DUPL
A 514343 00P





828
F 65m
1930





THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
V Christmas party proposed a toast of "empty
chairs," his guests little thought that within a few
hours their host, proposer of the toast, would occasion
another empty chair..
ANTHONY BATHURST, whose solutions of the now
famous CASE OF THE BLACK TWENTY-Two and THE
BILLIARD ROOM MYSTERY, adds another laurel to his
crown in this latest BRIAN FLYNN success.





THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON





THE MURDERS NEAR
MAPLETON
BY BRIAN FLYNN
MACRAE. SMITH. COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA


BRIAN FLYNN MYSTERIES
THE CASE OF THE BLACK TWENTY-TWO
THE BILLIARD ROOM MYSTERY
THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
COPYRIGHT, 1930, MACRAE SMITH • COMPANY
Manufactured in the U. S. d.


THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON


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The Murders Near
Mapleton
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR
Sir Eustace Vernon straightened his shoulders and
raised his glass. "Another toast, ladies and gentle-
men, before the ladies leave us! A toast, I think,
that we should always drink at Christmas-time! One
that should never be forgotten." He spoke very
gravely and one by one the company of his guests
ceased their gay and irresponsible chattering and
looked towards him, with expectant eyes, down the
long and brilliantly lighted table. For he was a man
of much distinction. "I will ask you all," he an-
nounced very quietly, "to charge your glasses and
drink to the ' empty chairs.' To those dear ones who
once were with us but who have now 'passed on,' as
we shall' pass on' when our time comes." The medley
of suddenly grave voices floated towards him—echoing
the words of his toast. "Thank you, ladies and gen-
tlemen." Sir Eustace sat down. But his handsome
face showed signs of perturbation. The merry chatter
of the company re-commenced, although the thoughts
of more than one had changed and travelled far.


10 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"What's come to your uncle, these days?" asked
a debonair young man of his charming neighbor at
the table.
The girl addressed darted a quick glance at her com-
panion with her pretty eyes a-flutter. "What do you
mean, Terry—tell me—have you?"
"Noticed anything?" he broke in again, before she
could complete the sentence. "Yes—I have noticed
something. Most decidedly! And what's more,
Helen—I don't think I should be very far wrong if I
said that you had noticed something yourself."
Helen Ashley looked carefully round her more ap-
proximate neighbors before she answered. Lowering
her voice she caught Terence Desmond's arm lightly,
and admitted the truth of his words. "You're quite
right, Terry, I have! It's been coming on him, too,
for some time—if you mean the same thing that I
mean. But tell me—what is it you've noticed? Tell
me exactly."
Desmond was about to reply when a voice sounded
at his elbow. "Yes, please, Purvis. Fill up again—
please."
The butler filled his champagne glass with becoming
dignity.
"No more for me, Purvis," refused Helen Ashley.
"What were you going to say, Terence? Please for-
give me if I seem unnaturally insistent—but the truth
is I'm dreadfully worried about Uncle Eustace."
"Let me think. How long have I been here,
Helen?"
"Not quite a week," she answered. "But long
enough"


THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR 11
"To notice a good many things and to get into his
bad books very thoroughly—eh?" he replied—the
laughter showing in his blue eyes. Helen looked
serious. Desmond went on. "I think he's frightened,
Helen. That's the impression he's given me all the
time I've been here. To use an ordinary expression,
'that he had something on his mind' would be beside
the point—inadequate. It's much more than that and
it's different from that. I've seen 'fear' before—
many times—and in many guises—and far too many
times not to recognize it when I do see it. Your
uncle's afraid of something," he concluded—" I
haven't any doubt about it, and very badly scared,
too."
"I think you're right," agreed Helen Ashley,
quietly—" you've summed up the position just as I've
seen it. It's getting on my own nerves, too—that's the
worst of it." She looked towards the head of the
table where the man of the discussion was engaged
in an animated conversation with his left-hand neigh-
bor.
"I am just old enough, Mrs. Trentham," he was
saying, "to enjoy my Christmas very thoroughly. It
is only the young who are bored by Christmas.
Doubtless you are bored yourself."
"I certainly haven't been bored at Vernon House,"
replied the lady—"you are far too charming a host
ever to allow anything like that to happen. I think it's
a great pity that Vernon House hasn't a hostess." Her
accompanying smile was demurely provocative as it
rippled across her face. Sir Eustace twirled his grey
moustache and smiled in return.


12 THE MURDERS. NEAR MAPLETON
"That could be remedied, Ruby. It's not too late
A tray dropped from the hands of one of the maids
and clattered heavily to the floor. He broke off his
sentence—his lips working convulsively and his face
ashen grey. "God!" he exclaimed, " what was that?"
Then he recovered himself to find Mrs. Trentham's
eyes regarding him curiously. "My nerves are all to
pieces since I had that attack of influenza," he ex-
plained lamely. "The result is that any sudden noise
like that plays the very dickens with me and knocks
me right over. I'm afraid it sounds silly "He
stopped to watch the effect of his explanation upon
his companion. Ruby Trentham's eyes fluttered just
the suggestion of an understanding.
"Not at all," she remarked. "I think most of
you financiers are like that—Morris is almost as bad—
and he hasn't even the excuse of a previous illness to
fall back upon—whenever he's pulling a big deal
through on 'Change,' as he calls it, or engaged on
any big business proposition—he's as twittery as a
canary—aren't you, Morris?" She turned her beau-
tiful face towards her fat and prosperous-looking
husband.
"If you say so, my dear—I suppose I must agree.
You've taught me to do that." He shrugged his
shoulders. His answer held a touch of sourness.
Although he belonged to the type of man who
ardently desires his wife to excite other men's admir-
ation—he liked that admiration, when excited, to con-
fine itself within certain limits. In this connection
Contemporary Rumor had it that he viewed Sir


THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR 13
Eustace Vernon's interest in his wife with an appre-
ciable disfavor, that tended to grow rather than to
decrease.
“I couldn't help hearing what you said, Sir
Eustace,” interjected a tall clean-shaven man—the
vis-à-vis of Mrs. Trentham “ particularly as it hap-
pened to fit into my personal province-but you're
quite right. 'Flu' plays the very deuce with people
-it's apt to leave so many evils behind--and the
victim's nervous system is one of its happiest hunting-
grounds. It plays Old Harry when it gets in there."
The speaker was Doctor Lionel Carrington-Sir
Eustace Vernon's medical adviser-and a man to
whom the latter had undoubtedly taken a strong
liking.
“There you are, Trentham,” exclaimed Sir Eustace
-“Carrington to the rescue! He knows me. He
understands me."
The doctor smiled an affirmative, just as another
speaker took up the thread.
“You are far too modest, Sir Eustace—you under-
rate yourself and the strains you have imposed upon
yourself—the cause of your indisposition is not far to
seek. Why talk of 'influenza '-have you forgotten
the night of January the eleventh last? Surely not!
What you did that night will live forever in the hearts
of the people of Mapleton.”
The voice of the man that spoke rang with emotion,
and almost held the fervor of fanaticism. Doctor
Carrington turned and looked at him. Father Jewell
sprang to his feet.
“ Ladies and gentlemen," he cried with dramatic


14 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
intensity—his voice vibrant with feeling—" and yet
another toast before we finish this Christmas dinner.
Let us drink a health to the children—the men and
women of to-morrow—whose lives Sir Eustace Ver-
non saved."
His cultured and incisive voice cut like an icy knife
down the length of the table. The company took up
the toast with infectious enthusiasm. Major Prender-
gast waved his glass by its stem.
"Hear, hear "—his heavy voice boomed approval—
"Sir Eustace Vernon! Sir Eustace Vernon! One of
the bravest deeds I ever saw."
Diana Prendergast—a cameo of loveliness—turned
—her eyes radiant with star-sheen, and laid her hand
on her husband's arm. "Be quiet," she said—" Sir
Eustace is going to speak. Be quiet! Listen!"
To the others there came the same realization. They
were silent again and unanimously sank back into their
seats—subsiding gently. Sir Eustace rose. As he
stood there at the head of the table, Terry Desmond
suddenly became more conscious than ever before in
his life that their host was rapidly aging. His bald-
ness was thrown up into startling prominence by the re-
lentless light of the room, and his shoulders drooped
perceptibly. But his eyes shone through the glass of
his pince-nez as fearlessly as ever; and it was herein
that the discerning observer could catch sight of the
indomitable courage that had sent their owner to climb
the front of a rapidly burning building time after time
to save the lives of a dozen children hopelessly en-
trapped therein. With the Fire Brigade in attendance
at another fire, no other course of action could have


THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR 15
saved the twelve helpless little prisoners. This heroic
feat, coupled with his work for Mapleton, had brought
Sir Eustace a baronetcy in the last Birthday Honors'
List. Which fact had also caused much heart-burning
among the other Aldermen and Councillors of the
before-mentioned County Borough. To say nothing
of Mayor and Ex-Mayors! Sir Eustace extended his
hand towards his guests—a gesture requesting a silent
audience.
“Father Jewell makes far too much of an ordinary
deed,” he said, with impressive quietness. “I merely
did my duty as any Englishman would and must have
done in similar circumstances and I was rewarded.
It is nothing to mention.”
The Mayor of Mapleton-Alderman Alfred Ven-
ables--began to feel a sense of annoyance. He felt
aggrieved that even at a Christmas banquet of this
nature he was unable to escape the shadow of Vernon's
baronetcy. He muttered something to his wife-under
his breath almost-and glared fiercely at the standing
figure of his host.
“My reward,” continued Sir Eustace, “ was not the
honor that His Majesty was pleased to confer upon
me. I do not desire that you should misunderstand
me.” He paused abruptly—with the inevitable result
that Alderman Venables' accompanying snort got
“ well over."
Helen looked across at him with strong indignation
in her face. Emily Venables returned her look for
look. The amenities of guest and hostess were tem-
porarily forgotten.
Sir Eustace went on. “It was in the eyes of the


THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR 17
in his right hand. Ruby Trentham saw them plainly
as Sir Eustace passed through the door. She realized
that one was his own and that he had picked up also
the bonbon that had been intended for her.


HAMMOND SCREAMS
19
tham and Diana Prendergast. Helen Ashley, Major
Prendergast and Father Jewell wandered into the
music-room adjoining the lounge, while Desmond and
Carrington migrated to the billiard-room, just as the
former put it, “ to knock the balls about a bit.” Each
was somewhat above the average in billiards' skill. It
may be remarked at this period of the story that the
lounge communicated directly with the music-room,
which in its turn opened on to the billiard-room.
“What are you going to do, Ruby? " asked Helen,
as she herself sat down to the piano_" you seem at
a loose end. If you stay in here, I'll sing you some-
thing. Tell me something you'd like.”
“ Thanks—but I've rather a 'head.' It's been com-
ing on for some time now. If you don't mind I'll go
and watch the boys in the billiard-room."
The pallor of her face seemed to intensify the truth
of her words. She turned and left Helen sitting
there.
Thus was the stage of Vernon House set at about
a quarter to twelve on that Christmas night for the
enacting of one of the strangest cases that ever fell
to an investigator's lot to unravel.
Suddenly Helen Ashley looked at the ormolu clock
upon the mantelpiece. “Good gracious, Terry," she
exclaimed, “ look at the time whatever can it be to
have kept Uncle Eustace all this time? If he isn't
and look for him."
Terence looked grave. “It certainly is most extra-
ordinary-he's been away now just on three hours.
I've been worried about it for some time now. Good-


20 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
ness knows what his news could have been—on a
Christmas night, too! When you start on your voy-
age of discovery, Helen, I'll come with you."
Venables crossed the room towards her. "Mrs.
Venables and I must be going shortly, Miss Ashley.
Within half an hour, I'm afraid! I ordered my car
for twelve-thirty. If your uncle doesn't show up be-
fore then, please pay my respects and explain to him—
will you? It doesn't do for me to have Mrs. Venables
out too late, you know. The night air and her asthma
don't exactly"
At that precise moment, as Alderman Venables was
making his historic contribution, there rang through
Vernon House a blood-curdling scream. It was a
scream of fright—but of far more than ordinary
fright. It contained a note of horror and above that
a note of stark terror! It came from a person who,
in the scream, had entirely epitomized all the gamut of
Abject Fear. It seemed to come from the same side
of the hall as the lounge—but from the part that lay
towards the back of Vernon House.
"Good God!" cried Morris Trentham—" what on
earth does that mean? It's a woman!"
Without waiting to answer him the whole crowd
of them dashed across the hall, seeking the meaning
of the scream. Everything now was silent. Who-
ever it was that had screamed had no life to scream
again. The investigators stopped—uncertain of their
next step, uncertain of their exact destination. Lionel
Carrington turned to Father Jewell behind him.
"Where did it come from, Father? " he asked with
agitated lips—" any idea?"


HAMMOND SCREAMS 21
The priest shook his head helplessly, and to stifle
his emotion—caught at his breast with his two hands.
Helen Ashley quietly interposed. "I think it came
from my uncle's study," she said—with a tremor in
her voice. "Certainly from that direction." She ex-
plained more fully. "The room at the end on the
right. It leads on to the garden."
"I think so too, Helen," cried Terence Desmond—
"come on then—as quickly as possible."
Prendergast and he outdistanced the others and
reached the door first. It was locked, and there was
no key in the lock on the outside.
"Put your shoulders to it," cried Major Prender-
gast, as the others panted up. "Keep back, ladies—
please. This is a job for men."
The men flung their united weight against the door.
"I know a better way than that," cried Desmond.
He turned and ran back—through the lounge, music-
room and billiard-room—round into the garden.
Helen Ashley watched him with anxious and wonder-
ing eyes. For a time the door held—defying all the
efforts of the men to move it. Strive how they would
to dislodge it—the door held. Then it began to yield
by inches. But the surrender seemed painfully slow
to all of them in their feverish impatience. However,
although slow, it was nevertheless sure, and suddenly
without imminent warning the door gave to the force
of their onslaught. Thus it was that when the en-
trance was ultimately effected Terence Desmond had
already gained access to the room through the French
doors leading from the garden. Helen Ashley was
conscious of his white startled face confronting her as


22 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
she surged into the room at the rear of the men and
contrary to the instruction given just before by Major
Prendergast. An instruction which she found it im-
possible to obey. On the carpet—just in front of the
French doors—lay a woman's body—inert—lifeless.
"It's Hammond," exclaimed Helen—" one of the
kitchen-maids—whatever's the matter with her?
What is she doing in here?"
Doctor Carrington strode quickly and noiselessly to-
wards the girl's body and went down on both knees
to make his preliminary examination. The crowd of
guests stood round them in an expectant semicircle—
each one reflecting horror and dread in his or her
watching eyes. Then Carrington made an announce-
ment that seemed to surprise them all. "She's only
fainted," he said, curtly—" smelling-salts—anybody?
And will somebody bring me a glass of cold water?"
Diana Prendergast, hovering on the fringe of the
crowd at the back, heard the request and quickly satis-
fied it. Within a few moments—under the doctor's
professional attention—the color came slowly back to
the cheeks of the prostrate girl. Then she opened her
eyes—dilated with the terror of her last conscious ex-
perience, whatever it chanced to have been.
"Come, my girl," said Carrington—" what's all this
about? Pull yourself together and tell us." As he
spoke he assisted the still-trembling girl to her feet and
subsequently into a chair. A shudder came from her
body and she looked fearfully round the room, her
eyes wide open and terror-stricken.
"That hand!" she exclaimed. "That icy hand!"
She shuddered again. "I shall never forget it. It


HAMMOND SCREAMS 23
was awful!" She turned and clung to Doctor Car-
rington's arm. "Don't let it touch me again, sir," she
entreated, " I can't bear it."
"That's all right, my girl," he intervened—" that's
all right. Calm yourself and collect yourself. Let's
hear what's upset you. The sooner you tell us what
it was that frightened you—the quicker, in all prob-
ability—we shall be able to help you. Now then—
what's it all about?" He looked at her with very
close scrutiny.
"I'll tell you," replied Hammond, recovering her-
self a little, " I was coming up the garden"
Interruption came immediately. "What were you
doing in the garden at this time of night, Hammond?"
Helen Ashley's question cut into the tense atmosphere
of the room with imperious insistence, and everybody
realized that she had put into words the question that
had been in everybody's mind.
"I had been to the Kennels, Miss Helen." Ham-
mond looked calmly at her interrogator. "Boris—
the wolfhound—hasn't been too well. He's been on
special diet for three days. Owing to something or
other—Stevens couldn't feed him at his proper time
'■—so to-night, during the evening, he asked me to see
to him. I forgot it for a time, but remembered it
just now."
"Go on," said Helen Ashley.
"As I came up the garden path—I was surprised
to see that the French doors of this room were wide
open. The moon was shining beautifully and I could
see the open doors quite plainly. It was almost like
daylight. I thought it very strange, so I came up to


24 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
them—just in order to look and see that everything
was all right—as you might say. It was quite dark
in the room—the electric light was not turned on—so
I stood just inside the doors—listening. Suddenly, I
thought I heard a peculiar rustling noise—coming
from that direction." She pointed to the left-hand
corner of the room. A heavy portiere, suspended
from a thick brass rod, marked the entrance to another
apartment. All eyes were instinctively turned to it as
Hammond told her story. She continued. "I peered
into the patch of darkness—it was very dark in the
corner there—although I was strongly tempted to take
to my heels and run. All of a sudden—a horrible
figure dashed out on to me—carrying something shin-
ing in its hand. I think it must have been a huge
knife. It seemed to flash in the darkness. An icy
hand and icy fingers were pressed against my face.
Then I screamed."
"Yes—we heard you," said Doctor Carrington
grimly—" you certainly did scream all right."
"But who was it, Hammond? Have you any
idea?" questioned Desmond, coming to the point.
She shook her head blankly.
"Was it anybody you knew at all?" demanded
Morris Trentham, with just a hint of aggressiveness.
"I didn't recognize the figure at all," repeated Ham-
mond, vaguely—"there wasn't time enough—I could
only see one thing about it."
"What's that?" queried Major Prendergast,
eagerly, " any little point is sure to help us in a matter
of this kind. What was the point you noticed?"
"It was a woman," replied Hammond.


HAMMOND SCREAMS
25
“What makes you think that?” asked Desmond
again.
“I don't think I know," answered the girl. “I
know," she repeated—“ because as she dashed past
me-in the darkness—I felt her frock or her skirt."
As she spoke the various clocks of house, home,
church and building-non-coincident-seconds behind
each other and seconds in front-struck twelve. Mid-
night!


CHAPTER III
THE TERROR CONTINUES
"Come over here, gentlemen, will you, please?" asked
Helen Ashley, very quietly. She was standing by her
uncle's table—her face bearing a very strained ex-
pression and white as death. The others hurried
across to her—Doctor Carrington leading the way.
"Look," she said, in a curiously unemotional voice—
"look! What is that little patch there on the blotting-
pad?" She pointed to the white expanse of blotting-
pad that lay on Sir Eustace Vernon's writing-table.
All eyes followed her gesture, and from Father Jewell
there came a quick and startled exclamation. On the
white blotting-paper at which they gazed there had
spread a tiny dark red patch. Its shade of color was
not the tint of red ink. That fact was plain to every-
body. The terror that it told seemed to lay a cold
hand round the hearts of all.
"Looks like blood, certainly," contributed Doctor
Carrington. "Be calm, Miss Ashley! You mustn't
jump to conclusions, you know. Even now, every-
thing may be all right. Don't immediately imagine
the worst has happened—just because of this." He
threw a sharp glance in Helen Ashley's direction as
though not quite sure of her.
"My uncle," she murmured, "my uncle. I'm
frightened."


THE TERROR CONTINUES 27
The cold December air penetrated through the open
doors, intensifying the chill of this last discovery. It
was strange to see the varying effects that had been
produced upon the faces of the different members of
the party. Major Prendergast and his wife were at-
tempting to encase themselves within what can be best
termed, an aristocratic aloofness—they seemed to be
desirous of showing these other people who were with
them as sharers in and partakers of the same experi-
ence that the word Fear was not to be found within
their vocabulary. Alfred and Emily Venables—
plebeian and purse-proud—were at no pains to con-
ceal the extent of their agitation. Mrs. Venables'
false teeth chattered audibly, and if the occasion had
not held such a fierce hint of dark and dreadful tragedy
—Terence Desmond felt that he would have burst
into riotous laughter. Laughter which would have
been amply justified. "When her tongue doesn't
chatter—her teeth do," he thought, grimly, to him-
self. But at the moment his own face was white with
strain and anxiety—and it was easy for an intelligent
observer to see that the worry and foreboding were
more for the sake of Helen Ashley than for anybody
else. Continually his eyes travelled towards her—
wistfully anxious. She, however, seemed to have sur-
rendered herself with infinite resignation, to something
that she regarded in the light of a Stronger Force—
a Higher Power. It had entered her life quite sud-
denly and for the moment had paralyzed her into a
condition of peculiar inactivity. It would pass—she
knew—but the time for the passing was not yet. She
would have to suffer before that time came.


28 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Father Jewell stood at Doctor Carrington's side—
austere in his thin-lipped asceticism—his black cassock
adding a touch of the "macabre" to the proceedings.
The lines of his face, rigid and severe, betrayed no sign
of his present emotions, but in his deep-set—almost
sunken eyes—there lurked a brooding watchfulness.
They held a fire that at any time might leap into be-
ing. The two Trenthams held their place upon the
fringe of the onlookers. The self-complacent pom-
posity of Morris Trentham had undoubtedly under-
gone some disturbance—a fact that his fat, and line-
creased face unmistakably showed. Ruby's eyes were
widely distended, and had the French system of
"Heart-beat Registration" been brought into opera-
tion at that particular moment, the machine—in her
case—would have told an alarming tale. Doctor Car-
rington himself seemed to be fighting to save the doctor
from becoming submerged by the man. Terence—
watching him carefully—was amazed to see the
muscles of his face and jaw set with an almost iron-
like sternness. Major Prendergast lit a cigar to steady
his nerves and smoked silently. Carrington turned
again to Hammond, who by this time had recovered
her equanimity and self-possession, with such a degree
of success that she now appeared to be the coolest and
calmest of the entire gathering.
"You are quite sure that only one person came
out of the room when you entered it?"
Hammond nodded confidently. "As far as one
can be sure, sir, in the dark as I was. Pitch-dark it
was, too, in that corner." Once again she pointed to
the heavy portiere that she had indicated previously.


THE TERROR CONTINUES 29
"What do you say, Doctor Carrington "—exclaimed
Major Prendergast—"shall we investigate? Don't
you think it's our duty?" He nodded in the direction
of Hammond's finger.
"I think so. I think we owe it to Miss Ashley—
I am right, I think, Miss Ashley, in assuming that the
portiere there marks the entrance to your uncle's
library? That is so, is it not?" Helen assented
mutely. "You have no objection to the Major and
me ?"—he raised his eyebrows in interrogation.
"None whatever, Doctor," came her quiet reply.
"I realize that it is very necessary. If you don't
mind, though, I'll remain here until"
"Certainly, Miss Ashley. I understand your desire
perfectly."
He motioned with his eyes to Terence Desmond to
stand by the girl in case of need—because he feared
what the next few minutes might bring forth. Des-
mond required no second bidding, and before the
Doctor and the Major could enter the inner apartment
he had ranged himself by her side. Major Prender-
gast pulled the portiere along the rod and the two
men entered. For a moment, after they passed
through, there was an ominous silence. Then the
Doctor's face appeared again round the corner of the
heavy curtain.
"Do you mind coming in here a moment, Miss
Ashley?" he inquired. She scanned his face with
anxious inquisitiveness—seeking to read there what it
was he wanted her to see and know before she obeyed
his request. He observed what she did. "It's quite
all right," he affirmed, reassuringly—" there's nothing


30 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
at all of which you need be frightened. I want you
to help us over something—that's all.”
Helen crossed over to him quietly, but swiftly. She
passed into the library behind him. The others, with
the exception of Desmond, crowded over towards the
hanging K here, Missaan?"" The
“Look here, Miss Ashley," said Doctor Carrington
_" what does this mean?” The door of a small safe
in the wall stood wide open, the key-one of many on
a key-ring in the lock. “You knew of the existence
of this safe in the wall here, of course?” inquired the
Major.
“Of course, Major Prendergast. I have been to
it many times."
All the drawers inside the safe were fastened-
locked.
“Can you say, by looking at it as it is, if anything
has been taken, Miss Ashley ?”
Helen shook her head-doubtfully. “I don't know
what my uncle kept in here under lock and key," she
declared. “I haven't the least idea—but on the face
of it-nothing appears to have been touched. As far
as I can tell that is of course." She shook her
head again, more doubtfully. “But where is uncle?"
she murmured—“ he would tell you—everything looks
all in order to me.”
Major Prendergast pulled at the handles of the
drawers that had been fitted within the safe. They
were all secure. “ Strange-the safe-door left swing-
ing open like this,” he muttered—“the key left in the
lock too-looks as though somebody had been here
but had been suddenly surprised and hadn't had time


32 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
put us out of our suspense, if you can't do anything
else."
"It is bad news, Miss Ashley—do you think you
Helen intervened with nervous abruptness. "I
would much rather know, Doctor Carrington. Any-
thing is less intolerable than this suspense. What does
it say?"
"I can't understand what's happened at all. I can't
make anything fit properly. On the face of things
this letter seems absurd—incredible. Especially to
those of us who knew Sir Eustace—intimately. But
I'll read it to you." The message that had caused him
so much misgiving was not a long one. He read it
out to them as they huddled together as people do
under the numbing instinct of a gregarious fear.
"Vernon House,
"Rodding,
"Xmas Night.
"My dear Helen and all dear friends!
"Something has come into my life to-night—quite
unexpectedly—that I find it impossible to face. I am
therefore taking what is, perhaps, 'the coward's way
out.' That question, however, is a matter of opinion.
Anyway, I am taking a path that should be quick to
lead me to a painless end.
"Good-bye, everybody—and a Happy New Year
to all.
"Eustace Vernon."
Again, for a moment, no sound broke the silence.


THE TERROR CONTINUES 33
Then Helen Ashley, freeing herself temporarily from
the restraining and supporting grasp of Desmond, held
out her hand to Doctor Carrington and spoke in a low
tense voice.
"May I see the letter—please?"
The doctor handed it to her—at the same time
watching her face intently. She examined it care-
fully, as though clinging to a last strand of hope.
Then she shook her head slowly. For that last strand
of hope had snapped and failed her. "It's my uncle's
handwriting," she admitted. "I thought per-
haps"
Venables came to her side and looked at the letter.
"No doubt of that, Miss Ashley," he supplemented
—" I've seen it far too many times not to know it."
Father Jewell broke in impatiently. "If Sir
Eustace Vernon has laid violent hands upon himself"
—he put his hands to his breast with a curious ges-
ture that seemed to betoken reverence—" and it is
reasonable to suppose that he has from the evidence
upon the blotting-pad—where's his body?"
"Just what I've been thinking," said the Major.
Desmond intervened excitedly. "Fools that we are
to stand arguing in this fashion! He may have failed
in his attempt and even now be lying wounded some-
where near at hand."
Prendergast turned quickly to his wife. "Diana!
Take charge of the ladies—please. Get them back
into one of the other rooms—we men must get to work
outside. Poor Vernon may be anywhere in the
grounds and needing our help badly. Desmond is
undoubtedly right."


34 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Diana Prendergast put her right arm round Helen
and motioned to Ruby Trentham and Mrs. Venables.
"Come, Helen dear," she said, sympathetically.
"Come with us—perhaps the men will find something
and everything will be all right after all—come on,
dear. You must try hard not to worry."
"Thank you, Mrs. Prendergast. It is most kind
of you, I know—but I shan't break down if that's
what you mean. Don't be afraid of that. I've too
much to think about for that to happen."
"Would you like me to get you anything, Miss ? '*
inquired Hammond, solicitously.
Before Helen could find time to reply—Terence
Desmond broke in upon them with another interrup-
tion. "We'll get a search-party out then, at once.
You take command, will you, Major? Hammond—
get Stevens—the chauffeur—to let us have half a
dozen of the lanterns that used to be kept down in the
old stables—will you? Anybody got a flash-lamp
handy?"
"I have," returned Major Prendergast in prompt
support—" I always carry one at this time of the year
in this part of the country. 'In fact, I should be lost
without it. When the lanterns come—let each man get
about a dozen paces from his neighbor and advance
in as nearly a straight line as possible. If anybody
finds anything "His words stopped short for,
for the second time that night, a piercing scream of
horror rang through the stillness of Vernon House.
This time it seemed to come from a greater distance
off than had the scream of Hammond.
"Good God!" said Prendergast—unconsciously


THE TERROR CONTINUES 35
echoing Morris Trentham's words that followed the
hearing of the first scream—"whatever's doing to-
night?"
Some of the others looked paralyzed with fear.
Their recent experience had served to unnerve them
thoroughly.
"A Merry Christmas," muttered Alderman Ven-
ables, with grim irony in his tone, but Helen, unheed-
ing him, caught Desmond impetuously by the sleeve.
"That came from the servants' quarters, Terry,"
she said, excitedly. "I expect somebody has found
poor Uncle Eustace." Her hands worked nervously
at her throat.
"Very likely, Miss Ashley," said Doctor Carring-
ton, with more zeal than discretion—" I had better
get down there at once. It's possible that I may be
wanted. There may be just a chance"
"This way, Doctor," said Desmond, decisively—
"follow me."
Carrington and Desmond dashed off—Major Pren-
dergast and Father Jewell close upon their heels.
Morris Trentham turned to Alderman Venables.
"You stay here with the ladies, Venables. It isn't
safe for anybody to be alone to-night in this infernal
place it seems to me—no matter in what room you
may chance to be. You stay with the girls. Some-
body should be with them. I'll cut along after the
others."
Carrington and Desmond—holding the lead with
which they had started—did not have very far to go
before they received news that could not be disre-
garded. Round the corner of the long passage that


36 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
wended its way to the servants' quarters they almost
collided with a girl-running and breathless. White-
lipped-white-faced and with fear showing in her
eyes! It was another of the maids, and there was
no mistaking the extent of her fright. Desmond knew
her. It was the maid who had dropped the tray dur-
ing dinner to occasion Sir Eustace Vernon so much
agitation. Also he remembered her from his previous
visits to Vernon House. It was Palmer-he recalled
her name at the very instant that he stopped her in
her tracks.
“Was that you who screamed, Palmer?” he asked
peremptorily.
The girl stopped, and swayed towards the two men
as though about to fall.
“Hold up!” said Carrington—"hold up! What's
amiss, my girl? What's frightened you?"
Palmer clenched her two hands and stabbed un-
steadily with her fingers in the direction of what Des-
mond knew was the butler's pantry.
“ Purvis !” she exclaimed. “ In therego at once,
please!”
The four men needed no further bidding. The
door was open. Seated in a chair by the small table
was Purvis. His face was livid and bloated. Car-
rington lost no time. He shook the limp body by the
shoulders. There seemed to be complete muscular
relaxation. Carrington pushed his thumbs under the
eyelids and examined the pupils of the eyes, which
were strange-looking and very much contracted. He
felt the pulse-put his ear to the heart—and then felt
the face, neck and arms. They were all alikestone


THE TERROR CONTINUES. 37
cold. Carrington looked up at his companions and
shook his head.
"Quite dead," he said. "Poisoned!"
"How?" snapped Prendergast. The excitement
and tension of the last few hours had worn his nerves
and his manners to shreds.
"Chloral, I fancy," replied the Doctor—" I'll tell
you for certain, later. But the symptoms—the mus-
cular relaxation and the strange condition of the eyes
—point to poisoning from Chloral Hydrate." His
eyes wandered to the table and the eyes of the other
men followed him to see immediately what was attract-
ing his attention. On the table stood a glass—empty
—of the type known in the trade as "a pony." Car-
rington picked it up and held it to his nose. He
sniffed round the rim. "Whisky—I think. Chloral
Hydrate crystals are peculiarly pungent, both to smell
and taste. Neat whisky may well have been used to
disguise them. Extraordinary business—don't you
think, gentlemen? All of it! It means communicat-
ing with the police now—there's no help for it I'm
afraid."
"What do you think, Doctor? " said Father Jewell,
reverently crossing himself as he gazed at the dead
body of Purvis, "is it suicide?"
"Quite probable, Father, I should say. There is
no reason to suspect anything else—as far as I can
see. But the police had better see him just as he is.
Desmond, 'phone to Mapleton, will you? Tell In-
spector Craig that Doctor Carrington wants him im-
mediately at Vernon House—tell him a case of a
sudden death requires investigation as the attendant


38 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
circumstances are somewhat peculiar. We others had
better get back to that business of Sir Eustace. Don't
tell him—Craig, I mean—anything about Sir Eustace
yet—let that wait until he arrives here. It will be
easier to explain then—perhaps we shall know more.
It's all most disturbing. One doesn't know what to
do for the best. But there's one thing, we must cer-
tainly go to see if we can find poor Vernon—just as
we intended before we struck this last ghastly business.
Come, Major!"
Terence Desmond nodded his agreement with Doc-
tor Carrington, and then gave a sharp exclamation.
"What's that?" he cried. He pointed to the inside
pocket of the butler's dress-coat. Something red
showed—just protruding from the depth of the
pocket. Father Jewell bent down, and following the
direction of Desmond's indicating finger inserted his
fingers into the pocket and drew out the red object
that Desmond had noticed. It was a bonbon.
"Curious," declared the Major—" strange thing to
carry in one's pocket."
But the Roman Catholic priest was curiously ex-
amining one end of the red bonbon. The others
watched him fascinatedly. From the crinkled end in
question he pulled out a piece of ordinary note-paper.
He unfolded it. On it were a few written words.
The men bent over Father Jewell's stooping shoulder,
eager to see what the words were. They were as
follows—" One hour to live: You pay your debt—
to-night!!" Father Jewell looked fearfully at the
four other men. "This is not suicide, gentlemen, as
Doctor Carrington supposed. This is murder! Cold-


THE TERROR CONTINUES 39
blooded murder! The sooner we get the police here
and find Sir Eustace Vernon, the better!" His dark
eyes blazed with the vehemence of his words, but Des-
mond felt a shiver run through his frame.


