msm

















R. Francis Foster
Author of
The Missing Gate
The Lift Murder
Confession
The Dark Night
The Music Gallery Murder
The Moat House Mystery
The Secret Places
Murder From Beyond





THE MYSTERY
AT CHILLERY
^ By
R. FRANCIS FOSTER
THE FICTION LEAGUE
61 East 11th Street, New York


COPYRIGHT, 1931, BY THE FICTION LEAGUE
ALL BIGHTS RESERVED
Printed in the Untied States of America


CONTENTS
I
Only One Returned
7
II
The Body in the Train
»5
III
Osyth Refuses to Speak
*3
IV
What the Poacher Saw
3»
V
The Frustrated Meeting
46
VI
The Butler Disappears
57
VII
Is Osyth Guilty?
70
VIII
Or Mrs. Merrow?
80
IX
Who Killed the Poacher?
87
X
The Finding of Mrs. Merrow
96
XI
The Mysterious Letter
106
XII
The Colonel's Collapse
"5
XIII
Who Is Mrs. Killick?
123
XIV
Out of the Past
XV
The Face That Horrified
146
XVI
The Mysterious Detective
155
XVII
A New Factor
164
XVIII
Verging on the Truth
172
XIX
Mrs. Killick Again
183
XX
The Strangler Again
192
XXI
In the Middle of the Night
200
V


vi
Contents
XXII
The Body in the Swamp
209
XXIII
"The Murderer Is Still Alive"
218
XXIV
How Carlin Was Killed
228
XXV
Ravenhill's Revelation
240
XXVI
The Automatic
250
XXVII
The Meeting in the Wood
260
XXVIII
Prelude to Tragedy
272
XXIX
Murder in the Night
282
XXX
Ravenhill Reconstructs
289
XXXI
The Strangler in the Flesh
299


THE MYSTERY AT
CHILLERY
Chapter I
ONLY ONE RETURNED
HERE was something wrong at Chillery Court.
Captain Trevor Hawkesbridge, late of His Maj-
esty's Indian Army, stood at his bedroom win-
dow and, looking out into the August night, wondered
what it was that had roused in him the sense of danger
that obsessed him. He had been but seven hours in
the place, he reflected, yet here he was, tense with
apprehension.
He could not ascribe his feeling to imagination, for
he was not an imaginative man. Moreover, when he
had been so afflicted before it was with good reason.
There was that time when he had been tiger shooting
in Burma and dacoits had stolen on his little camp at
night: for two hours previous to the attack he had
waited, warned by his instinct that danger threatened,
so that when finally it had come he was ready with his
gun. There was that time, too, when in the last Wazi-
ristan campaign his company had been raided by
Mahsuds in the early morning. He had awakened at
two o'clock conscious that something was wrong. The
night was still. No sound but the restless movement of
a sentry had broken the silence, yet he knew that
danger impended.

7


8
The Mystery at Chillery
At three o'clock he stole out of his tent to investi-
gate. Everything seemed normal. The four sentries had
nothing to report and the Indian officer in charge of
the night pickets was confident that all was well. De-
spite that, however, Hawkesbridge had ordered the de-
fences silently to be manned—and an hour before
dawn the attack came. It was during that miniature
battle that he had been shot in the leg by a dum-dum
bullet and incapacitated for further service. That was
why he was in England now, retired at the early age
of thirty-five.
How could he, in the circumstances, ignore the dan-
ger signals that were flying now? His old Colonel whom
he had met again but a week ago in London had asked
him to come down and stay with him in his Sussex
house, and Hawkesbridge had taken the invitation to
be a gesture of friendship, for he and the Colonel had
always been great friends despite the disparity in their
ages; but he wondered now whether
Hawkesbridge checked the flow of his thoughts. He
mustn't imagine things, he told himself. There was
certainly something wrong, and that being the case he
must assemble the little evidence that he had and,
in military parlance, make out an "appreciation of
the situation."
He sat down by the window and slowly filled his
pipe. The room was in darkness—he had switched out
the light the better to enjoy the quiet beauty of the
moonlit garden—and the house was silent. The hour
was late, and his host and his wife and daughter were
abed and probably asleep. Hawkesbridge settled him-
self comfortably in his chair, drew luxuriously at his
pipe and stared at the waning moon through the cedar


Only One Returned
9
at the bottom of the garden as he began to think in
earnest.
It was, he told himself, at the Club that he had ac-
cidentally met the Colonel. A new member, he was
sure that the Colonel had not known that he would
be there, so that the possibility that he had been inten-
tionally sought was ruled out. The Colonel had shown
the greatest surprise at seeing him there and in a per-
fectly natural way just before they parted he had in-
vited him to spend a week at Chillery Court—"Noth-
ing much doing there in August," he had said, "but
it'll appeal to you if you love old houses and unspoiled
countryside."
Nothing unusual in the invitation at all, Hawkes-
bridge considered. He had accepted it at once and here
he was on Friday night, the 22nd of August—he looked
at the illuminated dial of his wrist watch and smiled
—no; Saturday morning the 23rd of August, in his
room at Chillery Court and already convinced, though
nothing particularly out of the ordinary had happened,
that all was not well in his host's house. There was
certainly no domestic trouble. Mrs. Merrow was a
level-headed woman who was obviously fond of her
husband; and Osyth, their daughter
He let his thoughts dwell on her. She was a woman
now and very different from the girl she had been in
India several years ago. He remembered seeing her at
Lahore.
That would be in '24, he reflected.
Yes: she had changed a great deal. She was a good-
looker, level-headed like her mother who treated her
as a sister rather than a daughter. Osyth wrote, he
understood. He must find out to-morrow what she'd


io The Mystery at Chillery
done. He couldn't remember having heard of her as a
writer.
He returned to his "appreciation of the situation."
The Colonel had met him at North Grinstead station
that afternoon and brought him to Chillery in the
big open Singer car—Hawkesbridge, as a soldier, knew
the value of details and he was careful to recall every-
thing. Mrs. Merrow and Osyth were at tea in the draw-
ing-room with Mrs.—what was her name?—Mrs. Story,
the Rector's wife, when he arrived. Mrs. Merrow had
greeted him warmly, as always,—and Osyth with the
restraint and shyness which was natural in the cir-
cumstances. He had had a cup of tea after he had
washed and then Osyth had shown him the garden,
afterwards playing tennis with him.
Dinner had been at half past seven, and afterwards
he had played bridge with the family until at nine
o'clock Mrs. Merrow, pleading a headache, had gone
to her room. Osyth had retired to hers, to finish some
work she was doing, she said, and he and the Colonel
had gone to the library for a smoke and a yarn.
Then something out of the ordinary had occurred.
The Colonel became distrait after a short time. Once
Hawkesbridge, who had been staring dreamily through
the open window, glanced at him and saw that the
other was regarding him in an appraising manner. The
older man looked undecided and worried, and Hawkes-
bridge had the impression that his host was considering
the advisability of revealing something to him. There
was no evidence of that, of course: it was merely an
impression.
Hawkesbridge had looked out of the window again
just in time to glimpse a flutter of white against the


Only One Returned
i i
box hedge. Osyth had been wearing white at dinner,
he remembered.
Well, there was nothing particularly unusual in that,
he told himself. Probably Osyth had gone out to seek
inspiration in the garden. Besides, it was a hot night.
Then when the Colonel had apparently abandoned
the idea of confiding in him, and when he yawned
rather ostentatiously, Hawkesbridge had suggested bed.
After a whisky and soda he had bidden the Colonel
good-night, and at the early hour of ten-fifteen had
gone to his room. Ten minutes later the Colonel had
visited him there—"to see if everything is all right,"
he had explained. But Hawkesbridge, noting his hesi-
tating manner, again had the impression that the
Colonel wanted to tell him something important, but
was doubtful of the advisability of doing it. Finally
the Colonel left.
Hawkesbridge felt too wakeful to go to bed. In any
case, that queer sense of apprehension had already
started to function, though until now there was no
reason for it as far as he could tell. He decided to
descend to the library to get a book.
The passage outside was in darkness so he returned
for an electric torch, and feeling unhappily like a thief
he tip-toed to the staircase. As he passed his host's room
he heard voices and quite plainly Mrs. Merrow said:
". . . trust him all right. Tell him first thing in the
morning."
The remark so linked up with his earlier impres-
sion of the Colonel's desire to make a confidant of him
that unconsciously he halted. The Colonel said some-
thing in his deep rumble that was unintelligible, and
Hawkesbridge became aware of the fact that he was


12 The Mystery at Chillery
evesdropping. He started to move on again when there
came to him the distinct sound of a woman's sob fol-
lowed by the words, plainly if tearfully uttered:
"I can't bear it, Austinl We shall all go mad if"
The Colonel broke in with a swift "Hush!" of cau-
tion, and Hawkesbridge guiltily hurried on. In the
library he took a book without looking at the title.
The desire for reading was gone yet he felt uncom-
fortably that he must take a book of some sort since,
after all, that was what he had come for. At the back
of his mind was a dread lest he should be discovered
and thought to have overheard the Merrows' con-
versation.
He saw that the window had been closed but not
shuttered and supposed that presently Carlin, the but-
ler, would go round the house locking up. Did he
know that Osyth was outside?
He went to the window and looked out. The gar-
den lay flooded in moonlight and the lawn was glisten-
ing with dew. Diagonally across it lay a trail of foot-
prints—Osyth's, of course.
Should he warn Carlin that the girl was out? It
was not his place to do that. Doubtless Osyth was in
the habit of going into the garden at night and she
had arranged not to be shut out. Hawkesbridge turned
and went to the door, intending to return to his room
despite the strength of the uncanny force that told
him that something was wrong and that that some-
thing was in the garden. Man of action that he was,
his whole nature rebelled against the convention that
demanded that he return to his room and stay there
till morning. Instinct told him to investigate; but
breeding forced him upstairs.


Only One Returned 13
Upstairs he went, but he compromised by not switch-
ing on the light and by going at once to his window
which looked out on the same part of the garden from
above the library window. There he gained the first
tangible evidence that something unusual had hap-
pened and was still happening. Down below he had
noticed but one line of footprints on the dew-drenched
grass of the lawn: the brilliance of the moonlight had
enabled him to see that trail quite clearly. Now a
second trail lay across the lawn intermingling in places
with the first as though the person who made it had
gone uncertainly, not directly, across from corner to
corner.
Apprehension grew, yet again Hawkesbridge was re-
strained from investigating by the thought that he
did not know the habits of the household and that
probably everything was normal. It was possible that,
knowing Osyth was out, the butler had gone to tell
her that he was about to lock up—No; he would hardly
do that. He might have gone to tell her that her par-
ents had gone to bed. That was more likely, perhaps.
The trouble was, Hawkesbridge realised, that he knew
nothing of the family's habits. More and more as he
convinced himself that he must not trespass, he de-
cided to do nothing. He would just sit here at the
open window and watch and wait.
The moon was setting. It sank behind the massive
yew tree and the lawn now lay in darkness. The trails
of footprints could no longer be seen.
So much for Hawkesbridge's "appreciation of the
situation." The hour was now past one o'clock and
he had seen and heard nothing since then but the plain-
tive call of an owl in the dark cedar. Should he wait


14 The Mystery at Chillery
longer? Instinct said "Yes"; reason said "No," and
because despite the proved value of his instinct he
hated appearing to be in any way abnormal, even to
himself, he sensed that his apprehension was mere
foolishness and, undressing, went to bed.
But he did not sleep. For an hour he lay uncomfort-
ably trying to school his mind to quietness, but when-
ever he closed his eyes he saw the moon-flooded lawn
with its two trails of footprints. His senses were so
alert that he could even hear the steady tick-tock of
the big grandfather clock in the hall below—a clock
that was not allowed to chime because Mrs. Merrow
was such a light sleeper.
He must have dozed at last. He opened his eyes to
find the gray light of the summer's early dawn filling
the room. The window curtains fluttered in the cool
wind.
He glanced at his watch, conscious that apprehen-
sion was still with him. It was half past four. Sleep
left his brain at once. He pushed back the single sheet
that covered him and got out of bed, going at once to
the window. The lawn was white with heavy dew and
last night's two trails were blurred. Alongside was a
single new trail, with the toemarks towards the house.
There were two people abroad last night and only one
returned.


Chapter II
THE BODY IN THE TRAIN
WHAT was the significance of the third trail?
Plainly it had been made hours after the
other two. And whose was it, Osyth's or that
of the person who had followed her? From the window
Hawkesbridge could not answer that question.
He began hastily to don his clothes. Now was the
time for investigation before the servants were astir. If
he were seen at most he would be thought but eccen-
tric for rising so early.
As he put on his jacket he paused. Osyth might have
a lover, and that second trail He put the thought
out of his mind at once. Osyth was not that sort.
His leg worried him this morning. Doubtless the
heavy dew made the air damp—he didn't understand
meteorological matters, but he knew that damp always
caused his old wound to be troublesome. He limped
across to the door and opened it cautiously. Silence,
but for the tick-tock of the clock in the hall.
In a few minutes he was at the front door. It was
bolted. He opened it easily and silently, and going out-
side pulled it to behind him without shutting it com-
pletely. Then he went to the corner of the lawn where
the outgoing footprints started. The old trails were too
blurred to be distinguished one from another, but the
15


16 The Mystery at Chillery
new trail, that which returned to where he stood, was
plain. The footprints were a man's. Osyth then had
not returned—at least, not by the way she had gone
out.
Hawkesbridge straightened himself and looked across
the lawn. Beyond the diagonally opposite corner to
which the earlier trails led, and from which the third
trail came, was a path between hedges of box. He
had been along there last evening with Osyth, but he
did not remember where it went.
He glanced round the deserted garden. A blackbird
and a couple of starlings sought breakfast on the lawn,
and in the cedar a thrush was singing. A rook went
by overhead, cawing lustily. Hawkesbridge quickly
made up his mind, and going round the lawn he
entered the box lined alley. The flagged path showed
no footprints, but it was certain that the two who had
been abroad in the night had gone along it. He limped
to the far end and came to a wicket gate. Beyond was
a meadow.
He paused to orientate himself. The sun had not yet
risen, but he knew he was facing almost due west.
The house was immediately behind him, and the road
to North Grinstead was over to the southward con-
nected with the house by a two hundred yard drive
as he could see as he looked across the meadow on
his left. The gate interrupted a path crossing a field
to an iron fence by a thicket a hundred and fifty yards
away.
He turned round and looked back. Yes; undoubt-
edly Osyth had meant to make for the path across the
meadow, otherwise she would not have crossed the
lawn diagonally. The inference was that she had gone


The Body in the Train 17
to the wood. It was useless to wonder why. In any
case, it was none of his business. He was concerned
with the person who had followed her and who had
returned not very long ago—if that latest unblurred
trail meant anything.
Hawkesbridge turned again and walked slowly along
the path towards the wood, studying the ground as he
went. He came to the wood and found a stile in the
hedge that separated it from the meadow. On the edge
of the step were several small pieces of grass, sharp cut
at one end. Undoubtedly they were from the lawn—
the cut ends denoted a lawn mower. He was on the
right track.
Laboriously, because of his stiff leg, he got over the
stile. The wood beyond was dense with undergrowth,
but the path he had just traversed continued on
through it—probably to the road, he decided, noticing
its leftward tendency. He began to walk along it and
then stopped. The moist ground held footprints—a
jumble of them. They were unblurred except where
they mingled. Examination confirmed what he had
already discovered on the lawn: one pair was a woman's
and one a man's, and the man's went in both direc-
tions.
Instinct caused him to step on one side of the path
so that he should not leave a trail himself in the soft
ground. Walking now with difficulty, because he was
no longer on the path, he pushed on. Sometimes when
the ground was harder the footprints disappeared. But
he did not bother about the trail now: he knew that
he was going right.
He came to a fork in the path. The ground was
hard at the junction, but he cast along each track until


18 The Mystery at Chillery
he found the trail again, leading to the left and in the
direction of the road. A hundred yards further on he
halted. Before him was a treeless hollow, and in the
centre stood a rude hut.
For some minutes he kept in the shelter of the trees.
The hut might be tenanted, and he did not want to
be discovered. The path itself ended at the edge of the
hollow, but across the short grass was a blurred trail,
and at the beginning of it, showing plainly on the soft
ground, was the print of a small heel. Of the man's
tracks he could see nothing.
Slowly he circled the hollow until he reached a
point opposite the doorway.
What now? Undoubtedly this was the place to which
Osyth had gone last night. The blurred footprints
across the grass proved that. And it was obvious that
either she was still there or she had returned by an-
other route. Why then had the man gone back by the
way he had come? Evidently he had done what he in-
tended to do, or seen what he wanted to see and—
Wait a bit, thoughl He must have been out here some
hours.
A fear that was not nameless was growing in the sol-
dier's mind. So far as he could see the man had not
gone to the hut, why then had he followed Osyth so
far and stayed here some hours afterwards? It wasn't
possible that Osyth had had an assignation with him!
Altogether impossible!
The fear grew, but he mastered it. He must not act
precipitately. Probably the path he had just left was
continued through the wood beyond the hut. He edged
round the hollow. A trail again—no, two! He went


The Body in the Train 19
round a little further. The grass was all trampled down
as though several people had passed that way.
Understanding came. Someone had gone to the hut
from the opposite direction, had met Osyth there, and
the two had gone in the direction from which that
person had come. Yes; there was the continuation of
the path.
He hurried towards it and was rewarded at once.
In the damp soil he read the story without difficulty.
A woman had approached the hut from the west,
Osyth had come from the east, met Osyth at or in the
hut, and had gone off with her to the westward.
But what of the man? Search as he might, Hawkes-
bridge could find no evidence of him anywhere. Was
he then just a Paul Pry who had followed Osyth think-
ing that she was going to meet a man? Had he hidden
in the wood watching? And had he, when he found
that the assignation was with a woman, returned to
the house?
But that didn't fit in with the evidence. It was plain
from the blurred trail that the woman had come early
in the night, just before or just after Osyth had ar-
rived, about ten o'clock; whereas the man had not
returned until some hours later.
Hawkesbridge looked at the hut again. Osyth was
obviously not there, but he felt he ought to examine
the inside.
He did so, crossing the grass where it had been
trampled down on the west side of it. There was no
reason, he told himself, why he should be careful to
avoid leaving tracks: his caution was just habit.
Save for a tree log the hut was empty. The dry
ground held no footprints.


20 The Mystery at Chillery
Hawkesbridge looked at his watch. Half past five.
He had been out longer than he had thought. He went
back to where the path continued on through the wood
and made his way along it, treading cautiously on the
side. Except for a robin piping thinly, and his own
heavy breathing, there was no sound. Twice he came
upon the footprints again, but he told himself that
he had no need to look for them.
Then through the trees he saw a stile, and the path
began to circle round to it. A minute more and he had
gained the road. He sat on the step of the stile and
filled his pipe. He could not follow the trail on the
hard road, and in any case it was unnecessary to do so.
The two women might have parted here or—no; North
Grinstead from which the stranger had probably, but
not necessarily, come lay to the left, as did also the
entrance to the drive of Chillery Court. The two, most
likely, had gone together to the entrance to the drive
where they had parted.
Yes; that was it. If the stranger had gone to the right,
Osyth, after leaving her, would have taken the short
cut back to Chillery Court through the wood, whereas,
it was obvious, because there was no trail, that she had
not done that.
Hawkesbridge lighted his pipe, pleased with his de-
tective work, and rose to his feet. He would return to
Chillery by way of the road: a brisk walk would do
him good.
He arrived back at the house to find the servants
up. Explaining to Carlin, the butler, that he had been
out for exercise, he went up to his room. An hour
later, tubbed and shaved, he descended and greeted
his host. The Colonel, he decided, looked livery this


The Body in the Train 21
morning, but Merrow showed himself anxious to be
affable and insisted on showing Hawkesbridge the
stables before breakfast. He had a couple of hunters
that were "eating their heads off," he complained, and
if Hawkesbridge wanted a mount, well, the gray mare
would suit him down to the ground. But Hawkes-
bridge pointed out that he had a game leg, whereat the
Colonel apologised and told him to take the car when-
ever he was at a loose end.
"I want you to make yourself at home, my boy," he
said. "Do exactly as you wish, you know. I'm not so
young as I was."
And Hawkesbridge, watching him as he fed the gray
with a lump of sugar, thought he was looking much
older than he should do at sixty. Those deep lines
round the mouth were not the ravages of time.
The two had breakfast alone together. Mrs. Merrow,
the Colonel explained, did not come down till late,
and Osyth, he supposed, had worked half the night
and was still asleep.
About half past nine the morning papers came.
Hawkesbridge took The North Sussex Argus and went
out into the garden. On a seat on the sunny side of
the greenhouse he settled down to read.
In a few minutes his head began to nod. He roused
himself, but nature, outraged by his wakeful night,
insisted on recompense, and in a few minutes he was
fast asleep.
The sun rose higher and beat on his bare head, but
he did not notice it. Nor did he notice Osyth as she
came along the path. She caught sight of him and half
stopped. Then she smiled and went softly to the seat


Chapter III
OSYTH REFUSES TO SPEAK

AWKESBRIDGE was wide awake now. In-
evitably he connected up the brief report he
had read with his earlier discoveries in the
wood: the woman, he told himself, must be the per-
son whom Osyth had met at the hut in the clearing.
Would she have had time, though, to catch that train?
He did a rapid mental calculation. Yes: even if she
had stayed some time with Osyth she could have caught
it. It had started at 10.35 from Horsham; it would
probably be a slow train and might take anything
over half an hour to get to North Grinstead.
He must not jump to conclusions, the soldier in
him insisted; but the circumstantial evidence was
strong even if motivation was apparently absent. He
recalled his last night's impression, that impression
which had resulted in his keeping watch at his window
until a late hour, and his going out at dawn to eluci-
date the mystery of the missing trail of footprints. He
had told himself, warned not only by his sixth sense
but by the Colonel's manner, that there was some-
thing wrong at Chillery, and here was a death that
was linked with the night's happenings and which
definitely proved his apprehension to be right.
Was that logical? No; he could see that it was not—
23


24 The Mystery at Chillery
not altogether, that is. His reasoning was based on
hypothesis, and even though intermediate develop-
ments supported that hypothesis (that there was some-
thing wrong at Chillery) he must not accept those de-
velopments as proof that his impression was right.
What now? He had discovered Osyth's visit to the
wood by an act that might be considered low-down:
he had been spying. Useless to plead a friendly con-
cern for the family. He had acted entirely on hypoth-
esis, and even if he had worked on definite data he
had no right to do so. It wasn't done, he told himself
with a touch of cynicism.
But Osyth, startled out of composure, had revealed
fear. Something was wrong at Chillery, and he had
now more than mere impressions to guide him. True,
if the dead woman was Osyth's friend it was scarcely
to be expected that his presence would prevent her
from betraying her—her
He wondered what Osyth's feelings really were.
Awakened from sleep as he had been he had had no
chance to discover properly. But there was no mistak-
ing that look in the girl's face. It was one of stark fear.
Slowly the soldier rose to his feet, folding up the
newspaper as he did so and putting it in his jacket
pocket. He looked towards the house, trying to make
up his mind what he should do. He realised that he
was in a difficult predicament, for he knew nothing
and he dared not presume.
But the Colonel was his friend. That made a differ-
ence. And Osyth? Poor Osyth! She had looked like a
terror-stricken child when her scream had awakened
him. She needed help, and perhaps it was help that
her father could not supply; or did he and his wife


26 The Mystery at Chillery
the very few facts he knew. One thing he could do
though. The trails across the lawn, of course, were
gone by now, for the hot sun had since dried up the
dew, heavy thought it had been; but the footprints in
the wood would probably still be visible.
Hawkesbridge acted at once. Glancing again at the
house, he made his way along to the gate by which
he had left the garden that morning. There was no
one in sight. He crossed the meadow, and entering
the wood, went as fast as his lame leg would allow
to the place where he had first seen the soft impres-
sions in the earth. Yes; they were still visible. The
man's footprints were large—larger than the Colonel's,
he thought, comparing them with his own.
Training kept him from adding to the footprints.
He went along the narrow path with no particular ob-
ject in view, reached the hut and then halted. There
was no purpose in his search: he was wasting time. The
track could tell him no more than it had already
revealed.
He made his way back. He must find Osyth, he
told himself. Whatever she might think of him he
must reveal what he knew and put her on her guard.
Someone was aware that she had been out, and was
probably the last person who had spoken to the woman
who had been killed in the train last night. There
was motive in the man's following her. He was an
enemy, without doubt.
Hawkesbridge was glad of the sunlight which
greeted him as he left the gloomy wood and began
to climb the stile. Then his nerves leapt as he heard
a movement behind him: he swung round.
A glimpse of white in the bushes caught his eye. He


Osyth Refuses to Speak
could see nothing else, but he knew instinctively who
was there.
"Osyth!" he called quietly, not realising that he
had used her Christian name.
He heard her give a little gasp.
"Come here," he commanded. Then in gentler
tones: "I know all about it. Don't be afraid."
She came then, her face white and strained.
"Suppose you sit here," he said, patting the top
bar of the stile. She looked so pathetic that he was
unconsciously treating her as a small child.
"Why did you hide?" he went on as she auto-
matically obeyed him. "You were going to the hut,
weren't you? Come on, now; let me help."
He hated himself for imposing an inquisition, but
he had to make her explain. Instead of replying she
asked a question in a small constricted voice.
"Captain Hawkesbridge, what are you doing here?"
This was a poser. To steady them both he delib-
erately took out his cigarette case and offered it to her.
She shook her head.
"Come, it will do us both good to have a smoke," he
said. Then, "Very well—but you won't mind if I do,
will you?" He stopped for a moment to find and light
a match. "As a matter of fact, I was trying to help you.
Does your father know?" he added carelessly, but he
watched her face as he did so.
"What do you mean?" she demanded in stronger
tones, though her lips quivered.
"You're in a bit of a mess, I take it." He looked
away across the meadow as he spoke, and his tone be-
came more serious. "It's beyond me altogether, but
look here—I knew you when you had pigtails, and


28 The Mystery at Chiixery
I'm a friend. It's no good pretending to me that there's
nothing wrong because it won't wash. There's a lot
wrong and—here, steady, old girl!"
She had suddenly buried her face in her hands and
her shoulders shook. He patted her head gently and
let her cry. Presently, as she grew quieter, he began
to speak again.
"I expect that's done you good. Now, let's have it
out together. Who was the girl in the train?"
She looked at him then with fear-stricken eyes.
"What do you mean?" she whispered. "How should I
know?"
Hawkesbridge saw that he would have to be firm.
"Look here, it's no good going on like this. I'd better
tell you what I know. I know, for instance, that you
left the house about ten last night; that you went
across the lawn, up the box alley, across the meadow
and through the wood to the hut where you met a
woman. Don't look at me as though I'd killed you.
After that you went with her to the main road, and
then"
"My God!" Osyth breathed.
"I know," he went on. "It is 'My God!' but we've
got to straighten out the matter somehow. After that
I'm not quite certain, but I suspect that you parted
from her at the entrance to the drive. Who was she?"
"I can't tell you anything about it. You've got it
all wrong."
He sighed. "I think not," he contradicted. "You are
not helping me at all. Anyhow, you suspect that the
woman who was killed in the train last night was a
friend of yours. Isn't that so?"
She nodded miserably.


Osyth Refuses to Speak 29
"And we both suspect—murder."
Osyth wrung her hands. "But why should anyone
want to murder her? Why should?"
"What did you meet her for?" He must force her
confidence somehow.
"Can't I meet a friend and?"
"Osyth!"
"Well, I don't see"
"Damn it! I'm sorry. But when a murder has been
committed you can't play hanky-panky this way. Do
you think I haven't seen that there's something wrong
at Chillery? It's not my business, perhaps, but"
"But you've found out a lot." Osyth's tones were bit-
ter. "I suppose you were spying on me and"
Hawkesbridge winced. "Steady! If I've made it my
business to find out certain things it was only because
something happened last night after you left the house
that showed me you were in danger."
"Me!" she exclaimed incredulously. Her surprise
seemed genuine enough, and Hawkesbridge was puz-
zled for a moment, but continued: "As a matter of
fact your father wanted to tell me, but he"
"But he doesn't know anything about it!" she ex-
claimed, apparently even more astonished. Then, see-
ing that she had made a slip, she hastened to add,
"What I mean is, what should he want to tell you
about?"
"I don't know," Hawkesbridge answered truthfully,
"but anyone with half an eye can see there's something
wrong, and—well—no one wants to butt in, but as I
knew there was something unusual going on "He
stopped.
"Go on," said Osyth faintly.


30 The Mystery at Chillery
"Well, if you will have it—some one followed you
last night and I wanted to find out who it was, so
I"
Again he broke off. The look of horror had returned
to her face.
"My God!" she whispered again.
"He followed you to the hut and stayed there some
hours."
"How do you know?" she demanded.
"The tracks were clear enough this morning."
She looked down at the ground. "And you don't
know who it was?"
He shook his head. "Do you?"-
She rose to her feet. "I'm sorry. I'm terribly sorry,
but—I can't. I can only say you've got it all wrong."
She left him sitting on the stile. Once he saw her
hesitate, as she crossed the meadow, and hoped that she
had changed her mind. But she continued on her way.
Hawkesbridge took the cigarette from his mouth and
jabbed the lighted end viciously on the bar of the stile.


Chapter IV
WHAT THE POACHER SAW
HAT now? As a citizen Hawkesbridge told
himself that it was his plain duty to inform
the police of what he knew. Yet, he reflected,
it was by no means certain that the murdered woman
—no doubt that she was murdered—was Osyth's
friend. It was by no means certain, either, that her
death was connected with the meeting in the wood.
Besides, there were times when one's duty as a citizen
conflicted with what was right. Men lived together in
communities, and the law was a matter of convenience
which, generally speaking, must for the common weal
be subscribed to by each individual; but there must be
times when the common weal was of little importance.
He shook his head impatiently. There was no time
to argue out the ethics of the matter. He was Merrow's
guest and a friend of the family; moreover they were
in trouble of some kind and obviously needed help.
More than ever it seemed that he had been invited to
Chillery in order that he might give that help. Was he
to betray them? The matter was probably too delicate
for ordinary investigation by the police, otherwise the
Colonel would have sought the aid of the law.
Who was the man who had followed Osyth? That
seemed to be the first question to be answered. That


32 The Mystery at Chillery
he had apparently come from the house was not con-
clusive evidence that he belonged to Chillery, but that
he had returned to it was significant—unless, knowing
that he had laid a trail he had returned with the inten-
tion of making himself appear to belong to the place.
Not so fast. One thing at a time. If he belonged to
Chillery he must be either the Colonel, Carlin the
butler, Lyall the chauffeur-gardener, or himself. Him-
self he could rule out, the Colonel likewise. There re-
mained the two servants.
No; that line of reasoning took him nowhere. But it
wouldn't be a bad idea to sound Carlin. After all, it
was quite possible that the butler, wanting to lock up
and privileged by long service, had gone out to seek
Osyth and had spied unintentionally.
All conjecture! There was no definite line of reason-
ing that could be followed. Hawkesbridge rose from
the stile, wondering what he should do next, when he
remembered that as a newly-arrived guest he should be
more or less at the disposal of his host despite the
Colonel's invitation to him to do as he liked.
Slowly he returned to the house. Colonel Merrow,
he learnt, had ridden over to Chillery village to see a
tenant. Hawkesbridge thought that he might also go
to the village. He might, after all, learn something
there. Perhaps Osyth would go with him.
But Osyth was nowhere to be found. Hawkesbridge
walked slowly up the drive and gained the main road.
Chillery, as he knew, lay to the right. He glanced at
the sun in order to orientate himself. The road ran
east and west at that point.
The sun was very hot. He took off his cap and
walked bareheaded enjoying the warmth. He rounded


What the Poacher Saw
S3
a bend in the road. Then involuntarily he halted. Ten
yards ahead were an inspector of police, a well-dressed
young man and a middle-aged villager. And they were
standing alongside a wood which, he told himself, must
certainly be the wood which he had explored earlier.
The young man was looking at him interestedly.
Cursing the apprehension that had made him halt,
Hawkesbridge began to walk on.
The inspector swung round, and the villager to
whom he had been talking followed his gaze.
"Good-morning," Hawkesbridge greeted them, and
added woodenly, "It's a lovely day."
"Good morning, sir," the Inspector returned. "Yes;
it's a fine morning."
The young man said nothing. Hawkesbridge had an
impression of an unusually intelligent face and a pair
of gray eyes which challenged his own.
"Is anything wrong?" Hawkesbridge asked, striving
hard to appear nonchalant.
"Well "the Inspector began doubtfully and
broke off. "Who are you, Sir? Excuse me asking. I have
to make it my business to know every one, and if I'm
not mistaken you're a stranger here."
"Quite right, Inspector," smiled the soldier. "I'm
Captain Hawkesbridge—a visitor at Chillery Court."
He glanced at the young man, but the other was
watching a sparrowhawk hovering above the trees. His
sole concern seemed to be whether the bird would
swoop or not.
"I'm Inspector Newstead, of the County Police," the
policeman introduced himself.
A movement further up the road in the shadow of
the trees arrested Hawkesbridge's attention. A police-


34 The Mystery at Chillery
man: and he must be somewhere near the stile that
terminated the path through the wood! Apprehension
seized Hawkesbridge at once, but his voice was under
control when he spoke again.
"Is anything wrong?" he repeated, aware that the
young man was watching him covertly.
"It's the train murder," answered the Inspector,
"though of course we can't call it a murder till the
verdict's given."
"But what are you—I mean," Hawkesbridge cor-
rected himself, "did she belong here?"
"No; she's a Brighton girl. She came here from
Brighton yesterday and went back by the last train, as
we see it."
"I see," Hawkesbridge said with as much indifference
as he could manage. "I suppose you're just making
enquiries about her?"
"That's it." The Inspector would vouchsafe no more.
"You'll excuse me, Sir," he finished, and turned again
to the villager.
"This wood is part of the Chillery estate, isn't it?"
the young man asked, speaking for the first time.
Instinctively Hawkesbridge was hostile. The soldier
in him was annoyed at the man's slight build. A de-
tective, he supposed. Looked clever enough. An enemy,
anyway, and to be treated with distrust.
"Yes," he answered briefly, and waited.
The Inspector was talking in low tones to the vil-
lager. A poacher, if ever there was one, was Hawkes-
bridge's opinion.
"I tell 'ee I doant know," the man said stubbornly.
"I see'd 'er just by the crossroads there," he pointed
towards the constable higher up the road, "about 'arf


j6 The Mystery at Chillery
"I'm delighted to meet you," Hawkesbridge ex-
claimed with genuine warmth and held out his hand.
"I've often read your stuff. Of course I know you
by name very well."
So this was Ravenhill, The Planets notorious 'crime
reporter!' So this was the man who, by his extraordi-
nary skill as a detective, had made his name a house-
hold word! Hawkesbridge looked at him with new in-
terest. Yes; his face was clever enough, but one would
hardly suppose his interests were crime and criminals:
he looked more like—like . The soldier couldn't
'place' him at all. He looked too absurdly young for
anything.
But—a reporterl He was dangerous then. If the
murder in the train was in any way connected with
affairs at Chillery Court a reporter on the scene must
inevitably mean publicity. Hawkesbridge frowned, and
then, aware that Ravenhill was looking at him curi-
ously, he smiled again.
"I suppose you've solved the mystery by this time,"
he said banteringly.
There was no malice in his remark, and the reporter
apparently saw none, for he laughed lightly.
"Not yet," he answered. "I haven't been here long."
He laughed again.
"Well, what's happened so far?" queried the soldier
with more interest than he betrayed.
They had reached the cross-roads now and were turn-
ing to the left towards Chillery. Before they left the
main road, Hawkesbridge scanned it to see whether
the constable were actually at the stile, but the man
had disappeared.
"Nothing much," replied Ravenhill. "The girl's


What the Poacher Saw
37
been identified. She was Myrtle Ferribee. Unusual
name, isn't it? Lived in Brighton."
"Since you and the police are investigating here,"
said Hawkesbridge, "I take it that she was travelling
between here and Brighton when she was killed?"
"Correct," answered Ravenhill. "She came here by
the afternoon coach to visit her aunt at North Grin-
stead, an old lady who lives on the far side of the village.
The girl left by the last train." He stopped.
"Is that all?"
"Not quite. She said good-bye to her aunt at nine
o'clock and caught the train at eleven-ten. There's a
gap of two hours to account for."
"Perhaps she has other friends here."
The reporter shook his head. "We haven't discovered
any so far. She's more or less unknown in North Grin-
stead, but I'm going to make enquiries at Chillery too."
"You mean Chillery Village? But why there?" asked
the soldier, remembering what the man who looked
like a poacher had said, and already knowing the
answer.
"That fellow you saw us talking to—his name's
Joyce and he's a poacher or I'm a Dutchman—says he
saw her at about ten-thirty at the cross-roads we've
just left. It's queer she should come right out here
when the station's actually in North Grinstead village.
Incidentally, she told her aunt she was catching the
nine-fifteen train."
"Perhaps she missed it and went for a walk to fill in
time?"
"Hardly likely. The nine-fifteen was ten minutes
late."
"I suppose the poacher's to be trusted?"


