Francis D
Grierson



Thk Gift of
HAYWARD KENISTON
J-HOFESSOH OF ROMANCE I.ANGUAOES


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THE LIMPING MAN





THE
LIMPING MAN
BY
FRANCIS D^GRIERSON

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS


COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY
EDWARD J. CLODE, IKC
All rights reserved
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMEXICA


FOREWORD
To a Certain
EMINENT SCIENTIST
My dear Sir,
Wholly without your permission, I dedicate this
book to you.
Lest you should suspect a personal reference in the
character of Professor Wells, I assure you that, like
the famous Mrs. Harris, there wasn't no sich person;
and the other characters are equally fictitious.
Nevertheless, while sitting at your feet and listen-
ing to your sonorous and well-rounded phrases, I learnt
to estimate the importance of trifles; to realise that
it is by the proper appreciation of the significance of
the apparently insignificant that you and other labour-
ers in the vineyards of Science have been enabled to
contribute so materially to the sum of the world's
knowledge; and to apply your methods of deduction
and induction to humbler uses.
Let me add that instead of bewildering the reader
by withholding material clues, I have endeavoured to
place the facts clearly before him, so that by assign-


vi
FOREWORD
ing to them their true value he may penetrate the
secret of the Limping Man as successfully as did Pro-
fessor Wells and Inspector Sims.
Yours very sincerely,
FRANCIS D. GRIERSON.
1924


THE LIMPING MAN





CHAPTER I
The Rose dining-room of the Hotel Philip was
well filled, and Georges, the head waiter, surveyed
the guests with satisfaction, for they were of the elect.
Indeed, it was not easy to achieve the Rose room
unless you were of those whom the Hotel Philip de-
lighted to honour. For the others, what would you?
They must be fed, but yes, Georges would say with
a shrug; but for them there was the big dining-room,
or the grill-room. Pouah!
Sir Charles Merivale and the Professor sat opposite
each other at a small table farthest from the door.
Both busy men, it was not often that they could
spend a whole evening in each other's society. Meri-
vale, the head of one of the most important branches
of the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland
Yard, had acquired a reputation that was, perhaps,
all the greater in criminological circles because it did
not extend beyond them. Professor Wells, on the
other hand, was a scientist of international celebrity,
with half an alphabet of letters after his name.
The two men had been friends at school, though
Wells was more than half a decade Merivale's senior,
9


THE LIMPING MAN
and their friendship had strengthened with the years.
Physically they were in strong contrast; Merivale
dark, tall and upright, with thin, clean-shaven face
and an almost severe accuracy of dress; Wells burly
and broad shouldered, losing an inch or so of his
more than average height by reason of a slight stoop,
grey bearded, and wearing gold-rimmed spectacles
through which a pair of blue eyes beamed benevo-
lently.
Merivale looked as though he might hold a hun-
dred secrets which that impassive face of his would
never betray; but Wells's kindly simplicity was not
less deceptive. Few people knew that the distinguished
scientist, whose books had been translated into half
a dozen languages, was a keen criminologist whose
powers of observation and deduction had frequently
been of great service to the authorities.
Everything had been just right that evening. They
had placed themselves unreservedly in the hands of
Georges and had been rewarded. With a solemn joy
Georges had retired to a corner and reflected for seven
minutes; there followed a selection of wines and dishes
which Lucullus could not have bettered.
It was with a clear conscience that Georges saw
them inhale the flavour of their coffee and take the
first sip of a brandy so choice that Georges went to


THE LIMPING MAN
ii
the cellar for it himself, lest the bottle be dashed to
fragments by the nervous hand of an acolyte awed
to find himself entrusted with such amber treasure.
"Perfect, Georges," said Merivale quietly, and the
head waiter's sallow cheeks flushed with pleasure.
"And worthy of the name of Philip," added the
Professor in his kindly way, and George's bow indi-
cated that he realised that the last word had been
said.
For a space the two friends sat in silence, enjoying
that luxury of complete mental relaxation which is only
savoured to the full by those the greater part of whose
lives must be spent in the consideration of intricate
problems.
Presently Merivale began a sentence which he left
unfinished. Wells, noting the slight contraction of
his friend's lips, waited without comment.
M. Auguste Philip had entered the room.
After an almost imperceptible glance about him,
M. Philip passed without haste from table to table,
distributing his inimitable bows and polished phrases
to the habitues of his famous Rose room.
It was some moments before he reached the little
table in the corner and expressed the superfluous hope
that his guests had been pleasantly entreated by his
good Georges.
His guests, it appeared, had decided that Georges


12
THE LIMPING MAN
had once more been adequate; had, indeed, surpassed
himself.
That was well; certainly that was very well. Never-
theless, if Sir Charles and the Professor would do him,
M. Philip, the honour to step presently into his pri-
vate room, it would be a privilege to exhibit to them
a truly remarkable vintage port which he had acquired,
as one might say, by a fortunate chance.
Sir Charles and the Professor would do so with
pleasure.
M. Philip, then, would beg to be excused for the
moment. . . .
"The excellent Philip is perturbed," remarked the
Professor.
"So it seems," replied Merivale a trifle wearily.
He had looked forward to at least another hour of
quiet comfort, for the Yard people had been told not
to disturb him unless something as urgent as unfore-
seen occurred. But the friends knew, of course, that
M. Philip's polite invitation was merely a tactful way
of saying that the hotel proprietor was in some trouble
and wanted the police official's help.
There had always been a Philip at the head of the
great hotel since Jules Philip had founded it four gen-
erations before. Each had added something to the
building or its fitness, and not a few exalted personages


14 THE LIMPING MAN
"It is most kind of you, Sir Charles," he said, clos-
ing the door behind his visitors, "and, indeed, I much
regret that I had to disturb you. But there is an oc-
currence, a fatality, of which you may wish to know.
It is, I think, strange. . . ."
He paused reflectively, then spread out his hands.
"But of that you will judge for yourself. I count
myself fortunate," he added politely, "in the presence
also of Professor Wells"
"Professor Wells having been a medical practitioner
before he directed his attention to chemical research,"
said Merivale casually, "he was kind enough to come
with me in case a doctor's services might be useful."
M. Philip bowed.
"I am aware," he said quietly, "that the Professor
has—many interests."
Merivale laughed.
"I wonder how many secrets you know or have
guessed at, Philip," he said.
M. Philip shrugged.
"A few," he said. "But I am wasting time. Will
you not sit down, and I will tell you as briefly as
possible what has happened."
Merivale took a cigar from the silver box M. Philip
extended to him, but the Professor, with a smile, pro-
duced a heavy pipe which he proceeded to fill and
light.


THE LIMPING MAN 15
"For a number of years," M. Philip began, "we
have accommodated from time to time an elderly
gentleman—indeed, I would say 'old' if it were not
for his remarkable energy and vigour. I think he must
have been over sixty, but he was more active than
many a man ten years younger. His name was Abbey-
mead"
"Was?" put in Merivale.
"Unhappily, yes, for he now lies dead in his room
not far away."
"Please go on."
"His name, as I have said, was Abbeymead—Mr.
Roger Abbeymead. He owned a property in Kent, but
had been a great traveller and even of late years did
not spend much time there, from what he told me.
He frequently stayed with us for a month or two
months at a time. You may wonder," M. Philip ex-
plained, "that I know these things, but Mr. Abbey-
mead and I had a kindred interest in books and curios,
and I was as intimate with him as one could be with
a man so reserved and even secretive. He was by
no means churlish, but he rarely appeared in the pub-
lic rooms, and I do not think I ever saw him engage
in conversation with any other guest, in the lounge
or the billiard-room, for example. He had a small
private suite, and his meals were always served in his
sitting-room.


16 THE LIMPING MAN
"There is just one other thing I should mention:
some time ago he came to this room and asked me to
write on a piece of paper the name of his solicitors
and the name of his heir, and to lock it up in my safe.
I could not help showing my surprise, but he made
some light allusion to the danger of the traffic in the
London streets to an old man. Now, a man less likely
to fear such a danger I cannot imagine. However,
as he evidently did not desire to discuss the matter
I did not allude to it further, and in course of time I
confess I forgot it.
"Now I arrive at my denouement. This evening
the valet attached to Mr. Abbeymead's suite—for he
never brought his own servant—found him sitting in
an arm-chair, dead. Melford, the valet, is an ex-
tremely intelligent man. Without disturbing anything
in the room, he locked the outer door of the suite and
came at once to me. It may be, gentlemen," added
M. Philip thoughtfully, "that I am fanciful, but after
visiting Mr. Abbeymead's room it seemed to me that
there might be something in this matter beyond the
heart failure of a man no longer young, or a case of
suicide. . . . Learning that you were here, Sir
Charles, I determined to put the affair in your hands
before acquainting anyone else with the facts."
"I am obliged to you," answered Merivale, who had


THE LIMPING MAN 17
listened to Philip's narrative with close attention. "I
may use your telephone? Thank you."
Giving a number, he was presently in communica-
tion with Scotland Yard. After a brief conversation,
he replaced the receiver and turned to the others.
"I have sent for Inspector Sims and a police sur-
geon," he said. "Now, if you have nothing more to
tell us, Philip, I think we had better go up to Mr.
Abbeymead's room."


CHAPTER II
M. Philip led the way with Sir Charles Merivale,
and the Professor, knocking the ashes from his pipe,
followed them.
The suite allotted to Mr. Abbeymead was at the
end of a long corridor at the back of the building, and
consisted of a small anteroom, a sitting-room, a bed-
room, and a small combined dressing and bathroom.
Melford, the valet, was waiting for them, and at
a sign from the proprietor he unlocked the door which
led into the anteroom. It was a tiny, boxlike apart-
ment, furnished with a table and a few chairs. From
it they passed into the sitting-room, a bright, cheerful
room the windows of which looked out over the river
from Big Ben at Westminster almost to Blackfriars.
On the table in the centre of the room were a num-
ber of objects—some books and papers, a siphon of
soda-water, a decanter half full of whisky, a tray
of glasses, two other tumblers which had evidently
been used, a box of cigars, and an ash-tray.
There was also a small leather case containing some
tablets and a hypodermic syringe, both new. Near
the case stood a third tumbler.
18


THE LIMPING MAN 21
Philip leaned against the mantelpiece and looked on
impassively.
At last Dr. Carey rose.
"So far as I can judge, pending a post-mortem," he
said, in answer to Merivale's inquiring look, "the man
died from sudden heart failure. The presence of the
hypodermic syringe and the morphia tablets in the
case suggest poisoning, of course, and there is no doubt
that such an injection—a tablet or two crushed in
water—was made in the left arm. But I think the
dead man's heart must have been affected and a sud-
den failure caused his death, rather than the morphia.
I will set out my reasons at greater length in my of-
ficial report, after the post-mortem—that is, if you
wish me to make one?"
"You would not be prepared to give a certificate
of death from heart failure—that is, a natural cause—
without a post-mortem, would you?" asked Merivale,
in some surprise.
The doctor made a gesture of indifference.
"Oh, yes," he said, in his unemotional manner, "if
the relatives would prefer it. I am satisfied that the
actual cause of death was a natural one, although the
dead man gave himself a big dose of morphia just
before he died—for what reason I do not know, of
course. Suicide, I presume, but I am not prepared to
say definitely."


22
THE LIMPING MAN
"It would certainly be ""Merivale began, when
Professor Wells, speaking for the first time, inter-
rupted him.
"If I may venture an opinion, Merivale," he said,
"it seems to me—subject, of course, to your official
discretion—that the opinion of an experienced medical
man like Dr. Carey is conclusive enough. Of course,
a post-mortem is always more satisfactory, but I re-
member when I was in practice how painful such a
thing always was to the relatives, and if it could be
Avoided"
He paused; Merivale looked keenly at him and
hesitated.
Sims, who had been making some notes in his
pocket-book, offered a suggestion.
"Before you decide the point, Chief," he said, "per-
haps we might have the valet in. I should like to hear
what he has to say, and ask him one or two questions."
"By all means," Sir Charles agreed; "call him in."
Mel ford, a straight-backed man with a short, de-
cided way of speaking, entered and assumed that posi-
tion of attention which becomes natural to a man who
once acquires the habits of military life.
"Now, Melford," began Inspector Sims, at a nod
from Sir Charles, "we want you to tell us anything
you can about Mr. Abbeymead's death. I think it
will be best if I begin by asking you some questions;


THE LIMPING MAN 23
after that you can tell us anything more that may
occur to you."
"Very good, sir," replied the valet readily.
"First, then, how long have you been employed
here?"
"Four years, sir; since my discharge from the
Army."
"And all that time you have looked after this suite?"
"No, sir. I was an assistant hall porter first. Then
Mr. Philip tried me in one or two other jobs, and
I've been valet to this suite for about six months."
"The fact is," put in M. Philip, "that Melford was
badly wounded just at the end of the Great War. He
does not tell you that, you see, nor about his medals.
I am training him for a more important post, but
it is best that he should actually go through the lower
ranks before he is promoted, so to speak. Only I will
not let him do very fatiguing work, on account of his
health."
"Mr. Philip's been very kind to me," said the valet,
who was evidently much gratified, although somewhat
embarrassed, by his employer's praise.
"It's a pity there are not more employers who re-
member the men who fought for them," said Sir
Charles with some bitterness. "But go on, Sims."
"You have only known Mr. Abbeymead for a short
time, then, Melford?" asked the detective.


24 THE LIMPING MAN
"I've known him by sight between three and four
years, sir, of course," the valet replied. "But since
I was put in charge of these rooms I had to do with
him more personally, like."
"Of course. And did he strike you as being an
ordinary sort of man?"
Melford hesitated.
"Well, sir," he said, "you'll excuse me saying so,
but I'm never quite sure what an ordinary sort of
man is. I mean to say, knocking about the world a
good bit, I've seen so many men do so many queer
things—queer till you knew the reason for them—
that it seems to me you can't lump 'em all into classes
and label them. Not wishing to argue, only the ques-
tion's not easy to answer," he added apologetically,
with a slight bow to the company generally.
"Melford is quite right," said Professor Wells. "It
is a point that has often struck me. But I think, Mel-
ford, that Inspector Sims is anxious to know whether
Mr. Abbeymead had any peculiarities which, in your
opinion, might explain his sudden death."
"I understand, sir," answered Melford thoughtfully.
"Well, Mr. Abbeymead was not an ordinary man in
one way—he didn't care much for meeting people.
It wasn't that he was surly—if I may use the word,
sir—he was a very pleasant gentleman to work for,
though a bit quick-tempered at times. But he always


THE LIMPING MAN 25
seemed to me as though he was lonely, and yet
couldn't bear to make new friends."
"He had not many visitors, then?"
"Scarcely ever, sir. Indeed, it was quite unusual
his having two to-day."
M. Philip started.
"Eh? I did not know of that," he said.
"I did not think to mention it, sir, until the gentle-
man—Mr. Sims—asked the question," Melford ex-
plained.
"And do you know who the visitors were?" asked
Sims.
"Not rightly, sir. That is, I can describe them,
for I saw them both, but I don't know who they
were."
"Do you know their names?"
"Not the man's name—he was the first visitor.
The second was a young woman—a Miss Greye."
"This is interesting, and may be important," said
Merivale. "I think we had better ask Melford to
tell us in his own way just what he knows, without
interrupting him with questions. Sit down there, Mel-
ford, and take your time."
"Thank you, sir," said the valet, seating himself
■with the respectful ease of a non-commissioned officer
conferring with his captain on the internal economy
of the company.


26 THE LIMPING MAN
"It was about quarter-past seven this evening, sir,"
he went on. "Mr. Abbeymead had been out all to-day,
and when he came in he seemed tired—and yet cheer-
ful too. He changed his clothes, and said he would
like some dinner earlier than usual. I served him a
light meal—he preferred me to wait on him myself—
about half-past six. He had finished and I had cleared
away by seven, for I remember hearing Big Ben strik-
ing the hour as I put down a window that had been
open.
"Just then a page-boy knocked at the door. I
opened it, and he said a gentleman wanted to see Mr.
Abbeymead. I asked what name, but he said the
gentleman wouldn't give any name. Mr. Abbeymead
heard this and called out to me to tell the visitor to
go to the devil, as he didn't want to see anybody, let
alone a stranger who would not say who he was. I
told the boy to tell the visitor that Mr. Abbeymead
was not receiving callers, and Mr. Abbeymead laughed
and said I was more polite than he was.
"I beg your pardon, gentlemen," Melford inter-
rupted himself; "you told me to tell you all I could
remember, so I'm giving it to you just as it happened.
But if I'm wasting your time"
"No, no," Merivale assured him. "Go on, Melford,
go on. Don't leave anything out."
The valet bowed. »
I


THE LIMPING MAN 27
"I was still in Mr. Abbeymead's room," he resumed,
"when the page came back again with a note that
the stranger had written in the hall porter's office. It
was addressed to Mr. Abbeymead, who tore it open
impatiently, for he had begun to read some papers
he had taken out of a case on the table, and was
annoyed at being interrupted again. He cast his eye
over the note and sat up in his arm-chair quite ex-
cited. 'Show him up—show him up at once,' he said.
'Melford, there's something to drink there, isn't there?
Put the whisky and cigars on the table, will you, and
then you can leave us. I shan't want you again, ex-
cept to show the gentleman out when I ring.' I put
the things on the table as he said, and was leaving
the room when he stopped me. 'Oh, Melford,' he said,
'I forgot: I may have a visit later from a young lady
—Miss Pamela Greye. If so, she can come in. But
she may not come. Now, has this gentleman come
up yet?'
"The page arrived at that moment with the visitor.
He was short and rather swarthy, and he wore one of
those cloaks gentlemen sometimes wear with their
evening dress. It had a collar that was turned up,
though it was a warmish night for the time of year,
and I could not see his face very well. He had a silk
hat and white gloves in his hand, and I noticed
patent-leather boots and braided evening trousers be-


28 THE LIMPING MAN
low his cloak. One of his boots was specially made
—he had what I think you call a club-foot; it was de-
formed, anyhow. He did not speak to me, but walked
straight in, limping. I closed the door behind him
and went about my business."
"You did not hear any of the conversation?" asked
Sims.
"I did not, sir," replied the valet, a trifle shortly.
"I do not mean to suggest that you listened," ex-
plained the Inspector. "I thought you might have
caught some words of greeting as the two men met."
"No, sir," answered the valet, more readily. "The
stranger bowed in a foreign sort of way, and Mr.
Abbeymead was standing holding the note in his hand
and looking at the other man across the table when I
shut the door. I sort of got the impression that Mr.
Abbeymead was surprised and amused at something."
"What happened next?"
"I went to my service room, which is at the other
end of the corridor, and did some odd jobs there.
About half an hour later, or perhaps twenty minutes,
Mr. Abbeymead's bell rang. I went along to his suite,
but as I got to the outer door it opened and the
strange gentleman came out. He stopped and called
out to Mr. Abbeymead in the inner room: 'Oh, here
is your servant. Do not derange yourself, I beg. Till
to-morrow, then!' Mr. Abbeymead must have said


THE LIMPING MAN 29
something I did not hear—I was out in the corridor
all this time—for the stranger laughed, stepped back
to the door of the sitting-room, and said something
in a low tone, and came back to me laughing again.
He closed the door behind him and said to me: 'You
will show me the way out of your so enormous house,
my friend, lest I lose my way and be taken for a
robber?' He smiled as he said it, and I smiled too.
I took him to the lift and down to the hall, for I wanted
to inquire if there were any letters by the evening
post for Mr. Abbeymead. The gentleman went out,
and I had turned to go into the hall porter's office
when I heard my name called. It was Miss Greye.
She had been to see Mr. Abbeymead once or twice
before, and I think she was a typist or secretary in
some office where they were doing some business for
Mr. Abbeymead. She used to stay only a few minutes
as a rule. Miss Greye asked if Mr. Abbeymead was
in, and I said he was and that I was to show her up.
She saw I was waiting for the head hall porter to
finish looking through a big pile of letters that had
just come in, so she said she would go up, as she knew
the way and Mr. Abbeymead was expecting her. Of
course, knowing she'd been to Mr. Abbeymead's rooms
before, I thought no harm, so I said if she would
not mind doing so, rather than wait about, I would
follow her as soon as I'd found out about the letters.


30 THE LIMPING MAN
I took her to the lift, and she went up in it, and I
went back to the hall porter. There were no letters
for Mr. Abbeymead, as it turned out, but there was
one for a gentleman on the floor above him. The
man in charge of that floor was off duty till half-past
nine, so the head porter asked me if I would take
the letter up as it was not much out of my way, to
save sending a page with it. I went up and delivered
the letter and then went to my service room. After
being there some time, I thought I would go and make
sure that Mr. Abbeymead had everything he wanted.
He had said he would not want me again, but he was
always very considerate to the staff, and in conse-
quence we liked to go a bit out of our way to look
after him. So I went along to his room. When I went
in I saw that he was alone. Miss Greye had gone. I
spoke to Mr. Abbeymead, who was sitting in that arm-
chair. He did not answer, and then I noticed that
he seemed to be huddled up in an unnatural sort of
way. I switched on more light and it did not take me
more than a few seconds to find out that he was dead.
Maybe you'll think that I ought to have called for a
doctor first thing, sir, but I've seen so many dead men
that I knew forty doctors couldn't do much good to
poor Mr. Abbeymead. But I knew it wouldn't do to
have people running in and out and making a fuss and
disturbing things, so I locked the outer door and


THE LIMPING MAN 31
slipped down to Mr. Philip's room. He came up with
me at once and saw Mr. Abbeymead.
"I don't think there's anything more I can tell you,
gentlemen," concluded the valet.
"Your story has been most clear and helpful, Mel-
ford," said Sir Charles. "Now, just keep all this
to yourself, will you? The doctor has been able to
tell us that Mr. Abbeymead died from sudden heart
failure, so there is no object in distressing his friends
and upsetting people in the hotel by letting sensational
stories about suicide get about. You understand?"
"Perfectly, sir."
When the valet had left the room, Merivale turned
with decision to the proprietor of the hotel.
"Inspector Sims will see to the removal of the body
during the night, M. Philip," he said, "and we will
undertake the duty of communicating with the rela-
tives, and so on. I will ask you, therefore, to give
me that paper you have in your safe with the addresses
Mr. Abbeymead gave you. Dr. Carey, I shall be glad
to see you in my room at the Yard in half an hour,
if you please."


CHAPTER III
The following morning Professor Wells sat with
Sir Charles Merivale in the latter's room at Scotland
Yard. The Professor sprawled in a deep leathern arm-
chair and puffed at his pipe, while Merivale, his hands
clasped behind his back, paced thoughtfully up and
down.
"You think, then, that we are in deep waters?"
he asked presently.
"So deep," replied his friend, "that at present we
have no rope long enough to reach the bottom."
"Well?"
"The rope must be made. Tell me, is Sims to
handle the case?"
"I hardly care to spare him, there is so much urgent
work on hand, but if you really think it is worth
while"
"Look here, Merivale," interrupted the scientist,
"you know I am not in the habit of exaggerating.
Let us consider this Abbeymead affair for a few min-
utes, and I think you will agree that it requires very
cautious handling. You saw how I stopped you when
32


THE LIMPING MAN 33
you were about to ask Dr. Carey to make a post"
mortem"
"Yes, and I took the hint because I knew you
must have a good reason."
"And as soon as we got outside I asked you to have
the post-mortem made at once. My reason was simply
this: if Abbeymead's death were a perfectly natural
affair no harm would be done; but if there should be
something behind it which we do not yet understand,
it was advisable that we should not appear to be sus-
picious. You see my point?"
"But only Philip and the valet knew anything about
it. You do not suspect them, do you?"
"My dear fellow, I suspect everybody and nobody.
Philip and the valet probably know no more about
it than we do; on the other hand, they may know a
great deal that we do not. Further, there are the
mysterious stranger and the girl who visited Abbey-
mead. Now, Dr. Carey confirms, after the post-
mortem, his original diagnosis. He says that although
Abbeymead's body contained a quantity of morphia,
he undoubtedly died from heart failure before the
morphia had any effect. And he's not prepared to
say for certain that the amount of morphia taken
would have been sufficient to cause death; it might,
and it might not. Drugs act differently on different
people, so Carey is quite right in, declining to commit


34 THE LIMPING MAN
himself while there is the slightest margin of doubt."
"And do you not agree—as to the heart failure, I
mean?"
"In one sense, I do. Abbeymead certainly died
from failure of the heart's action, and his previous
condition was such as to warrant Carey in saying that
he might have lived for years, or might equally have
died—as he did—quite suddenly, at any moment. Bui
I may say without conceit, Merivale, that in my re-
search work I have covered a good deal of ground,
and I have devoted some attention to obscure poi-
sons."
"I know that very well," replied the official heartily.
"We have cause to know it here, for we have bene-
fited by your knowledge a dozen times."
"Very well, then. You have not forgotten, per-
haps, the case of James Probart, the retired cotton-
spinner who was so ingeniously murdered by Dr.
Hadley?"
"No, indeed. It was one of the strangest affairs in
which you ever helped us."
"It was. Dr. Hadley, you remember, escaped the
gallows by poisoning himself with a very rare drug
called Horolam, the action of which can be immediate
or delayed according to the formula used in its
composition."
"Well?"


THE LIMPING MAN 35
"Well, I strongly suspect that Roger Abbeymead
was poisoned by means of Horolain."
Merivale was too well used to crime in many strange
forms to be easily startled, but he did not attempt to
conceal his surprise. He stopped in front of his friend
and looked down at him for some moments without
speaking.
"I should like to know on what you base your
Iheory," he said at last.
The Professor emitted a great cloud of smoke.
"I cannot expect you to move," he said slowly, "or
to allow me to move in this case without giving you
some sort of evidence, how ever slight, to justify
your action. I propose to draw your attention to cer-
tain points of interest; if you consider them sufficiently
important you can put Sims on the case and let me
help him. If not, then the matter drops."
Merivale nodded, and sat down at his desk.
"Go on," he said.
"First of all," the Professor began, "I was struck
by the singular fact that a man like Abbeymead should
suddenly decide to take morphia at all. There was
only one puncture; had he been a slave to the drug
we should have found the marks of previous injec-
tions. Of course, as Dr. Carey said, a drug-taker
has to begin some time, but I am far from satis-
fied about the matter, so far. However, that can


36 THE LIMPING MAN
wait until we know more about his character and
habits.
"Before I go on, I ought to explain one point. I
told you I suspected that Mr. Abbeymead died from
Horolam poisoning. Now, Dr. Carey is not to blame
for not having come to that conclusion also. The fact
is, Horolain is a very difficult drug to detect—it is not
revealed by ordinary tests; Carey had no reason to
suspect its use, and therefore did not make any ex-
traordinary tests. But I should have asked you to
have the organs of the body submitted to a more search-
ing analysis if I had not been in possession of other
evidence. You will remember that there were three
glasses on the table in Abbeymead's room. Two had
evidently been used for whisky and soda; the third,
equally obviously, had contained a little water in which
a tablet or two of morphia had been crushed, and the
solution injected into Abbeymead's arm by means of
the hypodermic syringe. But one of the first two
glasses had contained something besides whisky and
soda. While you were looking at Abbeymead's body
I took up the three glasses and examined them. Per-
haps it was because I subconsciously suspected it, per-
haps it was only my somewhat acute sense of smell;
at any rate, I thought I noticed a faint, a very faint
odour, despite the smell of the whisky, which I rec-
ognised. There were still some drops of liquid at


THE LIMPING MAN 37
the bottom of the glass, and these I poured on to my
handkerchief. As soon as I left you I drove home
and hurried into my laboratory—my handkerchief
was still damp and gave off that faint, but to me un-
mistakable odour. To be brief, I at once applied a
certain test, and satisfied myself beyond doubt that
Horolain had been used.
"Thus, so far, we have the remarkable position that
(as I believe) Abbeymead was poisoned by an un-
known person who afterwards injects morphia into
the body, in the hope that it will deceive the doctor
called in; that the doctor recognises the presence of
the morphia, but is satisfied that Abbeymead died from
heart failure, and not from the effect of the morphia;
and that I am of opinion that Abbeymead's heart
failure was caused by a dose of Horolain put into
his whisky and soda before the morphia was in-
jected."
"If you are correct," said Merivale thoughtfully,
"we have to ask ourselves several questions. What
was the motive for the crime? Who committed it?
Who were Abbeymead's visitors on the evening of
his death?"
"As a general rule," replied Wells, "the motive
points to the criminal, but in this case we have no
clue to the motive. I think that we must find the
criminal before we can arrive at a solution of the


38 THE LIMPING MAN
problem. However, I may be wrong there; Abbey-
mead's solicitors may throw some light on his life
which will help us. As to the dead man's visitors,
there, indeed, we come to an interesting question. The
first visitor appears to have been a foreigner, or at
least of foreign extraction, a stranger to Abbeymead,
and either a medical man or one interested in some
other form of scientific work. And yet there are un-
satisfactory points about those conclusions too. The
second visitor, the girl, may prove to be a clerk in
the office of Abbeymead's solicitors, or some other
firm attending to his interests.
"But let us leave that for the moment. The im-
mediate question is: Are you going to take the case
in hand and let Sims handle it?"
Merivale smiled.
"You are like a child with a new toy, Wells," he
said, "whenever you scent a mystery. But let us
be serious. In any case, Abbeymead's death would
have to be the subject of certain proceedings, even
though Carey gave a certificate. There are the rela-
tives to be communicated with, and so forth. Now,
I was not altogether satisfied myself, and I confess
I pretended to hesitate a little this morning simply
to draw you out of that shell of reticence into which
you love to creep like a human tortoise. I have


THE LIMPING MAN 39
already told Sims to take charge of the case, and I
know he is counting on your collaboration."
"Excellent!" cried Wells. "I'll go to his room"
He was half out of his chair when his friend pushed
him back.
"Wait a minute," he said. "I've arranged a little
gathering here this morning which you will find in-
teresting. But first I'll call Sims."
Turning an arrow set in a circular metal plate until
it pointed to a certain figure, he pressed a button
let into his desk. He had barely time to light a cig-
arette when the door opened and Inspector Sims came
in.
"Ah, Sims," said his chief. "You will be glad
to hear that I have succeeded in persuading Pro-
fessor Wells to help us in this matter of Abbeymead's
death."
Sims's eyes twinkled.
"I am delighted to hear it, Sir Charles," he replied
gravely. "I had scarcely dared to hope"
"Shut up, confound you!" said the Professor,
chuckling. "I've fallen into your wretched trap for
once, so be content with your Machiavellian triumph.
But tell me," he added seriously, "what arrangements
have you made so far, Merivale?"
"I got the addresses of Abbeymead's solicitors and
of his heir from that paper Philip had in his safe,


40 THE LIMPING MAN
and I am expecting both parties here in about five
minutes."
"Good," remarked Wells; "then I have just time
to finish this pipe."