CHAPTER IV
SHOCK FOLLOWS SHOCK
"Father Jewell is undoubtedly right," said the
Major. "There's no getting away from it. Des-
mond—get on to Mapleton Police Station at once,
and ask for Inspector Craig, as I told you. The rest
of us must try to find Vernon—don't you agree, Car-
rington?"
"Yes. You get along as you suggest. In the cir-
cumstances—taking this new discovery into account—
I'll stay here with the body until Craig turns up. It
will be better for me to do so—officially—you know."
Desmond gave a quick nod of assent and dashed
off to the telephone. "I'll be with you again, Major,"
he cried, " in two minutes. If the lanterns are handy,
get one ready for me and wait for me to come back
to you. Two minutes on the 'phone should be ample.
Don't start off without me."
"Very well," called Prendergast, sharply—" we'll
leave the Doctor here as he suggests and wait for you
by the study windows."
"I don't like the look of things at all, Major," put
in Trentham, as the three men made their way back.
He glanced nervously behind him. "I'm shivering—
and not with cold either. When I think of the body
of the butler there, and that room of Vernon's—empty
—the safe open—the French doors open—the stain


SHOCK FOLLOWS SHOCK 41
on that blotting-paper and the screams of those two
girls—it makes my blood run cold. If I'd known
what I know now I'd never have"
Major Prendergast cut short his flow of recrimina-
tion. "Pull yourself together, Trentham. It's a
nasty experience for each one of us. For goodness sake
remember that it's up to us to find Vernon. 'Shiver-
ing' won't find him. It's a question of action now."
The ladies were still huddled together in the study
under the somewhat doubtful protection of Venables.
Stevens, the chauffeur, was waiting with the lanterns
ready for use. Desmond was quick to rejoin the party.
He looked inquiringly at Major Prendergast, who
was alert to comprehend his meaning.
"Purvis has had some sort of a seizure," he an-
nounced. "Doctor Carrington has seen him and is
stopping with him for a time while we concentrate
upon finding Sir Eustace. Diana! Take all the
ladies back to the lounge, will you—please? As soon
as we have really definite news, Miss Ashley, we will
return to you." Helen inclined her head in silent
understanding. "Come, gentlemen! You come as
well, Stevens, will you? You may have the chance of
being useful."
Slowly and steadily the search-party made their
way into the grounds of Vernon House. "Shout, at
once, if you come across anything," cried Prendergast,
leading the way.
Terence Desmond was immediately conscious of a
feeling of complete unreality. It seemed to him that
but a few moments had elapsed since dinner, and he
felt that he had suddenly stepped out of a real and


42 THE MURDERS. NEAR MAPLETON
tangible existence into the grotesque cast of a kind
of gigantic pantomime. At the same time his senses
were acutely alert and keyed up to the highest pitch,
and as he flashed his lantern on the ground in front
of him and all around him, he was determined to miss
nothing that might tend to aid them in their quest.
The moon was up and helped considerably when it
scudded from the clouds. All was quiet—the only
sound to 'disturb his ears being the occasional foot-
falls of his fellow-searchers. He could see them
working along in a slowly advancing line of light.
The effect was ghostly in the extreme. But no shout
of heralded discovery disturbed the clear stillness of
the December night. "Must be morning now," he
thought to himself, and calculated the time—" al-
though one can't visualize ' morning' out of conditions
like these." Keats' lines suddenly flashed through his
mind. To his amazement he found himself quoting
them aloud—
"In a drear-nighted December
Too happy, happy Tree,
Thy Branches ne'er remember,
Their Green Felicity."
Midway about the second verse, he stopped. Some-
thing just to his right had attracted his attention.
His swinging lantern had picked out a dark object
lying on the rimed grass in front of him. He bent
down to pick it up. To his surprise his hand held a
slab of what is usually termed "hard" tobacco. He
slipped it into the pocket of his dress-trousers, but
finding its shape and hardness distinctly discomforting


SHOCK FOLLOWS SHOCK 43
and interfering considerably with ease of movement,
he transferred it to the breast pocket of his dress-
coat. He soon reached the brick walls of the grounds,
that ran along the Rodding road, and then turned to
commence to work his way back six yards or so away
from the track he had pursued previously. But to no
purpose. There was no sign of Sir Eustace Vernon.
Eventually the others joined him, one by one. They
had very little to report. Only Trentham had any-
thing of consequence to mention.
"The garage doors are not shut," he said. "Also,
Sir Eustace Vernon's car is not in there. Mine is
there and another car, that I take to be the Mayor's
—of course I'm not sure that it is. But Sir Eustace's
car has gone."
"Sure of that?" queried Father Jewell.
Morris Trentham nodded. "Quite. I know Sir
Eustace's car well. It's a 'Wolseley'—Saloon-de-
luxe. I've travelled with him in it many times."
"Perhaps Vernon's gone away in it somewhere.
Perhaps to "Prendergast stopped short, but
each one of his companions silently completed the un-
finished sentence with the thought that was uppermost
in his mind. Then Desmond thought of his find, and
at once an alternative theory was born in his brain.
"Perhaps somebody else has gone away in it," he
contributed.
"What do you mean?" said Father Jewell. "Who
could have?"
Desmond cut in. "I've an idea—just an idea—
that's all," he submitted. "Stevens!" He called to
the chauffeur.


44 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON,
"Yes, Mr. Desmond."
Terence pulled out the dark cake of tobacco and
held it up for the chauffeur's observation. "Do you
know anybody round here who smokes tobacco of this
description?"
Stevens shook his head negatively.
"You don't smoke it yourself, by any chance?"
continued Desmond.
"Not on your life, sir !' Gaspers' for me, every
time. I haven't seen a bit of 'hard' since the—that
reminds me, though, sir—although I don't exactly
know "He broke off for a moment seemingly
undecided and uncertain.
"What do you mean, Stevens? What is it you
want to say?"
"Well, sir, Hammond, the maid, is keeping com-
pany with a sailor—I do know that. And sailors
have rather a partiality for that kind of stuff. That's
what I was thinking."
"Is that so, now? What's this chap's name, do you
know?"
Stevens shook his head again. "There you've done
me, sir. But he's a Mapleton man, I can tell you that
—he's home on ' leaf' now, sir. I could find"
"What have you there, Desmond?" interrupted
Major Prendergast.
Desmond passed his find over for inspection. "I
found it on the grass over there—about thirty yards,
I should say, from here. I should think it had been
dropped fairly recently. It was comparatively dry,
despite the state of the grass."
"Extraordinary," commented Prendergast—" hang


SHOCK FOLLOWS SHOCK 47
about—or would you rather Desmond or you your-
self?"
"About my uncle? I think the best thing to be
done will be to tell Inspector Craig everything quite
frankly—all that we know—and all that we've done
—in the exact chronological order in which it has
occurred. It should be done as thoroughly and as
carefully as possible. If you will be good enough to
do so—it will be a kindness."
Prendergast nodded and looked inquiringly at all
the others, only to receive similar signs of acquies-
cence.
The Inspector stood in the hall, having as his com-
panion Doctor Tempest, the Divisional Surgeon.
Each was heartily cursing the unkind Fate that had
brought him out to a case of this nature on a Christmas
night of all nights. Craig had been summoned from
the bosom of his family and the warmth of his own
fireside, and Doctor Tempest from a most attractive
bridge-party at Colonel Ridout's—half-way between
Mapleton and Rodding. They stood waiting for a
second or two—irresolutely—having been admitted by
the very frightened maid—Palmer. The death of the
butler, it will be observed, had seriously disorganized
the regime of Vernon House.
"What was your 'phone message, Inspector—a
suspected murder?"
Craig lowered his voice. "That's what is suspected,
Doctor Tempest. The 'phone message was from a
gentleman giving the name of Desmond. I didn't
take it myself, as you know. He didn't say who it
was they feared was murdered—simply would we send


48 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
up at once? Leastways, that's how the message came
to me."
The Divisional Surgeon was about to frame a reply
when he caught sight of the four men approaching.
"Here we are, Inspector," he said—" now we shall
hear all about it."
; Prendergast wasted no time. In as few words as
possible he told the Inspector all that had transpired
just in the manner that Helen Ashley had suggested
he should do. Also he added an explanation. "Miss
Ashley and the other ladies are in the lounge, Inspec-
tor. I am Major Prendergast. I am acting as Miss
Ashley's spokesman at her own expressed request. I
hope it will not be necessary for you to worry any
of the ladies to-night. We have all been thoroughly
alarmed, and for them it must have been excessively
disturbing and trying."
"I understand. Unless I am absolutely forced I
will not trouble them at all. Take me to Purvis. I
presume from what you have told me that Doctor
Carrington is still with the body?"
"That is so, Inspector."
"Right—we'll get along there then, at once."
For the second time since dinner they traversed the
distance to the butler's pantry. Doctor Carrington
was standing deep in thought just inside the door.
When he saw the personnel of the approaching com-
pany, he pulled at his lip for a moment as though
in doubt as to whether he should come to a decision.
It was clear that something was worrying him. Seem-
ingly he reached a satisfactory solution, for as his
visitors entered he pulled-to the door silently and closed


SHOCK FOLLOWS SHOCK 49
it behind them. Before Craig or Doctor Tempest
could speak, Carrington took charge of the situation.
He felt that he was compelled to do so—that he would
be failing in his duty if he did not. He spoke very
quietly, but very much to the point.
"Prior to you making your examination, Doctor
Tempest, and also you, Inspector, I feel that I must
give you some very important information. Startling
as well as important. Information that I have dis-
covered only very recently. And discovered too—
professionally. This body here is the body of a
woman!"


CHAPTER V
THE FINDING OF SIR EUSTACE
"What on earth do you mean?" gasped Desmond,
complete incredulity showing in his eyes. "That
can't possibly be—I've known Purvis for years."
"So have I," retorted Carrington coldly—" as long
as you have, I expect. But that fact doesn't alter the
case. You simply accepted appearances the same as I
did. The person that both you and I and Sir Eustace
Vernon and all the rest of the world knew as Purvis—
was a woman. We've been deceived. That's all
there is to it."
"Very strange," muttered Craig—" and coming on
top of what Major Prendergast had just told me of
all that's been happening here in Vernon House to-
night, it makes it seem very remarkable to me.
Still "He paused for a moment—then thought
of the Divisional Surgeon. "Have a look at the body,
Doctor Tempest, will you?"
But Tempest's action had preceded the Inspector's
words, and he was already bending over the huddled
body of the butler. Carrington slipped quickly to his
side and bending down spoke quietly in his ear. The
others saw Tempest look up and then nod decisively.
"That was what prompted me," they heard Carring-
ton say, and then there followed more head-noddings


THE FINDING OF SIR EUSTACE 51
and conferrings between the two men of medicine.
Craig picked up the red bonbon from the table and
carefully examined the menacing message that had
been attached. "I wonder if anybody will be able
to recognize the writing," he declared—" I'll keep this
for further developments." He pushed the piece of
paper into his pocket. "Well, Doctor, what's your
verdict?" He addressed Tempest. The latter turned
towards him very gravely.
"I entirely concur with Doctor Carrington. This
woman has undoubtedly been poisoned. He thinks
by Chloral Hydrate. I see no reason, at the moment,
to disagree with him."
Craig frowned heavily. "It may be suicide, Doctor,
after all," he suggested.
"Quite possibly," conceded the Divisional Surgeon
—" but for the fact of the apparent threat in the red
bonbon. -We'll assume that the message was intended
for the person on whom it was found. That certainly
tends in the direction of murder—murder for revenge,
I should say."
Craig frowned again. "I'm sorry then, Major
Prendergast, Doctor Carrington and gentlemen, that
I shall have to have a word with Miss Ashley—Sir
Eustace Vernon's niece. She's the only person here,
I understand, with the exception of the servants, that
actually resides here. This sex-mystery surrounding
the butler must be investigated. It's most mysterious
and I can't tell to where it may lead. You're quite
sure that there's no trace of Sir Eustace—there's no
place where he may be that you may have over-
looked?"


52 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Prendergast gave a quick denial, and Desmond in-
terjected rapidly. "Miss Ashley will not be able to
tell you anything about Purvis, Inspector. I am abso-
lutely certain of that. I'm an old friend of hers and
I'm convinced that any thought that Purvis was other
than he seemed to be—' she' seemed to be, if you pre-
fer me to be more exact—has never crossed her mind.
I'd wager my whole fortune on it—not a lot perhaps,
but a great deal to me."
"I've no doubt you're right, Mr. "he paused,
seemingly not sure of Desmond's name.
"Desmond," replied the latter.
"Desmond! But if you'll pardon me saying so—
your opinion is only' conjecture.' This mystery about
the butler seems to me the kind of mystery that people
'in the know' so to speak, would keep very quiet
about. Just because the lady didn't tell you anything
about Purvis, doesn't mean that"
Desmond cut in again impatiently, and with more
than a suggestion of frayed temper. "I am in Miss
Ashley's confidence," he asserted—"that should be
sufficient for you. Still, if you must see her—you
must see her. Only for Heaven's sake treat her kindly,
I imagine she's about' through' by now." He turned
on his heels and went across to Father Jewell.
"I know my business," returned Inspector Craig,
shortly—" we will get back to the room to which I
understand you were first called, and please inform
Miss Ashley that I should like to ask her a few ques-
tions in there as soon as convenient to her. Perhaps
you would be good enough to bring her along, would
you, Mr. Desmond?" He went to the door and looked


54 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
ment we don't know by whom or how it was admin-
istered." He paused and watched her again, but Helen
made no sign from which he was able to construe any
definite meaning. Therefore he proceeded. “But
beyond that they have discovered another fact that-
to say the least-is most extraordinary and er
perhaps-disconcerting. Purvis was a woman!” He
shot the last piece of information at her with charac-
teristic rapidity and suddenness. Helen's eyes parted
in amazement, while from her lips there came a low
gasp of astonishment. “A woman?” Craig nodded
-emphatically. “You can take it from me—there's
not a vestige of doubt about it is there, Doctor?"
He turned to Doctor Tempest for corroboration of
his statement. It came immediately.
" That is so, Miss Ashley. What Inspector Craig
says is perfectly true. The butler you knew as a man
-is really a woman."
Helen gazed from one to the other, her mind strug-
gling against the flood of amazement that was threat-
ening to engulf her better and clearer understanding.
Eventually after what seemed to the onlookers a
protracted struggle-she surrendered to an urgent de-
sire for help. This she translated into activity by
turning towards Desmond and Father Jewell, who
were standing together a few feet away from her.
“Purvis a woman," she repeated tonelessly—“I
can't understand -
“ The news then is a complete surprise to you?"
interrogated the Inspector.
Before Helen could reply, Desmond gave vent to a
sharp exclamation of supreme annoyance. “Good


THE FINDING OF SIR EUSTACE 55
God, Inspector," he cried—" it doesn't need a great
deal of intelligence to see that! I told you so! Surely
you don't"
"Keep calm, Mr. Desmond—please. And let me
point out that I am conducting this investigation and
not you. When I want your assistance I'll ask for
it. Miss Ashley?"
"The news you have just given me astounds me,
Inspector. I am still trying hard to believe it. I can
say no more than that."
"I see. Now as to this other matter, Miss Ashley.
This letter that has been handed to me—I understand
it was found in here—you have no doubt that your
uncle wrote it?"
"As far as I can judge—none."
"Right! And this is the patch on the blotting-pad
—eh, that Major Prendergast mentioned?" He
walked across to it. At that moment the door opened
to admit the Mayor of Mapleton—Alderman Ven-
ables. When he saw what was proceeding the un-
healthy pallor of his face became more marked.
Trentham held up to him an admonitory hand—the
gesture enjoining silence. The worthy Alderman
seemed only too pleased to be obedient. He tiptoed
noiselessly round the room to the portQre that had
covered the entrance to the library. It had remained
as the Major had pulled it upon his entrance. Pren-
dergast watched Craig intently as he examined the
small red stain.
"H'm!" he commented—" take charge of this,
Doctor Tempest, will you, please?" He stopped and
caressed his trim moustache. "The safe you men-


56 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
tioned, gentlemen—in here?” Prendergast nodded an
affirmative to his inquiry and the Inspector, avoiding
Venables adroitly, passed through into the library.
Desmond and the Major followed him—the others
remaining where they were.
“H'm," he muttered again—"nothing stolen-
eh?”
“Miss Ashley thinks not, Inspector. Looks to me
as though Sir Eustace-assuming that it was he who
opened the safe—was suddenly disturbed by some-
thing and left the door open and the key of the safe
in the lock.”
"Possible-certainly," returned Craig.
“Probable, don't you think?” countered Desmond.
Craig gave him a direct look-a look that might have
meant much. “ I've learned to distrust the probable,
Mr. Desmond-I pay more regard to all that I con-
sider' possible.'"
A smile played round Desmond's lips as he turned
away to follow the Inspector back to the others.
“Wouldn't surprise me if he finishes up by arresting
me,” he muttered to himself—“ silly consequential ass
that he is.”
Then the Inspector's voice cut across his soliloquy
and brought it to a precipitate conclusion. “The
grounds have been searched, you say? Carefully
searched and not just glanced over?”
“ That is so, Inspector," answered Prendergast.
“We've had a search-party out_been over every
inch of the place as carefully as we were able-with-
out any sign of Sir Eustace. But as we told you
just now or rather as I told you—we have an idea


THE FINDING OF SIR EUSTACE
57
that Sir Eustace's car has been removed from the
garage."
"Has the chauffeur gone with it?"
"No—no. As a matter of fact he has been with
us nearly all the time and actually formed one of our
search-party."
"Where is he now?"
"Not far away, Inspector. I can get him for you
if you want him." Prendergast made a movement
towards the door to put his suggestion into effect, but
Craig promptly checked him.
"Don't trouble, sir, for the time being. There's
no immediate need for me to see him. It will do
very well if I see him later. But it's a most curious
business, as you'll all agree, gentlemen. Anyhow—I
tell you what—I should like a word with these two
maids that appear in the story—Miss Ashley. The
two maids who gave the alarm in the two instances—
what names were they?"
"Hammond and Palmer," replied Helen—" I'll
ring for them to come in here at once."
As she crossed to carry out her avowed intention,
there happened one of those strange coincidences that
life so often furnishes for us. There was a sharp
sound of running feet and the maid Palmer appeared
in the doorway where the damaged door hung on its
twisted hinges.
"Palmer!" said Helen, but that was all she had
time to say, for Palmer herself had news that would
not brook delay.
"Inspector Craig is wanted at once on the tele-
phone in the hall, please, Miss," she blurted—" and


58 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
I was asked to say as how it was most important. It's
a proper 'Big Noise' the other end, too, judging by
the way he gives 'is orders."
Craig received the information with some show of
surprise.
"Stay here, Doctor, will you please?" he said.
"I'll go and see who it is and what's doing. But what
gets over me is who in the name of goodness can want
me here."
While he was away Helen Ashley thought of the
ladies left alone in the lounge. "I'm going back to the
others, Terry," she said—" I don't know what they're
thinking all this time. They must be worried almost
beyond endurance. Come for me when you want
me—or if the Inspector should happen to want me
again."
She slipped away—Doctor Tempest's eyes watching
her. Three minutes later Craig was back—graver
and with more signs of responsibility than ever. His
eyes searched the apartment for Helen.
"Miss Ashley has gone to the lounge," explained
Desmond in interpretation of his look.
"It's as well," said Craig quietly. "I've just heard
that Sir Eustace Vernon's body has been found on
the railway line a few yards from Dyke's Crossing.
He must have driven straight there from here and
thrown himself under a passing train." For a mo-
ment he respected the awed silence that followed his
announcement. "A bad business, gentlemen," he then
continued—" but what puzzles me is the identity of
my informant—it's no less a person than Sir Austin
Kemble—the Commissioner of Police. How he comes


THE FINDING OF SIR EUSTACE 59
into the picture beats me entirely. But it's evidently
going to be a case for Scotland Yard." He watched
the expression on their faces as he made his portentous
announcement


CHAPTER VI
MR. BATHURST TAKES A SHORT CUT
On the same evening as the events took place that
have already been described, Sir Austin Kemble, Com-
missioner of Police, settled down luxuriously at the
side of Mr. Anthony Bathurst and prepared himself
with a sigh that might have betokened a measure of
discomfiture and also a certain degree of contentment
for the forty-five miles drive that would take them
back to London.
"Great nuisance not being able to stay the night,
Bathurst," he remarked, " and damned good of you to
offer to bring me up. Very sporting—I must say.
But I've business at the 'Yard' to-morrow that I
cannot consider the possibility of neglecting or even
delegating."
Mr. Bathurst grunted as his strong teeth bit on to
the stem of his pipe, and with a clear road in front
of him, immediately accelerated.
"One or two nasty cases at the moment, haven't
you?" he interrogated.
Sir Austin frowned. He never liked to be reminded
too directly of matters which worried him. At that
particular time there were two professional anxieties
that transcended all others. One was the strange mur-
der of the boy chorister in Clerkenwell, who had been


MR. BATHURST TAKES A SHORT CUT 61
strangled as he walked home after Evensong on Ad-
vent Sunday, and the other a mysterious murder of a
pastry-cook at Nunhead. In each instance the assail-
ant appeared to have got away without leaving any
tangible clue whatever, and in each case also the last
person who had been seen in conversation with the
victim had been a tall dark woman. Those at work
on the two cases regarded this last fact as an important
coincidence.
"A couple of very nasty ones," he replied, when
the frown had relaxed somewhat.
"Clerkenwell and Nunhead? " queried Anthony.
"Yes. There's no doubt that somebody's pulling
the wool over our eyes in each of them. I've been a
good mind to call you in, Bathurst." His eyes flashed
interrogation in Anthony's direction.
The latter smiled his unwillingness. "Too busy,
sir. I should get sick of a surfeit of cases. One
every now and then does me very well." He nego-
tiated a sharp turn as efficiently as he did most things.
"I'll take a cut across country here and cross the line
lower down."
"Remember where we were just about a year ago,
Bathurst?" proceeded Sir Austin.
"Very well, sir. As a matter of fact, the remi-
niscence flashed through my mind at dinner to-night.
When our hostess laughed I was irresistibly reminded
more than once of Lady Fullgarney."
His companion chuckled. "Your masterly conduct
of the ' Peacock's Eye' case created sad havoc in that
lady's heart, I fancy, my boy. Ah well. It's not to be
wondered at. You've a way with you, Bathurst, you


62 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
know! Seen anything of them since we were down
there?"
"Saw them in June at Ascot. On the last day of
the meeting, I fancy." He reflected for a minute and
then continued. "Yes, it was. I ran into them just
as the numbers went up for the Wokingham Stakes.
And I saw them again somewhere about the end of
July. At Lord's during the Rugby and Marlborough
match. They had come up to town after Goodwood.
Sir Matthew had a young nephew playing. A good
boy, too—played a really good 'knock' on a most
poisonous wicket. He played for the Lords' Schools
against ' The Rest' on August Bank Holiday."
"A Fullgarney?"
"No, Sir Matthew's sister's boy, I believe—Con-
way Beresford, by name—hallo—what's this?" He
pulled up abruptly—almost without warning.
"What's the trouble, Bathurst? " asked Sir Austin.
"Level-crossing, sir. And the gates are against
us. There's another car waiting there, too." Bathurst
had stopped his own car a few yards to the rear of
the one that was waiting, and Sir Austin thrust out
his head and looked out. Then he glanced at his
watch.
■ "This is Dyke's Crossing, Bathurst. I know where
we are. We're just about equi-distant between Rod-
ding and Mapleton. I remember coming down here
over a 'poisoned-pen' affair, somewhere about five
years ago—a country wench fancied herself as a cen-
sor of morals." The words had scarcely left his lips
when the shriek of an engine heralded the passing
of an express. The iron giant flashed by attended


MR. BATHURST TAKES A SHORT CUT 63
by a whirling company of dancing sparks. After what
seemed an interminable wait, the gates of Dyke's
Crossing swung open slowly but surely. They clicked
together with that sound of undisguised relief that
seems to be the unique property of the gates of level-
crossings. Bathurst naturally waited for the car in
front to cross. But as it never moved, he decided to
start his own. As he crossed the two lines of rails
he threw a remark to his companion—" What's that
car doing there at this time of night—and Christmas
night at that?"
Sir Austin flung a backward glance over his shoul-
der in the direction of the object mentioned. "Can't
see anybody in it," he muttered—" queer—don't you
think?" He pushed his head out again for the pur-
pose of taking a closer look at their surroundings.
As he did so a white shaft of shimmering moonlight,
cold and clear, and straight from the White Lamp of
the sky, flooded the track that they had just crossed
and exposed it all with a merciless and relentless glare.
Sir Austin gave a sharp, but smothered, exclamation.
"Go straight over, Bathurst, will you—and pull up?"
he said in a strange voice. "There's somebody
there!"
"Where?"
"On the line there. The body of a man in my opin-
ion. The moon showed it up, for a second, as plainly
as though it had been broad daylight. I could see it
quite plainly."
Anthony looked grave. "Or what's left of a man
—more probably—after what we saw go by a moment
ago. Poor devil—if he tried to stop that lot." He
-


64 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
drew the car up alongside the hedge that ran by the
line. “See there's nothing coming, Sir Austin-never
mind about the gates being shut-one's enough of
that kind of thing."
Without replying Sir Austin broke through the
hedge on to the line and made straight for the spot
where his eyes had been able to pick out the shapeless
mass that the moonlight had thrown up. Bathurst
was quick to follow him. Some twenty yards from
the level-crossing lay the body of a man clad in even-
ing-dress. It was badly mutilated, especially about the
legs. The right leg had been completely severed from
the body--the other leg seemed to be just a mass of
bleeding pulp. Strangely though, terrific as had been
the impact, the face had scarcely been touched, and
in the middle of the track lay a pair of pince-nez, by
a miracle of Fate completely undamaged. The face
was the face of a middle-aged man, bald, but with a
grey moustache. It was a face of fine lines, sensitive
and refined, suggestive altogether that its owner was a
man of artistic susceptibility. He was in dress-clothes,
black dinner-jacket, black bow and black braided
trousers. The shoe on the foot of the leg that had been
mutilated so badly hung in black shreds, but on the
foot of the severed limb the other shoe was in excel-
lent condition. Sir Austin Kemble had great difficulty
in the repression of a shiver of horror.
“What a mess of a man," he muttered—“what is
it, Bathurst-suicide?".
“Looks like it, Sir Austin-on the face of things.
He must have stopped the car down there purposely.
Got out and then deliberately come on to the line and


MR. BATHURST TAKES A SHORT CUT 65
waited for the train. Or perhaps a previous one,
unless " He stopped-lost for a moment in a
temporary cogitation.
“Unless what?” broke in Sir Austin, with a touch
of his habitual impatience.
“Unless he had an assignation with somebody and
she hadn't kept the appointment.”
“Over-old for a lover, Bathurst. More likely to
have been waiting for another man-admitting—that
is- your assignation theory."
Anthony laughed with tolerant cynicism. “ Some
men are never too old for sexual adventure, sir. It's
their one link with life. They remain caught in the
foils of the 'Life-Force.' At least, that's how they
explain it.”
“What shall we do with him?” questioned Sir
Austin, ignoring a strong temptation to argument,
“it seems inhuman to leave the poor fellow here."
Anthony nodded and looked round. “Let's lay him
in the shadow of the hedge, yonder. We can move
him easily. On our way through Mapleton, we can
stop at the police station and inform them there of
what's happened. They can send an ambulance up
here."
“Can't do better, Bathurst. I'm afraid it's going
to be a horrible business, though-moving him. Get
hold of his shoulders, will you?”
Anthony stooped down and did as he had been
directed. Together they dragged the mutilated, life-
less body over the down-line track and reverently laid
it in the shadow of the friendly hedge by the side of
the line.


66 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
“ Curse this ghastly moonlight,” railed the Com-
missioner “ it seems indecent somehow in the cir-
cumstances. Do you get what I mean, Bathurst?
Darkness would have seemed so much more friendly
and comforting. Eh?”
Bathurst seemed not to hear-at any rate, Sir
Austin was not favored with a reply. His companion
was examining the right hand of the dead man. Sud-
denly his eyes took on an even more acute appearance,
and he dropped on one knee beside the body. Sir
Austin regarded him with some measure of amaze-
ment. Surely Bathurst had not discerned signs of
feehle life still flickering in this bruised and battered
body? Sir Austin need have had no doubts. The man
was dead—there was no doubt about that fact—but
Bathurst's quick and observant eyes had detected some-
thing protruding from the inside pocket of the dead
man's dinner-jacket. He thrust in his hand and pulled
out a red something that Sir Austin, for the moment
-peer as he did—was unable to recognize. Bathurst
rose to his feet and held it out for inspection-a curi-
ous expression on his face.
“Good gracious!” cried Sir Austin—"a bonbon!
Strange thing to carry in your pocket! I don't know,
though, Bathurst,” he retracted," he may have driven
straight from a Christmas party of some kind. It's
a seasonable thing. That's the explanation, my boy!
Simple enough, after all!”
Bathurst looked at him with a mixture of curiosity
and doubt. Then he shook his head slowly and with
than that, I'm afraid, sir. And I'm inclined to think


68 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
Sir Austin Kemble made a mental calculation of
the distance. "Twenty-five to thirty yards," he an-
swered eventually.
"Not far out," replied Bathurst laconically—" a
trifle under that I should say, rather than over.
Twenty-five yards we'll say, then, at the outside."
He waited for Sir Austin to get into their car again
and then drove slowly back over the railway line to
where the other car stood—lights still burning—just
as when they had passed it a bare ten minutes pre-
viously. Mr. Bathurst rubbed his hands.
"I think I'm going to enjoy this little problem, Sir
Austin. Two little matters puzzle me already."
Had he been taxed, Sir Austin Kemble would have
pleaded guilty to a higher number than that.


