THE YELLOW STREAK

BY VALENTINE WILLIAMS

CONTENTS

I. THE MASTER OF HARKINGS

II. AT TWILIGHT

III. A DISCOVERY

IV. BETWEEN THE DESK AND THE WINDOW

V. IN WHICH BUDE LOOKS AT ROBIN GREVE

VI. THE LETTER

VII. VOICES IN THE LIBRARY

VIII. ROBIN GOES TO MARY

IX. MR. MANDERTON

X. A SMOKING CHIMNEY

XI. "... SPEED THE PARTING GUEST!"

XII. MR. MANDERTON is NONPLUSSED

XIII. JEEKES

XIV. A SHEET OF BLUE PAPER

XV. SHADOWS

XVI. THE INTRUDER

XVII. A FRESH CLUE

XVIII. THE SILENT SHOT

XIX. MR. MANDERTON LAYS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE

XX. THE CODE KING

XXI. A WORD WITH MR. JEEKES

XXII. THE MAN WITH THE YELLOW FACE

XXIII. TWO'S COMPANY

XXIV. THE METAMORPHOSIS OF MR. SCHULZ

XXV. THE READING OF THE RIDDLE

XXVI. THE FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY

XXVII. AN INTERRUPTION FROM BEYOND

XXVIII. THE DEATH OF HARTLEY PARRISH

THE YELLOW STREAK

CHAPTER I

THE MASTER OF HARKINGS

Of all the luxuries of which Hartley Parrish's sudden rise to wealthgave him possession, Bude, his butler, was the acquisition in which hetook the greatest delight and pride. Bude was a large and comfortable-looking person, triple-chinned like an archdeacon, bald-headed except fora respectable and saving edging of dark down, clean-shaven, benign ofcountenance, with a bold nose which to the psychologist bespoke bothambition and inborn cleverness. He had a thin, tight mouth which initself alone was a symbol of discreet reticence, the hall-mark of thetrusted family retainer. 

Bude had spent his life in the service of the English aristocracy. TheEarl of Tipperary, Major-General Lord Bannister, the Dowager Marchionessof Wiltshire, and Sir Herbert Marcobrunner, Bart. , had in turn watchedhis gradual progress from pantry-boy to butler. Bude was a man whosemaxim had been the French saying, "_Je prends mon bien ou je letrouve_. "

In his thirty years' service he had always sought to discover and drawfrom those sources of knowledge which were at his disposal. FromMacTavish, who had supervised Lord Tipperary's world-famous gardens, hehad learnt a great deal about flowers, so that the arrangement of thefloral decorations was always one of the features at Hartley Parrish's_soigne_ dinner-parties. From Brun, the unsurpassed _chef_, whom LordBannister had picked up when serving with the Guards in Egypt, he hadgathered sufficient knowledge of the higher branches of the cuisine toenable Hartley Parrish to leave the arrangement of the menu in hisbutler's hands. 

Bude would have been the first to admit that, socially speaking, hispresent situation was not the equal of the positions he had held. Therewas none of the staid dignity about his present employer which wasinborn in men like Lord Tipperary or Lord Bannister, and which SirHerbert Marcobrunner, with the easy assimilative faculty of his race, had very successfully acquired. Below middle height, thick-set andpowerfully built, with a big head, narrow eyes, and a massive chin, Hartley Parrish, in his absorbed concentration on his business, had notime for the acquisition or practice of the Eton manner. 

It was characteristic of Parrish that, seeing Bude at a dinner-party atMarcobruaner's, he should have engaged him on the spot. It took Bude aweek to get over his shock at the manner in which the offer was made. Parrish had approached him as he was supervising the departure of theguests. Waving aside the footman who offered to help him into hisovercoat, Parrish had asked Bude point-blank what wages he was getting. Bude mentioned the generous remuneration he was receiving from SirHerbert Marcobrunner, whereupon Parrish had remarked:

"Come to me and I'll double it. I'll give you a week to think it over. Let my secretary know!"

After a few discreet enquiries, Bude, faithful to his maxim, hadaccepted Parrish's offer. Marcobrunner was furiously angry, but, beinganxious to interest Parrish in a deal, sagely kept his feelings tohimself. And Bude had never regretted the change. He found Parrish anexacting, but withal a just and a generous master, and he was not longin realizing that, as long as he kept Harkings, Parrish's country placewhere he spent the greater part of his time, running smoothly accordingto Parrish's schedule, he could count on a life situation. 

The polish of manner, the sober dignity of dress, acquired from years ofacute observation in the service of the nobility, were to be seen as, atthe hour of five, in the twilight of this bleak autumn afternoon, Budemoved majestically into the lounge-hall of Harkings and leisurelypounded the gong for tea. 

The muffled notes of the gong swelled out brazenly through the silenthouse. They echoed down the softly carpeted corridors to the librarywhere the master of the house sat at his desk. For days he had beenimmersed in the figures of the new issue which Hornaway's, the vastengineering business of his creation, was about to put on the market. They reverberated up the fine old oak staircase to the luxurious LouisXV bedroom, where Lady Margaret Trevert lay on her bed idly smilingthrough an amusing novel. They crashed through the thickly padded baizedoors leading to the servants' hall, where, at sixpence a hundred, Parrish's man, Jay, was partnering Lady Margaret's maid against Mrs. Heever, the housekeeper, and Robert, the chauffeur, at a friendly gameof bridge. And they even boomed distantly into the far-awaybilliard-room and broke into the talk which Robin Greve was having withMary Trevert. 

"Damn!" exclaimed Greve savagely, as the distant gonging came to hisears. 

"It's the gong for tea, " said Mary demurely. 

She was sitting on one of the big leather sofas lining the long room. Robin, as he gazed down at her from where he stood with his back againstthe edge of the billiard-table, thought what an attractive picture shemade in the half-light. 

The lamps over the table were lit, but the rest of the room was almostdark. In that lighting the thickly waving dark hair brought out the finewhiteness of the girl's skin. There was love, and a great desire forlove, in her large dark eyes, but the clear-cut features, thewell-shaped chin, and the firm mouth, the lips a little full, spoke ofambition and the love of power. 

"I've been here three whole days, " said Robin, "and I've not had twowords with you alone, Mary. And hardly have I got you to myself for aquiet game of pills when that rotten gong goes ... "

"I'm sorry you're disappointed at missing your game, " the girl repliedmischievously, "but I expect you will be able to get a game with Horaceor one of the others after tea ... "

Robin kicked the carpet savagely. 

"You know perfectly well I don't want to play billiards ... "

He looked up and caught the girl's eye. For a fraction of a second hesaw in it the expression which every man at least once in his life looksto see in the eyes of one particular woman. In the girl's dark-blue eyesfringed with long black lashes he saw the dumb appeal, the mutesurrender, which, as surely as the white flag on the battlements in war, is the signal of capitulation in woman. 

But the expression was gone on the instant. It passed so swiftly that, for a second, Robin, seeing the gently mocking glance that succeeded it, wondered whether he had been mistaken. 

But he was a man of action--a glance at his long, well-moulded head, hisquick, wide-open eye, and his square jaw would have told you that--andhe spoke. 

"It's no use beating about the bush, " he said. "Mary, I've got so fondof you that I'm just miserable when you're away from me ... "

"Oh, Robin, please ... "

Mary Trevert stood up and remained standing, her head turned a littleaway from him, a charming silhouette in her heather-blue shooting-suit. 

The young man took her listless hand. 

"My dear, " he said, "you and I have been pals all our lives. It wasonly at the front that I began to realize just how much you meant to me. And now I know I can't do without you. I've never met any one who hasbeen to me just what you are. And, Mary, I must have you as my wife ... "

The girl remained motionless. She kept her face averted. The room seemedvery still. 

"Oh, Robin, please ... " she murmured again. 

Resolutely the young man put an arm about her and drew her to him. Slowly, reluctantly, she let him have his way. But she would not look athim. 

"Oh, my dear, " he whispered, kissing her hair, "don't you care alittle?"

She remained silent. 

"Won't you look at me, Mary?"

There was a hint of huskiness in his voice. He raised her face to his. 

"I saw in your eyes just now that you cared for me, " he whispered; "oh, my Mary, say that you do!"

Then he bent down and kissed her. For a brief instant their lips met andhe felt the caress of the girl's arm about his neck. 

"Oh, Robin!" she said. 

That was all. 

But then she drew away. 

Reluctantly the man let her go. The colour had faded from his cheekswhen she looked at him again as he stood facing her in the twilight ofthe billiard-room. 

"Robin, dear, " she said, "I'm going to hurt you. "

The young man seemed to have had a premonition of what was coming, forhe betrayed no sign of surprise, but remained motionless, very erect, very pale. 

"Dear, " said the girl with a little despairing shrug, "it's hopeless! Wecan't afford to marry!"

"Not yet, I know, " said Robin, "but I'm getting on well, Mary, and inanother year or two ... "

The girl looked down at the point of her little brogue shoe. 

"I don't know what you will think of me, " she said, "but I can'taccept ... I can't face ... I ... "

"You can't face the idea of being the wife of a man who has his way tomake. Is that it?"

The voice was rather stern. 

The girl looked up impulsively. 

"I can't, Robin. I should never make you happy. Mother and I are as pooras church-mice. All the money in the family goes to keep Horace in theArmy and pay for my clothes. "

She looked disdainfully at her pretty suit. 

"All this, " she went on with a little hopeless gesture indicating hertailor-made, "is Mother's investment. No, no, it's true ... I can tellyou as a friend, Robin, dear, we are living on our capital until I havecaught a rich husband ... "

"Oh, my dear, " said Robin softly, "don't say things like that ... "

The girl laughed a little defiantly. 

"But it's true, " she answered. "The war has halved Mother's income andthere's nothing between us and bankruptcy but a year or so ... Unless Iget married!"

Her voice trembled a little and she turned away. 

"Mary, " said the young man hoarsely, "for God's sake, don't do that!"

He moved a step towards her, but she drew back. 

"It's all right, " she said with the tears glistening wet on her face, and dabbed at her eyes with her tiny handkerchief, "but, oh, Robin boy, why couldn't you have held your tongue?"

"I suppose I had no right to speak ... " the young man began. 

The girl sighed. 

"I oughtn't to say it ... Now, " she said slowly, and looked across atRobin with shining eyes, "but, Robin dear, I'm ... I'm glad you did!"

She paused a moment as though turning something over in her mind. 

"I've ... I've got something to tell you, Robin, " she began. "No, staywhere you are! We must be sensible now. "

She paused and looked at him. 

"Robin, " she said slowly, "I've promised to marry somebody else ... "

There was a moment's silence. 

"Who is it?" Robin asked in a hard voice. 

The girl made no answer. 

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

Still the girl was silent, but she gave a hardly perceptible nod. 

"Not ... ? No, no, Mary, it isn't true? It can't be true?"

The girl nodded, her eyes to the ground. 

"It's a secret still, " she said. "No one knows but Mother. Hartleydoesn't want it announced yet!"

The sound of the Christian name suddenly seemed to infuriate Greve. 

"By God!" he cried, "it shan't be! You must be mad, Mary, to think ofmarrying a man like Hartley Parrish. A fellow who's years older thanyou, who thinks of nothing but money, who stood out of the war and madea fortune while men of his own age were doing the fighting for him! It'sunthinkable ... It's ... It's damnable to think of a gross, ill-bredcreature like Parrish ... "

"Robin!" the girl cried, "you seem to forget that we're staying in hishouse. In spite of all you say he seems to be good enough for you tocome and stay with ... "

"I only came because you were to be here. You know that perfectly well. I admit one oughtn't to blackguard one's host, but, Mary, you must seethat this marriage is absolutely out of the question!"

The girl began to bridle up, "Why?" she asked loftily. 

"Because ... Because Parrish is not the sort of man who will make youhappy ... "

"And why not, may I ask? He's very kind and very generous, and I believehe likes me ... "

Robin Greve made a gesture of despair. 

"My dear girl, " he said, trying to control himself to speak quietly, "what do you know about this man? Nothing. But there are beastly storiescirculating about his life ... "

Mary Trevert laughed cynically. 

"My dear old Robin, " she said, "they tell stories about every bachelor. And I hardly think you are an unbiassed judge ... "

Robin Greve was pacing up and down the floor. 

"You're crazy, Mary, " he said, stopping in front of her, "to dream youcan ever be happy with a man like Hartley Parrish. The man's a ruthlessegoist. He thinks of nothing but money and he's out to buy you justexactly as you ... "

"As I am ready to sell myself!" the girl echoed. "And I _am_ ready, Robin. It's all very well for you to stand there and preach ideals atme, but I'm sick and disgusted at the life we've been leading for thepast three years, hovering on the verge of ruin all the time, dunned bytradesmen and having to borrow even from servants ... Yes, from oldservants of the family ... To pay Mother's bridge debts. Mother's a goodsort. Father spent all her money for her and she was brought up inexactly the same helpless way as she brought up me. I can do absolutelynothing except the sort of elementary nursing which we all learnt in thewar, and if I don't marry well Mother will have to keep a boarding-houseor do something ghastly like that. I'm not going to pretend that I'mthinking only of her, because I'm not. I can't face a long engagementwith no prospects except castles in Spain. I don't mean to be callous, Robin, but I expect I am naturally hard. Hartley Parrish is a good sort. He's very fond of me, and he will see that Mother lives comfortably forthe rest of her life. I've promised to marry him because I like him andhe's a suitable match. And I don't see by what right you try and run himdown to me behind his back! If it's jealousy, then it shows a very pettyspirit!"

Robin Greve stepped close up to Mary Trevert. His eyes were very angryand his jaw was set very square. 

"If you are determined to sell yourself to the highest bidder, " he said, "I suppose there's no stopping you. But you're making a mistake. IfParrish were all you claim for him, you might not repent of his marriageso long as you did not care for somebody else. But I know you love me, and it breaks my heart to see you blundering into everlastingunhappiness ... "

"At least Hartley will be able to keep me, " the girl flashed out. Directly she had spoken she regretted her words. 

A red flush spread slowly over Robin Greve's face. 

Then he laughed drily. 

"You won't be the first woman he's kept!" be retorted, and stamped outof the billiard-room. 

The girl gave a little gasp. Then she reddened with anger. 

"How dare he?" she cried, stamping her foot; "how dare he?"

She sank on the lounge and, burying her face in her hands, burst intotears. 

"Oh, Robin, Robin, dear!" she sobbed--incomprehensibly, for she was awoman. 

CHAPTER II

AT TWILIGHT

There is a delicious snugness, a charming lack of formality, about theceremony of afternoon tea in an English country-house--it is much tooindefinite a rite to dignify it by the name of meal--which makes it themost pleasant reunion of the day. For English country-house partiesconsist, for the most part, of a succession of meals to which the guestsflock the more congenially as, in the interval, they have contrived toavoid one another's companionship. 

And so, scarcely had the last reverberation of Bude's measured gongingdied away than the French window leading from the lounge-hall on to theterrace was pushed open and two of Hartley Parrish's guests emerged fromthe falling darkness without into the pleasant comfort of the firelitroom. 

They were an oddly matched pair. The one was a tubby little man withshort bristly grey hair and a short bristly grey moustache to match. Hisstumpy legs looked ridiculous in his baggy golf knickers of rough tweed, which he wore with gaiters extending half-way up his short, stoutcalves. As he came in, he slung off the heavy tweed shooting-cloak hehad been wearing and placed it with his Homburg hat on a chair. 

This was Dr. Romain, whose name thus written seems indecently nakedwithout the string of complementary initials indicative of the honoursand degrees which years of bacteriological research had heaped upon him. His companion was a tall, slim, fair-haired young man, about as good aspecimen of the young Englishman turned out by the English public schoolas one could find. He was extremely good-looking with a proud eye andfinely chiselled features, but the suggestion of youth in his face andfigure was countered by a certain poise, a kind of latent seriousnesswhich contrasted strangely with the general cheery _insouciance_ of histype. 

A soldier would have spotted the symptoms at once, "Five years of war!"would have been his verdict--that long and strange entry into life of somany thousands of England's manhood which impressed the stamp ofpremature seriousness on all those who came through. And Captain SirHorace Trevert, Bart. , D. S. O. , had gone from his famous school straightinto a famous regiment, had won his decoration before he was twenty-one, and been twice wounded into the bargain. 

"Where's everybody?" queried the doctor, rubbing his hands at theblazing log-fire. 

"Robin and Mary went off to play billiards, " said the young man, "and Ileft old Parrish after lunch settling down for an afternoon's work inthe library ... "

He crossed the room to the fire and stood with his back to the flame. 

"What a worker that man is!" ejaculated the doctor. "He had one of hissecretaries down this morning with a car full of portfolios, blue-prints, specifications, and God knows what else. Parrish polishedthe whole lot off and packed the fellow back to London before mid-day. Some of Hornaway's people who were waiting went in next, and he wasthrough with them by lunch-time!"

Trevert wagged his head in admiration. 

"And he told me he wanted to have a quiet week-end!" he said. "That'swhy he has no secretary living in the house. "

"A quiet week-end!" repeated Romain drily. "Ye gods!"

"He's a marvel for work, " said the young man. 

"He certainly is, " replied the doctor. "He's done wonders withHornaway's. When he took the place over at the beginning of the war, they were telling me, it was a little potty concern making toy air gunsor lead soldiers or something of the sort. And they never stop coiningmoney now, it seems. Parrish must be worth millions ... "

"Lucky devil!" said Trevert genially. 

"Ah!" observed the doctor sententiously, "but he's had to work for it, mark you! He's had the most extraordinary life, they tell me. He was atone period of his career a bartender on the Rand, a man was saying atthe club the other day. But most of his life he's lived in Canada, Igather. He was telling us the other evening, before you and Mary camedown, that he was once a brakeman on the Canadian Pacific Railway. Hesaid he invested all his savings in books on engineering and read themin his brakeman's van on his trips across the Dominion. Ah! he's a finefellow!"

He lowered his voice discreetly. 

"And a devilish good match, eh, Horace?"

The young man flushed slightly. 

"Yes, " he said unwillingly. 

"A dam' good match for somebody, " urged the doctor with a malicioustwinkle in his eye. 

"Here, Doc, " said Horace, suddenly turning on him, "you stick to yourbugs and germs. What do you know about matchmaking, anyway?"

Dr. Romain chuckled. 

"We bacteriologists are trained observers. One learns a lot watching thelife and habits of the bacillus, Horace, my boy. And between ourselves, Parrish would be a lucky fellow if ... "

Trevert turned to him. His face was quite serious, and there was alittle touch of hauteur in his voice. He was the 17th Baronet. 

"My dear Doc, " he said, "aren't you going a bit fast? Parrish is a verygood chap, but one knows nothing about him ... "

Sagely the doctor nodded his grizzled head. 

"That's true, " he agreed. "He appears to have no relatives and nobodyover here seems to have heard of him before the war. A man was saying atthe Athenaeum the other day ... "

Trevert touched his elbow. Bude had appeared, portly, imperturbable, bearing a silver tray set out with the appliances for tea. 

"Bude, " cried Trevert, "don't tell me there are no tea-cakes again!"

"On the contrairey, sir, " answered the butler in the richly sonorousvoice pitched a little below the normal register which he employedabovestairs, "the cook has had her attention drawn to it. There aretea-cakes, sir!"

With a certain dramatic effect--for Bude was a trifle theatrical ineverything he did--he whipped the cover off a dish and displayed asmoking pile of deliciously browned scones. 

"Bude, " said Trevert, "when I'm a Field Marshal, I'll see you get theO. B. E. For this!"

The butler smiled a nicely regulated three-by-one smile, a littledeprecatory as was his wont. Then, like a tank taking a corner, hewheeled majestically and turned to cross the lounge. To reach the greenbaize door leading to the servants' quarters he had to cross the outerhall from which led corridors on the right and left. That on the rightled to the billiard-room; that on the left to the big drawing-room withthe library beyond. 

As Bude reached the great screen of tooled Spanish leather whichseparated a corner of the lounge from the outer hall, Robin Greve camehastily through the glass door of the corridor leading from thebilliard-room. The butler with a pleasant smile drew back a little toallow the young man to pass, thinking he was going into the lounge fortea. 

"Tea is ... " he began, but abruptly ended the sentence on catching sightof the young man's face. For Robin, habitually so self-possessed, lookedpositively haggard. His face was set and there was a weary look in hiseyes. The young man appeared so utterly different from his wonted selfthat Bude fairly stared at him. 

But Robin, without paying the least attention either to the butler or tothe sound of voices in the lounge, strode across the outer hall anddisappeared through the glass door of the corridor leading to the greatdrawing-room and the library. 

Bude stood an instant gazing after him in perplexity, then moved acrossthe hall to the servants' quarters. 

In the meantime in the lounge the little doctor snapped the case of hiswatch and opined that he wanted his tea. 

"Where on earth has everybody got to? What's become of Lady Margaret? Ihaven't seen her since lunch.... "

That lady answered his question by appearing in person. 

Lady Margaret was tall and hard and glittering. Like so manyEnglishwomen of good family, she was so saturated with the traditions ofher class that her manner was almost indistinguishable from that of aman. Well-mannered, broadminded, wholly cynical, and absolutelyfearless, she went through life exactly as though she were following apath carefully taped out for her by a suitably instructed Providence. Somewhere beneath the mask of smiling indifference she presented sobravely to a difficult world, she had a heart, but so carefully did shehide it that Horace had only discovered it on a certain grey Novembermorning when he had started out for the first time on active service. For ever afterwards a certain weighing-machine at Waterloo Station, bywhich he had had a startling vision of his mother standing with heavingbosom and tear-stained face, possessed in his mind the attributes ofsome secret and sacred shrine. 

But now she was cool and well-gowned and self-contained as ever. 

"What a perfectly dreadful day!" she exclaimed in her pleasant, well-bred voice. "Horace, you must positively go and see HenryWhat's-his-name in the Foreign Office and get me a passport for Cannes. The weather in England in the winter is incredibly exaggerated!"

"At least, " said the doctor, rubbing his back as he warmed himself atthe fire, "we have fuel in England. Give me England, climate and all, but don't take away my fire. The sun doesn't shine on the Riviera atnight, you know!"

Lady Margaret busied herself at the tea-table with its fine Queen Annesilver and dainty yellow cups. It was the custom at Harkings to servetea in the winter without other illumination than the light of thegreat log-fire that spat and leaped in the open hearth. Beyond thesemi-circle of ruddy light the great lounge was all in darkness, andbeyond that again was the absolute stillness of the English country on awinter's evening. 

And so with a gentle clatter of teacups and the accompaniment ofpleasantly modulated voices they sat and chatted--Lady Margaret, who wasalways surprising in what she said, the doctor who was incrediblyopinionated, and young Trevert, who like all of the younger generationwas daringly flippant. He was airing his views on what he called "Bochemusic" when he broke off and cried:

"Hullo, here's Mary! Mary, you owe me half a crown. Bude has come up toscratch and there are tea-cakes after ... But, I say, what on earth'sthe matter?"

The girl had come into the room and was standing in the centre of thelounge in the ruddy glow of the fire. Her face was deathly pale and shewas shuddering violently. She held her little cambric handkerchiefcrushed up into a ball to her lips. Her eyes were fixed, almost glazed, like one who walks in a trance. 

She stood like that for an instant surveying the group--Lady Margaret, asilver tea-pot in one hand, looking at her with uplifted brows. Horace, who in his amazement had taken a step forward, and the doctor at hisside scrutinizing her beneath his shaggy eyebrows. 

"My dear Mary "--it was Lady Margaret's smooth and pleasant voice whichbroke the silence--"whatever is the matter? Have you seen a ghost!"

The girl swayed a little and opened her lips as if to speak. A log, crashing from the fire into the grate, fell upon the silence of thedarkening room. It seemed to break the spell. 

"Hartley!"

The name came hoarsely from the girl. Everybody, except Lady Margaret, sprang to his feet It was the doctor who spoke first. 

"Miss Mary, " he said, "you seem frightened, what ... "

His voice was very soothing. 

Mary Trevert made a vague gesture towards the shadows about thestaircase. 

"There ... In the library ... He's got the door locked ... There was ashot ... "

Then she suddenly screamed aloud. 

In a stride both the doctor and her brother were by her side. But shemotioned them away. 

"I'm frightened about Hartley, " she said in a low voice, "please go atonce and see what ... That shot ... And he doesn't answer!"

"Come on, Doctor!"

Horace Trevert was halfway to the big screen separating the lounge fromthe outer hall. As he passed the bell, he pressed it. 

"Send Bude to us, Mother, when he comes, please!" he called as he andthe doctor hurried away. 

Lady Margaret had risen and stood, one arm about her daughter, on thePersian rug spread out before the cheerful fire. So the women stood inthe firelight in Hartley Parrish's house, surrounded by all thetreasures which his wealth had bought, and listened to the footstepsclattering away through the silence. 

CHAPTER III

A DISCOVERY

Harkings was not a large house. Some three hundred years ago it had beena farm, but in the intervening years successive owners had so altered itby pulling down and building on, that, when it passed into thepossession of Hartley Parrish, little else than the open fireplace inthe lounge remained to tell of the original farm. It was a queer, rambling house of only two stories whose elongated shape was accentuatedby the additional wing which Hartley Parrish had built on. 

For the decoration of his country-house, Parrish had placed himselfunreservedly in the hands of the firm entrusted with the work. Theirarchitect was given _carte blanche_ to produce a house of character outof the rather dingy, out-of-date country villa which Harkings was whenHartley Parrish, attracted by the view from the gardens, firstdiscovered it. 

The architect had gone to his work with a zest. He had ripped up wallsand ceilings and torn down irrational matchwood partitions, discoveringsome fine old oak wainscot and the blackened roof-beams of the originalfarmstead. In the upshot he transformed Harkings into a very fairsemblance of a late Jacobean house, fitted with every modern convenienceand extremely comfortable. Furnished throughout with genuine "period"furniture, with fine dark oak panelling and parquet floors, it wasaltogether picturesque. Neither within nor without, it is true, would aconnoisseur have been able to give it a date. 

But that did not worry Hartley Parrish. He loved a bargain and he hadbought the house cheap. It was situated in beautiful country and waswithin easy reach by car of his town-house in St. James's Square wherehe lived for the greater part of the week. Last but not least Harkingswas the casket enshrining a treasure, the realization of a lifelongwish. This was the library, Parrish's own room, designed by himself andfurnished to his own individual taste. 

It stood apart from the rest of the house at the end of the wing whichParrish had constructed. The wing consisted of a single ground floor andcontained the drawing-room--which was scarcely ever used, as bothParrish and his guests preferred the more congenial surroundings of thelounge--and the library. A long corridor panelled in oak led off thehall to the new wing. On to this corridor both the drawing-room and thelibrary gave. Halfway down the corridor a small passage ran off. Itseparated the drawing-room from the library and ended in a door leadinginto the gardens at the back of the house. 

It was to the new wing that Horace Trevert and Dr. Komain now hastened. They hurried across the hall, where the big lamp of dulled glass threw asoft yellow light, and entered the corridor through the heavy oak doorwhich shut it off from the hall. The corridor was wrapt in silence. Halfway down, where the small passage ran to the garden door, theelectric light was burning. 

Horace Trevert ran down the corridor ahead of the doctor and was thefirst to reach the library door. He knocked sharply, then turned thehandle. The door was locked. 

"Hartley!" he cried and rapped again. "Ha-a-artley! Open the door! It'sme, Horace!"

Again he knocked and rattled the handle. Not a sound came from thelocked room. There was an instant's silence. Horace and the doctorexchanged an interrogatory look. 

From behind the closed door came the steady ticking of a clock. Thesilence was so absolute that both men heard it. 

Then the door at the end of the corridor was flung open and Budeappeared. He was running at a quick ambling trot, his heavy treadshaking the passage, "Oh? sir, " he cried, "whatever is it? What has happened?"

Horace spoke quickly, incisively. 

"Something's happened to Mr. Parrish, Bude, " he said. "The door's lockedand he doesn't answer. We'll have to break the door down. "

Bude shook his head. 

"It's solid oak, sir, " he began. 

Then he raised his hand. 

"Pardon me, gentlemen, " he said, as though an idea had struck him. "Ifwe were to go out by the garden door here, we might get in through thewindow. We could break the glass if needs be!"

"That's it!" exclaimed Horace. "Come on, Doctor!"

He dashed down the corridor towards the little passage. The doctor laida hand on Bude's arm. 

"One of us had better stay here, " he said with a meaning glance at theclosed door. 

The butler raised an affrighted face to his. 

"Go with Sir Horace, Bude, " said the doctor. "I'll stay!"

Outside in the gardens of Harkings it was a raw, damp evening, pitch-black now, with little gusts of wind which shook the naked bushesof the rosery. The garden door led by a couple of shallow steps on to agravel path which ran all along the back of the house. The path extendedright up to the wall of the house. On the other side it flanked therosery. 

The glass door was banging to and fro in the night wind as Bude, hiscoat-collar turned up, hurried out into the darkness. The library, whichformed the corner of the new wing, had two windows, the one immediatelyabove the gravel path looking out over the rosery, the other round thecorner of the house giving on the same path, beyond which ran a highhedge of clipped box surrounding the so-called Pleasure Ground, a plotof smooth grass with a sundial in the centre. 

A glow of light came from the library window, and in its radiance Budesaw silhouetted the tall, well-knit figure of young Trevert. As thebutler came up, the boy raised something in his hand and there was acrash of broken glass. 

The curtains were drawn, but with the breaking of the window they beganto flap about. With the iron grating he had picked up from the drainbelow the window young Trevert smashed the rest of the glass away, thenthrust an arm through the empty window-frame, fumbling for thewindow-catch. 

"The catch is not fastened, " he whispered, and with a resolute thrust hepushed the window up. The curtains leapt up wildly, revealing a glimpseof the pleasant, book-lined room. Both men from the darkness without sawParrish's desk littered with his papers and his habitual chair beyondit, pushed back empty. 

Trevert turned an instant, a hand on the window-sill. 

"Bude, " he said, "there's no one there!"

"Best look and see, sir, " replied the butler, his coat-tails flapping inthe wind. 

Trevert hoisted himself easily on to the window-sill, knelt there for aninstant, then thrust his legs over the sill and dropped into the room. As he did so he stumbled, cried aloud. 

Then the heavy grey curtains were flung back and the butler saw theboy's face, rather white, at the open window. 

"My God, " he said slowly, "he's dead!"

A moment later Dr. Romain, waiting in the corridor, heard the key turnin the lock of the library door. The door was flung open. Horace Trevertstood there, silhouetted in a dull glow of light from the room. He waspointing to the open window, beneath which Hartley Parrish lay on hisback motionless. 

CHAPTER IV

BETWEEN THE DESK AND THE WINDOW

Hartley Parrish's library was a splendid room, square in shape, loftyand well proportioned. It was lined with books arranged in shelves ofdark brown oak running round the four walls, but sunk level with themand reaching up to a broad band of perfectly plain white plasterwork. 

It was a cheerful, comfortable, eminently modern room, half library, half office. The oak was solid, but uncompromisingly new. The greatleather armchairs were designed on modern lines--for comfort ratherthan for appearance. There were no pictures; but vases of chrysanthemumsstood here and there about the room. A dictaphone in a case was in acorner, but beside it was a little table on which were set out some rarebits of old Chelsea. There was also a gramophone, but it was enclosed ina superb case of genuine old black-and-gold lacquer. The very books intheir shelves carried on this contrast of business with recreation. Forwhile one set of shelves contained row upon row of technical works, company reports, and all manner of business reference books bound inleather, on another were to be found the vellum-bound volumes of theKelmscott Press. 

A sober note of grey or mole colour was the colour scheme of the room. The heavy pile carpet which stretched right up to the walls was of thisquiet neutral shade: so were the easy-chairs, and the colour of theheavy curtains, which hung in front of the two high windows, was inharmony with the restful decorative scheme of the room. 

The massive oaken door stood opposite the window overlooking therosery--the window through which Horace Trevert had entered. Parrish'sdesk was in front of this window, between it and the door inconsequence. By the other window, which, as has been stated, looked outon the clipped hedge surrounding the Pleasure Ground, was the littletable with the Chelsea china, the dictaphone, and one of theeasy-chairs. The centre of the room was clear so that nothing laybetween the door and the carved mahogany chair at the desk. Here, asthey all knew, Parrish was accustomed to sit when working, his back tothe door, his face to the window overlooking the rosery. 

The desk stood about ten feet from the window. On it was a large brasslamp which cast a brilliant circle of light upon the broad flat top ofthe desk with its orderly array of letter-trays, its handsomesilver-edged blotter and silver and tortoise-shell writingappurtenances. By the light of this lamp Dr. Romain, looking from thedoorway, saw that Hartley Parrish's chair was vacant, pushed back alittle way from the desk. The rest of the room was wrapt in unrevealinghalf-light. 

"He's there by the window!"

Horace was whispering to the doctor. Romain strode over to the desk andpicked up the lamp. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the pale face ofHartley Parrish. He lay on his back in the space between the desk andthe window. His head was flung back, his eyes, bluish-grey, --the narrow, rather expressionless eyes of the successful business man, --were wideopen and fixed in a sightless stare, his rather full mouth, with itsclean-shaven lips, was rigid and stern. With the broad forehead, theprominent brows, the bold, aggressive nose, and the square bony jaw, itwas a fighter's face, a fine face save for the evil promise of thatsensuous mouth. So thought the doctor with the swift psychologicalprocess of his trade. 

From the face his gaze travelled to the body. And then Romain could notrepress an involuntary start, albeit he saw what he had half expected tosee. The fleshy right hand of Hartley Parrish grasped convulsively anautomatic pistol. His clutching index finger was crooked about thetrigger and the barrel was pressed into the yielding pile of the carpet. His other hand with clawing fingers was flung out away from the body onthe other side. One leg was stretched out to its fullest extent and thefoot just touched the hem of the grey window curtains. The other leg wasslightly drawn up. 

The doctor raised the lamp from the desk and, dropping on one knee, placed it on the ground beside the body. With gentle fingers hemanipulated the eyes, opened the blue serge coat and waistcoat whichParrish was wearing. As he unbuttoned the waistcoat, he laid bare a darkred stain on the breast of the fine silk shirt. He opened shirt andunder-vest, bent an ear to the still form, and then, with a littlehelpless gesture, rose to his feet. 

"Dead?" queried Trevert. 

Romain nodded shortly. 

"Shot through the heart!" he said. 

"He looked so ... So limp, " the boy said, shrinking back a little, "Ithought he was dead. But I never thought old Hartley would have done athing like that ... "

The doctor pursed up his lips as if to speak. But he remained silent fora moment. Then he said:

"Horace, the police must be informed. We can do that on the telephone. This room must be left just as it is until they come. I can do nothingmore for poor Hartley. And we shall have to tell the others. I'd betterdo that myself. I wonder where Greve is? I haven't seen him all theafternoon. As a barrister he should be able to advise us about--er, thetechnicalities: the police and all that ... "

Rapid footsteps reverberated down the corridor. Robin Greve appeared atthe door. The fat and frightened face of Bude appeared over hisshoulder. 

"Good God, Doctor!" he cried, "what's this Bude tells me?"

The doctor cleared his throat. 

"Our poor friend is dead, Greve, " he said. 

"But how? How?"

Greve stood opposite the doctor in the centre of the library. He hadswitched on the light at the door as he had come in, and the room wasflooded with soft light thrown by concealed lamps set around the corniceof the ceiling. 

"Look!" responded the doctor by way of answer and stepped aside to letthe young man come up to the desk. "He has a pistol in his hand!"

Robin Greve took a step forward and stopped dead. He gazed for aninstant without speaking on the dead face of his host and rival. 

"Suicide!"

It was an affirmation rather than a question, and the little doctor tookit up. He was not a young man and the shock and the excitement werebeginning to tell on his nerves. 

"I am not a police surgeon, " he said with some asperity; "in fact, I maysay I have not seen a dead body since my hospital days. I ... I ... Knownothing about these things. This is a matter for the police. They mustbe summoned at once. Where's Bude?"

Robin Greve turned quickly. 

"Get on to the police station at Stevenish at once, Bude, " he ordered. "Do you know the Inspector?"

"Yessir, " the butler answered in a hollow voice. His hands weretrembling violently, and he seemed to control himself with difficulty. "Mr. Humphries, sir!"

"Well, ring him up and tell him that Mr. Parrish ... Hullo, what do allthese people want?"

There was a commotion at the door. Frightened faces were framed in thedoorway. Outside there was the sound of a woman whimpering. A tall, darkyoung man in a tail coat came in quickly. He stopped short when he sawthe solemn faces of the group at the desk. It was Parrish's man, Jay. He stepped forward to the desk and in a frightened sort of way peered atthe body as it lay on the floor. 

"Oh, sir, " he said breathlessly, addressing Greve, "what ever hashappened to Mr. Parrish? It can't be true ... "

Greve put his hand on the young man's shoulder. 

"I'm sorry to say it is true, Jay, " he answered. 

"He was very good to us all, " the valet replied in a broken voice. Heremained by the desk staring at the body in a dazed fashion. 

"Who is that crying outside?" Greve demanded. "This is no place forwomen ... "

"It's Mrs. Heever, the housekeeper, " Bude answered. 

"Well, she must go back to her room. Send all those servants away. Jay, will you see to it? And take care that Lady Margaret and Miss Trevertdon't come in here, either. "

"Sir Horace is with them, sir, in the lounge, " said Jay and went out. 

"I'll go to them. I think I'd better, " exclaimed the doctor. "I shall bein the lounge when they want me. A dreadful affair! Dreadful!"

The little doctor bustled out, leaving Greve and the butler alone in theroom with the mortal remains of Hartley Parrish lying where he hadfallen on the soft grey carpet. 

"Now, Bude, " said Greve incisively, "get on to the police at once. You'dbetter telephone from the servant's hall. I'll have a look round here inthe meantime!"

Bude stood for an instant irresolute. He glanced shrewdly at the youngman. 

"Go on, " said Robin quickly; "what are you waiting for, man? There's notime to lose. "

Slowly the butler turned and tiptoed away, his ungainly body swayingabout as he stole across the heavy pile carpet. He went out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He left Greve sunk in a reverie atthe desk, gazing with unseeing eyes upon the dead face of the master ofHarkings. 

That sprawling corpse, the startled realization of death stamped forever in the wide, staring eyes, was indeed a subject for meditation. There, in the midst of all the evidences of Hartley Parrish's meteoricrise to affluence and power, Greve pondered for an instant on thestrange pranks which Fate plays us poor mortals. 

Parrish had risen, as Greve and all the world knew, from the bottom rungof the ladder. He had had a bitter fight for existence, had made hismoney, as Greve had heard, with a blind and ruthless determinationwhich spoke of the stern struggle of other days. And Robin, who, too, had had his own way to make in the world, knew how the memory of earlierstruggles went to sweeten the flavour of ultimate success. 

Yet here was Hartley Parrish, with his vast financial undertakings, hissoaring political ambitions, his social aims which, Robin realizedbitterly, had more than a little to do with his project for marryingMary Trevert, stricken down suddenly, without warning, in the veryheyday of success. 

"Why should he have done it?" he whispered to himself, "why, my God, why?"

But the mask-like face at his feet, as he bent to scan it once more, gave no answer to the riddle. Determination, ambition, was portrayed onthe keen, eager face even in death. 

With a little hopeless gesture the young barrister glanced round theroom. His eye fell upon the desk. He saw a neat array of letter-trays, costly silver and tortoise-shell writing appointments, a couple of heavygold fountain pens, and an orderly collection of pencils. Lying flat onthe great silver-edged blotter was a long brown envelope which had beenopened. Propped up against the large crystal ink-well was a letteraddressed simply "Miss Mary Trevert" in Hartley Parrish's big, vigorous, and sprawling handwriting. 

The letter to Mary Trevert, Robin did not touch. But he picked up thelong brown envelope. On the back it bore a printed seal. The envelopecontained a document and a letter. At the sight of it the young manstarted. It was Hartley Parrish's will. The letter was merely a coveringnote from Mr. Bardy, of the firm of Jerringham, Bardy and Company, awell-known firm of solicitors, dated the previous evening. Robinreplaced letter and document in their envelope without reading them. 

"So that's it!" he murmured to himself. "Suicide? But why?"

All the letter-trays save one were empty. In this was a little heap ofpapers and letters. Robin glanced through them. There were two or threeprospectuses, a notice of a golf match, a couple of notes from West Endtradesmen enclosing receipts and an acknowledgement from the bank. Therewas only one personal letter--a business communication from a Rotterdamfirm. Robin glanced at the letter. It was typewritten on paper of a darkslatey-blue shade. It was headed, "ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & Co. , GENERALIMPORTERS, ROTTERDAM, " and dealt with steel shipments. 

Robin dropped the letter back into the tray and turned to survey theroom. It was in perfect order. Except for the still form lying on thefloor and the broken pane of glass in the window, there was nothing totell of the tragedy which had been enacted there that afternoon. Therewere no papers to hint at a crisis save the prosaic-looking envelopecontaining the will, and Parrish's note for Mary. The waste-paperbasket, a large and business-like affair in white wicker, had beencleared. 

Robin walked across to the fireplace. The flames leapt eagerly about agreat oak log which hissed fitfully on top of the glowing coalscontained in the big iron fire-basket. The grate was bare and tidy. Asthe young man looked at the fire, a little whirl of blue smoke whiskedout of the wide fireplace and eddied into the room. Robin sniffed. Theroom smelt smoky. Now he remembered he had noticed it as he came in. 

