
the present proceedings, took them mechanically and
glanced carelessly at them. Then he started.
“There's a key missing!” he exclaimed, suddenly
waking into interest. “I know these keys well
enough-Mr. Herapath was constantly handing them
to me. There ought to be six keys here—the key of


IS THERE A WILL?
67
this safe, the key of the safe at Portman Square,
the latch-key for this office, the key of this room, the
latch-key of the house, and a key of a safe at the
Alpha Safe Deposit place. That one-the Safe De-
posit key-is missing.”
Barthorpe knitted his forehead, and the two police
officials paused in their tasks and drew near the desk
at which Selwood was standing.
“Are you certain of that ?'' asked Barthorpe.
“Sure!” answered Selwood. “As I say, I've been
handling these keys every day since I came to Mr.
Herapath.”
“When did you handle them last?”
“Yesterday afternoon: not so very long before Mr.
Herapath went down to the House. That was in
Portman Square. He gave them to me to get some
papers out of the safe there.”
“Was that Safe Deposit key there at that time?”
“They were all there--all six. I'm certain of it,”
asserted Selwood. “This is the key of this safe,” he
went on, selecting one.
"Open the safe, then,” said Barthorpe. “Another
safe at the Alpha, eh ?” he continued, musingly. “I
never knew he had a safe there. Did you ever know
him to use it?”
“I've been to it myself," answered Selwood. “I
took some documents there and deposited them, two
days ago. There's not very much in this safe," he
went on, throwing open the door. “It's not long
since I tidied it out-at his request. So far as I
know, there are no private papers of any note there.


68 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
He never made much use of this safe-in my pres-
ence, at any rate."
“Well, we'll see what there is, anyhow,” remarked
Barthorpe. He began to examine the contents of the
safe methodically, taking the various papers and
documents out one by one and laying them in order
on a small table which Selwood wheeled up to his
side. Within twenty minutes he had gone through
everything, and he began to put the papers back.
“No will there,” he murmured. “We'll go on to
Portman Square now, Mr. Selwood. After all, it's
much more likely that he'd keep his will in the safe at
his own house-if he made one. But I don't believe
he ever made a will."
Mr. Tertius and Peggie Wynne were still in the
study when Barthorpe and Selwood drove up to the
house. The driver of the taxi-cab had just gone
away, and Mr. Tertius was discussing his information
with Peggie. Hearing Barthorpe's voice in the hall
he gave her a warning glance.
“Quick!” he said hurriedly. “Attend to what I
say! Not a word to your cousin about the man who
has just left us. At present I don't want Mr. Bar-
thorpe Herapath to know what he told us. Be care-
ful, my dear—not a word! I'll tell you why later
on-but at present, silence—strict silence!”
Barthorpe Herapath came bustling into the room,
followed by Selwood, who, as it seemed to Peggie,
looked utterly unwilling for whatever task might lay
before him. At sight of Mr. Tertius, Barthorpe came
to a sudden halt and frowned.


IS THERE A WILL?
69
“I don't want to discuss matters further, Mr. Ter-
tius,” he said coldly. “I thought I had given you
a hint already. My cousin and I have private
matters to attend to, and I shall be obliged if you'll
withdraw. You've got private rooms of your own in
this house, I believe-at any rate, until things are
settled-and it will be best if you keep to them.”
Mr. Tertius, who had listened to this unmoved,
turned to Peggie.
“Do you wish me to go away?” he asked quietly.
Barthorpe turned on him with an angry scowl.
“It's not a question of what Miss Wynne wishes,
but of what I order;" he burst out. “If you've any
sense of fitness, you'll know that until my uncle's will
is found and his wishes ascertained I'm master here,
Mr. Tertius, and— ”
“You're not my master, Barthorpe,” exclaimed
Peggie, with a sudden flash of spirit. “I know what
my uncle's wishes were as regards Mr. Tertius, and
I intend to respect them. I've always been mistress
of this house since my uncle brought me to it, and
I intend to be until I find I've no right to be. Mr.
Tertius, you'll please to stop where you are!”.
“I intend to,” said Mr. Tertius, calmly. “I never
had any other intention. Mr. Barthorpe Herapath,
I believe, will hardly use force to compel me to leave
the room."
Barthorpe bit his lips as he glanced from one to the
other.
“Oh!” he said. “So that's how things are: Very
good, Mr. Tertius. No, I shan't use physical force.
of this house
until I find
where you are in I never


IS THERE A WILL?
71
"Don't be afraid, my dear,'' he whispered. “Per-
haps," he continued, glancing at Barthorpe, “I had
better tell you when and where it was made. About
six months ago in this room. One day Mr. Hera-
path called me in here. He had his then secretary,
Mr. Burchill, with him. He took a document out of
a drawer, told us that it was his will, signed it in our
joint presence, and we witnessed his signature in each
other's presence. He then placed the will in an en-
velope, which he sealed. I do not know the terms of
the will—but I know where the will is.”
Barthorpe's voice sounded strangely husky as he
got out one word:
“Where?”
Mr. Tertius took Peggie by the elbow and led her
across the room to a recess in which stood an ancient
oak bureau.
“This old desk,” he said, “belonged, so he always
told me, to Jacob's great-grandfather. There is a
secret drawer in it. Here it is concealed behind an-
other drawer. You put this drawer out-50—and
here is the secret one. And here-where I saw Jacob
Herapath put it—is the will.”
Barthorpe, who had followed these proceedings with
almost irrepressible eagerness, thrust forward a shak-
ing hand. But Mr. Tertius quietly handed the sealed
envelope to Peggie.
“This envelope," he remarked, “is addressed to
Miss Wynne.”
Barthorpe made an effort and controlled himself.
“Open it !” he said hoarsely. “Open it!”


.72 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Peggie fumbled with the seal of the envelope and
then, with a sudden impulse, passed it to Selwood.
"Mr. Selwood !” she exclaimed imploringly. “You
I can't. You open it, and"
“And let him read it," added Mr. Tertius.
Selwood, whose nerves had been strung to a high
pitch of excitement by this scene, hastily slit open
the envelope, and drew out a folded sheet of foolscap
paper. He saw at a glance that there was very little
to read. His voice trembled slightly as he began a
recital of the contents.
“ This is the last will of me, Jacob Herapath,
of 500, Portman Square, London, in the County of
Middlesex. I give, devise, and bequeath everything
of which I die possessed, whether in real or personal
estate, absolutely to my niece, Margaret Wynne,
now resident with me at the above address, and I
appoint the said Margaret Wynne the sole executor
of this my will. And I revoke all former wills and
codicils. Dated this eighteenth day of April, 1912.
“"JACOB HERAPATA.'”.
Selwood paused there, and a sudden silence fell--
to be as suddenly broken by a sharp question from
Barthorpe.
“The Witnesses ?” he said. “The witnesses!”
Selwood glanced at the further paragraph which
he had not thought it necessary to read.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “It's witnessed all right."
And he went on reading.
“ 'Signed by the testator in the presence of us


IS THERE A WILL?
173
both present at the same time who in his presence
and in the presence of each other have hereunto
set our names as witnesses.
“'JOHN CHRISTOPHER TERTIUS, of 500, Portman
Square, London: Gentleman.
“ 'FRANK BURCHILL, of 331, Upper Seymour
Street, London: Secretary.'"
As Selwood finished, he handed the will to Peggie,
who in her turn hastily gave it to Mr. Tertius. For a
moment nobody spoke. Then Barthorpe made a step
forward.
“Let me see that!” he said, in a strangely quiet
voice. “I don't want to handle it-hold it up!”.
For another moment he stood gazing steadily, in-
tently, at the signatures at the foot of the document.
Then, without a word or look, he twisted sharply on
his heel, and walked swiftly out of the room and the
house.


CHAPTER VIII
TAB SECOND WITNESS
If any close observer had walked away with Bar-
thorpe Herapath from the house in Portman Square
and had watched his face and noted his manner, that
observer would have said that his companion looked
like a man who was either lost in a profound day-
dream or had just received a shock that had temporar-
ily deprived him of all but the mechanical faculties.
And in point of strict fact, Barthorpe was both
stunned by the news he had just received and plunged
into deep speculation by a certain feature of it. He
hurried along, scarcely knowing where he was going-
but he was thinking all the same. And suddenly he
pulled himself up and found that he had turned down
Portman Street and was already in the thick of Ox-
ford Street's busy crowds. A passer-by into whom he
jostled in his absent-mindedness snarled angrily, bid-
ding him look where he was going—that pulled Bar-
thorpe together and he collected his wits, asking him-
self what he wanted. The first thing that met his
gaze on this recovery was a little Italian restaurant
and he straightway made for the door.
“This is what I want,” he muttered. “Some place
in which to sit down and think calmly."
74


THE SECOND WITNESS 75
He slipped into a quiet corner as soon as he had
entered the restaurant, summoned a waiter with a
glance, and for a moment concentrated his attention
on the bill of fare which the man put before him.
That slight mental exercise restored him; when the
waiter had taken his simple order and gone away,
Barthorpe was fully himself again. And finding him-
self in as satisfactory a state of privacy as he could
desire, with none to overlook or spy on him, he drew
from an inner pocket a letter-case which he had taken
from Jacob Herapath's private safe at the estate office
and into which he had cast a hurried glance before
leaving Kensington for Portman Square.
From this letter-case he now drew a letter, and as
he unfolded it he muttered a word or two.
“Frank Burchill, 331, Upper Seymour Street," he
said. “Um—but not Upper Seymour Street any lon-
ger, I think. Now let's see what it all is-what it
all means I've got to find out.”
The sheet of paper which he was handling was of
the sort used by typists, but the letter itself was
written by hand, and Barthorpe recognized the pen-
manship as that of his uncle's ex-secretary, Burchill,
second witness to the will which had just been ex-
hibited to him. Then he read, slowly and carefully,
what Burchill had written to Jacob Herapath-writ-
ten, evidently, only a few days previously. For there
was the date, plain enough.


176 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“35c, Calengrove Mansions,
“Maida Vale, W.
“November 11th, 19—.
“DEAR SIR,
“I don't know that I am particularly surprised
that you have up to now entirely ignored my let-
ters of the 1st and the 5th instant. You probably
think that I am not a person about whom any one
need take much trouble; a mean cur, perhaps, who
can do no more than snap at a mastiff's heels. I
am very well aware (having had the benefit of a
year's experience of your character and tempera-
ment) that you have very little respect for un-
moneyed people and are contemptuous of their abil-
ity to interfere with the moneyed. But in that mat-
ter you are mistaken. And to put matters plainly,
it will pay you far better to keep me a friend than
to transform me into an enemy. Therefore I ask
you to consider well and deeply the next sentence of
this letter—which I will underline.
“I am in full possession of the secret which you
have taken such vast pains to keep for fifteen years.
"I think you are quite competent to read my
meaning, and I now confidently expect to hear that
you will take pleasure in obliging me in the way
which I indicated to you in my previous letters.
“Yours faithfully,
“FRANK BURCHILL."
Barthorpe read this communication three times,
pausing over every sentence, seeking to read the mean-
ings, the implications, the subtly veiled threat. When


THE SECOND WITNESS
79
he folded the square sheet and replaced it in the let-
ter-case he half spoke one word:
“Blackmail!”
Then, staring in apparent idleness about the little
restaurant, with its gilt-framed mirrors, its red, plush-
covered seats, its suggestion of foreign atmosphere and
custom, he idly drummed the tips of his fingers on the
table, and thought. Naturally, he thought of the
writer of the letter. Of course, he said to himself, of
course he knew Burchill. Burchill had been Jacob
Herapath's private secretary for rather more than a
year, and it was now about six months since Jacob
had got rid of him. He, Barthorpe, remembered very
well why Jacob had quietly dismissed Burchill. One
day Jacob had said to him, with a dry chuckle:
“I'm getting rid of that secretary of mine-it
won't do.”
“What won't do ?”' Barthorpe had asked.
“He's beginning to make eyes at Peggie," Jacob
had answered with another chuckle, “and though
Peggie's a girl of sense, that fellow's too good looking
to have about a house. I never ought to have had
him. However, he goes.”
Barthorpe, as he ate the cutlets and sipped the half-
bottle of claret which the waiter presently brought
him, speculated on these facts and memories. He was
not very sure about Burchill's antecedents: he be-
lieved he was a young man of good credentials and
high respectability-personally, he had always won-
dered why old Jacob Herapath, a practical business
man, should have taken as a private secretary a fellow


78 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
who looked, dressed, spoke, and behaved like a play-
actor. As it all came within the scope of things he
mused on Burchill and his personal appearance, call-
ing up the ex-secretary's graceful and slender figure,
his oval, olive-tinted face, his large, dark, lustrous
eyes, his dark, curling hair, his somewhat affected
dress, his tall, wide-brimmed hats, his taper fingers,
his big, wide-ended cravats. It had once amused Bar-
thorpe-and many other people—to see Jacob Hera-
path and his secretary together; nevertheless, Jacob
had always spoken of Burchill as being thoroughly
capable, painstaking, thorough and diligent. His airs
and graces Jacob put down as a young man's affec-
tations—yet there came the time when they suited
Jacob no longer.
“I catch him talking too much to Peggie," he had
added, in that conversation of which Barthorpe was
thinking. “Better get rid of him before they pass the
too-much stage.”.
So Burchill had gone, and Barthorpe had heard no
more of him until now. But what he had heard now
was a revelation. Burchill had witnessed a will of
Jacob Herapath's, which, if good and valid and the
only will in existence, would leave him, Barthorpe, a
ruined man. Burchill had written a letter to Jacob
Herapath asking for some favour, reward, compensa-
tion, as the price of his silence about a secret. What
secret? Barthorpe could not even guess at it-but
Burchill had said, evidently knowing what he was
talking about, that Jacob Herapath had taken vast
pains to keep it for fifteen years.


THE SECOND WITNESS 79
By the time Barthorpe had finished his lunch he
had come to the conclusion that there was only one
thing for him to do. He must go straight to Calen-
grove Mansions and interview Mr. Frank Burchill.
In one way or another he must make sure of him, or,
rather—though it was really the same thing-sure of
what he could tell. And on the way there he would
make sure of something else in order to do which he
presently commissioned a taxi-cab and bade its driver
go first to 331, Upper Seymour Street.
The domestic who answered Barthorpe's double
knock at that house shook her head when he design-
edly asked for Mr. Frank Burchill. Nobody of that
name, she said. But on being assured that there once
had been a lodger of that name in residence there, she
observed that she would fetch her mistress, and disap-
peared to return with an elderly lady who also shook
her head at sight of the caller.
"Mr. Burchill left here some time ago,” she said,
“Nearly six months. I don't know where he is."
“Did he leave no address to which his letters were
to be sent?” asked Barthorpe, affecting surprise.
“He said there'd be no letters coming—and there
haven't been," answered the landlady. “And I've
neither seen nor heard of him since he went.”.
Something in her manner suggested to Barthorpe
that she had no desire to renew acquaintance with
her former lodger. This sent Barthorpe away well
satisfied. It was precisely what he wanted. The
three people whom he had left in Portman Square in
all probability knew no other address than this at


80 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
which to seek for Burchill when he was wanted; they
would seek him there eventually and get no news.
Luckily for himself, Barthorpe knew where he was to
be found, and he went straight off up Edgware Road
to find him.
Calengrove Mansions proved to be a new block of
flats in the dip of Maida Vale; 350 was a top flat
in a wing which up to that stage of its existence did
not appear to be much sought after by would-be ten-
ants. It was some time before Barthorpe succeeded
in getting an answer to his ring and knock; when at
last the door was opened Burchill himself looked out
upon him, yawning, and in a dressing-gown. And
narrowly and searchingly as Barthorpe glanced at
Burchill he could not see a trace of unusual surprise
or embarrassment in his face. He looked just as any
man might look who receives an unexpected caller.
“Oh?” he said. “Mr. Barthorpe Herapath! Come
in-do. I'm a bit late-a good bit late, in fact. You
see, I'm doing dramatic criticism now, and there was
an important première last night at the Hyperion, and
I had to do a full column, and so—but that doesn't
interest you. Come in, pray.”
He led the way into a small sitting-room, drew for-
ward an easy-chair, and reaching down a box of cigar-
ettes from the mantelpiece offered its contents to his
visitor. Barthorpe, secretly wondering if all this un-
concerned behaviour was natural or merely a bit of
acting, took a cigarette and dropped into the chair.
"I don't suppose you thought of seeing me when
you opened your door, Burchill ?” he remarked good-


82 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
pretending? Or-haven't you heard? Say—that
to Jacob Herapath? Jacob Herapath is dead!”
Burchill certainly started at that. What was more
he dropped his cigarette, and when he straightened
himself from picking it up his face was flushed a
little.
“Upon my honour!” he exclaimed. “I didn't
know. Dead! When? It must have been sudden."
“Sudden !” said Barthorpe. “Sudden? He was
murdered!”
There was no doubt that this surprised Burchill.
At any rate, he showed all the genuine signs of sur-
prise. He stood staring at Barthorpe for a full min-
ute of silence, and when he spoke his voice had lost
something of its usual affectation.
“Murdered ?” he said. “Murdered! Are you sure
of that? You are? Good heavens !—no, I've heard
nothing. But I've not been out since two o'clock this
morning, so how could I hear? Murdered— ” he
broke off sharply and stared at his visitor. “And you
came to me—why?”.
“I came to ask you if you remember witnessing my
uncle's will,” replied Barthorpe promptly. “Give
me a plain answer. Do you remember?"


CHAPTER IX
GREEK AGAINST GREEK
At this direct question, Burchill, who had been
standing on the hearthrug since Barthorpe entered the
room, turned away and took a seat in the corner of a
lounge opposite his visitor. He gave Barthorpe a
peculiarly searching look before he spoke, and as soon
as he replied Barthorpe knew that here was a man who
was not readily to be drawn.
“Oh,” said Burchill, “so I am supposed to have
witnessed a will made by Mr. Jacob Herapath, am
19"
Barthorpe made a gesture of impatience.
"Don't talk rot!” he said testily. “A man either
knows that he witnessed a will or knows that he didn't
witness a will."
“Excuse me,” returned Burchill, “I don't agree
with that proposition. I can imagine it quite pos-
sible that a man may think he has witnessed a will
when he has done nothing of the sort. I can also
imagine it just as possible that a man may have really
witnessed a will when he thought he was signing some
much less important document. Of course, you're a
lawyer, and I'm not. But I believe that what I have
just said is much more in accordance with what we
may call the truth of life than what you've said.”
"If a man sees another man sign a document and
83


84 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
witnesses the signature together with a third man
who had been present throughout, what would you
say was being done?” asked Barthorpe, sneeringly.
“Come, now?”
“I quite apprehend your meaning,” replied
Burchill. “You put it very cleverly.”
“Then why don't you answer my question ?" de-
manded Barthorpe.
Burchill laughed softly.
“Why not answer mine?” he said. “However, I'll
ask it in another and more direct form. Have you
seen my signature as witness to a will made by Jacob
Herapath?”
“Yes,” replied Barthorpe.
“Are you sure it was my signature ?” asked
Burchill.
Barthorpe lifted his eyes and looked searchingly at
his questioner. But Burchill's face told him noth-
ing. What was more, he was beginning to feel that
he was not going to get anything out of Burchill that
Burchill did not want to tell. He remained silent,
and again Burchill laughed.
“You see,” he said, “I can suppose all sorts of
things. I can suppose, for example, that there's such
a thing as forging a signature—two signatures—three
signatures to a will-or, indeed, to any other docu-
ment. Don't you think that instead of asking me a
direct question like this that you'd better wait until
this will comes before the—is it the Probate Court:-
and then let some of the legal gentlemen ask me if
that—that !—is my signature? I'm only putting it


GREEK AGAINST GREEK 85
to you, you know. But perhaps you'd like to tell me
-all about it?” He paused, looking carefully at
Barthorpe, and as Barthorpe made no immediate an-
swer, he went on speaking in a lower, softer tone.
“All about it,” he repeated insinuatingly. “Ah!”
Barthorpe suddenly flung his cigarette in the hearth
with a gesture that implied decision.
“I will !” he exclaimed. “It may be the shortest
way out. Very well-listen, then. I tell you my
uncle was murdered at his office about_well, some-
where between twelve and three o'clock this morning.
Naturally, after the preliminaries were over, I wanted
to find out if he'd made a will naturally, I say.”
“Naturally, you would," murmured Burchill.
“I didn't believe he had,” continued Barthorpe.
“But I examined his safe at the office, and I was
going to examine that in his study at Portman Square
when Tertius said in the presence of my cousin, my-
self, and Selwood, your successor, that there was a
will, and produced one from a secret drawer in an
old bureau "
“A secret drawer in an old bureau !” murmured
Burchill. “How deeply interesting for all of you !
quite dramatic. Yes?”.
“Which, on being inspected,” continued Barthorpe,
“proved to be a holograph-
“Pardon," interrupted Burchill, “A holograph?
Now, I am very ignorant. What is a holograph?”.
“A holograph will is a will entirely written in the
handwriting of the person who makes it,” replied
Barthorpe.


86 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
"I see. So this was written out by Mr. Jacob
Herapath, and witnessed by—whom?” asked Burchill.
“Tertius as first witness, and you as second,” an-
swered Barthorpe. “Now then, I've told you all
about it. What are you going to tell me? Come
did you witness this will or not? Good gracious,
man !-don't you see what a serious thing it is ?”
“How can I when I don't know the contents of the
will ?” asked Burchill. “You haven't told me that
-yet."
Barthorpe swallowed an exclamation of rage.
“Contents !” he exclaimed. “He left everything
-everything !—to my cousin! Everything to her."
“And nothing to you,” said Burchill, accentuating
his habitual drawl. “Really, how infernally incon-
siderate! Yes—now I see that it is serious. But,
only for you.”
Barthorpe glared angrily at him and began to
growl, almost threateningly. And Burchill spoke,
soothingly and quietly.
“Don't,” he said. “It does no good, you know.
Serious—yes. Most serious—for you, as I said. But
remember-only serious for you if the will is-good.
Eh?”
Barthorpe jumped to his feet and thrust his hands
in his pockets. He began to pace the room.
“Hang me if I know what you mean, Burchill!”
he said. “Is that your signature on that will or
not ?"
“How can I say until I see it?” asked Burchill,
with seeming innocence. “Let's postpone matters


GREEK AGAINST GREEK
87
until then. By the by, did Mr. Tertius say that it
was my signature?”
“What do you mean!” exclaimed Barthorpe.
“Why, of course, he said that he and you witnessed
the will!”
"Ah, to be sure, he would say so," assented Burch-
ill. “Of course. Foolish of me to ask. It's quite
evident that we must postpone matters until this will
is what do you call it ?-presented, propounded-
what is it?-for probate. Let's turn to something
else. My letter to your uncle, for instance. Of
course, as you've got it, you've read it.”
Barthorpe sat down again and stared.
“You're a cool customer, Master Burchill !” he said.
"By Jove, you are! You're playing some game.
What is it?”
Burchill smiled deprecatingly.
“What's your own ?” he asked. “Or, if that's too
pointed a question at present, suppose we go back to
-my letter? Want to ask me anything about it?”
Barthorpe again drew the letter from the case. He
affected to re-read it, while Burchill narrowly watched
him.
“What," asked Barthorpe at last,“what was it that
you wanted my uncle to oblige you with? A loan?”
“If it's necessary to call it anything,” replied
Burchill suavely, “you can call it a-well, say a dona-
tion. That sounds better—it's more dignified.”
“I don't suppose it matters much what it's called,"
said Barthorpe drily. “I should say, from the tone
of your letter, that most people would call it "


88 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Yes, but not polite people," interrupted Burchill,
"and you and I are-or must be polite. So we'll
say donation. The fact is, I want to start a news-
paper-weekly-devoted to the arts. I thought your
uncle—now, unfortunately, deceased-would finance
it. I didn't want much, you know.”
“How much?” asked Barthorpe. “The amount
isn't stated in this letter."
“It was stated in the two previous letters," replied
Burchill. “Oh, not much. Ten thousand.”
“The price of your silence, eh?” suggested Bar-
thorpe.
“Dirt cheap!" answered Burchill.
Barthorpe folded up the letter once more and put
it away. He helped himself to another cigarette and
lighted it before he spoke again. Then he leaned for-
ward confidentially.
“What is the secret ?” he asked.
Burchill stated and assumed an air of virtuous sur-
prise.
“My dear fellow!” he said. “That's against all
the rules all the rules of— ".
“Of shady society," sneered Barthorpe. “Con-
found it, man, what do you beat about the bush so
much for? Hang it, I've a pretty good notion of
you, and I daresay you've your own of me. Why
can't you tell me?”
“You forget that I offered not to tell for-ten
thousand pounds," said Burchill. “Therefore I
should want quite as much for telling. If you carry
ten thousand in cash on you— "


GREEK AGAINST GREEK 89
“Is there a secret?” asked Barthorpe. “Sober
earnest, now?”
“I have no objection to answering that question,”
replied Burchill. “There is!”
“And you want ten thousand pounds for it?” sug-
gested Barthorpe.
“Pardon me I want a good deal more for it, under
the present much altered circumstances,” said Burch-
ill quietly. “There is an old saying that circum-
stances alter cases. It's true—they do. I would have
taken ten thousand pounds from your uncle to hold
my tongue-true. But—the case is altered by his
death.”
Barthorpe pondered over this definite declaration
for a minute or two. Then, lowering his voice, he
said:
"Looks uncommonly like-blackmail! And that
“Pardon me again," interrupted Burchill. “No
blackmail at all—in my view. I happen to possess
information of a certain nature, and
Barthorpe interrupted in his turn.
“The thing is,” he said, “the only thing is—how
long are you and I going to beat about the bush?
Are you going to tell me if you signed that will I
told you of?”
“Certainly not before I've seen it," answered
Burchill promptly.
“Will you tell me then?”
“That entirely depends."
“On-what?"


90 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Circumstances !”
“Have the circumstances anything to do with this
secret ?”
“Everything! More than anything—now.”
“Now—what?”
“Now that Jacob Herapath is dead. Look here!”
continued Burchill, leaning forward and speaking im-
pressively. “Take my counsel. Leave this for the
moment and come to see me--now, when? Tonight.
Come tonight. I've nothing to do. Come at ten
o'clock. Then—I'll be in a position to say a good
deal more. How will that do?”
“That'll do," answered Barthorpe after a mo-
ment's consideration. “Tonight, here, at ten o'clock.”
He got up and made for the door. Burchill got
up too, and for a moment both men glanced at each
other. Then Burchill spoke.
“I suppose you've no idea who murdered your
uncle?” he said.
“Not the slightest !” exclaimed Barthorpe. “Have
you?”
“None! Of course—the police are on the go ?”
“Oh, of course!”
“All right,” said Burchill. “Tonight, then."
He opened the door for his visitor, nodded to him
as he passed out, and when he had gone sat down in
the easy chair which Barthorpe had vacated and for
half an hour sat immobile, thinking. At the end of
that half-hour he rose, went into his bedroom, made
an elaborate toilet, went out, found a taxi-cab, and
drove off to Portman Square.