CHAPTER VII
A SHOT FROM BEHIND
Anthony stopped his Crossley on the other side of
the railway line. The two men alighted and found
themselves by the side of the car that had apparently
been abandoned.
"There's a rare lot of this stolen car business going
on lately, Bathurst . . . it's a problem that en-
gages far too much of our time at the ' Yard.'" Sir
Austin was becoming angry again. "When our best
men should be at work on cases that have proved
extremely difficult, their energies are dissipated more
often than not on these miserable stolen car episodes.
Waste of valuable time, I call it."
Without replying, Anthony opened the door of the
car in question and peered in. Sir Austin took from
his pocket the flash-light torch without which in the
winter he seldom travelled.
"Good," said Anthony. "Just what I wanted."
His eyes followed the circle of light that his companion
turned upon the interior of the car.
"Nothing much in here, Bathurst," grunted Sir
Austin—" not a sign of any luggage, rugs—wearing
apparel—or anything. No suitcases here. You'll
have a ticklish job reading anything out of this."
"Looks very much like it," replied Anthony lacon-
ically—" shine your torch on the floor, will you, please
—on the left of the steering-wheel—thanks."


70 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
He stooped down quickly and ran the fingers of his
left hand lightly over the surface of the floor.
"Now on the other seats at the back, will you,
Sir Austin—ah—what's this?" He pointed eagerly
to the back seats of the car. On the light fawn,,
luxurious upholstery, there could be seen a red stain.
In this empty, abandoned car—found under such
bizarre circumstances late on a Christmas night—with
a dead man lying under a hedge less than a hundred
yards away—the stain looked ominous and trebly sug-
gestive. Mr. Bathurst whipped out his magnifying-
glass. "Shine the light directly on it, will you, Sir
Austin, please?" He scrutinized the crimson smudge
with as great a care as possible in the circumstances.
"Blood—in my opinion," he muttered. Then his
- hands swooped to the floor again, directly under the
tell-tale stain. They occupied themselves there for a
moment or two. Sir Austin saw him shake his head
impatiently, jerk it up as impetuously and set his brows
in a decided frown. Then the head assumed a chal-
lenging tilt. "The light again, sir," he called. "At
the other end of the seat here—right at the end."
The Commissioner did as directed, and Mr. Bathurst
began to rub his hands again. His keen grey eyes
had caught sight of two small patches of fawn that
were distinctly dirtier and darker than the upholstery
generally. This particular light-putty shade of fawn
was such that it quickly showed any trace of dirt and
dust.
"What have you got, Bathurst?" interposed Sir
Austin, with some eagerness.
"Something I was looking for, sir. Some dust on


A SHOT FROM BEHIND
71
the seat." He swung out of the car and took his
place again by his companion's side. "Extraordinary,
Sir Austin, you know, when you come to think of
it. An abandoned car—its owner—or driver, at least,
we'll say—cut to pieces on the line—and traces of
blood inside the car. Why blood inside the car? Ap-
pears somewhat contradictory, doesn't it?"
"It's murder, Bathurst," returned Sir Austin, with
an air of judicial finality—" that's what it is—
murder."
"There's not a doubt about it, sir. But I wonder
if it's a murder exactly as that grotesque red bonbon
is intended to "He broke off—thinking hard for
a moment. "I shall have to have another look at that
body, Sir Austin," he ventured at length—" this makes
a big difference. A vast difference. I rather think
we shall discover something very startling—if I'm not
making a big mistake." He stopped again, and Sir
Austin could see that some point or the other was
troubling him considerably. Suddenly his face be-
came animated again. "Lend me the torch a minute,
sir. There's one other little thing I want to do." He
flashed the light on the two receptacles within the car
that held the burnt cigar and cigarette ends. He
picked out three burnt cigarette stubs and one cigar
end and examined them very minutely. Then he
laughed and replaced them. "Just an idea that flitted
across my mind—that was all. Not conclusive, by any
means—but it was just on the cards that it might have
told me something of the utmost importance."
Sir Austin grunted unintelligibly. "What now,
Bathurst?"


72 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"I don't think we can do better than to get along
into Mapleton as I suggested just now and call at
the police station. It doesn't seem to me that we can
do any more up here now. I'll leave my second look
at the body until later. What do you think vourself,
sir?"
His companion reflected for a moment or two.
"On the whole I agree with you, Bathurst. But I'll
tell you what does occur to me—and very forcibly,
too."
"What's that?"
"Will it be wise on our part to leave this car here?
Supposing for instance"
"Supposing what?" Anthony cut in, unceremoni-
ously.
"Supposing it's gone when we return? Seems to
me to be quite a likely contingency. Supposing the
people concerned come back for it? Will you stay
on guard here if I drive your car down into Maple-
ton? What do you think?"
Anthony rubbed his cheek with the palm of his
hand while he gave consideration to the Commis-
sioner's suggestion. Then he shook his head in re-
pudiation of the idea. "I don't think we need trouble
to do that. I appreciate your point, sir, but I don't
imagine there's the slightest reason to anticipate that
any of the people responsible for this business will
return to this particular spot to-night. I think it's
the very last thing they would think of doing. No,
Sir Austin—it will be quite safe to leave matters here
as they are—take it from me."
Sir Austin shrugged his shoulders as though only


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 73
half convinced. But he gave way. "Very well. I'm
quite content to rely on your judgment, as you're
very well aware, Bathurst. We'll get on to Mapleton,
then."
A matter of ten minutes' fast driving brought them
to the police station of Mapleton, where Sir Austin's
unexpected arrival caused much fluttering among the
dove-cotes. A visit from the Commissioner of Police
himself, on such a night and under such alarming
conditions, was a questionable privilege for which
the local powers that be had certainly not bargained.
But once having weathered the storm of surprise and
semi-anxiety, they were able to cope with his infor-
mation immediately. The Sergeant in charge was
sufficiently intelligent to grasp its significance without
any preliminary investigation whatever.
"You've brought us precisely the information we've
been requiring, sir. Inspector Craig has just been
sent for to investigate something very queer up at
Vernon House—Rodding. That's Sir Eustace Ver-
non's place. I had to dig him out of his home, sir,
as a matter of fact. You can guess how pleased he
was. I shouldn't be surprised if the information
you've stumbled across, so to speak, sir, won't have
a big bearing on the matter that they've called him
up there about. According to the message that came
through for the Inspector, Sir Austin, there's been a
mysterious death up at Vernon House. I'll get our
ambulance to go up to Dyke's Crossing and I'll also
have that car you spoke about brought down here at
once."
"Very good, Sergeant," rejoined Sir Austin. "I


74 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
was going to instruct you to do that myself. In the
meantime Mr. Bathurst and I will warm ourselves
by the fire in the Inspector's room."
"Fate plays strange tricks, Sir Austin," remarked
Mr. Bathurst a few minutes later as he said "when"
to a liquid expression of the Yuletide hospitality of
Mapleton Police Station—" who would have believed
an hour ago, as we were speeding towards home, that
we should land up where we are now?"
For a moment Sir Austin was unable to reply—
being very much better employed. Eventually he put
his glass on the table. "My boy—you never know
from one minute to the next. Especially in a game
like mine." He caught Bathurst's eye and smiled slyly
before making his amendment. "Your pardon, my
dear Bathurst. Ours."
Mr. Bathurst returned smile for smile, raised his
glass and bowed his tolerant acknowledgment. Taking
into consideration the fact that it was Christmas
night and very late at that, Sergeant Banks completed
his arrangements comparatively quickly, for it did
not seem an unduly long time to either Sir Austin
Kemble or Mr. Bathurst himself before the Sergeant
put his sleek head round the door of the room in
which they were so comfortably installed and made
his next announcement.
"Everything was as you said, sir," he declared
deferentially, " the car you spoke about was still there,
in the very place that you described; and we found
poor Sir Eustace Vernon under the hedge where you'd
laid him. He's in the mortuary now, poor fellow, at
the back of this building."


A SHOT FROM BEHIND 75
"Sir Eustace Vernon?" queried the Commissioner
—" you know him then? You're"
"Not a doubt about it, sir. I know him very well.
He's far too well-known a figure in these parts not
to be recognized. I'm very sorry—it's a proper bad
job—Mapleton can ill afford to lose a man like him.
He was a hard worker for Mapleton. Can't imagine
what can have induced him to commit suicide like
that."
Sir Austin looked across at Mr. Bathurst. "You
think it was suicide then, Sergeant?" he queried, turn-
ing to Banks again.
"Why—what do you mean, sir? Surely there can't
be two opinions about it? It's Sir Eustace's own car
—the car that you thought had been abandoned. I've
seen him in it scores of times. He's done himself
in all right—you needn't worry over that."
Sir Austin motioned to Anthony, who understood
readily the meaning of the somewhat peremptory ges-
ture. He produced from the pocket of his travelling
coat the red bonbon, together with the gruesome mes-
sage that it had contained. Sir Austin extended his
hand and took them.
"When I entered, Sergeant, I suppressed certain
facts of which Mr. Bathurst and I were aware. I
suppressed them with a definite purpose. I thought
it best for you to get the body here before I told you
all that we knew; what you had to do was quite suf-
ficient with which to be getting on. Now look at these,
will you, Sergeant Banks?"
The dumbfounded Sergeant, who had listened with
much curiosity, took the bonbon very gingerly. He


76 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
turned it over without vouchsafing any remark and
then gave his attention to the piece of paper that
accompanied it. Still silent he looked up, and then
his eyes wandered from Sir Austin to Mr. Bathurst.
"Tell him, Bathurst," said the former. "Tell him
exactly what happened. Omit nothing."
"That red bonbon, Sergeant, was in the pocket of
Sir Eustace Vernon's dinner-jacket. As we were put-
ting the body under the hedge where you found it, I
caught sight of it. The moon was shining brilliantly."
The Sergeant's wide-open eyes opened yet wider, and
his heavily-furrowed brows contracted into a menac-
ing frown. Mr. Bathurst continued his history.
"Protruding from one end of the red bonbon, Ser-
geant, was that friendly little billet-doux."
Sergeant Banks read the message, and forgetful of
his company, immediately became the slave of habit.
"Not exactly a ruddy Christmas-card to send any-
body—I beg your pardon, sir."
Sir Austin frowned. His frown was followed by
a cough.
"Get to business, Sergeant—please," was all he
permitting himself to say.
"Exactly, sir." The Sergeant pondered for a mo-
ment. "Certainly it puts a different complexion on
things," he ventured, at last—" but it's a mighty queer
business whichever way you choose to look at it."
Sir Austin, however, was growing tired and a trifle
impatient. The hour was late and the whisky-bottle
empty. "Did I understand you to say that your In-
spector is at Vernon House now?"
"Quite right, sir."


A SHOT FROM BEHIND
71
"Get on to him then, at once. Tell him what we've
discovered with regard to Sir Eustace Vernon. Tell
him that I'm here. And give him my orders to come
back here as soon as he conveniently can. Let that
convenience be now! Where's the Divisional Surgeon
to be found?"
"Doctor Tempest went up to Vernon House with
Inspector Craig."
"Good—tell him he's to come along here as well—
his services are needed. At once!"
Banks appeared to hesitate for a moment.
"I'm to tell Inspector Craig that you're here, sir?"
he questioned, with more than a touch of reluc-
tance.
"Take me to the telephone, Sergeant," rapped Sir
Austin, firmly and finally—" I'll speak to your Inspec-
tor myself and settle the matter. Then there'll be
no doubt about it and there'll be no possible misunder-
standing. Stay here for a moment, Bathurst."
Thus it was that the telephone message reached the
Inspector at Vernon House and caused him to adjust
his vision of the case. Leaving the body of Purvis
in the temporary care of Doctor Carrington, he and
Doctor Tempest were quickly back as Sir Austin had
instructed. He listened very quietly and attentively
to what the Commissioner had to tell him. When Sir
Austin reached the point of the red bonbon with its
sinister message, he asked permission to speak.
"This is positively amazing, sir," he said. "The
butler is dead up at Vernon House—a butler by the
name of Purvis. A similar bonbon has been found
on the body containing a similar message. And it


78 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
was found, I believe, in the inside pocket of the dress-
coat. The same as you've just described."
Mr. Bathurst sprang to his feet. "I find this most
fascinating," he interjected—" may I see the message
you mention? Have you brought it with you?"
Craig handed it over and went on. "Moreover,
in addition to what I have just told you, Sir Austin,
I have made another most startling discovery. Or at
any rate, Doctor Carrington did. And Doctor Tem-
pest here can confirm it. Purvis, who has been butler
to Sir Eustace Vernon—for many years so I am given
to understand—is not a man at all. He's a woman or
she is—rather."
Mr. Bathurst whistled. "By Jove—this gets worse
and worse—or shall we say better and better. A
woman masquerading as a man—eh?" He rubbed
his hands again, to Sir Austin's secret amazement.
"Sir Austin," he said—" a word with you." He went
quickly to the Commissioner's side and spoke to him
quietly. The others saw the latter nod in evident
agreement. Mr. Bathurst ranged himself by Doctor
Tempest, who nodded very much as Sir Austin had
done.
"I'll go now," he said. "Go with him, Bathurst,"
ordered Sir Austin—"there's nothing like seeing a
thing for yourself. Craig and I will await the report
in here."
Within a quarter of an hour the Divisional Surgeon
returned with Mr. Bathurst on his heels. The former
looked very grave, but in the grey eyes of the latter
there glowed a gleam of confident excitement.
Doctor Tempest's voice came very deliberately.


A SHOT FROM BEHIND
79
“ Sir Austin,” he announced, “Mr. Bathurst's theory
has received very strong substantiation. Sir Eustace
Vernon did not die as we had believed. He was not
killed by a train passing over his body.” Doctor
Tempest paused-plainly agitated. “He has been
killed by a shot through the head from a revolver.
Fired from behind.”


CHAPTER" VIII
SAM MCLAREN'S MERRY CHRISTMAS
Mr. Bathurst glanced at Sir Austin Kemble, and
the glance contained a wealth of meaning. "Have
I your permission, Sir Austin," he supplemented, "to
ask Inspector Craig one or two questions?"
"Tut-tut, Bathurst, I've no doubt you'll ask' 'em
whether I give you the permission or whether I don't.
Ask on, my boy."
Sir Austin puffed out his cheeks and the hint of
a smile played for the fractional part of a moment
round his thin lips, for although he would have been
the last to admit it, he had taken Bathurst to his
heart. Anthony unabashed returned the smile and
turned his attention to Inspector Craig.
"I should be eternally obliged, Inspector," he said,
"if you would be kind enough to favor me with a short
resume of all you know. It would assist me tremen-
dously at this stage of the case and it might prevent
me making a move in the dark, a move which might
very well prove to be disastrous."
The Inspector accepted the 'situation with good
grace. "Very good, sir. Please understand, how-
ever, that since I've been up at Vernon House I haven't
examined anybody. I haven't yet tested anybody's
story. I haven't had time to do so. I was about to
do so when I got Sir Austin Kemble's telephone mes-
sage recalling me here. But I'll tell you exactly what


SAM MCLAREN'S MERRY XMAS 81
I've been told and where I stand. My informant-
in the main-has been Major Prendergast. Sir
Eustace Vernon-as was his custom, I understand-
ever since he has lived in the district-was entertaining
a number of guests for the Christmas season."
“Give me their names, Inspector, will you, please?"
intervened Mr. Bathurst, quietly.
“ Father Jewell, the priest in charge of the Roman
Catholic Church in Mapleton-St. Veronica's—Alder-
man Venables and Mrs. Venables, the Mayor and
Mayoress of Mapleton—the Alderman has been on the
Council for many years—Doctor Lionel Carrington
-a local doctor—and Major Prendergast himself-
together with his wife. They are what I will term
the 'local people. In addition to them there were a
Mr. and Mrs. Morris Trentham-London friends of
Sir Eustace Vernon-and a Mr. Terence Desmond,
a friend of Miss Ashley-Sir Eustace's niece. Miss
Ashley herself was also present, of course. The first
intimation the company had that anything was wrong
was during dinner, I believe I am correct in stating
that dinner was almost over. Anyhow, Sir Eustace
startled his guests by declaring suddenly to them that
he had received ‘bad news. As a result of whatever
he had heard he left the table. He walked out of the
room, as we know now—to his death. Anyhow, the
ladies and gentlemen, naturally desiring to make the
best of things, attempted to carry on the social round
in the absence of their host, to the best of their ability,
until, I am told, about a quarter to twelve. Late per-
haps—with your host missing all that time—but not
late for Christmas night. We're apparently going to


82 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
be later," he added ruefully, glancing at the clock, and
secretly yearning for the attractions of his own fire-
side.
"What happened then? " cut in Sir Austin.
"A terrible scream was heard from what proved
to be Sir Eustace's study. Everybody, of course,
rushed there to find one of the maids unconscious on
the floor. I haven't yet interrogated her, as I said
just now, but I understand from the Major that her
story was this. She had been in the garden and found
the doors of the study that lead out on to the garden
—wide open. This fact struck her as being extremely
unusual. She went in to investigate. Suddenly a
woman with a knife in her hand jumped out of the
darkness on to her and caught hold of her face. The
maid fainted with fright. I don't wonder at it."
The Inspector swung round on to Doctor Tempest.
"Can I have that blotting-pad, Doctor?"
Doctor Tempest passed it across to him and he in
turn handed it on to Anthony.
"That was found on Sir Eustace's table."
"In the study?" queried Anthony.
"In the study. Also, there is another important
fact—the safe in a small room adjoining the study
was open, but strangely enough—according to Miss
Ashley—nothing appears to have been stolen. Noth-
ing at all events that she can name."
"One moment, Inspector," interposed Anthony—
"when the various people were attracted to the study
by the scream of the maid, was the study door on the
house side open or closed?"
"I am sorry, sir," apologized Craig, "I omitted


SAM MCLAREN’S MERRY XMAS 83
to tell you, the door was locked on the inside. The
men who rushed there burst open the door.”
“ Thank you. Proceed, Inspector, will you? I
find it a most interesting story."
Craig produced a piece of paper from his pocket.
“ This paper was found on the floor of the study-
by Mr. Desmond-I'm given to understand. It is
pretty obvious from it what Sir Eustace's intentions
were."
Sir Austin came over to Mr. Bathurst's side and
read the paper with him.
"No doubt about the handwriting, I presume?"
questioned the last-named.
“According to my information there is no doubt
about it being in the dead man's handwriting. At
least so Miss Ashley says. Surely there can be no
better witness. But I will continue. The house-party,
upon the finding of this letter, became-very naturally
-apprehensive of Sir Eustace's fate. So a search-
party was immediately organized. It was just on the
very point of starting out-they had provided them-
selves with lanterns, by the way when a second
blood-curdling scream was heard. This time from the
“From the same maid as on the first occasion ?"
“No, Mr. Bathurst. From another maid. Once
again, as you may well imagine, investigations had to
be made. In the butler's pantry sat the butler, Purvis
-dead. Poisoned! A glass was on the table close at
hand, and it seemed quite on the cards that the dose
had been self-administered. But for the presence of the
red bonbon with its ghastly message, which Mr. Des-


84 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
mond noticed in the pocket of the coat. Then to cap
matters and to give us a nice comfortable little climax,
Doctor Carrington—that's the doctor who was Sir
Eustace Vernon's guest, and who happens to be his
medical adviser also—discovers that the dead butler
is a woman. I think that's about all," he concluded,
"but it's quite enough to be getting on with."
"I'm disposed to agree with you, Inspector. There
can be no two opinions about that. But there's one
point at least upon which I should like to feel more
sure. This question of the sex of this butler—Purvis.
Do you think such a thing was suspected by any of the
household at Vernon House? Were you able to ob-
serve the effect the news produced upon them?"
"The very thing occurred to me, Mr. Bathurst. So
I put the question to Miss Ashley. She lived in the
house with her uncle. She seemed as completely sur-
prised at the news as I was myself. Unless she's a
very good actress," he added, quietly.
"H'm," muttered Sir Austin—" deuced queer busi-
ness, Bathuret, whichever way you choose to look at
it. What do you propose to do now? I think my
suggestion will be to sleep on the problem until to-mor-
row morning—eh? I'm sure we shan't do better."
Anthony thought hard for a brief period. The others
watched him intently. Anybody possessing an intimate
knowledge of him would have known that something
was bothering him. Suddenly his brow cleared some-
what and he looked at his wrist-watch.
"As it's so very late, I think we had better do as
you suggest, sir. We can come down again in the
car to-morrow."


SAM MCLAREN'S MERRY XMAS 85
Hardly had the words left his lips when the door
of the room opened again to admit Sergeant Banks.
His face reflected the enthusiasm occasioned by a new
development.
" Sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen, but something's
turned up that appears to me to be most important.
There's a man in the charge-room--a man we all
know very well in Mapleton-Sam McLaren, the cof-
fee-stall keeper-and he's got a very curious story
to tell.”
“What about?" demanded Craig, curtly a little
annoyed perhaps at what he evidently considered an
interruption.
“He's been attacked-according to his own story
-somewhere in the vicinity of Vernon House. It
seems to me to be something more than a mere coin-
cidence.”
“Bring him in here, Sergeant," ordered Sir Austin,
authoritatively—“let's have his story first-hand.”
Anthony Bathurst awaited the entrance of the new-
comer with intense interest. He felt with a strong
certainty that a story that brought a man to a police
station at so late an hour as this at the Christmas
season would almost assuredly bear the impression of
authenticity. The man that brought it certainly pre-
sented an unusual appearance. His reddish-ginger
hair was streaked with grey and a straggling grey
moustache covered his upper lip. His nose was well-
shaped, but over his left eye he wore a black shade
that caused Mr. Bathurst to be irresistibly reminded
of Pew. A shabby lounge-suit of blue serge was
stained with dirt and mud, while his face showed


86 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
unmistakable signs of its owner having recently passed
through a severe physical ordeal. In his hand he carried
a bowler hat much the worse for either wear or illegit-
imate treatment—perhaps both. As he entered he put
his forefinger to his forehead in respectful salute.
"Good evening, Sam," commenced Craig. "What's
all the bother? Sergeant Banks tells us you've been
meeting trouble this Christmas."
McLaren let a feeble grin pass over his face—ap-
parently he wasn't in the mood to appreciate the In-
spector's pleasantry, which he probably was quite jus-
tified in regarding as singularly ill-timed. "Come
on, Sam," continued the Inspector encouragingly—
"let's have it. Who's been putting it across you?"
The coffee-stall keeper twisted his hat in his hand
in a kind of despairing attempt to overcome his ner-
vousness. When he spoke it was with a pronounced
Cockney accent. Sam McLaren was something of a
local comedian, and his coffee-stall was a well-known
Mapleton rendezvous for the lower classes of the town.
He jerked his head up with a curiously plebeian ges-
ture and started to tell his story.
"Well, gentlemen," he commenced, "first of all,
I'm going back a bit. The 'ole affair started for me
abaht a month ago. Sir Eustace Vernon—and there
ain't nobody better than 'im in the Cahnty Burrer of
Mapleton—Gawd bless him—stopped at my stall and
gives me the office that 'e wants a couple of words
with me. I'd often seen 'im pass by and 'e always
'ad a friendly sort of nod for old Sam—being one
o' the best—as I said just now—so I felt sort of
flattered-like—as yer might say. Well, Inspector, he


SAM MCLAREN'S MERRY XMAS 87
fairly took me by surprise-knocked me all of a 'eap
-'e did, and took the wind from my sails. He told
me that certain information 'ad some'ow come to his
knowledge direckly affectin' yours truly. He said that
matters weren't quite complete yet and wouldn't be
for a little time to come. But it would mean 'bees and
'oney' for old Samwhich as you may guess, was
news that 'ad a very sweet sahnd. I could ha' listened
to it for hours. Well-orf goes Sir Eustace-a-raisin'
of his old ' battle' and I 'ears no more about 'Hell-
dorado'till this very Christmas night wot ever was.”
“ Battle?" queried Sir Austin, with a puzzled frown.
“I don't quite "
“Hat,” explained Anthony—“.tile' becomes 'Bat-
tle of the Nile'-abbreviated rhyming slang."
“ Go on, Sam!” exclaimed Craig,“ let's have the
rest-we're anxious to hear it-I can certainly assure
you.”
Sam McLaren grinned again, but at this statement
of the Inspector's he proceeded with more confidence
than he had previously displayed. No doubt he re-
garded it as full of encouragement.
“At twenty minutes to ten to-night-or last night
I ought to sayseein' as 'ow it's mornin' now I gets
a message from Sir Eustace. In a way the message
wot I'd been waitin' for. Brought by Stevens it was—
Sir Eustace's chofer-'e come along to my place in
the car. When I see 'oo it was I lost no time in bein'
polite. He 'ands me a letter from his guv'nor. I was
to go up to Vernon 'Ouse at once and knock five times
with my knuckles on the French doors of his study-
the room wot you could approach from the grahnds.


88 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
Well, as you might guess I didn't waste no time in
goin'. My place is abaht ’arf an hour's stretch from
Vernon 'Ouse and I was makin' good time along the
road, I can tell yer. I was feelin' all merry and bright.
I was spending the bees’ in anticipation. Nah-
listen! 'Cos wot I'm goin' to say is worth listenin' to.
Abaht a couple of ’undred yards from Sir Eustace's
place-just by that there belt of trees on the left of
the road-a pair of 'ell-deservin' swine jumps out of
the darkness and gives me a couple of 'fourpenny-
ones.' The shorter one o' the two gives me a smash
under the jaw that made me see a bloomin' Brock's
Benefit, and then works a bit of Jew Jitsoo on me with
his left hand, while the other catches me a welt on the
back o'the bonce that I fair took the count over. Car-
penteer never 'anded Joe Beckett a juicier one. I
must ha' laid in the ditch there by the side of the road
over a couple of hours, before I came to my senses.
My ’ead was fair splittin'-buzzin' like a top it was
and I was some time then before I could piece things
together properly. I staggered off to the 'ouse to
try and find the old toff. I made my way through the
grahnds as I'd been told to do, and bless my soul,
there was a reg'lar concert-party in the room wot Sir
Eustace called his study—but no sign of 'im 'imself.
So I comes away—and thinks I can't do better than
take a stroll up 'ere-and let you people know all about
it-them there swine might ha' killed me." He
brushed his nostrils with the back of his hand, after
the manner of his class, and sniffed resentfully.
The respective faces of his hearers betokened the
varying interests of each one of them. Craig-trained


SAM MCLAREN'S MERRY, XMAS 89
to meet emergencies of this nature-was first to put a
question.
"Could you describe your assailants, McLaren?
Were you able to get a sufficient sight of them to do
that?"
“ They were big 'efty fellers, I could swear to that.
Both White 'Opes, I should call 'em and no mistake. I
couldn't say no more than that. I was fair taken by
surprise-you see.”
Anthony nodded, as though in entire understanding.
“Quite so, McLaren. I can see that readily. But
tell me this. I am going to ask you a different ques-
tion altogether. Can you possibly remember the date
when Sir Eustace Vernon came and spoke to you, as
you described, at your coffee-stall?"
McLaren knitted his brows and then shook his
head doubtfully. “I've no doubt Sir Eustace himself
could tell you—better than wot I could—if you ap-
proached ’im. 'Is memory is probably better than
mine. You could find out."
“ Try yourself, Sam," urged Mr. Bathurst-"I'm
rather interested."
The man addressed brushed his straggling mous-
tache with his fingers and screwed his face up in a
strange grimace. After a time the contortion passed
and his face subsided into the normal again. Anthony
felt that Sam had seen better days.
“I can tell yer, guv'nor," he asserted, with the con-
fidence of returning memory. “It was on the last
Saturday in November. I can remember it, because
I had 'arf an 'Oxford' on four 'omes and one away'
on the short list and brought it off, too. Yes-that


90 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
was the day," he added, after more reflection—"be-
cause I can remember thinking after Sir Eustace 'ad
spoke to me that I was 'avin' a good day—all things
considered. 'Four 'omes and one away' on the short
list want a bit o' findin' you know—especially"
"The last Saturday in November," repeated An-
thony—" you're pretty certain of that? What time
was it when Sir Eustace spoke to you?"
"Abaht a quarter to eleven on the Saturday night,
sir. As near that as could be—before the second
'ouse was out from the ' Tpp.'"
"The music-hall?" queried Anthony.
"That's it, sir."
At a glance from the Commissioner, the Inspector
took up the threads. "Your information is very
valuable, Sam. More valuable, perhaps, than you
think. Sir Eustace Vernon was found dead to-night
on the line near Dyke's Crossing."
Sam McLaren's one visible eye expressed his as-
tonishment. "You don't mean it, Inspector!" he
gasped, incredulously.
"Unfortunately, it's only too true. His body is
only a few yards away from us at the present mo-
ment." ^
Sam looked round fearfully, almost as though he
expected the dead man to materialize at his side, then
and there. Then curiosity overcame his sense of awe.
"'Ow was 'e killed? Run over?"
Craig hesitated. "We don't know for certain,
Sam," he declared—" but he's certainly been run over,
poor chap."
"Just my blarsted luck," moaned McLaren—" it's


SAM MCLAREN’S MERRY XMAS 91
good-bye to what 'e promised me then. It's all as
per perishin' invoice. Trust me to be with the 'also
rans.'” He added the last remark so lugubriously
and with such an expression of despair that Mr.
Bathurst had hard work to repress a smile.
“That's a matter of conjecture, McLaren,” he ex-
claimed. “We don't know yet what the nature of
your expectations wasmany more than you yourself
do. All may yet be well for you. Don't cry over
spilt milk before the cow's given it to you. Let me
have a glance at the letter you received from Sir
Eustace this evening. The letter that took you up to
Vernon House."
Sam's hand went to his pocket. A second after,
his watchers saw the woebegone expression on his
face change and then change again. Bewilderment
succeeded anxiety and consternation took the place of
bewilderment. Sam then sought succor in the harbor
of tradition. He gave way to profanity. “It's
gorn," he cried. “It's been pinched.' So that's
what them two 'ell-deserving swine was after."