He stood an instant gazing thoughtfully at the blazing and leaping fire. He threw a quick glance at the window where the curtains tossed fitfullyin the breeze coming through the broken pane. Suddenly he steppedquickly across the room and, lifting the reading-lamp from the table, bore it over to the window which he scrutinized narrowly by its light. Then he dropped on one knee beside the dead body, placing the lamp onthe floor beside him. 

He lifted the dead man's left hand and narrowly examined the nails. Without touching the right hand which clasped the revolver, he studiedits nails too. He rose and took the gold-mounted reading-glass from thedesk and scrutinized the nails of both hands through the glass. 

Then he rose to his feet again and, having replaced lamp andreading-glass on the desk, stood there thoughtfully, his brown handsclasped before him. His eyes wandered from the desk to the window andfrom the window to the corpse. Then he noticed on the carpet between thedead body and the desk a little ball of slatey-blue paper. He bent downand picked it up. He had begun to unroll it when the library door wasflung open. Robin thrust the scrap of paper in his pocket and turned toface the door. 

CHAPTER V

IN WHICH BUDE LOOKS AT ROBIN GREVE

The library door opened. A large, square-built, florid man in thebraided uniform of a police inspector stood on the threshold of theroom. Beside him was Bude who, with an air of dignity and respectfulmourning suitably blended, waved him into the room. 

"The--ahem!--body is in here, Mr. Humphries, sir!"

Inspector Humphries stepped quickly into the room. A little countryfiedin appearance and accent, he had the careful politeness, the measuredrestraint, and the shrewd eye of the typical police officer. In thirtyyears' service he had risen from village constable to be Inspector ofcounty police. Slow to anger, rather stolid, and with an excellentheart, he had a vein of shrewd common sense not uncommonly found in thatfast disappearing species, the English peasant. 

He nodded shortly to Greve, and with a tread that shook the room strodeacross to where Hartley Parrish was lying dead. In the meantime aharassed-looking man with a short grey beard, wearing a shabby frockcoat, had slipped into the room behind the Inspector. He approachedGreve. 

"Dr. Romain?" he queried, peering through his gold spectacles, "thebutler said ... "

"No, my name is Greve, " answered Robin. "I am staying in the house. Thisis Dr. Romain. "

He motioned to the door. Dr. Romain came bustling into the room. 

"Glad to see you here so promptly, Inspector, " he said. "A shockingbusiness, very. Is this the doctor? I am Dr. Romain ... "

Dr. Redstone bowed with alacrity. 

"A great privilege, sir, " he said staidly. "I have followed your work.... "

But the other did not let him finish. 

"Shot through the heart ... Instantaneous death ... Severe haemorrhage ... The pistol is there ... In his hand. A man with everything he wantedin the world ... I can't understand it. 'Pon my soul, I can't!"

The Inspector, who had been kneeling by the corpse, motioned with hishead to the village doctor. Dr. Redstone went to him and began a cursoryexamination of the body. The Inspector rose. 

"I understand from the butler, gentlemen, " he said, "that it was MissTrevert, a lady staying in the house, who heard the shot fired. I shouldlike to see her, please. And you, sir, are you a relation of ... "

Greve, thus addressed, hastily replied. 

"Only a friend, Inspector. I am staying in the house. I am a barrister. Perhaps I may be able to assist you ... "

Humphries shot a slow, shrewd glance at him from beneath his shaggyblond eyebrows. 

"Thank you, sir, much obliged, I'm sure. Now"--he thrust a hand into histunic and produced a large leather-bound notebook--"do you know anythingas would throw a light on this business?"

Greve shook his head. 

"He seemed perfectly cheerful at lunch. He left the dining-room directlyafter he had taken his coffee. "

"Where did he go?"

"He came here to work. He told us at lunch that he was going to shuthimself up in the library for the whole afternoon as he had a lot ofwork to get through. "

The Inspector made a note or two in his book. Then he pausedthoughtfully tapping the end of his pencil against his teeth. 

"It was Miss Trevert, you say, who found the body?"

"No, " Greve replied. "Her brother, Sir Horace Trevert. It was MissTrevert who heard the shot fired. "

"The door was locked, I think?"

"On the inside. But here is Sir Horace Trevert. He will tell you how hegot through the window and discovered the body. "

Horace Trevert gave a brief account of his entry into the library. Againthe Inspector scribbled in his notebook. 

"One or two more questions, gentlemen, please, " he said, "and then Ishould wish to see Miss Trevert. Firstly, who saw Mr. Hartley Parrishlast: and at what time?"

Horace Trevert looked at Greve. 

"It would be when he left us after lunch, wouldn't it?" he said. 

"Certainly, certainly, " Dr. Romain broke in. "He left us all together inthe dining-room, you, Horace and Robin and Lady Margaret and Mary ... Miss Trevert and her mother, you know, " he added by way of explanationto the Inspector. 

"And he went straight to the library?"

"Straight away, Mr. Humphries, sir, " broke in Bude. "Mr. Parrish crossedme in the hall and gave me particular instructions that he was not to bedisturbed. "

"That was at what time?"

"About two-thirty, sir. "

"Then you were the last person to see him before ... "

"Why, no ... That is, unless ... "

The butler hesitated, casting a quick glance round his audience. 

"What do you mean?" rapped out the Inspector, looking up from hisnotebook. "Did anybody else see Mr. Parrish in spite of his orders?"

Bude was silent. He was looking at Greve. 

"Come on, " said Humphries sternly. "You heard my question? What makesyou think anybody else had access to Mr. Parrish before the shot washeard?"

Bude made a little resigned gesture of the hands. 

"Well, sir, I thought ... I made sure that Mr. Greve ... "

There was a moment's tense silence. 

"Well?" snapped Humphries. 

"I was going to say I made certain that Mr. Greve was going to Mr. Parrish in the library to tell him tea was ready. Mr. Greve passed me inthe hall and went down the library corridor just after I had served thetea. "

All eyes turned to Robin. 

"It's perfectly true, " he said. "I went out into the gardens for amouthful of fresh air just before tea. I left the house by the side dooroff the corridor here. I didn't go to the library, though. It is anunderstood thing in this house that no one ever disturbs Mr. Parrishwhen he ... "

He broke off sharply. 

"My God, Mary, " he cried, "you mustn't come in here!"

All turned round at his loud exclamation. Mary Trevert stood in thedoorway. Dr. Romain darted forward. 

"My dear, " he said soothingly, "you mustn't be here ... "

Passively she let him lead her into the corridor. The Inspectorcontinued his examination. 

"At what time did you come along this corridor, sir?" he asked Robin. 

"It was not long after the tea gong went, " answered Robin, "about tenminutes past five, I should say ... "

"And you heard nothing?"

Robin shook his head. 

"Absolutely nothing, " he replied. "The corridor was perfectly quiet. Istepped out into the grounds, went for a turn round the house, but itwas raining, so I came in almost at once. "

"At what time was that?"

"When I came in ... Oh, about two or three minutes later, say about aquarter past five. "

Humphries turned to Horace Trevert. 

"What time was it when Miss Trevert heard the shot?"

Horace puckered up his brow. 

"Well, " he said, "I don't quite know. We were having tea. It wasn't muchafter five--I should say about a quarter past. "

"Then the shot that Miss Trevert heard would have been fired just aboutthe time that you, sir, " he turned to Robin, "were coming in from yourstroll. "

"Somewhere about that time, I should say!" Robin answered ratherthoughtfully. 

"Did you hear it?" queried the Inspector. 

"No, " said Robin. 

"But surely you must have been at or near the side door at the time asyou were coming in ... "

"I came in by the front door, " said Robin, "on the other side of thehouse ... "

Very carefully the Inspector closed his notebook, thrust the pencil backin its place along the back, fastened the elastic about the book, andturned to Horace Trevert. 

"And now, sir, if I might speak to Miss Trevert alone for a minute ... "

"I say, though, " expostulated Horace, "my sister's awfully upset, youknow. Is it absolutely necessary?"

"Aye, sir, it is!" said the Inspector. "But there's no need for me tosee her in here. Perhaps in some other room ... "

"The drawing-room is next to this, " the butler put in; "they'd be niceand quiet in there, Sir Horace. "

The Inspector acquiesced. Dr. Redstone drew him aside for a whisperedcolloquy. 

The Inspector came back to Robin and Horace. 

"The doctor would like to have the body taken upstairs to Mr. Parrish'sroom, " he said. "He wishes to make a more detailed examination if Dr. Romain would help him. If one of you gentlemen could give orders aboutthis ... I have two officers outside who would lend a hand. And thisroom must then be shut and locked. Sergeant Harris!" he called. 

"Sir!"

A stout sergeant appeared at the library door. 

"As soon as the body has been removed, you will lock the room and bringthe key to me. And you will return here and see that no one attempts toget into the room. Understand?"

"Yessir!"

"Inspector!"

Robin Greve called Inspector Humphries as the latter was preparing tofollow Bude to the drawing-room. 

"Mr. Parrish seems to have written a note for Miss Trevert, " he said, pointing at the desk. "And in that envelope you will find Mr. Parrish'swill. I discovered it there on the desk just before you arrived!"

Again the Inspector shot one of his swift glances at the young man. Hewent over to the desk, shook the document and letter from theirenvelope, glanced at them, and replaced them. 

"I don't rightly know that this concerns me, gentlemen, " he said slowly. "I think I'll just take charge of it. And I'll give Miss Trevert herletter. "

Taking the two envelopes, he tramped heavily out of the room. 

Then in a little while Bude and Jay and two bucolic-looking policemencame to the library to move the body of the master of Harkings. Robinstood by and watched the little procession pass slowly with silent feetacross the soft pile carpet and out into the corridor. But his thoughtswere not with Parrish. He was haunted by the look which Mary Trevert hadgiven him as she had stood for an instant at the library door, a look offear, of suspicion. And it made his heart ache. 

CHAPTER VI

THE LETTER

The great drawing-room of Harkings was ablaze with light. The cluster oflights in the heavy crystal chandelier and the green-shaded electriclamps in their gilt sconces on the plain white-panelled walls coldly litup the formal, little-used room with its gilt furniture, painted piano, and huge marble fireplace. 

This glittering Louis Seize environment seemed altogether too much forthe homely Inspector. Whilst waiting for Mary Trevert to come to him, hetried several attitudes in turn. The empty hearth frightened him awayfrom the mantelpiece, the fragile appearance of a gilt settee decidedhim against risking his sixteen stone weight on its silken cushions, andthe vastness of the room overawed him when he took up his position inthe centre of the Aubusson carpet. Finally he selected an ornate chair, rather more solid-looking than the rest, which he drew up to a smalltable on the far side of the room. There he sat down, his large redhands spread out upon his knees in an attitude of singularembarrassment. 

But Mary Trevert set him quickly at his ease when presently she came tohim. She was pale, but quite self-possessed. Indeed, the effort she hadmade to regain her self-control was so marked that it would havescarcely escaped the attention of the Inspector, even if he had not hada brief vision of her as she had stood for that instant at the librarydoor, pale, distraught, and trembling. He was astonished to find hercool, collected, almost business-like in the way she sat down, motionedhim to his seat, and expressed her readiness to tell him all she knew. 

The phrases he had been laboriously preparing--"This has been a badshock for you, ma'am"; "You will forgive me, I'm sure, ma'am, forcalling upon you at a moment such as this"--died away on his lips asMary Trevert said:

"Ask me any questions you wish, Inspector. I will tell you everything Ican. "

"That's very good of you, ma'am, I'm sure, " answered the Inspector, unstrapping his notebook, "and I'll try and not detain you long. Now, then, tell me what you know of this sad affair ... "

Mary Trevert plucked an instant nervously at her little cambrichanderchief in her lap. Then she said:

"I went to the library from the billiard-room ... "

"A moment, " interposed the Inspector. "What time was that?"

"A little after five. The tea gong had gone some time. I was going tothe library to tell Mr. Parrish that tea was ready ... "

Mr. Humphries made a note. He nodded to show he was listening. 

"I crossed the hall and went down the library corridor. I knocked on thelibrary door. There was no reply. Then I heard a shot and a sort ofthud. "

Despite her effort to remain calm, the girl's voice shook a little. Shemade a little helpless gesture of her hands. A diamond ring she waswearing on her finger caught the light and blazed for an instant. 

"Then I got frightened. I ran back along the corridor to the loungewhere the others were and told them. "

"When you knocked at the door, you say there was no reply. I suppose, now, you tried the handle first. "

"Oh, yes ... "

"Then Mr. Parrish would have heard the two sounds? The turning of thehandle and then the knocking on the door? That's so, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose so ... "

"Yet you say there was no reply?"

"No. None at all. "

The Inspector jotted a word or two in his notebook as it lay open flatupon the table. 

"The shot, then, was fired immediately after you had knocked? Not whileyou were knocking?"

"No. I knocked and waited, expecting Mr. Parrish to answer. Instead ofhim answering, there came this shot ... "

"I see. And after the shot was fired there was a crash?"

"A sort of thud--like something heavy falling down. "

"And you heard no groan or cry?"

The girl knit her brows for a moment. 

"I ... I ... Was frightened by the shot. I ... I ... Don't seem able toremember what happened afterwards. Let me think ... Let me think ... "

"There, there, " said the Inspector paternally, "don't upset yourselflike this. Just try and think what happened after you heard the shotfired ... "

Mary Trevert shuddered, one slim white hand pressed against her cheek. 

"I do remember now, " she said, "there _was_ a cry. It was more like asharp exclamation ... "

"And then you heard this crash?"

"Yes ... "

The girl had somewhat regained her self-possession. She dabbed her eyeswith her handkerchief quickly as though ashamed of her weakness. 

"Now, " said Humphries, clearing his throat, as though to indicate thatthe conversation had changed, "you and Lady Margaret Trevert knew Mr. Parrish pretty well, I believe, Miss Trevert. Have you any idea why heshould have done this thing?"

Mary Trevert shook her dark head rather wearily. 

"It is inconceivable to me ... To all of us, " she answered. 

"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Parrish had any business worries?"

"He always had a great deal of business on hand and he has had a greatdeal to do lately over some big deal. "

"What was it, do you know?"

"He was raising fresh capital for Hornaway's--that is the bigengineering firm he controls ... "

"Do you know if he was pleased with the way things were shaping?"

"Oh, yes. He told me last night that everything would be finished thisweek. He seemed quite satisfied. "

The Inspector paused to make a note. 

Then he thrust a hand into the side-pocket of his tunic and producedHartley Parrish's letter. 

"This, " he said, eyeing the girl as he handed her the letter, "may throwsome light on the affair!"

Open-eyed, a little surprised, she took the plain white envelope fromhis hand and gazed an instant without speaking, on the bold sprawlingaddress--

 _"Miss Mary Trevert. "_

"Open it, please, " said the Inspector gently. 

The girl tore open the envelope. Humphries saw her eyes fill, watchedthe emotion grip her and shake her in her self-control so that she couldnot speak when, her reading done, she gave him back the letter. 

Without asking her permission, he took the sheet of fine, expensivepaper with its neat engraved heading and postal directions, and readHartley Parrish's last message. 

 My dear [it ran], I signed my will at Bardy's office yesterday, and he sent it back to me to-day. Just this line to let you know you are properly provided for should anything happen to me. I wanted to fix things so that you and Lady Margaret would not have to worry any more. I just had to _write_. I guess you understand why. 

H. 

There was a long and impressive silence while the Inspectordeliberately read the note. Then he looked interrogatively at the girl. 

"We were engaged, Inspector, " she said. "We were to have been marriedvery soon. "

A deep flush crept slowly over Mr. Humphries's florid face and spreadinto the roots of his tawny fair hair. 

"But what does he mean by 'having to write'?" he asked. 

The girl replied hastily, her eyes on the ground. 

"Mr. Parrish was under the impression that ... That ... Without hismoney I should not have cared for him. That is what he means ... "

"You knew he had provided for you in his will?"

"He told me several times that he intended to leave me everything. Yousee, he has no relatives!"

"I see!" said the Inspector in a reflective voice. 

"Had he any enemies, do you know? Anybody who would drive him to a thinglike this?"

The girl shook her head vehemently. 

"No!"

The monosyllable came out emphatically. Again the Inspector darted oneof his quick, shrewd glances at the girl. She met his scrutiny with herhabitual serene and candid gaze. The Inspector dropped his eyes andscribbled in his book. 

"Was his health good?"

"He smoked far too much, " the girl said, "and it made him rather nervy. But otherwise he never had a day's illness in his life. "

Humphries ran his eye over the notes he had made. 

"There is just one more question I should like to ask you, MissTrevert, " he said, "rather a personal question. "

Mary Trevert's hands twisted the cambric handkerchief into a little balland slowly unwound it again. But her face remained quite calm. 

"About your engagement to Mr. Parrish ... When did it take place?"

"Some days ago. It has not yet been announced. "

The Inspector coughed. 

"I was only wondering whether, perhaps, Mr. Parrish was not quite ... Whether he was, maybe, a little disturbed in his mind about theengagement ... "

The girl hesitated. Then she said firmly:

"Mr. Parrish was perfectly happy about it. He was looking forward to ourbeing married in the spring. "

Mr. Humphries shut his notebook with a snap and rose to his feet. 

"Thank you very much, ma'am, " he said with a little formal bow. "If youwill excuse me now. I have the doctor to see again and there's theCoroner to be warned ... "

He bowed again and tramped towards the door with a tread that made thechandelier tinkle melodiously. 

The door closed behind him and his heavy footsteps died away along thecorridor. Mary Trevert had risen to her feet calm and impassive. Butwhen he had gone, her bosom began to heave and a spasm of pain shotacross her face. Again the tears welled up in her eyes, brimmed over andstole down her cheeks. 

"If I only _knew!_" she sobbed, "if I only _knew!_"

CHAPTER VII

VOICES IN THE LIBRARY

The swift tragedy of the winter afternoon had convulsed thewell-organized repose of Hartley Parrish's household. Nowhere had hismaster grasp of detail been seen to better advantage than in themanagement of his country home. Overwhelmed with work though heconstantly was, accustomed to carry his business and often part of hisbusiness staff to Harkings with him for the week-ends, there was neverthe least confusion about the house. The methodical calm of Harkings wasthat of a convent. 

Hartley Parrish was wont to say that he paid his butler and housekeeperwell to save himself from worry. It was rather to ensure his ordersbeing punctiliously and promptly carried out. His was the mind behindthe method which ensured that meals were punctually served and trains atStevenish Station never missed. 

But it was into a house in turmoil that Mary Trevert stepped when sheleft the drawing-room and passed along the corridor to go to her room. Doors slammed and there was the heavy thud of footsteps on the floorabove. The glass door leading into the gardens was open, as Mary passedit, swinging in the gusts of cold rain. In the gardens without there wasa confused murmur of voices and the flash of lanterns. 

In the hall a knot of servants were gossiping in frightened whisperswith a couple of large, rather bovine country constables who, bareheaded, without their helmets, which they held under their arms, looked curiously undressed. 

The whispers died away as Mary crossed the hall. All eyes followed herwith interest as she went. It was as though an echo of her talk with theInspector had by some occult means already spread through the littlehousehold. Through the half-open green baize door leading to theservants' quarters some unseen person was bawling down the telephone ina heated controversy with the exchange about a long-distance call toLondon. And but an hour since, the girl reflected sadly, as she mountedthe oaken staircase, the house had been wrapt in its wonted eveningsilence in response to that firm and dominating personality who hadpassed out in the gloom of the winter twilight. 

When, about six months before, Mary and her mother had begun to beregular visitors at Harkings, Hartley Parrish had insisted on givingMary a boudoir to herself. This, in response to a chance remark ofMary's in admiration of a Chinese room she had seen at a friend's house, Parrish had had decorated in the Chinese style with black walls andblack-and-gold lacquer furniture. The room had been transformed from arather prosaic morning-room with old oak and chintz in the space ofthree days as a surprise for Mary. She remembered now how Parrish hadleft her to make the discovery of the change for herself. She lovedcolour and line, and the contrast between this quaint and delightfulroom with her rather shabby bedroom in her mother's small house inBrompton had made this surprise one of the most delightful she had everexperienced. 

She rang the bell and sat down listlessly in a charmingly lacqueredLouis Seize armchair in front of the log-fire blazing brightly in thefireplace. She was conscious that a great disaster had overtaken her, but only dimly conscious. For more poignantly than this dull sense oftragedy she was aware of a great aching at her heart, and her thoughts, after hovering over the events of the afternoon, settled down upon hertalk that afternoon ... Already how far off it seemed ... With RobinGreve in the library, Robin had always been her hero. She could see him now in the glow of thefire as he had been when in the holidays he had come and snatched heraway from a home already drab and difficult for a matinee and an orgy ofcream cakes at Gunter's afterwards. He was then a long, slim, handsomeboy of irrepressible spirits and impulsive generosity which usually lefthim, after the first few days of his holidays, in a state of lamentableimpecuniosity. All their lives, it seemed to her, they had been friends, but with no stronger feeling between them until Robin, having joined theArmy on the outbreak of war, had come to say good-bye on being orderedto France. 

But by that time money troubles at home with which, as it seemed to her, she had been surrounded all her life, had grown so pressing that, apartfrom Lady Margaret's reiterated counsels, she herself had come torecognize that a suitable marriage was the only way out of theirever-increasing embarrassment. 

She and Robin, she recalled with a feeling of relief, had neverdiscussed the matter. He, too, had understood and had sailed for Francewithout seeking to take advantage of the circumstance. 

Outside in the black night a car throbbed. Footsteps crunched the gravelbeneath her window. The sounds brought her back to the present with asudden pang. She began to think of Hartley Parrish. All her life shehad been so very poor that, until she had met this big, vigorous, intensely vital man, she had never known what a lavish command of moneymeant. Hartley Parrish did things in a big way. If he wanted a thing hebought it, as he had bought Bude, as he had bought a car he had seenstanding outside a Pall Mall club and admired. He had rooted the ownerout, bade him name his price, and had paid it, there and then, bycheque, and driven Mary off to a lawn tennis tournament at Queen's, hugely delighted by her bewilderment. 

She did not love him. She could never have learnt to love him. There wasa gleeful zest in his enjoyment of his money, an ostentatious parade ofhis riches which repelled her. And there was a look in his face, thosenarrow eyes, that hard mouth, which revealed to her womanly intuition aruthlessness which she guessed he kept for his business. But she likedhim, especially his reverent and chivalrous devotion to her, and thethought that his dominating and vital personality was extinguished forever made her conscious of a great void in her life. 

And now she was rich. Hartley Parrish's idea of "proper provision" forher, she knew, meant wealth for her beyond anything she had everdreamed. The perpetual debasing struggle with poverty which she and hermother had carried on for years was a thing of the past. Money meantfreedom, freedom to live ... And to love. 

She stretched her hands out to the blaze. Was she free to love? What haddriven Hartley Parrish to suicide? Or who? She went over in her mind herinterview with Robin Greve in the billiard-room. He had spoken of otherwomen in connection with Hartley Parrish. Had he used that knowledge tothreaten his rival? What had Robin done after he had left her thatafternoon with his final taunt?

She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as she thought of it. Mary Treverthad all the pride of her ancient race. The recollection of that tauntgalled her. Her loyalty to the man from whom she had received nothingbut chivalry, whose fortune was to banish a hideous nightmare from herlife, rose up in arms. What had Robin done? She must know the truth ... 

A tap came at the door. Bude appeared. 

"I think you rang, Miss, " he said in his quiet, deep voice. "I was withthe Inspector, Miss, and I couldn't come before. Was there anything?... "

The girl turned in her chair. 

"Come in and shut the door, Bude, " she said. "I want to speak to you. "

The butler obeyed and came over to where she sat. He seemed ill at easeand rather apprehensive. 

"Bude, " said the girl, "I want you to tell me why you were certain thatMr. Greve was going to Mr. Parrish in the library when he passed you inthe hall this afternoon!"

The butler smoothed his hands down his trousers in embarrassment. 

"I thought he ... Mr. Greve ... Would be sure to be going to fetch Mr. Parrish in to tea, Miss ... " he replied, eyeing the girl anxiously. 

Mary Trevert continued gazing into the fire. 

"You know it is a rule in this house, Bude, " she said, "that Mr. Parrishis never disturbed in the library ... "

The butler changed his position uneasily. 

"Yes, Miss, but I thought ... "

Slowly Mary Trevert turned and looked at the man. 

"Bude, "--her voice was very calm, --"I want you to tell me the truth. Youknow that Mr. Greve went in to Mr. Parrish ... "

Bude looked uneasily about him. 

"Oh, Miss, " he answered, almost in a whisper, "whatever are you saying?"

"I want your answer, Bude, " the girl said coldly. 

Bude did not speak. He rubbed his hands up and down his trousers indesperation. 

"I wish to know why Mr. Parrish did this thing, Bude. I mean to know. And I think you are keeping something back!"

The challenge resounded clearly, firmly. 

"Miss Trevert, ma'am, " the butler said in a low voice, "I wouldn't takeit upon me to say anything as would get anybody in this house intotrouble.... "

"You saw Mr. Greve go into Mr. Parrish?"

The butler raised his hands in a quick gesture of denial. 

"God forbid, Miss!" he ejaculated in horror. 

"What, then, do you know that is likely to get anybody here intotrouble?"

The butler hesitated an instant. Then he spoke. 

"That Inspector Humphries has been asking me questions, Miss, in anasty, suspicious sort o' way. I told him, what I told him already, thatjust after I'd done serving the tea Mr. Greve crossed the hall and wentdown the library corridor.... "

"You didn't tell him everything, Bude?"

The butler took a step nearer. 

"Oh, Miss, " he said, lowering his voice, "if you'll pardon my frankness, but I know as how you and Mr. Greve are old friends, and I wouldn'ttake it upon me to tell the police anything as might ... "

Mary Trevert stood up and faced the man. 

"Bude, " said she, "Mr. Parrish was your master, a kind and generousmaster as he was kind and generous to every one in this house. We mustclear up the mystery of his ... Of his death. Neither you nor I nor Mr. Greve nor anybody must stand in the way. Now, tell me the truth!"

She dropped back into her chair. She gave the order imperiously like themistress of the house. The butler, trained through life to receiveorders, surrendered. 

"There's nothing much to tell, Miss. When Mr. Humphries asked me if Iwere the last person to see Mr. Parrish alive, I made sure that Mr. Greve would say he had been in to tell him tea was ready. But Mr. Greve, who heard the Inspector's question and my answer, said nothing. So Ithought, maybe, he had his reasons and I did not feel exactly as how itwas my place ... "

Mary Trevert tapped with her foot impatiently. 

"But what grounds have you for saying that Mr. Greve went in to Mr. Parrish? Mr. Greve declared quite positively that he went out by theside door and did not go into the library at all. "

"But, Miss, I heard him speaking to Mr. Parrish ... "

The girl turned round and the man saw fear in her wide-open eyes. 

The butler put his hand on the back of her chair and leaned forward. 

"Better leave things where they are, Miss, " he said in a low voice. "Mr. Parrish, I dare say, had his reasons. He's gone to his last account now. What does it matter why he done it ... "

The man was agitated, and in his emotion his carefully studied Englishwas forsaking him. 

But the girl broke in incisively. 

"Please explain what you mean!" she commanded. 

"Why, Miss, " replied the butler, "we know that Mr. Greve had no call tolike Mr. Parrish seeing how things were between you and the master ... "

"You mean the servants know that Mr. Parrish and I were engaged ... "

Bude made a deprecatory gesture. 

"Know, Miss? I wouldn't go so far as to say 'know. ' But there has beensome talk in the servants' 'all, Miss. You know what young femaleservants are, Miss ... "

"And you think that Mr. Greve went to Mr. Parrish to talk about ... Me?"

Mary Trevert's voice faltered a little. She looked eagerly at theother's fat, smooth face. 

"I presoomed as much, Miss, I must confess!"

"But what did you hear Mr. Greve say?"

"I heard nothing, Miss, except just only the sound of voices. After Mr. Greve had crossed me in the hall, I took the salver I was carrying intothe butler's pantry. I stayed there a minute or two, and then Iremembered I had not collected the letters from the box in the hall forthe chauffeur to take to the post, the same as he does every evening. Iwent back to the hall, and just as I opened the green baize door I heardvoices from the library ... "

"Was it Mr. Greve's voice?"

"I cannot say, Miss. It was just the sound of voices, rather loud-like. I caught the sound because the door leading from the hall to the librarycorridor was ajar. Mr. Greve must have forgotten to shut it. "

"What did you do?"

"Well, Miss, I closed the corridor door ... "

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, Miss, seeing the voices sounded angry-like, I thought perhaps itwould be better not to let any one else hear.... And Mr. Greve lookedupset-like when he passed me. He gave me quite a turn, he did, when Isaw his face under the hall lamp.... "

"Did you stay there ... And listen?"

Bude drew himself up. 

"That is not my 'abit, Miss, not 'ere nor in hany of the 'ouses where I'ave seen service.... "

The butler broke off. The _h_'s were too much for him in hisindignation. 

"I didn't mean to suggest anything underhand, " the girl said quickly. "Imean, did you hear any more?"

"No, Miss. I emptied the letter-box and took the letters to theservants' hall. "

"But, " said Mary in a puzzled way, "why do you say it was Mr. Greve ifyou didn't hear his voice?"

Bude spread out his hands in bewilderment. 

"Who else should it have been, Miss? Sir Horace and the doctor were inthe lounge at tea. Jay and Robert were in the servants' hall. It couldhave been nobody else.... "

The girl's head sank slowly on her breast. She was silent. The butlershifted his position. 

"Was there anything more, Miss?" he asked after a little while. 

"There is nothing further, thank you, Bude, " replied Mary. "About Mr. Greve, I am sure there must be some mistake. He cannot have understoodMr. Humphries's question. I'll ask him about it when I see him. I don'tthink I should say anything to the Inspector about it, at any rate, notuntil I've seen Mr. Greve. He'll probably speak to you about ithimself.... "

Bude made a motion as though he were going to say something. Thenapparently he thought better of it, for he made a little formal bow andin his usual slow and dignified manner made his exit from the room. 

CHAPTER VIII

ROBIN GOES TO MARY

The house telephone, standing on the long and gracefully designed deskwith its elaborately lacquered top, whirred. Mary started from herreverie in her chair by the fire. By the clock on the mantelshelf shesaw that it was a quarter past eight. She remembered that once hermother had knocked at her door and bidden her come down to dinner. Shehad refused the invitation, declining to unlock the door. 

She lifted the receiver. 

"That you, Mary?"

Robin was speaking. 

"May I come up and see you? Or would you rather be left alone?"

His firm, pleasant voice greatly comforted her. Only then she realizedhow greatly she craved sympathy. But the recollection of Bude's storysuddenly interposed itself like a barrier between them. 

"Yes, come up, " she said, "I want to speak to you!"

Her voice was dispirited, "I don't want to see him, " she told herself as she replaced thereceiver, got up, and unlocked the door, "but I must _know_!"

A gentle tap came at the door. Robin came in quickly and crossed towhere she stood by the fire. 

"My dear!" he said and put out his two hands. 

Her hands were behind her back, the fingers nervously intertwining. Shekept them there and made no sign that she had observed his gesture. 

He looked at her in surprise. 

"This has been terrible for you, Mary, " he said. "I wish to God I couldmake you realize how very, very much I feel for you in what you must begoing through.... "

The phrase was formal and he brought it out irresolutely, chilled as hewas by her reception. She was looking at him dispassionately, herforehead a little puckered, her eyes a trifle hard. 

"Won't you sit down, " she said. "There is something I wanted to say!"

He was looking at her now in a puzzled fashion. With rather feigneddeliberation he chose a chair and sat down facing the fire. A lamp onthe mantelpiece--the only light in the room--threw its rays on his face. His chin was set rather more squarely than his wont and his eyes wereshining. 

"Mary, "--he leant forward towards her, --"please forget what I said thisafternoon. It was beastly of me, but I hardly knew what I wasdoing.... "

She made a little gesture as if to wave his apology aside. Then, withher hands clasped in front of her, scanning the nails, she asked, almostcasually:

"What did you say to Hartley Parrish in the library this afternoon?"

Robin stared at her in amazement. 

"But I was not in the library!" he answered. 

The girl dropped her hands sharply to her side. 

"Don't quibble with me, Robin, " she said. "What did you say to HartleyParrish after you left me this afternoon in the billiard-room?"

He was still staring at her, but now there was a deep furrow between hisbrows. He was breathing rather hard. 

"I did not speak to Parrish at all after I left you. "

His answer was curt and incisive. 

"Do you mean to tell me, " Mary said, "that, after you left me and wentdown the corridor towards the library, you neither went in to Hartleynor spoke to him!"

"I do!"

"Then how do you account for the fact that, almost immediately after youhad crossed Bude in the hall, he heard the sound of voices in thelibrary?"

Robin Greve stood up abruptly. 

"Bude, you say, makes this statement?"

"Certainly!"

"To whom, may I ask?"

He spoke sharply and there was a challenging ring in his voice. Itnettled the girl. 

"Only to me, " she said quickly, and added: "You needn't think he hastold the police!"

Very deliberately Robin plucked his handkerchief from his sleeve, wipedhis lips, and replaced it. The girl saw that his hands were trembling. 

"Why do you say that to me?" he demanded rather fiercely. 

Mary Trevert shrugged her shoulders. 

"This afternoon, " she said, "when I told you of my engagement toHartley, you began by abusing him to me, you rushed from the room makingstraight for the library where we all know that Hartley was working, anda few minutes after Bude hears voices raised in anger proceeding fromthere. The next thing we know is that Hartley has ... "

She broke off and looked away. 

"Mary, "--Robin's voice was grave, and he had mastered all signs ofirritation, --"you and I have known one another all our lives. You oughtto know me well enough by now to understand that I don't tell you lies. When I say I haven't seen or spoken to Hartley Parrish since lunch thisafternoon, that is the truth!"

"How can it be the truth?" the girl insisted. "Horace and Dr. Romainwere both in the lounge-hall, Bude was in the hall, the othermenservants were in the servants' hall. You are the only man in thehouse not accounted for, and a minute before Bude heard these voices yougo down the corridor towards the library. I can understand you wantingto keep it from the police, but why do you want to deceive _me_?"

"Mary, " answered the young man sternly, "I know you're upset, but that'sno justification for persisting in this stupid charge against me. I tellyou I never saw Parrish or spoke to him, either, between lunch and whenI saw him lying dead in the library. I am not going to repeat thedenial. But you may as well understand now that I am not in the habit ofallowing my friends to doubt my word!"

Mary flamed up at his tone. 

"If you are my friend, " she cried, "why can't you trust me? Why should Ifind this out from Bude? Why should I be humiliated by hearing from thebutler that he kept this evidence from the police in order to please mebecause you and I are friends? I am only trying to help you, to shieldyou ... "

"That will do, Mary, " he said. "No, you must hear what I have to say. Ifyou insist on disbelieving me, you must. But I don't want you to helpme. I don't want you to shield me. I shall make it my business to seethat Bude's evidence is brought before the detective inspector fromScotland Yard who is being brought down here to handle the case ... "

"A detective from Scotland Yard?" the girl repeated. 

"Yes, a detective. Humphries is puzzled by several points about thiscase and has asked for assistance from London. He is right. Neither thecircumstances of Parrish's death nor the motive of his act are clear. Bude's evidence is sufficient proof that somebody did gain access to thelibrary this afternoon. In that case.... "

"Yes.... "

"In that case, " said Greve slowly, "it may not be suicide.... "

Mary put one hand suddenly to her face as women do when they arefrightened. She shrank back. 

"You mean.... "

He nodded. 

"Murder!"

The girl gave a little gasp. Then she stretched out her hand andtouched his arm. 

"But, Robin, " she spoke in quick gasps, --"you can't give the police thisevidence of Bude's. Don't you see it incriminates _you?_ Don't yourealize that every scrap of evidence points to you as being the man thatvisited Mr. Parrish in the library this afternoon? You're a lawyer, Robin. You understand these things. Don't you see what I mean?"

He nodded curtly. 

"Perfectly, " he replied coldly. 

"Bude will do what I tell him, " the girl hurried on. "There is no needfor the police to know.... "

"On the contrary, " said the other imperturbably, "it is essential theyshould be told at once. "

The girl grasped the lapels of his coat in her two hands. Her breathcame quickly and she trembled all over. 

"Are you mad, Robin?" she cried. "Who could have wanted to kill poorHartley? Why should you put these ideas into the heads of the police?Bude may have imagined everything. Now, you'll be sensible, promiseme.... "

Very gently he detached the two slim hands that held his coat. His mouthwas set in a firm line. 

"We are going to sift this thing to the bottom, Mary, " he said, "nomatter what are the consequences. You owe it to Parrish and you owe itto me.... "

The telephone trilled suddenly. 

Robin picked up the receiver, "Yes, Bude, " he said. 

There was a moment's silence in the room broken as the clock on themantelpiece chimed nine times. Then Robin said into the telephone:

"Right! Tell him I'll be down immediately!"

He put down the receiver and turned to Mary. 

"A detective inspector has arrived from London. He is asking to see me. I must go downstairs. "

Mary, her elbows on the mantelpiece, was staring into the fire. At thesound of his voice she swung round quickly. 

"Robin!" she cried. 

But she spoke too late. 

Robin Greve had left the room. 

CHAPTER IX

MR. MANDERTON

A quality which had gone far to lay the foundations of the name whichRobin Greve was rapidly making at the bar was his strong intuitivesense. He had the rare ability of correctly 'sensing' an atmosphere, anuncanny _flair_ for driving instantly at the heart of a situation, whichrendered him in the courts a dexterous advocate and a redoubtableopponent. 

Now, as he came into the lounge from the big oak staircase, he instantlyrealized that he had entered an unfriendly atmosphere. The concealedlights which were set all round the cornice of the room were turned on, flooding the pleasantly snug room with soft reflected light. A littlegroup stood about the fire, Bude, Jay, Hartley Parrish's man, and astranger. Jay was engaged in earnest conversation with the stranger. Butat the sound of Greve's foot upon the staircase, the conversation ceasedand a silence fell on the group. 

Greve's attention was immediately attracted towards the stranger, whomhe surmised to be the detective from Scotland Yard. He was a big, burlyman with a heavy dark moustache, straight and rather thin black hair, and coarse features. He looked a full-blooded, plethoric person withreddish-blue veins on his florid face, and a heavy jowl whichover-feeding, Robin surmised, had made fullish. He was very neatlydressed in his black overcoat with velvet collar carefully brushed, hisnatty black tie with its pearl pin, and well-polished boots. His blackbowler hat, with a pair of heavy dogskin gloves, neatly folded, lay onthe table. 

"This Mr. Greve?"

Bude and Jay fell back as Robin joined the group. The detective bent hisgaze on the young barrister as he put his question, and Robin for thefirst time noticed his eyes. Keen and clear, they were ill-suited, hethought, to the rather gross features of the man. By right he shouldhave had either the small and roguish or the pale and expressionlesseyes which are habitually found in individuals of the sanguinetemperament. 

The detective had a trick of dropping his eyes to his boots. When heraised them, the effect was to alter his whole expression. His eyes, well-open, keenly observant, in perpetual motion, lent an air ofalertness, of shrewdness, to his heavy, florid countenance. 

"That is my name, " said Robin, answering his question. "I am abarrister. I have met some of your people at the Yard, but I don'tthink.... "

"Detective-Inspector Manderton, " interjected the big man, and paused asthough to say, "Let that sink in!"

Robin knew him well by repute. His qualities were those of the bull-dog, slow-moving, obstinately brave, and desperately tenacious. His was aname to conjure with among the criminal classes, and his career wasstarred with various sensational tussles with desperate criminals, forDetective-Inspector Manderton, when engaged on a case, invariably "tooka hand himself, " as he phrased it, when an arrest was to be made. Abullet-hole in his right thigh and an imperfectly knitted rightcollar-bone remained to remind him of this propensity of his. His motto, as he was fond of saying, was, "What I have I hold!"

"Well, Mr. Greve, " said the detective in a loud, hectoring voice, "perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what you know of thisaffair?"

Robin flushed angrily at the man's manner. But there was no trace ofresentment in his voice as he replied. He told Manderton what he hadalready told Humphries: how he had gone from the billiard-room acrossthe hall and down the library corridor to the side-door into thegrounds, intending to have a stroll before tea, but, finding that itwas threatening rain, had returned to the house by the front door. 

The detective scanned the young man's face closely as he spoke. WhenRobin had finished, the other dropped his eyes and seemed to beexamining the brilliant polish of his boots. He said nothing, and againRobin became aware of the atmosphere of hostility towards him which thisman radiated. 

"It is dark at five o'clock?"

Manderton turned to Bude. 

"Getting on that way, sir, " the butler agreed. 

"Are you in the habit, sir, "--the detective turned to Robin now, --"ofgoing out for walks in the dark?"

Greve shrugged his shoulders. 

"I had been sitting in the billiard-room. It was rather stuffy, so Ithought I'd like some air before tea!"

"You left Miss Trevert in the billiard-room?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

Greve put a hand to his throat and eased his collar. 

"The gong had sounded for tea, " the detective went on imperturbably;"surely it would have been more natural for you to have brought MissTrevert with you?"

"I didn't wish to!"

Mr. Manderton cleared his throat. 

"Ah!" he grunted. "You didn't wish to. I should like you to be frankwith me, Mr. Greve, please. Was it not a fact that you and Miss Treverthad words?"