42 THE LIMPING MAN
indicates the presence of a pipe. Am I right, Mr.
Fane?"
"Er—yes," admitted the youth, not certain whether
this huge man was about to lecture him on the evils
of tobacco. But the blue eyes were twinkling behind
the gold-rimmed spectacles.
"Good," said the Professor; "I perceive that we
are brothers of the weed. Let us smoke our pipes,
Mr. Fane, and Merivale and his cigarettes may go to
the deuce."
The Professor's little joke had the desired effect.
Fane, who had entered Scotland Yard with an
absurd feeling of coming up for trial, had been unable
to conquer his nervousness on being shown into Meri-
vale's room. But the heartiness of his reception re-
assured him, and by the time the pipes had bean
filled and lit he was quite at his ease.
"Now, Mr. Fane," said Merivale kindly, "I must,
I am afraid, allude to a painful matter. I mean, of
course, the death of your uncle, Mr. Roger Abbey-
mead."
"Of course," Teddy replied, "my uncle's death
came as a great surprise to me. But I may as well
be quite frank with you, sir: Uncle Roger and I saw
very little of each other—but perhaps you know all
about it?"
"It is just because we know very little indeed about


THE LIMPING MAN 43
it," Merivale explained, "that I have asked you to
come here, and we shall be glad to hear anything you
can tell us about Mr. Abbeymead."
Teddy Fane hesitated for a moment.
"I don't want you to think I'm simply a cold-
blooded rotter, Sir Charles," he said, "but Uncle
Roger was almost a stranger to me. You see, when
my mother married, Uncle Roger did not like it.
My mother had always lived with him—he was a lot
older than she was—and I think it was more that he
was jealous of my father for taking her away than
that he really had any objection to the dad; indeed,
he could not have had," added the young fellow
proudly, "for the dad was one of the whitest men that
ever stepped. He was a doctor, with a practice in
the East End of London, and he really killed him-
self through sheer hard work. There was an epidemic
of something or other—I was only eight at the time
—and he worked day and night. Then he got pneu-
monia and died. Mother only lived three years after
him."
Teddy paused and attended with great care to his
pipe, which had gone out, and the others sat in silence.
"Well, that's that," the young fellow resumed, re-
covering himself. "Uncle Roger came along and was
kind enough in his silent sort of way. He sent me to
school and all that, and I was to have gone to Cam-


44 THE LIMPING MAN
bridge, but the war came along when I had just left-
school, and I went and told him I wanted to join up.
He made no objection, only he insisted on fixing up a
commission for me. I'd just as soon have gone into
the ranks. But I had been in the school O.T.C. and
learned enough to slope a rifle, and Uncle Roger got
me a commission in the London Regiment—I expect he
shoved a couple of years on my age—and gave me
a fet cheque for my kit too. When the war was over
I was rather keen to take up electrical work, and
again Uncle Roger gave me a hand. He got me into
a biggish firm in Victoria Street at a nominal salary,
and insisted on allowing me three hundred a year him-
self. Perhaps you'll think I'm a callous brute to
talk like this about him when, after all, he did a lot
for me, but he always kept me at a distance, some-
how. He used to ask me to dinner now and then, or
down to Abbeymead for a few days, but I always felt
he did it from a sense of duty, if you know what I
mean."
"Quite," replied Merivale, nodding. "Well, I think
He broke off as the private telephone on his desk
buzzed, and spoke into the instrument.
"Here is our legal friend," he went on, "Mr. Carbin,
of the firm of Carbin, Ponds and Carbin, of Staple
Inn."


THE LIMPING MAN 45
Mr. Carbin proved to be a small, precise man with
a dry manner and a single eyeglass. When he was
under the painful necessity of giving a direct answer
to an important question addressed to him, he would
polish his eyeglass carefully with a large silk hand-
kerchief, fix his glass in his eye, deliver his reply, and
allow the glass to fall to the full extent of its cord,
with the air of a man who has come creditably through
a trying ordeal.
"Mr. Carbin," said Merivale, when the necessary
introductions had been made, "I have asked you to
come here, as you are aware, in order to discuss cer-
tain matters connected with the death of Mr. Roger
Abbeymead. I believe I am correct in saying that
you were Mr. Abbeymead's adviser?"
"Mr. Abbeymead was a client of the firm of which
I am a member," replied Mr. Carbin.
"Mr. Abbeymead, as you know, died in the Hotel
Philip. He had given the proprietor your firm's ad-
dress as the persons to be communicated with should
such a necessity arise. You are, no doubt, conversant
with his affairs?"
Mr. Carbin polished his eyeglass.
"To a certain extent, yes," he replied.
"Not altogether?"
Mr. Carbin put up his glass.
"No man is ever fully conversant with the affairs


46 THE LIMPING MAN
of another man," he said, and allowed his glass to
fall.
Merivale's face hardened.
"Mr. Carbin," he said, "let us understand one an-
other. I am speaking to you in my official capacity
as a police officer, and I am sure that you, as a legal
man, will be anxious to assist me in so far as it may
be in your power to do so."
Mr. Carbin bowed.
"I must ask you to give me your assurance," Meri-
vale proceeded, "that you will regard what I am about
to say to you as strictly confidential—not even to
be communicated to your partners without my per-
mission."
"I am the head of the firm," replied the lawyer.
"My brother has only recently become qualified, and
Mr. Ponds was for many years my managing clerk.
I can use my own discretion regarding the affairs of
our clients."
"Very good. Now, Mr. Carbin, I have to tell you
that I am not satisfied as to the manner of Mr. Abbey-
mead's death."
Teddy Fane uttered an exclamation of amazement,
but Mr. Carbin only polished his eyeglass thoughtfully.
"I shall therefore be obliged," Sir Charles went on,
"if you will afford me all the information in your
power."


THE LIMPING MAN 47
"Pray tell me what you want to know," responded
the lawyer.
"First, then, as to Mr. Abbeymead's fortune and
its disposal?"
"I see no reason for secrecy on the point," answered
the little man. "Indeed, I anticipated the question.
Mr. Roger Abbeymead owned the property known as
Abbeymead, in the county of Kent. It consists of an
historic old mansion with a moderate amount of land
round it. Originally the property was much larger,
but Mr. Abbeymead disposed of the greater part of
it years ago. He disliked the responsibilities of a
landlord. In addition, my client possessed a con-
siderable fortune in securities of various kinds, amount-
ing in all to nearly a quarter of a million of money.
I have already given instructions for the preparations
of the necessary documents and for the proving of Mr.
Abbeymead's will, which is in my possession. I pro-
pose to place such documents at the disposal of the
heir at the earliest possible moment."
"And the heir, I think, is"
"The heir to Mr. Roger Abbeymead's fortune,"
added the lawyer, "is this gentleman, Mr. Edward
Abbeymead Fane."
"Me?" cried Teddy.
"Your uncle desired that you should remain in


48 THE LIMPING MAN
ignorance of the fact until his death, Mr. Fane," ex-
plained Mr. Carbin.
"From the hints he used to give me about every
man earning his own living by the sweat of his brow,
so to speak, I thought he was going to leave his money
to some institution, with a few hundred to me to start
an office with," said Teddy.
"You were his only relative," remarked the lawyer,
"and"
"You were about to say ?" hinted Merivale, as
Mr. Carbin paused.
"My province is rather to state facts than to ex-
press opinions," said the lawyer. "Nevertheless, in
an exceptional case of this kind"
"I am sure your opinions must be of the utmost
value," put in Sir Charles tactfully.
Mr. Carbin bowed.
"In that case," he said, "I am prepared to say that
in my view the late Mr. Abbeymead entertained a
greater degree of affection for Mr. Fane than he al-
lowed to appear. He has more than once spoken to
me of you, Mr. Fane, in favourable terms, particu-
larly on the occasion of your being awarded the Mili-
tary Cross."
"Hullo!" cried the Professor. "Have we been en-
tertaining a hero unawares?"
"Oh, rot!" cried Teddy, colouring. "I beg your


THE LIMPING MAN 49
pardon, sir," he added; "I mean that's all my eye.
It was just a bit of luck, don't you know. But I'm
glad the old—my uncle, that is—felt like that about
it."
"I am prepared to discuss your affairs, Mr. Fane,
at any time convenient to yourself," went on Mr. Car-
bin; "or, if you will give me the address of your
solicitors, to meet them with a view to handing my
responsibilities over to them."
"But I haven't got any solicitors," said Teddy
blankly. "Won't you go on looking after things,
then?"
Mr. Carbin permitted himself a contraction of the
facial muscles remotely approaching a smile.
"It is my duty, and in accordance with legal eti-
quette," he explained, "to speak as I have done. But,
of course, if you are good enough to wish to leave
your affairs in my hands"
"Rather!" said the ingenuous Teddy. "You strike
me as a jolly deep merchant, don't you know"
He stopped. Merivale and the others were unable
to contain their laughter, and even the lawyer unbent
a little.
"I'm awfully sorry," stammered the youth. "I
hadn't the least intention"
"Say no more, Mr. Fane," interposed Mr. Carbin.
"I shall be happy to try and justify your penetration."


SO THE LIMPING MAN
Professor Wells seized the psychological moment.
"Now that you have settled your business affairs,
Mr. Carbin," he said, "I am anxious to put a ques-
tion to you which I have wanted to ask ever since I
heard your name mentioned."
Mr. Carbin bowed, and felt for his eyeglass.
"Is it possible," said the Professor reverently, "that
I have the pleasure of speaking to the Mr. Carbin
a recent monograph from whose pen resulted in his
election to a Fellowship of the Conchological Society?"
Mr. Carbin's eyes lit up.
"In point of fact . . ." he stammered, "they were
good enough. . . . Undeserved honour. . . . Deeply
sensible of it. . . ."
"My dear sir," cried the Professor, seizing his
hand, "this is indeed an unexpected pleasure! Come,
come; you and I must have a chat outside this hor-
ribly official atmosphere. You must dine with me in
Russell Square"
"Russell Square?" cried Mr. Carbin, utterly over-
come. "Are you the Professor Wells?"
"You are too kind," said the Professor, with a
humility that made Merivale choke, while Sims turned
and looked out of the window.
Mr. Carbin departed, pledged to break bread with
the Professor on the following evening, and Wells
leaned against the mantelpiece and chuckled.


CHAPTER V
Teddy Fane whistled gaily as he left his rooms
in an old-fashioned house in Queen Square, emerged
into Southampton Row and proceeded to the Victoria
Street offices of those respectable electrical engineer-
ing consultants, Messrs. Welman and Keydock. Ob-
taining audience of Mr. Welman, he had briefly re-
ferred to the sudden death of Mr. Abbeymead, and
had received from the senior partner permission to
absent himself from the office as long as his private
affairs demanded. Mr. Welman, indeed, on learning
that Teddy was his uncle's heir, appeared to expect
that the young man would at once sever his connec-
tion with the firm, but Teddy explained with dignity
that in his opinion the acquirement of an unearned
fortune did not exempt a man from the duty of con-
tributing personal service to the world in which he
lived. Mr. Welman, smiling thoughtfully, agreed, and
when Teddy had left the room the senior partner
glanced at the white moustache which the mantelpiece
mirror showed him, and sighed. Mr. Welman's
shrewdness was a byword in Victoria Street.
Meanwhile, Teddy had stopped in the little room
53


THE LIMPING MAN 5&
outside Mr. Welman's apartment, where that gentle-
man's private secretary worked, the envy of the girls
in the big outer office.
Miss Joyce Barrett was slim, brown haired and
brown eyed. To Mr. Welman she was far above rubies,
because she could not only write shorthand rapidly,
transcribe it accurately, and type it out neatly, but
could also compose an intelligent and polite reply to
the average letter without more explicit instructions
than "Confound the fellow! Does he think we're
fools? Tell him to go to the deuce, Miss Barrett,
and that our quotation is a perfectly fair one. If
he wants the work done he must pay for it." With the
other ladies of the staff she was not popular owing
to her habit of keeping herself to herself ("And who
M she, after all, I should like to know?"), her lack
of interest in the subject of "boys," and a certain
cool indifference to public opinion as represented by
the outer office.
Miss Barrett's duties, however, sometimes took her
into the drawing office and other rooms occupied by
the clerks and the budding or full-blown engineers,
and in this domain she certainly could not complain
of receiving the cold shoulder. Indeed, more than
one broad shoulder would gladly have sustained that
brown hair (bobbed as only Raffoni can) and the head
it adorned. But if Miss Barrett exhibited indifference-


54 THE LIMPING MAN
to the fairer portion of the establishment, her demean-
our to the sterner sex was marked by a reserve amount-
ing (as the ledger clerk, whose wife was a student of
Ethel M. Dell, said) to positive hauteur.
Nevertheless, Teddy told himself in moments of
exaltation that on him alone had Miss Barrett per-
mitted her brown eyes to rest without experiencing
that feeling of nausea which would naturally be pro-
duced by the sight, for example of that smirking ass,
the chief draughtsman, or that master of suburban
humour, the ledger clerk. At other times Teddy
prostrated himself in the mental mud of hopeless des-
pair, after the manner of young men in love.
This morning, however, there was a subtle change
in Mr. Fane's manner. He did not for one moment
think that mere money would influence Joyce in her
matrimonial decision; but after all, when you have
a quarter of a million behind you, to say nothing of
an historic mansion (vide Mr. Carbin), it does rather
"buck you up, you know—what?
So Teddy's "Good-moming, Miss Barrett" as he
went into Mr. Welman's room had a ring in it which
that observant young lady did not fail to note, and
she was not wholly surprised when, emerging from
the sanctum in due time, Teddy stopped beside her
desk and said:
"Oh—er—Miss Barrett!"


THE LIMPING MAN 55
Joyce, eargerly perusing a document, her right hand
poising a pencil over a note-pad, replied:
"Yes, Mr. Fane. Would you excuse me one mo-
ment? Three thousand four hundred and seventy-
five; cost of installation included; repairs to plant
free for two years; yes, Mr. Fane?"
Said Teddy boldly:
"Miss Barrett, I wonder if you'd do me a favour?"
"Why, of course," replied Miss Barrett blithely;
"you want me to turn up the figures about that
wretched Taybridge contract for you, I suppose?"
"Da—ash the Taybridge contract!" replied Teddy.
"Look here, Miss Barrett, I want to—to talk to you
about something awfully important. Would you—
would you very much mind meeting me somewhere?
Half a minute!" he added hurriedly, seeing her smile
vanish. "Do listen to me, Miss Barrett. You see,
I'm leaving here to-day—for a time, anyhow—and
you can help me tremendously, if you will. I've got
some private business in hand, and while I'm away
I want to be sure—I mean—look here, Miss Barrett,
I say; can't you trust me?"
Joyce looked up at the earnest, boyish face with
its steady eyes, and amazed herself by doing what
five seconds before she had not had the least inten-
tion of doing.
"Very well, Mr. Fane," she said in her most busi-


56 THE LIMPING MAN
nesslike way; and presently Teddy, realising that she
had actually promised to dine with him that evening,
placed a humane but conscientious policeman in a
painful dilemma by capering in the public street.
Moderating his outward manifestations of inward
joy, Teddy made his way to Soho, wondering whether
he could get that corner in the alcove at the Cafe
Fleuri where they couldn't hear you talking at the
next table. He must get it; one could not propose
marriage, even in these casual days, in the very middle
of a crowded dining-room.
The little table in the alcove was, it appeared, dis-
engaged, and the discreet Jules would be on duty too.
Teddy booked the table there and then, and insisted
on Jules being produced, protesting, from his rest in
some obscure portion of the building. However, a
Treasury note healed Jule's lacerated feelings, and
he politely pretended to collaborate with Teddy in
the composition of a choice menu. What really hap-
pened, of course, was that Jules chose the dishes and
congratulated Teddy on his gastronomic genius.
This done, Teddy found that he had just time to
walk briskly up to Russell Square, where he was to
lunch with Professor Wells.
At the scientist's house he found Inspector Sims,
and the three presently sat down to a meal which they
enjoyed all the more because Wells absolutely for-


THE LIMPING MAN 57
bade any reference to the tragic business which had
originally brought them together.
In due time they adjourned to the library and the
Professor, standing on the hearthrug, expounded.
"Now," he said, "it is time, I think, that we laid
down some sort of plan of campaign. You must under-
stand," he went on, addressing Teddy, "that Sims,
here, is in absolute command. Because he lets me
talk a great deal and be rather impertinent to him
sometimes, you must not think I don't appreciate very
much the privilege of being allowed to help him in
his investigations."
Inspector Sims laughed.
"I can assure you, Fane," he said, "that the Pro-
fessor has no Irish blood in him, so far as the police
records show, at least; but I am quite certain that
he goes across the water and kisses the Blarney Stone
at least once a year. Seriously, he and I have followed
a good many trails together, and many a time he has
pulled me out of a blind alley. But this is develop-
ing into a sort of Mutual Admiration Society," he
added, smiling at Wells. "Now, Professor, let us have
your views."
Wells sent a cloud of smoke curling to the ceiling.
"It seems to me," he said, "that there are certain
avenues which we can explore, to use a horribly politi-
cal phrase. Of these, the most important are those


58 THE LIMPING MAN
that may lead us to the two persons who visited Mr.
Abbeymead on the day of his death. I have no doubt,
Sims, that you have already taken steps to find these
people?"
Sims nodded.
"Yes," he said; "that was, of course, an obvious
measure. But I am compelled to admit that so far
my inquiries have not been successful, though I put
two of our best men on the job. The foreign-look-
ing man described by the valet, Mel ford, is—except
for his deformed foot—a common enough type in Lon-
don, and nobody in the hotel besides the valet had
any particular reason for observing him. However,
we shall, of course, continue our inquiries."
"And the second visitor—the girl?"
"She was also, in her way, an ordinary type. I
am not sure that if we do find her we shall get much
information from her. Still, one never knows, and
in her case I have a small clue."
"A clue?" repeated the Professor.
"Aha!" said the Inspector, chuckling. "That sur-
prises you, does it? Well, you surprised me about
the Horolain in the glass, so I owe you a surprise in
my turn."
He took a piece of tissue paper from his pocket
and unrolled it. The others, bending forward, saw
a small coral bead of a delicate rose-pink hue.


THE LIMPING MAN 59
"You will notice," said the detective, "that the hole
in this bead does not go right through. That sug-
gests that the bead was a pendant to a string or neck-
lace, rather than a part of the necklace itself. Prob-
ably the necklace had one or more pendants of a few
beads, terminating in each case in a bead similar to
this."
"Where did you find it?" asked the Professor.
"I found it on the chair in which Mr. Abbeymead
was lying."
"That's jolly queer," said Teddy.
"I fancy there is a simple explanation," replied the
detective. "I imagine that the girl bent over the body,
thinking, perhaps, that Mr. Abbeymead was asleep.
Realising the truth, she stood up quickly. You may
have noticed that Mr. Abbeymead was wearing a flower
in the buttonhole of his dinner-jacket? Melford tells
me that it was a habit of his"
"That is so," put in Teddy. "My uncle was very
keen on flowers, and he almost always wore some sort
of buttonhole, even in the evenings. I remember
noticing that."
"Very well. Now, he had a small silver flower-
holder in his buttonhole, and I fancy the bead caught
in it and was jerked off when the girl stood up. The
little fastener attaching it to the necklace was prob-
ably not very secure."


60 THE LIMPING MAN
The Professor nodded.
"Yes," he agreed. "The theory is reasonable."
"Excuse my butting in," said Teddy diffidently. "I
mean, it's rather cheeky of me to argue with you"
"Not a bit," said the Inspector encouragingly.
"What's your idea?"
"Well, you suggest that my uncle was already dead
when the girl arrived?"
"What then?"
"But, if you remember, the valet told us that the
foreign chap spoke to my uncle as he was leaving
the room. So he—my uncle—was alive then. And it
hardly seems probable that it was the girl who mur-
dered him."
"Why?" asked Sims coolly. "There are murder-
esses as well as murderers, you know. But, as a mat-
ter of fact, in this case I am inclined to think that the
man, and not the girl, was the criminal, unless Mr.
Abbeymead committed suicide."
"But, if so, how do you account for the fact that
the foreigner was talking to him as he came out?"
Sims smiled.
"That is not difficult," he said. "Melford heard the
foreigner speak to your uncle, but he did not say
that he heard your uncle reply."
Teddy cogitated.


THE LIMPING MAN 61
"Then he must have been a pretty cool hand to
talk to a dead man, to deceive Melford," he said.
"If I am not mistaken," Sims replied, "he was a
very cool hand indeed."
"I agree with you," said the Professor thoughtfully.
"Now, as to our next move," Sims resumed after a
short pause. "I should like to know something more
about Mr. Abbeymead's habits and pursuits."
"I hope to get something out of Mr. Carbin when
he dines with me to-night," remarked the Professor.
"I hope you will. But I am not sure that it will
carry us very far. Now, what about Abbeymead, your
uncle's place in Kent, Fane? When do you take
possession?"
"I thought of going down there to-morrow or the
day after," Teddy answered.
"Excellent! And if you would care to invite a
couple of your friends to go with you, I am sure they
would be very glad to keep you company."
"Eh?" said Teddy. "Oh, I see," he added. "You
and the Professor?"
"Exactly."
"Rather! I'd be delighted to have you."
"Right. If that suits you, Wells?"
"Perfectly. I think it would be a very good idea."
Sims looked at his watch.


62
THE LIMPING MAN
"I must be going," he said. "I want to clear up
one or two matters before I leave town."
"All right," said Wells. "I'll do my best with the
little lawyer to-night. Would you care to join us,
Fane?"
"I have an—an engagement, thanks," stammered
the youth, furious at the colour he felt mounting to
his cheeks.
The Professor remarked that he hoped the weather
would keep up, in which case they might as well go
down to Abbeymead in his car.


64 THE LIMPING MAN
black velvet, which displayed a white throat and
rounded arms. On her shoulders, and caught at the
bosom by a cameo brooch, was what Teddy would
have described as a wisp of some soft stuff, but which
would have made a woman wonder how a secretary-
typist came to possess such an exquisite Indian shawl.
Jules had done his work faithfully. From the hors
d'oeuvre onwards the meal was a success, and if Teddy
did not appreciate it, Joyce did. There was a still,
white wine that would have made an ardent Prohi-
bitionist think twice.
Teddy had made shift to keep up a conversation
of sorts, but when Jules had poured the black coffee
into the tiny cups, had laid beside each a brandy—
not, indeed, like that of the Hotel Philip, but still
worthy of respect—had provided a light for their cig-
arettes, and had withdrawn, Teddy looked straight
into the girl's eyes and drew a long breath.
"Now," he said, "I want to talk to you!"
Perhaps it was the excellent wine that had brought
a deeper hue to Joyce's cheeks.
She laughed a little nervously as she said:
"About—your business?"
"About—my business," said Teddy. "You see"
The words died away on his lips.
Joyce, leaning comfortably back, had unfastened
her brooch and thrown off her shawl, and Teddy saw


THE LIMPING MAN 65
for the first time that she was wearing a long string
of rose-pink coral beads.
Half a dozen beads formed a pendant, and from
the pendant the last bead was missing.
For a moment everything seemed to be swinging
dizzily round him, just like that day in France when
a German shell exploded in the middle of his com-
pany. . . . Cold fingers were closing around his
heart. . . .
With a tremendous effort of will he pulled him-
self together.
"What is it? Are you ill?" Joyce was saying.
He leaned forward and looked into her startled eyes.
"Who are you?" he demanded hoarsely.
The colour faded from her face.
"What—what do you mean?" she murmured.
"Answer me," he said, an almost savage ring in
his voice. "Are you Pamela Greye?"
The girl put her hand to her heart, her breath com-
ing quickly. Then she raised her head and met his
gaze proudly.
"Yes!" she answered.
"My God!" Teddy whispered, such horror in his
voice that the girl shivered.
"I do not understand how you knew," she said.
"But—but why do you look at me like that?"
Teddy took up his brandy and drank it off. Set-


66
THE LIMPING MAN
ting down the glass, he looked long and searchingly
into the brown eyes that met his gaze so steadily;
in them he read surprise, but neither fear nor deceit.
Suddenly he rose, his mind made up.
"Come," he said simply. "I must speak to you
alone. We'll go to my rooms."
He had paid' his bill and sent for a taxicab before
she could gain a word with him out of earshot of the
people round them.
"But I can't go to your rooms "she began.
He cut her short impatiently, his mind concerned
with too grave an issue to have room for conven-
tionalities.
"Oh, rot!" he said. "This is too serious for us
to stand on ceremony. Besides, you're going to
marry me, so what does it matter?"
Joyce—or rather Pamela—never quite understood
how she allowed this amazing statement to pass with-
out protest, but Teddy seemed in some incompre-
hensible way to have changed suddenly from a nice
boy who was obviously in love with her to an ex-
ceedingly masterful man who had in some way dis-
covered her real name and was greatly excited about
it, and who apparently regarded their union as a
thing so inevitable that it could be temporarily pushed
into the background while they discussed more urgent
matters. And the strangest thing about it was that


THE LIMPING MAN 67
she, the independent and capable Miss Barrett, or
Greye, found herself actually submitting to this male
governance with a docility that came perilously near
to wifefulness. When, in the taxicab, Teddy's hand
sought and held her own, she did not withdraw from
the clasp; but something in his set jaw and the sud-
denly old look that had come over his young face kept
her silent.
In this strange muteness they sat while the cab
rattled its way through the twists and turnings that
brought it at last to Queen Square.
In his sitting-room Teddy thrust the girl into a
great arm-chair in which her slim figure was almost
lost. Tossing his hat and gloves into a corner, he
walked up and down the room two or three times in
silence.
Then, his hands thrust into his jacket pockets, he
stood squarely before her.
"Listen," he said, choosing his words with care. "I
want you to hear what I must say before you say
anything. It—it is very important."
"To me, or to you?" she asked.
"To you—and, God knows! to me too," he answered,
a catch in his voice. Steadying himself, he resumed:
"So you are Pamela Greye! And I never imagined
•—but there was no reason why I should. You, then,


68
THE LIMPING MAN
were the girl who visited my uncle on the day he
died"
She had sprung to her feet, her hands locked to-
gether.
"Your uncle?" she cried.
"Yes. Didn't you know that Roger Abbeymead
was my uncle?"
"Know? How should I know? You must know,
if you were his nephew, how strange he was. No doubt
he thought it funny that we should be in that office
together and not know . . ."
She stopped; then a note of horror crept into her
voice.
"Of course," she said slowly, "of course, I see
now what you meant. You have found out that I
was with him, and you—you think . . ."
She sank back into the chair again and buried her
face in her hands.
Teddy hesitated. Then he knelt down and, taking
her hands into his own, he pulled them away from
her face and pressed them to his lips.
"I think only this," he said gently; "I think that
you are just the best and sweetest woman in the
world, and that you are going to be my wife."
Into Pamela's eyes there came a wonderful light
She forgot everything save that a man—her man—
had spoken words to her which no woman can ever


THE LIMPING MAN 69
hear unmoved. With a little sigh she raised herself
towards him, his arms went round her, and their lips
met. For a moment they clung together, her heaving
bosom telling him without need of words what her
answer must be.
Then she tore herself away.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" she cried. "I am afraid
—afraid"
Teddy rose and smiled down at her.
"You need not be afraid of anything, little one,"
he said.
"But—you know"
"I know that you were with my uncle that day,"
he interrupted. "And I know that presently you are
going to explain all about it, and then we shall see
what is the best thing to do."
"Yes," she answered with something of her old de-
cision, "I can explain—to you. But other people may
not believe. . . . Tell me, how did you know?"
He pointed to the string of beads she wore.
"There is a bead missing," he said; "it was found
in my uncle's room."
"Then they think—?" she whispered, and stopped,
her lips trembling.
"They know that my uncle was dead before you
saw him," he said.
The colour came slowly back to her pale cheeks.