CHAPTER IX
THE SECOND LETTER
“I am very pleased to meet you, gentlemen," Terence
Desmond-worried and anxious-bowed to his three
visitors. “Miss Ashley and I have been expecting
you all the morning, and I'm glad that you have come.
When I think that the staggering events of last night
are only a matter of a few hours old it seems amaz-
ing-not to say incredible. I will tell Miss Ashley
you are here. I need hardly say that she is extremely
upset. May I rely implicitly upon your discretion,
Inspector?” Desmond gazed at Craig apprehen-
sively.
Sir Austin Kemble waved a pontifical hand. “I
give you my word, Mr. Desmond, that Miss Ashley
will be treated with every possible consideration. Con-
sistent that is, with the Inspector's legitimate investi-
gation of the case as it is presented to him."
Desmond suitably acknowledged the Commissioner's
promise.
“None of your uncle's guests are gone, of course,
Mr. Desmond ? " interrogated the Inspector. Des-
mond showed a certain amount of surprise.
“Certainly they have, Inspector. Major Prender-
gast and his wife returned home this morning-as
did the Mayor and Mayoress-Alderman and Mrs.
Venables. Surely there was no reason for any one


<THE SECOND LETTER
93
of tfierfl to remain here? What was there to stop
them returning?"
"Aren't they the people who reside in the locality?"
asked Anthony.
"That is so," replied Desmond, rather coldly.
"Major Prendergast lives less than a mile from here
and Alderman Venables in Mapleton—about three
miles away. They're very easily accessible."
"That's all right then, Craig," put in Sir Austin—
"as long as they're close at hand—we can get into
touch with them quite easily. Don't waste time over
that."
"Doctor Carrington remained here and also Mr.
and Mrs. Trentham. They live in London."
"What about the priest who was here—Father
Jewell, was it?" queried Mr. Bathurst.
"He left early this morning, too—but in his case
he has promised to return again before lunch. Don't
worry about him. He won't run away." Desmond's
voice held a note of satire, but he was sensible enough
to go straight on. "Do you wish to see the two
rooms? Or do you wish to question any of the
people? Last night, I believe, you intended to ques-
tion the two maids concerned in the affair when the
interruption came on the telephone."
The answer to the question came from Sir Austin.
"We will see Sir Eustace's study first, Mr. Desmond.
Mr. Bathurst is anxious to do so as quickly as is con-
venient to you."
"Very good, sir. If you will be good enough to
accompany me"
Before he could complete his sentence the door


94 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
opened. Helen Ashley's hand went to her lips in-
stinctively, as though to repress an exclamation that
she had been about to make. Desmond seemed to
sense this and walked to her side.
"I was about to let you know these gentlemen were
here, Helen. Let me introduce them."
She bowed her greeting to the three of them. "I
am sorry I wasn't here before," she announced, with
a simple dignity. "But please stay here for a mo-
ment or two before going to my uncle's study. I
have something to show you." She put her hand to
her bosom and from the intimacy of her dress took
a letter. "I found this letter in my bedroom last
night when I went to bed. To be strictly accurate it
was actually in my bed. When I turned the clothes
back to get into bed I saw it there. But, of course,
it was impossible for me to see it until then. It is
from my uncle."
The Commissioner read it and passed it over to
the two others. It ran as follows:—
"My dear Helen,
"By the time to-night when you discover this, you
will know that I am dead. I am dreadfully sorry—
far more than I can ever tell you in words—to have
to do what I am going to do, for I know that you
will grieve for me. But, believe me, it is inevitable.
There is no other way out for me, little girl, strive
how I may. So let this be good-bye! It will be a
shock to you also to learn that I am far from rich, so
that it will be impossible for me to make ample pro-
vision for you. But there will at least be something.


THE SECOND LETTER 95
I have left no will, but the keys of my safe will be
found on my study-table and the parcel in the safe is
for you. I have preserved it from the wreck of my
fortunes. It should realize several thousand—enough
to keep you from want till you become Mrs. Terence
Desmond, Take it to Cornelius Van Hoyt—he has
wanted it badly for two years, and will give you a
better price than anybody else I know.
"Good-bye, dearest Helen—for the last time.
"Uncle Eustace."
"And the safe was empty," supplemented Mr.
Bathurst—" we are progressing. Forgive me putting
it like that, Miss Ashley—but this letter of yours
throws a new light on the affair."
"We both realized that, Mr. Bathurst," intervened
Desmond—" so we decided that we should inform
you of its existence at the first opportunity."
"Have you any idea to what your uncle is re-
ferring? As to what the article mentioned in the
letter was?"
"No, Sir Austin. None whatever." Helen spoke
with marked emphasis. Mr. Bathurst, meanwhile—
in a fit of seeming abstraction was pulling at his upper
lip.
"There is a dressing-table of some kind I take it
in your bedroom, Miss Ashley?"
"Yes—of course."
"Why, then, do you think, did your uncle put your
letter inside your bed? Why not in a prominent
place?"
"For safety, I suppose, Mr. Bathurst. Why else?"


96 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"I wonder, Miss Ashley, I wonder! Surely the
natural inclination would have been to have left it
where you would be sure to see it—on your dressing-
table. You would go there naturally—before"
He stopped again—considering something that had
occurred to him. Sir Austin Kemble took a hand
again.
"I am told, Miss Ashley, that this curious business
of Purvis—the butler here—turning out to be a woman
and all that, is as much a surprise to you as to any-
body—eh?"
"Why—of course! That is so, Sir Austin. I
never dreamed of such an extraordinary state of
affairs. I was simply astounded when I heard the
news."
"Tell me," broke in Mr. Bathurst again—" of your
uncle's life as you knew it. Where did he live before
he came here? What was he in life before he re-
tired? Let me hear anything that you deem sufficiently
important to be told."
Helen Ashley shook her head with obvious mis-
giving. "I am afraid I'm going to prove of very
little help to you there," she declared. "I came here
nearly ten years ago—when my uncle first came to
live in Rodding. He sent for me because he said I
was the only relation he possessed. When he sent
for me I was at a private school in Worthing. I am
an orphan. I cannot remember either my father or
my mother. They were killed in a railway accident
near London one New Year's Day. I was only three
years old at the time. But Uncle Eustace told me
that my mother was his only sister—to whom he had


THE SECOND LETTER 97
been devoted. That was why he wanted me to live
with him. He brought me up and he was very good
to me. It was he who paid for my education while
I was at Worthing." The tears rolled very slowly
down her cheeks. "He was more like my father than
my uncle," she added.
"You can tell me nothing more?" asked Anthony.
"For instance," he followed up—" what work had
he done? To what profession did he belong? Have
you ever heard him refer to it? To any friends or
business associates?"
Again Miss Ashley found herself unequal to Mr.
Bathurst's demand. "Never—in any way whatever!
He never spoke of such things himself, and certainly
never encouraged me to do so. Therefore—I under-
stood and never did. I just respected what I knew
were his wishes. But I believe—I've certainly always
had the idea—that he had conducted some very
successful operations on the Stock Exchange. As to
his friends—they were usually connected in some way
with that sort of work. Mr. Trentham, for example,
who is staying here now—and before him a Mr.
Paget-Colvin. The latter, I fancy, went in a specu-
lation with Uncle Eustace over something to do with
rubber. They each made a lot of money out of it.
I think I have heard uncle describe it as a 'Joint
Venture.' I can't think of anybody else," she con-
cluded.
"Where is this gentleman now?"
"I don't know at all. I haven't heard uncle men-
tion his name for years."
"Another question, Miss Ashley "—Inspector


98 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Craig, who had been exhibiting considerable impa-
tience at the turn that Mr. Bathurst's questions had
taken, interposed at last—he felt that it was necessary
that he should—" and a very usual question, I'm
afraid, in affairs of this kind—had you noticed any-
thing strange about your uncle lately? Anything that
you could truly describe as out of the ordinary?"
"At last I have been asked a question that I can
answer without any hesitation. My uncle had not
been himself for a month now at least. It was be-
ginning to worry me."
"In what way—not himself?"
"He was frightened, Inspector. He was a man
afraid of something! And my uncle was a brave man,
too," she declared—the pride glowing in her voice.
"You remember, Inspector, what he did at the be-
ginning of the year?"
"I do, Miss. And it grieved me to see him as I
saw him this morning. You have my deepest sym-
pathy."
Helen continued quickly, anxious to avoid the
pain of memory. "Mr. Desmond, here, can confirm
what I say about my uncle's strangeness, can't you,
Terry?"
The man addressed showed agreement with a quick
and impetuous nod of the head. "As a matter of
fact, Miss Ashley and I were actually remarking upon
it as recently as dinner last night. There isn't the
shadow of a doubt that Sir Eustace was very badly
* rattled.'"
"So his suicide didn't come as a surprise to you—
eh, Mr. Desmond?" The Inspector shot the question


100 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"Sam McLaren," she repeated after her interroga-
tor—" do you mean the old man at the coffee-stall
down in Mapleton?"
"The same—Miss Ashley."
"In what connection do you mean? I've heard
him referred to quite casually—just as anybody living
near or working near might have been at any odd
moment—certainly nothing more than that, I am quite
sure."
"You've never heard your uncle make any special
reference to him—then?"
She wrinkled her brows—evidently puzzled at the
question. "Never—Inspector."
"What's the allusion, Inspector?" broke in Des-
mond—" what's in your mind about McLaren? I'm
at a loss."
"All in good time, Mr. Desmond. At the moment
you may assure yourself that I have a sound and solid
reason for asking Miss Ashley the question."
Desmond turned away impetuously with an ill-con-
cealed gesture of impatience.
Sir Austin Kemble caught his eye and intervened
with a suggestion of sympathy. "Mr. Desmond," he
commenced—imperious as ever despite the sympathy
that he intended to convey—" and Miss Ashley, too.
It is only right that you should know the facts relating
to Sir Eustace's death. More than that—it is only
fair. We have strong reason to suppose that he did
not commit suicide as was generally and reasonably
supposed."
He paused—waiting to see the full effect of his
announcement upon the two people most concerned.



THE SECOND LETTER
101
Desmond looked dumbfounded, and Helen, although
plainly shaken at the intelligence, was the first of the
two to speak.
“What exactly do you mean?" she gasped.
“ Please explain."
“There is every reason, Miss Ashley, to believe that
your uncle was murdered.” Sir Austin made the
assertion very gravely.
“Murdered!” Her cheeks and lips were blanched
with fear. “How-murdered?”
“He was shot with a revolver-there is strong
foundation for thinking that the bullet which killed
him was fired from behind.”
“Where? Here? Or down there at Dyke's
Crossing?”
“ That is what we have to discover." Sir Austin
bowed his head in solemnity.
Desmond's face registered sheer astonishment.
“ Are you sure of — ?".
Sir Austin's uplifted hand checked his question.
“In addition to what I have already told you—there
remains yet another most extraordinary and astound-
ing feature. Upon his body there was found a red
bonbon-similar to that "
Desmond's impatient curiosity mastered him and
forced him to interrupt. “Found on Purvis?” he
cried.
"Exactly," returned the Commissioner_" and what
is more-containing an identical message-'warning'
if you prefer the word.”
“Good God!” exclaimed Desmond. “How un-
utterably horrible.”


102 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Sir Austin extended his hand towards the Inspec-
tor. “Let me have them, will you, Craig?"
Helen Ashley regarded the two crimson relics of
two mysterious crimes with a horror that she made
no attempt to disguise. “The one marked 'A' was
found upon Purvis. The message she had is marked
‘A’ also. The 'B's' are those which were found
upon Sir Eustace."
Desmond took the latter and Helen the former.
Simultaneously almost, there broke from each of them
an exclamation of amazement.
“Yes?” murmured Mr. Bathurst-his grey eyes
alight with excitement-"you've discovered something
-what have you to tell us ? "
“This writing-found on Purvis”-Helen got in
first-a triumph of femininity " was written by
Purvis herself. I'm perfectly certain of it."
Desmond spoke with more weighing of his words.
" And this found on Sir Eustace was written by Sir
Eustace himself-I'm equally certain of that."
The three men to whom these surprising and un-
expected revelations were made received them with
varying emotions. The Inspector stared incredulously,
while Sir Austin's eyes glared in an antagonism for
which he would have been at a loss to account. On
the contrary, Mr. Bathurst appreciated the situation.
“Now that's very interesting," he murmured—“and
moreover-distinctly illuminating."


CHAPTER" X
BEHIND THE CURTAIN
Inspector Craig gazed pointedly at the two scraps
of paper. Despite Mr. Bathurst's last remark, it
might have been observed that he appeared to be
neither illuminated nor yet increasingly interested.
He looked first at Desmond and then at the white-
faced girl. "Each of you, I take it, is quite sure of
the statement that you have just made?"
"Quite sure," affirmed Helen Ashley.
"And I," repeated Desmond.
"Very extraordinary," commented Craig slowly—
"I don't know that I've ever heard of such a "he
passed his hand through his hair, with a gesture of
perplexity, evidently considering some angle of the
case that had just presented itself to him. Moving
suddenly and rapidly across the room, he said some-
thing in a very low voice to Sir Austin Kemble. The
latter listened and then nodded sharply. "Certainly
—certainly. I entirely agree, and the sooner the
better! It would be far more satisfactory to have it
here."
"Very good, sir." Craig crossed back to Desmond.


104 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
"I shall be glad if you will arrange for all the people
who were present here last night to be here again
after lunch to-day. From what you have told me it
will only mean getting into touch with the local people
who have left. Telephone them all, where it is neces-
sary—will you, please? Also ask the London people
to stay on for a few hours longer."
"Certainly, Inspector. Everything shall be as you
wish. I will let the people in question know imme-
diately."
Desmond slipped out. As he closed the door Mr.
Bathurst, who had been thinking deeply since his last
contribution to the conversation, turned again to Helen
Ashley. "What you told me about your uncle's hand-
writing, I suspected. I was able to compare the mes-
sage on the bonbon with the two letters that he left.
But this handwriting that you assert is the butler's,
Miss Ashley, do you think you could answer me an-
other question—a question that you may perhaps be
inclined to regard as a trifle strange? As far as you
know, was your uncle very familiar with the hand-
writing of Purvis—would he know it for certain when
he saw it?"
The girl took a little time to reply. "I couldn't
say," she answered at length—" that kind of question
is very difficult to answer—it concerns another per-
son's knowledge—you see, so that you can never feel
absolutely sure of yourself when you answer. But I
think it quite likely that he wouldn't—that he
mightn't know it. I can't think of any circumstance,
for instance, that would cause Purvis to write to him.
Certainly—of recent times, I myself can only recall


BEHIND THE CURTAIN 105
seeing the butler's writing two or three times, and
then only because I attended to matters affecting the
house. It was an occasion of that kind when I saw
it recently which helped me to recognize it just now.
It's feasible that my uncle mightn't have seen it for
years." She shook her head. "No—it's quite pos-
sible that my uncle would not recognize it."
Anthony expressed his understanding of her mean-
ing. "I see. Now tell me something else. Were
these particular red bonbons actually on the table at
dinner last night?"
"Yes, Mr. Bathurst. Or at least they are similar
to the bonbons that were. Of course, I can't say that
these very two"
"I follow you, Miss Ashley. Of course you
couldn't go farther than that—naturally."
"What's your point, Bathurst?" interjected Sir
Austin.
"Only this, sir—I am endeavoring, if I can, to
ascertain the exact meaning of the red bonbons. Are
they deliberate or accidental? Significant or fortui-
tous?"
"H'm—I see. Well—which are they? That's a
big point it seems to me. I've been wondering my-
self."
"I'm not sure at the moment, sir. But I have
just the glimmering of an idea—too nebulous and
perhaps too chimerical at the moment to discuss or
even to consider seriously. Ah, Mr. Desmond—now
you've returned—perhaps we might have a look at
the study—is it convenient?"
Desmond took them across.


106 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"You broke the door down—then?" queried Sir
Austin.
"That is so. Or rather "Desmond paused.
Anthony cut in instantaneously, quick to sense the
other's disclaimer. "Or rather what, Mr. Des-
mond?"
"The others did. I had no hand in it."
"Why not? Weren't you with them at the time?
I understood from Inspector Craig's account—that
following upon Hammond's scream"
"Perfectly true, Mr. Bathurst," came Desmond's
response—cool and unabashed. "I came to the door
with the others—just as the Inspector no doubt told
you, but when we found it locked, I dashed back
through the lounge, music-room and billiard-room so
that I came round into the garden and entered the
room through the open French doors. It was simply
a question of trying to save time at a critical moment
—that was my sole motive."
"And did you succeed? Did you save time?"
Anthony said quietly.
Desmond reflected. "I think perhaps I was the
first to enter—but it was by the shortest of short heads
—there was very little in it."
"Is this where the blotting-pad was?" questioned
Craig.
"Yes," said Helen—" just in the place where you
would expect it to be."
"Where was the maid lying?"
"There." Desmond indicated the exact position.
Mr. Bathurst walked to the heavy portiere that
covered the entrance to the inner library. "I under-


108 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
As he spoke Desmond felt a sudden stab of remem-
brance. Consummate ass that he was, never to have
thought of it before! He plunged his hand into the
pocket of his coat.
"By Jove," he cried—" something I meant to tell
you about directly you started this inquiry last night,
Inspector, but in the excitement it slipped right out
of my mind." He handed the Inspector the cake of
hard tobacco that he had picked up in the garden
while engaged on the fruitless quest for Sir
Eustace.
Craig took it curiously. "A bit of 'hard'!" he
exclaimed, "' Dark Willie'—very popular among
men of the seafaring class, I believe. And how did
you come by this, Mr. Desmond?" Desmond told
him.
"In the garden—eh? Still—come to that—any-
body may have dropped it. I'll make a few inquiries
before I leave here."
"There's just one other point, though," interposed
Desmond, "and it was your question about Ham-
mond's presence in the grounds last night that revived
my remembrance of having found that cake of
tobacco you hold in your hand. On account of a
certain combination of ideas, I taxed Stevens, the
chauffeur, with regard to it. I thought—vaguely per-
haps—that he might know something about it. He
said he didn't, but he gave me a piece of interesting
information. He informed me that Hammond was
being courted by a sailor—a Mapleton man. It's just
possible therefore"
Craig intervened confidently and intelligently.


BEHIND THE CURTAIN K)9
"That she was killing two birds with one stone—eh?
That when she went to feed the dog, she was going
to combine business with pleasure—and keep an assig-
nation with her lover? Quite likely, Mr. Desmond—
quite likely. I felt all along that it was strange she
should have been out there at that time of night, and
I shall certainly have to investigate it. That seems a
much more likely proposition."
As he spoke Mr. Bathurst walked back to the heavy
portiere that had engaged his attention a few minutes
previously. For a moment he stood in the entrance
to the inner room, lost in thought. Sir Austin
Kemble caught his eye, but was sensible enough—
knowing the destructive power of disturbance—to
contribute no active interruption of his meditation.
The Inspector walked through brusquely, stopping be-
fore the open door of the safe. Sir Austin followed
him.
"The door was open about that much, sir," volun-
teered Craig, "according to the information given
to me last night. The key was in the lock—one of a
bunch of keys on a key-ring. It certainly suggests
that the person who opened the safe, whoever it was
—was taken by surprise in some way and rushed off
in a hurry, leaving the keys as they were afterwards
found."
"Quite feasible—certainly," declared Sir Austin.
Mr. Bathurst rose from his hands and knees by
the portihe and broke in upon them. "That raises
another important point, Sir Austin. No doubt it
has already occurred to the Inspector. Something
was taken from the safe—presumably after the


110 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
murder of Sir Eustace. Presumably, too, from what
we know, whatever was taken was the special legacy
that was intended for Miss Ashley as indicated by
her uncle's last letter to her. Now—this is what is
disturbing me for the time being—how did the killer
know that the keys of the safe would be on the study-
table as Sir Eustace stated in that letter. Did he
knoiv—or did she know, if it were a woman? Or
were the keys discovered by accident? By—shall we
say—a chance entrant? Where is Purvis in the cast?
Or did Miss "He stopped suddenly, and Sir
Austin Kemble immediately formed the impression
that he had begun to follow another line of thought
that was probably taking him temporarily across a
line of unknown country. Then Anthony's voice
startled them all again.
"What a remarkable thing," he remarked pen-
sively, " that a man with every intention of committing
suicide is murdered at about the same time as his
intended suicide!" He walked impatiently to the
portiere again. "There's something vitally wrong
here, gentlemen," he cried with fervent emphasis—his
keen grey eyes alive with charing enthusiasm. "We're
missing some cardinal point, surely. I'm missing it,
I keep missing it. What is it? Who, for example,
stood behind this curtain?" He shook the portiere
impatiently, and the brass rod that held it rattled under
the sudden strain to which he subjected it. Sir Austin
looked at him inquiringly, but Inspector Craig seemed
unmoved by Mr. Bathurst's wave of feeling. It is im-
possible to respond adequately to that which one does
not understand. Terence Desmond and Helen Ash-


BEHIND THE CURTAIN 111
ley seemed content to say nothing—it was almost to
them, as it were, that they were spectators at a strange
play, watching it interestedly, and that here were the
principal characters, strangely and unaccountably
intimate with them and in close proximity to them.
"How do you know somebody stood behind the
curtain, Bathurst?" Sir Austin's slightly pompous
voice broke the silence that had temporarily descended
upon the entire company.
"Look here, sir." He pointed down to the bottom
of the heavy blue curtain. "On the fringe there—
on the back there—and in the lower folds—there are
distinct traces of cigar-ash. Do you see it? It
dropped from a cigar held by a man who stood there,
listening, shall we say—watching, shall we suggest?
Probably both."
Inspector Craig put a stop to Mr. Bathurst's im-
- aginative flight complacently, but nevertheless dis-
tinctly pleasurably. At the same time his voice held
a hint of reproof. "I'm sure you'll pardon me, sir,
when I'm forced to upset some of the castles you're
building so confidently, but you're quite wrong." He
paused, as though he had no intention of hurrying
over his devastating demolitition of Mr. Bathurst's
theories. The latter frowned.
"How do you mean, Inspector? How am I
wrong?"
"I noticed the cigar-ash, myself, when I examined
the library last night. Perhaps you may be interested
to see, Mr. Bathurst, that there are signs of ash
having been dropped over here by the wall-safe also."
The Inspector caressed his cheek, dallying over the


112 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
full flavor of his enjoyment of Mr. Bathurst's dis-
comfiture.
"Well," demanded that gentleman—" what's your
point with regard to that? Explain—do you mind?
I'm curious."
"Simply this. I noticed the ash as I told you, and
after I got the message from the police station about
the finding of Sir Eustace's body, I just had time to
make inquiries about it. One of the gentlemen here
—Major Prendergast—admitted dropping the ash
himself when he first entered the library. And what
is more important, Mr. Bathurst, I took steps to
confirm what he said. I make a point of always
verifying my facts. Doctor Carrington, who was
with the Major at the time, was able to corroborate
what the Major said. He said that when he and
the Major first examined the library, the Major was
smoking a cigar, and that he—the Doctor—distinctly
remembers seeing the ash drop from it when the
discoveries they made excited them. The Doctor
verified the Major's story completely. So you can
try something different, Mr. Bathurst. With all re-
spect, of course."
He caught the disapproving eye of the Commis-
sioner, and added the last sentence quickly. Mr.
Bathurst's face showed signs of distinct annoyance.
He considered Craig's statement very carefully. Then
his face changed and assumed those lines of set
determination that Sir Austin Kemble knew of old.
He swung round on to Desmond, eager and inquisi-
tive.
"Mr. Desmond," he exclaimed—straight and un-


114 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Desmond—" I remember it myself. He lit a cigar
in the study there."
"And that's the ash off it," asserted the Inspector.
"You still think so?" said Mr. Bathurst. "Well,
then, Inspector, we must agree to differ."


CHAPTER XI
MR. BATHURST TAKES THE FIRST WICKET
(
Craig smiled with an air of complacent superiority.
"By all means, sir! But you'll be convinced I'm
right before we've finished, you see if you aren't."
He addressed himself to Sir Austin Kemble. "I
should like to interview those two maids now—
that is, of course, with your approval, sir. In the
adjoining room here. Unless you, yourself, think
otherwise."
Sir Austin immediately disclaimed any such idea.
"I think so too, Craig. Have this girl Hammond in
first. She seems to have had the more to do with
it."
"That was just my own idea, sir. Then I will
have a word or two with the other maid, Palmer, if
I have time. After that I propose to send for
Stevens, the chauffeur. Following upon lunch we
will see the guests. They should be all available by
then as I arranged with Mr. Desmond here just
now."
"Quite right, Inspector," put in Desmond. "All
the arrangements are made for you. Everybody you
want will be available by then."
Anthony Bathurst smiled across the room at Craig.
"I don't think you can do better. There are one or


MR. BATHURST TAKES FIRST WICKET 117
lip. "May I ask you how exactly your uncle's desire
affected you?"
"Affected me—I don't quite"
"Well, what I mean is this. Did it surprise you?
For instance—whom would you have put as your
uncle's neighbor at table had the matter remained in
your hands? Were you going to put Mrs. Trentham
there?"
Helen puckered her brows. "I see your point," she
conceded.
Mr. Bathurst and the others who were watching
her might have been justifiably excused for the for-
mation of the opinion that she was according the
question a certain amount of serious consideration.
At length came the answer, enunciated very carefully.
"When my uncle spoke to me on the matter I had
not definitely decided upon the plan of the dinner-
seating. I usually leave matters like that as long as
possible, so that I didn't have to alter my existing
arrangement in order to comply with his wishes
concerning Mrs. Trentham. But—since you desire
me to answer your question—I don't think I should
have placed Mrs. Trentham next to him, as he in-
structed, had it been left entirely to me." She spoke
the last sentence very slowly—evidently giving it the
most careful thought. Anthony, as was his wont, fol-
lowed up with rapidity.
"Had you obeyed your first inclinations then, Miss
Ashley, whom would you have placed there?"
Sir Austin Kemble flung him a puzzled glance the
apposite quality of which Desmond appeared to under-
stand thoroughly. It seemed to him, also, that Mr.


118 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Bathurst's examination was taking an unexpected and
most unusual line.
"Well, since you've asked me, Mr. Bathurst, I think
my own personal inclination would have been to put
Diana Prendergast there. My uncle admired her
tremendously, and I know that the feeling was to
some extent reciprocated. She had sat next to him
on many similar occasions, previously. They had
been neighbors, you see, for some years."
"Of course—quite a natural feeling. Who was
next to Mrs. Trentham—on her other side?"
"Her husband—Morris Trentham."
"And who next to Doctor Carrington—on the other
side of Sir Eustace?"
"Diana herself—with Major Prendergast on her
immediate right. I was next to him at the other end
of the table, facing my uncle."
"I understand, Miss Ashley. I am able now to
visualize the whole table. You have told me all I
wanted. Stay though! When Sir Eustace spoke to
Purvis, immediately preceding his announcement that
he had received bad news—can you remember which
side of your uncle Purvis stood? Was she on the
left—that is to say, between him and Mrs. Trentham,
or on the right between Sir Eustace and Doctor Car-
rington?"
Helen hesitated. Desmond cut in impetuously.
"I can answer that quite definitely. I happened to
be looking at the time and saw Purvis bending down
as Sir Eustace spoke to her. Purvis stood next to
Ruby Trentham."
"So that I should be quite justified in assuming


MR. BATHURST TAKES FIRST WICKET 119
that whatever words passed between Sir Eustace and
his butler might very well have been overheard by
Mrs. Trentham—yes?"
Desmond nodded in strong affirmation. "I should
say so—without doubt. Certainly they might have
been."
"I have no more questions to ask at the moment,
Inspector," exclaimed Anthony, turning to Craig with
abrupt suddenness—" let's have that word we were
going to have with Hammond."
When the maid appeared, it was plain that she was
still showing signs of last night's terrifying experi-
ence. She had been very thankful to have been spared
the ordeal of the Inspector's questioning upon the
occasion of his first arrival, although she was suf-
ficiently sensible to realize that the ordeal had been
merely postponed and not abandoned, when he had
been called away. Albeit at the time of her tem-
porary respite she had fully subscribed to the belief
—" Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." She
had remarked to her fellow-servant, Palmer, that she
fervently wished it hadn't fallen to her lot to have
given the original alarm.
"What will you say you was doin' in the grounds?"
had rejoined Palmer ironically, but yet with a turn
of seasonable wit—" gatherin' winter fuel?"
"I shall tell the truth, of course, Palmer," had
been the indignant Hammond's reply—" if I did have
a few words with my Albert, what else does it matter
to anybody else? There's no crime in that that I
can see—and what's more, nobody ain't goin' to make
out that there is."