He looked up sharply at him with contracted pupils. 

"You took a certain interest in this young lady?"

"Mr. Manderton, "--Robin spoke with a certain _hauteur_, --"don't youthink we might leave Miss Trevert's name out of this?"

"Mr. Greve, " replied the detective bluntly, "I don't!"

Robin made a little gesture of resignation. 

"Before the servants.... "

"Come, come, sir, " the detective broke in, "with all respect to theyoung lady and yourself, it was a matter of common knowledge in thehouse that she and you were ... Well, old friends. It was remarked, Mr. Greve, I may remind you, that you looked very upset-like when you leftthe billiard-room to"--he paused perceptibly--"to go for your stroll inthe dark. "

Robin glanced quickly round the group. Jay averted his eyes. As forBude, he was the picture of embarrassment. 

"You seem to be singularly well posted in the gossip of the servants'hall, Mr. Manderton!" said Robin hotly. 

It was a foolish remark, and Robin regretted it the moment the words hadleft his mouth. 

"Well, yes, " commented the detective slowly, "I am. I shall be wellposted on the whole of this case, presently, I hope, sir!"

His manner was perfectly respectful, but reserved almost to a tone ofmenace. 

"In that case, " said Robin, "I'll tell you something you don't know, Mr. Manderton. Has Bude told you what he heard after I had passed him in thehall?"

Interest flashed at once into the detective's face. He turned quickly tothe butler. Robin felt he had scored. 

"What did you hear?" he said sharply. 

Bude looked round wildly. His large, fish-like mouth twitched, and hemade a few feeble gestures with his hands. 

"It was only perhaps an idea of mine, sir, " he stammered, --"just a sortof idea ... I dare say I was mistaken. My hearing ain't what it was, sir.... "

"Don't you try to hoodwink me, " said Manderton, with sudden ferocity, knitting his brows and frowning at the unfortunate butler. "Come on andtell us what you heard. Mr. Greve knows and I mean to. Out with it!"

Bude cast a reproachful glance at Robin. Then he said:

"Well, sir, a minute or two after Mr. Greve had passed me, I went backto the hall and through the open door of the corridor leading to thelibrary, I heard voices!"

"Voices, eh? Did you recognize them?"

"No, sir. It was just the sound of talking!"

"You told Miss Trevert they were loud voices, Bude!" Robin interrupted. 

"Yes, sir, " replied the butler, "they were loudish in a manner o'speaking, else I shouldn't have heard them!"

"Why not?"

The detective rapped the question out sharply. 

"Why, because the library door was locked, sir!"

"How do you know that?"

"Because Miss Trevert and Dr. Romain both tried the handle and couldn'tget in!"

"Ah!" said Manderton, "you mean the door was locked _when the body wasfound!_ Now, as to these voices. Were they men's voices?"

"Yes, sir, I should say so. "

"Why?"

"Because they were deep-like!"

"Was Mr. Hartley Parrish's voice one of them?"

The butler spread out his hands. 

"That I couldn't say! I just heard the murmur-like, then shut thepassage door quickly ... "

"Why?"

"Well, sir, I thought ... I didn't want to listen.... "

"You thought one of the voices was Mr. Greve's, eh? Having a row withMr. Parrish, eh? About the lady, isn't that right?"

"Aren't you going rather too fast?" said Robin quietly. 

But the detective ignored him. 

"Come on and answer my question, my man, " he said harshly. "Didn't youthink it was Mr. Hartley Parrish and Mr. Greve here having a bit of adust-up about the young lady being engaged to Mr. Parrish?"

"Well, perhaps I did, but.... "

Like a flash the detective turned on Robin. 

"What do you know about this?" he demanded fiercely. 

"Nothing, " said Greve. "As I have told you already, I did not see Mr. Parrish alive again after lunch, nor did I speak to him. What I wouldsuggest to you now is that upon this evidence of Bude's depends thevitally important question of how Mr. Parrish met his death. Though hewas found with a revolver in his hand, none of us in this house know ofany good motive for his suicide. I put it to you that the man who canfurnish us with this motive is the owner of the voice heard by Bude inconversation with Mr. Parrish, since obviously nobody other than Mr. Parrish and possibly this unknown person was in the library block at thetime. And I would further remark, Mr. Manderton, that, until the bullethas been extracted, we do not know that Mr. Parrish killed_himself_... "

"No, " said the detective significantly, "we don't!"

He had dropped his eyes to the ground now and was studying the patternof the hearth-rug. 

"You say you heard no shot?" he suddenly asked Robin. 

"No!"

"No one other than Miss Trevert, I gather, heard the shot?"

"That is so!"

Mr. Manderton consulted a slip of paper which he drew from his pocket. 

"Inspector Humphries, " he said, "has drawn up a rough time-table ofevents leading up to Mr. Parrish's death, based on the evidence he hastaken here this evening. You will tell me if it tallies. "

He read from the slip:

 5 P. M. Bude sounds the gong for tea. 

 5. 10 Mr. Greve passes Bude in the hall and goes down the corridor leading to the library. Mr. Greve states he went straight out by the side door into the gardens. 

The detective looked up from his reading. 

"At 5. 12, let us say, Bude comes back from the servants' quarters to thehall and hears voices from the library. He closes the passage door. Isthat right?"

Bude nodded. 

"It would be about two minutes after I saw Mr. Greve the first time, " heagreed. 

"Very well!"

The detective resumed his reading. 

 5. 15 P. M. Miss Trevert goes to fetch Mr. Parrish in to tea. She finds the library door locked. Tries the handle and hears a shot. 

5. 18 (say) Miss Trevert comes into the lounge halland gives the alarm. 

"Now, sir, " said Mr. Manderton briskly, "I should like to ask you one ortwo further questions. Firstly, how long were you out on your stroll inthe dark?"

"I should think about two or three minutes. "

"That is to say, if you left the house by the side door at 5. 10, youwere back in the house by 5. 13. "

"Yes, that would be right, " Robin agreed. 

"And what did you do when you came in?"

"I went up to my room to fetch a letter for the post. "

"Miss Trevert heard the shot fired at 5. 15. Where were you at thattime?"

"In my bedroom, I should say. I was there for a few minutes as I had towrite a cheque.... "

"And where is your bedroom?"

"In the other wing above the billiard-room. "

"Hm! A pistol shot makes a great deal of noise. It seems strange thatnobody in the house should have heard it. "

Here Bude interposed. 

"Mr. Parrish, sir, was very particular about noise. He had the librarydoor and the door leading from the front hall to the library corridorspecially felted so that he should not hear any sounds from the housewhen he was working in the library. That library wing was absolutelyshut off from the rest of the house. It was always uncommon quiet.... "

But the detective, ignoring him, turned to Robin again. 

"I have been round the house, " he said. "It does not seem to me itought to take you three or even two minutes to walk from the side doorto the front door. I should say it would be a matter of about thirtyseconds!"

"Excuse me, " Robin answered quickly, "I didn't say I went straight fromthe side to the front door. I went through the gardens following thepath that leads to the main drive. There I turned and came back to thefront door. "

"And you assert that you heard nothing?"

"I heard nothing. "

"Neither the 'loud voices' which the butler heard within two minutes ofyour leaving the house nor the shot fired five minutes later?"

"I heard nothing. "

Mr. Manderton examined the toes of his boots carefully. 

"You heard nothing!" he repeated. 

The door opened suddenly and Dr. Romain appeared. With him was thevillage practitioner and Inspector Humphries. 

Dr. Redstone carried in his hand a little pad of cotton wool. He bore itover to the fireplace and unwrapping the lint showed a twisted fragmentof lead lying on the bloodstained dressing. 

"Straight through the heart and lodged in the spine, " he said. "Deathwas absolutely instantaneous. "

The detective picked up the bullet and scrutinized it closely. 

"Browning pistol ammunition, " observed Humphries; "it fits the gun heused. There's half a dozen spare rounds in one of the drawers of hisdressing-room upstairs. "

Mr. Manderton drew Inspector Humphries and Dr. Redstone into a corner ofthe room where they conversed in undertones. Bude and Jay had vanished. Dr. Romain turned to Robin Greve, who stood lost in a reverie, staringinto the fire. 

"A clear case of suicide, " he said. "The medical evidence is conclusiveon that point. A most amazing affair. I can't conceive what drove him toit. Why _did_ he do it?"

"Ah! why?" said Robin. 

CHAPTER X

A SMOKING CHIMNEY

A Red sun glowed dully through a thin mist when, on the followingmorning, Robin Greve emerged from the side door into the gardens ofHarkings. It was a still, mild day. Moisture from the night's rain yethung translucent on the black limbs of the bare trees and glistened likediamonds on the closely cropped turf of the lawn. In the air was apleasant smell of damp earth. 

Robin paused an instant outside the door in the library corridor andinhaled the morning air greedily. He had spent a restless, fitful night. His sleep had been haunted by the riddle which, since the previousevening, had cast its shadow over the pleasant house. The mystery ofHartley Parrish's death obsessed him. If it was suicide, --and thedoctors were both positive on the point--the motive eluded him utterly. 

His mind, trained to logical processes of reasoning by his practice ofthe law, baulked at the theory. When he thought of Hartley Parrish as hehad seen him at luncheon on the day before, striding with his quick, vigorous step into the room, boyishly curious to know what the _chef_was giving them to eat, devouring his lunch with obvious animalenjoyment, brimful of energy, dominating the table with his forceful, eager personality.... 

The sound of voices in the library broke in upon his thoughts. Robinraised his head and listened. Some one appeared to be talking in a loudvoice ... No, not talking ... Rather declaiming. 

Stepping quietly on the hard gravel path, Robin turned the corner of thehouse and came into view of the library window. The window-pane gaped, shattered where Horace Trevert had broken the glass on the previousevening when effecting an entrance into the room. Framed in the raggedoutline of the splintered glass, bulked the large form of SergeantHarris. He stood half turned from the window so as to catch the light ona copy of _The Times_ which he held in his red and freckled hands. Hewas reading aloud in stentorian tones from a leading article. 

"While this country, " he bawled sonorously, "cannot ... In h'ourbelief ... Hevade ... Er ... Responsibility ... Er ... H'm disquietingsitwation ... "

"Dear me!" thought Robin to himself, "what a very extraordinary morningpursuit for our police!"

Suddenly the reading was interrupted. 

Robin heard the library door open. Then Manderton's voice cried:

"That'll do, thank you, Sergeant!"

"Did you 'ear me, sir?" asked the sergeant, who seemed very muchrelieved to be quit of his task. 

"Not a word!" was the reply. "But we'll try with the library door open!I'll go back to the hall and you start again!"

A thoughtful look on his face, Robin turned quickly and, hurrying roundthe side of the house, entered by the front door. Standing by the doorleading to the library corridor he found Manderton. 

The detective did not seem particularly glad to see him. 

"Good-morning, Inspector, " said Robin affably, "you're early to work, Isee. Having a little experiment, eh?"

Manderton nodded without replying. Then the stentorian tones of SergeantHarris proclaiming the views of "The Thunderer" on the Silesiansituation rolled down the corridor and struck distinctly on the ears ofthe listeners in the hall. 

Presently Manderton closed the corridor door, shutting off the soundabruptly. 

"I think you said you could not hear the sergeant with the library doorshut?" queried Robin suavely. 

"With the door shut--no, " answered the detective shortly. "But with thedoor open ... "

He broke off significantly and dropped his eyes to his boots. 

"Would it be troubling you, " Robin struck in, "if we pushed yourexperiment one step farther?"

Manderton lifted his eyes and looked at the young man, Robin met hisgaze unflinchingly. 

"Well?"

There was no invitation in his voice, but Robin affected to disregardthe other's coldness. 

"Let the library door be shut, " said Robin, "but leave the glass doorleading into the garden open. Then give Sergeant Harris another trial athis reading.... "

The detective smiled rather condescendingly. 

"With the library door shut, you'll hear nothing, " he remarked. 

"The library window is open, " Robin retorted, "or rather it is as goodas open, as one of the two big panes is smashed.... "

His voice vibrated with eagerness. The detective looked at himcuriously. 

"Oh, try if you like, " he said carelessly. 

Without waiting for his assent, Robin had already plucked open thecorridor door and was halfway down the passage as the other replied. Hewas back again almost at once and, motioning the detective to silence, took his place at his side by the open door. Then the sound of thepoliceman's voice was heard from the corridor. It was muffled andindistinct so that the sense of his words could not be made out. But thevoice was audible enough. 

Robin turned to the detective. 

"Bude could make out no words, " he said. 

"But how do we know that the glass door was open?" queried the detectivesceptically. 

"Because I left it open myself, " Robin countered promptly, "when I wentout for my walk before tea. Sir Horace told me that he found the doorbanging about in the wind when he went out lo get into the library bythe window. "

Mr. Manderton allowed his fat, serious face to expand very slowly into abroad, superior smile. 

"Doesn't it seem a little curious, " he said, "that Mr. Hartley Parrishshould choose to sit and work in the library on a gusty and dark winterevening with the window wide open? You'll allow, I think, that thewindow was not broken until after his death ... "

Robin's nerves were ragged. The man's tone nettled him exceedingly. Buthe confined himself to making a little gesture of impatience. 

"No, no, sir, " said Mr. Manderton, very decidedly, "I prefer to thinkthat the library door was open, left open by the party who went in tospeak to Mr. Parrish yesterday afternoon ... And who knows more aboutthe gentleman's suicide than he would have people think ... "

Robin boiled over fairly at this. 

"Good God, man!" he exclaimed, "do you accept this theory of suicide asblandly as all that? Have you examined the body? Don't you use youreyes? I tell you ... Bah, what's the use? I'm not here to do your workfor you!... "

"No, sir, " said the detective, quite unruffled, "you are not. And Ithink I'll continue to see about it myself!"

With that he opened the corridor door and vanished down the passage. 

With great deliberation Robin selected a cigarette from his case, litit, and walked out through the front door into the fresh air again. Morethan ever he felt the riddle of Hartley Parrish's death weighing uponhis mind. 

His intuitive sense rebelled against the theory of suicide, despite themedical evidence, despite the revolver in the dead man's hand, despitethe detective's assurance. And floating about in his brain, like thegossamer on the glistening bushes in the gardens, were broken threads ofvague suspicions, of half-formed theories, leading from his hastyobservations in the death chamber ... 

In itself the death of Hartley Parrish left him cold. Yes, he must admitthat. But the look in Mary Trevert's eyes, as she had urged him toshield himself from the suspicion of having driven Hartley Parrish tohis death, haunted him. Already dimly he was beginning to realize thatHartley Parrish in death might prove as insuperable a bar between himand Mary Trevert as ever he had been in life ... 

She was now a wealthy woman. Hartley Parrish's will had ensured that, heknew. But it was not the barrier of riches that Robin Greve feared. Hehad asked Mary Trevert to be his wife before there was any thought ofher inheriting Parrish's fortune. He derived a little consolation fromthat reflection. At least he could not appear as a fortune-hunter in hereyes. But, until he could clear himself of the suspicion lurking in MaryTrevert's mind that he, Robin Greve, was in some way implicated inHartley Parrish's death, the dead man, he felt, would always standbetween them. And so ... 

Robin pitched the stump of his cigarette into a rose bush with a littlegesture of resignation. Almost without knowing it, he had strolled intothe rosery up a shallow flight of steps cut into the bank of greenturf, which ran along the side of the house facing the library window tothe corner of the house where it met the clipped box-hedge of thePleasure Ground. 

The rosery was a pleasant rectangle framed in a sort of rustic bowerwhich in the summer was covered with superb roses of every hue andvariety. Gravel paths intersected rose-beds cut into all manner offantastic shapes where stood the slender shoots of the young rose-treeseach with its tag setting forth its kind, for Hartley Parrish had beenan enthusiastic amateur in this direction. 

Robin turned round and faced the house. From his elevation he could lookdown into the library through the window with its shattered pane. Hecould see the gleaming polish on Hartley Parrish's big desk and thegreat arm-chair pushed back as Hartley Parrish had pushed it from himjust before his death. 

The bare poles of the woodwork festooned with the black arms of thecreeping roses, standing out dark in the fast falling winter evening, must, he reflected, have been the last view that Hartley Parrish had hadbefore ... 

But then he broke off his meditations abruptly. His eye had fallen on anarrow white patch standing out on one of the uprights supporting theclambering roses. 

It was a stout young tree, the light brown bark left adhering to itssurface. It was a long blaze on the bark on the side of the trunk whichhad caught his eye. Robin walked round the gravel path until he waswithin a foot of the pole to get a better view. 

The pole stood almost exactly opposite the library window. The scar inthe bark was high up and diagonal and quite freshly made, for the woodwas dead white and much splintered. 

The young man put a hand on the upright for support and leant forward, carefully refraining from putting his foot on the soft brown mould ofthe flower-bed which fringed the path between it and the rusticwoodwork. Then he ran lightly down the steps until he stood with hisback to the library window. From here he carefully surveyed the uprightagain, then, returning to the rosery, began a careful scrutiny of thegravel paths and the beds. 

Apparently his search gave little result, for he presently abandoned itand turned his attention to the wooden framework on the other side ofthe rectangular rose-garden. He plunged boldly in among the rose-bushesand examined each upright in turn. He spent about half an hour in thismeticulous investigation, and then, his boots covered with mould, hisrough shooting-coat glistening with moisture, he walked slowly down thesteps and reentered the house. 

As he was wiping the mud off his boots on the great mat in the fronthall, Bude came out of the lounge hall with a pile of dishes on a tray. 

"Bude, " said Robin, "can you tell me if the fire in the library has beensmoking of late?"

"Well, sir, " replied the butler, "we've always had trouble with thatchimdy when the wind's in the southwest. "

"Has it been smoking lately?" The young man reiterated his questionimpatiently. 

The man looked up in surprise. 

"Well, sir, now you come to mention it, it has. As a matter o'fact, sir, the sweep was ordered for to-day ... "

"Why?"

"Well, sir, Mr. Parrish had mentioned it to me ... "

"When?"

The question came out like a pistol shot. 

"Yesterday, sir, " answered the butler blandly. "Just before luncheon, itwas, sir. Mr. Parrish told me to have that chimdy seen to at once. And Itelephoned for the sweep immediately after luncheon, sir ... "

"Did Mr. Parrish say anything else, Bude?"

Robin eagerly scanned the butler's fat, unimpressive countenance. Bude, his tray held out stiffly in front of him, contracted his bushy eyebrowsin thought. 

"I don't know as he did, sir ... "

"Think, man, think!" Robin urged. 

"Well, sir, " said Bude, unmoved, "I believe, now I come to think of it, that Mr. Parrish did say something about the wind blowing his papersabout ... "

"That is to say, he had been working with the window open?"

Robin Greve's question rang out sharply. It was an affirmation more thana question. 

"Yes, sir, leastways I suppose so, sir ... "

"Which window?"

"Why, the one Mr. Parrish always liked to have open in the warm weather, sir, ... The one opposite the desk. The other window was never opened, sir, because of the dictaphone as stands in front of it. The dampaffects the mechanism ... "

"Thank you, Bude, " said the young man. 

With his accustomed majesty the butler wheeled to go. In the turn of hishead as he moved there was a faint suggestion of a shake ... A shake ofuncomprehending pity. 

CHAPTER XI

"... SPEED THE PARTING GUEST!"

Dr. Romain was just finishing his breakfast as Robin Greve entered thedining-room, a cosy oak-panelled room with a bow window fitted withcushioned window-seats. Horace Trevert stood with his back to the fire. There was no sign of either Lady Margaret or of Mary. Silence seemed tofall on both the doctor and his companion as Robin came in. They worethat rather abashed look which people unconsciously assume when theybreak off a conversation on an unexpected entry. 

"Morning, Horace! Morning, Doctor!" said Robin, crossing to thesideboard. "Any sign of Lady Margaret or Mary yet?"

The doctor had risen hastily to his feet. 

"I rather think Dr. Redstone is expecting me, " he said rapidly; "I halfpromised to go over to Stevenish ... Think I'll just run over. Thewalk'll do me good ... "

He looked rather wildly about him, then fairly bolted from the room. 

Robin, the cover of the porridge dish in his hand, turned and stared athim. 

"Why, whatever's the matter with Romain?" he began. 

But Horace, who had not spoken a word, was himself halfway to the door. 

"Horace!" called out Robin sharply. 

The boy stopped with his back towards the other. But he did not turnround. 

Robin put the cover back on the porridge dish and crossed the room. 

"You all seem in the deuce of a hurry this morning ... " he said. 

Still the boy made no reply. 

"Why, Horace, what's the matter?"

Robin put his hand on young Trevert's shoulder. Horace shook him roughlyoff. 

"I don't care to discuss it with you, Robin!" he said. 

Robin deliberately swung the boy round until he faced him. 

"My dear old thing, " he expostulated. "What does it all mean? _What_won't you discuss with me?"

Horace Trevert looked straight at the speaker. His upper lip was poutedand trembled a little. 

"What's the use of talking?" he said. "You know what I mean. Or wouldyou like me to be plainer ... "

Robin met his gaze unflinchingly. 

"I certainly would, " he said, "if it's going to enlighten me as to whyyou should suddenly choose to behave like a lunatic ... "

Horace Trevert leant back and thrust his hands into his pockets. 

"After what happened here yesterday, " he said, speaking very clearly anddeliberately, "I wonder you have the nerve to stay ... "

"My dear Horace, " said Kobin quite impassively, "would you mind being alittle more explicit? What precisely are you accusing me of? What have Idone?"

"Done?" exclaimed the young man heatedly. "Done? Good God! Don't yourealize that you have dragged my sister into this wretched business?Don't you understand that her name will be bandied about before a lot ofrotten yokels at the inquest?"

Robin Greve's eyes glittered dangerously. 

"I confess, " he said, with elaborate politeness, "I scarcely understandwhat it has to do with me that Hartley Parrish should apparently commitsuicide within a few days of becoming engaged to your sister ... "

"Ha!"

Horace Trevert snorted indignantly. 

"You don't understand, don't you? We don't understand either. But, Imust say, we thought _you_ did!"

With that he turned to go. But Robin caught him by the arm. 

"Listen to me, Horace, " he said. "I'm not going to quarrel with you inthis house of death. But you're going to tell here and now what youmeant by that remark. Do you understand? I'm going to know!"

Horace Trevert shook himself free. 

"Certainly you shall know, " he answered with _hauteur_, "but I must sayI should have thought that, as a lawyer and so on, you would haveguessed my meaning without my having to explain. What I mean is that, now that Hartley Parrish is dead, there is only one man who knows whatdrove him to his death. And that's yourself! Do you want it plainer thanthat?"

Robin took a step back and looked at his friend. But he did not speak. 

"And now, " the boy continued, "perhaps you will realize that yourpresence here is disagreeable to Mary ... "

"Did Mary ask you to tell me this?" Robin broke in. 

His voice had lost its hardness. It was almost wistful. The change oftone was so marked that it struck Horace. He hesitated an instant. 

"Yes, " he blurted out. "She doesn't want to see you again. I don't wantto be offensive, Robin.. "

"Please don't apologize, " said Greve. "I quite understand that this isyour sister's house now and, of course, I shall leave at once. I'll askJay to pack my things if you could order the car ... "

The boy moved towards the door. Before he reached it Robin called himback. 

"Horace, " he said pleasantly, "before you go I want you to answer me aquestion. Think before you speak, because it's very important. When yougot into the library yesterday evening through the window, you smashedthe glass, didn't you?"

Horace Trevert nodded. 

"Yes, " he replied, looking hard at Robin. 

"Why?"

"To get into the room, of course!"

"Was the window bolted?"

The boy stopped and thought. 

"No, " he said slowly, "now I come to think of it, I don't believe itwas. No, of course, it wasn't. I just put my arm through the broken paneand shoved the window up. But why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, " answered Robin nonchalantly. "I just was curious to know, that's all!"

Horace stood and looked at him for an instant. Then he went out. 

A quarter of an hour later, Hartley Parrish's Rolls-Royce glided throughthe straggling main street of Stevenish. A chapel bell tinkledunmusically, and on the pavements, gleaming with wet, went a processionof neatly dressed townsfolk bound, prayer-book in hand, for theirrespective places of worship. A newsboy, sorting out the Sundaynewspapers which had just come down by train from London, was the onlyfigure visible on the little station platform. Kobin bought a selection. 

"There's all about Mr. Parrish, " said the boy, "'im as they found deadup at 'Arkings las' night. And the noospapers 'asn't 'arf been sendin'down to-day ... Reporters and photographers ... You oughter seen thecrowd as come by the mornin' train ... "

"I wonder what they'll get out of Manderton, " commented Robin rathergrimly to himself as his train puffed leisurely, after the habit ofSunday trains, into the quiet little station. 

In the solitude of his first-class smoker he unfolded the newspapers. None had more than the brief fact that Hartley Parrish had been founddead with a pistol in his hand, but they made up for the briefness oftheir reports by long accounts of the dead man's "meteoric career. "And, Robin noted with relief, hitherto Mary Trevert's name was out ofthe picture. 

He dropped the papers on to the seat, and, as the train steamed serenelythrough the Sunday calm of the country towards London's outer suburbs, he reviewed in his mind such facts as he had gleaned regarding thecircumstances of his late host's death. 

He would, he told himself, accept for the time being as _facts_ what, headmitted to himself, so far only seemed to be such. Hartley Parrish, then, had been seated in his library at his desk with the door locked. The fire was smoking, and therefore he had opened the window. Accordingto Horace Trevert, the window had not been bolted when he had enteredthe library, for, after smashing the pane in the assumption that thebolt was shot, he had had no difficulty in pushing up the window. Hartley Parrish had opened the window himself, for on the nail of themiddle finger of his left hand Robin had seen, with the aid of themagnifying-glass, a tiny fragment of white paint. 

Who had closed it? He had no answer ready to _that_ question. 

Now, as to the circumstances of the shooting. The suicide theory invitedone to believe that Hartley Parrish had got up from his desk, pushingback his chair, had gone round it until he stood between the desk andthe window, and had there shot himself through the heart. Why should hehave done this?

Robin had no answer ready to this question either. He passed on again. Bude had heard loud voices a very few minutes before Mary had heard theshot. That morning's experiments had shown that Bude could have heardthese sounds only by way of the open window of the library and the opendoors of the garden and the library corridor. Additional proof, if Budehad heard aright, that the library window was open. 

Leaning back in his seat, his finger-tips pressed together, Robin Greveresolutely faced the situation to which his deductions were leading him. 

"The voice heard at the open window, " he told himself, "was the voice ofthe man who murdered Parrish and who closed the window, that is, ofcourse, if the murder theory proves more conclusive than that ofsuicide. "

This brought him back to his investigations in the rosery. The abrasurehe had discovered on the timber upright was the mark of a bullet and amark freshly made at that. Moreover, it had almost certainly been firedfrom the library window--from the window which Parrish had opened; theangle at which it had struck and marked the tree showed that almostconclusively. 

Yet there had been but one shot! If only he had been able to find thatbullet in the rosery! Robin thought ruefully of his long hunt among thesopping rose-bushes. 

Yes, there had been only one shot. Mary Trevert had stated itdefinitely. Besides, the bullet that had killed Hartley Parrish had beenfired from his own revolver and had been found in the body. Robin Grevefelt the murder theory collapsing about him. But the suicide theory didnot stand up, either. What possible, probable motive had Hartley Parrishfor taking his own life?

"He wasn't the man to do it!"

The wheels of the train took up the rhythm of the phrase and dinned itinto his ears. 

"He wasn't the man to do it!"

The riddle seemed more baffling than ever. 

Robin thrust one hand into his right-hand pocket to get his pipe, hisother hand into his left-hand pocket to find his pouch. His left handcame into contact with a little ball of paper. 

He drew it out. It was the little ball of slatey-blue paper he had foundon the floor of the library beside Hartley Parrish's dead body. 

CHAPTER XII

MR. MANDERTON IS NONPLUSSED

Horace Trevert walked abruptly into Mary's Chinese boudoir. LadyMargaret and the girl were standing by the fire. 

"Well, " said Horace, dropping into a chair, "he's gone!"

"Who?" said Lady Margaret. 

"Robin, " answered the boy, "and I must say he took it very well ... "

"You don't mean to tell me, Horace, " said his mother, "that you haveactually sent Robin Greve away ... ?"

Mary Trevert put her hand on her mother's arm. 

"I wished it, Mother. I asked Horace to send him away ... "

"But, my dear, " protested Lady Margaret. 

Mary interrupted her impatiently. 

"Robin Greve was impossible here. I had to ask him to go. I suppose hecan come back if ... If they want him for the inquest ... "

Lady Margaret was looking at her daughter in a puzzled way. She was awoman of the world and had brought her daughter up to be a woman of theworld. She knew that Mary was not impulsive by nature. She knew thatthere was a wealth of good sense behind those steady eyes. 

In response to a look from his mother, Horace got up and left the room. 

"Mary, dear, " said the older woman, "don't you think you are making amistake?"

The girl turned away, one slim shoe tapping restlessly against the brassrail of the fireplace. 

"My dear, " her mother went on, "remember I have known Robin Greve allhis life. His father, the Admiral, was a very old friend of mine. He wasthe very personification of honour. Robin is very fond of you ... No, hehas told me nothing, but I _know_. Don't you think it is rather hard onan old friend to turn him away just when you most want him?"

There was a heightened colour in the girl's face as she turned andlooked her mother in the face. 

"Robin has not behaved like a friend, Mother, " she answered. "He knowsmore than he pretends about ... About this. And he lets me find outthings from the servants when he ought to have told me himself. If he issuspected of having said something to Hartley which made him do thisdreadful thing, he has only himself to thank. I _did_ try to shieldhim--before I knew. But I'm not going to do so any more. If he stays Ishall have the police suspecting me all the time. And I owe somethingto Hartley ... "

Her mother sighed a soft little sigh. She said nothing. She was a verywise woman. 

"Robin left me to go to the library ... I am sure of that ... " Mary wenton breathlessly. 

"Why?" her mother asked. 

The girl hesitated. 

Then she said slowly:

"You and I have always been good pals, Mother, so I may as well tellyou. Robin had just asked me to marry him. So I told him I was engagedto Hartley. He went on in the most awful way, and said that I wasselling myself and that I would not be the first girl that Hartley hadkept ... "

She broke off and raised her hands to her face. Then she put her elbowson the mantel-shelf and burst into tears. 

"Oh, it was hateful, " she sobbed. 

Her mother put her arm round her soothingly. 

"Well, my dear, " she said, "Robin was always fond of you, and I dare sayit was a shock to him. When men feel like that about a girl theygenerally say things they don't mean ... "

Mary Trevert straightened herself up and dropped her hands to her side. She faced her mother, the tear-drops glistening on her long lashes. 

"He meant it, every word of it. And he was perfectly right. I _was_selling myself, and you know I was, Mother. Do you think we can go onfor ever like this, living on credit and dodging tradesmen? I meant tomarry Hartley and stick to him. But I never thought ... I neverguessed ... That Robin ... "

"I know, my dear, " her mother interposed, "I know. Perhaps it doesn'tsound a very proper thing to say in the circumstances, but now that poorHartley is gone, there is no reason whatsoever why you and Robin ... "

The Treverts were a hot-tempered race. Lady Margaret's unfinishedsentence seemed to infuriate the girl. 

"Do you think I'd marry Robin Greve as long as I thought he knew themystery of Hartley's death!" she cried passionately. "I was willing togive up my self-respect once to save us from ruin, but I won't do itagain. I'm not surprised to find you thinking I am ready to marry Robinand live happy ever after on poor Hartley's money. But I've not sunk solow as that! If you ever mention this to me again, Mother, I promise youI'll go away and never come back!"

"My dear child, " temporized Lady Margaret, eyebrows raised in protestat this outburst, "of course, it shall be as you wish. I onlythought ... "

But Mary Trevert was not listening. She leant on the mantel-shelf, herdark head in her hands, and she murmured:

"The tragedy of it! My God, the tragedy of it!"

Lady Margaret twisted the rings on her long white fingers. 

"The tragedy of it, my dear, " she said, "is that you have sent away theman you love at a time when you will never need him so badly again ... "

There was a discreet tapping at the door. 

"Come in!" said Lady Margaret. 

Bude appeared. 

"Mr. Manderton, the detective, my lady, was wishing to know whether hemight see Miss Trevert ... "

"Yes. Ask him to come up here, " commanded Lady Margaret. 

"He is without--in the corridor, my lady!"

He stepped back and in a moment Mr. Manderton stepped into the room, big, burly, and determined. 

He made a little stiff bow to the two ladies and halted irresolute nearthe door. 

"You wished to see my daughter, Mr. Manderton, " said Lady Margaret. 

The detective bowed again. 

"And you, too, my lady, " he said. "Allow me!"

He closed the door, then crossed to the fireplace. 

"After I had seen you and Miss Trevert last night, my lady, " he began, "I had a talk with Mr. Jeekes, Mr. Parrish's principal secretary, whocame down by car from London as soon as he heard the news. My lady, Ithink this is a fairly simple case!"

He paused and scanned the carpet. 

"Mr. Jeekes tells me, my lady, " he went on presently, "that Mrs Fairishhad been suffering from neurasthenia and a weak heart brought on by toomuch smoking. It appears that he had consulted, within the last twomonths, two leading specialists of Harley Street about his health. Oneof these gentlemen, Sir Winterton Maire, ordered him to knock off allwork and all smoking for at least three months. He will give evidence tothis effect at the inquest. Mr. Parrish disregarded these orders as hewas wishful to put through his scheme for Hornaway's before taking arest. Mr. Jeekes can prove that. In these circumstances, my lady.... "

"Well?"

Lady Margaret, in her black crepe de chine dress, setting off thesilvery whiteness of her hair, was a calm, unemotional figure as she satin her lacquer chair. 

"Well?" she asked again. 

"Well, " said the detective, "the verdict will be one of 'Suicide whilstof unsound mind, ' and in my opinion the medical evidence will besufficient to bring that in. There will not be occasion, I fancy, mylady, to probe any farther into the motives of Mr. Parrish's action.... "

"And are you personally satisfied"--Mary's voice broke in clear andunimpassioned--"are you personally satisfied, Mr. Manderton, that Mr. Parrish shot himself?"

The detective cast an appealing glance at the tips of his well-burnishedboots. 

"Yes, Miss, I think I may say I am.... "

"And what about the evidence of Bude, who said he heard voices in thelibrary.... "

Mr. Manderton gave his shoulders the merest suspicion of a shrug, raisedhis hands, and dropped them to his sides. 

"I had hoped, my lady, " he said, throwing a glance at Lady Margaret, "and you, Miss, that I had made it clear that in the circumstances weneed not pursue that matter any further.... "

Lady Margaret rose. Her dominating personality seemed to fill the room. 

"We are extremely obliged to you, Mr. Manderton, " she said, "for theable and discreet way in which you have handled this case. I sometimesmeet the Chief Commissioner at dinner. I shall write to Sir Maurice andtell him my opinion. "

Mr. Manderton reddened a little. 

"Your ladyship is too good, " he said. 

Lady Margaret bowed to signify that the interview was at an end. ButMary Trevert left her side and walked to the door. 

"Will you come downstairs with me, Mr. Manderton, " she said. "I shouldlike to speak to you alone for a minute!"

She led the way downstairs through the hall and out into the drive. Apale sun shone down from a grey and rainy sky, and the damp breezeblowing from the sodden trees played among the ringlets of her darkhair. 

"We will walk down the drive, " she said to the detective, who, ratherastonished, had followed her. "We can talk freely out of doors. "

They took a dozen steps in silence. Then she said:

"Who was it speaking to Mr. Parrish in the library?"

"Undoubtedly Mr. Greve, " replied the man without hesitation. 

"Why undoubtedly?" asked the girl. 

"It could have been no one else. We know that he left you hot to get atMr. Parrish and have words with him. Bude heard them talking with voicesraised aloud.... "

"But if the door were locked?"

"Mr. Parrish may have opened it and locked it again, Mr. Greve gettingout by the window. But there are no traces of that ... One would look tofind marks on the paint on the inside. Besides, a little test we madethis morning suggests that Mr. Greve spoke to Mr. Parrish through thewindow.... "

"Was the window open?"

"Yes, Miss, it probably was. The fire had been smoking in the library. Mr. Parrish had complained to Bude about it. Besides, we have found Mr. Parrish's finger-prints on the inside of the window-frame. Outside wefound other finger-prints ... Sir Horace's. Sir Horace was good enoughto allow his to be taken. "

The girl looked at the detective quickly. 

"Were there any other finger-prints except Horace's on the outside?" sheasked. 

Mr. Manderton shook his head. 

"No, Miss, " he answered. 

They had reached the lodge-gates at the beginning of the drive andturned to retrace their steps to the house. 

"Then we shall never know exactly why Mr. Parrish did this thing?"hazarded Mary. 

Mr. Manderton darted her a surreptitious glance. 

"We shall see about that, " he said. 

There was menace in his voice. 

Mary Trevert stopped. She put her hand on the detective's arm. 

"Mr. Manderton, " she said, "if you are satisfied, then, believe me, Iam!"

The detective bowed. 

"Miss Trevert, " he said, --and he spoke perfectly respectfully though hiswords were blunt, --"I can well believe that!"

The girl looked up quickly. She scanned his face rather apprehensively. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, "I don't understand.... "

"I mean, " was the detective's answer, given in his quiet, level voice, "that when you attempted to mislead Inspector Humphries you did nobodyany good!"

The girl bent her head without replying, and in silence they regainedthe house. At the house door they parted, Mary going indoors while thedetective remained standing on the drive. Very deliberately he produceda short briar pipe, cut a stub of dark plug tobacco from a flat piece hecarried in his pocket, crammed the tobacco into his pipe, and lit it. Reflectively he blew a thin spiral of smoke into the still air. 

"_He_ told me about that fat butler's evidence, " he said to himself;"_he_ put me wise about that window being open; _he_ gave me the officeabout the paint on the finger-nails of Mr. H. P. "

He ticked off each point on his fingers with the stem of his pipe. 

"Why?" said Mr. Manderton aloud, addressing a laurel-bush. 

CHAPTER XIII

JEEKES

Mr. Albert Edward Jeekes, Hartley Parrish's principal private secretary, lunched with Lady Margaret, Mary and Horace. Dr. Romain seemed not tohave got over his embarrassment of the morning, for he did not put in anappearance. 

Mr. Jeekes was an old young man who supported bravely the weight of hisChristian names, a reminder of his mother having occupied some smallpost in the household of Queen Victoria the Good. He might have been anyage between 35 and 50 with his thin sandy hair, his myopic gaze, and hishabitual expression of worried perplexity. 

He was a shorthand-writer and typist of incredible dexterity and speedwhich, combined with an unquenchable energy, had recommended him toHartley Parrish. Accordingly, in consideration of a salary which hewould have been the first to describe as "princely, " he had during thepast four years devoted some fifteen hours a day to the service of Mr. Hartley Parrish. 

He was unmarried. When not on duty, either at St. James's Square, Harkings, or Hartley Parrish's palatial offices in Broad Street, he wasto be found at one of those immense and gloomy clubs of indiscriminatemembership which are dotted about the parish of St. James's, S. W. , andto which Mr. Jeekes was in the habit of referring in Early-Victorianaccents of respect. 

"When I heard the news at the club, Miss Trevert, " said Jeekes, "youcould have knocked me down with a feather. Mr. Parrish, as all of usknew, worked himself a great deal too hard, sometimes not knocking offfor his tea, even, and wore his nerves all to pieces. But I neverdreamed it would come to this. Ah! he's a great loss, and what we shalldo without him I don't know. There was a piece in one of the papersabout him to-day--perhaps you saw it?--it called him 'one of thecaptains of industry of modern England. '"

"You were always a great help to him, Mr. Jeekes, " said Mary, who wastouched by the little man's hero-worship; "I am sure you realized thathe appreciated you. "

"Well, " replied Mr. Jeekes, rubbing the palms of his hands together, "hedid a great deal for _me_. Took me out of a City office where I wasgetting two pound five a week. That's what he did. It was a shippingfirm. I tell you this because it has a bearing, Miss Trevert, on whatis to follow. Why did he pick me? I'll tell you. 

"He was passing through the front office with one of our principals whenhe asked him, just casually, what Union Pacific stood at. The bossdidn't know. 

"'A hundred and eighty-seven London parity, ' says I. He turned round andlooked at me. 'How do you know that?' says he, rather surprised, thisbeing in a shipping office, you understand. 

"'I take an interest in the markets, ' I replied. 'Do you?' he says. 'Then you might do for me, ' and tells me to come and see him. "

"I went. He made me an offer. When I heard the figure ... My word!"

Mr. Jeekes paused. Then added sadly:

"And I had meant to work for him to my dying day!"

They were in the billiard-room seated on the selfsame settee, Maryreflected, on which she and Robin had sat--how long ago it seemed, though only yesterday! Mary had carried the secretary off after luncheonin order to unfold to him a plan which she had been turning over in hermind ever since her conversation with the detective. 

"And what are you going to do now, Mr. Jeekes?" she asked. 

The little man pursed up his lips. 