70 THE LIMPING MAN
"Tell me what we must do," she said simply, and
Teddy's pulse quickened at the appeal.
He looked at his watch and crossed the room to
the telephone that stood on a side-table. Giving a
number, he waited. The girl sat in silence, her hands
clasped in her lap.
"Is Professor Wells in? . . . Yes, please. Say
it is Mr. Fane speaking. ... Is that you, Professor?
Has Mr. Carbin gone? . . . Just gone? Good! Can
you see me at once? I want to bring a friend with
me. . . . Thanks. We'll be there in five minutes.
Good-bye."
He turned to the girl.
"Come along," he said cheerfully; "we are going
to see a man I'd trust with more than my life—yours!"
I


72 THE LIMPING MAN
shares, and matters connected with the Kent property.
A providential last train to the place of Mr. Car-
bin's abode caused that gentleman to tear himself
away earlier than the Professor had hoped, and Wells
sat down to piece together such fragments of informa-
tion as he had been able to extract from his guest.
Teddy's telephone message interrupted his reflec-
tions, and he concluded that the young man had
evolved some ingenious theory which, in the im-
patience of youth, he desired to submit to his mentor
without delay. The Professor did not suffer fools
gladly, but he had taken a liking to the frank young
fellow, and he did not wish to discourage an enthu-
siastic energy which might prove of considerable value
when directed by a more experienced head. Besides,
Teddy did not seem to him to be a fool.
When, therefore, "Mr. Fane and a friend" were
announced, he rose to receive his visitors with a
pleasant good humour that was not altogether assumed.
Although he was wont to say that one should never
be surprised at anything, because everything in life
was really surprising from some point of view, the
Professor was certainly taken aback when Teddy
ushered a beautiful girl into the room and said gravely:
"Professor Wells, let me present you to my fiancee,
Miss Pamela Greye."
Pamela's cheeks flamed, but she met the Profes-


THE LIMPING MAN 73
sor's look of astonishment with a quiet dignity that
recalled him to himself.
Crossing the room, he peered down at her for a
moment. Then he took her hand in his.
"I am very glad you have come to me, my dear,"
he said gently. "I am too old for Fane to be jealous
of me, you know, so come and sit beside me on this
couch, and let us have a great talk."
Of course, Pamela at once burst into tears, and
Teddy proceeded to comfort her, while the Profes-
sor left the room. When he returned, Pamela had re-
covered her composure, and smiled as she assured
him that she felt perfectly well.
"That's excellent," he replied cheerfully. "Now,
do you know what I've been doing? I have been tell-
ing them to make some tea for us—China tea. I hope
you like China tea? I have a terribly bad habit of
drinking it at all hours of the day and night."
He would not let Teddy get in a word until the
tea had appeared and he had poured it out himself
and seen the girl begin to drink it. Then he turned
to the impatient youth and said:
"And now, young man, perhaps you'll explain this
startling surprise which you have seen fit to spring
upon a nervous old man?"
Teddy laughed in some embarrassment.
"The fact is, sir," he replied, "that I was so rattled


74 THE LIMPING MAN
myself that I thought I'd better bring Joyce—Pamela
round to you to explain it herself."
"And did Joyce—Pamela agree?" asked the Pro-
fessor, his eyes twinkling.
Pamela laughed in her turn.
"You see," she explained, "until this evening
Mr."
"Teddy!" put in that gentleman sternly.
"Teddy," she amended obediently; "Teddy knew
me as Joyce Barrett until this evening. I was in the
same office as he was, all the time, and neither of us
knew the other was—I mean, I didn't know he was
Mr. Abbeymead's nephew, and he didn't know that
I knew his uncle."
"And how did you come to find out each other's
secret?"
"It was like this," Teddy explained; "I asked
Pamela to come and have dinner with me, and dis-
cuss some—er—important business. I didn't tell her
what it was, of course"
"Of course not," put in the Professor gravely.
"I told her I should take it as a great favour, as
I was going away, and it was a matter she could help
me in—if you see what I mean?"
"Certainly," said the Professor.
"Oh, well, hang it all! You know what I mean,
anyhow," Teddy went on desperately, and the Pro-


THE LIMPING MAN 75
fessor succeeded in suppressing a chuckle. "Well, we
had dinner, and it wasn't until we had finished that
I noticed she was wearing a string of those pink coral
beads, you know, and one was missing. Then I gave
myself away altogether, and then she came along to
my rooms to talk things over, and then I brought her
round here. That's really all there is to it."
"Your account of the affair is admirably clear," re-
plied the Professor, "especially the parts you have
left out. Now, my dear," he added, turning to the
girl, "do you think you can trust me with your secrets?"
Pamela took his hand impulsively.
"I'm going to tell you everything I know," she said,
"and do just whatever you think best."
The Professor patted her hand. Then he went to
the mantelpiece and took down a great meerschaum
pipe, filled and lit it.
"Now," he said with a kindliness that was not free
from a hint of anxiety, "I am ready."
The girl thought for a moment; then she began her
story in a calm, methodical manner that evidenced
at once her self-control and her intelligence.
"My real name," she said, "is Pamela Greye. I
have been working as secretary to Mr. Welman, of
Welman and Keydock, electrical engineers in Victoria
Street, under the name of Joyce Barrett. That was
my mother's maiden name. I have known Mr. Abbey-


76 THE LIMPING MAN
mead since I was a little girl—I am twenty-two now
—although until a couple of years ago I only saw him
about once or twice a year.
"What I am telling you now," she interrupted her-
self to explain, "is put together partly from things my
mother told me, partly from what I found out at dif-
ferent times. But I don't want to keep breaking off
and going back"
"Quite so," said the Professor. "Tell me the story
first, and I can question you afterwards on any point
that seems obscure."
"Many years ago," Pamela went on, "Mr. Abbey-
mead and my father, Hilary Greye, both fell in love
with my mother. She married my father, but he and
Mr. Abbeymead were still friends, as they had been
before. Soon after I was born, my father, who was
a stockbroker, was killed in a railway accident. His
solicitor, a Mr. Carbin"
"Carbin?" cried Teddy. "He was my uncle's solic-
itor too."
"Yes, but we did not—I mean, my mother did
not know that at the time. Mr. Carbin settled up
my father's affairs, and told my mother that there
was enough money invested to bring her in about
six hundred a year. My father had always seemed
to have plenty of money, but he never discussed his
business affairs with my mother. He was passionately


THE LIMPING MAN 77
fond of her, and he always used to tell her that she
was too beautiful to be allowed to hear about any
but beautiful things. Mother was a very clever
woman, really, but she loved my father so much that
she was willing to give up many intellectual tastes
for his sake, for my father hated what he called
'advanced' women. When he died, mother devoted
herself to me. We used to see Mr. Abbeymead at
long intervals. He would have offered to marry my
mother if she had given him the least hope; but I
know that such an idea never entered her head. She
looked on him as a dear friend, but that was all.
"When I was fourteen mother died. She had been
ill for a long time, though I never knew it. Mr. Abbey-
mead came then, and was very kind to me. He took
me to Abbeymead for a time, but he saw I was dread-
fully lonely, and then he sent me to a school in Paris.
He had told me that he and Mr. Carbin were my
guardians under my mother's will, and that when I
was older he would tell me all about my affairs. I did
not care much about anything just then but mother's
death; then the new life in the French school—where
they were very good to me—began to interest me.
I did not understand then why my guardian—as I
called him—had me taught typewriting and shorthand
as well as the ordinary subjects a girl learns. The
head mistress told me that my guardian believed that


78 THE LIMPING MAN
all girls and boys should be able to earn their living,
even if they did not need to, and that satisfied me.
"It was not until I was nearly nineteen that I left
the French school and came back to England. My
guardian—Mr. Abbeymead, you know—met me and
took mq down to Abbeymead. The next day he called
me into the library and told me that he had a con-
fession to make now that I was a woman, and not
a schoolgirl any longer. He made me promise to keep
what he told me a secret, but now that these things
have happened I do not think he would mind my tell-
ing you.
"He explained that when my father died his affairs
were in a very bad state; in fact, he was on the verge
of ruin. A man he had trusted had swindled him, but
he had done it so cleverly that the law couldn't touch
him. My mother would have had practically no
money if Mr. Abbeymead had not helped her secretly,
through Mr. Carbin. He made Mr. Carbin swear
never to tell anyone about it.
"He had paid for my education after mother died,
and now he handed me a cheque-book and told me
he had put ten thousand pounds in a bank in my
name, so that if anything happened to him I should
be provided for.
"Of course, I was awfully upset about it all, and
tremendously grateful to him for having saved poor


THE LIMPING MAN 79
mother any hardship or distress. But somehow I felt
I could not take the ten thousand pounds. He did
not seem so surprised as I expected, and he said he
had had me taught typewriting so that if I insisted on
earning my own living I should have a fair chance
of doing it. But he begged me to keep the cheque-
book, all the same, whether I used the money or
not. He said there were reasons I knew nothing about,
and he was so earnest about it that I gave in, though
I never have touched the money at all.
"Then he got me my post with Mr. Welman, and I
have been there ever since."
She paused, and the Professor poured her out an-
other cup of tea, forgetting in his abstraction that it
was nearly cold.
"I wonder," said Teddy thoughtfully, "why he did
not tell you I was his nephew, and why he took such
care that we should never meet at Abbeymead."
"I fancy," said the Professor, noting Pamela's col-
our, "that he hoped that a certain mutual attraction
might arise more naturally of itself than if he openly
threw two young people together and expressed a
wish on the subject."
Teddy whistled.
"By Jove!" he said. "I belive you may be right,
Professor."


8o
THE LIMPING MAN
"Thank you," replied the Professor gratefully, and
Pamela laughed.
"But come," Wells added seriously; "we are tiring
Miss Greye"
"I am not tired, and I will not be Miss Greye'd by
you" said that young lady firmly.
"Very well, then—Pamela. Now, if you are really
not too tired, there are certain questions I should
like to put to you."
The girl nodded.
"You told us," the Professor went on, "that you
rarely saw Mr. Abbeymead until a couple of years
ago."
"Yes."
"Then during the last two years you have been
more in touch with him?"
"Very much more."
"How did that come about?"
"That is one of the things I cannot understand. I
mean, I can tell you about things that happened, but
I can't tell you why they happened. Soon after I
went to Welman and Keydock's my guardian asked
Mr. Welman if he might borrow me occasionally for
some work of his own. Mr. Welman and my guardian
had been at school together, I believe, and they were
great friends. Mr. Welman agreed at once. My
guardian used to send for me perhaps once or twice


THE LIMPING MAN 81
in a month. Each time it was to go to some shop
and either buy a curio or inquire about it for him.
I had also a roving commission to keep an eye on all
the antique shops I might pass and tell him if I saw
a particular kind of medal. Generally, on the days
when he sent for me, I used to meet him after I had
been to the shop he wanted me to visit, and we would
have lunch or tea or dinner together, according to
the time it might be."
"Did you always lunch or dine, as the case might
be, at the Hotel Philip?" asked Wells.
"Oh, no. It was always somewhere else. My
guardian used to go to all sorts of different places—
sometimes a restaurant in Soho, sometimes a big
hotel, sometimes an old-fashioned place like the
Cheshire Cheese, off Fleet Street."
"And the antique shops—did you only go to two
or three, or to a large number?"
"Oh, a great many. And nearly every Friday either
my guardian or I went to the Caledonian Market and
wandered about the stalls there. Once or twice I
went with him. He was very fond of that place, and
used to spend hours poking about among the second-
hand stuff. Lots of the dealers there knew him—by
sight, at least."
The Professor sprang up and began to walk up and


82 THE LIMPING MAN
down the room, still sucking at his pipe, athough only
ashes remained in the bowl.
Presently he stopped and turned to the girl once
more.
"One more question—and a painful one, I fear,"
he said; "and then I am going to send you to bed. Will
you tell me as briefly as possible about your last visit
to Mr. Abbeymead?"
The girl's lips quivered, but she answered firmly.
"My guardian had telephoned to me during the
afternoon asking me to call that evening or the next
day," she began, when Wells interrupted her quickly.
"Did he seem distressed or upset about anything?"
he asked.
"Not at all. Indeed, in his reserved way he seemed
to be in unusually good spirits. He said he wanted
to tell me something, but it could wait until the next
day if it would be more convenient. I explained that
we were rather busy in the office and I might be work-
ing late, in which case, as he said it was not urgent,
I would call at the hotel on the following day. I
finished earlier than I expected, and went round to
the hotel. There, by the way, I always gave my real
name, at his request; he never objected to my using
my mother's name in business, but he never used it
himself except when ringing me up at the office, where,


THE LIMPING MAN 83
of course, they would not have recognized the other
name.
"In the hall of the Hotel Philip I saw Melford, the
man who looked after my guardian, and he asked
me to go up, as I was expected. When I got into
my guardian's room, I saw him half lying in a big
chair, and I thought at first he was asleep. Then
something in his attitude struck me, and I bent over
him. I—I realized then"
"That he was dead," said the Professor gently, as
she paused. "But tell me this: why did you slip out
without calling for help or waiting for Melford to
come?"
Pamela hesitated for a moment; then she said
frankly:
"It does seem an extraordinary thing to have done,
and it must have made you suspicious. But I was
frightened—horribly frightened. About six months
ago my guardian said something very strange to me.
He told me that if anything should happen to him sud-
denly I was on no account to come to him, and if it
meant his death I was to wait until everything had
been settled, and then go to the heir to the property
and give him a certain message. He particularly said
that if anything should happen to him when I was with
him, I was to leave him at once, and to do my best to
get away without anybody seeing me.


84 THE LIMPING MAN
"I know all this seems simply mad when you put
it into words, but my guardian had a reason for every-
thing he did, and I had learned to trust him absolutely.
Of course, I was alarmed, but he said he was only
providing against accidents, and probably nothing at
all would happen. He hoped to be able to explain
everything soon, and he said I would understand then
why he seemed to be making a mystery of it. I am tell-
ing it all very badly," added the girl, "but if you had
known my guardian as I did, you would understand
why I had such faith in him. When I saw him lying
there in his chair, and remembered what he had made
me promise, I was terrified, and I began to imagine
all sorts of things. I slipped out into the corridor
and got out of the hotel before Melford came, and
after that I had to go on doing my work in the office
and pretending everything was all right."
"You spoke," said the Professor after a short
silence, "of a message to be given to Mr. Abbeymead's
heir. Did you know who the heir was to be?"
"No. He said that in case of necessity I should
be able to find out from Mr. Carbin."
The Professor nodded.
"I understand," he said thoughtfully. "And what
was the message you were to give him?"
"It is a letter—a sealed letter. I have it put away
safely."


THE LIMPING MAN 85
The Professor sat down and went into a brown
study.
Presently Teddy coughed, and said diffidently:
"What do you think we'd better do now, sir?"
"Do?" eachoed the Professor, rousing himself. "Do?
What you must do is to go away home. As for
Pamela, she will sleep here—I'll get my housekeeper
to look after her. No! Not a word now. She must
not go back to her lodgings. To-morrow we'll get
her belongings. Oh, and by-the-by, Fane, I think
we'd better put off our visit to Abbeymead until Mon-
day; I'll ring up Sims to-morrow about it. You'll
have to put up an extra guest too."
''Pamela?" cried Teddy, transported.
"Precisely. I must do my best as a chaperon, I
suppose. Now I am going to find that housekeeper
of mine. Say 'Good-night' nicely to Pamela."
And Teddy said it very nicely, Pamela thought.


CHAPTER VIII
Teddy having been ruthlessly thrust into the street,
and Pamela consigned to the motherly care of the
housekeeper, Professor Wells went into the library
and, having already smoked too much that day, filled
his largest pipe.
When, after months of patient labour in his labora-
tory, he found himself confronted by an apparently
insuperable obstacle in his search for some elusive
chemical element, it was his habit to shut himself up
in his library, or to wander about the streets, and to
endeavour to review his proceedings from the begin-
ning and ascribe their correct relative values to the
various stages of his research. In the same way, when
he had been associated with Merivale and Sims in
some particularly puzzling case, he had more than once
arrived at a clearer perception of the affair, and even
an eventual solution of the problem, by a similar men-
tal process.
This case of Roger Abbeymead presented certain
features which interested him profoundly. Combin-
ing the information he had obtained from Pamela
Greye, Teddy Fane, Mr. Carbin, M. Philip, and the
86


THE LIMPING MAN 87
valet, he was convinced that behind the dead man's
apparent eccentricity there was a very definite purpose.
Here was a man of education and wealth, in fair
health, and in possession of all his faculties. He had
a nephew for whom he evidently entertained, if not
a positive affection, at least a sincere respect; indeed,
even the dry lawyer had hinted at a warmer feeling.
He had also a ward, a charming girl in whom he cer-
tainly placed considerable confidence, and for whose
well-being he had made himself responsible. He was
a lonely man, yet he did not make either or both of
these young people part of his household. He was
certainly reserved, but hardly morose. Teddy and
Pamela, and even Mel ford, the valet, had spoken of
his consideration for others.
There, by the way, was another point the Profes-
sor noted. Abbeymead had not employed a perma-
nent valet, as most men in his position would have done.
He had relied on the services of Melford when he
was staying at the Hotel Philip. It remained to be
seen what staff he kept at Abbeymead.
The dead man was intensely secretive. Even his
own lawyer had to confess that he knew compara-
tively little of his client's affairs. Of course, Pamela's
revelation of Mr. Abbeymead's love for her mother
might explain a great deal. An early disappointment
in love may exercise a profound influence on a man's


88
THE LIMPING MAN
after life, causing a sensitive nature to hide its wound
behind a mask of impenetrable reserve; and from
reserve to secrecy is an easy transition.
But there remained not only the manner of Abbey-
mead's life, but the manner of his death.
Who was the swarthy man who had called on him
that evening? He must have sent an important mes-
sage to induce Mr. Abbeymead to receive him when
the latter had at first refused to be disturbed. Where
was that message—the letter written by the visitor in
the hall? Had he succeeded in recovering it before
he left Mr. Abbeymead? Or had the latter destroyed
it?
Then the hypodermic syringe, the morphia tablets,
the injection in Abbeymead's arm—into what corner
of the mosaic did these pieces fit?
According to Mr. Carbin, his client had kept his
own counsel and had not shared his secrets with his
lawyer. Yet Pamela had revealed the fact that Mr.
Carbin had certainly known of Abbeymead's gener-
osity to her mother—had, in fact, been the instrument
of that generosity. Why had the lawyer not told the
Professor of that episode in the dead man's past? Was
Mr. Carbin hiding other facts? But, after all, the
lawyer probably thought that his oath of silence still
bound him, not knowing that Abbeymead himself had
since told the girl his secret. Or else he had been


THE LIMPING MAN 89
aware that Pamela knew the facts, but saw no reason
why he should communicate them to Wells, not dream-
ing that they could possibly have any bearing on his
client's death.
Then this gift of ten thousand pounds to Pamela,
and the letter she had been told to hand to the dead
man's heir, and Mr. Abbeymead's strange warning to
the girl not to allow herself to be associated with his
death. What did these things mean? Obviously, as
it seemed to Wells, Mr. Abbeymead feared some
danger, not only to himself, but to the girl as well.
It had been this conviction that had made him insist
on her remaining that night in Russell Square instead
of returning to the boarding house in which she had
a room. It might turn out that he was entirely wrong,
and had manufactured a mountain out of a molehill.
But the Professor never took unnecessary risks. In
any case it would be necessary that Pamela should
leave Welman and Keydock's, at least for a time,
as her assistance must be of considerable help in their
inquiries; she might as well, therefore, stay at Rus-
sel Square, where the Professor would be satisfied as
to her safety from danger until they could form some
idea of what that danger was, and be able to meet;
it with suitable weapons.
The Professor rose and stretched himself as the
clock struck two. He was not at all satisfied with the


po THE LIMPING MAN
results of his cogitations. Nevertheless, the time had
not been wholly wasted, and he felt that much would
depend on the contents of the letter which Pamela had
received from the dead man.
A shadowy idea—scarcely definite enough to be
called a theory—had found its way into his head,
and as it had at least the merit of being possible, he
gave it temporary unfurnished lodgings at the back
of his brain.
Carefully removing the ashes from the bowl of his
pipe, he looked at his tobacco-jar and hesitated. Then
he put the pipe down on the mantelpiece, stretched
himself again, and shivered.
"Damn!" said the Professor, and went to bed.


CHAPTER IX
The next morning, as Professor Wells sat oppo-
site to Pamela and watched her devouring eggs and
bacon with the appreciation of a healthy young woman,
he sighed.
Pamela looked up.
"What's the matter?" she inquired.
"I was reflecting," replied the Professor gravely,
"on the unequal distribution of the good things of
life. For example, the unworthy Teddy Fane is
presently going to have you to look at across his
breakfast-table, while I, miserable old bachelor, have
to be content with my morning paper."
Pamela laughed and blushed delightfully.
"Perhaps he'll get tired of seeing me," she said,
trying to look as though she believed it.
"Not unless you come down in curl-papers," re-
plied the Professor sapiently. "And you wouldn't do
that. Besides, your hair is bobbed."
"For a bachelor, you seem to be very well in-
formed," the girl retorted.
''Lookers-on see most of the game," said her host,
chuckling. "Now, my dear," he went on, "we must
91


92 THE LIMPING MAN
talk about our arrangements for to-day. I have been
thinking things over"
The girl pushed her plate away and leaned her
elbows on the table, her brown eyes suddenly grave.
"Professor," she interrupted, "I want to ask you
something first."
"Anything you like," he answered.
"You don't—you don't think I'm not serious
enough about this—not sorry for my guardian, do
you?"
"Of course not."
"You see," she went on hesitatingly, "it is all very
terrible, and I do realise it, really. But I did not
know him well until lately, and even then . . . And
there's Teddy . . . and . . . everything. . . ."
The Professor leaned across the table and took her
clasped hands in his.
"My dear," he said gently, "I understand perfectly,
and I would not have it otherwise. What is done is
done, and cannot be undone. You and Teddy have
your lives to live, and it would be foolish—it would
be wrong—to let this tragedy cloud the happiness
that has come to you both. I do not mean that you
should forget your guardian, or be unmindful of all
that he did for you and yours. But Mr. Abbeymead,
if I am not mistaken, foresaw that something like this
might happen, and it is plain that he desired that


THE LIMPING MAN 93
neither you nor Teddy should suffer more than was
inevitable."
"What does it all mean?" cried the girl. "Who
could he have been afraid of? I can't understand it."
"Neither can I," replied the Professor grimly, "but
you may rest assured that I shall not be satisfied until
I find out."
He paused as the servant entered. Mr. Fane, it
appeared, had called, and desired audience.
"I think," said the Professor inquiringly to Pamela,
"that we can see Mr. Fane?"
The girl's cheeks were still flaming when Teddy
entered the room.
"Now," said the Professor, when he and Teddy and
Teddy and Pamela had exchanged somewhat different
greetings, "now, Fane"
"Oh, no, please," put in Pamela. "'Fane' sounds
so awfully formal."
"Very well, then, Teddy. Now, Teddy, my good
fellow, I have an important mission for you."
Teddy's face fell, but he answered cheerfully
enough.
"All right, sir," he said; "I'm at your disposal."
"Good. I am going to entrust this young lady
to your care for the whole day, and mind you bring
her back safely, sir, or you will answer to me!"
Teddy grinned.


94 THE LIMPING MAN
"I'll take care of her," he said.
"Very well. First, you will go in my car to her
boarding-house, where she will pack up her things,
and you will bring them along here. Then you will
take her out to lunch, and afterwards to a matinee
performance of a cheerful play. You will then return
here. This evening I shall give a dinner party at
which the guests will include Mr. Sims, of Scotland
Yard, and that rising young engineer, Mr. Edward
Fane. Now, Pamela, run off and put on your hat.
I forgot, by-the-by; you haven't got one, have you?
I have to go out, and I shall not see you again until
this evening."
Pamela approached, and before—as he protested—
he could protect himself she had kissed him shame-
lessly and run out of the room.
"Teddy," said the Professor gravely, as he rang
the bell to order the car, "use my car all day; don't
take any taxicabs. And lunch at one of the well-
known places."
"All right, sir," Teddy replied, much surprised.
"But do you mean that there's any danger?"
"I don't know at all," interrupted the Professor.
"Good-morning." And he went his way, smiling
pleasantly at the bewildered youth.
That evening, following his excellent custom, Pro-


THE LIMPING MAN 95
fessor Wells refused to allow any but the most gen-
eral conversation during dinner. Pamela and Teddy
were evidently a good deal excited over something, but
their host was adamant. Inspector Sims, who had
already had a talk with the Professor, in which the
latter had told him Pamela's history, might have been
a casual guest, so blandly did he second the Profes-
sor's conversational efforts.
Pamela could scarcely keep her eyes off him. She
had always pictured a detective as a keen-faced sleuth
with a long nose and thin lips, and eyes that looked
right through you and came out at the other side.
Wells did not fail to observe her covert glances.
"Sims," he remarked sadly, "you are a wretched
fellow! You have grievously disappointed Miss
Greye."
"Professor "the girl protested in confusion, but
Wells went ruthlessly on.
"How can you expect Miss Greye to believe that
you are a famous detective when you won't look the
part?" he demanded. "I don't suppose you've got a
revolver, or even a powerful lens about you?"
"I'm sorry," replied the detective humbly, "I'm
afraid I haven't. But I've got a tape-measure," he
added hopefully. "I could measure some footmarks
if you have any handy."
Pamela laughed.


96 THE LIMPING MAN
"You are too bad, both of you," she declared. "I
ishall leave you to your port and tell them to bring
the coffee to the library presently, where I'll make
it myself for you—though you don't deserve it," she
added to the Professor as he held the door open for
her, having anticipated Teddy by one second, to that
young man's discomfiture.
Quarter of an hour later, the conspirators, as Teddy
said, being assembled and the coffee made, poured
out, and pronounced worthy, the Professor said:
"Well, let us get to business. Pamela, you had
better tell us whatever it is you are so excited about.
First, though, I may mention that I sent a medical
certificate—I'm still a doctor, you know—to Mr. Wel-
man, with a polite note saying you were run down
and that I had ordered you a fortnight's rest and was
sending you down to a quiet place where I knew of
some people who would look after you. I telephoned
him in the afternoon apologising for the short notice,
and he was quite nice about it, and said you were
not to bother about the office at all. He asked me
to ask you to send one of the other girls a note of any-
thing you thought they might not be able to put their
hands on without you. So that accounts for your
absence all right without raising any suspicions. Now,
my dear, tell us all about it,"
"Well," the girl began, "Teddy and I drove round


98 THE LIMPING MAN
we thought you might think it too much of a
coincidence."
"Pamela," said the Professor severely, "for a young
woman, you generally evince an unusual capacity for
sticking to the point. Mr. Sims asked you"
"Oh, I'm so sorry! No, they didn't get the letter."
"How was that?"
"Well, in the best of boarding-houses you sometimes
. get servants who steal or are inquisitive, and they pry
into your trunks if you forget to lock them. So, to
avoid accidents, I deposited the cheque-book, the let-
ter, my birth certificate, and some other papers in
the bank where the ten thousand pounds account was
opened; I can always get them from the manager, you
see. Indeed, when I had packed my things, Teddy
and I drove to the bank, and I saw the manager and
got the letter."
"Sims," said the Professor, "this young woman is
a pearl of price."
"Beyond price," the Inspector corrected him gal-
lantly.
Teddy was understood to concur.
"And you have got the letter here now?" Wells
asked.
Pamela opened a leather bag in which she was ac-
customed to carry a mirror, a powder-puff, and other
articles of feminine importance, and took out an


THE LIMPING MAN
99
envelope of the thick, greyish paper which Roger
Abbeymead had been in the habit of using. It was
sealed with the Abbeymead crest, and bore, in the
dead man's handwriting, the words:
"To Be Given
After My Death
To The Heir
To My Property."
The girl held the letter up in her slim, white hand
and looked inquiringly from the Professor to the
detective.
"What shall I do with it?" she asked.
"I don't think there can be two opinions about
that," Sims answered. "Mr. Fane, here, is the heir
to Mr. Abbeymead's property, and it is for him to
say what should be done, when he has read what is
in the letter."
Teddy took the envelope from Pamela's outstretched
hand.
"This letter," he said, "is as important—if it is im-
portant, that is—to you as to me. The best thing
will be for me to open it at once and read out what
my uncle says."
Despite his matter-of-fact manner, the young man's
fingers shook a little as he tore open the envelope.


ioo THE LIMPING MAN
Pamela leaned forward, her hands clasped and her
lips parted; the Professor lit the pipe he had freshly
filled, and shifted a little in the arm-chair in which
he sprawled hugely; and even the blase Sims allowed
the ash of his cigar to fall unheeded on the lapel of
his dinner-jacket.
Teddy extracted several sheets of notepaper from
the envelope and slowly read, in his clear voice, the
dead man's message.


CHAPTER X
This was what Roger Abbeymead had written:
"'Dear Nephew,
"'When (and if) you receive this letter, you
will have succeeded me as master of Abbeymead. You
have, I fear, regarded me—not without reason—as an
unemotional, eccentric old man. Yet I have always
loved the dear old place, and it is my earnest wish
that you should care for it and spare neither money
nor effort to enhance its beauties.
"'You will sit in my chair in the library, sur-
rounded by the books, the china, the many other
things—some rare and some beautiful—I collected
with such pains and loved so well.
"'But do not forget, also, to visit sometimes the
places where you played when, as a boy, you stayed
with me in your holidays. Many a time, when you
thought me buried among my curios, I watched you
unobserved. You used to search among my books
until you had found some story of adventure, modern
or medieval—you were particularly fond, I remember,
of the daring adventurers of bygone days—and then
IOI


THE LIMPING MAN
go off to the place where you kept your private treas-
ures. There you would arm yourself to the teeth
with gun, sword, and dagger, and, crossing the lake
in the punt, land in the mysterious Mexico of the
little wood on the opposite side; or, mounting your
shaggy pony, head the charge of the Glorious Six Hun-
dred across the paddock behind the stables.
"'But I am growing sentimental!
"'I have left you almost all I have, my boy. There
are one or two small bequests which Mr. Carbin will
have told you about already—I am sure you will not
grudge them. Keep the old servants; they have
served me well, and you may trust them.
"'For the rest, I lay neither commands nor restric-
tions upon you. I am an old man, and an old-fash-
ioned man, and my manner of life need not, and should
not, be yours. To me the stress of modern life is
wearisome, though I take my part in it and avail
myself of its luxuries. But—you will laugh at the
confession—I would rather sit behind a pair of met-
tlesome greys than be whirled madly along on those
railways which while commercially so valuable, spoil
our countryside, shatter our nerves, and from time to
time take their toll of those whose impatience has
created them. Bear with me, my boy; the person
who hands you this letter may excuse my prejudices
to you.


THE LIMPING MAN 103
"'Be happy; and if you can find (or have found,
perhaps) someone to share your happiness with you,
think, kindly, both of you, of
"'Your uncle,
"'Roger Abbeymead.'"
For some moments after Teddy had finished read-
ing nobody moved or spoke. Then the Professor
silently stretched out his hand, took the letter from
Teddy, and studied it for some time. Then he turned
to Teddy.
"What do you make of this letter?" he asked.
The young fellow hesitated.
"It seems a beastly thing to say," he replied slowly,
"but it—it somehow doesn't sound like my uncle."
"Ah," said the Professor thoughtfully, and looked
at Pamela.
She shook her head.
"I don't understand it," she said.
"And yet—why?" cried Teddy suddenly. "Oh, it
must be true. It's his writing, I'll swear to that.
After all, he was kind enough at heart, you know.
Why shouldn't he let himself go?" He pondered.
"Fancy him remembering those kid's games of mine.
I used"
He stopped suddenly.
"Eh?" queried Wells.


104 THE LIMPING MAN
"I never had a pony," said Teddy slowly.
The Professor sprang out of his chair and strode
about the room.
"You hear that, Sims?" he cried. "He never had
a pony!"
Sims nodded.
"But what ?" began Pamela, bewildered, while
Teddy looked from the scientist to the detective as
though he had begun to doubt their sanity.
Wells dropped into his chair again and chuckled.
"I am not mad," he said, "although I may seem
so."
He considered a moment.
"Sims," he said, "I should be obliged by your
opinion. I have a theory, but before I submit it to
you I wish you would let us have your views."
Sims took out his handkerchief and carefully flicked
his coat clean of cigar ash.
"I have not," he said, "the advantage which Miss
Greye and Mr. Fane have—that of having known Mr.
Abbeymead fairly intimately. I have, however, gained
some idea of his character from what they and others
have told me."
He paused, arranging his thoughts; then he resumed,
choosing his words with the deliberation habitual to
him when he was confronted with an unusually intri-
cate problem.


THE LIMPING MAN 105
"It appears to me that we should do well to consider
this letter carefully. It is undoubtedly true that the
most consistent man sometimes does something quite
suddenly which is apparently inconsistent with his
usual conduct. But this is rather the exception than
the rule, and, while it is always wise to be prepared
for the exception, it is generally safer to look for the
rule first. In this case it is certainly singular that a
man who was—and had been for years—so particularly
reserved and undemonstrative as Mr. Abbeymead
should write a letter which is not merely sentimental,
but even elaborately so. And it is to be observed
that he did not write the letter on his deathbed, so
to speak; or even, so far as we know, with the certainty
of approaching death. In fact, he lived for a con-
siderable time afterwards. The letter has, indeed,
the same carefulness of expression as one might ex-
pect to find in a will. Now, if I am not mistaken,
Professor Wells is going to tell you that in his opinion
that letter is really Mr. Abbeymead's will."
"But my uncle's will was in Mr. Carbin's safe,"
Teddy objected.
The Inspector nodded.
"Quite so," he answered. "But possibly Mr. Abbey-
mead made another will relating to certain matters
which his lawyers knew nothing about."
Teddy passed his hand across his forehead.


io6 THE LIMPING MAN
"This is getting beyond me," he muttered.
"It's got," said Pamela frankly.
"Now," Sims went on, "when I saw our friend the
Professor engaging in amiable conversation with cer-
tain antique dealers in the Caledonian Market this
morning"
"The devil you did!" said the Professor, discomfited.
"I understood," proceeded the detective imperturb-
ably, "that the same idea had occurred to him that
had occurred to me. So I left him at it," he concluded,
smiling, "and now I fancy that he will have something
interesting to tell us."
The Professor turned to the two young people and
directed their attention to the Inspector with a gesture.
"Now," he said, "you may be able to understand
why that man's name is a power in the world of crim-
inology. Mark the difference between us: I observe,
but he reasons! No," he went on, as Sims protested,
"I am not flattering you, old fellow; I am only treat-
ing you as a lay figure with which to illustrate my
argument. I happen to know how little time you
have yet been able to give to this case and that until
this evening you knew nothing of Pamela's story. Yet,
by sheer reasoning, you have arrived at a conclusion
which I only reached by the aid of much observation
and a good deal of information. Sims, I metaphori-
cally take off my hat to you."