38 The Mystery at Chillery
"He knows her aunt and has seen the girl before.
There's no reason why he should lie about her. The
trouble is, is he telling the whole truth?"
"What made you say that?"
"Well, what was he doing alongside Colonel Mer-
row's wood at ten-thirty?"
"Going home from the inn," ventured the soldier.
"I suppose there's one hereabouts?"
"There's the Hanging Gate Inn at Chillery," an-
swered Ravenhill. "But the man lives at North Grin-
stead. Why should he go all the way to Chillery for a
drink?"
"Wanted a walk perhaps."
"Most people who're on their legs all day and half
the night like walking for pleasure, don't they?" re-
torted Ravenhill scathingly. "Anyhow, we shall soon
find out. There's the inn if I'm not mistaken. Let's
go in and have a glass of beer."
He led the way into the bar, and when the landlord
answered his summons, called for two glasses of ale.
"I've just been having a chat with a friend of
yours," Ravenhill told the landlord. "He says he had
a bit of an argument with you last night."
"If you mean Jack Others, sir, you're right entirely,"
answered the landlord, grinning. "We"
"No; I mean Joyce."
The landlord's forehead creased. "I didn't have no
argument with that Joyce larst night."
"I must have misunderstood him then," Ravenhill
said. "He must have meant some one else. He was here
though, wasn't he?"
"Yes, 'e were 'ere, but 'e didn't stay long. Said 'e 'ad
a job on," winking heavily.


What the Poacher Saw 39
"What time did he leave then?"
"Oh, 'bout nine, I suppose. He "Then the land-
lord frowned again and looked from Ravenhill to
Hawkesbridge and back again.
"It's all right, landlord," smiled the reporter. "Will
you have a drink with me?"
When the man had gone Ravenhill turned to his
companion. "You see?" he observed. "It's going to be
damned difficult to make Joyce talk if he was poaching
last night, as he must have been else he wouldn't have
lied about his movements. Ten to one he was in the
Colonel's wood when he saw Miss Ferribee."
In the Colonel's woodl Hawkesbridge was suddenly
apprehensive. Of course he would be in the wood after
the Colonel's game. Then he had probably seen Osyth.
A new thought came to him. Could Joyce be the man
who had followed Osyth?
"What's wrong?" he heard Ravenhill ask.
"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of what you said,"
he answered, inwardly cursing himself for his abstrac-
tion. "It's all very mysterious," he added futilely, help-
lessly.
Ravenhill drank, regarding him the while over the
top of his glass.
"Interesting place, that wood," he said finally.
Hawkesbridge stilled his thoughts. If he had to hide
his knowledge from the reporter he must not make sur-
mises as to what the fellow was hinting at. Maybe he
was being led into a trap.
"Very," he agreed indifferently. "I was there this
morning."
"You had to keep to the path because of the game,
I suppose?" queried Ravenhill.


40 The Mystery at Chillery
"Of course." Hawkesbridge inwardly writhed. What
was the fellow getting at?
The landlord reappeared before Ravenhill could
speak again. He raised his glass to toast his customers
and then drank deeply. He began to talk, but some
one at the end of the bar demanded his attention and
he finished his drink apologetically and went.
"You're a careful walker, Captain Hawkesbridge,"
observed the reporter, beginning to fill his pipe.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the sol-
dier.
"Only that you didn't add your footprints to the
others." Ravenhill struck a match and lighted his pipe.
To gain time Hawkesbridge finished his ale. "Have
another?" he invited.
Ravenhill grinned. "I shouldn't bother about think-
ing out the reply," he advised. "You aren't, I imagine,
an adept at—distortion. And I will have another drink,
thank you."
The soldier's sudden anger died. He grinned good-
naturedly at the other, and called for more ale. When
it had been set on the table and the landlord had with-
drawn he had his answer ready.
"No," he said, "I won't distort the truth. There's no
reason why I should. But I am Colonel Merrow's guest,
and since I can't"
He stopped short. Damn it! In trying to avoid an
indiscretion he had fallen into a trap after all. The
clever devill Oh, the clever devill
But he had to finish somehow. He must get out of
that trap.
"—since I'm Colonel Merrow's guest"
"Don't try it," Ravenhill grinned.


What the Poacher Saw
4»
"Damnation!" swore the soldier. "What the blazes
are you getting at?"
"Steady on!" admonished the reporter in mock dis-
approval. "We shall be thrown out if you disgrace the
house like that. But what are you worrying about? I'm
not a policeman."
"A reporter may be worse in some ways," Hawkes-
bridge said more quietly.
"Meaning ?" The reporter had flushed. The sol-
dier saw it.
"Sorry," he apologized. "Didn't mean that. But
damn it! Can't you see that you're a reporter and the
—and I don't want to be dragged into the limelight?"
That was a clever move, he thought.
The reporter sighed and drank from his glass. "Let's
sit down," he said, and drank again. "Dunno why
we've been standing all this time."
Hawkesbridge sat down on the table edge. The re-
porter relighted his pipe with elaborate care, throwing
his spent match expertly into the fireplace, and took a
chair.
"Of course you don't want publicity," he said
gravely. "If you have read my stuff in The Planet you
will realise that I'm not exactly indiscreet. I never in-
tentionally"
"I know you don't," interrupted the soldier, striving
to make amends. "But if you were in my position you'd
dislike being questioned as much as I do. What's the
connection, anyhow, between the Colonel's wood and
Miss Ferribee?"
"You probably know better than I do," said Raven-
hill. "I don't imagine you went along that path with
such care because it's your habit to walk like that."


42 The Mystery at Chillery
"You're talking in riddles. How do you know that
I?"
"I'm not talking in riddles. And it was you who told
me you had been in that wood and had walked that
path, and since it's physically impossible not to leave
footprints in that damp soil unless you deliberately
avoid doing so, the inference is that you walked with
care. Why?"
Hawkesbridge was silent.
"The question is," Ravenhill went on mercilessly,
"whether you investigated the path to the hut before
or after you heard of the murder."
"Tell me what you know," demanded Hawkes-
bridge.
"Why should I? But I don't mind. It's little enough
so far." He held up a hand and tapped the little finger.
"Point one, Miss Myrtle Ferribee was murdered last
night in the Brighton train which she caught at a late
hour at North Grinstead; point two, Joyce saw her by
the wood at ten-thirty when she was apparently making
for the station."
"Is that all?"
"All the facts, yes. But there's a deal of evidence still
to be sifted. I inferred that since the girl was going east
towards North Grinstead the reason for her late stay
here and her lie to her aunt was to be found some-
where to the west from which she was returning when
Joyce saw her. Naturally I investigated. Naturally I
found the stile, and before going further up the road I
went over and examined the path and almost immedi-
ately found footprints which were undoubtedly Miss
Ferribee's."
"How the devil do you know that?"


What the Poacher Saw
43
Ravenhill sighed patiently. "I was at The Planet
office in Fleet Street when the local correspondent at
Brighton 'phoned the news of the murder through,
and because a train murder's always good 'copy' I
came down by car at once. I was in Brighton by dawn
and had seen the body by breakfast time. You don't
suppose I neglected such an obvious precaution as to
measure shoes and notice their peculiarities, do you?
Why, even a local constable would not omit that."
"Well, whose were the other footprints?"
"You are clumsy. I never said there were others."
Hawkesbridge grinned. "Pardon. But it's you who
are clumsy this time. I haven't concealed from you the
fact that I have been to the wood this morning. You
know, therefore, that I know there are two pairs of
footprints, and"
"Three," interrupted the reporter.
"Three, then," conceded Hawkesbridge. "and I
know that you know I was there."
"You winl All right. The other lady was the lady
you spoke to at the stile."
Hawkesbridge was too amazed to conceal his feel-
ings. "How the deuce do you know ?" he began.
"Because you forgot yourself at the stile," returned
the reporter. "The ground there is not so soft as further
in the wood, but it tells a tale all right. So does the
rough wood of the stile where threads of your and her
clothing were caught. So does the spent match and the
half smoked cigarette with its stubbed end. You even
showed where you had stubbed it. Further—" He
stopped, his gaze fixed on the soldier's jacket by the left
shoulder.
Instinctively Hawkesbridge knew what he had dis-


44 The Mystery at Chillery
covered, but he glanced across at the mirror over the
fireplace. On his shoulder was a faint patch of white
—Osyth's face powder smudged on to his coat when she
had cried and he had tried to soothe her. She had, he
remembered, brushed her face against him when she
had drawn away. Of course the fellow thought that he
was her lover.
"Well?" he asked coldly.
"Am I right?"
"Perfectly."
"And you're going to let me draw my own conclu-
sions?"
"Obviously I can't do anything else." Hawkesbridge
finished his drink and stood up.
"I'm sorry," said Ravenhill simply. "I can only re-
peat that I'm not a policeman, and even if I'm a re-
porter I'm not a cad, you know."
"I know that," the soldier said awkwardly, "but—
oh, damn it! I've nothing to tell you. I know no more
than you—except," he added, "that there was a man
present last night too. But I expect you"
"Yes; I know that," Ravenhill agreed. "You've no
idea who he was?"
"Not the foggiest," answered Hawkesbridge truth-
fully. "Unless it was Joyce."
Ravenhill shook his head. "Prints are too small," he
said. "Well, I suppose"
He broke off as the door opened, and a well dressed
man of middle height and abnormally thin entered the
room followed by the landlord.
"'Morning, Mr. Bentham," the landlord greeted
him.
"'Morning, Sawyer," returned the stranger in a quiet


What the Poacher Saw 45
voice. "I suppose you've heard about Mrs. Ferribee's
niece?"
"Ah, then you 'aven't 'eard the latest, Sir," said the
landlord. "P.C. Homer's just told me. Mrs. Ferribee's
dead too!"


Chapter V
THE FRUSTRATED MEETING
DEAD!" exclaimed Ravenhill. "What did she die
of?"
But the landlord did not know. The re-
porter frowned and gave Hawkesbridge the impression
that he disbelieved the news. Then his face brightened.
"Possibly she died of shock," he said so that only
Hawkesbridge could hear. "It can't have been"
He glanced at the other two and stopped. Bentham
ordered a whisky and soda, and the landlord left.
"Did you know the girl?" Ravenhill asked.
The man shook his head. "I don't think so," he an-
swered. "I didn't know her by name, anyhow. Possibly
I have seen her if she was a frequent visitor here."
Ravenhill nodded abstractedly. Bentham glanced at
the empty glasses on the table and invited the two to
accompany him in a drink. The soldier declined: the
reporter had evidently not heard for he said nothing.
Hawkesbridge noticed that the stranger was appraising
him.
"Are you Captain Hawkesbridge?" he enquired.
"No; it's not clever of me really." He smiled. "I've
just met Colonel Merrow, and he told me you were
staying with him. You are a stranger here and you are
evidently a soldier, so it was easy for me to put two and
46


The Frustrated Meeting "47
two together. My name's Bentham," he introduced
himself.
The landlord brought his drink and set it on the
table. It was evident that Bentham wanted to know
who Ravenhill was, but Hawkesbridge, guessing that
the reporter would prefer anonymity, was discreetly
silent.
"Well, I must get along." Ravenhill broke into the
desultory talk. "Are you coming?" he asked Hawkes-
bridge.
The soldier rose.
"I expect I shall see you later," Bentham said.
"Merrow wants to show me his new sunken garden,
and I'm thinking of coming along this afternoon."
Outside Ravenhill paused. "I'm going back to North
Grinstead," he said. "What about you?"
Hawkesbridge didn't know. He hadn't got a destina-
tion, he said. Then he looked at his watch. "I must be
back at one," he observed. "Damnl The thing's
stopped. What time is it?"
Ravenhill chuckled. "I expect you forgot to wind it
in the excitement last night," he said slily.
Hawkesbridge, annoyed with himself, scowled. "Oh,
drop it!" he snapped. "What's the time?"
"Nearly twelve," the reporter said, glancing at his
wrist.
The clip-clop of horses' hooves sounded on the road.
Hawkesbridge turned.
"Here's Colonel Merrow," he announced. "Want me
to introduce you?"
"If you don't mind," Ravenhill replied.
The Colonel reined in his horse alongside and


48 The Mystery at Chillery
greeted his guest. "Exploring?" he asked. Then he
glanced at the reporter.
"This is Mr. Ravenhill," Hawkesbridge introduced
his companion perfunctorily.
"How do you do, Sir?" The reporter gave a slight
bow.
It was evident that the name conveyed nothing to
the Colonel. He returned the young man's greeting.
"I've just met a friend of yours, Sir," Hawkesbridge
said. "Said his name was Bentham."
"Oh, Tom Bentham," smiled the Colonel. "Tom's a
good chap. I'm glad you've met him."
"He says he's coming up to see your new sunken
garden this afternoon," Hawkesbridge went on.
"Oh, did he?" The Colonel looked vague. Hawkes-
bridge was aware that he was preoccupied. "Did I tell
him about it then? I suppose—but of course I didl I'm
getting dithery in my old age." He laughed self-con-
sciously. "Well, I must be getting along," he went on.
"Can't offer you a lift, I'm afraid." He laughed more
naturally this time and nodded to Ravenhill and chir-
ruped to his mount.
"India," opined the reporter when the Colonel had
gone.
"Easy," retorted Hawkesbridge. "Even I could have
reasoned that out."
"You ought to be able to," Ravenhill chuckled, "con-
sidering you were in his regiment."
"Was that easy too?"
"How did you know?"
"I didn't. It was largely a guess. But you helped me.
You're both retired now, I should imagine, yet you


The Frustrated Meeting 49
couldn't help treating him as your CO. You almost
stood at attention."
"Rot!" Hawkesbridge said.
"Perhaps you're right, but it was a legitimate guess.
You're both soldiers, and you're his guest. Come on;
we've stood here long enough.
They went back towards the cross-roads. Under the
sign-post the soldier halted.
"Do the police know about those footprints?" he
asked his companion, looking in the direction of the
stile. ,
"I shouldn't think so," was the reply. "I don't know
why they should."
"But if you found them why?"
"That's not complimentary," Ravenhill reproved
him. "Still, you're right. I really don't know whether
they do or not."
"There was a constable posted somewhere along
here." Hawkesbridge remarked tentatively. "I thought
he was keeping people off the path."
Ravenhill shook his head. "No," he said; "the fellow
was just hanging about in case the Inspector should
want him." He looked at Hawkesbridge interroga-
tively. "I wish you'd be more open," he complained.
"Won't you tell me about last night?"
Hawkesbridge was silent.
"You know," Ravenhill went on gently. "I don't
write up everything I discover."
"Your job's to get a 'story'," Hawkesbridge pointed
out.
"Yes; but I tell it in my own way. I wouldn't, for in-
stance recount my recent conversation with you. I'm
not writing a book."


50 The Mystery at Chillery
The soldier pondered.
"You see," the reporter went on, following up his
advantage. "What the public wants is not the account
of all the details of the investigation—they'll get that
in the report of the trial if there is one—and even if I
wanted to I daren't say too much. The Planet wants to
be able to say that its brilliant representative, Mr.
Anthony Ravenhill, was able to solve the mystery at
Chillery and hand the murderer over to the police.
You don't object to that, do you?"
Hawkesbridge grinned.
"Is there any reason why you don't want the mur-
derer handed over?" demanded Ravenhill, half hu-
mourously.
"Of course not. But I can't tell you much, you
know." The soldier's resistance was broken down. He
could not help liking the little reporter. "You see"
But what could he say? If he had not been a guest at
Chillery he would have learnt nothing about the affair,
and he obviously could not betray irregularities in the
family. Still, he argued with himself, he might be help-
ing the Colonel by making Ravenhill a confidant.
Even so he could not speak without the Colonel's per-
mission, and to gain that permission he would first have
to reveal the fact that he had been spying.
An awkward position. Perhaps Ravenhill understood
the predicament, for he suddenly squeezed the soldier's
arm.
"I think I understand," he said. "If I were you,
though, I wouldn't keep it to myself."
Sound advice! Hawkesbridge was already conscious
that he was overburdened with unwelcome knowledge.
But when he recalled Osyth's behaviour earlier that


The Frustrated Meeting 51
morning and her distress, his resolve to say nothing was
strengthened. When you doubted what was the best
thing to do, do nothing.
"Let's get along," the reporter broke into his
thoughts. He looked at his watch. "Perhaps you'd bet-
ter go straight back to the Court," he said. "It's getting
late."
They parted at the entrance to the drive, and
Hawkesbridge made his way to the house. As he came
to the bend in the road, he met Joyce, the poacher.
The man greeted him respectfully, but did not stop.
Wondering, Hawkesbridge continued on his way.
Both Mrs. Merrow and Osyth were present at lunch.
The Colonel had heard the news about Mrs. Ferribee
and her niece, and gave a lurid outline of the tragedy.
It appeared, he said, that the old lady had died of
shock when told of the death of Myrtle.
"It's a funny business," he went on. "I was talking
to the Inspector from Horsham, and he says that Joyce,
that poacher fellow," he explained, turning to his wife,
"saw the girl alongside the wood about half past ten."
"What, our wood?" exclaimed Mrs. Merrow.
"Chillery Wood," replied the Colonel soberly. "It's
queer, isn't it? What was she doing up there? She was
supposed to have gone straight to the station from
Mrs. Ferribee's place."
Hawkesbridge, listening attentively, was aware that
Osyth was even more alert.
"Did he say she was alone?" she asked.
Apparently neither her father nor her mother no-
ticed the catch in the girl's voice.
"Yes," answered the Colonel. "Says he said 'Good-
night' to her and she answered him."


52 The Mystery at Chillery
Osyth's face was very white. The soldier, in the light
of what the footprints had told him, guessed that
Myrtle had not been alone when Joyce had met her.
Osyth had been with her. Hence Osyth's present dis-
tress. And Joyce had just been at the house. To see
Osyth? To tell her he had not told all the truth? Why
then Osyth's last question? Perhaps she distrusted the
man and was testing the truth of what he had told her.
Or perhaps she had not seen him after all.
When lunch was over he went out into the garden
to think. The Colonel and Mrs. Merrow, he guessed,
would, India-fashion, want to take a siesta and he was
certain that Osyth would avoid him. But in that he was
wrong. She came to him as he sat in the shade of the
yew tree.
"Did you know about the police?" she asked him
breathlessly when he rose to greet her.
"Sit down," he replied. "I'll tell you all I know."
She hesitated a moment, then obeyed him. He
seated himself beside her.
"Has Joyce told you?" he demanded. "I saw him
coming away from the house."
"I didn't see him," she confessed. "I knew he was
here, but I didn't know what he wanted, and so"
"That was foolish," he admonished her gently.
She closed her eyes wearily. Compassion filled him.
Poor girll She was 'up against it' badly.
"But how could I know what he wanted?" she pro-
tested.
"You saw him last night?"
"No: perhaps he saw me though. Oh, do you think
he'll tell? I mean"


The Frustrated Meeting 53
"I don't know. Look here, Osythl Can't you make a
clean breast of it all? It's much safer than"
"Oh, you don't understand!" she exclaimed passion-
ately. She turned towards him and beat her clenched
hands together.
"Do you?" he asked gently. "If you do, isn't it rather
foolish to fight this out alone when I could help you
if I knew what it was all about?"
For a full minute she was silent. Watching her
covertly and fearful that a word more from him might
destroy the impression that his last sentence had pro-
voked, he waited.
"Yes," she said at last; "I'll tell you." She leaned
forward so that he could not see her face. "Some time
ago—last May, to be exact—I was coming back late at
night from North Grinstead when a man jumped out
of the hedge and—and tried to get hold of me." She
paused and looked at him swiftly. Hawkesbridge was
frowning at the ground.
"He fought with me and—and tripped me up. Well,
just then I heard some one running and he took to his
heels."
She paused and looked at him again.
"It was a girl who had come up, Myrtle Ferribee,"
she continued. "She chased him a short distance, then
came back to me." She stopped again.
The story was unconvincing, and Osyth's way of
looking at her audience at every few words suggested
that she realised that.
"She was a brave girl," Hawkesbridge helped her
out.
"She was as brave as she could be," Osyth main-


54 The Mystery at Chillery
tained. "I expect the man thought she was a man be-
cause she was above medium height and big with it."
"And he got away?"
"Yes. I was on my feet by the time she came back
and"
"Was that the first time you met her?"
"Yes; she said she'd been visiting her aunt and was
just going home to Brighton. That was what started
our friendship."
"I see. But how is that incident connected
with?"
"You don't believe me!" she exclaimed. "Why should
you doubt me?"
"Suppose you tell me everything," he suggested. "I
can't see the connection yet. Here, have a cigarette."
He proffered his case and then produced a box of
matches.
"Now, go ahead," he bade her. "You told your
people, I suppose?"
"I told my mother."
"Not your father? Why not?"
"He was very worried about something or other at
the time, so Mother and I thought we'd keep it to our-
selves."
"I see. Well, what happened next?"
"Nothing happened for about a month, then one
night as I was coming back from the station—I'd been
to Horsham—I was attacked again."
"At the same place?"
"No, at the entrance to the drive."
"By the same person?"
"I suppose so, but I didn't see him either time. He
came up from behind, and in both places it was so


The Frustrated Meeting 55
dark I couldn't see his face. All I know is that he was
fairly tall. I was more ready for him this time, and be-
sides I had a stick. I ran as hard as I could towards the
house and escaped him."
"I suppose you told your father this time?"
"No, I didn't. I didn't even tell Mother."
"But, good heavens! Why not?"
"Because Father had just had a heart attack and
Mother was worried to death about him. Besides, what
was the use of telling her?"
"Use? Why, you ought to have told the police. Surely
you understand how dangerous "He broke off. It
seemed futile to argue with her. "The man's a menace
to society," he added lamely.
"Myrtle said it was me he was after, no one else,"
Osyth said in a small voice. "You see, he attacked me
twice, and on the second occasion, if he didn't on the
first, he must have known that I was out alone."
"There's something in that," Hawkesbridge con-
ceded.
"Myrtle said that if we kept quiet about it we might
discover who it was and"
"And has anything happened since?"
"No; nothing."
"Well, what about last night?" he asked.
"I got a letter from Myrtle the day before saying
that she'd accidentally met the man in Brighton and
recognised him, and that she was coming to North
Grinstead to try to identify him. She suggested our
meeting at the hut in the wood at ten o'clock."
"But why on earth did she suggest such a place?" de-
manded the soldier.
"I don't know," the girl confessed.


56
The Mystery at Chillery
"Well, you met her, didn't you? What happened?"
Osyth had been talking latterly with apparent calm-
ness. Now to the soldier's consternation, she burst into
tears.
"Nothing happened," she sobbed distractedly, "You
see, she—she didn't come."


Chapter VI
THE BUTLER DISAPPEARS
DIDN'T come?" echoed Hawkesbridge in amaze-
ment. Osyth had buried her face in her hands
and was sobbing uncontrollably. He frowned,
and his mouth set grimly. Of course she was lying. The
footprints that he had seen that morning demonstrated
beyond doubt that she had met a woman at the hut in
the wood and had walked back along the path with
her to the main road. She didn't trust him and had
lied.
Despite his conviction, however, he could not believe
that of Osyth. Her tears were genuine enough, he
could see. No one could act so consummately. But
that tale of hers that had preceded her revelation—it
was more than he could swallow. Too melodramatic
altogether. Of course she would have told her father
had a man tried to assault her—especially if he had
made the attempt twice.
She had uncovered her face and was looking at him
as though she sensed his doubt. He turned away his
head.
"I don't understand," he said feebly, torn with mis-
trust. "I suppose you "He stopped.
"You don't believe me," she sobbed. "I can see you
don't." Her distress changed to anger and her tears
57


58 The Mystery at Chillery
stopped. "Why should you disbelieve me?" she de-
manded.
"Look here, Osyth!" He looked at her steadily. "You
and I have got to be utterly frank with each other.
No, wait a moment. Hear what I've got to say first. A
murder's been committed: the girl's been traced to
Chillery, and if the police don't know about the affair
in the wood some one else does!"
"Who?"
"A man named Ravenhill—a Planet reporter."
She gasped.
"You see how dangerous it is? He was pumping me
all the morning. He's a clever devil! He seems to know
as much as I do about it. He even knew that you and
I had talked matters over by the stile this morning—
never mind how: I'll tell you later. The point is that
if you're not careful you're going to be dragged into
this business. What are you going to tell the police if
they ask you why you met?"
"Captain Hawkesbridge," she interrupted quietly,
looking at him with a new dignity, "for the last time,
I did not meet Myrtle Ferribee at the hut. I went to
meet her because she asked me to, but she wasn't there.
I can't say anything more than that."
His eyes held hers, but she did not falter.
"All right," he said at length. "I don't understand,
but I believe you. How do you explain the footprints
to the main road?"
"I can explain my own," she answered readily
enough. "I waited at the hut for some minutes, then
I went along the path to the road to see if I could see
her. I knew she would come from the direction of
North Grinstead where her aunt lives, or lived, and so


The Butler Disappears
59
I went slowly along the road as far as the entrance to
the drive. I waited there about a quarter of an hour."
"Did you meet anyone at all?" he asked, remember-
ing the poacher.
"No one," she replied.
"And when Myrtle didn't come you came back to
the house?"
"Yes."
Then he remembered something important. "How
did you get in?" he asked. "Wasn't the place locked
up?"
"No, I told Carlin to leave the back door unbolted."
"Did he see you when you returned?"
"No, there was nobody about. I bolted the door and
went up to bed."
"Well, it's a queer business," Hawkesbridge said.
"There's no doubt that Myrtle went to the hut and
there's only one explanation—she must have gone there
before you arrived and without waiting for you, re-
turned. That would explain the two sets of footprints
between the hut and the road."
He lapsed into silence. She regarded him anxiously.
"Perhaps I was a bit late," she said at last, "and she
thought she wouldn't catch the train so she didn't
wait."
"I don't know," he sighed. "She had plenty of time.
Still, she may not have known it. I mean her watch
may have been fast. You've got to take every possibility
into consideration."
"Perhaps they were old footprints," Osyth suggested.
"Hers, I mean."
"They were freshly made. And they were Myrtle's
right enough. Ravenhill measured them." He looked


6o The Mystery at Chillery
at Osyth again. "Look here," he said, "are you going
to help me all you can?"
"But what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "But I do know that
there's something big under all this—something to do
with Chillery Court."
"You mean?" she began, gazing at him with startled
eyes.
"There's some sort of mystery," he said, conscious of
the futility of the remark. "Your "He broke off
and looked at her. "Do you know why I was asked
down here? It's an odd question, I know, but I'm try-
ing to see daylight."
"I don't understand," she said. Her puzzlement was
obviously genuine. "Daddy said he'd invited you—
that's all I know."
He nodded. "There was no motive behind it, I
mean?"
"Only the obvious one. But what are you getting at?"
"I wondered. That was all. You see, Osyth, there's—
Your father wanted to tell me something last night.
He's troubled about something."
"It's money, I think," she answered frankly. "We're
not very well off, you know."
He could scarcely believe that, but perhaps she
judged by a different standard.
"There's been something on his mind for months,"
she volunteered, "and I'm certain it's money."
"I don't think so," he said. "The Colonel'd scarcely
want to tell me about that, would he? No; it's some-
thing else, Osyth. He thinks I can help him in some
way only he doesn't like to ask me. I sensed there was


The Butler Disappears
61
something wrong here immediately I came. And I'm
convinced it's connected with this murder."
"But how awful!" she exclaimed. Then she shook
her head. "It can't be," she said decidedly. "I'll tell
you what I think. Myrtle discovered who the man was
who attacked me and he killed her to prevent her
from telling me."
"That sounds plausible," he admitted, "but there's
a flaw in it. How did he know he had been discovered?
And how did he know she was going to tell you? There
are dozens of questions like that one could ask. For all
the man knew—if he even knew that he'd been dis-
covered—she might already have told you by letter,
you know."
"I still think "she began stubbornly.
"You may be right," he interrupted, "but I can't
understand why she was murdered in the train miles
from here, unless he followed her. But why didn't he
kill her here? And why should he kill her at all? I
don't think the motive was strong enough."
For some minutes there was silence. Then:
"Well, we've got to do something," he said desper-
ately, "otherwise you'll be dragged into it. I wish that
fellow Ravenhill hadn't "He broke off. "Osyth,"
he went on, changing his tone, "I like that fellow, and
I believe one can trust him. Will you let me tell him
everything?"
"But a reporter!" she exclaimed. "It'd be in all the
papers to-morrow morning."
He shook his head. Then he told her all that he
knew about Ravenhill.
"He's a sahib," he finished. "Damned clever he is,
too. Let me tell him."


6a The Mystery at Chillery
"Oh, I can't," she cried. "It'd be awful if"
"Supposing he gives me his word that?"
"But how do you know you can trust him?"
"I'm sure we can. We've got to take a chance any-
how. I'm not much good at this sort of thing, you
know. Let me tell him."
She was silent for some time. "If you're sure of him,"
she said at last, "but please be careful."
"Don't worry, Osyth," he bade her. "Now listen,
will you promise me that if anything happens you will
tell me at once?"
"I promise."
"And, Osyth—my first name's Trevor."
She coloured a little. "All right, Trevor," she said.
"I'll remember."
She got up from the seat and looked across the lawn.
Over the box hedge two heads could be seen.
"Hullo!" she said. "There's a visitor."
"It's Mr. Bentham," Hawkesbridge told her, stand-
ing up. "He said he was coming over to see the sunken
garden. It's new, isn't it?"
"Yes; Daddy's just had it done."
Hawkesbridge looked about him. "By the way," he
said suddenly. "What sort of fellow is the gardener?"
"Lyall? Oh, he's all right. An ex-Service man. Looks
after the car too."
"It's a lot of ground for one man, isn't it?"
"He has help when he wants it."
"Does Lyall live in the house?"
She looked at him questioningly. "Not exactly in the
house," she answered. "He has a couple of rooms over
the garage at the back. But what?"
"Nothing much," Hawkesbridge said; "only—well,


The Butler Disappears
63
you know, the man who followed you last night seemed
to come from the house and seemed to return here."
She frowned. "I'd thought of that, too," she said at
length, "but it couldn't be Lyall—unless"
"Unless what?"
"Nothing," she answered shortly.
"Osythl You promised!"
"But there's nothing to say—truthfully."
"What about Carlin? Is he all right?"
"I don't like him," she confessed, "but there's noth-
ing wrong with him. You don't suspect him, do you?"
"I'm still thinking of those footprints. I"
He stopped, his attention distracted by footsteps on
the drive. Ravenhill came into view.
"There's that reporter," Hawkesbridge said. "Won-
der what he wants."
Osyth was suddenly agitated. 'Til go," she said. "You
will be careful, won't you, Captain—won't you,
Trevor?"
"Don't worry, my dear," said the soldier.
Osyth went towards the box alley and disappeared.
Hawkesbridge beckoned to the reporter and went to-
wards him.
"Anything happened?" he asked Ravenhill when
they met half-way.
"Can I see Miss Merrow?" The reporter ignored the
question almost rudely.
"'Fraid not," said the soldier. "What's happened?"
"Want to test a theory," replied Ravenhill. "Could
you get me a sheet of notepaper from the house?"
Hawkesbridge stared. "Why from the house?"
"I'll tell you afterwards. Hullo! Is that the Colonel?"
nodding towards the two heads. "If I'm not mistaken


The Butler Disappears
65
atmosphere of the wood would soon rust it. Good foi
you! Can you carry it further?"
Hawkesbridge shook his head. "Only that a notice
was apparently pinned up on the door jamb, and ap-
parently last night."
"Ask yourself why. Who would want to pin a notice
there?"
"Well, it's a private wood, but the footpath is open
to anyone. One fork of it is a short cut to the Bewdle
Mills, north of here."
"I know, but notices to the public are not pinned
on door jambs. This was a notice to some one in par-
ticular."
Hawkesbridge uttered a sudden exclamation.
"I thought maybe you could help," Ravenhill said.
"What is it?"
"I'm not quite sure. Wait a bit." He looked straight
at the reporter. "It's your job to get news," he said
evenly, "and it's mine, at present, to prevent scandal.
Do you understand?"
"Much more than you think," replied Ravenhill.
"You want me to promise not to divulge"
"Exactly."
"Well, I can't do so. I will, however, give you my
word not to live up to your conception of a pressman.
I'm not being nasty. What I want to say is: I work my
own way, and I've never betrayed a confidence yet."
Hawkesbridge coloured slightly. "I believe you," he
said. "All right; I'll tell you. I've got permission to do
so."
He related all that Osyth had told him earlier and
then gave a faithful account of his own investigation.


66 The Mystery at Chillery
"Well, I can't say you've added to my knowledge,"
Ravenhill commented at last.
"You mean you knew that the two girls did not meet
last night?"
"I guessed it. That was where the note came in,"
pointing to the drawing pin. "Some one knew of the
intended meeting and prevented it. Remember, there
was a bright moon last night, and fair-sized writing
could be read without much difficulty in the clearing.
The door of the hut is on the south side and so had
the moonlight full on it."
"Yes, but"
"Wait a bit. The unknown, let's call him X, wanted
to prevent the meeting, presumably because he didn't
want Myrtle Ferribee to identify him to Miss Merrow.
He wrote a note—possibly in block letters to over-
come the difficulty of handwriting being recognised,
and pinned it in the hut"
"—taking a chance that Miss Ferribee would arrive
before Miss Merrow."
"He had to take some chances, naturally, and this,
after all, was an even one. It didn't matter which girl
arrived first provided that the note was vague enough
as regards authorship. Anyhow, we'll assume that X
aimed at Miss Ferrjbee's reading the note first. It
would obviously be to the effect that the other could
not keep the assignation. It probably read something
like 'Can't come. Writing.' Miss Ferribee, reading it,
left at once, and X pulled off the notice, but he'd
pressed the pin in too hard to get that out easily so
he left it, intent on following Miss Ferribee. Then
Miss Merrow arrived, waited some time and went up
the path to the road, thus leaving a trail that gave the


The Butler Disappears
67
impression that she'd gone with Miss Ferribee." He
broke off.
"It sounds right," Hawkesbridge said thoughtfully.
"But are you suggesting that X followed Miss Ferribee
to the station, boarded the same train, and later mur-
dered her? Why should he go to all that trouble? He
could have killed her in the wood."
"And made it seem likely that he was a local inhabi-
tant! Remember that (so far as we know, anyhow) the
police haven't connected the murderer with this place.
They discovered in Brighton that the girl had visited
her aunt, and they're simply carrying out methodical
investigations and routine."
"Of course," murmured Hawkesbridge. "Do you sus-
pect who X is?"
"No idea yet."
"What about the man who followed Osyth, er Miss
Merrow?"
"It would almost seem as if he were the man," re-
turned Ravenhill, "yet I don't think so."
A frown had replaced the smile on his face, but it
vanished at once. Hawkesbridge heard voices.
"Here come the Colonel and Bentham," he whis-
pered. "Shall I introduce you?"
"Will you present me as a friend? It'll make things
easier."
"But the Colonel knows I've no friends here," the
soldier objected.
"I don't mind his knowing I'm a reporter," Raven
hill urged. "Let him think we've met before. You
didn't tell him what I was when we met this morning."
Colonel Merrow and Bentham came on to the lawn.


68 The Mystery at Chillery
"You met Ravenhill this morning," Hawkesbridge
told his host. "Friend of mine," he went on awkwardly.
The Colonel looked his surprise.
"I'm a reporter," Ravenhill explained.
The Colonel looked interested. "Tried to do a bit
of free lance work myself when I came back from
India," he said. "Articles and things, you know," he
added vaguely. "Interesting work, but hard, damned
hard!" He looked at the reporter hopefully. "Used to
write letters for The Times," he went on, "and once I
had an article in the Civil and Military on India, you
know. I wonder—perhaps you could give me a hint or
two?" he suggested.
"Of course," answered Ravenhill. "Do all I can."
"Better stay to tea," the Colonel invited. "We can
have a chat then. There's "A troubled look came
into his face. "I expect it'll be all right," he said
vaguely. "We're a bit upside down, what with one
thing and another. That confounded butler of mine's
been called away suddenly. His mother's dead or some-
thing."
Hawkesbridge glanced swiftly at the reporter, but
Ravenhill's look was one of polite interest only.
Was the mystery solved already? Hawkesbridge re-
membered the footprints to and from the house point-
ing to the unknown follower of Osyth being one of the
household. Was Carlin X? And had he taken fright and
bolted?
"We'd better go inside," Hawkesbridge heard the
Colonel say. "It's going to rain by the look of it."
Hawkesbridge glanced up at the sky to find it over-
cast. Rain would destroy the footprints in the wood.


The Butler Disappears 69
He must hurry. If he could only get hold of a pair of
the butler's boots he could establish at once whether it
was he who had followed Osyth last night.
As the four turned towards the house a vivid flash of
lightning zigzagged across the sky.


Chapter VII
IS OSYTH GUILTY?
HOW to find the butler's room? Hawkesbridge
wondered when they gained the house. An im-
possible task unless he asked some one, and to
do so would be to arouse suspicion. He looked at
Ravenhill helplessly. As though divining his thoughts
the reporter got him on one side.
"Don't worry about the rain," he said. "I've got
measurements of the footprints."
How methodical and thorough the chap was! Well,
that was one less worry, anyhow. Carlin's boots could
wait.
Rain had started to fall, and the air which swept
from the garden into the library was chill. The Colonel
closed the windows.
"We're in for a bad storm," he said, looking out at
the swaying trees. "Well, it'll clear the air, anyway.
Wonder where my wife is? Here, Hawkesbridge, find
the cigarettes while I go and see about things. If it gets
much darker we shall have to have the light."
"'Sudden storms are short'," quoted Bentham. "It'll
be over in five minutes." He took a cigarette from the
box which Hawkesbridge pushed towards him and
lighted it.
"It's been threatening ever since lunch," Ravenhill
70


Is Osyth Guilty? 71
said, "so it isn't exactly sudden." His infectious smile
covered his contradiction of the older man.
The Colonel returned soon afterwards with Osyth
to whom Ravenhill was introduced. She looked swiftly
at Hawkesbridge afterwards and he nodded slightly
and smiled an answer to her unspoken question.
"My wife's lying down," the Colonel said. "She
always gets upset when there's a storm. What are we
going to do about tea, Osyth? We may as well have it
in here. It's more cheerful."
"It's early yet," she answered, consulting her wrist
watch. "I'll tell Davies though. We're shorthanded,"
she explained to the others. "I expect Daddy told you
about Carlin. If you'll be patient you will have tea
soon."
Hawkesbridge opened the door for her. "Has any-
thing happened?" he asked anxiously.
She smiled up at him. At that moment lightning
flooded the room and was followed immediately by a
nerve-shattering crash of thunder that made the place
shake. Osyth screamed. Hawkesbridge, startled himself
by the din, unconsciously put his arms about her and
held her tightly as another flash of lightning and a
terrifying crackle of thunder succeeded the first. Osyth
clung to him, trembling.
The storm was right overhead, but in a few minutes
it passed on and Hawkesbridge withdrew his arms.
After that first crash he had been vividly conscious of
her and his nerves had thrilled. Osyth's face was flushed
and she would not look at him as she slipped through
the doorway.
"Jove!" exclaimed Bentham, "I've never heard thun-
der like that before!"


72 The Mystery at Chillery
"I thought that first flash had got the house," the
Colonel said shakily. "I could have sworn, I say, how
extraordinarily dark it is!" He glanced at his watch.
"It's not four yet either."
Hawkesbridge could scarcely see across the room.
"Shall I switch on the light?" he asked.
"Yes, do," returned the Colonel.
The room was flooded with light. The storm was
already dying down, and its reverberations were almost
deadened by the torrential rain.
"My poor roses!" groaned the Colonel. "The
garden'll be a complete wreck. I shall have to get half
the village up here to-morrow to tidy it up. It'd take
Lyall a month to do it alone."
Gradually the storm abated, but it left its effect on
the nerves of the four people in the library. The wind
died. From a long way off came the mutter of a train.
"Have the police discovered anything about that girl
who was murdered last night?" Bentham asked the re-
porter suddenly.
"I really don't know," Ravenhill answered. "You
see, I've been working on my own since this morning."
"Have you discovered anything, then?"
Ravenhill glanced across at his questioner. "I don't
know whether it's relevant," he said vaguely.
Osyth returned at that moment. She went to the
window and looked out. "The rain's left off," she said.
"We'd "She stopped as the door opened and a
maid appeared with tea.
Conversation was desultory after that. The Colonel
seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and Osyth, too,
was distrait. When the sun lighted up the garden again


Is Osyth Guilty?
73
and Hawkesbridge switched off the light, Bentham rose
to his feet.
"I must go," he said. He looked at Ravenhill. "Are
you coming my way?" he asked.
"I hope Mr. Ravenhill will stay to dinner," the
Colonel put in. "I'd like to have a talk with him. Can
you manage it?" he asked the reporter. "It'll be pot
luck, but perhaps you won't mind that. I do want to
get your advice about"
"Poor Mr. Ravenhill!" laughed Osyth. "It's a shame
to make use of him like that."
The reporter's face was a little red. "I'd like to stay,"
he said, "but I shall have to go to North Grinstead
first. I shan't be long though."
"I'll come with you," said Hawkesbridge.
"And I," added Osyth.
Ravenhill grinned. It was evident that he was enjoy-
ing his sudden popularity.
After the storm the air was wonderfully clear and
fresh and the depression which had assailed Hawkes-
bridge all day left him. He tramped alongside Osyth.
Bentham and Ravenhill had paired and gone ahead.
Passing the wood he remembered what Ravenhill had
said about the possibility that the police had no knowl-
edge of the footprints in the wood: those footprints
would have been obliterated now by the torrential
rain.
He looked at Osyth furtively. Her face was still
rather pale and she appeared to be worrying. Poor kid!
It was a shame that fate had dragged her into the affair.
Then a new thought came. She hadn't been exactly
dragged in: on the contrary, she was a principal. But


74 The Mystery at Chillery
for her the murder would not have been committed, or
at least so it seemed.
Hawkesbridge was troubled again. Ethically she was
bound to reveal to the authorities what she knew. The
murderer had to be brought to justice; motive had to
be established. And if the police discovered the mur-
derer Osyth's part in the affair was bound to be brought
to light. What would be her position then? He wasn't
very well up in legal matters, but
"Trevor," Osyth broke in on his thoughts, "do you
think that I ought to speak?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I was just thinking
about it. Afraid I'm rather an ass where legal matters
are concerned. Suppose we ask Ravenhill's advice?"
"I like him," she replied.
"Shall we ask him then?"
"I suppose so. Oh, Trevor, I don't know what to do.
I feel I ought to tell Daddy, but—well, I told you how
worried he is."
"What about your mother?"
"She'll have to be told sooner or later. She's already
been asking questions. She knows I knew Myrtle, of
course."
Hawkesbridge pondered. He wished the affair per-
mitted of entire frankness. His brain, he felt, could not
cope with subtleties. There were so many details in the
case, so many unknown factors, that he did not know
how to advise Osyth. And he was torn too between his
duty as a citizen and as a guest at Chillery and a friend
of the family. And Osyth, alone in her trouble and
obviously looking to him for guidance, represented a
problem by herself.
A feeling of exultation filled him as he thought of


Is Osyth Guilty?
75
her dependence on him, but it went at once, dispelled
by the thought of her danger.
At the entrance to the village Bentham bade them
farewell. Ravenhill went to the post office to send, as
he said, a telegram to his paper and to telephone to the
police. When he rejoined them he brought the news
that the inquest on the body of Myrtle Ferribee had
been fixed for the following Tuesday.
"Proceedings will be purely formal, I expect," he
said. "I don't suppose the police'll have much evidence
to give so soon as that. Now what are we going to do?
My job's finished for to-day."
"We want to talk to you, Ravenhill," answered
Hawkesbridge, looking anxiously at the girl. What
Ravenhill had said about the inquest had upset her.
he could see. "Shall we walk somewhere?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Where does this road go to?" the reporter asked,
looking at the fork in the road and pointing to the
right.
"It comes to a dead end about two miles on," re-
plied Osyth, "but we can go that way back. There's a
cart track across the fields to Chillery."
"It'll be muddy, won't it?" Hawkesbridge asked.
"I don't mind. I'm well shod," she answered. "Let's
go that way."
A little distance along the road Hawkesbridge looked
over Osyth's head at the reporter.
"I told you all about the affair in the wood," he said,
broaching the subject abruptly. "What do you advise
us to do?"
"Can't you decide on your own?" Ravenhill asked.
"You're putting a big responsibility on me, you know."


76
The Mystery at Chillery
"But you know more than we do about the law,"
pleaded Osyth.
Ravenhill smiled. "Perhaps I do," he said. "Well,
as far as I can see, everything depends on whether the
meeting you were to have had with Miss Ferribee is
connected with her death. It seems that it was. But it
also seems to me that if the murderer is the man who
tried to assault you, and if his motive in murdering
Miss Ferribee was to prevent her identifying him to
you, that motive is too slight. There must be something
else behind it."
"That's what I think," Hawkesbridge put in.
"If there's another motive," Ravenhill went on, "it
may have nothing whatever to do with you. In that
case, if you revealed what you know you'd probably
not be helping the police and you'd suffer the publicity
of it all for nothing."
"Then you think I needn't ?" began Osyth
eagerly.
"I don't say that," Ravenhill pointed out gravely.
"The matter's too complicated for me to judge. What
about Carlin's sudden going away?"
She looked startled. "But his mother is ill."
"That may be just an excuse. It's a convenient one
very often."
"But surely you don't think?"
"Honestly I don't know. You were followed last
night by some one who appeared to come from the
house. If Carlin has left a pair of boots behind I may
be able to prove whether he is implicated, but whether
he is or not, his going away just now is fishy."
"But Carlin couldn't have been the murderer," said
Hawkesbridge. '"He was back too soon."


Is Osyth Guilty?
11
"I agree," answered the reporter. "That's what
makes the position so involved. Why did he follow Miss
Merrow? There were at least four people in the wood
last night: the assumption is that one of at least three
of them is the murderer. The police might even suspect
Miss Merrow."
"Me!" gasped Osyth.
''If they knew just a little less than we do they would
suspect you alone," Ravenhill said inexorably.
"But why?" Osyth turned a fear-stricken face to him.
"Because," Ravenhill said slowly, "we have deduced
the unknown solely because we believe that you did
not commit the crime. There's not a scrap of evidence
that the unknown, Captain Hawkesbridge and I refer
to him as X, really exists."
"But the drawing pin you found!" protested Hawkes-
bridge.
"Unless it has a thumb print on it it might have been
used by anyone," the reporter answered. "The police
could say that Miss Merrow was as capable of using it
as anyone else." He halted. Osyth was gazing at the re-
porter fascinatedly.
"You've got to put yourself in the position of the
police," Ravenhill went on. "Imagine that they
searched that path and found the three sets of foot-
prints. There is no trace of the unknown at all, and we
have brought him into the picture only because Miss
Merrow has put him there herself, and she provided an
incredible motive for his being there. Apparently she
told no one of his attempted assaults on her, so that the
only person who could corroborate her evidence is
dead."


78 The Mystery at Chillery
"Oh, God!" whispered Osyth. Hawkesbridge slipped
an arm round her shoulders.
"You, Hawkesbridge, would have to give evidence to
the effect that Carlin returned before dawn. The police
would estimate, and perhaps establish fairly correctly,
where Miss Ferribee was killed—miles away from here.
There is no train back to North Grinstead at that time
of night, and unless Carlin got a lift on the road he
could not possibly have got back here before dawn,
which means that he is not the murderer, even if he is
involved in the case somehow. There is only Miss Mer-
row left."
"Oh, God!" whispered Osyth again.
"Now you see the position," Ravenhill began,
"and"
"You don't believe that Miss Merrow is guilty, do
you?" demanded the soldier.
"It's not a question of my belief," replied Ravenhill.
"I haven't got to tell the police what I know. I haven't
even got to hand over that drawing pin. Not yet any-
how. Besides the affair in the wood may have nothing
whatever to do with the case. But I strongly suspect that
it has, and I have reason for suspecting it. My logic,"
he boasted, "doesn't often go wrong."
Hawkesbridge, pondering on that, looked reflectively
over the low hedge. He noticed subconsciously that a
mist was rising.
"My advice to you," Ravenhill said quietly, "is to
tell the police everything."
"But surely that's the very thing we shouldn't do!"
exclaimed Hawkesbridge.
Ravenhill suddenly turned his head and listened.


Is Osyth Guilty?
79
The others watched him. Hawkesbridge could hear
nothing.
"Thought I heard something," the reporter said at
length. He went to the hedge and looked over, then
glanced at the copse on the other side of the road.
"Imagination," he said. "But I don't trust that poacher
fellow."
"The poacherl Joyce!" exclaimed Osyth. "Why
what?"
"He went to Chillery Court this afternoon."
"I know. He came to see me," Osyth said.
Ravenhill shook his head. "No," he corrected her;
"to see Carlin."


Chapter VIII
OR MRS. MERROW?
HE search for a pair of Carlin's boots proved
futile. The butler had left clothes behind, but
no boots or shoes. To Hawkesbridge this was
significant. The man must have known, he argued, that
he had left footprints.
Then there was the riddle of the poacher. Despite
what Ravenhill had said, he had undoubtedly come to
Chillery Court to see Osyth, for he had asked for her.
Had Joyce seen both her and Carlin last night, or had
his enquiry for Osyth been but a "blind"?
Ravenhill left soon after dinner. He whispered to
Hawkesbridge that he was going to see the poacher and
make him speak. The soldier would have gone with
him except that he was apprehensive about Osyth: the
apprehension which had filled him last night and which
had prompted him to watch at his bedroom window
had returned in full force. The Colonel, too, was ob-
viously uneasy. For the most part he appeared to be
preoccupied with his thoughts and volunteered no re-
marks. If he were addressed he answered vaguely. Mrs,
Merrow remained in her room.
It was a gloomy household, and Hawkesbridge was
not sorry when bedtime came. As he undressed he told
himself that the family was divided by two troubles,

80


Or Mrs. Merrow? 81
Osyth's and the Colonel's, and that though neither
knew of the other's the two troubles were somehow
linked.
What of Mrs. Merrow? Did she know of either or
both? And if she knew of both was she aware that they
were linked? There was something mysterious about
Mrs. Merrow: she kept out of the way all the time.
Hawkesbridge switched off the light and got into
bed. The mist filled the room with a gray light. The
village church clock struck the quarter, and thereafter
was silence. Though he was tired out Hawkesbridge
knew that he would not sleep. His nerves were too
tense with expectancy. Something was going to happen.
Yet he dozed off into an uneasy sleep, stirring rest-
lessly as the village clock chimed each quarter.
Then suddenly he was wide awake. He sat up in bed,,
listening. Faintly he could hear the solemn tick-tock of
the grandfather clock in the hall below, but no other
sound. But something had awakened him. Cautiously
he got out of bed, looking at the illuminated face of his
wrist watch as he did so. Twenty past one.
He felt for his slippers and stood up, undecided as
to what he should do. Then a sharp sound at the win-
dow made his nerves leap. He understood at once.
Somebody was attracting his attention by the time-
honoured device of pitching gravel against the window.
He acted at once. Cautiously raising the window he
peered out into the thick mist. Vaguely he discerned
a form down below.
"Hawkesbridge!" came a tense whisper.
"Who is it?" demanded the soldier. Then he saw.
"Ravenhilll" he exclaimed; and in sudden alarm,
"What's wrong?"


82 The Mystery at Chillery
"Can you put some clothes on and come down?" the
reporter asked in a low voice. "It's important."
"Righto!" answered Hawkesbridge. "Wait for me at
the back door. I won't be two minutes."
He closed the window. Better not show a light. It
might be dangerous. He pulled on trousers and donned
his jacket and a pair of socks. Then, taking his shoes,
he went to the door, opened it and crept cautiously
along the passage and down the stairs. In the hall he
put on his shoes.
After some difficulty in finding his way he reached
the back door. It was unbolted and unlocked. He con-
cluded that, the butler being away, the door had been
overlooked when the house was secured for the night.
Ravenhill was standing outside.
"What's wrong!" Hawkesbridge demanded in a whis-
per, closing the door.
"We won't talk here," answered Ravenhill. "I'll tell
you in a minute."
He led the way round to the front of the house and
entered the drive. Hawkesbridge turned his coat collar
up. The damp mist was cold and made him shiver.
When they were well away from the house he asked
again "What's wrong?" With apparently exaggerated
caution Ravenhill looked round.
"We can't be too careful," he muttered. "We're up
against a clever fiend and"
"You've discovered him!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge.
"Sssh!" The reporter put his hand on the soldier's
arm and looked at him with tremendous gravity. "I've
been careless," he said solemnly, "and because of it
someone has died."


Or Mrs. Merrow?
83
Shocked and apprehensive the soldier could say noth-
ing.
"You remember I thought I heard someone when we
were talking about Joyce last evening?" the reporter
asked, "—in that lane, I mean."
"Yes?"
"Well, there was someone there—X himself 1"
"But"
"Joyce is dead."
"Joyce!" exclaimed the soldier. "Joycel I don't un-
derstand."
"Don't you see?" exclaimed Ravenhill with some
impatience. "We revealed to X that Joyce had warned
Carlin. That meant that Joyce had seen Carlin last
night in the wood and that he had probably seen the
others who were there too."
Hawkesbridge still didn't understand.
"Why did X kill Miss Ferribee?" the reporter went
on. "We have deduced that it was to prevent her reveal-
ing his identity to Miss Merrow. He thought that with
her out of the way he was safe, but while he prepared
to put her out of the way he stood the risk of discover-
ing himself to someone else."
"You think that Joyce saw him?"
"I don't know. Probably we shall never know now.
But X has the cunning of the devil. He trailed us last
evening and overheard what we said about Joyce. I
suppose he thought that Joyce must have seen him in
the wood as well as Carlin and so he acted at once.
Joyce is dead—murdered."
"The devil!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge.
"Hush! Don't raise your voice," warned Ravenhill.


84
The Mystery at Chillery
"He seems to be everywhere. He may be somewhere
here now."
Hawkesbridge glanced round. The boles of the elms
were indistinct in the mist, and he could not see be-
yond a few yards.
"I went to Joyce's cottage after I left you last night,
but he wasn't in. Apparently he lived alone. I thought
he might be at the inn, it was still early, so I went
there. But he wasn't. I concluded he was out poaching,
but I thought I'd have another shot at his cottage, so I
want straight back there. There was a light in the win-
dow, and I went and looked in. Joyce was lying on the
couch, obviously dead. And I hadn't been away from
the cottage more than half an hour!"
"Good God!" breathed Hawkesbridge. "But are you
sure he's dead? He might have had a fit or something.
Or perhaps he was drunk."
"I made sure," answered Ravenhill. "The door was
slightly open, so I went inside. Joyce was dead enough:
he'd been strangled."
"Good God!" exclaimed the soldier again. Then:
"Have you reported it?"
"Not yet. I don't think I will. Someone else'll find
him."
"But surely ?" began Hawkesbridge.
"If I report it," said Ravenhill, "I shall be drawn
into the case as a witness; and the law demands that a
witness shall swear to speak 'the whole truth.' You have
tied my hands. In any case," he went on hurriedly as
Hawkesbridge tried to speak, "nothing is gained by
my reporting it."
"But the longer the delay," the soldier pointed out,
"the less chance of catching the murderer."


Or Mrs. Merrow?
85
"Not in this case. X left no clues. I made sure of
that."
"But you may have left traces of your visit."
"Not likely. I'm not such an amateur as all that."
"Well, what are you going to do then?"
"Just carry on. I thought I'd better warn you at once
in case of accident. X may think that I know him now."
"And you don't?"
Ravenhill shook his head. "Also," he added, "I
thought if you were forewarned you wouldn't give any-
thing away."
"I see. Ravenhill, you've been a damned good sort."
"Rats! I've"
Hawkesbridge suddenly swung round. He could hear
the sound of someone running. Ravenhill apparently
heard it too, for he seized the soldier by the arm and
dragged him off the drive on to the grass.
"Behind the tree, quick!" he commanded.
The footsteps came nearer. From behind the tree
Hawkesbridge saw a vague shape in the mist. It ma-
terialised, became a woman. Her laboured breathing
could be heard, and she appeared scarcely to be able
to keep to her feet. As she drew level with the tree she
stumbled, and Hawkesbridge unconsciously made a
movement towards her, but the reporter restrained him
urgently. The woman recovered herself, cast a hasty
glance behind and then resumed her uncertain run.
The mist swallowed her up.
Hawkesbridge felt that he must be dreaming. He
had recognised the woman. He leant against the tree,
striving to conquer the feeling that he was going mad.
He could see the reporter was watching him queerly.


86 The Mystery at Chillery
The sound of footsteps died away. Ravenhill's re-
straining grip on his arm relaxed.
"Well, who was it?" demanded the reporter.
Hawkesbridge swallowed. "Mrs. Merrow," he said
hoarsely. "My Godl What does it mean?"


Chapter IX
WHO KILLED THE POACHER?
FTER two nights of little sleep Hawkesbridge
found himself next morning with frayed nerves
and a weary mind. As he stood by the open win-
dow of his room looking out on to the clean-washed
garden bathed in sunshine he heard church bells and
realised that it was Sunday. But the familiar Sabbath
atmosphere brought him no peace.
Joyce was dead, and the soldier was haunted by the
memory of the distressed and hurrying woman he had
seen making her laborious way home through the mist
—Mrs. Merrow. This was a fearful complication. What
had she been doing out at that time of night? He re-
membered the unfastened back door which he had
thought had been overlooked when the house was
locked up. Of course, she had left it open.
What was her mysterious errand? Futile question, he
told himself angrily. He could not know. But Joyce
was dead.
He found himself whispering the words. "Joyce is
dead. Joyce is dead." They became a refrain, and all
the time he was seeing that pathetic hurrying figure in
the mist. Joyce was dead.
He felt faint and sick and his lame leg, the old
wound affected by damp, worried him. And he could

87


88 The Mystery at Chillery
not think. His brain was numbed with weariness and
the futility of thought.
The Colonel was out when he arrived downstairs, at
church, Hawkesbridge supposed, remembering how in
India his CO. had been punctilious in attending the
garrison early Mass. There was a Catholic church in
North Grinstead. Had Mrs. Merrow gone with him?
he asked the parlourmaid. No; Mrs. Merrow had not
yet come down. Would he start breakfast now or wait
for the Colonel?
Before he could answer Osyth appeared. She looked
better this morning, probably after the excitement of
yesterday she had slept all night. She coloured faintly
as he greeted her.
"Let's start breakfast," she suggested. "Daddy won't
be long."
"I thought you'd gone to Mass with him," Hawkes-
bridge said.
"I overslept," she answered briefly.
He must tell her about Joyce so that she, with him,
might be forearmed should she be questioned later;
but not yet. He'd get her alone in the garden after
breakfast.
He could not eat, neither did he want to talk. Once
he saw that Osyth was watching him anxiously, but she
made no remark. Thereafter she appeared to lose her
appetite.
"Let's go out and see how the garden's fared in the
storm," she said presently with a feeble attempt at light-
ness.
"Have you finished?" he asked, looking at her plate.
"Not hungry this morning," she answered.
They went out into the garden. But she was not in-


Who Killed the Poacher? 89
terested in the result of the storm. Behind the box
hedge that sheltered the sunken garden and shut off
the view from the house she stopped and facing him,
seized his arm.
"Something's happened?" she demanded.
He nodded. He would have to tell her, however
much he hated the task. Should he tell her also about
her mother?
"Joyce is dead," he said briefly.
"Joyce?" she exclaimed. "But—You mean he's been
killed?"
"Murdered."
Incredulity and then horror showed in her face.
"Joyce?" she whispered. "I don't understand."
"He was murdered in his cottage last night, strangled
just as your friend was," he said significantly.
Wide-eyed with fear she stared at him.
"Ravenhill came and told me in the night," he went
on, feeling his way and still unable to decide whether
he would tell her about her mother. "He thinks Joyce
was murdered for the same reason your friend was
murdered."
She still stared at him, uncomprehending. He ex-
plained himself carefully, conscious in the muddled
state of his mind of difficulty in making himself under-
stood and striving desperately to flog his tired brain
into activity.
"Let's sit down somewhere," she said shakily. He saw
that she was thinking of him. The horror that had
shown in her face had given place to a look of concern.
She slipped her arm under his and led him to a seat.
"I'm all right," he muttered protestingly.


go The Mystery at Chillery
"You're tired out," she said. "Have you been to
sleep?"
He sat down. "No," he answered truthfully.
"And I suppose you didn't sleep the night before?
You look thoroughly ill. Why!" she exclaimed as she
felt his wrist, "you've got fever!"
"A touch of malaria, I expect," he said tiredly. "I
get it sometimes. But never mind about me." He closed
his eyes. "I shall be better here in the sunshine."
"Hadn't you better have some quinine or some-
thing?"
Her concern was oddly comforting. Besides, he
argued with himself, it would take her mind off the
other thing.
He roused himself with an effort and looked sleepily
at the sunshine glinting on the water in the flagged
pool. No need to think for a bit. Pleasant to be warm
and sleepy, to be beside Osyth. He felt for her hand
and touched the wood of the seat.
She was not there! Of course she'd gone for the
quinine. But he didn't want it. He closed his eyes
again and let his body relax. Through a mist of sleep
he heard the purr of a motor car.
He was cold. Shivering, he opened his eyes. Osyth
and the Colonel stood over him shutting out the sun-
shine. The Colonel was holding his wrist.
"You're for bed, my lad," said the Colonel. "You've
got a temperature."
"Shutting out the sunlight," Hawkesbridge com-
plaining stupidly. "Joyce's mother's shutting out the
sunlight. Very cold."
He closed his eyes again. Then he felt himself being
raised. He began to protest weakly.


Who Killed the Poacher? 91
"Here, Lyall!" the Colonel called.
Lyall? Lyall? Hawkesbridge opened his eyes. He was
on his feet, supported on one side by the Colonel, and
on the other by Osyth. A man was running towards
them. Lyall, of course, the chauffeur-gardener.
Hawkesbridge straightened himself. "I'm all right,"
he said weakly. "I can manage."
"You're not all right," the Colonel returned
brusquely. "You've got fever."
They got him to the house and up to his room. Be-
tween them, the Colonel and Lyall undressed him and
put him to bed, Hawkesbridge protesting weakly the
whole time. He protested too when Osyth came in later
and gave him a stiff dose of quinine.
"Poor old man!" she whispered as she tucked him in.
The Colonel and Lyall had left the room. "Now you go
to sleep."
He smiled up at her gratefully and closed his eyes.
IT was evening when he awoke. The fever had left
him and his brain was clear, but it was some time
before he could recall his being put to bed by the
Colonel. Then he remembered Osyth's concern for him
and her last whispered remark.
Yes; he was better now. He would get up and—then
with stunning force came the memory of Joyce and
Mrs. Merrow. What had he told Osyth about it? Noth-
ing about her mother, he'd swear.
Damn the malaria that had laid him out at such a
crucial timel What had happened while he slept? He
glanced at his watch. Quarter past six. He'd slept
all through the dayl
He sat up in bed. He felt very weak and a little sick,


The Mystery at Chillery
but he could not lie there any longer, he told himself.
He must see Ravenhill at all costs. Last night's happen-
ings altered the affair entirely. Osyth would have to
speak.
He got out of bed cautiously and tried his legs. They
were weak, but he found that he could stand though
his old wound ached when he left the support of the
bed. He began to dress.
A church bell was ringing. The sound drifted across
the water meadows, and this time it brought peace with
it. Everything would be all right, the soldier told him-
self. It was his absurd imagination that had put a
wrong complexion on the facts and involved the Mer-
rows unnecessarily. Probably the murder in the train
had nothing to do with the affair in the wood. It was
purely his imagination that had linked up Mrs. Mer-
row with Joyce's death. What if she had been out late
that night? What if she was running? She might have
been scared of the dark. What with his imagination
and Ravenhill's morbid "news-sense" he had made a
nightmare of the whole matter.
He finished dressing and went to the window. There
was no one about in the garden that he could see. Per-
haps the family were playing tennis. But no; he would
have heard them in that case. Church? No; he remem-
bered the Colonel's saying that because there was no
regular priest at North Grinstead there was but Mass
early Sunday morning, said by a "supply" from Hor-
sham.
He left his room and went slowly downstairs. The
drawing-room was unoccupied. He went to the library.
Seated by the table were Ravenhill and Tom Bentham.
Hawkesbridge looked at them in surprise.


Who Killed the Poacher? 93
"Where are the others?" he asked.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Bentham. "I thought you were
in bed. Feel better?"
"Yes, thanks. But where are the others?"
Bentham looked doubtfully at Ravenhill.
"Better sit down, Hawkesbridge," said the reporter.
"You look a bit rocky. Are you sure you ought to be
up?"
"I'm all right," replied the soldier impatiently.
"Where are the others? Where's Miss Merrow?"
"Osyth's somewhere about," Bentham said. He
looked worried, as Hawkesbridge had already noted.
He went on with obviously assumed lightness. "You'll
catch it hot if she finds you've got up."
"What d'you mean?" demanded Hawkesbridge.
"Well, she's been looking after you, my boy. I won-
der you managed to get downstairs without her hearing
you."
The soldier flushed slightly. He felt relieved. There
was nothing wrong then.
"Is the Colonel out?" he asked.
Bentham looked out of the window. It was the re-
porter who answered. "Yes," he said, "he's gone with
Mrs. Merrow to pay a call."
Bentham rose to his feet. The worried look was still
on his face, and he seemed somehow older. Hawkes-
bridge's ready apprehension came to the fore at once.
Tom Bentham was an old friend of the family, and his
worried appearance could only mean that he was con-
cerned about them. Had something new happened?
"I must be getting along," Bentham said, looking at
the clock. "Perhaps I'll see you later in the evening?"
he suggested to Ravenhill. "You're staying at the inn,


94 The Mystery at Chillery
aren't you? Come over and have a drink with me before
you turn in. You know the way."
"Yes; I'll come it I can," Ravenhill promised.
Tom Bentham sighed and went to the door. He
turned as he opened it. "Tell the Colonel to let me
know if I can do anything," he said cryptically, and
went out.
Hawkesbridge looked inquiringly at the reporter.
"Do sit down," said Ravenhill. "You look like a bit
of chewed string."
The soldier seated himself. He saw Tom Bentham
pass the window outside, his lean form hunched de-
spondently.
"What's happened?" demanded Hawkesbridge.
"Come on, manl Why the devil don't you?"
"The police found Mrs. Merrow's handbag on the
floor of Joyce's cottage," answered the reporter.
"My God!" exclaimed the soldier aghast. "Have they
arrested her?"
"Not yet," said Ravenhill ominously.
"That means that they will! But she couldn't have
done it. Good God, man! it's impossible. Where is
she?" he demanded.
"I don't know."
"Don't know! But you said she was out with the
Colonel."
"I didn't know how ill you were. I didn't want to
upset you," explained the reporter gently.
"Where's the Colonel then?"
"He's out."
"For heaven's sake, Ravenhill, don't talk in riddles!
Does Osyth know about the bag?"


Who Killed the Poacher? 95
The reporter shook his head. "Unless you've told her
she doesn't even know about Joyce's death."
"I did tell her."
"She hasn't betrayed it then. I thought she didn't
know. When did you last see Mrs. Merrow?"
"Look here, Ravenhill, you're keeping something
back. You'd better tell me."
"Yes, I'll tell you. The local constable saw a light in
Joyce's window at about two this morning and went to
investigate. Then he discovered the body. He locked
up the place and summoned his inspector at once, and
soon as he arrived he discovered Mrs. Merrow's hand-
bag. It was lying on the floor by the door, and since it
contained some of her visiting cards it was identified
immediately. Because of Mrs. Merrow's position he de-
cided not to act on his own initiative, but got in touch
with the Chief Constable who arrived about ten this
morning."
He paused.
"Yes?" Hawkesbridge prompted him impatiently.
"The Chief Constable, Major Wyman, is a pal of
your Colonel's, and I suppose he discredited the idea
that Mrs. Merrow had anything to do with the matter.
Anyhow, he came over here alone as though he were
paying a friendly call, to find Colonel Merrow in a
stew because his wife wasn't to be found anywhere and
her bed hadn't been slept in!"
Hawkesbridge gasped.
"Miss Merrow was looking after you, so she knew
nothing about it—and doesn't know yet, I think." He
paused again and looked at the soldier gravely.
"Mrs. Merrow's completely disappeared," he said.


Chapter X
THE FINDING OF MRS. MERROW
HAWKESBRIDGE gazed at the reporter aghast.
"Mrs. Merrow disappeared!" he exclaimed.
"But"
A gasp behind him made him turn. Osyth stood in
the doorway. Ravenhill, obviously confused, rose to his
feet, and Hawkesbridge got up too. Osyth came slowly
into the room looking from one to the other of them.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
Hawkesbridge turned to the reporter.
"Did you, by any chance," Ravenhill asked her,
"speak last night to your mother about anything that
has happened?"
"I told her everything," Osyth replied. "You seemed
to think I"
"What did she say?" the reporter interrupted.
"She was terribly upset, of course—that sounds
awfully inadequate: she was in a dreadful state."
"Of course she would be," Ravenhill nodded. "What
then?"
"That's all," Osyth answered. "I went to bed."
"And you haven't seen her since?"
"No-o." Osyth looked troubled. "You see, I got up
late this morning and then Captain Hawkesbridge had
96


g8 The Mystery at Chillery
feet. Her face frightened Hawkesbridge, and uncon-
sciously he rose too.
"My mother!" she whispered.
"That's why the Chief Constable"
"Shut up, Ravenhill!" Hawkesbridge slipped his
arm round Osyth's shoulders and glared at the reporter.
"No; go on," panted Osyth.
The reporter obviously hated his task. His face was
pale as he stood up. "The constable informed the in-
spector and he identified the bag by its contents and
got Major Wyman over," he said rapidly. "But your
mother has disappeared. Her bed hasn't been slept in.
They're searching for her now."
"And do they suspect?"
"I don't know. But I can prove that she called at
Joyce's cottage after he was dead."
"How?" both Hawkesbridge and Osyth demanded.
"I told you, Hawkesbridge, last night, how I entered
the place and found the body. I searched the room.
There was no handbag on the floor then. The trouble
is," Ravenhill paused, "I didn't report the discovery.
How am I to explain matters? If I"
"But you must," said Osyth decidedly. "You can't
let them think that mother killed him."
"They won't think that," he said doubtfully. "He
was a big man, and she—besides "He broke off
and asked a question. "Did she say anything about
Joyce?"
"Yes, she did. She said he must keep his mouth shut
at all costs."
"Ah!"
"What does that mean?" Osyth demanded.


The Finding of Mrs. Merrow 99
"Why did she want his mouth kept shut? What's
behind all this?"
"There's the obvious reason. She didn't want me
dragged into the affair."
"You want me to believe that Mrs. Merrow preferred
that the police should not be helped to find Miss Ferri-
bee's murderer because she objected to your being
innocently involved?"
Osyth did not answer.
"Is that so?" persisted the reporter.
"The question's unfair, Ravenhill," Hawkesbridge
rebuked him. "There's no sort of proof that the affair
in the wood is connected with Miss Ferribee's death."
"But there is a strong presumption that the two are
connected," retorted Ravenhill, "and that presumption
is strengthened by the death of Joyce. The motive is
the same in both cases. The man who tried to assault
Miss Merrow fears identification."
"The motive is too slight," declared the soldier.
"I agree. But you see we are handicapped by not
knowing the motive for the intended assault." Raven-
hill was obviously picking his words with extreme care.
"In short," he went on, "there is another and a far
stronger reason why the murderer took such extreme
steps, twice, to preserve his anonymity. We don't know
why he tried to assault Miss Merrow: if we did we
should probably know everything." He looked at
Osyth. "Can you help?" he asked.
She shook her head. Her face was slightly flushed.
"Does your mother know what the reason is?" he
went on.
She looked startled. "I don't understand you," she
answered.


ioo The Mystery at Chillery
Hawkcsbridge controlled his rising temper. After all,
there was something in what the reporter had said.
Hadn't he felt it himself?
"She seems extraordinarily anxious, considering the
apparent, circumstances, to keep the family out of it,"
Ravenhill pointed out.
"Oh, come, Ravenhill!" the soldier protested angrily.
"I think you'd better go," said Osyth evenly. "You're
forgetting yourself."
The reporter's face was very pale. "If you wish it,"
he said in a low voice. "But aren't you forgetting that
I've acted in your interests up to now? It was because
I didn't want to betray you that I've got myself in a
mess now and put myself in the wrong in the eyes of
the law. I ought to have reported finding that body
immediately."
He looked very boyish as he stood there, obviously
anxious that they should see that he was hurt. He
moved slowly towards the door.
"I'm sorry." Osyth stopped him. "Let's sit down and
be sensible."
Ravenhill came back at once. He was smiling now.
Osyth sat down, and the others followed suit.
"I've told you all the truth, Mr. Ravenhill," Osyth
said then. "I honestly don't know any more. If, as you
suggest, there is something behind all this I don't know
anything about it."
"I never suggested that you did," Ravenhill grinned.
"I was only trying—anyhow, it's no good following
that up. I'll clear your mother somehow, even if I have
to lie like a trooper. Sorry, Hawkesbridge; I mean like
a sailor."
Hawkesbridge grinned too.


The Finding of Mrs. Merrow 101
"There may be an explanation about my mother's
disappearance," Osyth volunteered. "It's quite possible
that she did go to see Major Wyman and that since
he'd come over here she'd missed him."
"But Colonel Merrow only told you she'd gone to
Horsham to keep you quiet." Ravenhill pointed out.
"He may have hit on the explanation unintention-
ally," the soldier said. "Anyhow, what are we going
to do?"
"Reveal all we know to the police," answered Raven-
hill promptly, "otherwise we shall mess things up.
Things have gone too far for us to keep the matter to
ourselves any longer."
"I believe you're right," Hawkesbridge agreed. He
looked at Osyth. "Don't you?" he asked.
"I suppose so," she answered miserably. "Yes; we
must. But not to-night. Let's wait till to-morrow. Some-
thing may turn up."
"It's dangerous to wait," Ravenhill demurred.
"Just till to-morrow," Osyth pleaded.
The purr of a motor car sounded in the drive.
Hawkesbridge limped across to the window at once,
closely followed by Osyth. The car stopped outside the
front door and the Colonel alighted; then he looked
into the car and reached forward. They saw that he was
assisting someone inside to life another person out.
Lyall, the chauffeur, had got down from his seat and
stood behind him waiting to help if necessary. A
woman's form showed. The Colonel said something to
Lyall who moved beside him and helped to support
his burden. Finally a tall man whom Hawkesbridge
did not recognise got out.
"The Chief Constable," said Ravenhill who had


io2 The Mystery at Chillery
joined the two by the window. "And the woman
is"
"—Mother!" exclaimed Osyth.
She turned about and pushing past them ran to the
door.
"We'd better stay here," Hawkesbridge said. "They
can manage without our help, and the Colonel'd prob-
ably prefer us out of the way.
The Colonel and Lyall carried Mrs. Merrow towards
the front door steps where they were met by Osyth.
The Colonel said something to her. She bent over her
mother's still form and then dashed back into the
house. Hawkesbridge heard her running along the hall.
"If Mrs. Merrow's dead," said Ravenhill in a low
voice, "there'll"
"She's not dead," Hawkesbridge declared. "She can't
be dead."
Ravenhill nodded absently.
For a long time the two waited. Then at last the
Colonel and the Chief Constable came into the room.
The Colonel looked tired and ill. Both men wore
muddy boots and trousers. Hawkesbridge and Raven-
hill were introduced to Major Wyman.
"Well, we've found her," the Colonel said, wearily
sinking into a chair. He pressed the bell push by die
mantelpiece. "She'd had an accident. Slipped in the
mud on Thorley Hill and rolled down on to a
boulder."
"Is she much hurt?" asked Hawkesbridge.
"She was stunned when we found her," the Colonel
replied. "She's still unconscious."
A maid entered the room.
"Bring some whisky in here," the Colonel com-


The Finding of Mrs. Merrow
manded her. "I don't know about you, Wyman, but
I'm dead beat. I"
He broke off at the sound of a car stopping outside.
"That's the doctor," he said. "I'd better see him."
He got up and left the room. An awkward silence
followed. When the maid returned with the whisky
Hawkesbridge took command and dispensed the drinks.
"Is Mrs. Merrow badly hurt, Major?" he asked the
Chief Constable when he had sat down again.
"I think most of the trouble is exhaustion," returned
the other, "but she seems to have had a bad bump." He
looked at the reporter. "You're The Planet man, aren't
you?" he asked.
"Did the Colonel tell you?" Ravenhill asked in re-
turn.
"No; I put two and two together," said Major Wy-
man. "Your name's not unfamiliar, you know." He
grinned good naturedly.
"Hurrahl" exclaimed Ravenhill. "A friend at court!"
He chatted with the Chief Constable for some min-
utes about old cases which he had dealt with for his
paper, while Hawkesbridge listened mechanically. His
mind was with Osyth and her mother upstairs.
Then Colonel Merrow returned. He looked old and
stricken as he entered the room. He slumped into a
chair and poured himself out a drink.
"She's very bad," he said thickly. "The doctor says
she's got a concussion."
The others looked sympathetically at him, but no
one spoke. Hawkesbridge got up and went to the win-
dow. He felt sick and weak.
"Look here, Sir," exclaimed the reporter; "I think
I'd better tell you something." He looked at the
s


The Finding of Mrs. Merrow 105
"No opportunity," returned the reporter. "To whom
could I report it?"
It was a magnificent He, and Hawkesbridge, despite
his prejudice, could not but admire it. But had it
"worked"?
The telephone bell suddenly shrilled. For a moment
no one moved, then the Colonel shakily took up the
receiver.
"Hullo? Yes; he's here," he spoke into the 'phone.
He turned to the Chief Constable. "Someone wants
you, Wyman," he said, handing the receiver to him.
"What is it?" demanded the Major, speaking into the
mouthpiece. "You've detained him? Good! Yes, I'll
come over right away."
He hung up the receiver. "We've got a man," he an-
nounced to the room.
Hawkesbridge's heart beat wildly.
"An arrest?" queried the Colonel. "You mean?"
"Not exactly that. But we've detained a man. The
train murder case, you know. We called in Scotland
Yard last night, and we got a clue early this morning.
Brighton man. I hope we get Joyce's murderer as
easilyl"


Chapter XI
THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER
HE newspaper next morning dispelled the optim-
ism that the police detention of a suspect had
inspired in Hawkesbridge. It was reported that
after being questioned the man was released. Appar-
ently the police had acted on information supplied by a
woman who had travelled in the train in which Myrtle
Ferribee was killed, but that information was entirely
unreliable.
Osyth would have to tell her story. There was no
escape from that. But she need only reveal that the
arranged meeting in the wood did not take place: what
Hawkesbridge and Ravenhill had discovered subse-
quently must not be part of Osyth's story at all.
Hawkesbridge could not ask the reporter's advice, for
Ravenhill, before they had parted last night, had said
that he was going to look for Carlin, the butler, to-day.
Osyth had been able to supply him with the informa-
tion that Carlin had once told her that his home was at
Berkhamstead in Hertfordshire. Presumably therefore
his mother lived there.
Mrs. Merrow had not yet recovered consciousness.
A nurse had been installed and the doctor was due to
return just after ten o'clock.
The Colonel at breakfast looked as though he had

106


The Mysterious Letter
had no sleep. He said little. Hawkesbridge wondered
whether, in the circumstances, he ought to suggest that
he terminate his visit, but for fear that his host would
agree he did not broach the subject. He could not leave
Osyth to face her trouble alone. Besides
He looked moodily out of the window. Perhaps he'd
better go, after all. He knew what he was heading for.
Osyth was very young: she regarded him as though he
were a sort ot uncle. And he was getting on, too, and
India had added years to his age. Besides, there was
nothing in him to attract a woman, particularly a mere
girl of Osyth's years.
Absurd for him to fall in love with her, he told him-
self angrily. He had escaped all this time.
But he couldn't go away. She needed him. She'd get
into an awful mess alone.
He went out into the garden and found her by the
greenhouse. She sat staring unhappily at the box hedge.
"Have you seen the paper, Osyth?" he asked her.
She nodded miserably. "I hoped he was the right
man," she sighed. "Have we got to tell them?"
"Afraid so. And the sooner the better. We'll go to
Major Wyman. Better than going to a police station."
"I suppose it is."
"Come on, Osyth; buck upl It's a nasty fence, but
you've got to jump it, you know."
She was silent.
"I'll go over with you," he offered.
"But you mustn't. You"
"Oh, I shan't say anything. No need to. And all
you've got to say is that, well—you'll have to tell him
about those attempts at assault."
"Oh, must I?"


The Mysterious Letter 109
by talking of anything except their errand, and to a
large measure he succeeded. He warmed to his unusual
task of amusing a woman and was rewarded by her
spontaneous laughter. Perhaps, he told himself, he
wasn't such a dry old stick after all.
They had lunch in Horsham. She was quieter now,
and by the time they reached Wyman's house she was
quite subdued. Hawkesbridge brought the car to a
standstill and switched off the engine. Then he glanced
at his companion's white face.
"'Steady the Buffs!'" he whispered, squeezing her
arm, and she smiled.
"It's all right," she whispered back. "I'm ready.
You'll come in too, won't you?"
"Of course, if you want me to," he answered. "Now
mind, don't say anything about our investigations."
Major Wyman was in. They were escorted to the
library where he greeted them cordially and gave them
cigarettes.
"Now, what's the trouble?" he asked, leaning back
comfortably in his chair.
"Miss Merrow wants to tell you something which we
think may be important," Hawkesbridge answered. "She
probably ought to have told you before, but she didn't
know whether she should or not. You will understand
she doesn't want to be dragged into the affair unneces-
sarily, even though Myrtle Ferribee was her friend."
Hawkesbridge had rehearsed that preface several times
that morning. He thought it was disarming.
The Chief Constable raised his eyebrows. "Her
friend, was she?" he commented. "Well, well! Suppose
you tell me all about it?" he invited the girl.


no The Mystery at Chillery
Osyth started haltingly, but gaining courage from
the manner in which Wyman took her revelation, she
went on to the end. He did not interrupt her at all.
"Of course," he said at length, "you ought to have
told me that at once." He tugged at his moustache and
stared out of the window. "I can't see how it fits in
though," he mused aloud. "And yet, I don't understand
why you didn't tell your father about the attempted
assaults."
"Mother said I wasn't to," Osyth answered. "It
wouldn't have done, I think, in any case. Daddy's been
so sick all this year, and he's so worried about some-
thing."
"Yes, I've noticed that," commented Wyman, nod-
ding his head slowly. He tugged undecidedly at his
moustache. "I shall have to tell the Yard men your
story, Miss Merrow," he said, "and I expect they'll ques-
tion you. Can't prevent it, y'know. They have to have a
free hand. But I don't think you'll be worried much.
You see, your tale doesn't supply a real motive for the
murder. I'm afraid it doesn't help us a bit except that
Miss Ferribee's not keeping her appointment with you
suggests that she was prevented, not necessarily for-
cibly, from doing so. I wonder why she chose the hut
as a rendezvous, though?"
"May I suggest something, Major?" asked Hawkes-
bridge. "One place was as good as another for a meet-
ing. Mrs. Merrow doesn't seem to have liked the girl
very much so she probably didn't want to come to the
house."
The Major nodded. "The only objection to the hut,"
he said, "is that it was out of Miss Ferribee's way.
You'd have thought she'd have suggested the end of


The Mysterious Letter in
the drive. That would have been convenient for both
of them."
He frowned thoughtfully. Hawkesbridge was wres-
tling with an uncomfortable sense of guilt. He knew
so much more than had been revealed, and nine peo-
ple out of ten, he told himself, would have held that
his duty was to tell everything he knew. But there
was Osyth to think of all the time. And also there
was his conviction that the unknown trouble at Chil-
lery Court was in some way connected with the mur-
der—and he was the Colonel's guest.
His sense of guilt died. His thoughts went in a
new direction. Queer that Wyman didn't seem to con-
nect the two murders in the person of Mrs. Merrow.
Perhaps he did though. Wyman was not a talkative
man.
"Did you know Joyce?" the Chief Constable sud-
denly asked Osyth.
She started. "Yes," she answered. "I spoke to him
sometimes."
"Even though he poached on your father's land?"
the Major grinned. "Your mother knew him by sight,
I suppose?"
"Oh, yes."
Major Wyman nodded. "You know, I expect, that
Joyce was questioned by the police the morning be-
fore he died."
"I heard about it," Osyth answered.
"You see," the Major explained, "when we found
that Miss Ferribee had travelled from North Grin-
stead we made inquiries there. I don't mind saying
we didn't discover much. The girl left her aunt earlier
than usual, apparently, in order to catch the last train


112 The Mystery at Chillery
but one, but actually caught the last. There are sev-
eral hours unaccounted for. Joyce said he saw her
alongside the wood which you spoke of, which is
rather peculiar, isn't it?"
Hawkesbridge glanced at Osyth anxiously, but she
kept her head. "I heard about that," she said. "I told
Mother."
Hawkesbridge found that he was holding his breath.
Was she going to tell Wyman everything? Oh, well;
perhaps it was the wisest thing to do.
"That was why," Osyth went on in a level voice,
"Mother went to see Joyce the night before last."
"I guessed that," returned Wyman, showing no sur-
prise. "I'm glad you've told me though. I take it that
your Mother went to talk to Joyce about it."
"You'd better know the whole truth." Osyth stubbed
the end of her cigarette in the ash tray. "She went to
try to persuade him not to talk. She was afraid of—
scandal."
"I quite understand. I had guessed even that. But
you needn't worry. The doctor has cleared your mother
of implication beyond a doubt."
"How?" Hawkesbridge and Osyth asked together.
"The doctor saw the body at half past two in the
morning and estimated that life had been extinct at
least six hours. Joyce was murdered at or before half
past seven the previous evening."
Hawkesbridge, to cover his astonishment, lighted
another cigarette. Meanwhile his brain worked rapidly.
If Joyce had been killed at seven-thirty, how was it
that Ravenhill did not find the body on the occasion
of his first visit to the cottage? Then he uttered an
exclamation.


The Mysterious Letter 113
"It doesn't get dark till very late," he pointed out
excitedly. "Who lit the lamp in Joyce's room?"
"Exactly!" approved Major Wyman. "That's what
we asked ourselves at once. Obviously Joyce didn't
light it. There was no reason to do so."
"Do you mean ?But I don't understand," ex-
claimed Osyth, looking from one to the other.
"Nor do we, entirely," answered Wyman. "We ques-
tioned a man who passed the cottage at about ten
o'clock, and he swears that there was no light burning
then. We've no reason to doubt him—indeed, judging
from the amount of oil the lamp consumed, we be-
lieve him. You see," he explained, "the lamp was kept
burning after the constable was called and until the
inspector and doctor had made their investigations
and had gone. That would be about half-past four.
When the doctor reported that the man must have
been killed early in the evening the paradox of the
lamp caused the inspector to see how much oil had
been used. We called in an expert from the wholesale
firm in Brighton which made the lamp, and he demon-
strated that even if the reservoir were full when the
lamp was lit, it would not have been burning more
than seven hours. It was extinguished at four-thirty;
therefore it was lighted not earlier than nine-thirty
—probably later."
Remembering what Ravenhill had said of his first
visit Hawkesbridge could have fixed the time more
definitely, but he dared not speak now. Besides, there
was no imperative need to do so. Mrs. Merrow was
not in danger.
"But there's a queerer thing yet," the Chief Con-


ii4
The Mystery at Chillery
stable went on. "In the handbag we found (Mrs.
Merrow's) there was a note."
Hawkesbridge felt that he was on the verge of a
terrific revelation. His heart throbbed. He glanced
covertly at Osyth. She was as white as death, and her
hands were clenched together.
"I haven't got it here, of course," the Major went
on with maddening deliberation, "but I've got a photo-
graph of it. We're pretty up-to-date, even in Sussex,
you know."
He went to the cabinet on the other side of the room
and unlocked a drawer from which he took an en-
velope. Hawkesbridge wanted to shout to him to hurry.
It was an age before he returned to the others and
extracting a card from the envelope gave it to Osyth.
Hawkesbridge read over her shoulder:—
"Dear Mrs. Merrow,
"Please come to my cottage to-night at is
o'clock to-night, if you don't you will be sorry,
it is about the murder.
"Sined
"Peter Joyce."


Chapter XII
THE COLONEL S COLLAPSE
T the inquest next morning Osyth, to Hawkes-
bridge's surprise, was not called. Evidence of
identification being given by Myrtle Ferribee's
landlady, an account of how the body was found was
supplied by a railway porter, and the police doctor
gave the result of his examination. Strangulation was
undoubtedly the cause of death.
The Coroner at this point told the jury that that
was all the evidence that would be put before them
that day and adjourned the inquest for a week. Then
he opened the inquiry into the circumstances in which
Myrtle Ferribee's aunt had died, and within ten min-
utes the jury had returned a verdict of "Death from
natural causes." As Osyth and Hawkesbridge rose to
leave Ravenhill appeared in the doorway.
"Just too late," he announced when they joined
him. "Never mind; you can tell me all about it. Let's
go to the 'George' for lunch. It's a good pub."
Over the meal Hawkesbridge described the inquest.
"I didn't miss anything then," Ravenhill commented
at the end. "Now what's your news?"
Hawkesbridge looked at Osyth and smiled ruefully.
"You'd better tell me everything," said Ravenhill,
glancing from one to the other.


The Mystery at Chillery
Hawkesbridge gave a faithful account of all that had
happened since the reporter had left. Ravenhill made
no comment until he had finished. Then:
"Does the Colonel know?" he asked.
Osyth shook her head. "No; we must keep it from
him," she answered.
"I wonder why you think he'd be upset if he knew?"
Ravenhill said. "After all, you know, one wouldn't
imagine that he would be"
"You don't understand, Mr. Ravenhill," said Osyth.
"He's in a very bad state of health. He's worried him-
self into a frightful state."
"Why? Sorryl I oughtn't to have asked that. I don't
mean to be inquisitive. But tell me this: Did you
ever contemplate telling him?"
"Yes, I did," she admitted.
"And what decided you not to?"
"It was my mother's suggestion," she answered
lamely.
The meal was finished. Ravenhill produced a ciga-
rette case and handed it to the others; then he lighted
a cigarette with elaborate care. Hawkesbridge was dis-
turbed. He realised that the reporter was on the same
ground as he had been and that he was suspicious.
There was something wrong at Chillery.
Did Osyth know of it? He was certain she did not.
He saw her glance covertly at him. Did she share the
reporter's suspicions?
"Well, I went to Berkhamstead," announced Raven-
hill at length.
"Discover anything?" queried Hawkesbridge, glad
of the change of topic.
"What I expected," returned the reporter. "I drew a


The Colonel's Collapse 117
blank. Carlin's mother certainly doesn't live there, and
I found no trace of Carlin himself. He's bolted."
"But he must live there!" exclaimed Osyth. "He
went there once before when his mother was ill."
"So she's been ill before? How long ago was that?"
"I forget exactly when it was. In the early spring,
I think."
Ravenhill frowned.
"He was away some days," Osyth volunteered. "He
said his mother suffered from heart trouble."
"Queer. Well, she doesn't live at Bei khamstead any-
how."
"Look here, Ravenhill!" said the soldier. "Don't you
think we ought to tell the police about Carlin? He
may be"
"He's not. Don't worry. I think I know why he's
bolted. That poacher fellow probably saw him that
night and told him so."
"But that wouldn't"
"Yes, it would. People do the most foolish things
when they're in a panic. Perhaps Joyce threatened him
with exposure; maybe he blackmailed him. Anyhow,
Carlin thought that he was in danger and decided to
make himself scarce. The best thing we can do is to say
nothing; then he might come back. Joyce is dead,
remember."
"I suppose it isn't possible that Carlin killed Joyce?"
suggested Hawkesbridge.
"I've thought of that. It's possible, but improbable,"
Ravenhill replied. "Strangling is not easy, particularly
when the victim's a man. And Joyce was not exactly
a weakling, remember."


118
The Mystery at Chillery
"True. Carlin isn't a big man," Hawkesbridge
agreed.
Osyth shivered. "We don't want him back. Why do
you want him to come back, Mr. Ravenhill?" she asked.
"Because," explained the reporter, "he knew before
the murder of Miss Ferribee that there was something
wrong"
Hawkesbridge caught his breath.
"—something wrong going on," pursued Ravenhill.
"That's why be followed you that night. How did he
know that you were going to meet Miss Ferribee?"
"I don't know."
"She wrote to you, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"When did the letter arrive?"
"By the morning post."
"What did you do with it afterwards?"
"Tore it up and put the bits in the waste paper
basket"
"He might have found it then if"
"But surely that's unlikely," protested the soldier.
"Not if he was deliberately looking for it," said
Ravenhill. "Anyhow—What time did you get it?" he
asked Osyth.
"It was on the table when I came in to breakfast
about nine," she replied. "I'd been out for a walk.
The post comes about eight."
"There was an hour then in which he could have
steamed the letter open and read it. Anyhow, he ob-
viously knew about the appointment, otherwise he
wouldn't have followed you." Ravenhill looked at his
watch and uttered an exclamation. "I shall be late," he
explained. "Inspector Miller, a C. I. D. man, is han-


The Colonel's Collapse
"9
dling the case now, and he's promised to see me at half
past two. D'you mind if I hop off?"
"What time will you be finished?" queried Hawkes-
bridge. "We might give you a lift if you're going to
North Grinstead."
"Thanks. I'd be glad of it. I don't suppose I'll be
more than half an hour. That do?"
"Right. We'll stay here," the soldier said. "Don't
be long. You know," he said to Osyth when the re-
porter had gone, "I like that fellow."
"So do I," admitted Osyth, "but I get so scared when
he starts asking questions."
"He's all right," declared Hawkesbridge. "His 'story'
in the Planet this morning was a wonderful effort, but
it betrayed no confidences."
Ravenhill was back in less than half an hour. The
others rose and prepared to depart.
"Miller's coming over to Chillery," Ravenhill an-
nounced. "The Chief Constable's told him your story
and he wants to talk to you."
Osyth showed her alarm.
"Cheer up, Miss Merrow," Ravenhill smiled. "He's
not a bad chap as policemen go. And you've nothing
to fear. Miller never tells anything to a pressman—
except to me."
Nevertheless Osyth was silent the whole way back.
The Colonel was in the library talking to Bentham
when they arrived.
"Hullo! Where have you been?" he greeted Osyth.
"I told you this morning we were going for a drive,"
said Osyth guiltily.
"Did you? Did you? I must have forgotten then.


The Colonel's Collapse
121
mother, I suppose. That girl can't sit still a moment."
He got up from his chair and wandered across to
the window. "I ought to be over at North Grinstead
this afternoon," he said restlessly, "but I don't feel
like going."
"Has anything happened?" Tom Bentham whispered
to Ravenhill.
The reporter shook his head.
"It looks as if it's going to rain," the Colonel said
from the window. "I wish "he broke off, and the
others glanced at him. "Who the devil's that?" he
demanded.
Hawkesbridge joined him at the window.
A stocky man stood in the drive gazing up at the
house. He turned and looked across the garden towards
the wood.
"Damned impertinence!" rumbled the Colonel.
"Looks like a commercial traveller."
"It's Inspector Miller of Scotland Yard," Ravenhill
stood just behind them looking over the Colonel's
shoulder.
"Inspectorl Scotland Yard!" the colonel exploded.
"What the devil does he want?"
"We'd better wait and see," Ravenhill suggested.
The stranger began to move towards the front door.
A few seconds later the bell rang. Hawkesbridge, his
heart thumping, went back to his chair, and presently
the Colonel and Ravenhill returned to theirs. There
was silence in the room. Hawkesbridge stared at the
carpet. Then suddenly there was a movement. Bentham
was on his feet, looking down at the Colonel.
"Why, what's the matter, Merrow?" he exclaimed.
The Colonel's face was as white as chalk, and his


Chapter XIII
WHO IS "MRS. KILLICK"?
HAWKESBRIDGE, pacing the garden, tried to
put his thoughts in order—or rather, he de-
liberately strove not to think. The Colonel had
recovered from his faintness, ascribing it to the immi-
nence of thunder, and had asked to be left alone, and
so, after being invited to stay for dinner, Tom Ben-
tham and the reporter had gone for a walk. Hawkes-
bridge, aware that the C. I. D. man was interviewing
Osyth in the drawing-room, had decided not to ac-
company them in case he should be called.
He wondered how the Colonel was. Once he went
onto the lawn and looked in at the library window.
The Colonel sat at his desk, writing. He appeared to
be all right. Then Hawkesbridge saw Bentham and
Ravenhill sauntering down the drive.
He did not want company: he felt too distraught.
He went through a tunnel in the box hedge and made
his way towards the greenhouse. That was his favourite
spot, and he knew that Osyth would seek him there
when her interview was over. He sat down on the seat
and closed his eyes. He felt very tired.
He must have drowsed. Suddenly he was wide
awake, his nerves tense. He rose from the seat and
glanced at his watch. Almost dinner time. No need
123


124 The Mystery at Chillery
to change to-night since Bentham and Ravenhill would
not be able to do so. He wondered what had excited
him to such a state of tension. No sound came from
the house. What had happened to Osyth?
He went towards the front door. On the mat inside
lay two letters. So the postman had been here. He
picked them up and glanced at them idly. One was
addressed to the Colonel and one to "Mrs. Mark Kil-
lick." He supposed that Mrs. Killick was the cook. He
took the letters to the library where he found the
Colonel still writing.
"Letter for you, Colonel," he announced, handing
him one. "Who's Mrs. Killick?"
The Colonel dropped his pen and staggered to his
feet, upsetting his chair as he did so. He snatched the
other letter from his guest's hand and stared at the
address.
"Oh, my God!" he groaned, and fell against the
table.
Hawkesbridge sprang forward and grabbed hold
of him before he could fall. He noticed subconsciously
how light the Colonel was. Then he half-supported
him, half-carried him to a chair.
The brandy decanter still stood on the table. His
mind concentrated on one thing only, he took it and
poured a generous measure into the glass. The Colonel
looked ghastly. He lay back in the chair, breathing
stertorously, and his left arm which he was obviously
trying to move, hung helplessly over the side. A heart
attack without a doubt.
Hawkesbridge tried to get the Colonel to drink the
brandy, but he succeeded only in spilling it. Fright-
ened, he limped to the bell and pressed it.


Who Is "Mrs. Killick"? i«5
The Colonel's face was blue. In a panic Hawkes*
bridge tried again to administer the brandy. He heard
the door open.
"Fetch Mr. Ravenhill," he called over his shoulder,
"and telephone for the doctor. The Colonel's ill."
He heard a startled gasp and renewed his efforts to
get brandy into his host's sagging mouth. Then Raven-
hill came, closely followed by Tom Bentham.
But the Colonel's breathing was less stertorous now
and the blueness had left his face. It was Bentham who
took control of the situation.
"We must get him upstairs," he said, "and summon
the doctor."
"The doctor's coming, Sir," announced the maid in
the doorway. "I've just telephoned."
"Take his feet, Hawkesbridge," commanded Tom
Bentham. "I'll take his head."
They got him to his room without much difficulty,
for the Colonel was surprisingly light.
"Now I'll get the nurse," said Bentham when the
Colonel was lying on his bed.
Hawkesbridge cursed himself for not thinking of
her before. Of course she would know what to do.
Ravenhill, it seemed, had already gone for her, for
she suddenly appeared in the doorway. She took in
the situation at once and assumed command in a
capable fashion, driving both men out of the room.
The doctor had wasted no time. He arrived a few
minutes later and went upstairs. Downstairs in the
library Tom Bentham mopped his brow. Ravenhill
looked inquiringly at Hawkesbridge.
"What caused it?" he asked.
Hawkesbridge, feeling limp and exhausted, had sunk


The Mystery at Chillery
into a chair. Now he sat bolt upright. Of course it was
that letter. It lay on the floor where the Colonel had
dropped it. The reporter followed his glance: then
without a word he went and picked the letter up.
"'Mrs. Mark Killick'," he read aloud. "Who's Mrs.
Killick?"
"I thought it must be the cook," replied the soldier,
"but "He broke off helplessly.
"Mrs. Mark Killick?" repeated Bentham. "No: that
isn't the cook. Her name's Thompson."
The reporter turned the envelope over. "He didn't
open it," he said, puzzled. He looked across at Hawkes-
bridge.
The soldier shook his head. He felt belatedly that
he ought to be cautious.
"There's another letter here," Ravenhill announced,
picking it up from the table. "This isn't opened
either."
"I don't expect it had anything to do with the let-
ters," said Hawkesbridge.
"Well, tell us what happened," suggested Ravenhill.
"I came in here with the letters, and then he sud-
denly went off." Hawkesbridge was purposely vague.
"He had a bad attack," Bentham commented. "I
thought he was gone."
"He was worse before you arrived," said the soldier.
"Absolutely blue."
They lapsed into silence. Hawkesbridge stared
moodily into the empty fireplace. Of course it was the
letter which had caused the heart attack. But what
could he do? He certainly couldn't give the others the
knowledge he had gained in such circumstances.


Who Is "Mrs. Killick"? 127
"I think perhaps we'd better go," Ravenhill said,
looking at his watch.
"Let's wait and see how Merrow gets on," suggested
Bentham. His usually cheerful face was very worried
looking. "You can come along to my place and have a
meal later."
"I wonder what's happened to Osyth," Hawkes-
bridge said, suddenly remembering that he had not
seen her since early in the afternoon. There was the
Inspector too. Was he still in the house?
"She was in her mother's room," Ravenhill an-
swered. "I didn't tell her about her father. The nurse
came to the door when I knocked, and I told her not
to tell Miss Merrow."
Hawkesbridge looked a question.
"Yes; Miller's gone," said the reporter. "He didn't
stay long. Bentham and I met him at the end of the
drive."
A maid appeared. "Miss Osyth says that you're to
start dinner without her," she announced.
"But we won't "began Bentham.
"It's all right, sir," the maid hastened to say. "Din-
ner will be served in a few minutes."
The meal was a silent one until Osyth appeared
about half way through.
"He's better," she answered their unspoken ques-
tion. She laughed shakily. "He wants to get up and
come down," she added.
"Has the doctor gone?" asked Bentham.
"Yes; it wasn't necessary for him to stay long." She
looked reproachfully at Ravenhill. "You ought to have
called me," she said. "I didn't know anything about it
until the nurse came back."


128 The Mystery at Chillery
"How is Mrs. Merrow?" asked the reporter, evading
her.
Her face was troubled. "She doesn't seem any dif-
ferent," she replied. "She's still unconscious, anyhow."
She suddenly lost self-control and her lips quivered.
Then she recovered herself and leant back as the maid
put soup before her.
She ate a little fish after that and then declaring
that she could eat no more, rose to leave the room.
Hawkesbridge went and opened the door for her.
"D'you think you could carry on alone?" she asked
him in a whisper. "I must go upstairs again."
He squeezed her hand. "Go ahead," he answered.
"I'll carry on. Wait a bit though. I want to ask you
something. Go out into the garden, will you?"
Ravenhill asked, when he returned to the others,
if he might use the library for a few minutes in order
to write his report for his paper, and Hawkesbridge
went with him to find writing materials. Then leaving
the reporter seated at the table he went out into the
garden and found Osyth by the greenhouse.
"I say," he asked her. "Who is Mrs. Killick?"
"Mrs. Killick?" she echoed. "I don't know. Why?"
"Have you ever heard the name?"
She shook her head wonderingly.
"A letter addressed to her came by this evening's
post," he explained.
"Oh? Wrongly addressed, I expect," she said.
"I don't think so. The envelope says 'care of Colonq],
Merrow'."
She frowned. "Well, I've never heard of her. Must
be a mistake. Where is it?"


130 The Mystery at Chiller y
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this," he an-
nounced grimly. "I'll go and see."
He went up the stairs as fast as his lame leg would
allow him and without knocking entered the Colonel's
room. His host lay in a chair, his head sunk onto
his chest. On the floor were an envelope and a sheet
of notepaper. The envelope was addressed to Mrs. Kil-
lick. The notepaper was blank.


Chapter XIV
OUT OF THE PAST
AWKESBRIDGE was aware that the Colonel
I I was watching him. He was uncomfortably con-
scious that he was being impertinently curious.
"Hawkesbridge," said the Colonel faintly, "what are
you doing?"
The younger man flushed. "I was justified, Sir," he
excused himself. Then, naively, "I wish you'd let me
help."
Colonel Merrow closed his eyes. "How can you?"
he murmured.
"Isn't it true that you once thought of taking me
into your confidence?" demanded Hawkesbridge.
"Didn't—weren't you going to do so the evening I
arrived?"
The Colonel opened his eyes again. "I don't know
what you're talking about," he said.
Hawkesbridge turned away wearily. "I wish you'd
let me help," he said from the window. "I know there's
something wrong and"
"Something wrongl What do you mean by that?"
Hawkesbridge swung round. "Why did you ask me
down here?" he enquired.
"I asked you because—because I wanted to have
you," replied the Colonel weakly.


138 The Mystery at Chiller y
"There was no other reason? Sorry, Colonel, but you
know—oh, damn it! You did want to tell me some-
thing on Friday evening. Won't you now? Look what's
happened since."
"Nothing has happened. What do you mean?"
"D'you call two murders nothing? Good God!"
He broke off. The Colonel was gripping the arm
of his chair and leaning forward, his face horror-
struck.
"Two murders!" he whispered. "Do you mean"
"Can you deny that they've nothing to do with
you?" demanded Hawkesbridge, steeling himself to his
task.
"To do with me!" gasped the Colonel. "What have
they to do with me?"
Hawkesbridge had gone too far to withdraw. He
must go on even though the Colonel's heart was a
continual menace.
"You can't deny that you're in trouble about some-
thing. Somehow, I don't understand how, Miss Ferri-
bee was concerned in it, and"
"Miss Ferribee! The murdered girl! The girl in the
train!"
Hawkesbridge looked at him narrowly. "Surely you
connected her up with"
"I swear I didn't!" the Colonel burst out. "Oh, my
God! What are you suggesting?"
"Miss Ferribee was Osyth's friend. She was mur-
dered to prevent her making a revelation to Osyth."
He paused, fearful of the effect of his words.
"Go on," commanded his host. His voice seemed to
be stronger.


Out of the Past 133
"And Joyce was murdered because he had informa-
tion the police want."
"You mean he knew who Miss Ferribee's murderer
is?"
"I'm not sure. It seems so."
The Colonel's face was gray, but his voice was still
strong. Hawkesbridge, watching him closely, was con-
vinced that the news had stimulated him rather than
hurt him. But surely—why had he shown such dis-
quiet when Inspector Miller had come to Chillery?
"Let's get this straight, Hawkesbridge," he said.
"Have you got a cigarette on you? Give me one. Oh,
it won't hurt me."
Hawkesbridge gave him a cigarette and lighted it.
"Is my wife mixed up in this?" the Colonel de-
manded.
Hawkesbridge nodded. "I think so," he replied.
"Joyce sent her a note practically ordering her to call
on him. She went—and found him dead."
"Was that the cause of her—poor Laura!"
"That's it. I suppose she went temporarily out of
her mind. Ravenhill and I"
"Does he know?"
"As much as I do. He and I saw her coming back
from Joyce's the night he was killed. Apparently,
though, she didn't come here: she must have wandered
about all night."
The Colonel rose unsteadily from his chair, waving
Hawkesbridge aside when he would have helped him,
and went to the window. For a full minute there was
silence. Hawkesbridge sat wearily on the bed and
lighted a cigarette.
At last the Colonel returned to his chair.


134 The Mystery at Chillery
"How much of this have you told the police?" he
demanded.
"I'm your guest, Sir," Hawkesbridge reminded him
simply.
The Colonel's face softened. "You're a good chap,
Hawkesbridge," he said shakily. "What about Raven-
hill?"
"He's taken tremendous risks in keeping quiet,"
Hawkesbridge answered. "He's as safe as houses."
"You'd better tell me all that's happened," sug-
gested the Colonel. "Don't worry about me. I'm all
right now."
Hawkesbridge told him, omitting nothing. Only by
a complete revelation, he argued, would he gain the
Colonel's confidence, and for Osyth's sake, as well as
his host's, he must have that confidence.
"I see," commented the Colonel at length. "Yes: it
all fits in. My God! What a terrible businessl—Well,
I'm glad you've told me, Hawkesbridge. I wish you'd
told me before."
"Now won't you?"
"I'll tell you all I can," the Colonel agreed. "I can't
tell you everything." He tossed his cigarette end into
the fireplace.
"Will you tell Ravenhill too?" Hawkesbridge asked
diffidently. "He knows so much, and he's on our side,
you know."
The Colonel considered for some moments.
"It'd be better if you did," Hawkesbridge persisted,
"especially," he ventured, "if you can't tell the police."
"The police! My God, no! But what could Ravenhill
do? I don't see that you can do anything either, for
that matter."


Out of the Past 135
"I take it," Hawkesbridge suggested, "that all the
time this man is about, the murderer, I mean, you and
your family are in danger? I'm only guessing. I don't
know anything more than what I've told you, re-
member."
The Colonel sighed. "I don't know," he said wearily.
"I thought it was blackmail."
"Blackmail? How awful!" Hawkesbridge looked
compassionately at the Colonel. "You've been paying
him blackmail?"
The Colonel, elbows on the arms of the chair, cov-
ered his face with his hands. "It's been—hell," he mut-
tered. "It's broken me all up. And I'm a young man
yet."
"I'm going to fetch Ravenhill," declared Hawkes-
bridge. "We've got to act."
The Colonel made a gesture to stay him, then
dropped his hand. Hawkesbridge found the reporter
in the drawing-room talking to Osyth.
"Where's Bentham?" he asked.
"Gone home," replied Ravenhill.
"It's all right," said the soldier vaguely. "The
Colonel wants to see you." He looked at Osyth. "You'd
better come too," he added.
"This is very mysterious," she remarked with an
assumption of lightness, but she looked frightened.
"Does he want me?"
"He didn't say so, but I think you should come,"
replied the soldier gravely. "You see, I've—I've told
him everything."
"Trevor!"
"I had to, dear. Something's happened. He had to
know."


136 The Mystery at Chillery
"But what difference does it make? He?"
"Osyth, you thought all along that you were the
victim, didn't you? You weren't. Your father's trouble
is connected with yours."
She looked scared. Ravenhill frowned.
"You've proved that?" he asked quickly.
"Not yet, but I'm certain. Come upstairs."
They went up. The Colonel sat in his chair, his
face in his hands.
"Daddy!" cried Osyth, running towards him and
kneeling. "Oh, Daddy, what is it?"
"I brought Osyth too, Sir," explained Hawkesbridge.
"She's in this up to the neck," he added grimly, "and
she ought to know what it's all about."
Ravenhill closed the door and got a chair for Osyth.
The Colonel raised his head. He looked very tired,
and his worn face was that of a much older man.
"I suppose you're right," he muttered. He looked
at the reporter. "Hawkesbridge tells me you know as
much as he does?"
"I think I do," replied Ravenhill.
"And you?" the Colonel asked his daughter.
"I suppose so," she said diffidently. Compassion
brought tears to her eyes. "Oh, Daddy!" she cried
again. "What is it?"
"Sit down. I'll tell you as much as I can," said the
Colonel. "There, don't cry, lass."
He shivered a little and drew his dressing-gown more
closely around him.
"Years ago in India I made an enemy," he began.
"How, doesn't matter. I must say, however, that I did
him no wrong. I don't think he even thinks I did."


Out of the Past
137
"What was his name?" interposed the reporter. "I
know I've no right to ask questions, but"
"I don't mind telling you. His name was Killick."
"Killick!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge and Ravenhill
together. They exchanged glances.
"Mark Killick," the Colonel said. "I never met him,
I think. Anyhow, circumstances brought him into my
life, but I didn't know at the time that he was going
to be an enemy."
He paused. The others waited silently. Osyth slipped
her hand into her father's.
"That was years ago," the Colonel went on pres-
ently. "It was not till late last year that he appeared
again as far as I am concerned."
"You saw him?" asked Ravenhill.
"No; he wrote." The Colonel broke off and looked
helplessly at Hawkesbridge. "It's so little I can tell
you," he said. "He wrote a letter reminding me of his
existence and demanded money to prevent exposure."
"But what had you to fear if you had done noth-
ing?" protested the reporter. "You can't be blackmailed
if"
"I hadn't done anything—anything wrong, that is,"
replied the Colonel. "But if Killick had spread the tale
I should have been ruined. I couldn't have refuted it
or even explained it. He had a tale to tell which would
have ostracised me and drawn my name through the
dirt. And I couldn't have done anything."
He spoke excitedly. Osyth patted his hand.
"He had money from me several times," the Colonel
went on.
"Did you send it to him? How did he get it without
your seeing him?" Ravenhill demanded.


138 The Mystery at Chillery
f
"I had to address the envelope 'Poste Restante, Hor-
sham'," was the reply.
"I see. How often did that happen?"
"Several times. Then, apparently, he thought that
blackmailing was too tame. He didn't want money so
much as revenge. If he'd known how ill he had made
me perhaps he would have been satisfied. His next
move was a devilish one. He sent a letter here ad-
dressed"
The Colonel broke off and looked anxiously from
Hawkesbridge to Ravenhill.
"Somehow," he went on lamely, "my butler got in-
formation. He"
"What about that letter?" Ravenhill interrupted.
"You don't explain."
"I was wandering from the point. The butler"
"But how did the butler get drawn into the affair?"
demanded Hawkesbridge.
"I don't know. At first I was doubtful whether he
knew anything, but he soon showed that he did. He
wasn't open about it as Killick was, but he blackmailed
me for small sums just the same."
"Colonel," said Ravenhill, "it doesn't help if you
keep things back. Somehow the butler and that letter
are connected, aren't they? How? Am I right in as-
suming that the letter was addressed to 'Mrs. Kil-
lick'?"
The Colonel sighed. "Yes," he said thickly. "Now
you've got it."
"And who is Mrs. Killick?"
"There isn't such a person, unless Killick is mar-
ried."
"Why should he?"


Out of the Past 139
"I don't know, I tell you," the Colonel burst out.
"All I know is that such an envelope was addressed
here. It contained a New Year card unsigned. The
butler brought it to me. When I saw the name I sup-
pose I must have "He paused, obviously groping
for a word.
"—shown consternation," the reporter supplied.
"I had been very ill," the Colonel explained. "I was
easily upset. Carlin, that's the butler, may have got
information direct from Killick or he may have had
his interest aroused by the letter."
"More likely the latter," said Ravenhill. "He prob-
ably didn't know the truth, whatever it is—at all.
When you showed consternation, you may have shown
even more—he thought he'd found a skeleton in your
cupboard. He could have blackmailed you in the state
you were in without knowing the truth at all. Prob-
ably he surmised you had a mistress of that name." He
broke off in confusion and looked guiltily at Osyth.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Merrow," he exclaimed penitently.
Then with complete frankness. "I'd forgotten for the
moment you were there."
Osyth had sunk her face onto her father's knee.
She gave no sign that she had heard. The Colonel's
face was flushed, and anger showed in his eyes.
"You could have stopped his little game at once,"
the reporter declared, his self-possession returning.
"You'd only to call his bluff."
"Maybe," admitted the Colonel. "Anyhow, there it
was. If you'd ever been blackmailed you'd know what
a worm it makes you. It saps all your moral courage
away."
"I know," the reporter nodded. "I've seen the bravest


140
The Mystery at Chillery
men laid low by blackmail. It's the most dreadful of
all crimes in its effects."
"Killick's aim was to make my life a hell on earth,
and he succeeded. I suppose those attacks on Osyth
were for the same purpose."
"It seems so," agreed the reporter. "The business
came into the limelight when Miss Ferribee recognised
him and was going to pass on her information to Miss
Merrow. He killed her to prevent that and then had
to commit another murder to prevent Joyce from tell-
ing the police whom he had seen that night. He's a
devil. He'd kill anyone who was a danger to him. How
much does Mrs. Merrow know of this?" he asked.
"I told her everything not very long ago," the
Colonel answered.
"And that's all?"
"That's all."
"Well, you haven't told us much," Ravenhill com-
mented candidly. "Forgive my putting it like this, but
there's a lot behind your story that we don't know,
isn't there? We don't, for instance, know the cause
for Killick's passion for vengeance against a man who
has done him no wrong."
The Colonel looked at him straightly. "I swear I
did him no wrong," he said.
"Obviously I'm not disbelieving you," Ravenhill
answered. "What I said was—by the way, what was
Killick doing in India? What was his job, I mean?
A soldier?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You make the mystery greater than ever," sighed
Ravenhill. "Does Mrs. Merrow know the man?"
The Colonel did not answer. Osyth raised her head


Out of the Past
141
and looked at him. The inquiry on her face changed
to concern; changed again and she was on her feet.
She looked swiftly at Ravenhill, then at Hawkesbridge,
and finally at her father.
The Colonel's face was ghastly. He groaned. "Yes,"
he said at last. His voice was scarcely audible.
"Then she'd recognise him again if she saw him?"
stated Ravenhill.
The Colonel shook his head. "My wife was on the
Egypt when the ship went down in 1922," he said.
"She was rescued, but the shock made her lose her
memory. She forgot everything previous to that. She
even forgot me; but she had papers on her proving
her identity. She's never remembered anything of her
life before the wreck."
It was then that Osyth asserted herself. She rose to
her feet and looked imploringly at Hawkesbridge.
"You must go now," she said. "Daddy can't stand
any more to-night."
Both Ravenhill and Hawkesbridge stood up.
"You are right," agreed the reporter, looking com-
passionately at the Colonel. "I'll cut along now. I"
The Colonel had roused himself. "You're putting
up at the inn, aren't you?" he interrupted. "Why not
come and stay here? I'm afraid we're rather a gloomy
household, but"
"I shall be delighted," Ravenhill said at once.
"Get the car out, Hawkesbridge, and take him to
collect his kit," the Colonel said. He stood up shakily.
"Now I'm going to bed," he added. "Osyth, will you
see"
"Don't worry, Daddy," she answered him. "I'll see
to everything."


142 The Mystery at Chillery
She put an arm about him and helped him to the
bed. Hawkesbridge and the reporter slipped out.
The journey to the inn was completed in silence.
The revelation that had been made was too recent to
be discussed: it had somehow to be fitted into the
picture that had been so sketchily made by the events
of the last few days. As a background, Hawkesbridge
realised, it was inadequate: the picture lacked essen-
tial meaning and purpose. The vital element was
missing.
At the inn Ravenhill soon collected his kit and
stowed it in the car. When Hawkesbridge restarted the
engine the reporter, settling down beside him, made
his first remark since they had left Chillery Court.
"The inquest on Joyce is at eleven to-morrow," he
announced. "I forgot to tell you before. I've been
warned as a witness."
"The devil you have!" ejaculated the soldier.
"It was inevitable," said Ravenhill. "Miller tells me
the proceedings will be brief. Joyce's death is so ob-
viously linked with Miss Ferribee's that the same pro-
cedure will have to be followed. There'll be evidence
of identification and the discovery of the body and
the medical evidence."
Hawkesbridge, negotiating an awkward bend, was
silent.
"I suppose eventually Mrs. Merrow will be a wit-
ness?" he said presently.
"I suppose so."
Conversation waned. Hawkesbridge swung the car
into the drive and headed for the house. Outside the
front door he stopped the car and Ravenhill jumped
out.


Out of the Past
"I'll take my kit out, then you can put the car away
at once," he said, dragging his suitcase from the rear
seat.
Hawkesbridge ran the car round to the garage, and
in a few minutes he was back at the front door. Raven-
hill was apparently inside, and Hawkesbridge entered.
The reporter was with Osyth in the drawing-room.
She had given him a whisky and soda and had one
ready for the soldier. He took it gratefully.
"I've put Mr. Ravenhill in the room next to yours,"
she told him. "You'll look after him, won't you?"
He looked at her curiously. She was a little pale
still, but her manner was quiet. Had the Colonel said
something to put her mind at rest?
"Now I think I'll go to bed," she said.
"I'll lock up," Hawkesbridge offered.
"You wouldn't know your way round," she smiled.
"Besides, I promised Daddy I'd do it myself. He's ter-
ribly nervous about shutting everything up. Don't
worry, I've done it lots of times before."
"I'll come with you," he said, "to keep you com-
pany."
The reporter stifled a yawn. "If you don't mind,"
he said, "I'll go up. Will you show me the way, Hawkes-
bridge?"
The soldier took him to his room. "Bang on the
wall if you want anything," he said as he left him,
"but bang hard because the walls are thick. Good-
night."
Osyth was fastening the front door when he re-
turned. He reached up and shot the top bolt home.
"I never bother about that one," she told him. "It's
out of my reach, anyhow."


Out of the Past
»45
we mustn't," she exclaimed breathlessly. "Not now!
It isn't right! Come on, let's finish this locking up. I
must get upstairs."
He kissed her again and let her free. "Come on,
then," he said. "We'll soon get it done."
She looked at him sideways, amusement in her eyes.
"You've certainly developed rather rapidly these last
few days, haven't you?" she remarked. "Who'd have
thought it of you? Why, on Friday and Saturday you
were as frigid as an iceberg."
He laughed self-consciously. She fastened the win-
dow and then led the way from the room. As she
switched off the light he took her hand.
"I'll bet you never saw yourself doing that last
week," she teased him, "especially to the girl in pig-
tails you knew in India."
"I'll kiss you again if you talk like that," he threat-
ened, acting at once.
He almost forgot the tragedy that overhung Chillery
as he accompanied her on her task. When at last they
were upstairs and she was about to go to her mother's
room he took her in his arms again.
"Good-night, beloved," he whispered.
"Good-night, darling," she murmured against his
lips. "Sleep well."
In his room he stood in the darkness. His pulses
were racing and he felt almost lightheaded.
"You've got it badly," he told himself aloud.


Chapter XV
THE FACE THAT HORRIFIED
AWKESBRIDGE slept little again that night.
I I His brain was too active. In his wakefulness he
tried to concentrate his mind on Osyth so that
his disturbing thought might be stilled, but the
Colonel's story had given such a new meaning to events
that he could not avoid thinking of it for long. Yet
had it given new meaning? No; on the contrary it
had further obscured the issue.
He rose early next morning, but he found that
Ravenhill was before him, making a tour of the garden.
"Are you coming to the inquest to-day?" the re-
porter asked him.
"I suppose I must," Hawkesbridge replied.
"There's no need to," Ravenhill said. "The pro-
ceedings will be formal, just the identification, the
doctor's evidence and so on, you know."
"Then I won't come," Hawkesbridge decided.
"You're going, I suppose? You can tell me all about
it."
"I—Hullo!" Ravenhill broke off. "Here's Miss Mer-
row. She's early."
Osyth smiled shyly as Hawkesbridge greeted her.
"How are the patients?" he asked.
"I peeped into Daddy's room. He's still asleep,"


The Face That' Horrified 147
Osyth answered. "The nurse says Mother shows some
improvement. The pulse is stronger."
"Good!" said Ravenhill briskly, but Hawkesbridge
wondered. Somehow he feared what Mrs. Merrow
might reveal when she returned to consciousness.
The three strolled round the garden talking de-
sultorily. By common consent no reference was made
to the Colonel's revelation of the night before. Shortly
afterwards they went in to breakfast.
The meal was scarcely finished when the Doctor
arrived. He apologized for his early visit, explaining
that the inquest on Joyce necessitated his making his
round sooner than usual that morning, and went up-
stairs with Osyth right away. He was not gone long.
Hawkesbridge and Ravenhill were in the library when
he came down, and the soldier, hearing footsteps in
the hall, went to inquire about the patients.
"The Colonel's better," the Doctor informed him,
"and I've given him permission to get up later on.
He'd get up in any case! Says there's nothing the mat-
ter with him."
"Is his heart very bad?" Hawkesbridge asked.
"Angina," replied the Doctor briefly.
"And how's Mrs. Merrow?"
"I have hopes that she'll recover consciousness to-
day." The Doctor looked round the hall. "Come out-
side a minute, will you?"
A little apprehensively Hawkesbridge followed him
out of the house.
"This is the worst attack the Colonel's had," the
Doctor said, looking gravely at the soldier. "He had a
shock yesterday, hadn't he?"
Hawkesbridge hesitated.


148 The Mystery at Chillery
"As his medical adviser I ought to know," the Doc-
tor added.
"I suppose he must have," answered Hawkesbridge
cautiously.
"Then you don't know what it was?"
Hawkesbridge hesitated again. He didn't really
know, he told himself. There was that empty envelope
addressed to "Mrs. Killick," but that meant nothing
to him.
"I don't," he answered truthfully.
The Doctor sighed. "He ought to go away," he said.
Hawkesbridge looked at him suspiciously. "He can't
while Mrs. Merrow "he began.
"We must get her into a nursing home as soon as
she's well enough to be moved." The Doctor went
towards his ,car. "How long are you staying, Captain
Hawkesbridge?" he asked with a change of tone.
"Till Friday, I think," answered the soldier. He
wondered what was in the man's mind. "I suppose I
ought not to stay so long," he added, "but "he
shrugged his shoulders.
The Doctor got into his car and touched the starter.
"Stay as long as you can," he said cryptically, and
put the engine into gear. He nodded good-bye as he
let in the clutch.
Frowning, Hawkesbridge watched him steer round
the house and disappear. What did the fellow mean?
What did he know? On a sudden impulse he went to
the corner and looked along the drive. The car was
halted a hundred yards away, and the Doctor was
leaning out talking to someone who stood with his
back towards the house. There was no mistaking his
form. It was Tom Bentham.


150 The Mystery at Chillery
With a muttered excuse Hawkesbridge left Bentham
and went into the library, aware that he was behaving
childishly. Ravenhill was not there. The soldier went
over to the window.
He had omitted to close the door. He heard Osyth
talking and the rustle of tissue paper.
"How perfectly sweet!" she was saying.
A gift! Bentham had given her a birthday present.
"You shouldn't have done it," Osyth went on. "It
was very naughty of you."
Bentham replied something which Hawkesbridge
did not catch.
"You're a dear, Tom," Osyth said, "I'm frightfully
pleased with it. You're the only person who's remem-
bered my birthday so far."
Hawkesbridge found that his hands were clenched.
He suddenly opened the French window and stepped
outside. So Bentham was a dear, was he? Damn the
fellow! What right had he to give Osyth presents, or
she to accept them from him? In unreasoning anger
he limped along the drive.
He reached the main road and hesitated. Where was
he going? It didn't matter much. He was hatless, but
that didn't matter either. He turned to the right.
Osyth had called Tom Bentham a dear. Lots of girls
used the word indiscriminately nowadays, he argued.
Lots of girls even kissed men they didn't love. If she
thought nothing particular of Tom Bentham it was
equally possible that she thought nothing particular
of him. But the present Bentham had given herl
Hawkesbridge remembered the rustle of tissue paper
and Osyth's remark when she saw the gift—jewellery,
without a doubt. Even in these days surely girls didn't


The Face That Horrified 151
accept jewellery from a man unless there were at least
some understanding between them.
He was level with the stile that marked the begin-
ning of the path through the wood now. Unconsciously
he halted and glanced through the trees. He wondered
whether the C. I. D. man, Miller, had picked up any
more clues along the path.
Hawkesbridge was uncomfortably aware of the heat
of the sun on his bare head. The shady wood looked
inviting. He might explore the main path which forked
to the left instead of going towards the house.
He climbed over the stile and went along the
familiar ground, his thoughts back to the time when
he had followed Osyth's footprints along the path.
There were no footprints now. Doubtless when Miller
had examined the path he had walked so as to leave
no traces.
Hawkesbridge came to the fork. The main path con-
tinued in the direction which the position of the sun
told him was nearly due northeast and would take him
north of Chillery Court. Doubtless he could get back
to the house without difficulty along this path if he
took it now. There were meadows north of Chillery
Court, he remembered.
He sauntered on. His thoughts went back to Osyth
and Tom Bentham. He was calmer now and disposed
to be more reasonable.
How old was Bentham? Impossible to say. He was
one of those men who don't age: he might be forty;
he might be fifty-five. A good chap, really; neither a
man's man nor a woman's man. A bit studious, per-
haps: his eyes were dreamy, and he had the student's
stoop and the thinker's abstraction. But he was an


152 The Mystery at Chiller y
outdoor man and a good companion as well. Osyth
might well be attracted by him. He was apparently
comfortably off.
But last night! Surely she had not been merely flirt-
ing? Her shyness, her sudden submission and her ten-
derness were not the attributes of a coquette. She
Hawkesbridge's thoughts came to a full stop. Round
the bend in the path a man knelt, his back towards the
soldier and his bare head bent forward as though he
were examining something.
Hawkesbridge halted involuntarily. At first he
thought the man might be Miller, but the shape of
his back was wrong. This was a stranger—a detective
most certainly.
The man raised his head and cocked it in a listening
attitude. The soldier noiselessly stepped aside behind
a bush. Why he did so he did not know, and he re-
gretted his act immediately. If he were discovered now
he would be in an awkward position. But the man ap-
parently did not hear him, for, peering through the
bush, Hawkesbridge saw him relax. From his new van-
tage point he was able to see what he was doing. He
was examining something which he had apparently
picked up from the ground.
Hawkesbridge could not see what it was. Curiosity
concerning the thing turned to concern, and concern
to apprehension. The path had not been explored
either by himself or Ravenhill: it had not seemed
necessary to explore it. Maybe it had been traversed
by one or more of the several people who had been
in the wood on the night of Myrtle Ferribee's murder:
maybe it contained valuable evidence, or evidence
which might adversely affect Osyth.


The Face That Horrified 153
He must know what the man had found. He recon-
noitred the position. With care he might work his
way round to a better and a nearer place of observa-
tion.
Hawkesbridge acted at once. Treading warily he
moved further into the thicket and, making a detour,
he reached a holly clump not twenty feet from the
stranger. But having gained the advantage the soldier,
seeing the man's face, temporarily lost interest in what
he was doing. For that face was the ugliest he had ever
seen. The receding forehead was unconcealed by a
hat; the prominent pointed nose and the receding chin
gave him an appearance of a hideous bird of fable.
Enormous and thick lensed glasses with tortoise shell
rims accentuated the nightmare appearance. A grim
smile twisted the pendulous lips and wrinkled the skin
over the high cheekbones.
Hawkesbridge was fascinated by the face: it at once
horrified and compelled him. But at last he withdrew
his gaze from it, and he looked to see what the man
was doing.
He no longer held anything in his hands. Instead he
was leaning forward, his palms on the ground, ap-
parently studying something which lay there. Then
Hawkesbridge, craning round the holly, saw what at-
tracted the man's attention. Bracken had been crushed
down to the earth.
The man grunted and straightened his back. Then
he picked up something from a flat stone, something
which, Hawkesbridge guessed, was the thing that he
had been studying earlier. The man held it up be-
tween finger and thumb.
It was a collar stud.


154 The Mystery at Chillery
The man rose slowly to his feet; then he put the
stud in his pocket wallet, brushed his knees and picked
up his hat from a bush on which it lay. Finally, with
a last glance at the ground he stepped carefully to one
side, and walking on the grassy edge of the path, went
with bent head in the direction in which Hawkes-
bridge had been going. Once he stopped and looked
closely at the earth; then he resumed his stealthy walk.
He passed out of sight going noiselessly, but the
soldier did not move. He could not tell whether the
man had stopped again or not. Presently, however, he
heard a pheasant whirr out of cover and croak pro-
testingly. A hundred yards away, he guessed, and know-
ing that a pheasant in August does not rise until one
is almost on it, he deduced that the stranger was that
distance away.
Hawkesbridge went cautiously to where the man
had knelt and under cover of the bush alongside, bent
forward. The bracken was badly crushed, and there
were indentations in the earth. In several places the
ground had been scraped.
Then understanding came. The scraped earth was
where someone had obliterated footprints, and the
crushed bracken showed where something heavy had
lain.


Chapter XVI
THE MYSTERIOUS DETECTIVE
HAWKESBRIDGE'S walk was protracted. He
wanted to think, and he wanted, too, to find
the man whom he had discovered kneeling on
the ground in the wood. But the stranger had com-
pletely disappeared.
Hawkesbridge was late back for lunch. He found
that the Colonel had not yet come down. He was rather
weak, Osyth said; and that Mrs. Merrow had not yet
recovered consciousness. Osyth said nothing of her
present from Tom Bentham.
Ravenhill was quiet during the meal. At the end he
looked at Hawkesbridge and nodded suggestively
towards the garden. Osyth, who had said little, excused
herself as soon as lunch was over and went upstairs.
The reporter led the way to the seat beneath the
yew tree.
"There's a new man down here," he announced as
soon as they were seated.
"I've seen him," replied Hawkesbridge, and de-
scribed him.
"That's the fellow," agreed the reporter. "God! He
gave me the creeps when I saw him first. Did you ever
see"
"Who is he?" interrupted Hawkesbridge.
155


156 The Mystery at Chillery
"Nobody knowsl I asked him point blank, but he
only leered at me. I can't make him out at all."
"I'll bet you anything you like he's a detective."
"Well, if he is he's not a policeman. And if he's a
private detective, who could have employed him? How
d'you know he's a detective, anyhow?"
Hawkesbridge told him.
"I'm beginning to see daylight," the reporter ex-
claimed. "He was examining the place where Joyce
was murdered."
He spoke so positively that Hawkesbridge looked
at him in amazement.
"This is the second time in a few years that I've
caught a police doctor out," chuckled Ravenhill.
"Would you mind explaining?" Hawkesbridge
frowned. "What's a police doctor?"
"Sorry, old man. Listen. Between the death of Joyce
and the discovery of the body by myself several hours
elapsed. Yet it was but a short time before I discovered
the body that I had been to Joyce's cottage and found
it empty. What does that mean?"
"Obviously that he was killed elsewhere and brought
to his cottage dead."
"Obviously. But the doctor at the inquest this morn-
ing couldn't prove it, and the police said that Joyce's
room was in disorder, pointing to a struggle there."
"Well, how could the doctor prove"
"Don't interrupt. The doctor said that death was
due to strangling. The man was strangled with some-
thing, probably a cloth, and the murderer stood be-
hind him. The marks on the neck were quite plain.
Now, Joyce was a big man, wasn't he?"
"Well?"


158 The Mystery at Chillery
nical language, by hypostatic congestion of the capil-
laries on the lower side of the body. If a person who is
murdered falls onto his back 'death spots' will form
on his back."
"I didn't know that," confessed the soldier. "Go on."
"Well, although Joyce was found lying on his back
the 'death spots' in his case were on his abdomen,"
said Ravenhill triumphantly. "In other words, the body
was lying face downwards for a considerable time be-
fore it was moved."
Hawkesbridge looked at the reporter admiringly.
"I inspected the body just before the inquest, you
see," explained Ravenhill, obviously pleased with him-
self.
"But didn't the doctor "began the soldier.
"Didn't say a word about them," declared Ravenhill.
"Nor did the police say a word about there being soil
on the front of Joyce's coat and trousers. A lot had
been brushed off by the murderer, I should say, but
there was some left. Of course you expect to find soil
on a poacher's clothes, but"
"Ravenhill!" exclaimed the soldier suddenly. "Was
Joyce killed in the wood?"
"I'm certain of it. That collar stud the queer faced
man discovered must have been his. Joyce wore no
collar that night and his shirt was unfastened at the
neck. Undoubtedly the stud fell out when he was
strangled."
Hawkesbridge stared at the reporter.
"Don't you see what happened?" Ravenhill said.
"Joyce's cottage is on the other side of the road from
the wood. The murderer, X, as we agreed to call him,
lured him into the wood because he realised the dim-


160 The Mystery at Chillery
As you remarked just now, it's strange that these two
cases of strangling should be connected, however
loosely, with an Indian Army family."
Hawkesbridge was more troubled than he showed.
"It's absurd," he muttered. "There are no Indians
here."
"I thought it absurd in that other case I mentioned,"
said the reporter soberly, "but it wasn't. There was an
Indian in it right enough."
"There's no Indian here," repeated Hawkesbridge
stubbornly. "The nearest approach to one outside the
family is myself as an old Indian Army officer."
"If the police knew you were in the wood that
night," Ravenhill grinned, "you might find yourself
suspect." Then he was serious again. "You say Thuggi's
practically extinct," he said. "You're not quite correct
in that. You can't wipe out an old religious act so
easily."
"We never hear of cases, anyhow," said Hawkes-
bridge.
"Ah, that's a different matter. At first, as you prob-
ably know, Thugs believed that their goddess disposed
of the bodies of their victims herself, provided they
had faith that she would do so. Then there came a
time when a faithless band of Thugs got uneasy and
went back to see whether Kali had got rid of the bodies.
As a punishment she decreed that thereafter they
would have to dispose of their victims' bodies them-
selves."
"You seem to know a lot about it," remarked the
soldier, smiling. "Anyhow, X didn't dispose of his."
"I do know a lot about it," Ravenhill agreed. "Shall
I go on? Well, then; in the middle of the nineteenth


The Mysterious Detective 161
century the British authorities in India resolved to put
down Thuggi altogether. There was an enormous cam-
paign and towards the end of the century the cult was
believed to be extinct. But it isn't. Hundreds of people
are lost annually in India. They are supposed to have
been killed by wild animals, but they're not: they're
strangled by thugs and buried in obscure places in the
jungle."
"I've heard that, too, but I didn't believe it,"
Hawkesbridge put in.
"My information comes from an Indian," Ravenhill
said, "who's a state officer in Bihar."
"Yes, but all that's nothing to do with Miss Ferribee
and Joyce," protested the soldier.
"I say this," said the reporter impressively, "that
strangling is not an art in the west and that few mur-
derers use that method of killing people. It's too diffi-
cult. Unless one knows the knack of it one couldn't
strangle a hefty fellow like Joyce. Yet without a doubt
Joyce died almost instantly. Miss Ferribee didn't be-
cause the murderer couldn't get her from behind. I tell
you, Hawkesbridge, that X may never have tried to
strangle anyone before he killed Miss Ferribee, but the
way he killed Joyce showed he knew the theory of it
perfectly. And who but a thug"
"It doesn't seem possible," exclaimed Hawkesbridge,
impressed nevertheless.
"Rather, it doesn't seem probable," corrected Raven-
hill, "but that's because you're not looking at the mat-
ter logically. You can't see an Indian in the affair so to
you Thugii is wiped out. But that's not logic. Logic
demands that the result produced by the line of reason-
ing is there even though it is not visible. The trouble


162 The Mystery at Chillery
is, in this case," he added mournfully, "that the reason-
ing's not unassailable. But it's the best we can do for
the moment."
He rose to his feet. "There's someone coming
along the drive," he said. "I believe it's—yes, it is. It's
Inspector Miller. Now what the devil does he want?
Come on, Hawkesbridge. Let's meet him and see if we
can learn anything."
Hawkesbridge got up. A sudden sound made him
swing round. He thought he saw movement through
the box hedge and went swiftly towards it. Then came
the click of a gate latch. He went as swiftly as his
game leg would allow to the opening in the hedge and
gained the path. He ran to the gate. In the meadow
beyond and running like a hare was a spare figure in
black. Hawkesbridge, realising the folly of pursuit,
stood and watched. At the edge of the wood the figure
checked and turned his head to look back.
Hawkesbridge saw the receding forehead and chin,
the prominent nose and the big spectacles of the man
who had discovered where Joyce was murdered.
Useless to follow him. Doubtless he had been eaves-
dropping: he must have heard all the conversation
about Thuggi. Damn the swine, whoever he was!
The soldier turned about and made his way back.
Ravenhill was talking to Miller in the drive. Hawkes-
bridge strolled towards them.
"This is Captain Hawkesbridge," the reporter in-
troduced him.
The Inspector nodded. "Staying here?" he enquired.
Hawkesbridge, resenting the Inspector's manner,
nodded in return.
"Is the Colonel in?" demanded Miller.


The Mysterious Detective 163
"He's ill. Had a heart attack," replied Hawkesbridge
shortly.
"Ah! I want to see him."
"I don't see how that's possible," said the soldier
coldly. "If there's any information I can give"
"No, thanks, it's the Colonel I want," retorted the
C.I.D. man grimly.
Apprehensively Hawkesbridge hesitated. Then:
"I'll go and see what can be done," he said. "Will
you take Inspector Miller into the library, Ravenhill?"
He went indoors and up to the Colonel's room. He
knocked, and receiving no answer opened the door and
looked inside. The room was empty.
Perhaps his host was downstairs. The doctor had said
he might get up to-day. He'd certainly be in the library;
and that was where Hawkesbridge had bidden the re-
porter to take Millerl
The soldier hurried downstairs. Ravenhill stood in
the hall.
"Where's the Inspector?" demanded Hawkesbridge.
"In the library—with the Colonel," answered the re-
porter lugubriously. "You should have thought of that,
you know, Hawkesbridge."
"Is he—what does he want?"
The reporter shook his head. From the library came
the dulled rumble of Miller's deep voice.


Chapter XVII
A NEW FACTOR
HE Inspector was closeted with the Colonel for
nearly an hour. In a low tone, and more to be-
guile the time than anything else, Hawkesbridge
told the reporter of the discovery of the eavesdropper
in the garden.
"I'd like to have an interview with that cove," mut-
tered Ravenhill afterwards. "Wonder if he's staying
here."
■ "If he's a stranger he'll be staying at the inn,"
Hawkesbridge said.
"You might describe him to Miss Merrow," suggested
the reporter. "She might recognise the description."
"I don't know where she is," returned Hawkes-
bridge.
He went to the drawing-room and pressed the bell-
push. The maid who answered it said that Osyth was
somewhere out in the garden.
Hawkesbridge told Ravenhill, and the two went into
the garden. They found Osyth in the greenhouse.
No; she didn't recognise the man described. "He
sounds pretty awful," she added.
"His face'd give you the horrors," Hawkesbridge
told her.


A New Factor
165
"Well, I'll go and scout around for him," Raven-
hill said, and left them.
Alone with Osyth Hawkesbridge told her of Miller's
visit.
"Oh, why did you let him see father?" she began to
reproach him.
"I couldn't help it," Hawkesbridge excused himself.
He explained. "But your father's got nothing to be
afraid of," he added inadequately.
"He'll only get upset again," she said unhappily.
"Honestly I don't see why he should be. Of course
it's unpleasant"
"The Inspectoral make him tell him what he told
us last night. Wouldn't it upset you if you had to talk
of such intimate things?"
Hawkesbridge was silent. Osyth looked through the
glass towards the house which she could not see because
of the box hedge. Her fingers played with the mould on
the shelf.
"Osyth," said the soldier suddenly, "do you know of
any Indians living about here?"
She turned to him in frank amazement. "What a
strange question!" she exclaimed. "Why?"
"I just wondered," he answered vaguely and uncon-
vincingly.
She faced him. "Why?" she demanded. "You've got
to tell me."
"These stranglings," he mumbled, cursing inwardly
for the necessity for explanation. "Ravenhill says
they're like Indian Thuggi."
But Osyth did not know what Thuggi was and he
had to tell her. She smiled faintly "It sounds far-
fetched," she said finally.


166 The Mystery at Chillery
"It's queer though that you're an Indian Army
family," he pointed out.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a vague connection between you and
the murders, isn't there? It's a coincidence."
Osyth paled. Then she recovered herself.
"Forget it, Trevor," she said colloquially. "Mr.
Ravenhill has got a bee in his bonnet and he's hypno-
tised you."
She turned away and something on her breast glit-
tered in the sun and attracted his attention. It was a
brooch.
"Oh, by the way," he exclaimed. "I omitted to wish
you many happy returns."
"How do you know about it?" she asked, colouring
faintly.
"Bentham told me," he said woodenly.
She looked quickly at him, then down at the brooch.
"He gave me a lovely present," she said.
"So I see." Then he realised his boorishness. "You
might have told me about it beforehand, Osyth," he re-
proached her.
"Tom was the only one who remembered it," she
mused aloud, glancing slily at him: and then, as though
penitent, "But you didn't know, of course. Never mind,
Trevor; I expect you'll remember the date next year."
"You shall have "he began, eyeing the brooch.
"Yes?" she breathed.
He was very close to her, acutely conscious of her
nearness.
"Yes," she murmured again.
"Osyth," he said hoarsely, "what is Bentham to you?"


A New Factor
167
She laughed and drew away. "I'm very fond of
Tom," she declared. "He's a dear."
Hawkesbridge clenched his hands.
"Don't you like him?" she asked.
He could not say "no," because he did like the man,
despite his new feeling against him. Instead of answer-
ing he went nearer and took her hand.
"Osyth," he whispered, "I wanted to ask you some-
thing last night. May I now? I want"
She was looking through the glass. Suddenly he felt
her stiffen.
"Keep still," she commanded tensely. "There's the
Inspector. He's looking for me."
Her face was white and her hand in his trembled.
Her perturbation was akin to fear, and Hawkesbridge,
sensing it, felt cold. Why was she so terrified of the
policeman?
Miller had turned and was looking across the garden.
He began to walk away. He disappeared behind the
box hedge.
Osyth relaxed and colour returned to her face.
Hawkesbridge saw that her free hand was grasping the
shelf for support. He forgot what he had been about to
say to her. Instead:
"Osyth," he demanded, "why are you so afraid of the
Inspector?"
"I'm not," she laughed tremulously. "Only I hate
the idea of being questioned by a policeman."
"But he questioned you yesterday?"
"D'you think he's gone?" she asked, ignoring his re-
mark.
"I'll go and see," he said.
Outside he cautiously peered over the box hedge. He


A New Factor
to steady his mind, to make it think logically. What
had the Colonel said?
Hawkesbridge looked for a seat and, going to it, sat
down.
Indial India crept into the matter every time.
Thuggi! Was the blackmailer an Indian? And was
the blackmailer also the murderer? But where the devil
was he? He was not in the district, for certainly an
Indian would not be unnoticed.
Hawkesbridge closed his eyes. He was, he told him-
self, tired and sick of thinking. He'd have to stay, of
course. Osyth
He mused for a long time. Perhaps he'd acted like a
fool where she was concerned, he told himself. And
why should he be so apprehensive about her? After all,
it was natural that she should dislike being questioned
by a policeman. There was her father's secret which she
had to guard.
His mind grew quieter. He visualised Osyth as she
had been last night and as she was just now when he
was about to tell her that he loved her. He was a
jealous old fool. Of course she loved him. Tom Ben-
tham didn't stand a chance—didn't want to, probably.
He was just a friend of the family. Nice chap, too.
The hot sun beat on the soldier's bare head. He felt
drowsy. His mind calmed by his later thoughts, he
began to nod.
Once he jerked himself awake. Sparrows twittered in
the box-hedge. Somewhere a robin sang its melancholy
autumn song. The scent of flowers was oppressive. He
gazed sleepily at a rose arbour and imagined Osyth
standing in it. What a picture it'd make!


170 The Mystery at Chillery
His eyes closed again, and he drifted into the border-
land of sleep vaguely conscious of scent and sound, yet
dreaming. Then suddenly he was wide awake. He
heard running feet. He got up and looked over the
box hedge.
"Why, Osyth!" he called.
There was fear on her face. He came around the
hedge at once and she ran right to him. His arms closed
about her. She fell against him and burst into a
passion of tears.
"Darling! Darling!" he soothed her, unconscious of
what he said. "Oh, my dear, what is it?"
She said something which he could not hear. He
lowered his head and pressed his cheek against hers.
Her tears were on his face.
"Dearest, what is it?" he asked her.
"It's Mother," she sobbed. "Oh, Trevor, it's awful!"
"She's not "he began, and stopped.
"She's—she's come to," he heard her say, "and"
"Then what are you crying about, little goose?"
"Oh, you don't understand. She doesn't recognise
me.
"Doesn't recognise you?" Hawkesbridge held the girl
away from him so that he could see her face. "Why,
what on earth do you mean?"
"When I spoke to her she stared at me in an awful
way. She frightened me. I"
"Yes; but Osyth dear, remember she's only just come
to and she can't be expected to be normal yet."
Osyth shook her head impatiently. "You don't un-
derstand. She's quite sane. She's been conscious a long
time, the nurse says, only she didn't tell us because she
wanted the doctor to see her first." Osyth was not cry-


A New Factor
ing now. "The doctor came just after I left you. He
called me up."
She broke off. Hawkesbridge patted her shoulder.
"Tell me exactly what happened," he suggested.
"I went into the room and up to her bed," Osyth
said in a queer voice. "Her eyes were open and she
looked at me." She gulped. "I took her hand. Then
she looked at the doctor in a puzzled way. I was rather
frightened and"
"Did you say anything?"
"Only 'Mother!' It was then the awful thing hap-
pened. She pulled her hand away and said—and
said—" She gulped again, "'You've made a mistake,
child. I'm not your mother.'"


Chapter XVIII
VERGING ON THE TRUTH
AVENHILL returned just before dinner. He
had, he told Hawkesbridge in his room whither
he had gone for the sake of privacy, found the
man with the extraordinary face. He was lodging at
the inn where he was known as Mr. Tewkesbury, and
Ravenhill had spoken with him. Tewkesbury had an-
swered him readily enough to the effect that he was in-
vestigating the case on behalf of "an interested party,"
but he declined to give that person's name.
"He's a private detective, I suppose," the reporter
added contemptuously.
Hawkesbridge pondered this, then he told Raven-
hill what had happened that afternoon. The reporter
said nothing for some time afterwards. He sat on the
bed, filling his pipe with maddening deliberation and
care. He lighted it and for a full minute sat gazing con-
templatively out of the window.
"Where's the Colonel?" he asked suddenly.
"Gone out," answered the soldier.
"Gone out! But isn't he supposed to be ill?"
"Why do you say 'supposed'?"
"Well, I meant isn't he supposed to stay indoors?"
"Yes; he is," Hawkesbridge answered, "but he in-


Verging on the Truth
sisted on going out. We couldn't stop him. He looked
better—in fact, he looked a different man."
Ravenhill showed his interest. "How?" he asked.
"Well, you've seen how listless and weak he's seemed
to be lately. All that's gone. He's just like the CO. I
used to know."
"He's made up his mind to act perhaps," suggested
the reporter. "Wonder where he's gone?"
"He didn't tell me, but I know," Hawkesbridge an-
swered. "I heard him 'phone Bentham. He arranged
to go over and see him."
"Why didn't he get Bentham to come here?"
"Apparently Bentham suggested it. I heard the
Colonel arguing about something and what he said
made me think that Bentham was protesting about his
going out."
"Evidently the Colonel wanted to discuss something
privately with him," Ravenhill said, "but he's a poor
hand at secrecy. Fancy arranging the meeting on the
'phonel I wonder what the secret is?"
"Tom Bentham is an old friend of the family,"
Hawkesbridge said. The suspicion of bitterness in his
tone evidently was remarked by the reporter, for
Ravenhill looked at him quickly and a slight smile
wrinkled his face. "The Colonel's probably gone to
make him a confidant, and evidently he's going to tell
him more than he told us, else why shouldn't he tell
him here?"
Ravenhill nodded thoughtfully.
"You remember I told you I thought he was going
to make a confidant of me the night I arrived?" the
soldier went on. "He changed his mind for some rea-


174 The Mystery at Chillery
son. Perhaps he thought I wasn't to be trusted. The
queer thing is that Mrs. Merrow urged him to tell me."
"How d'you know that?" Ravenhill demanded.
Hawkesbridge described how he had unintentionally
heard the conversation between the Merrows as he
went past their door on his way downstairs for a book.
Evidently the reporter was puzzled. "Of course she
must know," he said as though to himself. "She's acted
all along as if she knew."
"What d'you make of this afternoon's business? Mrs.
Merrow's not recognising her daughter, I mean."
"Is there any doubt about their relationship?"
"Of course not."
"But you're not sure."
"As sure as it's possible to be. I knew the Merrows
very well in India, remember. By the way, did you see
Miller again?"
"No. Look here, Hawkesbridge. You're badly hipped
about something. Won't you tell me?"
"There's nothing to tell. It's only," Hawkesbridge
turned round and faced the other, "that this damned
business gets on my nerves. I wish we could do some-
thing."
"You're impatient. We are doing something. We've
done a lot."
"You mean the police have?"
"No, we have—I least I have. I'm not idle, you
know."
Hawkesbridge looked at him eagerly. "You've dis-
covered something?"
"You probably know as much as I do," the reporter
smiled. "The trouble is you've not correlated your
knowledge. You don't think logically. You've got such


Verging on the Truth
175
a mass of information in your brain that it's all
crowded and jumbled and you can't see how it con-
nects up."
Hawkesbridge smiled tolerantly.
"Suppose we have a little exercise in sifting evi-
dence?" Ravenhill suggested, looking at his watch.
"We've time before dinner. I assure you it won't be in
the least tedious, and you may be surprised by the re-
sult."
"Go on, then," the soldier agreed, sitting down and
filling his pipe.
"We shall have to go over old ground," the reporter
said, "but it won't hurt to refresh our memories. And
we shall have to assume, for the time being at least,
that nobody's been stretching the truth although some
of them haven't told the whole truth.
"Obviously," he went on, "this business had been
going on a long time before you came. Probably you
are right in assuming the Colonel got you down here
for a purpose. He wanted help. He didn't seek aid from
the police so we must assume that there is something
he doesn't want made public. Am I being reasonable?"
"Yes; I've thought that myself."
"Well, then," the reporter continued, "we must as-
sume that somewhere in the past an event took place
which provides the motive for a vendetta against the
Colonel. Do you doubt that it's a vendetta?"
"I hadn't thought of it like that," the soldier ad-
mitted. "What about the blackmail business?"
"That may be separate or it may be part of the ven-
detta," said Ravenhill. "You know perfectly well that
in blackmail not only does the person blackmailed lose
the money he hands over; he suffers persistently from


176 The Mystery at Chillery
the constant menace. Blackmail may be levied merely
to extort money, or the real motive may be to make a
person suffer—it's the worst form of torture."
Hawkesbridge nodded thoughtfully.
"Now then," resumed the reporter, "the Colonel,
who is undoubtedly the victim, spent most of his life
in India. Isn't it reasonable to suppose that the event
that causes all this took place there?"
India again! Hawkesbridge felt suddenly cold.
"That is not entirely supposition," Ravenhill said.
"After the Colonel retired he settled down for a short
time in Devonshire; then he and his wife started travel-
ling. He's been here but a very short while."
"How d'you know that?" demanded the soldier.
"You remember how keen he was to get me to help
him with his free-lance journalism? Well, he suggested
to me that travel articles might be accepted by editors.
I thought he meant about India at first until he told
me that he had been roaming about Europe since he
retired. I admit I pumped him."
"But that doesn't prove anything," Hawkesbridge
retorted.
"No, but it's suggestive. I imagine that most men
after twenty or thirty years spent abroad would want
to settle down somewhere in England. Isn't that every
soldier's and sailor's ambition? Anyhow, the Colonel's
wanderings fit in. He wanted to lie doggo; then after
years of immunity he thought it safe to settle down,
so he returns to England and buries himself in the
country, well away from anywhere. That's how I see it.
But X"
"X?" Hawkesbridge interrupted.
"Of course! X hunted him down. I haven't any doubt


Verging on the Truth
179
He found that the reporter was beside him. Raven-
hill slipped an arm round his shoulders.
"Don't, old man," he said compassionately. "I un-
derstand how you feel. We'll get him, never fear. Come
and sit down again. It's getting late."
Hawkesbridge relaxed and suffered himself to be led
back to a chair. He lighted a cigarette.
"Unfortunately for X," the reporter continued,
"Miss Merrow, although she doesn't look it, is a muscu-
lar girl, and she was able to defend herself until some
one, Miss Ferribee, came along. Unfortunately for X,
too, Miss Ferribee was a plucky girl and she chased
him. Probably he thought she was a man. There must
have been something about him, some peculiarity,
which was sufficiently remarkable to remain in her
memory, with the result that when months later she
saw a man in Brighton with the same peculiarity she
knew immediately that it was the same person."
Ravenhill paused to relight his pipe.
"Most of that we have as Miss Merrow's evidence,"
he went on. "I've only filled in the gaps. What hap-
pened next? Miss Ferribee saw the man properly so
that she had an identifiable description of him and,
guessing that he must live in the neighbourhood of
North Grinstead, she resolved to come over and ferret
him out. She wrote to Miss Merrow telling her what
she was doing, and suggested a meeting afterwards at a
hut in the wood. Why? Maybe because Mrs. Merrow
didn't like her and she didn't therefore like to come to
the house, but I fancy there was a stronger reason if
only we could discover it"
He broke off. Hawkesbridge was excited without


180 The Mystery at Chillery
knowing the cause of it. It seemed as though they were
on the verge of a revelation.
"Whether or not she did identify the man," Raven-
hill went on, "we don't know, but the chance is that
she did."
"What makes you think that?" demanded the sol-
dier.
"Because X murdered her," answered Ravenhill
simply. "Don't you see? It is possible that when she
chased him after his attempted assault on Miss Merrow
he caught a glimpse of her, and later he recognised her
in Brighton as she recognised him. Maybe he saw her
again in North Grinstead and guessed what she was do-
ing. But I think the more reasonable idea is that he
did not see her, but that she identified him by de-
scribing him to someone in North Grinstead, and that
that someone told him at once."
"What makes you think that?" asked Hawkesbridge.
"The murder of Joyce."
The soldier was startled, and he showed it. Raven-
hill smiled as though he enjoyed the situation.
"Murder requires a good motive," he said senten-
tiously. "If X were a mere 'womaniser,' you know what
I mean, he would have bolted. But he was not. His
'womanising' was part of the big scheme to punish the
Colonel, and so he didn't bolt: he killed the person
who had identified him."
"Yes; but what of Joyce?" Hawkesbridge inter-
rupted.
"I'm coming to him. We've assumed so far that
Joyce, having been abroad that night and in or near
the wood, saw Miss Ferribee. Suppose he described her
to the police. We've assumed, too, that he saw Miss


Verging on the Truth 181
Merrow, for he came to the house afterwards appar-
ently in order to talk to her, and when he failed he
sent for her mother to visit him in his cottage. I say
we've assumed all this because I'm not altogether dis-
posed to believe it is true. It may have been part of
his motive, but another part was to warn Carlin, for
Carlin cleared out at once. We've assumed, too, that
Joyce did not see X; else he would have told the police,
but I'm not sure that that's right."
"Why should Joyce have sent for Mrs. Merrow to
visit him at his cottage? It doesn't sound "possible that
he did."
"I agree. I think that Joyce was forced to write that
note. I think X forced him to write it"
"But why?"
"Have you forgotten the vendetta? It was a stroke
of genius that he used a murder which he would com-
mit in any case to assist his vendetta against the
Colonel. He tried to incriminate Mrs. Merrow."
"Good God!" exclaimed the soldier. "What a fiend!"
"Now," said Ravenhill, "I'll cut out the deducing
and come to the deduction. I'll work backwards from
the murder of Joyce believing that it needs a big mo-
tive. Joyce was murdered because he knew who X
was. Why was his murder delayed so long after the
first? Because X did not know that Joyce was near or
in the wood that night. He learnt it, unfortunately,
from me, when you and I and Miss Merrow discussed
the matter along the lane from North Grinstead. X
acted at once. As we know from the doctor's evidence,
Joyce died on the evening of that day.
"Now then, the vital question is: How did X know


182 The Mystery at Chillery
that Miss Ferribee had identified him and was meet-
ing Miss Merrow in the wood?"
"We can't answer that," decided the soldier.
"We can. Why did the butler follow her that night?
Because he was curious. Because X had got him to
open Miss Ferribee's letter to Miss Merrow and re-
port what it contained."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge. "Why
didn't I think ot that?"
The reporter made a wry face.
"There is, however, one flaw in that argument," he
went on. "How did X know that Miss Ferribee had
written to Miss Merrow? There's something missing
somewhere. We're hovering on the truth, but we can't
get it until we learn a little more. You know," he said
with a queer twist of his eyebrows, "I believe we shall
never discover how X learnt of that proposed meeting
in the wood until we identify X himself. Then I think
we shall see how we've been absolutely wooden not to
have understood it before."
Hawkesbridge experienced a thrill of excitement.
"Ravenhill," he said tensely, "I believe you know
who X is!"
"Hawkesbridge," said the reporter soberly, "I be-
lieve I do. But I'm afraid of my own logic."


Chapter XIX
MRS. KILLICK AGAIN
HE Colonel had returned when Hawkesbridge
went downstairs, but he said nothing of his
visit to Tom Bentham. Hawkesbridge asked him
about Mrs. Merrow.
"Yes; she's come to," the Colonel answered.
"Osyth says she's—" Hawkesbridge hesitated. He
couldn't very well use Osyth's words, he told himself.
"—she didn't recognise her," he finished lamely.
"Scarcely to be wondered at," the Colonel said
quickly. "It'll be some time before her mind's normal.
She's had a nasty bump, you know."
Hawkesbridge nodded, uncomfortably aware that his
host did not want to be questioned. Then:
"Look here, Sir," he said awkwardly, "would you
rather that I cleared out? I mean, in view of what's
happened oughtn't I to"
"D'you want to clear out?" demanded the Colonel
in the old direct manner that Hawkesbridge had once
admired in him. Here was a Colonel Merrow that he
could understand.
"Of course not," he answered at once. "Only I
thought I might be in the way."
"Rot!" retorted the Colonel. "I'd rather you stayed."
His manner changed. His face twitched slightly. "I'd


Mrs. Killick Again
he noticed that beads of sweat stood on his host's fore-
head.
What was wrong? Something had happened to effect
this uncanny change. A minute ago he and the Colonel
had been chatting without effort; now the room was
charged with apprehension.
The maid entered as he closed the window. She
went straight to the Colonel, arriving at his chair at
the same moment as Hawkesbridge returned to his.
"—wants a priest," the maid was whispering.
The Colonel grasped the edge of the table. "Are you
sure she said that?" he demanded.
Apparently the girl thought it unnecessary to con-
tinue in a whisper. "Yes," she said; "the nurse"
"What did the nurse say?"
"She seemed to think that a priest should be sent for
right away."
"She's worse then!" exclaimed Osyth, jumping to
her feet. She was half way to the door when the Colonel
stopped her with a word.
"Osyth!" he said authoritatively.
She stopped.
"I'll go," the Colonel said.
He rose to his feet and pushing back his chair
walked towards the door. He whispered something to
her as he passed her, but did not pause. Osyth returned
slowly to her place. The maid slipped out of the room
behind her master.
White faced and trembling, Osyth sat down.
"Bear up, old girl," Hawkesbridge said, squeezing
her hand under the table.
She nodded and gulped. Ravenhill considerately
went to the window.


186 The Mystery at Chillery
"It may be a mistake," Hawkesbridge whispered to
her. He still held her hand. She was grasping it as
though she needed his strength. He realised that she
was getting calmer.
"We'd better finish dinner," she said tremulously.
"Will you ring the bell?"
To the maid who answered the summons she said
that they would not wait for the Colonel. Ravenhill
returned to the table; the next course was served.
Then the Colonel came back. He looked exhausted.
He poured himself out a glass of burgundy and drank
it at a gulp.
"It's all right," he said then. "She's no worse." He
looked round the table. "Have you finished? Let's go
out into the garden, then. No, I don't want any more."
Osyth excused herself and left. The others went out-
side. Lyall, who was weeding, immediately claimed the
Colonel's attention to a horticultural problem that
worried him, and Hawkesbridge and Ravenhill strolled
on.
"Wonder what the devil's the matter," exclaimed
Hawkesbridge when they were out of earshot. "Did you
notice that extraordinary atmosphere just before"
"It was just as though a ghost had passed through
the room," declared Ravenhill. It was the first time
he had spoken since before the Colonel had gone to
his wife. His voice was shaky. Hawkesbridge looked
at him wonderingly.
"Sorry, old man," the reporter apologised with a
slight laugh. "I feel as if I'd"
"What caused the feeling?" the soldier interrupted.
"We all felt it. Did you notice the Colonel? He was
sweating although he said he was cold."


Mrs. Killick Again 187
"I expect it was the power of thought," answered the
reporter in a more natural voice. "It couldn't be any-
thing else. Before that the Colonel was obviously forc-
ing himself to be sociable. D'you notice he'd been
drinking?"
"Drinking!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge. "Why, he's a
most abstemious man."
"Maybe," replied Ravenhill, "but he stank of brandy
before dinner."
Hawkesbridge was shocked. The reporter spoke with
such assurance that he could not protest.
"He suddenly got into a panic in that pause in the
conversation," the reporter went on, "and we caught
it. Panic is the most infectious thing in the world."
Hawkesbridge nodded. He glanced over his shoulder
and found that the maid was talking to the Colonel.
Another message! He told Ravenhill.
"It's very queer," the reporter commented. "Why
should Mrs. Merrow ask for a priest if she's no worse?"
Hawkesbridge didn't know. He was apprehensive,
and his nerves were tense. The reporter grasped his
arm.
"Look!"
He pointed to the right. Hawkesbridge saw a slight
man come round the corner of the house and stand
hesitantly.
"It's that detective fellow—Tewkesbury!" he ex-
claimed. "What does the swine want?"
The Colonel had gone back towards the house with
the maid. Tewkesbury raised his black hat and said
something. Colonel Merrow paused. The man came
nearer, his hideous face pushed forward.


188 The Mystery at Chillery
Suddenly the Colonel raised an arm as if to strike
him and Tewkesbury shrank back.
"Come on," growled Hawkesbridge to Ravenhill be-
tween clenched teeth.
He started at a limping run towards the house. The
Colonel was making his way up the steps. Tewkesbury
swung round when he heard the running footsteps.
His ugly mouth gaped open. Then he turned about
and bolted.
"Catch the little swine, Ravenhill!" grunted the
labouring Hawkesbridge.
The reporter shot ahead; then he halted. "We can't
touch him," he said. "He's"
"Oh, can't we!" They had reached the angle of the
house and Hawkesbridge could see Tewkesbury a bare
ten yards away.
"Hi, you!" he gave a parade ground roar. "Halt! I
want to talk to you."
Tewkesbury looked over his shoulder and slowed
down. With obvious reluctance he stopped. Panting,
Hawkesbridge, closely followed by Ravenhill, came up.
Hawkesbridge went past the fellow and stood on his
other side as though to shut off the way of escape.
"Now," he growled, "what the devil do you want?"
Tewkesbury licked his big lips and blinked behind
his great spectacles.
"Who are you, Sir?" he asked in a mincing voice.
Hawkesbridge gritted his teeth. "I asked you what
you wanted," he snarled. An unreasoning hatred for
the fellow welled up within him: here was a chance
of doing something after long inaction. The swine was
an enemy: maybe he was X himself. Those dark fea-
tures, that dark hair The blood drummed in his


Mrs. Killick Again
Hawkesbridge's hand dropped from his collar. He
stared at the little man in stupefaction.
"Mrs. Killick!" he repeated stupidly.
Tewkesbury stepped back half a pace and kicked
hard. Hawkesbridge gave a grunt of pain and doubled
up. Before Ravenhill could grab hold of the detective
he was running madly down the drive.


Chapter XX
THE STRANGLER AGAIN
HAWKESBRIDGE almost fainted with the pain
of that kick in the stomach. It was ten minutes
before he could begin to straighten himself.
His face was white and drawn. Ravenhill had set off in
pursuit of Tewkesbury, but he gave it up when he had
gone but a few yards. Tewkesbury was twice as fleet as
he was.
He could do little to help the soldier, though he
tried to massage the afflicted part.
"The damned little swine!" he kept muttering. "The
damned little swine!"
"We'd better go back," gasped the soldier at last,
wincing as he tried to stand upright.
They went slowly back to the house. Ravenhill
helped Hawkesbridge up to his room and assisted him
onto the bed.
"Lie still," he commanded afterwards. "I'll get you
a drink."
He left the room. For a few minutes Hawkesbridge
battled with nausea. The agony made him sweat. His
body throbbed with pain.
Ravenhill came back and administered brandy.
Gradually the pain subsided. It was nearly dark now.
"Feel better?" enquired the reporter.
193


The Strangler Again
193
"Thanks, yes," answered the soldier gratefully.
"You're a good chap, Ravenhill. What d'you think
about it all?"
"We're not going to talk about that now," Raven-
hill interrupted. "You're going to get into bed. I'll
help you undress."
"I'm all right now," protested Hawkesbridge.
"Switch on the light and we'll talk."
For answer the reporter went and switched on the
light and then returned and began to unlace the sol-
dier's shoes. Hawkesbridge felt too weak and too tired
to resist. Shortly he was tucked up in bed.
"Any pain now?" asked Ravenhill.
Hawkesbridge grinned faintly. "A bit," he answered.
"But"
"No buts. Anything else I can do before I kiss you
good-night?"
"You damned old ass!" rumbled the soldier. "Good-
night, then, if you must go. Don't tell anyone what's
happened. Say I'm tired and have turned in."
Ravenhill switched off the light as he went out, and
Hawkesbridge lay in the darkness, staring at the ceil-
ing. The brandy acted as a soporific and despite the
question that hammered in his brain he dozed off.
He woke up to hear rain beating on the window.
The curtains bellied in the breeze, and water dripped
onto the floor. Painfully he got out of bed and went
to the window to close it. He stepped into a puddle of
water and drew back shivering. Then he seized the
window and shut it.
He looked at the illuminated face of his watch. Only
a quarter past twelve? He felt as though he had been
asleep hours.


194 The Mystery at Chillery
He went back to bed and was about to get between
the sheets again when a sound made him pause and
listen attentively. Some one was crying—a woman;
Osyth most likely.
He sat down on the bed, listening. Yes; it must be
Osyth. Poor kid! She was having a pretty thin time
these days. If only he could
Then a new thought struck him. Had something
else happened? He stood up, undecided, and going to
the door pressed down the electric light switch. For a
full minute he stood there, wondering what he should
do. Osyth was in trouble. He could not do nothing
while she cried her heart out. He wanted to comfort
her, to hold her tightly in his arms and soothe her un-
happiness away.
But she was in her room. Impossible to go to her.
Yet he could not let her go on crying like that. She'd
make herself ill.
Still undecided, he opened the door, but he could
not hear so well there. Then he remembered: the
Colonel had said that he'd had a large room converted
into two, of which his own was one and Osyth's the
other. The wall or partition, or whatever it was, was
thin and let sounds through.
As he stood there he became conscious of another
sound—the rumble of a man's voice. Was the Colonel
with Osyth in her room? But no; that couldn't be, for
he could hear the voice here at the door and not the
crying, whereas inside the room he could hear the cry-
ing but not the voice. And it wasn't the Colonel speak-
ing. This voice had a different timbre. It was not
Ravenhill, either. The reporter's voice was higher
pitched.


The Strangler Again
195
The man's voice stopped. Then followed the sibi-
lance of a whisper—a woman's. Now he could trace the
direction from which it came. It came from across the
passage from Mrs. Merrow's room.
Silently he stepped back into his room and closed
the door. He was aware of the sound of sobbing again.
What did it all mean?
Osyth's crying proved too strong to resist. Slipping
on his dressing-gown, he went out into the passage and
crept along to Osyth's door. He knocked softly, but re-
ceived no reply. He knocked again. No answer. He put
his ear to the door and listened. Osyth was still crying.
He stood undecided. Could he enter without per-
mission? He couldn't let Osyth go on crying. Besides,
perhaps something new had happened, and she had not
come to him because Ravenhill had told her about the
kick.
The sound of the man's voice in Mrs. Merrow's
room decided him. There was something strange go-
ing on, and he must
He knocked a third time and listened with his ear
to the door. Osyth said something. He took it for an
invitation to enter, and turning the handle he went
inside. He shut the door, groping the while for the
light switch. Presently he found it and pressed it
down. Osyth was in bed and lay with her face buried
in the pillow.
"What is it?" she asked without looking up.
He went to her bedside and kneeling down put an
arm about her shoulders. She raised a tear-stained face
and looked at him fearfully.
"It's all right, dear," he whispered. "I heard you


196 The Mystery at Chillerv
crying and—and I couldn't let you cry like that, you
know. What is it, darling?"
He drew her into his arms and pressed his cheek
against hers.
For a long time she could not answer. He let her
cry, thinking that now she was no longer alone and
uncomforted it would not hurt her. Gradually she grew
calmer.
"You mustn't stay here," she whispered between
sobs.
"I'm going to stay until you've told me what's wrong
and until you're all right again," he replied firmly.
"Has something happened?"
It was some time before she could answer. "The
priest's come," she said at last.
The priest! So it was a priest who was in Mrs. Mer-
row's room!
"Mother insisted on seeing him, so Daddy 'phoned
to him at Horsham and he came on the last train.
Daddy met him at the station in the car."
"But what does she want him for?" Hawkesbridge
asked. "She doesn't think she's worse, does she?"
Osyth was crying again now. "No," she sobbed. "It
isn't that. She knows she's better. Oh, Trevor, it's
awful."
Hawkesbridge tightened his arms about her. A sus-
picion was growing in his mind. Had Mrs. Merrow
got something on her conscience which she wanted to
confess? It was an ugly thought, but it would not be
dispelled. With so much mystery in the air anything
was possible, he told himself.
"I shouldn't worry, darling," he whispered never-
theless. "She hasn't done anything wrong, I'm sure."


The Strangler Again
197
"Then you guess that she's confessing something!"
she exclaimed.
He kissed her wet check.
"Darling," he said, "a woman who's suffered what
Mrs. Merrow has been through, and who has lain un-
conscious for days, isn't responsible for what she
thinks."
"But she isn't—insane."
"Of course not, goose. She's sane enough, only"
"Why doesn't she recognize me then?"
"You're incomprehensible, Osyth. First you say
she's not insane, then you suggest that she is."
"Oh, it's awful, Trevor. I wish I could die."
"Steady, the Buffs! That's not the way for a soldier
to talk, Osyth. I shall scold you if you behave like that.
Now then, listen to me. You've got to pull yourself to-
gether, old girl, and see this thing through whatever
it is. Nothing can hurt you if you hold on to your
courage with both hands."
She lay quiet, listening to him.
"I'm going to say something hard, Osyth dear," he
went on, "because you're a soldier's daughter and can
stand it. Shall I?"
"Yes," faintly.
He considered her for a moment. Could she bear
what he was going to say? If she could she would get
back her courage again. Yes; he'd say it. He had not
misjudged her. She was a stout feller.
"You're suffering from self-pity," he said deliber-
ately, "and it doesn't help you or anyone else a bit."
She gasped and stiffened in his arms. His heart
ached for her. Would she take it aright? For a long
time she lay still. Then she looked up at him.


The Strangler Again
199
"This is P. C. Homer, Sir. I want the doctor.
He's"
"But he's not here," Hawkesbridge interrupted.
"I thought he might be. He's not at his house. Out
on a sick call, they said. Thought he was at the Court."
"Well, he's not here," said Hawkesbridge. He was
about to ring off when something prompted him to ask
a question.
"Hullo!" he called. "Is anything wrong?"
"Yes, Sir. The strangler's been at it again."
"The strangler!" Hawkesbridge felt the hair prickle
at the back of his neck. "Good God! Who's the victim
this time?"
"Mr. Bentham," answered the constable.
Hawkesbridge was stunned.
"I mustn't stay, Sir," the policeman added. "I must
find the doctor somehow. Mr. Bentham's as near dead
as makes no difference."


In the Middle of the Night
201
rapidly to dress. He was putting on his jacket when
Ravenhill joined him.
"It's raining," the reporter said. "Got a mackintosh?"
Hawkesbridge nodded. "It's downstairs," he said.
"So's mine." Ravenhill went to the door. "Come on,
then," he added. "The sooner we get there, the better."
The rain had abated somewhat. Away in the east a
few stars showed. The air was cool and full of scent.
Neither spoke as they tramped along the drive.
"I wonder if they've found the doctor yet," Hawkes-
bridge said when they turned into the main road.
Then: "Where are we making for?"
"Bentham's house, I suppose. The policeman didn't
say where he was, did he?"
"No," answered Hawkesbridge. "Look," pointing;
"there's a light over there. That's just about where
Bentham lives, isn't it?"
"Yes; that'll be it," Ravenhill grunted.
"By the way," Hawkesbridge said. "I forgot to tell
you that the priest's come."
"The priest!" Ravenhill looked enquiringly at his
companion.
Hawkesbridge explained. "It's damned mysterious,
isn't it?" he finished.
Ravenhill did not reply.
"D'you think ?" began the soldier.
"One thing at a time," Ravenhill chided him. "I
think we can leave Mrs. Merrow's confession out of it
for the time being. We simply don't know what it's
about, and it's a waste of time and energy speculating."
He pointed down the road. "There's Bentham's
place," he said.
Lights showed in the lower windows of a small


202
The Mystery at Chillery
house on a slight hill. A narrow lane connected it with
the road. As they passed through the gateway Hawkes-
bridge became aware of the scent of nightstock, and
even in the darkness he could see that the garden was
full of flowers. Evidently Tom Bentham, or his gar-
dener, knew how to make things grow.
Voices came to them through the open doorway.
Blinds covered the windows and prevented their look-
ing in.
"We needn't stand on ceremony," the reporter whis-
pered, stepping into the lighted hall. "Hullo!" he
called.
A policeman came out of the room on the right.
"We're from the Court," Ravenhill said. "Friends
of Mr. Bentham's. Did you find the doctor?"
"Yes, sir," the constable answered. "He's in there,"
pointing to the room he had just left.
"May we come in?"
"I suppose so. The poor gentleman's as near dead
as makes no difference," he added, using the same ex-
pression as he had used over the telephone.
Ravenhill and Hawkesbridge followed him into the
room where Dr. Warrender was bending over the set-
tee on which a man, evidently Tom Bentham, lay. The
Doctor glanced over his shoulder and nodded a greet-
ing. Then putting a spoon on the chair by him he
straightened himself.
"I think he'll live," he said, wiping his fingers on
his handkerchief.
Hawkesbridge went nearer and looked down on the
unconscious man. Bentham's face was puffy and swol-
len and his lips were blue. On his neck showed a livid


In the Middle of the Night
203
mark, and there was a contused bruising under the
chin.
"Where was he found?" Ravenhill asked the con-
stable. "And who found him?"
"I found him at the bottom of the lane just by the
road," the policeman answered. "Lying on the side,
he was."
"What time was that?"
"'Bout an hour ago, I suppose. It were rainin' hard,
so I carried him up here. The door was unlocked."
"Anyone in the house?"
"No one, Sir. Old Mrs. Walters comes in and does
for him during the day, but there ain't no one but him
here at night."
A motor horn sounded outside. "Ah, there's the am-
bulance," the Doctor said. He went to the door.
Ravenhill bent over the unconscious Bentham and
studied the bruising on the neck. He straightened
himself as two men with a stretcher entered the room.
Tom Bentham was soon stowed away in the ambu-
lance. When it had backed out of the lane Ravenhill
asked the constable if he'd examined the ground where
Bentham had been found.
"I left that for the Inspector," the man answered.
"He ought to be here pretty soon now."
"He won't find much," the reporter commented.
"That ambulance must have wiped out any footprints
that there were. Still, I suppose it couldn't be helped."
"There weren't no footprints," the constable said.
"I looked for them."
"That means the attempted murder was committed
before the rain started—that is before eleven o'clock."


In the Middle of the Night
"Then the reason must be that the Colonel revealed
something to Bentham last evening," the soldier de-
clared. "But how the devil did X know?"
They were standing outside the back door, of which
Hawkesbridge had the key. Ravenhill turned and
looked at his companion.
"Hawkesbridge," he said, "does this affair differ from
the others?"
"Not essentially, does it?"
"Does it differ? Ravenhill insisted.
"Well, yes, I suppose it does. For one thing it wasn't
a successful murder. But then Tom Bentham's a power-
ful man despite his slim build: he probably fought
with X."
Ravenhill nodded. "There's another possibility," he
said. "X may not be concerned in this job. Someone
may have tried, unsuccessfully, to copy his method. If
that is so the case is complicated by a second murderer,
or rather, would-be murderer, and a second motive for
murder."
Hawkesbridge thoughtfully turned the key in the
lock and opened the door. Ravenhill produced his
electric torch and provided what light they needed to
guide them through the back passage. Tiptoeing, they
gained the stairs. Ravenhill shone his torch on the
clock.
"Nearly half past two," he whispered. "I shan't feel
much like work to-morrow. By the way, how's the
tummy?"
Hawkesbridge grinned. "A bit stiff, but otherwise all
right," he said. He looked towards the dining-room
door. "Let's have a drink before we go up, shall we?"
"Good idea," assented the reporter.