"Well, " he said, "I'll have to get something else, I expect. I'm notexpecting to find anything so good as I had with Mr. Parrish. And thingsare pretty crowded in the City, Miss Trevert, what with all the boysback from the war, God bless 'em, and glad we are to see 'em, I'm sure. I hope you'll realize, Miss Trevert, that anything I can do to help toput Mr. Parrish's affairs straight.... "

"I was just about to say, " Mary broke in, "that I hope you will notcontemplate any change, Mr. Jeekes. You know more about Mr. Parrish'saffairs than anybody else, and I shall be very glad if you will stay onand help me. You know I have been left sole executrix.... "

"Miss Trevert, "--the little man stammered in his embarrassment, --"thisis handsome of you. I surely thought you would have wished to make yourown arrangements, appoint your own secretaries.... "

Mr. Jeekes broke off and looked at her, blinking hard. 

"Not at all, " said Mary. "Everything shall be as it was. I am sure thatMr. Bardy will approve. Besides, Mr. Jeekes, I want your assistance insomething else.... "

"Anything in my power.... " began Jeekes. 

"Listen, " said Mary. 

She was all her old self-composed self now, a charming figure in herplain blue serge suit with a white silken shirt and black tie--the bestapproach to mourning her wardrobe could afford. Already the short winterafternoon was drawing in. Mysterious shadows lurked in the corners ofthe long and narrow room. 

"Listen, " said Mary, leaning forward. "I want to know why Mr. Parrishkilled himself. I mean to know. And I want you, Mr. Jeekes, to help meto find out, "

Something stirred ever so faintly in the remote recesses of thebilliard-room. A loose board or something creaked softly and was silent. 

"What was that?" the girl called out sharply. "Who's there?"

Mr. Jeekes got up and walked over to the door. It was ajar. He closedit. 

"Just a board creaking, " he said as he resumed his seat. 

"I want your aid in finding out the motive for this terribledeed, "--Mary Trevert was speaking again, --"I can't understand.... Idon't see clear.... "

"Miss Trevert, " said Mr. Jeekes, clearing his throat fussily, "I fear wemust look for the motive in the state of poor Mr. Parrish's nerves. Anuncommonly high-strung man he always was, and he smoked those longblack strong cigars of his from morning till night. Sir Winterton Mairetold him flatly--Mr. Parrish, I recollect, repeated his very words to meafter Sir Winterton had examined him--that, if he did not take acomplete rest and give up smoking, he would not be answerable for theconsequences. Therefore, Miss Trevert.... "

"Mr. Jeekes, " answered the girl, "I knew Mr. Parrish pretty well. Awoman, you know, gets to the heart of a man's character very oftenquicker than his daily associates in business. And I know that Mr. Parrish was the last man in the world to have done a thing like that. Hewas so ... So undaunted. He made nothing of difficulties. He reliedwholly on himself. That was the secret of his success. For him to havekilled himself like this makes me feel convinced that there was somehidden reason, far stronger, far more terrible, than any question ofnerves.... "

Leaning forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, Mary Trevertraised her dark eyes to the little secretary's face. 

"Many men have a secret in their lives, " she said in a low voice. "Doyou know of anything in Mr. Parrish's life which an enemy might havemade use of to drive him to his death?"

Her manner was so intense that Mr. Jeekes quite lost hisself-composure. He clutched at his _pince-nez_ and readjusted them uponhis nose to cover his embarrassment. The secretary was not used togazing at beautiful women whose expressive features showed as clearly asthis the play of the emotions. 

"Miss Trevert, " he said presently, "I know of no such secret. But thenwhat do I--what does any one--know of Mr. Parrish's former life?"

"We might make enquiries in South Africa?" ventured the girl. 

"I doubt if we should learn anything much through that, " said thesecretary. "Of course, Mr. Parrish had great responsibilities andresponsibility means worry.... "

A silence fell on them both. From somewhere in the dark shadows abovethe fire glowing red through the falling twilight a clock chimed once. There was a faint rustling from the neighborhood of the door. Mr. Jeekesstarted violently. A coal dropped noisily into the fireplace. 

"There was something else, " said Mary, ignoring the interruption, andpaused. She did not look up when she spoke again. 

"There is often a woman in cases like this, " she began reluctantly. 

Mr. Jeekes looked extremely uncomfortable. 

"Miss Trevert, " he said, "I beg you will not press me on thatscore.... "

"Why?" asked the girl bluntly. 

"Because ... Because"--Mr. Jeekes stumbled sadly over hiswords--"because, dear me, there are some things which really I couldn'tpossibly discuss ... If you'll excuse me.... "

"Oh, but you can discuss everything, Mr. Jeekes, " replied Mary Trevertcomposedly. "I am not a child, you know. I am perfectly well aware thatthere's a woman somewhere in the life of every man, very often two orthree. I haven't got any illusions on the subject, I assure you. I neversupposed for a moment that I was the first woman in Mr. Parrish'slife.... "

This candour seemed to administer a knock-out blow to the littlesecretary's Victorian mind. He was speechless. He took off his_pince-nez_, blindly polished them with his pocket-handkerchief andreplaced them upon his nose. His fingers trembled violently. 

"I have no wish to appear vulgarly curious, " the girl went on, --Mr. Jeekes made a quick gesture of dissent, --"but I am anxious to knowwhether Mr. Parrish was being blackmailed ... Or anything like that.... "

"Oh, no, Miss Trevert, I do assure you, " the little man expostulated inhasty denial, "nothing like that, I am convinced. At least, that is tosay ... "

He rose to his feet, clutching the little _attache_ case which heinvariably carried with him as a kind of emblem of office. 

"And now, if you'll excuse me, Miss Trevert, " he muttered, "I shouldreally be going. I am due at Mr. Bardy's office at five o'clock. He iscoming up from the country specially to meet me. There is so much todiscuss with regard to this terrible affair. "

He glanced at his watch. 

"With the roads as greasy as they are, " he added, "it will take me allmy time in the car to ... "

He cast a panic-striken glance around him. But Mary Trevert held himfast. 

"You didn't finish what you were saying about Mr. Parrish, Mr. Jeekes, "she said impassively. The secretary made no sign. But he looked a triflesullen. 

"I don't think you realize, Mr. Jeekes, " she said, "that other peoplebesides myself are keenly interested in the motives for Mr. Parrish'ssuicide. The police profess to be willing to accept the testimony of thespecialists as satisfactory medical evidence about his state of mind. But I distrust that man, Manderton. He is not satisfied, Mr. Jeekes. Hewon't rest until he knows the truth. "

The secretary cast her a frightened glance. 

"But Mr. Manderton told me himself, Miss Trevert, " he affirmed, "thatthe verdict would be, 'Suicide while temporarily insane, ' on SirWinterton Maire's evidence alone ... "

Mary Trevert tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. 

"Manderton will get at the truth, I tell you, " she said. "He's that kindof man. Do you want me to find out from them? At the inquest, perhaps?"

The secretary put his _attache_ case down on the lounge again. 

"Of course, that would be most improper, Miss Trevert, " he said. "Butyour question embarrasses me. It embarrasses me very much ... "

"What are you keeping back from me, Mr. Jeekes?" the girl demandedimperiously. 

The secretary mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Then, as thoughwith an effort, he spoke. 

"There is a lady, a French lady, who draws an income from Mr. Parrish ... "

The girl remained impassive, but her eyes grew rather hard. 

"These payments are still going on?" she asked. 

Jeekes hesitated. Then he nodded, "Yes, " he said. 

"Well? Was she blackmailing ... Him?"

"No, no, " Mr. Jeekes averred hastily. "But there was some unpleasantnesssome months ago ... Er ... A county court action, to be precise, aboutsome bills she owed. Mr. Parrish was very angry about it and settled toprevent it coming into court. But there was some talk about it ... Inlegal circles ... "

He threw a rather scared glance at the girl. 

"Please explain yourself, Mr. Jeekes, " she said coldly. "I don'tunderstand ... "

"Her lawyer was Le Hagen--it's a shady firm with a big criminalpractice. They sometimes brief Mr. Greve ... "

Mary Trevert clasped and unclasped her hands quickly. 

"I quite understand, Mr. Jeekes, " she said. "You needn't say any more ... "

She turned away in a manner that implied dismissal. It was as though shehad forgotten the secretary's existence. He picked up his _attache_ caseand walked slowly to the door. 

A sharp exclamation broke from his lips. 

"Miss Trevert, " he cried, "the door ... I shut it a little whileback ... Look, it's ajar!"

The girl who stood at the fire switched on the electric light by themantelpiece. 

"Is ... Is ... The door defective? Doesn't it shut properly?"

The little secretary forced out the questions in an agitated voice. 

The girl walked across the room and shut the door. It closed perfectly, a piece of solid, well-fitting oak. 

"What does it mean?" said Mr. Jeekes in a whisper. "You understand, Ishould not wish what I told you just now about Mr. Parrish to beoverheard ... "

They opened the door again. The dusky corridor was empty. 

CHAPTER XIV

A SHEET OF BLUE PAPER

The sight of that crumpled ball of slatey-blue paper brought back toRobin's mind with astonishing vividness every detail of the scene in thelibrary. Once more he looked into Hartley Parrish's staring, unseeingeyes, saw the firelight gleam again on the heavy gold signet ring on thedead man's hand, the tag of the dead man's bootlace as it trailed fromone sprawling foot across the carpet. Once more he felt the dark cloudof the mystery envelop him as a mist and with a little sigh he smoothedout the crumpled paper. 

It was an ordinary quarto sheet of stoutish paper, with a glazedsurface, of an unusual shade of blue, darker than what the stationerscall "azure, " yet lighter than legal blue. At the top right-hand cornerwas typewritten a date: "Nov. 25. " Otherwise the sheet was blank. 

The curious thing about it was that a number of rectangular slits hadbeen cut in the paper. Robin counted them. There were seven. They wereof varying sizes, the largest a little over an inch, the smallest notmore than a quarter of an inch, in length. In depth they measured aboutan eighth of an inch. 

Robin stared at the paper uncomprehendingly. He remembered perfectlywhere he had found it on the floor of the library at Harkings, betweenthe dead body and the waste-paper basket. The basket, he recalled, stoodout in the open just clear of the desk on the left-hand side. From theposition in which it was lying the ball of paper might have been aimedfor the waste-paper basket and, missing it, have fallen on the carpet. 

Robin turned the sheet over. The back was blank. Then he held the paperup to the light. Yes, there was a water-mark. Now it was easilydiscernible. "EGMONT FF. QU. " he made out. 

The train was slowing down. Robin glanced out of the window and saw thatthey were crossing the river in the mirky gloom of a London winterSunday. He balanced the sheet of paper in his hands for a moment. Thenhe folded it carefully into four and stowed it away in hiscigarette-case. The next moment the train thumped its way into CharingCross. 

A taxi deposited him at the Middle Temple Gate. He walked the shortdistance to the set of chambers he occupied. On his front door a pieceof paper was pinned. By the rambling calligraphy and the phoneticEnglish he recognized the hand of his "laundress. "

 Dere sir [it ran], mr rite call he want to see u pertikler i tole im as you was in country & give im ur adress hope i dun rite mrs bragg

Robin had scarcely got his key in the door of his "oak" when there was astep on the stair. A nice-looking young man with close-cropped fair hairappeared round the turn of the staircase. 

"Hullo, Robin, " he exclaimed impetuously, "I _am_ glad to have caughtyou like this. Your woman gave me your address, so I rang up Harkings atonce and they told me you had just gone back to town. So I came straighthere. You remember me, don't you? Bruce Wright ... But perhaps I'mbutting in. If you'd rather see me some other time.... "

"My dear boy, " said Robin, motioning him into the flat, "of course Iremember you. Only I didn't recognize you just for the minute. Shoveyour hat down here in the hall. And as for butting in, "--he threw openthe door of the living-room, --"why! I think there is no other man inEngland I would so gladly see at this very moment as yourself. "

The living-room was a bright and cheery place, tastefully furnished inold oak with gay chintz curtains. It looked out on an old-world pavedcourt in the centre of which stood a solitary soot-laden plane-tree. 

"What's this rot about Parrish having committed suicide?" demanded theboy abruptly. 

Robin gave him in the briefest terms an outline of the tragedy. 

"Poor old H. P. , eh?" mused young Wright; "who'd have thought it?"

"But the idea of suicide is preposterous, " he broke out suddenly. "Iknew Parrish probably better than anybody. He would never have done athing like that. It must have been an accident.... "

Robin shook his head. 

"That possibility is ruled out by the medical evidence, " he said, andstopped short. 

Bruce Wright, who had been pacing up and down the room, halted in frontof the barrister. 

"I tell you that Parrish was not the man to commit suicide. Nothingwould have even forced him to take his own life. You know, I was workingwith him as his personal secretary every day for more than two years, and I am sure!"

He resumed his pacing up and down the room. 

"Has it ever occurred to you, Robin, " he said presently, "thatpractically nothing is known of H. P. 's antecedents? For instance, do youknow where he was born?"

"I understand he was a Canadian, " replied Robin with a shrewd glance atthe flushed face of the boy. 

"He's lived in Canada, " said Wright, "but originally he was a Cockney, from the London slums. And I believe I am the only person who knowsthat.... "

Robin pushed an armchair at his companion. 

"Sit down and tell me about it, " he commanded. 

The boy dropped into the chair. 

"It was after I had been only a few months with him, " he began, "shortlyafter I was discharged from the army with that lung wound of mine. Wewere driving back in the car from some munition works near Baling, andthe chauffeur took a wrong turning near Wormwood Scrubs and got into amaze of dirty streets round there.... "

"I know, " commented Robin, "Notting Dale, they call it.... "

"H. P. Wasn't noticing much, " Wright went on, "as he was dictatingletters to me, --we used to do a lot of work in the Rolls-Royce in thoserush days, --but, directly he noticed that the chauffeur was uncertain ofthe road, he shoved his head out of the window and put him right atonce. I suppose I seemed surprised at his knowing his way about thoseparts, for he laughed at me and said: 'I was born and brought up downhere, Bruce, in a little greengrocer's shop just off the Latimer Road. 'I said nothing because I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought. He had never talked to me or Jeekes or any of us like that before. 

"'By Gad, ' he went on, 'how the smell of the place brings back thosedays to me--the smell of decayed fruit, of stale fish, of dirt! Why, itseems like yesterday that Victor Marbran and I used to drive rounduncle's cart with vegetables and coal. What a life to escape from, Bruce, my boy! Gad, you can count yourself lucky!'

"He was like a man talking to himself. I asked him how he had brokenaway from it all. At that he laughed, a bitter, hard sort of laugh. 'Byhaving the guts to break away from it, boy, ' he said. 'It was I who madeVictor Marbran come away with me. We worked our passages out to the Capeand made our way up-country to Matabeleland. That was in the early daysof Rhodes and Barney Barnato--long before I went to Canada. I madeVictor's fortune for him and mine as well. But I made more than Victorand he never forgave me. He'd do me a bad turn if he could ... '

"Then he broke off short and went on with his dictating ... "

"Did he ever come back to this phase of his life?"

"Only when we got out of the car that morning. He said to me: 'Forgetwhat I told you to-day, young fellow. Never rake up a man's past!' Andhe never mentioned the subject again. Of course, I didn't either ... "

Stretched full length in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, Robinremained lost in thought. 

"The conversation came back to me to-day, " said the boy, "when I read ofParrish's death. And I wondered ... "

"Well?"

"Whether the secret of his death may not be found somewhere in hisadventurous past. You see he said that Victor Marbran was an enemy. Thenthere was something else. I never told you--when you took all thattrouble to get me another job after Parrish had sacked me--the exactreason for my dismissal. You never asked me either. That was decent ofyou, Robin ... "

"I liked you, Bruce, " said Robin shortly. 

"Well, I'll tell you now, " he said. "When I joined H. P. 's staff after Igot out of the Army, I was put under old Jeekes, of course, to learn thework. One of the first injunctions he gave me was with regard to Mr. Parrish's letters. I suppose you know more or less how secretaries of abig business man like Hartley Parrish work. They open all letters, laythe important ones before the big man for him to deal with personally, make a digest of the others or deal with them direct ... "

Robin nodded. 

"Well, " the boy resumed, "the first thing old Jeekes told me was thatletters arriving in a blue envelope and marked 'Personal' were never tobe opened ... "

"In a blue envelope?" echoed Robin quickly. 

"Yes, a particular kind of blue--a sort of slatey-blue--Jeekes showed meone as a guide. Well, these letters were to be handed to Mr. Parrishunopened. "

Robin had stood up. 

"That's odd, " he said, diving in his pocket. 

"I say, hold on a bit, " protested the boy, "this is really ratherimportant what I am telling you. I'll never finish if you keep oninterrupting. "

"Sorry, Bruce, " said Robin, and sat down again. 

But he began to play restlessly with his cigarette case which he haddrawn from his pocket. 

"Well, of course, " Bruce resumed, "I wasn't much of a private secretaryreally, and one day I forgot all about this injunction. Some days oldH. P. Got as many as three hundred letters. I was alone at Harkings withhim, I remember, Jeekes was up at Sheffield and the other secretarieswere away ill or something, and in the rush of dealing with thisenormous mail I slit one of these blue envelopes open with the rest. Idiscovered what I had done only after I had got all the letters sortedout, this one with the rest. So I went straight to old H. P. And toldhim. By Jove!"

"What happened?" said Robin. 

"He got into the most paralytic rage, " said Bruce. "I have never seen aman in such an absolute frenzy of passion. He went right off the hooks, just like that! He fairly put the wind up me. For a minute I thought hewas going to kill me. He snatched the letter out of my hand, called meevery name under the sun, and finally shouted: 'You're fired, d'ye hear?I won't employ men who disobey my orders! Get out of this before I doyou a mischief! I went straight off. And I never saw him again ... "

Robin Greve looked very serious. But his face displayed no emotion as heasked:

"And what was in the letter for him to make such a fuss about?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. 

"That was the extraordinary part of it. The letter was perfectlyharmless. It was an ordinary business letter from a firm in Holland ... "

"In Holland?" cried Greve. "Did you say in Holland? Tell me the name!No, wait, see if I can remember. 'Van' something--'Speck' or 'Spike' ... "

"I remember the name perfectly, " answered Bruce, rather puzzled by theother's sudden outburst; "it was Van der Spyck and Co. Of Rotterdam. Wehad a good deal of correspondence with them ... "

Robin Greve had opened his cigarette-case and drawn from it a creasedsquare of blue paper folded twice across. Unfolding it, he held up thesheet he had found in the library at Harkings. 

"Is that the paper those letters were written on?" he asked. 

Bruce took the sheet from him. He held it up to the light. 

"Why, yes, " came the prompt answer. "I'd know it in a minute. Look, it'sthe same water-mark. 'Egmont. ' Where did you get hold of it?"

"Bruce, " said Robin gravely, without answering the question, "we'regetting into deep water, boy!"

CHAPTER XV

SHADOWS

Robert Greve stood for an instant in silence by the window of his rooms. His fingers hammered out a tattoo on the pane. His eyes were fixed onthe windows of the chambers across the court. But they did not take inthe pleasant prospect of the tall, ivy-framed casements in their mellowsetting of warm red brick. He was trying to fix a mental photograph of aletter--typewritten on paper of dark slatey blue--which he had seen onHartley Parrish's desk in the library at Harkings on the previousafternoon. 

Prompted by Bruce Wright, he could now recall the heading clearly. "ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & Co. , GENERAL IMPORTERS, ROTTERDAM, " stood printedbefore his eyes as plainly as though he still held the typewritten sheetin front of him. But the mind plays curious tricks. Robin's brain hadregistered the name; yet it recorded no impression of the contents ofthe letter. Beyond the fact that it dealt in plain commercial fashionwith some shipments or other, he could recall no particular whatever ofit. 

"But where did you get hold of this sheet of paper?" Bruce Wright'svoice broke in impatiently behind him. "I'm most frightfully interestedto know ... "

"Found it on the floor beside Parrish's body, " answered Robin briefly. "There was a letter, too, on the same paper ... "

"By Gad!" exclaimed the boy eagerly, "have you got that too?"

Robin shook his head. 

"It was only your story that made me think of it. I had the letter. ButI left it where I found it--on Parrish's desk in the library ... "

"But you read it ... You know what was in it?"

Robin shrugged his shoulders. 

"It was a perfectly straightforward business letter ... Something aboutsteel shipments ... I don't remember any more ... "

"A straightforward business letter, " commented the boy. "Like the letterI read, eh?... "

"Tell me, Bruce, " said Robin, after a moment's silence, "during the timeyou were with Hartley Parrish, I suppose these blue letters came prettyoften?"

Young Wright wrinkled his brow in thought. 

"It's rather difficult to say. You see, there were three of us besidesold Jeekes, and, of course, these letters might have come without myknowledge anything about it. But during the seven months I worked withH. P. I suppose about half a dozen of these letters passed through myhands. They used to worry H. P. , you know, Robin ... "

"Worry him?" exclaimed Robin sharply; "how do you mean?"

"Well, " said Bruce, "Parrish was a very easygoing fellow, you know. Heworked every one--himself included--like the devil, of course. But hewas hardly ever nervy or grumpy. And so I was a bit surprised tofind--after I had been with him for a time--that every now and then hesort of shrivelled up. He used to look ... Well, careworn and ... Andhaggard. And at these times he was pretty short with all of us. It wassuch an extraordinary change from his usual cheery, optimistic self thatsometimes I suspected him of dope or some horror like that ... "

Robin shook his head. He had a sudden vision of Hartley Parrish, one ofhis long, black Partagas thrust at an aggressive angle from a corner ofhis mouth, virile, battling, strong. 

"Oh, no, " he said, "not dope ... "

"No, no, I know, " the boy went on quickly. "It wasn't dope. It wasfear ... "

Robin swung round from the window. 

"Fear? Fear of what?"

The boy cast a frightened glance over his shoulder rather as if hefancied he might be overheard. 

"Of those letters, " he replied. "I am sure it was that. I watched himand ... And I _know_. Every time he got one of those letters in thebluish envelopes, these curious fits of gloom came over him. Robin ... "

"What, Bruce?"

"I think he was being blackmailed!"

The barrister nodded thoughtfully. 

"Don't you agree?"

The boy awaited his answer eagerly. 

"Something very like that, " replied the other. 

Then suddenly he smashed his fist into the open palm of his other hand. 

"But he wouldn't have taken it lying down!" he cried. "Hartley Parrishwas a fighter, Bruce. Did you ever know a man who could best him? No, no, it won't fit! Besides ... "

He broke off and thought for an instant. 

"We must get that letter from Harkings, " he said presently. "Jeekes willhave it. We can do nothing until ... "

His voice died away. Bruce, sunk in one of the big leather armchairs, was astonished to see him slip quickly away from the window and ensconcehimself behind one of the chintz curtains. 

"Here, Bruce, " Robin called softly across the room. "Just come here. But take care not to show yourself. Look out, keep behind the curtainand here ... Peep out through this chink!"

Young Wright peered through a narrow slit between the curtain and thewindow-frame. In the far corner of the courtyard beneath the windows, where a short round iron post marked a narrow passage leading to theadjoining court, a man was standing. He wore a shabby suit and a bluehandkerchief knotted about his neck served him as a substitute for themore conventional collar and tie. His body was more than half concealedby the side of the house along which the passage ran. But his face wasclearly distinguishable--a peaky, thin face, the upper part in theshadow of the peak of a discoloured tweed cap. 

"He's been there on and off all the time we've been talking, " saidRobin. "I wasn't sure at first. But now I'm certain. He's watching thesewindows! Look!"

Briskly the watcher's head was withdrawn to emerge again, slowly andcautiously, in a little while. 

"But who is he? What does he want?" asked Bruce. 

"I haven't an idea, " retorted Robin Greve. "But I could guess. Tell me, Bruce, " he went on, stepping back from the window and motioning the boyto do the same, "did you notice anybody following you when you camehere?"

Bruce shook his head. 

"I'm pretty sure nobody did. You see, I came in from the Strand, downMiddle Temple Lane. Once service has started at Temple Church there'snot a mouse stirring in the Inn till the church is out. I think I shouldhave noticed if any one had followed me up to your chambers ... "

Robin set his chin squarely. 

"Then he came after me, " he said. "Bruce, you'll have to go to Harkingsand get that letter!"

"By all means, " answered the boy. "But, I say, they won't much like mebutting in, will they?"

"You'll have to say you came down to offer your sympathy, ... Volunteeryour services ... Oh, anything. But you _must_ get that letter! Do youunderstand, Bruce? _You must get that letter_--if you have to stealit!"

The boy gave a long whistle. 

"That's rather a tall order, isn't it?" he said. 

Robin nodded. His face was very grave. 

"Yes, " he said presently, "I suppose it is. But there is something ... Something horrible behind this case, Bruce, something dark and.. Andmysterious. And I mean to get to the bottom of it. With your help. Oralone!"

Bruce put his hand impulsively on the other's arm. 

"You can count on me, you know, " he said. "But don't you think ... "

He broke off shyly. 

"What?"

"Don't you think you'd better tell me what you know. And what yoususpect!"

Robin hesitated. 

"Yes, " he said, "that's fair. I suppose I ought. But there's not much totell, Bruce. Just before Hartley Parrish was found dead, I asked MissTrevert to marry me. I was too late. She was already engaged to HartleyParrish. I was horrified ... I know some things about Parrish ... We hadwords and I went off. Five minutes later Miss Trevert went to fetchParrish in to tea and heard a shot behind the locked door of thelibrary. Horace Trevert got in through the window and found Parrishdead. Every one down at Harkings believes that I went in and threatenedParrish so that he committed suicide ... "

"Whom do you mean by every one?"

Robin laughed drily. "Mary Trevert, her mother, Horace Trevert ... "

"The police, too?"

"Certainly. The police more than anybody!"

"By Jove!" commented the boy. 

"You ask me what I suspect, " Robin continued. "I admit I have nopositive proof. But I suspect that Hartley Parrish did not die by hisown hand!"

Bruce Wright looked up with a startled expression on his face. 

"You mean that he was murdered?"

"I do!"

"But how? Why?"

Then Robin told him of the experiment in the library, of the open windowand of the bullet mark he had discovered in the rosery. 

"What I want to know, " he said, "and what I am determined to find outbeyond any possible doubt, is whether the bullet found in HartleyParrish's body was fired from _his_ pistol. But before we reach thatpoint we have to explain how it happened that only one shot was heardand how a bullet which _apparently_ came from Parrish's pistol was foundin his body ... "

"If Mr. Parrish was murdered, the murderer might have turned the gunround in Parrish's hand and forced him to shoot himself ... "

"Hardly, " said Robin. "Remember, Mary Trevert was at the door when theshot was fired. Your theory presupposes the employment of force, inother words, a struggle. Miss Trevert heard no scuffling. No, I'vethought of that.. It won't do ... "

"Have you any suspicion of who the murderer might be?"

Robin shook his head decidedly. 

"Not a shadow of an idea, " he affirmed positively. "But I have a notionthat we shall find a clue in this letter which, like a blithering fool, I left on Parrish's desk. It's the first glimmer of hope I've seen yet ... "

Bruce Wright squared his shoulders and threw his head back. 

"I'll get it for you, " he said. 

"Good boy, " said Robin. "But, Bruce, " he went on, "you'll have to gocarefully. My name is mud in that house. You mustn't say you come fromme. And if you ask boldly for the letter, they won't give it to you. Jeekes might, if he's there and you approach him cautiously. But, forHeaven's sake, don't try any diplomacy on Manderton ... That's theScotland Yard man. He's as wary as a fox and sharp as needles. "

Bruce Wright buttoned up his coat with an air of finality. 

"Leave it to me, " he said, "I know Harkings like my pocket. Besides I'vegot a friend there ... "

"Who might that be?" queried the barrister. 

"Bude, " answered the boy and laid a finger on his lips. 

"But, " he pursued, jerking his head in the direction of the window, "what are we going to do about him out there?"

Robin laughed. 

"Him?" he said. "Oh, I'm going to take him out for an airing!"

Robin stepped out into the hall. He returned wearing his hat andovercoat. In his hand were two yale keys strung on a wisp of pink tape. 

"Listen, Bruce, " he said. "Give me ten minutes' start to get rid of thisjackal. Then clear out. There's a train to Stevenish at 3. 23. If you geton the Underground at the Temple you ought to be able to make it easily. Here are the keys of the chambers. I can put you up here to-night if youlike. I'll expect you when I see you ... With that letter. Savvy?"

The boy stood up. 

"You'll have that letter to-night, " he answered. "But in themeantime, "--he waved the blue sheet with its mysterious slots atRobin, --"what do you make of this?"

Robin took the sheet of paper from him and replaced it in hiscigarette-case. 

"Perhaps, when we have the letter, " he replied, "I shall be able toanswer that question!"

Then he lit a cigarette, gave the boy his hand, and a minute later BruceWright, watching through the chink of the curtain from the window ofRobin Greve's chambers, saw a lanky form shuffle across the court andfollow Robin round the angle of the house. 

Robin strode quickly through the maze of narrow passages and tranquil, echoing courts into the Sabbath stillness of the Strand. An occasionalhalt at a shop-window was sufficient to assure him that the watcher ofthe Temple was still on his heels. The man, he was interested to see, played his part very unobtrusively, shambling along in nonchalantfashion, mostly hugging the sides of the houses, ready to dart out ofsight into a doorway or down a side turning, should he by any mischancearrive too close on the heels of his quarry. 

As he walked along, Robin turned over in his mind the best means forgetting rid of his shadow. Should he dive into a Tube station and plungeheadlong down the steps? He rejected this idea as calculated to let thetracker know that his presence was suspected. Then he reviewed in hismind the various establishments he knew of in London with doubleentrances, thinking that he might slip in by the one entrance andemerge by the other. 

In Pall Mall he came upon Tony Grandell, whom he had last seen playingbridge in the company dugout on the Flesquieres Kidge. Then he had beenin "battle order, " camouflaged as a private soldier, as officers wereordered to go over the top in the latter phases of the war. Now he wasresplendent in what the invitation cards call "Morning Dress" crowned bywhat must certainly have been the most relucent top-hat in London. 

"Hullo, hullo, hullo!" cried Tony, on catching sight of him; "stand toyour kits and so forth! And how is my merry company commander? Robin, dear, come and relieve the medieval gloom of lunch with my aunt atMart's!"

He linked his arm affectionately in Robin's. 

Mart's! Robin's brain snatched at the word. Mart's! most respectable of"family hotels, " wedged in between two quiet streets off Piccadilly withan entrance from both. If ever a man wanted to dodge a sleuth, especially a grimy tatterdemalion like the one sidling up Pall Mallbehind them ... 

"Tony, old son, " said Robin, "I won't lunch with you even to set theboard in a roar at your aunt's luncheon-party. But I'll walk up toMart's with you, for I'm going there myself ... "

They entered Mart's together and parted in the vestibule, where Tonygravely informed his "dear old scream" that he must fly to his"avuncular luncheon. " Robin walked quickly through the hotel and left bythe other entrance. The street was almost deserted. Of the man with thedingy neckerchief there was no sign. Robin hurried into Piccadilly andhopped on a 'bus which put him down at his club facing the Green Park. 

He had a late lunch there and afterwards took a taxi back to the Temple. The daylight was failing as he crossed the courtyard in front of hischambers. In the centre the smoke-blackened plane-tree throned it inunchallenged solitude. But, as Robin's footsteps echoed across theflags, something more substantial than a shadow seemed to melt into thegathering dusk in the corner where the narrow passage ran. 

Robin stopped to listen at the entrance to his chambers. As he stoodthere he heard a heavy tread on the stone steps within. He turned toface a solidly built swarthy-looking man who emerged from the building. 

He favoured Robin with a leisurely, searching stare, then strode heavilyacross the courtyard to the little passage where he disappeared fromview. 

Robin looked after him. The man was a stranger: the occupants of theother chambers were all known to him. With a thoughtful expression onhis face Robin entered the house and mounted to his rooms. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE INTRUDER

"D----!" exclaimed Bruce Wright. 

He stood in the great porch at Harkings, his finger on the electricbell. No sound came in response to the pressure, nor any one to open thedoor. Thus he had stood for fully ten minutes listening in vain for anysound within the house. All was still as death. He began to think thatthe bell was out of order. He had forgotten Hartley Parrish's insistenceon quiet. All bells at Harkings rang, discreetly muted, in the servants'hall. 

He stepped out of the porch on to the drive. The weather had improvedand, under a freshening wind, the country was drying up. As he reachedthe hard gravel, he heard footsteps, Bude appeared, his collar turnedup, his swallow-tails floating in the wind. 

"Now, be off with you!" he cried as soon as he caught sight of the trimfigure in the grey overcoat; "how many more of ye have I to tell there'snothing for you to get here! Go on, get out before I put the dog onyou!"

He waved an imperious hand at Bruce. 

"Hullo, Bude, " said the boy, "you've grown very inhospitable all of asudden!"

"God bless my soul if it isn't young Mr. Wright!" exclaimed the butler. "And I thought it was another of those dratted reporters. It's beenring, ring, ring the whole blessed morning, sir, you can believe me, asif they owned the place, wanting to interview me and Mr. Jeekes and MissTrevert and the Lord knows who else. Lot of interfering busybodies, _I_call 'em! I'd shut up all noospapers by law if I had my way ... "

"Is Mr. Jeekes here, Bude?" asked Bruce. 

"He's gone off to London in the car, sir ... But won't you come in, Mr. Wright? If you wouldn't mind coming in by the side door. I have to keepthe front door closed to shut them scribbling fellows out. One of themhad the face to ask me to let him into the library to take aphotograph ... "

He led the way round the side of the house to the glass door in thelibrary corridor. 

"This is a sad business, Bude!" said Bruce. 

"Ah, indeed, it is, sir, " he sighed. "He had his faults had Mr. Parrish, as well _you_ know, Mr. Wright. But he was an open-handed gentleman, that I will say, and we'll all miss him at Harkings ... "

They were now in the corridor. Bude jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

"It was in there they found him, " he said in a low voice, "with a holeplumb over the heart. "

His voice sank to a whisper. "There's blood on the carpet!" he addedimpressively. 

"I should like just to take a peep at the room, Bude, " ventured the boy, casting a sidelong glance at the butler. 

"Can't be done, sir, " said Bude, shaking his head; "orders ofDetective-Inspector Manderton. The police is very strict, Mr. Wright, sir!"

"There seems to be no one around just now, Bude, " the young manwheedled. "There can't be any harm in my just going in for a second?... "

"Go in you should, Mr. Wright, sir, " said the butler genially, "if I hadmy way. But the door's locked. And, what's more, the police have thekey. "

"Is the detective anywhere about?" asked Bruce. 

"No, sir, " answered Bude. "He's gone off to town, too! And he don'texpect to be back before the inquest. That's for Toosday!"

"But isn't there another key anywhere?" persisted the boy. 

"No, sir, " said Bude positively, "there isn't but the one. And that'sin Mr. Manderton's vest pocket!"

Young Wright wrinkled his brow in perplexity. He was very young, but hehad a fine strain of perseverance in him. He was not nearly at the endof his resources, he told himself. 

"Well, then, " he said suddenly, "I'm going outside to have a lookthrough the window. I remember you can see into the library from thepath round the house!"

He darted out, the butler, protesting, lumbering along behind him. 

"Mr. Wright, " he panted as he ran, "you didn't reelly ought ... If anyone should come ... "

But Bruce Wright was already at the window. The butler found him leaningon the sill, peering with an air of frightened curiosity into the emptyroom. 

"The glazier from Stevenish"--Bude's voice breathed the words hoarselyin Wright's ear--"is coming to-morrow morning to put the window in. Hewouldn't come to-day, him being a chapel-goer and religious. It wasthere we found poor Mr. Parrish--d'you see, sir, just between the windowand the desk!"

But Bruce Wright did not heed him. His eyes were fixed on the bigwriting-desk, on the line of black japanned letter-trays set out inorderly array. Outside, the short winter afternoon was drawing in fast, and the light was failing. Dusky shadows within the library made itdifficult to distinguish objects clearly. 

A voice close at hand cried out sharply:

"Mr. Bude! Mr. Bu-u-ude!"

"They're calling me!" whispered the butler in his ear with a tug at hissleeve; "come away, sir!"

But Bruce shook him off. He heard the man's heavy tread on the gravel, then a door slam. 

How dark the room was growing, to be sure! Strain his eyes as he might, he could not get a clear view of the contents of the letter-trays on thedesk. But their high backs hid their contents from his eyes. Even whenhe hoisted himself on to the window-sill he could not get a better view. 

He dropped back on to the gravel path and listened. The wind soughedsadly in the bare tree-tops, somewhere in the distance a dog barkedhoarsely, insistently; otherwise not a sound was to be heard. He cast acautious glance round the side of the house. The glass door was shut;the lamp in the corridor had not been lit. 

Hoisting himself up to the window-sill again, he crooked one knee on therough edge and thrusting one arm through the broken pane of glass, unbolted the window. Then, steadying himself with one hand, with theother he very gently pushed up the window, threw his legs across thesill, and dropped into the library. Very deliberately, he turned andpushed the window softly down behind him. 

Some unconscious prompting, perhaps an unfamiliar surface beneath hisfeet, made him look down. Where his feet rested on the mole-grey carpeta wide dark patch stood out from the delicate shade of the rug. For amoment a spasm of physical nausea caught him. 

"How beastly!" he whispered to himself and took a step towards the desk. 

Hartley Parrish's desk was arranged just as he always remembered it tohave been. All the letter-trays save one were empty. In that was alittle pile of papers held down by a massive marble paper-weight. Quickly he stepped round the desk. 

He had put out his hand to lift the weight when there was a gentlerattle at the door. 

Bruce Wright wheeled instantly round, back to the desk, to face thedoor, which, in the gathering dusk, was now but a squarer patch ofdarkness among the shadows at the far end of the library. He stoodabsolutely still, rooted to the spot, his heart thumping so fast that, in that silent room, he could hear the rapid beats. 

Some one was unlocking the library door. As realization came to theboy, he tiptoed rapidly round the desk, the sound of his feet muffled bythe heavy pile carpet, and reached the window. There was a click as thelock of the door was shot back. Without further hesitation Bruce steppedbehind the long curtains which fell from the top of the window to thefloor. 

The curtains, of some heavy grey material, were quite opaque. Brucerealized, with a sinking heart, that he must depend on his ears todiscover the identity of this mysterious interloper. He dared not lookout from his hiding-place--at least not until he could be sure that thenewcomer had his back to the window. He remained, rigid and vigilant, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound, scarcely daring tobreathe. 

He heard the door open, heard it softly close again. Then ... Silence. Not another sound. The boy remembered the heavy pile carpet and cursedhis luck. He would have to risk a peep round the curtains. But not yet!He must wait ... 

A very slight rustling, a faint prolonged rustling, caught his ear. Itcame nearer, then stopped. There was a little rattling noise fromsomewhere close at hand, a small clinking sound. 

Then silence fell again. 

The wind whooshed sadly round the house, the window clattered dismallyin its frame, the curtains tugged fretfully before the cold breeze whichblew in at the broken pane. But the silence in the room was absolute. 

It began to oppress the boy. It frightened him. He felt anuncontrollable desire to look out into the room and establish theidentity of the mysterious entrant. He glided his hand towards thewindow-frame in the hope that he might find a chink between curtain andwall through which he might risk a peep into the room. But the curtainwas fastened to the wall. 

The room was almost entirely dark now. Only behind him was a patch ofgrey light where the lowering evening sky was framed in the window. Hebegan to draw the curtain very slowly towards him, at the same timeleaning to the right. Very cautiously he applied one eye to the edge ofthe curtain. 

As he did so a bright light struck him full in the face. It streamedfull from a lamp on the desk and almost blinded him. It was areading-lamp and the bulb had been turned up so as to throw a beam onthe curtain behind which the boy was sheltering. 

Behind the desk, straining back in terror, stood a slim, girlish figure. The details of her dress were lost in the gathering shadows, but herface stood out in the gloom, a pale oval. Bruce could see the dark linemade by the lashes on her cheek. 

At the sight of her, he stepped boldly forth from his hiding-place, shielding his eyes from the light with his hand. 

"It's Bruce Wright, Miss Trevert, " he said, "don't you remember me?"

CHAPTER XVII

A FRESH CLUE

"Oh!" cried the girl, "you frightened me! You frightened me! What do youwant here ... In this horrible room?"

She was trembling. One slim hand plucked nervously at her dress. Herbreath came and went quickly. 

"I saw the curtain move. I thought it was the wind at first. But then Isaw the outline of your fingers. And I imagined it was he ... Comeback ... "

"Miss Trevert, " said the boy abashed, "I must have frightened youterribly. I had no idea it was you!"

"But why are you hiding here? How did you get in? What do you want inthis house?"

She spoke quickly, nervously. Some papers she held in her hand shookwith her emotion. Bruce Wright stepped to the desk and turned the bulbof the reading-lamp down into its normal position. 

"I must apologize most sincerely for the fright I gave you, " he said. "But, believe me, Miss Trevert, I had no idea that anybody could gainaccess to this room. I climbed in through the window. Bude told me thatthe police had taken away the key ... "

The girl made an impatient gesture. 

"But why have you come here?" she said. "What do you want?"

The boy measured her with a narrow glance. He was young, but he wasshrewd. He saw her frank eyes, her candid, open mien, and he took arapid decision. 

"I think I have come, " he answered slowly, "for the same purpose asyourself!"

And he looked at the papers in her hand. 

"I used to be Mr. Parrish's secretary, you know, " he said. 

The girl sighed--a little fluttering sigh--and looked earnestly at him. 

"I remember, " she said. "Hartley liked you. He was sorry that he sentyou away. He often spoke of you to me. But why have you come back? Whatdo you mean by saying you have come for the same purpose as myself?"