THE LIMPING MAN 107
"Well, metaphorically put it on again," replied the
detective, smiling. "I should be sorry to have you
catch cold. But come, Professor, you are not going
to escape like that. You like to keep your ideas up
your sleeve until you have worked out your sum to
five places of decimals, and then produce the answer
like a conjuror. But I have cleared up certain other
matters I had in hand and I am free now, so look out
for yourself!"
"To hear is to obey, as the Persians have it," an-%
swered the scientist.
Rising, he stood on the hearthrug and began to
speak in the clear, simple phrases which made savants
and students crowd the lecture-room when he could
be induced to make one of his rare appearances in
public.
"Let us reserve for later consideration," he said,
"such information as we have been able to obtain from
other sources, and begin by examining this letter
written by Roger Abbeymead. It seems to me to pre-
sent many points of the deepest interest. We know
that Mr. Abbeymead was a secretive man and a man
who, whatever he may have felt, was in the habit of
keeping his feelings concealed behind a mask of im-
penetrable reserve. Yet this secretive man suddenly
writes a letter the tone of which is entirely at variance
with that of his usual correspondence. Why? The


io8 THE LIMPING MAN
answer to that question, I imagine, may prove to be
the explanation of many other points which at first
sight seemed to be incomprehensible.
"If, as Sims has suggested, the letter is really a
sort of cryptogram containing a hidden message, we
may agree, first, that Mr. Abbeymead's surprising
lapse into sentimentality is accounted for; and, sec-
ondly, that he must have had weighty reasons for con-
cealing his real meaning with such care. Nobody
does anything without a motive, instinctive or deliber-
ate. You do not stoop down to retie your bootlace
unless you know that it has become untied. Mr.
Abbeymead, I think, was particularly unlikely to com-
mit himself to any course of action without what he
considered good and sufficient reasons.
"Now let us come to the letter itself—an extraor-
dinarily interesting document, if I am not mistaken.
We will suppose that I am correct in suggesting that
it contains a hidden message from the owner of Abbey-
mead to the person whom he had decided to make his
heir. How was his heir to know, or even to suspect,
that it contained such a message? There he had to
take a risk. But I think he hoped that his heir would
ask himself the very questions which, in fact, we have
all been asking ourselves: Why did he write such a
letter, and why did he give it so mysteriously to
Pamela, to be delivered only after his death? These


THE LIMPING MAN 109
questions, together with the tragic suddenness of his
end—which I am satisfied he foresaw—would, he
hoped, induce his heir to endeavour to penetrate a
mystery which was the more bewildering because it
seemed to be so unnecessary. However, I need not
labour the point. It may be that we shall understand
things better later on; for the moment it is sufficient
that we are determined to unravel the tangle.
"To return to the letter: the first thing Mr. Abbey-
mead does is to remind the reader of his own char-
acteristics—'an unemotional, eccentric old man.' He
proceeds to express a strong hope that his heir will
'spare neither money nor effort' to 'enhance the beau-
ties' of the place of which he now becomes the master.
What follows? A reference to his nephew's boyish
games, so detailed as to recall Teddy's love of stories
of adventure, and to mention a place where the boy
kept his private treasures. Yet in the same breath,
as it were, this very accurate chronicler makes an
astonishing blunder—he refers to the shaggy pony
on which Teddy used to ride.
"Yet Teddy, who is not likely to be mistaken on
such a point, assures us that he never possessed a
pony!
"One is really encouraged to think that Mr. Abbey-
mead was anxious to suggest to Teddy that his letter
was not to be taken literally—but in such a way that,


no THE LIMPING MAN
should the letter fall into the hands of any unauthor-
ised person, it would arouse no suspicion.
"He goes on to say that he lays no commands or
restrictions on his heir. Nevertheless, he has already
requested him to revisit certain scenes which—note
this!—could only be known to Teddy himself; and he
also enjoins on him the advisability of retaining the
old servants.
"We may pass on to the allusion to the railways
and their toll of human life. That allusion would, of
course, be readily understood by Pamela, who alone
could explain it to Teddy.
"Finally, I like to think that Mr. Abbeymead was
sincere in his desire that Teddy and another person
whom I think we could name should, in the old phrase,
live happily ever after, whether they discovered the
secret of the letter or not."
And the Professor proceeded to light his pipe with
the air of a man who has said his say and awaits the
criticisms of the world.


CHAPTER XI
Inspector Sims was the first to speak.
"Very clearly put, Wells," he said approvingly.
"Your deductions appear to me to be quite sound."
Teddy and Pamela looked at one another.
"They are very clever," said Teddy with some
hesitation, "but, to tell you the honest truth, I'm as
much in the dark as ever. What is the message my
uncle wanted to convey to me? And why couldn't
he have told me about it in the ordinary way. You
don't suggest that he was a criminal, do you?"
"Not for a moment," replied the Professor quickly.
He hesitated for a moment, and then went on:
"I must admit that, as Sims has said, I hate to
tell half a story; I like to work out my sum before
I talk about the answer. But this is an exceptional
case, and I recognise the fact that you have a right
to any information I can give you. Well, so far my
theory is like a number of large beads connected by
a thin thread. That thread may snap at any moment.
But this letter of your uncle's has encouraged me
greatly.
"I had better review briefly the facts as we know
in


ii2 THE LIMPING MAN
them, and then come to the deductions which I think
we are entitled to draw from those facts.
"Roger Abbeymead, a man of strong character,
reasonably good health, and more than sufficient for-
tune, is found dead in circumstances which suggest
either suicide or murder. So far as we know, he had
no motive for committing suicide. It certainly ap-
pears possible, however, that he was not unprepared
for a sudden, if not actually violent, death, for he
hinted at the possibility when he gave Pamela this
letter. It is true that he had a weak heart, but we
are not certain that he was aware of the fact himself;
he may have been, or he may not. But if he had
merely anticipated death from such a natural cause,
it is difficult to see why he should not have said so
plainly.
"Then, we must not forget the hypodermic syringe
and the tablets of morphia which were in his room.
If he had suddenly decided to become a drug-taker
—a remarkable thing in itself for a man of his type
—it is strange that he should not have ascertained
what quantity it would be safe for him to take. But
I am satisfied that his death was not due to morphia,
but to a dose of Horolain administered to him before
the injection of morphia was made. I do not know
whether I have told you that the symptoms of death


THE LIMPING MAN 113
from Horolain are very similar to those of death from
heart failure; anyhow, that is the case.
"There are one or two points in connection with Mr.
Abbeymead's death which we may consider before we
pass on to other matters. You will remember that
when he was first informed that an unknown man
wished to see him he somewhat angrily refused to be
disturbed. The club-footed vistor then writes and
sends up to him a note, on reading which he im-
mediately reverses his decision. That suggests one of
two things—either he knew the man, or he had rea-
son to believe that the man had some information to
give him which was of considerable importance. Who
was this man with the swarthy complexion and the
club-foot? Further, what became of the note which
the man had written? It was not found in Mr. Abbey-
mead's pocket; nor, in fact, anywhere in the room.
Did the club-footed man take the note away with him
when he left?
"Now, what had been Mr. Abbeymead's chief oc-
cupation in life? Apparently he had devoted most of
his time to the acquisition of rare books, pieces of
china, and other objects of interest to a collector. We
have heard from Pamela that she was often asked
by him to visit certain shops, and even had a general
roving commission to look out for and tell him about
what she called, if I remember rfehtly, 'a particular


ii4 THE LIMPING MAN
kind of medal.' I have said nothing more to her on
the subject, and now I am going to make a long shot
—a very long shot indeed. Pamela, would I be right
in suggesting that the particular kind of medal you
were to look out for was not a war medal, for ex-
ample, or a medal struck to commemorate any great
event, but—to describe it roughly—a fairly heavy,
circular medallion with some wording inscribed on
one side, either in Latin or in English, and on the
other side a sort of monogram—possibly several let-
ters interwoven, such as 'A.M.D.G.,' for example?"
The girl gave a cry of amazement.
"Why," she said slowly, as though she could hardly
believe her ears, "however could you guess that?"
The Professor chuckled.
"I am right, then?" he responded. "Well, it was
just a case of selecting the least improbable of sev-
eral possibilities. As to the shape of the medal, there
is no great mystery about that. In the box or case
which Melford mentioned as having been placed on
the table by Mr. Abbeymead I observed a leather case.
There was nothing in it, but it was plain that it had
contained a heavy, flat, round object about two inches
in diameter. One could plainly see on the lining of
the case a mark made by a heavily embossed mono-
gram of some sort."


THE LIMPING MAN 115
"But how did you arrive at the actual letters?"
asked Sims, keenly interested.
"That, I admit, was pure speculation. I should first
explain that quite early in the case I had begun to sus-
pect that Mr. Abbeymead was either in possession of,
or was trying to gain possession of, a piece of informa-
tion regarded as important, not only by himself, but
by other people as well. It seemed probable that he
was engaged in trying to solve a problem, and that
the; solution of his problem depended on his possession
of some clue for which he had been searching with
great eagerness. A man of his wealth who simply
made a hobby of collecting curios and objects of
artistic value would be most likely to deal with the
big men in the antique trade. But apparently he paid
a great deal of attention to quite small shops, and even
visited the Caledonian Market regularly. That mar-
ket is a place of strange contrasts. All sorts of dealers
take stalls there, and you may buy in an hour a live
fowl, a lady's dress, a pair of old boxing-gloves, a
ramshackle motor-car, a Court sword, a piece of
Sheffield plate, a set of old-fashioned ear-rings, and a
hundred other things new and old.
"As Sims saw, I spent an interesting time there, and
talked to a number of the dealers in second-hand goods.
For a long time I drew blanks; then I chanced on
an old fellow who told me what I wanted. Briefly,


n6 THE LIMPING MAN
he told me that while a lot of the visitors simply come
now and then, half to see the place, half in the hope
of picking up some wonderful bargain for a few shil-
lings, there was a small number of customers who
were only interested in certain things, and who came
regularly to look for them. One man looked out for
miniatures, another was collecting snuffboxes, and so
on. Among these people he mentioned an elderly
gentleman whose face he knew well, though he had
never learned his name. This gentleman was making
a collection of medals and medallions of all kinds;
my dealer friend had sold him one or two at odd times,
but the gentleman was still on the lookout for others.
Of course, this was easily explained: Mr. Abbeymead
—if it were he—had made an occasional purchase
there, and in other places, in order to keep up his
character of collector."
"I am still waiting to hear why you mentioned the
letters 'A.M.D.G.,' " said the detective, as the Profes-
sor paused.
"You know their meaning, of course?" asked Wells.
Sims nodded.
"But I don't," put in Teddy, "though they seem
familiar."
"They stand," the Professor explained, "for the
words 'Ad Majoretn Dei Gloriam (To the Greater
Glory of God).' It is the motto of the Society of


THE LIMPING MAN 117
Jesus, that famous Order founded by Ignatius Loyola,
a Spaniard, who was its first head, or General. It
was at one time one of the most powerful organisa-
tions, not only in the Romish Church, but in half the
political movements of the civilised world as well.
Now, although the Abbeymeads have been Protestants
for several generations, I was easily able to discover,
by a glance at a book on Kentish history, that there
was a time when the family strongly supported the
Romish faith. In fact, at one time Abbeymead was
a sort of unofficial centre or headquarters for the
activities of the Jesuits in this country. If we sup-
pose that Mr. Abbeymead had stumbled on some rec-
ord of treasure hidden years ago, and was searching
for a final clue to its whereabouts, would it not be
possible to associate it with the days when the Jesuit
Order was more powerful than it is to-day? I readily
admit that my shot was a long one, but, as you see,
it seems to have hit the target. If Mr. Abbeymead
had reason to fear that other people were following
the same trail as he was, and were watching him
closely into the bargain, I think we can understand
his desire for secrecy and why he hesitated to con-
fide in his lawyer, or even in either of you people.
Remember, he evidently recognised that he was in
some personal danger, and it is quite possible that he
did not wish to extend that danger to others.


n8 THE LIMPING MAN
"Now," the Professor concluded, "I have already
said a great number of things which are really only
founded on speculation, and I'm not going to say any-
thing more until we have visited Abbeymead and are
able to apply some sort of test to our theories."
They were silent for a few moments; then Pamela
sat up in her chair.
"Professor," she said eagerly, "I don't want to be
a nuisance—it's been awfully good of you to tell us
as much as you have—but I simply must ask you one
question."
"What is it, Pamela?" asked Wells, trying £o look
stern.
"Well, you think that there were other people watch-
ing my guardian. That must mean that they were
afraid he would get hold of some fact or other before
they could?"
"Yes. Well?"
"And they watched him, I suppose, so that if he
found what he was looking for—the medal, for in-
stance—they might try to get it from him?"
"Quite so."
"Then why did they murder him before he had goS
the clue they wanted?"
The Professor patted the girl on the shoulder.
"A very sensible question, my dear," he answered.


THE LIMPING MAN 119
"But I will reply to it by another: How do you know
he had not?"
"You mean that my guardian had found the medal
he wanted?"
"I mean that it is quite possible. Remember his
last message to you—to come and see him because
he wanted to tell you something. He did not say
he wanted you to do something for him, and he added
that the next day would do as well, as you were busy.
And you mentioned that he did not seem upset, but,
on the contrary, rather pleased."
"Then if the other people knew he had found the
medal he wanted, the man with the club-foot must
have stolen the medal when he had killed my uncle?"
put in Teddy.
"Possibly," returned the Professor. "But let me
correct you on one point. I do not think the man
with the club-foot knew that he was murdering Mr.
Abbeymead."
"I am inclined to think you are right," remarked
Sims.
"It is possible," the Professor went on, "that the
man with the club-foot believed that he was simply
drugging Mr. Abbeymead. He may have been given
the Horolain and the morphia tablets by someone be-
hind the scenes. That unknown person may or may
not have known what he was doing, but Horolain is a


CHAPTER XII
It was a fine, clear morning, and Teddy sang a
cheerful little song to himself as he turned into Rus-
sell Square and ascended the broad steps of Profes-
sor Wells's house. This, he reflected, was the day on
which he was to enter on his "squiredom" of Abbey-
mead. And was he not to be aided, abetted, encour-
aged, and sustained in that pleasant duty by the per-
son who had consented to share with him his new
responsibilities and privileges?
The luggage of the little party had been sent on by
an early train that morning, with Wells's valet in
charge of it as far as the station—for he was not to
accompany his master to Abbeymead—and Pamela,
Teddy, Wells, and Sims were to drive down in the
Professor's open touring-car. He used a closed limou-
sine for town work, but the Sunbeam was, he said,
more suitable for the country. He had further sug-
gested that as Teddy was a skilful driver they should
leave the chauffeur behind, so that their conversation
en route might not be hampered by the presence of an
outsider. Sims, who knew that Wells employed only
people of proved discretion, agreed gravely enough,
121


122 THE LIMPING MAN
but there was a twinkle in his eye which was not lost
on the observant Pamela. She was therefore not sur-
prised when the Professor suggested that she should
sit in front with Teddy, while he and Sims perfected
their plans in the rear seat. Teddy found this plan
admirable. Once clear of the busy streets, he reflected,
he could easily drive with one hand.
Two occupants of the powerful car, at least, had not
found the journey tedious when Teddy, with a half-
sigh, swung the Sunbeam through the Abbeymead
gates, drove slowly up the long avenue bordered with
venerable trees, and stopped in front of the house,
where a little group had gathered to meet them.
In front, Pine, the old butler, stepped forward bare-
headed and received Teddy's hearty shake of the hand
with manifest pleasure.
"Why, Pine, you don't look a day older!" cried
the young fellow.
"But you do, Master Teddy—dear me, I should say
Mr. Fane, sir," replied the old man with respectful
familiarity. "And it seems only the other day when
you used to come for part of your holidays"
"And plague the life out of you," Teddy put in,
laughing. "And Mrs. Pine too." He grasped the
hand of the motherly soul in black silk, who looked as
though she only refrained from kissing him by a great
effort.


124 THE LIMPING MAN
"I appoint you my deputy," he said, "and authorise
you to proceed. I will stop you when you are about to
commit a blunder."
The Professor chuckled.
"Very well," he replied. "Now, Teddy, you under-
stand that we don't want to disturb these good people
here by going about our business with undue mystery.
Also, it is highly important that, beyond ourselves, no-
body should imagine that there is anything wrong.
You have simply brought us down as friends who have
come to help you to celebrate your house-warming."
"I understand," Teddy answered, nodding.
"Very well, then. It seems to me that it would be at
natural and even gracious thing to have Pine in and
question him a little as to the staff and the general
arrangements, and any changes your uncle may have
made since you were here last. You might assure him
that you do not intend to part with the old servants,
and then casually find out whatever you can about your
uncle's visitors, habits, and so on. It will please Pine
to be talked to before us, I think, as showing the spe-
cially confidential terms on which you place him. It
would not do for us—Sims or myself—to put such
questions; that would set him thinking at once, for he
is obviously an intelligent man; so here you have an
opportunity of showing your tact and discretion, young
man."


THE LIMPING MAN 125
Teddy smiled as he rang the bell; but he did not
miss the serious note underlying the Professor's last
words.
"Oh, Pine," he began, as the butler entered and stood
waiting to be addressed, "I just wanted to mention one
or two matters. Of course, you know that I rely on
you to help me to run things here as my uncle would
have wished."
The butler bowed.
"I shall be proud to serve you, sir, as I served Mr.
Abbeymead," he said simply.
"I could not wish for more," answered Teddy heart-
ily. "You were with him a long time, were you not?"
"My father served his father, sir, and many's the
time young Mr. Roger—your uncle, sir, I mean—
many's the time Mr. Roger and me went out after the
rabbits together. And many's the time we got into
mischief, too, and were both well thrashed when we
got home. And when Mr. Roger came into the prop-
erty my father retired—he's dead now, sir, these many
years—and I took his place. Those were the days,
Mr. Fane, when your poor mother lived here—and a
beautiful young lady she was, sir."
He shook his head and sighed; then he straightened
his bowed back.
"You'll forgive me, sir, and Miss Greye and the
gentlemen"—he included them all in his bow—"bu£


126 THE LIMPING MAN
when an old man gets talking of the old days, he's apt
to talk too much, and perhaps too free."
There was a fine dignity in the old man's air as he
made his little apology which his hearers were quick
to recognise.
"Not a bit, not a bit!" cried Teddy. "You and I
have been friends too long to stand on ceremony,
Pine. Now tell me, what staff is there here altogether?
I don't know what changes my uncle may have made
since I was here last, you know."
"Not many changes, sir, in any way. Mr. Roger
didn't like changes, and you may be sure his servants
didn't want to leave him—he was too good a master
for that. There's myself and my wife, sir, and Emma
and the younger girl, Betty. Emma you remember,
sir, but Betty's new. She's a niece of my wife's, and
a good girl. She's really learning her duties, generally,
at present. Then there's Walters, the chauffeur. He
and his wife live in the lodge at the gates. He's been
with us fifteen years, as you'll remember. Saunders,
the gardener, lives with them, being unmarried. Hill,
the lad who helps Saunders, is the son of a farmer near
by. He's a good lad, and Saunders is teaching him his
work. Mr. Roger thought a lot of Hill's father, and
took the lad on really to oblige the farmer. Young
Hill is doing well, Saunders tells me—and that's a lot
for Saunders to say."


THE LIMPING MAN 127
"I know," said Teddy. "Saunders isn't much given
to enthusiasm. I used to be more afraid of Saunders
than I was of you, Pine! And that is all the staff, is
it?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Roger's father used to keep a stable,
and he used to preserve as well. But Mr. Roger's
tastes didn't lie that way, and after a time he sold the
horses and let the shooting."
"He never cared much for society did he, either?"
"No, sir. We who knew Mr. Roger well knew what
a kind heart he had, but outsiders used to think he was
a hard man. He changed as he grew older. I never
rightly knew what happened, for he didn't tell me,
though I'm proud to say he put a good deal of trust in
me—but I've always thought he had some disappoint-
ment. I said to him once that we all hoped to see a
mistress come to Abbeymead, but he turned on me—
not angry, but in a firm way he had, and told me never
to mention the subject again. I never did, but I've
often thought that may have been the reason he lived
such a lonely sort of life. At first the gentry in the
neighbourhood used to call, but they soon dropped off
when they found he wouldn't accept their invitations.
Sometimes he'd bring a visitor down for a few days,
like Mr. Carbin, the lawyer, or Miss Greye—Miss
Pamela, as we used to call her then, sir."


128
THE LIMPING MAN
"I've not forgotten, Pine," said the girl, smiling. "X
used to plague you as much as Mr. Fane, I'm sure."
"You were heartily welcome, miss! Mrs. Pine and
me used to look forward to you or Mr. Fane coming;
not having any children of our own, it was a bit lonely.
But we used to wish you and Mr. Fane would come
down at the same time; you'd have been company for
each other."
"Miss Greye didn't even know I was Mr. Abbey-
mead's nephew when we first met," Teddy explained.
"My uncle had his own ways of doing things, you
know."
"Quite so, sir," replied Pine discreetly, and Pamela
coloured.
Teddy caught the Professor's eye and received an al-
most imperceptible nod.
"Well, Pine," he said, "to-morrow you shall take me
round the place and we can talk about details. Mean-
while, please let it be known that I hope all the people
here will stay on and will be as comfortable with me as
they were with my uncle."
The butler looked at the young fellow's pleasant,
frank face.
"I am sure they will, sir," he said, "and I thank you
for myself and them."
He bowed, and was almost at the door when Teddy
remembered something.


THE LIMPING MAN 129
"Oh, Pine," he said casually, "about the car: is it
in good order?"
"Excellent, sir."
"I asked hecause I wondered why my uncle had not
taken Walters to London with him."
"Mr. Abbeymead hardly ever took any of us with
him when he went to London, sir. I valeted him my-
self when he was down here, but in town I understand
he was looked after by one of the hotel staff. He used
the car when he was here, or when he went for a few
days' trip about the country; and once or twice he took
it—and Walters, of course—over to France for a tour;
but he hardly ever used it in London. He used to drive
in to town, but Walters always brought back the car
at once, and then drove in and fetched him when he
was ready to return. We have a telephone here, sir,
and Mr. Roger used to ring up from the hotel and
give me instructions about anything he wanted done."
"I see," said Teddy, and the door closed behind the
butler.
"Well done, Teddy," said the Professor, when they
were once more alone. "Your manner was discretion
itself. But tell me," he added curiously, "what made
you ask Pine about the car?"
"It suddenly occurred to me," Teddy replied. "I
wondered why I had never noticed before that I never


THE LIMPING MAN 131
or not, the circumstances of his death were sufficiently
unusual to make it my duty to investigate them."
Teddy flushed.
"You are quite right," he said. "I am afraid I have
been too ready to forget my uncle's tragic death."
"'The King is dead; long live the King?'" inter-
rupted the Professor kindly. "It sounds a cruel say-
ing, but the world has to go on, even under the shadow
of death's wings. But come! We are wasting time.
First, let us have a look round."
Rising, he began to examine the room and its con-
tents. It was a spacious apartment, panelled in oak.
Between the panels were set shelves of books and glass-
fronted cabinets; in the latter the Professor noted
some exquisite china, besides many carved figures,
weapons, snuffboxes, and other things common to most
collections. He was not sufficiently expert to be able
to estimate their value accurately, but he was fairly
well satisfied that while each article was good enough
of its kind, there was nothing of really exceptional
value. The furniture was of the heavy type—solid,
carved chairs of oak, some comfortable modern leather
arm-chairs and a couch, a great writing-table with
drawers at each side, a few smaller tables, some good
pictures, and so on. At the writing-table stood a
heavy, high-backed chair with the Abbeymead arms
carved on the back.


132 THE LIMPING MAN
The Professor made a slow and methodical circuit
of the room.
Inspector Sims, his hands thrust into his pockets,
lounged here and there with apparent carelessness.
Pamela and Teddy looked on in respectful silence,
realising that each of these men had his own way of
doing things.
Presently Wells came across to them.
"Teddy," he said, "I want you to tell me one or two
things about your schooldays. But don't try to re-
member anything; if the recollection does not come at
once, just leave it for the present. First, do you re-
member any of the books your uncle mentioned in his
letter?"
"Some of them," Teddy answered. "But I can
show you where they were always kept. My uncle had
his books arranged according to a plan of his own, and
the ones I used mostly to read were in that corner
beyond the door, on the first and second shelves.
There were some others, too, but those were the ones
I liked most, I remember. Shall I show them to you?"
"No, thanks; I'll just glance at them myself," re-
plied Wells, and he went over to the corner Teddy had
pointed out and began to skim through the books.
After some ten minutes or so of this he went to the
long window at the end of the room and stood looking
out over the grounds.


THE LIMPING MAN 133
Sims, meanwhile, very deliberately turned Teddy
out of the carved arm-chair in which Roger Abbey-
mead had so often sat, and, taking his place, sat down
at the writing-table and stared straight before him,
apparently lost in thought.
In a few moments the Professor, leaving the window,
turned and looked at his colleague. Then he went over
and, leaning on the back of the chair, followed the de-
tective's gaze with the same intentness.
Suddenly the detective looked up at Teddy, who
had been staring at him in bewilderment.
"Fane," he said sharply, "what about the place
your uncle mentioned in his letter—the place where
you kept your private treasures. Can you remem-
ber it?"
"Yes," said Teddy without hesitation. "He must
have meant an old grotto sort of affair near the lake—
though how he knew I used it I can't imagine. Be-
sides, he could hardly have known all that time ago
that he would be writing such a letter years after-
wards"
"Teddy, dear," broke in Pamela impatiently, "surely
that's simple enough? He didn't know it, but when he
came to write the letter, he just tried to remember what
you used to do. And as to seeing you, he might easily
have happened to be walking in the grounds and have


134 THE LIMPING MAN
seen you once or twice without your noticing him. But
do let Mr. Sims go on."
Teddy shrugged his shoulders, smiling ruefully.
"Excuse me for living," he said humbly. "I'm a
dull dog"
"Be quiet!" cried Pamela. "You only want me to
contradict you, and I'm not going to." And she turned
expectantly to the detective.
Sims stole a look at the Professor.
"I think," he said in his cool way, "that a stroll in
the fresh air would do us all good. Myself, I am look-
ing forward to seeing the grounds"
"And especially the grotto," added the Professor
with a chuckle.


CHAPTER XIII
Teddy led the way downstairs with Pamela. In the
great hall, with its huge fireplace flanked by two figures
in complete armour, visors down and lances grasped
firmly as though ready to defend the hearth and home
at a moment's warning, the butler stepped forward to
open the heavy door.
Inspector Sims paused, took a cigarette from his
case and felt in his pockets for matches.
"I may as well light this before we start," he said;
"there is a pleasant breeze outside."
Pine, always adequate, produced a box of safeties
and struck one for him, while the others walked on.
"Thank you," said the detective, lighting his cigar-
ette. "A heavy door that," he remarked, as the butler
held it open. "They went in for solid work in those
days. . . . Dear me, I thought I had lit it properly.
. . . May I trouble you for another match? . . .
Thank you; that's better."
He blew a cloud of smoke.
"Those huge bolts would keep an army out, I should
think," he added as he prepared to follow his friends.
The butler shook his head and laughed.
135


136 THE LIMPING MAN
"They might keep an army out, sir, but they didn't
keep burglars away," he replied. "See here, sir—you'll
notice that there's a patent lock and two heavy bolts,
besides the old lock and bolt. Mr. Abbeymead had the
new lock put on after the burglaries."
"Burglaries, eh?" said Sims with polite interest.
"Yes, sir, two burglaries. The first was about a year
ago, and the second a week later. Mr. Abbeymead was
away when the burglars came first, but he and Mr.
Carbin—his lawyer, sir—came down from London at
once. The second burglary happened while they were
here."
"Indeed? And was much stolen?"
"Very little, sir. Some Chinese curios the first time,
and one picture cut out of its frame the second. Mr.
Abbeymead told me he believed the burglars must
have got frightened the first time and left before they
got the picture, and they came back for it the second
time."
"Very daring of them," commented Sims. "The pic-
ture was very valuable, I suppose?"
Pine chuckled.
"Why, no sir," he replied; "the burglars must have
been disappointed. I don't understand those things
myself, but Mr. Abbeymead told me the picture was a
fake—a clever copy of some famous painting—and he
thought the thieves must have believed it was genuine.


THE LIMPING MAN 137
So they didn't get much for their trouble. But Mr.
Abbeymead had locks and bolts put on all the doors
and windows on the ground floor after that."
"And couldn't the police catch the thieves?"
"Police, sir? Mr. Abbeymead didn't believe in the
police. He always said he'd make a better detective
out of the gardener's boy than any they kept up at
Scotland Yard. He just told me to keep quiet about
it, and not talk too much, as he didn't want them com-
ing down here and bothering him, all for nothing in
the end."
Sims laughed cheerfully.
"I've often heard they were a stupid lot, the police,"
he agreed. "Besides, you hadn't any clue to the bur-
glars, I suppose?"
"Well, the second time they came I happened to be
rather wakeful. I thought I heard something, so I got
up quietly, not to disturb my wife, and came down.
It was all dark, of course, except for a bit of moon-
light here and there, but I thought I saw something
like a man muffled in a cloak limping down the stairs.
But when I got down here and turned on the light
there was nothing to be seen. I told Mr. Abbeymead
about it, but he said I must have imagined it, as the
man couldn't have got away without my seeing or hear-
ing him. He said it was probably a cloud passing in
front of the moon that cast a shadow just as I passed."