120 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
"H'm," had been Palmer's non-committal response
—" some of these policemen can read crimes into
anything you do—innocent though it may be. And
it's worse since good old Edgar Wallace showed 'em
up so in The Ringer. Now take that Cora Ann, to
give an example"
Hammond didn't wait for Palmer's masterly ex-
position of that lady's personal qualities, but presented
herself in the study in obedience to the summons that
had called her there.
"I don't intend to keep you very long, my girl, or
to ask you a great many questions," commenced the
Inspector—" as I already understand fairly clearly
what happened to you when you gave the first alarm.
But there is just this fact—about which we desire a
little further information and if possible a little more
explanation—shall we say? If we feel that the latter
should be needed. Perhaps everything will be all
right and it won't be. But will you tell us as accur-
ately as possible what it was exactly that brought you
outside the doors of this room last night at—well,
what time would you say it was yourself—eh?"
Hammond answered with ready composure.
"About ten minutes to twelve, sir," she said. "I
was coming back from the kennels, as I told the mis-
tress last night. I'd been down to feed Boris, the
wolfhound—Stevens, the chauffeur, gave me the orders
to do so. If you ask him—you'll find what I say is
quite true."
"But surely the direct way back from the kennels
wouldn't bring you past these French doors?"
Hammond pursed her lips defiantly but withal


MR. BATHURST TAKES FIRST WICKET 121
determinedly. “If you must know then I had a few
words with my boy," she conceded.
“Ah," murmured Craigą“now we're getting to
it, and how long did those few words take?"
“I wasn't with him longer than half an hour. I
should think I was in his ar-company, I mean-
from about a quarter-past eleven. His watch showed
a quarter to twelve when we said good-night. I know
that because he happened to look at it. That's how
I reckoned the time at about ten to twelve when I
came back past here."
“What is this gentleman's name?” demanded the
Inspector.
“Mr. Albert Fish,” replied Hammond-half-
defiantly and half-timorously—“ of His Majesty's
ship Semiramis. He's home on Christmas ‘leaf, so
we've been making the most of our opportunities as
you might say, and small blame to us, say I.” She
tossed her head challengingly to give emphasis to this
last remark.
“I see,” said Craig nodding—"a Mapleton man, I
believe?"
"Born and bred, Inspector--and his father and
mother before him.”
“Address ? " queried Craig.
“Fourteen, Summerland Cottages, Rodding Road.”
As she spoke Hammond gave the Inspector a look of
keen scrutiny.“ Anything else you want to ask me,
Inspector?”
“Not at the moment. Tell Palmer I want her."
Anthony smiled engagingly. “Two questions from
me, if you don't mind, Hammond, before you leave


122 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
us. I want a little more information regarding two
matters."
The look of relief that had passed over Hammond's
face upon her dismissal by Inspector Craig vanished
instantly, to be replaced by a look of annoyance.
Mr. Bathurst smiled again to put her at her ease.
"Nothing to worry you. Just two very ordinary
questions. When you were in the grounds was there
a light in this room all the time? Or did the room
ever appear to be in darkness—I mean before you
approached it on your way back?"
Hammond shook her head disclaimingly. "I never
noticed, sir. I was occupied over other things. Al-
bert doesn't like anything to"
"Quite so," said Mr. Bathurst, with intelligent
sympathy. "I understand perfectly why you can't
help me over that. Now for my second question.
This woman, who touched your face and frightened
you—why do you think she carried a knife in her
hand?"
Hammond shivered. The memory of that terrible
moment was too imminent for her to remember it
unemotionally. Her shiver was very real—Anthony
was quick to see that fact.
"I think it was a knife," came the slow reply—" it
flashed like a knife."
"She made no attempt to strike at you with it?"
Hammond's white face grew whiter. "No—and
a good job for me that she didn't. For I couldn't have
lifted a blessed finger to have stopped her—I was that
scared I was."
"I've no doubt you were. It was a very nasty and


MR. BATHURST TAKES FIRST WICKET 123
thoroughly unnerving experience for you to have to
undergo—quite of the type to upset the stoutest heart.
You've nothing at all with which to reproach yourself
as far as that goes. But this skirt or frock of hers
that you say you felt—could you describe the material
in any way? Was it of light texture—or heavy—for
example? Any point about it that struck you may
prove eventually to be of the highest importance. Can
you recall?"
"I don't think I could. But I think it was of
dark color—else I should have been able to have seen
it better, for I can't remember that I ever really saw
it. Light colors are more easily seen in darkness,
aren't they? Don't you think so, sir?"
"Perhaps they are. So you think this lady's dress
was dark in color?"
"As far as I could say—I 'do think so—but please
understand, sir, I wouldn't swear to it or do anything
like that."
"I quite appreciate that, of course." Anthony
addressed himself to Miss Ashley. "I have no
doubt, Miss Ashley, that you will find it easier to
answer my next question than some of the others I
have asked you," he declared. "What were the
colors of the dresses worn by the various ladies last
evening?"
"I wore a buttercup yellow, Mrs. Prendergast and
Mrs. Venables black georgette—Ruby Trentham a
cafe au lait crepe de chine—we four were the only
ladies present."
"There's a little problem in colors for you, Craig,"
said Bathurst with the momentary flicker of a smile


124 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
on his face. "Two blacks, a yellow and a coffee—
and on this occasion—just as is usually the case—two
blacks won't make a white."
Craig grunted evasively.
"Tell Palmer we want her, Inspector," ordered
Sir Austin—giving way to a strong feeling that it
was incumbent upon him to take charge of the pro-
ceedings. "We shan't want you any more, Ham-
mond," he added.
Palmer seemed to face the ordeal of the inquiry
with a greater measure of equanimity than had been
exhibited by her predecessor. She was of different
calibre. She was a girl that possessed more than the
normal share of self-confidence. Among her fellow-
servants she had the reputation for rather prodigal
drawings upon her imagination. Perhaps her critics
were just a little too hard upon her. Actually she
was blessed with what Anthony Bathurst, in a lighter
moment, would have described as "an eminently
natural gift for exaggerating things which never
existed"; certainly, this power, which has gone so
far upon its solitary way towards the establishment
of the reputation of many of our greatest men and
women, always served as an invaluable asset to her.
She entered the study somewhat truculently and met
Sir Austin's glare of antagonism—always ready at a
moment's notice—with an indignant mien, worthy of
the "British Warrior Queen" herself.
"Ask her what you want to ask her, Craig, as
quickly as possible—we've a lot to do here, you
know."
Craig got to work" without more ado. "Tell me


MR. BATHURST TAKES FIRST WICKET 125
the exact circumstances under which you found Purvis,
will you?”
“That's not much to tell, Inspector," she answered
with ready alacrity. “I was going by his room-
what was known as the butler's pantry, you under-
stand—the door was open-and as I passed I couldn't
but help seeing how strange he looked_unnatural-
like, and all huddled together-he gave me a fair
turn, he did. Something made me go in to have a
closer look at him, I wasn't altogether satisfied
something seemed to tell me that there was something
the matter with him. When I got up to him as he
sat in his chair, I knew he was dead. Then I
screamed and ran out of the room and along the
corridor. I hadn't got far before I ran into Mr. Des-
mond here and Doctor Carrington—that's all I can tell
you."
“How did you know he was dead?”
“Well, of course, Inspector, I didn't know in the
manner of being certain of it-I wouldn't presoom
so much-it wouldn't be my place to do such a thing
-I thought it was so from the horrible look on his
face. Such a dreadful color he was, too."
“What time was it that this happened?"
Palmer gave the question careful consideration be-
fore she permitted herself the perilous adventure of
reply.
" About a quarter-past twelve," she said.
“H'm! When you made this discovery were you
aware of what had happened to Hammond ? "
“No, sir. I hadn't heard a word about it. No-
body had breathed a syllable to me."
ou.


126 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"Or about the absence of your master, either, I
suppose?"
"I had no idea of it."
"What do you think of it, Bathurst?" asked Sir
Austin-—" want to ask her anything?"
"I do, sir—as a matter of fact. Something sug-
gests itself to me." His grey eyes travelled across
to Palmer and held hers as he asked his question.
"When did you last see Purvis before you found him
dead?"
"When did I last see him alive?"
"Exactly!"
"When he left the dining-room just before Sir
Eustace did. I didn't see him again anywhere else
after that."
Anthony, so it seemed to the Commissioner, ex-
perienced disappointment at the answer. He tried
again. "Did you happen to see Sir Eustace again
after he left the dining-room?"
Once again she shook her head in denial. "Neither
of them, sir. I never set eyes on them again, sir, at
all. But I heard them talking in here."
"You did!" exclaimed Mr. Bathurst—his eyes alive
with keen interest. "And what time was that?"
"Round about ten o'clock, sir, I should say—as
near as I can remember."
"And whom did you hear talking in here? Do I
understand you to mean—Sir Eustace Vernon and
Purvis?"
"I think it was them, sir! I distinctly heard a
voice say—' That's something very special, Purvis—
don't forget,' and then I heard Purvis reply, 'Very


128 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
her again. “ The association of a voice may be a
most elusive matter. For all you know,” he declared,
“ you may have even heard it since—and not recog-
nized it-it's quite possible-you know."


CHAPTER XII
THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR
"I feel very much more comfortable since lunch,"
remarked Sir Austin—" very much more comfortable
—I always think the hour following upon lunch in an
English country house one of the most agreeable and
delightful moments of the day. It can be made so
restful. Eh—Bathurst?"
"That and the luncheon-hour itself, Sir Austin. I
must say that I find the latter extremely diverting upon
quite a number of occasions during a normal year.
Much more so than the tea interval."
"Quite so. Quite so. Whom do you propose see-
ing first, Craig? Are all the other people that you
have asked to come along, here?"
"They are all here, sir. Mr. Desmond informed
me to that effect a few moments ago. Everybody is
present and it's simply a question of your convenience,
sir, to commence the inquiry. Have you any particu-
lar desire, sir, as to the first person to be seen?"
"I do not intend to—er—take the spade-work of
the case out of your hands, Craig—in any shape or
form. That is very far from my wish—proceed just
as though I was not here. You will carry on—re-


THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR 131
at nothing. But I can safely say this. I shouldn't
have expected it."
Craig nodded his acceptance of the Doctor's point.
"Did anything in Sir Eustace's manner at dinner, for
instance, suggest to you that he was on the verge of
what I will term—breaking-point?"
"Well—he was highly nervous—undoubtedly—but
I wouldn't go so far as to answer ' yes' to your ques-
tion, Inspector. To exemplify my point—one of the
maids dropped a tray during dinner—the incident
shook him visibly, but 'suicide' is a big proposition
for any man to consider—let alone accept."
Mr. Bathurst leaned across the table towards him.
"I understand, Doctor," he said, "that Sir Eustace
declared at dinner that he had been the recipient of
very bad news. Did you hear him say that?"
"Quite true. I did."
Mr. Bathurst continued. "I am also informed that
you were Sir Eustace's immediate neighbor at table—
that you were seated upon his immediate right—is that
correct?"
"Quite right, again."
"Have you any idea, then, as to the medium
through which Sir Eustace received this bad news of
which he spoke—did he receive a letter, by any chance
—or a note of any kind—or a verbal message from
anybody? Sitting next to him, as you did, you surely
would have seen had there been anything of that na-
ture. You see my drift, don't you?"
"I appreciate your point, certainly. But I saw
nothing at all. I was perfectly astounded when Sir
Eustace rose in front of us all and made the an-


132 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
nouncement as he did. It was a bolt from the blue.
I was staggered."
Mr. Bathurst spoke in a low whisper to Sir Austin.
The latter frowned and nodded, and then gave what
was apparently an instruction to Craig. Mr. Bathurst
waited for Sir Austin to finish whatever it was he
was saying. Facing Doctor Carrington again, his
next remark stung and startled that gentleman much
more than he had anticipated. "You remember the
red bonbon found on Purvis, Doctor, don't you? Did
you happen to notice if Sir Eustace—when he left
the dining-table, carried such a bonbon away with
him? Carelessly perhaps—or even absent-mindedly?"
Doctor Carrington shook his head. "Not to my
knowledge. But if I may be allowed to say so—that
occurs to me to be an extraordinary question."
"Not so extraordinary as you may imagine,
Doctor," responded Mr. Bathurst somewhat non-
chalantly—" for a similar red bonbon to that found
on Purvis has also been found upon the dead body of
Sir Eustace Vernon—who we have strong reasons to
believe has been murdered."
Carrington sat bolt upright in his chair, his per-
plexity vying with his sense of horror. "Murdered?"
he repeated, tonelessly.
"Unhappily—yes," returned Anthony—" although
his body was found on the line near the level-crossing
known as Dyke's Crossing, showing undoubted signs
of having been run over by a train. But we have
very good grounds for belief that he was shot in the
head from behind by somebody and then carried to
the crossing."


THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR 133
“Good heavens!” cried Carrington—"you can't
mean it, how terrible-how was he taken to the level-
crossing—how could a dead body be carried ?"
“ As far as we can tell, in his own car, Doctor,"
said Bathurst.
“You take my breath away it seems unbeliev-
able.”
“I must conclude then, Doctor, by assuming that
you can throw no light upon the matter at all? You
know of no enemies that Sir Eustace might have
had?"
Carrington raised his eyebrows semi-protestingly.
“As his medical adviser I hardly came into very close
contact with some sides of his character. That I think
must be obvious. I simply called upon him when he
was ill and sent for me. We were certainly getting
to be on more intimate terms. But I know of no-
body who had cause either to harm him or to wish
him harm.” He paused-only to proceed immedi-
ately. "I should like to put a question to you, gentle-
men, in my turn, if I may be allowed? You assert
that a similar red bonbon was found on Sir Eustace
Vernon to that which we discovered on poor Purvis.
Am I to understand also that it bore the same mes-
sage? Or at least a similar message?”
The Inspector answered him readily. “That is so,
Doctor. The message was exactly the same—that is
to say-it was couched in similar words—one hour
to live-you pay your debt to-night.'”
“In the same handwriting?" rejoined Carrington,
countering rapidly.
“To the best of our information no."


134 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"They appear to be two victims of the same dia-
bolical plot," muttered the Doctor—" except, of course,
for the fact of Vernon's letter, hinting at suicide as
it did. That's hard to explain—at least so it seems
to me. I'm not a professional investigator, of course
—but"
"The case presents strange features certainly," in-
terposed Sir Austin. "I'm in complete agreement
with you, Doctor. Tell Major Prendergast we should
like to see him, will you, please?"
"One question before you go, Doctor Carring-
ton . . ." Anthony Bathurst came in with quick
and incisive eagerness. "From your knowledge of
Sir Eustace, would you describe him as what is usually
termed 'a ladies' man'?"
Carrington reflected for a moment before he an-
swered. "I should describe him, without any hesi-
tation, as a man who admired the opposite sex—tre-
mendously. But I would not go beyond that. I
might be doing him an injustice if I did."
"Thank you, Doctor," remarked Mr. Bathurst cor-
dially.
Major Prendergast received the news of Sir
Eustace's death with stoical calm. The details with
which he was previously, presumably, unacquainted,
awoke within him less emotion, possibly, than they
had done in the case of Doctor Carrington. When
the Inspector mentioned the fact of Sir Eustace hav-
ing been shot from behind, he shook his head sadly.
"I can't honestly say that this information sur-
prises me, Inspector. I felt from the first—or rather
from the discovery of Vernon's farewell letter, that


THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR 135
his intentiori to commit suicide could only have been
engendered by a desire to escape from perhaps a worse
fate which he knew was hanging over him. He was
a brave man, you know, Inspector, who had proved
his bravery."
"So I understand, Major. You know of nothing,
I presume, likely to help us in our investigations or
to throw any further light on the matter? No facts
worth mentioning?"
Major Prendergast shook his head slowly. "I'm
afraid not. It seems to me that your difficulty, In-
spector, is going to be the time-honored question of
'motive.' I know, of course, that remark applies to
most crimes, but in a damnable murder like this
it's "He broke off with sudden abruptness.
"By Jove, Inspector! Now that's very remarkable
to say the least of it. When I fired those remarks
off relative to 'motive' I thought of people as pos-
sibly guilty who might have benefited by Sir Eustace's
death. And by Jove! I've just thought of one."
"Who was that?" demanded Craig curiously.
"Myself, sir, and that's a solemn fact!"
Mr. Bathurst began to consider an absolutely in-
teresting situation.
"You?" queried Craig—" in what way do you
mean?"
"I'll be perfectly frank with you, Inspector, be-
cause I don't believe in keeping anything bottled up.
I've always believed in direct methods, and consider
that nothing can ever be gained by keeping relevant
facts a secret. But as you know, Sir Eustace Vernon
and I are—or rather were—close neighbors. My place


136 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
—Camberley House—is next to Sir Eustace's estate.
But part of my estate was once part of the Vernon
House estate. But there were sales of land at various
times, and at the present moment the two estates
are separated by a piece of land known as the Forest
Waste. Both Vernon and I were extremely anxious
to purchase it, and we had, in turn, opened up nego-
tiations to that effect with the owner. Had either of
us been out of the way, the deal would have gone
through, but as we remained in the market together,
the owner seemed chary of coming up to scratch
and finishing the business off. I believe there was a
clause in the title deeds or something that permission
to sell and also approval of the identity of the pur-
chaser must be obtained from the estate holders of
both Vernon House and Camberley House. Orig-
inally, you see, the whole thing was one estate and
all the interests were wrapped up together. Now
the most important thing of all is, why we each de-
sired to buy Forest Waste." He paused abruptly as
though seeking to discover the effect of his statement
upon his audience.
"Let's have it," urged Craig.
"One moment, Inspector and Major," intervened
Mr. Bathurst, very quietly. "To whom does the
Forest Waste belong?"
"To Oliver Venables—elder brother of the Mayor
of Mapleton—the Alderman Venables who dined with
us last night."
"Thank you, Major. Proceed, will you?"
"Why both Sir Eustace and I desired to purchase
the Forest Waste was because there is a vein of tin


THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR 137
under it. I had the tip from a very reliable and
influential quarter, and there is no doubt in my own
mind that Vernon had heard pretty much the same
information. As it is, I hope to conclude the deal
with Venables this week—he's getting quite a good
price for the land. But if good judges are right, there
will be an annual output of tin ore from Forest Waste
of about a thousand tons—equivalent to something
like one hundred and twenty thousand pounds in hard
cash. Then—but not till then—Oliver Venables will
wish he hadn't sold." Major Prendergast coughed
in apparent appreciation of his own unusual business
acumen.
"During the time that elapsed between the con-
clusion of dinner and the first intimation you had of
anything being radically wrong—where did you spend
the time, Major?"
"Mostly in the music-room, Inspector—with Miss
Ashley, Father Jewell and Mrs. Trentham. For a
short time I was in the billiard-room watching Des-
mond and Doctor Carrington trying a few fancy shots,
but I spent the whole of the time in the two rooms.
I went nowhere else."
"I understand from Desmond," put in Craig, " that
nobody played billiards last night beyond Doctor Car-
rington and himself. Doctor Carrington confirms that
statement. You did not play, of course?"
"I told you, Inspector, I only watched. Put my
time in the billiard-room at a matter of twenty min-
utes or so—you won't be very far out. I didn't murder
Sir Eustace Vernon—if that's what you're"
"Really, Major," said Mr. Bathurst—" I'm sure


138 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
Inspector Craig will be the last to—but there—I want
to ask you something else. When you examined the
inner apartment, over there, in conjunction with Doc-
tor Carrington"—Anthony pointed in the direction
of the library—" I understand you were smoking a
cigar—is that so?"
Major Prendergast showed signs of bewilderment
upon his heavy face. "I was, sir. What of it? I
put it on to serve as a steadying influence upon my
nerves. [Things looked damnably uncomfortable."
"I don't doubt that for a moment, Major. I have
an altogether different motive for asking you. I'm
confirming the fact in the first place, that you did
smoke a cigar. But tell me this. When you and
Doctor Carrington entered the library over there and
found the safe door wide open—were you compelled
to pull the portihe to one side to make your entry?"
Major Prendergast looked puzzled, but nevertheless
attempted to remember. He nodded his head slowly
in affirmation. "Yes—I remember, I drew the cur-
tain to one side."
"Thank you. Did the curtain remain drawn to
that side during the whole of the time that you and
the others were in the library?"
"Yes—as far as I can recollect—the curtain wasn't
touched again by anybody. Nobody had any reason
to touch it. But I don't see to where all this is
leading."
"Don't be discouraged at that, Major. Somehow
I don't fancy that you're the only one in that pre-
dicament."
Inspector Craig, sensitive apparently to the irony


THE DOCTOR AND THE MAJOR 139
of the remark, glanced sharply in the direction of
Mr. Bathurst-but Mr. Bathurst's eyes were else-
where. Which fact brought a frown to the brow, of
the Inspector.


CHAPTER XIII
AND SOME OTHERS
Sir Austin Kemble took up the threads with an
air. "I suppose Mrs. Prendergast won't be able to
tell us more than you have, Major?"
Mr. Bathurst watched the expression on the Major's
face as he answered.
"My wife, sir? Not by any means. Goodness
gracious! The whole affair has upset her thoroughly.
I can tell you that. But as to being able to give you
any evidence—you can dismiss the idea at once, sir.
You're very wide of the mark. She sat next to me
at dinner and played 'Auction' afterwards all the
time. The party consisted of the Mayor, Alderman
Venables, and Mrs. Venables—Trentham and my wife.
When the upset came—the first upset of that infernal
night—Venables was on the point of getting ready
for home."
Sir Austin pursed his lips and nodded. "I see.
Then I won't detain you any longer. Be good enough
to tell Father Jewell when you go out that we would
like to see him in here, will you, Major?"
Major Prendergast bowed and departed. Scarcely
had the door shut behind him than it opened again
to admit Father Jewell. His tall, gaunt figure af-
forded a striking contrast, not only to those before


AND SOME OTHERS 141
whom he appeared, but also to the two men who had
gone before.
"I have the honor, I believe, of addressing Sir
Austin Kemble—the Commissioner of Police." His
voice was the voice of the trained elocutionist, and
Anthony instantly made a mental note to that effect.
"I am Sir Austin Kemble. This gentleman is Mr.
Anthony Bathurst—a personal friend of mine—and
this is Inspector Craig. He wishes to ask you one
or two questions, Father Jewell, with regard to last
night's affair. There is, of course, no need for me
to emphasize the necessity."
Craig made his usual opening. "You know of no
fact, I suppose, Father—likely to help us—in relation
to what took place here last night? It is our duty
to get at the truth of the case if we possibly can—
and anything may serve to put us on the track of
things, you know."
"I do not think I can help you at all, Inspector.
Sir Eustace's sad end—the death of Purvis—and the
discovery of the strange sex-secret in the case of the
latter—have in turn completely mystified me. The
whole thing affords me amazement. Profound aston-
ishment! I don't see from where light is coming to
you either, Inspector. The ways of the Almighty
are inscrutable. Many dark weeds grow in the garden
of the human soul unfortunately, and He moves in
a mysterious way very often to effect His Divine Pur-
pose. As a member of His Priesthood"
"Quite so, Father. What you say is very true.
You know of nothing then worthy or important
enough to be mentioned?"


142 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
"Nothing whatever, Inspector."
Father Jewell clasped his hands with their long
quivering fingers, behind his back. Craig tried a
different tack. "Unfortunately we have cause to be-
lieve that Sir Eustace was murdered, Father, and that
his intended suicide was"
"I am aware of that, Inspector," came the priest's
unruffled reply. "Sir Eustace was shot from behind,
I understand."
"Where did you hear this, may I ask?"
"From Doctor Carrington a few minutes ago. He
gave me the facts as far as he knew them He told
me he had been informed by you in here."
Craig frowned his annoyance. He had not in-
tended that the Doctor should broadcast the news.
The element of surprise in any form of attack is
always far too valuable to be neglected or despised.
He had meant to surprise more than one of the Christ-
mas house-party with the true story of Sir Eustace's
death in the hope that he would be rewarded with some
response or rejoinder that would hold some definite
tangibility. His frown deepened. Anthony came to
his assistance.
"It seems to me a very strange thing, Father, that
anybody should have harbored murderous thoughts
against such a man as Sir Eustace Vernon. I should
say his place in Mapleton, from what I have already
heard, will be very hard to fill."
"I appreciate what you say, Mr. Bathurst. But
at the same time you will permit me to point out that
there is none of us whose place could not be filled.
And it is meet that every one of us should realize


AND SOME OTHERS 143
that fact from the depths of our humility. It would
be better for the world if we did so. We are tiny
atoms in the sight of Almighty God. As to Sir Eustace
having incurred the enmity of anybody—violent pas-
sions are only too easily aroused, and when they are
aroused, they play havoc with the best natures. 'To
err is human'—every day I live I am made more
conscious of Human Frailty." His voice shook with
the tremor of earnestness. "The world with its heri-
tage of Sin still chooses Barabbas, and Christ is cruci-
fied daily. He occupies the scaffold far more than
He does the Throne." Father Jewell raised his right
hand fervently. Mr. Bathurst remained silent for a
moment or two. He always respected anything that
came from the heart. But his next question took an
unexpected turn. The point of attack was completely
changed, and even Sir Austin Kemble awaited the
priest's reply with more than ordinary interest.
"When Hammond told you her story of having
been attacked by a woman—whom did you suspect?"
"Suspect?" thundered the priest—his voice reso-
nant with surprise—and just a soupgon of indignation.
"What do you mean? Why should I have?"
"Which woman?" returned Mr. Bathurst, with in-
finite coolness. He went on. "There were several
in the house, remember. And we have no adequate
reason for disbelieving Hammond's story—have we?
When she accused a woman—surely the thoughts of
all of you turned to the women in the house at the
time?"
"Several in the house? I fail to see"
"Just let us consider the personnel for one moment,


144 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
if you please. There were Miss Ashley, Mrs. Pren-
dergast, Mrs. Trentham, the Mayoress of Mapleton-
Mrs. Venables—the other maid Palmer—and we
mustn't overlook Purvis, the butler. Did you suspect
any one of them-for example-Mrs. Prendergast-
or Mrs. Venables, or ?"
“I did not. For the very good reason that I had
no grounds to do such a thing. I imagined that
Hammond's accusation was directed against a stranger.
But if there is one lady about whom I can stifle sus-
picion immediately, it is Mrs. Prendergast. It is not
too often that the Creator sends one of His pure
angels upon earth to lighten our load and to illumine
the way. It is not too often that He spills His Divine
Goodness into the mold of human form so wastefully.
Diana Prendergast is a lady for whom we should re-
turn our most blessed thanks.”
“You are not alone, I take it, Father Jewell, in
thinking like that?”
“ Alone-Mr. Bathurst?” The priest's face shone
with the cold radiance of heartfelt and celibate en-
thusiasm. “ There are hundreds of souls here
in -
"
Mr. Bathurst cut in regardless of ceremony.
“May I take it, for instance, that Sir Eustace Vernon
shared that view ?"
Father Jewell paused-he drew himself up to his
full height—then seemed to check himself. There
was a hint that he was retreating from what he had
been about to say. He even appeared to allow him-
self the suggestion of a shrugged shoulder, “I have
no doubt that Sir Eustace Vernon appreciated and


AND SOME OTHERS 145
viewed Mrs. Prendergast's qualities in the same way
that I—that we all did. If you mean anything more
than that, I regret that I cannot travel so far. I find
the suggestion somewhat unpleasant."
Mr. Bathurst affected a certain indifference. “He
was a brave man, you know, Father. And brave
men " He turned to Craig. “I shan't want to
ask Father Jewell any more questions, Inspector. I
don't know whether you do."
"No?” queried Sir Austin, as Craig dissented-
“then perhaps Father Jewell would request Mr.
Trentham to step this way. Thank you." The priest
withdrew rapidly yet with dignity.
Morris Trentham looked as though the events of
the previous night had shaken him considerably. He
was not the sort to meet trouble with serenity. His
fattish face was creased and lined with something
more than care. He proved singularly uncommuni-
cative, and had accepted the fact of Sir Eustace's
murder with a quality that was as akin to stolid
resignation as to anything else. It was as though
he said to them, “ After the happenings of last night
that thoroughly and most inconsiderately upset my
Christmas for me I am prepared for anything, and
nothing you can say in here now can in any way sur-
prise me.” He was a member of the Stock Exchange,
he informed them, and had had business associations
with the murdered man-associations that had a great
deal to do with the cementing of their friendship.
What? Did he know a Mr. Paget-Colvin? He looked
at Mr. Bathurst-the inquirer, with some show of
surprise. He certainly had known a gentleman of


AND SOME OTHERS 147
caused him to miss the expression of annoyance that
flitted across Trentham's face. He had evidently not
expected that his wife would be subjected to any
questioning from Scotland Yard. His eyes met hers
as she entered, but even such an acute observer as Mr.
Bathurst was unable to assess accurately what the
message was that they intended to convey. Ruby
Trentham's face was excessively pale, which only
seemed, however, to accentuate her dusky, almost
Southern beauty. Her raven hair and dark lustrous
eyes suggested senoritas—guitars—and latticed case-
ments half-opened to the seduction of the serenade.
Mr. Bathurst, proof against feminine allurement,
schooled himself to remember that this was the lady
who had sat next to Sir Eustace at dinner at that
gentleman's especial request. It was upon these lines
that he desired to question her. It seemed to him to
be fraught with a great deal of importance to the
case.
"Sit down, Mrs. Trentham, will you, please?"
He indicated the chair, into which the lady sank with
a hint of relief. "You have no doubt heard by now
of the circumstances in which your late host met his
death, Mrs. Trentham. Unfortunately we believe him
to have been murdered. Very treacherously murdered.
Shot in the head from behind. A most distressing
affair and one which will require all our abilities to
elucidate. What I desire to ask you is this. You
occupied the chair on Sir Eustace Vernon's immediate
left at dinner last night. Now—this is my point.
Can you possibly tell me if Sir Eustace received any
letter or note during dinner—anything to cause him


AND SOME OTHERS
149
rubbing his hands. “I think I begin to see a little
ble he was able to observe the combative frown on
Morris Trentham's coarse, puffy face. It was very
evident that something Ruby Trentham had said an-
noyed him, and Mr. Bathurst, serenely confident as
usual, fancied that he knew what that something was.


CHAPTER XIV
THE MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS UNUSUALLY RETICENT
When the study door had closed upon Morris and
Ruby Trentham, plain husband and beautiful wife, at
the conclusion of the interview, Inspector Craig ap-
proached Sir Austin Kemble deferentially and dis-
consolately. "It seems very plain to me, sir, that
we're very little ' forrader' as you might say. After
all these people's stories we're no nearer knowing
who the woman in the dark dress was—and it seems
to me that we're no nearer knowing what caused Sir
Eustace to decide on committing suicide. I agree
with Mr. Bathurst, there's something we've missed.
I think, in all probability, that I shall have to start
on fresh lines all over again."
The Commissioner grunted. It would be difficult
to assert if the grunt were in assent or dissent. Per-
haps its best description would be "non-committal."
It was a grunt that occupied a comfortable seat upon
the mental fence. Anthony Bathurst thrust his hands
deep into his trousers pockets and paced the floor of
the room . . . backwards and forwards . . .
two or three times. "In some respects, Sir Austin,"
he declared, "I'm disposed to agree with Inspector
Craig. We are still very much in the dark, un-
doubtedly. There is so much in the story that has
been presented to us that seems impossible of expla-


MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS RETICENT 153
them! By the way, Craig, here's another point for
you. Where do you place Sam McLaren's assailants in
all this? Have you thought of them? I see no reason
at all why we should doubt his story, do you? Why
were they after the letter Sir Eustace had sent
him? Also what was it that Vernon knew to benefit
Sam? When we can answer all these ... I
think . . ." His face changed. "How about see-
ing this Mayor chap, Venables, Sir Austin? There's
this question of the Forest Waste. It's on the cards he
might know something."
"I think so. Send for him, Inspector, will you
please?"
Craig went to the door.
"And I should also like to have a few words with
Stevens, Sir Austin," mentioned Anthony—" that's
the chauffeur—I should like to check up one or two
points in connection with Sam McLaren's story."
The Mayor of Mapleton acknowledged the open
door that the Inspector held for him with a somewhat
solemn wave of the hand. It was a gesture upon
which he rather prided himself, for it was based upon
much observation of Army officers acknowledging sa-
lutes during the four war-years of 1914 to 1918. It
was the only thing for which he would have liked
to have held commissioned rank. This magnificent
gesture, coupled with a genuine lack of understanding
of most things, had been his two strongest claims to
represent the burgesses of Mapleton for a great many
years. At the present moment the predominant
thought in his mind was one of distinct annoyance—
in which respect he resembled Morris Trentham. But


154 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
the annoyance rose from another reason. Truth to
tell, he had never been too fond of his dead host.
In the Council Chamber, Sir Eustace had rather
"shown him up," as his own secret admission had it,
and like most men of his type, he was acutely jealous
of people possessing greater ability than had fallen
to his own lot. Which fact caused him to be jealous
of everybody! Now Sir Eustace was dead, Venables
wished nothing more than to be well out of the whole
business. Free from any unpleasantness that the in-
quiry might bring in its wake and rid of all the trag-
edy's associations! He found the intimacy of it
abominably irksome. Actually he had complained to
his wife that afternoon before returning to Vernon
House, at the behest of this infernal Police Inspector,
that he sincerely wished he had never been prevailed
upon to accept Vernon's Christmas invitation. He
walked to the seat that the Inspector selected for him
with the feeling that the whole business as represented
in its present conditions was nothing more or less than
a distinct affront to the Civic dignity of Mapleton,
He took his seat with the stern determination that more
should be heard of it. On one occasion he had told
the Ministry of Health auditor—his reminiscence was
interrupted.
"You are acquainted, I take it, Mr.—er—Mayor,
with the fact that Sir Eustace Vernon was mur-
dered?"
"Yes, Inspector Craig. But I have known it only
since I arrived here this afternoon. When I came
to-day I was under the impression that he had com-
mitted suicide—the impression under which I left Ver-


MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS RETICENT 155
non House very early this morning." There was a
sourness in his tone that he made no attempt to
hide.
"Quite so, Mr. Mayor. Well, now, the point is
just this. Can you help the police at all? Do you
know of anything that you imagine we may be in
ignorance of?"
Craig was at his best here and maintained a perfect
suavity of manner and tone. Venables, however, re-
sented bitterly the fact that he should be questioned
at all. It usually fell to his lot to ask questions of
others, an occupation which appealed to him far more
than the reverse position in which he now found him-
self.
"I am a Justice of the Peace, Inspector Craig, as
you know. I have administered justice for more years
than I care to remember. That fact alone should be
sufficient to tell you that, if I knew anything that I
considered important, I should immediately share that
knowledge with the police—of that you may be as-
sured." His face indicated severe disapprobation as
Craig accorded him the suggestion of a bow.
"Quite so, Mr. Mayor—quite so. I think I can
truthfully say that I appreciate that. But in a case
of this kind "He stopped, seemingly at a tem-
porary loss for adequate words to describe the situation
effectively.
Anthony at once took up the parable. "If you
are unable to tell us anything, Alderman Venables—
you will I am sure help us and support us to the full
hilt of your power. You will be delighted to work
with us. Do you know anything about a piece of land


156 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
adjoining the late Sir Eustace Vernon's property,
known as the Forest Waste ? "
“Naturally," came the quick reply. “It would be
strange if I did not-seeing that the piece of land in
question is the property of my brother, Oliver Ven-
ables.”
"Following up my first question then do you know
anything about that piece of land being sold—or your
brother, for instance, negotiating with any prospective
client in regard to such a sale?”
Alderman Venables' rather prominent teeth closed
with an unmistakable snap. “I make it a rule, sir-
and an inviolable rule at that-never to interfere in any
way with anybody else's business-least of all my
brother's.”
“Come, Alderman Venables-surely you go too
far when you say that? Surely it would be possible
to have such knowledge as I suggested without laying
yourself open to the charge of interference-probably
you might have heard it from many-what I may
reasonably term-justifiable sources ? "
“I might-but I haven't. That ends the matter,
I think. My brother's way in Mapleton and my way
lie apart. It is not my intention that they should ever
do otherwise.” He rose from his seat.
It was evident to all of them who watched that he
wished this remark to terminate the interview. For
a moment, however, the Mayor stood in the centre
of the room-irresolute and undecided-awaiting as
it were the acquiescence of the others in this desire.
It came at last from Sir Austin Kemble, and imme-
diately upon its reception Venables withdrew.


MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS RETICENT 157
“H'm," muttered Craig-“nice companionable sort
of fellow to be sure. I always thought, sir," he con-
tinued, turning to Sir Austin, “ that Mayors and
Aldermen were jovial gentlemen-'hail-fellow-well-
met' as you might say. I couldn't say that much, sir,
for Mr. Alderman Venables.”
Sir Austin ignored the Inspector's remark and ad-
dressed Anthony. “Where was Venables after din-
ner last night? Refresh my memory."
“ Playing Auction Bridge, with his wife, Mrs. Pren-
dergast and Trentham.”
“Puts him out of the reckoning then, I remember
now—Trentham told us. Still, you never..."
He stopped-evidently considering some feature of
the case very deeply.
“Is there anybody else you would like to see now,
sir?” appealed Inspector Craig. Sir Austin shook his
head.
“I think not, Craig, I think not. It seems to me
that we've been able to exhaust most of the "
“ There is one more person with whom I would
like to have a word, Sir Austin," broke in Mr. Bath-
urst—“as I mentioned just now. Perhaps if we sent
for Mr. Desmond again he would see to it. The man
I want to have a word with is Stevens-Sir Eustace
Vernon's chauffeur. Firstly—there is Sam McLaren's
evidence and secondly the fact that he figures rather
prominently, I think, in the general story.".
“I agree, Bathurst. Craig! Tell Mr. Desmond to
send for this man Stevens, at once. Tell him we want
to see him in here. Tell them to lose no time. I'm
getting impatient.”


158 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
A matter of a quarter of an hour brought the man
that Mr. Bathurst required. At a sign from Sir Aus-
tin, peremptory at that-Anthony commenced the ex-
amination.
“You are Stevens, the late Sir Eustace Vernon's
chauffeur?”
“Quite right, sir. And I served a good master,
too."
" I've no reason to doubt your word, Stevens. And
in a way you can still serve him. By telling us all
to avenge his murder. Do you understand what I
mean?"
Stevens jerked his dark head with some show of
indignation; his thin face betrayed emotion.
“ Very well indeed, sir. I shall be only too pleased
to tell you all I know. Not that it's much. The first
intimation that I had as to anything being wrong
or out of the ordinary last night was about half-past
nine. I was just going down to the kennels to give
some special food to Boris, the wolfhound. The
dog's been queer-and been under the vet.—and has
been placed on special diet. Well—about half-past
nine. it the ordinary last to anything being
“Who brought it?" interrogated Anthony sharply.
“Purvis—the butler. He came to tell me that the
guv'nor wanted me in his study. I thought it was
funny at that time of night, but I told Hammond
to go down to the kennels and feed the dog, and I
went straight off to Sir Eustace. When I got there
-into the study-he gave me a note to take down
to Sam McLaren—the old boy that runs the coffee-


MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS RETICENT 159
stall in Mapleton. I was to take the letter to Sam's
place in Mafeking Street at once. Then, sir, I got a
proper shock. Sir Eustace told me it was a matter of
life and death."
"Were they his exact words, Stevens?"
"They were, sir. The absolutely exact words. And
what's more, that I was to tell no one—which is why
I haven't spilt till now. I haven't known quite what
to do, but I reckon him being dead releases me from
my promise, don't you, sir?"
Anthony made no reply to the chauffeur's query,
but Sir Austin flung a question to Stevens that every-
body had been expecting for some little time.
"Did Sir Eustace give you any inkling as to what
his letter to Sam McLaren contained?"
Stevens shook his head vigorously. "None what-
ever, sir. I know no more with regard to that than
you do, sir."
Anthony ran his forefinger along his upper lip.
"When Sam McLaren received this message and read
it—did he show any signs of surprise?"
The chauffeur turned the question over very care-
fully. "No," he announced at length. "I wouldn't
say that he did." ,
"When you returned, Stevens—did you report
again to Sir Eustace?"
"No, sir. I don't see that I had any reason to.
I hadn't been ordered to do so. I had delivered the
message, which was all I had been told. I put the
car away in the garage and went indoors to enjoy a
* fag.'"
Mr. Bathurst approached the Inspector. "Do


160 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
you want to ask the chauffeur anything, Inspector
Craig?"
"No, Mr. Bathurst—I don't think so—you've cov-
ered most of the ground, I think."
"I've finished then, Sir Austin—with your permis-
sion."
The Commissioner nodded approval. Stevens
touched his forehead and went out—Craig closing the
door behind him.
"Well, Bathurst," demanded Sir Austin—"what
do you make of it all?"
"I can't balance one or two important points, Sir
Austin. I can't make them tally at all. I'm puzzled.
But the ray of light that makes all the difference may
come at any moment."
Craig nodded to emphasize his agreement. "But
what I can't understand," he urged, "is this. Why
did Hammond delay feeding that wretched dog for
nearly two hours and a half? Here we have Stevens
telling us that at half-past nine or thereabouts he
told her to . . ."
"That doesn't puzzle me at all, Craig," interrupted
Mr. Bathurst. "That will be easily explained, you
will discover eventually. I'm considering a much more
important point than that. If Sir Eustace Vernon
wanted Sam McLaren last night on a matter of 'life
and death' (to use his own words, mark you) and
sent his chauffeur in his car with a message to that
effect to Sam—why on earth didn't Sam come back
in the car with the chauffeur? Why did he wait and
walk back, thereby wasting time, to say nothing of the
inconvenience? Was he obeying Sir Eustace's instruc-


MAYOR OF MAPLETON IS RETICENT 161
tions? The two things don't coincide at all. And I'm
hanged if I know why! There's something we're still
missing, Sir Austin, and as Craig said just now, it's a
vital something."
Mr. Bathurst began to pace the room-industriously.
For his reason told him that, if the chauffeur's story
were true, Sam should have returned in the Wolseley.
But Sam had walked! And the question hammered on
Mr. Bathurst's brain. Why had Sam walked-had he
been told, to?


CHAPTER XV
A LITTLE MORE LIGHT
Mr. Bathurst walked up the gravel drive and crossed
the beautifully-kept stretch of grass that fronted Ver-
non House, somewhat absent-mindedly. For he was
very much preoccupied. Two days had elapsed since
the occurrences related in the preceding chapter, and
he was very far from feeling easy with regard to the
case upon which he and Sir Austin Kemble had stum-
bled so unexpectedly and in such strange circumstances.
He was anxious for the time being because he found
himself unable to separate the mass of information that
had been presented to him into " facts that mattered"
and "facts that didn't matter"—which process of
separation he always contended was the first duty of
the intelligent detective. So many people seemed to
touch upon this latest case from some angle or another
—more people perhaps than in any of his previous
cases. He had heard from Inspector Craig that morn-
ing to the effect that that worthy had formulated a
theory upon which he was concentrating very thor-
oughly. Mr. Bathurst had not been informed as to
what the theory actually was, although he had definite
suspicions. But he had telephoned Sir Austin Kemble
at "the Yard" that he was travelling down to Rod-
ding again that day in the hope of picking something


A LITTLE MORE LIGHT 163
up at Vernon House or in its vicinity that would
enable him to essay his usual " summary of the case."
A task that he had not yet felt competent, even, to
attempt. He rang the bell upon his arrival at the front
of the house and handed in his card. Helen Ashley,
emerging from the dining-room, was quick to greet
him.
"Come in here, Mr. Bathurst," she said—"what
have you to tell me? Is there anything? Have you
discovered anything?" She led the way into the
study.
Anthony shook his head disclaimingly. "I have
nothing of any consequence to report, Miss Ashley.
I am sorry to admit it—but it is so. Up to the mo-
ment we have made little progress."
"I am afraid the mystery is too deep," she replied,
sadly. "Too deep to be solved by anybody. We shall
never get to the bottom of it."
"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Miss Ashley.
Hope springs eternal, you know. A little thing might
serve to help tne—or any of the others working on
the case—towards a solution. That is the kind of
thing or the kind of idea—to put it more happily—
that has brought me to Vernon House now. I'm hop-
ing against hope." He paused and she looked up
inquiringly. Mr. Bathurst warmed to his work. "You
remember telling me that both you and Mr. Desmond
were of the opinion that prior to his death, your uncle
had seemed to be sorely afraid of something. That is
so—isn't it?"
"Yes—that's quite true."
"Well now—a little point has occurred to me in


164 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
connection with that fact. When your uncle was found
on the line at Dyke's Crossing he was, of course,
dressed as he was when he left the dinner-table. Just
as one would expect him to be dressed, in fact. But
tell me this. Was he a man who wore many suits?
Did he often change his suit or did he usually stick
to one for some time because he liked it, and probably
found it comfortable—men differ in these matters—
you know?"
Helen reflected over the question. "I think I know
exactly what you mean, Mr. Bathurst," she said.
"Of course, my uncle was in the habit of wearing
several suits—for different occasions. But latterly
he had been wearing a lounge suit of blue serge very
regularly. It had a double-breasted jacket which fitted
him rather well, and which he liked."
"Good," said Anthony—" now I should very much
like to have a look at that particular jacket. Is it
convenient, Miss Ashley?"
"Quite—I will get it for you, Mr. Bathurst."
Before that gentleman could move to prevent her
she had slipped from the room, which was not quite
what Mr. Bathurst had intended should happen. She
quickly returned, however, with the blue serge jacket
that had been requisitioned by him. Anthony took
it from her.
"I am going to be inquisitive, Miss Ashley. I want
your permission to do something. I am going to ask
you to allow me to look through the pockets."
She nodded in complete acceptance of the position.
Save for a box of matches—half-filled—the side pock-
ets were empty. From the inside pocket Anthony


A LITTLE MORE LIGHT 165
took a leather wallet. He opened it in front of her.
It contained five penny stamps and four one-pound
currency notes. In the opposite section to that which
contained the four latter there were various pieces of
paper-of various shapes and sizes. Mr. Bathurst ex-
tracted them with the utmost care-there were seven
of them in all. The first was an ordinary envelope
with an address scribbled on it in pencil-" Cornelius
Van Hoyt, Letchworth Mount, near Leighton, Shrop-
shire.” It occupied Mr. Bathurst's attention for a
brief space before he discarded it. The second was an
account-unpaid-from a local veterinary surgeon
Mr. Blake-Dewhurst, of Mapleton-in respect of at-
tendance upon “the wolfhound Boris.” Mr. Bathurst
noticed the dates. The third, fourth and fifth that
Anthony extracted were hotel bills of various dates-
the hotels being situated at Cardiff, Shrewsbury and
Derby. The sixth caused Mr. Bathurst much more
serious consideration. It ran as follows" Suggest
wanted for repertory The Only Way '-'The Pris-
oner of Zenda'-and' The Lyons Mail '-all of which
may be termed 'romantic drama.'” Anthony handled
this creased note very carefully and looked up to find
Miss Ashley watching him intently. He turned the
paper over. On the back was written “ J. Vincent
Damery-Agent-Shaftesbury Avenue. Any time
after ten.” The seventh and last slip of paper was a
piece of a page carelessly torn from a pocket diary-
dated the 26th of November-it bore the word
“ Painswick," and underneath that two more words
or portions of words, very faintly written. To An-
thony's eyes they looked like “ Page" and " Col," but


A LITTLE MORE LIGHT 167
"You are right, of course, Mr. Bathurst, when you
say that," she admitted. "But as it happens, you have
asked me an impossibility. Or at all events something
that amounts to an impossibility. I can't show you the
check-book, because my uncle had no banking ac-
count."
Mr. Bathurst was at once keenly interested.
"Really, Miss Ashley! And how do you explain that
—er—anachronism?"
"My uncle refused to open an account at any bank.
It was a whim of his. He used to say that anybody
who wanted somebody else to mind his money for
him ought to be minded himself. I realized that it was
a perfectly ridiculous attitude for a modern man to
adopt and I've remonstrated with him many times over
the absurd position which he took up. But to no avail.
My uncle was adamant. It was impossible to move
him in the matter. I should say he was born with more
than his fair share of obstinacy, and the experiences
of later years only served to develop it more and more.
So you see that I can't show you any check-book, Mr.
Bathurst."
"How did your uncle pay his accounts then, Miss
Ashley?"
"Nearly always by bank-notes."
"Then where did he keep them—there's that to be
considered?"
She looked startled at the meaning his question
held. "You mean "she stopped, as though fear-
ing to proceed.
"The safe—Miss Ashley—the safe! It might con-
ceivably have held a fortune—with bank-notes of high


168 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
denomination there." He rose from his chair as this
new aspect of the problem presented itself to him.
"With regard to yourself, then, Miss Ashley. This
may make a tremendous difference to you—to your
future. You see what I mean, don't you? If that safe
contained bank-notes that comprised your uncle's finan-
cial resources—his fortune, if you like to describe it
as such—what is there left for you?"
The girl's face was very strained and white as she
made her reply. "I realize your meaning only too
well, Mr. Bathurst. As a matter of fact, Mr. Desmond
and I have discussed it between us since we have been
faced with the situation; and of course it is made very
much worse for me because of the fact that the parcel
that my uncle mentioned in his last letter to me has
gone too. Perhaps I shall never know now what it
actually was that Uncle Eustace intended me to have
so specially." Her eyes brimmed with tears, but Mr.
Bathurst, although he was looking directly into them,
was very definitely unconscious of the fact. His
thoughts had winged a way elsewhere. Her last
thoughts had given him the embryo of an idea for
which he had been unsuccessfully groping for some
time. "You refer, of course, to the second letter your
uncle Wrote on the night of his death. Might I be
permitted to glance at that again—do you happen to
have it handy?"
She crossed to the other side of the room and took
the letter from a drawer. "I shall keep this always,"
she said. "Apart from what it intended to do for
me—these were the last words my uncle wrote. On
that account alone I value it greatly."


A LITTLE MORE LIGHT 171
described somewhere as the "Queen of the Cots-
wolds." Beyond that he could recall nothing about it
of the slightest importance. He then turned his mind
to the paper bearing the address of Cornelius Van
Hoyt. He considered this to be an eminently useful
discovery. The significant sentence of the dead man's
letter to his niece came back to him. "He has been
after it for years." There was a line of definite in-
vestigation clearly marked out for him to follow. But
should he follow it before he attempted to follow
others? What about " Mr. J. Vincent Damery, The-
atrical Agent," of Shaftesbury Avenue? What had
Sir Eustace to do with him? What had happened
in the course of his career to develop or perhaps to
stimulate Sir Eustace's interest in romantic drama?
This seemed to him to be a most surprising develop-
ment. Lastly, but by no means negligibly on that ac-
count, why had the veterinary surgeon's account been
put with the other papers? True, it was unpaid, but
surely it was not the only account of the Vernon House
menage that was in that position at that period of the
year? That fact in itself should not have caused its
segregation. Also it was a very recent account. "To
attendance upon Boris, the wolfhound." The very
dog which Hammond had been to feed before the
incident with which the tragedy was presumed to have
opened. The very dog which Stevens, the chauffeur,
had been prevented from feeding by Sir Eustace him-
self when he had commissioned the chauffeur to de-
liver the message to Sam McLaren. Was there any-
thing in these facts? "Strange—very strange," mut-
tered Mr. Bathurst to himself as he stepped out of


172 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
the train on to the platform at Victoria. Those three
romantic dramas! Wasn't there a " Boris," a hound,
in the book version of “The Prisoner of Zenda"?
Or was it in its sequel" Rupert of Hentzau"? In
the latter he believed from memory-certainly not in
the play version of “Zenda." A coincidence-no
doubt! Somebody touched him on the shoulder. He
turned quickly!


CHAPTER XVI
A MAN WITH A JOWL
"Good evening, Mr. Bathurst. I've been waiting for
you," said Inspector Craig, with some show of
geniality. Mr. Bathurst returned the greeting.
"What is it, Inspector? Got any news for me—
or have you come to assist me in seeing the Old Year
out?"
Craig shoolc his head. "Not the latter, sir. Cer-
tainly—not that. The truth is that I've just been
up to report to Sir Austin Kemble, and he's instructed
me to get into touch with you at once. He told me
where you had been to-day and that you would prob-
ably be returning from Rodding by this train. That's
all there is to it, sir. I came up here and waited for
you."
Anthony looked at his watch. "Very well, In-
spector. I shall be delighted to hear what you have
to tell me. Inasmuch as Sir Austin has sent you to
find me, I've no doubt it's well worth hearing.
There's a nice, quiet little bar not far from here.
Come along with me."
A few minutes later, Craig—after disposing of a
third Guinness with the touch and gesture of the
master—took a cigarette from Anthony Bathurst's
proffered case and leaned over the table which divided


174 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
the two of them—with an extremely business-like look
in his eye.
"You asked me when I first accosted you to-night,
Mr. Bathurst, if I had any news for you. As a matter
of fact I have! That's the real reason why I'm here."
Mr. Bathurst nodded approvingly and encour-
agingly. "Naturally," he murmured.
"Do you remember the piece of 'hard' tobacco
that Mr. Desmond stated that he had picked up in
the grounds of Vernon House on the night of the
murder? During the time that the search-party was
conducting its operations."
"Very well, Inspector. It measured about six
inches by three and had a little yellow strip of paper
on the bottom—at the left-hand side. The strip of
paper bore the words 'Dark Willie.' I saw your
photograph of it in the papers on Tuesday, Craig.
I thought it an excellent idea to broadcast it in that
way. Any results, Inspector?"
"That's what I've been sent to talk to you about,
Mr. Bathurst. You saw my advertisement, and you
saw then, of course, my appeal to the tobacconist
fraternity generally. Anyhow, I'll refresh your mind
with the words that I said." He thrust his hand into
the pocket of his overcoat with a very grave expres-
sion on his face, and took out Tuesday's edition of
The Morning Message. He opened the newspaper—
found the page that he required, and then folded it
conveniently for reference. "Listen to this, Mr.
Bathurst. The above photograph," he quoted, " is of
a piece of slab-tobacco that the Mapleton Police be-
lieve to have been dropped by the murderer of Sir


A MAN WITH A JOWL
179
know. As Sir Austin Kemble told you, I went down
because I wasn't satisfied with regard to one or two
things. I'll pass on to you—for what it's worth or
for what you may choose to make of it—one very
interesting and at the same time very peculiar piece
of information that I was able to gather from Vernon
House while I was down there. My informant was
Miss Ashley herself, so that it's genuine enough. Sir
Eustace Vernon, Craig, was what you and I would
term' well off.' A comparatively rich man, I imagine
—despite his own statement to the contrary in the
letter that Miss Ashley discovered in her bedroom.
Do you agree with me?"
Craig expressed acquiescence. "I should say the
same as you, sir."
"You will be surprised to hear, then, Inspector—
that he had no banking account. He seems to have
kept all his money in the house and paid all accounts
by bank-notes. What do you make of that? Pre-
historic sort of idea, don't you think?"
"Strange—certainly," conceded Craig—" and
where in the house was the money kept—does she
know?"
"Well, as to that—now that she has had time to
think things over—I think she discussed it with Mr.
Desmond—she imagines it must have been kept in the
safe."
"I'm beginning to see," remarked the Inspector—
"so the safe was also robbed of money that in the
beginning Miss Ashley was not sure was in there.
I see—this makes a difference—doesn't it?"
"I told her it did. It alters the complexion of the


180 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
case considerably. That's why I've told you. That
safe might very well have held a small fortune in
bank-notes of high value. Miss Ashley is beginning
to fear that there is almost nothing left for her. Her
position seems moderately serious. Her special legacy
-whatever it was—has gone as well—remember.”
“It's an 'impossible' case," declared Craig, vindic-
--and we're almost a week old on it by now." He
looked anxiously at his companion as though seeking
a lead.
Mr. Bathurst rose from the table and carefully
buttoned his heavy overcoat before plunging his hands
into the depths of the pockets thereof. “ Things
aren't quite as bad as that, Inspector. As a matter
of fact I feel that I'm two-thirds of the way towards
a solution. But one of the points that worries me
most is the identity of the woman who flashed the
knife at Hammond and caused her to scream. The
woman whose dress-no, whose skirt, she ” He
stopped suddenly-his grey eyes alight with the illu-
mination of an idea. “I wonder," he murmured to
himself—“I wonder.".


CHAPTER XVII
ONE FOR JACK
Mr. Albert Fish, A.B. of His Majesty's torpedo-
boat destroyer Semiramis, strode to the gate outside
his parents' residence at Mapleton and spat solemnly
into that particular portion of the King's highway
that fronted Summerland Cottages. He was a Maple-
ton man, born and bred, and had performed similarly
skilful feats of expectoration on many occasions that
belonged to the past, throughout His Majesty's Do-
minions. His ten days' Christmas "leaf" (so de-
scribed by himself and the particular social stratum to
which he belonged) was "up" to-morrow, and he
was unable to restrain completely a strong feeling of
resentment against the habituis of Vernon House,
Rodding, for having allowed a murder to take place
there during his vacation, and which by reason of its
close proximity to Gracie Hammond had interfered
considerably with the tranquillity of his amorous rela-
tions. As he said to himself, ruefully and disconso-
lately, "it was just like his ruddy luck." He pro-
ceeded for the next few moments to apostrophize and
anathematize the before-mentioned luck, with a com-
pleteness and precision worthy of the best traditions
of the Senior Service. His attention was so com-
pletely and artistically employed with the procedure
that, as a result, he was not aware of the figure of


ONE FOR JACK
183
The sailor accepted the two pound notes offered to
him with careless bonhomie. "I'm afraid, then, you
won't find it worth two ' quid/ " he grinned. "Still,"
he proceeded—"that's your funeral, not mine. I
never fixed the price—and you can't say that I did."
"You must allow me to be the best judge of that,
Mr. Fish. Standards of value vary, you know."
Albert grinned his expansive grin again. "You
ain't lorst for wot the cat washes 'erself with, are you,
guv'nor? I reckon you couldn't 'arf describe a band-
master. Still—get on with it. What is it exactly
that you're after? Give it a name!"
"You can assume for the moment," rejoined An-
thony, "that I'm representing Scotland Yard."
"Wot!" cried the sailor—" then you'd better take
this 'ere couple o' quid back. I'm not falling for that.
You ain't going to have me for bribery and corruption.
The Navy's above that sort of thing—you can bet your
life on it."
Mr. Bathurst extended a protesting hand and waved
the Fishers back to the Fish. "Don't worry, Mr.
Fish," he declared—" let me assure you that you are
in no danger, and your personal integrity will remain
unimpaired. Call me an unofficial representative of
Scotland Yard, if you like—if it will make you feel
any the easier."
Albert showed signs of relief. "All right then—
but you put the breeze up me—you did and no mistake.
What is it you want to know—because as I warned
you just now, I don't think I've got very much to tell
you? Shouldn't like to pay a couple of quid for it
myself."


184 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
“According to your friend, Miss Hammond, you
must have been in the grounds of Vernon House on
Christmas night about half an hour. Is that a true
statement?”
“If she says so it is because I should have to say
the same. I've learned to do that it comes quicker
in the end."
“Somewhat enigmatic," commented Anthony, “but
I'll take your word for it. I think I know what you
mean. I'll go a step further, however. According
to your young lady friend, also, you were there from
about eleven-fifteen to eleven-forty-five. Is that about
right?”
“Quite right," declared Albert. “The church
clocks was striking twelve as I was coming home to
Mapleton down the Rodding Road. So it would be
about a quarter to twelve that I said 'good-bye' to
Gracie.”
“Now then," said Mr. Bathurst," as you walked
home-you came by the main Rodding Road you assert
-did you happen to meet anybody on the road?”
“Not a solitary soul!”.
“ Did you overtake anybody?”
Vernon House and here."
“ Do you know a clump of trees on the left of the
road as you approach Vernon House--that would be
on your right as you were coming away from it?”
“ Very well—I've done more than one bit o' court-
ing in them there trees—they're very convenient—and
you needn't tell Gracie about it either—they're just as
you pass Major Prendergast's place—but why?"


186 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
But Albert shook his big head again. “Can't say
as 'ow I did, guv'nor. No—nobody.”
“ Didn't see anybody lying by the side of the road,
for instance?”
"No, guv'nor, I told you—I didn't see nobody-I
don't believe I passed a single - " He paused in
reflection. “I tell you what, though, now you come
to ask me these 'ere questions—I'll tell you what did
happen as I was gettin' near to Sir Eustace's place-
a motor-car passed me."
“Overtook you-do you mean?”
“No-overtook me-no! What I said, passed me!
A car coming from the opposite direction—I can re-
member how blindin' the headlights were. And I'll
tell you something else, sir--it's funny how I remem-
ber it now, how it's coming back to me. I'd clean for-
gotten all about it-but your questionin' 'as brought
it all back to me. Down there by that belt of trees
that you spoke of_near Major Prendergast's—about
a hundred yards behind me it would be I should think,
· blest if the old car didn't stop. All of a sudden I
heard it pull up and I turned round. I wondered
what he was pullin' up for. There was a moon you
know, sir, and you could just see a bit-even at that
distance. I fancy I saw a man get out of the car as
it stopped. At any rate-somebody did—I'll swear-
and it looked to me like a man."
“You interest me, Mr. Fish-you interest me
undeniably. How far are we from Dyke's Crossing?
Or let me put it like this—how far is Dyke's Crossing
from that particular clump of trees where you think
the car stopped ? "


ONE FOR JACK
187
"Put it at two miles," said the ubiquitous Albert,
"and you won't be a couple of 'undred yards out."
"H'm—I know I'm asking you to remember a lot,
Mr. Fish, but you're an exceptional man. Have you
any idea what the man did when you think he alighted
from the car?"
"You're askin' too much now, sir—I 'ardly gave
it a thought. I was lookin' forward to seeing my girl,
you see. My mind was a-runnin' on my little bit of
cuddle. All I could say was that 'e got out of the car
and walked into the trees."
"Then you walked on, I suppose?"
"Then I walked on. If he was goin' to play 'ide
and seek—it was no concern of mine, was it now?"
"I suppose not." Anthony stopped short and ap-
parently thought the matter over, before lighting a
cigarette.
"Cigarette?" he invited his companion.
"Don't use 'em," replied Albert—" don't smoke a
lot, as you might say. Give me a bit of ' Spearmint'
and I'm happy." He chewed on complacently.
"Most of us smoke too much," ventured Mr.
Bathurst. "Busy for an hour or two?"
Albert considered the question with becoming care.
"Why?"
"Care to walk towards Rodding with me—taking
the road just as you did on the night of the murder?
I'd like to have a look inside that clump of trees. Just
to satisfy my curiosity. Of course, I shall suitably
recognize the fact that I'm taking up even more of
your valuable time. I'm going down there in any
case and if you could see your way to accompany me


ONE FOR JACK
189
"You ought to be glad of that, then," countered
Mr. Bathurst.
"Me? How do you mean?"
"Doesn't a fellow-feeling make us wondrous kind
—you as a Fish"
"You were a bit too smart for me there, sir,"
acknowledged Albert, good-humoredly—" I didn't
quite cotton on to—there's the trees, sir—you can see
'em from here. Away there to the left of the road."
As the road bent a trifle, Anthony could see them.
"And there's Vernon House—or rather the smoke
from it." The far-seeing sailor shaded his eyes from
the rays of the winter sun and pointed far ahead in
the distance. Anthony could just see the chimneys
of Vernon House away in the distance.
Ten minutes' brisk walking brought them to what
Mr. Bathurst intended should be their destination.
"Now, of course, sir," announced Miss Hammond's
fiance—" a lot of this is in the nature of guesswork.
Chancing your arm so to speak. It was dark—the
only light was the moon—and I was a pretty good
distance away. But look here—let me take my bear-
ings a bit before I start." He glanced up the road—
calculatingly. Then twice pacing the entire length of
the belt of trees, returned to Mr. Bathurst's side.
That gentleman was thinking very deeply.
"What trees are these, Fish—alders?"
"Expect so—the ground's very damp and marshy
round this quarter, as you see. Down there's the
valley of the Rodd. Look how it runs down." The
A.B. returned to his task of measurement. After a
few moments he seemed to reach a decision, "Now,


ONE FOR JACK
191
Bathurst. "Very likely, sir. In fact—more than
likely. They do seem to me to be just abaht in the
right spot for where he would have struck off."
"I may as well be frank with you, Fish. I've
formed a little theory of my own in connection with
Sir Eustace Vernon's murder, and I'm going to put
part of it to the test. Follow those prints with me,
will you?"
Albert Fish nodded obedience. His curiosity had
been stimulated, and as a consequence his interest had
grown considerably. The task was comparatively
easy. The tracks led straight to what was, perhaps,
the biggest tree of the belt. Beyond that they ap-
peared to stop. Mr. Bathurst did likewise.
"Well, Mr. Fish," he exclaimed, "does anything
strike you?"
Albert shook his big head blankly. This was tak-
ing him a bit out of his depth. "Can't say as 'ow it
does, guv'nor. Sorry if I'm disappointin' you. But
the idea was yours, you know."
"Look!" Mr. Bathurst pointed somewhat impera-
tively at the bole of the tree before which he and his
companion were standing. Again Albert failed to
come up to the scratch—except as regards his head.
Mr. Bathurst prepared therefore to instruct him. "In
what way,. Alberto Poissonnio, does this tree differ
from most of those that surround it? Have a good
look at them all before you commit yourself. Take
your time, my friend."
Albert let his eyes wander round the trees with a
solemn inspection—his big round face becoming al-
most owlish. For a time he seemed impervious to


192 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
idea, but at length happy light broke in upon him and
spread over his spacious countenace. “ The big hole
in the trunk,” he declared—“ most of the others ain't
got one. Or nothing like the size of that one if they
’ave.”
“You're improving, my dear fellow," observed
Anthony, “ you thrive on encouragement-you've said
just what I wanted you to say. Now we'll see if my
theory will stand its first test.” He bent down and
looked carefully at the curiously shaped hole in the
bole of the tree. It was full of the black moss-like
substance that one usually finds in tree-holes of this
sort. Mr. Bathurst carefully inserted his hand. To
the left of the hole there was quite a good-sized cavity
from where the black mossy substance had evidently
been recently pulled away. The sailor saw the face
of his companion gleam with undisguised satisfaction.
Then he saw him draw his hand away.
“ 'Struth, guv'nor," he cried, in genuine amaze-
ment—"a revolver!”
“A revolver, most certainly, Mr. Fish—more than
that the revolver, I fancy." He turned it over in
his hand. “ Hallo-what's this?" On the butt were
scratched two letters initials.
“T. D.!” exclaimed the sailor. “Then that must
belong to Mr. Desmond—the chap wot's expected to
marry Sir Eustace Vernon's niece-Miss Ashley."
“Looks like it, Fish—without a doubt." Anthony
regarded the sailor gravely. “ Fish,” he said—“ I'm
going to ask you to keep absolutely silent about this.
I don't want you to breathe a word about it to a soul.
Not even to Gracie Hammond. In fact-least of all


ONE FOR JACK
193
to Gracie Hammond. Understand me? Can I rely
upon your promise?” Two more currency notes ex-
changed company.
“ You may, sir,” affirmed the impressed Albert. He
wiped his mouth with the back of his massive hand.
“You may indeed. And thank you very much, sir.
Rely on me. You're a gentleman.”
“I wouldn't go so far as to say that,” responded
Mr. Bathurst.