Bruce Wright looked at the array of letter-trays. The marblepaper-weight had been displaced. The tray in which it had lain wasempty. He looked at the sheaf of papers in the girl's hand. 

"I wanted to see, " he replied, "whether there was anything here ... Onhis desk ... Which would explain the mystery of his death ... "

The girl spread out the papers in her hand on the big blotter. 

She laid the papers out in a row and leant forward, her white armsresting on the desk. From the other side of the desk the boy leanteagerly forward and scanned the line of papers. 

At the first glimpse his face fell. The girl, eyeing him closely, markedthe change which came over his features. 

There were seven papers of various kinds, both printed and written, andthey were all on white paper. 

The boy shook his head and swept the papers together into a heap. 

"It's not there?" queried the girl eagerly. 

"No!" said Bruce absent-mindedly, glancing round the desk. 

"What isn't?" flashed back the girl. 

Bruce Wright felt his face redden with vexation. What sort of aconfidential emissary was he to fall into a simple trap like this?

The girl smiled rather wanly. 

"Now I know what you meant by saying you had come for the same purposeas myself, " she said. "I suppose we both thought we might findsomething, a letter, perhaps, which would explain why Mr. Parrish didthis dreadful thing, something to relieve this awful uncertainty about ... About his motive. Well, I've searched the desk ... And there'snothing! Nothing but just these prospectuses and receipts which were inthe letter-tray here. They must have come by the post yesterday morning. And there's nothing of any importance in the drawers ... Only householdreceipts and the wages book and a few odd things like that! You can seefor yourself ... "

The lower part of the desk consisted of three drawers flanked on eitherside by cupboards. Mary Trevert pulled out the drawers and opened thecupboards. Two of the drawers were entirely empty and one of thecupboards contained nothing but a stack of cigar boxes. One drawer heldvarious papers appertaining to the house. There was no sign of anyletter written on the slatey-blue paper. 

The boy looked very hard at Mary. 

"You say there was nothing in the letter-tray but these papers here?" heasked. 

"Nothing but these, " replied the girl. 

"You didn't notice any official-looking letter on bluish paper?" heventured to ask. 

"No, " answered the girl. "I found nothing but these. "

The boy thought for a moment. 

"Do you know, " he asked, "whether the police or anybody have beenthrough the desk?"

"I don't know at all, " said Mary, smoothing back a lock of hair from hertemple; "I daresay Mr. Jeekes had a look round, as he had a meeting withMr. Parrish's lawyer in town this afternoon!"

She had lost all trace of her fright and was now quite calm andcollected. 

"Do you know for certain whether Mr. Jeekes was in here?" asked Bruce. 

"Oh, yes. The first thing he did on arriving last night was to go to thelibrary. "

"I suppose Jeekes is coming back here to-night?"

No, she told him. Mr. Jeekes did not expect to return to Harkings untilthe inquest on Tuesday. 

Bruce Wright picked up his hat. 

"I must apologize again, Miss Trevert, " he said, "for making such anunconventional entrance and giving you such a fright. But I felt I couldnot rest until I had investigated matters for myself. I would havepresented myself in the ordinary way, but, as I told you, Bude told methe police had locked up the room and taken away the key ... "

Mary Trevert smiled forgivingly. 

"So they did, " she said. "But Jay--Mr. Parrish's man, you know--hadanother key. He brought it to me. "

She looked at Bruce with a whimsical little smile. 

"You must have been very uncomfortable behind those curtains, " she said. "I believe you were just as frightened as I was. "

She walked round the desk to the window. 

"It was a good hiding-place, " she remarked, "but not much good as anobservation post. Why! you could see nothing of the room. The curtainsare much too thick!"

"Not a thing, " Bruce agreed rather ruefully. "I thought you were thedetective!"

He held out his hand to take his leave with a smile. He was acharming-looking boy with a remarkably serene expression which went wellwith close-cropped golden hair. 

Mary Trevert did not take his hand for an instant. Looking down at thepoint of her small black suede shoe she said shyly:

"Mr. Wright, you are a friend of Mr. Greve, aren't you?"

"Rather!" was the enthusiastic answer. 

"Do you see him often?"

The boy's eyes narrowed suddenly. Was this a cross-examination?

"Oh, yes, " he replied, "every now and then!"

Mary Trevert raised her eyes to his. 

"Will you do something for me?" she said. "Tell Mr. Greve not to trustManderton. He will know whom I mean. Tell him to be on his guard againstthat man. Say he means mischief. Tell him, above all things, to becareful. Make him go away ... Go abroad until this thing has blownover ... "

She spoke with intense earnestness, her dark eyes fixed on BruceWright's face. 

"But promise me you won't say this comes from me! Do you understand?There are reasons, very strong reasons, for this. Will you promise?"

"Of course!"

She took Bruce's outstretched hand. 

"I promise, " he said. 

"You mustn't go without tea, " said the girl. "Besides, "--she glanced ata little platinum watch on her wrist, --"there's not another train untilsix. There is no need for you to start yet. I don't like being leftalone. Mother has one of her headaches, and Horace and Dr. Romain havegone to Stevenish. Come up to my sitting-room!"

She led the way out of the library, locking the door behind them, andtogether they went up to the Chinese boudoir where tea was laid on a lowtable before a bright fire. In the dainty room with its bright coloursthey seemed far removed from the tragedy which had darkened Harkings. 

They had finished tea when a tap came at the door. Bude appeared. Hecast a reproachful look at Bruce. 

"Jay would be glad to have a word with you, Miss, " he said. 

The girl excused herself and left the room. She was absent for about tenminutes. When she returned, she had a little furrow of perplexitybetween her brows. She walked over to the open fireplace and stoodsilent for an instant, her foot tapping the hearth-rug. 

"Mr. Wright, " she said presently, "I'm going to tell you something thatJay has just told me. I want your advice ... "

The boy looked at her interrogatively. But he did not speak. 

"I think this is rather important, " the girl went on, "but I don't quiteunderstand in what way it is. Jay tells me that Mr. Parrish had on hispistol a sort of steel fitting attached to the end ... You know, thepart you shoot out of. Mr. Parrish used to keep his automatic in adrawer in his dressing-room, and Jay has often seen it there with thisattachment fitted on. Well, when Mr. Parrish was discovered in thelibrary yesterday, this thing was no longer on the pistol. And Jay saysit's not to be found!... "

"That's rather strange!" commented Bruce. "But what was this steelcontraption for, do you know? Was it a patent sight or something?"

"Jay doesn't know, " answered the girl. 

"Would you mind if I spoke to Jay myself?" asked the young man. 

In reply the girl touched the bell beside the fireplace. Bude answeredthe summons and was despatched to find Jay. He appeared in due course, atall, dark, sleek young man wearing a swallow-tail coat and stripedtrousers. 

"How are you, Jay?" said Bruce affably. 

"Very well, thank you, sir, " replied the valet. 

"Miss Trevert was telling me about this appliance which you say Mr. Parrish had on his automatic. Could you describe it to me?"

"Well, sir, " answered the man rather haltingly, "it was a little sort ofcup made of steel or gun-metal fitting closely over the barrel ... "

"And you don't know what it was for?"

"No, sir!"

"Was it a sight, do you think?"

"I can't say, I'm sure, sir!"

"You know what a sight looks like, I suppose. Was there a bead on it oranything like it?"

"I can't say, I'm sure, sir. I never gave any particular heed to it. Iused to see the automatic lying in the drawer of the wardrobe in Mr. Parrish's room in a wash-leather case. I noticed this steel appliance, sir, because the case wouldn't shut over the pistol with it on and thebutt used to stick out. "

"When did you last notice Mr. Parrish's automatic?"

"It would be Thursday or Friday, sir. I went to that drawer to get Mr. Parrish an old stock to go riding in as some new ones he had bought werestiff and hurt him. "

"And this steel cup was on the pistol then?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

"And you say it was not on the pistol when Mr. Parrish's body wasfound?"

"No, sir!"

"Are you sure of this?"

"Yes, sir. I was one of the first in the room, and I saw the pistol inMr. Parrish's hand, and there was no sign of the cup, sir. So I've had agood look among his things and I can't find it anywhere!"

Bruce Wright pondered a minute. 

"Try and think, Jay, " he said, "if you can't remember anything moreabout this steel cup, as you call it. Where did Mr. Parrish buy it?"

"Can't say, I'm sure, sir. He had it before ever I took service withhim!"

Jay put his hand to his forehead for an instant. 

"Now I come to think of it, " he said, "there was the name of the shop ormaker on it, stamped on the steel. 'Maxim, ' that was the name, now I putmy mind back, with a number ... "

"Maxim?" echoed Bruce Wright. "Did you say Maxim?"

"Yes, sir! That was the name!" replied the valet impassively. 

"By Jove!" said the boy half to himself. Then he said aloud to Jay:

"Did you tell the police about this?"

Jay looked somewhat uncomfortable. 

"No, sir. "

"Why not?"

Jay looked at Mary Trevert. 

"Well, sir, I thought perhaps I'd better tell Miss Trevert first. Budethought so, too. That there Manderton has made so much unpleasantness inthe house with his prying ways that I said to myself, sir ... "

Bruce Wright looked at Mary. 

"Would you mind if I asked Jay not to say anything about this to anybodyjust for the present?" he asked. 

"You hear what Mr. Wright says, Jay, " said Mary. "I don't want you tosay anything about this matter just yet. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss. Will that be all, Miss?"

"Yes, thank you, Jay!"

"Thanks very much, Jay, " said the boy. "This may be important. Mum's theword, though!"

"I _quite_ understand, sir, " answered the valet and left the room. 

Hardly had the door closed on him than the girl turned eagerly to Bruce. 

"It _is_ important?" she asked. 

"It may be, " was the guarded reply. 

"Don't leave me in the dark like this, " the girl pleaded. "This horribleaffair goes on growing and growing, and at every step it seems morebewildering ... More ghastly. Tell me where it is leading, Mr. Wright! Ican't stand the suspense much more!"

Her voice broke, and she turned her face away. 

"You must be brave, Miss Trevert, " said the boy, putting his hand on hershoulder. "Don't ask me to tell you more now. Your friends are workingto get at the truth ... "

"The truth!" cried the girl. "God knows where the truth will lead us!"

Bruce Wright hesitated a moment. 

"I don't think you have any need to fear the truth!" he said presently. 

The girl took her handkerchief from her face and looked at him withbrimming eyes. 

"You know more than you let me think you did, " she said brokenly. "Butyou are a friend of mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, " said Bruce, and added boldly:

"And of his too!"

She did not speak again, but gave him her hand. He clasped it and wentout hurriedly to catch his train back to London. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SILENT SHOT

That faithful servitor of Fleet Street, the Law Courts clock, had justfinished striking seven. It boomed out the hour, stroke by stroke, solemnly, inexorably, like a grim old judge summing up and driving home, point by point, an irrefutable charge. The heavy strokes broke in uponthe fitful doze into which Robin Greve, stretched out in an armchair inhis living-room, had dropped. 

He roused up with a start. There was the click of a key in the lock ofhis front door. Bruce Wright burst into the room. 

The boy shut the door quickly and locked it. He was rather pale andseemed perturbed. On seeing Robin he jerked his head in the direction ofthe courtyard. 

"I suppose you know they're still outside?" he said. 

Robin nodded nonchalantly. 

"There are three of them now, " the boy went on. "Robin, I don't like it. Something's going to happen. You'll want to mind yourself ... If it'snot too late already!"

He stepped across to the window and bending down, peered cautiouslyround the curtain. 

Robin Greve laughed. 

"Bah!" he said, "they can't touch me!"

"You're wrong, " Bruce retorted without changing his position. "They canand they will. Don't think Manderton is a fool, Robin. He meansmischief ... "

Robin raised his eyebrows. 

"Does he?" he said. "Now I wonder who told you that ... "

"Friends of yours at Harkings asked me to warn you ... " began Bruceawkwardly. 

"My friends are scarcely in the majority there, " retorted Robin. "Whomdo you mean exactly?"

But the boy ignored the question. 

"Three men watching the house!" he exclaimed; "don't you think that_this_ looks as though Manderton meant business?"

He returned to his post of observation at the curtain. 

Robin laughed cynically. 

"Manderton doesn't worry me any, " he said cheerfully. "The man's thevictim of an _idee fixe_. He believes Parrish killed himself just asfirmly as he believes that I frightened or bullied Parrish into doingit ... "

"Don't be too sure about that, Robin, " said the boy, dropping thecurtain and coming back to Robin's chair. "He may want you to thinkthat. But how can we tell how much he knows?"

Robin flicked the ash off his cigarette disdainfully. 

"These promoted policemen make me tired, " he said. 

Bruce Wright shook his head quickly with a little gesture ofexasperation. 

"You don't understand, " he said. "There's fresh evidence ... "

Robin Greve looked up with real interest in his eyes. His banteringmanner had vanished. 

"You've got that letter?" he asked eagerly. 

Bruce shook his head. 

"No, not that, " he said. Then leaning forward he added in a low voice:

"Have you ever heard of the Maxim silencer?"

"I believe I have, vaguely, " replied Robin. "Isn't it something to dowith a motor engine?"

"No, " said Bruce. "It's an extraordinary invention which absolutelysuppresses the noise of the discharge of a gun. "

Robin shot a quick glance at the speaker. 

"Go on, " he said. 

"It's a marvelous thing, really, " the boy continued, warming to histheme. "A man at Havre had one when I was at the base there, during thewar. It's a little cup-shaped steel fitting that goes over the barrel. You can fire a rifle fitted with one of these silencers in a small roomand it makes no more noise than a fairly loud sneeze ... "

"Ah!"

Robin was listening intently now. 

"Parrish had a Maxim silencer, " Bruce went on impressively. 

"_Parrish_ had?"

"It was fitted on his automatic pistol, the one he had in his hand whenthey found him ... "

"There was no attachment of any kind on the gun Parrish was holding whenhe was discovered yesterday afternoon, " declared Robin positively; "Ican vouch for that. I was there almost immediately after they found him. And if there had been anything of the kind Horace Trevert wouldcertainly have mentioned it ... "

"I know. Jay, who came in soon after you, was surprised to see that thesilencer was not on the pistol. And he made a point of looking for it ... "

"But how do you know that Parrish had it on the pistol?... "

"Well, we don't know for certain. But we do know that it was permanentlyfitted to his automatic. Jay has often seen it. And if Parrish didremove it, he didn't leave it lying around any where. Jay has lookedall through his things without finding it ... "

"When did Jay see it last?"

"On Thursday!"

"But are you sure that this is the same pistol as the one which Jay hasbeen in the habit of seeing?"

"Jay is absolutely sure. He says that Parrish only had the one automaticwhich he always kept in the same drawer in his dressing-room ... "

Robin was silent for a moment. Very deliberately he filled his pipe, litit, and drew until it burned comfortably. Then he said slowly:

"This means that Hartley Parrish was murdered, Bruce, old man. Allthrough I have been puzzling my mind to reconcile the unquestionablecircumstance that two bullets were fired--I told you of the bullet markI found on the upright in the rosery--with the undoubted fact that onlyone report was heard. We can therefore presume, either that HartleyParrish first fired one shot from his pistol with the silencer fittedand then removed the silencer and fired another shot without it, therebykilling himself, or that the second shot was fired by the person whoseinterest it was to get rid of the silencer. There is no possible orplausible reason why Parrish should have fired first one shot with thesilencer and then one without. Therefore, I find myself irresistiblycompelled to the conclusion that the shot heard by Mary Trevert wasfired by the person who killed Parrish. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, " answered Bruce. 

"Now, then, " the barrister proceeded, thoughtfully puffing at his pipe, "one weak point about my deductions is that they all hang on thequestion as to whether, at the time of the tragedy, Parrish actually hadthe silencer on his pistol or not. That is really the acid test ofManderton's suicide theory. You said, I think, that a rifle fired withthe silencer attachment makes no more noise than the sound of a loudsneeze!"

"That's right, " agreed Bruce; "a sort of harsh, spluttering noise. Notso loud either, Robin. Ph ... T-t-t! Like that!"

"Loud enough to be heard through a door, would you say?"

"Oh, I think so!"

Robin thought intently for a moment. 

"Then Mary is the only one who can put us right on that point. Assumingthat two shots were fired--and that bullet mark in the rosery is, Ithink, conclusive on that head--and knowing that she heard the loudreport of the one, presumably, if Parrish had the silencer on hisautomatic, Mary must have heard the _muffled_ report of the other. Whatit comes to is this, Mary heard the shot fired that killed Parrish. Didshe hear the shot he fired at his murderer?"

"By Gad!" exclaimed Bruce Wright impressively, "I believe you've got it, Robin! Parrish fired at somebody at the window--a silent shot--and theother fellow fired back the shot that Mary Trevert heard, the shot thatkilled Parrish. Isn't that the way you figure it out?"

"Not so fast, young man, " remarked Robin. "Let's first find out whetherMary actually heard the muffled shot and, if so, _when ... Before_ or_after_ the loud report. "

He glanced across at the window and then at Bruce, "I suppose this discovery about the silencer is responsible for thedeputation waiting in the courtyard, " he said drily. 

"The police don't know about it yet, " replied Bruce; "at least theydidn't when I left. "

Robin shook his head dubiously. 

"If the servants know it, Manderton will worm it out of them. Hasn't hecross-examined Jay?"

"Yes, " said Bruce. "But he got nothing out of him about this. Mandertonseems to have put everybody's back up. He gets nothing out of theservants ... "

"If Parrish had had this silencer for some time, you may be sure thatother people know about it. These silencers must be pretty rare inEngland. You see, an average person like myself didn't know what it was. By the way, another point which we haven't yet cleared up is this:supposing we are right in believing Parrish to have been murdered, howdo you explain the fact that the bullet removed from his body fitted hispistol?"

"That's a puzzler, I must say!" said Bruce. 

"There's only one possible explanation, I think, " Robin went on, "andthat is that Parrish was shot by a pistol of exactly the same calibre ashis own. For the murderer to have killed Parrish with his own weaponwould have been difficult without a struggle. But Miss Trevert heard nostruggle. For murderer and his victim to have pistols of the samecalibre argues a rather remarkable coincidence, I grant you. But thenlife is full of coincidences! We meet them every day in the law. Though, I admit, this is a coincidence which requires some explaining ... "

He fell into a brown study which Bruce interrupted by suddenlyremembering that he had had no lunch. 

For answer Robin pointed at the sideboard. 

"There's a cloth in there, " he said, "also the whisky, if my laundresshas left any, and a siphon and there should be some claret--Mrs. Braggdoesn't care about red wine. Set the table, and I'll take a root roundin the kitchen and dig up some tinned stuff. "

They supped off a tinned tongue and some _pate de foie gras_. Over theirmeal Bruce told Robin of his adventure in the library at Harkings. 

"Jeekes must have collected that letter, " Bruce said. "Before I came toyou, I went to Lincoln's Inn Fields to see if he was still at Bardy's--Parrish's solicitor, you know. But the office was closed, and the placein darkness. I went on to the Junior Pantheon, that's Jeekes's club, buthe wasn't in. He hadn't been there all day, the porter told me. So Ileft a note asking him to ring you up here ... "

"The case reeks of blackmail, " said Robin thoughtfully, "but I amwondering how much we shall glean from this precious letter when we dosee it. I am glad you asked Jeekes to ring me up, though. He should beable to tell us something about these mysterious letters on the bluepaper that used to put Parrish in such a stew ... Hullo, who can thatbe?"

An electric bell trilled through the flat. It rang once ... Twice ... And then a third time, a long, insistent peal. 

"See who's there, will you, Bruce?" said Robin. 

"Suppose it's the police ... " began the boy. 

Robin shrugged his shoulders. 

"You can say I'm at home and ask them in, " he said. 

He heard the heavy oaken door swing open, a murmur of voices in thehall. The next moment Detective-Inspector Manderton entered thesitting-room, CHAPTER XIX

MR. MANDERTON LAYS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE

The detective's manner had undergone some subtle change which Robin, watching him closely as he came into the room, was quick to note. Mr. Manderton made an effort to retain his old air of rather patronizingswagger; but he seemed less sure of himself than was his wont. In fact, he appeared to be a little anxious. 

He walked briskly into the sitting-room and looked quickly from Bruce toRobin. 

"Mr. Greve, " he said, "you can help me if you will by answering a fewquestions ... "

With another glance at Bruce Wright he added:

"... In private. "

Bruce, obedient to a sign from Robin, said he would ring up in themorning and prepared to take his leave. Robin turned to the detective. 

"There are some of your men, I believe, " he said coldly, "watching thishouse. Would it be asking too much to request that my friend here mightbe permitted to return home unescorted?"

"He needn't worry, " replied Manderton with a significant smile. "There's no one outside now!... "

They watched Bruce Wright pass into the hall and collect his hat andcoat. As the front door slammed behind him, the detective added:

"I took 'em off myself soon after seven o'clock!"

"Why?" asked Robin bluntly. 

Mr. Manderton dropped his heavy form into a chair. 

"I'm a plain man, Mr. Greve, " he said, "and I'm not above owning to it, I hope, when I'm wrong. For some little time now it has struck me thatour lines of investigation run parallel ... "

"Instead of crossing!"

"Instead of crossing--exactly!"

"It's a pity you did not grasp that very obvious fact earlier, " observedRobin pointedly. 

Mr. Manderton crossed one leg over the other and, his finger-tipspressed together, looked at Robin. 

"Will you help me?" he asked simply. 

"Do you want my help?"

Mr. Manderton nodded. 

"Allies, then?"

"Allies it is!"

Robin pointed to the table. 

"It's dry work talking, " he said. "Won't you take a drink?"

"Thanks, I don't drink. But I'll have a cigar if I may. Thank you!"

The detective helped himself to a cheroot from a box on the table andlit up. Then, affecting to scan the end of his cigar with greatattention, he asked abruptly:

"What do you know of the woman calling herself Madame de Malpas?"

Robin pursed up his lips rather disdainfully. 

"One of the late Mr. Parrish's lady friends, " he replied. "I expect youknow that!"

"Do you know where she lives?" pursued the detective, ignoring theimplied question. 

"She's dead. "

A flicker of interest appeared for an instant in Mr. Manderton's keeneyes. 

"You're sure of that?"

"Certainly, " answered Robin. 

"Who told you?"

"Le Hagen--the solicitor, you know. He acted for this Malpas woman onone or two occasions. "

"When did she die?"

"Six or seven months ago ... "

"Did Jeekes know about it?"

"Jeekes? Do you mean Parrish's secretary?

"It's funny your asking that. As a matter of fact, it was through Jeekesthat I heard the lady was dead. I was in Le Hagen's office one day whenJeekes came in, and Le Hagen told me Jeekes had come to pay in a chequefor the cost of the funeral and the transport of the body to France. "

"This was six or seven months ago, you say? I take it, then, that anyallowance that Parrish was in the habit of making to this woman hasceased?"

"I tell you the lady is dead!"

"Then what would you say if I informed you that Mr. Jeekes had declaredthat these payments were still going on ... "

Robin shrugged his shoulders. 

"I should say he was lying ... "

"I agree. But why?"

"Whom did he tell this to?"

"Miss Trevert!"

"Miss Trevert?"

Robin repeated the name in amazement. 

"I don't understand, " he said. "Why on earth should Jeekes blacken hisemployer's character to Miss Trevert? What conceivable motive could hehave had? Did she tell you this?"

"No, " said Manderton; "I heard him tell her myself. "

"Do you mean to tell me, " protested Robin, growing more and morepuzzled, "that Jeekes told Miss Trevert this offensive and deliberatelie in your presence!"

"Well, " remarked Mr. Manderton slowly, "I don't know about his sayingthis in my presence exactly. But I heard him tell her for all that. Walls have ears, you know--particularly if the door is ajar!"

He looked shrewdly at Robin, then dropped his eyes to the floor. 

"He also told her that Le Hagen and you were in business relations ... "

Robin sat up at this. 

"Ah!" he said shortly. "I see what you're getting at now. Our friend hasbeen trying to set Miss Trevert against me, eh? But why? I don't evenknow this man Jeekes except to have nodded 'Good-morning' to him a fewtimes. Why on earth should he of all men go out of his way to slander meto Miss Trevert, to throw suspicion ... "

He broke off short and looked at the detective. 

Mr. Manderton caressed his big black moustache. 

"Yes, " he repeated suavely, "you were saying 'to cast suspicion' ... "

The eyes of the two men met. Then the detective leaned back in hischair and, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, said:

"Mr. Greve, you've been thinking ahead of me on this case. What you'vetold me so far I've checked. And you're right. Dead right. And sinceyou're, in a manner of speaking, one of the parties interested ingetting things cleared up, I'd like you to tell me just simply what ideayou've formed about it ... "

"Gladly, " answered the barrister. "And to start with let me tell youthat the case stinks of blackmail ... "

"Steady on, " interposed the detective. "I thought so, too, at first. I've been into all that. Mr. Parrish made a clean break with the last ofhis lady friends about two months since; and, as far as ourinvestigations go, there has been no blackmail in connection with any ofhis women pals. Vine Street knows all about Master Parrish. There werecomplaints about some of his little parties up in town. But I don'tbelieve there's a woman in this case ... "

"I didn't say there was, " retorted Robin. "The blackmail is probablybeing levied from Holland. A threat of violence was finally carried intoeffect on Saturday evening between 5 and 5. 15 P. M. By some oneconversant with the lie of the land at Harkings. This individual, armedwith an automatic Browning of the same calibre as Mr. Parrish's, shotat Parrish through the open window of the library and killedhim--probably in self-defence, after Parrish had had a shot at him ... "

"Steady there, whoa!" said Mr. Manderton in a jocular way clearlyexpressive of his incredulity; "there was only one shot ... "

"There were _two_, " was Robin's dispassionate reply. "Though maybe onlyone was heard. Parrish had a Maxim silencer on his gun ... "

Mr. Manderton was now thoroughly alert. 

"How did you find that out?" he asked. 

"Jay, Parrish's man, came forward and volunteered this evidence ... "

"He said nothing about it when I questioned him, " grumbled thedetective. 

Robin laughed. 

"You're a terror to the confirmed criminal, they tell me, Manderton, " hesaid, "but you obviously don't understand that complicated mechanismknown as the domestic servant. No servant at Harkings will voluntarilytell _you_ anything ... "

Mr. Manderton, who had stood up, shook his big frame impatiently. 

"Explain the rest of your theories, " he said harshly. "What's all thisabout blackmail being levied from Holland?"

Then Robin Greve told him of the letters written on the slatey-bluepaper and of their effect upon Parrish, and of the letter headed, "Eliasvan der Spyck & Co. , General Importers, Rotterdam, " which had lain onthe desk in the library when Parrish's dead body had been found. 

Manderton nodded gloomily. 

"It was there right enough, " he remarked. "I saw it. A letter aboutsteel shipments and the dockers' strike, wasn't it? As there seemednothing to it, I left it with the other papers for Jeekes, the secretarychap. But what evidence is there that this was blackmail?"

"This, " said Robin, and showed the detective the sheet of blue paperwith its series of slits. "Manderton, " he said, "these letters writtenon this blue paper were in code, I feel sure. Why should not this be thekey? You see it bears a date--'Nov. 25. ' May it not refer to thatletter? I found it by Parrish's body on the carpet in the library. Iwould have given it to you at Harkings, but I shoved it in my pocket andforgot all about it until I was in the train coming up to town thismorning. "

Mr. Manderton took the sheet of paper, turned it over, and held it up tothe light. Then, without comment, he put it away in the pocket of hisjacket. 

"If Parrish killed himself, " Robin went on earnestly, "that letter drovehim to it. If, on the other hand, he was murdered, may not that letterhave contained a warning?"

"I should prefer to suspend judgment until we've seen the letter, Mr. Greve, " said the detective bluntly. "We must get it from Jeekes. In themeantime, what makes you think that the murderer (to follow up yourtheory) was conversant with the lay of the land at Harkings?"

"Because, " answered Robin, "the murderer left no tracks on the grass orflower-beds. He stuck to the hard gravel path throughout. That path, which runs from the drive through the rosery to the gravel path roundthe house just under the library window, is precious hard to find in thedark, especially where it leaves the drive, as at the outset it is amere thread between the rhododendron bushes. And, as I know fromexperience, unless you are acquainted with the turns in the path, it isvery easy to get off it in the dark, especially in the rosery, and goblundering on to the flower-beds. And I'll tell you something else aboutthe murderer. He--or she--was of small stature--not much above fivefoot six in height. The upward diagonal course of the bullet throughParrish's heart shows that ... "

Mr. Manderton shook his head dubiously. 

"Very ingenious, " he commented. "But you go rather fast, Mr. Greve. Wemust test your theory link by link. There may be an explanation forJeekes's apparently inexplicable lie to the young lady. Let's see himand hear what he says. The grounds at Harkings must be searched for thissecond bullet, if second bullet there is, the mark on the tree examinedby an expert. And since two bullets argue two pistols in this case, letus see what result we get from our enquiries as to where Mr. Parrishbought his pistol. He may have had two pistols ... "

"If Parrish used a silencer, " remarked Robin, quite undisconcerted bythe other's lack of enthusiasm, "and my theory that two shots were firedis correct, there must have been two reports, a loud one and a muffledone. Miss Trevert heard one report, as we know. Did she hear a second?"

"She said nothing about it, " remarked the detective. 

"She was probably asked nothing about it. But we can get this pointcleared up at once. There's the telephone. Ring up Harkings and ask hernow. "

"Why not?" said Mr. Manderton and moved to the telephone. 

There is little delay on the long-distance lines on a Sunday evening, and the call to Harkins came through almost at once. Bude answered thetelephone at Harkings. Manderton asked for Miss Trevert. The butlerreplied that Miss Trevert was no longer at Harkings. She had gone to theContinent for a few days. 

This plain statement, retailed in the fortissimo voice which Budereserved for use on the telephone, produced a remarkable effect on thedetective. He grew red in the face. 

"What's that?" he cried assertively. "Gone to the Continent? I shouldhave been told about this. Why wasn't I informed? What part of theContinent has she gone to?"

Mr. Manderton's questions, rapped out with a rasping vigour thatrecalled a machine-gun firing, brought Robin to his feet in an instant. He crossed over to the desk on which the telephone stood. 

Manderton placed one big palm over the transmitter and turned to Robin. 

"She's gone to the Continent and left no address, " he said quickly. 

"Ask him if Lady Margaret is there, " suggested Robin. 

Mr. Manderton spoke into the telephone again. Lady Margaret had gone tobed, Bude answered, and her ladyship was much put out by Miss Trevertgallivanting off like that by herself with only a scribbled note left tosay that she had gone. 

Had Bude got the note?

No, Mr. Manderton, sir, he had not. But Lady Margaret had shown it tohim. It had simply stated that Miss Trevert had gone off to theContinent and would be back in a few days. 

Again the detective turned to Robin at his elbow. 

"These country bumpkins!" he said savagely. "I must go to the Yard andget Humphries on the 'phone. He may have telegraphed me about it. Youstay here and I'll ring you later if there's any news. What do you makeof it, Mr. Greve?"

"It beats me, " was Robin's rueful comment. "And what about the inquest?It's for Tuesday, isn't it? Miss Trevert will have to give evidence, Itake it?... "

"Oh, " said Mr. Manderton, picking up his hat and speaking in an offhandway, "I'm getting _that_ adjourned for a week!"

"The inquest adjourned! Why?"

There was a twinkle in the detective's eye as he replied. 

"I thought, maybe, I might get further evidence ... "

Robin caught the expression and smiled. 

"And when did you come to this decision, may I ask?"

"After our little experiment in the garden this morning, " was thedetective's prompt reply. 

Robin looked at him fixedly. 

"But, see here, " he said, "apparently it was to the deductions youformed from the result of that experiment that I owe the attentions ofyour colleagues who have been hanging round the house all day. And yetyou now come to me and invite my assistance. Mr. Manderton, I don't getit at all!"

"Mr. Greve, " replied the detective, "Miss Trevert tried to shield you. That made me suspicious. You tried to force my investigations into anentirely new path. That deepened my suspicions. I believed it to be myduty to ascertain your movements after leaving Harkings. But then Iheard Jeekes make an apparently gratuitously false statement to MissTrevert with an implication against you. That, to some extent, clearedyou in my eyes. I say 'to some extent' because I will not deny that Ithought I might be taking a risk in coming to you like this. You see Iam frank!... "

The smile had left Greve's face and he looked rather grim. 

"You're pretty deep, aren't you?" was his brief comment. 

CHAPTER XX

THE CODE KING

Major Euan MacTavish was packing. A heavy and well-worn leatherportmanteau, much adorned with foreign luggage labels, stood in thecentre of the floor. From a litter of objects piled up on a side tablethe Major was transferring to it various brown-paper packages which hechecked by a list in his hand. 

The Major always packed for himself. He packed with the neatness andrapidity derived from long experience of travel. As a matter of fact, hecould not afford a manservant any more than he could allow himselfquarters more luxurious than the rather grimy bedroom in Bury Streetwhich housed him during his transient appearances in town. Theremuneration doled out by the Foreign Office to the quiet andunobtrusive gentlemen known as King's messengers is, in point of fact, out of all proportion to the prestige and glamour surrounding the silvergreyhound badge, an example of which was tucked away in a pocket of theMajor's blue serge jacket hanging over the back of a chair. 

"Let's see, " said the Major, addressing a large brown-paper coveredpackage standing in the corner of the room, "you're the bird-cage forLady Sylvia at The Hague. Two pounds of candles for Mrs. Harry Deepdaleat Berlin; the razor blades for Sir Archibald at Prague; the Teddy bearfor Marjorie; polo-balls for the Hussars at Constantinople--there! Ithink that's the lot! Hullo, hullo, who the devil's that?"

With a groaning of wires a jangling bell tinkled through the hall (theMajor's bedroom was on the ground floor). Sims, the aged ex-butler, who, with his wife, "did for" his lodgers in more ways than one, was out andthe single servant-maid had her Sunday off. Euan MacTavish glanced athis wrist watch. It showed the hour to be ten minutes past nine. Aflowered silk smoking-coat over his evening clothes and a briar pipe inhis mouth, he went out into the hall and opened the front door. 

It was a drenching night. The lamps from a taxi which throbbed dully inthe street outside the house threw a gleaming band of light on theshining pavement. At the door stood a taxi-driver. 

"There's a lady asking for Major MacTavish, " he said, pointing at thecab. The Major stepped across to the cab and opened the door. 

"Oh, Euan, " said a girl's voice, "how lucky I am to catch you!"

"Why, Mary, " exclaimed the Major, "what on earth brings you round to meon a night like this? I only came up from the country this afternoon andI'm off for Constantinople in the morning!"

"Euan, " said Mary Trevert, "I want to talk to you. Where can we talk?"

The Major raised his eyebrows. He was a little man with grizzled hairand finely cut, rather sharp features. 

"Well, " he remarked, "there's not a soul in the house, and I've only gota bedroom here. Though we're cousins, Mary, my dear, I don't know thatyou ought to.... "

"You're a silly old-fashioned old dear, " exclaimed the girl, "and I'mcoming in. No, I'll keep the cab. We shall want it!"

"All right, " said the Major, helping her to alight. "I tell you what. We'll go into Harry Prankhurst's sitting-room. He's away for theweek-end, anyway!"

He took Mary Trevert into a room off the hall and switched on theelectric light. Then for the first time he saw how pale she looked. 

"My dear, " he said, "I know what an awful shock you've had.... "

"You've heard about it?"

"I saw it in the Sunday papers. I was going to write to you. "

"Euan, " the girl began in a nervous, hasty way, "I have to go to Hollandat once. There is not a moment to lose. I want you to help me get mypassport viseed. "

"But, my dear girl, " exclaimed the Major, aghast, "you can't go toHolland like this alone. Does your mother know about it?"

The girl shook her head. 

"It's no good trying to stop me, Euan, " she declared. "I mean to go, anyway. As a matter of fact, Mother doesn't know. I merely left wordthat I had gone to the Continent for a few days. Nobody knows aboutHolland except you. And if you won't help me I suppose I shall have togo to Harry Tadworth at the Foreign Office. I came to you first becausehe's always so stuffy ... "

Euan MacTavish pushed the girl into a chair and gave her a cigarette. Helit it for her and took one himself. His pipe had vanished into hispocket. 

"Of course, I'll help you, " he said. "Now, tell me all about it!"

"Before ... This happened I had promised Hartley Parrish to marry him, "began the girl. "The doctors say his nerves were wrong. I don't believea word of it. He was full of the joy of life. He was very fond of me. Hewas always talking of what we should do when we were married. He neverwould have killed himself without some tremendously powerful motive. Even then I can't believe it possible ... "

She made a little nervous gesture. 

"After he ... Did it, " she went on, "I found this letter on his desk. Itcame to him from Holland. I mean to see the people who wrote it anddiscover if they can throw any light on ... On ... The affair ... "

She had taken from her muff a letter, folded in four, written on paperof a curious dark slatey-blue colour. 

"Won't you show me the letter?"

"You promise to say nothing about it to any one?"

He nodded. 

"Of course. "

Without a word the girl gave him the letter. With slow deliberation heunfolded it. The letter was typewritten and headed: "Elias van der Spyck& Co. General Importers, Rotterdam. "

This was the letter:

 ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. GENERAL IMPORTERS ROTTERDAM Rotterdam 25th Nov. 

 _Codes_ A. B. C. Liebler's

 _Personal_ Dear Mr. Parrish, Your favor of even date to hand and contents noted. The last delivery of steel was to time but we have had warning from the railway authorities that labour troubles at the docks are likely to delay future consignments. If you don't mind we should prefer to settle the question of future delivery by Nov. 27 as we have a board meeting on the 30th inst. While we fully appreciate your own difficulties with labour at home, you will understand that this is a question which we cannot afford to adjourn _sine die_. 

 Yours faithfully, pro ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. 

The signature was illegible. 

Euan MacTavish folded the letter again and handed it back to Mary. 

"That doesn't take me any farther, " he said. "What do the police thinkof it?"

"They haven't seen it, " was the girl's reply. "I took it without themknowing. I mean to make my own investigations about this ... "

"But, my dear Mary, " exclaimed the little Major in a shocked voice, "youcan't do things that way! Don't you see you may be hindering the courseof justice? The police may attach the greatest importance to thisletter ... "

"You're quite right, " retorted the girl, "they do!"

"Then why have you kept it from them?"

Mary Trevert dropped her eyes and a little band of crimson flushed intoher cheeks. 

"Because, " she commenced, "because ... Well, because they are trying toimplicate a friend of mine ... "

The Major took the girl's hand. 

"Mary, " he said, "I've known you all your life. I've knocked about agood bit and know something of the world, I believe. Suppose you tell meall about it ... "

Mary Trevert hesitated. Then she said, her hands nervously toying withher muff:

"We believe that Robin Greve--you know whom I mean--had a conversationwith Hartley just before he ... He shot himself. That very afternoonRobin had asked me to marry him, but I told him about my engagement. Hesaid some awful things about Hartley and rushed away. Ten minutes laterHartley Parrish committed suicide. And there _was_ some one talking tohim in the library. Bude, the butler, heard the voices. This afternoon Iwent down to the library alone ... To see if I could discover anythinglikely to throw any light on poor Hartley's death. This was the onlyletter I could find. It was tucked away between two letter-trays. Onetray fitted into the other, and this letter had slipped between. Itseems to have been overlooked both by Mr. Parrish's secretary and thepolice ... "

"But I confess, " argued the Major, "that I don't see how this letter, which appears to be a very ordinary business communication, implicatesanybody at all. Why shouldn't the police see it?... "

"Because, " said Mary, "directly after discovering it I found BruceWright, who used to be one of Mr. Parrish's private secretaries, hidingbehind the curtains in the library. Now, Bruce Wright is a great friendof Robin Greve's, and I immediately suspected that Robin had sent himto Harkings, particularly as ... "

"As what?... "

"As he practically admitted to me, that he had come for a letter writtenon slatey-blue official-looking paper. "

The girl held up the letter from Rotterdam. 

"All this, " the girl continued, "made me think that this letter musthave had something to do with Hartley's death ... "

"Surely an additional reason for giving it to the police!... "

Mary Trevert set her mouth in an obstinate line. 

"No!" she affirmed uncompromisingly. "The police believe that, as theresult of a scene between Hartley and Robin, Hartley killed himself. Until I've found out for certain whether this letter implicates Robin ornot, I sha'n't give it to the police ... "

"But, if Greve really had nothing to do with this shocking tragedy, thepolice can very easily clear him. Surely they are the best judges of hisguilt ... "

Again a touch of warm colour suffused the girl's cheeks. Euan MacTavishremarked it and looked at her wistfully. 

"Well, well, " he observed gently, "perhaps they're not, after all!"

The girl looked up at him. 

"Euan, dear, " she said impulsively, "I knew you'd understand. Robin andHartley may have had a row, but it was nothing worse. Robin is incapableof having threatened--blackmailed--Hartley, as the police seem toimagine. I am greatly upset by it all; I can't see things clear at all;but I'm determined not to give the police a weapon like this to useagainst Robin until I know whether it is sharp or blunt, until I havefound out what bearing, if any, this letter had on Hartley Parrish'sdeath ... "

Euan MacTavish leant back in his chair and said nothing. He finished hiscigarette, pitched the butt into the fender, and turned to Mary. Heasked her to let him see the letter again. Once more he read it over. Then, handing it back to her, he said:

"It's all so simple-looking that there may well be something behind it. But, if you do go to Holland, how are you going to set about yourenquiries?"