138 THE LIMPING MAN
"And what do you think?"
"I don't know, sir. When you wake up like that in
the middle of the night you're apt to imagine things,
especially when there's been a burglary just before."
"That's true. Well, I must hurry after the others.
By-the-by, Pine, I don't think Mr. Fane knows any-
thing of this; perhaps you'd like me to mention it to
him quietly? Girls are easily frightened, you know,
and it might be just as well not to let Miss Greye hear
about it."
"Certainly, sir. I never thought to tell Mr. Fane,
what with one thing and another. If you'll just men-
tion it"
"I will; and then Mr. Fane can speak to you about
it himself privately, when he has time."
With a cheerful nod the detective hurried to catch
up the others, who had strolled on ahead. Once out
of the butler's , sight, however, his pace moderated and
he knitted his brows in deep thought.
Pine, he was convinced, had made no mistake. The
limping figure he had seen could be none other than that
of the man with the club-foot.
Abbeymead's pretended indifference was easily ex-
plained. He must have realised that this was no ordi-
nary burglar. The picture thief is a specialist, and
takes care to be satisfied as to the value of a picture
before he sets out to steal it. The thefts of the curios


140 THE LIMPING MAN
middle of which was a shallow lake about two hun-
dred yards in length and half as broad. It was fed by
a fussy little stream that burst into it at one end
and out again at the other, as though, as Pamela said,
it was in a dreadful hurry to keep an important
appointment.
Turning aside into the wood, Teddy led them along
a path that wound in and out among the trees.
"You recognise this place, of course?" he asked the
girl, but she shook her head.
"To tell the truth, I don't,1' she answered. "I used
to come down to the lake sometimes, but I remember
that I was always a little afraid of the wood; it seemed
so gloomy, somehow, under the trees. And there were
beetles and things. . . ."
Teddy, laughing, turned sharply to his right. Ap-
proaching a denser clump of trees, he began to force
his way through a thick growth of bracken.
"It was always thick, but it has grown much thicker
since I was here last," he said, as Sims came to his
assistance with a heavy pocket-knife. Together they
slashed and broke a way through. Pamela and the
Professor followed, and stepped into a little clearing in
the midst of which stood an old building almost covered
in moss and ivy. It was a small, single-storied place
built of heavy blocks of stone. The low doorway was


THE LIMPING MAN 141
closed by a wooden door, the rotted planks of which
barely held together.
"Look out!" cried Teddy.
Taking a few quick steps, he sent his weight full
against the door and promptly disappeared in a jumble
of broken wood and a cloud of dust.
Pamela cried out, and would have run forward; but
Sims caught her arm, while the Professor cautiously
stepped to the entry.
In a moment Teddy's dishevelled head appeared, and
he grinned through the dust.
"All right," he said. "Only lost my balance. Let
the dust settle, and then you can come in."
When the dust-cloud had cleared away, Pamela and
the two men joined Teddy in the grotto, as he had
called it. It was more like a small chapel, divided into
two chambers by a heavy stone arch, on which was
carved the date a.d. 1600. The floors were paved with
broad stone slabs. Narrow windows cut in the walls
admitted sufficient light for them to see that in the
inner chamber what seemed to be a stone altar still
stood intact. For the rest, in the outer room there
were a plain wooden table and a chair, a few rusty
tools, a battered airgun, and some odds and ends of
toys.
Teddy picked up the rusty gun.
"Many an Indian brave I have brought down with


M2 THE LIMPING MAN
this trusty weapon," he said. "There should be a
scalping-knife about somewhere. . . . Ah, here it is."
He turned them about in his hands, then threw them
clattering into a corner and turned to Wells with a
half-sigh.
"This is the place, sir," he said.
The scientist and the detective had already begun
to examine the walls and the floor with a care which
suggested that they had a definite object in view.
For nearly half an hour the two men continued
their examination, while Teddy and the girl talked in
whispers.
At last the Professor swung himself to a seat on the
stone altar, and, taking out his pipe, proceeded to fill
it with his customary care. Sims, who had been kneel-
ing in a corner of the outer chamber, rose, brushed the
dust from the knees of his trousers, and joined his
friend. He lit a cigarette and smiled cheerfully at the
two younger people.
"Well," asked Teddy eagerly, "what have you dis-
covered?"
"Speaking in the strictest confidence," replied the
detective gravely; "absolutely nothing."
Despite his disappointment, Teddy could not help
laughing.
"And you, Professor?" he asked.


THE LIMPING MAN 143
Wells lit his pipe and threw the still burning match
to the ground.
"Nothing at all," he said frankly.
Teddy stepped forward half mechanically and put
his foot on the match, which had fallen near the left-
hand corner of the altar. As he did so he started and
uttered an exclamation.
"What is it?" asked Sims.
"Only that mark—that number," said Teddy. "It's
probably nothing of importance, only I don't remember
seeing it before. I expect it's been there all the time,
only I've forgotten it," he added.
Professor Wells had heaved his burly frame off the
altar with remarkable agility and was kneeling in front
of the altar.
"You mean this figure five cut in the stone?" he
asked.
Teddy nodded.
The Professor took out a magnifying glass and ex-
amined the figure carefully. Then he handed the glass
to Sims, who followed his example.
"New," said the detective briefly, after a few min-
utes' scrutiny.
"What a fool I am!" said the Professor. "I no-
ticed the figure, of course, when I first examined the
altar, but it did not occur to me. . . . However, never


144 THE LIMPING MAN
mind that now. Teddy, you are sure you do not re-
member seeing this figure here before?"
"No," replied Teddy honestly. "At least," he added,
"I don't remember seeing it, but I can't swear it wasn't
there."
"That figure," said the Professor thoughtfully, "was
cut into the stone long after the erection of the altar.
The edges have been broken, and a very successful
effort made to give it an old appearance."
"In fact," said Sims blandly, "so cleverly has it been
done that it even deceived the Professor."
The detective had left the altar to Wells's inspec-
tion, and he could not resist this thrust.
"Mea culpa!" admitted the scientist. "But now let
us see what it means. There is another figure, the
number one, at the other end, but round the corner,"
he added.
Again the magnifying glass came into action.
"This one is new too," he said, and they all looked
at one another.
"Five and one," said Sims thoughtfully. "What do
they mean?"
"If we are right," remarked the Professor, "and if
the numbers have any significance, they can only have
a significance for Teddy. It is to him that, according
to our theory, his uncle's message is addressed. Can


THE LIMPING MAN 145
you think of anybody or anything connected with five
or one, Teddy?"
The young fellow shook his head hopelessly.
"I haven't the foggiest notion what they mean," he
said.
It was Pamela, with that feminine rapidity of thought
which sometimes outdistances mere connected reason-
ing, who suggested an explanation.
"I've got it!" she cried excitedly. "You said the
message, whatever it is, must be addressed to Teddy,
didn't you?"
"Yes," replied Sims, who had conceived a respect for
the girl's intelligence. "Go on, Miss Greye."
"Well, Teddy's first two names are Edward Abbey-
mead. Now, E is the fifth letter of the alphabet, and A
is the first letter."
"By Jove!" cried Teddy. "I believe you've hit it,
Pamela. But what does '51' stand for?" he added
dubiously.
For a moment they were nonplussed. Then the Pro-
fessor chuckled.
"Pamela, my dear," he said, "I think you have put
us on the trail this time"
"Five and one," broke in Teddy in great excite-
ment, "added together make six. And F, the initial of
my third name, is the sixth letter of the alphabet."
"Quite true," replied Wells. "It is a coincidence,


146 THE LIMPING MAN
and one which I have no doubt Mr. Abbeymead did
not fail to observe. In fact, I think that, with that
extraordinarily elaborate care with which he thought
out every move, he foresaw that if another—and un-
authorised—person had succeeded by some means in
following the line we have followed, and in arriving
at the point at which we have now arrived, he might
still be baffled, and find himself unable to get farther."
"That," said Teddy bluntly, "is very likely. I'm
completely stumped myself."
"Well," continued the Professor, "it is always a good
thing to put oneself in the other man's place. Let us
consider what Mr. Abbeymead would do. I think he
would try to avoid the obvious, at any rate. It would
be obvious, for example, to consider the number six as
our key-number, and to measure six inches, or six feet,
or six yards round the altar and away from it, and
about it, and so on. The same thing if we take five as
the key-number, or one. That, too, would occur to
the mysterious stranger whom Mr. Abbeymead seems
to have been so anxious to mystify."
"In mystifying the stranger," put in Teddy with
some justice, "he seems to have forgotten that he was
mystifying me as well."
"No. I don't think he forgot it for one moment,"
Wells replied. "We shall probably find that he rated
your intelligence more highly than you imagine; and


THE LIMPING MAN 149
never was there. And, by the way, if you start count-
ing from your right, standing with your back to the
altar, this is the sixth window."
"Jove!" cried Teddy. "I see the game now. That
cross works some secret mechanism and—and there
you are, don't you know! Pull the cross, Professor,
pull it!"
The Professor obligingly pulled the cross; then he
pushed against it, upwards and from side to side, but
without the slightest result. The cross was immovable
as a mountain.
"Damn!" said the disappointed Teddy. "Sorry,
Pamela," he added, but the girl was staring at the
figure "5" on the altar.
She turned slowly and watched Wells climb down
from the table.
"Professor," she said hesitatingly, "I'm afraid I've
made a most awful blunder."
"Never mind, my dear," he answered, laughing.
"I've made scores of 'em myself."
"But "She paused.
"Eh?" said Sims sharply.
"I've got another idea," she admitted.
"Let's have it, by all means," said the Professor
encouragingly.
"I'm inclined to think," ventured the girl, "that my


ISO THE LIMPING MAN
guardian cut those numbers on the altar to mislead
somebody."
"I'm inclined to think you may be right," remarked
the Inspector dryly.
"But there's another thing," she went on. "You
remember my guardian's letter to Teddy—where he
talked about Teddy on the pony?"
"Yes?"
"He said he remembered Teddy leading the charge
of the Glorious Six Hundred. Wasn't that it?"
"Quite right," said Sims.
"Well, come here"
She led them into the outer chamber and turned,
looking up to the stone arch.
"Look there," she said, and pointed to the date—
A.D.
i 600
cut deeply into a knob of stone above the centre of
the arch.
Sims gave an exclamation.
"But it's sixteen hundred, not six hundred," Teddy
objected.
"Yes, but look at the arrangement of the
figures"
"She's right," the Inspector broke in; "the one is


THE LIMPING MAN 151
farther from the six than the six is from the two
noughts. Do you see that, Professor?"
But Wells was already dragging the table under the
arch.
This time it was the detective who sprang on the
bench. He was able to reach the low arch by stretching
his arms above his head, and the others watched in
tense silence as he put a powerful pressure on the
knob.
It yielded, and at the same moment a creaking noise
made them swing around like marionettes and hurry
to the inner chamber, and Teddy gave a shout of tri-
umph.
The heavy, oblong altar had turned bodily on some
concealed axis, and revealed the beginning of a flight
of stone steps that vanished in the obscurity of a dark
vault.
"Well, Sims," said the Professor to the detective,
who had leaped down from the table and joined them,
"what do you think of that for a piece of observation
and deduction?"
"I think," replied the Inspector, smiling, "that I
would ask Miss Greye to come and lecture to some of
my young men, if I thought they would be able to
remember a single word she said."
Pamela laughed, and blushed so adorably that the
Professor immediately invited the detective's attention


152 THE LIMPING MAN
to the mechanism of the altar, in order that Teddy
might kiss the girl unobserved. The Professor was an
extraordinarily clever judge of a man's powers of self-
control.


CHAPTER XIV
"Now," said Professor Wells presently, "it is usually
unwise to explore subterranean passages immediately
they are discovered. They accumulate foul air which
can be extremely dangerous. But I fancy that we have
not much to fear in this case. Although the altar made
a grating noise as it swung round, it moved easily
enough—far more easily than it would have done if the
passage had not been used since the year 1600, or even
much later. I think we may safely descend the steps,
taking due precautions."
"Why do you call it a passage?" asked Teddy. "It
may be only a sort of crypt."
"Quite true. But I think However," added the
Professor, checking himself, "I have thought several
things that were quite wrong, so I won't make any
more predictions. Sims, have you by any chance
brought your torch with you?"
"Yes," replied the detective. "I slipped it into my
pocket, thinking that what Fane described as a grotto
might be rather dark."
He produced, as he spoke, a powerful electric pocket*
lamp.
153


154 THE LIMPING MAN
"Excellent! Will you lead the way, then?"
"Miss Greye ought to be the first to enter, for we
owe the discovery to her," said Sims, "but as we are
not quite certain what we may come across I think I
had better act as her torchbearer."
Switching on the light, the detective began to de-
scend into the pit, carefully examining each step in
the stone stairway before he trusted his weight on it.
Pamela came next, followed by Teddy, and the Pro-
fessor brought up the rear.
The stairway circled spirally in a narrow shaft, and
they counted thirty-seven steps before Sims stepped out
into what proved to be a chamber about fifteen feet
square. A heavy stone table was set in the middle of
the stone-flagged floor, with a stone bench on either
side, and at one end a stone chair with a high back.
The Professor bent forward as the beam from the
torch fell on some letters carved on the back of the
chair.
"'A.M.D.G.,' " he said. "The Jesuit motto again."
Pamela shivered.
"It's rather gruesome," she said in a low voice.
"One imagines men in black cowls trying some unfortu-
nate prisoner and having him tortured to death and
then buried under the flags."
"I dare say that is exactly what: did happen," an-
swered Sims. "But there are still more interesting


THE LIMPING MAN 155
things here, I think, so far as we are concerned, at
least."
The electric beam had fallen on a strong iron lever
projecting from a slot in the wall near the stairway.
The detective pushed the lever upwards, and from
above their heads came a harsh, grating noise.
"Begad!" said Teddy, laughing, "you've done it now.
That's moved the altar back into place, and if the lever
shouldn't happen to work again"
The Professor kicked the young man's shin sharply,
but Sims had quickly pulled the lever down, and again
the grating sound was heard.
"That's all right," said the detective. "Now let's
have a look round. Hidlol"
The light, travelling slowly round the walls, had re-
vealed a deep niche in which, startlingly incongruous
in that centuries old chamber, stood a modern deedbox,
made of iron and painted black. It was fastened with
a padlock of the type often used by sailors and other
travellers to secure their chests or kitbags—a lock
closed, not by a key, but by a combination of four
letters. Various letters were stamped on four small
cylinders. To open the lock it was only necessary to
know the four letters of the combination and to re-
volve the cylinders until the letters were correctly
aligned.
"I do not think this need cause us much trouble,"


THE LIMPING MAN 157
"Rather!" replied that young man, surreptitiously
squeezing Pamela's hand in the friendly darkness.
"I'm beginning to feel as though there might be a skull
or something inside."
"I hope it will be something more interesting than
that," said the detective. "But I quite agree that we
shall be more comfortable in the library."
Pamela turned towards the stairway, but he stopped
her.
"One moment," he said. "I fancy we may be able
to take a shorter cut than the way we came."
He was sending the beam of his lamp flickering
about the walls while he spoke, and almost immediately
he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
In the wall behind the stone chair was a knob similar
to that in the chamber above, bearing the same date:
A.D.
1 600
In this case, too, the space between first and second
figures was greater than that between the others.
Sims tugged at the knob, and immediately a section
of the apparently solid wall swung easily outwards,
showing a dark space behind.
"I thought so," remarked the detective compla-
cently. "Mr. Abbeymead kept the apparatus in ex-


THE LIMPING MAN 159
past the other with some difficulty. A little over six
feet high, it had been constructed with great care—
roofed, lined and paved with slabs of solid stone joined
together with some very strong cement. Once Sims
paused and, taking out his heavy knife, which con-
tained a steel horse-pick, he endeavoured to chip away
a morsel of the cement, but without success. It was
almost as hard as iron.
"Good work," he commented, his voice curiously
muffled, and resumed his slow advance.
"I am wondering," said the Professor presently,
"why the air is so pure down here."
But almost as he spoke a cool breath beat on their
faces. Sims's torch showed a narrow opening high
up in the wall.
"That communicates in some way with the outer air,
I suppose," he said. "It will be an interesting piece of
exploration for you, Fane, later on. At the moment we
have more pressing matters to consider."
Steadily they plodded on. In the eerie silence and
darkness Pamela soon lost all sense of distance, but
the Professor had been counting his steps, and he was
not surprised when they found themselves ascending a
gentle incline. Suddenly Sims stopped, his light shin-
ing on a flight of stone steps. Cautiously he ascended
them, followed by the others. He paused, and those
beneath heard him fumbling with something metallic.


160 THE LIMPING MAN
There was a sharp click, and a bright light dazzled
their unaccustomed eyes.
Sims stepped forward, turned, took Pamela's hand,
and drew her forward. The girl gazed round her and
rubbed her eyes.
"Why, it's the library!" she cried.
"Exactly," replied the detective, smiling.
Teddy and the Professor quickly followed, and Sims
pulled into its place the section of panelling which
formed the door of the secret passage.
"Come over here," he said, and installed the girl in
the big chair in which Roger Abbeymead had so often
sat. "What do you see immediately opposite you?" he
asked.
The girl stared in front of her for a few moments
without speaking. Then she bent forward, and her
gaze narrowed. Rising, she went over to the wall.
There, almost buried in the elaborate carving of the
oak panel, was a tiny knob. On it was inscribed in
small characters the date which had become so familiar
to them:
A.D.
i 600
"Press it," said Sims.
She did so, and the long, narrow panel swung out-


THE LIMPING MAN 161
wards, revealing the top of the flight of steps which
they had climbed a few minutes before.
Sims pushed the panel back into its place. Hardly
had he done so when the library door opened and the
butler appeared.
"I thought I would remind you of the hour, sir," he
said, addressing Fane. "The dressing-bell rang ten
minutes ago."
"Oh, thanks, Pine," answered Teddy hurriedly.
"We enjoyed our stroll in the grounds so much that we
did not notice the time."
"Quite so, sir," returned the butler. "I would have
reminded you before, but I had stepped down to get
some more port from the cellar, and I was not in the
hall when you came in. Shall I tell them to keep th&
dinner back, sir?"
Teddy, who had not recovered his equanimity, hesi-
tated, and Pamela came to his rescue.
"Certainly not, Pine!" she cried. "I'm simply starv-
ing. I'll be ready in ten minutes, and if these people
are late I shall begin by myself. Professor, if your tie
isn't straight, I'll tie it for you myself when you come
down."
"Then I have a premonition almost amounting to
certainty that it will not be straight," answered the
Professor, chuckling, and Pine, smiling respectfully, re-
tired to the lower regions to tell Mrs. Pine that it did


i6a THE LIMPING MAN
his heart good to see Miss Pamela winding the gentle-
man round her little finger.
"Well, what about it?" said Teddy. "I'm ready
enough for grub myself."
"So am I," agreed the Professor. "But before you
go you may as well put that box in a safe place. Eh,
Sims?"
"I was going to say the same thing," responded the
detective, "and I think the safest place we could find
would be"
"The secret passage!" cried Pamela.
"Exactly," replied the Inspector.


CHAPTER XV
After breakfast on the following morning the con-
spirators assembled in the library.
The Professor and the Inspector had, with consider-
able difficulty, persuaded Pamela and Teddy that a
night's repose would do none of them any harm before
they tackled the next phase of their investigation.
Truth to tell, neither Wells nor Sims felt particularly
proud of their proceedings in the old chapel. They
were both too well used to reverses to be discouraged
by a miscalculation or a false deduction, but they were
not in the habit of performing before an audience.
They preferred to follow their clues in patient silence
and to present the result of their investigations in their
own good time. They recognised that the Abbeymead
mystery was one that would tax their powers to the
utmost, and they would have preferred to elucidate it
without outside collaboration. But Teddy Fane and
Pamela Greye were of necessity involved in almost
every step they took, and they both admitted—without
a shadow of pique—that the girl had beaten them at
their own game in the matter of the secret chamber.
This, however, was but one link in a very long chain.
163


164 THE LIMPING MAN
Teddy, and even Pamela, evidently believed that with
the discovery of the deedbox their quest was nearly
ended. But the two men were expert players at the
game of criminology, and they felt, almost intuitively,
that the hardest part of the struggle still lay before
them.
Sims, indeed, had evolved a theory which he had not
yet communicated even to Wells. There was no dis-
loyalty in this; the two men understood each other
thoroughly, and it was not unusual, in the cases in
which they had been associated, for one of them to
pursue an independent line of inquiry for a time. If
the result proved favourable he at once placed his
colleague in possession of the facts; if not, he discarded
the exploded theory and returned to the main line of
investigation. Indeed, there was an entirely friendly
rivalry between the two that afforded a good deal of
quiet amusement to Sir Charles Merivale—a rivalry
that did not prevent them from joining forces to give
an occasional surprise to Sir Charles himself.
Sims and the Professor did not feel inclined to deal
with the contents of the box after a somewhat fatiguing
day. They both expected that it would contain some
sort of talisman which would open for them the gate
of a new field of inquiry, and before entering that field
they wished to review such information as they had
accumulated and endeavour to bring together detached


THE LIMPING MAN 165
facts and the consequent deductions into a mosaic that
would present at least a portion of a picture.
They retired early, but not to sleep. The Professor
exchanged his dinner-coat for a loose velvet jacket, and
took his largest pipe and an ounce of tobacco along to
Sims's room, and it was not until the small hours of
the morning that they separated. Their conference had
not been fruitless, and when, after half a dozen hours
of refreshing sleep, they met at the breakfast-table,
they were prepared for more eventualities than their
young friends suspected.
Both Sims and the Professor had taken a great
liking to Teddy and the charming girl who was going
to become his wife, and they were determined to avert
from them any such fate as had overtaken Roger Ab-
beymead. But no one would have suspected that such
grave considerations moved the benevolent scientist or
the innocent-looking detective. They might have been
two prosperous parents meeting to agree on the mar-
riage settlements of their respective children.
"Now, Teddy"—when they had adjourned to the
library—"produce this wonderful box, and let us see
what it contains," said Wells.
"I think," remarked the Inspector, "that it would be
well if Pine were informed that we are about to con-
sider builders' estimates, or play a fierce set at Ludo,


166 THE LIMPING MAN
or anything else you like, and that we do not desire to
be disturbed."
"I thought of that," said Teddy. "I told Pine that
we intended to go through a lot of my uncle's old
papers."
"Good. Now for the box."
Teddy went over to the secret door, opened it, and
took up the box, which lay on the top step where he
had placed it the night before. Shutting the door, he
sat down in the arm-chair at the writing-table and
placed the box in front of him. The others settled
themselves comfortably, and the Professor signed to
the young fellow to open the box.
Revolving the cylinders of the lock, Teddy did so,
raised the lid, and took out a roll of manuscript tied
with white tape, and a heavy medallion, of copper or
bronze, about two inches in diameter. On one side of
the medal was a Latin inscription; on the other was a
monogram formed of the letters "A.M.D.G."
"By Jove!" cried Teddy, holding up the medal for
the others to see. "Here are those letters again, Pro-
fessor!"
The Professor took the medal and looked at it for a
few moments. Then he handed it back.
"Go on," he said quietly. "I am more interested in
the papers at the moment."
Teddy replaced the medallion in the box. Then he


THE LIMPING MAN 167
untied the tape that held the papers together, and flat-
tened out the sheets on the desk before him.
"The top sheet," he said, "bears the words:
'"To My Nephew and Heir,
Edward Abbeymead Fane.
For his information, and
subsequent disposal as
he may think fit.'"
Teddy turned a page or two.
"It seems to be another letter," he said. "I will
read it to you exactly as it stands."
This was Roger Abbeymead's singular communica-
tion:
"'My dear Teddy,
"'If you discover the box in which this letter
is contained, you will have justified the faith which I
have in your shrewdness. It is probable that you will
have had the assistance of someone more familiar with
the darker side of life than yourself. Indeed, without
such assistance I doubt if it would have been possible
for you to penetrate the barriers which I have de-
liberately raised. But in the event of my death by
foul play I have sufficient confidence in the determi-
nation and abilities of our detective police to believe


168 THE LIMPING MAN
that they will not readily allow my murderers to escape.
Of course, it is possible that this letter may fall into
the hands of those against whom I have waged a re-
lentless war; but that is a risk which I must now
take.
"'You will wonder why I should have raised such
barriers at all, why I should have thrown such obstacles
as you must by this time have surmounted in your
way. I had two objects in view. First, it was neces-
sary (as you will see) to try to prevent others from
achieving a certain object; secondly, my dear boy, I
will frankly tell you that I resolved to make your even-
tual good fortune to some extent dependent on your
own efforts. I have left you well enough provided for
as it is; but you may win a great reward if you wish
to do so. Perhaps you will prefer to be content with
what you have, since to obtain the greater sum you
must be prepared to face difficulty and even danger.
If you should so decide, burn these papers now, with-
out reading further '"
(Teddy paused, and looked at Pamela. The girl's
cheeks had paled, and her lips were set firmly together.
She shook her head without speaking, and Teddy re-
sumed his reading of the manuscript.)
"'You have decided, then, to go on, or you would
not be reading these lines, so let me try to condense a


THE LIMPING MAN 169
long, rambling narrative into as brief and accurate a
statement as may be.
"'I must ask you to accept without question some
of the things I have to tell you. To reveal the sources
of my information would be to involve persons whom it
is my duty to protect from the slightest association
with any intrigue with which others near and dear to
them were secretly connected.
"'In the letter which I must assume (since I have
no means of knowing) has by this time been handed to
you by Pamela Greye, I was forced to talk in riddles,
trusting that the very oddity of my style, and even an
actual mistake or two in facts, would arouse your sus-
picion, and eventually indicate certain things to you.
But in this letter I need use no secrecy—indeed, I dare
not. If it be another person who is reading this docu-
ment, and not yourself, he is, I will not say welcome,
to my secret, but at least he is almost entitled to learn
it, for he must have found the deedbox with a good
deal less information to go on than you should have
had.
"'But I prefer to think that it is in truth my nephew
who reads these lines.
"'I seem to have covered a great deal of paper with-
out telling you anything very important. But I cannot
plunge into the middle of my story without giving you
some idea of the opening chapters. Besides, why


170 THE LIMPING MAN
should I save words, after all? I have plenty of time
in which to write them, and I do not think you will
grudge the half-hour you will spend in reading them.
"'I have lived a strange life, Teddy. There was a
time when I thought I might have settled down and
carried on the Abbeymead line as others did for cen-
turies before me. But circumstances were unfavour-
able.
"'I have travelled in many lands and lived in queer
and not always creditable company. I have been mixed
up in strange adventures and the intrigues of lawless
men, but I declare solemnly to you that I have never
borne myself discreditably, nor done aught to dishonour
our name. I tell you these things only to explain in
some degree how I have come into the possession of
certain information, and been able to fight clever and
unscrupulous men with their own weapons.
"'And now—at last!—let me have done with pre-
liminaries and come to my secret.
"'As you know, the name of Abbeymead is one of
the oldest in England. For several generations the
Abbeymeads have belonged to the Protestant Church,
but before that they were ardent Roman Catholics.
Abbeymead was a refuge for priests during periods of
persecution; an ever-hospitable house of relief for
weary and needy brethren of the faith; and—though


THE LIMPING MAN 171
this was known to but a few—the secret headquarters
of the Vatican's unofficial agents in this country.
"'Now I must refer briefly to some historical facts.
You have heard a thousand times of the Society of
Jesus, that great organisation founded in 1534 by Ig-
natius Loyola, the Spaniard, to combat the spread of
Protestantism. It is common knowledge that the
Jesuits were not content with missionary work; they
plunged into the muddy river of politics and became
for a time as powerful as they were ruthless.
"'So much for the Jesuits. Now another piece of
history—probably less generally known. The authori-
ties of the Romish Church have not always been too
particular in their choice of tools with which to perform
the work they set before themselves. "It is permitted
to assert what is false, in order to ascertain what is
true," is a longer version of the saying, "Do evil that
good may come." Both these axioms have been
ascribed—though with what truth I confess I cannot
say—to the Society of Jesus. Certainly the Vatican
at one time winked at many proceedings of a dubious
character and only opened a wide eye in order to per-
ceive the resultant profits.
"'In the time of the Emperor Ferdinand there ex-
isted in Spain a band of thieves and vagabonds which
grew into a great secret society known as the Garduna
—a word which may be translated "pole-cats." The


172' THE LIMPING MAN
Spanish priesthood saw in this organisation an effec-
tive weapon against the Moors and the Jews who domi-
nated the country. The Garduna, being aggressively
Christian, and incidentally scenting rich loot, were
nothing loath, and they declared a "war" which was
highly successful. Hundreds of thousands of Moors
and Jews were driven out and their property confis-
cated. The State and the Holy Office (or Inquisition),
however, insisted on their share of the proceeds—a
share which the Garduna considered excessive. The
State took action, but the Inquisition continued on good
terms with the bandits and continued to receive a hand-
some cash consideration in return for its powerful
political and religious aid.
"'The Garduna was at its greatest between 1500 and
1700; then its power began to wane, and it was finally
suppressed in 1822, when the last Grand Master, Fran-
cisco Corting, was hanged. The South American
branches of the organisation held out a little longer,
but eventually the society died out, as it was supposed.
"'In actual fact, however, the traditions of the
Garduna are still preserved—like those of many an-
other old institution—and certain of its secrets are
known to a very few people, chiefly in South America
and Cuba. It was from one of these people, to whom
I had been of some service, that I learned certain facts.
He was dying when he confided in me—dying from a


THE LIMPING MAN 173
knife-thrust in the back. More I cannot tell you, save
that his confidence to me was the only revenge he
could take against the man whom he believed to have
inspired his murder. I set myself to follow the path he
had pointed out to me, but it was not easy. He himself
knew little, though he suspected much more. But I
am a patient man, and I had ample leisure in which to
pursue my investigations. After a time the problem
began to fascinate me, and when I discovered that
some unseen agency appeared to be following my pro-
ceedings with intense interest, a spice of antagonism
and even danger was added that was sufficient to excite
all the obstinacy that is in me—a pretty liberal share,
I am afraid.
"'Now, some of the things I am about to tell you
are already known to you—the secret of the passage
from the library to the old chapel, for instance—but
it is best that I should put such information as I have
into a fairly connected narrative. Briefly, then, it
appears that one of my ancestors, Geoffrey Abbeymead
(they spelt it, I think, Abeymede then), who lived
about the year 1700, was a trusted agent of the So-
ciety of Jesus. The Society had been falling into gen-
eral disfavour owing to its political intrigues, and its
leaders saw that their days of power were drawing to
a close. They were not mistaken, for they were pres-
ently expelled from almost every European nation, and


174 THE LIMPING MAN
suppressed here in 1773. To-day, although our laws
against the Jesuits have never been repealed, they are
permitted to exist in England, since they are reputed
to concern themselves only with religious matters.
"'But in 1700 the Society still possessed a great
deal of valuable property. Most of this was converted
into cash and valuable gems, and was distributed in
various parts of the world, for the General of the So-
ciety and his advisers did not abandon their hopes of
once more making the organisation a power in the
councils of the world.
"'Geoffrey Abbeymead, as I have said, had been of
great service to the Society, and to his care was en-
trusted a portion of their funds. They were not un-
grateful to those who served them well, and I have
reason to believe that Geoffrey did not lose by his
loyalty to them. But in addition to that the Society
ordained that the treasure which they confided to his
keeping should be held in trust by him for a period
of twenty-five years. If at the expiration of that time
the Society had not required him to return it, the
treasure was to become the property of himself or of
his heir.
"'So far the matter is straighforward enough, but
from this point the difficulties commence. Apparently
the treasure was hidden by Geoffrey in a place known
only to himself and to the General of the Society.