In the Middle of the Night 207
the old boy coming all this way at this time of night,"
he said conversationally.
He was surprised at his own light-heartedness. By
rights, he told himself, the night's happenings should
have made him sober-minded if not actually gloomy:
instead he was making conversation about a relatively
trivial matter. Perhaps he was taking his own advice to
Osyth, or maybe his half hour with her and the under-
standing they had come to were responsible.
"We must go to bed," Ravenhill broke in on his
thoughts.
Hawkesbridge finished his drink.
"Come on, then," he said, setting down his glass.
"You go first. I'll switch off the light."
Ravenhill went into the hall. Hawkesbridge extin-
guished the light and joined him. The reporter sud-
denly grasped his arm.
"There's a light in the library," he breathed.
But Hawkesbridge had already noticed it. "It surely
can't be one of the family," he whispered back. "We'd
better- Why couldn't we see it from outside?"
"The curtains across the windows are heavy," Raven-
hill murmured. "If they were pulled close you wouldn't
be able to see a light from outside. Look here, we'd
better investigate, hadn't we? It can't be one of the
family in there."
"Anyhow, we'd be justified," whispered Hawkes-
bridge.
He crossed the hall and took hold of the door
handle.
"Open it a little and very slowly," Ravenhill mur-
mured in his ear.
Hawkesbridge turned the handle and gently pushed


Chapter XXII
THE BODY IN THE SWAMP
RAVENHILL had gone off to the post office to
send a telegram to his paper, and Hawkesbridge
strolled aimlessly round the grounds trying to
fit the latest developments into their proper places in
the puzzle of Chillery Court.
An early 'phone call had established that Tom Ben-
tham had regained consciousness, but that he was quite
unable to say who his assailant had been. He had ap-
parently been taking a stroll before going to bed when
a figure had leapt upon him from the hedge and
slipped something round his neck. There had been a
fierce struggle, but his assailant had the advantage and
Bentham had proved an easy victim.
Then there was the Colonel to be considered.
Hawkesbridge had received the shock of his life when
he had identified the sprawled figure in the library
the night before. That the Colonel was a drunkard was
beyond belief. Ravenhill's opinion was that he had
sought forgetfulness in drink, and not knowing his own
capacity, had taken too much. The empty decanter
suggested that he had drunk nearly a bottle of whisky.
Over twenty small pegs, Hawkesbridge told himself.
And that, to an abstemious man, was decidedly exces-
sive, to say the least of it.
209


210 The Mystery at Chiller y
They had carried the Colonel up to bed last night
lest the servants should discover him in the morning,
and although it was now past ten o'clock he had not
yet left his room. When Hawkesbridge had looked in
an hour ago he had found the Colonel still asleep and
had thought it better to leave him so.
In the old days, Hawkesbridge reflected, Colonel
Merrow had been a strong man. Moreover, he had
always frowned on excessive drinking in the service.
In all the years that Hawkesbridge had known him he
had never exceeded his ration of two small whiskies
after dinner, and he rarely drank with meals.
Colonel Merrow would not have lightly taken to
drink. It was impossible to believe that even black-
mail would constitute a sufficient motive to cause him
to seek forgetfulness in alcohol. Hawkesbridge, de-
spite his initial disgust, had nothing but pity for his
old CO. The man must be damnedly hard hit, he told
himself, if he had to gain solace from the whisky bottle.
A hideous thought had come to him when he dis-
covered the Colonel's condition last night. The Colonel
had been to see Tom Bentham earlier; Tom Bentham
was afterwards discovered nearly dead, and here was
the Colonel hopelessly drunk. The connection was
obvious.
The thought must have come to the reporter too.
Hawkesbridge saw it in his eyes. But neither had
spoken of his suspicion, and as far as Hawkesbridge
was concerned it had gone at once. It was too terrible
to contemplate that the Colonel could have made an
attempt on his friend's life. Besides, where was the
motive unless the Colonel were X himself? The only
motive possible was that the Colonel had revealed
i


The Body in the Swamp 211
something to his friend which Bentham had threatened
to use against him, and so the Colonel had tried effec-
tually to silence him for good. But if that were a
possible motive it conflicted with all the evidence of
the two men's characters and was quite improbable.
Then there was^ Mrs. Merrow's mysterious confes-
sion. Was that, too, connected with the case? It was
permissible to think that it was. But how did it fit in?
Hawkesbridge's thoughts took a new line. He was in
the dark as to what the police were doing. Possibly
they had far more information than he or Ravenhill.
Possibly they had already decided who the murderer
was. But did they know the Colonel's secret? Had he
been compelled to reveal it to Inspector Miller when
the policeman had interviewed him?
Useless to speculate. The probability was, however,
that if the police had made progress they had worked
from quite a different angle. They might have the ad-
vantage there. Those at Chillery Court had to work
from Chillery Court. It was queer, though, that Ra-
venhill, as keen as the police to elucidate the mystery,
should choose to work from Chillery Court instead of
with the police, as apparently he usually did. That
was heartening. It suggested that the reporter, who
would obviously know what he was doing, had allied
himself with the party that was nearer the truth of the
matter.
Hawkesbridge sat down by the greenhouse and
watched Lyall at work on the roses. Presently, to dis-
tract his thoughts, he got into conversation with the
man. He was so engaged when Ravenhill returned.
The reporter obviously had news. He beckoned to


212 The Mystery at Chillery
the soldier to join him on the other side of the garden.
Hawkesbridge went to him at once.
"Carlin's been traced by the police," he announced
dramatically.
"Carlin!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge. "Then they
think it was the butler, after all! Well, I'm damned!"
"Don't be too sure," the reporter warned him. "He's
not been arrested. Besides, the police may have made
a mistake."
"Where did they find him?" Hawkesbridge asked.
"They haven't actually found him," Ravenhill re-
plied, "but they've traced him as far as an employment
bureau. Colonel Merrow apparently told Miller from
what source he got the man originally, and Miller went
to the bureau hoping to get the man's home address.
He was lucky. Apparently Carlin had put his name
down for another job the day before."
"So he didn't intend to come back," commented the
soldier.
"Obviously not."
"I suppose the police can lay their hands on him
when they want to," Hawkesbridge said. "D'you think
they'll arrest him?"
"They won't if they know no more than we do.
There's no evidence against him. No; I expect they
just want to question him."
"They've got the address, of course?"
"It's an accommodation address, I'm afraid, a sta-
tioner's shop in Holborn. Apparently he didn't actually
go to the bureau: he 'phoned particulars of himself."
"But surely they wanted to see him?"
"There was no need. You forget that he's been there
before."


The Body in the Swamp
"Of course. I'd forgotten that."
"He's 'phoned once since apparently to ask whether
they'd found a job for him yet, but he hasn't been near
the place."
"It sounds fishy to me," Hawkesbridge said.
Ravenhill nodded. "It is queer," he agreed. "But I
think it's just funk. He's slightly involved in this affair,
and he's scared that he'll be dragged into it and his
petty blackmailing discovered. That's why he cleared
out of here; and that's why he doesn't show up at the
bureau, he might walk into the arms of the police."
But Ravenhill did not sound as though he were con-
vinced by his own reasoning.
"That suggests," Hawkesbridge said, "that Carlin
knows more than we think he does. If he was in the
wood that night, as undoubtedly he was, then the
chances are that he saw the murderer."
Ravenhill nodded abstractedly.
"Why doesn't he pass on his information to the
police?"
"Either because he didn't see the murderer, or be-
cause he's afraid that he himself would be incriminated
in. some way." Again Ravenhill spoke doubtfully.
"I don't know," he added at once. "I can't see day-
light. There's something wrong here, I'm sure. I mean
the reasoning's all wrong. You know, Hawkesbridge, I
wish that Carlin had not been traced."
"But"
"The fact that he's been traced upsets all my cal-
culations—unless there's a flaw in the tracing."
"I don't understand."
"I'm afraid I can't explain yet." The reporter seemed


The Body in the Swamp 215
bushes you trail her to the hut! You know nothing, but
you guess you're going to learn something which you
can use afterwards."
He broke off and looked at the soldier quizzically.
"Go on," he prompted. "You take up the tale now."
Hawkesbridge grinned. "Well, I should wonder why
the other girl hadn't turned up and hang about a bit.
Then I should follow Osyth up the path to the road,
and then, since it was useless to wait any longer, I
should go back to the house as soon as possible."
Ravenhill nodded approval. "That's just what did
happen, I expect. Now go on to the next day."
"Well, when I read or heard about Miss Ferribee's
murder I should have a bit of a shock, of course, and
try to reason things out. I should probably connect the
murder with the reason for the interview in the wood
and also the non-appearance of Miss Ferribee in the
wood."
"Good! Go on."
"Then when Joyce came and told me that he'd seen
me in the wood overnight, and also Miss Ferribee along
the road, I should be scared stiff of exposure, although
I hadn't done anything. Perhaps I'd give Joyce money
to keep his mouth shut. Or I might plan to shut his
mouth by killing him. Have you thought of that,
Ravenhill?"
"Yes; I have. But I don't think a cur like Carlin
would have attempted to kill a big chap like Joyce.
Besides, the motive's insufficient. The girl was mur-
dered miles away, and Carlin could probably prove
that he was in the house at the time. Go on with your
impersonation."
"Anyhow, I'd be scared, probably enough to make


216 The Mystery at Chillery
me clear out," Hawkesbridge went on. "That's all."
The reporter sighed. "What about X?" he asked.
"What about him?"
But the reporter did not follow up his question, nor
did Hawkesbridge's insistence elicit so much as a word
until the soldier changed his line of attack.
"It's on the cards," he said, "that Joyce did not go
to Carlin to blackmail him, but to share a secret with
him."
Ravenhill swung round and excitedly seized his arm.
"Go on; say it!" he exclaimed. "I've been telling my-
self that all along. It's well known in the village that
Joyce and Carlin were friendly although they were so
different in every way. Carlin used to go along to
Joyce's cottage sometimes."
"You're an adept at keeping things to yourself,
aren't you, Ravenhill? Why didn't you tell me that
before?"
"Dunno. Didn't seem particularly important, I sup-
pose. Does it alter the situation, do you think?"
"It's possible that Carlin showed Joyce how to use
his information to his own advantage," answered the
soldier. "They might both of them blackmail X."
"It's all guesswork, of course," Ravenhill said, "but
it's good guesswork. You're coming on, Hawkesbridge."
"I don't see where it takes us though," the soldier
complained.
"That's your trouble, my lad," commented the re-
porter. "You can reason all right, but you don't let
your reasoning take you anywhere, you're just like all
soldiers! Now my trouble is that I let my reasoning
take me to a logical conclusion, and I'm afraid of the
result. I get scared stiff sometimes that I've made a


The Body in the Swamp
mistake when my reasoning tells me I can't have done.
I am at the present moment."
"Then you've "began Hawkesbridge.
"Yes; I have," answered the reporter. He took a
newspaper from his pocket and glanced at it. "When I
came back from the post office just now," he went on,
"I called at the station and got a paper. There's some-
thing interesting in it."
"Let's have a look."
"You shall see it. But first, can you describe Carlin
in a few words?"
"I think so. Medium height; thin; sallow com-
plexion; big head and prominent nose; a birthmark or
scar on his left—no, right temple; nearly bald; wide
mouth and prominent teeth."
"An excellent description. Now read this." Raven-
hill handed the newspaper to the soldier and pointed.
Hawkesbridge read:
"UNKNOWN MAN FOUND DEAD
"The body of a man was found by a laborer yester-
day morning, in a swamp by the River Adur at Little
Oxhey. There were no marks of violence. Death was
apparently due to drowning, and foul play is not sus-
pected.
"The police have issued the following description of
the man:—Height, five feet seven inches, slight build,
big head and prominent teeth, birth mark on the right
temple. The body was dressed in black clothes, and a
soft black hat lay alongside. Anyone able to identify
the body should communicate with the Chief Con-
stable at Horsham, or with any police station."


Chapter XXIII
"THE MURDERER IS STILL ALIVE"
HAWKESBRIDGE and Ravenhill went over by
car to Little Oxhey at once and were told that
the body of the unknown man had been con-
veyed to Horsham mortuary for an autopsy. Before
going on to Horsham they went to the place where the
body had been found.
It was a gloomy spot, even in sunlight. Their guide,
the man who had discovered the body, told them that
the County Council had several times tried to drain
the land, but without success. The water was not over-
flow from the river, but seepage through from below.
"Can't do nothin' wi' land like that," the man told
them. "It belong' to Mist' Clement, up at Oxhey, but
he doant use un."
The spot where the body had been found was in a
half circle of sedge. A willow kept solitary vigil over
the place.
"He were lying face downwards, just there," the man
said, pointing. "His face was in about four inches o'
water—no more."
Hawkesbridge shivered. "It's a dismal hole, isn't it?"
he said to Ravenhill.
The reporter nodded. "Is there a short cut across
here to anywhere?" he asked the labourer.
218


The Murderer Is Still Alive" 219
The man shook his head. "Doant lead nowhere," he
answered. "This 'ere path goes as far as they bullrushes
yonder; that's all. We made the path just arter the war
'cause we can sell they bullrushes."
"What were you doing here then?" the reporter in-
quired.
The man pointed downstream. "See that bridge?" he
asked. "Well, I were standin' there and restin' a load
I'd got on the rail when I thought I saw somethin'
black lyin' in this sedge. It were there when I come
back so I went round to the path to 'ave a look."
He went on to describe his find in detail. At the end
Ravenhill gave him half a crown and suggested to
Hawkesbridge that they go to Horsham.
They were readily admitted to the mortuary. To
Hawkesbridge's surprise Inspector Miller was there.
He seemed to be very pleased with himself.
"We haven't identified the bloke yet," he told Raven-
hill, hooking his thumb at the inner room in which the
body lay, "but it looks as if he's the man we want."
"You mean he's the murderer of Miss Ferribee and
Joyce?" demanded the reporter.
"That's what I mean," chuckled Miller.
"And you don't know who he is?"
"Oh, we'll identify him all right," said Miller airily.
"You'd be surprised if I said we'd come over to-day
to identify him, wouldn't you?"
The smile left the Inspector's face. "Just what do
you mean?" he demanded.
"Can Captain Hawkesbridge see the body?"
"Yes; I suppose so. But"
"Go on, Hawkesbridge," Ravenhill prompted the
soldier.


220 The Mystery at Chillery
Hawkesbridge went to the door and opened it. On a
stone slab lay a man's body.
He hastened back. "It's Carlin," he announced. "No
doubt about it."
"Carlin!" echoed the Inspector. "Colonel Merrow's
butler? But he's in London."
"He can't be if he's dead," the reporter said.
"Then who's the man we've been after?" muttered
Miller.
"You've been 'had'," said Ravenhill. "Carlin never
showed up at the employment bureau, did he?"
"No; he 'phoned."
"Trunk call, I expect."
Inspector Miller was frowning. "The doctor says
that bloke—" he hooked his thumb at the inner door
again—"has been dead several days. I don't understand
it."
"When did he last 'phone the bureau?"
"Two days ago."
Ravenhill took out his pipe and began to fill it
slowly. "And what makes you think he's the murderer?"
he asked presently.
"Because there was a ticket from North Grinstead to
Brighton on him dated August 22nd," answered Mil-
ler. "There was also a rolled silk handkerchief with a
knot in each end."
"The handkerchief, I suppose, was what was used to
kill Miss Ferribee and Joyce?" the reporter said. "Does
the doctor agree?"
"He does. We've proof that that was the handker-
chief used. We found three hairs on it—just the colour
of Miss Ferribee's."


224 The Mystery at Chillery
"What about motive?"
"The assumption will be," said Miller slowly, "that
Miss Ferribee was going to tell Miss Merrow that the
person who made those attempted assaults on her was
Carlin."
"And you drink that a sufficient motive?"
"The sufficiency of a motive," declared the Inspector
sententiously, "depends on the mentality of the person
concerned. Carlin was—he exaggerated the seriousness
of his offence, shall we say?"
Ravenhill shook his head. "You're getting old, In-
spector," he said. "Two years ago you would never
have said a thing like that. And you would never have
let circumstantial evidence delude you like"
But Inspector Miller had gone.
Hawkesbridge looked at his companion. "What
now?" he asked.
"Now to work," the reporter answered. "Maybe from
the Merrows' point of view it would be better to let
Carlin appear to be the murderer, but the trouble is
that that doesn't eliminate the real murderer. X is still
alive, and if I make no mistake his vendetta is worse
now because for one thing he's tasted blood and for
another he may have to take life again to save himself
from exposure."
"But if the guilt is put on Carlin?"
"That doesn't eliminate the possibility. But, here—
we're wasting time. Let's get back to Chillery."
They went back, driving almost the whole way in
silence. In the library they found the Colonel pacing
agitatedly up and down.
"Have you heard the news?" he demanded. "The
Chief Constable's just 'phoned over unofficially."


226 The Mystery at Chillery
"Yes, but "Plainly the Colonel was angry.
"You would have been told last night when we came
back," Ravenhill put in. Hawkesbridge shot a warning
glance at him, but he continued. "We found you here
—ill."
The Colonel flushed.
"We carried you up to bed," the reporter went on
ruthlessly. "You were very ill, and we couldn't very
well leave you here."
"My God!" muttered the Colonel. He rose from his
chair and went over to the window. For some minutes
he remained there. Then he came back. "I'm going to
see Bentham," he said in a low voice.
"He's at the hospital," Hawkesbridge said. "He's re-
covered consciousness."
"Colonel," said Ravenhill abruptly, "do you really
believe that Carlin murdered Miss Ferribee and
Joyce?"
"Of course I do! Isn't the evidence plain enough?"
"It seems to be, certainly," the reporter admitted.
"The point is do you really feel that Carlin is the man
who's been running this vendetta against you all these
years?"
"I tell you I didn't know who it was. I'd never met
him to my knowledge."
"Then don't you think it's an extraordinary coinci-
dence that he should be employed by you as your but-
ler?"
"Wait a bit," Hawkesbridge put in. "Carlin may
have got himself employed purposely, so as to be on
the scene of operations."
"Carlin," said Ravenhill quietly, "was obtained
from an employment bureau. His name was probably


"The Murderer Is Still Alive" 227
one amongst several. Your suggestion means that he
previously knew that the Colonel wanted a butler and
that the Colonel would apply to one particular bureau,
and"
"I applied to several," Colonel Merrow interrupted.
"Exactly. By pure chance, therefore, Carlin was en-
gaged. He'd been a butler before, hadn't he?"
"Been in domestic service all his life," answered the
Colonel, frowning. "Testimonials were all right."
"Now, then, Colonel," Ravenhill said, "think for a
moment. You may not have known who your enemy
was, but you must have known his station in life. Was
he of the domestic servant class?"
Colonel Merrow sank into a chair and covered his
face with his hands. "No," he whispered.
"Then Carlin is not the murderer of Miss Ferribee
and Joyce," Ravenhill declared.
The Colonel groaned.
"The murderer is still alive," the reporter went on,
"and he's still a danger."
1


Chapter XXIV
HOW CARLIN WAS KILLED
HE inquest on the body of Carlin went accord-
ing to Miller's plan. The medical evidence was
to the effect that death was due to drowning
and that with the fatty degeneration of the heart from
which Carlin had been suffering it was quite possible
that faintness had assailed him as he was crossing the
swamp. He was apparently making for the bridge un-
aware that he had left the path, and, that he had fallen
with his face in the shallow water.
Hawkesbridge was made to relate how he had
watched the lawn from the window on the night of the
22nd-23rd of August and discovered the footprints.
Osyth, who had also received a summons to attend as a
witness, had to describe the circumstances in which she
had gone to the hut in the wood. She did not, she de-
clared, know that she was followed.
Then Inspector Miller was called to the witness box.
He revealed what he had found on the body and clev-
erly laid a complete case against Carlin, showing how
the man had had time to return to Chillery and so.
make the second set of footprints in the dew on the -
lawn before Hawkesbridge awoke from his short sleep.
The Coroner in his summing up left no doubts in
the minds of those in court that he believed that Fate


230 The Mystery at Chillery
they'll bring in a verdict of murder against Carlin.
That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Poor Carlin!" sighed Hawkesbridge.
"It can't hurt him now," the reporter pointed out,
"and as far as we know he has no relatives to be hurt."
"I don't like it," the Colonel said, "but "He
hesitafcd and glanced at Hawkesbridge in a shame-
faced way. "What else can I do?" he asked hopelessly.
Hawkesbridge looked away. Carlin might not be
affected and he might have no relatives who would be
injured by such a verdict; but No. It was wrong. It
was damnable that Carlin, however much of a swine
he was, should be blackened in this way.
He became aware that both the Colonel and Raven-
hill were looking at him. He got up from his chair and
walked aimlessly to the bookcase.
"It can't hurt Carlin now," the Colonel said feebly.
The silence was oppressive. The room was hot and
dark. Hawkesbridge had an intense desire to get out-
side in the sunlight. He turned round and faced the
Colonel.
"I don't know anything about it," he said in a
strained voice. "I don't know what your secret is or
Why you should let Carlin's name be blackened in this
way. I'm sorry. I may seem to be a prig, but I can't
agree with you."
"The Colonel doesn't agree with himself really," the
reporter put in. "But let's be sane about it. You see,
Hawkesbridge, it's like this. It is quite possible that
Miller's right about the motive for these murders.
"But you've said yourself that he's not," protested
Hawkesbridge.

He


How Carlin Was Killed
231
"Yes, I know. But don't you see that in a limited way
Miller is right? After all, the murders were for the pur-
pose of preventing X's identity from being broadcast.
Miss Ferribee knew who he was, and so she had to die.
Joyce knew who he was, so he had to die. But what
was the information that Miss Ferribee was prevented
from giving to Miss Merrow? That so-and-so was the
person who had tried to assault her. Nothing else. Miss
Ferribee could scarcely have known that there was any-
thing else wrong. Therefore Miller's estimation of the
motive for the murders is correct."
"Well?"
"Don't you see that we've assumed that there was a
deeper motive because that one didn't seem strong
enough? As Miller said, the sufficiency of a motive de-
pends on a person's mentality. To kill a person to
prevent that person from revealing a lesser crime, or
attempt at a crime, may in some people contribute a
sufficient motive."
"I don't see what you're getting at," Hawkesbridge
said.
"I'm trying to show you," answered the reporter
patiently, "that it is quite possible that there was no
deeper motive for the murders and that, therefore, we
need not necessarily look further back than those at-
tempted assaults on Miss Merrow. As far as the mur-
ders are concerned, it may be a pure coincidence that
the Colonel has an enemy."
"But you believe that the Colonel's enemy"
"That's beside the point," Ravenhill interrupted.
"We're dealing with facts now, not beliefs or supposi-
tions. In a murder case all sorts of skeletons in cup-
boards are discovered by the police, and many of them


How Carlin Was Killed 233
"I see what you're thinking," the reporter said.
"You're thinking that Carlin was murdered."
"Murdered!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Good God!
Not another murder?"
"Certainly—if Carlin is not the murderer of Miss
Ferribee and Joyce. Isn't it logical? You don't suppose
that X was wandering about the countryside looking
for a convenient body on which to 'plant' his hand-
kerchief and railway ticket, do you? Why the very fact
that a railway ticket was found shows that it was a
'plant.' Railway tickets normally are given up at the
destination: that this one wasn't shows that the pos-
sessor didn't get out of the train at a station. It is a
highly incriminating piece of evidence which certainly
wouldn't be kept by the murderer."
"I never thought of that," exclaimed the Colonel.
"As a matter of fact," Ravenhill went on, "that rail-
way ticket tells a big tale. I wonder the police didn't
let it speak. I suppose the evidence appeared to be so
clear they didn't bother about it."
"What do you mean?" asked Hawkesbridge.
"Miller told us about the ticket yesterday, you re-
member," Ravenhill explained. "I went down to the
station last evening to make inquiries. Only one person
bought a ticket to Brighton on August 22nd, and that
was Miss Ferribee. The ticket which was found on
Carlin was the one which Miss Ferribee bought, for it
was the only one to Brighton issued from North Grin-
stead that day. It was taken from her by X after he had
murdered her."
"But surely he had no motive then in doing that,"
protested Hawkesbridge. "He didn't know that Carlin
would follow Osyth."


How Carlin Was Killed 235
"It doesn't seem sufficient evidence to me," the
Colonel commented.
"It isn't," Ravenhill agreed. "But there's another.
Carlin was in the wood that night and X knew it—or
if he didn't know it at the time he learnt it after-
wards." He went on to tell the Colonel of the discus-
sion in the lane between himself, Hawkesbridge and
Osyth, and how he had thought that they were over-
heard.
"Joyce's death followed that," he continued. "It may
be that that is how X learnt about Carlin, but I think
there's a better explanation. You didn't know that
Joyce and your butler were as thick as thieves, did
you?"
"I certainly didn't."
"Well, they were. Now here's a bit of deduction for
you. Put these facts together and see what they pro-
duce. Joyce actually saw X on the night of the 22nd,
although he told the police that he didn't. Why did he
tell the police he didn't?"
"I don't know."
"Here's another point. Joyce came to see Carlin on
the 23rd. Why?"
"To warn him that he had seen him in the wood,
perhaps."
"Perhaps. And perhaps he said that he'd also seen
X, and he'd seen all that X did—how he'd followed
Miss Ferribee. Just picture the scene for a moment. X
came first to the hut and pinned up the note to pre-
vent Miss Ferribee and Miss Merrow meeting. My idea
is that he did not know which would come first and he
took a chance of their not arriving at the same moment.
He wrote the note in block letters and didn't sign it.


How Carlin Was Killed 237
enough plot and counter-plot in this without adding
to it."
"But why did Carlin clear out?" asked Hawkes-
bridge.
"Because he was yellow. He had been in the wood
overnight, and he was scared that he'd be implicated.
Although he was a pal of Joyce's I don't suppose he
trusted him. Rogues never do trust each other. The
probability is that he didn't tell Joyce about his share
in the business, relatively innocent though it was. He
bolted."
Ravenhill paused. "That's about as far as we can
reason for the moment," he said regretfully, "but we
can make a guess at what happened. Having told Joyce
how to blackmail X he thought he'd have a shot at it,
too. Maybe he found himself short of money and that
gave him courage. However, that's a wild guess. What
we do know is that so far as the police doctor can tell
now, Carlin died on the 24th, the day after Joyce. My
assumption is that not knowing Joyce had been killed
he got into communication with X and asked for a
meeting, probably at Little Oxhey. His intention was
to extort money from X."
"He'd have to have some courage to arrange to meet
a murderer," Hawkesbridge put in.
"The murderer of a girl, remember," Ravenhill
pointed out. "Carlin didn't know that X had killed a
man too. However improbable it seems we have got to
fit our theory to the facts we know. Carlin was killed
at Little Oxhey, and if we assume that he was mur-
dered we have also to assume the presence of the mur-
derer. There's no getting away from it. Carlin was
drowned and he was found with his face in water; the


238 The Mystery at Chillery
inference is, therefore, that he was not killed elsewhere
and taken there afterwards. Isn't that so?"
"It's hard to believe that Carlin would have the
courage to meet the murderer," Hawkesbridge an-
swered, "but as you say, the evidence proves that he
did so and we've got to accept it."
"Good! The trouble with most people is that they
won't accept something proved if it seems to be im-
probable; but in real life it is often the improbable
that is the truth."
"What I can't swallow, though," Hawkesbridge said,
"is killing a man by drowning him in a few feet of
water. That's another improbability."
"It is," agreed the reporter; "but hang on tightly to
the facts, Hawkesbridge. Carlin was murdered, and
since death was due to drowning X drowned him."
"You'd have thought he'd resort to his usual method
of strangling him."
"Oh, come!" protested Ravenhill. "Did X want to
appear to be a murderer? Wasn't his intent not only to
remove a danger to himself, but to make the dead man
appear to be the murderer? Carlin had to appear to
die by accident."
"What a fool I am!" exclaimed Hawkesbridge. "Of
course you're right. Well, how did he do it?"
"We can only guess. If I were in X's position I
should have overpowered Carlin, an easy task for a
person like X, and chloroformed him. Then I should
have taken him to the swamp and thrust his face into
the water and held it there until he was drowned."
Neither the Colonel nor Hawkesbridge made any
comment.
"My idea is," the reporter went on, "that Carlin ar-


Ravenhill's Revelation
and demonstrates that Carlin wasn't the murderer of
Miss Ferribee and Joyce. What does that mean?"
"I don't see what you're getting at."
"Think, man! The cat doesn't play with the mouse
and then let it go. The habit of torture increases the
desire for torture: it becomes a lust. Have you ever
watched a cat play with a mouse, Hawkesbridge?"
"Can't say I have," answered the soldier. "I'm not
morbid."
"You should study such things. Human beings are
very like animals you know. The cat plays cautiously at
first. It is alert and ready to administer a coup de grace
if the mouse proves to be too agile. But if the victim
is too terrified to do much the cat increases its chances
of escape by pretending to be unconcerned. The cat'll
lie on its side and hold the mouse with one paw; it'll
lift the paw and let the mouse run a few inches and
then capture it lazily again; it'll roll over on its back
with the mouse held lightly between two paws and
play with it with its hind paws. And then when it gets
sated with pleasure the cat kills it. But suppose,
Hawkesbridge, that you disturb the cat at its pleasure:
what happens? The cat stops playing and acts. It won't
be deprived of its victim: it kills."
Ravenhill stopped impressively, and despite himself
the soldier shivered.
"The police haven't interfered with the cat in this
case," the reporter went on. "They've played into his
hands. Now one of two things will happen. Either X
will clear out or he'll stay."
"I don't follow you."
"Yes; you do. Of course you do. Even if you'd de-


242 The Mystery at Chillery
luded the police, wouldn't you clear out afterwards
and make absolutely sure of safety?"
"I suppose so. What then?"
"X hasn't cleared out," said Ravenhill quietly. "He's
still here."
Hawkesbridge shivered again. "Why won't you say
who it is?" he demanded.
The reported ignored the question. "What does that
mean?" he asked. "That X thinks himself secure and
that he has not finished with the Merrows yet."
"Yes; but who the devil is he?" Hawkesbridge's
nerves were frayed.
"The cat hasn't finished. And the old pleasure will
have lost its zest for him. He started by blackmailing;
he continued by attacking Miss Merrow; he went on to
try to incriminate Mrs. Merrow. Undoubtedly he forced
Joyce to write that note to her. By 'planting' that evi-
dence on Carlin he gave the Merrows the publicity
which they hate. He's increased the torture slowly.
Where's it going to end?"
The soldier rose to his feet and limped over to the
window. His head ached and his pulses throbbed.
"Hawkesbridge," said Ravenhill softly, "X will con-
tinue whether I'm here or not, but if I stay he may
think it wiser to act finally where the Merrows are
concerned."
Silence. Hawkesbridge tried to order his thoughts.
"What shall I do?" queried Ravenhill. "Shall I go
and let the slow torture continue, or shall I stay in the
hope that if X tries to act again I may circumvent him
and nab him? Suppose I fail?"
Hawkesbridge spoke over his shoulder. "I don't
know whether you're right or wrong, Ravenhill," he


Ravenhill's Revelation
243
said, "but it's not a question for me to answer. Surely
the Colonel is the proper person to"
"Your assumption is that the Colonel's the mouse."
Hawkesbridge swung round. "Isn't he?" he ex-
claimed. Then he was suddenly afraid. He came nearer.
"My God, Ravenhill!" he whispered. "Why won't you
be open? Who is the man?"
The reporter's face was pale and his eyes glittered.
His sensitive nostrils were dilated. "I can't tell you," he
answered in a queer voice, "until I've got him red-
handed."
"But if you know him"
"I know him by logic only. Suppose I'm mad or"
"Oh, for God's sake don't talk nonsense!"
"But I may be. Lots of people are mad without
knowing it." Ravenhill laughed shrilly. "I may be
stark, staring mad for all I know."
A shiver of fear turned the soldier cold. "Don't talk
nonsense," he muttered.
"If I'm mad I've got it all wrong."
"Look here, Ravenhill! Pull yourself together, man.
You'll drive us both crazy if you go on like that. You
know you're not mad." Hawkesbridge had gained con-
trol of himself by now. He put his hand on the other's
shoulder.
Ravenhill let out a breath in a sigh.
"No, I'm not mad," he said; "but why can I see
through all this and no one else?"
"Perhaps you can't and you may be wrong."
"I'm not. I'm perfectly right, but I'm right only in
my mind. X exists in the mental world as far as I am
concerned: he's a creature of deduction only, of elim-


244 The Mystery at Chillery
ination. When I translate him into the physical world
he isn't X at all!"
"I give it up," sighed the soldier wearily. "I don't
understand you in the least. Have I seen this man?"
"You're always seeing him; but he's not X in the
physical world, I tell you."
"I shall really think you're mad if you talk like that,
Ravenhill. Do be sensible. What are you going to do?"
"If I stay and try to prevent the cat getting at the
mouse again he may get me. Wouldn't that be a serious
loss to the country?" He laughed in such a way that
Hawkesbridge, his hand still on the reporter's shoulder,
shook him.
"I'll stay," said Ravenhill more soberly. "If no one
else knows who X is I must stay." He went to the table
and picked up a sheaf of papers. "In case of accidents,"
he went on, "I've been writing."
"Writing what?"
"The first part of my 'story.' It isn't for publication.
It's for The Planet editor in case, just in case anything
happens to me. He must do what he likes with it. You
can't consider personal feelings," he added cryptically,
"when there's a man such as X about."
"May I see what you've written?" Hawkesbridge
looked askance at the reporter.
"I was going to show you. It's only the first part. I'm
not ready to write the second yet. When I do "he
broke off and handed the sheaf of papers to the soldier.
"Here, read it," he said. "You've time before break-
fast," glancing at the clock.
Hawkesbridge took the papers from him. The first
page bore no title.
"As far as the police are concerned the train murder


Ravenhill's Revelation 245
mystery is solved," Ravenhill's 'story' ran. "The Hor-
sham Coroner in his summing up at the inquest on
Carlin showed that he believed that Carlin, the butler
at Chillery Court, killed Miss Ferribee to prevent her
from disclosing the identity of the man who attacked
Miss Merrow on two occasions and whom she had
recognised in Brighton recently by some distinguishing
trait. The supposition is that Miss Ferribee arranged
to meet Miss Merrow at the hut in the wood in order
to identify him to her and was prevented from doing
so by a ruse.
"If the report of the inquest on Carlin is studied it
will be seen that no theory is advanced as to why Miss
Ferribee should select such a rendezvous for her dis-
closure. It has been hinted that Miss Ferribee was per-
sona non grata at Chillery Court, and so to avoid going
to the house she chose the hut as a meeting place, but
there is no evidence in support of that. Miss Ferribee
was a friend of Miss Merrow and was not known by
the latter's parents. This offers one of the most impor-
tant clues in the whole case.
"It is suggested by the police that Carlin killed Joyce
for the same reason that he killed Miss Ferribee. Joyce,
it is assumed, saw Carlin in the wood on the night of
the rendezvous and watched him follow Miss Ferribee
when she left. But since Carlin, as Captain Hawkes-
bridge deposed, undoubtedly followed Miss Merrow
and Miss Merrow arrived at the hut after Miss Ferribee
had left, it was patently impossible for Carlin to have
seen Miss Ferribee unless he had made a swift detour
and got ahead of Miss Merrow.
"It is reasonable to suppose that Carlin was not the
man who followed Miss Ferribee that night and that


Raven hill's Reveiation 847
plant.' N.B. The 'plant' could succeed only if
Carlin had acted suspiciously that night.
(2) X's knowledge could not be first-hand because, as
has been demonstrated, he could not have seen
Carlin that night. Since Joyce too did not see Car-
lin and it is highly improbable that Carlin re-
vealed to Joyce that he had been in the woods, X
must have gained his information from another
person. The only people who knew sufficient of
the circumstances to act so that the 'plant' would
be successful were myself, Captain Hawkesbridge,
Colonel Merrow and Miss Merrow, or a person
whom one of us had told or who had overheard us
discussing the matter.
(3) Colonel Merrow says that he has been persistently
blackmailed for some time and that his enemy is
someone whom he had unintentionally injured
and who is unknown to him. The only person who
knew that enemy was Mrs. Merrow, but she un-
fortunately lost her memory in the Egypt disaster
and cannot now remember him. The man's name
appears to be Killick.
(4) If the Colonel's story is true, I surmise that the
motive for blackmailing is revenge, not money.
Hence the cause of the trouble was a very big one.
That it is more connected with Mrs. Merrow than
with Colonel Merrow is evident from the fact that
the Colonel does not know Killick. Mrs. Merrow
does—or, rather, did; but it is apparently the
Colonel against whom the vendetta is being waged.
I prefer to think that he is the person concerned.
Since innocent people are involved one must not
deduce causes which would indirectly harm them


Ravenhill's Revelation 249
"Should anything happen to me application should
be made to the Southern Counties Bank, London E. C.
4, for a sealed letter which I have deposited with the
manager and which will be handed to the Editor of
The Planet on production by him of authentic evi-
dence of my death or of my being seriously injured.
The envelope contains the name of the murderer of
Myrtle Ferribee, Peter Joyce and Carlin, but I have
not the requisite and tangible evidence yet to estab-
lish his guilt. / have a plan to gain that evidence, but
it is risky. Until he can be made to feel that it is safe
to act again, or can be persuaded to do so, I doubt
whether I can gain the information I need, and to gain
it I must expose myself and possibly others to danger.
"Anthony Ravenhill."


Chapter XXVI
THE AUTOMATIC
AWKESBRIDGE did not see Osyth until nearly
midday. Tom Bentham was leaving the hospi-
tal that afternoon, she said, and her father had
invited him to come to the Court to stay there until he
was quite fit.
"Of course we couldn't let him stay alone in that
house of his," Osyth added, "with no one to look after
him."
"What time d'you expect him?" Hawkesbridge asked.
"I'm going to fetch him in the car," she answered.
"Will you come too?"
Of course he would. "I'm seeing nothing of you," he
complained, "so I may as well take what I can get."
"But I can't help it, dear," she said, linking her arm
in his. They were in the garden where she had found
him moodily pacing the flagged path between the rose
beds. "I have to look after Mother most of the day. The
nurse is with her all night."
"By the way, how is she?" he inquired.
"Much better." She frowned.
"What's wrong?" he asked quickly.
"She's so queer, Trevor. She won't speak at all. She
just lies there and doesn't say a word."
"Yet she's better. How do you account for that?"


«54
The Mystery at Chillery
"I'm damned sorry you're going, old man," the sol-
dier said.
"So am I," the reporter responded, looking away.
"I suppose I shall see you again some time?" The
soldier's laconic tone was not deceiving.
"I suppose so. You know where to find me."
Hawkesbridge nodded slightly towards the station.
Ravenhill went round the car and bade Osyth good-
bye. Then, followed by the soldier, he went to the
station entrance. Inside Hawkesbridge stopped and
turned towards the other.
"Is everything all right?" he asked.
"How d'you mean?"
"Well, you remember what you told me this morn-
ing. Has die situation changed?"
"Hawkesbridge," the reporter said, "you know the
circumstances. Here's the wire from The Planet, and
I've got to obey it. Except for that the situation hasn't
changed."
"I see. And that's all?"
"That's all."
"Aren't you leaving us rather in the lurch?"
"How can I help it? Must obey orders, you know."
"I don't dispute that. But you've got certain knowl-
edge that we haven't. I imagine we're more or less
defenceless without that knowledge. Won't you tell
me who you think X is?"
"No." Ravenhill's negative was definite.
"I see. All right. Good-bye, Ravenhill." The soldier
turned away and began to walk slowly out of the sta-
tion. He was halted by the reporter's grasping his arm.
"Old ass!" grumbled Ravenhill. "You don't suppose
I'd let you down, do you?"


858 The Mystery at Chillery
"Don't let him talk going back," the matron advised
Hawkesbridge as he started the engine.
All the way home, Hawkesbridge beside him and
Osyth behind kept up a running conversation for his
benefit. When they arrived at Chillery Court the
Colonel came out on the steps and hurried towards
his friend.
"I am glad to see you, Tom," he said, seizing his
friend's hand. He opened the door of the car and
helped him out. Then with one arm round his shoul-
ders he led him up the steps and into the house.
Lyall appeared and put the car away. Hawkesbridge,
carrying Bentham's suitcase, followed Osyth and the
Others inside.
"Take the suitcase upstairs, there's a good chap,"
the Colonel bade Hawkesbridge.
"Which room?" Hawkesbridge asked.
"Ravenhill's—the one next to yours." He turned to
Bentham. "Tea won't be long, I think," he went on.
"Let's go into the library, shall we?"
Hawkesbridge found a maid in the room that Raven-
hill had vacated, making the bed. He dumped the suit-
case by the window and went into his own room to
fill his cigarette case.
He kept his box of cigarettes on the dressing-table.
He opened it. A slip of paper lay over the cigarettes. It
bore two words, "Dinner Jacket."
For some moments Hawkesbridge stared at the words
uncomprehendingly. What could they mean? He began
mechanically to fill his cigarette case. Then he picked
up the paper again. Now he recognised the writing.
It was Ravenhill's. But what did the words mean?
Ravenhill, he told himself, did not act meaning-


The Automatic
259
'lessly. Did he mean that he was to wear a dinner jacket
to-night? Well, he would as usual—no; wait a bit
though. Tom Bentham was here and he had no dress
clothes with him. In the circumstances ordinary clothes
were indicated. Did the words mean that he should
wear a dinner jacket nevertheless?
He pondered. No; that couldn't be right. It was
senseless. Put yourself in the other man's place, the
reporter had said, when you want to discover how or
why he acted. He tried to put himself in Ravenhill's
place and to think with Ravenhill's mind. The reporter
knew that Bentham was coming to-day and he'd guess
that Bentham wouldn't bring dinner clothes with him:
hence he would know that none of the men would
wear evening kit.
Did that suggest anything? Yes; Ravenhill knew that
normally Hawkesbridge would not take out his dinner
jacket that night. Then illumination came! Ravenhill,
knowing that he would not ordinarily go to his dinner
jacket that night was trying to direct his attention to
it. Why? And why did he not say so directly? Ob-
viously because he realised that a cigarette box was
not a safe place for a message.
Hawkesbridge went to the wardrobe and lifting his
dinner jacket off its hook he took it to the bed
and sat down. It revealed nothing. Yet stayl Was it not
rather heavy? It sagged on one side. He put his hand
into the pocket and touched something cold. Gingerly
he took it and before he brought it to view his fingers
told him what it was. It was a small automatic pistol.
Wedged against the safety catch was a note. It read:
"Use this if necessary—it may be even against a
friend. A. R."


262 The Mystery at Chillery
darkness. 'Tin sorry, Trevor," she murmured. "I didn't
think"
She moved a little away from him. He saw that he
would have to explain. He cursed himself for not hav-
ing left the automatic behind.
"I didn't mean to be abrupt," he apologised. "It was
only because—well, it's a pistol, and pistols aren't
safe to"
"A pistol!" she breathed. "But what have you got
a pistol for?"
He would have to lie. He couldn't tell her the truth.
"I always carry one," he said unconvincingly. "Habit,
you know. Always did in India; can't get out of
the"
"Trevor, tell me the truth. Why are you carrying a
pistol?" There was fear in her voice.
"I've told you. It's just habit."
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you don't. Tell me!"
"Well, then," he said unhappily, "it's just a precau-
tion."
"But what are you afraid of?"
He racked his brain for an answer. "I'm not exactly
afraid of anything," he said at last. "It's only—well,
Ravenhill seemed to think there might be danger, and
so"
"But Carlin's dead."
"I know. But still "His voice trailed off. "I ex-
pect Ravenhill had a bee in his bonnet, that's all,"
he added.
"There's something at the bottom of this," she de-
clared.
"There isn't, dear," he lied miserably. "It's, oh, come
on. It's all very silly."


264 The Mystery at Chillery
burgled. And by the way, why do you say 'they'? There
probably wasn't more than one burglar."
"Just bad grammar," she answered lightly. "Why
didn't the police think it queer?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Osyth. Look here, old girl;
what are you getting at?"
"I think the burglary was a —a "She groped for
a word.
"—a blind?" he suggested.
"Yes; that's it. The burglar might have gone for
Tom if Tom had seen him coming away from the
house and had tried to stop him, but Tom says he was
just mooning about and enjoying a cigar."
"I know. It's a queer business altogether," the sol-
dier said helplessly.
"If it was a—a blind, then Tom must have been at-
tacked for another reason."
"Obviously."
"It's queer that they should have tried to strangle
him," Osyth said meditatively.
"The police say"
"—that the burglar was imitating the other strangler;
yes, I know. But that's only because they want to sup-
port their burglary theory."
"It sounds like Ravenhill speaking," remarked
Hawkesbridge drily.
"Well, it's true. The funny thing is that Carlin was
already dead."
Hawkesbridge, cautious, was silent.
"Isn't it strange?" she demanded.
"I suppose so," he admitted reluctantly. "But I don't
see what you're getting at, Osyth."


The Meeting in the Wood 265
"I was wondering about that pistol," she answered
vaguely.
"What's the connection? Don't be an ass, old girl,''
he said, squeezing her arm. "Forget all about it. By
Jove!" he exclaimed, pointing, "did you see that owl?
It was a whopper."
"Trevor," she admonished him, "you're an ass your-
self. Never mind about the owl. You won't put me off
that way. Answer me; is there any connection between
what I've said and the pistol?"
"I don't know," he growled. "Ravenhill gave me the
pistol."
"And you don't know why? Is it because," she
lowered her voice to a whisper, "he doesn't believe that
Carlin is the murderer?"
He could evade her no longer. "Yes," he answered
grudgingly. "He thinks there's still danger."
"Then why has he gone away?" she demanded.
"He was called. Besides, it isn't his job to"
"But he wouldn't have gone away if he thought the
case wasn't finished."
"He was summoned back by his editor, I tell you."
She was silent. They had reached the end of the
drive and had halted. He heard footsteps along the
road, and in the darkness he could discern a slight
form. There was something familiar about the gait.
He suddenly pulled Osyth off the road into the
shadow of a tree.
"Keep still," he breathed into her ear.
The figure on the road drew alongside, passed on.
Hawkesbridge was not mistaken. The man was Tewkes-
bury.
"Who is it?" whispered Osyth.


266 The Mystery at Chillery
He told her. "A private detective," he added. "Mys-
terious bloke. Nearly laid me out with a kick the
other night." He looked meditatively after the man.
"Wonder what he's up to," he mused aloud.
"Who is he working for?" Osyth asked in a whisper.
"He said, a Mrs. Killick."
"Mrs. Killick? But, good heavens, Trevorl
That's"
"Yes; I know. Look here, shall we see what he's up
to? No, perhaps we'd better not," he added at once.
"You're thinking of me," she said quickly. "I'm
game, Trevor."
He looked at her doubtfully. She decided the matter
for herself by starting in the direction in which
Tewkesbury had gone.
"All right," Hawkesbridge agreed. "We'd better
keep off the road. You'll get your feet wet on the
grass, but it can't be helped."
He drew her under the shadow of the hedge.
Tewkesbury was lost in the darkness but he could not
be far ahead.
"We'd better hurry," Hawkesbridge said, "or we
shan't see whether he keeps straight on or takes the
road to Chillery village. He's "He stopped. Per-
haps the fellow was making for the wood. "Come on;
let's run," he exclaimed.
Round the bend in the road Tewkesbury came into
view. The signpost at the crossroads showed ahead of
him. He went to the right. Hawkesbridge, who had
his hand in Osyth's, slowed her down.
Tewkesbury came to the stile and halted. He looked
up and down the road. Hawkesbridge and Osyth
crouched in the shadow of the trees. The man went


268 The Mystery at Chillery
round. Tewkesbury began to whisper swiftly. Hawkes-
bridge saw the Colonel suddenly recoil. Tewkesbury
put his hand inside his jacket and brought out a dark
handkerchief which he held before him out of reach
of the other.
Hawkesbridge made a movement forward but he re-
strained himself. That handkerchief! The rumal of the
thugs!
Tewkesbury rapidly folded the handkerchief and
put it back in his pocket. He said something in a
whisper.
"You damned swine!" the Colonel burst out. He
raised his hands as though he would seize the detective,
but the latter made a swift movement and the Colonel
stopped short.
"He's got a pistol!" breathed Osyth urgently. "Oh,
Trevor, do something! This is awful!"
"Quiet!" he whispered back. He drew the automatic
from his pocket and released the safety catch.
Tewkesbury was talking rapidly in an undertone.
He still held the pistol in front of him.
"I refuse," exclaimed the Colonel when the other
paused. "You daren't do anything."
"Daren't I?" asked the other, apparently forgetting
himself and speaking aloud for the first time. "Suppose
I tell you I know everything. What then?"
"There's nothing to know," maintained the Colonel,
but his voice was shaky.
"Really? Will you say the same if I mention"
His voice dropped. He leant forward, and with his
pistol menacing the other, said something in a whisper.
The Colonel staggered back as though he had been


The Meeting in the Wood 269
hit. Hawkesbridge, fearful that Osyth might dart for-
ward, grasped her aim firmly.
"Then you are Killick!" The words came slowly
from the Colonel. "My God!"
He clutched at his heart and leant against the wall
of the hut.
Killickl X in the flesh! The revelation made Hawkes-
bridge oblivious of the Colonel's condition. So this was
the strangler!
Then he saw the Colonel. He must act at once.
"Stay here!" he breathed into Osyth's ear.
How should he tackle the man? The distance be-
tween them was too great to cross without being heard,
and Tewkesbury would not hesitate to kill. Somehow
he must let Tewkesbury know that he also had a pistol
—and the advantage.
He left the bushes and stood erect. "Hands up,
Tewkesbury!" he commanded, levelling his automatic.
Tewkesbury swung round with a cry. The pistol he
held dangled loosely from his hand.
"Mind that tiling!" shouted the soldier. "Damn it,
man! Don't you know how to handle it? Don't let it
fall: it'll go off."
He limped towards him. Tewkesbury shrank back,
obviously scared out of his wits. Was this the killer?
Hawkesbridge snatched the pistol from him and
prodded him in the stomach with his own.
"Go to your father, Osyth!" he called out.
But Osyth was already on her way. The Colonel had
recovered himself somewhat.
Hawkesbridge felt his hatred of the little man surge
up within him. He wanted to kill the toad.
"Now then, Tewkesbury, or whatever your blasted


The Meeting in the Wood
"Let him go, Hawkesbridge, do you hear?"
"What about this handkerchief?"
"That's the Colonel's. It's got a monogram in the
corner."
Hawkesbridge was staggered. Almost he let the de-
tective struggle free.
"The Colonel's!" he repeated stupidly.
"I found it in the lane by Bentham's body before
the policeman came," Tewkesbury said in a rush.
Hawkesbridge felt as though he had received a
knock-out blow. Tewkesbury jerked himself free and
sprang to one side. The soldier swung his pistol and
pressed the trigger. A hollow click sounded as the auto-
matic snapped on a defective cartridge. Before Hawkes-
bridge could clear the chamber the other was out of
the clearing.


Prelude to Tragedy
273
phoned me this afternoon and demanded a meeting at
the hut."
"What did he say?"
"Only that he knew who the murderer was."
"But why didn't you tell me?" Hawkesbridge de-
manded.
"He said it was dangerous to tell anyone," the
Colonel explained weakly. "I was to go to the hut
secretly."
Hawkesbridge, forgetful of all else, was shocked at
the weakness of his old C. O. He seemed to have lost
all his old strength of character. To be dictated to in
that mannerl
Then he remembered the handkerchief. He drew it
out of his pocket. It was of silk and bigger than nor-
mal. In one end was a knot and the handkerchief
looked as if it had been twisted into a rope. The mono-
gram in the corner by the knot was plainly the
Colonel's.
"Where did Tewkesbury get this?" Hawkesbridge
asked shakily.
"God knows!" was the helpless reply. "Not from
where he said he found it, that's certain."
"It's a dangerous piece of evidence," Hawkesbridge
pointed out. "Supposing he tells the police?"
"If he does, he does," the Colonel replied wearily.
"You don't believe he found it by Bentham, do you?"
"I don't know what to think," confessed the other.
"But good God, man! You don't believe that it was
I who attacked Tom Bentham, do you?"
Hawkesbridge looked at him. He had spoken truth
when he had said he did not know what to think. His
brain was fogged with doubt and weary with useless


274 The Mystery at Chillery
speculation. But no, whatever the evidence might say
the Colonel couldn't be guilty of such a crime.
"No," he answered; "I don't."
The Colonel let out his breath in a sigh.
"What made you think he was Killick?" Hawkes-
bridge asked.
"He said that he was acting on behalf of Mrs. Kil-
lick," the Colonel said slowly.
"He told me that the other day."
The Colonel looked surprised.
"Could he be?" Hawkesbridge demanded. "Look
here, Colonel; forgive my putting it like this, but you
obviously know who Mrs. Killick is. Who is she?"
The Colonel moistened his lips. "Killick's wife, of
course," he answered in a low voice.
Hawkesbridge frowned. "Is that—is that all you'll
tell me?" he asked.
"My dear chap, what can I tell you? I tell you I
don't know who Killick is and"
"But you know his wife?"
The Colonel gulped. "I don't even know if he's got
one," he answered.
"I can't cope with all this," Hawkesbridge exclaimed
irritably. "I wish to God Ravenhill were here!"
"But what could he do?" the Colonel asked. "I
couldn't tell him any more than I've told you."
An idea had come to Hawkesbridge. He scarcely
heard what the Colonel had said. He would telephone
the reporter. But was it safe to pass his information
over in that way? Perhaps the operator could listen
to conversations on the wire. He could give a cryptic
message though that only Ravenhill could understand


Prelude to Tragedy
277
He got through to The Planet in a surprisingly short
time. Ravenhill was not there, and it was not known
where he would be.
"That's that," commented Hawkesbridge, replacing
the receiver. "We've got to carry on alone." He looked
at Osyth with a wry smile. "I don't exactly fancy the
job," he added.
"We'd better go to bed," she said, looking at the
clock. "Will you help me lock up?"
A quarter of an hour later Hawkesbridge was in his
room, too wakeful to sleep. He felt as he had on the
night of his arrival at Chillery. Apprehension made his
nerves tense and his senses abnormally acute. He heard
the creak of Osyth's bed as she retired; heard her turn
and settle down. The hall clock tick-tocked steadily.
He switched off the light and went to the window.
The sky was overcast and the air close.
For some time he stood there; then he went rest-
lessly to the door and opened it. Silence, save for the
clock down below.
Something was going to happen. The stillness was
full of menace; the darkness breathed danger. There
was something decidedly wrong somewhere.
Leaving the door ajar he went back into the room
and taking off his shoes put on his slippers. Then using
his electric torch he went out onto the landing. He
felt as he had done in the old days when he had gone
the rounds at night, inspecting the defences.
He crept downstairs noiselessly. He was going to
make sure that entrance to the house was impossible.
He examined all the downstairs rooms and the doors.
The windows were all securely shuttered and the front
door was locked and bolted. It was physically impos-


280 The Mystery at Chillery
"Oh, drop it!" The soldier waved his hand pro-
testingly.
"But it's true." Ravenhill's eyes glittered. "Let's have
a light," he said. "Draw the curtains, will you?"
The soldier drew the curtains as noiselessly as pos-
sible across the window. Ravenhill switched on the
light. Then he went and sat on the bed.
"You don't take me seriously," he complained; "but
you make a mistake. In this case when we've created a
man out of our own minds—there's no tangible evi-
dence at all that he exists, remember—you can't trust
anyone. You can't even trust yourself. Anybody might
materialise into X."
The soldier shivered. "Why have you come back?"
he demanded. "I don't believe you went to London at
all."
"I did. I went to The Planet office to collect some
information, and I got one of our fellows to drive me
back by car. I arrived not long ago." He looked at the
soldier appraisingly. "Something has happened, I sup-
pose?"
Hawkesbridge in a whisper told his story. The re-
porter made no comment at the end.
"What does it all mean?" demanded Hawkesbridge.
"I'll clear all that up for you to-morrow," Ravenhill
promised. "Now then; we'd better take watches. No
sense in us both"
"Something's going to happen then?"
"We can't be sure, but I think so. That's why I've
come back. I went away to ensure that something would
happen, to provide an opening, as it were. . . . You
did right in locking up as you did. No one can get in
now, I think. That simplifies things. Now we'll watch.


Prelude to Tragedy
If you don't mind I'll lie down now, I'm tired out.
Wake me," he consulted his watch, "at two o'clock,
will you? Unless, of course you hear something before."
He removed his shoes and lay down on the bed.
"You'd better close that door," he advised, "and put
this eiderdown across the bottom to keep the light from
showing outside. We must take no risks."


Murder in the Night
"It's happening," he breathed. "Don't move until I
do."
Hawkesbridge felt for his automatic and waited,
tense. He was quite calm. A feeling of exultation was
born in him: at last he was going to get at grips with
this unknown who had brought such madness to Chil-
lery. He
A fearful gurgling scream tore at the stillness of
the house. For a few seconds he was too numbed to
move. Ravenhill, also, stood stock still. The soldier
reached the door first and wrenched it open. He ran
limpingly along the passage. The next door opened be-
fore he reached it, and Tom Bentham's white face
showed in the beam from the torch.
"My God!" exclaimed Bentham, his voice shaking.
"It must be the Colonel."
Osyth's voice sounded from behind. Hawkesbridge
turned and called to her to go back. Ravenhill passed
him with Bentham and ran to the Colonel's door. The
latter seized the handle.
"Locked!" he called. He beat frantically on the
panels. Then he tried the handle again. "We must
get in. My God! He may be dying."
"Stand clear!" the soldier commanded. "I'll smash
it in."
Bentham stood on one side. The soldier crashed his
shoulder against the door.
"Come on, Ravenhill!" he called. "Both together!"
Someone had switched on the light. He noticed that
Ravenhill hung back, his face a picture of dread—and
something else.
"Come on!" Hawkesbridge yelled. "Don't stand there
as it"


288 The Mystery at Chillery
hill said bitterly. "It was my bad head work. Miller
has been dead at least an hour."
The others stared at him.
"But the scream that woke me up?" protested Tom
Bentham. "Surely"
"Whoever gave that scream? It wasn't Miller," de-
clared the reporter.
"My wife!" ejaculated the Colonel, apparently para-
lysed.
"Good Godl" exclaimed Bentham. "She"
"Don't worry," Ravenhill interrupted. "Mrs. Mer-
row's all right. I told the nurse yesterday to lock the
door on the inside every night and not to leave her
patient at any time no matter what happened. That's
why she hasn't come out now despite the commotion.
And you needn't worry about Miss Merrow. Hawkes-
bridge sent her back to her room when she came out
just now."
"The servants?" asked Bentham.
"Too scared to leave their beds, I imagine," the re-
porter answered. "No; everybody's accounted for. That
scream was made by the murderer."


290 The Mystery at Chillery
"It was an unnecessary piece of advice," the Chief
Constable said. "For one thing no one would dream of
leaving the house under the circumstances, especially
in the middle of the night—or at least early morning,"
he added, glancing out of the window at the dawn twi-
light. "In any case, of course, we should not have let
anyone leave."
"Of course not, but—well, it doesn't matter."
"Still, I'd like to know why you mentioned it," the
Major went on. He smiled slightly. "What's the idea?"
"The obvious one," replied Ravenhill. "The mur-
derer hasn't left."
Hawkesbridge drew in a deep breath. The Chief
Constable frowned; then he slowly took a cigarette
from his case and lighted it.
"Hadn't you better explain?" he suggested.
"Of course I will. Subject to the Colonel's consent-
ing to fill in the gaps in my knowledge I believe I can
clear up the whole mystery—all of it, mind you. I
want to ask one question, however."
"What is it?"
"I suppose you were in Miller's confidence. Did he
suspect all along that Carlin was not the murderer of
Miss Ferribee and Joyce?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. Then I assume the coroner who con-
ducted the inquest on Carlin was also in Miller's con-
fidence."
"No; you're wrong there." Major Wyman grinned.
"Miller and I had a conference beforehand and we de-
cided that he should give just the bare facts at the
inquest. You see, neither of us knew that Carlin was
not guilty: all the evidence pointed to his guilt."


292 The Mystery at Chillery
is involved, and it's only fair they should be in the
grand finale. I know I sound as if I were a showman,
but it's not that. You'll see my reason when I've told
my tale."
"All right. Are you ready now?"
"I just want to speak to the nurse first," Ravenhill
said mysteriously. He glanced at the clock, frowned
in thought, and then apparently made up his mind.
"Yes; I'll be ready when you are," he said. "Have the
Inspector in here too, will you?"
He left the room. Major Wyman looked at Hawkes-
bridge doubtfully.
"I suppose he's "he began.
"He's been right every time so far," the soldier
pointed out. "I believe he does know who the mur-
derer is."
The Chief Constable stubbed his cigarette into an
ash tray and, his lips pursed, left the room. Hawkes-
bridge sat down and lighted his pipe only to lay it
aside at once. He decided it tasted foul.
The Colonel and Osyth came in. The girl looked
frightened and apprehensive. She clung to her father.
Then Tom Bentham entered.
"What's going to happen now?" he asked wearily.
The Colonel shook his head in a hopeless fashion
and slumped into a chair. Osyth went over to Hawkes-
bridge and he made room for her on the settee. Then
the Chief Constable and Inspector Newstead came in,
followed by Ravenhill.
"D'you think," he asked the Colonel, "we might have
a drink, Sir?"
The Colonel nodded. Hawkesbridge and Ravenhill
went into the dining-room and returned with tantalus


294 The Mystery at Chillery
she saw Killick subsequently she would not recognise
him. It was the papers she had on her that established
her identity and which led to her afterwards joining
the Colonel in India. Am I right in supposing that
she did not recognise you then, Colonel?"
"Yes," was the muffled admission.
"She had to take up her life afresh. She had forgotten
Killick. She must have forgotten his name also. There-
fore the Colonel knew the name before the Egypt dis-
aster. It was of course before the disaster that the cause
of the vendetta occurred.
"What was that cause? If we can find it the whole
mystery is laid bare. I have found it," the reporter an-
nounced dramatically.
"Oh, God!" whispered the Colonel.
"I won't burden you with dates more than is neces-
sary—I've got 'em all down in my notebook. Accord-
ing to the records, Colonel Merrow divorced his wife
in an undefended suit in 1920."
The Colonel's face was livid. He half rose to his feet
and then sank back. Osyth rose quickly and went to
him. She knelt down beside him.
"I'm sorry, but I've got to," apologised Ravenhill.
"Go on," groaned the Colonel.
"The case was apparently kept very quiet," the re-
porter resumed, "and apparently it was not known in
India. Mrs. Merrow was divorced in London. I surmise
that the Colonel would not have divorced her but
would have allowed himself to appear to be the guilty
party—as is customary amongst decent folk—but for
the fact that she herself had made that course impos-
sible. There must, I surmise, have been the risk that
had Mrs. Merrow divorced her husband, the King's


Ravenhill Reconstructs 295
Proctor would have intervened and shown that Mrs.
Merrow herself was guilty. I mean by that, or I infer
from the circumstances, that Mrs. Merrow had run
away with someone and was living with him. Am I
right, Colonel?"
The Colonel uncovered his face. "I am a Catholic,"
he said in a stricken voice. "I cannot make use of
divorce."
"But you did," returned Ravenhill.
"You are mistaken, Sir," retorted the Colonel. "I
did not make use of it. My wife asked me to divorce
her, and I considered that no matter what my views
were, she had a right to decide for herself whether she
would live with me or not."
"She was a Catholic too?" asked the reporter.
"Yes; but apparently "He stopped.
"The man proved the stronger pull," Ravenhill sup-
plied. "You therefore severed the legal tie as she de-
sired. Is that it?"
"Yes. In my eyes nothing could break our marriage,
but I had no right to impose that view on another per-
son. I divorced my wife, but I myself believed that I
was still married to her."
"I see. Am I right in saying that the man concerned
was Killick? You need not answer that because the
records supply the name of the co-respondent. And
now I must ask you another question, Colonel, I'm
afraid. Was it the Egypt disaster which was the cause
of Mrs. Merrow's—or rather, Mrs. Killick's"
"Do you mean that the present Mrs. Merrow is the
person you're referring to?" interrupted Major
Wyman.
"Of course. What I want to know is, Colonel, was


Ravenhill Reconstructs 297
didn't fit in properly, that Killick was also on the
Egypt and had apparently been reported drowned. But
the passenger list didn't give his name—I sent one of
our fellows to examine it. I wondered whether he'd
used a false one. Mrs. Merrow's name was there as
'Mrs. Merrow', so I was fogged. The shipping people
let us study the lists. It seemed to me that Mrs. Mer-
row must have left Killick in England. I assumed that
perhaps she'd slipped away, and that assumption was
correct. Killick apparently guessed what had happened,
for the name 'Mark Denyham Killick' appears in the
passenger list of the Kaiser-i-Hind which was the next
ship to sail for India."
"Yes; his name was Mark, I know," the Colonel
put in.
"The Planet's correspondents in India and the India
Office records have enabled me to fill in the story,"
Ravenhill went on. "Colonel Merrow, as soon as his
wife arrived in India, applied for furlough and went
almost at once so that when Killick arrived in India
he found the Merrows gone."
"That's exactly what I did do," agreed the Colonel.
"I gave it out unofficially that I was retiring and stayed
out of India as long as I could. When I returned the
regiment had been shifted to another station."
"It was an ingenious plan," commented the re-
porter, "and it apparently succeeded. One of our rep-
resentatives managed to trace Killick to Hyderabad,
Deccan—I mean. Not that Killick is there now, but
that the representative traced where he had been in
1924. The Colonel probably doesn't know it but Kil-
lick is a half-caste."
The Colonel uttered an exclamation.


298 The Mystery at Chillery
"His mother was an Indian. And when he went to
Hyderabad apparently his Indian half became pre-
dominant. I surmise that the loss of Mrs. Merrow had
turned his brain, for he joined a black yoga society."
"What does that mean?" demanded the Chief Con-
stable.
"Either the Colonel or Hawkesbridge could explain
better than I," replied the reporter.
"Yoga," said Hawkesbridge, "is a kind of—of mys-
ticism practised by Hindus to develop spiritual and
mental powers. Some of the yogis, that is the ones who
practise yoga, have almost supernatural powers."
"Black yoga," Ravenhill went on, "is like black
magic, the use of spiritual powers for a wrong end. It
involves worship of the malignant deities of the Hindu
pantheon, just as black magic involves worship of the
Devil instead of God. One of those deities is Kali, the
goddess of death, whose votaries practise Thuggi."
"Thuggi!" exclaimed the Colonel and the Chief
Constable together.
"In short," Ravenhill went on, "Killick learnt how
to strangle so expeditiously that he could kill the
strongest man without trouble."
"My God! How awful!" exclaimed Bentham. "You
mean that it was this Killick who"
"I mean that with his brain turned and his hatred
against the Colonel increased by black yoga, Killick
started his vendetta against the Merrows."


Chapter XXXI
THE STRANGLER IN THE FLESH
RAVENHILL rose to his feet and standing with
his back to the fireplace thrust his hands into
his jacket pockets.
"And now," he said, "we transfer the scene to Eng-
land. During the period that remained to them in
India I imagine that the Merrows heard nothing more
of Killick. The Colonel with his wife came home. I
don't know whether Miss Merrow was with them or
not, but that doesn't affect matters. The point is that
except that the Merrows were not at first persecuted,
the position was the same. Legally Mrs. Merrow was
Killick's wife, and there was no way of remedying the
matter."
He turned to the Colonel. "Something happened
early on your retirement, Sir, to make you travel, as
you have told me you did. What was it?"
"I had an Indian friend, the munshi who had taught
me Hindustani," explained the Colonel. "He was at-
tached to my old regiment as language instructor to
the junior officers. He was a yogi himself, a white yogi,
I mean, and he had my confidence. He was the only
man I had told about everything, because he was the
only man who would not be affected by what I said."
He glanced at Hawkesbridge.
299


The Strangler in the Flesh 301
he went on, "and that was Tewkesbury. For the bene-
fit of the Chief Constable and the Inspector I must
explain that Tewkesbury has been hanging about here
for some days. It was he who discovered where Joyce
was murdered—I'll show you the place later, Major.
He's a clever fellow, but he's using his talents on the
wrong side."
"Who is he? Miller spoke of him one time."
"Says he's a private detective. I made a long shot
where he's concerned, and I was right. Under, er, pres-
sure Hawkesbridge and I made him reveal his client's
name. He said it was 'Mrs. Killick.' That was obviously
a lie since Mrs. Killick is Mrs. Merrow. Who employed
him, therefore? If he was not Killick himself, and he
soon demonstrated that he was not, how did he come
into the case? I think it is obvious that Killick had no
accomplice, he didn't need one, so it was clear to me
that since there was absolutely no one who could have
employed him he must be working on his own. I estab-
lished the fact that he is a private detective, one of
the unpleasant type. But how had he got hold of Mrs.
Killick's name? Obviously the Colonel had not told
him. There was only one person who could have done
it and that was Carlin."
"Clever reasoning," complimented Major Wyman.
"Mere elimination," said the reporter airily. "The
Colonel had told me that Carlin asked for leave of ab-
sence, just after the first 'Mrs. Killick' letter came, to
visit his sick mother. As he has no mother he went
for another purpose. It was rather a wild guess on my
part that he wanted, for the purposes of blackmail, to
find out who Mrs. Killick was, and so he went to
Tewkesbury. But the guess was not altogether wild,


go2 The Mystery at Chillery
for I learnt at the inn that Tewkesbury had stayed at
North Grinstead several days just after the 'Mrs. Kil-
lick' letter came."
Ravenhill paused and relighted his cigarette which
had gone out.
"I saw Tewkesbury last night at the inn," he went
on. "He's gone now—I frightened him away. The
facts are definitely as I guessed. So that disposes of
him. His and Carlin's share in the plot is really a
side-issue.
"I need not go over the details of Killick's persecu-
tion of the Colonel. It was unfortunate for Killick,
who was unknown because the only person who could
have recognised him had lost her memory, that on the
first occasion that he attacked Miss Merrow, Miss Ferri-
bee, who pluckily chased him, remarked something
about him which remained in her memory. Later she
saw that same something in a man she encountered at
Brighton. She wrote a note to Miss Merrow saying that
she was coming over to North Grinstead to identify
the man, and that she would report the result of the
investigation to Miss Merrow at the hut in the wood.
Doesn't that suggest something important?"
"Why should she choose the hut in the wood when
she might easily have come to the house?" demanded
the Inspector.
"The answer to that supplies the first clue to the
murderer's identity," answered Ravenhill. "Miss Ferri-
bee fixed the meeting in that lonely place before she
had positively identified the man, which suggests that
she already had at least a suspicion as to who he really


The Strangler in the Flesh 303
"But why? That isn't the answer," protested the
Chief Constable.
"If I say that three plus something equals five it is
easy to work out that the something is two. If I say
that Miss Ferribee had a suspicion as to who Miss Mer-
row's assailant really was, but wanted to reveal it away
from Chillery Court it is easy to deduce that the secret
affected Chillery Court—in short, that she was afraid
of running into the man at Chillery Court. We can't
look into Miss Ferribee's mind, but we can approxi-
mate to her thinking."
"I see that," said Major Wyman. "Go on."
"The next point is: How did Killick know that the
meeting had been arranged? That he did know it was
obvious from the fact that he prevented it by means
of the note which he pinned to the hut door. At first
I suspected that Carlin had read the letter; then I
knew that even if he had he could not have com-
municated it to Killick because he didn't know that
there was such a person. The information leaked out
somehow and it could not have leaked out from one
of the principals—either Miss Merrow or Miss Ferri-
bee. That suggested Chillery Court again. No, don't
speak yet, Miss Merrow. There won't be any need to,
you'll find.
"Carlin's part that night was the result of curiosity.
Miss Merrow had asked him to leave the back door
open for her, and being what he was, Carlin followed
her. Killick, as we know, murdered Miss Ferribee,
thinking that he had now killed the only person who
knew his identity. Then he learnt that Joyce had been
in the wood that night. He acted at once—and he made
use of his action further to hurt the Colonel. I sus-


304 The Mystery at Chillery
pect that Joyce went to blackmail him and that Killick,
a clever man compared with the poacher, pitched such
a yarn to him involving the Merrows that Joyce was
persuaded to write asking Mrs. Merrow to call on him.
Alternatively I suggest that Joyce wrote that note under
compulsion. Then Killick sent him off, because it would
be difficult to kill him unless he got him unawares
from behind, and followed him, and strangled him
in the wood."
"But why did Joyce go to that wood?" demanded
Tom Bentham. "It wasn't on his way home?"
"That's what I couldn't make out for a long time,"
Ravenhill returned. "It seemed to be a flaw. But it was
capable of solution. You know where the path goes
to that he was found on?"
"Bewdle Mills."
"Correct. At Bewdle Mills lives a Mr. Gregory who
was Joyce's landlord. And Joyce, so Gregory told me,
owed him for six weeks' rent. Gregory had threatened
to turn him out that week if it wasn't paid. I surmise
that Joyce, having obtained money from Killick, and
having plenty of time before his intended meeting with
Mrs. Merrow, was making his way over to Bewdle
Mills to pay his rent."
"By Jove! That was a good bit of detective work!"
exclaimed the Chief Constable.
"The police could have found out the same," Raven-
hill pointed out, "if they'd only asked themselves why
Joyce should take that path."
"Well, go on," prompted the Colonel impatiently.
"We know how Mrs. Merrow was implicated,"
Ravenhill continued. "Killick wasn't very clever where
she was concerned, however. He forgot about the 'death


308 The Mystery at Chiixery
thing for me and she's almost due. Now, about Mrs.
Merrow. She asked for a priest the other day. Why?
To confess something, obviously." He continued hur-
riedly, glancing at the clock, "And she didn't recog-
nise her daughter when she recovered consciousness.
Why? Because she's lost her memory for the second
time, and she doesn't recognise in Miss Merrow the
girl who"
Tom Bentham gave an exclamation and jumped to
his feet. At that moment the door opened. The nurse,
supporting Mrs. Merrow, entered the room. She looked
wanly at the gathering, then her gaze fell on Tom
Bentham.
"Mark Killickl" she gasped, recoiling. The nurse
quickly pulled her back into the hall.
"Mrs. Merrow's lost her late memory," Ravenhill
said quietly, "and regained the memory she had in
1923"
He made a spring and jumped upon Tom Ben-
tham as the thug made a dash for the door. A short
struggle followed in which the Chief Constable and
the Inspector joined. Then came the click of hand-
cuffs, and Mark Killick alias Tom Bentham was a pris-
oner. Osyth, horror-stricken, looked on with unbeliev-
ing eyes.
Ravenhill brushed himself down. "You will remem-
ber," he said to Hawkesbridge, "that it was Bentham
who tried the door of the Colonel's room and said it
was locked. An ingenious ruse, but it has put a rope
round his neck. Logic never goes wrong: the door
couldn't have been locked if the murderer was not
inside."
THE END


THE CELL MURDER MYSTERY, by Donald Bayne Hobart.
A slayer bold enough to kill a material witness in a cell in jail steals
stealthily through this hair raiser. You will be thrilled to make the
acquaintance of the exotic Lily Lawton, and the sinister individual
known to the underworld as The Lizard. This pair furnishes the
background of a breath-taking story which rushes on its way to a
solution as unexpected as it is hair-raising.
THE DEVIL'S MANSION, by Rex Jardin. The weirdest house
you've ever visited is the residence of a paralyzed old woman, her
servant and her blue-eyed companion, Janet; a house without mirrors
and in which also lives a bodiless creature whose blood-curdling
laughter rings out in the dead of night, who plays the piano like a
genius—yet a madman! A novel for one with steel nerves.
DEATH AT WINDWARD HILL, by Helen Joan Hultman.
The story opens with the death of Miss Marrender, a sickly, maiden
old lady of wealth to whom the hand of death was beckoning. Who
killed her? The nurse, who reported the death as from natural
causes and left suddenly? The heirs, some of whom were more
favorably remembered? Or ...? The absorbing manner in which
this story is told, the clever drawing of the many characters, com-
bine to make a thrilling, baffling story.
THE GOLDEN THREE, by William Le Queux. What was
Lady Inverlake's secret that caused her to go to such extremes?
Even the cleverest of rogues commit a fatal error, thereby causing
their downfall. Mr. William Le Queux has exemplified this with
cunning and skill, and leads the reader spellbound among those who
worm their way into society, discover family secrets, and then vigor-
ously blackmail their victims. The Golden Three go to work more
cleverly than most of their kind, and suspicion is not directed toward
them until—but read for yourself this thoroughly mystifying mys-
tery in which there is one surprise after another, and wherein the
characters seem actually to help unravel the various tangles.














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