"That's where you can help me, Euan, dear, " answered the girl. "I wantto find somebody at Rotterdam who will help me to make some confidentialenquiries about this firm. Do you know any one? An Englishman would bebest, of course ... "

But Euan MacTavish was halfway to the door. 

"Wait there, " he commanded, "till I telephone the one man in the worldwho can help us. "

He vanished into the hall where Mary heard him at the instrument. 

"We are going round to the Albany, " he said, "to see my friend, ErnestDulkinghorn, of the War Office. He can help us if any one can. But, Mary, you must promise me one thing before we go ... You must agree todo what old Ernest tells you. You needn't be afraid. He is the mostunconventional of men, capable of even approving this madcap scheme ofyours!"

"I agree, " said Mary, "but how you waste time, Euan! We could have beenat the Albany by this time!"

In a first-floor oak-panelled suite at the Albany, overlooking thecovered walk that runs from Piccadilly to Burlington Gardens, they foundan excessively fair, loose-limbed man whose air of rather helplesstimidity was heightened by a pair of large tortoise-shell spectacles. Heappeared excessively embarrassed at the sight of MacTavish's extremelygood-looking companion. 

"You never told me you were bringing a lady, Euan, " he saidreproachfully, "or I should have attempted to have made myself morepresentable. "

He looked down at his old flannel suit and made an apologetic gesturewhich took in the table littered with books and papers and the sofa onwhich lay a number of heavy tomes with marked slips sticking out betweenthe pages. 

"I am working at a code, " he explained. 

"Ernest here, " said MacTavish, turning to Mary, "is the code king. Yourpals in the Intelligence tell me, Ernest, that you've never been beatenby a code ... "

The fair man laughed nervously. 

"They've been pullin' your leg, Euan, " he said. 

"Don't you believe him, Mary, " retorted her cousin. "This is the man whoprobably did more than any one man to beat the Boche. Whenever thebrother Hun changed his code, Brother Ernest was called in and heproduced a key in one, two, three!... "

"What rot you talk, Euan!" said Dulkinghorn. "Working out a code is acombination of mathematics, perseverance, and inspiration with a goodslice of luck thrown in! But isn't Miss Trevert going to sit down?"

He cleared the sofa with a sweep of his arm which sent the books flyingon to the floor. 

"Ernest, " said MacTavish, "I want you to give Miss Trevert here aletter to some reliable fellow in Rotterdam who can assist her in makinga few enquiries of a very delicate nature!"

"What sort of enquiries?" asked Dulkinghorn bluntly. 

"About a firm called Elias van der Spyck, " replied Euan. 

"Of Rotterdam?" enquired the other sharply. 

"That's right! Do you know them?"

"I've heard the name. They do a big business. But hadn't Miss Trevertbetter tell her story herself?"

Mary told him of the death of Hartley Parrish and of the letter she hadfound upon his desk. She said nothing of the part played by Robin Greve. 

"Hmph!" said Dulkinghorn. "You think it might be blackmail, eh? Well, well, it might be. Have you got this letter about you? Hand it over andlet's have a look at it. "

His nervous manner had vanished. His face seemed to take on a muchkeener expression. He took the letter from Mary and read it through. Then he crossed the room to a wall cupboard which he unlocked with a keyon a chain, produced a small tray on which stood a number of smallbottles, some paint-brushes and pens, and several little open dishessuch as are used for developing photographs. He bore the tray to thetable, cleared a space on a corner by knocking a pile of books andpapers on the floor, and set it down. 

"Just poke the fire!" he said to Euan. 

From a drawer in the table he produced a board on which he pinned downthe letter with a drawing-pin at each corner. Then he dipped apaint-brush into one of the bottles and carefully painted the wholesurface of the sheet with some invisible fluid. 

"So!" he said, "we'll leave that to dry and see if we can find out anylittle secrets, eh? That little tray'll do the trick if there's anymonkey business to this letter of yours, Miss Trevert. That'll do thetrick, eh, what?"

He paced the room as he talked, not waiting for an answer, but runningon as though he were soliloquizing. Presently he turned and swooped downon the board. 

"Nothing, " he ejaculated. "Now for the acids!"

With a little piece of sponge he carefully wiped the surface of theletter and painted it again with a substance from another bottle. 

"Just hold that to the fire, would you, Euan?" he said, and gaveMacTavish the board. He resumed his pacing, but this time he hummed inthe most unmelodious voice imaginable:

 She was bright as a butterfly, as fair as a queen, Was pretty little Polly Perkins, of Paddington Green. 

"It's dry!"

MacTavish's voice broke in upon the pacing and the discordant song. 

"Well?"

Dulkinghorn snapped out the question. 

"No result!" said Euan. He handed him the board. 

Dulkinghorn cast a glance at it, swiftly removed the letter, held it foran instant up to the electric light, fingered the paper for a moment, and handed the letter back to Mary. 

"If it's code, " he said, "it's a conventional code and that always beatsthe expert ... At first. Go to Rotterdam and call on my friend, Mr. William Schulz. I'll give you a letter for him and he'll place himselfentirely at your disposition. Euan will take you over. Holland is onyour beat, ain't it, Euan? When do you go next?"

"To-morrow, " said the King's Messenger. "The boat train leaves LiverpoolStreet at ten o'clock. "

"You'll want a passport, " said Dulkinghorn, turning to the girl. "You've got it there? Good. Leave it with me. You shall have it backproperly viseed by nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Where are youstayin'? Almond's Hotel. Good. I'll send the letter for Mr. WilliamSchulz with it!"

"But, " Euan interjected mildly, after making several ineffectual effortsto stem the torrent of speech, "do you really think that Miss Trevertwill be well advised to risk this trip to Holland alone? Hadn't thepolice better take the matter in hand?"

"Police be damned!" replied Dulkinghorn heartily. "Miss Trevert will bebetter than a dozen heavy-handed, heavy-footed plain-clothes men. Whenyou get to Rotterdam, Miss Trevert, you trot along and call on WilliamSchulz. He'll see you through. "

Then, to indicate without any possibility of misunderstanding, that hiswork had been interrupted long enough, Dulkinghorn got up, and, openingthe sitting-room door, led the way into the hall. As he stood with hishand on the latch of the front door, Mary Trevert asked him:

"Is this Mr. Schulz an Englishman?"

"I'll let you into a secret, " answered Bulkinghorn; "he _was_. But heisn't now! No, no, I can't say anything more. You must work it out foryourself. But I will give you a piece of advice. The less you say aboutMr. William Schulz and about your private affairs generally when you areon the other side, the better it will be for you! Good-night--and goodluck!"

Euan MacTavish escorted Mary to Almond's Hotel. 

"I'm very much afraid, " he said to her as they walked along, "thatyou're butting that pretty head of yours into a wasps' nest, Mary!"

"Nonsense!" retorted the girl decisively; "I can take care of myself!"

"If I consent to let you go off like this, " said Euan, "it is only onone condition ... You must tell Lady Margaret where you are going ... "

"That'll spoil everything, " answered Mary, pouting; "Mother will want tocome with me!"

"No, she won't, " urged her cousin, "not if I tell her. She'll worryherself to death, Mary, if she doesn't know what has become of you. You'd better let me ring her up from the club and tell her you'rerunning over to Rotterdam for a few days. Look here, I'll tell heryou're going with me. She'll be perfectly happy if she thinks I'm to bewith you ... "

On that Mary surrendered. 

"Have it your own way, " she said. 

"I'll pick you up here at a quarter-past nine in the morning, " said Euanas he bade the girl good-night at her hotel, "then we'll run down tothe F. O. And collect my bags and go on to the station!"

"Euan, " the girl asked as she gave him her hand, "who is this manSchulz, do you think?"

The King's messenger leant over and whispered:

"Secret Service!"

"Secret Service!"

The girl repeated the words in a hushed voice. 

"Then Mr. Dulkinghorn ... Is he ... That too?"

Euan nodded shortly. 

"One of their leadin' lights!" he answered. 

"But, Euan, "--the girl was very serious now, --"what has the SecretService to do with Hartley Parrish's clients in Holland?"

The King's messenger laid a lean finger along his nose. 

"Ah!" he said, "what? That's what is beginning to interest me!"

CHAPTER XXI

A WORD WITH MR. JEEKES

Life is like a kaleidoscope, that ingenious toy which was the delight ofthe Victorian nursery. Like the glass fragments in its slide, differentin colour and shape, men's lives lie about without seeming connection;then Fate gives the instrument a shake, and behold! the fragments slideinto position and form an intricate mosaic.... 

Mark how Fate proceeded on the wet and raw Sunday evening when BruceWright, at the instance of Mr. Manderton, quitted Robin Greve's chambersin the Temple, leaving his friend and the detective alone together. Totell the truth, Bruce Wright was in no mood for facing the provincialgloom of a wet Sunday evening in London, nor did he find alluring theprospect of a suburban supper-party at the quiet house where he livedwith his widowed mother and sisters in South Kensington. So, in anirresolute, unsettled frame of mind, he let himself drift down theStrand unable to bring himself to go home or, indeed, to form any plan. 

He crossed Trafalgar Square, a nocturne in yellow and black--lightsreflected yellow in pavements shining dark with wet--and by and byfound himself in Pall Mall. Here it was that Fate took a hand. At thismoment it administered a preliminary jog to the kaleidoscope and broughtthe fragment labelled Bruce Wright into immediate proximity with thepiece entitled Albert Edward Jeekes. 

As Bruce Wright came along Pall Mall, he saw Mr. Jeekes standing on thesteps of his club. The little secretary appeared to be lost in thought, his chin thrust down on the crutch-handle of the umbrella he clutched tohimself. So absorbed was he in his meditations that he did not observeBruce Wright stop and regard him. It was not until our young man hadtouched him on the arm that he looked up with a start. 

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "if it isn't young Wright!"

Now the sight of Jeekes had put a great idea into the head of our youngfriend. He had been more chagrined than he had let it appear to RobinGreve at his failure to recover the missing letter from the library atHarkings. To obtain the letter--or, at any rate, a copy of it--fromJeekes and to hand it to Robin Greve would, thought Bruce, restore hisprestige as an amateur detective, at any rate in his own eyes. Moreover, a chat with Jeekes over the whole affair seemed a Heaven-sent exit fromthe _impasse_ of boredom into which he had drifted this wet Sundayevening. 

"How are you, Mr. Jeekes?" said Bruce briskly. ("Mr. " Jeekes was theform of address always accorded to the principal secretary in theHartley Parrish establishment and Bruce resumed it instinctively. ) "Iwas anxious to see you. I called in at the club this afternoon. Did youget my message?"

The little secretary blinked at him through his _pince-nez_. 

"There have been so many messages about this shocking affair that reallyI forget ... "

He sighed heavily. 

"Couldn't I come in and have a yarn now?"

Bruce spoke cajolingly. But Mr. Jeekes wrinkled his brow fussily. 

There was so much to do; he had had a long day; if Wright would excusehim ... 

"As a matter of fact, " explained Bruce with an eye on his man, "I wantedto see you particularly about a letter ... "

"Some other time ... To-morrow ... "

"Written on dark-blue paper ... You know, one of those letters H. P. Madeall the fuss about. "

Mr. Jeekes took his _pince-nez_ from his nose, gave the glasses a hastyrub with his pocket-handkerchief, and replaced them. He slanted a longnarrow look at the young man. 

Then, "What letter do you mean?" he asked composedly. 

"A letter which lay on H. P. 's desk in the library at Harkings when theyfound the body ... "

"There _was_ a letter there then ... ?"

"Haven't _you_ got it?"

Jeekes shook his head. 

"Come inside for a minute and tell me about this, " he said. 

He led Bruce into the vast smoking-room of the club. They took seats ina distant corner near the blazing fire. The room was practicallydeserted. 

Now, Mr. Jeekes's excessive carefulness about money had been along-standing joke amongst his assistants when Bruce Wright had belongedto Hartley Parrish's secretarial staff. Thrift had become with him morethan a habit. It was a positive obsession. It revealed itself in suchpetty meannesses as a perpetual cadging for matches or small change anda careful abstention from any offer of hospitality. Never in the wholecourse of his service had Bruce Wright heard of Mr. Jeekes takinganybody out to lunch or extending any of the usual hospitalities oflife. He was not a little surprised, therefore, to hear Jeekes ask himwhat he would take. 

Bruce said he would take some coffee. 

"Have a liqueur? Have a cigar?" said Jeekes, turning to Bruce from thesomnolent waiter who had answered the bell. 

There was a strange eagerness, a sort of over-done cordiality, in theinvitation which contrasted so strongly with the secretary's habits thatRobin felt dimly suspicious. He suddenly formed the idea that Mr. Jeekeswanted to pump him. He refused the liqueur, but accepted a cigar. Jeekeswaited until they had been served and the waiter had withdrawn silentlyinto the dim vastness of the great room before he spoke. 

"Now, then, young Wright, " he said, "what's this about a letter? Tell mefrom the beginning ... "

Bruce told him of the letter from Elias van der Spyck & Co. Which Robinhad seen upon the desk in the library at Harkings, of his (Bruce's)journey down to Harkings that afternoon and of his failure to find theletter. 

"But why do you assume that I've got it?"

There was an air of forced joviality about Mr. Jeekes as he put thequestion which did not in the least, as he undoubtedly intended itshould, disguise his eagerness. On the contrary, it lent his ratherundistinguished features an expression of cunning which can only bedescribed as knavish. Bruce Wright, who, as will already have been seen, was a young man with all his wits about him, did not fail to remark it. The result was that he hastily revised an intention half-formed in hismind of taking Jeekes a little way into his confidence regarding RobinGreve's doubts and suspicions about Hartley Parrish's death. 

But he answered the secretary's question readily enough. 

"Because Miss Trevert told me you went to the library immediately youarrived at Harkings last night. I consequently assumed that you musthave taken away the letter seen by Robin Greve ... "

Mr. Jeekes drew in his breath with a sucking sound. It was a littletrick of his when about to speak. 

"So you saw Miss Trevert at Harkings, eh?"

Bruce laughed. 

"I did, " he said. "We had quite a dramatic meeting, too--it was like ascene from a film!"

And, with a little good-humoured exaggeration, he gave Mr. Jeekes adescription of his encounter with Mary. And lest it should seem thatyoung Wright was allowing Mr. Jeekes to pump him, it should be statedthat Bruce was well aware of one of the secretary's most notablecharacteristics, a common failing, be it remarked, of the small-minded, and that was an overpowering suspicion of anything resembling a leadingquestion. In order, therefore, to gain his confidence, he willinglysatisfied the other's curiosity regarding his visit to Harkings hopingthereby to extract some information as to the whereabouts of the letteron the slatey-blue paper. 

"There was no letter of this description on the desk, you say, when youand Miss Trevert looked?" asked Jeekes when Bruce had finished hisstory. 

"Nothing but circulars and bills, " Bruce replied. 

Mr. Jeekes leaned forward and drank off his coffee with a swiftmovement. Then he said carelessly:

"From what you tell me, Miss Trevert would have been perhaps a minutealone in the room without your seeing her?"

Bruce agreed with a nod. 

Adjusting his _pince-nez_ on his nose the secretary rose to his feet. 

"Very glad to have seen you again, Wright, " he said, thrusting out alimp hand; "must run off now--mass of work to get through ... "

Then Bruce risked his leading question. 

"If you haven't got this letter, " he observed, "what has become of it?Obviously the police are not likely to have taken it because they knownothing of its significance ... "

"Quite, quite, " answered Mr. Jeekes absently, but without replying tothe young man's question. 

"Why, " asked Bruce boldly, "did old H. P. Make such a mystery about theseletters on the slatey-blue paper, Mr. Jeekes?"

The secretary wrinkled up his thin lips and sharp nose into a cunningsmile. 

"When you get to be my age, young Wright, " he made answer, "you willunderstand that every man has a private side to his life. And, if youhave learnt your job properly, you will also know that a privatesecretary's first duty is to mind his own business. About this letternow--it's the first I've heard of it. Take my advice and don't botheryour head about it. _If_ it exists ... "

"But it _does_ exist, " broke in Bruce quickly. "Mr. Greve saw it andread it himself ... "

Mr. Jeekes laughed drily. 

"Don't you forget, young Wright, " he said, jerking his chin towards theyoungster in a confidential sort of way, "don't you forget that Mr. Greve is anxious to find a plausible motive for Mr. Parrish's suicide. People are talking, you understand! That's all I've got to say! Just youthink it over ... "

Bruce Wright bristled up hotly at this. 

"I don't see you have any reason to try and impugn Greve's motive forwishing to get at the bottom of this mysterious affair ... "

Mr. Jeekes affected to be engrossed in the manicuring of his nails. Veryintently he rubbed the nails of one hand against the palm of the other. 

"No mystery!" he said decisively with a shake of the head: "no mysterywhatsoever about it, young Wright, except what the amateur detectiveswill try and make it out to be. Or has Mr. Greve discovered a mysteryalready?"

The question came out artfully. But in the quick glance whichaccompanied it, there was an intent watchfulness which startled Bruceaccustomed as he was to the mild and unemotional ways of the littlesecretary. 

"Not that I know of, " said Bruce. "Greve is only puzzled like all of usthat H. P. Should have done a thing like this!"

Mr. Jeekes was perfectly impassive again. 

"The nerves, young Wright! The nerves!" he said impressively. "HarleyStreet, not Mr. Greve, will supply the motive to this sad affair, believe me!"

With that he accompanied the young man to the door of the club and fromthe vestibule watched him sally forth into the rain of Pall Mall. 

Then Mr. Jeekes turned to the hall porter. 

"Please get me Stevenish one-three-seven, " he said, "it's a trunk call. Don't let them put you off with 'No reply. ' It's Harkings, and they areexpecting me to ring them. I shall be in the writing room. "

When, twenty minutes later, Mr. Jeekes emerged from the trunk calltelephone box in the club vestibule, his mouth was drooping at thecorners and his hands trembled curiously. He stood for an instant inthought tapping his foot on the marble floor of the deserted hall dimlylit by a single electric bulb burning over the hall porter's box. Thenhe went back to the writing-room and returned with a yellow telegramform. 

"Send a boy down to Charing Cross with that at once, please, " he said tothe night porter. 

Fate which had brought Bruce Wright face to face with Mr. Jeekes gavethe kaleidoscope another jerk that night. As Bruce Wright entered theTube Station at Dover Street to go home to South Kensington, it occurredto him that he would ring up Robin Greve at his chambers in the Templeand give him an outline of his (Bruce's) talk with Jeekes. Bruce went tothe public callbox in the station, but the rhythmic "Zoom-er! Zoom-er!Zoom-er!" which announces that a number is engaged was all thesatisfaction he got. The prospect of waiting about the draughty stationexit did not appeal to him, so he decided to go home and telephoneRobin, as originally arranged, in the morning. 

Just about the time that he made this resolve, Robin in his rooms in theTemple was hanging up the receiver of his telephone with a dazedexpression in his eyes. Mr. Manderton had rung him up with a piece ofintelligence which fairly bewildered him. It bewildered Mr. Mandertonalso, as the detective was frank enough to acknowledge. 

Mary Trevert had gone to Rotterdam for a few days in company with hercousin, Major Euan MacTavish. Mr. Manderton had received thisastonishing information by telephone from Harkings a few minutes before. 

"It bothers me properly, Mr. Greve, sir, " the detective had added. 

"There's only one thing for it, Manderton, " Robin had said; "I'll haveto go after her ... "

"The very thing I was about to suggest myself, Mr. Greve. You'reunofficial-like and can be more helpful than if we detailed one of ourown people from the Yard. And with the investigation in its presentstage I don't reely feel justified in going off on a wild-goose chasemyself. There are several important enquiries going forward now, notablyas to where Mr. Parrish bought his pistol. But we certainly ought tofind out what takes Miss Trevert careering off to Rotterdam in thisway ... "

"It seems almost incredible, " Robin had said, "but it looks to me asthough Miss Trevert must have found out something about the letter ... "

"Or found it herself ... "

"By Jove! She was in the library when Bruce Wright was there. Thissettles it, Manderton. I must go!"

"Then, " said the detective, "I'm going to entrust you with that slottedsheet of paper again. For I have an idea, Mr. Greve, that you may get aglimpse of that letter before I do. I'll send a messenger round with itat once. "

Then a difficulty arose. Manderton had not got the girl's address. Theyhad no address at Harkings. Nor did he know what train Miss Trevert hadtaken. She might have gone by the 9 P. M. That night. Had Mr. Greve got apassport? Yes, Robin had a passport, but it was not viseed for Holland. That meant he could not leave until the following evening. Then Robinhad a "brain wave. "

"There's an air service to Rotterdam!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't leavetill noon. A pal of mine went across by it only last week. That willleave me time to get my passport stamped at the Dutch Consulate, tocatch the air mail, and be in Rotterdam by tea-time! And, Manderton, Ishall go to the Grand Hotel. That's where my friend stopped. Wire methere if there's any news ... "

Air travel is so comfortably regulated at the present day that RobinGreve, looking back at his trip by air from Croydon Aerodrome to the biglanding-ground outside Rotterdam, acknowledged that he had moreexcitement in his efforts to stir into action a lethargic Dutch passportofficial in London, so as to enable him to catch the air mail, than inthe smooth and uneventful voyage across the Channel. He reachedRotterdam on a dull and muggy afternoon and lost no time in depositinghis bag at the Grand Hotel. An enquiry at the office there satisfied himthat Mary Trevert had not registered her name in the hotel book. Then heset out in a taxi upon a dreary round of the principal hotels. 

But fate, which loves to make a sport of lovers, played him a scurvytrick. In the course of his search it brought Robin to that very hoteltowards which, at the selfsame moment, Mary Trevert was driving fromthe station. By the time she arrived, Robin was gone and, with despairin his heart, had started on a tour of the second-class hotels, checkingthem by the Baedeker he had bought in the Strand that morning. It waseight o'clock by the time he had finished. He had drawn a blank. 

The sight of a huge, plate-glass-fronted cafe reminded him that in theday's rush he had omitted to lunch. So he paid off his taxi and dinedoff succulent Dutch beefsteak, pounded as soft as velvet and swimmingwith butter and served in a bed of deliciously browned 'earth apples, 'as the Hollaenders call potatoes. The cafe was stiflingly hot; there wasa large and noisy orchestra in the front part and a vast billiard-saloonin the back--a place of shaded lights, clicking balls, and gutturalexclamations. The heat of the place, the noise and the cries combinedwith the effect of his long journey in the fresh air to make him verydrowsy. When he had finished dinner he was content to postpone hisinvestigations until the morrow and go to bed. Emerging from the cafe hefound to his relief that his hotel was but a few houses away. 

As he sat at breakfast the next morning, enjoying the admirable Dutchcoffee, he reviewed the situation very calmly but very thoroughly. Hetold himself that he had no indication as to Mary Trevert's business inRotterdam save the supposition that she had found the van der Spyckletter and had come to Rotterdam to investigate the matter for herself. He realized that the hypothesis was thin, for, in the first place, Marycould have no inkling as to the hidden significance of the document, and, in the second place, she was undoubtedly under the impression thatHartley Parrish was driven to suicide by his (Robin's) threats. 

But, in the absence of any other apparent explanation of the girl'sextraordinary decision to come to Rotterdam, Robin decided he wouldaccept the theory that she had come about the van der Spyck letter. Howlike Mary, after all, he mused, self-willed, fearless, independent, torush off to Holland on her own on a quest like this! Where would herinvestigations lead her? To the offices of Elias van der Spyck & Co. , tobe sure! Robin threw his napkin down on the table, thrust back hischair, and went off to the hotel porter to locate the address of thefirm. 

The telephone directory showed that the offices were situated in theOranien-Straat, about ten minutes' walk from the hotel, in the businessquarter of the city round the Bourse. Robin glanced at the clock. Itwas twenty minutes to ten. The principals, he reflected, were not likelyto be at the office before ten o'clock. It was a fine morning and hedecided to walk. The hotel porter gave him a few simple directions: thegentleman could not miss the way, he said; so Robin started off, hopehigh in his breast of getting a step nearer to the elucidation of themystery of the library at Harkings. 

A brisk walk of about ten minutes through the roaring streets of thecity brought him to a big open square from which, he had beeninstructed, the Oranien-Straat turned off. He was just passing a largeand important-looking post-office--he remarked it because he looked upat a big clock in the window to see the time--when a man came hastilythrough the swing-door and stopped irresolutely on the pavement infront, glancing to right and left as a man does who is looking for acab. 

At the sight of him Robin could scarcely suppress an expression ofamazement. It was Mr. Jeekes. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE MAN WITH THE YELLOW FACE

In a narrow, drowsy side street at Rotterdam, bisected by a somnolentcanal, stood flush with the red-brick sidewalk a small clean house. Wireblinds affixed to the windows of its ground and first floors gave it acurious blinking air as though its eyes were only half open. To the neatgreen front door was affixed a large brass plate inscribed with thesingle name: "Schulz. "

A large woman, in a pink print dress with a white cloth bound about herhead, was vigorously polishing the plate as, on the morning followingher departure from London, Mary Trevert, Dulkinghorn's letter ofintroduction in her pocket, arrived in front of the residence of Mr. William Schulz. Euan MacTavish had, on the previous evening, seen her toher hotel and had then--very reluctantly, as it seemed toMary--departed to continue his journey to The Hague, his taxi piled highwith white-and-green Foreign Office bags, heavily sealed with scarletwax. 

Mary Trevert approached the woman, her letter of introduction, whichDulkinghorn, being an unusual person, had fastened down, in her hand. 

"Schulz?" she said interrogatively. 

"_Nicht da_, " replied the woman without looking up from her rubbing. 

"Has he gone out?" asked Mary in English. 

"_Verstehe nicht_!" mumbled the woman. 

But she put down her cleaning-rag and, breathing heavily, mustered thegirl with a leisurely stare. 

Mary repeated the question in German whereupon the woman brightened upconsiderably. 

The _Herr_ was not at home. The _Herr_ had gone out. On business, _jawohl_. To the bank, perhaps. But the _Herr_ would be back in time for_Mittagessen_ at noon. There was beer soup followed by _Rindfleisch_ ... 

Mary hesitated an instant. She was wondering whether she should leaveher letter of introduction. She decided she would leave it. So she wroteon her card: "Anxious to see you as soon as possible" and the name ofher hotel, and gave it, with the letter, to the woman. 

"Please see that Herr Schulz gets that directly he comes in, " she said. "It is important!"

"_Gut, gut_!" said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron. She tookthe card and letter, and Mary, thanking her, set off to go back to herhotel. 

About twenty yards from Mr. Schulz's house a narrow alley ran off. AsMary turned to regain the little footbridge across the canal to returnto the noisy street which would take her back to the hotel, she caughtsight of a man disappearing down this alley. 

She only had a glimpse of him, but it was sufficient to startle herconsiderably. He was a small man wearing a tweed cap and a tweedtravelling ulster of a vivid brown. It was not these details, however, which took her aback. It was the fact that in the glimpse she had had ofthe man's face she had seemed to recognize the features of Mr. AlbertEdward Jeekes. 

"What an extraordinary thing!" Mary said to herself. "It _can't_ be Mr. Jeekes. But if it is not, it is some one strikingly like him!"

To get another view of the stranger she hurried to the corner of thealley. It was a mere thread of a lane, not above six yards wide, runningbetween the houses a distance of some sixty yards to the next street. But the alley was empty. The stranger had disappeared. 

Mary went a little way down the lane. A wooden fence ran down it oneither side, with doors at intervals apparently giving on the back yardsof the houses in the street. There was no sign of Mr. Jeekes's double, so she retraced her steps and returned to her hotel without furtherincident. 

She had not been back more than half an hour when a waiter came in tothe lounge where she was sitting. 

"Miss Trevert?" he said. "Zey ask for you at ze delephone!"

He took her to a cabin under the main staircase. 

"This is Miss Trevert speaking!" said Mary. 

"I am speaking for Mr. Schulz, " a man's voice answered--rather a nasalvoice with a shade of foreign inflexion--"he has had your letter. He isvery sorry he has been detained in the country, but would be very gladif you would lunch with him to-day at his country-house. "

"I shall be very pleased, " the girl replied. "Is it far?"

"Only just outside Rotterdam, " the voice responded. "Mr. Schulz willsend the car to the hotel to pick you up at 11. 45. The driver will askfor you. Is that all right?"

"Certainly, " said Mary. "Please thank Mr. Schulz and tell him I willexpect the car at a quarter to twelve!"

Punctually at the appointed hour an open touring-car drove up to thehotel. Mary was waiting at the entrance. The driver was a young Dutchmanin a blue serge suit. He jumped out and came up to Mary. 

"Mees Trevert?" he said. 

Mary nodded, whereupon he helped her into the car, then got back intothe driving-seat and they drove away. 

A run of about twenty minutes through trim suburbs brought them out on along straight road, paved with bricks and lined with poplars. The daywas fine with a little bright sunshine from time to time and a high windwhich kept the sails of the windmills dotting the landscape turningbriskly. They followed the road for a bit, then branched off down a sideturning which led to a black gate. It bore the name "Villa Bergendal" inwhite letters. The gate opened into a short drive fringed by thicklaurel bushes which presently brought them in view of an ugly squarered-brick house. 

The car drew up at a creeper-hung porch paved in red tiles. Thechauffeur helped Mary to alight and, pushing open a glass door, usheredthe girl into a square, comfortably furnished hall. Some handsomeOriental rugs were spread about: trophies of native weapons hung on thewalls, and there were some fine specimens of old Dutch chests and blueDelft ware. 

The chauffeur led the way across the hall to a door at the far end. AsMary followed him, something bright lying on one of the chests caughther eye. It was a vivid brown travelling ulster and on it lay a browntweed cap. 

Mary Trevert was no fool. She was, on the contrary, a remarkablyquick-witted young person. The sight of that rather "loud" overcoatinstantly recalled the stranger so strikingly resembling Mr. Jeekes whohad disappeared down the lane as she was coming away from Mr. Schulz'shouse. Mr. Jeekes _was_ in Rotterdam then, and had, of course, been sentby her mother to look after her. What a fool she had been to allow EuanMacTavish to persuade her to tell her mother of her plans!

Mary suddenly felt very angry. How dare Mr. Jeekes spy on her like this!She was quite capable, she told herself, of handling her own affairs, and she intended to tell the secretary so very plainly. And if, as shewas beginning to believe, Mr. Schulz were acting hand in glove with Mr. Jeekes, she would let him know equally plainly that she had no intentionof troubling him, but would make her own investigations independently. With a heightened colour she followed the chauffeur and passed throughthe door he held open for her. 

She found herself in a small, pleasant room with a bright note of colourin the royal blue carpet and window-curtains. A log-fire burnedcheerfully in the fireplace before which a large red-leatherChesterfield was drawn up. On the walls hung some good old Dutch prints, and there were a couple of bookcases containing books which, by theirbindings at least, seemed old and valuable. 

At the farther end of the room was another door across which a curtainof royal blue was drawn. Mary had scarcely entered the room when thisdoor opened and a man appeared. 

He was carefully dressed in a well-cut suit of some dark material andwore a handsome pearl pin in his black tie. He was a dark, sallow typeof man, his skin yellowed as though from long residence in the tropics. A small black moustache, carefully trained outwards from the lips, disclosed, as he smiled a greeting at his visitor, a line of brokenyellow teeth. His hair, which was grizzled at the temples, was black andoily and brushed right back off the forehead. With his coarse blackhair, his sallow skin, and his small beady eyes, rather like a snake's, there was something decidedly un-English about him. As Mary Trevertlooked at him, somewhat taken aback by his sudden appearance, she becameconscious of a vague feeling of mistrust welling up within her. 

The man closed the door behind him and advanced into the room, his handextended. Mary took it. It was dank and cold to the touch. 

"A thousand apologies, my dear Miss Trevert, " he said in a soft, silkyvoice, a trifle nasal, with a touch of Continental inflexion, "forasking you to come out here to see me. The fact is I had an importantbusiness conference here this morning and I have a second one thisafternoon. It was materially impossible for me to come into Rotterdam ... But I am forgetting my manners. Let me introduce myself. I amMr. Schulz ... "

Mary Trevert looked at him thoughtfully. Was this the friend of ErnestDulkinghorn, the man of confidence to whom he had recommended her? Afeeling of great uneasiness came over her. She listened. The house wasabsolutely still. From the utter silence enveloping it--for aught sheknew--she and her unsavoury-looking companion might be the only personsin it. And then she realized that, on the faith of a telephone call, shehad blindly come out to a house, the very address of which was utterlyunknown to her. 

She fought down a sudden sensation of panic that made her want toscream, to bolt from the room into the fresh air, anywhere away fromthose snake eyes, that soft voice, that clammy hand. She collected herthoughts, remembered that Jeekes must be somewhere in the house, as hisoutdoor things were in the hall. The recollection reminded her of herdetermination to tolerate no interference from Jeekes or her mother. 

So she merely answered: "It was no trouble to come, " and waited for theman to speak again. 

He pulled forward the Chesterfield and made her sit down beside him. 

"I had the letter of introduction, " he said, "and I want you to knowthat my services are entirely at your disposal. Now, what can I do foryou?"

He looked at the girl intently--rather anxiously, she thought. 

"That was explained in the letter, " she answered, meeting his gazeunflinchingly. 

"Yes, yes, of course, I know. I meant in what way do you propose to makeuse of my ... My local knowledge?"

"I will tell you that, Mr. Schulz, " Mary Trevert said in a measuredvoice, "when you tell me what you think of the mission which has broughtme here ... "

The snake's eyes narrowed a little. 

"For a young lady to have come out alone to Holland on a mission of thisdescription speaks volumes for your pluck and self-reliance, MissTrevert ... "

"I asked you what you thought of my mission to Holland, Mr. Schulz, "Mary interposed coldly. 

It was beginning to dawn on her that Mr. Schulz did not seem to knowanything about the object of her visit, but, on the contrary, wasseeking to elicit this from her by a process of adroit cross-examination. She was rather puzzled, therefore, but also somewhat relievedwhen he said:

"I can give my opinion better after you have shown me the letter ... "

"What letter?" said the girl. 

"The letter from Elias van der Spyck and Company, to be sure, " retortedthe other quickly. 

Mary dipped her hand into her black fox muff. Then she hesitated. Shecould not rid herself of the suspicion that this man with the sallowface and the yellow fangs was not to be trusted. She withdrew her hand. 

"This is a very delicate matter, Mr. Schulz, " she said. "Our appointmentwas made by telephone, and I think therefore I should ask you to show meMr. Dulkinghorn's letter of introduction before I go any further, sothat I may feel quite sure in my mind that I am dealing with one in whomI know Mr. Dulkinghorn to have every confidence ... "

Mr, Schulz's yellow face went a shade yellower. His mouth twisted itselfinto a wry smile, his thin lips fleshing his discoloured teeth. Hestood up rather stiffly. 

"You are a guest in my house, Miss Trevert, " he said with offendeddignity, "I scarcely expected you to impugn my good faith. Surely myword is sufficient ... "

He turned his back on her and took a couple of paces into the room inapparent vexation. Then he returned and stood at the back of theChesterfield behind her. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet, butsome vague instinct made Mary Trevert turn her head. She saw himstanding there, twisting his hands nervously behind his back. 

"Surely my word is sufficient ... " he repeated. 

"In business, " said Mary boldly, "one cannot be too careful. "

"Besides, " Mr. Schulz urged, "this was a private letter which Mr. ... Mr. Dulkinghorn certainly did not expect you to see. That makesit awkward ... "

"I think in the circumstances, " said Mary, "I must insist, Mr. Schulz!"

She was now feeling horribly frightened. She strained her ears in vainfor a sound. The whole house seemed wrapped in a grave-like quiet. Thesmile had never left Mr. Schulz's face. But it was a cruel, wolfish grinwithout a ray of kindliness in it. The girl felt her heart turn coldwithin her every time her eyes fell on the mask-like face. 

Mr. Schulz shrugged shoulders. 

"Since you insist ... " he remarked. "But I think it is scarcely fair onour friend Dulkinghorn. The letter is in the safe in my office nextdoor. If you come along I will get it out and show it to you ... "

He spoke unconcernedly, but stiffly, as though to emphasize the slightput upon his dignity. One hand thrust jauntily in his jacket pocket, hestepped across the carpet to the door with the blue curtain. He openedit, then stood back for the girl to pass in before him. 

"After you!" he said. 

He had placed himself so close to the doorway that the black fox abouther neck brushed his face as she passed. Suddenly a warm, sickly whiffof some sweet-smelling odour came to her. She stopped on the instant, irresolute, alarmed. Then a dank hand was clapped on her face, coveringnostrils and mouth with a soft cloth reeking with a horrible cloyingdrug. An arm with muscles like steel was passed round her waist and heldher in a vice-like grip against which she struggled in vain. She felther senses slipping, slipping ... 

CHAPTER XXIII

TWO'S COMPANY ... 

On the pavement opposite the post-office stood one of those high pillarswhich are commonly used in Continental cities for the display of theatreand concert advertisements. Robin instantly stepped behind it. It wasnot that he wished to avoid being seen by Jeekes as much as that he hadnot decided in his mind what course he had best pursue. From behind thecover of the pillar he mustered his man. 

The little secretary looked strange and unfamiliar in a sporting sort oftravelling ulster of a tawny brown hue and a cap of the same stuff. Butthere was no mistaking the watery eyes, the sharp nose, the features. Hehad obviously not seen Robin. His whole attention was rivetted on thestreet. He kept peering nervously to right and left as though expectingsome one. 

Suddenly he stepped forward quickly to the kerb. Then Robin saw an opencar detach itself from the press of traffic in the square and, drivenvery fast, approach the post-office. It was a large car with a greybody; a sallow man wearing a black felt hat sat at the wheel. The cardrew up at the kerb and halted within a few feet of the advertisementpillar. Robin backed hastily round it to escape observation. He hadresolved to do nothing until he had ascertained who Jeekes's friend wasand what business the secretary had with him. 

"It's all right, " Robin heard the man in the car say in English; "Itelephoned the girl and she's coming. What a piece of luck, eh?"

Robin heard the click of the car door as it swung open. 

"... Better get along out there at once, " he heard the man in the carsay, "I'm sending Jan in the car for her at ... "

Then Robin stepped out unexpectedly from behind his pillar and cannonedinto Mr. Jeekes, who was just entering the car. 

"Good-morning, " said Robin with easy assurance; "I'm delighted to hearthat you've found Miss Trevert, Jeekes, for, to tell the truth, I wasfeeling somewhat uneasy about her ... "

The secretary's face was a study. The surprise of seeing Robin, who haddropped, it seemed to him, out of the clouds into the city of Rotterdam, deprived him of speech for an instant. He blinked his eyes, looked thisway and that, and finally, with a sort of blind gesture, readjusted his_pince-nez_ and glared at the intruder. 

Then, without a word, he got into the car. But Robin, with a firm hand, stayed the door which Jeekes would have closed behind him. 

"Excuse me, " Robin remarked decidedly, "but I'm coming with you if yourfriend"--at this he looked at the man in the driving-seat--"has noobjection ... "

Mr. Jeekes cast a frightened glance at the sallow man. 

The latter said impatiently:

"We're wasting time, Jeekes. Who is this gentleman?"

"This is Mr. Greve, " said the little secretary hurriedly, "a friend ofMr. Parrish and Miss Trevert. He was staying in the house at the time ofthe tragedy. He has, I understand, taken a prominent part in theinvestigations as to the motive of our poor friend's sad end ... "

Mr. Jeekes looked to Robin as he said this as though for confirmation. The man at the driving-wheel turned and gave the little secretary aquick glance. Then he mustered Robin with a slow, insolent stare. He hada yellow face and small black eyes quick and full of intelligence. 

Then he bowed. 

"My name is Victor, " he said. "The sad news about Mr. Parrish was agreat shock to me. I met him several times in London. Were you anxiousto see Miss ... Er ... Trevert? She has come to Rotterdam (so my friendJeekes tells me) to look into certain important business transactionswhich the late Mr. Parrish had in hand at the time of his death. Did Iunderstand you to say that you were uneasy about this lady? Is there anymystery about her journey?... "

For the moment Robin felt somewhat abashed. The question was rather aposer. Was there, in effect, any mystery about Mary's trip to Rotterdamaccompanied by her cousin? She had acquainted her people at Harkingswith her plans. What if, after all, everything was open and above-board, and she had merely come to Rotterdam on business? It seemed difficult tobelieve. Surely in such a case the solicitor, Bardy, would have been themore suitable emissary ... 

"You'll forgive us, I'm sure, " the yellow-faced man remarked suavely, "but we're in a great hurry. Would you mind closing that door?... "

Robin closed the door. But he got into the car first. As he had stood onthe pavement in doubt, the recollection of Jeekes's inexplicable lieabout the payments made by Parrish for the French lady in the Mayfairflat came back to him and deepened the suspicion in his mind. It wouldin any case, he told himself, do no harm to find out who this ratherunsavoury-looking Rotterdam friend of Jeekes's was ... 

So Robin jumped into the car and sat down on the back seat next to thesecretary. 

"It happens, " he said, "that I am particularly anxious to see MissTrevert. As I gather you are going to meet her, I feel sure you won'tmind my accompanying you ... "

The yellow-faced man turned with an easy smile. 

"Sorry, " he said, "but we are having a meeting with Miss Trevert onprivate business and I'm afraid we cannot take you along. Jeekes here, however, could take a message to Miss Trevert and if she _wanted_ to seeyou ... "

He broke off significantly and smiled slily at the secretary. Robin felthimself flush. So Jeekes had been telling tales out of school to Mr. Victor, had he? The young man squared his jaw. That settled it. He wouldstay. 