THE LIMPING MAN 175
Two medallions were made—one of which you will
find in the box with this letter—and on each was in-
scribed half the information necessary to discover the
hiding-place. This may seem a useless precaution,
since both of them knew the secret already; but the
explanation is simple enough. Should either of them
die before the twenty-five years had expired he would
bequeath his medal to some trusted person, who would
then be dependent on the production of the second
medal before he could touch the treasure. Geoffrey
left his medal to his heir, but he died suddenly and
had not time to explain its significance. I think, how-
ever, that the heir must have suspected that it had some
peculiar significance, for each heir in turn has been
instructed to preserve the medal with great care. With
it, by the way, went the secret (known only to the
heir) of the chapel vault, which was, of course, much
older.
"'But, you will ask, what became of the other
medal? Ah, that is what I, and certain other people,
have spent years in trying to find out. It seems to
have become lost, or else to have been stolen, after
the death of the General of the Jesuits for whom it
was made. For a long time no trace of it could be
found. Then, by a pure accident, it came into the
hands of a dealer in antiques. Without knowing its
value, he recognised that it was of considerable inter-


176 THE LIMPING MAN
est, and sold it in that belief to a collector. The col-
lector's house was broken into, and the medal was
one of the many things taken by the thieves. It would
take too long to describe to you the efforts I have made
to trace that medal. I am now (at the time of writ-
ing) satisfied that it is in London—why, it does not
matter; my informant is a member of that body known
to the police as the "swell mob," but there are reasons
why I can trust him—and I am leaving no stone un-
turned to find it. If I do so, I shall be able to burn
this letter and tell you the whole story, and we will
find the treasure together. But meanwhile I am not
going to allow you to devote the best years of your
life to a search with me which may never prove
successful.
"'Onej other thing. I have spoken several times of
certain people who are as anxious to obtain possession
of the medal as I am. They also want my own medal,
and have tried several times to obtain it. Twice they
have broken into Abbeymead in search of it. I did not
call in the police, because throughout my quest I have
recognised the necessity for absolute secrecy. I have
confided in no one, not because of mistrust, but because
I am opposed by an exceedingly clever and unscrupu-
lous man who is, however, handicapped by lack of some
of the information I have been able to give you. I
am well aware that to such a man as he even a chance


THE LIMPING MAN 177
hint might be of superlative importance. Whatever
you do, Teddy, do not underrate this man: believe him
rather to be a superman—what you like—but do not
relax your vigilance for one moment; suspect his hand
in even the most apparently innocent gesture. I am
not an alarmist, but I know that I stand in consider-
able danger. He would have me "removed" to-morrow
were it not that I am more valuable while I am alive.
But should I discover the second medallion, and he
learns that I have it, it is difficult to say what he may
do. Rather than allow me to secure the treasure, he
would murder me with his own hands, whether he
benefited by it or not. But his object, of course, is
to allow me to find the second medal, and then to
obtain, by force or craft, both medals for himself.
******
"'I have been interrupted by the receipt of a mes-
sage which calls me to London immediately. It may
be that as a result I shall be able to take you into my
confidence. If not, I shall return here (I am writing
this at Abbeymead) and add a few sentences to this
letter, although I have told you almost all that really
matters. In case of accidents, however, I had better
tell you the name of the man I have warned you
against.
"'He is Dr. Cortinga, a descendant of the Francisco


178 THE LIMPING MAN
Corting who was the last Grand Master of the
Garduna.
"'Now I must go. I do not anticipate any unusual
danger, but I always prefer to be on the safe side.
Therefore, my dear boy, let me, in taking leave of you,
assure you of my deep affection. I have never been
able to wear my heart on my sleeve, and of late I
have thought that it might have been better had I
shown my feelings more openly to you and to another.
It is not too late, however, and perhaps we may soon
understand one another better. If that may not be,
I commend to your care the girl whose self-appointed
guardian I have been.
"'Now I must go. Good-bye, dear lad.
"'Your uncle,
"'Roger Abbeymead.'"
There was a tremor in Teddy's voice as he read
the last words of his uncle's long letter, and nobody
spoke as he folded up the closely written pages and
replaced them in the iron box.
A knock at the door cut sharply across the silence.
"What is it?" cried Teddy impatiently.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the butler, opening
the door; "I would not have disturbed you if the
gentleman had not said that he had some important
news for you."


THE LIMPING MAN 179
"Gentleman? What gentleman?"
"He has just arrived in a car, sir. This is his card."
Teddy took the piece of pasteboard from the salver
Fine extended to him and read aloud the name printed
on it:
"Dr. Cortinga."


CHAPTER XVI
Never had Professor Wells admired the decision
and resource of his friend Sims more than when Teddy
uttered the name of the man against whom Roger
Abbeymead had so impressively warned them.
Rising quickly, the Inspector closed the door.
"Fane," he said, "you will see this man at once,
please. Pretend to know nothing of him or his affairs;
let him do the talking, and say as little as you can.
Pine"—he turned to the astonished butler—"you are
a sensible fellow. I want you to show Dr. Cortinga
up here, and be ready to do anything you may be told.
We can trust you, Pine, can't we? Mr. Abbeymead
said we could, you know."
He laid his hand on the old man's arm, and the
butler nodded.
"Absolutely, sir," he said.
"Good. Now help me to move this screen and put
three chairs behind it."
Aided by the Professor and Pine, he quickly pulled
a great screen of stamped leather and oak from the
spot where it protected the hearth from possible
draughts from a long window, and placed three chairs
behind it.
180


182 THE LIMPING MAN
you my condolences on the tragic death of your uncle,
Mr. Roger Abbeymead."
Teddy bit his lip. Then his jaw set hard. It was
difficult to sit quietly and listen to the hypocritical sym-
pathy of his uncle's murderer. But Teddy was no fool;
he realised that Sims and the Professor looked to him
at this juncture to play his cards with the greatest care,
and with an effort he forced back the words that sprang
to his lips. He would not trust himself to speak, and
merely acknowledged Cortinga's words by a curt nod.
"Mr. Fane," Cortinga went on, in the calm tone of
a man proposing a business deal, "let me be frank with
you. Mr. Abbeymead did not see eye to eye with me
regarding a certain proposal which I made to him. But
there can be no disrespect to his memory if I make the
same offer to you, his heir. You agree?"
"I must first know," replied Teddy carefully, "what
that offer was."
Cortinga waved his hand.
"Perfectly," he agreed. "Without doubt. Briefly,
it concerns a valuable treasure. I propose to you that
instead of continuing the fruitless antagonism mani-
fested by your uncle, we should unite our efforts and
divide the spoil."
Teddy hesitated, uncertain whether to deny all
knowledge of the treasure, or to temporise.
Cortinga glanced round the room and laughed lightly.


THE LIMPING MAN 183
"I am afraid," he said, "that I have taken you rather
by surprise. You were not prepared for such an offer.
But why not call in your advisers? If I may say so,
I should be delighted to meet them; and it is so awk-
ward talking to people you cannot see."
Teddy could not repress a start of surprise.
"What do you mean?" he demanded shortly.
Cortinga shrugged his shoulders.
"My dear Mr. Fane," he said, "do give me credit for
a little intelligence. I mean, simply, that behind that
screen are Professor Wells and Inspector Sims; and, I
venture to hope, Miss Greye also. Will they not do me
the honour of joining us?"
Before Teddy could reply, Sims came out from his
concealment, followed by the Professor and Pamela.
Cortinga rose and bowed—cavalierly to the two men,
respectfully to the girl.
"You are right," said the Inspector coolly. "There
is now no reason why we should not meet face to face.
I fancy that our acquaintanceship is going to be fairly
intimate."
"Not in the sense that you anticipate," replied Cor-
tinga, as he politely placed a chair for Pamela and then
reseated himself.
"How so?"
"Well," said the doctor composedly, "you are, so to


THE LIMPING MAN 185
"You delight me, Mr. Sims," he said. "You are so—
so adequate, may I say? A mediocre intelligence would
have suspected a cunning scheme to overcome you all
with drugged tobacco in the approved style of the melo-
drama."
Sims smiled.
"I am glad," he said, "that you rate my intelligence
so highly"; and Teddy, sitting dumbly at his table,
marvelled that the detective could hobnob in so friendly
a fashion with a man who, however polished, was, after
all, a callous murderer.
The pleasant voice of Professor Wells broke in.
"You were saying," he remarked, "that circumstan-
tial evidence is sometimes misleading. Will you not
go on? The subject is one which interests me greatly."
"And one to which, if I mistake not, you have de-
voted considerable attention."
The Professor eyed him calmly.
"You seem will informed, sir," he said.
Again Cortinga shrugged.
"Do not think that I am trying to figure as a dens ex
machina—a seer, a wizard, or anything of that sort.
No one knows better than yourself, Professor, that a
man may have a profound knowledge of one subject
and be quite ignorant about almost everything else. It
is so in my case. My one subject has been the matter
of this treasure, and I have naturally informed myself


188 THE LIMPING MAN
that capacity I am, of course, permitted to keep drugs.
I have sufficient means of my own to make it unneces-
sary for me to practise medicine, and I have dabbled
in chemistry from sheer interest in the subject. Among
my drugs was a small quantity of the curious com-
pound known as Horolain. When I heard of Mr.
Abbeymead's death I was as much surprised as you
must have been—if not more so, for it is not easy to
surprise members of your profession. I knew that his
heart was not altogether sound—or at least I suspected
it—but I could not help thinking that, for certain rea-
sons, his death came at a peculiar moment. I cast
about in my mind for a form of death which would
present the same appearance as death from heart
trouble, and Professor Wells will not be surprised to
hear that I at once thought of Horolain."
Wells nodded, but said no word.
"I was in my laboratory at the time," Cortinga con-
tinued, "and by a natural association of ideas my eye
sought the shelf on which I kept my bottle of Horolain.
Mr. Sims, the bottle had disappeared."
The Inspector rose and paced thoughtfully up and
down the room.
"You have, doubtless, friends interested in research
work," he began, but Cortinga interrupted him.
"I follow your train of thought," he said, "but as a
matter of fact I rarely entertain at home. I keep only


THE LIMPING MAN 189
a small and quite trustworthy staff, and entertain my
friends at my club or at a restaurant. As it happens,
I have not had a guest in my house for more than three
months. And I cannot imagine a burglar breaking in
simply to steal a bottle of a drug he would probably
not even know the name of."
Sims shook his head.
"Stranger things have happened," he said. "But I
appreciate, nevertheless, your frankness in telling me
of the incident."
Cortinga laughed.
"I could do no less," he answered, "after your hand-
some—and unexpected—admission of my innocence.
Of course, I have come armed with an unimpeachable
alibi, or I should not have thrust my head into the lion's
den so unconcernedly. But I fully expected to have
more difficulty in convincing you that not only did I
not kill Mr. Abbeymead, but that I was wholly uncon-
nected with his death."
"Well," said the Inspector, "now that your mind is
relieved on that score, no doubt you would like to
revert to the real object of your visit."
"You mean?"
"I mean your desire that we should help you to get
possession of the medal which came into Mr. Abbey-
mead's hands on the day of his death, and which you


CHAPTER XVII
"Let us return," Dr. Cortinga went on, "to my
original offer to Mr. Fane, which I now repeat. I am
prepared to assist you by every means in my power to
discover the treasure, provided that you agree to share
it equally with me."
"You forget," remarked Teddy, "that our knowledge
of the matter is much greater than yours."
"You will forgive my saying that that remains to
be proved," replied Cortinga shrewdly.
Teddy, who knew his limits, had sense enough to
draw in his horns.
"I have placed my affairs in the hands of Mr. Sims."
he said formally, "and I shall be guided by his advice."
If Cortinga was disappointed at not having en-
trapped the young fellow into some rash disclosure, he
did not allow his chagrin to appear.
"Quite so," he answered. "I hope that Mr. Sims
will agree that my proposition is a fair and even gen-
erous one. You will not forget that I, as a descendant
of the last Grand Master of the Garduna, must be well
acquainted with every phase of the problem."
"Which, however, you have not yet succeeded in
solving," put in the Professor smoothly.
191


192 THE LIMPING MAN
"That is so," Cortinga admitted without hesitation.
"But with the knowledge at your disposal you must
be aware of the circumstances which have hindered me.
Believe me, I know everything that Roger Abbeymead
knew."
"In that case," said the Inspector suavely, "it would
be a waste of time for me to repeat to you things you
already know. Quite frankly, Dr. Cortinga, the posi-
tion as I see it is this: we are obliged to you for your
visit; as to the offer which you have made, we regret
that we are compelled to decline it."
Cortinga's sensitive nostrils dilated, but the hand
with which he took out his handkerchief and flicked a
speck of ash from his coat was perfectly steady.
"I understand, then," he said, "that it is to be war
between us?"
"The choice of words is your own," replied the
detective coldly. "I prefer to call it the protection of
our property from the hands of unauthorised persons."
Dr. Cortinga looked deliberately at each of the four
people before him. On Pamela his eyes rested longer
than on the others, and the girl shivered involuntarily
as she met his gaze. She felt as though a great serpent
had suddenly fixed its glittering eyes on her.
"I have offered myself as your friend," said Cor-
tinga slowly. "I would advise you to think twice before
you compel me to be your enemy."


THE LIMPING MAN 193
"I had hardly expected a threat from a man of your
calibre," remarked Sims.
"And you are too shrewd to regard such a threat as
a mere gesture," retorted the other, rising. "Mr. Fane,
I thank you for receiving me. Let me hope that on
second thoughts your advisers will counsel you to work
with me, rather than against me. If not"
He made a significant gesture as Teddy rang the bell,
included the others in a sweeping bow, and turned to
the door.
"May I suggest," said Sims mildly, "that you might
devote some of your attention to the man with the
club-foot?"
Dr. Cortinga looked over his shoulder at him.
"I am inclined to think," he said surprisingly, "that
we shall recognise him when we see him!" and he
passed through the doorway, followed by the butler.
"Now, what the deuce did he mean by that?" asked
Teddy when their unexpected visitor was out of ear-
shot.
"I don't know," said the Professor, glancing at Sims.
"We don't know any man with a club-foot, do we?"
asked Pamela.
"Not at present," replied the detective; "but Dr.
Cortinga does not strike me as a man who makes
statements at random. On the other hand, does it not


194 THE LIMPING MAN
seem possible that Cortinga thinks we know more than
we really do—the man with the club-foot may be some-
one he has reason to know and suspect."
"What do you make of the blighter—Cortinga, I
mean?" asked Teddy.
"I think he's a remarkably cool hand," returned the
Inspector.
"And what do you suppose he'll do now?"
"I wish I knew."
"You don't think he was bluffing?"
"Bluffing? No. Cortinga is too big a man to bluff—
big mentally, I mean, of course."
"If it had not been for my uncle's warning," began
Teddy thoughtfully, and paused.
"You would have been inclined to form a cosy little
syndicate under the style of 'Fane, Cortinga and Co.,
Ltd.,' to look for the treasure, eh?" said the Professor,
smiling.
"Well," replied Teddy honestly, "he talked squarely
enough, I thought, in a way."
"He did," Sims agreed. "His talk was so good that
I should not blame you for trusting him if we had not
Mr. Abbeymead's word to go on. You may be quite
sure your uncle knew him better than we do."
"Do you think he was honestly prepared to go halves
in the swag?"
"Not for a moment. Exactly how much he knows


THE LIMPING MAN 195
it is impossible to say, and we must not make the mis-
take of assuming that he does not know a great deal.
But it is obvious that there are certain things which
we know and he does not, and without knowing them
he is going to find it difficult to get at the treasure."
"He seems to know a lot about us and our doings,"
Pamela remarked.
"Naturally. As he said himself, it is vitally impor-
tant to him to watch us like a cat with a mouse. And
I am bound to admit that he has done his work well.
I do not wonder that Mr. Abbeymead did everything
he could to keep Cortinga in the dark.'
"How did he know we were all behind the screen
over there?"
"That was not very difficult," answered the detec-
tive, smiling. "I hope you do not base your estimate
of Dr. Cortinga's powers on such a simple piece of
deduction; he would hardly be flattered. When he
arrived he was no doubt told by Pine that Mr. Fane
was engaged. He evidently knew already that we had
all come down together; it was therefore easy to guess
that we were conferring about something with you,
Fane. He insists on seeing you, and persuades Pine to
take up his card. Quick though we were, he knew that
a simple 'Yes' or 'No' would not have detained Pine so
long. He enters this room, he sees the big screen, he
fires a long but justifiable shot—and there you are."


196 THE LIMPING MAN
"Then why did you get behind the screen, if you
knew he would find you out?" asked Teddy reasonably.
Sims cast a comical glance of despair at the Pro-
fessor.
"'Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we
practise to deceive,' " quoted the scientist slyly.
"To be honest with you," Sims explained, "I fell into
the very mistake that Mr. Abbeymead had warned us
against—I underrated my opponent. I arranged my
own coup too hurriedly and did not think of his. I
forgot that he might reason in the perfectly simple
way I have explained, and I wanted very much to
hear what he had to say at first hand"
"And pounce out on him dramatically at a suitable
moment," put in Wells, with a chuckle.
"Well, perhaps. That would have depended on cir-
cumstances."
Pamela had been thinking hard.
"Mr. Sims," she said, "how did you know that Dr.
Cortinga had not murdered my guardian?"
"He hasn't got a club-foot," said Teddy sapiently,
but Pamela kept her brown eyes on the detective.
"A fair question, Miss Greye," replied Sims gravely.
"You mean, of course, how did I know that Dr. Cor-
tinga had nothing to do with the crime?"
The girl nodded.
"A fair question," Sims repeated slowly. "I wonder


THE LIMPING MAN 197
whether you mind very much if I did not answer it just
now?"
Teddy stared.
"Surely "he began, but Pamela frowned at him.
"Mr. Sims," she said simply, "do exactly as you
think best. We trust you utterly—don't we, Teddy?"
"Rather!" said that youth loyally.
The detective looked from one to the other.
"Thank you," he said. "I do not think you will
regret it. Now," he added in a lighter tone, "I don't
want to be more mysterious than I need. I don't mind
telling you that I have a certain theory—I have not
even mentioned it yet to Professor Wells—but it is a
very vague one. I know that several times the Pro-
fessir and I have seemed to be unnecessarily and even
irritatingly secretive. It is not that we do not trust
your discretion, or that we do not appreciate your help;
indeed, we have to thank Miss Greye for showing us
the secret of the chapel. But sometimes it is unwise
to make too much of what appears to be a clue; the
very discussion of it is apt to cloud one's judgment, and
make one attach more importance to it than it deserves.
Do I make myself clear?"
"Quite," answered Teddy intelligently, and the Pro-
fessor told himself that he had never heard Sims lie
more gracefully in all their long association.
"Good!" cried the detective cheerfully. "I felt sure


THE LIMPING MAN 199
his magnifying glass to look at it when Sims took up a
folded slip of paper which had lain beneath the medal
in the case.
"I think," he said, "that Mr. Abbeymead has been
thoughtful enough to provide us with a translation."
On the paper was written, in Roger Abbeymead's
handwriting, the following message:
"The inscription on the medal is in old Latin, abbre-
viated. To save time, I append a translation:
'Who? He who served.
When? At sunset.
Where? In safety.'"
"That is clear enough," said the Professor. "He who
served would be, of course, Geoffrey Abbeymead. Sun-
set, I think, meant the time when the Society of Jesus
came to an end—when the sun of its prosperity set, so
to speak, and it seemed useless to keep the treasure any
longer."
"What about the 'in safety'?" asked Teddy. "That's
not very helpful. They naturally would put their
treasure somewhere pretty safe."
"There is the other medallion, you know," Sims
reminded him. "This one is only supposed to give half
the information necessary."
"Well," said Teddy, "I don't know how you feel


200 THE LIMPING MAN
about it, but my idea is a bottle and a bird. To put
it vulgarly, I'm beastly peckish. What about some
lunch?"
"Teddy," said the Professor cordially, "I have long
admired your thoroughly practical turn of mind."
It was a cheerful meal. The strain of the interview
with Coringa had been greater than they realised, and
now that it was relaxed even the equable Sims felt a
sense of relief.
After their coffee, Pamela, to whom the grounds were
a joy enhanced by her office life, proposed a stroll, and
they set forth in search of the honest but saturnine
Saunders.
The Scottish gardener was discovered in the rose
garden.
"Well, Saunders," said Teddy cheerfully; "going to
take a first at the flower show next year?"
"Ah canna say, sir," replied the gardener cautiously.
"It'll deepend, ye ken, on the judge."
"No doubt," answered Teddy; "but on the roses as
well."
Saunders shook his head.
"Last year," he said slowly, "yon felly—the judge,
ye ken, sir—was an Englishman. An English grower
won the prize. The year befower that the judge was
fra Wales; the prize went to a birkie named Griffiths."


THE LIMPING MAN
"Well," said Teddy, laughing, "we'll have to try and
get a Scotchman appointed next year."
"Dod, aye," returned the gardener with a slow
chuckle, "gin he hasna got a son showing, himsel'!
There's a two-three things I'd be glad tae speak tae ye
aboot, sir," he added, "when it'll be convenient—the
conservatories and so forth, ye ken."
"Certainly, Saunders. Come up to the house this
evening, will you?"
After dinner Pamela curled herself up on a couch in
the drawing-room with a novel, while Sims and the
Professor adjourned to the billiard room, with Teddy
acting as marker.
To them presently came Pine.
"Who?" asked Teddy. "Oh, Saunders. I'd for-
gotten. Show him in here, Pine, will you? He wants
to see me about his beloved roses and things."
Saunders made his appearance, glanced round the
room, and saluted the heir of Abbeymead with the
composure he would have displayed equally in his hot-
houses and in the Throne Room at Buckingham Palace.
"Come in, Saunders," said Teddy pleasantly. "What
about a whisky and soda, eh?"
The gardener, much flattered by this special recog-
nition of his dignity as an old and faithful retainer,
accepted the proffered glass, wiped his mouth, and said,


202 THE LIMPING MAN
"Ye're verra guid, sir. Here's tae yel" and disposed
of a stiffish peg at a gulp.
"Now, about the garden, and so on," said Teddy
tentatively.
"By yer leave, sir," replied Saunders deliberately,
"the garden can wait. There's anither matter I'm
wantin' to mention."
"By all means," Teddy answered in some sur-
prise.
"I didna want tae fricht the young leddy this after-
noon," Saunders proceeded. "There's a mon been seen
prowlin' about the groonds, sir."
"Who saw him?" Teddy demanded.
'Hill, sir, the laddie that's helpin' me. Ah juist brocht
him along wi' me in case ye'd be likin' tae hear what
he says."
"Rather! Fetch him in," said Teddy promptly.
Professor, I'm sorry to spoil your game, but I think
you and Sims ought to hear this," he added, as the
gardener left the room.
Saunders returned in a moment, followed by Hill, a
sturdy lad with a fresh, honest face.
"Good-evening, Hill," said Teddy. "What's this I
hear about a man being seen in the grounds?"
"I don't know if it's important, sir," the lad replied
with some diffidence, "but I thought I ought to tell Mr.
Saunders about it"


THE LIMPING MAN 205
were the mysterious stranger himself, and Teddy turned
to his friends.
"The man with the club-foot, I suppose?" he said.
"I believe you're right," answered Sims. "Professor,
it's your shot."
-


CHAPTER XVIII
Teddy waited with what patience he could muster
while Sims and the Professor finished their game.
When at last they replaced their cues in the rack and
put on the jackets they had taken off, he suggested that
they should go and tell Pamela of Hill's encounter.
"I wonder if we ought to," said the Professor du-
biously.
"Pamela's too plucky to be frightened by a thing
like that," Teddy declared. "Especially," he added,
"with—er—us to look after her."
"Of course she's plucky enough," retorted the Pro-
fessor. "You need not tell me that. But there is no
sense in worrying her unnecessarily."
"I think it will be better to tell her," Sims decided.
"She will have to know sooner or later, and it is a good
opportunity to warn her not to wander about the
grounds without one of us with her."
"You think she is in danger, then?" asked Teddy.
Sims turned and put his hand on the young fellow's
shoulder.
"Look here, Fane," he said kindly, "I don't want to
do the heavy father and all that, but you had better
306


THE LIMPING MAN 207
understand clearly what we are up against. Cortinga
is a dangerous man to deal with—of that I am certain—
but at least he has come out into the open. But we are
still in the dark about the man with the club-foot, and
I am not inclined to take any risks."
Teddy thrust his hands deep into his pockets and
stared at the red ball outlined against the green cloth,
his lips set in a firm line.
"Sims," he said presently, "I dare say you think me
a bit of an ass at times. I'm not as quick at picking
up things as you and the Professor, or even Pamela.
But I'm not altogether a fool, and I want to help you
all I can, if you'll let me. I'm jolly grateful to you
two for running this show, and if it somes to a scrap—
well, I've been in one or two before."
The detective nodded.
"I know," he said, "and perhaps you are more useful
than you think. Believe me, I know how you feel.
You want to get hold of this club-footed man and scrag
him. Well, so do we, but we've got to find him first.
He's a clever fellow—a damned clever fellow—but
we're not exactly novices, and I think we'll be able to
give him a run for his money. But I do want you to
remember that although I belong to Scotland Yard,
and although the Professor is one of the cleverest ama-
teur criminologists in the country, we are both only
human, and we make a devil of a lot of mistakes. I'm


2io THE LIMPING MAN
handed down to each heir in turn. But the only thing
we found there was a deedbox."
"We did not search very thoroughly," Teddy re-
marked.
"No; and I propose that we examine the passage and
the vault more carefully to-morrow, for it would be
foolish to neglect any possible clue. But I admit I do
not think that we shall learn much. You see, the vault
itself would be such an obvious place in which to hide
the treasure that I think they would avoid using it for
that very reason."
"Do you think Dr. Cortinga and the limping man
know of the vault?" asked Pamela.
"The Limping Man," put in the Professor. "That's
a good name for him, and shorter than calling him the
man with the club-foot all the time."
"Of course, they do not know its secret—how to get
into it—or they would have found the deedbox," said
Sims, in reply to the girl's question. "I do not think
Cortinga knows of its existence, but I am not so sure
that the Limping Man does not suspect there is some-
thing of the sort."
"Because he was in the wood near the chapel last
night?"
"Partly. That and other things."
"Then," said Teddy, "is it wise to keep the deedbox
in the passage?"


THE LIMPING MAN 211
Sims considered.
"It is, of course, possible that the Limping Man may-
discover the secret, just as we did. But the ques-
tion is, where else would the medallion be so safe?"
"Why not put it in the bank?" suggested Pamela.
"Where are my wits?" cried the detective, laughing.
"Of course that is the thing to do. Miss Greye, sup-
pose you run up to town to-morrow in the car and
deposit the medallion at the bank where you kept Mr.
Abbeymead's letter?"
"I "the girl had begun, when the door opened
and Pine entered.
"A telegram for you, Miss Pamela," he said. "The
postmaster sent a boy on a bicycle with it from the
village. He's always very obliging about anything like
that."
"One advantage of living in the country," remarked
Teddy, while Pamela tore open the coloured envelope.
"All right, Pine. No answer, thank you," she said,
and the butler bowed and withdrew.
"I can kill two birds with one stone," she went on.
"Mr. Welman wants to see me."
She handed the telegram to Sims, who read the foI«
lowing message:
"HAVE MISLAID IMPORTANT PAPER CAN
YOU CALL AT OFFICE TO-MORROW FOR A


212 THE LIMPING MAN
FEW MINUTES AT SIX SORRY INTERRUPT
HOLIDAY BUT VERY URGENT BUSINESS
WELMAN."
"I expect it's an agreement Mr. Welman wants to
refer to," Pamela explained. "In my letter to the girl
who would be taking my place I told her where every-
thing was, but I've no doubt she tore up the note, and
now she's forgotten half I told her in it. She's that
sort. Anyhow, I can easily run in and see Mr. Wel-
man; I should hate to leave him in a hole."
Professor Wells took the telegram and read it care-
fully.
"Have you ever had reason," he asked, "to believe
that the good Mr. Welman is endowed with second
sight?"
Pamela stared.
"Second sight?" she repeated. "Good gracious, nol
Why?"
"Well," replied the Professor, "as I did not tell him
where you were going, it was quite clever of him to
telegraph to you here."
"I'd forgotten that," said Pamela slowly.
Teddy sprang up from his chair.
"What the devil is the game?" he demanded. "Wel-
man could not have sent the wire. Besides, if he had
known about Pamela being here he could have got a


THE LIMPING MAN 215
Pamela laughed, and after a few more words the
little party broke up for the night.
"Now, Sims," said the Professor as he stopped at his
bedroom door, "what's the idea?"
"Go along to my room," said the detective. "I want
to get hold of young Fane without disturbing the
others. We'll follow you in a minute."


CHAPTER XIX
A few minutes before six on the following evening a
big motor-car, driven by Walters, Mr. Abbeymead's
chauffeur, stopped before the building in which were
the offices of Messrs. Welman and Keydock.
The autumn shadows had fallen, and there was a
bite of approaching winter in the air that made a warm
wrap welcome even in a closed car.
As Walters pulled up, the door of the car opened
and a figure muffled in a long coat and wearing a thick
veil tied over a smart little hat alighted.
Immediately a lad in the uniform of a District Mes-
senger stepped forward and saluted smartly.
"Beg pardon, miss," he said. "Are you Miss
Greye?"
The figure nodded.
"Mr. Welman, miss, sent me to meet you. He's gone
across to another office on business, and says for you
to please come after him, to save time. I was to show
you where it is, miss."
Again the figure nodded, and, stepping over to the
car, said a few words in a low voice to the chauffeur.
Walters touched his cap and set his engine going, and
216


THE LIMPING MAN 217
the messenger boy said briskly, "This way, miss," and
led the way down the street, followed by the muffled
figure. From another car which had stopped a short
distance away sprang a man, who followed the pair
unobstrusively.
Presently the lad turned down a side street and from
that into a narrow, badly lit passage. As they passed
down it two men came from a doorway. They were
wrapped in overcoats, with collars turned up to their
ears, and soft felt hats were pulled down well over their
foreheads.
Without a word, one of them seized the the muffled
figure by the arm, while the other took what seemed
to be a damp cloth from his pocket.
To their amazement, however, the "girl" snatched
her arm free, stepped quickly forward, and caught the
man with the cloth a smashing blow on the mouth that
would have done credit to a professional boxer.
The second man drew a life-preserver from his
pocket and aimed a murderous blow at his victim, who,
only partly able to avoid it, reeled backwards and fell
to the ground half stunned.
The first man had picked himself up, and the two
bent over their prey, when a shout at the entrance to
the passage startled them. The man with the life-pre-
server lifted his weapon, but a sharp report rang out
and a bullet hummed past his head. With a muttered


THE LIMPING MAN 221
"Very good, sir; I quite understand."
"Right. Good-night, Walters."
They had turned to ascend the steps leading up to
the hall door when Walters touched his cap again.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen "he said hesitatingly.
"What is it, Walters?" asked Teddy.
"Excusing the liberty, Mr. Fane, sir; I know my
place, and I don't want to push myself into what don't
concern me; but"
"Well?" asked Sims sharply.
"Only," said the chauffeur earnestly, "only if there
should be any scrapping to be done, sir, I'd be proud if
you'd let me be in it. I served in the war, sir, as Mr.
Fane knows—Mr. Abbeymead let me go on purpose—
and I can handle my dukes a bit, too, sir. Excusing
the liberty of mentioning it, sir."
Sims laughed.
"You're a good chap, Walters," he said. "We shan't
forget. If there's anything of that sort to be done
we'll be glad to have you with us."
"Thank you, sir," said Walters fervently, and he
drove off to his garage in as high feather as though
Teddy had suddenly doubled his wages.
Pamela and the Professor were still in the dining-
room, and Teddy and the detective sat down without
waiting to change their clothes. Fortunately, the hat
Teddy had worn as part of his disguise had saved his


THE LIMPING MAN 223
ning. The Professor had discovered that the girl was
an excellent musician, and he kept her playing and
singing to them until bedtime.
That night, however, the three men met in the Pro-
fessor's room to discuss the situation, and the Inspector
briefly recounted to Wells the result of his experiment.
"My shot did not score a bull," he said frankly, "but
it did not completely miss the target, so I am not alto-
gether dissatisfied. But I blame myself for letting Fane
in for a nasty knock on the head."
"That doesn't matter two hoots," protested Teddy.
"I'm glad I was able to be of some use. But I'm not
quite clear as to what you hoped to discover, even
now."
"Well," the detective explained, "I was particularly
anxious to find out whether it was Cortinga or the
Limping Man who sent that telegram, for more reasons
than one. Mind you, I did not anticipate such a degree
of physical violence, and I think the two men went
beyond their instructions in that respect. Of course,
when Fane hit out like a prize-fighter it was another
thing. No doubt they realised it was a man and not
a girl they had got hold of, and the man with the life-
preserver thought the quickest way out of it was to
give Fane his quietus there and then. But I have no
doubt the original idea was to get Miss Greye away to
some house owned by Cortinga."