CHAPTER XVIII
MR. BATHURST RENEWS AN ACQUAINTANCE
"That'll be fourpence—Nobby. And take your
sleeve off the counter. Here's your slice of cake.
And what can I get for you, sir?" Sam McLaren
peered over the ledge of his counter at the tall figure
standing back in the shadows—away from the lighted
area of the coffee-stall. Then from his one visible
eye there came a gleam of sudden and surprised recog-
nition. "Why—bless my 'eart, sir!" he exclaimed,
with a touch of jocularity—" I didn't recognize you
for the moment. If I ain't mistaken you're one of
the gentlemen what I saw up at the police station after
my little adventure on Christmas night. I'm not mak-
ing a mistake, am I, sir?"
"You're quite right, McLaren," replied Mr.
Bathurst—" I could see that you didn't recognize me
in the first instance. Give me a cup of coffee and
one of those hard biscuits, will you? I shall be stop-
ping a moment or so with you. I want to have a chat
about one or two things. I shan't be in the way, shall
I? You're not too busy, are you?"
"Never too busy to talk to a gentleman, sir. My
old grandfather from Aberdeen taught me that. He
used to say, ' Sam—never lose no opportunity of con-


BATHURST RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 195
versin' with a gentleman. It's an h'education in itself
and you never know what you may learn—moreover,
it costs nothing.' He was a fine man, too, my grand-
father," added Sam, reminiscently—" and we was all
prahd of 'im. He 'ad a reputation in the place where
'e lived, too. On one occasion that I can remember,
it took 'arf a dozen coppers to get 'im to the station.
And then 'e laid four of the perishers out. Properly
out they was—too."
"A man after my own heart, McLaren," contributed
Anthony-—" I like a man that can hold his own when
the occasion demands. But as you may guess, I
haven't come to talk to you about your ancestry. Al-
though I've no doubt that I should find it to be both
interesting and instructive. What I desire to do, if
possible, is to continue our conversation of Christmas
almost at the stage where we left off. Do you follow
what I mean, McLaren?"
Sam looked a bit puzzled for a moment. "Can't
say as 'ow I do, sir. Not exactly—that is. Put it a
bit plainer—can't you?"
"Perhaps if I ask you a few questions you'll under-
stand better what I mean. In the first place—have
you anything further to tell me in regard to what I
will term the ' Sir Eustace Vernon affair'?"
Sam slowly shook his head and shifted the position
of a coffee-cup on the ledge of his stall. "No, sir—
nothing. In what way d'yer mean?"
"Has anything more happened?"
"Nothing."
"You've received no communication from anybody
—for example. No letter—or message?"


BATHURST RENEWS ACQUAINTANCE 197
“That night that you walked up to Sir Eustace's
place, McLaren”-continued Anthony, a moment
later,“ do you happen to remember if any motor cars
passed you—either coming or going?"
"Not a single one, sir. The only signs o' life that
I come across were them two stable-companions wot
waylaid me. Call 'em my 'sparrin'-partners' if you
like it better." He rubbed the bridge of his nose
reminiscently.
“With reference to that-Inspector Craig can't
trace either of them, McLaren. He's made inquiries
all around here, not only in the district but within
the surrounding neighborhood as well-entirely with-
out success. He's drawn blank everywhere. Nobody
seems to have caught as much as a glimpse of them.”
Sam rubbed his head ruefully, and his one eye shone
with dissatisfaction. “I caught more than a glimpse
of 'em, sir. I was introduced to 'em properly.
I- "
“By the way, Sam," interjected Anthony" was
one of them wearing a heavy overcoat-probably dark.
in color-were you able to see as much as that?”
“'E was, sir! They both was! You've 'it the nail
there all right and no mistake'ow did you know?"
“Spare my blushes, McLaren. To deduce an over-
coat on a cold winter's night and the color at
that -- "
Sam seemed to ignore Mr. Bathurst's implication.
“If my opinion's worth anything—which I suppose it
ain't, them two blighters wot 'anded me the Christmas
greetings looked as much like h'escaped convicts as
anything I can think of. It wouldn't surprise me to


198 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
’ear any day that they were the blokes wot done poor
old Sir Eustace in. Not a bit-it wouldn't." He
juggled dexterously with a cup of coffee before hand-
ing it to a customer. “Any more news abaht the
crime, sir?"
“ Hardly any, McLaren. The Inspector seems to
be as much in the dark as ever."
“ 'Ow's the young lady gettin' on? The young lady
wot lives up at Vernon 'Ouse—the old boy's niece,
wasn't she? 'E's left her all right, I suppose?”
“On the contrary, McLaren, as far as we can tell
at present,just the reverse. Wholesale robbery took
place at Vernon House that night as well as murder.
Miss Ashley has sustained a heavy loss, far greater
than was at first realized. Even a special legacy_if
we may so describe it-appears to have been stolen
with the rest of the stuff.” Anthony looked up to
catch a sympathetic frown on the old coffee-stall keep-
er's face,
“Wot!” he exclaimed—“ you don't say—now if
that ain't real bad luck. Worse than mine-and I
was thinkin' mine was bad enough. There's always
people in the world worse off than ourselves if we
only take the trouble to look for 'em. Dear-dear-
dear!” He clicked his teeth in sympathetic annoy-
ance. “Wot's she goin' to do abaht it?" .
“What can she do? The police have the matter in
hand. At any moment they may hear of something.
We are all working to that end."
Sam shrugged his shoulders in obvious pessimism.
“ And they may not! I don't 'old too 'igh an opinion
of the police. 'Cept for regulatin' traffic! I don't


CHAPTER XIX
£500 FOR THE LATE MR. DAMERY
It was at this stage of the case—destined eventually
to occupy a big space in the various organs of the
daily Press under the title of "The Red Bonbon
Murders "—that Mr. Bathurst began to put his house
in order. As he explained afterwards to a chosen
circle that contained not only Sir Austin Kemble but
also Lady Fullgarney and her husband, Sir Matthew,
it was at this definite juncture that he realized what
he himself designated as the " kernel" of the nut that
he had been called upon by Fate so whimsically—to
crack. He was willing to admit, he told them, that
up to this moment he had been perilously near to
wandering. He decided that he had at least three
most important calls yet to make. He wanted to
make the acquaintance for one, of Mr. Cornelius Van
Hoyt, of Letchworth Mount, near Leighton, Shrop-
shire, for the very good reason that he anticipated
with some degree of confidence that Mr. Van Hoyt
would prove to be a veritable mine of information
with regard to one very salient point of the mystery.
And besides Mr. Van Hoyt there were two others.
It was gradually coming home to Mr. Bathurst—
forcibly and unmistakably—that he was engaged upon
the investigation of an unspeakably facinorous crime
—that for sheer callousness and cold-bloodedness


202 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
would be extremely difficult to approximate. The
same feeling had permeated him during the closing
stages of his inquiry into the strange circumstances
surrounding the " Mystery of the Peacock's Eye," but
he felt that this last case that had come his way was,
in some respects, at least—more devilishly conceived
and, if anything, even more hellishly perpetrated.
The realization flooded his brain with pellucid cer-
tainty that once again the clutch of circumstance had
summoned him to cross swords with one who was
undoubtedly a master criminal. A criminal who had
made no mistake worth mentioning and who had left
no stone unturned in his attempt to defeat the ends
of Justice. This fact, however, did not deter Mr.
Bathurst in the least. He was gathering the threads
of the affair into his efficient hands slowly but surely,
and he was quite hopeful that in a few days from now
he would be in a position to complete his case. He
would therefore make his first call upon J. Vincent
Damery, Esq., of Shaftesbury Avenue. An examina-
tion of the current London directory revealed no such
name as a resident there. Undismayed and not en-
tirely surprised, Mr. Bathurst fell back upon a little
telephonic communication with the publishers of the
same excellent directory. Five minutes' rapidly ef-
fective research supplied him with the information for
which he was seeking. A "J. Vincent Damery" had
occupied a floor of Number thirty-four Shaftesbury
Avenue until about three years ago, but at the present
moment the premises that he had tenanted were occu-
pied by a Mr. Spencer Sanderson. Mr. Bathurst
thanked his informant with commendable brevity—he


204 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
was more with the gentleman who was your predeces-
sor than with you—I refer to Mr. J. Vincent
Damery."
"Mr. Damery died about three years ago, I regret
to say. But possibly I may be able to help you, if
you outline the nature of your business."
"That's very kind of you—but I doubt it. I've
called in connection with the late Sir Eustace Vernon,
of Vernon House, Rodding. I have reason to think
that he had business with Mr. Damery—but I don't
know when—and I don't even know for sure what the
business was."
"Sir Eustace Vernon—isn't that the man who's
just been murdered—about a week ago? May I ask,
then, whom you represent?"
"You are correct in your assumption, Mr. Sander-
son, about the gentleman's identity—and you can put
me down as a Scotland Yard ' Auxiliary.'" Anthony
smiled engagingly.
"Well, if I do or if I don't, Mr. Bathurst—I'm
sorely afraid, now that you have mentioned your
business, that I shall be unable to help you. When
I bought the Agency, I made a clean sweep of nearly
all the old files and correspondence. Personally, I've
had no dealings at all with Sir Eustace Vernon."
"My quest, then, seems destined to failure. I was
very much afraid that it might be. But nevertheless
there seems to me to be just one possible ray of hope.
Did you retain, by any chance, any of the late Mr.
Damery's staff?"
Mr. Sanderson's face brightened considerably under
the warmth of Mr. Bathurst's suggestion. "That's
»


£500 FOR THE LATE MR. DAMERY 205
an idea-certainly. As a matter of fact I did-his
clerk—the man whom you encountered just now. His
name's Payne. You can see him, if you wish to, with
pleasure." Sanderson rang the bell. “ Payne," he
said to the man in question—"you were here a good
many years with the late Mr. Damery, weren't you?”
"I was, sirover twenty. I'm fifty-seven now and
I was thirty-two when I first came here "
“Very good, Payne. See whether you can help
this gentleman over what he wishes to know."
“What I want to know is this," delineated Mr.
Bathurst—" can you remember whether your previous
employer, Mr. Damery, had any business dealings with
a certain Eustace Vernon at any time during your
employment here?” As he spoke he could have sworn
that he saw a flash of surprise enter Payne's eyes. But
he answered Mr. Bathurst's question readily enough.
“ Explain what you mean—will you?"
“I know it sounds absurd, sir," said Payne again
-turning to his employer in extenuation as it were
of his enigmatic position—" but it's true for all that.
I can tell you this. Mr. Damery received a payment
of five hundred pounds I think it was—from Sir
Eustace Vernon, but what it was actually for-I never
knew. And Mr. Damery never thought fit to in-
form me. Several letters came here that bore either
the Rodding or the Mapleton postmark, but the guy'-
nor never let on a blind word to me about it."
“I see," observed Anthony—“you are aware, I pre-
sume, that Sir Eustace was murdered on Christmas
night?"


206 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"I read the papers, sir, of course. A very mys-
terious business, too, wasn't it?"
"Very—and I was hoping to learn something as
an outcome of my visit here to-day, that would throw
some light upon the case. Unfortunately—primarily
through the regrettable decease of Mr. Damery"
"I'm sorry, sir," intervened Payne, with some show
of eagerness—" but there's one thing I'd like to say
before you go. Something I'd like to ask you. I
never saw Sir Eustace Vernon in the flesh—he never
called here at this office, for instance, to my knowledge
—but do you think he was in any way connected with
the theatrical profession?"
Anthony smiled.
"It's an idea, Payne—to be sure," he said. "At the
moment, I must confess to a certain measure of doubt.
Why do you ask me?"
"Well, sir—I'll tell you. Although, as I said, Mr.
Damery never took me into his confidence over his
business with Sir Eustace—that didn't prevent me do-
^. ing a bit of conjecturing on my own. What I con-
jectured—you're very welcome to know. I was al-
ways confident in my own mind, that a man named
Bradley Deane—an actor—was mixed up in the affair,
somehow." Payne paused to reflect, and Anthony
cut in briskly.
"Why? On what evidence do you base that state-
ment? You must have some reason"
"Hardly on evidence at all—at least not what you
could reasonably call 'evidence.' But just this. On
two occasions during the period I've mentioned, Brad-
ley Deane called here and had an interview with the


£500 FOR THE LATE MR. DAMERY. 207.
guv'nor, and on the second occasion when I happened
to be passing the door of the room in which they were
seated—I'm almost certain that I overheard the word
• Rodding' mentioned."
“This man-Bradley Deane-where is he now-do
you know? Any idea of his whereabouts?”
Payne's voice sank to what was merely a whisper.
“I never set eyes on him again, sir. Not that I ever
really could have expected to. Still—I didn't. I'm
fairly certain he never called here again. If he did
-I never saw him."
“What sort of a man was he to look at? Could
you describe him at all?".
Payne considered the question carefully. “I should
have put him down as somewhere about fifty years
of age. Clean-shaven, of course. Some people would
have called him a handsome man. A proper artistic
face he had there could be no two opinions about
that, at any rate."
Spencer Sanderson broke in upon his clerk's recital.
“I remember the man you mention, Payne, now I
come to think of it. He's crossed my own path more
than once. He was only a fourth-rate sort of actor,
though. Never really got away from the provinces
and 'fit-ups '--and did a lot of work on the 'halls'
before he touched the ‘legit.' I can tell you where
he used to knock about a lot—where he had a regular
' house of call.' Down at the 'Brown Mouse' in the
Commercial Road there's still a nest of them down
there of an evening who were by way of being on
intimate terms with him. I've been in there recently
myself and seen several of them."


208 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
“ How long was this ago, Payne?" demanded
Mr. Bathurst.
“About six years, sir-as far as I could gauge.
I've got nothing reliable to go by—but six years
ten years."
Mr. Bathurst took out his pocket-book and ex-
tracted something which he pushed over to his two
companions. “Allowing for the passage of time and
general considerations of that kind—is that anything
like Mr. Bradley Deane?"
Payne and his employer gave simultaneous exclama-
tions," that's the man!”
“ That's Deane-right enough!”
“ Thank you, gentlemen,” declared Anthony. “You
have assisted me tremendously. The Brown Mouse I
think you said-in Commercial Road. Good-day,
gentlemen, I will not take up any more of your time.”
Mr. Bathurst bowed to them and departed.


CHAPTER XX
missing!
The saloon bar of the comfortable-looking hostelry
known as the Brown Mouse presented its usual ani-
mated appearance as Mr. Bathurst opened the door
and entered. Its warmth and comfort were in marked
contrast to the prevailing conditions outside. He had
been informed by Mr. Spencer Sanderson that several
old acquaintances of Bradley Deane still used the
house and he was confident that he would not find it a
matter of very great difficulty to run across at least
one of them. Mr. Bathurst had sound reason for his
confidence—for he knew that there are few professions
that imprint themselves more plainly upon the faces of
their devotees than that which owes allegiance to
Thespis. Apart from such matters as particular forms
of dress or the care of the hair, there is that inevitable
result upon the face of the constant application of
grease-paint and powder, and Mr. Bathurst, once a
distinguished member of the O.U.D.S., was well aware
of the fact. He felt convinced in his own mind that
his luck would hold and that his labors of this winter
evening would not be entirely wasted. He gave his
order to a henna-crowned Hebe, by whom he was
promptly addressed as "Angel-face." But Mr. Bath-
urst's serene equanimity was proof against dis-
turbance by such happenings as that. He adroitly


210 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
avoided her opening gambit of conversation, and
glanced observantly round the saloon. There were
many of the usual types forming the usual groups.
It had occurred to Anthony that he might meet two
kinds of acquaintances. He might encounter gentle-
men who were "resting" and who would not desire
to enter into details concerning the cause, and also
he imagined he might run across, perhaps, one or two
from the various "halls" in the immediate vicinity
who might seek spirituous refreshment between the
"turns." He looked at his watch, and decided that
it was too early to expect any of the latter variety.
He therefore essayed a second look around the some-
what meretricious apartment. His eye caught two
men seated at a table in the far left-hand corner.
There was no doubt whatever in his own mind that
they both knew neither salary nor wages—they " drew
their Treasury." He decided that he would try his
luck with them. With that estimable intention he
ordered a second drink, received a second sobriquet
with it from the before-mentioned Hebe and sidled
unobtrusively towards their table. When he heard
the shorter of the two remark—" it flopped, Laddie,
it flopped," he knew that the impression he had formed
was perfectly sound. Mr. Bathurst took his courage
in both hands. He struck while the iron was hot.
The bar was by no means as crowded as it might have
been, and nothing like as thickly populated as Mr.
Bathurst astutely judged it eventually would be.
Therefore he might not find a more favorable time or
even opportunity. He approached the two seated men
with a gesture of magnificence.


212 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
to capacity, sir, for over six weeks. I had some busi-
ness with him into which I introduced some devilled
sweet-breads. It was the hit of the show. I"
"In Derby—eh? Any other places besides that?"
"Very many, Laddie! Besides having drunk from
the goblet of Success with him, sir—I have also tasted
the dregs. We travelled back from a Midland tour—
from Leamington, I fancy—on our basket."
"You have my sympathy," murmured Mr. Bathurst
—" but now tell me this. When did you see Deane
last?"
Mr. Bathurst's informant became less voluble quite
suddenly. Then he partially recovered himself. "In
here, Laddie. In this identical saloon bar. I believe
at this identical table. He borrowed half a crown
off me. Or he tried to. I forget which. But you're
getting on dangerous ground." His resonant voice
became a whisper. He spoke into Mr. Bathurst's ear.
"Bradley Deane disappeared! He was almost' down
and out' when it happened. I saw him one night in
here somewhere about five or six years ago and he
told me he'd got settled again. I formed the opinion
that he was off on a southern tour. But he gave me
no details and decency forbade me asking him. I
never saw him again. From that day to this. No, sir
—never again."
"Did he have any relations? Wife or anything?"
"Neither chick nor child! Nor wife of his bosom!
But he disappeared, Laddie—suddenly and without
warning. I have often wondered about it. It was a
very strange thing to me that he should have gone so
suddenly."


MISSING
213
“Might that be he?" asked Anthony. The man
addressed looked at what Mr. Bathurst held out to
him and then nodded with certainty.
" It's some time ago, Laddie, and Time writes
heavily upon the fairest and comeliest of us, but 'tis
very like the Bradley Deane whom I knew. Very
like."
“Thank you,” declared Mr. Bathurst_“I was hop-
ing you would say that.”
“What have you to do with Bradley Deane-after
all this lapse of years?"
“You'll see that question answered in about a week's
time," replied Mr. Bathurst. “Good-night. I am
sure you won't mind me going. The best of luck!”
le Bradi rest an addie."...


THE CHOSROES CROSS 217
upon its excellent quality. He placed it very high, he
said, in the table of steak and kidney puddings—and
he was no mean judge, he assured her! Did she know
the direction of Letchworth Mount—the residence of a
Mr. Van Hoyt? He thanked her for her explicit in-
formation, and to this day Susannah Kinnersley, relict
of Josiah Kinnersley these last nine years, and mine
hostess of the Moran Arms, still talks of the young
gentleman with the nice grey eyes who shared with her
a steak and kidney pudding on a lovely day one Janu-
ary. Letchworth Mount was an imposing mansion.
It nestled within the comfort of magnificent grounds.
Mr. Bathurst, at first glance, placed it as Tudor. In
this estimate he happened to be correct. Cornelius Van
Hoyt had purchased it from a Sir George Parry,
whose family has held it since the first George Parry
had helped to overthrow the Armada. Anthony was
lucky enough to find the present owner at home and
agreeable to seeing him upon the receipt of his card.
He found himself ushered into the presence of a short
man with a reddish beard—very carefully trimmed.
Strange to say the beard was accompanied by a pair
of piercing black eyes, and the strange combination
attracted Mr. Bathurst's attention almost immediately.
The black eyes sought the inscription on Mr. Bath-
urst's visiting card. "Mr. Bathurst?" their possessor
interrogated. "To what am I indebted for the honor
of this visit?"
Mr. Bathurst extended a courteously-deprecating
hand. "To a certain extent, Mr. Van Hoyt, I feel
very consciously that I owe you an apology. I feel
that it is certainly incumbent upon me therefore to


THE CHOSROES CROSS 219
"I admit," continued Mr. Bathurst, judicially, " that
that inclusion of your name in that letter does not
necessarily prove acquaintance. The name of any
third party—completely unknown for that matter—
might be found quite legitimately in any correspond-
ence—I am quite ready and willing to concede
that. But I formed the opinion, Mr. Van Hoyt, that
Sir Eustace Vernon had visited you here at least
once."
"He did, Mr. Bathurst. It is quite true, and there
is no reason why I should attempt to deny it. Some-
where about two years ago." Van Hoyt made the
admission with every appearance of willingness and
as though the information was entirely ungrudged.
His voice and his appearance tallied in this respect.
"Thank you," replied Anthony—" and I think I
shall also be correct in saying that he offered you
something for sale. Although I do not know what
that something was. All I know is that the object
he brought to you was a valuable one. Valuable not
only to ordinary men for its intrinsic worth, but also
doubly valuable and desirable to you as a collector. To
you in particular as a collector. I am aware, you see,
of your personal inclinations."
Van Hoyt rose from the chair that he had been
occupying and walked across to the window. He
stood there for a few moments looking out on to the
beauty of the immediate surroundings. He was think-
ing deeply. Suddenly he swung round impetuously,
having evidently reached a definite decision.
"I see no reason why I should withhold any in-
formation from you, Mr. Bathurst. I understand


220 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
that you represent what I may call 'official inquiry.'
Have you ever heard of the ' Chosroes Cross'?"
Mr. Bathurst wrinkled his brows. "You mean part
of the"
"The largest known fragment of the True Cross
still known to be in existence. The sacred wood is
enclosed with a gold mount and set in the most delicate
enrichment of the finest filigree. It is believed to have
been taken to Persia in 614 and returned by Heraclius
in 628. It is supposed then to have disappeared for
a considerable time and then ultimately to have found
its way into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Some
years ago it was rumored to have been moved and to
have been temporarily lodged in the Church of the
Divine Compassion in London. From there it sud-
denly vanished." Here Van Hoyt paused to meditate
again, but only for a brief period. "Judge then of my
surprise, Mr. Bathurst, when I tell you that this most
valuable Holy Relic was offered to me by Sir Eustace
Vernon two years ago in this very room."
"He came to you because he knew you were a col-
lector—of course."
"More than that, perhaps. It is well-known in
what I will call the inner circles, that I have a special
interest for objects with a religious significance. I
have a really magnificent' Via Dolorosa,' for example.
This is a mediaeval burse in crimson silk damask, sim-
ilar to the one in the Victoria and Albert Museum. I
also possess two very fine Madonnas and a gorgeous
Flemish cope depicting the Crucifixion. Sir Eustace
Vernon was well aware of my inclination in this
particular direction—that was why he came to me."


THE CHOSROES CROSS 221
"Why didn't you buy the Chosroes Cross at the
time—did you harbor suspicion concerning the validity
of his title?"
Van Hoyt colored to the roots of his hair. "It
was not my business that I could see, Mr. Bathurst,
to interest myself in that. Collectors cannot afford
to be too squeamish. No—I didn't buy because I
understood from Sir Eustace that he desired the actual
sale to remain in abeyance for a time. He came to
give me first offer as it were. I signified my willing-
ness to complete the matter at his own personal
convenience. In return he gave me a guarantee that
he would approach nobody else as a possible buyer
without first acquainting me."
"Didn't that strike you as somewhat strange?"
asked Anthony.
Van Hoyt's answer came immediately. "It did.
I mentioned my feelings in the matter, but Sir Eustace
Vernon explained that he had very strong personal
reasons for wishing the Cross to remain in his pos-
session for some little time longer. Reasons that he
regarded as impossible to be made public. I had to
accept what he told me. I may as well admit, quite
frankly, that I was very desirous of getting the Cross.
That was my chief concern. I still am. If the offer
still holds good, Mr. Bathurst, I shall be very willing
That gentleman raised his hand. "The offer does
not hold good, Mr. Van Hoyt, for the very good and
sufficient reason that on the night that Sir Eustace
was murdered, the Chosroes Cross disappeared from
his safe."


THE CHOSROES CROSS 223
to you. I take it that you would not be inclined to
contradict me in that opinion?"
"I have no doubt whatever that you are right in
your surmise, Mr. Bathurst. The Cross was the only
reasonable association that there could be between
Sir Eustace and me." Cornelius Van Hoyt stroked
his beard with a movement of the hand that approxi-
mated to a caress, but Mr. Bathurst was able to ascer-
tain the measure of the millionaire's disappointment
from the expression in the depths of the black eyes.
Anthony rose from his seat. "I don't know that
I need waste your time any longer, sir," he observed.
"My visit to you has certainly not proved to be
fruitless. I was working in the dark, you see, as long
as I had no knowledge of what Sir Eustace's parcel
actually contained. Now that I have acquired that
knowledge, my path towards a solution of the mystery
has been made very much smoother."
"I am glad to have been in a position to assist
you, Mr. Bathurst. I have hopes that you will be
able to recover the Cross. If you do—don't forget
to inform Miss Ashley that she is still to consider
me as a purchaser should she desire to sell. I sincerely
hope that she will fall in with her late uncle's wishes
—as expressed by him to me—and give me the oppor-
tunity of the first refusal. Good-bye."
Anthony shook him by the hand. "Good-bye, Mr.
Van Hoyt, and—once again—many thinks! I don't
want to destroy your hopes, but I am afraid you will
never possess the Chosroes Cross."
"What? You think it's gone forever, then?"
Mr. Bathurst shook his head. "I didn't quite say


224 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
that,” he said, bowing on the point of departure, “al-
though I wouldn't contradict your idea.”
That same evening the pale primrose wheels of his
Crossley were eating up the miles upon their way back
to London.


228 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"Good afternoon, Sir Austin—good afternoon, Mr.
Bathurst. They told me to come along, sir," he ex-
plained.
"Quite right, Craig—quite right. Mr. Bathurst
and I were expecting you. I understand you have
something important to tell me."
Craig sat down. "Well, sir—in a way I have,
and yet in a way, I haven't But I certainly do want
to see you. As far as the case proper is concerned,
I may as well confess that I'm not making the progress
that I should have desired, or even that I anticipated.
The tobacco clue that I was following up has led me
nowhere, beyond what you already know. I was very
confident after I got Cridge's evidence that it would
result in something tangible—but I was deceived. It
has brought me nothing at all. Inquiries of a general
nature in Rodding, Mapleton and throughout the dis-
trict generally have proved equally unproductive. I
can't trace the man I wanted to trace. I have even
had a go at tracing Sir Eustace Vernon's antecedents
—it struck me from the very outset that judicious in-
quiries in this direction"
"That point appeals to me, too, Inspector," put in
Mr. Bathurst—" I should be very interested to hear
what success has attended your efforts in that quarter
—if any."
"' If any,' is right, Mr. Bathurst," declared Craig,
rather dolefully—" I have proved as unsuccessful there
as I have in all the other directions. But—and here
is something at least that should be better hearing
to you than a recital of my lack of success—there are
two things I do want to tell you."
i 4


232 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
look' round every one of the house-party that Sir
Eustace had there on the Christmas night . I don't
believe in taking any chances. I can't afford to.
Although it entails a very wide circle of suspicion in-
deed, the fact that a number of people were round
Sir Eustace on the night of the crime can't possibly
be overlooked." The Inspector had commenced to
speak rapidly, but by this time was slowing down.
"Motive! All the three of us here in this room real-
ize the importance of that, but how many of us can
answer it in this case? What was the motive behind
these two murders? You may have your opinion, Sir
Austin, Mr. Bathurst, here, may have his—I may have
mine. Very probably there will be three different
opinions. Which again might all be wrong. But I've
found out something! Inquiries that I have made tell
me that one person in that house-party benefited con-
siderably on account of Sir Eustace's death. To say
the least of it—it came very opportunely. And I don't
mean Major Prendergast. I refer to Morris Tren-
tham."
"Be more explicit, Craig," interjected Anthony—
"how do you mean that this was so?"
"Sir Eustace and Trentham were running a big
oil deal—jointly. One of the conditions of their
partnership was that if either died—the survivor was
to take all the profits or correspondingly bear all the
losses. The venture in question has turned up
trumps. A nice little fortune has come Trentham's
way. Moreover, he needed the money badly."
"How do you know?"
Craig smiled. "I've cultivated the acquaintance of


234 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Austin—“goodness knows where we shall get before
we've finished. What about Miss Ashley ? "
“Nothing detrimental, sir. I didn't mean it in
that way at all. But something very interesting has
happened to her. And very surprising, too. The
night before last she received a letter that had nothing
externally to cause it to differ from any other letter.
The postmark was London, E.C. The handwriting
was unfamiliar. But the contents were ten thousand
pound notes! They were enclosed within a smaller
envelope. There was nothing else whatever—no
sender's nameno address or initials-nothing at all.
Nice little windfall-eh, Sir Austin?"
Mr. Bathurst sprang to his feet, as near to excite-
ment as he had ever been. His eyes reflected his
enthusiasm. “An unknown benefactor-eh, Craig?”
he murmured. “Either that or a conscience-stricken
criminal,” declared Craig.
“Or something Higher and Greater," announced
Sir Austin Kemble, oracularly " à brebis tondue le
bon Dieu mesure le vent.”
“Call it what you choose," supplemented the In-
rence.”
Anthony smiled and shook his head.
“Not so
disappoint you, Inspector-but I'm not in the least
surprised. I could almost-truthfully too_say that
I have lived these last few days, in some expectation
of it happening."
Craig allowed himself to cough. Sir Austin
puckered his brows in an abortive attempt to reconcile


SIR AUSTIN KEMBLE'S CONTRIBUTION 235
all that had transpired, when his telephone rang
insistently and put a stop to what he was essaying.
“Yes”-the others heard him say. “It is Sir
Austin Kemble speaking. Who's that? What ...
Painswick dead? You astonish me! I had an idea
he was ill. . . . On leave? ... Dear-dear
-how inexpressibly sad.... Give my con-
dolences to all concerned.... I'm very, very
sorry, Doctor. Many thanks for ringing. As you
say—a tragedy—a great loss indeed -a man we can
ill afford to spare." He turned to find Mr. Bathurst's
face fixed intently on him—his eyes alive with super-
lative eagerness.
“ Painswick-Sir Austin! You mentioned the name
• Painswick.' Who and what is ‘Painswick'?"
For a moment Sir Austin Kemble stood with bowed
head. “A very old friend of mine, Bathurst. Major
Arnold Painswick. We were at Sandhurst together.
Up to last night, when he died of lobar pneumonia,
he was Governor of His Majesty's Prison at Portsea.
He went on leave at Christmas, so I've just learned,
up to his home in Leicestershire-near Syston-
caught a chill—and passed away last night. Doctor
Carrington--the prison doctor-knew of his friend-
ship with me - "
“ Doctor who?” cut in Anthony.
“Carrington. Why? Oh-you're thinking of the
doctor down at Rodding very likely a relation—I've
never met the one at Portsea-so I can't say."
“ Sir Austin," said Mr. Bathurst-“I think I can
say at last with a degree of confidence that my case
is now nearly complete. You have helped me more


CRAIG BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND 239'
"I haven't the least idea why you desire to see
me, Inspector—er—Craig." Doctor Carrington looked
at the latter's card. "You have heard perhaps of
the lamentable death of the Governor—the late Major
Painswick? Is it on that account that you wish"
"Not entirely, Doctor, if you'll pardon me for a
moment. Although in a way it can be said to be
something to do with him. I am in charge of the
Rodding murder case."
A gleam of more than ordinary interest flashed
into the eyes of Doctor Cyril Carrington. "Ah, yes.
The murder of Sir Eustace Vernon? I am, to a
certain extent, familiar with the main outline of the
affair. The Doctor Lionel Carrington, who was the
late Sir Eustace Vernon's medical adviser and who
was present at Vernon House on the night of the
murder, is my elder brother. He is just a year my
senior."
Craig nodded. "I guessed almost as much, Doc-
tor. There is a strong likeness between the two of
you, if you will allow me to say so. Your partial
familiarity with the matter will help on my interview
a bit. Or it should do. When Sir Austin Kemble
received your telephone message yesterday the signifi-
cance of your name struck us, so I arranged to run
down to see you. Now, Doctor, what I want to ask
you is this. Had you been in touch with Sir Eustace
at all before his murder?"
Doctor Carrington looked a trifle surprised. "Do
you mean me—personally?"
"Well—not exactly—you or Major Painswick,
shall we say?"


240 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
"I hadn't—I couldn't answer for the Governor—
naturally. He wouldn't take jne into his confidence
over anything of that nature. Why do you ask? Do
you suspect that anything of the sort had occurred?"
"Yes—we do. We should say that it happened
about the end of November."
"Really—as a matter of fact—although I've been
up to Rodding—to my brother's place—three or four
times during recent years, I was never lucky enough
to run across Sir Eustace. My brother thought no
end of him—especially after his gallantry at that
frightful fire, and took me with him to Vernon House
on two occasions. But each time Sir Eustace him-
self happened to be absent. Is your errand to-day by
way of being important?"
"It is rather, Doctor. Can you think of any way
by which"
"You might see Cannon, Major Painswick's chief
clerk. He attends to most of the Governor's corre-
spondence. Shocking thing, you know, the Major go-
ing off like that—only away a week."
"Is this Cannon available for me to see him now?"
asked Craig.
"I'll inquire for you, Inspector, with pleasure, if
you'll excuse me. Would you mind waiting here for
a moment?"
While he was away Craig took a quick glance at
the walls of Doctor Carrington's private room. There
were three or four " group photos." Two were of St.
Bart's Hospital Rugger XV's and one of the cast of a
Hospital dramatic performance. Craig found it easy
to pick out in each the man whom he had travelled


CRAIG BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND 241
to see. The subject of his thoughts was not long
away.
"If you will kindly come this way, Inspector—
Cannon will see you at once. What's more, he is of
the opinion that he can help you. He seems quite
confident. I mentioned the line of your inquiry and
he seemed to know something about it."
Much heartened at the news, the Inspector followed
the Doctor into the office of Cannon, the clerk. The
last-named was a young man evidently in the early
thirties. He wore glasses, and as a further handicap
was the possessor of an ill-fitting set of false teeth.
When Craig entered he clicked these brightly as a
sociable accompaniment to his " Good day, Inspector."
Despite his appearance and his appalling style of dress,
he proved to be eminently business-like.
"Doctor Carrington has told me of the direction
of your inquiry, Inspector," he announced—" and of
its connection with a matter of which I know some-
thing. I think I can help you at once. If not—if it
touches upon anything else—I'm afraid you've drawn
a blank. The sudden death of Major Painswick, who
was a hale and hearty man when he left here on
Christmas Eve, has, of course, made me very busy.
It's a bad blow. I would have taken a lease of his
life."
"Thank you, Mr. Cannon. The correspondence in
question took place about November last, I believe."
Cannon nodded in affirmation. "That is so. I
remember the correspondence quite well. Sir Eustace
Vernon wrote to the Governor with regard to a matter
of Prison Reform. He was a sort of philanthropist,


242 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
I should say, and Prison Reform was one of his pet
hobbies. Very interested in the future life of con-
victs and what was to become of them after their
release. He found them suitable employment, I be-
lieve, wherever he was able. He wrote to Major
Painswick concerning two convicts, whose time here
finished at the end of December. Their names were
Collins and Page. Perhaps you remember their case.
There was a gang of three implicated—one turned
King's Evidence. Their special line was what we
should describe now as 'cat burglary'—and more
than once they employed great violence with it. The
Judge gave them a very heavy sentence—fifteen years'
penal—I think. It was Mr. Justice Ivory. Now, I
may tell you that Sir Eustace Vernon was particularly
anxious to help these two men. Actually they were
released a week before their time. They had earned
full remission marks, and as it was Christmas—the
Governor took the responsibility of discharging them
on the morning of Christmas Eve."
Craig's brain began to buzz with excitement. The
day was important. "One more question, Mr. Can-
non. Have you such a thing as a ' photo' of Collins
and Page?"
Cannon thought for a moment or so. "Yes, I can
assist you there as well. Just a minute. There they
are," he said five minutes later, pointing the two men
out to the Inspector—" those two men standing there
by the side of the big warder."
"I'll borrow this, if you've no objection," returned
Craig. "Doctor Carrington, here, will make himself
responsible, I feel sure—won't you, Doctor?"


244 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
case look a great deal simpler." He patted his pocket
in which he had replaced the photograph. "The
whole thing's as plain as a pikestaff to me, now. I
shan't be taking any more lessons from anybody either.
I'd wager a pony to a dried pea, Cridge, that the solu-
tion of the whole affair is in my hands. Watch the
papers for the next day or two. Good-bye."
Many times in the near future George Alfred Cridge
was heard to tell to an admiring circle that he was
the first person in the whole world to know the inner
history of the Rodding red "bonbon" murder. "I
was absolutely in Inspector Craig's confidence," he
was wont to remark—" as perhaps I deserved to be.
However, I'll speak fair—the Inspector always recog-
nized it. You hear a great deal of talk against the
Police Force and against its methods, but I'm going
to speak as I find. I gave him the clue that put him
on the trail, and he knew it, and what's more, he
didn't mind saying as much. He was a sportsman.
Same again, Miss, please!"
To Sir Austin Kemble, three days later, the news
that two men had been detained by Inspector Craig
in connection with the Rodding murders came as some-
thing in the nature of a surprise—as the Inspector
intended it should. Sir Austin telephoned to Anthony
Bathurst immediately upon receipt of the news.
Judging by the way that Mr. Bathurst received his
telephonic communication, Sir Austin was unable to be
sure whether Mr. Bathurst was as surprised as he was.
"So he's detained a couple of men 'on suspicion,'
has he?" commented Anthony. "Two ex-convicts,
I suppose, Sir Austin,"


MR. BATHURST AS A LADIES' MAN 247
She shrugged her shapely shoulders. "If you
don't understand I'm afraid I can't put it any more
plainly." Her coldness met his glare with definite
antagonism. But he was not done yet.
"May I ask to what you particularly refer when
you speak of consciences?" he rallied.
She looked at him searchingly. "I spoke in de-
fence," she said—" that was all. You have seemed
to be so doubtful about me lately—so furtively in-
quisitive with regard to everything I do or say, that
I simply defended myself. I told you that there was
nothing on my conscience. I am not working in the
dark against you, if that's what you're afraid of. I
am sorry the word 'conscience' has caused you so
much anxiety." She paused and then proceeded. "I
will choose my words more carefully, next time I
speak."
He mumbled something under his breath before
breaking out again. "Look here, Ruby," he said,
meaningly, "you can't deny that you've acted very
strangely since Vernon's murder—any man in his
senses would have noticed it. He couldn't help notic-
ing it. I'm not exaggerating things. I wouldn't have
been surprised if you'd garbed yourself in widow's
weeds. They would have suited your particular style
of beauty," he sneered. "Or perhaps you're wearing
your black next your heart."
The pallor of her face seemed to be intensified under
her crown of raven hair. When other women would
have flushed Ruby Trentham grew white.
"The insinuation comes well from you," she
countered, in a low tone. "I suppose you judge me,


MR. BATHURST AS A LADIES' MAN 249
think fou will. Perhaps if the truth's known and
while we're .on the subject, my alibi could be estab-
lished even better than yours," she hinted darkly.
"Perhaps—and perhaps not," he growled.
He flung out of the room and slammed an inoffen-
sive door savagely behind him. Ruby Trentham
watched his departure with icy disdain, and as the
door closed upon his retiring figure shrugged her
shoulders again contemptuously. Half an hour later
she found herself contemplating Mr. Bathurst's visit-
ing card with some trepidation. For what purpose
was this man calling upon her now? She remem-
bered the tall, lithe, grey-eyed man, who had ques-
tioned her at Vernon House the day after the tragic
evening, and she recalled without taxing her brains
very heavily that he had possessed that indefinable
something that most people try to explain by the word
"personality." She had been able to sense during that
brief interview that Mr. Bathurst was not quite as
other men are, and that she had as much chance of
defeating him in a battle of words and wits waged
upon equal terms as there is of the coming of the
Greek Kalends. She told her maid, however, that she
would receive him.
Mr. Bathurst made the usual dutiful overture and
looked at his wrist-watch. "I must apologize for
troubling you, Mrs. Trentham, but I have most im-
portant news for you. By the way—is Mr. Trentham
in?"
"He went out about twenty minutes ago, Mr.
Bathurst. Was it my husband that you wanted to
see?"


sam McLaren builds more castles 253
at home by himself. "Take my word for it," she
used to say with a waggle of the head intended to be
le dernier cri as regards impressiveness—" old Sam
can take a leaf out of St. Paul's book—he can be ' all
things to all men.'"
When Mr. Bathurst called upon Mrs. Croucher she
took an immediate liking to him. In which respect
amongst her sex, Mr. Croucher in no way dwelt in
splendid isolation. In the initial stages of the con-
versation she actually allowed herself the wildly
imaginative flight that this gentleman might even be
secured as Sam's successor, should the sale of the
coffee-stall materialize and the worst come to the
worst. But she did not hold to this idea for very long
and ultimately was forced to abandon it—albeit with
some reluctance.
"No, sir," she said, shaking her head in response
to Mr. Bathurst's third question, " Mr. McLaren's not
in just at the moment. Though I expect him any
minute. He's very busy just now—as perhaps you
know. January's one of his busiest months, in fact,
sir, this cold snap we're having means a deal of trade
to Mr. McLaren."
"I can quite believe that, madam. If I'm not
troubling you, though, I'll wait a little while on the
off-chance of Mr. McLaren turning up. I've got
something to tell him."
"You come right in, sir, and wait in his sitting-
room, and don't talk about it being a trouble. I'm
one of the kind that's only too pleased to do anything
for anybody."
Anthony followed the form of Mrs. Croucher with


254 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
its ample proportions into " old Sam's " room. Having
piloted him in there, the landlady let her conversation
have its head.
"I hope you haven't got any news for him that
will upset him, sir. You see—I'm in his confidence
a little bit and I know how disappointed he was over
that matter of poor Sir Eustace Vernon's up at Rod-
ding. He's told me more than once how he built his
castles in the air over what Sir Eustace had said to
him, and how they all toppled to the ground. He
ain't been the same man, sir, since then—not by any
manner of means."
"How do you mean, Mrs. Croucher? Has Mr.
McLaren been ill?"
She shook her head expressively. "Not what
you'd call ill, sir, but like a man who's had a severe
blow. You mightn't have noticed anything, but living
with him here as I do, it was easy to see that he took
his trouble a bit bitter, as you might say. Little things
told me—after all straws show which way the wind
blows—don't they now? His appetite's fallen away
—things he was keen on in the food line, tasty little
dishes I used to make for him—he won't hardly look
at some of them now, sir. He's taken something to
heart very much, sir—you can take my solemn word
for it. I've told him more than once not to sit and
worry over what's gone or cry over spilt milk, but
all he'll say to me is, 'You don't understand, Mrs.
Croucher. Somebody's cheating me out of my lawful
rights.' Only the other day he refused a dish of tripe
and onions—done in milk at that. And there's noth-
ing he likes better."


256 THE MURDERS. NEAR MAPLETON
Although I still 'ave 'opes. Was that what you wanted
to see me abaht, sir?"
"Not exactly. I fancy that you may regard me on
this occasion perhaps, as the harbinger of good for-
tune—the bearer of good tidings. But I am not at
liberty at the present moment to divulge them to you.
That must wait until this evening."
"This evening? Why—wot?"
"Let me explain and you'll understand. Sir Austin
Kemble, the Commissioner of Police, the gentleman
whom you saw at Mapleton Police Station about your
assault, desires you to be in attendance at Vernon
House this evening at seven o'clock. You can take
it from me that you will hear something to your
advantage."
Sam became the incarnation of incredulity. "I
was 'ad once that way before," he remonstrated. He
shook his head again. "I don't feel like gulping the
bait down twice."
Anthony smiled. "Have no fear, Mr. McLaren.
I can promise you, upon my personal word of honor,
the surprise of your life." Sam looked at him
searchingly. Mr. Bathurst proceeded to clinch the
argument. "I want to tell you also, Mr. McLaren,
that Inspector Craig has detained two men on sus-
picion for the murder of Sir Eustace Vernon. The
two men are named Page and Collins. It is just
possible that they are the two men"
"That waylaid me! Well, I never!" Sam was
trembling with an excess of excitement that he found
impossible to conceal.
"Your evidence will doubtless be wanted before


sam McLaren builds more castles 257
the police complete their case. There is one other
matter before I go. You will not be the only visitor
at Vernon House this evening. All the people who
were with Sir Eustace on the night of his murder
have been instructed by Scotland Yard to be in attend-
ance."
Sam's one visible eye flashed a look in Mr.
Bathurst's direction. "Everybody?" he murmured
in interrogation.
"It is hoped that everybody will be there. The
only doubtful person is Father Jewell."
"Why are the police doing that? What's their
little game, eh?"
"A little idea of Sir Austin Kemble's—that's all.
Perhaps I can plead guilty to being partly responsible
for it. But Sir Eustace, you must know, was a rich
man. Be prepared for some astounding develop-
ments."
"Will any of the ladies be there, sir?"
"They will, Sam. Every one of them. There's
an added inducement for you." Mr. Bathurst rose
from his seat and buttoned his heavy overcoat round
him. "It's an appropriate night, you know, Sam.
It's Friday night."
"Pay night you mean, sir, don't you?" grinned
McLaren.
"Call it' Treasury' night."
"' Treasury?' " queried Sam.
Mr. Bathurst smiled whimsically. "Treasury,
Sam! Mrs. Croucher, your esteemed landlady, who
entertained me here for a few minutes pending your
arrival, tells me that you've often told her that you


258 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON.
were an official of His Majesty's Treasury." An-
thony smiled invitingly. The smile held allurement
and the invitation was obviously for Mr. McLaren's
confidence.
The latter hesitated for the fraction of a second-
a prey to conflicting emotions. Then he crossed the
Rubicon. “Quite right, sir. But I was only pullin'
her leg about being an official.' That was only my
way of puttin' it-just a joke that made me laugh
inside. As a matter of fact, sir, between our two
selves and the gate-post, I was only a messenger
there."
Mr. Bathurst laughed heartily. “I see.” He held
out his hand to the old coffee-stall keeper and re-
peated verbatim the last words that he had spoken to
Ruby Trentham. “Vernon House at seven o'clock.
You won't forget, will you?”


CHAPTER XXVI
THE GUESTS RE-ASSEMBLE
It would have been difficult for the most astute stu-
dent of psychology to have diagnosed accurately the
various feelings that pervaded the breasts of the
various people who re-assembled at Vernon House
that evening at the " request" of the authorities who
had the case in hand. Doctor Lionel Carrington
seemed very cool outwardly—he was helped to his
condition by the exigencies of his profession. The
Mayor and Mayoress of Mapleton—Alderman and
Mrs. Venables—disliked the position immensely, and
the dominant partner of the alliance did not hesitate
to express his opinion of the unusual procedure. To
which, as usual, nobody paid any attention except
perhaps to disregard it completely. Major Prender-
gast and his wife, Diana, were perhaps the calmest
of all. They fell back upon that habitual quality of
reserved aloofness which is the recognized preroga-
tive of the English upper middle class. The Major
was an Old Wykehamist of some distinction. He
had been a member of the eleven for two years, and
an innings of his against Eton on Agar's Plough that
defied the Etonian attack for over two hours and a
half is still remembered and spoken of with bated
breath on many a pavilion from The Saffrons to Old
Trafford. His wife relied upon a wholly natural


260 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
serenity. Morris and Ruby Trentham seemed to
differ radically from all the others present. To an
acute observer they appeared to be distrustful not
only of each other, but also of everybody else, and
Sam McLaren, from his seat near the French doors
of the study of Vernon House found himself watch-
ing the lady more than once and becoming fascinated
by the tremulous anxiety that played in wistful
waves upon the beauty of her face. The semi-
arrogant poise of the head was still in evidence,
however, and Anthony Bathurst was quick to detect
it. Father Jewell, as austere and ascetically eccle-
siastical as ever, and despite Mr. Bathurst's openly-
expressed fear to the contrary, was present with the
others and occupied a chair next to Mr. Bathurst
himself. Helen Ashley and Terence Desmond stood
side by side. Perhaps the most bewildered mind
within the company belonged to Inspector Craig of
Mapleton. He had received certain instructions from
Mr. Bathurst via Sir Austin Kemble himself. These
instructions had been rigorously repeated to him by
the Commissioner upon his arrival at Vernon House,
and the Inspector was conscious that there must be
no mistake on his part. The Commissioner would
forgive ignorances before negligences. The hands of
the clock showed but a few minutes past seven when
Sir Austin closed the door of the room and addressed
the company. There was a generally perceptible stir
at the first sounds of his voice. He spoke, let it be
said, very quietly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said—" not very many
days ago you were the guests here of the late Sir


THE GUESTS RE-ASSEMBLE
261
Eustace Vernon. It is not necessary for me to re-
count the manner of his death. It suffices for the
time being to say that the police believe they have
their hand upon the assassins of both Sir Eustace
Vernon and Purvis, his butler. I also feel, person-
ally, that an explanation is due to each one of you—
because each one of you was, for a time at least,
within the area of our definite suspicion. It was
inevitable that you should be. Remember that Sir
Eustace was a rich man and that his will—but I will
call upon Mr. Bathurst to carry on from now."
Ruby Trentham's hand went to her brow and Diana
Prendergast clutched momentarily and convulsively
at her throat. The incisive tones of Mr. Bathurst
compelled universal attention.
"I will preface my remarks by calling to your
attention the statement just made by Sir Austin
Kemble. This should effectively allay any apprehen-
sion that any one of you might feel at having been
asked to be present here this evening. But Sir
Austin and I are conscious that an explanation is due
to each one of you. I will endeavor to the best of
my ability to describe the events that took place here
prior to the two murders and also some, at least, of
the events that led up to them. It is incumbent upon
me, however, to separate the history of the affair
into two parts, because there were two parts—one of
which was never expected to happen by the ingenious
mind that had engineered what I will term the main
portion of this most astonishing history. It is the
old story over again of the inevitable miscalculation
caused by the intervention of the unexpected.


262 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Although, I admit, that in this instance the interven-
tion came subsequently to the happening of the more
important events. Somewhere in the neighborhood
of fourteen years ago three men were sentenced by
Mr. Justice Ivory. They were expert burglars and
had been responsible for at least a score of the
cleverest coups that ever baffled the ingenuity of the
police. One of the three, in fact, may be legitimately
regarded as the first of ' the cat burglars.' His agility
and athletic prowess were such that no building—
however high—awkward or imposing—presented any
terrors to him. When the arrests were made this man
turned King's Evidence and received a very light
sentence in comparison with the sentences received
by his two confederates. The three men concerned
were Ralph Page, James Bernard Collins and Charles
Ramsay, and the last-named—the one of whom I
have been speaking—knowing the desperate characters
of the other two, knew also from information that
they conveyed to him during the trial, that when the
time came for their release from prison his own days
were numbered. Collins is as strong as a lion, and
he threatened to strangle Ramsay with his own hands
if he had to cross two continents to do it. But Ram-
say, who had been the brains of this unholy trinity,
and although he went in abject terror of Collins, held
different views."
Mr. Bathurst paused for a moment and the silence
within the room became almost oppressive. It was
broken only by the ticking of the clock. Diana
Prendergast was staring at the speaker as though
under some strange spell, while Ruby Trentham's


THE GUESTS RE-ASSEMBLE 263
face showed many emotions, among which could be
unmistakably seen fear. The men were all relatively
uneasy. Mr. Bathurst proceeded calmly and dis-
passionately.
"When Ramsay emerged from prison, about ten
years ago—a free man—he disappeared. It was his
firm intention to efface his former identity completely.
He was a single man with only one relation in the
world—his little niece—but he had ample means in
reserve—the fruits of his evil deeds. He came to
Rodding, where he lived originally as Eustace Ver-
non." Helen Ashley gave a little gasp, but Desmond
drew her to his side and quieted her. The effect
of Mr. Bathurst's declaration upon the others seemed
electrical. "In Rodding he made good. He threw
himself with all his heart and soul into the municipal
activity of the neighboring County Borough of
Mapleton, and he capped many years of efficient and
valuable citizenship with a deed that earned him a
baronetcy. I have heard it described by one man as
the bravest deed he ever saw. During those tense
moments Vernon became Ramsay again, when no
climb—hazardous and perilous though it might be—
had any difficulty for him. He saved the lives of
many children—the deed will stand to his eternal
credit." Anthony made a sign to Craig which that
gentleman evidently understood, for he acted upon it
immediately. He took up a new position in the room.
Mr. Bathurst once again took up the tenor of his
narrative.
"But despite all this, Ramsay had to reckon with
the day that would see the release of Page and


THE GUESTS RE-ASSEMBLE 267
will come to the moment when Hammond screamed
-the moment we will say when this astonishing his-
tory really began for most of you here to-night. You
will remember that the man whom I have described as
Ramsay's partner had been in the study and that he
had played the part that he had been well paid to
play. Hammond was returning from the grounds
when the open French doors attracted her attention.
She entered. A woman dashed out upon her with a
knife-placed an icy hand upon her face—and Ham-
mond screamed and fainted. That was the story as
you had it. The woman had come from the safe,
ladies and gentlemen—the keys had been left lying
on the table-but the knife was not a knife-it was
the ‘Chosroes Cross '! It had been stolen by Ramsay
in the hey-day of his adventurous campaign against
the eighth Commandment and now was being stolen
back from him. And the woman who touched Ham-


CHAPTER XXVIII
TO MEET SUCCESS AGAIN
"Got clean away," muttered Craig, despondently—
an hour later. "But thank God he won't get far.
We're bound to take him before very long. Mr.
McLaren won't be long at liberty—his appearance is
against him for one thing—what do you think, Mr.
Bathurst?"
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't be
too sure if I were you, Inspector. All the same, I'll
do my best for you." He turned to Sir Austin. "I
want half a dozen of your best men, sir. You can
take it from me that Sam McLaren won't be taken
to-night. Or to-morrow," he added drily.
"You seem pretty sure of that, Mr. Bathurst," put
in Craig. "What makes you so confident of the
fact?"
"You underrate his ability and his resources, Craig.
Those men I mentioned, Sir Austin. Is it all
right?"
"You can have anybody you want, my boy.
'Phone right away. You can 'phone from here. The
'phone's in the hall."
"That's a good idea, sir. I'll pop in there at once.
Perhaps though you'd better accompany me. They'll
jump to it quicker coming from you."
The Commissioner put the instructions through as


272 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
Anthony suggested. "Ring me directly anything
happens worth mentioning. Don't forget," he con-
cluded.
"You gave me a free hand once before, sir," said
Mr. Bathurst—" and I didn't let you down. I shan't
let you down this time. Craig's a bit jumpy, naturally,
but all the cards are in our hands now. I shall be
able to put a hand on our man without any difficulty—
and I think, before very long."
"That's different from what you told Craig," re-
joined Sir Austin.
"I had a reason for saying what I did to him."
Sir Austin stared at him, wonderingly. "What's
our next move?" he said, at length.
"Say good-night to everybody here and get back
to town. I'm going to—for one very good reason,
at least."
During the journey of the primrose-wheeled
"Crossley" back to London the Commissioner of
Police was strangely silent. Mr. Bathurst drove and
seemed in no mood for confidences.
"When we have our man, sir," he declared ulti-
mately, as he shook Sir Austin by the hand—" which
will be early next week, I'll run the main facts of the
case over to you. It has been distinctly interesting
and far from simple."
With that promise the Commissioner had perforce
to remain content, although he was not allowed to
chafe under his impatience very long. In twenty-four
hours the hunt was up! Mr. Bathurst received the
news with his ordinary imperturbability, although it
had come sooner than he had expected. But for all


TO MEET SUCCESS AGAIN 273
that he slipped a revolver into his pocket. "The
train is timed to arrive at Parkeston Quay at ten-
twenty to-night. Whittaker was next to her in the
queue at the booking-office at Liverpool Street when
she took her ticket. To all appearances the lady is
travelling light and alone." Such was the tenor of
the message that had reached him. He looked at his
watch. It was just half-past eight. He had just
time to pick up Sir Austin and make Harwich before
the train arrived. He calculated the distance at just
about seventy miles. Pretty good going, but once
clear of London he could eat up the distance in the
"Crossley " at that time of night. As far as Chelms-
ford they were well behind time, but between there
and Colchester the "Crossley" began to make it up.
Hatfield Peverel . . . Kelvedon . . . Colchester . . .
Manningtree—the great car was well in its stride now
and even seemed to be affected by the excitement of
the chase. The engine fought eagerly for its head
as it were, and as they made the last turn in the
Harwich direction, Sir Austin glanced at the speed-
ometer, and (to use the words that he himself em-
ployed) noticed that they were "knocking a cool
fifty-six miles out of her."
"A near thing, but three minutes to spare," mur-
mured Anthony, as they ran alongside the Quay.
"The case started for us in a car and we've brought
the same car down with us to be in at the death."
"What time does the boat leave, Bathurst?"
queried Sir Austin.
"Almost immediately, sir, I understand. They
probably hope to be in Brussels by ten o'clock to-


278 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
an actor, skilled in the delineation of ' character' parts,
the task was fairly easy. A ginger wig, a black shade
over one eye—the trim, grey moustache pulled out
and made unkempt—these worked transformation
wonders with his appearance. And he was well paid
for his work. He entered the study at Vernon House
on Christmas night as he had done before—prepared
to play the part of ' Sir Eustace Vernon.' But on this
particular occasion he arrived—not as McLaren—but
actually made up and dressed for the other part.
Ramsay had changed into his character of McLaren—
he kept his own wig, etc., at Vernon House—and met
Deane at the French doors of the study. Purvis was
then sent for, and when she left the apartment she
carried her death in her hand."
"Whose was the voice, then, that the maid, Palmer,
heard?"
Anthony's reply came promptly and decisively.
"In my opinion, Ramsay's—in his affected character
of the coffee-stall proprietor. Deane probably gave
the butler the poisoned whisky—without knowing, of
course, the true nature of what he was giving her.
I suggest that he could imitate Ramsay's voice moder-
ately successfully. Very possibly, too, it was his last
action, for Ramsay got him in the chair under some
pretext or the other and shot him dead with a bullet
from young Desmond's revolver. No time was wasted
I assure you. It was the one part of the contract for
which Deane had never bargained! The ' suicide ' let-
ter was placed in front of him and a comfortable
bundle of bank-notes at his hand. The picture was
all ready and complete for Comrades Page and Collins


A TELEGRAM FOR MR. BATHURST 285
and arranged for a telephone message to be put through
to her while I was with her. The message was this.
• Is that you? It's Eustace speaking.' I watched her
carefully. She was agitated, but not surprised-cer-
tainly not surprised. My man at the other end then
asked for another name-not hers-according to plan.
She concluded that the 'Eustace' was just a coin-
cidence and that the call had been put through to a
wrong number." Sir Austin took another drink and
handed one to Mr. Bathurst. “Thank you, Sir Aus-
tin. Well I hadn't so very far to travel after that.
The question at stake was proving Sam to be the man
believed to have been Vernon. I called upon his land-
lady-a Mrs. Croucher, of Mafeking Street, Mapleton.
She put the last cards into my hands. She spoke of a
' recent change' in her lodger. He was different. He
had even gone off such delicacies as 'tripe and onions.'
A dish, I understand, in which he had delighted! It
all fitted in with my theory. Then she clinched mat-
ters. Deane-her original lodger_had spoken to her,
in the course of conversation, of 'Treasury,' the name
by which the acting profession knows ‘pay-day.' She
had misunderstood him—thinking he was referring
to the Government office. When McLaren came along
I put him to the test. •Treasury' conveyed nothing
to him-beyond the ordinary. The man to whom I
spoke was no actor-he was unacquainted with the
slang of his profession—he was not Deane-he was
• Vernon'-he was Ramsay the 'cat-burglar.' The
rest you know, I think, sir."
Sir Austin nodded. “Yes. It seems to me though
that when Ramsay fired the fatal shot he ran a risk


286 THE MURDERS NEAR MAPLETON
that it would be heard. Don't you think so, Bath-
urst?"
"In a way perhaps. But the room where the crime
took place was at the other end of the house—and
the door was closed—remember. And there was
music. At any rate—nobody did hear it."
"What would have happened, Bathurst, if anybody
had walked into the study when what you call 'the
machinery' was being put in motion?"
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "He locked the
door on the house side, only unlocking it for Purvis
to come in and go out. That diminished the risk,
didn't it?"
"I suppose it did. Well—I must be off. You've
done well, my boy—I'm proud of you." Sir Austin
rose. As he did so there came a tap at the door.
Mr. Bathurst took in a telegram. He read it with a
smile and tossed it over to his companion. "When
did you see her?" he inquired.
Sir Austin read the message.
"I have heard all about everything. Congratula-
tions again. When are you coming to Dovaston
Court? Soon?—Pauline."
This time it was the Commissioner's turn to smile.
"Yesterday," he replied to Mr. Bathurst's query. He
gave Anthony a shrewd glance. "Sir Matthew's an
old man, Bathurst, I don't suppose you altogether
rejoice over the fact of his existence."
"On the contrary, sir! I am profoundly grateful
for it, I assure you."


A TELEGRAM FOR MR. BATHURST 287
Sir Austin growled and cast a lingeringly appre-
ciative glance in the direction of the tantalus.
Anthony's eyes followed his. Gentle prompting be-
comes a host.
"Don't leave any, sir. You would disappoint me
tremendously if you did."
"I should never forgive myself if I did that, my
dear Bathurst. It would be damned ungrateful of
me."
Sir Austin walked quickly towards his objective.