"I promise not to butt in on your private business, " he replied, "but Isimply must see Miss Trevert before I go back to London. So, if youdon't mind, I think I'll come along ... "

The yellow-faced man glanced at his wrist watch. 

"I can't prevent you!" he exclaimed. Then he rapped out something inDutch to Jeekes. The secretary leaned forward to catch the remark. Theyellow-faced man threw in the clutch. 

"Goed!" (good), answered Jeekes in the same language, and resumed hisseat as the car glided smoothly away from the kerb into the traffic ofthe busy square. Robin settled himself back in the seat with aninaudible sigh of satisfaction. He did not like the look of Jeekes'scompanion, he told himself, and Mr. Victor, whoever he was, hadcertainly manifested no great desire for Robin's company. But he wasgoing to see Mary. That was all that counted for the moment. 

They threaded their way through the streets in silence. It passedthrough Robin's mind to start a discussion with Jeekes about the deathof Hartley Parrish. But in the circumstances he conceived it mighteasily assume a controversial character, and he did not want to take anyrisk of jeopardizing his chance of meeting Mary again. And no othersubject of conversation occurred to him. He did not know Jeekes at allwell, knew him in fact only as a week-end guest knows the privatesecretary of his host, a shadowy personality, indispensable and part ofthe household, but scarcely more than a name ... 

The car had put on speed as they left the more crowded streets andemerged into the suburbs. Now they were running over a broad straightmain road lined with poplars. Robin wondered whither they were bound. He was about to put the question to the secretary when the man Victorturned his head and said over his shoulder:

"_Nu_!"

At the same moment the speed of the car sensibly diminished. 

Jeekes put his arm across the young man at his side. 

"That door, " he said, touching his sleeve, "doesn't seem to be properlyshut. Would you mind ... "

Robin pushed the door with his hand. 

"It seems all right, " he said. 

"Permit me ... "

The secretary stretched across and pulled back the latch, releasing thedoor. It swung out. 

"Now close it, " said Mr. Jeekes. 

The door was flapping to and fro with the swaying of the car over therough road and Robin had to half rise in order to comply with therequest. He was leaning forward, steadying himself with one handgrasping the back of the driving-seat, when he received a tremendousshove in the back. At the same moment the car seemed to leap forward: hemade a desperate effort to regain his balance, failed, and was whirledout head foremost on to the side of the road. 

Fortunately for himself he fell soft. The road ran here through alittle wood of young oak and beech which came right down to the edge ofthe _chaussee_. The ground was deep in withered leaves which, with therain and the water draining from the road's high camber, were soft andsoggy. Robin went full length into this muss with a thud that shookevery bone in his body. His left leg, catching in a bare gorse-bush, acted as a brake and stopped him from rolling farther. He sat up, hismouth full of mud and his hair full of wet leaves, and felt himselfcarefully over. He contemplated rather ruefully a long rent in the leftleg of his trousers just across the knee. 

"Jeekes!" he murmured; "he pushed me out! The dirty dog!"

Then he remembered that, with the men in the car gone, he had lost traceagain of Mary Trevert. His forcible ejection from the car was evidenceenough of their determination to deal with Mary without interferencefrom outside. It looked ominous. Robin sprang to his feet and rushed tothe middle of the road. 

The _chaussee_ was absolutely empty. About a hundred yards from where hestood in the direction in which the car had been travelling the roadmade a sharp bend to the right, thus curtailing his view. Robin did nothesitate. Not waiting to retrieve his hat or even to wipe the mud fromhis face, he started off at a brisk run along the road in the directionin which the car had disappeared. He had not gone far before he foundthat his heavy overcoat was seriously impeding him. He stripped it offand, folding it, hid it beneath a bush just inside the plantation. Thenhe ran on again. 

Fresh disappointment awaited him when he rounded the bend in the road. Afew hundred yards on the road turned again. There was no sign of thecar. A cart piled high with manure was approaching, the driver, wearingwooden shoes and cracking at intervals a huge whip, trudging at theside. 

Robin stopped him. 

"Motor-car? Automobile?" he asked pointing in the direction from whichthe cart had come. The driver stared at him with a look of owlishstupidity. 

"Automobile?" repeated Robin. "Tuff-Tuff?"

Very slowly a grin suffused the carter's grimy face. He showed a row ofbroken black teeth. A tiny stream of saliva escaped from the corner ofhis mouth and trickled over the reddish stubble on his chin. Then hecontinued his way, turning his head every now and then to display hisidiot's grin. 

"Damnation!" exclaimed Robin, starting to run again. "Not a soul to askin this accursed desert except the village idiot! Oh! that Jeekes! I'llwring his blinking neck when I get hold of him!"

He was furious with himself for the abject way in which he had beenfooled. The man Victor had given Jeekes his orders in Dutch and hadpurposely picked a soft spot on the roadside and slowed down the car inorder that the unwelcome intruder might be ejected as safely aspossible. And to think that Robin had blandly allowed Jeekes to open thedoor and throw him out on the road!

He was round the second bend now. The sun was shining with a quiterespectable warmth and the steamy air made him desperately hot. Theperspiration rolled off his face. But he never slackened his gait. Robinknew these Continental roads and their habit of running straight. Hereckoned confidently on presently coming upon a long stretch where hemight discern the car. 

He was not deceived. After the second bend the _chaussee_, just as heanticipated, straightened out and ran clear away between anever-narrowing double line of poplars to become a bluish blob on thehorizon. But of the car nothing was to be seen. 

For the second time Robin pulled up. He took serious counsel withhimself. He estimated that he could see for about three miles along theroad. Less than three minutes had elapsed since his misadventure, andtherefore he was confident that the car should yet be in sight, unlessit had left the road, for it could not have warmed up to a speedexceeding sixty miles an hour in the time. There was no sign of the caron the road, consequently it must have left it. Robin had passed no sideroads between the scene of the accident and the second bend; therefore, he argued, he had the car before him still. He would go on. 

When he started off for the third time, it was at a brisk walking pace. As he went he kept a sharp lookout to right and left of the road for anytrace of the car. It never occurred to him that to follow on foot aswift car bound for an unknown destination was the maddest kind ofwild-goose chase. He was profoundly uneasy about Mary, but at the sametime immeasurably angered by the trick played upon him--angered not somuch against Jeekes as against the sallow-faced man whom he recognizedas its inceptor. He had no thought for anything else. 

The flat Dutch landscape stretched away on either side of the road. Awindmill or two, the inevitable irrigation canals with their littlesluices, and an occasional tree alone broke the monotony of the scene. But away to the right Robin noticed a clump of trees which, he surmised, might conceivably enclose a house. 

As he walked, he scrutinized the roadway for any track of a car. But onthe hard brick _pave_ wheels left no mark. The first side road he cameto was likewise paved in brick. In grave perplexity Robin came to ahalt. 

Then his eye fell upon a puddle. It lay on the edge of the footpathbordering the _chaussee_ about five yards beyond the turning. The softmud which skirted it showed the punched-out pattern of a studded tyre!The car had not taken this side road, at any rate. It had probablypulled over on to the footpath to pass the manure cart which Robin hadmet. He pushed on again valiantly. 

Another hundred yards brought him to a second side road. There was no_pave_ here, but a soft sandy surface. And it bore, clearly imprinted inthe mud, the fresh tracks of a car as it had turned off the road. 

Breaking into a run Robin followed the track down the turning. It ledhim to a black gate beyond which was a twisting gravel drive fringedwith high laurels. And the gravel showed the same tyre marks as theroad. 

He vaulted the gate lightly and ran up the drive. He was revolving inhis head what his next move should be. Should he walk boldly into thehouse and confront Jeekes and his rascally looking companion or shouldhe first spy out the ground and try to ascertain whether Mary hadarrived? He decided on the latter course. 

Accordingly, when an unexpected turn of the drive brought him in view ofa white porch, he left the avenue and took cover behind the laurelbushes. Walking softly on the wet grass and keeping well down behind thelaurels, he went forward parallel with the drive. It ran into a cleancourtyard with a coachhouse or garage on one side and a small greendoor, seemingly a side entrance into the house, on the other. 

There was no one in the courtyard and the house seemed perfectly quiet. From his post of observation behind the laurels, Robin observed that atall window beside the green door commanded the view across thecourtyard. He therefore retraced his steps by the way he had come. Whenhe was past the corner of the house, he returned to the drive andkeeping close to the bushes walked quietly into the courtyard. There, hugging the wall, he crept round past the closed doors of the garageuntil he found himself beside the tall window adjoining the green door. 

The window was open a few inches at the top. From within the sound ofvoices reached him. Jeekes was speaking. Robin recognized his rathergrating voice at once. 

"... No more violence, " he was saying; "first Greve and now the girl. Idon't like your methods, Victor ... "

Very cautiously Robin dropped on one knee and shuffled forward in thisposition until his eyes were on a level with the window-sill. He foundhimself looking into a narrow room, well lighted by a second window atthe farther end. It was apparently an office, for there was a high deskrunning down the centre and a large safe occupied a prominent placeagainst the wall. 

Jeekes and the man Victor stood chatting at the desk. The yellow-facedman was grinning sardonically. 

"Parrish don't like your methods, I'll be bound, " he retorted. "Don'tyou worry about the little lady, Jeekes! Bless your heart, I won't hurther unless ... "

The loud throbbing of a car at the front of the house made Robin duckhis head hastily. The car, he guessed, might be round at the garage anymoment and it would not do for him to be discovered. He got clear of thewindow, rose to his feet, and tiptoed round the house by the way he hadcome. Then he crossed the drive and regained the shelter of the laurels. Crawling along until he came level with the porch, he peeped through. 

Mary Trevert was just entering the house. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF MR. SCHULZ

As the girl collapsed, the yellow-faced man, with an adroit movement, whisked the handkerchief off her face and crammed it into his pocket. Then, while he supported her with one arm, with the other he thrust atthe door to close it. Without paying further attention to it, he turnedand, bending down, lifted the girl without an effort off her feet andcarried her across the room to the Chesterfield, upon which he laid herat full length. Then he seized her muff, which dangled from her neck bya thin platinum chain. 

Suddenly he heard the door behind him creak. In a flash he rememberedthat he had not heard the click of the lock as he had thrust the doorto. He was springing erect when a firm hand gripped him by the back ofthe collar and pulled him away from the couch. He staggered back, striving to regain his balance, but then a savage shove flung him headforemost into the fireplace. He fell with a crash among the fire-irons. But he was on his feet again in an instant. 

He saw a tall, athletic-looking young man standing at the couch. He hada remarkably square jaw; his eyes were shining and he breathed heavily. He wore a blue serge suit which was heavily besmeared with white plasterand the trousers were rent across one knee. Straight at his throatsprang the yellow-faced man. 

Something struck him halfway. The young man had waited composedly forhis coming, but as his assailant advanced, had shot out his left hand. There was a sharp crack and the yellow-faced man, reeling, dropped facedownwards on the carpet without a sound. In his fall his foot caught asmall table on which a vase of chrysanthemums stood, and the whole thingwent over with a loud crash. He made a spasmodic effort to rise, hoistedhimself on to his knees, swayed again, and then collapsed full length onthe floor, where he lay motionless. 

The sound of the fall seemed to awaken the girl. She stirred uneasilyonce or twice. 

"What ... What is it?" she muttered, and was still again. 

Bending down, the young man gathered her up in his arms and bore her outthrough the door with the blue curtain, through a plainly furnished sortof office with high desks and stools, and out by a side door into apaved yard. There an open car was standing. The fresh air seemed torevive the girl further. As the young man laid her on the seat, shestruggled up into a sitting position and passed her hand across herforehead. 

"What is the matter with me?" she said in a dazed voice; "I feel soill!"

Then, catching sight of the young man as he peered into her face, sheexclaimed:

"Robin!"

"Thank God, you're all right, Mary, " said Robin. "We've not got a momentto lose. We must get away from here quick!"

He was at the bonnet cranking up the car. But the engine, chilled by thecold air, refused to start. As he was straining at the handle, a mandashed suddenly into the yard by the office door. 

It was Jeekes. The little secretary was a changed man. He still wore his_pince-nez_. But his mild air had utterly forsaken him. His face waslivid, the eyes bulged horribly from his head, and his whole body wastrembling with emotion. In his hand he held an automatic pistol. He cameso fast that he was at the car and had covered Robin with his weaponbefore the other had seen him come. 

Mr. Jeekes left Robin no time to act. He called out in a voice that ranglike a pistol shot:

"Hands up, Mr. Smartie! Quick, d'you hear? Put 'em up, damn you!"

Slowly, defiantly the young man raised his arms above his head. 

Mr. Jeekes stood close to the driver's seat, having prudently put thecar between himself and Robin. As he stood there, his automatic levelledat the young man, a remarkable thing happened. A black, soft surfacesuddenly fell over his face and was pulled back with a brisk tug. MaryTrevert, standing up in the back seat of the car, had flung her fur overthe secretary's head from behind and caught him in a noose. Before Mr. Jeekes could disentangle himself, Robin was at his throat and had bornehim to the ground. The pistol was knocked skilfully from his hand andfell clattering on the flags. Robin pounced down on it. Then for thefirst time he smiled, a sunny smile that lit up his blue eyes. 

"Bravo, Mary!" he said. "That _was_ an idea! Now, then, Jeekes, " heordered, "crank up that car. And be quick about it! We want to be off!"

The little secretary was a lamentable sight. He was bleeding from a cuton the forehead, his clothes were covered with dust, and his glasses hadbeen broken in his fall. Peering helplessly about him, he walked to thebonnet of the car and sullenly grasped the handle. The smile had leftRobin's face, and Mary noticed that he looked several times anxiously atthe office door. 

And then suddenly the engine bit. Handing the pistol to the girl, Robinwarned her to keep the secretary covered and, leaping into thedriving-seat, turned the car into the avenue which curved round thehouse. 

Mr. Jeekes made no further show of fight. He remained standing in thecentre of the courtyard, a ludicrous, rather pathetic, figure. As thetyres of the car gritted on the gravel of the drive, the office door wasflung open and the yellow-faced man ran out, brandishing a big revolver. 

"Stop!" he shouted and levelled his weapon. The car seemed to leapforward and took the sharp turn on two wheels just as the man fired. Thebullet struck the wall of the house and sent up a shower of plaster. Before he could fire again the car was round the house and out of sight. But as the car whizzed round the turn an instant before the yellow-facedman fired, the girl heard a sharp cry from Jeekes:

"Don't, Victor ... !"

The rest of the sentence was lost in the roar of the engine as the carraced away down the drive. 

They left the avenue in a splutter of wet gravel. The gate still stoodopen. They wheeled furiously into the side road and regained the_chaussee_. As yet there was no sign of pursuit. The car rockeddangerously over the broken _pave_, so Robin, after a glance behind, steadied her down to an easier pace. Mary, who looked very pale and ill, was lying back on the back seat with her eyes closed. 

They ran easily into Rotterdam as, with a terrific jangle of tunesplayed jerkily on the chimes, the clocks were striking two. Robin sloweddown as they approached the centre of the city. 

"Where are you staying, Mary?" he asked. 

He had to repeat the question several times before she gave him theaddress. Then he found himself in a quandary. He was in a strange townand did not know a word of the language so as to be able to ask the way. However, he solved the difficulty without great trouble. He beckoned toa newspaper boy on the square outside the Bourse and, holding up atwo-gulden piece, indicated by signs that he desired him as a guide. Theboy comprehended readily enough and, springing on the footboard of thecar, brought them safely to the hotel. 

Robin left Mary and the car in charge of the boy and went to the officeand asked to see the manager. He had decided upon the story he musttell. 

"Miss Trevert, " he said, when the manager, a blond and suave Swiss, hadpresented himself, "has been to the dentist and has been rather upset bythe gas. Would you get one of the maids to help her up to her room andin the meantime telephone for a doctor. If there is an English doctor inRotterdam, I should prefer to have him!"

The manager clicked in sympathy. He despatched a lady typist and achambermaid to help Mary out of the car. 

"For a doctor, " he said, "it ees fortunate. We 'ave an English doctorstaying in ze hotel now--a sheep's doctor. He is in ze lounge. Eef youcome, _hein?_"

The "sheep's doctor" proved to be a doctor off one of the big liners, aclean-shaven, red-faced, hearty sort of person who readily volunteeredhis services. As Robin was about to follow him into the lift, themanager stopped him. 

"Zere was a shentleman call to see Mees Trevert, " he said, "two or threetime 'e been 'ere ... A Sherman shentleman. 'E leave 'er a note ... Willyou take it?"

Greatly puzzled, Robin Greve balanced in his hands the letter whichthe manager produced from a pigeon-hole. Then he tore open the envelope. 

 DEAR MISS TREVERT [he read], I was extremely sorry to miss you this morning. Directly I received your message I called at your hotel, but, though I have been back twice, I have not found you in. Circumstances have arisen which make it imperative that I should see you as soon as possible. This is _most urgent_. I will come back at four o'clock, as I cannot get away before. Do not leave the hotel _on any pretext_ until you have seen me and Dulkinghorn's letter as identification. You are in _grave danger_. 

The note was signed "W. Schulz. "

"H'm, " was Robin's comment; "he writes like an Englishman, anyway. "

He ascertained the number of Mary Trevert's room and went up to herfloor in the lift. He waited in the corridor outside the room for thedoctor to emerge, and lit a cigarette to while away the time. It was notuntil he had nearly finished his second cigarette that the doctorappeared. 

The doctor hesitated on seeing Robin. Then he stepped close up to him. Robin noticed that his red face was more flushed than usual and his eyeswere troubled. 

"What's this cock-and-bull story about gas you've put up to themanager?" he said bluntly in a low voice. "The girl's been doped withchloroform, as well you know. You'll be good enough to come downstairsto the manager with me ... "

Robin took out his note-case and produced a card. 

"That's my name, " he said. "You'll see that I'm a barrister ... "

"Well?" said the doctor in a non-committal voice after he had read thecard. 

"I'm not surprised to hear you say that Miss Trevert has been doped, "Robin remarked. "I found her here in a house on the outskirts ofRotterdam in the hands of two men, one of whom is believed to beimplicated in a mysterious case of suspected murder in England. Throughthe part he played this morning, he has probably run his head into thenoose. But he'll have it out again if we delay an instant. I told themanager that yarn about the dentist to avoid enquiries and waste oftime. I have here a note from some man I don't know, addressed to MissTrevert, warning her of a grave danger threatening her. It corroboratesto some extent what I have told you. Here ... Read it for yourself!"

He handed the doctor the note signed "W. Schulz. "

The doctor read it through carefully. 

"What I would propose to you, " said Robin, "is that we two should go offat once to this Herr Schulz and find out exactly what he knows. Then wecan decide what action there is to be taken ... "

He paused for the doctor's reply. The latter searched Robin's face witha glance. 

"I'm your man, " he said shortly. "And, by the way, my name'sCollingwood ... Robert Collingwood. "

"There's a car downstairs, " said Robin, "and a guide to show us the way. Shall we go?"

Five minutes later, under the newsboy's expert guidance, the car drew upin front of the small clean house with the neat green door bearing thename of "Schulz. " Leaving the boy to mind the car, they rang the bell. The door was opened by the fat woman in the pink print dress. 

Robin gave the woman his card. On it he had written "About MissTrevert. " Speaking in German the woman bade them rather roughly to bidewhere they were, and departed after closing the front door in theirfaces. She did not keep them waiting long, however, for in about aminute she returned. Herr Schulz would receive the gentlemen, she said. 

Within, the house was spotlessly clean with that characteristic Germanhouse odour which always seems to be a compound of cleaning material andhot grease. Up a narrow staircase, furnished in plain oil-cloth withbrass stair-rods, they went to a landing on the first floor. Here thewoman motioned them back and, bending her head in a listening attitude, knocked. 

"_Herein_!" cried a guttural German voice. 

The room into which they entered would have been entitled to a place inany museum for showing the mode of life of the twentieth-centuryGermans. With its stuffy red rep curtains, its big green majolica stove, its heavy mahogany furniture, its oleographs of Bismarck, Roon, andMoltke, it might have been lifted bodily from a bourgeois house in theFatherland. 

A man was sitting at a mahogany roll-top desk as they entered. The airin the room was thick with the fumes of the cheap Dutch cigar he wassmoking. He was a sturdily built fellow with blond hair shaven so closeto the skull that at a distance he seemed to be bald. 

At the sound of their entrance, he rose and faced them. When he stooderect the sturdiness of his build became accentuated, and they saw hewas a man of medium height, but so muscular that he looked much shorter. A pair of large tortoise-shell spectacles straddled a big beak-likenose, and he wore a heavyish blond moustache with its points trainedupwards and outwards rather after the fashion made famous in theFatherland by William Hohenzollern. In his ill-cut suit of cheap-lookingblue serge, which he wore with a pea-green tie, Robin thought he lookedaltogether a typical specimen of the German of the non-commissionedofficer class. 

"You ask for me?" he said in deep guttural accents, looking at Robin;"I am Herr Schulz!"

The German's manner was cold and formal and Robin felt a little dashed. 

"My name is Greve, " he began rather hurriedly. "I understand youreceived a visit to-day from a young English lady, a Miss Trevert ... "

The German let his eyes travel slowly from Robin to the doctor and backagain. He did not offer them a chair and all three remained standing. 

"Ye-es, and what if I did?"

Robin felt his temper rising. 

"You wrote a note to Miss Trevert at her hotel warning her that she wasin danger. I want to know why you warned her. What led you to supposethat she was threatened?"

Herr Schulz made a little gesture of the hand. 

"Wass I not right to warn her?"

"Indeed, you were, " Robin asserted with conviction. "She was spiritedaway and drugged. "

The German started. A frowning pucker appeared just above the bridge ofhis big spectacles and he raised his head quickly, "Drugged?" he said. 

"Certainly, " said Robin. "This gentleman with me is a doctor ... Dr. Robert Collingwood, of the Red Lion Line. He has examined Miss Trevertand can corroborate my statement. "

"By Gad!" exclaimed Herr Schulz--and this time his English wasfaultless and fluent--"Shut that door behind you, Mr. Greve, and shootthe bolt--that's it just below the knob! Sit down, sit down, and while Imix you a drink, you shall tell me about this!"

CHAPTER XXV

THE READING OP THE RIDDLE

In uttering those words Herr Schulz seemed suddenly to becomeloose-limbed and easy. His plethoric rigidity of manner vanished, and, though he spoke with a brisk air of authority, there was a jovial ringin his voice which instantly inspired confidence. With the change theillusion supported by his appalling clothes was broken and he lookedlike a man dressed up for charades. 

"Are you--English?" asked Robin in astonishment. 

"Only in this room, " was the dry reply, "and don't you or our friend, the doctor, here forget it. You'll both take whisky? Three fingers willdo you good, Mr. Greve, for I see you've had a roughish time thismorning. Say when!"

He spurted a siphon into three glasses. 

"Before we go any farther, " he went on, "perhaps I had better identifymyself--to save any further misunderstandings, don't you know? Do eitherof you gentlemen happen to know a party called Dulkinghorn? You may haveheard of him, Mr. Greve, for I can see you have been in the army ... "

"Not Ernest Dulkinghorn, of the War Office?" asked Robin. 

"The identical party!"

"I never met him, " said Robin. "But I was at the War Office for a bitbefore I was demobilized and I heard fellows speak of him. Counter-espionage, isn't he?"

"That's right, " nodded Herr Schulz. "You can read his letter to meintroducing Miss Trevert. "

He handed a sheet of paper to Robin. 

 DEAR SCHULZ [it ran], Victor Marbran's push appear to be connected with Hartley Parrish, who has just met his death under suspicious circumstances. You will have read about it in the English papers. Miss Trevert was engaged to H. P. And has a letter from Elias van der Spyck and Company which she found on Parrish's desk after his death. I should say that the Marbran-Parrish connection would repay investigation. 

 Yours

 E. DULKINGHORN

 P. S. The letter is, of course, in conventional code. 

 P. P. S. Don't frighten the life out of the Trevert girl, you unsympathetic brute!

Robin read the letter through to the end. 

"Then Mary Trevert has this letter from Rotterdam which we have beenhunting for!" he cried. "Have you seen it?"

Herr Schulz shook his head. 

"Miss Trevert called here this morning, " he said, "when I was out. Shegave her letter to Frau Wirth, my housekeeper, with her card andaddress. Frau Wirth was cleaning the plate on the front door and, amoment after Miss Trevert had gone, a fellow appeared and said he was afriend of Miss Trevert who had made a mistake and left the wrong letter. My housekeeper is well trained and wouldn't give the letter up. But shemade the fatal mistake of telling the fellow exactly what he wanted toknow, and that was who the letter was addressed to. 'The letter isaddressed to Herr Schulz, ' said this excellent woman, 'and if there'sany mistake he will find it out when he opens it. ' And with that shetold him to clear out. Which, having got all he wanted, he was gladenough to do!"

"What was this chap like?" asked Robin. 

The big man shrugged his shoulders. 

"I can teach my servants discretion, " he replied whimsically, "but Ican't teach 'em to use their eyes. Frau Wirth could remember nothingabout this fellow except that he wasn't tall and wore a brown overcoat ... "

"Jeekes!" cried Robin, slapping his thigh. "He must have been actuallycoming away from your place when I met him ... "

"And who, " asked the big man, reflectively contemplating the amberfluid in his glass, "who is Jeekes?"

In reply Robin told him the story of Hartley Parrish's death, hisgrowing certainty that the millionaire had been murdered, the mysteriousletters on slatey-blue paper, and Jeekes's endeavor to burke theinvestigations by throwing on Robin the suspicion of having drivenParrish to suicide by threats. He told of his chance meeting with Jeekesin Rotterdam that morning, his adventure at the Villa Bergendal, hisfinding and rescue of Mary Trevert, and their escape. 

Herr Schulz listened attentively and without interruption until Robinhad reached the end of his story. 

"There's one thing you haven't explained, " he said, "and that's how MissTrevert came to walk into the hands of these precious ruffians ... "

"There, perhaps, I can help you, " said the doctor from behind one ofHerr Schulz's rank cigars; "I have it from Miss Trevert herself. Someone impersonating you Mr. --er, ahem, --Schulz--telephoned her thismorning, after she had left her letter of introduction here, asking herto come out to lunch at your country-house. She suspected nothing andwent off in the car they sent for her ... "

"By George!" said the big man thoughtfully; "I suspected some game ofthis kind when I heard of the attempt to get at that letter ofintroduction. If I only could have got hold of Marbran this morning ... "

"Marbran!" said Robin thoughtfully. "When I read Dulkinghorn's letterjust now I thought I had heard that name before. Of course--VictorMarbran! That was it! I remember now! He knew Hartley Parrish in the olddays. Parrish once said that Marbran would do him an injury if he could. Who is Marbran, sir?"

All unconsciously he paid the tribute of 'sir' to Herr Schulz'sundoubted habit of command. 

"Victor Marbran, " replied the big man, "is Elias van der Spyck & Co. , afirm which made millions in the war by trading with the enemy. In everyneutral country there were, of course, firms which specialized inimporting contraband for the use of the Germans, but van der Spyck & Co. Brought the evasion of the blockade to a fine art. They covered up theirtracks, however, with such consummate art that we could never bringanything home to them. In fact, it was only after the armistice that webegan to learn something of the immense scope of their operations. Therewas a master brain behind them. But it was never discovered. It strikesme, however, that we are on the right track at last ... "

"By Jove ... !" exclaimed Robin impressively. "Hartley Parrish!... "

The big man raised a hand. 

"_Attentions!_" he interposed suavely. "The chain is not yet complete. Iwonder what this van der Spyck letter of Miss Trevert's contained thatmade Victor Marbran and the secretary chap so desperately anxious to gethold of it. For you understand, don't you?" he said briskly, turning toRobin, "that they were after that and that alone. And they risked penalservitude in this country to get it ... "

Robin nodded. 

"To save their necks in another, " he said. 

"I have the letter here, " mildly remarked the doctor from his corner ofthe room. "Miss Trevert gave it to me!"

He produced a white envelope and drew from it a folded square ofslatey-blue paper. In great excitement Robin sprang forward. 

"You're a downy bird, Doctor, I must say, " he remarked, "fancy keepingit up your sleeve all this time!"

He eagerly took the letter, spread it out on the table, and read itthrough whilst Herr Schulz looked over his shoulder. 

"Code, eh?" commented the big man, shaking his head humorously. "If itbeats Dulkinghorn, it beats me!"

From his note-case Robin now drew a folded square of paper identical incolour with the letter spread out before them. 

"I found this on the carpet beside Parrish's body, " he said. "Look, it'sexactly the same paper ... "

Behind the tortoise-shell spectacles the big man's eyes narrowed down topin-points as he caught sight of the sheet which Robin unfolded and itsseries of slits. 

"Aha!" he cried--and his voice rang out clear through the room--"thegrill, eh? Well, well, to think of that!"

He took the slotted sheet of paper from Robin's hands and laid it overthe letter so that it exactly covered it, edge to edge and corner tocorner. In this way the greater part of the typewriting in the letterwas covered over, and only the words appearing in the slots could beread. And thus it was that Robin Greve, Herr Schulz, and Dr. Collingwood, leaning shoulder to shoulder, read the message that came toHartley Parrish in the library at Harkings.... 

 ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. 

 GENERAL IMPORTERS

 ROTTERDAM Rotterdam 25th Nov. 

 _Codes_ A. B. C. Liebler's

 _Personal_

 Dear Mr. Parrish, Your favour of even date to hand and contents noted. _The last_ delivery of steel was to time but we have had _warning_ from the railway authorities that labour troubles at the docks are likely to delay future consignments. _If you don't_ mind we should prefer to _settle_ the question of future delivery _by Nov. 27_ as we have a board meeting on the 30th inst. While we fully appreciate your own difficulties with labour at home, _you_ will understand that this is a question which we cannot afford to adjourn _sine_ _die. _

 Yours faithfully, pro ELIAS VAN DER SPYCK & CO. 

"'The last ... Warning, '" Robin read out, "'if you don't ... Settle ... By Nov. 27 ... You ... Die ... !'"

He looked up. "Last Saturday, " he said, "was the 27th, the day thatParrish died ... "

"The grill, " remarked the big man authoritatively, "is one of the oldestdodges known to the Secret Service. It renders a conventional codeabsolutely undecipherable as long as it is skilfully worded, as it is inthis case. You send your conventional code by one route, your key byanother. I make no doubt that this was the way in which van der Spyck &Co. Transacted their business with Hartley Parrish. They simply postedtheir conventional code letters through the post in the ordinary way, confident that there was nothing in them to catch the eye of theCensor's Department. The key might be sent in half a dozen differentways, by hand, concealed in a newspaper, in a parcel ... "

"So this, " said Robin, pointing at the letter, "was what caused HartleyParrish to make his will. It would lead one to suppose that it was whatinduced him to commit suicide were not the presumption so strong that hewas murdered. But who killed him? Was it Jeekes or Marbran?"

Herr Schulz pitched his cigar-stump into an ash-tray. 

"That, " he said, "is the question which I am going to ask you gentlemento help me answer. You will realize that legally we have not a leg tostand on. We are in a foreign country where, without first getting awarrant from London, we can take no steps whatever to run these fellowsin. To get the Dutch police to move against these gentry in the matterof the assault upon Miss Trevert would waste valuable time. And we haveto move quickly--before these two lads can get away. I therefore proposethat we start this instant for the Villa Bergendal and try, if we arenot too late, to force Marbran or Jeekes or both of them to aconfession. That done, we can hold them if possible until we can get theDutch police to apprehend them at the instance of Miss Trevert. Then wecan communicate with the English police. It's all quite illegal, ofcourse! You have a car, I think, Mr. Greve! You will come with us, Dr. Collingwood? Good! Then let us start at once!"

Robin intervened with a proposal that they should call _en route_ at hishotel to see if there were any telegrams for him. 

"Manderton knows I am in Rotterdam, " he explained, "and he promised towire me the latest developments in the enquiry he is conducting. "

"Miss Trevert should be fully recovered by this, " put in the doctor;"apart from a little sickness she is really none the worse for herdisagreeable experience. If there was anything you wanted to ask her ... "

"There is, " said Robin promptly. "Her reply to one question, " heexplained, turning to Herr Schulz, "will give us the certainty thatParrish was murdered and did not commit suicide. It will not delay usmore than five minutes to stop at her hotel in passing, We will thencall in at my place. We should be at the Villa within half an hour fromnow ... "

"Gentlemen, " said Herr Schulz as they prepared to go, "I know my Mr. Victor Marbran. You should all be armed. "

Robin produced the pistol he had taken from Jeekes. Herr Schulz slippeda Browning pistol into the breast-pocket of his jacket and, producing along-barrelled service revolver, gave it to the doctor. 

"There are three of them, I gather, counting the chauffeur, " commentedthe big man, pulling on his overcoat, "so we shall be equally matched. "

Darkness had fallen upon Rotterdam and the lights from the houses madeyellow streaks in the water of the canal as the car, piloted by Robin, drove the party to Mary Trevert's hotel. 

They found the girl, pale and anxious, in the lounge. 

"Well, now, " cried the doctor breezily, "and how are you feeling? Didyou take my advice and have some tea?"

"What has happened?" asked the girl; "I have been so anxious about you ... "

Her words were addressed to the doctor, but she looked at Robin. 

"Mary, " said Robin, "we are very near the truth now. But there is onething you can tell us. It is very important. When you heard the shot inthe library at Harkings, did you notice any other sound--before orafter?"

The girl paused to think. 

"There was a sort of sharp cry and a thud ... "

"I know. But was there anything else? Do try and remember. It's soimportant!"

The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly:

"Yes, there was, now I come to think of it. Just as I tried the door--itwas locked, you know--there was a sort of hiss, harsh and rather loud, from the room ... "

"A sort of hiss, eh? Something like a sneeze?"

"Yes. Only louder and ... And ... Harsher!"

"Now, answer me carefully! Was this before or after the shot?"

"Oh, before! Just as I was rattling the doorhandle. The shot broke inupon it.... "

Robin turned to Herr Schulz, who stood with a grave face by his side. 

"The silencer, you see, sir!" he said. Then to Mary he added: "Mary, weare going off now. But we will be back within the hour and.... "

"Oh, Robin, " the girl broke in, "don't leave me alone! I don't feel safein this place after this morning. I'd much rather come with you.... "

"Mary, it's quite impossible.... " Robin began. 

But the girl had turned to a table and taken from it her hat and fur. 

"I don't care!" she exclaimed wilfully; "I'm coming anyhow. I refuse tobe left behind!"

She smiled at Herr Schulz as she spoke, and that gentleman's rather grimface relaxed as he looked at her. 

"I'm not sure I wouldn't say the same!" he remarked. 

The upshot of it was that, despite Robin's objections, Mary Trevertaccompanied the party. She sat on the back seat, rather flushed andexcited, between Herr Schulz and the doctor, while Robin took the wheelagain. A few minutes' drive took them to the big hotel where Robin hadbooked a room. They all waited in the car whilst he went to the office. 

He was back in a minute, an open telegram in his hand. 

"I believe I've got in my pocket, " he cried, "the actual weapon withwhich Hartley Parrish was killed!"

And he read from the telegram:

"Mastertons gunsmiths sold last July pair of Browning automaticsidentical with that found on Parrish to Jeekes who paid with Parrish'scheque. "

The message was signed "Manderton. "

At that moment a man wearing a black bowler hat and a heavy friezeovercoat came hurrying out of the hotel. 

"Mr. Greve!" he cried as Robin, who was back in the driving-seat, wasreleasing the brake. "Did you have the wire from the Yard saying I wascoming?" he asked. "Probably I beat the telegraph, though. I came byair!"

Then he tipped his hat respectfully at Herr Schulz. 

"This is Detective-Inspector Manderton, of Scotland Yard, sir, " saidRobin. 

The big man beamed a smile of friendly recognition. 

"Mr. Manderton and I are old friends, " he said. "How are you, Manderton? I didn't expect you to recognize me in these duds ... "

"I'd know you anywhere, sir, " said the detective with unwontedcordiality. 

"Have you got your warrant, Manderton?" asked Herr Schulz. 

"Aye, I have, sir, " replied the detective. "And I've a colleague fromthe Dutch police who's going along with me to effect the arrest ... "

"Jeekes, eh?"

"That's the party, sir, charged with wilful murder.... This isCommissary Boomjes, of the Rotterdam Criminal Investigation Department!"

A tall man with a short black beard had approached the car. It wasdecided that the whole party should proceed to the Villa Bergendalimmediately. Manderton sat next to Robin and the Dutch police officerperched himself on the footboard. 

"And where did you pick _him_ up, I'd like to know?" whispered Mandertonin Robin's ear with a backward jerk of the head, as they glided throughthe brightly lit streets. 

"D'you mean the doctor?" asked Robin. 

"No, your other friend!"

"Miss Trevert had a letter to him. Something in the Secret Service, isn't he?"

Mr. Manderton snorted. 

"'Something in the Secret Service, '" he repeated disdainfully. "Well, Ishould say he was. If you want to know, Mr. Greve, he's the head!"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY

The rain was coming down in torrents and the night was black as pitchwhen, leaving the lights of Rotterdam behind, the car swung out on tothe main road leading to the Villa Bergendal. Thanks to a powerfulheadlight, Robin was able to get a good turn of speed out of her as soonas they were clear of the city. As they slowed down at the gate in theside road Herr Schulz tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Better leave the car here and put the lights out, " he counselled. "AndMiss Trevert should stay if the doctor here would remain to look afterher ... "

"You think there'll be a scrap?" whispered the doctor. 

"With a man like Marbran, " returned the Chief, "you never know what mayhappen ... "

"Zere will be no faight, " commented the Dutch police officer inlugubrious accents, "my vriends, ve are too laite ... "

But the Chief insisted that Mary should stay behind and the doctoragreed to act as her escort. Then in single file the party proceeded upthe drive, Robin in front, then the Dutchman, after him the Chief, andMr. Manderton in the rear. 

They walked on the grass edging the avenue. On the wet turf their feetmade no sound. When they came in view of the house, they saw it was indarkness. No light shone in any window, and the only sound to be heardwas the melancholy patter of the rain drops on the laurel bushes. Whenthey saw the porch looking black before them, they left the grass andstepped gently across the drive, the gravel crunching softly beneaththeir feet. Robin led the way boldly under the porch and laid a hand onthe doorknob. The door opened easily and the next moment the four menwere in the hall. 

As Robin moved to the wall to find the electric light switch, a torchwas silently thrust into his hand. 

"Better have this, sir, " whispered Manderton. "I have my finger on theswitch now, but we'd best wait to put the light up until we know wherethey are. Where do we go first?"

"Into the sitting-room, " Robin returned. 

Switching the torch on and off only as he required it, he crept silentlyover the heavy carpet to the door of the room in which that morning hehad come upon Mary. Manderton remained at the switch in the hall whilstthe other two men followed Robin through the door. 

The room was in darkness. It struck chill; for the fire had gone out. The beam of the torch flitting from wall to wall showed the room to beempty. 

"I don't believe there's a soul in the house, " whispered the Chief toRobin. 

"Ve are too laite; I have said it!" muttered the Dutchman. 

"There is another room leading out of this, " replied Robin, turning thetorch on to the blue curtain covering the door leading into the office. "We'll have a look in there and then try upstairs. Manderton will giveus warning if anybody comes down ... "

So saying he drew the curtain aside and pushed open the door. Instantlya gush of cold air blew the curtain back in his face. Before he coulddisentangle himself the door slammed to with a crash that shook thehouse. 

"That's done it!" muttered the Chief. 

The three men stood and listened. They heard the dripping of the rain, the soughing of the wind, but no sound of human kind came to their ears. 

"The place is empty, " whispered the Chief. "They've cleared ... "

"It is too laite; I have said it. " The Dutchman spoke in a hoarse bass. 

"We'll go in here, anyway, " answered Robin, lifting up the curtainagain. "They may have heard us and be hiding ... "

He opened the door, steadying it with his foot. The curtain flappedwildly round them as they crossed the threshold. The broad white beam ofthe electric torch swung from window to desk, from desk to safe. 

"The door over there is open, " exclaimed the Chief; "that's the waythey've gone. "

Suddenly he clutched Robin's arm. 

"Steady, " he whispered, "look there ... In the doorway ... There'ssomebody moving ... Quick, the torch!"

The light flashed across the room, blazed for an instant on awindow-pane, then picked out a man's form swaying in the doorway. He hadhis back to the room and was rocking gently to and fro with the windwhich they felt cold on their faces. 

"It's only a coat and trousers hanging in the door ... " began Robin. 

Then, with a suddenness which pained the eyes, the room was flooded withlight. The Dutch detective stepped from the electric light switch andmoved to the open door. 

"Too laite!" he cried, shaking his head; "have I not tell you?"

Suspended by a strip of coloured stuff, the body of Mr. Jeekes dangledfrom the cross-beam of the door. The corpse oscillated in the breeze, silhouetted against an oblong of black sky, turning this way and that, loose, unnatural, horrible, and, as the body, twisting gently, faced theroom, it gave a glimpse of startling eyes, swollen, empurpled features, protruding tongue. 

Without the least trace of emotion the black-bearded detective picked upa rush-bottom chair and gathering up the corpse by its collar hoisted itup without an effort so that the feet rested on the chair. Then, producing a clasp-knife, he mounted the chair and, with a vigorousslash, cut the coloured strip which had been fastened to a stapleprojecting from the brickwork above the door on the outside of thehouse. 

He caught the body in his arms and laid it face upwards on the mattingwhich covered the floor. He busied himself for an instant at the neck, then rose with a twisted strip of coloured material in his hand. 

"His braces, " he remarked, "very common. The stool what he has stoodupon and knocked avay, she lies outsaide! My vriends, ve are too laite!"

The doctor, fetched in haste by Manderton, examined the body. The manhad been dead, he said, for several hours. Mary remained in the hallwith Manderton while Robin and the Dutch detective went over the house. There was no trace either of Marbran or of the chauffeur. In the twobedrooms which showed signs of occupation the beds had been made up, butthe ward-robes were empty. 

"Marbran's made a bolt for it, " said Robin, coming into the office wherehe had left the Chief, "and taken everything with him ... "

"I gathered as much, " answered that astute gentleman, pointing at thefireplace. A pile of charred paper filled the grate. "There's nothinghere, and I think we can wipe Mr. Victor Marbran off the slate. I doubtif we shall see him again. At any rate we can leave him to the tendermercies of our black-bearded friend here. As for us, I don't really seethat there is anything more to detain us here ... "

"But, " remarked Robin, looking at the still figure on the floor, theface now mercifully covered by the doctor's white handkerchief, "surelythis is a confession of guilt. Has he left nothing behind in writing? Noaccount of the crime?"

"Not a thing, " responded the Chief, "and I've been through everydrawer. Even the safe is open ... And empty!"

"But how does it happen then, " asked Robin, "that Marbran has legged itwhile Jeekes here ... "

"Marbran left him in the lurch, " the Chief broke in decisively. "I thinkthat's clear. While you were upstairs with our Dutch friend, I wentthrough the dead man's pockets. He had no money, Greve, except a fewcoppers and a little Dutch change. He had not even got a return ticketto London. Which makes me think that Master Jeekes had left old Englandfor good. "

"Another thing that puzzles me, " remarked Robin, "is how Jeekes knewthat Miss Trevert had a letter to you, sir? Or, for a matter of that, how he knew that she had gone to Rotterdam at all?"

"That's not hard to answer, " said Mr. Manderton, who had just enteredthe room. "On Sunday night Jeekes rang up Harkings from his club andasked to speak to Miss Trevert. Bude told him she had gone away. Jeekesthen asked to speak to Sir Horace Trevert, who told him that his sisterhad gone to Rotterdam. Jeekes takes the first available train in themorning, recognizes Miss Trevert on the way across, and tags her to herhotel in Rotterdam. The next morning he follows her again, shadows herto Sir ... To this gentleman's rooms, and there, as we know, contrivedby a trick to see to whom she had a letter. "

"But why did he not attempt to get the letter away from her as soon asshe arrived? Miss Trevert never suspected Jeekes. She might have shownhim the letter if he'd asked her for it ... "

The detective shook his head sagely. 

"Jeekes was pretty 'cute, " he said. "Before letting the girl know he wasin Rotterdam, he wanted to find out what she wanted here and whom sheknew. Remember, he had no means of knowing if the girl suspected him ornot ... "

"So he devised this trick of impersonating Mr. Schulz on the telephone, eh?"

"Bah!" broke in the Chief; "I bet that was Marbran's idea. Look atJeekes's face and tell me if you see in it any feature indicating thebold, ingenious will to try a bluff like that. I never knew this fellowhere. But I know Marbran, a resolute, undaunted type. You can take itfrom me, Marbran directed--Jeekes merely carried out instructions. Whatdo you say, Manderton?"

But the detective had retired into his shell again. 

"If you will come to Harkings with me the day after to-morrow, sir, Ishall hope to show you exactly how Mr. Parrish met his death ... "

"No, no, Manderton, " responded the Chief; "I can't leave here for a bit. There are bigger murderers than Jeekes at liberty in Holland to-day ... "

The detective slapped his thigh. 

"I'd have laid a shade of odds, " he cried merrily, "that you werewatching the gentleman at Amerongen, sir ... "

"Tut, tut, Manderton, " said the Chief, raising his hand to silence theother; "you run on too fast, my friend! I wish, " he went on, changingthe subject, "I could be with you at Harkings to-morrow to witness yourreconstruction of the crime, Manderton. You'll go, I suppose, Greve?"

"I certainly shall, " answered the barrister, "I have had some experienceof criminals, but I must say I never saw one less endowed with criminalcharacteristics than little Jeekes. A strange character!... "

The Chief laughed sardonically. 

"Anyway, " he remarked, "he had a damn good notion of the end thatbefitted him ... "

 * * * * *

It was a still, starry night. The Flushing boat stood out of harbour ona calm sea. The high arc lamps threw a blue gleam over the desertedmoles and glinted in the oily swell lapping the quays. From thefast-receding quayside the rasping of a winch echoed noisily across thesilent water. On the upper deck of the mail-boat Robin Greve and MaryTrevert stood side by side at the rail. They had the deck to themselves. Above their heads on the bridge the captain stood immobile, a squareblack figure, the helmsman at his elbow. Otherwise, between the starsand the sea, the man and the girl were alone. 

Thus they had stood ever since the mail-boat had cast off from the quay. Robin had made some banal attempt at conversation, urging (but withoutmuch sincerity) that, after her experiences of the day, the girl shouldgo to her cabin and rest. But Mary Trevert had merely shaken her headimpatiently, without speaking. 

Presently he put his arm through hers. He felt against his wrist thewarm softness of her travelling-coat, and it seemed to him that, thoughthe girl made no sign, some slight answering pressure met his touch. Sothey leaned upon the rail for a space watching the water fall hissingfrom the vessel's side as the steamer, jarring and quivering, met thelong steady roll from the open sea. 

Then Mary Trevert spoke. 

"Robin, " she said gently, "I owe you an apology ... "

Robin Greve looked at her quickly. But Mary had her eyes fixed seawardin contemplation of a distant light that flared and died with persistentregularity. 

"My dear, " he answered, "I've only myself to blame. When you told me youwere going to marry Hartley Parrish, I should have known that you hadyour reasons and that those reasons were good. I should have held mytongue ... "

This time the girl stole a glance at him. But now he was gazing away tothe horizon where the light came and went. 

"All this misunderstanding between us, " he went on, "came about becauseof what I said in the billiard-room that afternoon ... "

The girl shook her head resolutely. 

"No, " she answered, "it was my fault. I'm a proud devil, Robin, and whatyou said about Hartley and ... And ... Other women, Robin, hurt and ... And made me angry. No, no, don't apologize again. You and I are oldenough friends, my dear, to tell one another the truth. You made meangry because what you said was true. I _was_ selling myself, sellingmyself with my eyes open, too, and you've got a perfect right never tospeak to me again ... "

She did not finish the sentence but broke off. Her voice died awayquaveringly. Robin took her hand in his. 

"Dear, " he said, "don't cry! It's over and done with now ... "

Mary shook herself with an angry gesture. 

"What's the good of telling me not to cry?" she protested tearfully;"I've disgraced myself in my own eyes as well as in yours. If you can'tforget what I was ready to do, I never shall ... "

Very gently the young man turned the girl towards him. 

"I'm not such a prig as all that, " he said. "We all make mistakes. Youknow I understand the position you were in. Parrish is dead. I shallforget the rest ... "

Slowly the girl withdrew her hands from his grasp. 

"Yes, " she said wearily, "you will find it easy to forget!"

She drew her fur closer about her neck and turned her back on the sea. 

"I must go down, " she said. And waited for the man to stand aside. Hedid not move and their eyes met. Suddenly, like a child, she buried herface in her arm flung out across his chest. She began to sob bitterly. 

"That afternoon ... In the billiard-room ... " she sobbed, "you willforget ... That ... Too ... I suppose ... "

Robin took her face in his hands, a hot, tear-stained face, and detachedit from the sheltering arm. 

"My dear, " he said, "I shall have to try to forget it. But I know Ishan't succeed. To the end of my life I shall remember the kiss you gaveme. But we are farther apart than ever now!"

There was a great sadness in his voice. It arrested the girl's attentionas he dropped his hands and turned back to the rail. 

"Why?" she said in a low voice, without looking up. 

"Because, " replied the young man steadily, "you're rich now, Mary ... "

The girl looked up quickly. 

"Will men ever understand women?" she cried, a new note in her voice. She stepped forward and, putting her two hands on the young man'sshoulders, swung him round to face her. 

"I'm as poor as ever I was, " she said, "for Hartley Parrish's money isnot for me ... "

"Mary!" exclaimed the young man joyfully. 

"Robin Greve, " cried the girl, "do you mean to tell me you'd stand therethinking I'd accept money made like that ... "

But now she was in his arms. With a little fluttering sigh she yieldedto his kiss. 

"Oh, the man on the bridge!... " she murmured with her woman's instinctfor the conventions. 

"Come behind the boat, then!" commanded Robin. 

And in the shadow of a weather-stained davit he kissed her again. 

"So you'll wait for me, after all, Mary?"

"No, " retorted the girl firmly. "We'll read the Riot Act to Mother andyou must marry me at once!"

The wind blew cold from the North Sea. It rattled in the rigging, flapped the ensign standing out stiffly at the stern, and whirled theblack smoke from the steamer's funnels out into a dark aerial wake asfar as the eye could reach. With a gentle rhythmic motion the vesselrose and fell, while the stars began to pale and faint grey shadowsappeared in the eastern sky. Still the man and the girl stood by theswaying lifeboat and talked the things that lovers say. Step by stepthey went over their thoughts for one another in each successive phaseof the dark tragedy through which they had passed. 

"And that van der Spyck letter, " asked Robin; "how did you get hold ofit? I've been wanting to ask you that ever since this afternoon ... "

"I found it in the library, " replied the girl, "on the desk. It had gottucked away between two letter-trays--one fits into the other, youknow. "

"I wondered how Jeekes had come to miss it, " said Robin. "But when wasthis?" he added. 

"On Sunday afternoon. "

"But what were you doing in the library?"

The girl became a little embarrassed. 

"I knew Mr. Manderton was suspicious of you. I heard him telephoninginstructions to London to have you watched. So I thought I'd go to thelibrary to see if I could find anything which would show what they hadagainst you exactly. And I found this letter. Then I noticed some onehiding behind the curtains, and, as I had the letter in my hand, I hidit in my dress. When I discovered that Bruce Wright was after it too, Ipretended I had found nothing ... "

"But, darling, why?"

"I wanted to make sure for myself why you had sent Bruce Wright, for Iguessed he had come from you, to look for this letter. So I thought I'dgo to Rotterdam to investigate ... "

Robin laughed affectionately. 

"Surely it would have been simpler to have given the letter to thepolice ... "

Mary gave him a look of indignant surprise. 

"But it might have incriminated you!" she exclaimed. 

At that Robin kissed her again. 

"Will men _ever_ understand women?" he asked, looking into her tranquilgrey eyes. 

CHAPTER XXVII

AN INTERRUPTION FROM BEYOND

Sudden frost had laid an icy finger on the gardens of Harkings. Thesmooth green lawns were all dappled with white and wore a pinched andchilly look save under the big and solemn firs where the ground, warmedby its canopy of branches and coverlet of cones, had thawed in darkpatches. The gravel walks were firm and dry; and in the rosery the bareskeleton of the pergolas stood out in clear-cut silhouette against awhite and woolly sky. 

Overnight the frost had come. It had taken even the birds by surprise. They hopped forlornly about the paths as though wondering where theywould get their breakfast. Robin Greve, idly watching them from thelibrary window, found himself contrasting the cheerful winter landscapewith the depressing conditions of the previous day. In wind and rain themaster of Harkings had been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyardof Stevenish. The ceremony had been arranged in haste, as soon as thecoroner's jury had viewed the body. Robin Greve, that morning arrivedfrom Rotterdam, Bude, and Mr. Bardy the solicitor, had been the onlymourners. As Robin looked out upon the wintry scene, his mind revertedto the hurried funeral with its depressing accompaniment of gleamingumbrellas, mud from the freshly turned clay, and dripping trees. 

Beneath the window of the library, its shattered pane now replaced, acluster of starlings whistled gaily, darting bright-eyed glances, fullof anticipation, at the closed window. 

"_He_ used to give them crumbs every morning after breakfast, " saidMary. "See, Robin, how they are looking up! It seems a shame todisappoint them.... "

As though relieved to be quit of his dark thoughts, Robin, with a gladsmile, turned to the girl. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he produceda hunk of bread and put it in her hand. 

"You think of everything!" she said, smiling back at him prettily. 

He pushed up the window and she crumbled the bread for the birds. Herested one hand on her shoulder. 

"He thought of everything, too, " was his comment, "even down to thebirds. It's extraordinary! No detail was too small for him!... "

"He _was_ remarkable, Robin, " answered the girl soberly; "there wassomething magnetic about his personality that made people like him. Even now that he is dead, even in spite of what we know, I can feel hisattraction still. And the whole house is impregnated with hispersonality. Particularly this room. Don't you feel it? I don't mindbeing here with you, Robin, but I shouldn't like to be here alone. I wasdreadfully frightened on Sunday evening when I came here. And when I sawthe curtains move ... Oh! I thought my heart would stop beating! Dear, I'm glad we are giving this place up. I don't feel that I could ever behappy here ... Even with you!"

"Poor devil!" said Robin. And then again he said: "Poor devil!"

"It was terrible ... To die like that!" replied Mary. 

"It was terrible for him to lose _you_!" answered the young man. 

She gave his hand a little, tender squeeze, but relinquished it quicklyas the door opened. 

Mr. Manderton was there, broad-shouldered and burly. Behind came Dr. Romain with a purple nose and eyes watering with the cold, HoraceTrevert in plain clothes, Mr. Bardy, the solicitor, plump, middle-aged, and prim, with a broad, smooth-shaven face and an eyeglass on a blacksilk riband. In the background loomed the large form of InspectorHumphries, ruddy of cheek as of hair. Lady Margaret did not appear. 

Mr. Manderton slapped his bowler hat briskly on a side table and with alittle bow to Mary walked to the desk. 

"Now, " said Mr. Manderton with a long, shrewd look that comprehended thecompany, individually and collectively, and the entire room, "ifInspector Humphries will kindly close the door, we will reconstruct thecrime in the light of the evidence we have collected. "

He turned round to the desk and pulled back the chair ... HartleyParrish's empty chair. 

"It is just on five o'clock on Saturday evening, November 27, " he began, "and growing dark outside. Mr. Parrish is sitting here"--he tapped thechair--"with all the lights in the room turned off except this one onthe desk. "

Here he put a large hand on the reading-lamp. 

"The assumption that Mr. Parrish spent the afternoon, as he had spentthe morning, over papers in connection with the business of Hornaway'sin which he was interested is not correct. Mr. Archer, one of Mr. Parrish's secretaries who brought down a number of papers and lettersfor Mr. Parrish to sign in the morning, states that as far as Hornaway'sor any other office business was concerned, Mr. Parrish was through withit by lunch. This is corroborated by the fact that no business papers ofthis description, with the exception of one, which I am coming todirectly, were found on the desk here after Mr. Parrish's death. Norwere there any traces of burnt paper in or about the fire. These twofacts were established by my colleague, Inspector Humphries. "

At this everybody turned and looked at the Inspector, who blushed untilthe tint of his hair positively paled by comparison with that of hisface. 

"What Mr. Archer _did_ leave with Mr. Parrish, however, " Mr. Mandertonresumed, looking round the group and emphasising the "did, " "was hiswill and this letter ... "--he held up a typewritten sheet of slatey-bluepaper--"which, a straightforward business communication in appearance, was in reality a threat against his life. It was with these twodocuments that Mr. Parrish spent the last few hours before he was founddead in this room. A few odd papers found lying on the desk have nothingto do with the case and may therefore be dismissed. "

Mr. Manderton paused and then, with the deliberation which distinguishedhis every movement, walked round the desk to the window. 

"The fire in this room, " he said, turning and facing his audience, "wassmoking. The butler will testify to this and state that Mr. Parrishcomplained about it to him with the result that the sweep was orderedfor Monday morning. Owing to the smoke in the room Mr. Parrish openedthe window. His finger-prints were on the inside of the window-frame anda small fragment of white paint was still adhering to one of hisfinger-nails. 

"The window, then, was open as it is now. Mr. Parrish sat at his desk, read through his will, and wrote a letter to Miss Trevert informing herthat, under the will, she was left sole legatee. This letter, with thewill, was found on the desk after Mr. Parrish's death. Presumably inview of the threat against his life contained in this letter, "--thedetective held up the slatey-blue paper, --"Mr. Parrish had either in hispocket or, as I am more inclined to think, lying on the desk in front ofhim, his Browning automatic pistol. This pistol was fitted with a Maximsilencer, an invention for suppressing the report of a firearm, whichwas sent to Mr. Parrish by a friend in America some years ago and whichhe kept permanently attached to the weapon. "

Mr. Manderton came to an impressive full stop and glanced round hiscircle of listeners. He gave his explanations easily and fluently, butin a plain, matter-of-fact tone such as a police constable employs inthe witness-box. He had marshalled his facts well, and his measuredadvance towards his _denouement_ was not without its effect on hisaudience. Dr. Romain, nursing his knee on a leather settee, HoraceTrevert, a tall slim figure eagerly watching the detective from hisperch on the arm of the Chesterfield, and Robin and Mary, standing, veryclose together, behind the empty chair at the desk--each and every onewas listening with rapt attention. Inspector Humphries, propping his bigbulk uneasily against the wall near the door, was the only one whoappeared to be oblivious of the strain. 

The detective walked round the desk and seated himself in the chair. 

"Mr. Parrish is seated at the desk here, " he resumed, "when hisattention is directed to the window. "

And here Mr. Manderton raised his head and looked out towards thefrost-strewn gardens. 

"Maybe he hears a step, more probably he sees a face staring at him outof the dark. Very much to his surprise he recognizes Jeekes, hisprincipal private secretary--I say to his surprise because he must havebelieved Jeekes, who had the week-end free, to be in London. And atthat, perhaps because he thinks he has made a mistake--in any case tomake sure--he gets up.... "

The detective suited the action to the word. He pushed back the chairand rose to his feet. They saw he held a large automatic pistol in hishand. 

"He has had this threatening letter, remember, so he takes his pistolwith him. And he reaches the window ... "

The detective was at the window now, his back to the room. 

"He speaks to Jeekes, angrily, maybe--the butler heard the sound of loudvoices--they have words. And then ... "

There came a knock at the library door. It was not a loud knock. It wasin reality scarcely more than a gentle tap. But it fell upon a silenceof Manderton's own creating, a rapt silence following a pause whichpreceded the climax of his narrative. So the discreet knocking resoundedloud and clear through the library. 

"Who is that? What is it?" rapped out Dr. Bomain irritably. 

"Don't let any one disturb us, Inspector!" called out Horace Trevert toInspector Humphries, who had opened the door. 

Bude's face appeared in the doorway. He had a short altercation with theInspector, who resolutely interposed his massive form between the butlerand the room. 

"What is it, Bude?" asked Robin, going to the door. 

"It's a letter for Miss Trevert, sir!" said Bude. 

"Well, leave it in the hall. Miss Trevert can't be disturbed atpresent ... "

"But ... But, sir, " the butler protested. Then Robin noticed that he wastrembling with excitement and that his features were all distraught. 

"What's the matter with you, Bude?" Robin demanded. 

Humphries had stood on one side and Robin now faced the butler. 

"It's a letter from ... That Jeekes!" faltered Bude, holding out asalver. "I know his writing, sir!"

"For Miss Trevert?"

Robin gathered up the plain white envelope. It bore a Dutch stamp. Thepostmark was Rotterdam. He gave the letter to Mary. It was bulky andheavy. 

"For you, " he said, and stood beside her while she broke the seal. Bythis they had all gathered round her. 

The envelope fluttered to the floor. Mary was unfolding a wad of sheetsof writing-paper folded once across. She glanced at the topmost sheet, then handed the bundle to Robin. 

"It's a confession!" she said. 

From beyond the grave the little secretary had spoken and spoiled Mr. Manderton's _denouement_. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE DEATH OF HARTLEY PARRISH

"For Miss Trevert. "

Thus, in Jeekes's round and flowing commercial hand, the document began:

 Last Statement of Albert Edward Jeekes, made at Rotterdam, this twenty-first Day of January, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and... 

Mr. Bardy, the solicitor, to whom, by common consent, the reading of theconfession had been entrusted, raised his eyebrows, thereby letting hiseyeglass fall, and looked round at the company. 

"Pon my soul, " he remarked, "for a man about to take his own life, ourfriend seems to have been the coolest customer imaginable. Look at it!Written in a firm hand and almost without an erasure. Very remarkable!Very remarkable, indeed!... "

"Hm!" grunted Mr. Manderton, "not so uncommon as you suppose, Mr. Bardy, sir. Hendriks, the Palmers Green poisoner, typed out his confession oncream inlaid paper before dosing himself. But let's hear what thegentleman has to tell us.... "

This was the last digression. Thenceforth Mr. Bardy read out theconfession to the end without interruption. 

 _For Miss Trevert_:

 _Madam_, I slew, but I am not a murderer: I Killed, but without deliberation. 

 Victor Marbran has gone and left me to meet a shameful death. But I cannot face the scaffold. As men go, I do not believe I am a coward and I am not afraid to die. But the inexorable deliberation of justice appals me. When I have written what I have to write, I shall be hangman to myself. My pistol they have taken away. 

 Victor Marbran has abandoned me. He had prepared everything for his flight. Even if the law can indict him as the virtual murderer of Hartley Parrish, the law will never lay hands on him. Victor Marbran neglects no detail. He will never be caught. But from the Great Unknown for which I shall presently set out, I shall stretch forth my hand and see that, here or there, he does not escape the punishment he merits for bringing down shame and disgrace upon me. 

 Just now he bade me stay in the office and finish burning the papers in his desk. He promised he would take me with him to a secure hiding-place which he had made ready for some such emergency as this. I believed him and, unsuspecting, stayed. And now he has slipped away. He is gone and the house is empty. I cannot follow him even did I know where he has gone. I have only a very little money left and I am tired. Very tired. I feel I cannot support the hue-and-cry they will raise. Everything is still about me. The quiet of the country is very soothing. To die like this, with darkness falling and no sound but the rustling rain, is the better way ... 

 Hartley Parrish was the man behind the great syndicate which systematically ran the British blockade of Germany in the war. He financed Marbran and the international riff-raff of profiteers with whom Marbran worked. Parrish supplied the funds, often the goods as well, --at any rate, until they tightened up the blockade, --while Marbran and the rest of the bunch in neutral countries did the trading with the enemy. 

 Parrish was a deep one. I say nothing against him. He was a kind employer to me and I played him false, for which I have been bitterly punished. To have swindled Victor Marbran--I count it as nothing against him, for that heartless, cruel man is deserving of no pity ... 

 Parrish was the heart and soul, brains and muscle of the syndicate. He lurked far in the background. Any and every trail which might possibly lead back to him was carefully effaced. He was secure as long as Marbran and one or two other big men in the business kept faith with him. Now and then, when the British Intelligence were too hot on the trail, Parrish and Marbran would give away one of the small fry belonging to the organization and thus stave off suspicion. They could do this in complete safety, for so perfect was their organization that the small fry only knew the small fry in the shallows and never the big fish in the deep ... 

 But Hartley Parrish was in Marbran's hands. They stood or fell together. Parrish knew this. But he was a born gambler and insanely self-confident. He took a chance with Marbran. It cost him his life. 

 All payments were made to Parrish. He was treasurer and banker of the syndicate. Money came in by all sorts of devious routes, sometimes from as far afield as South or Central America. Parrish distributed the profits. Everything was in his hands. 

 By the time the armistice came, the game had got too hot. All the big fish except Marbran had cleared out with their pile. But Marbran, like Parrish, was a gambler. He stuck it out and stayed on. 

 Parrish played fair until the war was over. The armistice, of course, put an end to the business. But some months after the armistice a sum of L150, 000 was paid to Parrish through a Spanish bank in settlement, Marbran told me, for petrol indirectly delivered to the German Admiralty. Parrish pouched the lot. Not a penny did Marbran get. 

 Parrish and Marbran were old friends. They were young men together on the Rand gold-fields in the early days. In fact, I believe they went out to South Africa together as penniless London lads. But Marbran hated Parrish, though Parrish had, I believe, been his benefactor in many ways. Marbran was fiercely envious of the other because he realized that, starting with an equal chance, Parrish had left him far behind. Everything that Parrish touched prospered, while Marbran was in perpetual financial straits. He was Parrish's equal in courage, but not in judgment. 

 Parrish calculated that Marbran would not dare to denounce him. He had always taken the lead in their schemes and he affected to disregard Marbran altogether. So he left the latter's letters unanswered and laughed at his threats. He was quite sure that Marbran would never risk losing his pile by giving Parrish away, for they were, of course, both British subjects and both in it together ... 

 Marbran always distrusted Parrish, and long before the breach came, he picked on me to act the spy on my employer. I, too, was born a gambler, but, like Marbran, I lacked the lucky touch which made Parrish a millionaire. Speculation proved my ruin. I have often thanked my God on my bended knees--as I shall do again to-night before I pass over--that my insane folly has ruined no one but myself ... 

 Already, when Hartley Parrish engaged me, I was up to the neck in speculation. Up to that time, however, I had managed to keep my head above water, but the large salary on which Parrish started me dazzled me. I tried a flutter in oil on a much larger scale than anything I had hitherto attempted, with the result that one day I found myself with a debt of nine hundred pounds to meet and no assets to meet it with. And I was two hundred pounds in debt to Hartley Parrish's petty cash account, which I kept. 

 It was Victor Marbran who came to my rescue. Parrish had sent me over to Rotterdam to fetch some papers from Marbran. At this time I knew nothing of Parrish's blockade-running business. Parrish never took me into his confidence about it and the whole of the correspondence went direct to him through a number of secret channels with which I only gradually became acquainted behind his back. 

 I had met Marbran several times in London and also at Rotterdam. It had struck me that he had formed a liking for me. On this particular visit to Rotterdam Marbran took me out to dinner and encouraged me to speak about myself. He was very sympathetic, and this, coupled with the wine I had taken, led me to open my heart to him. Without giving myself away, I let him understand that I was in considerable financial difficulties, which I set down to the high cost of living as the result of the war. 

 Without a word of warning Marbran pulled out his cheque-book. 

 "How much do you want, " he asked, "to put you straight?"

 Nine hundred pounds, I told him. 

 He wrote the cheque at once there at the table. He would advance me the money, he said, and put me down for shares in a business in which he was interested. It was a safe thing and profits were very high. I could repay him at my leisure. 

 In this way I became a shareholder in Parrish's blockade-running syndicate. The return I was to make was to spy on my employer and to report to Marbran the letters which Parrish received and the names of the people whom he interviewed. 

 Of course, Marbran did not propose this plan at once. When I took leave of him that night, I remember, I all but broke down at the thought of his unsolicited generosity. I have had a hard life, Miss Trevert, and his seeming kindness broke me all up. But I might have known. 

 I cashed Marbran's cheque and put back the two hundred pounds I had taken from the petty cash account. But I went on speculating. You see, I did not believe Marbran's story about the shares he said he would put me down for. I thought it was a charitable tale to spare my feelings. So I plunged once more in the confident hope of recovering enough to repay my debt to Marbran. 

 A month later Marbran sent me a cheque for one hundred pounds. He said it was the balance of fifteen hundred pounds due to me as profits on my shares less the nine hundred pounds I owed him and five hundred pounds for my shares. But my speculations had by this time gone wrong again, and I was heartily glad presently to receive a further cheque for two hundred pounds from Marbran. From that time on I got from Marbran sums varying between one hundred and fifty pounds and five hundred pounds a month. 

 When Marbran made me his shameful offer, I rejected it with indignation. But I was fast in the trap. Marbran explained to me in great detail and with the utmost candour the working of the Parrish syndicate. He let me know very plainly that I was as deeply implicated as Parrish and he. I was a shareholder; I had received and was receiving my share of the profits. In my distress and shame I threatened to expose the pair of them. Had I known the source of his money, I told him, I should never have accepted it. At that Marbran laughed contemptuously. 

 "You tell that yarn to the police, " he sneered, "and hear what they say!"

 And then I realized that I was in the net. 

 I make no excuses for myself. I shall make none to the Great Judge before whom in a little while I shall appear. I had not the moral force to resist Marbran. I did his bidding: I continued to take his money and I held my peace. 

 And then came the breach between Parrish and Marbran. I was the cause of it. But for me, his trusty spy, Marbran would have known nothing of this payment of L150, 000 which Parrish received from Spain, and this tragedy would not have happened. God forgive me ... 

 Marbran appealed to Parrish in vain. What he wrote I never knew, for, shortly after, Parrish quietly and without any explanation took the confidential work out of my hands. I believe he suspected then who Marbran's spy was. But he said nothing to me of his suspicions at that time ... 

 Finally, Marbran came to London. It was on Tuesday of last week. I had been up in Sheffield on business, and on my return I found Marbran waiting for me at my rooms. 

 He was like a man possessed. Never before have I witnessed such an outburst of ungovernable rage. Parrish, it appears, had declined to see him. He swore that Parrish should not get the better of him if he had to kill him first. I can see Marbran now as he sat on my bed, his livid face distorted with fury. 

 "I'll give him a last chance, " he cried, "and then, by God, let our smart Alec look out!"

 This sort of talk frightened me. I knew Marbran meant mischief. He was a bad man to cross. I was desperately afraid he would waylay Parrish and bring down disaster on the three of us. I did my utmost to put the idea of violence out of his mind. I begged him to content himself with trying to frighten Parrish into paying up before trying other means. 

 My suggestion seemed to awaken some old memory in Marbran's mind. 

 "By Gad, Jeekes, " he said, after a moment's thought, "you've given me an idea. Parrish has a yellow streak. He's scared of a gun. I saw it once, years ago, in a roughhouse we got into at Krugersdorp on the Rand. Damn it, I know how to bring the yellow dog to heel, and I'll tell you how we'll do it ... "

 He then unfolded his plan. He would send Parrish a last demand for a settlement, threatening him with death if he did not pay up. The warning would reach Parrish on the following Saturday. Marbran would contrive that he should receive it by the first post. As soon as possible thereafter I was to go to Parrish boldly and demand his answer. 

 "And you'll take a gun, " Marbran said, peering at me with his cunning little eyes, "and you'll show it. And if at the sight of it you don't get the brass, then I don't know my old pal, Mister Hartley Parrish, Esquire!"

 The proposal appalled me. I knew nothing of Hartley Parrish's "yellow streak. " I knew him only as a hard and resolute man, swift in decision and ruthless in action. Whatever happened, I argued, Parrish would discharge me and there was every prospect of his handing me over to the police as well. 

 Marbran was deaf to my reasoning. I had nothing to fear, he protested. Parrish would collapse at the first sign of force. And as for my losing my job, Marbran would find me another and a better one in his office at Rotterdam. 

 Still I held out. The chance of losing my position, even of being sent to gaol, daunted me less, I think, than the admission to Parrish of the blackly ungrateful role I had played towards him. In the end I told Marbran to do his dirty work himself. 

 But I spoke without conviction. I realized that Marbran held me in a cleft stick and that he realized it, too. He wasted no further time in argument. I knew what I had to do, he said, and I would do it. Otherwise ... 

 He left me in an agony of mental stress. At that time, I swear to Heaven, Miss Trevert, I was determined to let Marbran do his worst rather than lend myself to this odious blackmailing trick, my own suggestion, as I bitterly remembered. But for the rest of the week his parting threat rang in my ears. Unless he heard by the following Sunday that I had confronted Parrish and called his bluff, as he put it, the British police should have word, not only of Parrish's activities in trading with the enemy, but of mine as well. 

 It was no idle threat. Parrish and Marbran had put men away before. I could give you the names ... 

 It is quite dark now. It must be an hour since Greve took you away. Soon he will be back with the police to arrest me and I must have finished by then, finished with the story, finished with life ... 

 Last week I worked at Parrish's city office. I told you how he kept me off his confidential work. On Saturday morning I went round to the house in St. James's Square to see whether Marbran had really sent his warning. Archer, my colleague, who was acting as confidential secretary in my stead, was there. Parrish was at Harkings, he told me. Archer was going down by car that morning with his mail. It included two "blue letters" which Archer would, according to orders, hand to Parrish unopened. 

 These "blue letters, " as we secretaries used to call them, written on a striking bluish paper, were the means by which all communications passed between Parrish and Marbran on the syndicate's business. They were drafted in conventional code and came to Parrish from all parts of Europe and in all kinds of ways. No one saw them except himself. By his strict injunctions, they were to be opened only by himself in person. 

 When Archer told me that two "blue letters" had come, I knew that Marbran had kept his word. Though my mind was not made up, instinct told me I was going to play my part ... 

 I could not face the shame of exposure. I was brought up in a decent English home. To stand in the dock charged with prolonging the sufferings of our soldiers and sailors in order to make money was a prospect I could not even contemplate. 

 I thought it all out that Saturday morning as I stood at the dressing-table in my bedroom by the open drawer in which my automatic pistol lay. It was one given me by Parrish some years before at a time when he thought we might be going on a trip to Rumania ... 

 I slipped the pistol into my pocket. I felt like a man in a dream. I believe I went down to Harkings by train, but I have no clear recollection of the journey. I seemed to come to my senses only when I found myself standing on the high bank of the rosery at Harkings, looking down upon the library window. 

 Outside in the gardens it was nearly dark, but from the window fell a stream of subdued light. The curtains had not been drawn and the window was open at the bottom. Parrish sat at the desk. Only the desk-lamp was lit, so that his face was in shadow, but his two hands, stretched out on the blotter in front of him, lay in a pool of light, and I caught the gleam of his gold signet ring. 

 He was not writing or working. He seemed to be thinking. I watched him in a fascinated sort of way. I had never seen him sit thus idly at his desk before ... 

 My brain worked quite lucidly now. As I looked at him, I suddenly realised that I had a golden opportunity for speaking to him unobserved. The gardens were absolutely deserted: the library wing was very still. If he were a man to be frightened into submission, my sudden appearance, following upon the receipt of the threatening letter, would be likely to help in achieving this result. 

 I walked softly down the steps to the window. I stood close up to the sill. 

 "Mr. Parrish, " I said, "Victor Marbran has sent me for his answer. "

 In a flash he was on his feet. 

 "Who's there?" he cried out in alarm. 

 His voice shook, and I could see his hand tremble in the lamplight as he clutched at the desk. Then I knew that he was badly frightened, and the discovery gave me courage. 

 "Are you going to settle with Marbran or are you not?" I said. 

 At that he peered forward. All of a sudden his manner changed. 

 "What in hell does this mean, Jeekes?"

 His voice quavered no longer. It was hard and menacing. 

 But I had burnt my boats behind me now. 

 "It means, " I answered boldly, "that you've got to pay up. And you've got to pay up now!"

 In a couple of quick strides he was round the desk and coming at me as I stood with my chest pressing against the window-sill. His hands were thrust in his jacket pockets. His face was red with anger. 

 "You dawggorn dirty little rathole spy, "--he spat the words at me in a low, threatening voice, --"I guessed that lowdown skunk Marbran had been getting at some of my people!"

 His voice rose in a sudden gust of passion. 

 "You rotten little worm! You'd try and bounce me, would you? You've come to the wrong shop for that, Mr. Spying Jeekes ... "

 His manner was incredibly insulting. So was the utter contempt with which he looked at me. This man, who had trembled with fear at the unknown, recovered his self-control on finding that the menace came from the menial, the hireling, he despised. I felt the blood rush in a hot flood to my head. I lost all self-control. I screamed aloud at him. 

 "There's no bounce about it this time! If you don't pay up, you know what to expect!"

 I had been holding my pistol out of his sight below the window-ledge, but on this I swung it up and levelled it at him. 

 He sprang back a pace, the colour fading on the instant from his face, his mouth twisted awry in a horrid paroxysm of fear. Even in that subdued light I could see that his cheeks were as white as paper. 

 But then in a flash his right hand went up. I saw the pistol he held, but before I could make a movement there was a loud, raucous hiss of air and a bullet whistled past my ear into the darkness of the gardens. How he missed me at that range I don't know, but, seeing me standing there, he came at me again with the pistol in his hand ... 

 And then you, Miss Trevert, cried out, "Hartley, " and rattled the handle of the door. Your cry merged in a deafening report. Parrish, who was quite close to me, and advancing, stopped short with a little startled exclamation, his eyes reproachful, full of surprise. He stood there and swayed, looking at me all the time, then crashed backwards on the floor. And I found myself staring at the smoking pistol in my hand ... 

 It was your scream that brought me to my senses. My mind cleared instantly. I knew I must act quickly. The house would be alarmed directly, and before that happened, I must be clear of the grounds. Yet I knew that before I went I must do something to make myself safe ... 

 I stood at the window staring down at the dead man. His eyes were terrible. Like a suicide he looked, I thought. And then it flashed across my mind that only one shot had been heard and that our pistols were identical and fired the same ammunition. The silencer! The silencer could save me. With that removed, the suicide theory might pass muster: at any rate, it would delay other investigations and give me a start ... 

 In a matter of a second or two I believe I thought of everything. I did not overlook the danger of leaving finger-prints or foot-marks about. I had not taken off my gloves, and my boots were perfectly dry. In climbing into the room I was most careful to see that I did not mark the window-sill or scratch the paintwork ... 

 I stood beside the body and I caught the dead man's hand. It was fat and soft and still warm. The touch of it made me reel with horror. I turned my face away from his so as not to see his eyes again.... 

 I got the silencer. Parrish had shown it to me and I knew how to detach it.... 

 I went back through the window as carefully as I had come in. And I pushed the window down. Parrish would have done that, I thought, if he had meant to commit suicide. And then my nerve went. The window frightened me. The blank glass with the silent room beyond;--it reminded me of Parrish's sightless gaze. I turned and ran.... 

 I did not mean to kill. As there is a God in ... 

On that unfinished sentence the confessionended. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Bardy put the bundle of manuscript down on the desk and, droppinghis eyeglass from his eye, caught it deftly and began to polish itvigorously with his pocket handkerchief. As no one spoke, he said:

"That's all. It ends there!"

He looked round the circle of earnest faces. Then Horace Trevertcrossed to the desk. 

"Robin, " he said, and held out his hand, "I want to apologize. I ... We ... Behaved very badly ... "

Robin grasped the boy's hand. 

"Not a word about that, Horace, old boy, " he said. "Besides, Mary isputting all that right, you know!"

"She told me, " replied Horace; "and, Robin, I'm tremendously glad!"

"Mr. Greve!"

Robin turned to find Mr. Manderton, large and impressive, at his elbow. 

"Might I have a word with you?"

Robin followed the detective across the room to the window. 

Mr. Manderton seemed a trifle embarrassed. 

"Er--- Mr. Greve, " he said, clearing his throat rather nervously, "Ishould like to--er, --offer you my congratulations on the remarkablyaccurate view you took of this case. I should have been able to prove toyou, I believe, but for this curious interruption, that your view andmine practically coincided. It has been a pleasure to work with you, sir!"

He cast a hasty glance over his shoulder at the other occupants of theroom, who were gathered round the desk. 

"I'm not a society man, Mr. Greve, " he added, "and I have a lot of workon my hands regarding the case. So I think I'll run off now ... "

He broke off, gave Robin a large hand, and, looking neither to right norto left, made a hurried exit from the room, taking Inspector Humphrieswith him. 

"Now that we are just among ourselves"--the solicitor was speaking--"Ithink I may seize the opportunity of saying a word about Mr. Parrish'swill. Miss Trevert, as you know, is made principal legatee, but Iunderstand from her that she does not propose to accept the inheritance. I will not comment on this decision of hers, which does her moral sense, at any rate, infinite credit, but I should observe that Mr. Parrish hasleft directions for the payment of an allowance--I may say, a mosthandsome allowance--to Lady Margaret Trevert during her ladyship'slifetime. This is a provision over which Miss Trevert's decision, ofcourse, can have no influence. I would only remark that, according toMr. Parrish's instructions, this allowance will be paid from thedividends on a percentage of his holdings in Hornaway's under the newscheme. I have not yet had an opportunity of looking further into Mr. Parrish's affairs in the light of the information which Mr. Greveobtained in Rotterdam, but I have reason to believe that he kept hisinterest in Hornaway's and his--ahem!--other activities entirelyseparate. If this can be definitely established to my own satisfactionand to yours, my dear Miss Trevert, I see no reason why you should notmodify your decision at least in respect of Mr. Parrish's interest inHornaway's. "

Mary Trevert looked at Robin and then at the solicitor. 

"No!" she said; "not a penny as far as I am concerned. With Mother thecase is different. I told her last night of my decision in the matter. She disapproves of it. That is why she is not here to-day. But my mindis made up. "

Mr. Bardy adjusted his eyeglass in his eye and gazed at the girl. Hisface wore an expression of pain mingled with compassion. 

"I will see Lady Margaret after lunch, " he said rather stiffly. 

Then the door opened and Bude appeared. 

"Luncheon is served, Miss!"

He stood there, a portly, dignified figure in sober black, solemn ofvisage, sonorous of voice, a living example of the triumph ofestablished tradition over the most savage buffetings of Fate. Hisenunciation was, if anything, more mellow, his demeanour more pontificalthan of yore. 

Bude was once more in the service of a County Family. 

THE END