224 THE LIMPING MAN
"But how do you know it was Cortinga who arranged
it, and not the Limping Man?"
"Because I saw him," answered the detective, smil-
ing at Teddy's surprise.
"You saw him?"
"Yes. He was strolling slowly down the street oppo-
site Welman and Keydock's offices, watching the pro-
ceedings. The good Cortinga believes in seeing to
things himself, I fancy."
"Why didn't you arrest him?"
"For several reasons. First, because you cannot
arrest a man for walking down Victoria Street; he
would simply have denied all knowledge of the affair.
Secondly, I had to keep an eye on you, my young
friend, and it was just as well I did so. Thirdly, I had
discovered what I wanted to discover—that it was Cor-
tinga and not the Limping Man we were dealing with."
"But didn't he see you?"
"No, I think not," replied the detective, chuckling.
"You see, I have probably had rather more experience
of shadowing people than our friend the doctor. I
slipped past him when his back was turned."
"I wonder what became of him," said Teddy.
"When he heard the shot I had to fire he must have
realised that things had gone wrong. He just walked
quietly away."
"Clever," commented Teddy.


226 THE LIMPING MAN
game yet. I should be better pleased if I knew exactly
what cards he held."
He turned to the Professor.
"And what have you been doing?" he asked.
"Pamela and I amused ourselves, as she told you,
by making a pretty thorough inspection of the secret
passage and the vault," Wells answered.
"Good. Any result?"
"None. If the treasure is concealed down there it
will take a clever man to find it, unless we get some
further clue."
"And is that all you did?" asked Sims, who knew
his friend.
The Professor yawned.
"After lunch," he said, "I explained to Pamela that
as she might possibly be married some day, if I gave
my consent, it would be a good thing if she got Mrs.
Pine to initiate her into some of the secrets of modern
housekeeping. Construing this into a desire on my part
to indulge in a nap, she went off, and I then took a
stroll in the wood."
"I hope you enjoyed it."
"It was," said the Professor politely, "both pleasant
and instructive. For example, I found traces of the
visit of the man seen by Hill."
"The Limping Man!" cried Teddy.
"Exactly. It was only in one or two places where


THE LIMPING MAN 227
the ground was soft, notably at the point where he
climbed the wall. He evidently knows his way about,
for he slipped away by a little path that did not seem
to have been used for a long time; indeed, it was only
because I noticed some broken bracken at its entrance
that I discovered it at all. He had visited the chapel
too."
"How do you know?"
The Professor uncrossed his legs and rose from his
deep chair with an air of resignation. Going over to
the bed, he felt about for a moment under the mattress,
and returned carrying what appeared to be a branch
torn from a small tree.
"What the deuce do you keep sticks under your bed
for?" asked Teddy, although he was beginning to take
everything these astonishing men did almost as a mat-
ter of course. If Sims had suddenly produced a baby
alligator from his suitcase, Teddy would have rung for
Pine and told him to have it taken down to the lake and
made welcome. In this case, he put the question to the
Professor almost mechanically.
"I put it there," Wells explained, "because if I had
stood it in the corner, one of your admirably trained
servants would have taken it down and cut it up for
firewood, or put it away in the place provided for
walking-sticks, or something of that kind. Anyhow, I
wanted to have it here to show you."


228
THE LIMPING MAN
Teddy took the thin, straight wand and looked at it.
It had evidently been broken from a tree, and its own
smaller branches had been roughly cut away with a
knife. It tapered slightly, and the thinner end had
been cut across; the butt, or thicker end, had been
wrenched from the parent tree by force. Teddy turned
it about in his hands, endeavouring to apply the deduc-
tive methods of the other men, but could make nothing
of it.
"You are an engineer," said Wells; "do you carry a
pocket foot-rule?"
"When I am at work I do," Teddy replied, "but I
haven't it with me now. I've got a knife, though, with
inches marked on the back."
"That will do, though it will take a little longer."
Teddy felt in his pocket and drew out the knife.
"Now," said the Professor, "just measure that stick,
will you?"
Teddy did so. Twenty times the little rule measured
its length against the wood."
"Sixty inches," said Teddy.
"Which, if I mistake not, is equivalent to five feet,"
remarked the Professor.
"Five feet. Yes. Well?" answered Teddy. Then
he sat up. "Five, eh? The number on the altar 1" he
cried.
"Precisely. I am really beginning to hope," said the


THE LIMPING MAN 229
Professor, "that the Limping Man has fallen into the
same error as ourselves; it would restore some of my
self-respect."
"You think he has been using this as a measure?"
"It looks like it. I confess I like to imagine our lame
friend busily measuring five1 feet in this direction and
five feet in that, and then various multiples of fives, and
pressing on flagstones and"
"Counting windows," put in Sims, laughing.
"Exactly. Always in the hope of touching some con-
cealed spring and seeing the floor open before him to
reveal bags of pieces-of-eight—or should I say doub-
loons?—stacked in neat piles ready for him to take
away."
"He must have been pretty sick when he found it did
not work out as he expected," said Teddy.
"Probably. On the other hand, I may be making a
mistake. He may not have expected to find the trea-
sure there at all."
"In that case he would hardly waste time looking for
a secret chamber."
"I am not so sure about that. If he suspected a
secret chamber at all, he may equally have suspected a
secret passage to the house."
"You think he may have wanted to get in and try to
find the medal?"
"Why not?"


2 so THE LIMPING MAN
"And we must not forget," Sims remarked, "that
what we discovered he may discover. He is quite
clever enough to notice the peculiar arrangement of the
figures in the date."
"By Jove!" cried Teddy. "We ought to have set a
watch for him to-night."
"I don't think that's necessary," said Wells. "He
will give us a few days, I think, before he repeats his
visit. He will allow for Hill having spoken of the
figure he saw in the wood, and he will hope that we
may think it was a casual tramp, for he may not know
that Hill saw the car. Of course, we cannot be certain.
But I think we may assume that he will stay away for
a few nights in case we should tell the local constable to
be on the lookout. Next time he comes, by the way, he
will probably do so on the humble but useful bicycle."
"Why not put the bobby on the job, after all?" asked
Teddy.
"No," said Sims decidedly. "Already we have been
forced to take a good many people more or less into
our confidence. Besides, I don't want to frighten him,
The less he thinks we know, the* more likely he is to
give himself away. And, remember, he has no reason
to believe that we regard him as anything but an agent
of Dr. Cortinga."
Teddy pondered.
"I think we may dismiss him from our minds for


THE LIMPING MAN 231
to-night," said the detective somewhat hurriedly, fore-
seeing further questions.
"Look here," said Teddy, "supposing he did find out
about the vault, and tried to come along the passage
into the library, I could fix up a dodge that would give
him a bit of a surprise."
"How do you mean?"
"A battery and a yard or two of wire. I'm an elec-
trical bloke of sorts, you know."
"I'm not sure the idea isn't worth trying," said the
detective thoughtfully. "I'll turn it over in my mind,
Fane, and talk to you about it to-morrow."


CHAPTER XX
At breakfast the next morning the Professor got hold
of The Times and skimmed the news aloud for the
benefit of the others. While doing so he contrived to
steal two or three glances at Pamela unobserved.
Then he threw the newspaper aside and addressed
Inspector Sims in that whimsical way of which his
collaborator in criminology had long recognised the
significance.
"Sims," he said, "your devotion to duty is worthy of
sincere admiration. But do you know, my dear fellow,
it is a confounded nuisance at times?"
"It certainly is to me," replied the detective, smiling,
but prepared to take his cue; "but how does it affect
you?"
"Why, here is a splendid morning, fresh and clear—
the sort of day on which we ought all to be out enjoy-
ing the fresh air and incidentally clearing our muddled
brains. But I simply dare not suggest such frivolity to
you."
His eyes turned for an instant to Pamela's tired face,
and Sims followed the glance.
"Diffidence is not your most conspicuous fault,
Wells," the detective answered. "As a matter of fact,
23a


THE LIMPING MAN 233
however, I am rather glad of your suggestion. With
such a reputation as you have given me I might not
have cared to make it myself. Seriously, though, why
should we not all take a day's holiday? Our policy for
the moment is necessarily one of waiting and watching.
I don't like it, but I am not going to take any step until
I see where I am going to put my feet. I think a good
blow in the car would do us all good. What do you
say, Miss Greye?"
Pamela's eyes shone. Brave though she was, the
strain of events since Roger Abbeymead's death was
telling on her, as Professor Wells's watchful eyes had
noted, and it took all her strength of will to stave off a
breakdown. Wells knew that the best medicine he
could give her would be a change of scene, even for a
few hours.
She leaned forward, as excited as a debutante at her
first ball.
"Oh, I should love it!" she cried.
"What do you think, Fane?" asked Sims.
"I think it's a topping idea," said Teddy. "I've a
letter from old Carbin asking me to come up to town
to sign some papers, but I'll telephone him and tell him
to send them here, or else keep them until I can run up
to Staple Inn to-morrow or the next day."
"How are the legal formalities getting on?" asked the
Professor.


234 THE LIMPING MAN
"Very well, he says. Of course, death duties and
probates, or whatever they call them, take a deuce of
a time before they're settled, but Carbin says he'll be
able to send me a provisional statement of my affairs in
a week or two at the outside. He's a dry old stick, Car-
bin, but he's al worker."
"Well, go and telephone, will you? and tell them to
send round the car," said Wells, "and meanwhile we'll
decide where to go."
"I like that!" said Teddy, laughing. "Are you sure
you don't mind taking me with you?"
"Not a bit," the Professor assured him kindly, and a
pair of brown eyes endorsed the scientist's mock wel-
come with a glance that sent the young man out of the
room singing, with more vigour than tunefulness, a song
about a young lady named Hortense, the last syllable
being pronounced to rhyme with "sense."
Both Sims and Wells knew the countryside better
than Pamela expected; but she would have been less
surprised had she known the part they had played in
the remarkable case of the Man with the Double
Thumb. They did not, however, enlighten her, and
the day's itinerary had been arranged by the time
Teddy came back.
"Now, about grub," was the comment of that prac-
tical soul.
Pine was summoned to the council, and then Pamela


THE LIMPJNG MAN 237
something aristocratic like that; or rather, Soviet com-
missars, nowadays."
"Well, we must do our best to get this business
cleared up," concluded Sims, as the car made itself
heard outside. "Then you will both be able to enjoy
your new life in this very delightful old house."
The silent Walters saluted as they came out to the
drive. He had thrown back the hood of the car, which
was a roomy affair with luxurious cushions. It could
have accommodated half a dozen passengers without
discomfort.
Pine appeared, laden with good things, and a few
moments later the car moved down the drive and away
through the Kent lanes.
It was good to thrust the Abbeymead mystery away
into an obscure corner of the brain and revel in the
fresh, keen air and the morning sunshine. Mile after
mile the powerful car hummed smoothly along, and
when they stopped in a quiet corner and Pamela sprang
out and spread a snowy tablecloth on a bank of turf
beside the road, the girl's cheeks had a touch of pink
in them, and her laugh a gay lilt that made two elderly
men feel young. As for the young man, his happiness,
like Cleopatra's beauty, beggars all description.
Luncheon was a gay affair, and afterwards they wan-
dered about for an hour or two. Wells found an old
inn where they had some remarkable Toby jugs, and


THE LIMPING MAN 239
felt the detective's body stiffen; he had opened the door
and sprang out before the car had quite stopped.
Running up the steps, he pushed the door, which
stood partly open. He took a step or two inside the
hall, then ran back.
"Keep Miss Greye there," he ordered sharply.
"Fane, you and Walters stay with her. Wells, come
here, please."
The two men disappeared into the hall, almost clos-
ing the door behind them. The others, waiting out-
side, saw a gleam as Sims turned on the light, and
Pamela caught Teddy's hand.
"All right, dear," he said soothingly, and they sat
there in a tense silence. Walters stopped his engine,
dismounted, opened the toolbox, and took out a heavy
iron spanner. Armed with this—a formidable weapon
in the hands of a powerful man—he took his stand in
front of the door of the car, and waited hopefully for
a chance to use it.
Meanwhile, Sims and the Professor were bending
over the body of Pine, which lay in a crumpled heap
on the floor of the hall. There was a nasty gash on the
forehead, from which some blood had oozed.
Wells made a hasty examination.
"Get some water and a cloth," he said, and Sims
hurried to a little butler's pantry, where he quickly
found what he wanted.


240 THE LIMPING MAN
The Professor's medical experience now proved in-
valuable, and in a few moments the old butler gasped
and opened his eyes.
"That's better," said Wells encouragingly. "You've
had a nasty blow, Pine, but I don't think there's much
harm done. Wait a moment; don't try to talk just
yet."
The detective, having fetched the water and a nap-
kin, had obtained some brandy and a glass from the
sideboard in the dining-room, and Wells gave the but-
ler a stiff peg. Its effect was immediate, and Pine
pluckily got to his feet and would have refused a chair
if they had not put him into it with kindly force.
"Who was it, Pine?" asked Sims. "Are they"
"He's gone, sir," Pine interrupted. "The women
are locked up in the basement. There was only one
man, and he's gone. What time is it, sir?"
"Nearly six."
"Then he's been gone about an hour."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite, sir."
Wells went to the door and flung it open.
"All right," he said. "Come in. Sorry to alarm you,
Pamela. There's been an attack on Pine, but he's not
much hurt."
Pamela jumped out of the car, ran to the old butler,
and knelt down beside him.


THE LIMPING MAN 241
"It's all right, Miss Pamela," he said cheerily; "I
got a crack on the head from the burglar, miss, but
nothing much."
"Oh, Pine," cried the girl, "this is dreadful! I wish
we'd never left you here like this."
"Now, miss, don't you take on. There's not much
harm done. I'd be obliged, though, sir," he added to
Teddy, "if you'd be so kind as to let my wife and the
maids out. They're locked in the stone larder, sir, and
I'm afraid they'll be pretty frightened."
"All right, Pine," said Teddy. "I'll go at once."
In the dark larder—a big room in the basement with
a stone floor and stone tables and shelves—Teddy
found the women. They were cold and much dis-
tressed, but less hysterical than he had expected,
thanks to the excellent common sense of the coura-
geous Mrs. Pine.
"I told the girls they wanted valuables—not us,
sir," she said quaintly.
Gently Teddy broke the news of the assault on her
husband, and she hurried to the hall, where the Pro-
fessor was able to assure her that Pine was not seriously
hurt, a fact which the butler himself demonstrated by
rising and going to meet her, albeit a trifle unsteadily.
"Now, Mrs. Pine, take your husband away and make
him lie down for an hour. Then I'll come and see him
again," said the Professor.


242 THE LIMPING MAN
Protesting that it was unnecessary, the old man al-
lowed himself to be led away, and Sims began a careful
inspection of the house, pending a full recital of Pine's
adventures.
There was no trace of any disorder until they
reached the library. There the visitor had been busy.
The drawers of Teddy's writing-table, which were not
locked, had been opened and the contents strewn on
the floor. Nothing, however, had been taken away, so
far as they could tell on a hasty examination. In sev-
eral places books had been taken from their shelves,
revealing the panelling behind them, and the cabinets
had been opened and the curios they contained tumbled
about.
They visited the other rooms, but only in Teddy's
bedroom was there any disturbance. This had been
Roger Abbeymead's room, and in it was an iron safe
let into the wall. It was an old-fashioned affair, and
the lock was a simple one enough. Sims was not sur-
prised to find the door standing open.
"A bunch of skeleton keys would be enough for this
lock," he explained. "It is not like the complicated
locks generally used now. Fane, just see if there is
anything missing, will you?"
Teddy had only used the safe to hold some loose
cash, a cheque-book, and a few personal papers, and
he quickly ascertained that nothing was missing.


246 THE LIMPING MAN
and he came into the hall. Then he put his hand in
his pocket and took out a big pistol—not a revolver;
one of those fiat pistols, automatics, I think they call
them. He pushed the muzzle against my chest and
said: Tut up your hands. Quick, now, or I'll put a
bullet through you!" I'm not a coward, I hope, Mr.
Fane, sir, but I didn't see how I should help matters
by getting myself shot and leaving only women in the
place"
"Of course not, Pine," said Teddy, as the butler
paused.
"So," Pine went on, "I did as I was told. The man
pushed the door with his foot, and it slammed. Then
he asked me who was in the house besides myself.
When he heard there was no one but the womenfolk,
he told me to take him to them We went to the
kitchen, he following behind me, and the three women
were all there. He ordered them to go into the larder,
and then told me to pull the door to and turn the key.
He told them if they behaved themselves quiet no harm
would come to them, but if they made a noise he'd
come down and blow their heads off."
"Did he tell you to take the key out of the door?"
asked the Professor.
"No, sir. He didn't seem to bother about it. I just
left it there, without thinking, myself. Then he told
me to lead the way to the library—I think he was


248 THE LIMPING MAN
"When he'd finished he pushed me in front of him
into the hall and stopped, hesitating. 'Get into your
pantry,' he said, making up his mind. 'I don't want to
hurt you, but I can't have you calling for help. I'll
lock you in there, and you can wait until Mr. Fane
comes back.'
"Well, sir, it made me mad to think of him getting
away so cool and easy as all that, and Saunders and
Hill only a few minutes away in the grounds. He'd
lowered his pistol while he was thinking what to do,
and I jumped at him before he expected. For a minute
or two I thought I'd got him, for I was the bigger man,
and he dropped his pistol in the surprise. But he got
me a blow under the chin that sent me staggering, and
before I could get my wits back he picked up the
pistol. I made at him again, but he swung up the
pistol by the barrel and struck at my head with the
butt. The next thing I remember was finding you two
gentlemen bending over me."
"Bravo, Pine!" cried Teddy, as the butler sat quietly
back in his chair. "By Jove, it was jolly plucky of you
to go for a man with a pistol in his hand."
"I think it was wonderful of you, Pine," Pamela ex-
claimed. The old man flushed with pleasure, but he
glanced at Sims and the Professor. Instinctively he
felt that their commendation would not be lightly be-
stowed.


2 52 THE LIMPING MAN
"A very queer coincidence indeed," replied the de-.
tective gravely.
"It—it almost looks," pursued the girl, "as though
someone was giving him information."
"Both he and Cortinga seem to be pretty well in-
formed about us," put in Teddy uneasily.
"I think you may be satisfied that if they are receiv-
ing information, they are not receiving it from the
same source," said Sims. "In fact, I am hoping that
Cortinga may be of real service to us presently."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he has not got the second medallion, and if he
is to be believed—and I see no reason to disbelieve
him—he had nothing to do with the theft. Conse-
quently, he is as anxious to discover the thief as we are,
and perhaps more likely to be successful."
"How do you make that out?"
"Don't you remember his parting remark about
recognising the man if we saw him? That seemed to
suggest that he knew more than he cared to say."
"Has it occurred to you," asked the Professor, "that
Cortinga might succeed in getting into touch with the
Limping Man and make him the same offer that he
made to us?"
"But Cortinga has not got the first medallion—I
mean the one we have." objected Teddy.


254 THE LIMPING MAN
a man like Mr. Abbeymead, with a trusted lawyer, a
nephew in whom he had confidence, and doubtless at
least two or three other friends in whom he would
have been ready enough to place a considerable degree
of confidence in ordinary matters. Yet he apparently
preferred to conduct this inquiry by himself. Why?
Because he knew how difficult it is to keep a thing
secret, once it is entrusted to even one or two persons.
A perfectly innocent remark, a false step in some line
of inquiry, and a valuable clue may be provided for the
wrong people. Cortinga, it is reasonable to suppose,
may have taken the same view. Of course, he
would require a little help in what I may call mat-
ters of criminal routine—shadowing and so forth. But
anyone who is acquainted with London's underworld,
even to a slight degree, knows that it is no more diffi-
cult to find people ready to undertake that kind of
work than it is to engage a valet. Such people would
not be taken fully into his confidence, of course. If I
am right in my supposition, Cortinga would be terribly
chagrined to find that a third person not only knew
the secret, but had actually carried off the second
medallion under his very nose. That, I think, was why
he took the extreme step of offering to join forces with
us."
"I think that is an excellent piece of reasoning,
Wells," declared the detective. "It certainly accords


THE LIMPING MAN 255
with the facts—such facts as we know, at least—
and explains certain points which were obscure to
me."
"As to Cortinga's suspicion of the identity of the
Limping Man," Wells went on, "we must remember
that we do not know how much Cortinga may know of
Mr. Abbeymead's earlier life that we do not know.
The circumstances of Mr. Abbeymead's death may
have suggested to him some clue which we have
missed."
"But Cortinga was not there," said Teddy.
"My dear fellow," replied the Professor, "it is some-
times possible to sit in an arm-chair and reconstruct
a crime without ever visiting the scene of it."
"But I still don't see how the Limping Man knew
that we were going to be out all day," said Pamela,
sticking to her point with feminine tenacity.
"Nor I, at present," replied the Professor frankly.
"Of course, what is not impossible must be possible; it
may be that one of the servants is in his pay."
"Then it certainly is not Pine!" cried the girl
warmly.
"No; I don't think we need suspect Pine. Had he
been locked into the pantry it might have been a pre-
arranged affair, but the knock on the head was pretty
genuine. Indeed, to a man with a weaker constitu-


THE LIMPING MAN 257
"Of course," said the detective with some annoyance;
"so they would. I had forgotten that."
The Professor looked at him curiously. Then he
rose, remarking that his day in the open air had made
him sleepy. Bed was unanimously voted a sound idea.


CHAPTER XXII
The next morning, after an early breakfast, Teddy
ordered the car and drove into town, calling on the way
at the nearest telephone exchange, where he arranged
for a lineman to be sent to Abbeymead to repair the
damaged instrument.
Such electrical apparatus and sundries as he required
to execute his plan for the secret passage were easily
obtained, and he then called at Staple Inn, where Mr.
Carbin received him with his customary dry politeness.
The business to be, done was of a formal nature, and
within the half-hour Teddy was back in the car again,
and Walters was threading his way through the traffic
of High Holborn, down Shoe Lane, across Ludgate
Circus, and along New Bridge Street into the com-
parative peace of the Embankment, where Walters
"put her along," at Teddy's direction, at a good pace.
They were bound for Scotland Yard, where Teddy
had promised to deliver a note from Inspector Sims
to his chief. Teddy sent up the letter, and was pres-
ently invited to step upstairs.
"Well, Mr. Fane," said Sir Charles Merivale, shak-
ing the young man's hand; "so you have not solved
the Abbeymead mystery between you yet, eh?"
258


THE LIMPING MAN 259
Teddy shook his head.
"No, Sir Charles," he answered. "I wish we had."
"Sims tells me," the Chief went on, "that it is a
somewhat involved affair."
"Involved?" repeated Teddy. "That's a mild word
for it."
"Well, you may count yourself fortunate in having
two such men as Professor Wells and Inspector Sims
to handle it for you."
"I do, sir. I'm jolly grateful for all they've done."
"Right. Will you be kind enough to tell Sims that
what he asks for shall be done? I will give the neces-
sary orders at once. Now I am sure you will excuse
me; good-bye."
Teddy returned to his car no wiser than when he
stepped out of it.
"Mysterious birds these crime merchants are," he
muttered to himself. "However, I suppose they know
their own business best," he concluded philosophically.
Directing Walters to drive him homewards, he was
about to enter the car when a man approached and
touched his arm
It was Dr. Cortinga.
"Good-morning, Mr. Fane," said the doctor. "You
are surprised to see me," he added, smiling.
"I should hardly have thought it a healthy neigh-
bourhood for you," replied Teddy, glancing signifi-


THE LIMPING MAN 261
doctor politely. "We could discuss matters more com-
fortably over a whisky and soda. I am sure you will
believe me when I say that this meeting is as unex-
pected to me as to you. I was taking a stroll before
lunch, saw you, and determined to risk a snub. Come,
Mr. Fane, because we are opponents in this game, need
we be enemies?"
Teddy deliberately adopted a more civil tone.
"I am afraid I cannot accept your invitation," he
said.
"I assure you," said the doctor earnestly, "that,
clever as I am, I have not yet succeeded in bribing the
servants at the Athenaeum to administer drugs to my
guests."
Despite himself, Teddy could not help smiling. The
idea of the respectable menservants at one of the dullest
clubs in London putting poison in the guests' coffee
was irresistibly comic.
"It is not that," he replied. "But I have an impor-
tant engagement and I cannot spare more than a few
minutes."
"I must make the most of my time, then," said Cor-
tinga courteously. "Briefly, I want to repeat my offer.
Do not think I am unfairly attacking the gentlemen
who are advising you when I, in my turn, ask you to
disregard their advice. In their place I should, per-
haps, be swayed by the same considerations as they.


262 THE LIMPING MAN
Remember one of them, though an excellent fellow,
is a professional policeman. The other is noted as
a criminologist whose fondness for his hobby some-
times obscures the clearness of his vision. But after
all, Mr. Fane, you are the heir to the Abbeymead
property, and it is for you to do as you think best. I
have, I think, satisfied you that it was not I who mur-
dered your uncle. Why, then, regard me as an enemy?
Perhaps I did not express myself as tactfully as I
might have done at our first interview; you will not
forget that I found myself in an atmosphere of sus-
picion—I will even say polite hostility—and one can-
not always control one's temper in such circumstances.
But cannot we meet again and discuss matters in a
friendly way?"
Teddy hesitated.
"I will think over what you have said," he replied
at last.
"Good. I can ask no more," said the doctor heartily.
"You will have no difficulty in finding me—but if you
prefer another meeting place than my house or my
club, choose it yourself. I am at your disposal. Here
is my card."
Teddy nodded, took the card and stepped into the
car.
"I will promise you, at least, to consider the matter
carefully," he said, and the doctor politely raised his


THE LIMPING MAN 265
spotted him in Westminster. So I thought I'd hear
what he had to say before I pushed his face in."
"Good man. What happened then?"
Teddy proceeded to recount the conversation be-
tween himself and Dr. Cortinga, and when he had
finished the detective clapped him on the back.
"Bravo!" he cried. "If you go on like that I shall
have to get the Chief to let me take you on my staff.
Seriously, Fane, you did exactly the right thing. Cor-
tinga will very likely hold his hand so far as we are
concerned while he thinks there's a chance of getting
you on his side, and meanwhile he'll go for the Limping
Man like hell, if I'm not mistaken."
"You think so?"
"I do indeed. If he gets the Limping Man before
the Limping Man can get him—well, our visitor of
yesterday is not likely to do much more limping in this
world. Unless I am very much mistaken Dr. Cortinga
is an exceedingly nasty fellow to deal with when he is
out for blood, and I should feel much easier if I could
get a pair of handcuffs round his wrists. However,
perhaps we shall manage it one of these days. Now,
what about this job? Regard me as your humble and
interested assistant, please."
He picked up the tools and materials, while Teddy
switched on the light of a powerful electric handlamp
he had purchased, and opened the door of the secret


266 THE LIMPING MAN
passage. So far he had metaphorically sat at the feet
of the two experts in crime, but here at least he was
on his own ground, and it was not without an inward
pride that he saw the detective fall back, readily
enough, into the second place.
The first thing the young engineer did was to take
a good look at the mechanism of the door leading from
the passage into the library. Then he moved slowly
along the passage itself, examining the roof, walls and
floor. This, of course, took some time, but in due
course they arrived in the vault.
"Dump your stuff down there, old man," Teddy
directed, "and smoke a cigarette. I've got to poke
about here a bit before we can make a start."
Sims did as he was bid. Always ready to add to his
oddly mixed store of information, he watched the
young man with interest.
Teddy produced a candle from his pocket, lit it,
and placed it on the stone table. Taking the electric
lamp, he inspected the steps leading to the chapel
above, the lever that actuated the altar and the stone-
work adjoining.
After about five minutes of examining, measuring,
and considering he turned to Sims.
"There are generally several different ways of doing
a job," he said, "and as a rule the simplest way is the
best. Here we have several points to consider. We


THE LIMPING MAN 267
have plenty of electricity here; my uncle had a special
cable laid to the house. It cost him a chunk of money.
Now, suppose the Limping Man gets in—do you want
to electrocute him?"
"Great Scott, no!"
"Well, I only asked. Because we could easily fix it
up, you know, by putting in a transformer."
"My good young man, I'm a police officer, not an
executioner."
"Have it your own way. Well, I can fix up a gadget
that will give the blighter the shock of his life, and ring
an alarm bell into the bargain. How would that do?"
Sims considered.
"Could you fix it so that he could not get out
again?"
"It would be some job," Teddy answered dubiously.
"Of course, I could put in a charge of explosive and
blow up the passage, but that seems a pity."
"Yes," Sims agreed; "don't do that."
"You see," Teddy explained, "if I spoil the balances
that work the altar and the library door, we may not
be able to get them right again without calling in out-
side help. They're a bit above my weight, I'm afraid.
What I thought was this: how would it be if I fix up
my wires in such a way that when the visitor opens the
vault he rings a bell in the library. Then we allow him
a few minutes (during which the bell continues to ring


CHAPTER XXIII
The two men worked hard.
Sims, of course, was no engineer, but prompt and
intelligent help can be of great assistance to the expert.
Teddy knew his job thoroughly, and, having thought
over his scheme pretty carefully on his way to town,
had provided himself with all the materials he needed.
His connection with the main cable he obtained by
tapping the library wires, carrying the new wires
through a tiny hole which he bored in the panel form-
ing the secret door, at a point where it would take a
keen eye to discern it. Even should a casual observer
see it, he would probably take it for granted that it
was part of the ordinary household wiring, which is
always a mystery to everybody but the contractors'
electricians—and sometimes even to them when they
attempt to execute repairs a few months later.
The concealment of the wires in the passage and
vault was a more difficult matter, but Teddy made as
good job of it as was possible, and Sims was satisfied.
"After all," he said, "one does not expect to find an
electrical installation in a medieval underground pas-
sage, and it would need something larger than a pocket-
torch to show up these wires clearly."
270


272 THE LIMPING MAN
watched him from the corner of his eye. At last the
younger man's patience gave out.
"Sims," he said, "I don't want to be nervy, but I
don't like this."
"Neither do I," replied the detective curtly.
"You think"
"I think that if they do not arrive within the next
ten minutes I shall go and look for them."
"Good. It'll be better than sitting here chewing our
nails."
"You," said the detective calmly, "will stay here."
"I say," protested Teddy; "damn it all, Sims, you
know"
"Look here," interrupted the detective, "this case
is in my hands. Of course, if you prefer to act on
your own responsibility"
He stopped, with a significant gesture.
"Sorry, Sims," said Teddy, flushing. "Of course I
don't mean that. Only it's a bit harassing"
"Of course it is. Don't think I don't realise it. But
you remember what happened last time we left the
house unguarded. I don't want that to happen again—
or worse. I want to know there's someone here I can
rely on in case of trouble. Have you got a gun?"
"Yes. I've my old Army revolver still, and I brought
it down with me."
"Good. Load it and keep it handy in your pocket,"


274 THE LIMPING MAN
they could get some tea. After a rest there they would
complete the rough curve across the fields, make their
way to the main road again, and so home to Abbeymead
from the opposite direction. Sims determined to take
a chance, and to begin where they had intended to
leave off. Walking up the main road, he came pres-
ently to a stile, which he crossed, and made his way
along a narrow footpath. Every now and then he
flashed his light about him, though he was loath to
attract more attention than he must. But he was afraid
of missing any signs of a struggle.
Entering a large field, he dimly saw, seated on a
stile at the far end, a figure. Stepping off the path, he
stole cautiously along by the hedge and worked him-
self near enough to make out the outline of a bulk that
seemed familiar. At that moment the seated man
struck a match and held it to his pipe-bowl, and the
little flare illuminated the features of Professor Wells.
Sims hurried forward.
"Wells!" he cried. "You are all right, then?"
"With the exception of a sprained ankle, my dear
Sims," replied the scientist composedly.
"And Miss Greye?"
"Eh?" said the Professor sharply, taking his pipe out
of his mouth. "Isn't she with you?"
"With me? We haven't seen her since she went out
for a walk with you after lunch."