CHAPTER X
MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY
When Barthorpe Herapath left his cousin, Mr.
Tertius, and Selwood in company with the newly
discovered will, and walked swiftly out of the house
and away from Portman Square, he passed without
seeing it a quiet, yet smartly appointed coupé
brougham which came round the corner from Port-
man Street and pulled up at the door which Barthorpe
had just quitted. From it at once descended an
elderly gentleman, short, stout, and rosy, who bustled
up the steps of the Herapath mansion and appeared
to fume and fret until his summons was responded
to. When the door was opened to him he bustled in-
side at the same rate, rapped out the inquiry, “Miss
Wynne at home?–Miss Wynne at home?” several
times without waiting for a reply, and never ceased
in his advance to the door of the study, into which
he precipitated himself panting and blowing, as if
he had run hard all the way from his original starting-
point. The three people standing on the hearthrug
turned sharply and two of them uttered cries which
betokened pleasure mixed with relief.
"Mr. Halfpenny!” exclaimed Peggie, almost joy.
fully. “How good of you to come!”
91


92 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“We had only just spoken—were only just speak-
ing of you,” remarked Mr. Tertius. “In fact-yes,
Mr. Selwood and I were thinking of going round to
your offices to see if you were in town.”
The short, stout, and rosy gentleman who, as soon
as he had got well within the room, began to unswathe
his neck from a voluminous white silk muffler, now
completed his task and advancing upon Peggie sol-
emnly kissed her on both cheeks, held her away from
him, looked at her, kissed her again, and then patted
her on the shoulder. This done, he shook hands sol.
emnly with Mr. Tertius, bowed to Selwood, took off
his spectacles and proceeded to polish them with a
highly-coloured bandana handkerchief which he pro-
duced from the tail of his overcoat. This operation
concluded, he restored the spectacles to his nose, sat
down, placed his hands, palm downwards, on his
plump knees and solemnly inspected everybody.
“My dear friends !” he said in a hushed, deep voice.
“My dear, good friends! This dreadful, awful, most
afflicting news! I heard it but three-quarters of an
hour ago—at the office, to which I happened by mere
chance, to have come up for the day. I immediately
ordered out our brougham and drove here—to see if
I could be of any use. You will command me, my
dear friends, in anything that I can do. Not pro-
fessionally, of course. No—in that respect you have
Mr. Barthorpe Herapath. But-otherwise."
Mr. Tertius looked at Peggie.
“I don't know whether we shan't be glad of Mr.
Halfpenny's professional services ?” he said. “The


MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY 93
truth is, Halfpenny, we were talking of seeing you
professionally when you came in. That's one truth
-another is that a will has been found—our poor
friend's will, of course."
“God bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. “A
will—our poor friend's will—has been found! But
surely, Barthorpe, as nephew, and solicitor-eh?"
Again Mr. Tertius looked at Peggie.
“I suppose we'd better tell Mr. Halfpenny every-
thing,” he remarked. “Of course, Halfpenny, you'll
understand that as soon as this dreadful affair was
discovered and the first arrangements had been made,
Barthorpe, as only male relative, began to search for
a will. He resented any interference from me and
was very rude to me, but when he came here and pro-
posed to examine that safe, I told him at once that I
knew of a will and where it was, though I didn't know
its terms. And I immediately directed him to it, and
we found it and read it a few minutes ago with the
result that Barthorpe at once quitted the house-you
must have passed him in the square.”
“God bless us!” repeated Mr. Halfpenny. “I
judge from that, then—but you had better show me
this document.”
Mr. Tertius at once produced the will, and Mr.
Halfpenny, rising from his chair, marched across the
room to one of the windows where he solemnly half-
chanted every word from start to finish. This per-
formance over, he carefully and punctiliously folded
the document into its original lines, replaced it in its
envelope, and grasping this firmly in his hand, re-


94 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
sumed his seat and motioned everybody to atten.
tion.
“My dear Tertius!” he said. “Oblige me by nar-
rating, carefully, briefly, your recollection of the cir-
cumstances under which your signature to this highly
important document was obtained and made.”
“Easily done,” responded Mr. Tertius. “One
night, some months ago, when our poor friend was
at work here with his secretary, a Mr. Frank Burchill,
he called me into the room, just as Burchill was
about to leave. He said: 'I want you two to witness
my signature to a paper. He "
“A moment," interrupted Mr. Halfpenny. “He
said-'a paper.' Did he not say 'my will’q”.
“Not before the two of us. He merely said a
paper. He produced the paper—that paper, which
you now hold. He let us see that it was covered with
writing, but we did not see what the writing was.
He folded it over, laid it, so folded, on that desk, and
signed his name. Then we both signed it in the blank
spaces which he indicated : I first, then Burchill. He
then put it into an envelope—that envelope and
fastened it up. As regards that part of the proceed-
ings,” said Mr. Tertius, "that is all.”
“There was, then, another part ?” suggested Mr.
Halfpenny.
“Yes,'' replied Mr. Tertius. “There was. Burch-
ill then left-at once. I, too, was leaving the room
when Jacob called me back. When we were alone,
he said: 'That was my will that you've just witnessed.
Never mind what's in it-I may alter it, or some of


MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY 95
it, some day, but I don't think I shall. Now look
here, I'm going to seal this envelope, and I'll show
you where I put it when it's sealed. He then sealed
the envelope in two places, as you see, and afterwards,
in my presence, placed it in a secret drawer, which
I'll show to you now. And that done, he said: 'There,
Tertius, you needn't mention that to anybody, unless
I happen to be taken off suddenly.' And,” concluded
Mr. Tertius, as he motioned Mr. Halfpenny to accom-
pany him to the old bureau, “I never, of course, did
mention it until half an hour ago.”
Mr. Halfpenny solemnly inspected the secret
drawer, made no remark upon it, and reseated him-
self.
“Now," he said, “this Mr. Frank Burchill—the
other witness? He left our old friend?”.
“Some little time ago," replied Mr. Tertius.
“Still, we have his address on the will,” said Mr.
Halfpenny. “I shall call on Mr. Burchill at once-
as soon as I leave here. There is, of course, no doubt
as to the validity of this will. You said just now
that Barthorpe left you as soon as he had seen it.
Now, what did Barthorpe say about it?”
“Nothing!” answered Mr. Tertius. “He went
away without a word—rushed away, in fact.”'
Mr. Halfpenny shook his head with profound sol.
emnity.
“I am not in the least surprised to hear that,” he
observed. “Barthorpe naturally received a great
shock. What I am surprised at is the terms of the
will. Nothing whatever to Barthorpe-his only male


96 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
relative—his only brother's only son. Extraordi-
nary! My dear,” he continued, turning to Peggie,
“can you account for this? Do you know of any.
thing, any difference between them, anything at all
which would make your uncle leave his nephew out
of his will ?"
“Nothing !” answered Peggie. “And I'm very
troubled about it. Does it really mean that I get
everything, and Barthorpe nothing?”.
"That is the precise state of affairs," answered Mr.
Halfpenny. “And it is all the more surprising when
we bear in mind that you two are the only relations
Jacob Herapath had, and that he was a rich man-a
very rich man indeed. However, he doubtless had
his reasons. And now, as I conclude you desire me
to act for you, I shall take charge of this will and lock
it up in my safe as soon as I return to the office. On
my way, I shall call at Mr. Burchill's address and
just have a word with him. Tertius, you had better
come with me. And yes, there is another thing that
I should like to have done. Mr. Selwood-are you
engaged on any business ?”.
“No,” replied Selwood, who was secretly speculat-
ing on the meaning of the morning's strange events.
“I have nothing to attend to."
“Then will you go to Mr. Barthorpe Herapath's
office-in Craven Street, I think?—and see him per-
sonally and tell him that Mr. Benjamin Halfpenny is
in town, has been acquainted with these matters by
Mr. Tertius and Miss Wynne, and would esteem it a
favour if he would call upon him before five o'clock,


MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY 97
Thank you, Mr. Selwood. Now, Tertius, you and I
will attend to our business.”
Left alone, Peggie Wynne suddenly realized that
the world had become a vastly different world to what
it had seemed a few short hours before. This room,
into which Jacob Herapath, bustling and busy, would
never come again, was already a place of dread; nay,
the whole house in which she had spent so many
years of comfort and luxury suddenly assumed å
strange atmosphere of distastefulness. It was true
that her uncle had never spent much time in the
house. An hour or two in the morning-yes, but by
noon he had hurried off to some Committee at the
House of Commons, and in session time she had never
seen him again that day. But he had a trick of run-
ning in for a few minutes at intervals during the day;
he would come for a cup of tea; sometimes he would
contrive to dine at home; whether he was at home or
not, his presence, always alert, masterful, active,
seemed to be everywhere in the place. She could
scarcely realize that she would never see him again.
And as she stood looking at his vacant chair she made
an effort to realize what it all really meant to her,
and suddenly, for the first time in her life, she felt
the meaning of the usually vague term-loneliness.
In all practical essentials she was absolutely alone.
So far as she knew she had no relations in the world
but Barthorpe Herapath—and there was something-
something shadowy and undefinable—about Bar-
thorpe which she neither liked nor trusted. Moreover,
she had caught a glimpse of Barthorpe's face as he


98 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
turned from looking at the will and hurried away,
and what she had seen had given her a strange feeling
of fear and discomfort. Barthorpe, she knew, was
not the sort of man to be crossed or thwarted or
balked of his will, and now-
“Supposing Barthorpe should begin to hate me be-
cause all the money is mine?” she thought. “Then
-why, then I should have no one! No one of my own
flesh and blood, anyway. Of course, there's Mr. Ter-
tius. But-I must see Barthorpe. I must tell him
that I shall insist on sharing-if it's all mine, I can
do that. And yet—why didn't Uncle Jacob divide
it? Why did he leave Barthorpe--nothing?"
Still pondering sadly over these and kindred sub-
jects Peggie went upstairs to a parlour of her own, a
room in which she did as she liked and made into a
den after her own taste. There, while the November
afternoon deepened in shadow, she sat and thought
still more deeply. And she was still plunged in
thought when Kitteridge came softly into the room
and presented a card. Peggie took it from the but-
ler's salver and glanced half carelessly at it. Then
she looked at Kitteridge with some concern.
“Mr. Burchill ?" she said. “Here?”
“No, miss," answered Kitteridge. “Mr. Burchill
desired me to present his most respectful sympathy,
and to say that if he could be of any service to you
or to the family, he begged that you would command
him. His address is on this card, miss.”
“Very kind of him," murmured Peggie, and laid
the card aside on her writing-table. When Kitteridge


MR. BENJAMIN HALFPENNY 99
had gone she picked it up and looked at it again.
Burchill ?—she had been thinking of him only a few
minutes before the butler's entrance; thinking a good
deal. And her thoughts had been disquieted and un-
happy. Burchill was the last man in the world that
she wished to have anything to do with, and the fact
that his name appeared on Jacob Herapath's will had
disturbed her more than she would have cared to
admit.


CHAPTER XI
THE SHADOW
Mr. Halfpenny, conducting Mr. Tertius to the coupé
brougham, installed him in its further corner, got in
himself and bade his coachman drive slowly to 331,
Upper Seymour Street.
“I said slowly," he remarked as they moved gently
away, “because I wanted a word with you before we
see this young man. Tertius—what's the meaning of
all this?”
Mr. Tertius groaned dolefully and shook his head.
“There is so much, Halfpenny,” he answered,
“that I don't quite know what you specifically mean
by this. Do you mean-
“I mean, first of all, Herapath's murder,” said Mr.
Halfpenny. “You think it is a case of murder?”
“I'm sure it's a case of murder-cold, calculated
murder," replied Mr. Tertius, with energy. “Vile
murder, Halfpenny."
“And, as far as you know, is there no clue?” asked
the old lawyer. “There's nothing said or suggested
in the newspapers. Haven't you any notion—hasn't
Barthorpe any notion ?”
Mr. Tertius remained silent for a while. The coupé
brougham turned into Upper Seymour Street.
“I think,” he said at last, “yes, I think that when
100


THE SHADOW
101
we've made this call, I shall ask you to accompany
me to my friend Cox-Raythwaite's, in Endsleigh Gar-
dens-you know him, I believe. I've already seen
him this morning and told him—something. When
we get there, I'll tell it to you, and he shall show you
—something. After that, we'll hear what your legal
instinct suggests. It is my opinion, Halfpenny-I
offer it with all deference, as a layman—that great,
excessive caution is necessary. This case is extraor-
dinary-very extraordinary. That is—in my opin-
ion."
"It's an extraordinary thing that Jacob Herapath
should have made that will," murmured Mr. Half-
penny reflectively. “Why Barthorpe should be en-
tirely ignored is—to me-marvellous. And-it may
be—significant. You never heard of any difference,
quarrel, anything of that sort, between him and his
uncle?”
"I have not the remotest notion as to what the
relations were that existed between the uncle and the
nephew,” replied Mr. Tertius. “And though, as I
have said, I knew that the will was in existence, I
hadn't the remotest idea, the faintest notion, of its
contents until we took it out of the sealed envelope
an hour or so ago. But- ” he paused and shook
his head meaningly.
“Well?” said Mr. Halfpenny.
“I'm very sure, knowing Jacob as I did, that he
had a purpose in making that will," answered Mr.
Tertius. “He was not the man to do anything with-
out good reasons. I think we are here.”


102 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
The landlady of No. 331 opened its door herself to
these two visitors. Her look of speculative interest
on seeing two highly respectable elderly gentlemen
changed to one of inquisitiveness when she heard what
they wanted.
“No, sir," she answered. “Mr. Frank Burchill
doesn't live here now. And it's a queer thing that
during the time he did live here and gave me more
trouble than any lodger I ever had, him keeping such
strange hours of a night and early morning, he never
had nobody to call on him, as I recollect of! And
now here's been three gentlemen asking for him within
this last hour-you two and another gentleman. And
I don't know where Mr. Burchill lives, and don't want,
neither!”
“My dear lady!” said Mr. Halfpenny, mildly and
suavely. “I am sure we are deeply sorry to disturb
you-no doubt we have called you away from your
dinner. Perhaps, er, this''-here there was a slight
chink of silver in Mr. Halfpenny's hand, presently
repeated in one of the landlady's—"will, er, compen-
sate you a little? But we are really anxious to see
Mr. Burchill-haven't you any idea where he's gone
to live? Didn't he leave an address for any letters
that might come here?”
“He didn't, sir—not that he ever had many let-
ters," answered the landlady. “And I haven't the
remotest notion. Of course, if I had I'd give the ad-
dress. But, as I said to the gentleman what was here
not so long ago, I've neither seen nor heard of Mr.
Burchill since he left—and that's six months since.”


THE SHADOW
103
Mr. Halfpenny contrived to give his companion a
nudge of the elbow.
“Is it, indeed, ma'am ?” he said. “Ah! That
gentleman who called, now !—I think he must be a
friend of ours, who didn't know we were coming.
What was he like, now, ma'am ?”.
“He was a tallish, fine-built gentleman,” answered
the landlady. “Fresh-coloured, clean-shaved gentle-
man. And for that matter, he can't be so far away
-it isn't more than a quarter of an hour since he was
here. I'll ask my girl if she saw which way he went.”
“Don't trouble, pray, ma'am, on my account,” en-
treated Mr. Halfpenny. “It's of no consequence.
We're deeply obliged to you.” He swept off his hat
in an old-fashioned obeisance and drew Mr. Tertius
away to the coupé brougham. “That was Barthorpe,
of course,” he said. “He lost no time, you see, Ter-
tius, in trying to see Burchill."
“Why should he want to see Burchill?" asked Mr.
Tertius.
“Wanted to know what Burchill had to say about
signing the will, of course,” replied Mr. Halfpenny.
“Well—what next? Do you want me to see Cox-
Raythwaite with you?”
Mr. Tertius, who had seemed to be relapsing into
a brown study on the edge of the pavement, woke up
into some show of eagerness. “Yes, yes!” he said.
“Yes, by all means let us go to Cox-Raythwaite. I'm
sure that's the thing to do. And there's another man
-the chauffeur. But-yes, we'll go to Cox-Ray-
thwaite first. Tell your man to drive to the corner


104 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
of Endsleigh Gardens—the corner by St. Pancras
Church.”
Professor Cox-Raythwaite was exactly where Mr.
Tertius had left him in the morning, when the two
visitors were ushered into his laboratory. And for
the second time that day he listened in silence to Mr.
Tertius's story. When it was finished, he looked at
Mr. Halfpenny, whose solemn countenance had grown
more solemn than ever.
“Queer story, isn't it, Halfpenny?” he said lacon-
ically. “How does it strike you?”
Mr. Halfpenny slowly opened his pursed-up lips.
“Queer?” he exclaimed. “God bless me!-I'm as-
tounded! I-but let me see these—these things."
“Sealed 'em up not so long ago—just after lunch,"
remarked the Professor, lifting his heavy bulk out of
his chair. “But you can see 'em all right through
the glass. There you are!” He led the way to a
side-table and pointed to the hermetically-sealed re-
ceptacles in which he had safely bestowed the tumbler
and the sandwich brought so gingerly from Portman
Square by Mr. Tertius. “The tumbler," he contin-
ued, jerking a big thumb at it, “will have, of course,
to be carefully examined by an expert in finger-prints;
the sandwich, so to speak, affords primary evidence.
You see—what there is to see, Halfpenny?".
Mr. Halfpenny adjusted his spectacles, bent down,
and examined the exhibits with scrupulous, absorbed
interest. Again he pursed up his lips, firmly, tightly,
as if he would never open them again; when he did


THE SHADOW
105
open them it was to emit a veritable whistle which
indicated almost as much delight as astonishment.
Then he clapped Mr. Tertius on the back.
“A veritable stroke of genius!” he exclaimed.
“Tertius, my boy, you should have been a Vidocq or
a Hawkshaw! How did you come to think of it?
For I confess that with all my forty years' experience
of Law, 1-well, I don't think I should ever have
thought of it!”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Mr. Tertius, modestly.
“I-well, I looked—and then, of course, I saw. That's
all!"
Mr. Halfpenny sat down and put his hands on
his knees.
“It's a good job you did see, anyway,” he said,
ruminatively; "an uncommonly good job. Well-
you're certain of what we may call the co-relative
factor to what is most obvious in that sandwich ?”
“Absolutely certain," replied Mr. Tertius.
“And you're equally certain about the diamond
ring?"
“Equally and positively certain!”.
“Then,” said Mr. Halfpenny, rising with great
decision, “there is only one thing to be done. You
and I, Tertius, must go at once-at once !--to New
Scotland Yard. In fact, we will drive straight there.
I happen to know a man who is highly placed in the
Criminal Investigation Department-we will put our
information before him. He will know what ought
to be done. In my opinion, it is one of those cases


106 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
which will require infinite care, precaution, and, for
the time being, secrecy-mole's work. Let us go, my
dear friend.”
“Want me and these things ?” asked the Pro-
fessor.
“For the time being, no," answered Mr. Half-
penny. “Nor, at present, the taxi-cab driver that
Tertius has told us of. We'll merely tell what we
know. But take care of these these exhibits, as if
they were the apples of your eyes, Cox-Raythwaite.
They-yes, they may hang somebody!”
Half an hour later saw Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Ter-
tius closeted with a gentleman who, in appearance,
resembled the popular conception of a country squire
and was in reality as keen a tracker-down of wrong-
doers as ever trod the pavement of Parliament Street.
And before Mr. Halfpenny had said many words he
stopped him.
“Wait a moment,” he said, touching a bell at his
side, “we're already acquainted, of course, with the
primary facts of this case, and I've told off one of
our sharpest men to give special attention to it. We'll
have him in."
The individual who presently entered and who was
introduced to the two callers as Detective-Inspector
Davidge looked neither preternaturally wise nor ab-
normally acute. What he really did remind Mr. Ter-
tius of was a gentleman of the better-class commercial
traveller persuasion-he was comfortable, solid, genial,
and smartly if quietly dressed. And he and the
highly placed gentleman listened to all that the two


THE SHADOW
107
visitors had to tell with quiet and concentrated atten-
tion and did not even exchange looks with each other.
In the end the superior nodded as if something satis-
fied him.
“Very well,” he said. “Now the first thing is
silence. You two gentlemen will not breathe a word
of all this to any one. As you said just now, Mr.
Halfpenny, the present policy is-secrecy. There will
be a great deal of publicity during the next few days
-the inquest, and so on. We shall not be much con
cerned with it—the public will say that as usual wo
are doing nothing. You may think so, too. But you
may count on this we shall be doing a great deal,
and within a very short time from now we shall never
let Mr. Barthorpe Herapath out of our sight until-
we want him.”
“Just so," assented Mr. Halfpenny. He took Mr
Tertius away, and when he had once more bestowed
him in the coupé brougham, dug him in the ribs.
“Tertius!” he said, with something like a dry chuckle
“What an extraordinary thing it is that people can
go about the world unconscious that other folks are
taking a very close and warm interest in them! Now,
I'll lay a pound to a penny that Barthorpe hasn't a
ghost of a notion that he's already under suspicion.
My idea of the affair, sir, is that he has not the mere
phantasm of such a thing. And yet, from now, as
our friend there observed, Master Barthorpe, sir, will
be watched. Shadowed, Tertius, shadowed!"
Barthorpe Herapath certainly had none of the
notions of which Mr. Halfpenny spoke. He spent his


108 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
afternoon, once having quitted Burchill's flat, in a
businesslike fashion. He visited the estate office in
Kensington; he went to see the undertaker who had
been charged with the funeral arrangements; he called
in at the local police office and saw the inspector and
the detective who had first been brought into connec-
tion with the case; he made some arrangements with
the Coroner's officer about the necessary inevitable
inquest. He did all these things in the fashion of a
man who has nothing to fear, who is unconscious that
other men are already eyeing him with suspicion
And he was quite unaware that when he left his office
in Craven Street that evening he was followed by a
man who quietly attended him to his bachelor rooms
in the Adelphi, who waited patiently until he emerged
from them to dine at a neighboring restaurant, who
himself dined at the same place, and who eventually
tracked him to Maida Vale and watched him enter
Calengrove Mansions.


CHAPTER XII
FOR TEN PER CENT
Mr. Frank Burchill welcomed his visitor with easy
familiarity—this might have been a mere dropping-in
of one friend to another, for the very ordinary pur-
pose of spending a quiet social hour before retiring
for the night. There was a bright fire on the hearth,
a small smoking-jacket on Burchill's graceful shoul-
ders and fancy slippers on his feet; decanters and
glasses were set out on the table in company with
cigars and cigarettes. And by the side of Burchill's
easy chair was a pile of newspapers, to which he
pointed one of his slim white hands as the two men
settled themselves to talk.
“I've been reading all the newspapers I could get
hold of,” he observed. “Brought all the latest edi-
tions in with me after dinner. There's little more
known, I think, than when you were here this after-
noon."
“There's nothing more known,'' replied Barthorpe.
“That is—as far as I'm aware."
Burchill took a sip at his glass and regarded Bar-
thorpe thoughtfully over its rim.
“In strict confidence,” he said, “have you got any
idea whatever on the subject?”
109


110 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“None!" answered Barthorpe. “None whatever!
I've no more idea of who it was that killed my uncle
than I have of the name of the horse that'll win the
Derby of year after next! That's a fact. There isn't
a clue."
“The police are at work, of course,' suggested
Burchill.
“Of course!” replied Barthorpe, with an uncon-
cealed sneer. “And a lot of good they are. Who-
ever knew the police to find out anything, except by
a lucky accident?”
"Just so,” agreed Burchill. “But then—acci-
dents, lucky or otherwise, will happen. You can't
think of anybody whose interest it was to get your
esteemed relative out of the way?”
“Nobody!” said Barthorpe. “There may have been
somebody. We want to know who the man was who
came out of the House with him last night—so far
we don't know. It'll all take a lot of finding out.
In the meantime "
“In the meantime, you're much more concerned
and interested in the will, eh?” said Burchill.
“I'm much more concerned—being a believer in
present necessities—in hearing what you've got to
say to me now that you've brought me here,” an-
swered Barthorpe, coolly. “What is it?”
“Oh, I've a lot to say,” replied Burchill. “Quite
a lot. But you'll have to let me say it in my own
fashion. And to start with, I want to ask you a few
questions. About your family history, for instance."
“I know next to nothing about my family history,"


112 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“A daughter," assented Barthorpe. “I never saw
her, either. However, I know that her name was
Susan. I also know that she married a man named
Wynne—my cousin's father, of course. I don't know,
who he was or anything about him."
“Nothing?"
“Nothing—nothing at all: My Uncle Jacob never
spoke of him to me-except to mention that such a
person had once existed. My cousin doesn't know
anything about him, either. All she knows is that
her father and mother died when she was about-I
think-two years old, and that Jacob then took charge
of her. When she was six years old, he brought her
to live with him. That was about the time I myself
came to England.”
“All right,” said Burchill. “Now, we'll come to
you. Tell about yourself. It all matters.”
“Well, of course, I don't know what you're getting
at,” replied Barthorpe. “But I'm sure you do
Myself, eh? Well, I was put to the Law out there in
Canada. When my father died—not over well off-
I wrote to Uncle Jacob, telling him all about how
things were. He suggested that I should come over
to this country, finish my legal training here, and
qualify. He also promised—if I suited him—to give
me his legal work. And, of course, I came."
“Naturally,' said Burchill. “And that's—how
long ago ?”
“Between fifteen and sixteen years," answered
Barthorpe.
“Did Jacob Herapath take you into his house ?”


FOR TEN PER CENT
118
asked Burchill, continuing the examination which
Barthorpe was beginning to find irksome as well as
puzzling. “I'm asking all this for good reasons
it's necessary, if you're to understand what I'm going
to tell you."
“Oh, as long as you're going to tell me something
I don't mind telling you anything you like to ask,”
replied Barthorpe. “That's what I want to be get-
ting at. No he didn't take me into the house. But
he gave me a very good allowance, paid all my ex-
penses until I got through my remaining examina.
tions and stages, and was very decent all around.
No I fixed up in the rooms which I've still got-a
flat in the Adelphi.”
“But you went a good deal to Portman Square ?”
“Why, yes, a good deal-once or twice a week, as a
rule."
“Had your cousin-Miss Wynne-come there
then ?”
“Yes, she'd just about come. I remember she had
a governess. Of course, Peggie was a mere child
then-about five or six. Must have been six, because
she's quite twenty-one now.”
“And_Mr. Tertius ?”
Burchill spoke the name with a good deal of subtle
meaning, and Barthorpe suddenly looked at him with
a rising comprehension.
“Tertius?” he answered. “No-Tertius hadn't
arrived on the scene then. He came—soon after."
“How soon after ?”
“I should say," replied Barthorpe, after a mo-


114 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
ment's consideration, “I should say–from my best
recollection-a few months after I came to London.
It was certainly within a year of my coming.”
“You remember his coming ?”
“Not particularly. I remember that he camemat
first, I took it, as a visitor. Then I found he'd had
rooms of his own given him, and that he was there as
a permanency.”
“Settled down—just as he has been ever since ?"
“Just! Never any difference that I've known of,
all these years."
“Did Jacob ever tell you who he was?”
“Never! I never remember my uncle speaking of
him in any particular fashion—to me. He was sim-
ply—there. Sometimes, you saw him; sometimes, you
didn't see him. At times, I mean, you'd meet him
at dinner-other times, you didn't.”
Burchill paused for a while; when he asked his
next question he seemed to adopt a more particular
and pressing tone.
“Now-have you the least idea who Tertius is?”
he asked.
“Not the slightest!" affirmed Barthorpe. “I never
have known who he is. I never liked him—I didn't
like his sneaky way of going about the house-I didn't
like anything of him—and he never liked me. I al-
ways had a feeling—a sort of intuition—that he re-
sented my presence—in fact, my existence.”
“Very likely,” said Burchill, with a dry laugh.
“Well-has it ever struck you that there was a
secret between Tertius and Jacob Herapath ?”
--
--


FOR TEN PER CENT
115
Barthorpe started. At last they were coming to
something definite.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “So-that's the secret you
mentioned in that letter?”
“Never mind,” replied Burchill. “Answer my
question.”
“No, then-it never did strike me."
“Very well,” said Burchill. “There is a secret."
“There is ?”
“There is! And," whispered Burchill, rising and
coming nearer to his visitor, “it's a secret that will
put you in possession of the whole of the Herapath
property! And I know it.”
Barthorpe had by this time realized the situation.
And he was thinking things over at a rapid rate.
Burchill had asked Jacob Herapath for ten thousand
pounds as the price of his silence; therefore-
“And, of course, you want to make something out
of your knowledge?” he said presently.
“Of course," laughed Burchill. He opened a box
of cigars, selected one and carefully trimmed the end
before lighting it. “Of course!” he repeated.
“Who wouldn't? Besides, you'll be in a position to
afford me something when you come into all that.”
“The will ?” suggested Barthorpe.
Burchill threw the burnt-out match into the fire.
“The will," he said slowly, “will be about as val-
uable as that when I've fixed things up with you.
Valueless !”
“You mean it?” exclaimed Barthorpe incredu-
lously. "Then-your signature?”


116 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Look here!” said Burchill. “The only thing be-
tween us is—terms! Fix up terms with me, and I'll
tell you the whole truth. And then—you'll see!”
“Well—what terms?” demanded Barthorpe, a little
suspiciously. “If you want money down— "
“You couldn't pay in cash down what I want, nor
anything like it,” said Burchill. "I may want an
advance that you can pay—but it will only be an ad-
vance. What I want is ten per cent. on the total value
of Jacob Herapath's property.'
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Barthorpe. “Why I
believe he'll cut up for a good million and a half!”.
“That's about the figure—as I've reckoned it,'' as-
sented Burchill. “But you'll have a lot left when
you've paid me ten per cent.”
Barthorpe fidgeted in his chair.
“When did you find out this secret?” he asked.
“Got an idea of it just before I left Jacob, and
worked it all out, to the last detail, after I left," re-
plied Burchill. “I tell you this for a certainty
when I've told you all I know, you'll know for an
absolute fact, that the Herapath property is yours!”
“Well?” said Barthorpe. “What do you want
me to do?"
Burchill moved across to a desk and produced some
papers.
“I want you to sign certain documents,” he said,
"and then I'll tell you the whole story. If the
story's no good, the documents are no good. How's
that?"


FOR TEN PER CENT 117
“That'll do!" answered Barthorpe. “Let's get to
business."
It was one o'clock in the morning when Barthorpe
left Calengrove Mansions. But the eyes that had seen
him enter saw him leave, and the shadow followed
him through the sleeping town until he, too, sought
his own place of slumber.


CHAPTER XIII
ADJOURNED
Ever since Triffitt had made his lucky scoop in
connection with the Herapath Mystery he had lived
in a state of temporary glory, with strong hopes of
making it a permanent one. Up to the morning of
the event, which gave him a whole column of the
Argus (big type, extra leaded), Triffitt, as a junior
reporter, had never accomplished anything notable.
As he was fond of remarking, he never got a chance.
Police-court cases-county-court cases—fires coron-
ers' inquests—street accidents—they were all exciting
enough, no doubt, to the people actively concerned in
them, but you never got more than twenty or thirty
lines out of their details. However, the chance did
come that morning, and Triffitt made the most of it,
and the news editor (a highly exacting and particular
person) blessed him moderately, and told him, more-
over, that he could call the Herapath case his own.
Thenceforth Triffitt ate, drank, smoked, and slept with
the case; it was the only thing he ever thought of.
But at half-past one on the afternoon of the third day
after what one may call the actual start of the affair,
Triffitt sat in a dark corner of a tea-shop in Ken-
sington High Street, munching ham sandwiches, sip-
118


ADJOURNED
119
ping coffee, and thinking lugubriously, if not despair-
ingly. He had spent two and a half hours in the ad-
jacent Coroner's Court, listening to all that was said
in evidence about the death of Jacob Herapath, and
he had heard absolutely nothing that was not quite
well known to him when the Coroner took his seat,
inspected his jurymen, and opened the inquiry. Two
and a half hours, at the end of which the court ad-
journed for lunch—and the affair was just as myste-
rious as ever, and not a single witness had said a new
thing, not a single fresh fact had been brought for-
ward out of which a fellow could make good, rousing
copy!
“Rotten!" mumbled Triffitt into his cup. “Extra
rotten! Somebody's keeping something back-that's
about it!”
Just then another young gentleman came into the
alcove in which Triffitt sat disconsolate-à pink-
cheeked young gentleman, who affected a tweed suit
of loud checks and a sporting coat, and wore a bit of
feather in the band of his rakish billycock. Triffitt
recognized him as a fellow-scribe, one of the youthful
bloods of an opposition journal, whom he sometimes
met on the cricket-field; he also remembered that he
had caught a glimpse of him in the Coroner's Court,
and he hastened to make room for him.
“Hullo!" said Triffitt.
“What-ho!” responded the pink young gentleman.
He beckoned knowingly to a waitress, and looked at
her narrowly when she came. “Got such a thing as a
muffin ?” he asked.


122 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
hat, took his keys, went to Portman Square, did some-
thing there, went back to the office, left the coat and
hat, and hooked it. That, my son, is a dead certainty.
There's been little if anything-made of all that be-
fore the Coroner, and it's my impression, Triffitt, that
somebody-somebody official, mind you—is keeping
something back. Now," continued Carver, dropping
his voice to a confidential whisper, “I'm only doing a
plain report of this affair for our organ of light and
leading, but I've read it up pretty well, and there are
two things I want to know, and I'll tell you what,
Triffitt, if you like to go in with me at finding them
out-two can always work better than one-I'm
game!”
“What are the two things?” asked Triffitt, cau-
tiously. “Perhaps I've got 'em in mind also.”
“The first's this,” replied Carver. "Somebody-
some taxi-cab driver or somebody of that sort-must
have brought the man who personated old Jacob Hera-
path back to, or to the neighborhood of, the office that
morning. How is it that somebody hasn't been dis-
covered? You made a point of asking for him in the
Argus. Do you know what I think? I think he has
been discovered, and he's being kept out of the way.
That's point one."
“Good!” muttered Triffitt. “And point two ?”
“Point two is—where is the man who came out of
the House of Commons with Jacob Herapath that
night, the man that the coachman Mountain de-
scribed? In my opinion," asserted Carver, “I be-
lieve that man's been found, too, and he's being kept
back.”


ADJOURNED
123
“Good again!” said Triffitt. “It's likely. Well,
I've a point. You heard the evidence about old Hera-
path's keys? Yeswell, where's the key of that safe
that he rented at the Safe Deposit place. That young
secretary, Selwood, swore that it was on the little
bunch the day of the murder, that he saw it at three
o'clock in the afternoon. What did Jacob Herapath
do with it between then and the time of the murder?”
“Yes—that's a great point,” asserted Carver.
“We may hear something of that this afternoon-
perhaps of all these points.”
But when they went back to the densely crowded
court it was only to find that theyand an expectant
public-were going to hear nothing more for that
time. As soon as the court re-assembled, there was
some putting together of heads on the part of the
legal gentlemen and the Coroner; there were whis-
perings and consultations and noddings and veiled
hints, palpable enough to everybody with half an eye;
then the Coroner announced that no further evidence
would be taken that day, and adjourned the inquest
for a fortnight. Such of the public as had contrived
to squeeze into the court went out murmuring, and
Triffitt and Carver went out too and exchanged mean-
ing glances.
“Just what I expected!” said Carver. “I reckon
the police are at the bottom of all that. A fortnight
today we'll be hearing something good-something
sensational.”
“I don't want to wait until a fortnight today,”
growled Triffitt. “I want some good, hot stuff-
now!”


124 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
"Then you'll have to find it for yourself, very
soon,” remarked Carver. “Take my tip-you'll get
nothing from the police.”
Triffitt was well aware of that. He had talked to
two or three police officials and detectives that morn-
ing, and had found them singularly elusive and un-
communicative. One of them was the police-inspector
who had been called to the Herapath Estate Office on
the discovery of the murder; another was the detec-
tive who had accompanied him. Since the murder
Triffitt had kept in touch with these two, and had
found them affable and ready to talk; now, however,
they had suddenly curled up into a dry taciturnity,
and there was nothing to be got out of them.
“Tell you what it is,” he said suddenly. “We'll
have to go for the police!”.
“How go for the police ?” asked Carver doubtfully.
“Throw out some careful hints that the police
know more than they'll tell at present," answered
Triffitt, importantly. “That's what I shall do, any-
how—I've got carte blanche on our rag, and I'll make
the public ear itch and twitch by breakfast-time to-
morrow morning! And after that, my boy, you and
I'll put our heads together, as you suggest, and see
if we can't do a bit of detective work of our own.
See you tomorrow at the usual in Fleet Street."
Then Triffitt went along to the Argus office, and
spent the rest of the afternoon in writing up a breezy
and brilliant column about the scene at the inquest,
intended to preface the ordinary detailed report. He
wound it up with an artfully concocted paragraph in


ADJOURNED
125
which he threw out many thinly veiled hints and in-
nuendoes to the effect that the police were in posses-
sion of strange and sensational information and that
ere long such a dramatic turn would be given to this
Herapath Mystery that the whole town would seethe
with excitement. He preened his feathers gaily over
this accomplishment, and woke earlier than usual next
morning on purpose to go out before breakfast and
buy the Argus. But when he opened that enterpris-
ing journal he found that his column had been woe-
fully cut down, and that the paragraph over which
he had so exercised his brains was omitted altogether.
Triffitt had small appetite for breakfast that morn-
ing, and he went early to the office and made haste
to put himself in the way of the news editor, who
grinned at sight of him.
“Look here, Master Triffitt," said the news editor,
“there's such a thing as being too smart—and too
previous. I was a bit doubtful about your prognos-
tications last night, and I rang up the C.I.D. about
'em. Don't do it again, my son !-you mean well, but
the police know their job better than you do. If
they want to keep quiet for a while in this matter,
they've good reasons for it. So—no more hints.
See?”
“So they do know something?” muttered Triffitt
sourly. “Then I was right, after all!”.
“You'll be wrong, after all, if you stick your nose
where it isn't wanted,” said the news editor. "Just
chuck the inspired prophet game for a while, will you?
Keep to mere facts; you'll be alarming the wrong


126 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
people, if you don't. Off you go now! and do old
Herapath's funeral—it's at noon, at Kensal Green
There'll be some of his fellow M.P's there, and so on.
Get their names—make a nice, respectable thing of it
on conventional lines. And no fireworks! This
thing's to lie low at present.”
Triffitt went off to Kensal Green, scowling and cog-
itating. Of course the police knew something! But
-what? What they knew would doubtless come out
in time, but Triffitt had a strong desire to be before-
hand with them. In spite of the douche of cold
water which the news editor had just administered,
Triffitt knew his Argus. If he could fathom the
Herapath Mystery in such a fashion as to make a
real great, smashing, all-absorbing feature of a sensa-
tional discovery, the Argus would throw police pre-
caution and official entreaties to the first wind that
swept down Fleet Street. No !-he, Triffitt, was not
to be balked. He would do his duty-he would go
and see Jacob Herapath buried, but he would also
continue his attempt to find out how it was that that
burial came to be. And as he turned into the ceme-
tery and stared at its weird collection of Christian
and pagan monuments he breathed a fervent prayer
to the Goddesses of Chance and Fortune to give him
what he called "another look-in.”


CHAPTER XIV
THE SCOTTISH VERDICT
If Triffitt had only known it, the Goddesses of
Chance and Fortune were already close at hand, hov-
ering lovingly and benignly above the crown of his
own Trilby hat. Triffitt, of course, did not see them,
nor dream that they were near; he was too busily
occupied in taking stock of the black-garmented men
who paid the last tribute of respect (a conventional
phrase which he felt obliged to use) to Jacob Hera-
path. These men were many in number; some of
them were known to Triffitt, some were not. He knew
Mr. Fox-Crawford, an Under-Secretary of State, who
represented the Government; he knew Mr. Day-
weather and Mr. Encilmore, and Mr. Camford and
Mr. Wallburn; they were all well-known members of
Parliament. Also, he knew Mr. Barthorpe Herapath,
walking at the head of the procession of mourners.
Very soon he had quite a lengthy list of names; somo
others, if necessary, he could get from Selwood, whom
he recognized as the cortège passed him by. So for
the time being he closed his note-book and drew back
beneath the shade of a cypress-tree, respectfully
watching. In the tail-end of the procession he knew
nobody; it was made up, he guessed, of Jacob Hera-
127


128 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
path's numerous clerks from the estate offices, and
But suddenly Triffitt saw a face in that procession.
The owner of that face was not looking at Triffitt;
he was staring quietly ahead, with the blank, grave
demeanour which people affect when they go to
funerals. And it was as well that he was not look-
at Triffitt, for Triffitt, seeing that face, literally started
and even jumped a little, feeling as if the earth be-
neath him suddenly quaked.
“Gad!” exclaimed Triffitt under his breath. “It
is! It can't be! Gad, but I'm certain it is! Can't
be mistaken—not likely I should ever forget him!”.
Then he took off the Trilby hat, which he had re-
sumed after the coffin had passed, and he rubbed
his head as men do when they are exceedingly be-
wildered or puzzled. After which he unobtrusively
followed the procession, hovered about its fringes
around the grave until the last rites were over, and
eventually edged himself up to Selwood as the gather-
ing was dispersing. He quietly touched Selwood's
sleeve.
"Mr. Selwood !” he whispered. “Just a word. I
know a lot of these gentlemen—the M.P.'s and so on
-but there are some I don't know. Will you oblige
me, now?-I want to get a full list. Who are the
two elderly gentlemen with Mr. Barthorpe Herapath
-relatives, eh?”
“No-old personal friends,” answered Selwood,
good-naturedly turning aside with the little reporter.
“One is Mr. Tertius Mr. J. C. Tertius a very old
friend of the late Mr. Herapath's; the other is Mr.


THE SCOTTISH VERDICT 129
Benjamin Halfpenny, the solicitor, also an old
friend."
“Oh, I know of his firm," said Triffitt, busily
scribbling. “Halfpenny and Farthing, of course,
odd combination, isn't it? And that burly gentle-
man behind them, now—who's he?”
“That's Professor Cox-Raythwaite, the famous
scientist,” answered Selwood. “He's also an old
friend. The gentleman he's speaking to is Sir Cor-
nelius Debenham, chairman of the World Alliance
Association, with which Mr. Herapath was connected,
you know.”
“I know-I know," answered Triffitt, still busy.
“Those two behind him, now—middle-aged parties?”
“One's Mr. Frankton, the manager, and the other's
Mr. Charlwood, the cashier, at the estate office," re-
plied Selwood.
“They'll go down in staff and employees,” said
Triffitt. “Um-I've got a good list. By the by,
who's the gentleman across there—just going up to
the grave—the gentleman who looks like an actor?
Is he an actor?”
“That? Oh!” answered Selwood. “No-that's
Mr. Frank Burchill, who used to be Mr. Herapath's
secretary-my predecessor.”
“Oh!” responded Triffitt. He had caught sight of
Carver a few yards off, and he hurried his notebook
into his pocket, and bustled off. “Much obliged to
you, Mr. Selwood,” he said with a grin. “Even we
with all our experience, don't know everybody, you
know-many thanks.” He hastened over to Carver


130 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
who was also busy pencilling, and drew him away into
the shelter of a particularly large and ugly monu-
ment. “I say!” he whispered. “Here's something!
Shove that book away now—I've got all the names
and attend to me a minute. Don't look too obtru-
sively—but do you see that chap—looks like an actor
—who is just coming away from the graveside-tall,
well-dressed chap?”
Carver looked across. His face lighted up.
“I know that man,” he said. “I've seen him at the
club_he's been in once or twice, though he's not a
member. He does theatre stuff for the Magnet. His
name's Burchill.”
Triffitt dropped his friend's arm.
“Oh!” he said. “So you know him—by sight,
anyhow? And his name's Burchill, eh? Very good.
Let's get.”
He walked Carver out of the cemetery, down the
Harrow Road, and turned into the saloon bar of the
first tavern that presented itself.
“I'm going to have some ale and some bread and
cheese,” he observed, “and if you'll follow suit, Car.
ver, we'll sit in that corner, and I'll tell you some-
thing that'll make your hair curl. Two nice plates
of bread and cheese, and two large tankards of your •
best bitter ale, if you please,” he continued, approach-
ing the bar and ringing a half-crown on it. “Yes,
Carver, my son—that will curl your hair for you.
And,” he went on, when they had carried their sim-
ple provender over to a quiet corner, "about that


THE SCOTTISH VERDICT 131
chap now known as Burchill—Burchill. Mr.-Frank
- Burchill; late secretary to the respected gentleman
whose mortal remains have just been laid to rest.
Ah!”
“What's the mystery?” asked Carver, setting down
his tankard. "Seems to be one, anyway. What
about Burchill ?”
“Speak his name softly,” answered Triffitt. “Well,
my son, I suddenly saw—him—this morning, and I
just as suddenly remembered that I'd seen him be-
fore!”
“You had, eh?” said Carver. “Where?”
Triffitt sank his voice to a still lower whisper.
“Where?” he said. “Where? In the dock !""
Carver arrested the progress of a lump of bread
and cheese and turned in astonishment.
“In the dock ?” he exclaimed. “That chap? Good
heavens! When—where?”
“It's a longish story," answered Triffitt. “But
you've got to hear it if we're going into this thing-
as we are. Know, then, that I have an aunt-Eliza.
My aunt-maternal aunt-Eliza is married to a highly
respectable Scotsman named Kierley, who runs a flour-
mill in the ancient town of Jedburgh, which is in the
county of Roxburgh, just over the Border. And it's
just about nine years (I can tell the exact date to a
day if I look at an old diary) that Mr. and Mrs.
Kierley were good enough to invite me to spend a
few weeks in Bonnie Scotland. And the first night
of my arrival Kierley told me that I was in luck, for
Cul.


THE SCOTTISH VERDICT 133
and-dog life. Well, about the time I'm talking about,
Ferguson got a new undermaster; he only kept one.
This chap was an Englishman-name of Bentham-
Francis Bentham, to give him his full patronymic,
but I don't know where he came from–I don't think
anybody did.”
“F. B., eh?” muttered Carver. “Same initials
as '
“Precisely,” said Triffitt, “and—to anticipate
same man. But to proceed in due order. Old Fer-
guson died rather suddenly—but in quite an above-
board and natural fashion, about six months after
this Bentham came to him. The widow kept on the
school, and retained Bentham's services. And within
half a year of the demise of her first husband, she
took Bentham for her second.”
“Quick work!” remarked Carver.
“And productive of much wagging of tongues,
you may bet!” said Triffitt. “Many things were
said-not all of them charitable. Well, this marriage
didn't mend the lady's manners. She still continued,
now and then, to take her drops in too generous meas-
ure. Rumour had it that the successor to Ferguson
followed his predecessor's example and corrected his
wife in the good, old-fashioned way. It was said
that the old cat-and-dog life was started again by
these two. However, before they'd been married a
year, the lady ended that episode by quitting life for
good. She was found one night lying at the foot of
the cliff in the Kelpies’ Glen-with a broken neck.”
“Ah!” said Carver. “I begin to see.”


134 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Now, that Kelpies' Glen," continued Triffitt,
"was a sort of ravine which lay between the town of
Jedburgh and the school. It was traversed by a
rough path which lay along the top of one side of
it, amongst trees and crags. At one point, this path
was on the very edge of a precipitous cliff; from that
edge there was a sheer drop of some seventy or eighty
feet to a bed of rocks down below, on the edge of a
brawling stream. It was on these rocks that Mrs.
Bentham's body was found. She was dead enough
when she was discovered, and the theory was that
she had come along the path above in a drunken con-
dition, had fallen over the low railings which fenced
it in, and so had come to her death."
“Precisely," assented Carver, nodding his head
with wise appreciation. “Her alcoholic tendencies
were certainly useful factors in the case.”
“Just so—you take my meaning,” agreed Triffitt.
"Well, at first nobody saw any reason to doubt this
theory, for the lady had been seen staggering along
that path more than once. But she had a brother, a
canny Scot who was not over well pleased when he
found that his sister—who had come into everything
that old Ferguson left, which was a comfortable bit
-had made a will not very long before her death
in which she left absolutely everything to her new
husband, Francis Bentham. The brother began to
inquire and to investigate—and to cut the story short,
within a fortnight of his wife's death, Bentham was
arrested and charged with her murder."
“On what evidence ?” asked Carver.


THE SCOTTISH VERDICT 135
“Precious little!” answered Triffitt. “Indeed next
to none. Still, there was some. It was proved that
he was absent from the house for half an hour or so
about the time that she would be coming along that
path; it was also proved that certain footprints in
the clay of the path were his. He contended that he
had been to look for her; he proved that he had often
been to look for her in that way; moreover, as to the
footprints, he, like everybody in the house, constantly
used that path in going to the town.”
“Aye, to be sure;” said Carver. “He'd a good
case, I'm thinking.”
“He had—and so I thought at the time," contin-
ued Triffitt. “And so a good many folks thought-
and they, and I, also thought something else, I can
tell you. I know what the verdict of the crowded
court would have been !"
“What?” asked Carver.
“Guilty !” exclaimed Triffitt. "And so far as I'm
concerned, I haven't a doubt that the fellow pushed
her over the cliff. But opinion's neither here nor
there. The only thing that mattered, my son, was
the jury's verdict!”
“And the jury's verdict was—what?” demanded
Carver.
Triffitt winked into his empty tankard and set it
down with a bang.
“The jury's verdict, my boy,” he answered, “was
one that you can only get across the Border. It was
'Not Proven'!"


CHAPTER XV
YOUNG BRAINS
Carver, who had been listening intently to the
memory of a bygone event, pushed away the remains
of his frugal lunch, and shook his head as he drew
out a cigarette-case.
“By gad, Triff, old man!” he said. “If I'd been
that chap I'd rather have been hanged, I think. Not
proven, eh?—whew! That meant-
“Pretty much what the folk in court and the mob
outside thought," asserted Triffitt. “That scene out-
side, after the trial, is one of my liveliest recollec-
tions. There was a big crowd there—chiefly women.
When they heard the verdict there was such yelling
and hooting as you never heard in your life! You
see, they were all certain about the fellow's guilt,
and they wanted him to swing. If they could have
got at him, they'd have lynched him. And do you
know, he actually had the cheek to leave the court
by the front entrance, and show himself to that
crowd! Then there was a lively scene-stones and
brickbats and the mud of the street began flying.
Then the police waded in—and they gave Mr. Francis
Bentham pretty clearly to understand that there must
be no going home for him, or the folks would pull his
roof over his head. And they forced him back into
136


YOUNG BRAINS
137
the court, and got him away out of the town on the
quiet-and I reckon he's never shown his face in that
quarter of the globe since.”
“That will ?” asked Carver. “Did it stand good
- did he get the woman's money?”
“He did. My aunt told me afterwards that he
employed some local solicitor chap-writers, as they
call 'em there—to wind everything up, convert every-
thing into cash, for him. Oh, yes!” concluded Triffitt.
“He got the estate, right enough. Not an awful lot,
you know-a thousand or two-perhaps three-but
enough to go adventuring with elsewhere."
“You're sure this is the man?” asked Carver.
“As certain as that I'm myself !” answered Triffitt.
“Couldn't mistake him-even if it is nine years ago.
It's true I was only a nipper then-sixteen or so—
but I'd all my wits about me, and I was so taken with
him in the dock, and with his theatrical bearing there
-he's a fine hand at posing—that I couldn't forget
or mistake him. Oh, he's the man! I've often won-
dered what had become of him.”
“And now you find out that he's up till recently,
been secretary to Jacob Herapath, M.P., and is just
now doing dramatic criticism for the Magnet,” ob-
served Carver. “Well, Triffitt, what do you make
of it?"
Triffitt, who had filled and lighted an old briar-
wood pipe, puffed solemnly and thoughtfully for a
while.
“Well,” he said, “nobody can deny that there's
a deep mystery about Jacob Herapath's death. And


138 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
knowing what I do about this Bentham or Burchill,
and that he's recently been secretary to Jacob Hera-
path, I'd just like to know a lot more. And I mean
to!”
“Got any plan of campaign?” asked Carver.
“I have!” affirmed Triffitt with sublime confidence.
“And it's this—I'm going to dog this thing out until
I can go to our boss and tell him that I can force
the hands of the police! For the police are keeping
something dark, my son, and I mean to find out what
it is. I got a quencher this morning from our news
editor, but it'll be the last. When I go back to the
office to write out this stuff, I'm going to have that
extremely rare thing with any of our lot-an inter-
view with the old man.”
“Gad!—I thought your old man was unapproach-
able!” exclaimed Carver.
“To all intents and purposes, he is," assented
Triffitt. “But I'll see him—and today. And after
that—but you'll see. Now, as to you, old man.
You're coming in with me at this, of course—not on
behalf of your paper, but on your own. Work up
with me, and if we're successful, I'll promise you a
post on the Argus that'll be worth three times what
you're getting now. I know what I'm talking about
-unapproachable as our guv’nor is, I've sized him
up, and if I make good in this affair, he'll do anything
I want. Stick to Triffitt, my son, and Triffitt'll see
you all serene!”
“Right-oh!” said Carver. “I'm on. Well, and
what am I to do, first ?”


YOUNG BRAINS
139
“Two things,” responded Triffitt. “One of 'em's
easy, and can be done at once. Get me-diplomat-
ically—this man Burchill's, or Bentham's, present ad
dress. You know some Magnet chaps-get it out of
them. Tell 'em you want to ask Burchill's advice
about some dramatic stuff—say you've written a play
and you're so impressed by his criticisms that you'd
like to take his counsel.”
"I can do that,” replied Carver. “As a matter
of fact, I've got a real good farce in my desk. And
the next?'
“The next is—try to find out if there's any taxi.
cab driver around the Portman Square district who
took a fare resembling old Herapath from anywhere
about there to Kensington on the night of the mur.
der,” said Triffitt. “There must be some chap who
drove that man, and if we've got any brains about us
we can find him. If we find him, and can get him
to talk-well, we shall know something."
“It'll mean money,” observed Carver.
“Never mind,” said Triffitt, confident as ever
“If it comes off all right with our boss, you needn't
bother about money, my son! Now let's be going
Fleet Street way, and I'll meet you tonight at the
usual—say six o'clock."
Arrived at the Argus office and duly seated at his
own particular table, Triffitt, instead of proceeding
to write out his report of the funeral ceremony of
the late Jacob Herapath, M.P., wrote a note to his
proprietor, which note he carefully sealed and marked
“Private." He carried this off to the great man's


140 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
confidential secretary, who stared at it and him.
“I suppose this really is of a private nature ?” he
asked suspiciously. “You know as well as I do that
Mr. Markledew'll make me suffer if it isn't.”
“Soul and honour, it's of the most private!” af-
firmed Triffitt, laying a hand on his heart. “And of
the highest importance, too, and I'll be eternally
grateful if you'll put it before him as soon as you
can."
The confidential secretary took another look at
Triffitt, and allowed himself to be reluctantly con-
vinced of his earnestness.
“All right!” he said. “I'll shove it under his
nose when he comes in at four o'clock.”
Triffitt went back to his work, excited, yet elated.
It was no easy job to get speech of Markledew.
Markledew, as everybody in Fleet Street knew, was
a man in ten thousand. He was not only sole pro-
prietor of his paper, but its editor and manager,
and he ruled his office and his employees with a rod
of iron-chiefly by silence. It was usually said of
him that he never spoke to anybody unless he was
absolutely obliged to do so—certain it was that all
his orders to the various heads were given out pretty
much after the fashion of a drill sergeant's com-
mands to a squad of well-trained, five-month recruits,
and that monosyllables were much more in his mouth
than even brief admonitions and explanations. If
anybody ever did manage to approach Markledew, it
was always with fear and trembling. A big, heavy,
lumbering man, with a face that might have been


YOUNG BRAINS
141
carved out of granite, eyes that bored through an
opposing brain, and a constant expression of abso-
lute, yet watchful immobility, he was a trying person
to tackle, and most men, when they did tackle him,
felt as if they might be talking to the Sphinx and
wondered if the tightly-locked lips were ever going
to open. But all men who ever had anything to do
with Markledew were well aware that, difficult as he
was of access, you had only got to approach him with
something good to be rewarded for your pains in
full measure.
At ten minutes past four Triffitt, who had just
finished his work, lifted his head to see a messenger-
boy fling open the door of the reporter's room and
cast his eyes round. A shiver shot through Triffitt's
spine and went out of his toes with a final sting.
“Mr. Markledew wants Mr. Triffitt!”
Two or three other junior reporters who were
scribbling in the room glanced at Triffitt as he leapt
to obey the summons. They hastened to make kindly
comments on this unheard-of episode in the day's dull
routine.
“Pale as a fair young bride!" sighed one. “Buck
up, Triff !—he won't eat you."
“I hear your knees knocking together, Triff,” said
another. “Brace yourself!”.
“Markledew," observed a third, “has decided to
lay down the sceptre and to instal Triff in the chair
of rule. Ave, Triffitt, Imperator!—be merciful to
the rest of over, Triffitt, Imo instal Triff:
Triffitt consigned them to the nether regions and


142 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
hurried to the presence. The presence was busied
with its secretary and kept Triffitt standing for two
minutes, during which space he recovered his breath.
Then the presence waved away secretary and papers
with one hand, turned its awful eyes upon him, and
rapped out one word :
“Now!”
Triffitt breathed a fervent prayer to all his gods,
summoned his resolution and his powers, and spoke.
He endeavoured to use as few words as possible, to be
lucid, to make his points, to show what he was after-
and, driving fear away from him, he kept his own
eyes steadily fixed on those penetrating organs which
confronted him. And once, twice, he saw or thought
he saw a light gleam of appreciation in those organs;
once, he believed, the big head nodded as if in agree-
ment. Anyhow, at the end of a quarter of an hour
(unheard-of length for an interview with Markle-
dew!) Triffitt had neither been turned out nor sum-
marily silenced; instead, he had come to what he felt
to be a good ending of his pleas and his arguments,
and the great man was showing signs of speech.
“Now, attend !” said Markledew, impressively.
“You'll go on with this. You'll follow. it up on the
lines you suggest. But you'll print nothing except
under my personal supervision. Make certain of your
facts. Facts !-understand! Wait.”
He pulled a couple of slips of paper towards him,
scribbled a line or two on each, handed them to
Triffitt, and nodded at the door.
“That'll do,” he said. “When you want me, let


YOUNG BRAINS
143
me know. And mind-you've got a fine chance, young
man.”
Triffitt could have fallen on the carpet and kissed
Markledew's large boots. But knowing Markledew,
he expressed his gratitude in two words and a bow,
and sped out of the room. Once outside, he hastened
to send the all-powerful notes. They were short and
sharp, like Markledew's manner, but to Triffitt of an
inexpressible sweetness, and he walked on air as he
went off to other regions to present them.
The news editor, who was by nature irascible and
whom much daily worry had rendered more so, glared
angrily as Triffitt marched up to his table. He
pointed to a slip of proof which lay, damp and sticky,
close by.
"You've given too much space to that Herapath
funeral,” he growled. “Take it away ind cut it
down to three-quarters.”
Triffitt made no verbal answer. He flung Markle-
dew's half-sheet of notepaper before the news editor,
and the news editor, seeing the great man's sprawling
caligraphy, read, wonderingly:-
“Mr. Triffitt is released from ordinary duties to
pursue others under my personal supervision.
J. M."
The news editor stared at Triffitt as if that young
gentleman had suddenly become an archangel.
“What's this mean?” he demanded.
“Obvious—and sufficient,” retorted Triffitt. And
he turned, hands in pockets, and strolled out, leaving


CHAPTER XVI
NAMELESS FEAR
If Triffitt had stayed in Kensal Green Cemetery
a little longer, he would have observed that Mr. Frank
Burchill's presence at the funeral obsequies of the
late Jacob Herapath was of an eminently modest, un-
assuming, and retiring character. He might, as an
ex-secretary of the dead man, have claimed to walk
abreast of Mr. Selwood, and ahead of the manager and
cashier from the estate office; instead, he had taken a
place in the rear ranks of the procession, and in it
he remained until the close of the ceremony. Like
the rest of those present, he defiled past the grave at
which the chief mourners were standing, but he
claimed no recognition from and gave no apparent
heed to any of them; certainly none to Barthorpe
Herapath. Also, like all the rest, he went away at
once from the cemetery, and after him, quietly and
unobtrusively, went a certain sharp-eyed person who
had also been present, not as a mourner, but in the
character of a casual stroller about the tombs and
monuments, attracted for the moment by the impos-
ing cortège which had followed the dead man to his
grave.
Another sharp-eyed person made it his business to
145


146 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
follow Barthorpe Herapath when he, too, went away.
Barthorpe had come to the ceremony unattended.
Selwood, Mr. Tertius, Professor Cox-Raythwaite, and
Mr. Halfpenny had come together. These four also
went away together. Barthorpe, still alone, re-en-
tered his carriage when they had driven off. The
observant person of the sharp eyes, hanging around
the gates, heard him give his order:
the gatesman Square had preceded
The four men who had preceded him were standing
in the study when Barthorpe drove up to the house
-standing around Peggie, who was obviously ill at
ease and distressed. And when Barthorpe's voice
was heard in the hall, Mr. Halfpenny spoke in deci-
sive tones.
“We must understand matters at once,” he said.
“There is no use in beating about the bush. He has
refused to meet or receive me so far-now I shall in-
sist upon his saying plainly whatever he has to say.
You, too, my dear, painful as it may be, must also
insist.”
“On—what?”' asked Peggie.
“On his saying what he intends—if he intends-
I don't know what he intends !” answered Mr. Half-
penny, testily. “It's most annoying, and we can't
Barthorpe came striding in, paused as he glanced
around, and affected surprise.
“Oh!” he said. “I came to see you, Peggie-I
did not know that there was any meeting in prog-
ress.”


NAMELESS FEAR
147
“Barthorpe !” said Peggie, looking earnestly at him.
“You know that all these gentlemen were Uncle
Jacob's friends—dear friends and they are mine.
Don't go away-Mr. Halfpenny wants to speak to
you."
Barthorpe had already half turned to the door.
He turned back—then turned again.
“Mr. Halfpenny can only want to speak to me on
business," he said, coldly. "If Mr. Halfpenny wants
to speak to me on business, he knows where to find
me.”
He had already laid a hand on the door when
Mr. Halfpenny spoke sharply and sternly.
“Mr. Barthorpe Herapath!” he said. “I know
very well where to find you, and I have tried to find
you and to get speech with you for two days—in vain.
I insist, sir, that you speak to us—or at any rate to
your cousin-you are bound to speak, sir, out of com-
mon decency!”
“About what?” asked Barthorpe. “I came to
speak to my cousin-in private."
“There is a certain something, sir," retorted Mr.
Halfpenny, with warmth, “about which we must
speak in public-such a public, at any rate, as is
represented here and now. You know what it is
your uncle's will!”
“What about my uncle's will—or alleged will?”
asked Barthorpe with a sneer.
Mr. Halfpenny appeared to be about to make a
very angry retort, but he suddenly checked himself
and looked at Peggie.


148 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“You hear, my dear?” he said. “He saysal-
leged will!”
Peggie turned to Barthorpe with an appealing
glance.
“Barthorpe!” she exclaimed. “Is that fair-is it
generous ? Is it just—to our uncle's memory! You
know that is his will-what doubt can there be about
it?'
Barthorpe made no answer. He still stood with
one hand on the door, looking at Mr. Halfpenny.
And suddenly he spoke.
“What do you wish to ask me?'' he said.
“I wish to ask you a plain question,” replied Mr.
Halfpenny. “Do you accept this will, and are you
going to act on your cousin's behalf? I want your
plain answer."
Barthorpe hesitated a moment before replying.
Then he made as if to open the door.
“I decline to discuss the matter of the alleged
will,” he answered. “I decline—especially," he con-
tinued, lifting a finger and pointing at Mr. Tertius,
“especially in the presence of that man!”
"Barthorpe!” exclaimed Peggie, Alushing at the
malevolence of the tone and gesture. “How dare
you! In my house- ".
Barthorpe suddenly laughed. Once again he turned
to the door-and this time he opened it.
“Just so—just so !” he said. “Your house, my
dear cousin—according to the alleged will.”
“Which will be proved, sir," snapped out Mr.


NAMELESS FEAR
149
Halfpenny. “As you refuse, or seem to do so, I
shall act for your cousin-at once.”
Barthorpe opened the door wide, and as he crossed
the threshold, turned and gave Mr. Halfpenny a swift
glance.
“Act!” he said. “Act!—if you can!”
Then he walked out and shut the door behind him,
and Mr. Halfpenny turned to the others.
“The will must be proved at once,” he said deci-
sively. “Alleged—you all heard him say alleged !
That looks as if—um! My dear Tertius, you have no
doubt whatever about the proper and valid execu-
tion of this important document-now in my safe.
None?”
“How can I have any doubt about what I actually
saw?” replied Mr. Tertius. “I can't have any doubt,
Halfpenny! I saw Jacob sign it; I signed it myself;
I saw young Burchill sign it; we all three saw each
other sign. What more can one want?”.
“I must see this Mr. Burchill,” remarked Mr. Half-
penny. “I must see him at once. Unfortunately, he
left no address at the place we called at. He will
have to be discovered."
Peggie coloured slightly as she turned to Mr. Half-
penny.
“Is it really necessary to see Mr. Burchill person-
ally?” she asked with a palpable nervousness which
struck Selwood strangely. “Must he be found ?”.
“Absolutely necessary, my dear,'' replied Mr. Half-
penny. “He must be found, and at once."


150 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Mr. Tertius uttered an exclamation of annoyance.
“Dear, dear!” he said. “I noticed the young man
at the cemetery just now-I ought really to have
pointed him out to you—most forgetful of me!”
“I have Mr. Burchill's address,” said Peggie, with
an effort. “He left his card here on the day of my
uncle's death—the address is on it. And I put it in
this drawer.”
Selwood watched Peggie curiously, and with a
strange, vague sense of uneasiness as she went over to
a drawer in Jacob Herapath's desk and produced the
card. He had noticed a slight tremor in her voice
when she spoke of Burchill, and her face, up till then
very pale, had coloured at the first mention of his
name. And now he was asking himself why any ref-
erence to this man seemed to disturb her, why-
But Mr. Halfpenny cut in on his meditations. The
old lawyer held up the card to the light and slowly
read out the address.
“Ah! Calengrove Mansions, Maida Vale,” he said.
“Um--quarter of an hour's drive. Tertius—you and
I will go and see this young fellow at once."
Mr. Tertius turned to Professor Cox-Raythwaite.
“What do you think of this, Cox-Raythwaite?” he
asked, almost piteously. “I mean—what do you
think's best to be done?”
The Professor, who had stood apart with Selwood
during the episode which had just concluded, pulling
his great beard and looking very big and black and
formidable, jerked his thumb in the direction of the
old lawyer.


NAMELESS FEAR
151
“Do what Halfpenny says," he growled. “See
this other witness. And—but here, I'll have a word
with you in the hall.”
He said good-bye in a gruffly affectionate way to
Peggie, patted her shoulder and her head as if she
were a child, and followed the two other men out.
Peggie, left alone with Selwood, turned to him.
There was something half-appealing in her face, and
Selwood suddenly drove his hands deep into his
pockets, clenched them there, and put a tight hold
on himself.
“It's all different!” exclaimed Peggie, dropping
into a chair and clasping her hands on her knees.
“All so different! And I feel so utterly helpless."
“Scarcely that,” said Selwood, with an effort to
speak calmly. “You've got Mr. Tertius, and Mr.
Halfpenny, and the Professor, and—and if there's
anything-anything I can do, don't you know, why,
I- "
Peggie impulsively stretched out a hand—and Sel-
wood, not trusting himself, affected not to see it.
To take Peggie's hand at that moment would have
been to let loose a flood of words which he was re-
solved not to utter just then, if ever. He moved
across to the desk and pretended to sort and arrange
some loose papers.
“We'll—all—all—do everything we can,” he said,
trying to keep any tremor out of his voice. “Every-
thing you know, of course."
“I know—and I'm grateful,” said Peggie. “But
I'm frightened.”


152 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Selwood turned quickly and looked sharply at her.
“Frightened ?” he exclaimed. “Of what?”
“Of something that I can't account for or realize,”
she replied. “I've a feeling that everything's all
wrong—and strange. And—I'm frightened of Mr.
Burchill.”
“What!” snapped Selwood. He dropped the
papers and turned to face her squarely. “Frightened
of-Burchill? Why?”.
“I-don't-know," she answered, shaking her
head. “It's more an idea-something vague. I was
always afraid of him when he was here—I've been
afraid of him ever since. I was very much afraid
when he came here the other day.”
“You saw him ?” asked Selwood.
“I didn't see him. He merely sent up that card.
But,” she added, “I was afraid even then.”
Selwood leaned back against the desk, regarding
her attentively.
“I don't think you're the sort to be afraid without
reason,” he said. “Of course, if you have reason,
I've no right to ask what it is. All the same, if this
chap is likely to annoy you, you've only to speak and
-and-
“Yes?” she said, smiling a little. “You'd— "
“I'll punch his head and break his neck for him!”
growled Selwood. “And-and I wish you'd say if
you have reasons why I should. IIas—has he annoyed
you?”
"No," answered Peggie. She regarded Selwood
steadily for a minute; then she spoke with sudden


NAMELESS FEAR
153
impulse. “When he was here,” she said, “I mean
before he left my uncle, he asked me to marry him.”
Selwood, in spite of himself, could not keep a hot
flush from mounting to his cheek.
“And—you ?” he said.
“I said no, of course, and he took my answer and
went quietly away,” replied Peggie. “And that,
that's why I'm frightened of him.”
“Good heavens! Why?” demanded Selwood. “I
don't understand. Frightened of him because he
took his answer, went away quietly, and hasn't an-
noyed you since? That-I say, that licks me!”
“Perhaps," she said. “But, you see, you don't
know him. It's just because of that—that quiet-
that-oh, I don't quite know how to explain !—that
-well, silence—that I'm afraid-yes, literally afraid.
There's something about him that makes me fear. I
used to wish that my uncle had never employed him
—that he had never come here. And I'd rather be
penniless than that my uncle had ever got him-
him to witness that will!”
Selwood found no words wherewith to answer this.
He did not understand it. Nevertheless he presently
found words of another sort.
“All right!” he muttered doggedly. “I'll watch
him—or, I'll watch that he-that-well, that no harm
comes to—you know what I mean, don't you?”.
“Yes," murmured Peggie, and once more held out
an impulsive hand. But Selwood again pretended to
see nothing, and he began another energetic assault
upon the papers which Jacob Herapath would never
handle again.


CHAPTER XVII
THE LAW
Once within a taxi-cab and on their way to Maida
Vale, Mr. Halfpenny turned to his companion with
a shake of the head which implied a much mixed state
of feeling.
“Tertius!” he exclaimed. “There's something
wrong! Quite apart from what we know, and from
what we were able to communicate to the police, there's
something wrong. I feel it-it's in the air, the—the
whole atmosphere. That fellow Barthorpe is up to
some game. What? Did you notice his manner, his
attitude—everything? Of course !—who could help
it? He—has some scheme in his head. Again I say
-what?”
Mr. Tertius stirred uneasily in his seat and shook
his head.
“You haven't heard anything from New Scotland
Yard?” he asked.
“Nothing-so far. But they are at work, of course.
They'll work in their own way. And," continued
Mr. Halfpenny, with a grim chuckle, “you can be
certain of this much, Tertius-having heard what we
were able to tell them, having seen what we were
able to put before them, with respect to the doings of
that eventful night, they won't let Master Barthorpe
154


THE LAW
155
out of their ken—not they! It is best to let them
pursue their own investigations in their own manner
—they'll let us know what's been done, sure enough,
at the right time.”
“Yes," assented Mr. Tertius. “Yes—so I gather
- I am not very conversant with these things. I con-
fess there's one thing that puzzles me greatly though,
Halfpenny. That's the matter of the man who came
out of the House of Commons with Jacob that night.
You remember that the coachman, Mountain, told us
-and said at the inquest also—that he overheard
what Jacob said to that man—'The thing must be
done at once, and you must have everything ready
for me at noon tomorrow,' or words to that effect.
Now that man must be somewhere at hand-he must
have read the newspapers, know all about the inquest
-why doesn't he come forward?”
Mr. Halfpenny chuckled again and patted his
friend's arm.
“Ah!” he said. “But you don't know that he
hasn't come forward! The probability is, Tertius,
that he has come forward, and that the people at
New Scotland Yard are already in possession of what-
ever story he had to tell. Oh, yes, I quite expect that
-I also expect to hear, eventually, another piece of
news in relation to that man."
“What's that?” asked Mr. Tertius.
“Do you remember that, at the inquest, Mountain,
the coachman, said that there was another bit of
evidence he had to give which he'd forgotten to tell
Mr. Barthorpe when he questioned him? Mountain"


156 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
-continued Mr. Halfpenny—'went on to say that
while Jacob Herapath and the man stood talking in
Palace Yard, before Jacob got into his brougham,
Jacob took some object from his waistcoat pocket
and handed it, with what looked like a letter, to the
man? Eh?”
“I remember very well,” replied Mr. Tertius.
“Very good,” said Mr. Halfpenny. “Now I be-
lieve that object to have been the key of Jacob's safe
at the Safe Deposit, which, you remember, could not
be found, but which young Selwood affirmed had been
in Jacob's possession only that afternoon. The let-
ter I believe to have been a formal authority to the
Safe Deposit people to allow the bearer to open that
safe. I've thought all that out,” concluded Mr. Half-
penny, with a smile of triumph, “thought it out care
fully, and it's my impression that that's what we
shall find when the police move. I believe that man
has revealed himself to the police, has told them
whatever it is he has to tell, and that his story prob-
ably throws a vast flood of light on the mystery. So
I say—let us not at present concern ourselves with
the actual murder of our poor friend: the police will
ferret that out! What we're concerned with is—the
will! That will, Tertius, must be proved, and at
once.”
“I am as little conversant with legal matters as
with police procedure," observed Mr. Tertius. “What
is the exact course, now, in a case of this sort ?”
“The exact procedure, my dear sir,” replied Mr.
Halfpenny, dropping into his best legal manner, and


THE LAW
157
putting the tips of his warmly-gloved fingers together
in front of his well-filled overcoat, “the exact pro-
cedure is as follows. Barthorpe Herapath is with-
out doubt the heir-at-law of his deceased uncle, Jacob
Herapath. If Jacob had died intestate Barthorpe
would have taken what we may call everything, for
his uncle's property is practically all in the shape of
real estate, in comparison to which the personalty is
a mere nothing. But there is a will, leaving every-
thing to Margaret Wynne. If Barthorpe Herapath
intends to contest the legality of that will "
“Good heavens, is that possible?” exclaimed Mr.
Tertius. “He can't!"
“He can-if he wishes," replied Mr. Halfpenny,
“though at present I don't know on what possible
grounds. But, if he does, he can at once enter a
caveat in the Probate Registry. The effect of that-
supposing he does it-will be that when I take the
will to be proved, progress will be stopped. Very
well—I shall then, following the ordinary practice,
issue and serve upon Barthorpe Herapath a document
technically known as a 'warning.' On service of this
warning, Barthorpe, if he insists upon his opposition,
must enter an appearance. There will then be an
opportunity for debate and attempt at agreement be-
tween him and ourselves. If that fails, or does not
take place, I shall then issue a writ to establish the
will. And that being done, why, then, my dear sir,
the proceedings-ah, the proceedings would follow-
substantially—the-er-usual course of litigation in
this country.'


158 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“And that,” asked Mr. Tertius, deeply interested
and wholly innocent, “that would be
“Well, there are two parties in this case—supposed
case," continued Mr. Halfpenny, “Barthorpe Hera-
path, Margaret Wynne. After the issue of the writ
I have just spoken of, each party would put in his or
her pleas, and the matter would ultimately go to trial
in the Probate Division of the High Court, most likely
before a judge and a special jury.”
“And how long would all this take?” asked Mr.
Tertius.
“Ah!—um!” replied Mr. Halfpenny, tapping the
tips of his gloves together. “That, my dear sir, is
a somewhat difficult question to answer. I believe
that all readers of the newspapers are aware that
our Law Courts are somewhat congested—the cause
lists are very full. The time which must elapse be-
fore a case can actually come to trial varies, my dear
Tertius, varies enormously. But if—as in the matter
we are supposing would probably be the case-if all
the parties concerned were particularly anxious to
have the case disposed of without delay, the trial
might be arrived at within three or four months—that
is, my dear sir, if the Long Vacation did not inter-
vene. But-speaking generally—a better, more usual,
more probable estimate would be, say six, seven, eight,
or nine months.”
“So long?” exclaimed Mr. Tertius. “I thought
that justice was neither denied, sold, nor delayed !”'
“Justice is never denied, my good friend, nor is it
sold,” replied Mr. Halfpenny, oracularly. “As to


THE LAW
159
delay, ah, well, you know, if people will be litigants
-and I assure you that nothing is so pleasing to a
very large number of extraordinary persons who sim-
ply love litigation—a little delay cannot be avoided.
However, we will hope that we shall have no litiga-
tion. Our present job is to get that will proved, and
so far I see no difficulty. There is the will—we have
the witnesses. At least, there are you, and we're hop-
ing to see t'other in a few minutes. By the by, Ter-
tius, what sort of fellow is this Burchill ?”.
Mr. Tertius considered his answer to this question.
“Well, I hardly know," he said at last. “Of
course, I have rarely seen much of Jacob's secretaries.
This man-he's not quite a youngster, Halfpenny-
struck me as being the sort of person who might be
dangerous.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. “Dangerous !
God bless me! Now, in what way, Tertius ?”
“I don't quite know," replied Mr. Tertius. “He,
somehow, from what I saw of him, suggested, I really
don't know how, a certain atmosphere of, say—I'm
trying to find the right words—cunning, subtlety,
depth. Yes-yes, I should say he was what we com-
monly call—or what is commonly called in vulgar
parlance-deep. Deep!”.
“You mean—designing ?” suggested Mr. Half-
penny.
“Exactly-designing,' assented Mr. Tertius. “It
-it was the sort of idea he conveyed, you know.”
“Don't like the sound of him," said Mr. Halfpenny,
“However, he's the second witness and we must put


160 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
up with the fact. And here we are at these Calen
grove Mansions, and let's hope we haven't a hundred
infernal steps to climb, and that we find the fellow
in."
The fellow was in. And the fellow, who had now
discarded his mourning suit for the purple and fine
linen which suggested Bond Street, was just about
to go out, and was in a great hurry, and said so. He
listened with obvious impatience while Mr. Tertius
presented his companion.
“I wished to see you about the will of the deceased
Jacob Herapath, Mr. Burchill,” said Mr. Halfpenny
“The will which, of course, you witnessed."
Burchill, who was gathering some books and papers
together, and had already apologized for not being
able to ask his callers to sit down, answered in an off-
hand, bustling fashion.
“Of course, of course!” he replied. “Mr. Jacob
Herapath's will, eh? Oh, of course, yes. Anything
I can do, Mr. Halfpenny, of course-perhaps you 'l
drop me a line and make an appointment at your
office some day—then I'll call, d’you see?
“You remember the occasion, and the will, and your
signature?” said Mr. Halfpenny, contriving to give
Mr. Tertius a nudge as he put this direct question.
“Oh, I remember everything that ever happened in
connection with my secretaryship to Mr. Jacob Hera-
path!” replied Burchill, still bustling. “I shall be
ready for anything whenever I'm wanted, Mr. Half-
penny-pleased to be of service to the family, I'm
sure. Now, you must really pardon me, gentlemen,


THE LAW
161
if I hurry you and myself out-I've a most important
engagement and I'm late already. As I said-drop
me a line for an appointment, Mr. Halfpenny, and I'll
come to you. Now, good-bye, good-bye!”.
He had got them out of his flat, shaken hands with
them, and hurried off before either elderly gentleman
could get a word in, and as he flew towards the stairs
Mr. Halfpenny looked at Mr. Tertius and shook his
head.
“That beggar didn't want to talk,” he said. “I
don't like it."
“But he said that he remembered !” exclaimed Mr.
Tertius. “Wasn't that satisfactory?"
“Anything but satisfactory, the whole thing," re-
plied the old lawyer. “Didn't you notice that the
man avoided any direct reply? He said 'of course'
about a hundred times, and was as ambiguous, and
non-committal, and vague, as he could be. My dear
Tertius, the fellow was fencing!”
Mr. Tertius looked deeply distressed.
“You don't think " he began.
“I might think a lot when I begin to think," said
Mr. Halfpenny as they slowly descended the stairs
from the desert solitude of the top floor of Calengrove
Mansions. “But there's one thought that strikes me
just now-do you remember what Burchill's old land
lady at Upper Seymour Street told us?”.
“That Barthorpe Herapath had been to inquire
for Burchill ?-yes," replied Mr. Tertius. “You're
wondering— "
“I'm wondering if, since then, Barthorpe has


162 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
found him," said Mr. Halfpenny. “If he has-if
there have been passages between them-if- ".
He paused half-way down the stairs, stood for a
moment or two in deep thought and then laid his
hand on his friend's arm.
“Tertius!” he said gravely. “That will must be
presented for probate at once! I must lose no time
Come along-let me get back to my office and get to
work. And do you go back to Portman Square and
give the little woman your company."
Mr. Tertius went back to Portman Square there
and then, and did what he could to make the gloomy.
house less gloomy. Instead of retreating to his own
solitude he remained with Peggie, and tried to cheer
her up by discussing various plans and matters of the
future. And he was taking a quiet cup of tea with
her at five o'clock when Kitteridge came in with a
telegram for him. He opened it with trembling fin-
gers and read:
“Barthorpe entered caveat in Probate Registry
at half-past three this afternoon.—Halfpenny."


CHAPTER XVIII
THE ROSEWOOD BOX
Mr. Tertius dropped the telegram on the little
table at which he and Peggie were sitting, and be-
trayed his feelings with a deep groan. Peggie, who
was just about to give him his second cup of tea,
set down her teapot and jumped to his side.
‘Oh, what is it!” she exclaimed. “Some bad news?
Please"
Mr. Tertius pulled himself together and tried to
smile.
“You must forgive me, my dear,” he said, with a
feeble attempt to speak cheerily. “I—the truth is,
I think I have lived in such a state of ease and—yes,
luxury, for so many years that I am not capable of
readily bearing these trials and troubles. I'm
ashamed of myself—I must be braver-not so easily
affected.”
“But—the telegram?” said Peggie.
Mr. Tertius handed it to her with a dismal shake of
his head.
"I suppose it's only what was to be expected, after
all that Halfpenny told me this afternoon,” he re-
marked. “But I scarcely thought it would occur so
soon. My dear, I am afraid you must prepare your-
self for a great deal of unpleasantness and worry.
163


164 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Your cousin seems to be determined to give much
trouble. Extraordinary !-most extraordinary! My
dear, I confess I do not understand it.”
Peggie had picked up the telegram and was read-
ing it with knitted brow.
“'Barthorpe entered caveat in Probate Registry
at half-past three this afternoon,'” she slowly re-
peated. “But what does that mean, Mr. Tertius ?
Something to do with the will ?”
“A great deal to do with the will, I fear!” replied
Mr. Tertius, lugubriously. “A caveat, my dear, is
some sort of process—I'm sure I don't know whether
it's given by word of mouth, or if it's a document,
by which the admission to probate of a dead person's
last will and testament can be stopped. In plain lan-
guage," continued Mr. Tertius, “your cousin Bar-
thorpe has been to the Probate Registry and done
something to prevent Mr. Halfpenny from proving
the will. It is a wicked action on his part-and, con-
sidering that he is a solicitor, and that he saw the
will with his own eyes, it is, as I have previously re-
marked, most extraordinary!”
“And all this means—what?” asked Peggie.
“It means that there will be legal proceedings,"
groaned Mr. Tertius. “Long, tedious, most annoying
and trying proceedings! Perhaps a trial—we may
have to go to court and give evidence. I dread it!
I am, as I said, so used to a life of ease and freedom
from anxiety that anything of this sort distresses me
unspeakably. I fear I am degenerating into cow-
ardice!"


THE ROSEWOOD BOX 165
“Nonsense!” said Peggie. "It is merely that this
sort of thing is disturbing. And we are not going to
be afraid of Barthorpe. Barthorpe is very foolish.
I meant-always have meant, ever since I heard about
the will—to share with him, for there's no law against
that. But if Barthorpe wants to upset the will alto-
gether and claim everything, I shall fight him. And
if I win-as I suppose I shall—I shall make him do
penance pretty heavily before he's forgiven. How-
ever, that's all in the future. What I don't under-
stand about the present is—how can that will be up-
set? Mr. Halfpenny says it's duly and properly
executed, witnessed, and so on-how can Barthorpe
object to it?”
Mr. Tertius put down his cup and rose.
“Your cousin, Barthorpe, my dear, is, I regret to
say, a deep man,” he replied. “He has some scheme
in his head. This,' he went on, picking up the tele-
gram and placing it in his pocket, “this is the first
step in that scheme. Well, it is perhaps a relief to
know that he has taken it: we shall now know where
we are and what has to be done.”
“Quite so," said Peggie. “But there is another
matter, Mr. Tertius, which seems to be forgotten in
this of the will. Pray, what is Barthorpe doing, what
is anybody doing, about solving the mystery of my
uncle's death? Everybody says he was murdered
who is doing anything to find the murderer?”.
Mr. Tertius, who had advanced as far as the door
on his way out of the room, came back to Peggie's
side in a fashion suggestive of deep mystery, walking


166 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
on the tips of his toes and putting a finger to his lips
as he drew near his chair.
“My dear!” he said, bending down to her and
speaking in a tone fully as indicative of mystery as
his tip-toe movement, “a great deal is being done
but in the strictest secrecy! Most important investi-
gations, my dear!—the police, the detective police, you
know. The word at present-to put it into one word,
vulgar, but expressive—the word is ‘Mum'! Silence,
my dear—the policy of the mole-underground work-
ing, you know. From what I am aware of, and
from what our good friend Halfpenny tells me, and
believes, I gather that a result will be attained which
will be surprising.”
“So long as justice is done,” remarked Peggie
"That is all I want—all we ought to aim at. I don't
care twopence about surprising or sensational dis-
coveries—I want to see my uncle's murderer properly
punished.”
She shed a few more quiet tears over Jacob Hera-
path's untoward fate when Mr. Tertius had left her
and fell to thinking about him. The thoughts which
came presently led her to go to the dead man's room
-a simple, spartan-like chamber which she had not
entered since his death. She had a vague sense of
wanting to be brought into touch with him through
the things which had been his, and for a while she
wandered aimlessly about the room, laying a hand
now and then on the objects which she knew he must
have handled the last time he had occupied the room
-his toilet articles, the easy chair in which he always


THE ROSEWOOD BOX
167
sat for a few minutes every night, reading a little
before going to bed, the garments which hung in his
wardrobe, anything on which his fingers had rested.
And as she wandered about she noted, not for the
first nor the hundredth time, how Jacob Herapath had
gathered about him in this room a number of objects
connected with his youth. The very furniture, sim-
ple, homely stuff, had once stood in his mother's bed-
room in a small cottage in a far-off country. On the
walls were portraits of his father and mother-crude
things painted by some local artist; there, too, were
some samplers worked by his mother in her girlhood,
flanked by some faded groups of flowers which she
had painted about the same time. Jacob Herapath
had brought all these things to his grand house in
Portman Square years before, and had cleared a
room of fine modern furniture and fittings to make
space for them. He had often said to Peggie, when
she grew old enough to understand, that he liked to
wake in a morning and see the old familiar things
about him which he had known as a child. For one
object in that room he had a special veneration and
affection-an old rosewood workbox, which had be-
longed to his mother, and to her mother before her.
Once he had allowed Peggie to inspect it, to take
from it the tray lined with padded green silk, to exam-
ine the various nooks and corners contrived by the
eighteenth-century cabinetmaker-some disciple, may-
be, of Chippendale or Sheraton-to fit the tarnished
silver thimbles on to her own fingers, to wonder at
the knick-knacks of a departed age, and to laugh over


168 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
the scent of rose and lavender which hung about the
skeins and spools. And he had told her that when he
died the rosewood box should be hers—as long as he
lived, he said, it must stand on his chest of drawers,
so that he could see it at least twice a day.
Jacob Herapath was dead now, and buried, and
the rosewood box and everything else that had been
his had passed to Peggie-as things were, at any rate.
She presently walked up to the queer old chest of
drawers, and drew the rosewood box towards her and
lifted the lid. It was years since Jacob had shown it
to her, and she remembered the childish delight with
which she had lifted out the tray which lay on the
top and looked into the various compartments be-
neath it. Now she opened the box again, and lifted
the tray—and there, lying bold and uncovered be-
fore her eyes, she saw a letter, inscribed with one word
in Jacob Herapath's well-known handwriting-
“Peggie.”
If Jacob Herapath himself had suddenly appeared
before her in that quiet room, the girl could scarcely
have felt more keenly the strange and subtle fear
which seized upon her as she realized that what she
was staring at was probably some message to herself.
It was some time before she dared to lay hands on
this message—when at last she took the letter out of
the box her fingers trembled so much that she found a
difficulty in opening the heavily-sealed envelope. But
she calmed herself with a great effort, and carrying
the half-sheet of note-paper, which she drew from its
cover, over to the window, lifted it in the fading light


THE ROSEWOOD BOX 169
and read the few lines which Jacob Herapath had
scrawled there.
“If anything ever happens suddenly to me, my
will, duly executed and witnessed by Mr. Tertius
and Mr. Frank Burchill, is in a secret drawer of my
old bureau which lies behind the third small drawer
on the right-hand side. “JACOB HERAPATH."
That was all-beyond a date, and the date was a
recent one. “If anything ever happens suddenly'-
had he then felt some fear, experienced any premoni-
tion, of a sudden happening? Why had he never
said anything to her, why?
But Peggie realized that such questions were use-
less at that time—that time was pre-eminently one of
action. She put the letter back in the rosewood box,
took the box in her arms, and carrying it off to her
own room, locked it up in a place of security. And
that had scarcely been done when Kitteridge came
seeking her and bringing with him a card: Mr. Frank
Burchill's card, and on it scribbled a single line:
“Will you kindly give me a few minutes ?”
Peggie considered this request in one flash of
thought, and turned to the butler.
“Where is Mr. Burchill ?” she asked. “In the
study? Very well, I will come down to him in a few
minutes."
She made a mighty effort to show herself calm,
collected, and indifferent, when she presently went
down to the study. But she neither shook hands
with the caller, nor asked him to sit; instead she


170 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
marched across to the hearthrug and regarded him
from a distance.
'"Yes, Mr. Burchill ?” she said quietly. “You wish
to see me?”
She looked him over steadily as she spoke, and
noted a certain air of calm self-assurance about him
which struck her with a vague uneasiness. He was
too easy, too quiet, too entirely businesslike to be
free from danger. And the bow which he gave her
was, to her thinking, the height of false artifice.
“I wished to see you and to speak to you, with
your permission,” he answered. “I beg you to be-
lieve that what I have—what I desire to say is to be
said by me with the deepest respect, the most sincere
consideration. I have your permission to speak?
Then I beg to ask you if—I speak with deep cour-
tesy !-if the answer which you made to a certain
question of mine some time ago is—was—is to be
final ?"
“So final that I am surprised that you should refer
to the matter," replied Peggie. “I told you so at the
time.”
“Circumstances have changed,” he said. “I am
at a parting of the ways in life's journey. I wish to
know-definitely—which way I am to take. A ray
of guiding light from you— "
“There will be none!” said Peggie sharply. “Not
a gleam. This is waste of time. If that is all you
have to say- ".
The door of the study opened, and Selwood, who
was still engaged about the house, came in. He


THE ROSEWOOD BOX 171
paused on the threshold, staring from one to the other,
and made as if to withdraw. But Peggie openly
smiled on him.
“Come in, Mr. Selwood,” she said. “I was just
going to ask Kitteridge to find you. I want to see
both you and Mr. Tertius.”
Then she turned to Burchill, who stood, a well-
posed figure in his fine raiment, still watching her,
and made him a frigid bow.
“There is no more to say on that point-at any
time,” she said quietly. “Good day. Mr. Selwood,
will you ring the bell ?”
Burchill executed another profound and self-pos-
sessed bow. He presently followed the footman from
the room, and Peggie, for the first time since Jacob
Herapath's death, suddenly let her face relax and
burst into a hearty laugh.


WEAVING THE NET
173
from two sides, it was not fully occupied at that time,
for many of its windows were uncurtained, and there
was a certain air of emptiness about the upper storeys.
This fact was not unpleasing to Triffitt; it argued that
he would have small difficulty in finding a lodgment
within the walls which sheltered the man he wanted
to watch. And in pursuance of his scheme, which,
as a beginning, was to find out exactly where Burchill
was located, he walked into the main entrance and
looked about him, hoping to find an address-board.
Such a board immediately caught his eye, affixed to
the wall near the main staircase. Then Triffitt saw
that the building was divided into five floors, each
floor having some three or four flats. Those on the
bottom floors appeared to be pretty well taken; the
names of their occupants were neatly painted in small
compartments on the board. Right at the top was
the name Mr. Frank Burchill—and on that floor,
which evidently possessed three flats, there were pre-
sumably no other occupants, for the remaining two
spaces relating to it were blank.
Triffitt took all this in at a glance; another glance
showed him a door close by on which was painted
the word “Office." He pushed this open and walked
inside, to confront a clerk who was the sole occupant.
To him, Triffitt, plunging straight into business,
gently intimated that he was searching for a conven-
ient flat. The clerk immediately began to pull out
some coloured plans, labelled first, second, third floors.
“About what sized flat do you require?” he asked.
He had already looked Triffitt well over, and as


174 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Triffitt, in honour of the occasion, had put on his
smartest suit and a new overcoat, he decided that
this was a young man who was either just married or
about to be married. “Do you want a family flat, or
one for a couple without family, or— ".
“What I want," answered Triffitt readily, “is a
bachelor flat-for myself. And-if possible-fur-
nished.”
“Oh!” said the clerk. “Just so. I happen to
have something that will suit you exactly—that is,
if you don't want to take it for longer than three or
four months." He pulled forward another plan,
labelled “Fifth Floor,” and pointed to certain por-
tions, shaded off in light colours. “One of our ten-
ants, Mr. Stillwater," he continued, “has gone
abroad for four months, and he'd be glad to let his
flat, furnished, in his absence. That's it-it contains,
you see, a nice sitting-room, a bedroom, a bathroom,
and a small kitchen—all contained within the flat,
of course. It is well and comfortably furnished, and
available at once.”
Triffitt bent over the plan. But he was not looking
at the shaded portion over which the clerk’s pencil
was straying; instead he was regarding the fact that
across the corresponding portion of the plan was
written in red ink the words, “Mr. Frank Burchill.”
The third portion was blank; it, apparently, was
unlet.
“That is really about the size of flat I want,” said
Triffitt, musingly. “What's the rent of that, now?”
“I can let that to you for fifty shillings a week,"


176 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
purpose was to acquaint himself as thoroughly as
possible with the doings of Frank Burchill. Burchill
was there he was almost on the point of saying, in
the next cell !-there, in the flat across the corridor;
figuratively, within touch, if it were not for sundry
divisions of brick, mortar, and the like. Burchill's
door was precisely opposite his own; there was an ad-
vantage in that fact. And in Triffitt's outer door
(all these flats, he discovered—that is, if they were
all like his own, possessed double doors) there was a
convenient letter slit, by manipulating which he could,
if he chose, keep a perpetual observation on the other
opposite. But Triffitt did not propose to sit with his
eye glued to that letter slit all day-it might be use-
ful at times, and for some special purpose, but he
had wider views. And the first thing to do was to
make an examination, geographical and exhaustive, of
his own surroundings: Triffitt had learnt, during his
journalistic training, that attention to details is one
of the most important things in life.
The first thing that had struck Triffitt in this re-
spect was that there was no life in this building. He
had remarked on that to the clerk, and the clerk had
answered with a shrug of the shoulders that it was a
mistake and one for which the proprietor was already
having to pay. However, Triffitt, bearing in mind
what job he was on, was not displeased that the lift
had been omitted—it is sometimes an advantage to
be able to hang over the top rail of a staircase and
watch people coming up from below. He stored that
fact in his mental reservoirs. And now that he had


WEAVING THE NET
177
got into his rooms, he proceeded to seek for more
facts. First, as to the rooms themselves—he wanted
to know all about them, because he had carefully
noticed, while looking at the plan of that floor in
the office downstairs, that Burchill's flat was arranged
exactly like his own. And Triffitt's flat was like this
-you entered through a double door into a good-
sized sitting-room, out of which two other rooms led
-one went into a small kitchen and pantry; the other
into the bedroom, at the side of which was a little bath-
room. The windows of the bedroom opened on to
a view of the street below; those of the sitting-room
on to a square of garden, on the lawn of which ten-
ants might disport themselves, more or less sadly,
with tennis or croquet in summer.
Triffitt looked out of his sitting-room windows last
of all. He then perceived with great joy that in
front of them was a balcony, and that this balcony
stretched across the entire front of the house. There
were, in fact, balconies to all five floors—the notion
being, of course, that occupants could whenever they
pleased sit out there in such sunlight as struggled
between their own roof and the tall buildings opposite.
It immediately occurred to Triffitt that here was an
easy way of making a call upon your next door neigh-
bour; instead of crossing the corridor and knocking
at his door, you had nothing to do but walk along
the balcony and tap at his window. Filled with this
thought Triffitt immediately stepped out on his bal-
cony and inspected the windows of his own and the
next flat. He immediately saw something which filled


178 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
him with a great idea. Both windows were fitted
with patent ventilators, let into the top panes. Now,
supposing one of these ventilators was fully open,
and two people were talking within the room in even
the ordinary tones of conversation would it not be
possible for an eavesdropper outside to hear a good
deal, if not everything, of what was said? The idea
was worth thinking over, anyway, and Triffitt retired
indoors to ruminate over it and over much else.
For two or three days nothing happened. Twice
Triffitt met Burchill on the stairs-Burchill, of course,
did not know him from Adam, and gave him no more
than the mere glance he would have thrown at any
other ordinary young man. Triffitt, however, gave
Burchill more than a passing look-unobtrusively.
Certainly he was the man whom he had seen in the
dock nine years before in that far-off Scottish town
-there was little appreciable alteration in his ap-
pearance, except that he was now very smartly
dressed. There were peculiarities about the fellow,
said Triffit, which you couldn't forget-certainly,
Frank Burchill was Francis Bentham.
But on the third day, two things happened-one
connected directly with Triffitt’s new venture, the
other not. The first was that as Triffitt was going
down the stairs that afternoon, on his way to the
office, at which he kept looking in now and then, al-
though he was relieved from regular attendance and
duty, he met Barthorpe Herapath coming up. Triffitt
thanked his lucky stars that the staircase was badly
lighted, and that this was an unusually gloomy Novem-


WEAVING THE NET
179
ber day. True, Barthorpe had only once seen him,
that he knew of—that morning at the estate office,
when he, Triffitt, had asked Selwood for information
—but then, some men have sharp memories for faces,
and Barthorpe might recognize him and wonder what
an Argus man was doing there in Calengrove Man-
sions. So Triffitt quickly pulled the flap of the Trilby
hat about his nose, and sank his chin lower into the
turned-up collar of his overcoat, and hurried past
the tall figure. And Barthorpe on his part never
looked at the reporter—or if he did, took no more
heed of him than of the balustrade at his side.
“That's one thing established, anyway!” mused
Triffitt as he went his way. “Barthorpe Herapath is
in touch with Burchill. The dead man's nephew and
the dead man's ex-secretary—um! Putting their
heads together—about what?”
He was still pondering this question when he
reached the office and found a note from Carver who
wanted to see him at once. Triffitt went round to the
Magnet and got speech with Carver in a quiet corner.
Carver went straight to his point.
“I've got him,” he said, eyeing his fellow-conspir-
ator triumphantly.
“Got—who?" demanded Triffitt.
“That taxi-cab chap—you know who I mean," an-
swered Carver. “Ran him down at noon today.”
"No!” exclaimed Triffitt. “Gad! Are you sure,
though?—is it certain he's the man you were after?”
“He's the chap who drove a gentleman from near
Portman Square to just by St. Mary Abbot church


CHAPTER XX
THE DIAMOND RING
Triffitt considered Carver's report during a mo-
ment of mutual silence. If he had consulted his own
personal inclination he would have demanded to be
led straight to the taxi-cab driver. But Triffitt knew
himself to be the expender of the Markledew money,
and the knowledge made him unduly cautious.
"It comes to this,” he said at last, "this chap
knows something which he's already told to this Mr.
Tertius. Mr. Tertius has in all probability already
told it to the people at New Scotland Yard. They,
of course, will use the information at their own time
and in their own way. But what we want is some-
thing new-something startling-something good !”
“I tell you the fellow's got all that,” said Carver.
“He knows the man whom he drove that morning.
Isn't that good enough ?”
“Depend upon how I can bring it out,” answered
Triffitt. “Well, when can I see this chap?”
“Tonight-seven o'clock,” replied Carver. “I
fixed that, in anticipation.”
“And—where?” demanded Triffitt.
"I'll go with you—it's to be at a pub near Orchard
Street,” said Carver. “Better bring money with you
he'll want cash.”
181


182 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
"All right,” agreed Triffitt. “But I'm not going
to throw coin about recklessly. I shall want value.”
Carver laughed. Triffi'tt's sudden caution amused
him.
“I reckon people have to buy pigs in pokes in
dealing with this sort of thing, Triff,” he said. “But
whether the chap's information's good for much or
not, I'm certain it's genuine. Well, come round here
again at six-thirty.”
Triffitt, banknotes in pocket, went round again at
six-thirty, and was duly conducted Oxford Street
way by Carver, who eventually led him into a net-
work of small streets, in which the mews and the
stable appeared to be conspicuous features, and to
the bar-parlour of a somewhat dingy tavern, at that
hour little frequented. And at precisely seven
o'clock the door of the parlour opened and a face
showed itself, recognized Carver, and grinned. Car-
ver beckoned the face into a corner, and having form-
ally introduced his friend Triffitt, suggested liquid
refreshment. The face assented cordially, and hav-
ing obscured itself for a moment behind a pint pot,
heaved a sigh of gratification, and seemed desirous
of entering upon business.
"But it ain't, of course, to go no further—at pres-
ent,” said the owner of the face. “Not into no news-
papers nor nothing, at present. I don't mind telling
you young gents, if it's made worth my while, of
course, but as things is, I don't want the old gent in
Portman Square to know as how I've let on-d'ye
see? Of course, I ain't seen nothing of him never


184 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Ain't no harm in a man doing his best for his-
self, guv'nor, I hope," said the would-be informant.
“If I don't look after myself, who's a-going to look
after me-I asks you that, now?”.
“And I ask you-how much?” said Triffitt. “Out
with it!”
The taxi-cab driver considered, eyeing his prospec-
tive customer furtively.
“The other gent told you what it is I can tell,
guvʼnor?'' he said at last. “It's information of what
you might call partik’lar importance, is that."
“I know—you can tell the name of the man whom
you drove that morning from the corner of Orchard
Street to Kensington High Street,” replied Triffitt.
“It may be important-it mayn't. You see, the
police haven't been in any hurry to approach you,
have they? Come now, give it a name?”.
The informant summoned up his resolution.
“Cash down on the spot, guv'nor?” he asked.
“Spot cash,” replied Triffitt. “On this table!”
“Well—how would a couple o' fivers be, now?”
asked the anxious one. “It's good stuff, guv'nor."
“A couple of fivers will do,” answered Triffitt.
“And here they are.” He took two brand-new,
crackling five-pound notes from his pocket, folded
them up, laid them on the table, and set a glass on
them. “Now, then!” he said. “Tell your tale-
there's your money when it's told.”
The taxi-cab driver eyed the notes, edged his chair
further into the half-lighted corner in which Triffitt
and Carver sat, and dropped his voice to a whisper.


THE DIAMOND RING
187
the stairs at Calengrove Mansions this afternoon. Of
course, he was going to see my next-door neighbour!
What about, friend Carver?”
“If you could answer your own last question, we
should know something,” replied Carver.
“We know something as it is," said Triffitt.
“Enough for me to tell Markledew, anyway. I don't
see so far into all this, myself, but Markledew's the
sort of chap who can look through three brick walls
and see a mole at work in whatever's behind the third,
and he'll see something in what I tell him, and I'll
do the telling as soon as he comes down tomorrow
morning.'
Markledek listened to Triffitt's story next day in
his usual rapt silence. The silence remained unbroken
for some time after Triffitt had finished. And event-
ually Markledew got up from his elbow-chair and
reached for his hat.
“You can come with me,” he said. “We'll just
ride as far as New Scotland Yard.”
Triffitt felt himself turning pale. New Scotland
Yard! Was he then to share his discoveries with
officials? In spite of his awful veneration for the
great man before him he could not prevent two words
of despairing ejaculation escaping from his lips.
“The police !”
“Just so—the police," answered Markledew, calmly.
“I mean to work this in connection with them. No
need to alarm yourself, young man I know what
you're thinking. But you won't lose any ‘kudos'-
I'm quite satisfied with you so far. But we can't do


188 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
without the police and they may be glad of even a
hint from us. Now run down and get a taxi-cab
and I'll meet you outside.”.
Triffitt had never been within the mazes of New
Scotland Yard in his life, and had often wished that
business would take him there. It was very soon
plain to him, however, that his proprietor knew his
way about the Criminal Investigation Department as
well as he knew the Argus office. Markledew was
quickly closeted with the high official who had seen
Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Tertius a few days pre-
viously; while they talked, Triffitt was left to kick
his heels in a waiting-room. When he was eventually
called in, he found not only the high official and
Markledew, but another man whose name was pres-
ently given to him as Davidge.
“Mr. Davidge,” observed the high official, “is in
charge of this case. Will you just tell him your
story?”
It appeared to Triffitt that Mr. Davidge was the
least impressionable, most stolid man he had ever
known. Davidge showed no sign of interest; Triffitt
began to wonder if anything could ever surprise him.
He listened in dead silence to all that the reporter
had to say; when Triffitt had finished he looked
apathetically at his superior.
“I think, sir, I will just step round to Mr. Half-
penny's office," he remarked. “Perhaps Mr. Triffitt
will accompany me?—then he and I can have a bit
of a talk."
Triffitt looked at Markledew: Markledew nodded
his big head.


THE DIAMOND RING
189
“Go with him," said Markledew. "Work with
him! He knows what he's after.”
Davidge took Triffitt away to Mr. Halfpenny's
office-on the way thither he talked about London
fogs, one of which had come down that morning.
But he never mentioned the business in hand until
-having left Triffitt outside while he went in-he
emerged from Mr. Halfpenny's room. Then he took
the reporter's arm and led him away, and his manner
changed to one of interest and even enthusiasm.
“Well, young fellow!” he said, leading Triffitt
down the street, “you're the chap I wanted to get
hold of!—you're a godsend. And so you really have
a flat next to that occupied by the person whom we'll
refer to as F. B., eh?”
“I have," answered Triffitt, who was full of won.
derment.
“Good-good !—couldn't be better!” murmured
the detective. “Now then—I dare say you'd be quite
pleased if I called on you at your flat-quietly and
unobtrusively—at say seven o'clock tonight, eh?”
“Delighted !” answered Triffitt. “Of course!”
“Very good,” said Davidge. “Then at seven
o'clock tonight I shall be there. In the meantime-
not a word. You're curious to know why I'm com-
ing? All right-keep your curiosity warm till I come
-I'll satisfy it. Tonight, mind, young man-seven,
sharp!”
Then he gave Triffitt's arm a squeeze and winked
an eye at him, and at once set off in one direction,
while the reporter, mystified and inquisitive, turned
in another.


CHAPTER XXI
THE DESERTED FLAT
When Triffitt had fairly separated from the detec-
tive and had come to reckon up the events of that
morning he became definitely conscious of one indis-
putable fact. The police knew more than he did.
The police were in possession of information which
had not come his way. The police were preparing
some big coup. Therefore—the police would get all
the glory.
This was not what Triffitt had desired. He had
wanted to find things out for himself, to make a grand
discovery, to be able to go to Markledew and prove
his case. Markledew could then have done what he
pleased; it had always been in Triffitt's mind that
Markledew would in all probability present the result
of his reporter's labours to the people at Scotland
Yard. But Markledew had become somewhat previ-
ous—he had insisted that Triffitt should talk to the
Scotland Yard folk at this early—in Triffitt's view,
much too early-stage of the proceedings. And
Triffitt had felt all the time he was talking that he
was only telling the high official and the apathetic
Davidge something that they already knew. He had
told them about his memories of Bentham and the
Scottish murder trial-something convinced him that
190


THE DESERTED FLAT 191
they were already well acquainted with that story.
He had narrated the incident of the taxi-cab driver:
he was sure that they were quite well aware that the
man who had been driven from Orchard Street to St.
Mary Abbot church that morning after the murder
was Barthorpe Herapath. Their cold eyes and polite,
yet almost chillingly indifferent manner had convinced
Triffitt that they were just listening to something
with which they were absolutely familiar. Never a
gleam of interest had betrayed itself in their stolid
official faces until he had referred to the fact that he
himself was living in a flat next door to Burchill's.
Then, indeed, the detective had roused himself almost
to eagerness, and now he was coming to see him,
Triffitt, quietly and unobtrusively. Why?
“All the same," mused Triffitt, “I shall maybe
prove a small cog in the bigger mechanism, and that's
something. And Markledew was satisfied, anyway,
so far. And if I don't get something out of that chap
Davidge tonight, write me down an ass !”
From half-past six that evening, Triffitt, who had
previously made some ingenious arrangements with
the slit of his letter-box, by which he could keep an
eye on the corridor outside, kept watch on Burchill's
door-he had an instinctive notion that Davidge, when
he arrived, would be glad to know whether the gen
tleman opposite was in or out. At a quarter to seven
Burchill went out in evening dress, cloak, and opera
hat, making a fine figure as he struck the light of the
corridor lamp. And ten minutes later Triffitt heard
steps coming along the corridor and he opened the


192 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
door to confront Davidge and another man, a quiet-
looking, innocent-visaged person. Davidge waved a
hand towards his companion.
“Evening, Mr. Triffitt," said he. “Friend of mine
-Mr. Milsey. You'll excuse the liberty, I'm sure."
“Glad to see both of you," answered Triffitt, cor-
dially. He led the way into his sitting-room, drew
chairs forward, and produced refreshments which he
had carefully laid in during the afternoon in prepara-
tion. “Drop of whisky and soda, gentlemen ?” he
said, hospitably. "Let me help you. Will you try
a cigar?”
“Very kind of you," replied Davidge. “A slight
amount of the liquid'll do us no harm, but no cigars,
thank you, Mr. Triffitt. Cigars are apt to leave a
scent, an odour, about one's clothes, however careful
you may be, and we don't want to leave any traces of
our presence where we're going, do we, Jim!”
“Not much," assented Mr. Milsey, laconically.
“Wouldn't do."
Triffitt handed round the glasses and took a share
himself.
“Ah!” he said. “That's interesting! And where
are you going, now—if one may ask?”.
Davidge nodded his desires for his host's good
health, and then gave him a wink.
“We propose to go in there," he said with a jerk
of his thumb towards Burchill's flat. “It's what
I've been wanting to do for three or four days, but I
didn't see my way clear without resorting to a lot of
things—search-warrant, and what not-and it would


THE DESERTED FLAT 193
have meant collusion with the landlord here, and the
clerk downstairs, and I don't know what all, so I put
it off a bit. But when you told me that you'd got
this flat, why, then, I saw my way! Of course, I've
been familiar with the lie of these flats for a week-
I saw the plans of 'em downstairs as soon as I started
on to this job.”.
“You've been on this job from the beginning, then
-in connection with him?” exclaimed Triffitt, nod-
ding towards the door.
“We've never had him out of our sight since I
started,” replied Davidge, coolly, "except when he's
been within his own four walls—where we're pres-
ently going. Oh, yes—we've watched him.”
“He's out now,” remarked Triffitt.
“We know that,” said Davidge. “We know where
he's gone. There's a first night, a new play, at the
Terpsichoreum–he's gone there. He's safe enough
till midnight, so we've plenty of time. We just want
to have a look around his little nest while he's off it,
d'you see?”
“How are you going to get in?” asked Triffitt.
Davidge nodded towards the window of the sitting-
room.
“By way of that balcony,” he answered. “I told
you I knew all about how these flats are arranged.
That balcony's mighty convenient, for the window'll
not be any more difficult than ordinary.”
“It'll be locked, you know," observed Triffitt, with,
a glance at his own. “Mine is, anyway, and you can
bet his will be, too."


194 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“Oh~that doesn't matter,” said Davidge, care-
lessly. “We're prepared. Show Mr. Triffitt your
kit, Jim—all pals here."
The innocent-looking Mr. Milsey, who, during this
conversation, had mechanically sipped at his whisky
and soda and reflectively gazed at the various pic-
tures with which the absent Mr. Stillwater had dec-
orated the walls of his parlour, plunged a hand into
some deep recess in his overcoat and brought out an
oblong case which reminded Triffitt of nothing so
much as those Morocco or Russian-leather affairs in
which a knife, a fork, and a spoon repose on padded
blue satin and form an elegant present to a newly-
born infant. Mr. Milsey snapped open the lid of his
case, and revealed, instead of spoon or fork or knife
a number of shining keys, of all sorts and sizes and
strange patterns, all of delicate make and of evidently
superior workmanship. He pushed the case across
the table to the corner at which Triffitt was sitting,
and Davidge regarded it fondly in transit.
“Pretty things, ain't they ?” he said. “Good
workmanship there! There's not very much that you
could lock up—in the ordinary way of drawers, boxes,
desks, and so on—that Milsey there couldn't get into
with the help of one or other of those little friends
what, Jim?”
“Nothing !—always excepting a safe,'' assented Mr.
Milsey.
“Well, we don't suppose our friend next door keeps
an article of that description on his premises,” said
Davidge cheerfully. “But we expect he's got a desk,


THE DESERTED FLAT 195
or a private drawer, or something of that nature in
which we may find a few little matters of interest
and importance—it's curious, Mr. Triffitt-we're con-
stantly taking notice of it in the course of our pro-
fessional duties—it's curious how men will keep by
them bits of paper that they ought to throw into
the fire, and objects that they'd do well to cast into
the Thames! Ah!—I've known one case in which a
mere scrap of a letter hanged a man, and another in
which a bit of string got a chap fifteen years of the
very best-fact, sir! You never know what you may
come across during a search.”
“You're going to search his rooms?” asked Triffitt.
“Something of that sort,” replied Davidge. “Just
a look round, you know, and a bit of a peep into his
private receptacles.”
“Then-you're suspecting him in connection with
this— "began Triffitt.
Davidge stopped him with a look, and slowly drank
off the contents of his glass. Then he rose.
“We'll talk of those matters later,” he said sig-
nificantly. "Now that my gentleman's safely away
I think we'll set to work. It'll take a bit of time.
And first of all, Mr. Triffitt, we'll examine your bal-
cony door-I know enough about these modern flats
to know that everything's pretty much alike in them
as regards fittings, and if your door's easy to open,
so will the door of the next be. Now we'll just let
Jim there go outside with his apparatus, and we'll
lock your balcony door on him, and then see if he
finds any difficulty in getting in. To it, Jim!"


196 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Mr. Milsey, thus adjured, went out on the balcony
with his little case and was duly locked out. Within
two minutes he opened the door and stepped in with
a satisfied grin.
“Easy as winking!” said Mr. Milsey. “It's what
you might call one of your penny plain locks, this
and t'other'll be like it. No difficulty about this job,
anyway."
“Then we'll get to work,” said Davidge. Mr.
Triffitt, I can't ask you to come with us, because that
wouldn't be according to etiquette. Sit you down and
read your book and smoke your pipe and drink your
drop-and maybe we'll have something to tell you
when our job's through.”.
“You've no fear of interruption?” asked Triffitt,
who would vastly have preferred action to inaction.
“Supposing—you know how things do and will turn
out sometimes-supposing he came back ?”
Davidge shook his head and smiled grimly and
knowingly.
"No," he said. “He'll not come back—at least, if
he did, we should be well warned. I've more than
one man at work on this job, Mr. Triffitt, and if his
lordship changed the course of his arrangements and
returned this way, one of my chaps would keep him
in conversation while another hurried up here to give
us the office by a few taps on the outer door. No!
we're safe enough. Sit you down and don't bother
about us. Come on, Jim-we'll get to it.”
Triffitt tried to follow the detective's advice-he
was just then deep in a French hovel of the high-


THE DESERTED FLAT 197
crime order, and he picked it up when the two men
had gone out on the balcony and endeavoured to get
interested in it. But he speedily discovered that the
unravelling of crime on paper was nothing like so
fascinating as the actual participation in detection
of crime in real life, and he threw the book aside and
gave himself up to waiting. What were those two
doing in Burchill's rooms? What were they finding?
What would the result be?
Certainly Davidge and his man took their time.
Eight o'clock came and went-nine o'clock, ten o'clock
followed and sped into the past, and they were still
there. It was drawing near to eleven, and they had
been in those rooms well over three hours, when a
slight sound came at Triffitt's window and Davidge
put his head in, to be presently followed by Milsey.
Milsey looked as innocent as ever, but it seemed to
Triffitt that Davidge looked grave.
“Well?" said Triffitt. “Any luck?”.
Davidge drew the curtains over the balcony win-
dow before he turned and answered this question.
“Mr. Triffitt,” he said, when at last he faced
round, you'll have to put us up for the night. After
what I've found, I'm not going to lose sight, or get
out of touch with this man. Now listen, and I'll tell
you, at any rate, something. Tomorrow morning at
ten o'clock there's to be a sort of informal inquiry
at Mr. Halfpenny's office into the matter of a will of
the date of Jacob Herapath's all the parties con-
cerned are going to meet there, and I know that this
man Burchill is to be present. I don't propose to lose


198 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
sight of him after he returns here tonight until he
goes to that office—what happens after he's once there,
you shall see. So Milsey and I'll just have to trouble
you to let me stop here for the night. You can go to
your bed, of course—we'll sit up. I'll send Milsey
out to buy a bit of supper for us—I dare say he'll
find something open close by."
“No need,” Triffitt hastened to say. “I've a cold
meat pie, uncut, and plenty of bread, and cheese.
And there's bottled ale, and whisky, and I'll get you
some supper ready at once. So”—he went on, as he
began to bustle about-"you did find-something?"
Davidge rubbed his hands and winked first at Mil-
sey and then at Triffitt.
“Wait till tomorrow!” he said. “There'll be
strange news for you newspaper gentlemen before to-
morrow night.”


200 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
and was waiting for his visitor to speak, "you have
entered a caveat against the will in the Probate Regis-
try.”
“I have,” answered Barthorpe, with candid alac-
rity. “Of course!”
“You intend to contest the matter?” inquired Mr.
Halfpenny.
“Certainly!” replied Barthorpe.
Mr. Halfpenny gathered a good deal from the firm
and decisive tone in which this answer was made.
Clearly there was something in the air of which he
was wholly ignorant.
“You no doubt believe that you have good reason
for your course of action," he observed.
“The best reasons," said Barthorpe.
Mr. Halfpenny ruminated a little, silently.
“After all," he said at last, “there are only two
persons really concerned—your cousin, Miss Wynne,
and yourself. I propose to make an offer to you."
“Always willing to be reasonable, Mr. Halfpenny,”
answered Barthorpe.
“Very good,” said Mr. Halfpenny. “Of course, I
see no possible reason for doubting the validity of the
will. From our side, litigation must go on in the
usual course. But I have a proposal to make to you.
It is this—will you meet your cousin at my office,
with all the persons—witnesses to the will, I mean-
and state your objections to the will? In short, let
us have what we may call a family discussion about
it—it may prevent much litigation."
Barthorpe considered this suggestion for a while.


YEA AND NAY
201
“What you really mean is that I should come to
your offices and tell my cousin and you why I am
fighting this will," he said eventually. “That it?”
"Practically—yes," assented Mr. Halfpenny.
“Whom do you propose to have present?” asked
Barthorpe.
“Yourself, your cousin, myself, the two witnesses,
and, as a friend of everybody concerned, Professor
Cox-Raythwaite,” replied Mr. Halfpenny. “No one
else is necessary.”
“And you wish me to tell, plainly, why I refuse to
believe that the will is genuine?”' asked Barthorpe.
“Certainly-yes," assented Mr. Halfpenny.
Barthorpe hesitated, eyeing the old lawyer doubt-
fully.
“It will be a painful business for my cousin,” he
said.
“If-I really haven't the faintest notion of what
you mean!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny. “But if-
if it will be painful for your cousin to hear this
whatever it is in private, it would be much more
painful for her to hear it in public. I gather, of
course, that you have some strange revelation to
make. Surely, it would be most considerate to her
to make it in what we may call the privacy of the
family circle, Cox-Raythwaite and myself.'
“I haven' the least objection to Cox-Raythwaite's
presence, nor yours," said Barthorpe. “Very good
-I'll accept your proposal—it will, as you say, save
a lot of litigation. Now—when?”
“Today is Tuesday," said Mr. Halfpenny.


202 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“What do you say to next Friday morning, at ten
o'clock ?"
“Friday will do,” answered Barthorpe. “I will
be there at ten o'clock. I shall leave it to you to
summon all the parties concerned. By the by, have
you Burchill's address ?”
“I have,” replied Mr. Halfpenny. “I will com-
municate with him at once.”
Barthorpe nodded, rose from his seat, and walked
with his visitor towards the door of his private room.
“Understand, Mr. Halfpenny,” he said, “I'm
agreeing to this to oblige you. And if the truth is
very painful to my cousin, well, as you say, it's
better for her to hear it in private than in a court of
justice. All right, then-Friday at ten.”
Mr. Halfpenny went back to his own office, aston-
ished and marvelling. What on earth were these rev-
elations which Barthorpe hinted at-these unpleasant
truths which would so wound and hurt Peggie
Wynne? Could it be possible that there really was
some mystery about that will of which only Bar-
thorpe knew the secret ? It was incomprehensible to
Mr. Halfpenny that any man could be so cool, so
apparently cocksure about matters as Barthorpe was
unless he felt absolutely certain of his own case.
What that case could be, Mr. Halfpenny could not
imagine-the only thing really certain was that Bar-
thorpe seemed resolved on laying it bare when Friday
came.
“God bless me!—it's a most extraordinary compli-
cation altogether!” mused Mr. Halfpenny, once more


YEA AND NAY
203
alone in his own office. “It's very evident to me
that Barthorpe Herapath is absolutely ignorant that
he's suspected, and that the police are at work on
him! What a surprise for him if the thing comes to
a definite head, and—but let us see what Friday
morning brings."
Friday morning brought Barthorpe to Mr. Half-
penny's offices in good time. He came alone; a few
minutes after his arrival Peggie Wynne, nervous and
frightened, came, attended by Mr. Tertius and Pro-
fessor Cox-Raythwaite. All these people were at once
ushered into Mr. Halfpenny's private room, where
polite, if constrained, greetings passed. At five min-
utes past ten o'clock Mr. Halfpenny looked at Bar-
thorpe.
“We're only waiting for Mr. Burchill," he re-
marked. “I wrote to him after seeing you, and I re-
ceived a reply from him in which he promised to be
here at ten this morning. It's now "
But at that moment the door opened to admit Mr.
Frank Burchill, who, all unconscious of the fact that
more than one pair of sharp eyes had followed him
from his flat to Mr. Halfpenny's office, and that their
owners were now in the immediate vicinity, came in
full of polite self-assurance, and executed formal bows
while he gracefully apologised to Mr. Halfpenny for
being late.
“It's all right, all right, Mr. Burchill,” said the
old lawyer, a little testy under the last-comer's polite
phrases, all of which he thought unnecessary. “Five
or ten minutes won't make any great difference. Take


204 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
a seat, pray: I think if we all sit around this centre
table of mine it will be more convenient. We can
begin at once now, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath-I have
already given strict instructions that we are not to
be disturbed on any account. My dear-perhaps you
will sit here by me?–Mr. Tertius, you sit next to
Miss Wynne-Professor- "
Mr. Halfpenny's dispositions of his guests placed
Peggie and her two companions on one side of a
round table; Barthorpe and Burchill at the other-
Mr. Halfpenny himself sat at the head. And as soon
as he had .taken his own seat, he looked at Barthorpe.
“This, of course,” he began, “is a quite informal
meeting. We are here, as I understand matters, to
hear why you, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, object to
your late uncle's will, and why you intend to dispute
it. So I suppose the next thing to do will be to ask
you to state your grounds."
But Barthorpe shook his head with a decisivo mo-
tion.
“No," he answered. “Not at all! The first thing
to do, Mr. Halfpenny, in my opinion, is to hear what
is to be said in favour of the will. The will itself, I
take it, is in your possession. I have seen it-I mean,
I have seen the document which purports to be a will
of the late Jacob Herapath—so I admit its existence.
Two persons are named on that document as wit-
nesses: Mr. Tertius, Mr. Burchill. They are both
present now; at your request. I submit that the
proper procedure is to question them both as to the
circumstances under. which this alleged will was
made.”


YEA AND NAY
205
“I have no objections to that,” answered Mr. Half-
penny. “I have no objection-neither, I am sure,
has Miss Wynne—to anything you propose. Well,
we take it for granted that this document exists—
it is, of course, in my safe keeping. Every person
has seen it, one time or another. We have here the
two gentlemen who witnessed Jacob Herapath's sig.
nature and each other's. So I will first ask the elder
of the two to tell us what he recollects of the matter.
Now, Mr. Tertius ?”
Mr. Tertius, who since his arrival had shown as
much nervousness as would probably have signalised
his appearance in a witness-box, started at this direct
appeal.
“You-er, wish me- " he began, with an almost
blank stare at Mr. Halfpenny. “You want me to
“Come, come!” said Mr. Halfpenny. “This is as
I have already said, an informal gathering. We
needn't have any set forms or cut-and-dried pro-
cedure. I want you—we all want you to tell us
what you remember about the making of Jacob Hera-
path's will. Tell us in your own way, in whatever
terms you like. Then we shall hear what your fel-
low-witness has to say.”
"Perhaps you'll let me suggest something,” broke
in Barthorpe, who had obviously been thinking mat-
ters over. “Lay the alleged will on the table before
you, Mr. Halfpenny-question the two opposed wit-
nesses on it. That will simplify things.”
Mr. Halfpenny considered this proposition for a
moment or two; then having whispered to Peggie


YEA AND NAY
207
“Most certainly!”' answered Mr. Tertius.
“And this,” continued Mr. Halfpenny, “is Jacob
Herapath's?—and this Mr. Burchill's? You have no
doubt about it?”.
“No more than that I see and hear you," replied
Mr. Tertius. “I have no doubt.”.
Mr. Halfpenny turned from Mr. Tertius to Bar-
thorpe Herapath. But Barthorpe's face just then
revealed nothing. Therefore the old lawyer turned
towards Burchill. And suddenly a sharp idea struck
him. He would settle one point to his own satisfac-
tion at once, by one direct question. And so heas
it were by impulse—thrust the will before and be-
neath Burchill's eyes, and placed his finger against
the third signature.
“Mr. Burchill,” he said, “is that your writing?”
Burchill, calm and self-possessed, glanced at the
place which Mr. Halfpenny indicated, and then lifted
his eyes, half sadly, half deprecatingly.
“No!” he replied, with a little shake of the head
“No, Mr. Halfpenny, it is not!"


CHAPTER XXIII
THB ACCUSATION
The old lawyer, who had bent forward across the
table in speaking to Burchill, pulled himself up
sharply on receiving this answer, and for a second
or two stared with a keen, searching gaze at the man
he had questioned, who, on his part, returned the
stare with calm assurance. A deep silence had fallen
on the room; nothing broke it until Professor Cox-
Raythwaite suddenly began to tap the table with the
ends of his fingers. The sound roused Mr. Halfpenny
to speech and action. He bent forward again towards
Burchill, once more laying a hand on the will.
“That is not your signature ?” he asked quietly.
Burchill shook his head—this time with a gesture
of something very like contempt.
“It is not !” he answered.
“Did you see the late Jacob Herapath write-
that?”
“I did not!"
“Did you see Mr. Tertius write-that?”
“I did not!”
“Have you ever seen this will, this document, be-
fore?”
“Never!”
208


210 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
contents, snorted again, and looked hard at Bar-
thorpe.
“I don't see the least use in going on with this!”
he said. “We have heard what Mr. Tertius, as one
witness, says; we have heard what Mr. Frank Burch-
ill, as the other witness, says. Mr. Tertius says that
he saw the will executed in Mr. Burchill's presence;
Mr. Burchill denies that in the fullest and most un.
qualified fashion. Why waste more time? We had
better separate.”
But Barthorpe laughed, maliciously.
“Scarcely!” he said. “You brought us here. It
was your own proposal. I assented. And now that
we are here, and you have heard—what you have
heard—I'm going to have my say. You have gone,
all along, Mr. Halfpenny, on the assumption that
the piece of paper which you have just replaced in
your safe is a genuine will. That's what you've said
-I believe it's what you say now. I don't say so!”
“What do you say it is, then?" demanded Mr.
Halfpenny.
Barthorpe slightly lowered his voice.
“I say it's a forgery!” he answered. “That, I
hope, is plain language. A forgery—from the first
word to its last.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Halfpenny, a little sneer-
ingly. “And who's the forger, pray?”
“That man, there!” said Barthorpe, suddenly
pointing to Mr. Tertius. “He's the forger! I ac-
cuse him to his face of forging every word, every
letter of it from the first stroke to the final one. And


214 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
paler ast hey went on, quietly rose from his chair.
“Before this goes further, Halfpenny,” he said,
“I should like to have a word in private with Miss
Wynne. Afterwards—and I shan't detain her more
than a moment I shall have no objection to hearing
anything that Mr. Barthorpe Herapath has to say.
My dear!-step this way with me a moment, I beg."
Mr. Halfpenny's private room was an apartment
of considerable size, having in it two large recessed
windows. Into one of these Mr. Tertius led Peggie,
and there he spoke a few quiet words to her. Bar-
thorpe Herapath affected to take no notice, but the
other men, watching them closely, saw the girl start
at something which Mr. Tertius said. But she in-
stantly regained her self-possession and composure,
and when she came back to the table her face, though
pale, was firm and resolute. And Barthorpe looked at
her then, and his voice, when he spoke again, was less
aggressive and more civil.
“It's not to my taste to bring unpleasant family,
scandals into public notice," he said, “and that's
why I rather welcomed your proposal that we should
discuss this affair in private, Mr. Halfpenny. And
now for what I've got to tell you. I shall have to go
back a long way in our family history. My late
uncle, Jacob Herapath, was the eldest of the three
children of his father, Matthew Herapath, who was
a medical practitioner at Granchester in Yorkshire
a small town on the Yorkshire and Lancashire border.
The three children were Jacob, Richard, and Susan.
With the main outlines of Jacob Herapath's career I


216 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Bristowe, who were farmers near Aylesbury and whom
he knew very well. In the care of Mrs. Bristowe, the
child remained until she was between six and seven
years old. Then she was removed to Jacob Hera-
path's own house in Portman Square, where she has
remained ever since. My cousin, I believe, has a very
accurate recollection of her residence with the Bris-
towes, and she will remember being brought from
Buckinghamshire to London at the time I have spoken -
of.”
Barthorpe paused for a moment and looked at
Peggie. But Peggie, who was listening intently with
downcast head, made no remark, and he presently,
continued.
“Now, not so very long after that I mean, after
the child was brought to Portman Square-another
person came to the house as a permanent resident.
His name was given to the servants as Mr. Tertius.
The conditions of his residence were somewhat pecu-
liar. He had rooms of his own; he did as he liked.
Sometimes he joined Jacob Herapath at meals; some-
times he did not. There was an air of mystery about
him. What was it? I will tell you in a word—the
mystery or its secret, was this—the man Tertius, who
sits there now, was in reality the girl's father! He
was Arthur John Wynne, the ex-convict—the clever
forger!”


218 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
give stronger grounds than that before a judge and
jury.”
“I'll give you my grounds,” answered Barthorpe
eagerly. He bent over the table in his eagerness, and
the old lawyer suddenly realized that Barthorpe gen-
uinely believed himself to be in the right. “I'll give
you my grounds without reserve. Consider them,
I'll check them off, point by point-you can follow
them :
“First. It was well known-to me, at any rate,
that my uncle Jacob Herapath, had never made a
will.
“Second. Is it not probable that if he wanted to
make a will be would have employed me, who had
acted as his solicitor for fifteen years?
“Third. I had a conversation with him about mak-
ing a will just under a year ago, and he then said
he'd have it done, and he mentioned that he should
divide his estate equally between me and my cousin
there.
“Fourth. Mr. Burchill here absolutely denies all
knowledge of this alleged will.
“Fifth. My uncle's handwriting, as you all know,
was exceedingly plain and very easy to imitate.
Burchill's handwriting is similarly plain—of the
copperplate sort-and just as easy to imitate.
“Sixth. That man across there is an expert forger!
I have the account of his trial at Lancaster Assizes
the evidence shows that his work was most expert.
Is it likely that his hand should have lost its cunning
-even after several years ?


COLD STEEL
219
“Seventh. That man there had every opportunity
of forging this will. With his experience and knowl-
edge it would be a simple matter to him. He did it
with the idea of getting everything into the hands of
his own daughter, of defrauding me of my just rights.
Since my uncle's death he has made two attempts to
see Burchill privately—why? To square him, of
course! And— ".
Mr. Tertius, who had been gazing at the table
while Barthorpe went through these points, suddenly,
lifted his head and looked at Mr. Halfpenny. His
usual nervousness seemed to have left him, and there
was something very like a smile of contempt about
his lips when he spoke.
“I think, Halfpenny,” he said quietly, “I really
think it is time all this extraordinary farce—for it is
nothing less !--came to an end. May I be permitted
to ask Mr. Barthorpe Herapath a few questions?”
“So far as I am concerned, as many as you please,
Tertius,” replied Mr. Halfpenny. “Whether he'll
answer them or not is another matter. He ought to.”
“I shall answer them if I please, and I shall not
answer them if I don't want to," said Barthorpe
sullenly. “You can put them, anyway. But they'll
make no difference—I know what I'm talking about."
“So do I," said Mr. Tertius. “And really, as we
come here to get at the truth, it will be all the better
for everybody concerned if you do answer my ques-
tions. Now-you say I am in reality Arthur Wynne,
the father of your cousin, the brother-in-law of Jacob
Herapath. What you have said about Arthur John


220 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Wynne is unfortunately only too true. It is true
that he erred and was punished-severely. In due
course he went to Portland. I want to ask you what
became of him afterwards ?-you say you have full
knowledge."
“You mean, what became of you afterwards,”
sneered Barthorpe. “I know when you left Portland.
You left it for London-and you came to London to
be sheltered, under your assumed name, by Jacob
Herapath.”
“No more than that?” asked Mr. Tertius.
“That's enough," answered Barthorpe. “You left
Portland in April, 1897; you came to London when
you were discharged; in June of that year you'd
taken up your residence under Jacob Herapath's roof.
And it's no use your trying to bluff me—I've traced
your movements !”.
“With the aid, no doubt, of Mr. Burchill there,”
observed Mr. Tertius, dryly. “But— "
Burchill drew himself up.
“Sir!” he exclaimed. “That is an unwarrantable
assumption, and— "
“Unwarrantable assumptions, Mr. Burchill, appear
to be present in great quantity,” interrupted Mr.
Tertius, with an air of defiance which surprised every-
body. “Don't you interrupt me, sir !—I'll deal with
you before long in a way that will astonish you.
Now, Mr. Barthorpe Herapath,” he went on, turning
to that person with determination, “I will astonish
you somewhat, for I honestly believe you really have
some belief in what you say. I am not Arthur John


COLD STEEL
221
Wynne. I am what I have always been-John Chris-
topher Tertius, as a considerable number of people in
this town can prove. But I knew Arthur John
Wynne. When he left Portland he came to me here
in London—at the suggestion of Jacob Herapath. I
then lived in Bloomsbury-I had recently lost my
wife. I took Wynne to live with me. But he had
not long to live. If you had searched into matters
more deeply, you would have found that he got his
discharge earlier than he would have done in the
usual course, because of his health. As a matter of
fact, he was very ill when he came to me, and he died
six weeks after his arrival at my house. He is buried
in the churchyard of the village from which he orig-
inally came—in Wales—and you can inspect all the
documents relating to his death, and see his grave if
you care to. After his death, for reasons into which
I need not go, I went to live with Jacob Herapath.
It was his great desire-and mine—that Wynne's
daughter, your cousin, should never know her father's
sad history. But for you she never would have known
it! And—that is a plain answer to what you have
had to allege against me. Now, sir, let me ask you a
plain question. Who invented this cock-and-bull
story? You don't reply-readily? Shall I assist
you by a suggestion? Was it that man who sits by
you—Burchill? For Burchill knows that he has lied
vilely and shamelessly this morning-Burchill knows
that he did see Jacob Herapath sign that will
Burchill knows that that will was duly witnessed by
himself and by me in the presence of each other and


222 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
of the testator! God bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr.
Tertius, thumping the table vehemently. “Why, man
alive, your cousin Margaret has a document here
which proves that that will is all right-a document
written by Jacob Herapath himself! Bring it out,
my dear-confound these men with an indisputable
proof!”
But before Peggie could draw the packet from her
muff, Burchill had risen and was showing signs of
retreat. And Barthorpe, now pale with anger and
perplexity, had risen too—and he was looking at
Burchill.
Mr. Halfpenny looked at both men. Then he
pointed to their chairs. “Hadn't you better sit down
again ?” he said. “It seems to me that we're just
arriving at the most interesting stage of these proceed-
ings.”
Burchill stepped towards the door.
“I do not propose to stay in company in which I
am ruthlessly insulted," he said. “It is, of course,
a question of my word against Mr. Tertius's. We
shall see. As for the present, I do."
“Stop!” said Barthorpe. He moved towards
Burchill, motioning him towards the window in which
Peggie and Mr. Tertius had spoken together. “Here
-a word with you!”
But Burchill made for the door, and Mr. Halfpenny
nudged Professor Cox-Raythwaite.
“I say—stop!” exclaimed Barthorpe. "There's
some explanation "
He was about to lay a hand on the door when Mr.


COLD STEEL
223
Halfpenny touched a bell which stood in front of
him on the table. And at its sharp sound the door
opened from without, and Burchill fell back at what
he saw-fell back upon Barthorpe, who looked past
him, and started in his turn.
“Great Scot!” said Barthorpe. “Police!”.
Davidge came quickly and quietly in-three other
men with him. And in the room from which they
emerged Barthorpe saw more men, many more men, .
and with them an eager, excited face which he some-
how recognized—the face of the little Argus reporter
who had asked him and Selwood for news on the
morning after Jacob Herapath's murder.
But Barthorpe had no time to waste thoughts on
Triffitt. He suddenly became alive to the fact that
two exceedingly strong men had seized his arms; that
two others had similarly seized Burchill. The pallor
died out of his face and gave place to a dull glow of
anger.
“Now, then?” he growled. “What's all this!”
"The same for both of you, Mr. Herapath,” an-
swered Davidge, cheerfully and in business-like fash-
ion. “I'll charge both you and Mr. Burchill form-
ally when we've got you to the station. You're both
under arrest, you know. And I may as well warn
you— "
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Barthorpe. “Arrest!
on what charge?”
“Charge will be the same for both,” answered
Davidge coolly. “The murder of Jacob Herapath.”
A dead silence fell on the room. Then Peggie


COLD STEEL
225
freedom, and, in a couple of minutes was mingling
with the crowds in a busy thoroughfare, safe for
that time.
Then Davidge, cursing his men and his luck, took
Barthorpe Herapath away, and Triffitt rushed head-
long to Fleet Street, seething with excitement and
brimming with news.


CHAPTER XXV
PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS
The Argus came out in great style next morning,
and it and Triffitt continued to give its vast circle of
readers a similar feast of excitement for a good ten
days. Triffitt, in fact, went almost foodless and sleep-
less; there was so much to do. To begin with, there
was the daily hue and cry after Burchill, who had
disappeared as completely as if his familiar evil spirits
had carried him bodily away from the very door of
Halfpenny and Farthing's office. Then there was
the bringing up of Barthorpe Herapath before the
magistrate at Bow Street, and the proceedings at the
adjourned coroner's inquest. It was not until the
tenth day that anything like a breathing space came.
But the position of affairs on that tenth day was a
fairly clear one. The coroner's jury had returned a
verdict of wilful murder against Barthorpe Herapath
and Frank Burchill; the magistrate had committed
Barthorpe for trial; the police were still hunting high
and low for Burchill. And there was scarcely a soul
who had heard the evidence before the coroner and
the magistrate who did not believe that both the sus-
pected men were guilty and that both—when Burchill
had been caught-would ere long stand in the Old
Bailey dock and eventually hear themselves sentenced
to the scaffold.
226


PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS 229
“1. The police say that Jacob Herapath came to
his death as the result of a conspiracy between
his nephew Barthorpe Herapath and Frank
Burchill.
“2. They say that the proof that that conspiracy
existed is found in certain documents discov-
ered by Davidge at Burchill's flat, in which
documents Barthorpe covenants to pay Bur-
chill ten per cent. of the value of the Herapath
property if and when he, Barthorpe, comes
into it.
“3. The police argue that this conspiracy to mur-
der Jacob Herapath and upset the will was in
existence before November 12th-in other
words that the idea of upsetting the will came
first, and that the murder arose out of it.
"4. In support of this they have proved that Bar-
thorpe was in close touch with Burchill as soon
as the murder was committed-afternoon of the
same day, at any rate—and therefore presum-
ably had been in close touch with him previ-
ously.
“5. They have proved to the full a certain matter
about which there is no doubt—that Barthorpe
was at the estate office about the time at which,
according to medical evidence, his uncle was
murdered, that he subsequently put on his
uncle's coat and hat and visited this house, and
afterwards returned to the estate office. That,
I say, is certain and it is the most damning
thing against Barthorpe.
“6. According to the police, then, Barthorpe was


230
THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
the actual murderer, and Burchill was an ac-
cessory before the fact. There is no evidence
that Burchill was near the estate office that
night. But that, of course, doesn't matter
if, as the police suggest, there is evidence that
the conspiracy to kill Jacob Herapath existed
before November 12th, then it doesn't matter
at all whether Burchill took an active part in
it or not-he's guilty as accessory."
The Professor here paused and smote his bundle
of papers. Then he lifted and wagged one of his
great fingers.
“But!” he exclaimed. “But-but-always a but!
And the but in this case is a mighty one. It's this
did that conspiracy exist before November 12th ?
Did it did it? It's a great point-it's a great point.
Now, we all know that this morning, before he was
committed, Barthorpe, much against the wishes of
his legal advisers, insisted, forcibly insisted, on mak-
ing a statement. It's in the evening papers here, ver-
batim. I'll read it to you carefully—you heard him,
all of you, but I want you to hear it again, read
slowly. Consider it—think of it carefully-remember
the circumstances under which it's made!”
He turned to the table, selected a newspaper, and
read:
"The accused, having insisted, in spite of evi-
dent strong dissuasion from his counsel, upon mak-
ing a statement, said: “I wish to tell the plain and
absolute truth about my concern with this affair.


PROFESSIONAL ANALYSIS 231
I have heard the evidence given by various wit-
nesses as to my financial position. That evidence
is more or less true. I lost a lot of money last win-
ter in betting and gambling. I was not aware that
my position was known to my uncle until one of
these witnesses revealed that my uncle had been
employing private inquiry agents to find it out.
I was meaning, when his death occurred, to make
a clean breast to him. I was on the best of terms
with him-whatever he may have known, it made
no difference that I ever noticed in his behaviour
to me. I was not aware that my uncle had made a
will. He never mentioned it to me. About a year
ago, there was some joking conversation between
us about making a will, and I said to him that he
ought to do it, and give me the job, and he replied,
laughingly, that he supposed he would have to,
some time. I solemnly declare that on November
12th I hadn't the ghost of a notion that he had made
a will.
"6"On November 12th last, about five o'clock
in the afternoon, I received a note from my uncle,
asking me to meet him at his estate office, at mid-
night. I had often met him there at that time
there was nothing unusual about such an appoint-
ment. I went there, of course I walked there
from my flat in the Adelphi. I noticed when I
got there that my uncle's brougham was being
slowly driven round the square across the road.
The outer door of the office was slightly open. I
was surprised. The usual thing when I made late


232 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
calls was for me to ring a bell which sounded in
my uncle's private room, and he then came and
admitted me. I went in, and down the hall, and I
then saw that the door of his room was also open.
The electric light was burning. I went in. I at
once saw my uncle-he was lying between the desk
and the hearth, quite dead. There was a revolver
lying near. I touched his hand and found it was
quite warm.
""I looked round, and seeing no sign of any
struggle, I concluded that my uncle had shot him-
self. I noticed that his keys were lying on the
desk. His fur-collared overcoat and slouch hat
were thrown on a sofa. Of course, I was much up-
set. I went outside, meaning, I believe, to call the
caretaker. Everything was very still in the house.
I did not call. I began to think. I knew I was
in a strange position. I knew my uncle's death
would make a vast difference to me. I was next
of kin. I wanted to know how things stood how
I was left. Something suggested itself to me. I
think the overcoat and hat suggested it. I put on
the hat and coat, took the keys from the table, and
the latch-key of the Portman Square house from
my uncle's waistcoat pocket, turned out the light,
went out, closed both doors, went to the brougham,
and was driven away. I saw very well that the
coachman didn't know me at all-he thought I was
his master.
WO"I have heard the evidence about my visit to
Portman Square. I stopped there some time. I


234 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
in reality, Arthur John Wynne, a convicted forger.
He gave me his proofs, and I was fool enough to
believe them. He then suggested that it would be
the easiest thing in the world, considering Wynne's
record, to prove that he had forged the will for his
daughter's benefit. He offered to aid in this if I
would sign documents giving him ten per cent. of
the total value of my uncle's estate, and I was
foolish enough to consent, and to sign. I solemnly
declare that the entire suggestion about upsetting
the will came from Burchill, and that there was no
conspiracy between us of any sort whatever pre-
vious to that night. Whatever may happen, I've
told this court the absolute, definite truth!"!!
Professor Cox-Raythwaite folded up the newspaper,
laid it on the little table, and brought his big hand
down on his knee with an emphatic smack.
“Now, then!” he said. “In my deliberate, coldly
reasoned opinion, that statement is true! If they
hang Barthorpe, they'll hang an innocent man. But


236 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
ward. If you remember, Halfpenny had a theory
that the letter and the object which Mountain saw
Jacob hand to that man were a note to the Safe De-
posit people and the key of the safe. Now we know
that's not so, because no one ever brought any letter
to the Safe Deposit people and nobody's ever opened
the safe. Halfpenny, too, believed, during the period
of the police officials' masterly silence, that that man
had put himself in communication with them. Now
we know that the police have never heard anything
whatever of him, have never traced him. I'm con-
vinced that if we could unearth that man we should
learn something. But how to do it, I don't know."
“And the other point?" asked Selwood, after a
pause during which everybody seemed to be rumin-
ating deeply. “You mentioned two."
“The other point,” replied the Professor, “is one
on which I am going to make a practical suggestion.
It's this I believe that Barthorpe told the truth in
that statement of his which I've just read to you, but
I should like to know if he told all the truth-all!
He may have omitted some slight thing, some infini-
tesimal circumstance-
“Do you mean about himself or—what ?” asked Sel-
wood.
“I mean some very—or seemingly very—slight
thing, during his two visits to the estate office that
night, which, however slight it may seem, would form
a clue to the real murderer,” answered the Professor.
“He may have seen something, noticed something, and
forgotten it, or not attached great importance to it.
And, in short,” he continued, with added emphasis,


THE REMAND PRISON 237
“in short, my friends, Barthorpe must be visited,
interviewed, questioned—not merely by his legal ad-
visers, but by some friend, and the very person to do
it”-here he turned and laid his great hand on
Peggie's shoulder—"is—you, my dear!”
“I!” exclaimed Peggie.
“You, certainly! Nobody better. He will tell you
what he would tell no one else,” said the Professor.
"You're the person. Am I not right, Tertius ?”
“I think you are right," assented Mr. Tertius.
“Yes, I think so."
“But-he's in prison !” said Peggie. “Will they
let me?”
"Oh, that's all right,” answered the Professor.
“Halfpenny will arrange that like winking. You
must go at once and Selwood there will go with you.
Far better for you two young people to go than for
either Halfpenny, or Tertius, or myself. Youth in-
vites confidence.”
Peggie turned and looked at Selwood.
“You'll go ?” she asked.
Selwood felt his cheeks flush and rose to conceal
his sudden show of feeling. “I'll go anywhere and
do anything!” he answered quietly. “I don't know
whether my opinion's worth having, but I think
exactly as Professor Cox-Raythwaite does about this
affair. But-who's the guilty man?, Is it-can it
be Burchill? If what Barthorpe Herapath says about
that will affair is true, Burchill is cunning and subtle
enough for "
“Burchill, my dear lad, is at present out of our
ken,” interrupted Cox-Raythwaite. “Barthorpe,


THE REMAND PRISON 239
hands and feet, legs and arms, body and head-but
within limits. He could pace a cell, he could tramp
round an exercise yard, he could eat and drink, he
could use his tongue when allowed, he could do many
things—but always within limits. He was held-held
by an unseen power which could materialize, could
make itself very much seen, at a second's notice.
There he would stop until he was carried off to his
trial; he would come and go during that trial, the
unseen power always holding him. And one day he
would either go out of the power's clutches—free, or
he would be carried off, not to this remand prison
but a certain cell in another place in which he would
sit, or lounge, or lie, with nothing to do, until a
bustling, businesslike man came in one morning with
a little group of officials and in his hand a bundle of
leather straps. Held !—by the strong, never-relaxing
clutch of the law. That-
“Buck up!” whispered Selwood, in the blunt lan-
guage of irreverent, yet good-natured, youth. “He's
coming!”
Peggie looked up to see Barthorpe staring at her
through the iron bars. He was not over good to look
at. He had a two days' beard on his face; his linen
was not fresh; his clothes were put on untidily; he
stood with his hands in his pockets lumpishly—the
change wrought by incarceration, even of that com-
parative sort, was great. He looked both sulky and
sheepish; he gave Selwood no more than a curt nod;
his first response to his cousin was of the nature of a
growl.


THE REMAND PRISON
241
ments and suggestions, and Barthorpe began to show
some interest. But at the end he shook his head.
"I don't know that there's anything more that I
can tell,” he said. “Whatever anybody may think,
I told the entire truth about myself and this affair
in that statement before the magistrate. Of course,
you know they didn't want me to say a word-my
legal advisers, I mean. They were dead against it.
But you see, I was resolved on it, I wanted it to get
in the papers. I told everything in that. I tried to
put it as plainly as I could. No-I've told the main
facts."
“But aren't there any little facts, Barthorpe?”
asked Peggie. “Can't you think of any small thing
-was there nothing that would give—I don't know
how to put it."
“Anything that you can think of that would give
a clue?” suggested Selwood. “Was there nothing
you noticed—was there anything "
Barthorpe appeared to be thinking; then to be hesi-
tating—finally, he looked at Selwood a little shame-
facedly.
“Well, there were one or two things that I didn't
tell,” he said. “I—the fact is, I didn't think they
were of importance. One of them was about that key
to the Safe Deposit. You know you and I couldn't
find it when we searched the office that morning.
Well, I had found it. Or rather, I took it off the
bunch of keys. I wanted to search the safe at the
Safe Deposit myself. But I never did. I don't
know whether the detectives have found it or not-I
threw it into a drawer at my office in which there are
how to thing that
selwool ning


242 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
a lot of other keys. But, you know, there's nothing
in that-nothing at all.”
"You said one or two other things just now," re-
marked Selwood. "That's one-what's the other?”
Barthorpe hesitated. The three were not the only
occupants of that gloomy room, and though the official
ears might have been graven out of stone, he felt their
presence.
“Don't keep anything back, Barthorpe," pleaded
Peggie.
“Oh, well!” responded Barthorpe. “I'll tell you,
though I don't know what good it will do. I didn't
tell this, because well, of course, it's not exactly a
thing a man likes to tell. When I looked over Uncle
Jacob's desk, just after I found him dead, you know,
I found a hundred-pound note lying there. I put it
in my pocket. Hundred-pound notes weren't plenti-
ful, you know," he went on with a grim smile. “Of
course, it was a shabby thing to do, sort of robbing
the dead, you know, but- "
“Do you see any way in which that can help?"
asked Selwood, whose mind was not disposed to dwell
on nice questions of morality or conduct. “Does any-
thing suggest itself ?”
“Why, this," answered Barthorpe, rubbing his
chin. “It was a brand-new note. That's puzzled me
—that it should be lying there amongst papers. You
might go to Uncle Jacob's bank and find out when he
drew it-or rather, if he'd been drawing money that
day. He used, as you and I know, to draw consider-
able amounts in notes. And-it's only a notion-if
he'd drawn anything big that day, and he had it on


THE REMAND PRISON 243
him that night, why, there's a motive there. Some-
body may have known he'd a considerable amount on
him and have followed him in there. Don't forget
that I found both doors open when I went there!
That's a point that mustn't be overlooked.”
“There's absolutely nothing else you can think
of ?” asked Selwood.
Barthorpe shook his head. Nothere was nothing
-he was sure of that. And then he turned eagerly
to the question of finding Burchill. Burchill, he was
certain, knew more than he had given him credit for,
knew something, perhaps, about the actual murder.
He was a deep, crafty dog, Burchill-only let the
police find him!
Time was up, then, and Peggie and Selwood had to
gomtheir last impression that of Barthorpe thrusting
his hands in his pockets and lounging away to his
enforced idleness. It made the girl sick at heart,
and it showed Selwood what deprivation of liberty
means to a man who has hitherto been active and
vigorous.
“Have we done any good ?” asked Peggie, draw-
ing a deep breath of free air as soon as they were
outside the gates. “Any bit of good ?”
“There's the affair of the bank-note," answered Sel-
wood. "That may be of some moment. I'll go and
report progress on that, anyway.”
He put Peggie into her car to go home, and him-
self hailed a taxi-cab and drove straight to Mr. Half-
penny's office, where Professor Cox-Raythwaite and
Mr. Tertius had arranged to meet him.


CHAPTER XXVII
THE LAST CHEQUE
The three elderly gentlemen, seated in Mr. Half-
penny's private room, listened with intense, if silent,
interest to Selwood's account of the interview with
Barthorpe. It was a small bundle of news that he had
brought back and two of his hearers showed by their
faces that they attached little importance to it. But
Professor Cox-Raythwaite caught eagerly at the mere
scrap of suggestion.
“Tertius !– Halfpenny!” he exclaimed. “That
must be followed up—we must follow it up at once.
That bank-note may be a most valuable and effective
clue.”
Mr. Halfpenny showed a decided incredulity and
dissent.
“I don't see it,” he answered. “Don't see it at
all, Cox-Raythwaite. What is there in it? What
clue can there be in the fact that Barthorpe picked up
a hundred pound bank-note from his uncle's writing-
desk? Lord bless me!—why, every one of us four
men knows very well that hundred pound notes were
as common to Jacob Herapath as half-crowns are to
any of us! He was a man who carried money in large
amounts on him always—I've expostulated with him
about it. Don't you know-no, I dare say you don't
244


THE LAST CHEQUE
245
though, because you never had business dealings with
him, and perhaps Tertius doesn't, either, because he,
like you, only knew him as a friend—you don't know
that Jacob had a peculiarity. Perhaps Mr. Selwood
knows of it, though, as he was his secretary.”
“What peculiarity?” asked the Professor. “I
know he had several fads, which one might call pecu-
liarities.”
“He had a business peculiarity,” replied Mr. Half-
penny, “and it was well known to people in his line
of business. You know that Jacob Herapath had ex-
tensive, unusually extensive, dealings in real property
-land and houses. Quite apart from the Herapath
Flats, he dealt on wide lines with real estate; he was
always buying and selling. And his peculiarity was
that all his transactions in this way were done by
cash-bank-notes or gold—instead of by cheque. It
didn't matter if he was buying a hundred thousand
pounds' worth of property, or selling two hundred
thousand pounds' worth—the affairs had to be com-
pleted by payment in that fashion. I've scolded him
about it scores of times; he only laughed at me; he
said that had been the custom when he went into the
business, and he'd stuck to it, and wasn't going to
give it up. God bless me!” concluded Mr. Half
penny, with emphasis. “I ought to know, for Jacob
Herapath has concluded many an operation in this
very room, and at this very table-I've seen him
handle many a hundred thousand pounds' worth of
notes in my time, paying or receiving! And, as I
said, the mere picking up of a hundred pound note


248 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
the manager of their West End branch, in Piccadilly.
He assured me that there was nothing whatever out
of the common in Jacob Herapath's transactions with
them just before his death, and nothing at all in
their particulars of his banking account which could
throw any possible light on his murder.”
“In his opinion,” said the Professor, caustically,
"in his opinion, Halfpenny! But you don't know
what our opinion might be. Now, I suggest that we
all go at once to see this Mr. Playbourne; there's
ample time before the bank closes for the day.”
“Very well," assented Mr. Halfpenny. “All the
same, I'm afraid Playbourne will only say just what
he said before."
Mr. Playbourne, a good typical specimen of the
somewhat old-fashioned bank manager, receiving this
formidable deputation of four gentlemen in his pri-
vate room, said precisely what he had said before,
and seemed astonished to think that any light upon
such an unpleasant thing as a murder could possibly
be derived from so highly respectable a quarter as
that in which he moved during the greater part of the
day.
“I can't think of anything in our transactions
with the late Mr. Herapath that gives any clue, any
idea, anything at all,'' he said, somewhat querulously.
“Mr. Herapath's transactions with us, right up to
the day of his death, were just what they had been for
years. Of course, I'm willing to tell you anything,
show you anything. You're acting for Miss Wynne,
aren't you, Mr. Halfpenny?”


THE LAST CHEQUE
249
“I have a power of attorney from Miss Wynne,
for that matter," answered Mr. Halfpenny. “Every-
thing of that sort's in my hands.”
“I'll tell you what, then,” said the bank manager,
laying his hand on a bell at his side. “You'd better
see Jacob Herapath's pass-book. I recently had it
posted up to the day of his death, and of course we've
retained it until you demanded it. You can't have
a better index to his affairs with us than you'll find
in it. Sellars,” he went on, as a clerk appeared,
“bring me the late Mr. Herapath's pass-book—Mr.
Ravensdale has it.”.
The visitors presently gathered round the desk on
which Mr. Playbourne laid the parchment-bound book
-one of a corresponding thickness with the dead
man's transactions. The manager turned to the pages
last filled in.
“You're aware, of course, some of you at any rate,"
he said, “you, Mr. Halfpenny, and you, Mr. Selwood,
that the late Jacob Herapath dealt in big sums. He
always had a very large balance at this branch of
our bank; he was continually paying in and drawing
out amounts which, to men of less means, must needs
seem tremendous. Now, you can see for yourselves
what his transactions with us were during the last few
days of his life; I, as I have said, see nothing out of
the way in them-you, of course,” he continued, with
a sniff, “may see a good deal!"
Professor Cox-Raythwaite ran his eye over the
neatly-written pages, passing rapidly on to the im-
portant date-November 12th. And he suddenly


250 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
thrust out his arm and put the tip of a big yellow
finger on one particular entry.
“There!” he exclaimed. “Look at that. "Self,
£5,000.' Paid out, you see, on November 12th. Do
you see?”
Mr. Playbourne laughed cynically.
“My dear sir!” he said. “Do you mean to say
that you attach any importance to an entry like that?
Jacob Herapath constantly drew cheques to self for
five, ten, twenty, thirty—aye, fifty thousand pounds!
He dealt in tens of thousands—he was always buying
or selling. Five thousand pounds —a fleabite!”
“All the same, if you please," said the Professor
quietly, “I should like to know if Jacob Herapath
presented that self cheque himself, and if so, how he
took the money it represents.”
“Oh, very well!” said the manager resignedly.
He touched his bell again, and looked wearily at the
clerk who answered it. “Find out if the late Mr.
Herapath himself presented a cheque for five thou-
sand on November 12th, and if so, how he took it,”
he said. “Well," he continued, turning to his vis-
itors. “Do you see anything with any further pos-
sible mystery attached to it?”.
“There's an entry there the last," observed Mr.
Halfpenny. “That. ‘Dimambro: three thousand
guineas.' That's the same date.”
Mr. Playbourne suddenly showed some interest and
animation. His eyes brightened; he sat up erect.
“Ah!” he said. "Well, now, that is somewhat re-
markable, that entry!—though of course there's noth-


252 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
He took a slip of paper from the clerk who just
then entered, and read it aloud.
“Here you are,” he said. “'Mr. Herapath cashed
cheque for £5,000 himself, at three o'clock; the
money in fifty notes of £100 each, numbered as
follows'-you can take this slip, if you like,” he con-
tinued, handing the paper to Professor Cox-Rayth-
waite, as the obviously most interested man of his
party. “There are the numbers of the notes. Of
course, I can't see how all this throws any light on
the mystery of Herapath's murder, but perhaps you
can. Sellers," he continued, turning to the clerk, and
beckoning him to look at the pass-book, "find me the
cheque referred to there, and bring it here."
The clerk returned in a few minutes with the
cheque, which Mr. Playbourne at once exhibited to his
visitors.
“There you are, gentlemen,” he said. “Quite a
curiosity !-certainly the last cheque ever drawn by
our poor friend. There, you see, is his well-known
signature with his secret little mark which you
wouldn't detect-secret between him and us, eh !-big,
bold handwriting, wasn't it? Sad to think that that
was—very likely—the last time he used a pen!”
Professor Cox-Raythwaite in his turn handled the
cheque. Its face gave him small concern; what he
was most interested in was the endorsement on the
back. Without saying anything to his companions,
he memorized that endorsement, and he was still mur-
muring it to himself when, a few minutes later, he
walked out of the bank.
"Luigi Dimambro, Hotel Ravenna, Soho."


CHAPTER. XXVIII
THE HOTEL RAVENNA
Once closeted together in the private room at Half-
penny and Farthing's office, Mr. Halfpenny, who had
seemed somewhat mystified by the happenings at the
bank, looked inquiringly at Professor Cox-Raythwaite
and snapped out one suggestive monosyllable:
Well?”
“Very well indeed," answered Cox-Raythwaite.
“I consider we have done good work. We have
found things out. That bank manager is a pompous
ass; he's a man of asinine, or possible bovine, mind !
Of course, he ought to have revealed these things
at both the inquest and the magisterial proceedings !
-they'll certainly have to be put in evidence at
Barthorpe Herapath's trial.”
“What things?” demanded the old lawyer, a little
testily.
“Two things—facts," replied the Professor, com-
posedly. “First, that Jacob Herapath drew five thou-
sand pounds in hundred pound notes at three o'clock
on the day of his death. Second, that at some hour
of that day he drew a cheque in favour of one Luigi
Dimambro, which cheque was cashed as soon as the
bank opened next morning.”
“Frankly,” observed Mr. Halfpenny, "frankly,
253


256 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
bro be the man who called on Jacob Herapath at the
House of Commons that night—the man whom Moun-
tain saw, but did not recognize as one of his master's
usual friends or acquaintances? Do you see that
point?”
Mr. Tertius and Selwood muttered expressions of
acquiescence, but Mr.Halfpenny shook his head.
“Can't see anything much in it,” he said. “If
this foreign fellow, Dimambro, was the man who called
at the House, I don't see what that's got to do with
the murder. Jacob Herapath, of course, had business
affairs with all sorts of queer people Italians, Span-
iards, Chinese-many a Tom, Dick, and Harry of
'em; he bought curios of all descriptions, and often
sold them again as soon as bought.”
“Very good suggestion,” said Professor Cox-Rayth-
waite. “He may have bought something extremely
valuable from this Dimambro that day, or that night,
and-he may have had it on him when he was mur-
dered. Clearly, we must see this Luigi Dimambro!"
“If he's the man who called at the House, you
forget that he's been advertised for no end,” said
Selwood.
“No, I don't,” responded the Professor. “But he
may be out of the country: may have come to it spe-
cially to see Jacob Herapath, and left it again. I
repeat, we must see this man, if he's to be found.
We must make inquiries-cautious, guarded inquiries
at this hotel in Soho, which is probably a foreign-
ers' house of call, a mere restaurant. And the very
person to make those inquiries,” he concluded, turn-


THE HOTEL RAVENNA
259
It was half-past seven o'clock, and the place was
full of customers. Selwood took most of them to be
foreigners. He also concluded after a first glance
around him that the majority had some connection,
more or less close, with either the dramatic, or the
musical, or the artistic professions. There was much
laughter and long hair, marvellous neckties and won-
drous costumes; everybody seemed to be talking with-
out regard to question or answer; the artillery of the
voices mingled with the rattling of plates and popping
of corks. Clearly this was no easy place in which to
seek for a man whom one had never seen!
Selwood allowed a waiter to conduct him to a va-
cant seat—a plush throne half-way along the restau-
rant. He ordered a modest dinner and a bottle of
light wine, and following what seemed to be the cus-
tom, lighted a cigarette until his first course appeared.
And while he waited he looked about him, noting
everything that presented itself. Out of all the folk
there, waiters and customers, the idle and the busy,
he quickly decided that there was only one man who
possessed particular interest for him. That man was
the big, smiling, frock-coated, sleek-haired patron or
proprietor, who strode up and down, beaming and
nodding, sharp-eyed and courteous, and whom Sel-
wood, from a glance at the emblazoned lettering of the
bill-of-fare, took to rejoice in the name of Mr. Alessan-
dro Bioni. This man, if he was landlord, or manager,
of the Ravenna Hotel, was clearly the person to ap-
proach if one wanted information about the Luigi
Dimambro who had given the place as his address as
recently as November 12th.


260 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
While he ate and drank, Selwood wondered how to
go about his business. It seemed to him that the best
thing to do, now that he had seen the place and as-
sured himself that it was a hotel evidently doing a
proper and legitimate business, was to approach its
management with a plain question—was Mr. Luigi
Dimambro staying there, or was he known there?
Since Dimambro, whoever he might be, had given that
as his address, something must be known of him. And
when the smiling patron presently came round, and,
seeing a new customer, asked politely if he was being
served to his satisfaction, Selwood determined to settle
matters at once.
“The proprietor, I presume?” he asked.
“Manager, sir," answered the other. “The pro-
prietor, he is an old gentleman-practically retired."
"Perhaps I can ask you a question,” Selwood.
“Have you got a Mr. Luigi Dimambro staying at
your hotel? He is, I believe”—here Selwood made a
bold shot at a possibility—“a seller of curios, or art
objects. I know he stops here sometimes.”
The manager rubbed his hands together and re-
flected.
“One moment, sir,” he said. “I get the register,
The hotel guests, they come in here for meals, but
always I do not recollect their names, and sometimes
not know them. But the register-
He sped down the room, through a side door, van-
ished; to return in a moment with a book which he
carried to Selwood's side.
“Dimambro ?” he said. “Recently, then? We
shall see.”


THE HOTEL RAVENNA 261
“About the beginning or middle of November,"
answered Selwood.
The manager found the pages: suddenly he pointed
to ar entry.
“See, then!” he exclaimed dramatically. “You
are right, sir. There-Luigi Dimambro-November
11th to—yes13th. Two days only. Then he go-
leave us, eh?”
“Oh, then, he's not here now,” said Selwood, af-
fecting disappointment. “That's a pity. I wanted
to see him. I wonder if he left any address ?”.
The manager showed more politeness in returning
to the hotel office and making inquiry. He came
back full of disappointment that he could not oblige
his customer. Nano address—merely there for
two nights—then gone-nobody knew where. Per-
haps he would return—some day.
“Oh, it's of no great consequence, thank you,” re-
marked Selwood. “I'm much obliged to you.”
He had found out, at any rate, that a man named
Dimambro had certainly stayed at the Hotel Ravenna
on the critical and important date. Presumably he
was the man who had presented Jacob Herapath's
cheque at Bittleston's Bank first thing on the morn-
ing after the murder. But whether this man had any
connection with that murder, whether to discover his
whereabouts would be to reveal something of use in
establishing Barthorpe Herapath's innocence, were
questions which he must leave to Professor Cox-Rayth-
waite, to whom he was presently going with his news.
He had just finished his coffee, and was about to
pay his bill when, looking up to summon the waiter,


262 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
he suddenly saw a face appear behind the glass panel
of the street door—the face of a man who had evi.
dently stolen quietly into the entry between the ever-
green shrubs and wished to take a surreptitious peep
into the interior of the little restaurant. It was there,
clearly seen through the glass, but for one fraction
of a second—then it was withdrawn as swiftly as it
had come and the panel of glass was blank again.
But in that flash of time Selwood had recognized it.
Burchill!


THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK 265
you what, young man!” he said earnestly. "I'm
more than ever convinced that Jacob Herapath was
robbed as well as murdered, and that robbery and
murder—or, rather, murder and robbery, for the mur-
der would go first-took place just before Barthorpe
entered the offices to keep that appointment. Sel-
wood !—we must find this Dimambro man!”
“Who's most likely left the country,” remarked
Selwood.
“That's probable—it may be certain," said the
Professor. “Nevertheless, he may be here. And
Burchill may be looking for him, too. Now, if Di-
mambro stopped two days at that Hotel Ravenna,
from November 11th to 13th, there must be somebody
who knows something of him. We must-you must
-make more inquiry—there at the hotel. Talk
quietly to that manager or the servants. Get a de
scription of him. Do that at once-first thing to
morrow morning.”
“You don't want to tell the police all this?” asked
Selwood.
“No! Not at present, at any rate," answered the
Professor. “The police have their own methods, and
they don't thank anybody for putting them off their
beaten tracks. And—for the present--we won't tell
them anything about your seeing Burchill. If we
did, they'd be incredulous. Police-like, they'll have
watched the various seaports much more closely than
they'll have watched London streets for Burchill.
And Burchill's a clever devil-he'll know that he's
much safer under the very nose of the people who want


THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK 267
black beard and moustache. There was a good rea-
son why the waiter remembered this occurrence—the
two gentlemen had a bottle of the best champagne, a
rare occurrence at the Hotel Ravenna—a whole bottle,
for which the surprising sum of twelve shillings and
sixpence was charged! In proof of that startling
episode in the restaurant routine, he produced the desk
book for that day-behold it, the entry: Number 5-1
Moet & Chandon, 12s. 6d.
“It is of a rare thing our customers call for wine
so expensive," said the polite manager. “Light
wines, you understand, sir, we mostly sell. Cham-
pagne at twelve and six-an event!”.
Selwood carried this further news to Professor
Cox-Raythwaite, who roused himself from his micro-
scope to consider it.
“Could that tall, dark, nicely-dressed gentleman
have been Burchill ?” he muttered. “Sounds like
him. But you've got a description of Dimambro, at
any rate. Now we know of one man who saw the
caller at the House of Commons—Mountain, the coach-
man. Come along-I'll go with you to see Moun-
tain.”
Mountain, discovered at the mews wherein the Hera-
path stable was kept, said at once that he remembered
the gentleman who had come out of the House of
Commons with his late master. But when he came
to be taxed with a requirement of details, Mountain's
memory proved to be of no real value. The gentle-
man-well, he was a well-dressed gentleman, and he
wore a top hat. But whether the gentleman was dark


268 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
or fair, elderly or middle-aged, short or medium-
heighted, he did not know-exactly. Nevertheless-
"I should know him again, sir, if I was to set eyes
on him!” said Mountain, with such belief in his
powers. “Pick him out of a thousand, I could !”
“Queer how deficient most of our people are in the
faculty of observation!” remarked the Professor as
he and Selwood left the mews. “It really is most ex-
traordinary that a man like that, with plenty of in-
telligence, and is no doubt a good man in his own line,
can look at another man for a call minute and yet be
utterly unable to tell you anything definite about
him a month later! No help there, Selwood.”
It seemed to Selwood that they were face to face
with an impossible situation, and he began to feel in-
clined to share Mr. Halfpenny's pessimistic opinions
as to the usefulness of these researches. But Pro-
fessor Cox-Raythwaite was not to be easily daunted,
and he was no sooner baulked in one direction than
he hastened to try another.
“Now, let's see where we are," he said, as they
went round to Portman Square. “We do know for a
certainty that Jacob Herapath had a transaction of
some sort with one Luigi Dimambro, on November
12th, and that it resulted in his handing, or sending,
the said Luigi a cheque for three thousand guineas.
Let's see if we can't find some trace of it, or some
mention of it, or of previous dealings with Dimambro,
amongst Jacob's papers. I suppose we can get access
to everything here at the house, and down at the
office, too, can't we? The probability is that the


THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK 269
transaction with Dimambro was not the first. There
must be something, Selwood-memoranda, letters, re-
ceipts-must be!”
But Selwood shook his head and uttered a dismal
groan.
“Another of my late employer's peculiarities,” he
answered, “was that he never gave or took receipts
in what one may call word-of-mouth transactions !
He had a rooted-almost savage-objection to any-
body asking him for a receipt for cash; he absolutely
refused to take one if he paid cash. I've seen him
pay several thousand pounds for a purchase and fling
the proffered receipt in the fire in the purchaser's
presence. He used to ask-vehemently!—if you
wanted receipts for a loaf of bread or a pound of
beef-steak. I'm afraid we shan't find much of that
sort. As to letters and memoranda, Mr. Herapath
had a curious habit which gave me considerable trou-
ble of mind when I first went to him, though I admit
it was a simple one. He destroyed every letter he
ever got as soon as he'd answered it. And as he in-
sisted on everything being answered there and then,
there's no great accumulation of paper in that way!”
“We'll see what there is, anyhow," said the Pro-
fessor. “If we could find something, anything-a
mere business card, a letter-heading—that would give
us Dimambro's permanent address, it would be of
use. For I'm more and more convinced that Dimam-
bro was the man who called at the House of Com-
mons that night, and if it was Burchill who dined
with him that same evening, why, then-but come


THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK 271
was to be in constant attendance on her for the pres-
ent, at any rate. He spent all his time at the house
in Portman Square; he saved its young mistress all
the trouble he could; he accompanied her in her goings
and comings. And of late he had taken to attending
her to a certain neighbouring church, whereto Peggie,
like a well-regulated young lady, was constant in her
Sunday visits. There in the Herapath family pew,
he and Peggie sat together on this particular Sunday
morning, neither with any thought that the Herapath
mystery had penetrated to their sacred surroundings.
Selwood had been glad to take Cox-Raythwaite's ad-
vice and to put the thing out of his mind for thirty-
six hours: Peggie had nothing in her mind but what
was proper to the occasion.
Jacob Herapath had been an old-fashioned man
in many respects; one of his fads was an insistence
upon having a family pew in the church which he at-
tended, and in furnishing it with his own cushions,
mats, and books. Consequently Peggie left her own
prayer-book in that pew from Sunday to Sunday.
She picked it up now, and opened it at the usual
familiar place. And from that place immediately
dropped a folded note.
Had this communication been a billet-doux, Peggie
could hardly have betrayed more alarm and confus-
ion. For a moment she let the thing rest in the palm
of her hand, holding the hand out towards Selwood
at her side; then with trembling fingers she unfolded
it in such a fashion that she and Selwood read it to-
gether. With astonished eyes and beating hearts


272 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
they found themselves looking at a half-sheet of thin,
foreign-looking notepaper, on which were two or three
lines of typewriting:
"If you wish to save your cousin Barthorpe's
life, leave the church and speak to the lady whom
you will find in a private automobile at the entrance
to the churchyard."


THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY 275
Peggie was not going to exchange one word with any-
body, go one step with anybody, unless he remained
in close attendance upon her. The phraseology of the
mysterious note; the clandestine fashion in which it
had been brought under Peggie's notice; the extraor-
dinary method adopted of procuring an interview with
her-all these things had aroused Selwood's suspi-
cions, and his natural sense of caution was at its full
stretch as he walked across to the car, wondering what
he and Peggie were about to confront.
What they did confront was a pleasant-faced, white-
haired, elderly lady, evidently a woman of fashion
and of culture, who bent forward from her seat with
a kindly, half-apologetic smile.
“Miss Wynne?” she said inquiringly. “How do
you do? And this gentleman is, no doubt, Mr. Sel-
wood, of whom I have heard? You must forgive this
strange conduct, this extraordinary manner of get-
ting speech with you-I am not a free agent. Now,
as I have something to say—will you both come into
the car and hear it?”
Peggie, who was greatly surprised at this reception,
turned diffidently to her companion. And Selwood,
who had been gazing earnestly at the elderly lady's
face, and had seen nothing but good intention in it,
felt himself considerably embarrassed.
“I—well, really, this is such a very strange affair
altogether that I don't know what we ought to do,"
he said. “May I suggest that if you wish to talk to
Miss Wynne, we should go to her house? It's only
just round the corner, and— ”


THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY 277
“Now you want to know why I am here,” said Mrs.
Engledew. “The answer is plain—if astonishing. I
have managed to get mixed up in this matter of Jacob
Herapath's murder! That sounds odd, doesn't it?-
nevertheless, it's true. But we can't go into that
now. And I cannot do more than tell you that I
simply bring a message and want an answer. My
dear!” she continued, laying a hand on Peggie's arm,
"you do not wish to see Barthorpe Herapath
hanged ?”
“We believe him innocent," replied Peggie.
“Quite so-he is innocent-of murder, anyway,"
said Mrs. Engledew. “Now-I speak in absolute con-
fidence, remember there are two men who know
who the real murderer is. They are in touch with
me—that is, one of them is, on behalf of both. I am
really here as their emissary. They are prepared to
give you and the police full particulars about the mur-
der-for a price.”
Selwood felt himself grow more suspicious than
ever. This lady was of charming address, pleasant
smile, and apparently candid manners, but-price !-
price for telling the truth in a case like this!
“What price?” he asked.
“Their price is ten thousand pounds—cash,” an-
swered Mrs. Engledew, with a little shrug of her
shoulders. “Seems a great deal, doesn't it? But
that is their price. They will not be moved from it.
If Miss Wynne will agree to pay that sum, they will
at once not only give their evidence as to the real
murderer of Jacob Herapath, but they will point him
out.”


THE WHITE-HAIRED LADY 281
and the police to the real criminal. One more thing
-it is understood that you will not approach the
police between now and this evening. That part-
the police part—is to be left to them.”
“I understand,” said Selwood. “Very well-we
will get out, if you please, and we will go straight
to Professor Cox-Raythwaite. At two o'clock I shall
ring you up and give you our answer.”
He hurried Peggie into a taxi-cab as soon as Mrs.
Engledew's car had gone away, and they went hastily
to Endsleigh Gardens, where Professor Cox-Rayth-
waite listened to the strange story in dead silence.
“Mrs. Engledew-lady living in Herapath Flats
-old friend of Jacob's possessed letters of his—in-
strument for two men in possession of secret-will-
ing to fork out a thousand of her own,” he muttered.
“Gad !—I take that to be genuine, Selwood! The
only question is for Peggie here does she wish to
throw away nine thousand to save Barthorpe's neck?"
“The only question, Professor,” said Peggie, re-
provingly, “iscan I do it? Can I draw a cheque
for that amount?”
“Why not?” replied the Professor. “Everything's
in order. Barthorpe withdrew that wretched caveat
-the will's been proved-every penny that Jacob
possessed is yours. Draw a cheque for fifty thousand,
if you like!!
“And you will go with Mr. Selwood ?” asked Peg-
gie, with a touch of anxiety which was not lost on
the Professor.
“Go with him—and take care of him, too,” an-


282 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
swered the Professor, digging his big fingers into Sel-
wood's ribs. “Very good. Now stop here and lunch
with me, and at two o'clock we'll telephone.”
He and Peggie stood breathlessly waiting in the
hall that afternoon while Selwood was busy at the
telephone in an adjacent lobby. Selwood came back
to them nodding his head.
“All right!” he said. “You and I, Professor, at
her flat-tonight, at nine o'clock."


THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY 285
arise which would titillate the public until Barthorpe
Herapath, now safely lodged in the remand prison,
was brought to trial, or unless Burchill was arrested.
Consequently, Triffitt was not expected to make up a
half or a whole column of recent and sensational
Herapath news every morning. And so he gladly
took this Sunday for a return to the primrose paths.
He and Carver met their sweethearts; they took them
to the Albert Hall Sunday afternoon concert-noth-
ing better offering in the middle of winter—they went
to tea at the sweethearts' lodgings; later in the even-
ing they carried them off to the accustomed Sunday
dinner.
Triffitt and Carver had become thoroughly seasoned
men of the world in the matter of finding out good
places whereat to dine well and cheaply. They knew
all the Soho restaurants. They had sampled several
in Oxford Street and in Tottenham Court Road. But
by sheer luck they had found one-an Italian restau-
rant-in South Kensington which was, in their opin-
ion, superior to all of their acquaintance. This estab-
lishment had many advantages for lovers. To begin
with, it bore a poetical name—the Café Venezia-
Triffitt, who frequently read Byron and Shelley to his
adored one, said it made one think of moonlight and
gondolas, and similar adjuncts to what he called par-
faite amour. Then it was divided off into little cab-
inets, just holding four people—that was an advant-
age when you were sure of your company. And for
the prix fixe of two shillings they gave you quite a
good dinner; also their Chianti was of exceptional
good din ute of two shillind our company. Ani


286 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
quality, and according to the proprietor, it came
straight from Siena.
On this Sunday evening, then, Triffitt on one side
of a table with his lady-love, Carver on the other
with his, made merry, with no thought of anything
but the joys of the moment. They had arrived at the
last stages of the feast; the heroes puffed cigarettes
and sipped Benedictine; the heroines daintily drank
their sweetened coffee. They all chattered gaily, out
of the fulness of their youthful hearts; not one of
them had any idea that anything was going to happen.
And in the midst of their lightsomeness, Triffitt, who
faced a mirror, started, dropped his cigarette, upset
his liqueur glass and turned pale. For an instant
he clutched the tablecloth, staring straight in front
of him; then with a great effort he controlled his
emotion and with a cautious hissing of his breath,
gazed warningly at Carver.
"'Sh!” whispered Triffitt. “Not a word! And
don't move—don't show a sign, any of you. Carver
-turn your head very slowly and look behind you.
At the bar!”
At the entrance to that restaurant there was a
bar, whereat it was possible to get a drink. There
were two or three men, so occupied, standing at this
bar at that moment-Carver, leisurely turning to in-
spect them, suddenly started as violently as Triffitt
had started a moment before.
“Good heavens!” he muttered. “Burchill!"
“Quiet!" commanded Triffitt. “Quiet, all of you.
By Gad !—this is— "


THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY 287
He ended in an eloquent silence and with a glare
at his companions which would have imposed silence
on an unruly class-room. He was already at work-
the quick, sure journalistic instinct had come up on
top and was rapidly realizing the situation. That
the man standing there, openly, calmly, taking a drink
of some sort, was Frank Burchill he had no more
doubt than of his own identity. The thing was
what was to be done?
Triffitt was as quick of action as of thought-in
two seconds he had made up his mind. With another
warning glance at the startled girls, he bent across
the table to Carver.
“Carver!” he whispered. “Do exactly what I
tell you. When Burchill goes out, Trixie and I'll
follow him. You pay the bill—then you and Lettie
jump into the first taxi you can get and go to Scot-
land Yard. Find Davidge! If Davidge isn't there,
get somebody else. Wait there until I ring you up!
What I'll do will be this—we'll follow Burchill, and
if I see that he's going to take to train or cab I'll call
help and stop him. You follow me? As soon as I've
taken action, or run him to earth, I'll ring up Scot-
land Yard, an then- ".
“He's going,” announced Carver, who had taken
advantage of the many mirrors to keep his eye on
Burchill. “He's off! I understand ".
Triffitt was already leading his sweetheart quietly
out. In the gloom of the street he saw Burchill's tall
figure striding away towards Cromwell Road. Trif-
fitt's companion was an athletically inclined young


THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY 289
picture's posted up outside every police-station in
London, and at every port in England, and he walks
about, and stares at people, and passes policemen as
unconcernedly as I do. The fact of the case is that
if I went to that bobby and pointed Burchill out, and
told the bobby who he is, all that bobby would say
would be, 'Who are you a-kiddin' of?'—or words
to that equivalent. And so-still ahead he goes, and
we after him! And-where?”
Burchill evidently knew very well where he was
going. He crossed Cromwell Road, went up Queen's
Road, turned into Queen's Gate Terrace, and leisurely
pursuing his way, proceeded to cut through various
streets and thoroughfares towards Kensington High
Street. Always he looked forward; never once did he
turn nor seem to have any suspicion that he was being
followed. There was nothing here of the furtive slink,
the frightened slouch of the criminal escaped from
justice; the man's entire bearing was that of fear-
lessness; he strode across Kensington High Street in
the full glare of light before the Town Hall and under
the noses of several policemen.
Five minutes later Triffitt pulled himself and Trixie
up with a gasp. The chase had come to an end-for
that moment, at any rate. Boldly, openly, with ab-
solute nonchalance, Burchill walked into a brilliantly-
lighted entrance of the Herapath Flats!


THE YORKSHIRE PROVERB 291
of his deerstalker. “That's just it! What does it
all mean, my dear! Gad!—this is—to use the com-
mon language of the common man, a fair licker!
That that chap Burchill should march as bold as brass
into those Herapath Flats, is—well, I couldn't be
more surprised, Trixie, than if you were to tell me
that you are the Queen of Sheba's grand-daughter!
Not so much so, in fact. You seem "
But at that moment a taxi-cab came speeding round
the corner, and from it presently emerged Carver
and Davidge. The detective, phlegmatic, quiet as
ever, nodded familiarly to Triffitt and lifted his hat
to Trixie.
“Evening, Mr. Triffitt," he said quietly.
“He's in there!” exclaimed Triffitt, grabbing Dav-
idge's arm and pointing wildly to the brilliantly
lighted entrance, wherein two or three uniformed
servants lounged about to open doors and attend to
elevators. “Walked in as if the whole place belonged
to him! You know-Burchill!”
“Ah, just so !” responded Davidge unconcernedly.
“Quite so—I wouldn't name no names in the street
if I were you, Mr. Triffitt. Ah!—to be sure, now.
Well, of course, he would have to go in somewhere,
wouldn't he?—as well here as anywhere, perhaps.
Yes. Now, if this young lady would join the other
young lady in the cab, Mr. Carver'll escort 'em home,
and then he can come back here if he likes—we might
have a bit of a job for him. And when the ladies
retire, you and me can do our bit of business, d'ye see,
Mr. Triffitt. What?”


292 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Trixie, urged towards the cab, showed signs of un-
easiness.
“Promise me you won't get shot, or poisoned, or
anything, Herbert !” she entreated. “If you do— "
“We aren't going in for any shooting tonight,
miss,” said Davidge gravely. “Some other night,
perhaps. All quiet and serene tonight-just a little
family gathering, as it were-all pleasant !"
“But that dreadful man!” exclaimed Trixie, point-
ing to the door of the flats. “Supposing-
“Ah, but we won't suppose,” answered Davidge.
“He's all right, he is. Mild as milk we shall find
him—my word on it, miss. Now," he continued,
when he had gently but firmly assisted Trixie into
the cab, said a word or two to Carver, taken Triffitt's
arm, and led him across the street, “now we'll talk
a bit, quietly. So he's gone in there, has he, Mr.
Triffitt? Just so. Alone, now?".
“Quite alone,” replied Triffitt. “What's it all
about—what does it mean? You seem remarkably
cool about it!”
“I shouldn't be much use in my trade if I didn't
keep cool, Mr. Triffitt," answered Davidge. “You
see, I know a bit-perhaps a good deal-of what's
going on—or what's going to go on, presently. So
will you. I'll take you in there."
“There? Where?” demanded Triffitt.
“Where he's gone,” said Davidge. “Where—if
I'm not mistaken—that chap's going.”
He pointed to a man who had come quickly round
the corner from the direction of the High Street, a


THE YORKSHIRE PROVERB 293
middle-sized, apparently well-dressed man, who hur-
ried up the broad steps and disappeared within the
glass-panelled doors.
“That's another of 'em,” observed Davidge. “And
I'm a Dutchman if this taxi-cab doesn't hold t'other
two. You'll recognize them, easy."
Triffitt gaped with astonishment as he saw Pro-
fessor Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood descend from
the taxi-cab, pass up the steps, and disappear.
“Talk of mysteries !” he said. “This-
Davidge pulled out an old-fashioned watch.
“Nine o'clock,” he remarked. Come on-we'll go
in. Now, then, Mr. Triffitt,” he continued, pressing
his companion's arm, “let me give you a tip. You
mayn't know that I'm a Yorkshireman-I am! We've
a good old proverb—it's often cast up against us:
'Hear all-say naught! You'll see me act on it to-
night-act on it yourself. Anda word in your
ear !—you're going to have the biggest surprise you
ever had in your life—and so's a certain somebody
else that we shall see in five minutes! Come on!”
He took Triffitt's arm firmly in his, led him up the
stairs, in at the doors. The hall-porter came forward.
“Take me up,” said Davidge, “to Mrs. Engledew's
flat."


BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE 295
Triffitt took all this in at a glance; his next glance
was at the elegant, white-haired lady who came for-
ward to meet him and his companion. Davidge gave
him a nudge as he executed a duck-like bow.
“Servant, ma'am,” said Davidge in his quietest
and coolest manner. “I took the liberty of bringing
a friend with me. You see, ma'am, as these proceed-
ings are in what we may call the public way, Mrs.
Engledew, no objection I'm sure to having a press
gentleman at them. Mr. Triffitt, ma'am, of the Argus
newspaper. Known to these gentlemen-all of 'em-
unless it's the gentleman at the far end, there.
Known, at any rate, to Mr. Selwood and the Pro-
fessor,” continued Davidge, nodding with much fa-
miliarity to the person he named. “And likewise to
Mr. Burchill there. How do you do, sir, this even-
ing? You and me, I think, has met before, and
shall no doubt meet again. Well, ma'am, and now
that I've come, perhaps I might ask a question. What
have I come for?”.
Davidge had kept up this flow of talk while he
took stock of his surroundings, and now, with another
nudge of his companion's elbow, he took a chair be-
tween the door and the table, planted himself firmly
in it, put his hands on top of his stout stick, and
propped his chin on his hands. He looked at Mrs.
Engledew once more, and then let his eyes make an-
other inspection of her guests.
“What have I come for, ma'am ?” he repeated. “To
hear those revelations you spoke of when you called
on me this afternoon? Just so. Well, ma'am, the


296 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
only question now is—who's going to make 'em!
For,” he added, sitting up again after his further in-
spection, and bestowing a general smile all round,
“revelations, ma'am, is what I chiefly hanker after,
and I shall be glad—delighted to hear any speci-
mens from—anybody as chooses to make 'em!”
Mrs. Engledew looked at Burchill as she resumed
her seat.
“I think Mr. Burchill is the most likely person to
tell you what there is to tell,” she said. “His friend
“Ah!-the gentleman at the other end of the table,
no doubt,” observed Davidge. “How do you do,
sir? And what might that gentleman's name be,
now?"
Burchill, who had been watching the detective care-
fully, threw away his cigarette and showed an inclina-
tion to speak.
“Look here, Davidge!” he said. “You know very
well why you're here—you're here to hear the real
truth about the Herapath murder! Mrs. Engledew
told you that this afternoon, when she called on you
at Scotland Yard. Now the only two people who
know the real truth are myself and my friend there
Mr. Dimambro."
Selwood and Cox-Raythwaite, who until then had
remained in ignorance of the little foreigner's iden-
tity, started and looked at him with interest. So
this was the missing witness! But Davidge remained
cool and unimpressed
“Ah, just so !” he said. “Foreign gentleman, no
doubt. And you and Mr. Dimambro are the only


BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE 297
persons who know the real truth about that little
affair, eh, Mr. Burchill. Very good, so as— "
“As Mr. Dimambro doesn't speak English very
well— " began Burchill.
“I speak it-you understand-enough to say a
good many words—but not so good as him," observed
Mr. Dimambro, waving a fat hand. “He say it for
memfor both of us, eh ?”
“To be sure, sir, to be sure,” said Davidge. “Mr.
Burchill is gifted that way, of course. Well, Mr.
Burchill, and what might this story be, now? Deeply,
interesting, I'll be bound.”
Burchill pulled a chair to the table, opposite Sel-
wood and the Professor. He put the tips of his
fingers together and assumed an explanatory manner.
“I shall have to begin at the beginning,” he said.
“You'll all please to follow me closely. Now, to
commence—Mrs. Engledew permits me to speak for
her as well as for Mr. Dimambro. The fact is, I can
put the circumstances of the whole affair into a con-
secutive manner. And I will preface what I have to
say by making a statement respecting a fact in the
life of the late Mr. Herapath which will, I believe,
be substantiated by Mr. Selwood, my successor as
secretary to the deceased gentleman. Mr. Herapath,
in addition to being an authority on the building of
up-to-date flats, was also more or less of an expert in
precious stones. He not only bought and sold in these
things, but he gave advice to his friends in matters
relating to them. Mr. Selwood has, I am sure, had
experience of that fact?”
“To a certain extent-yes,” agreed Selwood. “But


BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE 299
“Quite," assented Mrs. Engledew. “It is per-
fectly correct.”
“Then,” continued Burchill, “we pass on to Mr.
Dimambro. Mr. Luigi Dimambro is a dealer in pre-
cious stones, who resides in Genoa, but travels widely
about Europe in pursuance of his business. Mr.
Dimambro had had several dealings with Jacob Hera-
path during past years, but previous to November
12th last they had not met for something like twelve
months. On their last previous meeting Jacob Hera-
path told Mr. Dimambro that he was collecting pearls
of a certain sort and size-specimens of which he
showed him—with a view to presenting his niece, Miss
Wynne, with a necklace which was to be formed of
them. He gave Dimambro a commission to collect
such pearls for him. On November 11th last Dimam-
bro arrived in London from the Continent, and wrote
to Mr. Herapath to tell him of his arrival, and to
notify him that he had brought with him some pearls
of the sort he wanted. Mr. Herapath thereupon made
an appointment with Dimambro at the House of Com-
mons on the evening of November 12th at half-past ten
o'clock. Dimambro kept that appointment, showed
Mr. Herapath the pearls which he had brought, sold
them to him, and received from him, in payment for
them, a cheque for three thousand guineas. This
transaction being conducted, Mr. Herapath drew from
his pocket (the same pocket in which he had already
placed the pearls, which I understand, were wrapped
up in a small bag or case of wash-leather) the dia-
monds which Mrs. Engledew had entrusted to him,


300 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
showed them to Dimambro, and asked his opinion as
to how they could best be reset. It is not material
to this explanation to repeat what Dimambro said on
that matter-suffice it to say that Dimambro gave an
expert opinion, that Mr. Herapath once more pocketed
the diamonds, and soon afterwards left the House
of Commons for his estate offices with both lots of
valuable stones in his possession-some ten thousand
pounds' worth in all. As for Dimambro, he went
home to the hotel at which he was stopping-a little
place called the Ravenna, in Soho, an Italian house
next morning, first thing, he cashed his cheque, and
before noon he left for the Continent. He had not
heard of the murder of Jacob Herapath when he left
London, and he did not hear of it until next day. I
think I have given Mr. Dimambro's account accu-
rately—his account so far," concluded Burchill, turn-
ing to the Italian. “If not, he will correct me."
“Quite right, quite right!” said Dimambro, who
had listened eagerly. “I do not hear of the murder,
eh, until I am in Berlin-it is, yes, next day-day
after I leave London—that I hear of it, you under-
stand? I then see it in the newspaper-English
news, eh?"
“Why did you not come back at once?”' asked Cox-
Raythwaite.
Dimambro spread out his hands.
“Oh, I have my business—very particular,” he
said. “Besides, it has nothing to do with me, eh?
I don't see no-no connection between me and that
-no! But in time, I do come back, and then-he


BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE 301
tell you," he broke off, pointing to Burchill. “He
tell you better, see?”
“I am taking everything in order,” said Burchill.
“And for the present I have done with Mr. Dimambro.
Now I come to myself. I shall have to go into details
about myself which I should not give if it were not
for these exceptional circumstances. Mr. Davidge, I
am sure, will understand me. Well, about myself-
you will all remember that at both the coroner's in-
quest and at the proceedings before the magistrate
at which Barthorpe Herapath was present and I-for
reasons well known !-was not, there was mention made
of a letter which I had written to Jacob Herapath and
was subsequently found in Barthorpe's possession, on
his arrest. That letter was taken to be a blackmail-
ing letter-I don't know whether any of you will be-
lieve me, and I don't care whether you do or not,
but I declare that it was not meant to be a letter of
that sort, though its wording might set up that opin-
ion. However, Jacob Herapath resented that letter,
and on its receipt he wrote to me showing that it had
greatly displeased him. Now, I did not want to dis-
please Jacob Herapath, and on receipt of his letter, I
determined to see him personally at once. Being, of
course, thoroughly familiar with his habits, I knew
that he generally left the House of Commons about a
quarter past eleven, every night when the House was
sitting. I accordingly walked down to Palace Yard,
intending to accost him. I arrived at the entrance to
the Hall soon after eleven. A few minutes later
Mountain, the coachman, drove up with the coupé


302 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
brougham. I remained within the shadow of the
porch—there were other people about-several Mem-
bers, and men who were with them. At a quarter
past eleven Jacob Herapath came down the Hall, ac-
companied by Dimambro. I knew Dimambro, though
I had not seen him for some time-I used to see him,
very occasionally, during my secretaryship to Mr.
Herapath. When I saw these two in conversation, I
drew back, and neither of them saw me. I did not
want to accost Mr. Herapath in the presence of a
second party. I watched him part from Dimambro,
and I heard him tell Mountain to drive to the estate
office. When both he and Dimambro had gone, I
walked out into Parliament Square, and after think-
ing things over, I hailed a passing taxi-cab, and told
the driver to go to Kensington High Street, and to
pull up by the Metropolitan Station.”
Burchill here paused—to give Davidge a peculiarly
knowing look.
“Now I want you all—and particularly Mr. Da.
vidge-to follow closely what I'm going to tell you,”
he continued. "I got out of the cab at the station in
the High Street, dismissed it, walked a little way
along the street, and then crossed over and made for
the Herapath Flats—for the estate office entrance. I
think you are all very well acquainted with that en-
trance. You know that it lies in a covered carriage
way which leads from the side-street into the big
quadrangle round which the flats are built. As I
went up the side-street, on the opposite side, mind, to


BURCHILL FILLS THE STAGE 303
the entrance, I saw a man come out of the covered
carriage way. That man I knew !”
Burchill made a dramatic pause, looking impres-
sively around him amidst a dead silence.
"Knew!” he repeated, shaking his finger at the
expectant faces. “Knew well! But I am not going
to tell you his name at this moment. For the present
we will call him Mr. X.".


CHAPTER XXXIV
DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD
Burchill paused for a moment, to give full effect
to this dramatic announcement, which, to tell truth,
certainly impressed every member of his audience
but one. That one skilfully concealed his real feel.
ings under a show of feigned interest.
“You never say!" exclaimed Davidge, dropping
into a favourite colloquialism of his native county.
“Dear me, today! A man that you knew, Mr.
Burchill, and that for the present you'll call Mr. X.
You knew him well, then?”
"Better than I know you,” replied Burchill. He
was beginning to be suspicious of Davidge's tone, and
his resentment of it showed in his answer. “Well
enough to know him and not to mistake him, anyhow!
And mind you, there was nothing surprising in his
being there at that time of night—that's a point that
you should bear in mind, Davidge—it's in your line,
that. I knew so much of Jacob Herapath's methods
and doings that it was quite a reasonable thing for
this man to be coming out of the estate offices just
before midnight.”
“Exactly, sir—I follow you,” said Davidge. “Ah!
-and what might this Mr. X. do then, Mr. Burchill?”
Burchill, who had addressed his remarks chiefly to
304


DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD 305
the listeners on the other side of the table, and notably
to Cox-Raythwaite, turned away from the detective
and went on.
“This man-Mr. X,” he said, "came quickly out
of the door, turned down the side-street a little, then
turned back, passed the carriage-entrance, and went
away up the street in the opposite direction. He
turned on his own tracks so quickly that I was cer-
tain he had seen somebody coming whom he did not
wish to meet. He "
“Excuse me a moment,” broke in Cox-Raythwaite.
“How was it X. didn't see you?”
“Because I was on the opposite side of the street,
in deep shadow,” replied Burchill. “Besides that,
the instant I caught sight of him I quietly slipped
back into a doorway. I remained there while he
turned and hurried up the street, for I was sure he
had seen somebody coming, and I wanted to find
out who it was. And in another minute Barthorpe
Herapath came along, walking quickly. Then I un-
derstood-X. had seen him in the distance, and didn't
want to meet him.''
“Just so, just so," murmured Davidge. “To be
sure!”
“Barthorpe Herapath turned into the carriage-
way and went into the office," continued Burchill.
“Now, as I've already said, I knew Jacob Herapath's
methods; I hadn't served him for nothing. He was
the sort of man who makes no distinction between
day and night-it was quite a common thing for him
to fix up business appointments with people at mid-


DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD 307
“Just so!” murmured Davidge. “Ah, yes, why
not?”
"I'll tell you,” continued Burchill. “Because
Barthorpe immediately sprang upon me the matter
of the will. And I just as immediately recognized
I think I may count myself as a quick thinker—that
the really important matter just then was not the
murder of Jacob Herapath, but the ultimate disposal
of Jacob Herapath's immense wealth.”
“Clever!” sighed Davidge. “Uncommonly clever!”
“Now, Professor Cox-Raythwaite, and you, Mr.
Selwood,” Burchill went on, adding new earnestness
to his tone. “I want you to fully understand that
I'm giving you the exact truth. I firmly believed at
that moment, and I continued to believe until the
eventful conference at Mr. Halfpenny's office, that
the gentleman whom I had known as Mr. Tertius was
in reality Arthur John Wynne, forger and ex-con-
vict. I say I firmly believed it, and I'll tell you why.
During my secretaryship to Jacob Herapath, he one
day asked me to clear out a box full of old papers
and documents. In doing so I came across an old
North-country newspaper which contained a full ac-
count of the trial at Lancaster Assizes of Arthur
John Wynne on various charges of forgery. Jacob
Herapath's name, of course, cropped up in it, as a
relative. The similarity of the names of Jacob Hera-
path's ward, Miss Wynne, and that of the forger,
roused my suspicions, and I not only put two and two
together, but I made some inquiries privately, and
I formed the definite conclusion that Tertius and


308 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
Wynne were identical, and that the semi-mystery of
Tertius's residence in Jacob Herapath's house was
then fully accounted for. So when Barthorpe told
me what he did, and explained his anxiety about the
will, I saw my way to upsetting that will, for his
benefit and for my own. If I swore that I'd never
signed that will, and could prove that Tertius was
Wynne, the forger, why then, of course, the will
would be upset, for it seemed to me that any jury
would believe that Tertius, or Wynne, had forged
the will for his daughter's benefit. And so Barthorpe
and I fixed that up. Reprehensible, no doubt, gen-
tlemen, but we all have to live, and besides, Barthorpe
promised me that he'd treat Miss Wynne most hand-
somely. Well, that procedure was settled—with the
result that we're all aware of. And now I'd like to
ask Mr. Davidge there a question—as I'm about to
tell him who the real murderer of Jacob Herapath
was, perhaps he'll answer it. I take it, Davidge, that
the only evidence you had against me in regard to
the murder was the document which you found at
my flat, by which Barthorpe Herapath promised to
pay me ten per cent, on the value of the Herapath
estate? That and the fact that Barthorpe and I were
in league about the will? Come now—as all's being
cleared up, isn't that so?”.
Davidge rubbed his chin with affected indifference.
“Oh, well, you can put it down at something like
that, if you like, Mr. Burchill," he answered.
“You're a very clever young fellow, and I dare say
you're as well aware of what the law about accessories
is as I am. 'Tisn't necessary for a party to a murder


DAVIDGE'S TRUMP CARD
311
your men, Davidge, go round to his house, which
isn't half a mile away, you'll probably find him eating
his Sunday evening supper in peace and quietness.
The man is "
Davidge suddenly rose from his chair, nudging
Triffitt as he moved. He laughed—and the laugh
made Burchill start to his feet.
“You needn't trouble yourself, Mr. Burchill!” said
Davidge. “Much obliged to you for your talk, there's
nothing like letting some folks wag their tongues till
they're tired. I know who murdered Jacob Hera-
path as well as you do, and who your Mr. X. is.
Jacob Herapath, gentlemen,” he added, turning to
his astonished listeners, “was shot dead and robbed
by his office manager, James Frankton, and if James
Frankton's eating his Sunday supper in peace and
quietness, it's in one of our cells, for I arrested him
at seven o'clock this very evening--and with no help
from you, Mr. Burchill! I'm not quite such a fool
as I may look, my lad, and if I made one mistake
when I let you slip I didn't make another when I
got on the track of the real man. And now, ma'am,"
he concluded, with an old-fashioned bow to Mrs. Engle-
dew, “there's no more to be said-by me, at all events,
and I've the honour to wish you a good night. Mr.
Triffitt-we'll depart.”
Outside, Davidge took the reporter's arm in a firm
grip, and chuckled as he led him towards the elevator.
“That's surprise one!” he whispered. “Wait till
we get downstairs and into the street, and you'll have
another, and it'll be of a bit livelier nature!”


CHAPTER XXXV
THE SECOND WARRANT
Davidge preserved a strict silence as he and Triffitt
went down in the elevator, but when they had reached
the ground floor he took the reporter's arm again,
and as they crossed the entrance hall gave it a signi-
ficant squeeze.
“You'll see two or three rather heavy swells, some
of 'em in evening dress, hanging about the door,"
he murmured. “Look like residents, coming in or
going out, puffing their cigars and their cigarettes,
eh? They're my men—all of 'em! Take no notice
—there'll be your friend Carver outside—I gave him
a hint. Join him, and hang about-you'll have some-
thing to do a bit of newspaper copy about presently."
Triffitt, greatly mystified, joined Carver at the edge
of the pavement outside the wide entrance door.
Glancing around him he saw several men lounging
about-two, of eminently military appearance, with
evening dress under their overcoats, stood chatting on
the lower steps; two or three others, all very pros-
perous looking, were talking close by. There was
nothing in their outward show to arouse suspicion-
at any other time, and under any other circumstances
Triffitt would certainly have taken them for residents
of the Herapath Flats. Carver, however, winked at
him.
312


THE SECOND WARRANT 313
“Detectives," he said. "They've gathered here
while you were upstairs. What's up now, Triffitt?
Heard anything?”
“Piles !” answered Triffitt. “Heaps! But I don't
know what this is all about. Some new departure,
Hullo !-here's the secretary and the Professor.”
Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood just then appeared at
the entrance door and began to descend the steps.
Davidge, who had stopped on the steps to speak to a
man, hailed and drew them aside.
“What has gone on up there?” asked Carver.
“Anything really- "
Triffitt suddenly grasped his companion's shoulder,
twisting him round towards the door. His lips
emitted a warning to silence; his eyes signalled Car-
ver to look.
Burchill came out of the doors, closely followed
by Dimambro. Jauntily swinging his walking-cane
he began to descend, affecting utter unconsciousness
of the presence of Cox-Raythwaite, Selwood, and Dav-
idge. He passed close by the men in evening dress,
brushing the sleeve of one. And the man thus brushed
turned quickly, and his companion turned too-and
then something happened that made the two reporters
exclaim joyfully and run up the steps.
“Gad !—that was quick-quick!” exclaimed Triffitt,
with the delight of a schoolboy. “Never saw the
bracelets put on more neatly. Bully for you, Davidge,
old man !-got him this time, anyhow!”
Burchill, taken aback by the sudden onslaught of
Davidge's satellites, drew himself up indignantly and


314 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
looked down at his hands, around the wrists of which
his captors had snapped a pair of handcuffs. He
lifted a face white with rage and passion and glanced
at Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood.
“Liars!” he hissed between his teeth. “You gave
me safe conduct! It was understood that I was to
come and go without interference, you hounds!”
“Not with me, nor I should think with anybody,
my lad,” exclaimed Davidge, bustling forward. “Not
likely! You forget that you're under arrest for the
old charge yet, and though you'll get off for that, you
won't go scot-free, my friend! I've got a second
warrant for you, and the charge'll be read to you
when you get to the station. You'll clear yourself
of the charge of murder, but not of t’other charge, I'm
thinking!”
“Second warrant! Another charge!" growled
Burchill. "What charge?”
“I should think you know as well as I do," replied
Davidge quietly. “You're a bigger fool than I take
you for if you don't. Conspiracy, of course! It's a
good thing to have two strings to one's bow, Mr.
Frank Burchill, in dealing with birds like you. This
is my second string. Take him off," he added, mo-
tioning to his men, “and get him searched, and put
everything carefully aside for me—especially a cheque
for ten thousand pounds which you'll find in one of
his pockets."
When the detectives had hurried Burchill into a
taxi-cab which suddenly sprang into useful proximity
to the excited group, Davidge spat on the ground and


THE SECOND WARRANT
315
made a face. He motioned Cox-Raythwaite, Selwood,
and the two reporters to go down the street; he him-
self turned to Dimambro. What he said to that
highly-excited gentleman they did not hear, but the
Italian presently walked off looking very crestfallen,
while Davidge, joining them, looked highly pleased
with himself.
“Of course, you'll stop payment of that cheque at
the bank first thing tomorrow, gentlemen,” he said.
“Though that'll only be for form's sake, because I
shall take charge of it when I go round to the police-
station presently—they'll have got Burchill searched
when I get there. Of course, I wasn't going to say
anything up there, but Mrs. Engledew has been in
with us at this, and she took Burchill and Dimambro
in as beautifully as ever I saw it done in my life!
Clever woman, that! We knew about her diamonds,
gentlemen, within a few hours of the discovery of the
murder, and of course, I thought Barthorpe had got
them; I did, mistaken though I was! I didn't want
anybody to know about those diamonds, though, and
I kept it all dark until these fellows came on the
scene. And, anyway, we didn't get the real culprit
through the diamonds, either!”
“That's what we want to know,” said Selwood.
“Have you got the real culprit? Are you certain ?
And how on earth did you get him-a man that none
of us ever suspected!”
“Just so !” answered Davidge with a grim laugh.
“As nice and quiet-mannered a man as ever I en-
tered as a candidate for the gallows! It's very often


316 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
the case, gentlemen. Oh, yes—it's true enough!
He's confessed-crumpled up like a bit of tissue
paper when we took him-confessed everything to me
just before I came along here. Of course we didn't
get him through anything we've heard tonight; quite
different line altogether, and a simple one."
“We should like to know about it,” said Cox-
Raythwaite. “Can't you give us a mere outline?”
"I was going to," answered Davidge. “No secret
about it. I may as well tell you that after hearing
what Barthorpe Herapath insisted on saying before
the magistrate, I began to feel that he was very likely
telling the truth, and that somebody'd murdered and
robbed his uncle just before he got to the offices. But,
of course, there was nothing to connect the murder
and robbery with any person that I knew of. Well,
now then, this is how we got on the track. Only
two or three days ago a little, quiet man, who turned
out to be a bit of a property-owner down at Fulham,
came to me and said that ever since Mr. Jacob Hera-
path's murder he'd been what he called studying
over it, and he thought he ought to tell me something.
He said he was a very slow thinker, and it had taken
him a long time to think all this out. Then he told
me his tale. He said that for some time Jacob Hera-
path had been waiting to buy a certain bit of land
which he had to sell. On November 12th last he called
to see Jacob at these offices, and they agreed on the
matter, price to be £5,000. Jacob told him to come
in at ten o'clock next morning, and in accordance
with his usual way of doing business, he'd hand him


318 THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
“And his confession ?” asked Selwood.
“Oh! ordinary,” answered Davidge. “Jacob had
made an appointment with him for half-past eleven
or so. Got there a bit late, found his master sitting
at his desk with a wad of bank notes on the blotting-
pad, a paper of pearls on one side of him, a lot of
diamond ornaments at the other—big temptation to a
chap, who, as it turns out, was hard up, and had got
into the hands of money-lenders. And, oh, just the
ordinary thing in such cases, happened to have on
him a revolver that he'd bought abroad, yielded to
temptation, shot his man, took money and valuables,
went home, and turned up at the office next day to lift
his hands in horror at the dreadful news. You see
what truth is, gentlemen, when you get at it—just a
common, vulgar murder, for the sake of robbery.
And he'll swing!”
“'Just a common, vulgar murder, and he'll
swing!'” softly repeated Cox-Raythwaite, as he and
Selwood walked up the steps of the house in Portman
Square half an hour later. "Well, that's solved, any.
way. As for the other two "
“I suppose there's no doubt of their guilt with
respect to their conspiring to upset the will?” said
Selwood. “And that's a serious offence, isn't it?”.
“In this eminently commercial country, very,” an-
swered Cox-Raythwaite, sententiously. “Barthorpe
and Burchill will inevitably retire to the shelter of a
convict establishment for awhile. Um! Well, my
boy, good night !!!


THE SECOND WARRANT 319
“Not coming in ?”' asked Selwood, as he put a key
in the latch.
The Professor gave his companion's shoulder a
pressure of his big hand.
“I think,” he said, turning down the steps with
a shy laugh, “I think Peggie will prefer to receive
you—alone.”
THE END