THE LIMPING MAN
minded him of the pup-pup-pup of a machine-gun. . . .
He remembered that day down near Bapaume, when
he and two men rushed a German post. . . . That
big Boche behind the machine-gun had swung it round
right on them. ... It was hell for ten minutes, or
ten hours, or ten years—one lost all idea of time. . . .
Then the Colonel was saying something about good
work. . . . What was that noise?
Teddy came to himself with a start. The motor-
car was very near now; it had stopped. Could it be
at the lodge gates? It was coming nearer still
With a half-articulate shout Teddy sprang to the
door and dashed down the stairs to the hall, Sims after
him, scarcely less excited.
Tearing open the door, Teddy stared incredulously.
There, stepping out of a neat two-seater car, was
Pamela!
In another moment the breath was half out of her
body, for Teddy's arms tightened round her as though
they would never let her go.
Presently Teddy so far recalled himself to mundane
matters as to permit Pamela to shake hands with Sims
and then with Pine, who had hurried into the hall,
followed by the other servants. Mrs. Pine fairly threw
dignity to the winds, caught the girl to her motherly
bosom, and kissed her, while Emma and Betty gave
yoops of semi-hysterical joy in the background.


THE LIMPING MAN 281
This touching scene was presently interrupted by a
great roaring from the library.
"If you don't bring her in here at once," shouted
the Professor, "I'll come out and break my leg in two
on the stairs!"
At this threat Pamela broke away and ran up to
the library, where she kissed the Professor three times,
pulled his beard, kissed him again, and finally sat
down and laughed like a mad thing.
"Hey! Steady, my girl," said the Professor, his
medical habits asserting themselves.
"It's all right," replied Pamela, wiping her eyes.
"I'm not hysterical. Only it's so funny. Wait till
you hear all about it. But first, I'm simply dying for
food."
In what the fairy stories describe as a "trice" she
was confronted with a supply of food sufficient to main-
tain a small family for a week, and by general consent
forbidden to relate her adventures until she had eaten
and drunk.
This done, she curled herself up on the hearthrug
beside the Professor's couch, and began.
"It is all so absolutely absurd, you know," she said,
"that even now I can hardly believe it. To think of
me knocking down Dr. Cortinga! But I'll tell you
all about it. When I left the Professor on the
stile"


282 THE LIMPING MAN
"Where he deserves to be now, for letting you go,"
grumbled the scientist; but she stopped his mouth with
her hand and went on:
"I followed the footpath until I got to the main road.
As I came out into the road a car was passing. I
heard the man in it utter an exclamation, and the car
stopped. The man leaned forward and took off his
hat—it was Dr. Cortinga. Before I thought what I
was doing I said, 'Good-evening.' He asked me was
I going up to the house, and I said I was. So he
asked me to jump into the car and have a lift, as he
was going there too. He said he had telephoned to
Teddy and made an appointment to see him again.
Of course, I ought to have had more sense, but I was
thinking of the Professor, and Dr. Cortinga spoke in
such a natural way that before I had quite realised
it I had got into the car. The next minute I saw how
silly I had been, for Dr. Cortinga laughed in a nasty
way and started off down the road at a pace that ter-
rified me. I shouted to him to stop, but he only
laughed. I said I would throw myself out; he answered
that I could do as I liked, but if I did I would certainly
be killed. Of course, I didn't. One thinks one would
do these things, but one never does.
"Well, we went tearing on for I don't know how long.
Suddenly the car slowed down and then stopped. Dr.
Cortinga swore and jumped out. He began to do things


284 THE LIMPING MAN
the Professor insisted that she should go straight off
to her bed.
Sims kindly offered to help the crippled Professor
to retire. Once in Wells's room the two men talked
long and earnestly, and this time even Teddy was not
of the party.


286 THE LIMPING MAN
Sims. But I take it that he's not coming simply for
a holiday?"
"No, not exactly. The fact is, I'm contemplating
rather an important step, and I'll be glad to have his
support."
"Just as you like," said Teddy. "In any case I'll
be glad to have him, for I liked him awfully, though
he's inclined to be a bit on the mysterious side, like
yourself."
Sims laughed a trifle wearily.
"If you only knew how heartily sick of this myste-
rious business we get," he said, "you would be sur-
prised. But habit becomes second nature. However,
there is method in my madness. Sometimes you have
to leave other people in the dark, so that they may
play the parts you want them to play naturally, which
they could not possibly do if they knew the reasons
for it."
"Meaning me?" asked Teddy.
"You and—others," returned the detective evasively.
"Another point: things are coming to a climax, I hope.
I think it would be well if one of your lawyers came
down too."
"Old Carbin looks after my affairs himself," said
Teddy; "I'll ask him."
"He's the head of the firm, isn't he? Would he
come himself?"


THE LIMPING MAN 287
"Oh, he'll come all right. He told me he wouldn't
leave this affair to either of his partners or the clerks."
"All the better. And I feel a bit guilty about hav-
ing left him so long in the dark too. After all, he was
your uncle's trusted lawyer. Just give him a hint
that we hope to make a biggish discovery and want him
to be in it. It is only common decency to let him share
the fun—if all turns out as I hope it will."
"Right. I'll phone him soon after ten. He's sure
to be in his office then."
To say that Mr. Carbin betrayed excitement when
Teddy spoke to him would be to libel the lawyer. But
he replied that Teddy's communication was most in-
teresting; that he would be happy to come to Abbey-
mead in person, rather than to send one of his partners
or clerks; and that he would arrive in time for dinner.
The two guests duly put in an appearance during
the afternoon, and Pamela took her place that evening
at quite an impressive dinner-table.
Merivale, an excellent conversationalist, was well
seconded by Wells and Sims; and even Mr. Carbin
relaxed his legal austerity and told Pamela a thrilling
story of a careless housemaid who had broken one of
his most treasured conchological specimens.
After dinner they adjourned to the library, and Meri-
vale invited Sims to bring them up to date.
"I am not sure that there is much to tell," answered


290 THE LIMPING MAN
"Excellent," replied his chief. "I confess, Mr. Fane,
that here in this old library I am tempted to browse
among your books; but Sims has told me how de-
lightfully Miss Greye sings, and I am going to ask
her to give us some music."
A move was made to the drawing-room, the Pro-
fessor remaining on his couch with Sims and a chess-
board to keep him company, and Mr. Carbin sat by
the piano and drummed his fingers on his knee in time
to the music, and complimented Pamela at intervals
with old-fashioned courtesy.
In due time good-nights were said, and presently the
house grew quiet.
Teddy had, he thought, barely closed his eyes when
he woke with a start. Someone was shaking him by
the shoulder.
"Get up," whispered Inspector Sims. "Put on your
dressing-gown and come down to the Professor's room.
But don't strike a light, and don't make any noise."
Teddy did as he was bid.
In Wells's room he found that estimable scientist
entertaining a select gathering consisting of Sir Charles
Merivale and Inspector Sims.
"Come in, Teddy," he said in a low tone. "Sit
down there. You may smoke if you like. But don't
talk. We do not want to wake up the household."


THE LIMPING MAN 291
The detective turned off the light, set the door ajar,
and returned to his seat. For about half an hour they
sat in a silence that made Teddy, his nerves on edge,
want to scream.
Suddenly a sharp sound came to their ears, and Sims
sprang up.
"The library bell!" cried Teddy.
"Exactly," replied the Inspector. "Help me with
the Professor, Fane."
Together they got the crippled man on his feet,
and joined their hands together to make a carrying-
chair for him.
Teddy needed no telling as to their destination, and
they bore Wells downstairs to the library, Merivale
following. When they had deposited their burden on
the couch, Sims locked the door. Then he went across
to the bell connected with the wires to the secret pas-
sage and placed his handkerchief between the striker
and the gong.
"No need to wake everybody up," he explained.
"No one seems to have heard the first ring, thank
goodness!"
Hardly had he spoken when someone tried the handle
of the door.
Merivale opened it quickly, and started back.
"Miss Greye!" he cried.


THE LIMPING MAN 293
fire-place and made a sort of nest, into which the
girl crept, protected by the thick oaken bench.
Then silence fell.
The girl, peering out from her shelter, felt her heart
thumping against her ribs. Teddy moved quietly
across the room and stood beside her. Sims stood
near the secret panel, his hand in the pocket of the
dinner-jacket he still wore.
Suddenly a curious little noise cut across the silence;
it was the buzzer connected with the secret door; and
with the sound came another—a faint cry, followed
by a dull crash.
Sims pressed the spring, and the panel opened. The
detective's torch flashed out, and he disappeared down
the steps into the darkness.
In a moment he reappeared, his face set hard.
"Will you come down, Sir Charles," he said; "and
you, Fane? Wells, keep Miss Greye with you, please."
Merivale and Teddy followed him down the steps,
at the foot of which lay a dark object.
"The shock was more effective than we thought,"
said the Inspector grimly. "He fell backwards down
the steps and broke his neck. He is dead."
Teddy peered down at the body revealed by the
light of the torch. It was that of a man of slight
build. The face was masked, but Teddy's eyes were
riveted on the right foot.


294 THE LIMPING MAN
"The Limping Man!" he said.
Sims bent over the dead man for a moment, and
when he rose he held something in his hand.
"Look at that," he said quietly.
It was a boot with an enormously thick sole, such
as is still sometimes worn by people with deformed
feet.
Sims straightened the body and pointed to the foot
from which he had taken the boot.
"Normal," he said. "One of the cleverest and
simplest disguises I have ever seen. He simply put
on this boot and limped about like a man with a club-
foot. Of course, it prevented him from walking
quickly, but he generally contrived to keep out of
situations which might call for a rapid retreat. Be-
sides, he could carry an ordinary boot in a large pocket
or a small bag, and a moment's privacy would be
enough to let him change them."
"Who is he, I wonder?" said Teddy.
Sims stooped again and unfastened the mask.
As the light of the torch fell on the dead man's face,
Teddy started back.
"Good God!" he cried. "It's Carbinl"
Teddy, after five years of war service, was not a
sentimental youth; but the thought that the Limping
Man was none other than the lawyer trusted by his


THE LIMPING MAN 295
uncle and himself, the guest who had that very eve-
ning eaten at his table—this made him feel physically
sick. It was as though, in a darkened room, his hand
had suddenly touched some loathsome reptile.
Sims saw him go white to the lips, and spoke
promptly.
"Fane," he said, "we must not have Miss Greye
coming down here. Go up, will you, and break the
news? Meanwhile the Chief and I will carry Carbin's
body along the passage and into the vault. It will be
easier to take it away from there to-morrow than to
get it up these narrow stairs."
Teddy, thankful to escape, and braced by the neces-
sity for action, did as he was told, and Pamela could
scarcely credit his amazing news.
Meanwhile, Merivale and Sims had found under the
body an automatic pistol. "This has been fired re-
cently," remarked the detective, and he stooped and
examined the body more carefully.
"Look here, sir," he said, and pointed to Carbin's
throat, on which Merivale could see some angry red
marks.
"Fingers," he said, and Sims nodded.
"I think we had better get along to the vault," he
suggested.
They were both big men, and the lawyer's small
frame was no tax on their strength. The detective's


296 THE LIMPING MAN
torch was provided with a hook, which he placed in
the buttonhole in the lapel of his jacket, so that the
light shone steadily in front of him. He took the
dead man's feet, and Merivale the shoulders, and in
single file they made their way along the passage, en-
tered the vault, and placed the body on the stone
table.
Then Sims detached the lamp from his coat and sent
its beam flickering hither and thither. He had not
far to seek. At the foot of the stairs another body
lay on its face. Sims turned it over. A small hole
above the right eye, and a larger hole at the back
of the head where the bullet had passed out, showed
how the man had met his death.
"Who is it?" asked Merivale.
"That was Dr. Cortinga," replied Sims.


CHAPTER XXV
When Merivale and Sims returned to the library
they found Teddy and the girl discussing the situation
with the Professor.
"I am glad you have come, Sims," said the latter.
"These young people are asking me questions which
only you can answer."
"Now that the Limping Man is dead," began Teddy,
"it seems to me that Dr. Cortinga"
"You need have no fear of Dr. Cortinga," inter-
posed the detective gravely; "he is dead."
"Dead?" cried Pamela.
"Yes. The Limping Man shot him to-night. Fane,
can I get a telephone call through at this hour?"
"Yes. They have a night operator on duty at the
exchange."
"Good. I want to make arrangements for the re-
moval of the bodies from the vault early to-morrow
morning—or this morning, rather, for I see it is after
midnight."
He left the room and Merivale turned to the girl.
"Now, Miss Greye," he said kindly, "I think you
had better run back to bed. You have already had
more excitement to-night than is good for you."
297


THE LIMPING MAN 299
"The usual Mutual Admiration Society," he said.
"Have a drink, Sims, and then go ahead."
The detective took the whisky and soda Pamela
mixed for him, swallowed a moderate portion, replaced
the glass on the table, and stretched out his feet to
the fire.
"You are all," he began, after a few moments' re-
flection, "pretty well acquainted with the main facts
of this case. Even you, Sir Charles, will need few
explanations after what I have told you and what you
have seen to-night. I have only, therefore, to throw
some light on certain matters which have up till now
seemed obscure.
"Of course, as things stand all I can do is to make
a more or less connected story out of what I know
and what may reasonably be deduced from that knowl-
edge. I had fully expected that by this time we
should have induced Mr. Carbin to explain a number
of things which must now remain in doubt, but his
death has made that impossible. However, now that
we no longer have to fear either the Limping Man or
Dr. Cortinga, it does not matter so much if we
are compelled to remain ignorant of part of their
proceedings.
"In order to maintain some sort of sequence, let
us go back to the time of Mr. Abbeymead's death.
He received two visitors that evening. One was Miss


THE LIMPING MAN 301
a, very suspicious one. Yet we find him entrusting
Carbin with the arrangements for the maintenance of
Pamela's mother—and one must admit that Carbin
kept that secret faithfully.
"After lengthy consideration I am inclined to think
that Carbin obtained some accidental clue in conversa-
tion with Mr. Abbeymead, careful as the latter was,
and followed it up patiently until he was fairly satis-
fied that his client's peculiar proceedings were directed
to a very definite end. He set himself to watch Mr.
Abbeymead closely, and in so doing he in some way
learned of the rivalry of Dr. Cortinga. There I am
in a difficulty, but the point does not matter much,
except that it would make the story more complete.
"But to return to the night of Mr. Abbeymead's
death. Whatever message Carbin sent Mr. Abbeymead
he was at once invited to come upstairs. No doubt
Mr. Abbeymead was surprised to see his lawyer in
such a disguise, and no doubt, also, Carbin would
rather have appeared in his ordinary garb. But he
had at all costs to secure his retreat, for he half de-
termined, I think, on a daring venture. Probably he
told Mr. Abbeymead a long story of how he, Carbin,
had become suspicious of Cortinga, but had kept his
suspicions to himself for fear of seeming to pry into
his client's affairs, until he had that day discovered that
Cortinga suspected that Mr. Abbeymead had at last


302 THE LIMPING MAN
obtained possession of the second clue to the treasure.
He may have thought that Mr. Abbeymead would, in
gratitude, have confided fully in him. At least he
hoped to get a look at the second medallion. This, in
fact, he did. He had provided himself with a dose
of Horolain, but he was uncertain how much to use.
I think he intended only to drug Mr. Abbeymead, but
unfortunately he overdid it. The morphia and the
hypodermic syringe were, of course, only a blind for
anyone who might come in while Mr. Abbeymead was
unconscious. But when he found that Mr. Abbey-
mead was dead as the result of the Horolain which he
had slipped into his glass, he injected a quantity of
morphia into Abbeymead's arm to suggest that he
had died from its effects."
Sims paused, but the others were too interested in
his narrative to hinder him by comments or questions.
"You will wonder," the Inspector went on, "what
could possess a respectable, elderly family lawyer to
turn his undoubted talents to the commission of such
a crime. I asked myself what his motive could be—
you will understand that I am speaking now of a later
point in my investigations. That he must have had a
motive, and a powerful one, was obvious. I remem-
bered that at our first interview with him, when he
attended at Scotland Yard, he remarked that the af-
fairs of the Abbeymead property were entirely in his


THE LIMPING MAN 303
own hands, and that he acted in that and other mat-
ters independently of his partners. That made me
think. I set cautious inquiries on foot, and presently
came to the conclusion that the lawyer had been in-
dulging in some remarkable proceedings. In fact, I
am satisfied that he had been playing ducks and drakes
with his client's money, and was in almost daily fear of
exposure. I am afraid, Fane, that we shall find your
affairs in considerable disorder. Carbin, then, real-
ised the fact that with the end of Abbeymead's quest
that gentleman could give more time to his own af-
fairs, and Carbin would then have to render an ac-
count of his stewardship.
"Desperate men choose desperate remedies. Car-
bin probably thought that if he could obtain the clue
to the whereabouts of the treasure he would be able
to get at it in a few hours, and make good his escape.
He stole the medallion, but found that it did not help
him as much as he had expected. While he was un-
certain what to do he was summoned to Scotland Yard,
and he quickly perceived that we were very much in
the dark ourselves, thanks to Mr. Abbeymead's policy
of secrecy. With remarkable coolness he resolved to
bide his time and to prosecute his inquiries regarding
the treasure, and to await any sign of suspicion on our
part before he took to flight.
"Incidentally, I ought to say that the swarthy com-


304 THE LIMPING MAN
plexion mentioned by the valet was a make-up he as-
sumed, together with a foreign accent, in order to sug-
gest foreign nationality. The club-foot, however, was
his great protection, and I must say I regard it as a
stroke of criminal genius.
"Another point—if we knew just how much Mr.
Abbeymead had told him we should be able to explain
Cortinga's suggestion that we should know the mur-
derer if we saw him. You remember that Cortinga
told us a bottle of Horolam had disappeared from his
house? I believe he was speaking the truth, and I
fancy it was partly on that he founded his suspicion—
for I am satisfied that he suspected Carbin. Cortinga
told us that he had proposed an alliance to Abbeymead.
It may have been that Abbeymead, not caring to trust
himself in Cortinga's clutches, had deputed Carbin to
act for him, either telling him briefly about the
existence of the treasure or simply referring—by agree-
ment with Cortinga—to a matter of unspecified prop-
erty. If so, Carbin may have seen, then or later, an
opportunity to steal the drug. That is another point
on which I would like to have more light, but which
is now relatively unimportant.
"The next point to which I would direct your at-
tention is the fact that two burglaries took place here
at Abbeymead in quick succession. The first was
doubtless the work of Cortinga. Mr. Abbeymead at


THE LIMPING MAN 305
once came down, bringing Carbin with him. Then
the second burglary took place, and Pine was right
in thinking that he saw a man with a deformed foot
slinking about. As a matter of fact, if I am not mis-
taken, Carbin simply hid himself in the space behind
one of those two large armour figures in the hall. Both
Carbin and Cortinga, of course, were trying to find
the first medallion.
"You will now understand, Miss Greye, and you,
Fane, why I was so careful to prevent you from en-
tertaining the least suspicion of the lawyer. I fore-
saw that it might be necessary to try to make Carbin
betray himself, and your very innocence would be—
and was—a great help in convincing him that nobody
had dreamed of connecting him with the crime."
"By Jove," said Teddy; "that was a pretty cute
move of yours, Sims."
"It was justified by results," replied the detective,
smiling.
"Now," he went on, "we come to the most im-
portant clue of all. Indeed, it confirmed my previous
suspicions beyond all doubt. When we went off for
that motor ride and returned to find that the Limping
Man had assaulted Pine and ransacked the house, I
realised at once that Carbin was the visitor, for only
he knew that we should be absent. You telephoned
to him that morning yourself. Fane."


306 THE LIMPING MAN
"Of course I did," cried Teddy. "What an ass I
am not to have thought of it before."
"I am very glad you did not," said the Inspector.
"There was the incident, too, of the man Hill saw
in the wood. You will remember that he got away
before Hill, who is an athletic lad, could catch him.
Evidently the Limping Man changed his boots in the
obscurity of the wood, and then took a short-cut which
he had discovered during a previous visit.
"I must now refer to Cortinga for a moment. Al-
though I deliberately represented him to you as the
villain of the piece, he was in fact only a secondary
character. His attempts to kidnap Miss Greye were,
I think, as much due to her personal attractions as
to his hope of obtaining any real information from her.
I do not suggest for a moment that he was not a
clever and dangerous antagonist, but fortunately he de-
cided to deal with the Limping Man before he came
seriously to grips with us.
"And now we approach the last chapter of my long
story. I determined to give Mr. Carbin, in the old
phrase, enough rope to hang himself with. In order
to get him down here without arousing his suspicions
I had to move warily, so I arranged with Sir Charles
to help us. Fane, innocently enough, lent his aid, and
the result was that Carbin came along quite readily,



THE LIMPING MAN 307
and his reception here was enough to convince him that
he was an honoured guest. I took care to give away
the secret of the vault before him, and at the same
time to postpone operations for a few hours. The
bait took. Carbin realised that it was his last chance.
He knew that his search might prove fruitless, but he
determined to visit the secret chamber and see whether,
with the aid of the medallion he had stolen from Mr.
Abbeymead, he could not take the treasure from under
our noses at the eleventh hour. But Cortinga was on
the alert. Afraid to return to London, he was in hid-
ing in the neighbourhood, and to-night he, too, de-
cided to visit the house. I think we can easily recon-
struct the scene. Cortinga sees the figure of the
Limping Man—for Carbin judged it wise to put on
his clever disguise in case of some accidental meeting
—Cortinga, I say, sees the Limping Man making for
the chapel, and follows. There he either attacks or
is discovered by Carbin. Mad with rage, he grips
the smaller man by the throat, but Carbin succeeds in
drawing his pistol and shooting his assailant. The
length of time which elapsed, as you will remember,
between the first and the second ringing of the alarm
bell is accounted for by the fact that Carbin coolly
dragged the dead body down the steps and into the
vault before he pulled the lever that moved the altar


CHAPTER XXVI
The dawn of a new day had broken when the little
party broke up, and the only one to appear spruce
and fresh as ever, at the breakfast-table was Inspector
Sims. He had already superintended the removal of
the bodies to a mortuary and attended to certain other
necessary details, acting under the authority of Sir
Charles Merivale.
Shortly before lunch the others made their appear-
ance. A sound sleep, and the knowledge that the
menace of the last few days had been removed for
ever, had restored Pamela's spirits more quickly than
any prescription the Professor could have given her.
As to Wells himself, his ankle was easier, and he was
able to get about fairly well with the help of a pair
of crutches, for which he had telephoned to London.
After the meal, Sims turned to Merivale.
"Now, Chief," he said, with the pleasant mixture
of respect and fellowship which was the result of a
long association which had grown into a firm' friend-
ship, "now, Chief, what are your orders?"
Merivale laughed.
"You are in charge here," he said. "After that
309


3io THE LIMPING MAN
wonderful piece of constructive reasoning to which you
treated us last night, I am certainly not going to take
over your command at the last moment. What do you
suggest?"
"As a police officer," responded the Inspector, "my
duties in connection with this case end with the re-
port I have to submit to my chief."
"But as our very dear friend," said Pamela, "you
are going to help us to find the treasure, aren't you?"
"I should certainly like to try," answered Sims,
smiling down at the girl's eager face. "But I con-
fess I am inclined to doubt my powers in that direc-
tion. However, we'll get the Professor to help us."
"We'll all help," cried Sir Charles gaily. "There's
too much of the sordid in our lives, Sims; let's try
the romantic for a change."
"The first thing to do," remarked the Professor,
"is to try and find the stolen medallion. I wonder,"
he added demurely, "if by any chance Sims could
help us there."
The Inspector gave his friend a blow in the ribs.
"To say the truth," he replied, "I took the liberty
of violating the sanctity of a guest's room last night.
While Carbin was enjoying Miss Greye's music, I
managed to go through his belongings without disturb-
ing them much. He must have felt pretty easy about
us, for I found the medallion without difficulty. I


THE LIMPING MAN 311
risked his finding that it had disappeared, in case he
might bolt unexpectedly and take it with him."
"Then you've got it?" cried Teddy.
The Inspector drew from his pocket a medallion
of the same shape and size as the one already in their
possession, and threw it on the table. They all bent
eagerly to examine it, and then Teddy gave an ex-
clamation of dismay.
"I can't make head or tail of it," he said blankly.
Each side of the medallion bore only the inscrip-
tion they already knew so well:
A.M.D.G.
"By the way, Chief," Sims added, "you have not
seen the other medal"; and he proceeded to describe
it.
"That's certainly queer," said Sir Charles thought-
fully. "One thing is clear—this medal and the other
together form the clue to the secret. The people
who had the medals made relied on the intelligence
of those who came after them to discover their mean-
ing. It is up to us now. By the way, I should like
to have a look at that vault by daylight. It seems to
me that with an excellent hiding-place to their hands
it would be a natural thing to make use of it."


THE LIMPING MAN 313
with dignity. The worst of it is," he added, "that
they are frequently of no value."
Arrived at the chapel, Wells took his crutches and
followed the others, who had already entered the
chapel, and waited with a cheerful smile while Teddy
showed Sir Charles the secret of the altar and described
their efforts to discover it.
"It's highly ingenious," remarked Merivale. "I have
seen several others very similar in English country
houses. They were popular institutions in the days
when politics were even more stormy than they are
to-day. But we must not forget the treasure. What
about it, Sims?"
Sims looked at Professor Wells.
"I have done enough talking for the present," he
said. "Perhaps the Professor will let us have his
views."
Wells hobbled to the altar, which Teddy had re-
placed in its normal position by pressing the knob of
the arch back into place.
"I cannot hope," he said, "to equal friend Sims in
rhetoric and a sense of the dramatic, but I will offer
a sugestion or two. You will remember the inscrip-
tion on the first medal. I cannot help thinking that
it contained a double meaning. That would certainly
be in keeping with the methods of the Jesuits. 'Who?
He who served' said the inscription. You are aware
i


316 THE LIMPING MAN
peared. From the hole he took a square box of oak,
bound with iron. It was not locked. Opening it, he
gave an exclamation.
The box was filled with diamonds, rubies, and emer-
alds of exquisite water.
"I may claim to be something of an amateur of
gems," said Merivale, when the general excitement had
subsided a little, "and I should imagine this collection
to be worth something in the neighbourhood of half
a million of money."
"Why, it's an enormous fortune!" cried Pamela.
"It will make a useful wedding present for you, my
dear," said the Professor, chuckling; "but I sup-
pose I shall have to give you one as well!"
Pamela, blushing furiously, pulled his grey beard,
and then made up for it by kissing him.


CHAPTER XXVII
Six months later Edward Abbeymead Fane and
Pamela his wife stood on a Surrey hill-top and looked
at the foundations of a great building from which the
workmen had departed after their day's toil.
"Teddy," said Pamela thoughtfully, "I am so glad
we decided to put aside half the treasure for a home
for orphaned children."
"So am I, my dear," replied her husband. "It was
like your dear heart to think of it."
"I'm—I'm more glad than ever just now, Teddy,"
said the girl. She crept into his arms and hid her
face against his breast. "I think I'm going to be very,
very interested in a child who—who won't be an
orphan," she whispered.
Teddy's arms held her tighter than ever.
THE END
317


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THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS
THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL
THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER
RAVENSDENE COURT
THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION
THE SAFETY PIN
THE SECRET WAY
THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK


RAFAEL SABATINI'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
Jesi, a diminutive city of the Italian Marches, was the birth-
place of Rafael Sabatini, and here he spent his early youth. The
city is glamorous with those centuries the author makes live again
in his novels with all their violence and beauty.
Mr. Sabatini first went to school in Switzerland and from there
to Lycee of Oporto, Portugal, and like Joseph Conrad, he has
never attended an English school. But English is hardly an
adopted language for him, as he learned it from his mother, an
English woman who married the Maestro-Cavaliere Vincenzo
Sabatini.
Today Rafael Sabatini is regarded as "The Alexandre Dumas
of Modern Fiction."
MISTRESS WILDING
A romance of the daya of Monmouth's rebellion. The action Is rapid, its
style is spirited, and its plot is convincing.
FORTUNE'S FOOL
All who enjoyed the lurid lights of the French Revolution with Scara"
mouche, or the brilliant buccaneering days of Peter Blood, or the adven-
tures olthe Sea-Hawk, the corsair, will now welcome with delight a tvsn
in Restoration London with the always masterful Col. Randall Holies.
BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT
An absorbing story of love and adventure in France of the early seven-
teenth century.
THE SNARE
It is a story in which fact and fiction are delightfully blended and one
that is entertaining in high degree from first to last.
CAPTAIN BLOOD
The story has glamor and beauty, and It Is told with an easy confidence.
As for Blood himself, he is a superman, compounded of a sardonic humor,
cold nerves, and hot temper. Both the story and the man are masterpieces,
A great figure, a great epoch, a great story.
THE SEA-HAWK
"The Sea-Hawk " is a book of fierce bright color and amazing adventure
through which stalks one ot the truly great and masterful figures of ro-
mance.
SCARAMOUCHE
Never will the reader forget the sardonic Scaramouche.who fights equally
well with tongue and rapier, who was "born with the gift of laughter and a
sense that the world was mad."
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK