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Title: The Crystal Beads MurderAuthor: Annie Haynes* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 1501251h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted:  November 2015Most recent update: November 2015Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg AustraliaLicence which may be viewed online.

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The Crystal Beads Murder

by

Annie Haynes

Published 1930

Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26

FOREWORD

This, the last of twelve mystery stories written by the lateAnnie Haynes--who died last year--was left unfinished. One of MissHaynes's friends, also a popular writer of this type of fiction,offered to undertake the work of completion, and it says much forher skill that she has independently arrived at Miss Haynes's ownsolution of the mystery, which was known only to myself.

It is not generally known that for the last fifteen years of herlife Miss Haynes was in constant pain and writing itself was aconsiderable effort. Her courage in facing her illness wasremarkable, and the fact that she was handicapped not only by thepain but also by the helplessness of her malady greatly enhancesthe merit of her achievements. It was impossible for her to go outinto the world for fresh material for her books, her only journeysbeing from her bedroom to her study. The enforced inaction was theharder to bear in her case, as before her illness she was extremelyenergetic. Her intense interest in crime and criminal psychologyled her into the most varied activities, such as cycling miles tovisit the scene of the Luard Murder, pushing her way into thecellar of 39 Hilldrop Crescent, where the remains of Belle Elmorewere discovered, and attending the Crippen trial.

It would be a dark and sombre picture if it were not mentionedhow this struggle with cruel circumstances was materially lightenedby the warmth of friendships existing between Miss Haynes and herfellow authors and by the sympathetic and friendly relationsbetween her and her publishers.

Ada Heather-Bigg, 1930

CHAPTER 1

"My hat! Nan, I tell you it is the chance of a lifetime.Battledore is a dead cert. Old Tim Ranger says he is the best colthe ever had in his stable. Masterman gave a thousand guineas forhim as a yearling. He'd have won the Derby in a canter if he hadbeen entered."

"It is easy to say that when he wasn't, isn't it?" AnneCourtenay smiled. "Don't put too much on, Harold. You can't affordto lose, you know."

"Lose! I tell you I can't lose," her brother returned hotly. Hisface was flushed, the hand that held his card was trembling."Battledore must win. My bottom dollar's on him. Minnie Medchesterhas mortgaged her dress allowance for a year to back him. Oh,Battledore's a wonder colt."

"What is a wonder colt--Battledore, I suppose?" a suave voiceinterposed at this juncture. "Mind what you are doing, Harold. Besthedge a bit. I hear Goldfoot is expected. Anyway, the stable is onhim for all it's worth."

"So is Ranger's on Battledore. Old Tim Ranger says it is allover bar the shouting. Oh, Battledore's a cert. I have been tellingAnne to put every penny she can scrape together on him."

"I hope Miss Courtenay has not obeyed you," Robert Saundersonsaid, his eyes, a little bloodshot though the day was still young,fixed on Anne Courtenay's fair face. "It's all very well, youngman, but I have known so many of these hotpots come unstuck to putmuch faith in even Tim Ranger's prophecies. I'd rather take a goodoutsider. Backing a long shot generally pays in the long run."

"It won't when Battledore is favourite," Harold Courtenayreturned obstinately. "He ran away with the Gold Cup. It will bethe same."

"H'm! Well, you are too young to remember Lawgiver. He was justsuch a Derby cert that he was guarded night and day and brought tothe tapes with detectives before and behind, but he sauntered in abad fifteenth."

"Battledore won't," young Courtenay said confidently. "Wait aminute, Nan. There's young Ranger. I must have a word with him." Hedarted off.

Robert Saunderson looked after him with a curious smile.Saunderson was well known in racing circles and was usually presentat all the big meetings. He was sometimes spoken of as a mysteryman. Nobody knew exactly who he was or where he came from. But as arich bachelor he had made his way into a certain section of Londonsociety. At the present moment he, as well as the Courtenays, wasstaying at Holford Hall with the Courtenays' cousin, LordMedchester.

Rumour had of late credited Lady Medchester with a very kindlyfeeling for Saunderson. Holford was within an easy driving distanceof Doncaster, and the house-party to a man had come over on LordMedchester's coach and a supplementary car to see the St. Legerrun. The Courtenays were the grandchildren of old GeneralCourtenay, who had held a high command in India and had been knownon the Afghan frontier as "Dare-devil Courtenay". His only son,Harold and Anne's father, had been killed in the Great War. TheVictoria Cross had been awarded to him after his death, and was hisfather's proudest possession. The young widow had not long survivedher husband, and the two orphan children had been brought up bytheir grandfather.

The old man had spoilt and idolized them. The greatestdisappointment of his life had been Harold's breakdown in healthand resultant delicacy, which had put the Army out of the question.General Courtenay was a poor man, having little but his pension,and the difficulty had been to find some work within Harold'spowers. The Church, the Army and the Bar were all rejected in turn.Young Courtenay had a pretty taste in literature and a certainfacility with his pen, and for a time he had picked up a precariousliving as a journalistic freelance. For the last year, however, hehad been acting as secretary to Francis Melton, the member forNorth Loamshire.

Earlier in the year Anne Courtenay had become engaged to MichaelBurford, Lord Medchester's trainer. It was not the grand match shehad been expected to make, but Burford was sufficiently well off,and the young couple were desperately in love.

There was no mistaking the admiration in Saunderson's eyes as helooked down at Anne.

"You could not persuade the General to come to-day?"

Anne shook her head.

"No; it would have been too much for him. But he is quite happytalking over old times with his sister."

"He was a great race-goer in his day, he tells me."

"I believe he was an inveterate one. He still insists on havingall the racing news read to him."

Anne moved on decidedly as she spoke. She did not care forRobert Saunderson. She had done her best to keep out of his waysince his coming to Holford. Unfortunately the dislike was notmutual. Saunderson's admiration had been obvious from the first,and her coldness apparently only inflamed his passion. He followedher now.

"The Leger horses are in the paddock. What will Harold say ifyou don't see Battledore?"

Anne quickened her steps. "I don't know. But we shall see themall in a moment. And I must find my cousins."

Saunderson kept up with her, forcing their way through thejostling crowd round the paddock.

"Lord Medchester's filly ran away with the nursery plate, Ihear. The favourite Severn Valley filly was not in it," he began;then as she made no rejoinder he went on, "We shall see atremendous difference here in a year or two, Miss Courtenay. Therewill be an aerodrome over there"--jerking his head to theright--"second to none in the country, I will wager. And a big,up-to-date tote will be installed near the stand. Altogether weshan't know the Town Moor."

"I heard they were projecting all sorts of improvements," Anneassented. "But it will take a long time to get them finished andcost a great deal of money. Harold is frightfully keen on the tote,I know."

"Ah, Harold!" Saunderson interposed. "I wanted to speak to youabout Harold. I am rather anxious about him. I don't like thisfriendship of his with the Stainers. He ought never to haveintroduced them to you. They've had the cheek to put up at the'Medchester Arms'--want to get in touch with the training stables,I'll bet! Stainer's no good--never has been--he is a rotter, andthe girl--well, the less said about her the better."

Anne recalled the red-haired girl who had seemed so friendlywith Harold just now, but she let no hint of the uneasiness shefelt show in her face.

"I am sure Harold does not care for her. Of course she is verygood-looking. But why do you trouble about Harold?"

Saunderson looked at her.

"Because he is your brother," he said deliberately.

Anne's eyes met his quietly.

"A very poor reason, it seems to me."

"Then suppose I say, because I love you, Anne?" he saiddaringly.

Anne held up her head.

"I am engaged to Michael Burford."

"To Burford, the trainer!" Saunderson said scoffingly.

"No; to Burford, the man," she corrected.

A fierce light flashed into Saunderson's eyes. A whirl of soundof cheering, of incoherent cries rose around them. The St. Legerhorses were coming up to the post.

"Battledore! Battledore!" Harold's choice was easily favourite.Masterman's scarlet and green were very conspicuous. Under cover ofthe tumult Saunderson bent nearer Anne.

"Michael Burford. Pah! You shall never marry him. You shallmarry me. I swear it."

Anne's colour rose, but she made no reply as she hurried back tothe Medchester coach. Most of the party were already in theirplaces, but Lady Medchester stood at the foot of the steps. She wasa tall, showily-dressed woman, whose complexion and hair evidentlyowed a good deal to art. Her mouth was hard, and just now the thinlips were pressed closely together.

"I hope you have enjoyed your walk and seeing Battledore," shesaid disagreeably.

Anne looked at her.

"I did not see Battledore."

Lady Medchester laughed, but there was no merriment in her paleeyes.

"I can quite understand that. Oh, Mr. Saunderson"--turning tothe man who had come up behind her young cousin--"will you showme--"

Anne did not wait for any more. She ran lightly up the steps.Her brother hurried after her.

"I believe one gets a better view from the top of this coachthan from the stand," he said unsteadily.

Anne looked at him with pity, at his flushed face, at histrembling hands.

"Harold, if you--"

She had no time for more. Harold sprang on the seat. There was amighty shout. "They're off! They're off!" Then a groan ofdisappointment as the horses were recalled. A falsestart--Battledore had broken the tapes. Bill Turner, his Australianjockey, quieted him down and brought him back to the post.

"Goldfoot was sweating all over in the paddock just now," youngCourtenay announced to nobody in particular. "He was all over theplace, too, taking it out of himself. Doesn't stand an earthlyagainst Battledore--he's a real natural stayer--isn't a son ofSardinia, a Derby second and Greenlake the Oaks winner fornothing--"

His voice was drowned by a great roar as the horses flashed by,Battledore on the outside.

"Better than too near the rails," Harold consoled himself. "Theluck of the draw's been against him, but he doesn't want it. He'lldo, he'll do!"

"Battledore! Battledore!" the crowd exulted.

But now another name was making itself heard--"Goldfoot!Goldfoot! Come on, Jim!"--"Goldfoot leads--No--Partner'sPride!--No--Battledore!--Battledore!" Harold Courtenay yelled."Come on, Bill! He's winning, he's winning! Partner's Pride isnothing but a runner-up."

Followed a moment's tense silence, then a mighty shout:"Goldfoot's won! Well done, Jim Spencer! Well done!"

Anne dared not look at her brother's face as the numbers wentup.

"Goldfoot first," a voice beside her said. "Proud Boy second,Partner's Pride third. Battledore nowhere."

Anne heard a faint sound beside her--between a moan and a sob.She turned sharply.

"Harold!"

Her brother was leaning back in his seat on the coach. His handshad dropped by his side, his face was ghastly white, even his lipswere bloodless.

Anne touched him. "Harold!"

He gazed at her with dazed, uncomprehending eyes.

"Don't look like that!" she said sharply. "Pull yourselftogether! It will be all right, Harold. I have a savings box, youknow. You shall have it all."

"All!" Harold laughed aloud in a wild, reckless fashion thatmade his sister wince and draw back hastily. "It means ruin, Anne!"he said hoarsely. "Ruin, irretrievable ruin. That's all!"

* * *

The Dowager Lady Medchester was an old lady who knew her ownmind, and was extremely generous in the matter of presenting piecesof it to other people. She and her brother, General Courtenay, weretoo much alike to get on really well together. Nevertheless, theythoroughly enjoyed a sparring match, and looked forward to theirmeetings in town and country. The house-party at Holford this yearwas an extra and both of them were bent on making the most ofit.

This afternoon the old people were out for their daily drive,and in the smallest of the three drawing-rooms Anne Courtenay andher brother Harold stood facing one another, both of them pale andoverwrought.

"Yes, of course we must find the money. My pearls will fetchsomething, and I can borrow--"

Anne was anxiously watching her brother's white, drawn face.

He turned away and stood with his back to her, staringunseeingly out of the window.

"That isn't the worst. I--I had to have the money, youunderstand? I was in debt. I put every penny I had on Battledoreand--more."

Anne stared at him, every drop of colour ebbing slowly from hercheeks.

"What do you mean, Harold? You put more--you are frighteningme."

"Can't you see? I stood to make my fortune out of Battledore. Ifhe'd won I should. I didn't think he could lose, and money ofMelton's was passing through my hands. I put it on."

"Harold!" Anne's brown eyes were wide with horror. "You--youmust put it back. I--I will get it somehow."

"I have put it back. I had to. I don't know whether Meltonsuspected, but he talked of going through his accounts, and it hadto be paid into the bank." The boy's voice broke. "I went to amoney-lender and he lent me money on a bill that didn't mature tillnext May. He wouldn't give it to me at first. I couldn't wait--themoney had to be replaced at once. The bill had to be backed--I knewit was no use asking Medchester, and the money-lender wouldn't takeStainer--else Maurice would have got it for me like a shot."

"I don't like Maurice Stainer," Anne interposed, "or his sister,either. He is no good to you, Harold."

"Well, anyway, the old shark wouldn't look at him and I couldn'twait--or I should face exposure. I knew I could meet the bill allright if Battledore won. He--the money-lender--suggested I shouldget Saunderson's name. I knew I couldn't--Saunderson's as close asa Jew, but I had to have the money somehow, and I was mad--mad! Iwrote the name."

The fear in Anne's eyes deepened.

"You--you forged!"

A hoarse sob broke in her brother's throat.

"I should have met it--I swear I should have met it, and it gaveme six months to turn round in. But it is too late. He has foundout--Saunderson. He has got the bill and he swears he willprosecute. He will not even hear me."

"But he cannot--cannot prosecute! He is your friend."

"He will," Harold said hopelessly. "He is a good-for-nothingscoundrel and he will send me to gaol and blacken our name forever--unless you--"

"Yes?" Anne's voice was low; she put her hands up to her throat."I don't know what you mean. Unless what?"

"Unless you go to him, unless you plead with him." Haroldbrought the words out as if they were forced from him. "He thinksmore of you than anybody."

Anne threw her head back. In a swift, hot flame the colourrushed over her face and neck and temples.

"Unless I ask him--that man? Do you know what that means? I--Ihate him! I am afraid of him."

"I know. I hate him. He is a damned brute, but--well, if I blewmy brains out it would not save the shame, the disgrace--" Herbrother broke off.

A momentary vision of General Courtenay's fine old face rosebefore Anne, of his pathetic pride in his dead son's VictoriaCross, in the Courtenay name. A sudden, fierce anger shook her.This careless boy should not cloud the end of that noble life withshame and bitter pain.

Harold slipped forward against the side of the window-frame.

"That's the end."

Anne watched him in unpitying silence. Then old memories cameback to her--of their early childhood, of the handsome, gallantfather who had been so proud of his little son, of the sweet,gentle mother who had dearly loved them both, but whose favouritehad always been Harold. Her heart softened. She looked at herbrother's head, bent in humiliation. For the sake of her beloveddead, no less than for the living whose pride he was, Harold mustbe saved at whatever cost to herself.

She went over and touched his shoulder.

"I will do what I can," she promised. "I will ask him; I willbeg him. I will save you, Harold, somehow."

CHAPTER 2

In her room at Holford Hall Anne Courtenay was twisting herhands together in agony. The Medchesters and their guests wereamusing themselves downstairs in the drawing-room, the gramophonewas playing noisy dance music. In the back drawing-room hergrandfather and his sister were having their usual game of bezique.Anne had pleaded a headache and had gone to her room directly afterdinner. The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece were creeping onto ten o'clock. In five minutes the hour would boom out from theold church on the hill. It was no use delaying, that would onlymake matters worse. She sprang up. Purposely to-night she had wornblack. She threw a dark cloak round her, and picking up a pull-onblack hat crushed it over her shingled hair. Then she unlocked asmall wooden box on her dressing-table and took out a piece ofnotepaper. Across it was scrawled in Robert Saunderson'scharacteristic bold black writing: "To-night at the summer-house atten o'clock." That was all. There was neither beginning nor ending.Not one word to soften the words that were an ultimatum. Anne'slittle, white teeth bit deeply into her upper lip as she read.

The summer-house stood in a clearing to the right of the Dutchgarden. From it an excellent view of the moors could be obtainedwith the hazy, blue line of the northern hills in the distance. Itwas a favourite resort with Lady Medchester for the picnic teaswhich she favoured. That Anne Courtenay should be giving anassignation there at this time of night seemed to her to show thedepths to which she had fallen. Saunderson had left the Medchestersthe day after the St. Leger. He had turned a resolutely deaf ear toall Harold's appeals, and his ultimatum remained the same. He wouldonly treat with Anne. Anne herself must come to him, must pleadwith him. To her alone he would tell the only terms on which Haroldcould be saved.

Anne drew her cloak round her as she stole quietly down thestairs to a side door. There was a full moon, but the masses offleecy cloud obscured the beams; little scuds of rain beat inAnne's face as she let herself out. Through the open windows thelaughter and the gaiety of her fellow-guests reached her ears. Shecrept silently by the side of the house into the shadow of one ofthe giant clumps of rhododendrons that dotted the lawn and borderedthe expanse of grass between the house and the Dutch garden.

Anne looked like a wraith as she flitted from one bush toanother and finally gained the low wall that overlooked the Dutchgarden. A flight of steps led down to the garden and from there,through a hand gate at the side of the rosery, a path went straightto the summer-house.

It all, looked horribly dark and gloomy, Anne thought, as sheclosed the gate. She waited uncertainly for a minute. All aroundher she caught the faint multitudinous sounds of insect life thatgo on incessantly in even the quietest night. Already the leaveswere beginning to fall. They lay thick upon the path and rustledunder her feet; in the distance she caught the cry of somenight-bird. Then nearer at hand there was a different sound. Shestopped and cowered against a tree, listening. What was it? Itcould not be the cracking of a twig, footsteps among the witheredleaves, the dead pine-needles that lay thick on the ground? Itcould not be anybody watching her--following her? Then a suddenawful sense of fear assailed her, a certainty that something evilwas near her. For the time she was paralysed as she caught blindlyat a low branch. She listened, shivering from head to foot. Yes,undoubtedly she could hear light footsteps, with somethingsinister, it seemed to her, about their very stealthiness. Yet, asthe moon shone out from behind a passing cloud, there was nothingto be seen, no sign of any living thing or any movement. All wasquiet, and as she stole softly to the summer-house, castingterrified glances from side to side, she did not see a figurestanding up against the trunk of a tall pine near at hand, a facethat peered forward, watching her every movement.

She had expected to find Saunderson waiting for her--she toldherself that he must be--but there was no one to be seen, andsomewhat to her surprise the door of the summer-house was nearlyclosed. She stopped opposite; there was something sinister, almostterrifying, to her in the sight of that closed door, in the absenceof any sound or movement. At last very slowly she went forward,halting between every step. Surely, surely, Saunderson must bewaiting for her?

"Mr. Saunderson," she whispered hoarsely, "are you there?"

There came no faintest sound in answer; yet surely, surely shecould catch the faint smell of a cigarette?

Very softly, very gingerly she pushed open the door.

* * *

"This," said Inspector Stoddart, tapping a paragraph in theevening paper as he spoke, "is a job for us."

Harbord leaned forward and read it over the other'sshoulder.

"Early this morning a gruesome discovery was made by a gardenerin the employ of Lord Medchester at Holford Hall in Loamshire. In asummer-house at the back of the flower garden he found the body ofa man in evening-dress. A doctor was summoned and stated that thedeceased had been shot through the heart. Death must have beeninstantaneous and must have taken place probably eight or ninehours before the body was discovered."

"Look at the stop press news." Stoddart pointed to the space atthe side.

"The body found in the summer-house at Holford has beenidentified as that of a Mr. Robert Saunderson, who had been one ofLord Medchester's guests for the races at Doncaster but had leftHolford the following day."

"Robert Saunderson," Harbord repeated, wrinkling his brows. "Iseem to know the name, but I can't place him. Isn't he a racingman?"

"He would scarcely be a friend of the Medchesters if he wasn't,"Stoddart replied, picking up the paper and staring at it as if hewould wring further information from it. "Regular racing lot theybelong to. Oh, I have heard of Saunderson. A pretty bad hat he was.He had a colt or two training at Oxley, down by Epsom. Picked upone or two minor races last year, but he's never done anything verybig. Medchester's horses are trained at Burford's, East Molton.Lord Medchester's a decent sort of chap, I have heard. Anyway, avictory of his is always acclaimed in the North. He generally doeswell at Ayr and Bogside, and picks up a few over the sticks. Rumourcredits him with an overmastering desire to win one of the classicraces. His wife is a funny one--I fancy they don't hit it off verywell. His trainer, Burford, is a good sort. His engagement to acousin of Lord Medchester's was announced the other day."

"Not much of a match for her, I should say."

"Oh, quite decent. Burford makes a good thing out of histraining. He's a second son of old Sir William Burford andhalf-brother of the present baronet. This Saunderson was prettywell known in London society too, and I have heard that he was oneof Lady Medchester's admirers. I believe he was an American."

"Anyway, so long as he wasn't English, he wouldn't have muchdifficulty in getting on in London society," Harbord remarkedsarcastically. "A bachelor too, wasn't he?"

"As far as anyone knows," Stoddart answered.

A copy of "Who's Who" lay on the table. He pulled it towardshim. "'Saunderson, Robert Francis,'" he read. "'Born in BuenosAires 1888. Served in the Great War as an interpreter on theItalian frontier. Invalided out in May 1917. Clubs, Automobile,Junior Travellers.'"

"H'm! Not much of a dossier--wonder why they put him in?"Harbord remarked.

"No; more noticeable for what it leaves out than for what itputs in," Stoddart agreed.

"Well, I have received an S.O.S. from the Loamshire police, soyou and I will go down by the night express to Derby. From there itis a crosscountry journey to Holford. Take a few hours, Isuppose."

"I wonder what Saunderson was doing in that neighbourhood whenhe had left the Hall?" Harbord cogitated.

Stoddart shrugged his shoulders.

"I dare say we shall find out when we get there."

CHAPTER 3

"This is the principal entrance, I suppose," Stoddart said,stopping before the lodge at Holford, and looking up the avenue ofoaks that was one of the chief attractions of the Hall.

As he spoke a small two-seater pulled up beside them and two mensprang out. One of them Stoddart had no difficulty in recognizingas the local superintendent of police; the other, a tall,military-looking man, he rightly divined to be the Chief Constable,Major Logston.

The Major looked at the two detectives.

"Inspector Stoddart, I presume. I was hoping to catch you. Imissed you at the station--had a break-down coming from home. Thisis a terrible affair, inspector."

"I have only seen the bare account in the papers," Stoddart saidquietly. "Before we go any further I should very much like to hearwhat you can tell us."

"I shall be glad to give you all the details I can," MajorLogston said, entering the gates with him and leaving thesuperintendent to bring up the rear with Harbord in thetwo-seater.

"Of course we have had quantities of those damned reporters allover the place." the Major began confidentially. "But we have toldthe beggars as little as possible, and now we are not allowing themwithin the gates."

The inspector nodded.

"Quite right, sir. Reporters are the very devil, with what theypick up and what they invent. They've helped many a murderer toescape the gallows."

"I entirely agree with you." The Chief Constable paused aminute, then he said slowly, "This Robert Saunderson had beenstaying at Holford quite recently. He had been one of thehouse-party for the races, you know, inspector, for the St. Leger.But he left the next day like most of the other guests, and deuceknows why he came back. An under-gardener--Joseph Wilton byname--was clearing up rubbish and such-like for one of thosebonfires that always make such a deuce of a stink all over theplace at this time of the year. He was round about the summer-houseand, glancing inside, was astounded to see a man lying on thefloor. He went in, as he says, to find if one of the gentlemen hadbeen 'took ill,' and discovered that he was dead and cold. He gavethe alarm to his fellow-gardeners and then he and another man wentup to the Hall to acquaint Lord Medchester with his discovery;Medchester went back with them, imagining Wilton had exaggerated,and was amazed and horrified to find not only that Wilton's storywas too true, but that the dead man was no other than RobertSaunderson, who had so recently been his guest. Of course they gotthe doctor there as soon as possible. He said the man had been deadfor hours, had probably died the night before the discovery."

"Presumably I should not be here if the case was one ofsuicide?"

"Out of the question," Major Logston said decidedly. "I can'tgive you the technical details, but the fellow had been shotthrough the heart. Death must have been instantaneous. And therevolver cannot be found."

"H'm!" The inspector drew in his lips. "Pretty conclusive, that.Any clue to the murderer?"

The Chief shook his head.

"Not so far. The summer-house is a favourite place for tea withLady Medchester, so there'll be a maze of finger-prints and whatnot. Oh, it won't be an easy matter to find out who fired the fatalshot, as things look at present. I don't know whether Dr. Middletonwill be any help to you, but he is up at the Hall now. He isattending General Courtenay, an uncle of Lord Medchester's, who hada stroke last night, so you will be able to hear what he has to sayat once. Lord Medchester wants to see you too."

"I shall be glad to see him," Stoddart said politely. "But firstabout the body--I presume you have had it moved?"

"Yes. As soon as the doctor had seen it we had it taken to anouthouse near the churchyard, which has to serve as a temporarymortuary."

"Well, naturally you could do nothing else," the inspector said,staring up at the windows of Holford Hall. "This Saunderson, now,what was he like to look at?"

"Alive, do you mean?" the Chief Constable questioned. "I saw himat Doncaster. Didn't care much for the look of him myself. Bighaw-haw sort of brute, don't you know. Pretty bad lot from allaccounts--always after the skirts. Well, here we are!"

Stepping inside the big portico that was over the front entranceto the Hall, his ring was answered instantly. The two-seater stoodbefore the door. A young footman flung the door open and announcedthat his lordship was expecting them. Stoddart joined Harbord andthe two went in together.

Lord Medchester received them in his study. The walls were linedwith books, but a little inspection showed that the two shelveswhich had the appearance of being the most used were devoted toracing literature. Lord Medchester was a tall, thin man in theearly forties; perfectly bald in front and on the crown, the ridgeof hair at the back was unusually thick and had the appearance ofhaving slipped down from the top. He glanced sharply at Stoddart asthe detectives entered, and came forward to meet them.

"I am delighted to see you, inspector. This--this is anappalling thing to happen in one's grounds. And our local policedon't seem able to grapple with it at all--we look to you to findout who killed the poor beggar."

"I will do my best, Lord Medchester. Will you tell me what youknow of Mr. Saunderson?"

"That will be precious little," said his lordship, subsidinginto a chair near the fireplace and motioning to Stoddart andHarbord to take chairs close at hand. "I have met him out and aboutfor years. He was staying at Merton Towers for the Derby, and whenwe were talking about putting a bit on Harkaway he gave me a tipfor Battledore for the Cup. The colt ran away with it, you know,and I made a tidy pocketful over him. So, times being what theyare, and these damned Socialists not content with screwing everypenny they can out of you when you are alive, but dragging yourvery grave from you when you are dead, I was deuced bucked with myluck and on the spur of the moment I asked Saunderson here for theSt. Leger. He rather jumped at it, I thought, and turned up allright. Of course we all put our shirts on Battledore and he let usall down and ran nowhere. So I lost most of what I won at Goodwood.I was a bit rattled, I can tell you. Not that it was Saunderson'sfault."

"Did he lose?" Stoddart asked quickly.

"Well, he went down on Battledore of course," his lordshipanswered, "but he'd hedged on Goldfoot, lucky beggar! At least, Ithought he was lucky until this happened."

"He left Holford the day after the races, I understand?"Stoddart pursued.

Lord Medchester nodded. "Yes, he went up to town with ColonelWynter, another of the men who were staying here."

"And you had no reason to expect him at Holford again?"

"Good Lord, no!" his lordship said impatiently. "You might haveknocked me down with a feather when I heard he had been shot in thesummer-house; matter of fact, he had no encouragement from me tocome again. On further acquaintance I didn't exactly take a fancyto Saunderson. Thought he was a bit of a bounder. Still, I don'twant to talk about that now the poor chap's been done in. But youare asking."

"Precisely." The detective glanced at his notes and made ahieroglyphic entry. "Now, I want to know whether he had any sort ofa quarrel with any of your other visitors--any woman got a down onhim?"

Glancing at him as he answered, Harbord caught a curious,momentary gleam in Lord Medchester's eyes.

"He wasn't exactly a favourite, but they all seemed friendlyenough together," he replied, ignoring the latter half of thequestion. "Besides, most of 'em had gone away. If they had wantedto murder one another, they could have done it in town; no need tocome down here."

"Any possible love-affair with anyone at Holford?"

"Oh, Lord, I should think not!" he said with a laugh thatsounded a bit forced in Stoddart's ears. "I shouldn't thinkSaunderson was that sort, getting a bit long in the tooth. Besides,there was nobody here he could have got soppy about. All of 'emmarried and not the kind that are looking about to get rid of theirhusbands."

"Nobody unmarried?" the inspector queried. "Not that thatmatters. The married ones are generally the worst."

"Yes, there I am with you. They are if they take that way. Butyou are talking about the unmarried ones. The only one in the lotwas my cousin, Miss Courtenay, and she is engaged to my trainer,Michael Burford--no eyes for anyone else; damned nuisancesometimes, don't you know! Be a bit more interesting in a year ortwo. I made the remark to Saunderson, I remember."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, nothing much. Merely laughed. There wasn't much he couldsay. Anybody could see it."

Stoddart got up. "Well, marriage doesn't make much difference tosome of them. I think the best thing I can do is just to have alook round at the summer-house and then at the body. Perhaps youwould let me have a list of the house-party later on?"

"I'll have one made," Lord Medchester promised, getting up andtaking a position before the fireplace. "And if there's anythingelse we can do you've only to let us know. It's no joke having aman murdered at the back of your own garden."

That seemed to be all there was to be got out of Lord Medchesterand, as Stoddart observed to Harbord, it was not veryilluminating.

The doctor could only tell them two things--first, that deathhad probably occurred some nine or ten hours before the body wasdiscovered, which would place the time round about ten o'clock thepreceding evening; and that, secondly, the automatic had not beenfired close at hand. The murderer, according to Dr. Middleton, hadprobably stood outside the summer-house and fired through the opendoorway.

Stoddart drew his brows together as he and Harbord walked acrossthe lawn to the Dutch garden.

"Queer case!" the younger man ventured.

The inspector nodded.

"We'll just have a look at the summer-house before it gets toodark, and interview the local superintendent. And then it strikesme we may as well toddle back to town in the morning andinvestigate Saunderson's doings. I fancy we are more likely to hiton the clue there than here."

"I don't know," Harbord said slowly. "Of course he came here tomeet some one."

"Naturally!" the inspector assented. "One hardly imagines thathe travelled down for the sole purpose of being murdered. But thetwo questions that present themselves, and which I fancy we shallhave some difficulty in answering are these: who did Saundersoncome to meet, and why did he come to Holford for the meeting?"

They were crossing the Dutch garden now. Harbord looked allround before he answered.

"Through that gate at the side I suppose our way lies, sir. Withregard to your first question, I think it is pretty obvious theperson Saunderson came to meet must be some one in the Hall, eithera resident or a visitor. And he came, I should imagine, with somevery definite object. If it should be a love-affair it must havebeen an illicit one. Therefore I should make a few carefulinquiries about any married women who may be in the house. As faras I have ascertained they have a pretty good houseful now, aslarge, if not larger, than the one they had for the St. Leger. Ifthere should be anyone here at the present time who was included inthe Doncaster party, I should look up that person'santecedents."

"Well reasoned, Alfred. But"--the inspector looked at him with awry smile--"we have no proof that the murderer was a woman. As amatter of fact I should say it is quite as likely, if not morelikely, to have been a man. Money or love, and in love I includejealousy. As far as my experience goes nine-tenths of the murderscommitted are committed for one or other of these motives. In thiscase I think financial difficulties are just as likely to have ledto the death as an illicit love-affair."

"I wonder if they searched the place thoroughly?"

Stoddart shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't need me to tell you that when a place is used for teafairly often anything may be found there. Might be a dozen cluesthat mean nothing. This is our way, I presume."

He unlatched the gate at the right-hand side of the Dutchgarden. They heard voices as they went along the path to thesummer-house.

The inspector frowned as he saw the downtrodden grass.

"Done their best to destroy any clue there might have been, ofcourse."

The summer-house stood on a little knoll in the midst of theclearing; all around it the rhododendrons that formed the sides ofthe Dutch garden had spread and were pressing closely.

Superintendent Mayer and another man, apparently occupied instaring at the summerhouse, turned as the detectivesapproached.

"I am pleased to see you, Inspector Stoddart," thesuperintendent began. "This is a terrible job. We can't makeanything of it ourselves. 'Tain't believable that anybodyhereabouts would have done a thing like this."

"It is pretty obvious that somebody did, superintendent," theinspector said dryly. "Still it is more than likely it was not anative of Holford. This is where the body was found, I suppose. Canyou show me just how it lay?"

"Yes, I can." The superintendent stepped into the summer-house."He lay right on his back, did the corpse. His head was over here,"indicating a spot by the nearest leg of the rustic table. "Hisfeet, they were right there in the doorway. Seemed as if he hadbeen standing there, or maybe on the step. And I should say them ashe was expecting came right on him, maybe by a way he wasn'tlooking for them."

The inspector surveyed the place where the dead man had lain insilence for a minute. Then, standing on the step, he lookedround.

"It wouldn't have been very difficult for anyone to take himunawares. The rhododendrons come right up on all sides except thefront, it seems to me. But it rained last night in town. I expectit was the same here. How did your unexpected assailant see to aimat his victim?"

The superintendent stared at him.

"I don't know. But there was a moon, though it was showery mostof the time. The--the murderer must ha' waited till it shone a bit,like, and then the gentleman's shirt front would make a decenttarget."

The inspector nodded.

"Quite. Down here you say he was lying. Were his feet projectingbeyond the doorway?"

The superintendent scratched his head. "Sticking out, like, youmean? No, they didn't. But I think as the murderer had searchedthrough his pockets and maybe been disturbed. The body had got on alight overcoat and one of the pockets looked as if it had beenpulled out and pushed in again carelessly. I mean as it wasn'tright in like, a bit of it was left pulled out and just here by theside of the pocket there was a notebook lying on the ground and apaper or two, as if them that took them out had been in too much ofa hurry to put them back."

The inspector pricked up his ears.

"Where are they?"

The superintendent tramped across the summer-house and, stoopingdown, drew a small leather attache-case from beneath the seat.

"I put 'em in this and locked 'em up." He felt in his pocketsand produced the key. "I thought you'd be wanting to see them orI'd have taken them down to the police station," he said as heunlocked the case and handed a pocket-book and a couple of lettersnot enclosed in envelopes to Stoddart. "There's a lot of notes inthe pocket-book, so it don't look as if robbery had much to do withit."

The inspector glanced at the letters first. One was merely abusiness communication from a wholesale leather firm saying thatMr. Saunderson's esteemed order should have their earliestattention. The other was a very different affair. The detective'seyes brightened as he looked at it. Written on good paper, it wasneither stamped nor dated, but across it was scrawled in large,badly printed letters: "I accede because I have no choice."

That was all. There was no signature. Stoddart turned it over,looked at it from every angle, and even actually smelt it before hehanded it back to the superintendent. Then he made no comment, buthe turned to his case-book and jotted down an unusually lengthyentry. He opened the dead man's pocket-book and after a rapidglance through it laid it on the table.

"Put this back in your case, superintendent. We will take itback to the police station and go into it all carefully. Now,before we go across to the mortuary, do you know how the deceasedgot here? As he was not staying at the Hall, and presumably not inthe immediate neighbourhood, I mean? Did he come to Holford bytrain?"

The superintendent shook his head.

"Not to Holford, he didn't. I have asked at the station andnobody answering to his description was seen there last night, andhe must have been noticed if he had come, for there's precious fewpassengers at Holford except the folks from the Hall. There's otherstations he might ha' come to, of course, but not hardly withinwalking distance--seven or eight miles maybe, and cross-country atthat. His shoes don't look as if he had come far, either. And yet,if he was in a car, where is the car?"

"H'm--well!" The inspector looked thoughtful. "We will go downto the mortuary at once," he decided.

CHAPTER 4

As the Chief Constable had said, the temporary mortuary atHolford was just an ordinary barn. Some rough trestles had been setup in the middle under the direction of Superintendent Mayer, andRobert Saunderson lay on them. Some one had thrown a white sheetover the body. Superintendent Mayer tramped across and laid itback.

"Looks as if he'd been surprised somehow," he commented, gazingdown on the face that, sensual and coarse-looking in life, hadgained a certain dignity in death. "Stiff and cold he'd been forhours before we found him," the superintendent went on.

Standing beside him, Inspector Stoddart looked down at the deadman. He glanced quickly over the face and form, then passed to thelight overcoat that hung over the bottom of the trestles.

"You have gone through the pockets, you said,superintendent?"

"I have--and there's nothing in 'em to help us," that worthyannounced in a tone of assurance that made Stoddart raise hiseyebrows. "There's a letter or two, none from anywhere about here,and the money that I showed you before. His wrist-watch too, I leftthat on."

One of the dead man's arms was lying by his side. Stoddartlifted it up; the watch had stopped at 9.30.

"We get the time of death approximately from that. Probably whenhe fell the arm hit the ground heavily and stopped the watch."

"It might ha' been a bit fast or a bit slow, though," thesuperintendent remarked wisely.

Stoddart's smile would have been a laugh but for the quietpresence lying there before him.

Harbord at the side was going through the pockets of the deadman's overcoat with quick, capable fingers. Suddenly he uttered asharp exclamation. As Stoddart and the superintendent looked at himhe held up something that gleamed for a moment in a ray of lightthat filtered through the shadows of the barn.

Stoddart beckoned him to the door, and while the superintendentreplaced the sheet over the dead man the inspector glancedcuriously at the object his assistant had in his hand. He saw threecrystal beads linked together by a thin, gold chain.

Harbord looked at him.

"It must have dropped there when the pocket was searched."

The superintendent came up and elbowed them apart.

"No, beg pardon, it was not," he contradicted. "That wasn't inthe pocket when I searched it this morning. It must ha' been putthere since."

Harbord looked at him.

"It was the right-hand pocket beside which you found the bookand the notes, wasn't it?"

The superintendent nodded. "Ay, it was the right-hand pocketsure enough, and it was pulled out, like, a bit, but the beadsweren't in it then."

"The chain had caught in the lining. That must have been how youoverlooked it," Harbord said shortly.

"It wasn't there at all," the superintendent said positively. "Iturned that pocket inside out. There was nothing there, I willswear."

"Well, the thing is here now. What possibility is there ofgetting it into the pocket after you searched it?" Stoddartinquired sharply.

The superintendent scratched his head.

"I don't know. There was nobody but me and Constable Jones wentinto the hut, not until the ambulance men fetched the body away. Iand the constable went across here to the barn to look round theplace and give orders about the trestles. The gardeners were seeingto it and got a bit rattled, poor chaps. But we weren't gone morethan a few minutes before the ambulance men arrived--but what wouldthey go dropping glass beads about for?"

"Who were the ambulance men?"

"They weren't men as I know," the superintendent saidthoughtfully. "Not as to say well, that is. They work at theCottage Hospital on the hill, the two as brought theambulance-stretcher, as they call it. It's on wheels. His lordship,he gave it to the hospital. They lifted him"--with a backward jerkat the stark form under the sheet--"the two men and Jones and agardener that was passing. I gave a hand, steadying the stretcherand helping when they laid it on. But I don't see--I do notsee"--pausing and endeavouring apparently to recall the scene--"asany of them had the chance to put those beads in the pocket, evenif they wanted to, which don't seem likely."

It did not. As the inspector closed the door of the barn behindthem his eyes had a puzzled, far-away look.

"Did you know the gardener who helped you?" Stoddart inquired asthey crossed the churchyard and turned in at the private gate intothe Holford grounds.

"No, I don't know as I do; he isn't a Holford man," thesuperintendent said, his broad, red face wearing the look ofbewilderment that had come over it when he saw the beads. "He wasjust working in the rosery and saw them bring the ambulance, andcame along to find out if he could help. He were likely enough oneof the young men that's here to learn a bit of gardening from Mr.Macdonald, and lives up at the cottage at the back of theglass-houses."

"I see!" The inspector made a note in his book. "We will justhave a word with this gardener. Who is that?"

"That" was a young man who had come out of the Hall and waswalking a little way down the path across the lawn at a brisk pace.Seeing them, he had hesitated a minute, and then turned off sharplytowards the big entrance gates.

The superintendent stared after him.

"That--that is young Mr. Courtenay, his lordship's cousin. Ishould ha' said he didn't want to see us."

"So should I!" the inspector assented grimly. "Butunfortunately, as it happens, since the desire is apparently notmutual, Mr. Harold Courtenay is a young gentleman I particularlywish to interview. I fancy striking over here by the pine trees weshall manage to intercept him."

He set off at a brisk pace, Harbord by his side, the burlysuperintendent puffing and blowing behind.

They emerged from the grove of trees at the side of the Hallimmediately in front of Harold Courtenay.

That young gentleman looked amazed to see them step out on thewalk in front of him. The inspector, glancing at him keenly,fancied that he saw discomposure mingling with the surprise.

He went forward.

"Mr. Harold Courtenay, I think? I should be glad if I might havea few words with you."

Harold Courtenay glanced round as if seeking some way of escape,but nothing presenting itself apparently resigned himself to theinevitable.

"Inspector Stoddart, I think, isn't it? My cousin told me youhad come down. I am quite at your service, inspector."

"Thank you, Mr. Courtenay."

Young Courtenay was looking very ill, the inspector thought. Hisface was sickly grey beneath its tan, his eyes had a scared,furtive look, two or three times his mouth twitched oddly to oneside as the inspector watched him.

"Just a question or two I wanted to put to you," Stoddart wenton. "Later on there may be other things, but now I shall not detainyou more than a minute or two."

"That's all right," Courtenay said at once. "If anything I cantell you will help you I shall be only too glad. I am only afraidit won't. I had no idea even that Saunderson was likely to be inthe neighbourhood last night." He stopped and swallowed somethingin his throat. "He was rather by way of being a friend of mine, youknow, inspector."

Stoddart nodded, his keen eyes never relaxing their watch on theyoung man's face.

"So I have heard. When did you last see him, Mr. Courtenay?"

The young man hesitated a moment.

"Oh, just a few days ago," he said vaguely. "The beginning ofthe week, I think it was. Monday evening, I remember now. I calledat his flat."

"Did he tell you he was coming down here in the near future?"the inspector questioned.

Courtenay shook his head. "Never even mentioned Holford so faras I can remember."

"Did he speak of anyone or anything that could have had anybearing on last night's tragedy?"

"Certainly not!" Courtenay said with decision.

"We only spoke on the most ordinary topics."

"Can you remember any of those topics?" the inspectorquestioned.

Harold Courtenay waited a moment before answering.

"Nothing much," he said slowly. "Most of the time it was aboutracing. We both of us cursed Battledore for letting us down overthe St. Leger. And Saunderson said somebody had given him a tip forthe autumn double--Cesarewitch and the Cambridgeshire, youknow--White Flower and Dark Mouth; and he said he shouldn't do it,though the chap that told him generally knew what he was talkingabout. Dark Mouth is French--he'd never fancied a French horse, hesaid, since Epinard let him down over the Cambridgeshire."

"Did you tell him you were coming here?"

"N--o! I don't think so," the young man said with a momentaryindecision that did not escape the inspector's keen eyes. "No, as amatter of fact I don't think I knew that I was coming here myselfthen."

"When did you come?" the inspector asked. "In the afternoon ofThursday, wasn't it?"

"Yes, by the 3.30 from Derby to Holford." There was a certainrelief in Courtenay's tone now. His eyes met Stoddart's openly.

"And Saunderson--when did he come?" the inspector saidquickly.

"Saunderson?" Courtenay stared at him. "I don't know. I don'tknow anything about him. I couldn't believe it when I heard he waslying dead in the summer-house."

"When did you hear?" The inspector looked straight at the youngman as he put the question.

"Why, when the gardener came up and told us all." Courtenaylooked down and shifted his feet about on the graveluncertainly.

The inspector brought out his notebook. "Now, Mr. Courtenay,this is just a matter of course. I have nearly finished. What wereyou doing between nine and ten o'clock last night, and where wereyou?"

"Ten o'clock last night?" Courtenay repeated, kicking up a bigbit of gravel. "Well, the Medchesters had some neighbours in todinner and of course there were a few of us staying in the house,and afterwards we had a rubber of bridge in the card-room. I meantto take a hand, but I cut out, and after I'd watched the play a bitI went into the billiard-room with a couple of other men andknocked the balls about. Later on I went back to the card-room andhad a game. Landed a pound or two, too--my luck was in."

"How long were you in the billiard-room?"

Courtenay, having got up his piece of gravel, kicked it off intothe grass.

"Oh, it might have been half an hour or so, or maybe it mighthave been a bit longer. I couldn't tell you nearer than that," hesaid carelessly, but his eyes from beneath their heavy lids shot anodd glance at the inspector as he spoke.

Stoddart's quick fingers were making notes. He was not lookingat Courtenay now.

"Who were the two men with you in the billiard-room?"

"Sir James Wilson and Captain Maddock," Courtenay said quickly."Mind, I don't say they were there all the time. We were in andout, you know."

The inspector made no comment.

"Can you give me the names of the card-players?"

"Not all of them right off, I can't," Courtenay said after aminute or two spent apparently in trying to quicken his memory."Old Lady Frinton was my partner, I know, and the vicar part of thetime. The others may come back to me later on."

"Lord and Lady Medchester, perhaps?" the inspectorsuggested.

Courtenay shook his head.

"I don't think so. Lord Medchester was with us in thebilliard-room a bit. Then he went off. I think a few of them weresmoking on the veranda."

"And Lady Medchester? Was she playing?"

Courtenay paused a moment.

"No," he said. "I remember she wouldn't, though she is generallypretty keen about it. But I don't think they played high enough forher. She goes in for pretty high stakes in town. She just dodgedabout, looking after folks. The two old people--the Dowager and myold grandfather--were playing bezique in the small drawing-room. Ididn't see much of her."

"I see." The inspector produced the crystal beads from hispocket and held them up. "Have you ever seen these before, Mr.Courtenay?"

Harold Courtenay stared at them, and as he looked the colourwhich had been coming back to his face ebbed away again.

"I--I don't know," he stammered. "I don't think so."

"Are you quite sure?" The inspector spoke suavely, but there wasa look in his eyes which Harbord knew was a danger signal.

Harold Courtenay wriggled uneasily.

"I may have done; I can't be sure. Every woman you meet wearsthis sort of thing nowadays."

"True enough," the inspector assented, dangling the beads beforehim. "And these are of no particular value. You can see that atonce."

"Where did you find them?" Harold Courtenay asked, his eyeswatching them as if fascinated, while the inspector dangled thembefore him.

A curious, enigmatic smile twisted Stoddart's thin lips.

"Ah! That," he said as he restored the beads to his pocket, "ismy secret, Mr. Courtenay--and it will be as well if you say nothingabout them at present."

CHAPTER 5

"This is a queer case," Inspector Stoddart said slowly. "Thereis something about it I don't understand, I can't fathom--"

Harbord made no rejoinder. He looked tired and worried. The twomen were sitting in the little room the inspector had engaged atthe "Medchester Arms." It was a small, unpretentious village inn,and they had been fortunate in securing the rooms vacated thatmorning by Maurice Stainer and his sister. They had just finishedtheir midday meal--the cold beef and pickles which, with a slice ofapple pasty, was all that Holford could produce in the way ofluncheon at the end of the week.

A box of cigarettes stood on the table. Stoddart stretched outhis hand and took one.

"There's nothing like a smoke for clearing one's brain; to myway of thinking, nothing beats a gasper. Lord Medchester made metake a couple of Egyptians this morning. Very good, but give me myown gold flake."

"Yes, I hate those strong things," Harbord assented. "But I'dsmoke 'em fast enough if I thought they'd do my brain any good. Itseems to be made of cotton-wool lately. Young Courtenay knowssomething. I am clear enough about that."

Stoddart drew in his lips.

"So do a good many other people--Lord Medchester for one. But asto what it is, and how much there is to it, I can't make up mymind. How did those beads come in Saunderson's pocket, and who putthem there?

"There were those few moments when the superintendent went tolook at the barn, but to my mind they must have been there when hesearched the body."

Harbord lighted a cigarette and continued:

"As I see things, it must have been a woman who shotSaunderson--probably he had letters from her. He may have beenholding them over her, for he seems to have been a tolerably badhat where women are concerned. Then she searched hispocket--possibly she knew they were there, and the beads look as ifthey had been part of a chain, one of those long, dangling thingswomen wear to make up for their short skirts, maybe. A chain ofwhite glass beads is common enough. They are always catching onbuttons and what not, you know, sir."

"I don't," the inspector said with emphasis on thepronoun. "They never get the chance of catching on my buttons,thank the Lord. But there's a snag in your theory, Alfred--thebeads were not there when the body was found."

"According to Superintendent Mayer," Harbord corrected. "Theywere not in the bottom of the pocket, you know, sir. One of thelinks of the chain had hooked itself in the lining of the pocket. Ithink it would be quite easy to take papers or anything of thatsort out without feeling the beads."

"Only the pocket-book and papers were lying on the floor," theinspector objected. "No use trying to make facts fit in with yourtheory, Alfred. And don't make the mistake of underestimating thesuperintendent's intelligence. Because he is fat and ponderous andtalks with the accent of Loamshire, you do not give him credit forthe brains he possesses."

"Does he?" Harbord questioned sceptically. The inspectornodded.

"Undoubtedly. Medchester isn't much of a place certainly, but aman doesn't become police superintendent even there without acertain amount of ability. As for Superintendent Mayer--" Hepaused.

"Well?" Harbord said interrogatively.

"Those little pig's eyes of his see further than you think,"Stoddart finished. "Oh, there were no beads when he went throughthe pocket; I feel sure of that."

"Then how did they get there?"

"Ah!" The inspector lay back in his chair and smoked his gasper."I should very much like to discover that. As I said just now,there is some nasty, hanky-panky work going on here that I don'tunderstand at all."

Harbord was on the point of replying when there was a knock atthe door. The landlady of the "Medchester Arms" looked in.

"Joseph Wilton is asking to see you, sir. The gardener thatfound the poor gentleman dead in the summer-house," she added in anexplanatory tone.

The inspector sat up.

"Show him in, please, Mrs. Marlow."

Joseph Wilton was a clean-looking, clean shaven man, probably inthe early forties. He was evidently in his working clothes, butthey were whole and tidy. About him there clung that indefinablesmell that always seems to hang about those who work on theland.

He touched his forehead to the inspector.

"Afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wilton," the inspector returned politely."I hear that it was you who found Mr. Saunderson's body in thesummer house."

"It was, sir." The man hesitated a minute. "It was, sir," hesaid again. "I found the poor gentleman then, and now I ha' foundthis here." He put one horny hand in his trouser pocket and fumbledfor a moment or two; then very slowly he produced something that hedangled before the inspector's amazed eyes--a long chain of crystalbeads linked together by a thin, gold chain. It had evidently beenbroken and the two ends hung loose.

The inspector sprang up.

"That, by Jove! Where did you find it?"

"Down among the rhododendrons hard by the rosery gate, on theright side. I was clearing out there and cutting the rhododendronsback a bit," Joseph Wilton answered, shaking his find before theinspector. "I showed it to Mr. Macdonald, our head gardener, and hesaid I'd better bring it to you; it might be you'd want to see it,he said."

"So I do," the inspector said, taking the chain in his hand andexamining it with care. "It is a thing I have wanted to see verymuch indeed, Mr. Wilton. Now, should you be able to show us exactlywhere you found this thing if we went back to the garden withyou?"

Wilton scratched his head and looked doubtful.

"Well, maybe I could, and again maybe I couldn't. I dessay Ishould be within a few yards, anyway."

"That'll do for our purpose." The inspector crossed over to acupboard that was let into the wall near the fireplace and, openingit, deposited the chain in a small box therein, and carefullylocking it dropped the key in his pocket. "Well, we will walk upwith you, Mr. Wilson, and you shall show us as near as youcan."

"Yes, sir, I'll do my best."

They all three went out of the "Medchester Arms" together and,walking up the village street towards the Hall, Joseph Wilton'spleasure at being seen by his neighbours in the company of hisobvious superiors was tempered by fear that they might imagine hehad been taken into custody.

"'Twould be easier, like, to cross over there through thepaddock to the blue doors and walk up to the rosery from there thanto go round by the lodge," he observed at last, pointing to a stileby the side of the road.

"Well, the quicker we are the better," the inspectorassented.

He sprang over the stile and the other two followed. The pathacross the paddock was pretty well defined and quite obviously ledto the path at the bottom of the rosery.

"Easily accessible, the Hall gardens," the inspector observed,looking round. "Saunderson would have had no difficulty in gettingin."

"N--o!" Wilton, too, looked round. "He could ha' got in rightenough, but the keeper's lodge's round there and the dogs are oftenout at night, and they might go for a stranger. I did hear, though,that they were all out at the Spring Wood that night looking forpoachers."

"Oh, indeed! Well, later on we might have a chat with thekeeper," Stoddart remarked with a glance at Harbord. "It must havegiven you a scare, Mr. Wilton, when you saw the man lying dead inthe summer-house."

"It did that," Wilton assented. "First when I saw some one lyingthere the thought come to me that it was some tramp that had got inand maybe gone to sleep. When I saw what it was I turned fairsick."

"I don't wonder. I expect it would turn most of us," theinspector said sympathetically. "Did you move the body at all, ortouch it in any way?"

Wilton shook his head.

"I did not, sir. I saw directly I got up to him the gentlemanwas dead and cold, and I called out to Bill Griggs as was sweepingup leaves outside on the walk, and when he had had a look we bothrun up to the house to tell his lordship."

"You were one of those who lifted the body on to the stretcher,I understand?" the inspector pursued.

"Ay! That I was, and a nasty job it was," the other agreedslowly. "I dunno as I should care for such another."

"This Bill Griggs you spoke of just now, was he one of theothers to lift the body?"

"No, that he wasn't," Wilton said, pausing by an iron railingthat ran down one side of the rosery. "There was just the twoambulance men and me. The superintendent he helped a bit, steadyingthe head and so forth. There wasn't anybody else needed."

"That so?" The inspector looked at him. "Who were the ambulancemen? They would be in some sort of uniform, I presume? You wouldknow them?"

"Y--es, I did, in a manner of speaking," Wilton respondedslowly. "They was Holford men, the two of 'em. I ha' passed thetime of day with them when I've met 'em, which hasn't been often.If you could get over those railings, sir, it'd be the nearest wayto the summer-house."

"Oh, I can manage that right enough," the inspector saidlightly.

He put his hand on the top rail and vaulted over. Harbordfollowed suit, then Wilton clambered over.

"You are wonderfully nippy for town gentlemen," he said, gazingadmiringly at the detectives.

The inspector laughed.

"Ah, I wasn't always a town gentleman, Mr. Wilton. You've noidea, I suppose, who the owner of the bead necklace might be?"

The man shook his head.

"You're sure?" the inspector pressed. "Never seen it on any ofthe ladies staying at the house?"

"Ay, I am that!" Wilton said positively. "Not that I'd noticemuch what they got round their necks. Never saw 'em before so faras I know."

"Bead necklaces are pretty much alike," the inspector saidthoughtfully. "I suppose we are getting near the place where youfound it?"

Wilton assented as he unlatched the little gate at the side ofthe rosery and led the way into the Dutch garden. Right in front ofthem were the rhododendrons that formed the hedge between thegarden and the clearing in the midst of which the summer-housestood.

"It was up here." Wilton quickened his step until he had nearlyreached the wall forming the northern boundary of the Dutch garden."I left my shears here, you see. I was cutting back the bushes.Those leaves I brushed up near there and I saw the necklace caughton one of the lowest boughs of that there rhododendron, a fine pink'un it is in the spring. But I couldn't reach it from here, andthere's wire along the lower part to keep the rabbits away from theflower-beds, so I had to go to the summer-house side to getit."

The inspector peered through. The rhododendrons were high andthick and strong with the growth of years. He marvelled how Wiltoncould have seen anything.

"Tidy distance from the summer-house, isn't it? Looks as if thething must have been put there on purpose."

"'Tain't so far from the summer-house as you think," Wiltondissented. "Nearly right opposite here it is. And pretty straightacross it is. If anybody came down in the dark, side of thoserhododendrons, that necklace might easily get caught and pulledoff. That's how I look at it; or, again, it might ha' been thrownthere by somebody that didn't want it to tell tales," he finisheddarkly.

"It'll tell tales all right," the inspector muttered as he andHarbord, having marked the spot, walked off.

CHAPTER 6

"Only two women who were in the house-party for Doncaster werestaying at Holford Hall last Thursday," Stoddart said, meetingHarbord in the village street outside the 'Medchester Arms.' "Oneof them is Miss Courtenay, Lord Medchester's cousin, the other is aMrs. Williamson, the pretty young second wife of a retired Indiancolonel, to whom she is apparently devoted."

"That narrows matters down a little," Harbord saidconsideringly. "Though of course we have no certainty that theperson who shot Saunderson was a member of the Doncasterhouse-party, or of the party last Thursday, for that matter."

"No certainty at all," the inspector assented.

"In fact, there is no certainty about the whole thing exceptSaunderson's death. He is to be buried to-morrow, by the way. Thecoroner has given the certificate. I was about to add that four menwere included in both parties. Colonel Williamson, Mr. HaroldCourtenay--he, of course, is the young gentleman who was so anxiousto get out of our way this morning--Captain Maddock and Sir JohnLinford. All of those must be interviewed to-day. If possible wemust see the ladies first."

"Of course," Harbord agreed thoughtfully. "There is also LadyMedchester. Rumour credits her with a distinct penchant forSaunderson."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten her ladyship," Stoddart said quietly."But Lady Medchester is a lady of a good many affairs--still, youcan't say she wouldn't lose her head over Robert Saunderson.However, we will get her first if we can. Lord Medchester says wemay interview the folks in the gun-room. But I fancy it will bebest to ask for Lady Medchester first and see her wherever shewishes. It is curious that nobody appears to have a satisfactoryalibi."

Just inside the lodge gates they encountered Lord Medchester. Hegreeted them with effusion.

"I was just going down to have a word with the vicar. It's aboutthis funeral of Saunderson's. Nobody seems to know anything aboutthe fellow, and he's left no directions that anybody knows of. Ithink the poor chap will have to be buried down here."

"Hasn't he left a Will?"

"Haven't been able to get on the track of it if he has," LordMedchester said discontentedly. "They say at the bank--the UnitedOverseas, you know--that he was joking with the manager a week ortwo ago about not having made a Will, and said he would when he hadanything to leave and anybody to leave it to. Sort of rubbishingjoke a chap does make, you know."

"I know," the inspector assented gravely. "Well, perhaps it willbe as well to bury him here if he hasn't expressed any wish foranywhere else."

"Well, I can't say I have any wish to be buried anywheremyself," his lordship rejoined. "I'd rather stay above ground aslong as I can. And I don't want to be cremated. Beastly businessthat."

"There is something to be said for and against," the inspectorsaid impartially. "We were just coming up to the Hall. You willunderstand that, purely as a matter of form, we have to ask everyone who was at the Hall that night to account for his or hermovements at the time of the murder?"

"What!" His lordship looked aghast. "You don't mean everybody atthe Hall? Gardeners and gamekeepers, of course. And, as I saidbefore, the gun-room is at your service if you wish to see 'emindoors; but you can't suspect my guests or the indoorservants!"

"I don't suspect anybody, Lord Medchester," the inspector saidgravely. "But I have got to find out who shot Mr. Saunderson, andfirst of all I have to find out where every one in the immediateneighbourhood was between nine and eleven o'clock last Thursday.Perhaps I might be allowed to begin with you? You would be, Ipresume, with your guests?"

"Of course I was." His lordship took off his hat and mopped hisbald head. "Well, if that is how things are, I'd better walk backwith you myself. I expect some of the folks will be a bit rattledwhen they know what you are up to."

"Oh, I hope not," the inspector dissented. "I shall only keepthem a few minutes if they are sensible. You, now, will be able totell me just who was with you at that time. That will put them out,of course."

"I am sure I don't know that I can." Lord Medchester replacedhis hat and turned back up the avenue with them. "Nine o'clock?That would be just after dinner. Well, we didn't stay in thedining-room long--some of 'em started playing auction, but I alwaysfind that a bit slow myself, and as there didn't seem much chanceof poker or baccarat I went into the billiard-room with some of theothers. But I had only just gone in when Mr. Burford--that's mytrainer--and Captain Maddock came in and wanted a word with us.Some of the horses were coughing, and he had taken a fancy to havesome vet he'd heard of down from town. Well, we didn't quite seeit, either of us. It would have meant a pretty pot of money, and wewere satisfied with old Tom Worseley, who'd looked after thembefore. Burford, who is a pretty obstinate chap, was inclined toargue the matter. So we went to smoke our cigarettes and talkthings over in the veranda."

"Well, Lord Medchester, you can at least answer for it thatneither Captain Maddock nor Mr. Burford was near the rosery duringthe suspected time." The inspector cast a keen glance at theother's face as he spoke.

"I am sure I don't know that I could," he said in a worriedtone. "I was dodging about, you know, in and out from the card-roomto the billiard-room talking to one and the other. When a man hasguests he can't sit in one place all the evening."

"Of course he can't," the inspector agreed. They were gettingnear the front door, but Lord Medchester turned off across thegrass.

"We'll go in by the side door and to my study. Then I will fetchLady Medchester."

"Thank you."

"She won't like coming. I dare say you will find her a bitratty," his lordship observed confidentially. "And I don't thinkshe will be able to tell you anything. But that's that."

He took them in by the conservatory door and straight to hisstudy--an apartment redolent of tobacco and scattered over withracing papers.

Lady Medchester did not hurry herself. Stoddart went over to thebookshelves.

"Who was Lady Medchester, I wonder?"

He took out a Peerage and turned over the leaves rapidly. Thenhe drew in his lips.

"H'm! Tells its own tale. Richard Frederick, fifth ViscountMedchester... Married Minnie, daughter of Francis, BaronLoamfield... Oh, that may account for a great deal."

Harbord looked puzzled.

"I don't understand."

"Ah, well, you observe she was not the Honourable Minnie.Francis, Baron Loamfield, was about as bad as they make 'em. LadyLoamfield couldn't stand him. But she didn't divorce him, being aCatholic. Loamfield had any amount of mistresses and a large familyof illegitimate children. Looked after 'em, too, which is more thansome of 'em do. One of 'em is a butcher in Loamby. This Minnie, Ihave heard of her, though it had slipped my memory till I saw thisparagraph. Well, Minnie was running about wild, and she took hisfancy, being both pretty and independent; he had her educated andgave her a big marriage portion. But the Loamfield blood's in her,and if she runs straight--well, there isn't much in heredity."

"I wonder if there is?" Harbord hesitated.

They had no time for more. Lady Medchester came quickly acrossthe hall and into the room.

"You want to speak to me?" she said abruptly.

"If you please, Lady Medchester." Stoddart placed a chair forher and closed the door. A glance told him that she was not lookingwell. Her make-up was not sufficient to disguise the pallor of herface or do away with the dark circles round her eyes, and her lips,scarlet with lipstick, were visibly trembling.

"You remember the night of Thursday?"

Lady Medchester nodded and put her handkerchief up to hertrembling lips.

"Of course I do. I--I wish I could forget it. But I can't. Inever shall."

"You had a dinner-party that night, I understand?"

"Of course we had. You know that. Lord Medchester told you aboutit," Lady Medchester returned impatiently. She put down herhandkerchief, on which two dabs of lipstick were plainly visible,and started twisting it about in her fingers.

"Could you tell us all you know about Mr. Saunderson?"

"Well, it wasn't so much really," she began, and Harbordwondered whether he was mistaken or whether there really was theshadow of a great fear in the big, pale eyes with theirbistre-tinted eyelashes and eyebrows. "I met him in town this lastseason fairly often, and we stayed in the same house forGoodwood."

"He was an agreeable, pleasant sort of man, I understand?"

"Oh, very. I was quite pleased when my husband asked him to joinour party for Doncaster."

Inspector Stoddart consulted his notebook.

"I take it that you found him quite an agreeable visitor? Butthat when he left you had no particular reason to expect to see himin the neighbourhood again?"

"No, not the least." Lady Medchester's tone was growing moreassured now. "I simply could not believe it when I heard he hadbeen found dead in the summer-house," she added.

"You have not the least idea what brought him to Holford?"

"I cannot imagine. The only thing I can think of is"--shestopped and swallowed something in her throat--"that he had someimportant news for my husband, something about the horses, perhaps,and came down to see him. Perhaps he knew of the short-cut from thevillage that brings you out by the rosery. Then perhaps somepoacher met him and shot him."

"But why should Saunderson be in the village?" Stoddartquestioned.

Lady Medchester shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. I do not pretend to explain everything. That isthe only thing I have been able to think of."

"I see." The inspector consulted his notes again. "Now, LadyMedchester, I am sure you will understand that this is merely aformality--can you tell me just what you were doing between nineand ten o'clock on the night of Thursday?"

Once more there was that odd trembling of the lips, the curiouslight eyes avoided his.

"I was with my visitors, of course. I don't know that I can tellyou any more."

"Perhaps you played bridge?" Stoddart suggested.

"No, I didn't. As a matter of fact, I had rather a headache andI didn't feel quite up to cards. We had some music in thedrawing-room and I was there most of the evening. But of course Iwent backwards and forwards to the card-room and the hall two orthree times just to see how people were getting on."

"I wonder whether you could tell me if Mrs. Williamson and MissCourtenay were playing cards?"

Lady Medchester hesitated.

"I--I think Mrs. Williamson was. Miss Courtenay I know was not.She said"--with a perceptible hesitation--"she had a headache andwent up to her room immediately after dinner."

The inspector made an entry in his notebook.

"And Mr. Courtenay?"

Lady Medchester wrinkled her eyebrows as if trying toremember.

"I don't remember seeing much of him. He was playing bridge forsome little time. But not, I think, all the time you mention.Probably he was in the billiard-room."

"In the billiard-room, I thank you," Stoddart said politely. Hewaited a minute, then he dived into his pocket and produced thecrystal beads. "Have you ever seen this before, LadyMedchester?"

She leaned forward and looked at it, hiding her eyes.

"I don't think so," she said slowly, her mouth setting in a hardline. "I am not sure, though. It seems somehow familiar. But, then,so many people wear this sort of thing nowadays."

"It is not yours?"

"Certainly not!" Lady Medchester smiled with regained composure."It is not at all valuable," she added with a certain contempt inher tone.

"So I imagined." The inspector dropped the beads in his pocket."Thank you, and I shall be obliged if you will say nothing aboutthe beads. That is all for this morning. I should like a few wordswith Miss Courtenay."

Lady Medchester got up. "I will send her to you. She isexpecting the summons. Lord Medchester told us both you wanted us.But Miss Courtenay will not have much time to spare," she added asthe inspector opened the door. "Her grandfather, whom you may haveheard of, had a stroke, and the doctors do not give us much hope.He is not so well this morning."

"I am sorry to hear that," the inspector said politely. Hewaited until she had got out of hearing. "Rather a daisy, isn'tshe? I don't know that I envy Lord Medchester his wife."

"I don't, anyway," Harbord said bluntly. "I don't envy anybodyhis wife. Mostly a damned nuisance, it seems to me."

The inspector looked at him.

"What! Turning misanthrope? This business is enough to make oneof any man. Some damn fool of a woman is always at the bottom ofit."

Anne Courtenay did not keep them waiting. She looked a curiouscontrast to Lady Medchester in her plain, black frock, which justleft her pretty, rounded throat bare. Yet a curious look came intoStoddart's eyes as he set a chair for her so that her face was wellin the light, while he himself remained in the shadow nearer thefireplace.

"I am very sorry to trouble you in the circumstances, MissCourtenay," the inspector began. "But I am sure you will understandthat I have no choice in the matter. I will keep you only a fewminutes."

Anne bent her head.

"It is no matter," she said quietly. "The nurses are with mygrandfather. I am only allowed to see him for a few minutes at atime."

"Then I will begin at once by asking you to tell me how much youknew of Mr. Saunderson."

"Very little," Anne returned, raising her eyes to theinspector's face. "He was kind to my brother and they were veryfriendly, but I am very little in town and naturally did not seemuch of him."

"He never visited the General?" Stoddart hazarded.

Anne shook her head. "My grandfather receives very few visitors,only quite old friends."

"I take it that you and Mr. Saunderson were strangers when youmet at the house-party here for the Doncaster races?"

"No, not quite that. I believe"--Anne hesitated a minute--"thatI first met Mr. Saunderson when I was staying with Lady Medchesterlast spring, but I saw very little of him."

"And at the house-party here?"

"Well, naturally I saw more of him then." She paused and thenwent on more quickly. "I may as well say at once that it was aslittle as I could help, for I did not like Mr. Saunderson at all,though he was a friend of my brother's, and though perhaps I oughtnot to say so now he is dead."

"Oh, I quite understand," the inspector said sympathetically."Mr. Saunderson does not seem to have been a general favourite. Isuppose you did not expect to see him again when the party for theSt. Leger broke up?"

"I hoped I should not," Anne said candidly. "I did not think Mr.Saunderson's influence did my brother any good."

"Will you tell me just what you were doing after dinner lastThursday night?" As he spoke the inspector produced his notebookand laid it on the table.

Anne considered a moment.

"I had a headache," she said slowly, "and it was hot downstairs,and all the talking at dinnertime made it worse. So I went up to myroom and lay down."

"Did you stay upstairs all the evening?" the inspector askedquickly.

A subtle change in Anne's expression did not escape him. For onemoment her eyes wavered, then the girl said quietly:

"I came down for a few minutes. My head seemed to be worse and Ithought the air would do me good. I went out by the side door andwalked on the terrace."

"How long were you there?" The inspector's tone was sharpernow.

"Oh, not long. There were too many people about."

"Too many people," the inspector repeated. "Miss Courtenay, didyou meet Robert Saunderson?"

Suddenly Anne shivered from head to foot, but her voice wassteady enough as she answered:

"Certainly not. In fact, I do not think I went out until afterthe time at which he--died."

The inspector apparently consulted his notebook again. Harbord,watching, saw that his fingers were merely making meaninglessstrokes, and wondered.

Anne waited too, her brown eyes looking scared.

The inspector drew out the crystal beads and held them up. "Haveyou ever seen these before?"

"Why!" Anne uttered an exclamation of astonishment as she leanedforward and took them in her hand. "They are just like some beads Ihave that I am rather fond of. Where did you get them from?"

The inspector countered her question by another:

"Is this your chain, Miss Courtenay?"

"Certainly not," Anne said decidedly. "I saw mine in mydressing-case only a few minutes ago."

The inspector dropped his on the table.

"Would you allow me to see your chain, Miss Courtenay?"

"Of course I will." Anne got up. "I will fetch it at once."

The inspector opened the door for her and waited while she wentacross the hall and ran lightly up the stairs.

At the top, in the wide corridor that led to the principalrooms, she paused and her breath came quickly. She pressed herhandkerchief to her lips and when she brought it away there weretwo little spots of blood upon it.

"What does it mean?" she whispered to herself. "What can itmean?"

* * *

Stoddart and Harbord did not speak. Their eyes met significantlyas she came back, dangling in her hand the crystal beads.

She laid them beside those the inspector had thrown down.

"You see they are really awfully alike. There is rather morechain between each bead in mine, and the stones are cutdifferently--and there is a bead missing in yours, look at thegap--but you have to look very closely to see the difference."

"You do, indeed," said the inspector, holding up the two chainstogether. "Does your chain break easily, Miss Courtenay?"

Anne's pale lips smiled.

"I don't know. I have never broken it, but I should think itwouldn't be difficult to do so. Why do you ask?"

"I asked," the inspector said slowly, "because, as you see, thisone is broken, and three of the beads from this chain"--tappingit--"were found in the pocket of Robert Saunderson's overcoat."

CHAPTER 7

"Saunderson's flat is on the ground floor," the inspector saidas he and Harbord paused before the Polchester Mansions--a newpalatial block in the immediate neighbourhood of Piccadilly. "Ithas been locked up and the old housekeeper sent away, and Venableshas been on guard ever since last Friday, when we were summoned toHolford. I fancy we shall find the clue to the mystery here."

"If there is one," Harbord interposed.

Stoddart raised his eyebrows.

"Certainly there is one. It is scarcely like you to be sopessimistic, Alfred."

"I ought to have said if there is one that can be found,"Harbord corrected. "We are up against a criminal who knows how tohide his traces. And really Saunderson might have been trying hisbest to help him."

"Or her," the inspector interjected.

"Or her," Harbord acknowledged the correction. "I can't helpfeeling, sir, that the clue, if there is one, is connected withthose crystal beads."

"Well, you may be right or you may be wrong," the inspector saidjudicially as he led the way into the hall.

The porter touched his hat and the lift-boy stood in readiness.The inspector passed them and turned up a couple of steps to a doorat the side. A man stood before it, easily recognizable as apoliceman in plain clothes. He saluted as the inspector took a keyfrom his pocket.

"Anything to report, Venables?"

"No, sir. Nobody has been here but the postman. And he has onlybeen twice. Of course the housekeeper came just now. She said youtold her to be here to-day."

"I did," the inspector assented. "But of course she could notget in. What has become of her?"

"She has gone down to the caretaker's, sir. I expect they arehaving a good old gossip. I was to tell her when you wantedher."

"Well, I think we will have a look round first," the inspectorsaid as he opened the door and glanced about him curiously.

The hall was luxuriously carpeted. The inspector raised hiseyebrows as he felt the softly padded divans at each side, and thenglanced into the two good-sized rooms, one on each side of thedoor. Both were well furnished, one as a sitting-room, the other asa bedroom. Behind were a small room evidently used for smoking, abathroom, and a kitchen which was scrupulously neat and tidy.

"Did himself well, Saunderson, I should say," the inspectorremarked. "No servants but the old housekeeper, apparently; but inthese service flats they do not want much waiting on."

"Servants might have been in the way sometimes," Harbordgrinned. "It might have been tolerably easy to manage thehousekeeper."

"Quite! Now I wonder where we had better begin. I think thislooks as if it had been the most used," turning into thesmoking-room.

A big, padded arm-chair, leather-covered, stood near theelectric fireplace; a square, solid-looking table beside it held anopen box of cigars and a jar of tobacco. There was an array ofpipes in a rack on the wall on the other side. On another tableagainst the wall was a tantalus, a couple of glasses, and a siphonof seltzer water.

"Looks as if he expected to come back all right, poor chap,"Harbord commented.

The inspector did not answer; his keen eyes were searching everydetail of the room and the furniture. At last he walked over to thetable against the wall and took up a small morocco leather box thatstood behind the tantalus.

"Locked, of course!"

He shook it, then he set it back on the table and took acurious-looking little steel implement from his pocket and appliedhimself to the task of forcing the lock. In a very few minutes itwas done and the box lay open before them.

The inspector pounced at once upon a small, thick book about thesize of a pass-book, labelled outside "Memorandum".

"Just what I was hoping for."

Then, while he was bending his brows over it, Harbord glancedover the other contents of the box. They were a heterogeneouscollection: a bundle of old letters tied together, a cheque-book, acouple of miniatures--a fine-looking man, a girl with a sweetwistful face--then more letters; lastly a long envelope containingan application for income-tax.

The inspector uttered a sharp exclamation.

"This memorandum-book tells a curious story. Listen, Alfred.'Six hundred from Lady F. paid in to Usher & Snell. Two fiftyColonel O'Brady--Usher & Snell.' And so it goes on. Differentsums paid in to Usher & Snell, varied occasionally by 'Paid into account in Imperial and Overseas.' What do you make of it?"

"Blackmail," Harbord said laconically.

"Quite!" the inspector agreed. "So much the different initialsmake certain. But it is Usher & Snell that I am thinkingof."

"Usher & Snell!" Harbord repeated thoughtfully."Money-lenders, aren't they? I have heard of them, but--"

"Money-lenders and sharks," the inspector said emphatically."What I am asking myself now is, what was Saunderson's connexionwith them? Was he in their power or was he a member of the firm, orconnected with it? More probably the latter, I imagine,though--"

"If he had borrowed from them as a young man and let the debtaccumulate, he would have found it a pretty hard job to get out oftheir clutches," Harbord remarked.

"Yes, he would," Stoddart assented. "But from what I have heardof Saunderson I should suspect he was the spider, not the fly.However, we must pay Messrs. Usher & Snell a visit, then weshall know more than we do now. At any rate, there can be no doubtfrom this book that a great part of his income was derived fromblackmail. I'll just have a squint at the cheque-book now."

Harbord took up the memorandum-book while Stoddart turned thecounterfoils over rapidly.

"Business cheques these, all of 'em. One or two biggish ones toOwler & Vigors, the jewellers in Bond Street. Some ofSaunderson's lady friends doing him in the eye, I suppose."

"Several cheques paid in lately are from T," Harbord remarked."Paid in to Usher & Snell, I mean. I wonder who T is? There isone from C. C might stand for Courtenay."

"Also for Cox and Carter and a few others," the inspectorremarked sarcastically. "No use, Alfred. Things can't be fitted inlike that. That book is simply a record of blackmailingtransactions, and it probably supplies a motive for the crime. Theperson blackmailed may have turned, like the proverbial worm, andshot the blackmailer instead of paying up. I think we will take alook at the bedroom now. There may be letters there." He led theway across the hall. Harbord followed.

"Saunderson kept no man, you say, sir?"

"No. Just the one old housekeeper to look after things and seeto his breakfast. These are service flats, so he would manage allright. I wish he had had a man, but we must see what thehousekeeper can tell us."

There was nothing of the Spartan about Saunderson evidently. Hisbedroom, like the rest of the flat, was extremely well furnished.The floor was softly carpeted, a big easy-chair stood by theelectric radiator, and the satin down quilt on the bed was almostas thick as a French one.

The inspector went straight over to a small inlaid table nearthe window.

"A blotter, by Jove! Just the thing I was looking for."

He took it up. There were no loose papers inside, but theblotting-paper had the appearance of having been fairly well used.He held a sheet up to the light. At first sight it was not easy toread anything--it was written over and criss-crossed and blotted;but at last he made out a few words--"And unless I receive itbefore Monday--"

The rest was just a jumble of incoherencies. The inspector tookup the next sheet. "Not with you. You must--"

The other two sheets yielded even less.

"Yours sincerely, Robert Saunderson...yours faithfully, RobertSaunderson...If Battledore..." That was all that could be made out.And, though, such as it was, it went to confirm the inspector'sprevious opinion, in itself it proved nothing.

"Not much good going on here," the inspector remarked. "We willjust go through to the sitting-room. And then perhaps we might havea word with the people in the restaurant. They must have knownSaunderson fairly well."

The sitting-room was expensively furnished, but it seemed tohold even less in the way of a clue to the mystery than the otherrooms. It had the appearance of a room rarely used; a bowl of fadedflowers stood on the table, a comfortable chesterfield in themiddle of the room appeared to have been little sat upon. There wasa low book-case under one of the windows, containing a number ofdoubtful-looking French novels in garish covers. On the top of thecase stood a couple of Oriental vases, and the photograph in aframe of beaten copper of a dark, handsome woman with unshingledhair, in the fashion of a few years previously. The inspectorlooked at it, then took it out of the frame and glanced at theback.

"Taken at Southampton, and some time ago by the look of it," hesaid as he set it down. "Well, she is not one of the ladies atHolford Hall. So much is certain."

Harbord held out a letter.

"I found this in one of the dressing-table drawers."

The inspector drew his brows together as he got a whiff of thepatchouli which emanated from the paper.

"Beastly stuff! I wonder why women must put this stink on theirletters. It is a woman's writing, and I think I have seen itbefore," glancing at the big square envelope. "Yes! Why, thepostmark is Holford!" He drew out the enclosure and read it aloud.It was not dated and began abruptly. "He will be out from Friday toMonday. Come by the rosery entrance and up to the side door and Iwill let you in. Yours, M."

"M--Minnie, Lady Medchester," said the inspector. "Well, itlooks as if what London has been saying for some time--that thegossip about Saunderson and Lady Medchester had a solid substratumof fact." He glanced again at the postmark. "This Friday that shespeaks of is ten days before the murder. This makes one think. Iwonder whether Saunderson went. Anyhow, he can't tell us and I amsure Lady Medchester won't. We shall have to make inquiries. But Idon't much like the look of things. It doesn't seem probable thatthe man had two lady-loves at Holford; therefore, presumably hewent there on the day of his death to meet Lady Medchester."

"He may have had half a dozen--and the motive of the crime mayhave been jealousy," Harbord hazarded.

The inspector drew in his lips. "Only one person was likely tobe jealous. Lady Medchester's meretricious charms are scarcelylikely to rouse any strong feeling nowadays, whatever they may havebeen in her youth."

"I see what you mean," Harbord said rather slowly, frowning ashe spoke. "But isn't there rather a snag there, sir? You see, thisnote asks Saunderson to come down on the Friday because 'he' willbe out. Would she have asked him to come again on the evening ofthe murder when presumably 'he' would be certain to be at home asthey had people coming to dinner as well as others staying in thehouse?"

"It doesn't seem likely on the face of it," the inspectoragreed. "But we don't know what had happened. Something may haveturned up that made a second meeting imperative. I think--I ratherthink we shall have to ask Lady Medchester for an explanation ofthis letter."

"She will probably swear it isn't hers at all."

"I think the internal evidence shows plainly enough that it is.But still"--the inspector regarded Harbord with an indulgentsmile--"I have no intention of going to her bald-headed with itjust at present. But now we will have a word with thehousekeeper."

The housekeeper, Mrs. Draper, came to them in the hall. She wasa tall, angular-looking woman, if, with big, dark eyes that had ascared look in them as she glanced at the detectives.

"You sent for me?"

"Yes. I wanted to ask you a few questions." The inspector moveda chair forward for her. "I shall keep you only a few minutes, Mrs.Draper. I understand you have been some time with Mr.Saunderson?"

Mrs. Draper passed her apron over the chair before she satdown.

"Yes, a matter of three years and a half. And I am sorry yougentlemen should come in to find the place all in a muddle and theLondon dust over everything, getting in through every chink. But ifthe flat being locked up directly I heard of poor Mr. Saunderson'sdeath I couldn't help it."

"I'm sure you couldn't," the inspector assented heartily. "And Iknow what work is. I can see the place has been well looked after.Now, Mrs. Draper, can you tell us what took Mr. Saunderson toHolford?"

The housekeeper threw up her hands.

"Not a bit of it, I couldn't. I knew he was to be away thenight, for he said to me joking, like, when he went out--'You won'tsee me till tomorrow morning, Mrs. Draper.' He never was one tostay out all night without telling me, wasn't Mr. Saunderson. But,as to where he went, that was another matter. You might haveknocked me down with a feather when I heard he had been killed atHolford."

"Do you know of anyone that had a grudge against him?" theinspector asked.

"Eh, no! That I don't." Mrs. Draper stared at him. "He wasalways a pleasant, joking sort of man."

"You know of no quarrel of any kind? Now please do think well,Mrs. Draper," the inspector said sternly as the woman stopped andhesitated. "We must be quite sure about this."

"Well, there was a bit of unpleasantness between him and a younggentleman a week or two ago," the housekeeper said unwillingly."But I am sure it meant nothing, and anyway it is all overnow."

The inspector produced his notebook.

"This young man's name, please."

"A very nice young gentleman he is," Mrs. Draper said withemphasis. "Well, then"--as the inspector moved impatiently--"it wasMr. Harold Courtenay. He was a friend of the master's, too, exceptfor that little quarrel, and that didn't last, for I heard thempart the best of friends last Monday. I heard Mr. Courtenay callout 'So long, old chap!' as he went off."

"H'm!" The inspector produced the photograph he had found in thesitting-room. "Mr. Saunderson was rather a man for the ladies,wasn't he?"

"Well, I never saw anything of it if he was," Mrs. Draper said,pleating up the edge of her coat. "He didn't have ladies cominghere after him, or anything of that."

"Not even this lady?" said the inspector, holding up thephotograph.

Mrs. Draper's change of colour did not escape him.

"Yes, I have seen that one," she said slowly. "I let her inonce. And I know she was here once more, anyhow. I heard hertalking. She had that loud kind of voice, you couldn't mistakeit."

"Did you hear her name?"

"Well, I did hear it, but not to remember it," Mrs. Draper saiddoubtfully. "Something beginning with D it was. Miss De somethingor other. I took the lady for an actress--or a music-hallperson."

"I see. Well, we must look that up," said the inspector, placingthe photograph in his pocket and producing the three beads found inSaunderson's pocket. "Was the lady wearing anything if like thiswhen you let her in?"

Mrs. Draper hesitated. "I couldn't say, sir. She had a lot ofdangling things on--I know that; but I didn't look particular. Icouldn't say more than that."

The inspector looked disappointed as he replaced them in thelittle box.

"Well, Mrs. Draper, I must take your address, and you mustnotify me of any change. I shall probably want to see you againbefore long."

CHAPTER 8

"I shall never marry. I have changed my mind."

Anne Courtenay's tone was dull and lifeless. She was standing inthe little drawing-room of the cottage that had been GeneralCourtenay's home for years and stood on a corner of the estate thathad once been the Courtenays'. The cottage and the land surroundingit was their last remaining possession. Anne was in mourning--justa simple black frock that suited her fair skin to perfection. Thatvery morning General Courtenay had been laid to his rest, and hisold sister, saddened and broken, had returned to her home inLondon. Anne was feeling lonely and frightened. Her eyes wereglancing round the room now as if she feared something that mightlurk amid the gathering shadows.

Opposite to her stood Michael Burford. The famous trainer was astrong-looking man--strong-looking in both senses of the word. Hewas not tall; he hardly reached middle height, but on his lithe,muscular frame there was not one ounce of superfluous fat. Hislean, dark face was tanned nearly mahogany colour; against it hissteel-blue eyes had a startling, vivid effect. Meeting their glancefully, it was easy to realize that here was a man of indomitabledetermination, a man who would always conquer in a contest ofwills, whether of man or beast. In his training career MichaelBurford had been singularly successful. No horse of his ever becamesour. Burford's colts were never led on the course blinkered ormuzzled. Very early in their training they found they had met theirmaster, and the sooner they realized it and submitted the betterfor them.

He was looking at Anne now, and as he watched her face and heardher constantly reiterated words--"I shall never marry now"--therewas no anger in his eyes, only a great pity.

"Why have you changed your mind, Anne?" he questioned gently."Don't you think you owe it to me to give me some explanation?"

"I can't!" Anne raised her hands, then let them fall helplesslyto her sides. "It is just that I do not mean to marry anyone. ThatI must be alone--always alone--as long as I live."

"Why?" The steel-blue eyes kept their watch on the set whiteface. "I shall not release you, Anne," Michael Burford went onquietly. "You have promised to marry me. I shall keep you to yourpromise."

"You can't."

Anne's voice sounded as if she were tired--very, very tired. Hereyes, swollen and dark-circled, looked as though they had weptuntil they could weep no more. Her slim, young figure was bent asif she had no strength in it. The pity in Burford's eyesdeepened.

"Is your love for me dead, then, Anne?"

The girl nodded, tried to speak, but the lie refused to come.Her throat twitched convulsively; with a gesture of utter despairshe flung her hands before her eyes.

Burford watched her silently for a minute. Then he movednearer.

"Anne--"

With a moan she put out her hands as though to push himaway.

"Please--go. Don't you see that I can't--"

Very deliberately, in spite of her best efforts to avoid him,Burford took one of the outstretched hands. It lay in his like alump of ice.

"Tell me why you have changed your mind, Anne."

"I--I can't," the girl said miserably. "It is just that I havechanged, that is all. People do, you know," steadying her voicewith a supreme effort.

Michael Burford laughed aloud.

"They do, I know. But you haven't, Anne." He had captured bothhands now. "You belong to me, you are mine. I will never let yougo. I am going to marry you at once and carry you right away hometo East Molton. Is that what you are afraid of, dear? Of AnneCourtenay becoming Michael Burford the trainer's wife?" Anne triedto free her hands from his.

"No! A thousand times no!" she cried passionately. "I must goright away--away from every one I know--where no one ever sees me."As she spoke she wrenched her hands from Burford's grasp andclasped them in front of her.

"Always in my dreams I see them, staring, watching everymovement. Never, never can I get away. Oh, the world is alleyes--everywhere there are eyes!"

"I will take you away from them." Michael Burford spoke verygravely. "You shall never be lonely or frightened again, Anne. Itis very safe at East Molton. No one will worry you there. Just wetwo in the house and the horses and men outside. We will go forlong gallops over the moors, the winds that come down clean andfresh from the north shall blow the cobwebs from our brains, andyou shall be strong and brave again."

Some of the terror faded from Anne's eyes. Only she, and Heaven,knew how she longed for the home, the peace thus pictured. She haddreamt of other careers before she was engaged--sometimes she hadthought of the stage; she had been well spoken of as an amateuractress; but now--now she dared not face an audience, not knowinghow much people guessed, how much they knew. East Molton lookedlike a paradise of peace and rest to her. Yet, she asked herself,would she really be safe there? Would she really be safeanywhere?

Burford saw the softening in her eyes and his facebrightened.

"You will come, Anne? You will let me take you away now, atonce?"

Suddenly the frozen calm of Anne's face broke up, big tearswelled up in her eyes.

"I--I can't. I daren't."

"Daren't!" Burford repeated. "That is not a word for yourfather's daughter, Anne."

"Ah!" In spite of her tears Anne held up her head now. "It isbecause of him that I am afraid. You do not know--"

"No." Burford's tone was very grave now. "I do not know perhaps,but suppose I guess. Harold--"

"No, no!" Anne backed against the wall. "You shall not guess. Itwas not Harold. It was I--"

There was a dawning comprehension now in Burford's eyes.

"Anne, I think I do know. Saunderson--"

"No, no!" With a hoarse cry the girl shrank from him. She pushedherself back, her hands held out to keep him off. "You shall not,"she panted. "I tell you, you shall not guess!"

"No, I will not guess," Burford said very quietly. "Because youare going to tell me yourself, Anne. Because I know--I have knownall along that you were out the night that Saunderson died."

"What!" Anne's eyes were full of terror. She seemed to shrivelup literally beneath his gaze. "How--how could you know?" shestammered.

"I saw you coming in," he said gravely. "I went over to Holfordon some business with Lord Medchester, and then Captain Williamson,who has a colt with me, came there after me. We were in the libraryand the window was wide open, for it was a hot night, and I sawyou."

"And Captain Williamson?" Anne questioned breathlessly.

"He didn't see you. He was looking the other way. And he wouldnot have known you. I could see only a tall figure in black, butyou could not deceive me, Anne."

"Then--then--if you saw that," Anne spoke with difficulty, "youknow--you know why--"

"I know why--what?"

"Why I cannot marry you--why I cannot marry anyone?" Veryhaltingly the words came now.

A sudden flame leapt into the blue eyes watching her.

"I see why you should marry me," Burford said steadily. "I meanto take care of you, Anne. You can trust me."

"Yes, yes!" the stammering voice said brokenly. "But I can bringyou shame--disgrace--"

"I can stand them if I have you, Anne, beside me." There was nohesitation in his tone. "But why didn't you come to me before,Anne? Why didn't you let me help you instead?"

"No, no!" Anne broke in with sudden passion. "I did not--I didnot--you do believe me, Michael?"

"I believe in you as I do in God Himself," Burford returned.Eyes and voice were as steady as ever. "Saunderson deserved hisfate, Anne, though you had no part in it. But--Harold--?"

"I don't know--I don't know!" Anne moaned. "But I amfrightened--so frightened, Michael."

There was a tender look in Burford's eyes as he watched her."But now you must not be frightened any more. I am going to takecare of you--"

But with a cry Anne shrank from him.

"You can't, you can't! Nobody can. He--we must just go on to theend. And then--oh, God help us then!"

"Anne!" With a quick forward movement Burford captured herhands. "What do you mean? Do you think that Harold--?"

Anne interrupted him with a cry.

"I don't think--I daren't think. Only I am afraid--afraid ofeverything."

"You will not be afraid with me at East Molton," Burford saidwith a certainty that was in itself reassuring. "And by and by whenyou are strong enough to tell me all, I think we shall be able tohelp Harold. I have faith in your brother, Anne."

"You don't know--everything," the girl said with difficulty. "Idid not think--I never believed--that Harold would do what he hasdone. But now--now, I just don't know. I don't feel--sure ofanybody--not even myself."

Michael Burford smiled. "I do. Of you both. And I am going toprove it to the world by marrying you, Anne. We will never resttill the truth about Saunderson's death is known. And then--andthen I won't even say I told you so."

"You--you can't!" Anne said brokenly. "Nobody can help!"

"We will get help," Burford returned positively. "Truth willout. And now--when will you marry me, Anne?"

"I haven't said I will marry you at all."

"Oh, yes, you have. And you are going to." Burford gave thehands he held a little shake. "As soon as I can get the licence,Anne. Say yes!"

"It--it doesn't seem any use saying no," the girl saidquaveringly.

"It isn't," Burford agreed as he drew her to him. "Not one bitof good, my dear."

CHAPTER 9

"Well, I have ascertained one thing for certain," Stoddartexclaimed as the train steamed out of St. Pancras. He had justarrived on the platform at the last minute and managed to springinto the compartment where Harbord was impatiently awaiting him."How did you manage to get the carriage to yourself, Alfred?"

"Tipped the guard pretty extensively," Harbord answeredlaconically. "I knew it would be money well laid out."

Stoddart nodded.

"May save time when we get to Derby. I have interviewed Messrs.Usher & Snell. I had some difficulty in getting what I wantedfrom them. Began to sympathize with the dentists before I hadfinished. But at last they caved in and I became fulsomely anxiousto give me all the information I wanted. Saunderson was a partnerin the firm, though his name did not appear. In fact, he seems tohave been more than a partner. I fancy he was the leading spirit inthe whole affair. Practically hewas Usher & Snell. Butof his blackmailing Messrs. Usher & Snell professed entireignorance. The sums of money which his pass-book shows makes itevident he was constantly paying in to their account were usedmainly in the transactions of the firm, which of course required alarge amount of capital. Saunderson also held quantities of sharesin many foreign undertakings in the name of Usher & Snell. So,you see, the motive for the murder may have been supplied in asmany different quarters as that interesting firm had clients, tosay nothing of his blackmailing transactions. Of course theknowledge he acquired as the head of Usher & Snell as well asanything he picked up as a man about town was used to put the screwon the unfortunate beggars. Oh, there is no doubt that Saundersonwas one of the biggest scoundrels unhung, and whoever potted himdid the world a damned good turn. It goes to my heart to try totrack the poor beggar down."

"Still, it wouldn't do to allow people to take the law intotheir own hands," Harbord argued. "Even a money-lender has hisrights."

"And a blackmailer!" the inspector assented. "Well said,Harbord. Always remember you stand for British justice."

Harbord did not reply. For a minute or two he watched the flyinglandscape with unseeing eyes. At last he said:

"If it was one of Usher & Snell's clients that didSaunderson in, I shall never understand why they should havefollowed him down to Holford."

Stoddart looked at him.

"As I have said before, I don't agree with you. Unless one istempted off the beaten track, London is the safest place in theworld. Besides, there are wheels within wheels. Saunderson had adecent colt or two in training at Oxley. They are expected to dowell as three-year-olds. One of them, Mayfair, runs for next year'sDerby. It may have been to some one's interest to get rid ofSaunderson and render Mayfair's nomination void. Certainly itdoesn't seem much of a motive, but then half the murders that arecommitted are for such very slight motives that one marvels how anysane man or woman could risk his or her neck for suchtrivialities."

"I suppose they always think they will not be found out,"Harbord observed meditatively. "But if the criminal is a man inthis case where do the crystal beads come in? The chain must havebroken and the links must have fallen into Saunderson's pocket whenthose letters were thrown out, and when, it seems to me, that somepaper was searched for and presumably found and taken away. Now whocould have gone through the pockets but the murderer?"

"Several people," the inspector said sharply.

"The men who found the body, for instance, or quite possibly anearlier visitor. Though that wouldn't explain them, if one acceptsSuperintendent Mayer's statement that the beads were not in thepocket when he first arrived on the scene."

"I don't accept it," Harbord said bluntly.

"How should the beads get there afterwards?"

"There was the interval when the superintendent went to thebarn," the inspector went on, "but only of a few minutes. If it wasdone then there must have been somebody on the watch--which doesn'tseem likely. Also, whoever might have been watching would haveknown Mayer had searched the pockets and removed any papers."

Harbord shook his head doubtfully.

"And here is another question for you," the inspector went on."If your theory is correct, and the three beads dropped intoSaunderson's pocket when his assailant was getting out the letteror the paper the possession of which was the motive for the murder,what did the woman do with the rest of the chain?"

"It must have been broken when the beads caught in the lining ofthe pocket, and I suppose the other piece fell off."

"Well, it didn't fall where it was found, in the middle of therhododendrons at the side of the Dutch garden," the inspectorreturned. "The murderess assuredly did not attempt to push her waythrough that hedge. No, the chain was thrown there. That is acertainty."

"But who could have thrown it?" Harbord speculated. "The womanwho wore it, whoever she was, would not have thrown her chain away;even the silliest of 'em would have realized that it wouldcertainly be found, and might be a clue that would lead to herdiscovery."

"Spoken like a book," the inspector commented. "No, certainlythe woman who wore that chain did not throw it away in the bushes.And I do not agree with you that Saunderson was shot by a woman. Ifancy we shall find that the motive was either jealousy or thegetting out of Saunderson's blackmailing clutches. And I amstrongly of opinion that Superintendent Mayer was right and thatthere were no beads in the pocket when it was searched. But howthey got there any more than the rest of the chain got among therhododendrons I am not prepared to say. It's a nasty case, simpleas it looks, and there'll be wigs on the green before we havecleared it up. But I have got something--in fact, two things--herethat may interest you, though at the same time they do not appearto have any particular bearing on the case."

He took up a paper that he had thrown upon the seat beside himand turned it over. Harbord watched him curiously.

"Here it is," Stoddart said at last. "In the society news. It isheaded 'Romance of the Racing World.' 'Mr. Michael Burford, secondson of the late Sir William Burford, of Burleet, and Miss AnneFrances Courtenay, only daughter of the late Captain Harold WilliamCourtenay, V.C., and granddaughter of the late General Courtenay,were married, very quietly on account of the bride's mourning, atSt. John's, Downmouth, last Saturday. Mr. Michael Burford has madehimself a name as a trainer, and Miss Courtenay belongs to awell-known racing family. The bride was given away by her brother,Mr. Harold Courtenay, and directly after the ceremony thenewly-married couple left for North Cornwall where the honeymoonwill be spent.'"

"Miss Courtenay!" Harbord said doubtfully. "I thought she wasrather pat with her crystal chain. She knows or suspects something,I am certain."

"Well, maybe," the inspector assented. "Possibly she saw LadyMedchester go out and come in that night. You remember they bothhad headaches and were prowling about apparently. But"--he pausedand looked out of the window silently for a minute--"one point infavour of the people at Holford is this. Not one of the people Ihave questioned has a satisfactory alibi. An alibi is the easiestthing in the world to fake, and the least satisfactory of defences.When I find a suspect with a nice watertight alibi I generallydevote a little special attention in that direction. But you havenot seen my second paragraph." He turned to another page of hispaper. "Here it is. 'Fatal Accident to the Hon. James Courtenay.Sudden Death of Lord Gorth. The Hon. James Courtenay, only son ofthe fifth Lord Gorth, met with a fatal accident while riding in theHome Park at Gorth yesterday; his horse put its foot in arabbit-hole and pitched forward. Mr. Courtenay was thrown on hishead, and his neck was broken. Death must have been instantaneous.He was unmarried. When the sad news was conveyed to Lord Gorth, whohad been in a delicate state of health since the death of his wifelast year, he collapsed and passed away of heart failure in acouple of hours. The new peer is Mr. Harold Courtenay, grandson ofGeneral Courtenay, of Afghan fame, who died on the 14th of lastmonth, and who was the first cousin of the fifth lord. The fatherof the new Lord Gorth was the late Captain Harold WilliamCourtenay, V.C., who was killed at Ypres. The new Lord Gorth istwenty-three years of age and, like his cousin, is unmarried. Hisonly sister is the Miss Anne Frances Courtenay whose marriage toMr. Michael Burford, the well-known trainer, is reported in anothercolumn.' There!" said the detective, slapping down the paper."That's that."

"It's very interesting," Harbord said dryly. "But it doesn'taffect our case much, does it, sir?"

"I don't know," the inspector said slowly. "I really don't know,but I fancy it will all work in. At any rate, neither the new LordGorth nor his sister likes being questioned with regard to thetragedy. I am afraid, too, that I shall have to intrude upon thehoneymoon to interview Mr. Michael Burford."

When the train drew up at Medchester and the detectives steppedout, the first person they saw on the platform was SuperintendentMayer. His broad, red face was shining with excitement as he madehis way to them.

"I'm glad you'm coom back, inspector," he said, his Loamshireaccent growing broader as he spoke. "I ha' got something for youthis time."

"What is it?" questioned the inspector. "Or who is it?" with aquick glance at the superintendent's perspiring face.

"Well"--the superintendent cast a quick glance round--"it is oneof those poaching fellows, an' he--But maybe it will be best foryou to hear what he has to say for yourself. He came to me at thepolice station an hour ago."

"You are holding him?"

The superintendent nodded. "I am that, till you've heard what hehas to say."

"We'll get off at once," the inspector said, beckoning toHarbord.

It was but a step to the police station. Stoddart was a quickwalker and the stout superintendent had much ado to keep up withhim.

A constable stood at the door. The superintendent led the way tohis office.

"I heard this chap, Garwood by name, had been talking in thevillage," he said as he opened the door, "so I sent for him. Butyou shall question him for yourself."

Garwood sat on the edge of a chair set as close to the door aspossible. He lurched heavily to his feet as the detectives entered.At first sight there was nothing prepossessing about the gentleman.He was a short, thin man with a narrow face, none too clean, andadorned with several days' growth of stubbly beard; his small, darkeyes were set under heavy, overhanging brows, and the eyesthemselves were cunning-looking and had a trick of glancingobliquely at anybody or anything in their line of vision. They wereso glancing at the inspector now as Mr. Garwood twisted a greasyfur cap about in his hands uneasily.

"Now, Bill Garwood," the superintendent said briskly, "I wantyou to tell these gentlemen what you told me."

Garwood cleared his throat noisily and drew the back of his handacross his mouth.

"Taint much as I can tell," he said hoarsely. "An'--an if itgets me into trouble I looks to you gents to see me out."

"We will look after you," the inspector said reassuringly."Come, my man, tell us your tale, and then, superintendent, I daresay that man of yours would step across to the 'Arms' and get us atankard of ale."

Garwood's eyes began to shine as he glanced from one to theother.

"There won't be any need for that," the superintendent broke in,whereat Garwood's face fell. "I ha' a good tap in the house; sincethese 'ere confounded temperance folks got the upper hand, 'tis theonly thing to be done, to keep a barrel on the premises."

"Ay, it is that," Garwood growled. "Wring all their blastedteetotallers' necks, I would."

Stoddart laughed. "I'm afraid there are a good many others ofyour way of thinking, Mr. Garwood. But now will you tell us whatyou know of that night when Mr. Saunderson was shot?"

"There ain't much as I do know," the man said sulkily, shufflinghis feet about. "And afore I begin, I must tell you gents as I'm apore man, a pore man I ha' always been with a sickly wife an' aheap of chillen allus with open mouths cryin' out for somethin' tofill 'em. It's hard lines on a father when he sees the thingsrunning about wild as would save his chillen's lives, an' him notallowed to touch 'em."

"It must be," the inspector agreed sympathetically. "I think Isee now, Mr. Garwood. You were trying to pick up one or two ofthose same wild things?"

"I were," Mr. Garwood assented, his shifty eyes turning aboutfrom the inspector's eyes to the superintendent's. "Just a rabbitor two, you understand. The missis, she weren't not to say well,nor one o' the kids, and there were no work going."

"I--I quite see," the inspector murmured.

Moistening his lips, Garwood proceeded:

"I were in the paddock just looking round. I ha' often picked upa fat rabbit there, an' I see a man come along in a car. He stopsit--parks it, as they calls it--on that there bit o' waste groundby the west lodge, like. Well, then he come out and goes in theblue doors and across the bit o' the park to the rosery. I began tothink as there might be money in it, for there's been a deal oftalk goin' about her ladyship in the village, so I went after him,keeping my distance, you see. An' he jumped the railings an' wenton, not into the rosery, but into the bit o' waste ground beyond. Iwent after him an' then found I was not the only one. It had beenraining, but now the moon were shining out like, an' I could seethe gentleman I come after quite plain; right across the grounds hewent, as if he knowed his way, but there were some one else as Icouldn't get proper, right among the bushes. I could hear a kind ofrustling, as if somebody was trying to walk quietly in among therhododendrons, side o' the flower garden. I waited where I was,an'--"

"If anyone wanted to follow Mr. Saunderson they would have donemuch better to keep out of the bushes and walk along the grass,"the inspector interrupted.

"Well, I don't know," Garwood said slowly. "The moon were fairlybright just then an' him as they was after would ha' bin safe tosee anyone as walked on the grass. I didn't dare go any nearermyself. An' I went on, keepin' on the walk at the bottom of theclearin' that brings you out through another of them little gateson to the pine grove, and then if you turn to the right you come tothe old quarry where the pheasants are. I didn't mean to do nothin'to them--'tain't likely. But I thought as I might come across arabbit--one o' those white ones his lordship sets such store bymaybe--an' it 'ud make a bit o' stew for the chillen. But I found'tweren't such an easy job as I thought. There was a party on atthe hall, an' there was footmen and such-like strollin' about inthe pinetum, so I turned back; as I passes the clearing again Ilooks up, but there weren't no one about and nothin' to be seen.But it were drizzlin' o' rain an' the moon had gone in, an' Istopped a minute agin the rosery gate. While I was standin' therein the shadow some one come runnin' out o' the clearin' fast as shecould go like as some bogle was after her."

Garwood stopped.

"Go on." The inspector drew a deep breath. "Who was it? Man orwoman?"

"I could do with a drop o' that there beer now, guv'nor. 'Tisdry work goin' on like this on your lone. I dunno how t' parsonsdoes it, but maybe they keeps a drop i' th' vestry."

The superintendent opened the door and beckoned to asubordinate, who presently appeared with a foaming jug of beer anda couple of glasses. The superintendent pushed them towardsGarwood.

"Help yourself."

The man's eyes shone. "That's the stuff," he said greedily.

"Well, get a move on," the inspector said impatiently. "Who wasthis other person, man or woman?"

Garwood took a mighty draught. "I feel a bit better now, mister.About this 'ere person. I understands there might be money init."

"There might be jail in it if you don't speak out quick, BillGarwood," the superintendent said sharply.

"You needn't be so down on a chap," Garwood grumbled. "I see whoit was plain enough, for the moon were trying to shine again.'Twere her ladyship plain enough, cuttin' along she were, too, an'cryin'. I see her plain when she pulled the gate open."

"Did you see any more of the man who went in before you?"

"No-a. I did not; he'd disappeared like." He took another drinkof beer. "I wor a-wonderin' how I should do the best for myself outo' what I'd seen."

"Did you see anyone else?" the inspector asked.

Mr. Garwood scratched his head.

"No-a, I dunner think as 'ow I did. Only 'er ladyship--I'd swearto 'er all right, but I couldn't tell you any more not if you kep'me 'ere all day, gents.'

"I am sure you have told us a great deal, Mr. Garwood," theinspector said politely. "And, now, I am sure you will understandthat there must be no talking or gossiping about what you saw thatnight. You will be wanted later."

"I unnerstand." The man got on his feet and stood turning hiscap about. "Ain't there no reward given for me tellin' you all thiswhat happened that there night?"

"There is no reward offered at present," the inspector answered,glancing at his case-book.

"Then I calls it a shame," Garwood said truculently. "I'd ha'kep' my mouth shut if I'd ha' known--'er ladyship might ha' paid meto do that. A man's got his wife and chillen to think of. I'veallus heard there was reward given for them as helped to find outwho done things."

"For them as helped to find out who done things--" the inspectorrepeated. "I don't think you have quite done that, my man. But, asyou say, there are rewards--sometimes. There are also punishmentsif a man is mistaken, or people think he is. I fancy LordMedchester might remember that."

CHAPTER 10

The stable at East Molton was well known in the racing world. Ithad been bought from a famous North Country trainer by Sir WilliamBurford for his younger son. A farm-house in the immediate vicinitywhich had served as a residence for his predecessor had beenaltered and improved by Michael Burford, for his bride, almostbeyond recognition.

A big semicircle of lawn in front big enough for croquet ortennis had a drive running round to the door, which was flanked oneach side by big stone vases filled with different flowers in theirseason. At the back of the house ran a low terrace with a stonebalustrade. What had been the farmyard in the old days was now awide, flagged court; on the other side of it were the loose boxesand the stables that housed Burford's precious charges. On the westside of the house and stables was the paddock and the loose railswhere much of Burford's work was done. Beyond that again stretchedthe moor where the morning gallops were taken. The grooms andstable-boys were housed near the stables.

It seemed a very harbour of refuge to Anne Burford as she stoodon the steps at the front door. Though she had only been at EastMolton a week, already her eyes had lost much of their frightenedlook. Her nerves, too, were steadier; no longer did she start andglance round nervously at the faintest sound. Surely, she said toherself, she would be safe here, safe and forgotten--no sign of anyother house was in sight. And, though every now and then some soundfrom the busy life of the stable reached her ears, it was allpleasant and familiar and home-like. As she stood there, rejoicingin the peace of her surroundings, there came to her no premonitionof how short-lived it was to be--no faintest suspicion that evennow it was at an end.

The white gate at the end of the drive banged noisily. Annelooked up. Some one--a woman--was coming towards her. As thenew-comer drew nearer, she saw that it was a tall girl, well, evenfashionably, dressed. As Anne glimpsed the red hair, peeping outfrom the small pull-on hat in curls over each ear, noted the smallwhite face, looking almost too small for the big blue eyes, she hada sense of familiarity, a certainty that somewhere she hadencountered that distinctly hostile gaze before.

Anne felt an odd desire to run away, to refuse to see this girlwhose lips were smiling, though her eyes looked hard anddefiant.

But Anne's desire was hardly definite enough to have become anintention, and it was frustrated. Her visitor did not trouble to goround by the walk, but came straight across the lawn to her.

"I expect you don't remember me, Mrs. Burford. And yet I knowyour brother so well that I don't feel like a stranger to you," shesaid in a slow, drawling voice that roused some faint memory inAnne. "I thought you wouldn't remember me," the drawling voice wenton. "But I am going over to East Molton to see, I said to MinnieMedchester. I am spending a few days at Holford, you know. I amSybil Stainer, Maurice Stainer's sister. You will have heard Haroldspeak of me."

"Yes, I have heard Harold speak of you," Anne found herselfrepeating mechanically. An icy fear gripped her heart, paralysedher. Certain memories were coming back to her: the red-haired girlwho had been with Harold in the paddock looking at the St. Legerhorses; the voice, Saunderson's voice--what had he said?--"TheStainers are bad companions for Harold. The man is a spend-thrift,a rotter, and the girl--well, the less said about her the better."And now this same girl stood before her smiling impudently in herface.

"Well, I suppose you are going to ask me in?" Miss Stainerproceeded with a laugh and a slight forward movement.

Instinctively Anne stepped aside.

The other apparently accepted this as an invitation to enter.She walked in and gazed round the wide, low hall with interest. Thequiet austerity of it, the dark-panelled walls, the old oak chestand settle appealed to her as little as did the polished floor andthe faded colours of the prayer rug in the centre.

"Your house looks pretty highbrow considering all things," sheremarked. "I shouldn't have thought this would be the style ofthing Mike Burford would go in for."

Anne was not inclined to be effusive with her unwelcome visitor,but she did not want Sybil Stainer there in the hall when anyminute Michael might appear, with some of the men who werecontinually coming to see him on business.

She opened the door of the drawing-room, the prettiest room inthe house in her eyes. Like most of the house it was panelled. Thebig windows and the glass door on to the lawn occupied most of oneside of the room; a piece of tapestry hung at the end opposite thefireplace. There was a big modern chesterfield and a couple ofcapacious armchairs and an old spinet stood near the fireplace. Forthe rest the chairs and tables were plain and solid, and the shortcurtains were of blue casement cloth. There were no knick-knacks orpictures, but a great pink chrysanthemum stood in one corner and alog fire burned cheerily on the well hearth.

"Now, this is something like!" Miss Stainer remarked, going upto the fire and holding out her hands to the blaze. "There's a tidybreeze coming across the moor, and I hadn't got my fur coat on. Ifound it pretty cold walking up."

"Why did you walk up?" Mrs. Burford's tone was notencouraging.

"Because I wanted to see you. I've told you so, and I thought onthe whole it would be as well we should have our first interviewwithout any third person," Miss Stainer returned with a loud laugh."At least that was why I came to that little one-eyed station ofyours. As for walking up--well, there weren't exactly any taxi-cabsabout. I got an old motor-bus that set me down at a deserted holethey called the Four Corners. I rather hurried off, for I knew ifshe had any idea where I was coming Minnie Medchester would haveinsisted on sending me over in the car, and perhaps have come overwith me, and that might have been a little awkward, don't you thinkso?" She drew one of the big easy chairs up to the fire as shespoke and dropped into it. "You see, I am making myself at home,Mrs. Burford."

Anne herself did not sit down, did not move nearer that cheerfulblaze on the hearth. She looked with unsmiling, sombre eyes at theinsolently defiant face opposite.

"Why did you come at all?" she asked, her hands clasped togetherbefore her, gripping one another tightly as she waited for theanswer.

Miss Stainer's lips, red with lipstick, smiled on still, but themenace in the blue eyes grew more definite.

"It isn't very friendly of you to ask that, Mrs. Burford." Thehard voice was growing softer now, a silkier note was creeping intoit that somehow made Anne shiver more than the hardness.

"I came because I wanted to tell you a certain bit of newsmyself. Harold would have written, but I said, 'No, better let mego, woman to woman--we shall understand one another better,' Isaid. Don't you agree with me?"

"I don't know," Anne said dully. The icy fear that had grippedher heart a few minutes ago had her in its clutches now body andsoul together.

"Oh, I think we shall," Miss Stainer said confidently, in thatnew purring voice of hers. "We really must, you know, because"--hereyelids flickered--"I am engaged to Harold. We shall be sisters,you and I." She looked down with an affectation of coyness.

"Never!" The words burst from Anne's white I lips. "You shallnot!" she cried. "I will stop it. I--"

"How?" questioned Miss Stainer softly, yet with the ring ofsteel beneath the softness. Somehow the fact that she was sittingdown while Anne stood, instead of placing her at a disadvantage,seemed to put her in a position of authority.

"How will you stop our marriage?" she inquired again. "Haroldhas always been fond of me. He is a friend of my brother's.Formerly he had no money to marry on, no position, but noweverything is altered. Isn't it natural that he should stick to hisold love?"

"He shall not marry you," Anne reiterated.

Miss Stainer's eyes narrowed like those of a cat about tostrike. "I think he will. I fancy you will not be able to preventit. No, the only thing for you to do now is to bow to theinevitable. You are going to tell people you are delighted with theengagement. You are going to ask me to stay with you so that youmay become better acquainted with your future sister-in-law."

"What!" Anne laughed scornfully. "Certainly you are not going tostay here. What do you suppose my husband would say if I suggestedsuch a thing?"

Miss Stainer shrugged her shoulders.

"I have not the slightest idea. Wouldn't he think it the mostnatural thing in the world that you should ask your brother'sfiancée to pay you a visit?"

"It would depend on the fiancée," Anne said with brutalfrankness. "In this case you must remember that my husband knowsyou."

"Ah! So he does--poor Mike Burford!" Stainer said with aslightly contemptuous accent that brought the blood hotly scarletto Anne's cheeks, a flush that ebbed as swiftly as it came as thecruel voice went on: "Then perhaps--why not?--it will be best totell him the truth." The amusement in the cold blue eyes grew andstrengthened. "Who was it said the truth is always the safest?" themocking voice went on. "Shall we try it? Will you tell him? What doyou say?"

"Say?" Anne cried with sudden passion. "Say I would diefirst."

"Ah, die!" Miss Stainer said softly in that slow, drawlingvoice. "We all say we should like to die when everything does notturn out just as we have planned it should. But there are differentways of dying. Have you ever thought of them, Mrs. Burford?" Sheput up her hands and clasped her firm white throat. "One way is tohave something tight put round here--to choke and choke and neverget one's breath. It must be pretty bad that. And they do hang alot of people nowadays. And a man wouldn't like to have hisbrother-in-law hanged."

"Stop!" Anne raised her clasped hands above her head, thenbrought them down heavily.

For a second the girl before her quailed; then in a moment sherecovered herself.

"So I think he might wish you to welcome your sister-in-law,Mrs. Burford."

Anne pulled herself together. After all, she told herself, thisgirl must be talking at random. It was--it must be--the merestguess-work.

"I cannot prevent my brother doing what he likes," she saidquietly, "but I can at least choose my own friends."

"Your own friends!" Miss Stainer laughed; aloud. "I don't wantyour friendship," she said scornfully. "I should probably be boredto extinction. But I don't mean to marry a man and have his familylook down on me. So you had better make up your mind to accept meas Harold's wife without any more bother. You will have to do it inthe end whether you like it or not."

Anne did not speak. One look she gave the sneering face beforeher--a look that spoke of contempt unutterable. Then her eyesdropped. She turned towards the door.

Miss Stainer's face went faintly red beneath its powder. Shestood up. For a moment she looked as if she were going to passAnne, to go out of the house. Then she stopped, she gazed straightinto the white, haughty face before her and said in a voice thatshook with anger:

"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. Saunderson's death wasa godsend--to somebody! Wasn't it, Mrs. Burford?"

CHAPTER 11

"'Pon my soul, Minnie, I can't understand you." Lord Medchesterstared at his wife I and then rubbed his domed forehead with hishands, forgetful of the fact that he had no hair. His baldness wasa continual marvel to Lord Medchester.

Lady Medchester sighed. It was obvious in spite of her make-upthat she had grown considerably paler of late. She was thinner,too, and her eyes had a haunted, terrified look as she gazedround.

"How much longer is this girl Stainer going to stay here?" LordMedchester pursued.

Lady Medchester did not look at him; she turned her headaway.

"Oh, not long. She is going on to Anne very soon."

"I wonder whether Burford will stand her," his lordshipcommented.

"Well, she is going to marry Harold," Lady Medchester saidgravely.

Her husband shrugged his shoulders.

"Because Harold is going to make a fool of himself is no reasonfor the rest of the world to put up with her. I should have thoughtyou, and Anne too, would have been moving heaven and earth toprevent such a disastrous marriage. The girl's a rotter if ever Isaw one."

Still Lady Medchester did not look at him. Her eyes, gazingstraight through the window, watched the tall rhododendrons at theside of the Dutch garden; the group of pines beyond that stoodround the summer-house where Robert Saunderson was murdered.

"You are not fair to her," she said in a muffled tone. "She isnot a bad sort, Sybil."

"Isn't she?" his lordship scoffed unbelievingly. "Then I don'tknow a bad one when I see her. That's all there is to that. Who'spaying for all these clothes she's buying?"

Lady Medchester gave an affected little laugh.

"How funny you are, Medchester. How should I know? Her brother,I should imagine."

"Well, I shouldn't, then," his lordship retorted bluntly."Stainer's pretty well down on his uppers, I can tell you that. Thegirl couldn't squeeze a penny out of him."

"Well, perhaps the tradespeople are giving her credit as she isgoing to marry a rich man. I don't know."

"Well, I do," Lord Medchester returned.

"Rich man, indeed! Let me tell you that Harold will be a luckyfellow if he manages to turn himself round this next year. Thesedamned death-duties take every penny you have. It's bad enough whenthe estates pass from father to son. But when it's a matter ofcousins about six times removed such as Harold and old Lord Gorth,why it is a case of skinning the eel. But I can't believe Haroldwill make such a fool of himself as to marry Sybil Staineryet."

"I am sure he means to," Lady Medchester said positively. "He isgoing to get a special licence and the wedding will be very soon. Ishould like to have it here."

"What!" His lordship stuck a pair of eye-glasses on the bridgeof his Roman nose. "Well, then, I can tell you I won't have it.Married here, indeed! I think I see myself marching up the aislewith that Stainer girl hanging on my arm! and the choir singing the'Voice that breathed o'er Eden,' or whatever it is they do sing.It's no go, Minnie. And you can tell her I say so. Or I willmyself, if you like."

"Ah, no!" The interjection was so loud and decided that itsounded almost like a shriek. "You must not, indeed you must not! Iwon't have her feelings hurt."

"Sybil's feelings! She ain't got any," scoffed his lordship."Rhinoceros hide, I should think, or she'd have been out of herebefore now. Hello! What's this chap after? Seems in a deuce of ahurry!"

Lady Medchester turned her head. Her husband was looking throughthe end window, which gave a view of the drive.

Superintendent Mayer had just come into sight, swinging along ata trot which made his red face and rotund figure lookludicrous.

"Bless my life! I wonder what he wants. I think I'll go and see.Getting a bit fat for trotting, I shall tell him."

Lady Medchester stared at him.

"Why do you suppose he is hurrying like that?"

"Lord! How can I tell?" her husband responded. "Looks as if hewere a bit balmy. Anyway, I will toddle down and meet him. He mayhave found something that will show who did Saunderson in."

"I wonder--" Lady Medchester drew a deep breath as she strainedher eyes on the hurrying figure. "I--I don't see how he could, doyou?"

"Don't see who could what?" his lordship responded vaguely. "Oh,I see. Mayer couldn't find out who did Saunderson in, you mean? Iwouldn't be so sure of that. Mayer ain't such a fool as he looks,not by any means."

He dashed out of the room as he spoke, banging the door tobehind him.

Lady Medchester's eyes widened and darkened as she stared afterhim. She drew her handkerchief across her lips, rubbing off thescarlet lipstick. "Has he found out anything? Merciful heavens,what has he found out?"

Meanwhile, downstairs, his lordship strolled out at the halldoor just in time to meet Superintendent Mayer.

"Hello, Mayer," he began genially. "Doin' the double fox-trot,aren't you? A bit warm, I should say?"

"Well, yes, my lord." The superintendent mopped his perspiringface. "A warmish day it is, too, for the time of the year. I'm in abit of a hurry, my lord."

"The devil you are! Must say I thought you looked like it,"responded his lordship. "What's up, Mayer? Spotted the blighterthat did Saunderson in?"

The superintendent went on mopping himself for a minute or twowithout speaking. At last he said slowly:

"No-a! I can't say I ha' done that, my lord. Not exactly, thatis to say. But I ha' foun' out that as may help to find itout."

"I'm damned glad to hear it," said his lordship heartily. "Whatis it, Mayer?"

The superintendent eyed him doubtfully.

"I don't know as I ought to say, my lord, not just now like. Itmayn't mean anything. Then I again it may. But, my lord--"

"Oh, please yourself!" his lordship said somewhat huffily."Don't you let the beggar slip, that's all."

"I was a-going to say as your lordship said I might use thephone." Superintendent Mayer's eyes were glancing sharply at theother's face.

"An' I were a deal nearer here than to the police station, so Ithought I would just come on here an' see if I could get a trunkcall through. It would save time, and time is money, as yourlordship knows."

"I should like to catch the blighter that said so," his lordshipejaculated wrathfully. "I have always had plenty of the one andprecious little of the other. I have never found I could change'em."

"Well, it is just a saying, my lord," the superintendent agreedpolitely. "There's a lot o' such, an' I don't know as there's muchsense in 'em. But about the telephone, my lord?"

"Oh, you are welcome to use the phone as much as you like," hislordship said graciously. "Here's the darned thing," leading theway to the inner hall and pointing to the telephone standing on asmall table by the open window. "You may be some time getting on,but there's a chair at hand. Sit down and take it easy after yourexertions, and when you've finished there will be a glass of beerfor you in the justice-room." His lordship went across to thejustice-room as he spoke.

Superintendent Mayer got his trunk call through more quicklythan he anticipated. He lowered his voice considerably, but certainwords could have I been heard distinctly if anyone had beenlistening.

"Room 5...That Inspector Stoddart? Mayer speaking...Yes,important--very--, best clue we've got yet...Can you come down atonce?...Could you come down to-night?...Yes. I've got a line. Surething--motive? Good and plenty...Yes, the five o'clock. I'll be atthe station to meet you. That's all."

The superintendent rang off, and then remembering LordMedchester's alluring invitation to the justice-room turned hissteps there. Lord Medchester was standing with his back to him,apparently staring with absorbed interest at a map of the countyhanging on the wall near the fireplace. He turned as he heard thesuperintendent's ponderous movements.

"Come along, Mayer. You will be glad of something to drink. Youare a bit long in the tooth to go trotting about like atwo-year-old after murderers or what not. We are none of us gettingyounger, you know. Sit down and rest yourself." He rang the bell."Sit down, man. The drink will be here in a moment. Did you get onto the inspector chap?"

"Ay, my lord, I did."

He waited a minute, while a footman deposited on the table atray with glasses and a foaming jug of beer.

Lord Medchester poured out a bumping glass and pushed it across."Well, what did he say?"

"The inspector, my lord? He's coming down by the nexttrain."

Lord Medchester raised his eyebrows.

"He thinks your news important, then?"

"He doesn't know what it is yet--not rightly, that is to say,"the superintendent said slowly. "But he's aware that I shouldn'tsend for him if it wasn't important."

"I suppose not," Lord Medchester agreed. "I'm just aboutconsumed by curiosity, Mayer. When shall you let us into thesecret? Her ladyship will give me no peace till she knows it."

A slow smile overspread the superintendent's features.

"Ay, my lord, I know what it is myself. I expect the womenkindbe pretty much alike whether they are ladies or not."

"The Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady," Lord Medchester muttered."Well, you would be safe in trusting me, Mayer."

The superintendent hesitated. He realized that beneath hisjesting manner Lord Medchester was distinctly anxious to know thenature of his latest discovery. A Holford man born and bred, someof the old feudal feeling still existed in him; he felt more thanhalf inclined to gratify his lordship. He opened his mouth tospeak, then the recollection of Inspector Stoddart's warnings as toabsolute silence regarding the case to all the inhabitants ofHolford Hall recurred to him. With a snap he shut his mouthagain.

"I'll do my best to let you know about it, my lord, when I ha'spoke to the inspector," he promised.

His lordship smiled pleasantly.

"Well, so long, Mayer. I shall look for a visit from you andStoddart soon after he gets here."

The superintendent hurried off down the drive. Lord Medchesterwatched him for a minute or two, then he too went out, and crossingtowards the Dutch garden immediately caught sight of a figurecoming towards him. He frowned as he recognized Sybil Stainer'sbrother, Maurice. He disliked seeing them hanging about as thoughthe place belonged to them.

Lord Medchester shook hands in a perfunctory fashion.

Maurice Stainer was not much like his sister. His hair, insteadof being red like hers, was sleek and dark, his eyes, too, weredark and set rather close together under overhanging brows.

"I am on my way to Newcastle and was just making plans withSybil," Stainer explained.

"Lady Medchester was kind enough to ask me to stay a day or twohere on the road, but I am sorry I can't. Great disappointment," hemurmured. He seemed oddly ill at ease under Lord Medchester'sscrutiny. "But I hear there's a chance of picking up a bit on thePitman's Derby. They say Blue Button is a cert, and as he owes me atidy pocketful it's a chance of getting a bit of my own back. Icame here to-day because Lady Medchester and my sister spoke ofputting a pony or two on, and I thought it might be as well for meto do it on the course. There's a chance the S.P. may go out, forthere's a pot of money on Tailleur, and he was tightening lastnight at the Beaufort."

"Well, sounds a tidy sort of proposition if Blue Button is asgood as he's reckoned to be," said his lordship. "I think I musthave a bit on myself. Eh, what?" he added in an effort to make thebest of it--though what the devil Minnie was up to in encouragingthese Stainers was past his comprehension.

CHAPTER 12

"If you please, my lord, Inspector Stoddart would like to speakto your lordship."

Lord Medchester was idly knocking the balls about in thebilliard-room by himself. He looked up with an air of relief.

"Show him in! Hello, inspector!" as Stoddart appeared.

"Good evening, Lord Medchester." The inspector hesitated amoment. "I asked to see you," he went on at last, "because Iunderstand that Superintendent Mayer had a long interview with youthis morning."

Lord Medchester frowned. "Shouldn't call it a long interviewmyself. He wanted to use my phone--as a matter of fact, it was tosend a trunk call through to you, I believe. And he seemed a bitexcited and beside himself, don't you know. He'd got an idea he'dfound a clue to Robert Saunderson's murderer. But he was in adesperate hurry to tell you, inspector. Do you mean that youhaven't seen him?"

"I haven't, Lord Medchester. And, what is more, he can't befound."

"Can't be found!" His lordship rubbed his forehead and stared."What are you getting at, inspector? Mayer isn't exactly the sortof little chap to get mislaid and lost, you know--what?"

The inspector permitted himself a slight smile. "He is not. Isuppose he has gone to see some one at a distance. But he didn't gohome to dinner or tea. And though, as you say, he seemed veryanxious to see me he was not at the station when I arrived, and Ihave had no message from him."

"That seems a bit queer. For he said he was in a great hurry. Hewent away from here at a tremendous pace. Must have been aftersomething special. But I wonder he was not back to meet you. Herang you up from here, you know, and he told me you were comingdown by the five o'clock from Euston."

"Did he tell you why he wanted me to come down?"

Lord Medchester pulled his chin thoughtfully.

"Seemed to think he'd got a line on Saunderson's murderer. But Idon't know any more."

The inspector looked puzzled.

"I suppose he didn't tell you what his new evidence was?"

"Devil a bit of it!" his lordship responded. "Just asked if hecould use the phone to save him going back to the police station.But he was tremendously bucked, don't you know."

"So I gathered," Stoddart assented. "You have no idea in whichdirection he would be likely to be going?"

His lordship shook his head. "No more than you have yourself.Stay a minute, though--he did say something about the Empton bus,and went off trotting down the drive like a two-year-old."

"And yet the lodgekeeper says she feels sure he didn't go outthat way. It seems she let him in and he promised to see her on hisway back. Said he was going to Empton and she wanted him to take amessage or something. They are old friends."

"Well, he seemed to be making for the lodge as hard as he couldgo the last I saw of him," his lordship remarked. "Still, he mighthave headed off and gone along the footpath to the Home Farm. Ihave seen him talking to Tom Purling sometimes. I fancy they wereby way of being cronies. He may have gone in to ask Tom'sadvice."

"No. I met Purling on my way up. He hadn't seen anything of thesuperintendent. Was rather surprised he hadn't, for that matter. Iwonder if you would just allow me to ring them up at the stationand see if they have heard anything since I left?"

"Ring 'em up at once," his lordship said graciously. "I expectyou will find he is there all right."

But he did not turn out to be a true prophet. InspectorStoddart's call was answered by Mrs. Mayer, voluble and incoherent.No, nothing had been heard of the superintendent since earlymorning. Mrs. Mayer could not understand it at all. Her husband hadnever been a man to stay out like that. No, he had had no lettersthat morning but official ones, and he had not appeared interestedor excited in any way. He had not expressed any intention of goingup to the Hall. It was his day for Empton, a neighbouring village.Nothing had been said of any change in his plans.

Nothing more was to be obtained from Mrs. Mayer, and theinspector's face was grave as he rang off.

"That's what it is," Lord Medchester said with an air of relief."You may depend upon it that's what it is. He came up here firstand that made him late for Empton and he has been detainedthere."

"No, it isn't that," dissented the inspector. "Jones told mewhen I went up to the police station that it was thesuperintendent's day for Empton and I rang them up from there. Theyhad been expecting him there all day and he had not put in anappearance then. That would be round about six o'clock."

"That's a queer story," his lordship said, beginning to lookconcerned. "I told the old chap he wasn't exactly the figure forfox-trotting. And he'd made himself pretty hot racing about here.He may have brought on an attack of some kind and be lying ill onthe way to Empton, or have been taken in somewhere."

The inspector shook his head.

"No, Lord Medchester, it isn't that, either. The superintendentmeant to go by the motor-bus that goes through Empton on its way toLoamford. He would catch the one that passes Huglin Corner attwelve o'clock, generally had a bite of lunch before he started andgot home by another bus about 4.30 for tea. He was a man of regularhabits, was the superintendent."

Lord Medchester looked at him sharply.

"Why do you say 'was' instead of 'is', inspector?"

Inspector Stoddart looked surprised.

"I don't know. I suppose I did it without thinking. Well, Ihardly know what to do next. I think I will institute ahouse-to-house visitation in the village and see if anyone has seenanything of him since he left here. If we don't find him in thevillage I am afraid we shall have to go through the park andgardens to see if we can find any trace of him about here."

"Go through the house if you like. I'm sure you're welcome,"returned his lordship accommodatingly. "The poor old chap may havetumbled down in a fit somewhere. When a fat man takes to gallopingabout as he was doing this morning one doesn't know what mayhappen."

The inspector walked sharply down the drive. It was growingdark; just outside the gate he encountered Harbord.

"Any news?" he questioned.

Harbord shook his head. "We have been to all the likely placeswe can think of--Constable Jones and I--but nobody has seen thesuperintendent since early morning. Mrs. Mayer is inhysterics."

"Poor soul!" said the inspector sympathetically.

Harbord looked at him.

"What do you think of it, sir? I fancy somehow we are makingmountains out of molehills and that the superintendent will walk inpresently and have the laugh of us all."

"I don't," the inspector said, staring straight in front of himwith a puzzled look. "I can't get the hang of it; but Mayer wasn'tthe sort of man to play tricks of this kind, and he was veryanxious we should come down by the earliest possible train. If somenews of him doesn't come along within the next hour, I shall getthe gamekeepers to help me, and search the park and gardens."

"Why?" Harbord asked in a bewildered tone. "Do you thinkhe--"

"I think nothing," Stoddart interrupted. "Except that heundeniably was at the Hall this morning and that nobody has seenhim since--not even the lodgekeeper upon whom he promised tocall."

"A pity it was practically dark when we got here," observedHarbord.

"I don't think it matters much," Stoddart said gloomily."Anyway, there will be a moon later on and we shall be able to seeour way about unless it rains all the time, as it generally seemsto in this benighted part of the world."

But it was not raining when the two detectives with ConstableJones and another man from Empton left the police station for theHall. Not one word of Superintendent Mayer had reached them.

The most stringent inquiries both in Holford and Empton hadfailed to find the smallest trace of the missing man. From themoment that Superintendent Mayer left Lord Medchester and startedoff down the drive he had apparently disappeared off the face ofthe earth. The lodgekeeper, repeatedly interrogated, was positivethat he had not left by her gate--she had been watching for him,she said, as he had promised to deliver a little parcel for her inEmpton. There remained, of course, the possibility that the missingman had left the Hall by some other way, but in that case what hadbecome of him and where had he gone?

The further lodge and the rosery side of the grounds were bothfairly accessible, but both were a considerable distance from thecorner, where the Empton bus picked up the Holford passengers, andthe superintendent had had little time to spare when he left theHall. Why should he turn back from the drive down which he was lastseen hurrying, and which was on the direct route to thestopping-place of the Empton bus, to leave the Hall grounds by someother way? It was a curious problem, and the more the inspectorthought of it the less he liked the look of it. At the lodge theyfound the head gamekeeper and another man awaiting them. Thelodgekeeper stood outside talking to them. As Stoddart approachedshe turned to him.

"He never left the park, didn't the superintendent," she said inan agitated voice. "Him and me have always been good friends, andhe never passed without stopping to pass the time of day. Thismorning I wanted to send a little parcel to my girl that's marriedand lives at Empton and I was going to walk down to the corner andgive it to the bus conductor. But the superintendent he said no, hewas going right past the house and he would leave it for me. 'Youhave it all ready against I come back, Mrs. Yates,' he said, 'for Imay run it a bit fine.' He couldn't ha' gone by and forgotten it,with me looking out for him all the time. No. You may take my wordfor it he never left the park--not by this gate, anyway, dead oralive."

"Did he seem excited when you saw him?" the inspectorinquired.

"Well, yes, he did seem a bit fresh like," Mrs. Yates answered,twisting her apron about. "The thought come to me that he had maybehad a glass. But 'twas early in the morning for that, and heexplained himself--'I'm in for promotion, Mrs. Yates,' he said.''Im as finds out who murdered Mr. Saunderson he's sure to get it.An' I ha' pretty well done that,' he says."

"Did he tell you what he had found out, or who it was that hadshot Mr. Saunderson?"

"No, sir. Not if it was my last word he didn't. I put thequestion to him. But he only laughed. 'Ay, Mrs. Yates, but thatwould be tellin',' he says. He was always a man for his joke, wasthe superintendent. I--I'm hoping there's no harm come to him, likethere did to that other poor gentleman."

"Oh, you mustn't think of that," the inspector said, assuming acheerfulness he was far from feeling.

They all tramped in through the gate. Although the moon was up,the trees in the drive made it dark. The gamekeeper looked atStoddart.

"Where shall we begin, sir?"

Stoddart waited a minute.

"The last place he was seen in was the turn just before you cometo that old bridge over the hollow."

"Ah, that's where there used to be a pool years ago," thegamekeeper said thoughtfully. "I mind when I was a boy there usedto be talk of an old mine shaft at one end of it. My father used tosay there was more of 'em about than folks knew about, the topsjust covered over with wood, and then earth and then grass growing.Time would come, he said, when the boards would rot and give wayand folks would fall in. I wonder--I suppose--there isn't anythingof that happened to the superintendent?"

The inspector wrinkled his brows.

"Doesn't seem likely. Why should he walk off the road when hewas in a special hurry and fall down an old coal mine thateverybody has forgotten?"

The gamekeeper scratched his head.

"Well, he hadn't any enemies as would have thrown him down--thesuperintendent hadn't. We have brought lanterns, but it seems theywon't be wanted, for the moon's that bright."

"I dare say they will come in later," the inspector said,staring round and vaguely noticing the dappled shadows on the grasscast by the trees in the drive. Right round the park, masking thehigh wall that stood next the high road, ran a belt of trees andshrubs. They extended from the left side of the Dutch garden to thefront lodge. The inspector pointed to it.

"I think we will begin there."

"Shall we begin right by the lodge, inspector?" the keeper said,beckoning to his man.

"Please." Stoddart nodded. "And I think we shall want yourlanterns now. The undergrowth is pretty thick and the trees make itdark. We must see what we are doing."

They walked along by the side of the park, under the trees,throwing the light of their lanterns as they passed along.

"Don't look as if there had been any disturbance here," thegamekeeper remarked when they had gone a hundred yards or so.

The words had hardly left his mouth when the inspector uttered asharp exclamation. Near to them stood an overhanging copper beech;close to it the bracken had been crushed and broken, and near thetrunk a man was lying a little on one side. At first sight helooked as if he might be asleep. The inspector hurried forward. Thegamekeeper flashed his lantern on the quiet figure.

"It's him, sure enough!"

"Ay, sure enough!" the others echoed as they saw the broad face,pale enough now, and the burly form of Superintendent Mayer.

"Eh, poor chap, he must ha' fell here and died," said ConstableJones, blowing his nose noisily.

The inspector knelt down and put his hand inside thesuperintendent's coat.

"I am not sure that he is dead," he said, looking up. "I fancy Ican detect a faint movement of the heart. We must get Dr. Middletonhere at once. Constable Jones--No, Harbord, you will be thequickest. Send the doctor here and go on for the ambulance."

"I wonder now if he had a fit, like?" Constable Joneshazarded.

The inspector was busy unfastening the superintendent's rathertight collar. He did not answer for a minute, then he beckoned tothe constable.

"Look here!"

Constable Jones was not a slim man. He moved forward slowly andponderously and got down on his knees beside the inspector.

Stoddart turned back the superintendent's coat and waistcoat. Onthe shirt beneath was a dull red stain extending right across.Nearly in the middle was a small round hole.

Constable Jones stared at it, his eyes growing rounder.

"It looks as if he'd bin shot."

"It does that," the inspector agreed.

The constable's mouth dropped.

"But there's nobody in Holford would go out of their way toshoot Superintendent Mayer."

"Do you think so? What about the person who shot RobertSaunderson?" the inspector inquired grimly.

CHAPTER 13

"Good Lord! The devil must be about the place!" Lord Medchesterejaculated.

He was staring at Inspector Stoddart with an expression of utterbewilderment.

They were facing one another in the study, so-called. LordMedchester had been fetched away from his dinner to hear theinspector's account of the discovery of Superintendent Mayer.

"It is unbelievable--inconceivable!" he went on, rubbing hisbald forehead. "Another man shot close to my house. It--it'sdamnable! What's the meaning of it all, inspector?"

"I would give a good deal to know, Lord Medchester. We can onlyhope that Superintendent Mayer may be able to tell us--"

"Well, of course," his lordship assented. "But while we arewaiting for the superintendent to tell us the devil who shot himmay have got clean away."

"I don't think so," the inspector said with an odd smile. "Weshall comb out the village, and we have drawn a cordon round thepark."

"That's a nice, jolly sort of thing, to have a lot of damnedpolicemen stuck round your house. I beg your pardon, inspector, butyou know what I mean."

"I think I do. But on the whole the police round the house maybe better than the murderer going undiscovered."

"The very devil is in it, I should say," Lord Medchestercontinued profanely. "And it seems to me--it really does seem tome--that when you were trying to find the murderer of RobertSaunderson, if you didn't do that you might at least have preventedanother man being shot."

The inspector coughed. "It is not so easy as it sounds; short ofmaking the police go about in couples it is not so easy toaccomplish. If we could only get the smallest idea ofSuperintendent Mayer's discovery, which he thought had given himthe clue to Robert Saunderson's murderer, we should be in a verydifferent position. You cannot recollect anything that can give usthe faintest indication--put us in any way on the right track, LordMedchester?"

"Not the very least!" Lord Medchester pulled thoughtfully at hisupper lip. "I did my best to get him to tell me," he addedcandidly. "But it was no use: he was as close as wax. Shouldn'thave believed it of the man myself. When he gets better he willtell you--"

"Ah, when?" the inspector echoed. "The doctor has not been verydefinite yet, but I'm afraid it's a bad case--a very bad case.There is internal haemorrhage."

"Oh! I hardly understood. Tell Middleton to get any bigwig helikes down from town. I will stand the racket. We must have Mayerwell again. Now I think of it, I will motor you down to the CottageHospital and see what Middleton has to say."

"I shall be glad if you will, Lord Medchester. Two heads arebetter than one."

As they bowled down the drive in Lord Medchester's runabout,they did not speak at first. The inspector's brain was hard atwork. It was only a few hours before that the superintendent, fullof health and strength, had come down exactly the same way. Whathad happened before he reached the lodge? How had he been luredacross the grass to the spot where he was found? These questionsrang the changes in Stoddart's mind, together with another couple.What was--what could be--the discovery that the superintendent hadmade? And was it this discovery that had led to his death?

When they reached the bridge over the ravine; Lord Medchesterstopped the car.

"There! It was here that I lost sight of him, just on the road.Hurrying along he was, too, as if he hadn't a moment to spare.There's a short cut through the shrubbery from here to the garden,but possibly he didn't know it, and came the longest way round. Whyhe didn't go straight on to the gate I can't imagine."

"No; it is but a step from here to the gate." The inspectorlooked round meditatively. "And yet in this short distance amurderer must have been lurking, waiting for him."

His lordship stared round apprehensively. "I wonder where theblighter is now? Nice, cheerful thought that is of yours,inspector."

Stoddart cast a strange and searching glance at his companion."I fancy you will be quite safe, Lord Medchester."

"I don't know that I shall, by Jove," his lordship said,shrugging his shoulders. "As I look at it, it was because he hadfound out who shot Saunderson that Mayer was done in. Now they knowthe superintendent was with me the last thing, I suppose they thinkhe gave the whole show away to me. I shall be the next one theywill go for."

In the bright moonlight his face looked white and drawn. Theinspector smiled slightly.

"In that case I fancy you would not be here now."

"Oh, I don't know. I have been sticking pretty closely to thehouse so far. Her ladyship isn't well, been going into hystericsever since she heard Mayer was missing. What she will be like whenshe knows what has happened I can't imagine. Women are like that,scare themselves into fits. Not that there hasn't been enough toscare anybody about here lately. She won't be well until she hasbeen away. I'd have taken her abroad, but she wouldn't come. Saidshe wouldn't go away until Saunderson's murderer was found. I hadbegun to think I should have to take her by main force. But nowthere will be other things to do. We shall have to find out whoshot Mayer. You can't go away and leave the place to itself when aman has been shot just outside your front door, can you?"

"No, not very well," the inspector said slowly.

"I quite agree with you. I think it would be wise for both youand Lady Medchester to remain at Holford for some time atleast."

His lordship looked keenly at the inspector's impassive face ashe stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"I felt sure you would see matters in that light," he said.

The inspector made no rejoinder; his eyes were glancing here,there, and everywhere; his right hand was thrust into his hippocket.

As they neared the belt of trees in which the superintendent hadbeen found, his fingers closed more tightly round a small, coldobject; every muscle in his hand and arm was taut and ready. LordMedchester was looking from side to side, starting at everyslightest sound.

In silence they drove through the lodge gates, where a policemanstood on duty, and turned up the hill to the Cottage Hospital. Thiswas a recent erection. The land had been given by Lord Medchesterand there had been a public subscription to build the hospitalitself. Constable Jones was outside to-day walking up and down theveranda, which faced south, and where in the daytime convalescentpatients might be seen taking a sun-bath.

Constable Jones saluted. The inspector jumped out of thecar.

"Any news?"

"No, sir. Dr. Middleton is there now."

At that moment there came a burst of sobs and cries from thehospital.

"Mrs. Mayer, sir," Constable Jones explained.

"She has been going on like that all the time--ever since shesaw Dr. Middleton."

"Poor soul!" the inspector said sympathetically. "You will wantto see the doctor, I expect, Lord Medchester?"

"Yes. I must hear what he has to say. I must speak to poor Mrs.Mayer too."

He got out of the car, the inspector following. Mrs. Mayer washuddled up in a chair in the wide hall, weeping bitterly, awhite-capped nurse was trying to calm her. She looked up as LordMedchester came in and made a momentary effort to rise.

Lord Medchester laid his hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorryfor you, my poor woman. But you must not give up hope like this,Mrs. Mayer."

Mrs. Mayer raised her head. Ordinarily a comely, middle-agedwoman, to-day she was shaking from head to foot and her pale facewas tired and drawn and tear-stained.

"There isn't any hope to give up, my lord," she sobbed. "Dr.Middleton, he said he couldn't give me any. And him the besthusband and father that ever lived. Just put out of life by thatcruel, murdering brute! Who could have killed him, my lord? If Icould get at him!" The tears momentarily forgotten, she clenchedher fists and shook them in the air.

"When we find him we will take care he gets his deserts," LordMedchester promised. "And don't you be down-hearted, Mrs. Mayer.While there's life there's hope is a good saying. And don't youworry about ways and means. I'll look after you until Mayer isabout again. And now I'm going to tell Dr. Middleton he is to spareno expense, and to get down another doctor from town, the best hecan think of for the case, and special nurses that can help therecovery. Oh, we will have the superintendent saved for you, Mrs.Mayer."

A ray of hope lit up the poor woman's face. "Your lordship isvery kind. I always said there was no one like you and her ladyshipfor looking after the folks in your own village."

"Oh, I don't know about that, but we will do our best for younow, Mrs. Mayer. But there's the doctor; I will see you again whenI hear what he has to say."

Dr. Middleton had come quietly down the stairs; he held open adoor at the back of the hall, and as soon as Lord Medchester andthe inspector were inside closed it behind them. When he turned hisface was grave. Lord Medchester began at once:

"Well, doctor, can you save him?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, from the first there was no realchance. But now the internal haemorrhage is increasing and theheart is weakening. It is only a question of a very shorttime."

Lord Medchester took a few steps up and down the room.

"It's the most damnable thing I've heard of. But I won't give uphope, doctor. Get a second opinion at once!"

"Glover is here now--from Empton, you know. His opinioncoincides with mine."

"Oh, Glover," his lordship said contemptuously. "Wire for someone from town. The very best you can think of in this line."

"There wouldn't be time to get him here. As a matter of fact, Iknow of no one anywhere to beat Amos Treherne, of Leeds. But Idoubt if there is time--"

"Send for him at once! Tell him it is a matter of life anddeath, and that he is to take the very fastest car and driver hecan get. Deuce take the regulations. I'll pay the fine if he getsone."

"I will send for him, but I must warn you that there is verysmall prospect of its being the slightest use. The end may come atany moment."

"Is there any chance that he will recover consciousness and beable to tell us what devil shot him?" Medchester asked.

Dr. Middleton pursed up his lips. "There may be a consciousinterval before the end. It is a possibility, that is all I cansay. It is out of the question to be definite one way or theother."

He hurried off to the telephone. Medchester turned to thedoor.

"Well, I suppose there is nothing more to be done, inspector. Imust get back to the house and her ladyship. Where are you offto?"

"Nowhere, at present. I shall wait on the chance of theconscious interval Dr. Middleton thinks a possibility. It is aboveall things important to find out whether the superintendentrecognized his assailant. Any word he lets drop may give us theclue."

"Ah, well, I'm no good at that sort of thing. I'll toddle offnow and send down to see how the poor chap gets on last thing. Comein if you are passing, inspector, and let me know how you geton."

"Certainly I will."

The inspector watched the other across the hall; then he wentover to the small ward on the ground floor in which thesuperintendent had been placed. The door was open, a screen hadbeen placed round the bed. The sister came to him.

"Will you tell the doctor that there are signs of returningconsciousness?"

The inspector turned, but the doctor was close behind him andthey went in together. Mrs. Mayer was sitting by the bedside now,her eyes fixed anxiously on her husband's face. The superintendentwas rolling his head from side to side and moving his handsrestlessly. At a sign from the doctor the nurse came forward with aglass of some restorative, but the difficulty of getting Mayer toswallow even a drop was great, and at last they had to desist. Buthis eyes were open now and there was the light of reason inthem.

He looked at Stoddart; tried to speak, but no coherent wordscame.

Dr. Middleton glanced at the inspector and then took the dyingman's hand in his.

"Can you tell us who shot you, Mayer?" he asked, his fingers onthe weakening pulse.

The listeners held their breath as the superintendent tried toanswer.

"Shot? Was that it?" he whispered faintly. "Some one calledme--and then--my heart--"

The doctor glanced sharply at Stoddart. "You had better bequick!"

The inspector bent nearer. "You sent for me, superintendent. Youwanted to tell me something. Can you remember what it was?"

The pallor of death was settling over the superintendent's face."Tell--tell--" he repeated, the poor, gasping breath coming inpainful sobs, "my lord."

"My lord," the inspector repeated. "Was my lord there when youwere taken ill?"

They waited, every eye fixed upon the dying face, but no answercame.

Mrs. Mayer laid her head on the pillow close to her husband's."Who was it that hurt thee, Jack? Tell us, lad!"

The familiar voice penetrated the dying ears. The fast-glazingeyes sought the familiar face.

"Eh, Polly, lass. You and the kids--no father."

"Eh, lad, don't thee give up. Tell us who it was as made theeill."

But the momentary accession of strength was passing.

"Tell us, Jack," Mrs. Mayer urged. "Who was it?"

"It's hid--safe--tell my lord--you'll find--"

As the last word left the white lips the head slipped sideways,the mouth opened wide with a moan. There was a dead silence. Mrs.Mayer knelt by the bed with her face on her husband's arm. At lastthe doctor laid down the hand he still held and took out hiswatch.

"It is all over now. He is at rest, poor fellow. And you seenow, inspector, that he could tell you little more than you knewalready."

The inspector dissented. "I don't know about that. I really donot know about that. What is it that's hid--and where?"

CHAPTER 14

"Well, that's that," said the inspector.

"And so another chapter in the Holford mystery is finished."

He and Harbord were sitting in their room at the "MedchesterArms." The inspector had his case-book open upon the table beforehim and was going over his notes.

"This last affair is most unaccountable," Harbord rejoined. "Itstaking place in the park is so puzzling."

"Robert Saunderson was not far from the park when he was shot,"the inspector said significantly.

Harbord looked at him. "The superintendent found out somethingthat solved the mystery of Robert Saunderson's death. Why shouldn'twe do the same? We have the same data to go upon."

The inspector took up a silver cigarette-case with a laudatoryinscription upon it. He toyed with it for a minute, then took acigarette from it, lighted it, and in leisurely fashion asked:

"Are you quite sure that we have?"

Harbord got up and walked to the fireplace. "You don't think thesuperintendent kept anything back?"

"The superintendent--and other people, possibly," Stoddartassented.

Harbord drummed his fingers upon the wooden mantelpiece.

"It is a thousand pities Mayer did not take Lord Medchester intohis confidence. What did he mean when he said something was'hid'?"

"A thousand pities he did not ring us up from the police stationinstead of going to the Hall at all," the inspector agreeddryly.

When Harbord spoke next it was hesitatingly and without lookingat the inspector:

"At any rate, somebody must have known well enough what thesuperintendent had discovered." The inspector knocked the ashesfrom his cigarette.

"You mean Who?"

"His murderer."

The inspector nodded. "That seems likely. The superintendentmight have been shot to prevent him stumbling on the truth as hisassailant thought."

"I see! But the two things are pretty much the same, aren'tthey, sir?"

"Well, I have gone through Mayer's movements yesterday morningpretty thoroughly. First thing after he had had his letters he hadto make arrangements for an inquest at Twistleton--old chap who hadtumbled down dead in the street, presumably of heart disease. Afterthat he had to go through a report from Sergeant Thompson ofBastow. Then he appears to have looked over his accounts, whichtook him some time, he having had, as his wife said, no head forfigures. Followed an interview with Constable Jones, in which heappears to have given no faintest hint of any discovery inconnexion with Saunderson's murder. As a conclusion he went hisusual round, which seems to have taken him pretty nearly all overthe village. He posted some letters, but I can't make out that hestopped to speak to anybody. Several folks, with that desire to bein the know which distinguishes so large a portion of the Britishpublic, say that he passed the time of day with them, but nothingmore seems to have been said until he reached his old crony, Mrs.Yates, at the lodge. Then he was, as we have heard, excited, andthrowing out hints as to his discovery which would lead to thesolving of the mystery of Robert Saunderson's death and his ownconsequent promotion. Therefore, as far as we can judge, thediscovery must have been made between his leaving the policestation and reaching the front lodge, though it seems impossible tofind out at present when or how it was made."

"Is it certain there was nothing in his letters?" The inspectorshrugged his shoulders. "Nothing is certain, but Constable Jonesswears only five letters arrived, and all those five are on hisdesk in the office. Purely official, all of them."

"It seems pretty much of a deadlock," Harbord said thoughtfully."But--"

The inspector looked at him. "Speak out, Alfred."

"Well, as far as we have got," Harbord went on diffidently,"only three people had conversations of any length with thesuperintendent. One of those three, it seems to me, must know morethan they have said."

"Those three being?" the inspector interrogated.

Harbord looked away, right through the open window, to where,through the trees, it was possible to catch a glimpse of HolfordHall.

"Well, there's Constable Jones and Mrs. Yates at the lodgeand--Lord Medchester. If all these three would speak out I thinkfrom one of them we should get a hint of the truth."

The inspector raised his eyebrows. "Especially the last, eh,Alfred?"

"And the first," Harbord said slowly. "We have only his accountof his interview with the superintendent, you know, sir. And he waspretty much on the spot when Saunderson died."

"He was," the inspector assented. "Oh, I have had my eye onConstable Jones, but I have gone through him pretty well with atooth-comb and I don't think he had anything to do with shootingSaunderson. Besides, where's his motive? There were plenty of men,and women too, with first-class motives for doing Saunderson in,but Constable Jones wasn't one of them. As for Mrs. Yates, Ihaven't quite made up my mind about her. Remains the last of yourthree--Lord Medchester. What he knows he won't say, and how much heknows it isn't easy to find out--and he may know nothing. As youremarked about Constable Jones just now, we have only his accountof what took place yesterday morning between Superintendent Mayerand himself. The same thing applies to Mrs. Yates and LordMedchester. But one thing is clear: whatever the superintendentdiscovered was after he left the police station, or he would haverung me up instead of coming to the Hall."

"Yes, one sees that," Harbord agreed. "But he doesn't seem tohave done anything but his usual trot round, and if there wasnothing in his letters how the dickens did he find out anythingabout Saunderson's murder? Mrs. Mayer says he gave her not theslightest hint of any discovery before he went out."

"No; whatever he found out, he found out after that, I amconvinced." The inspector glanced curiously at Harbord. "Didn't itstrike you--but I am sure it did--that there was something rathersignificant about the superintendent's last words?--'Someone calledme.' Who called him?"

Harbord met the inspector's eye. "It makes one think, sir. Weknow who Mayer had just left, but--"

"Exactly! But if he was called back with some ulterior motive bythe person to whom he had been talking--and we know who thatwas--the question that presents itself to my mind is, why was heallowed to leave that person at all? And we can verify thatperson's alibi through Mr. Maurice Stainer."

Harbord looked right away from his superior now. "As I seematters, it might have been done to establish a sort of alibi, toshow that Mayer had got out of the Hall and off the immediatepremises before he was shot."

The inspector considered a minute. "It might have been so, but Ithink the odds are against it. It was a pretty dangerous thing todo anyhow, and he'd have had to be pretty nippy about it. Andwhatever Mayer had found out about Saunderson's murderer it musthave been fairly conclusive, or a second murder wouldn't have beenrisked."

"'Called me,' the poor old chap said," Harbord went on, takingup an ornament from the mantelpiece and twisting it about as hespoke. "Has it struck you, sir, that the distance from the bridgewhere he was last seen by Lord Medchester to the spot where Mayerwas found isn't great?"

"H'm, yes!" The inspector nodded. "But Lord Medchester says hewatched him from the house, and the bridge is a long way from thehouse."

"Nobody came through the lodge gate after the superintendentwent up, according to Mrs. Yates," Harbord said thoughtfully, "sothat the murderer must have been in the park or in thegardens."

The inspector shrugged his shoulders. "Not necessarily; the parkis quite accessible in several places. I shouldn't imagine that themurderer would walk up to the front entrance and ring the bell; hecould come in across the Home Farm, go round by the small gate onthe edge of the wood, and up the rosery way, as Saunderson did onthe night he was murdered. Or he might have come by thegamekeeper's cottage, through the old quarry, and across thepinewood to the park."

"I wonder," Harbord said thoughtfully. "I wonder; the trainerBurford was up here yesterday you see, sir."

"Michael Burford, h'm!" The inspector wrinkled his brow. "I havemade a few tentative inquiries and I can't make out any harm abouthim. I will have him looked up, though. I was certain at the timeof Saunderson's death that Mrs. Burford knew more than she said,and her brother--Lord Gorth, as he is now--was a young rotter, ifever I saw one. I shouldn't think he had the pluck to commit onemurder, let alone two. Still, he was in with Saunderson, and abully like Saunderson goes too far sometimes, and even a weaklinglike Gorth can turn."

"The proverbial worm," Harbord assented.

"But I think myself--"

Just as the last word left his lips there was a tap at the door,and the landlady put her head in.

"There's a lady to see you, sir."

"A lady!" The inspector looked at her.

"Who is it, Mrs. Marlow; anybody you know?" Mrs. Marlow shookher head. "No. She's a stranger to these parts, I should say, sir.But she tells me her name is Saunderson--Mrs. Robert Saunderson."The landlady lowered her voice as she spoke the name.

"Mrs. Robert Saunderson!" the inspector repeated. "Show her upat once, please, Mrs. Marlow."

When the landlady had departed he looked across at Harbord."This is an unexpected development, Alfred. And yet I don't knowthat I am altogether surprised. Robert Saunderson was the kind ofman who might have had a dozen Mrs. Saundersons hanging round. Iwonder where this one has sprung from?"

They had not long to wait. The landlady reappeared, ushering ina tall, showily-dressed woman, quite evidently not in her firstyouth. She looked from one to the other of the two detectives witha smile that showed two rows of expensive teeth.

"Which of you two gentlemen is in charge of the Saundersoncase?"

Harbord drew back. Stoddart moved forward and pulled out a chairfor her.

"I am. Mr. Harbord here is my most trusted assistant. Mrs.Robert Saunderson, is it? Not related to--?"

"The Robert Saunderson that was murdered in the park here," thelady finished. "Only his wife, and wives don't count for muchnowadays--never did in Saunderson's eyes."

"But," the inspector hesitated, "we have so far had no knowledgethat Mr. Robert Saunderson was married."

"I dare say not," the lady returned. "He knew he had a bettertime if he passed as a bachelor--a rich bachelor. But we weremarried right enough in the Register Office up at Marylebone, agood five and twenty years ago and more. We had a nice home inBayswater for a bit, then the dibs grew scarce and Bob ran off tothe Argentine, and I went back to the stage."

"The stage! Why, of course!" the inspector resumed. "Youare--"

"Tottie Delauney of the Frivolity," the lady finished for him."I dare say you have seen me, inspector."

"I have that, Mrs. Saunderson," Stoddart rejoined, "and enjoyedyour performance too. I little thought I should ever meet you andsit chatting here like this."

Mrs. Saunderson bridled. Quite evidently this was the style ofconversation to which she was accustomed.

"He was away some time, Bob was," she went on. "And when he cameback I didn't see why he should hang up his hat in my hall, seeinghe hadn't attempted to keep me while he was away, I'd made a nameon the stage then and I liked my work, and I stuck to it. Bob, heset up as a money-lender; he'd always done a bit of that in a smallway, but now he began to make it pay. He went out to the War for atime, but he didn't stick that long--too fond of his own skin.After he came back he picked up a pretty good income by his wits.But I didn't come here to talk about that, inspector. BobSaunderson had his faults, but, after all, he was my husband, andhis murderer has got to be punished."

"He will be, if we can catch him," the inspector assured herquickly.

"And if that doesn't happen to be a 'him' at all?" Mrs.Saunderson questioned.

"The punishment will be about the same," the inspector returned."Women have their rights, you know."

"I know. And some of them they've lost, I guess," Mrs.Saunderson said sharply. "I can tell you who shot him,inspector."

"Can you?" Stoddart allowed no touch of surprise to appear inhis voice. "I need not say that we shall be grateful for any helpyou can give us."

"Oh, I can help you right enough," Mrs. Saunderson said with anod. "The woman who shot Robert Saunderson was Anne Courtenay--Mrs.Michael Burford she is now."

"Mrs. Michael Burford?" the inspector repeated. "You have someproof of this assertion, I suppose?"

"Proof? Bless you, I know what I'm talking about!" the ladyretorted sharply. "I saw Saunderson on the Tuesday before he wasshot. I had seen a lot about him in the papers--there was his namein the society news every day pretty nearly. I saw he hadrace-horses in training, and you can't do that on nothing. So Ithought it was his duty to do something for me. After all, it issupposed to be a man's duty to keep his wife, though it's preciousfew of 'em that do it nowadays, if you come to that. I didn't wantBob to keep me, but I thought he ought to do his bit. So I wentover to his flat. He was nearly scared out of his skin when he sawme; pretended he thought I was dead. And then after beating aboutthe bush for a bit, and looking mighty ashamed of himself, he toldme that he had deceived me and that the registrar who married uswas a friend of his and that we weren't really married at all. Itwas a lie, and I knew it, but it suited my book to pretend tobelieve him. So I said that if he would make me an allowance whileI was resting he could wash his past out as far as I was concerned.Then when it was all settled he told me that there I was a girl, alady, he had taken a fancy to, and he meant to marry her. She wasengaged to some one else, he said, but he had got the means ofbreaking it off, and he was going to do it."

The inspector looked inquiringly at her. "How did you know hemeant Miss Courtenay?"

"I went to his flat to find out," Mrs. Saunderson said, a noteof fear creeping into her voice. "When he saw I was quite friendlylike and not going to interfere with his doings, he began to talkquite freely. And when I suggested a night-club to finish up withhe came with me like a lamb. We had cocktails and what not, and byand by I ferreted out of him what I wanted to know. He wouldn'ttell me her name, but he said he'd got hold of her through herbrother, who was in his power. She would have to marry him, hesaid, or he would send her brother to gaol. It would all be in thepapers, for she was going to give him his answer that week. Ididn't know about the murder just at first. I don't read the papersmuch, bar the theatrical news and the divorces. When I did, Ididn't realize what it meant until I saw a paragraph about the newLord Gorth, and it said that he and his sister, Mrs. MichaelBurford, the wife of the famous trainer, had been included in thehouse-party at Holford Hall, when his friend, Mr. RobertSaunderson, had been murdered. Then I saw plainly enough how itmust have been. It was Anne Courtenay he went to meet, and it wasAnne Courtenay who shot him."

"That doesn't quite follow," the inspector said. "But we willhave Mrs. Burford's movements carefully looked into; and LordGorth's while we are about it."

Mrs. Saunderson got up. "Well, with what I have told you itought not to be a difficult matter to bring it home to AnneCourtenay--Anne Burford, I should say. But if you want me again Ishall be staying here a day or two. You know where to find me, Ishall be up at the Frivolity next week."

"I will make a note of that at once," the inspector said,producing his notebook. "And your address in Holford, please, Mrs.Saunderson? We might want to communicate with you at anymoment."

For a moment Mrs. Saunderson looked embarrassed; she stared fromone detective to the other. "Well, I don't know why you shouldn'tknow; I am not ashamed of it. I am staying at the lodge, and I amnot ashamed of it."

"The lodge!" the inspector echoed. "What lodge?"

"Holford Hall lodge," Mrs. Saunderson returned, a shade ofdefiance creeping into her voice, "and I am not ashamed of it, Itell you. Mrs. Yates is my mother--I am not ashamed of that,either. Miranda Yates, that's my name--was, before I was married toBob Saunderson leastways. I'm not ashamed of having got up in theworld."

"Ashamed!" the inspector repeated. "I should think not--I cansee nothing but a cause of pride in that."

"Oh, well, I don't know about that!" Mrs. Saunderson said as shegot up and turned to the door. "But if there's anything you want mefor there I am."

When the door had closed behind her Stoddart looked atHarbord.

"Well, this is an unexpected development. Apparently itcomplicates matters considerably, though we've only got her wordfor it."

"I suppose so, and I wouldn't believe her on her oath withoutconfirmatory evidence!" Harbord assented. "Nice sort of lady,wasn't she, sir?

"She was that," the inspector agreed. "I can't help sympathizingwith Saunderson. If I had been fool enough to marry Tottie DelauneyI should have done my best to get rid of her."

Harbord laughed. "You mightn't have found it so easy, sir. Whatdo you think of her story?"

"I think it will bear a good deal of investigation, and it willhave it," Stoddart said grimly.

"It was she who was at the lodge yesterday, then."

"You didn't question her about that?

"No. That will come when we have inquired a little more into herstory. In the meantime--" The inspector paused, and there was afar-away look in his eyes.

"Yes, sir?" Harbord queried.

"I think we will go over to East Molton and interview Mrs.Michael Burford," the inspector finished.

CHAPTER 15

The inquest on the body of Superintendent Mayer was held in theclub-room at the back of the "Medchester Arms." A great crowd hadgathered round the door long before the hour fixed for the opening.Holford folks were there in strength, for the late superintendentwas a Holford man born and bred, and all his acquaintances werethere as a matter of course. People had come by train from York andLiverpool, and even the London papers had sent representatives. Thefact that it was the second inquest to be held at the "MedchesterArms" within a month was much commented upon. The connexion betweenthe two murders was discussed, and all sorts of theories were putforward. The general idea seemed to be that some maniac hauntedHolford Hall and gardens. A local paper created a sensation byappearing with, "A Modern Jack the Ripper" in big head-lines acrossthe front page.

Lord Medchester, accompanied by Lord Gorth and Michael Burford,was among the first to enter. All three were accommodated withseats near the coroner. The jury, nine men and three women, weresworn in, and then departed to view the body in the mortuary,escorted by a couple of policemen from Loamford, who had beenimported to fill the vacant places at Holford. They returnedshortly, looking very white and shaken, and took their places.

Stoddart and Harbord sat just behind the lawyers engaged in thecase, quite near the witness-box, flanked by a bevy ofreporters.

The coroner glanced curiously at them as the proceedings began.The fact had leaked out that the great London detectives who hadbeen at Holford to inquire into the murder of Robert Saunderson hadcome down again, and had indeed been with the Holford men who foundSuperintendent Mayer dying.

A solicitor from Empton, Mr. Robert Willet, appeared for Mrs.Mayer and the family of the deceased, and Mr. Belton Carter watchedthe case, for Lord Medchester.

The medical evidence was taken first. Dr. Middleton told themthat the wound could not have been self-inflicted, and said thatthe superintendent had been shot by some one standing in front ofhim and at tolerably close quarters. He and Dr. Glover, whoconducted the post mortem, gave the result of their investigation,and told how certain organs had been taken from the body and sentup to London to the Home Office pathologist for furtherexamination. The result, he said, might be expected in about afortnight.

At the end of Dr. Middleton's evidence, Lord Medchester wascalled, and in answer to the coroner's deferential questions toldhis story of the superintendent's visit to the Hall on the morningof his death. He gave due importance to the fact that some news hadreached the superintendent which he thought might give a clue tothe assassin of Robert Saunderson, and described how he allowedMayer to use the telephone to summon Inspector Stoddart. The lasthe saw of the superintendent the deceased was hurrying down thedrive for all he was worth, and had just reached the bridge overthe ravine. No one was more astonished than he was when he heardfrom Inspector Stoddart the same evening that the superintendentwas missing. He could scarcely imagine it possible that any harmcould have happened to Mayer between the point at which he lostsight of him and the lodge--although there was a good step betweenthem. Asked if he knew what could have induced the superintendentto leave the drive and go across to the belt of trees, he shruggedhis shoulders and said he had no idea. The superintendent appearedto be in a hurry to get off to Empton, and he, Lord Medchester,watched him start almost running down the drive.

There was a distance of three-quarters of a mile between thehouse and lodge, unless you went by the short cut. He himself hadgone out into the garden, where he found Mr. Stainer and talked tohim for ten minutes or so on racing prospects.

There was nothing more to be got out of Lord Medchester, and hestepped back to his seat near the coroner.

Mrs. Yates from the lodge was the next witness. The old womanwas shaking, and apparently on the verge of tears, as she took herplace in the box and repeated the oath. In reply to the coroner'squestions she repeated what she had told Inspector Stoddart. Thenthere was a pause. The coroner glanced at his notes. Presently helooked up.

"Was there any third person present when you had thisconversation with the superintendent, Mrs. Yates?"

Mrs. Yates's ruddy cheeks turned curiously white. She fumbledwith the edge of her long cloak.

"I don't understand, your worship!"

The coroner leaned forward.

"Were you alone with the superintendent when you talked withhim? Was anyone else there?"

"I--I came out, when I saw the superintendent, to open the lodgegate," she faltered.

"I quite understand that," the coroner said patiently. "But whenthe superintendent was telling you of the discovery he had made wasthere anyone else there?"

Mrs. Yates burst into tears. "There--there was my girl,sir--Mary Ann--Mirandy, she likes to call herself; she just cameout to pass the time of day with the superintendent for the sake ofold times."

"Did this daughter of yours hear all the superintendentsaid?"

Mrs. Yates produced a voluminous handkerchief, and weptcopiously into it.

"She might ha' done," she sobbed. "She wasn't there at first butshe came running down the steps when she saw the superintendent,she having known him from a child, like."

"Why haven't you told us about this daughter before?" thecoroner inquired severely.

After one glance at his face Mrs. Yates's sobs redoubled.

"I didn't know as it mattered, sir. Mary Ann, she just thoughtshe'd like to have a word with the superintendent. There--therewasn't any harm in it."

"No harm at all," the coroner assented. "The curious thing aboutit is that you have not thought fit to mention the fact that yourdaughter was at the lodge to anyone."

Mrs. Yates chokingly reiterated that she didn't know it matteredto anybody, and the spectators, scenting a mystery, leaned forwardto get a look at her.

"Was this the daughter that had lived at Empton?" the coronerasked.

"No, sir. That's my youngest."

Mrs. Yates rolled her handkerchief into a damp little ball andrubbed her eyes. "Mary Ann is my eldest, and a good girl she hasbeen to me in the way of sending me money."

"Well, when you and your daughter had had this conversation withthe superintendent, what did you do?" pursued the coroner.

"I went on with my jobs about the house, sir, keeping my eye onthe gate all the time to see the superintendent when he cameback."

"And your daughter, was she helping you with your work?"

"No, sir; she don't know much about house-work, don't Mary Ann,"Mary Ann's mother went on with misplaced pride. "She was always onefor the theayter. She was tired, too, that morning and she went andlay down."

"What time did she get up?" the coroner inquired sharply.

"Oh, she came down to dinner about one o'clock." Mrs. Yates putaway her handkerchief with an air of resolution and waited.

Inspector Stoddart sent up a small folded note to the coroner,who read it and then consulted his notes again. At last he said tothe usher:

"Call Mary Ann Yates."

There was quite a sensation in the court as in answer to theusher's call Tottie Delauney made her way to the witness-box. Shehad evidently got herself up for the occasion. Her pink and whiteskin, her scarlet lips, and her pencilled eyebrows, making of herface something like a mask, were quite unlike anything Holford wasaccustomed to. Even her ladyship and the visitors at the Hall didnot go as far as this.

Miss Delauney's garments were all black. Her heavy coat of clothwith wide collar and cuffs of black fur was opened to display whatseemed like a black satin shift, so short and skimpy was it. Herplump neck was encircled by two rows of pearls, and her fat legswere encased in black silk stockings.

The coroner stared at her. She was indeed an astonishing vision,considered as the daughter of old Mrs. Yates.

"Your name is Mary Ann Yates?" he said at last.

"It used to be," Miss Delauney replied with what was meant to bea bewitching smile. "But now I generally answer to 'TottieDelauney'."

"Tottie--what?" asked the coroner who was no frequenter oftheatres or music-halls, and to whom the name meant nothing.

"Tottie Delauney," the witness replied, raising her voice underthe impression that the coroner must be deaf. "Of the Frivolity,"she added in explanation.

"Oh, an actress! Mrs. or Miss Delauney?" The coroner paused.

The witness looked embarrassed. "Well--Miss--we're all supposedto be single on the stage." There was a faint titter from thespectators, instantly suppressed by the ushers. "But, as a matterof fact, I married years ago."

The coroner was getting tired of the lady. "Your real name,please?" he rapped out.

"Well, it is Mary Ann Saunderson," witness replied, her eyesdropping before the coroner's.

As the last word left her lips there was a sensation in court;even the officials turned and stared at her. Only the coroner andInspector Stoddart remained unmoved.

"Any connexion of the Mr. Saunderson who was shot in Holfordgardens a month ago?" the coroner inquired.

"His wife," the witness assented. "Leastways his widow, I shouldsay now."

"Why didn't you come forward at the time of his death?"

Mrs. Saunderson did not look quite comfortable.

"Well, I was laid up just then with flu, and I'm not one forreading the papers at the best of times, and when I did hear--well,I hadn't known much of Bob Saunderson for years, and the paperssaid they had a clue and the murderer would be arrested in no time,so I didn't think it was my business."

The coroner looked at her. "What made you change your mind?"

Mrs. Saunderson fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. "Well, if youmust know, I suspected that Bob had left a lot of money and, ifthere wasn't any Will, I should come in for some of it. So Ithought I'd better see about things."

"When did you come to your mother's?"

"Three days ago. Last Sunday morning," Mrs. Saunderson went onglibly. "I was resting, you understand. There'll be a new revue onsoon at the Frivolity and I am taking the principal part. We shallstart rehearsing next week, but I had nothing on for a day or two.And, after all, he had his faults, had Bob Saunderson, but he wasmy husband, and I don't see why he should be done in and nobodypunished."

A faint inclination to applaud this sentiment was instantlyquelled by the coroner.

"Well, you came down to your mother's and, you were there lastMonday--"

The coroner paused and, after a short conference with InspectorStoddart, continued:

"Did you see the superintendent go in through the lodgegates?"

Mrs. Saunderson nodded sullenly. "Mother called me out to speakto him. I didn't want to particularly. I used to know Bill Mayerwhen I was a kid and lived next door to the Mayers. But I hadn'tseen him for years and I wasn't anxious. But Mother, she would haveme down."

"You heard the superintendent say he was going up to theHall?"

"Yes, he said he wanted to phone and that it would be quickerthan going back to the police station."

"You gathered his errand had to do with Saunderson'smurder?"

"He said it had," Mrs. Saunderson admitted. "He said he shouldget promotion over it."

"Did he know you were Saunderson's wife?"

"No; of course he didn't!" Mrs. Saunderson said with a suddenaccession of energy. "There was nobody at Holford knew, not even mymother."

"And you didn't tell him?"

"Not much!" Mrs. Saunderson shook her head vigorously. "Ibelieve in keeping a still tongue, anyhow until I see how the landlies."

"What was the last you saw of the superintendent?"

"The last I saw of him that morning he was going up the drivetowards the Hall. I watched him round the corner where the shrubsstick out in a point and you can't see the road any further. Hesaid he would call in again on his way back--as Mother toldyou."

"And what did you do then?"

"I went back into the house and went upstairs and lay down.You've got to use your legs in this world whether you like it ornot, so give 'em a bit of a rest when you can. That's what I say.Mother was in the house all the time. I could hear her messingabout round the rooms."

"And you saw no more of Superintendent Mayer?" the coronerasked.

"Never a glimpse! But if you want my opinion as to who murderedBob Saunderson--" she began.

"I do not," the coroner intervened sharply, "and if you take myadvice you'll hold your tongue. There's such a thing as the law oflibel!" And he ordered the witness to stand down.

CHAPTER 16

After a brief interrogation of Inspector Stoddart with regard toMayer's final halting words at the hospital, the inquest had beenadjourned pending further inquiries. The most important point to besolved seemed to be what was the nature of the evidence that hadcome to the superintendent's knowledge between the police stationand his arrival at Holford lodge and, equally important, throughwhat sort of channel did he receive it? What connexion had it withhis murder which so speedily followed?

That there was some connexion between the two murders seemedpretty obvious; so Stoddart and his subordinate decided over asupper of cold beef and ale at the "Medchester Arms."

"Same hand did both, in my opinion," the inspector remarked. "Ifwe find the one we find the other. Considering all thecircumstances, it's difficult to leave Lord Medchester out of itentirely; he was on the spot when Mayer, poor chap, sent histelephone message, and heard him mention he'd got an important clueof some sort. And yet he was talking to Stainer when the murder wastaking place--that's true enough, for I've verified it all right.Then, again, the arguments I used with regard to Lady Medchesterhold good with him; Mayer would never have been so pleased with theline he'd got if it implicated either Lord or Lady Medchester. He'dhave been embarrassed, if you know what I mean. It's a puzzlingcase, Harbord, so many 'might-bes' and 'couldn't-have-beens'." Theinspector took a final pull at his tankard and rose. "First thingto-morrow morning I am going to pay a visit to Mrs. MichaelBurford, and you can come with me. I have an idea she may know morethan she lets on, though Miss Tottie Delauney--heavens above, whata woman!--is probably overshooting the mark. Mrs. Burford doesn'tstrike me as the type that would do anything desperate. But itwants looking into."

* * *

Anne Burford was sitting down to answer her morning's letterswhen the sound of well-drilled footsteps on the gravel outside drewher eyes to the open window.

Her brother Harold had dined with her and her husband at EastMolton overnight, and related at some length, subject to thecorrections of his brother-in-law, what had passed at the inqueston the previous day. His story was rather confused--a faculty forpiecing together a concise relation of events was apparently nothis, but as the evidence had led to nowhere in the coroner's courtit was not to be expected that it would lead to anywhere inparticular in Lord Gorth's less practised hands.

The only noticeable point about it had been that never onceduring the whole story did Harold meet his sister's eyes.

Both of them had changed. From Anne's delicate, finely-drawnfeatures something of the joy of life, the sparkle of youth hadfaded; but in its place there was a great peace and a tranquillityvery different from the unrest, the anxious, troubled expressionthat had haunted the depths of her eyes since Saunderson had beenfound dead in the summer-house. Michael Burford, although todiscover the solution of the mystery might well be beyond him, hadproved a tower of strength to lean upon in trouble.

Her brother had more definitely altered, suddenly transformedfrom boy to man. His features, set in firmer, sterner lines, mightalmost have reassured Anne's doubting heart as to a lesson learnedthat would last him his life had it not been for this culminatingact of folly in his projected marriage with Sybil Stainer, whom hissister abhorred with her whole heart. How much and how little didSybil Stainer know? What was it that seemed to have placed them allin the hollow of her hand?

At dinner the previous evening, whenever Anne had mentioned hisengagement to Miss Stainer, Harold had shied away from the subject,glancing at her with miserable eyes. It puzzled her. If thismarriage was as distasteful to him as she believed it to be, whydid he go through with it? In this unexpected heritage of hissurely lay salvation? With the chief actor removed he had only tomeet the bill, forged though the signature on it might be; withoutthe principal witness it would be difficult to prove the name aforgery even if the question were raised.

There was an alternative explanation, but she turned from thatwith a shudder, resolutely shutting out the shadow that had mouthedat her ever since that terrible evening when Saunderson, with allHarold's future in the hollow of his hand, had been found dead inthe summer-house.

"You've married the right man, Anne," her brother said to herthat evening as she stood on the doorstep watching him start offinto the night.

"Funny though--how Fate turns things upside-down sometimes. Youcan count on me--all the way." With which enigmatical remark heshot away into the darkness.

Anne was on her guard when the well-drilled footsteps resolvedthemselves into the sturdy figures of Stoddart and his companion,though her heart sank at the prospect of a further and perhaps morerigid interrogation. She instantly made up her mind that nopressure on their part should make her swerve from her originalstatement. It was not the danger to herself that lay behind whatStoddart subsequently described as her obstinate attitude. Leastsaid soonest mended is never more apposite than when attempting tofence with Scotland Yard.

"You are certain," the inspector urged with the steely glint inhis eyes that had struck terror into more than one guilty soul,"that you neither saw nor heard anything that night in the gardenthat might throw any light on the crime?"

"Nothing," Anne rejoined firmly, though shrinking instinctivelyfrom meeting his eyes. "I took a turn in the garden and went backto my bedroom."

After all, that was true enough as far as it went, and not allthe ingenuity of the inspector could succeed in pushing itfarther.

"And what about your brother--Lord Gorth that is?" Stoddartquestioned, keeping his eyes fixed on her face.

"How do you mean? I don't understand," she replied uneasily.

"What was he doing that evening--while you were out in thegarden?"

Anne's eyes dropped a little more perceptibly.

"How should I know?" she said steadily. "Playing billiards orbridge or something in the house, I suppose. I thought you foundout what he was doing when the first investigation took place."

"Do you know anything of his relations with Saunderson?" theinspector pressed. "Had he business dealings with him?"

Anne shook her head. "I don't think he liked him very much, butthen I don't think anybody did. They had a mutual interest inracing. But wouldn't it be better to ask Lord Gorth himself?" sheadded distantly. "He can tell you a great deal more about it than Ican."

The inspector, ignoring the rejoinder, paused in hisinterrogation and glanced at a page in his case-book. Then he saidsuddenly, looking Anne full in the face:

"Did you know Robert Saunderson was a married man, Mrs.Burford?"

The shaft drawn at a venture told. Anne flushed and caught herbreath.

"I didn't know it--till last night," she replied haltingly,"when my brother told me. It came out at the inquest, he said."Then, pulling herself together, "I had never been sufficientlyinterested in Mr. Saunderson to ask if he were married or not."

"H'm! that may be," her interrogator remarked doubtfully; thenas Anne's eyes met his he added more kindly, "Believe me, Mrs.Burford, there is nothing like frankness on these occasions. Thepolice are here not only to find the guilty but to help theinnocent, and they can't do that unless the latter make a cleanbreast of it. Otherwise the sheep and the goats are liable to berounded up together."

But Anne shook her head. "I can tell you nothing more," she saidstubbornly.

With a shrug of his shoulders the inspector turned away. Therewas nothing to be gained by divulging Miss Delauney's accusationtill they had something more substantial to go on than her bareword.

"What's up, Anne?" Michael Burford asked when he came in toluncheon later on. "Anyone been bullying you again? I won't haveit." He slipped an arm round her and drew her to the windowoverlooking a square-paved garden on one side of the house.

"The inspector has been here--questioning me again," she saidwearily.

"Damn him!" was the frank rejoinder. "Send him to me next time,Anne."

"But he knows that you--I mean, he thinks that I--Oh," shewailed, "he tries to trap me into saying something about Harold--"Fearful of saying too much, even to the man who still held herclose to him, she stopped in confusion, and as the bell summonedthem to luncheon said no more.

* * *

At Holford Hall the midday meal was also in progress, and LordMedchester, perceptibly chafing under conditions that were asunwelcome as they were inexplicable, was answering in curtmonosyllables Sybil Stainer's lively efforts at conversation.

From his point of view the situation was becoming unbearable.The Stainer woman, as he called her behind her back--referring toher in his own mind in even less complimentary terms--was gettingon his nerves; it seemed they were never to be rid of her! Herbrother, undesirable as he might be, had sufficient decency not toappear at the Hall unless specially invited to do so by LordMedchester himself on such occasions as made an invitationinevitable. But his sister had planted herself on them for days,showed no signs of going away, and was making herself at home in afashion that made her unwilling host wonder how on earth his wifecould stand it.

He had complained to her only that morning. "I found her in thelibrary alone. She'd had the cheek to ring the bell--ring the bell,if you please!--and tell George when he answered it to bring her acocktail. I don't mind my guests having cocktails, but I object toa woman like that ringing the bell as if the place belonged to herand ordering the servants about. I turned my back on her and wentout of the room--damn it all!--you can't be rude to anyone underyour own roof, and in another minute I should have said something Ishould have been sorry for."

"Well, she'll be married soon and that'll be the end of it,"Lady Medchester had answered, "and in the meantime I can't have herfeelings hurt."

"Feelings!" was the contemptuous retort. "Feelings be blowed!That sort has got no more feelings than--" His stock of similesfailing to stand the strain of the sudden call upon it, he stoppedand began again. "I can't understand you, Minnie. I may not alwayshave seen eye to eye with you as regards your friends, but when itcomes to a rank outsider like Sybil Stainer it's a bit toothick!"

"She is going to be your cousin by marriage, so you'd bettermake the best of her." Lady Medchester sighed.

"I don't believe it. Harold isn't such a fool--got into someentanglement with the woman and now is too much of a gentleman tosheer off. I'll see to it--a word in season and soon. Something'sgot to be done."

Lady Medchester, on the point of leaving the room, looked backquickly.

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Dick. How can you put your oarinto other people's business in that fashion! Harold is his ownmaster--and I have told Sybil she can be married from here in acouple of months' time. I don't ask you to give her away; you cango up to London and be out of it all if you want to, but I'm notgoing back on my promise. If the thing has got to be why not makethe best of it?"

"But why the devil should it be? That's what I want to know!"Lord Medchester asked.

But his wife had already left the room and closed the doorbehind her.

So when a few hours later they and the unwanted guest met at theluncheon-table he was not in the best of humours. He was notaccustomed to being flouted in his own house, and he ratherresented--would not have stood it had life been running a normalcourse. Easy-going up to a point, hail-fellow-well-met with all andsundry as he might be, he had his reservations, and he was inclinedto draw the line at the Stainers.

And here was Lady Medchester encouraging the woman as though tosee her the wife of his cousin, the new Lord Gorth, was all thatcould be desired.

Eating the food placed before him almost automatically while heruminated over the crisscrossness of life--and life had hithertorun in even and undisturbing lines--he suddenly became aware of thefact that his wife and Sybil Stainer were discussing thearrangements for the latter's wedding from his house as though thatevent were a settled proposition.

"Two months is quite long enough to wait," Sybil remarkedcomplacently. "A long engagement is always a mistake, and Haroldand I have known one another for quite a long time now. So if thatwill suit you, Minnie, we can get on with it."

Lord Medchester looked across the table at his wife, who avoidedhis eyes.

"Get on with what?" he asked sharply.

"Sybil means the arrangements for her wedding," Lady Medchesterreplied. "I am sure you will agree with her. I have often heard yousay there is no sense in long engagements."

"Miss Stainer's affairs are no concern of mine," he repliedformally, as the butler poured out his customary glass of portbefore leaving the dining-room. "I was speaking on generalprinciples."

"But Minnie is making my affairs your concern, Lord Medchester,"Sybil said with an arch smile. "It can hardly be otherwise when Iam to be married from under your own roof."

There was an awkward pause. Lady Medchester flushed violentlyand kept her eyes on her plate. Lord Medchester glared from one tothe other, evidently trying to keep himself in hand. Miss Stainerwas the only one of the trio who appeared entirely unconcerned andmistress of the situation.

Her host finished his port and pushed his chair back.

"'Pon my soul, Minnie," he said at last, red in the face, "it'stoo bad to have made these arrangements without consulting me, and,what's more, with all due respect to Miss Stainer, who is a guestin my house, I won't have it. I don't like weddings; 'pon my soul Idon't--tomfool affairs at the best--and Harold's too young; doesn'tknow his own mind; hasn't got accustomed to being a man ofaffairs." He moved towards the door, still keeping his eyes fixedon Lady Medchester, whose nervous fingers were drawing patternswith a fork on the table-cloth. "Also," he went on, a hand on thedoor-handle, "until this business is cleared up there aren't goingto be any festivities at Holford. See what I mean? Rotten badtaste. First a man murdered in the garden, then poor oldMayer--known him ever so long--shot within a few yards of my owndrive! And you talk of wedding marches, eating and drinking andwhat not on the place. I won't have it, 'pon my soul I won't, andthat's that!" He opened the door, turned on the threshold andrepeated emphatically, "Jolly well that, and don't you forget it!"And, having finished what for him was a very long speech, he passedout and shut the door behind him.

Lady Medchester turned a pair of distressed eyes to her guest."He means it, Sybil. I always know when it's no use saying anymore. He seems easy-going, but once he has really made up his mindhe sticks to it--like a mule," she added after a moment'sconsideration.

"He will have to alter it this time," Miss Stainer rejoinedcalmly. "I intend to be married from here. Maurice can give me awayif you like; after all, perhaps it will look better as he's mybrother. I don't object to that. But I intend the future Lady Gorthto make a good start on her married career and"--she looked at theother with a meaning smile--"you, my dear Minnie, are going to doyour best towards that desirable end," and, rising, she too leftthe room.

Lady Medchester watched her go with miserable eyes.

"What am I to do?" she muttered. "I can't go on with it, Ican't!" Her eyes filled slowly with tears. "I didn't know therecould be such hell upon earth!" She stared unseeingly across thedeserted table. "If it goes on much longer I shall--shall face themusic and make a clean breast of it. If I only knew how much sheknows!"

CHAPTER 17

It was a fine, bright morning after a wet night. The sun wasforcing its way audaciously through the lattice-windows of thelodge, touching with gold everything within its reach, and MissTottie Delauney, responding to the call of nature, was inclined tobe loquacious. Breakfast was in progress.

"It isn't so much what they say, mother," she began, spreading apiece of fresh bread left by the baker in the early hours withbutter, "it's how they say it. Asks one all sorts of questionsabout little things that don't matter, and when one has gotsomething to say worth listening to shuts one up with, 'If you takemy advice, you'll hold your tongue. There's such a thing as the lawof libel!' Sickenin' I call it. What do they want?"

"Well," Mrs. Yates replied slowly from behind a heavyelectro-plate teapot that was the pride of her life, and only usedon occasions such as this--a visit from the daughter who had doneso well for herself--"maybe they know as much as you do, and don'twant it talked about till they're ready. The police know more thanthey let on sometimes."

"They didn't know I was Bob Saunderson's lawful wife,anyway."

"You are not quite sure about it yourself, are you?" her motherasked anxiously.

Miss Delauney tossed her head.

"Bob was lying when he said we weren't married. I am pretty wellsure of it, and anyway I am going to pay a visit to that RegisterOffice--"

"Which the police is likely to have done already," Mrs. Yatesinterpolated.

"And make sure," her daughter finished, ignoring theinterruption. "As long as Bob gave me an allowance and did theright thing by me 'twas as much to my advantage as his to besingle, and I didn't care. But I bet he's left a tidy bit, and, ifhe'd died without a Will, who has so much right to it as his lawfulwife? And anyway," she added, "I'm not sure I'd have let him marrythis Anne Courtenay--'twould have been a shame on any girl." Afurtive slyness crept into her eyes as she added hastily, "Thoughif I'd known she was going to murder him she could have taken herchance. He was my own husband when all's said and done."

Mrs. Yates looked round nervously.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Mirandy," she urged. "Younever know who's listening, and with the police here, there andeverywhere it isn't safe, I tell you."

"Who cares? I'm not ashamed of being Bob Saunderson's wife."

"That wasn't what I was thinking about--though there's somethingto be said about that too. But if you go talking about Miss AnneCourtenay that was--Mrs. Burford that is--having done the murder,you'll find yourself in trouble. A little delicate thing like her!Besides--"

"Well?"

"The police say whoever it was killed Mr. Saunderson did poorBill Mayer in too, and if you knew Mrs. Burford as well as I doyou'd know she couldn't ha' done one murder much less two. An' it'sonly guess-work you're goin' on at that. You better be careful, mygirl."

Mrs. Yates finished her tea and, pushing her chair back, reachedfor a tray propped against the wall behind her and began to clearaway the breakfast things. Her daughter looked on, making noattempt to help her mother, and lit a cigarette.

She then rose, strolled to the window and looked out,indifferent to the fact that the sunshine was playing havoc withshingled hair that was in debt rather to art than nature for itssheen, and a complexion that had seen better days. It was early forthe visits of neighbours, and a mother was hardly worth "doing up"for.

"Bill Mayer's death upset my plans more than a bit," sheremarked without turning round, "and if it hadn't been for you Ishouldn't have spoken out so soon about being at the lodge. I meantto lie low till I found out how the land lay--about me being BobSaunderson's wife, I mean. It was you brought me into it by callingme out when there was no need for it to speak to Bill Mayer. Ididn't want to come, for all you told the jury I did. I could havebeen here on the Q.T. and let things take their course till theright moment arrived for me to step forward. Who knows what it wasBill Mayer had found out?" She paused thoughtfully, then added witha slight irritation, "You forced my hand, mother."

Mrs. Yates, one folded comer of the blue check table-clothbetween her teeth while she doubled the rest of it carefully alongthe crease, was necessarily speechless for the moment, and herdaughter went on:

"I grant you to have that coroner man shooting questions at youand the jury waiting with their mouths open for the answers is abit rattling--more especially with that Mrs. Carthorn from Emptonwith legs like a pair of tongs sitting among 'em."

"I don't see what that has to do with it. The jury don't listento the evidence with their legs, Mary Ann," her mother remonstratedwithout any idea of being funny. "And why shouldn't I ha' calledyou out to speak to a man you'd known all your life and hadn't seenfor a month o' Sundays?"

"Well, anyway you did it; and when it came out afterwards thatBill Mayer had got himself shot not more than a few hundred yardsfrom this house I wasn't fool enough not to speak up. They'd havefound out sooner or later I was here--you'd never have been able tokeep it to yourself, mother, when question-time began--so I went tothe police and told 'em myself; and, what's more, I told 'em Mrs.Michael Burford killed Bob Saunderson."

Mrs. Yates turned round from the dresser drawer in which she wascarefully bestowing the folded cloth, dismay on her face.

"You never told the police that!--then you're a fool, Mary Ann!I wondered when the coroner asked me how they'd got to know aboutyou bein' here. Do you suppose Mrs. Burford's 'usband is going tosit down and let you talk like that? His lordship's cousin too!You'd ha' been a sight wiser to ha' held your tongue and let thepolice find out things for themselves!"

Her daughter turned on her fiercely.

"They'd never have found out what I knew--and that's a motivefor the crime. That's what they look for first--the motive--and Igot that out of Bob when I'd got a drop of drink into him. Therewas a girl who would have to marry him or he could send her brotherto gaol. That was why he wanted to make out he wasn't married tome. I know how to put two and two together, I do. Miss TottieDelauney wasn't born yesterday, I can tell you. There's motivethere right enough--and the police can get on with theirbusiness."

She paused, arms on hips, chin tilted, and as Mrs. Yates staredat her dumbly added sourly:

"His lordship's cousin indeed! That'll not save her. BobSaunderson was my husband, and I'll see she gets her deserts."

Her mother, removing her gaze from the angry face confrontingher, glanced anxiously through the window beyond.

"Hush, Mary Ann!" she urged, terror driving the colour from herface. "Don't talk like that, somebody may be listening. If it'smotive they want--what about yourself? How can you prove you didn'tknow he hadn't made a Will--and who but his wife would benefit byhis death? There's motive there all right, and," she addedtearfully, "the police know already you heard Bill Mayer say he hadgot a clue to who killed Mr. Saunderson. There's motive enough,Mary Ann! There's motive enough for the two murders--and you're afool to talk so free!"

* * *

Mrs. Yates would not have been reassured had she known that intheir room at the "Medchester Arms" the two detectives had justarrived at the same conclusion.

"That Delauney woman's story wants looking into, in my opinion,"Harbord remarked as, having lit a cigarette, he wandered restlesslyabout the room.

"There's more than her story that wants looking into," hissuperior agreed, "and one of the queer things about this case isthe absence of alibis. I've established one or two myself, but noone seems anxious to do it on their own account. There's MissCourtenay, that was, for one"--he ticked them off on his fingers ashe spoke--"and Lady Medchester, with what one might say worse thannone, the two of them by their own admission absenting themselvesfrom the rest of the party that night, but with no witnessesforthcoming to prove they were doing what they said they were, andone of them, again by her own admission, strolling about in thegarden. In the light of Miss Delauney's statement that wants a bitmore looking into--and it'll get it."

Stoddart leaned back in an arm-chair, covered in well-wornAmerican cloth and slippery from the friction of more than onegeneration, and stared at the faded design of unbelievablyimpossible roses presented by the carpet.

"Young Courtenay's record--Lord Gorth as he is now--is nothingto boast about. He says he was either in the billiard-room orplaying bridge. He gave the names of three people he was with thatevening, and I've seen them all--Lady Frinton, Captain Maddock andSir James Wilson. But they can none of them vouch for his havingbeen there all the time, and the question is, how long an intervalmay there not have been when nobody saw him? Time enough possiblyto get to the summer-house and back."

"And if Saunderson had his claw on him the motive wasthere--same as his sister, if the Delauney story is true," Harbordsupplemented, Stoddart nodded, his eyes still glued to thecarpet.

"Then there's Lady Medchester. I've got my own ideas about that.There's no doubt she was there--out in the garden--for all she saidshe was in her room with headache. That man Garwood will swear tothat. Now what was she doing out there at that time of night--withguests in the house, and then saying she wasn't?" Harbord ceasedhis uneasy movements and came to a halt on the hearth-rug.

"What would she have wanted to kill the man for?"

Stoddart shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? Jealousyperhaps. Rumour says she and Saunderson had been pretty thick, andyou can never tell what a jealous woman will do--or man, either.But I don't believe she did it. Not, mind you," he added quickly,"that she doesn't know something she doesn't want to let out, andLord Medchester too, for that matter, but neither of them, in myopinion, murdered Robert Saunderson."

He paused to light a cigarette, and the other waitedexpectantly.

"You remember Lord Medchester's account of that last interviewhe had with the superintendent? Mayer had got hold of somethingimportant--we don't know how or what as yet--and, although he saidit might lead to nothing, he had already declared in conversationwith Mrs. Yates at the lodge that his promotion on the strength ofit was pretty well assured. According to her, he was in finespirits--'fresh' she called it--so much so that if it hadn't beenso early in the day she might have thought he had been having adrop!"

Harbord nodded, but said nothing.

"Mayer was a Holford man," Stoddart went on, "that's to say bornand bred at Holford, although he'd been at Medchester for sometime. You know how it is in the country--the place looking on thesquire as a little tin god. Lord Medchester owns half thecountryside round here, and was a magistrate on the Bench. Do youthink"--he paused impressively--"that if the evidence he had gothold of implicated Lady Medchester he'd have gone bald-headed tothe Hall--to use the phone or for any other reason? You bet not!The man would have been beside himself with not knowing what todo--torn between his duty and disinclination. He'd have gone backto the police station rather than face Lord Medchester in the firstflush of such information. He'd want to think it over."

Harbord nodded slowly. "I see what you mean, and he was on thepoint of telling Lord Medchester, according to the latter'saccount, what it was he had found out--would have, in fact, if hehadn't thought better of it, and was in good spirits about it too.No"--he shook his head--"whatever it was that had come to hisknowledge it wasn't that Lady Medchester had shot RobertSaunderson. I grant you that."

They were both silent. Then Harbord added: "Funny to think thatwhat's written on a chap's brain is no use to anybody else."

Stoddart smiled. "When he's dead, you mean? Exasperating too.Half a dozen words either to Lord Medchester or Mrs. Yates mighthave saved us weeks of hard work and brought a criminal to justice.But there it is. Must have been something he heard, or there wouldsurely have been some record of it. But whom did he hear itfrom?"

"He got it, whatever it was, before he met with Miss Delauney,or it might have been connected with her."

Stoddart shook his head. "No, he got it, whatever it was, beforehe ran up against her." He paused. "There's another reason why wecan rule Lady Medchester out. Whoever it was shot Saunderson, shotMayer--all the evidence points that way. The poor chap had gotsomething that would have given us a line on the crime, and themurderer knew it. Well, at the time Mayer was shot Lady Medchesterwas in her room, putting on her hat to go out for the day. I got itfrom the lady's maid without her knowing what I was after. Aperfectly good alibi this time all right." He rose and laid a handon the ancient bell-pull hanging beside the fireplace. "Talking'sthirsty work, Alfred. What do you say to a mug of Mrs. Marlow'sale?"

"I've known worse," the other assented heartily. "I wish itwould put something into our heads that would give us a line onthis tangle."

He waited till an old-fashioned toby jug, crowned with bubblingfoam, and a couple of pewter tankards stood on the table betweenthem and then he resumed.

"If--remember I sayif--Miss Delauney's story is true--itsavours a bit too much of the film to please me--then one questionthat's been worrying us might find an answer. That is, what broughtRobert Saunderson back to Holford when, his visit having come to anend, he had ostensibly left it for good?"

The other nodded. "Yes; that struck me too. If Saunderson wasmixed up, so to speak, with Harold Courtenay and his sister, hecould have arranged a meeting with either or both in thesummer-house on the Q.T. From what we have discovered aboutSaunderson he might well want to keep the business as secret aspossible--and if it was meeting a lady he'd hardly expect her totravel up to London to meet him."

"I wonder how much Burford knows?" Stoddart took a pull at thetankard and wiped his lips before speaking.

"I've wondered that before now. He married Miss Courtenay in themiddle of it all, which looks as if he thought her innocent,anyway."

"I wasn't thinking of her so much as I was of him. His alibi isall right the night Saunderson was shot; but if Miss Delauney'sstory is correct he may have got a line on what Mayer knew thatmight implicate his wife. His movements on the day Mayer was shotare open to question. He says he was away on the downs thatmorning, and one of the stablemen testifies to having taken hishorse from him when he came in. But the man can't swear to wherehe'd been to, and no one else either--so far as I can make out. Solong as there appeared to be nothing to bring him into thisbusiness, I only looked into his movements on general principles,as one might say. But if this story is true, and Saunderson wasusing his hold over young Courtenay as a lever for forcing hissister into marrying him? He didn't do it himself perhaps, butMichael Burford comes into it good and plenty!"

"Gives him a motive, don't you see? Miss Anne Courtenay wasengaged to marry Mr. Michael Burford, and if the latter had got aninkling of how the land lay--well, any man might see red and eventhings up. His alibi may be sound, but the motive's there allright."

Harbord looked doubtful.

"When a line of inquiry is more or less perfunctory," Stoddartcontinued, "one may accept a plausible alibi at its face value. Butif--we must still say if--in Mr. Burford's case, motive can beproved, weak spots in an alibi become apparent and a more rigidinvestigation becomes necessary. For instance, on pushing thematter further, if it should transpire the evidence of the helperis based only on the fact that Mr. Burford said he had only been onthe downs it means nothing; it's easy for him to have been toHolford in the time."

"Miss Delauney's story has got to be proved," Harbord objected."We've only got her word for what Saunderson is supposed to havetold her at the night-club, and even if that part's true we don'tknow for certain that he was talking about the Courtenays."

Stoddart rose. "Right you are," he said with a sigh, "it's abaffling case. So many in it--or seems so--and all of them slipperyas eels. But there's one thing, Alfred," he said, turning to theother, who had also risen, "you remember those beads? I didn't letanything about them come out at the inquest, and Mrs. Burford isn'tlikely to have talked."

"Well, what about them?" Harbord asked, his eyes brighteningwith interest.

"I've got a notion about those beads," Stoddart saidthoughtfully. "Can't tell you why, but I have an idea somebodyknows more about them than she lets on."

"Who?" Harbord shot the question at him.

"Lady Medchester," was the answer, "and I am going to make it mybusiness to find out. Presumably in her room with a headache, andthe same lady seen by Garwood near the summer-house that evening,are two different propositions."

CHAPTER 18

Anne Burford sat with her hands before her, staring into theempty grate.

Life that had seemed so full of promise, of which in MichaelBurford's love she thought she had plucked its fairest blossom, waswithering into Dead Sea fruit in her mouth. She rose every morningwith a dead weight of misery to be faced; went to bed at nightthankful another day was safely past.

It had nothing to do with Michael. He was all she had picturedhim, a kind, thoughtful, loving husband. Busy all day--and shehated an idle man--in the stables, superintending the morninggallops over the smooth, green uplands crowned with heather andstretching away to the west, often occupied in the office with thebusiness side of his calling, or interviewing applicants that hadto be dealt with personally, she had no wish to intrude her ownworries and anxieties. Indeed, she felt it would not be of much useif she did, for unless she made a clean breast of it, telling himeverything--everything--he would not be really in a positionto help her.

He knew something. He believed Harold had not committed themurder. But how could she tell him to what extent her brother hadbeen involved in the events of that evening without betraying thefact that he had been willing to sacrifice his sister's lifelonghappiness for his own salvation? How could she tell him that?

The more immediate worry was her prospective sister-in-law,Sybil Stainer.

How much did she know about the affair of that night--and howlittle? The latter point was of almost as much importance as thefirst, for Anne had a suspicion that half Miss Stainer'sinsinuations were pure bluff; and bluff when applied to a guiltyconscience may go far.

Whatever it was she had found out it was something thatmattered, something that had put Minnie Medchester, Harold,herself, and who knew how many more, in her power. As far as sheherself was concerned, she knew well enough what she feared. If sheonly had the courage to demand an explanation, or to defy heropenly, it might prove that Sybil Stainer was banking on someslight negligible trifle, enough to give her an inkling of morelying behind, but not enough to justify putting on the screw in theway she was doing, and apparently doing so successfully. If Annehad had nothing to hide--and, oh, how bitterly she wished she hadnot--she might possibly have been in a position to burst SybilStainer's bubble by a few well-directed questions.

She was not afraid for Harold, as circumstances were at themoment. The future Lady Gorth would have no wish to bring discreditin any form on the man whom she proposed to marry, and through whomshe would be able to satisfy her dearest ambitions. Harold nowcould give her both wealth and position. And yet there must be somescrew she could turn even in regard to Harold, some lever thatcould force him to fall in with her designs. For Anne had no doubtin her mind that this marriage was as distasteful to her brother asit was to the rest of the family, and she thanked God that hergrandfather, with his pride and fine traditions, was at peace in aworld to which it was to be hoped no Sybil Stainers were likely togain admittance.

But, if for some reason the marriage were to fall through, orHarold refuse to go through with it, what then? If the prospectivesatisfaction of personal ambition were to be changed into a desirefor revenge, what would be the woman's attitude? What was it sheknew that could be turned into an effective weapon to be directedagainst Anne herself or her brother? Sitting there with miserableeyes staring in front of her, Anne knew well there was enough andto spare that she might know--the point was, what did she know?

But to that there was no answer. The police, who should beregarded as friends by the innocent, had been transformed bycircumstances into potential enemies. Once the events that had ledto that assignation in the summer-house were known, and therelations between herself, her brother, and Robert Saunderson madeclear, the police would see motive enough to hang a man twice over.He might have agreed to his sister's sacrifice in the first dismayat his own position, but what more natural than that when actuallyfaced with its accomplishment he should have taken any desperatemeans of frustrating it?

She might herself believe--and did--in his innocenceunswervingly, but it would be a different matter to get the policeto see it in the same light. Also, if investigation were to bepushed to its limits, how was she going to exonerate herself?

The sound of a motor-horn and the throb of a car outside,followed by a ring of the door-bell, brought her back torealities.

The next moment Lady Medchester and Miss Stainer were announced.Anne felt thankful she was not called upon to face the latteralone.

"For a newly married wife you don't look over-happy, Anne,"Minnie Medchester remarked, with an attempt to give a free-and-easytone to the conversation. "I hope it doesn't portend a little riftin the matrimonial lute? I've brought Sybil over to see you. She'sgot a message for you or something of the kind. First time I'vebeen here since you were settled. Quite pretty"--she looked roundappraisingly and sank into an armchair--"though a bit too bare offurniture for my taste. The last time I came you had hardly got thefurniture arranged."

"I am very happy, thank you," Anne rejoined, successfullyavoiding an attempt on Sybil's part to implant a kiss on hercheek.

"Your looks belie it then," Miss Stainer sneered. "But we didn'tcome, Minnie and I, to inquire after your health. I have brought amessage from Harold."

Anne raised her eyebrows.

"I should have thought my brother might have been his ownmessenger," she said coldly.

"That's a nice thing to say to his future wife! the girl he isgoing to be married to in two months time. It would serve you rightif--"

"Now, Sybil," Lady Medchester interrupted,

"Anne doesn't mean to be disagreeable. It's quite natural for asister to be a bit jealous when her brother--her only brother--isgoing to be married."

"Doyou approve of this marriage, Cousin Minnie?" Anneasked, looking directly at her guest.

The colour rushed into Lady Medchester's face and ebbedagain.

"Why insist on the 'Cousin,' Anne?" she said evasively. "You area married woman now, and there are not so many years between uswhen all's said and done. It makes me feel as if I had come out ofthe Ark."

"As 'this marriage,' as you call it, is going to take place fromHolford Hall, you may take Minnie's approval for granted," Sybilsaid aggressively. "As Lady Gorth I shall have to live in thisneighbourhood, and I intend to be treated decently by Harold'srelations. Let me tell you, Anne Burford," her voice rising withher temper, "as Lady Gorth's sister-in-law you may consideryourself to a certain degree safe from--you know what as well as Ido. But, if anything should interfere with my marriage to yourbrother, I should have no more consideration for you or your familythan that!" and she snapped her fingers as an inelegant indicationof contempt.

"Now, Sybil," Lady Medchester remonstrated, "what's the use ofgetting excited about it? Anne will be all right when the timecomes. You can't expect Harold's relations to be overjoyed abouthis marriage to--to--" She broke off awkwardly, finding herselfgetting into deep water. "Well, as Lord Gorth he might have marriedan American heiress and brought a bit of money into the family.He'll want it before he's paid off the death duties."

"It's always the way--when a girl does well for herself,everybody's down upon her. What's Lord Gorth or his precious sistereither, I should like to know, that they should turn up their nosesat me? The Stainers are as good as they are any day. When I'm LadyGorth they'll all be ready enough to eat out of my hand! I knowthem!"

Anne winced at the blatant vulgarity, and even Lady Medchesterput up a restraining hand.

"Come, Sybil, don't talk such stuff. Goodness knows I'm doingthe best I can for you--the wedding to be from Holford, and yourbrother to stay for the night and give you away. What more do youwant?"

"And Lord Medchester swearing he will have business in town thatday and won't appear at the wedding--and he head of the family!"Sybil replied angrily.

"Nonsense! Harold's head of his own family now, and you willhave nothing to complain of." She rose. "Give Anne your message,and let's get back. It's getting late."

Miss Stainer, who was already regretting a loss of temper out ofharmony with her claim to have the whip-hand, pulled herselftogether.

"It will be much wiser of you to be friends, Anne." The girl sheaddressed winced at the use of her Christian name. "I am not one tobear malice--but I mean to have my rights."

"Give the message, Sybil, and come along," Lady Medchesterurged.

"Harold says it will be better if you and he don't meet atpresent," Sybil said with slow satisfaction. "The fact is, hedoesn't like your attitude with regard to his marriage--and me. Hethinks the less you see of one another the more likely you are tokeep the peace. Harold doesn't mean to stand any nonsense about hisfuture wife, I can tell you!" And with a curt nod she followed LadyMedchester to the waiting car.

Hardly had the sound of it died away in the distance before thedoor-bell rang again, and Anne, with a gesture of impatience and aneffort to resume her ordinary demeanour after the trying interviewwith her late visitors, found herself confronted by InspectorStoddart, this time alone. She felt unprepared, and at the appealin her eyes even the stem eyes of the law appreciably softened.

Stoddart paused on the threshold, taking stock of the slenderlines of Anne's girlish figure, the small, piquant features, thelittle hands, fingers entwining themselves nervously with oneanother as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.With a natural habit of appraising character and weighing the valueof evidence, a vision of Miss Delauney rose in his mind, powdered,bedizened, all agog for the enforcement of her rights. If evidencewere to be produced wholly dependent on the statement of either ofthese two women, whose word would he most readily take?

He had no doubt of the answer in his own mind. Moreover, heflattered himself that after vast experience he knew a criminaltype when he met it. There would have to be considerably moreevidence forthcoming before he believed Anne Burford to be amurderess on the word of the so-called Tottie Delauney.

But inquiry along the line her accusation suggested might yieldfruit. In spite of the number of possible suspects, he and Harborddid not seem to be getting any nearer the solution. It might almostbe said they couldn't see the wood for the trees. There would betrouble with headquarters if they did not get on a line of somesort soon, and there would be no harm in pressing Anne for a moredetailed account of her relations with Saunderson. That in turnmight yield something suggestive with regard to Lord Gorth, whoseaccount of himself on the fatal evening left much to bedesired--with his acknowledged proximity to the scene of action andan alibi whose armour was full of joints.

At Anne's invitation the inspector sat down.

"There is nothing to be alarmed about, Mrs. Burford," he began."I have really come to ask you to do me a slight service. But firstas a mere matter of form I should like to know where you were onthe afternoon of Superintendent Mayer's death. Between eleven andtwelve o'clock in the morning?"

Anne's fingers relaxed their nervous grip and she raised hereyes frankly.

"I was here, inspector, here in my own house. I remember it,because my husband brought me the news of the policesuperintendent's murder just before dinner that evening; he heardit from one of the stable-men, and I hadn't been out of the houseall day. If you want corroboration," she added, smiling wanly--hereat all events she was on safe ground--"I had a friend with me andshe didn't leave until nearly half-past twelve. If you want hername and address--"

But the inspector put up his hand.

"Time enough for that," he smiled, mentally adding another markin Anne's favour; he felt so sure one and the same hand had beenguilty of both murders, and if Anne could establish this alibi shewas at all events not guilty of Mayer's. "Am I right in thinkingMr. Robert Saunderson was not a favourite of yours?"

"You are quite right," was the emphatic answer.

"Why--particularly?"

"Not particularly at all, I just didn't like him." The bloodrushed to Anne's face as she felt herself again on thin ice. "Idon't like--that sort of man."

"Nothing against him personally?"

Anne gulped down her scruples and shook her head. Franknesswould involve her brother; she lied bravely.

"And you are sure you neither heard nor saw anything suspiciouswhile you were taking that walk in the garden?" Then, going offapparently at a tangent, "Were you wearing your crystal beads thatnight?"

Anne looked puzzled.

"No," she said slowly. "I thought you knew--"

"I knew the broken string found on the scene of the murderdidn't belong to you, but you might have been wearing yourown."

"I wasn't," she replied, still wondering what the question hadto do with the matter, "and I have never worn them since. I hatethe sight of them: they remind me--of all I want to forget."

"I can quite understand that," the inspector agreed in hismatter-of-fact voice. "But I am going to ask you to wear themagain. This is what I want you to do." And drawing his chair closerto Anne's he dropped his voice.

For a quarter of an hour or more the murmur of voices might havebeen heard in that pleasant room looking out on the emerald downs,across which Anne's husband at that moment was walking brisklytowards the house.

He entered the house a few minutes after Inspector Stoddart hadleft and opened the door of the room where Anne was still standing,staring thoughtfully through the window in an effort to follow theinner working of the inspector's brain.

"That police chap has been here again, hasn't he? I saw himcrossing the hill towards Medchester. Hasn't been bullying you, hashe? What did he want?" her husband asked.

"What a lot of questions! I can't answer them all at once. Hecertainly hasn't been bullying me," she replied, making light ofthe visit. "He only wanted to know where I was the morning thepolice superintendent--Mayer his name was, wasn't it?--was shot;said he had to ask everybody as a matter of form."

"And where were you?"

"I was here--Rosie Meekins motored over, but wouldn't stay tolunch, so I had my alibi pat. To find oneself in such a horribleworld of suspicion! It takes all the joy out of everything." Sheflung herself into a chair and hid her face in her hands.

Michael Burford dropped on to the arm of it and drew her tohim.

"Don't worry, darling," he comforted. "Harold will come throughall right. The police can't take him upon suspicion alone. So faras we know, nothing has been definitely proved against him yet. Theonly thing that worries me," he added, as Anne, yielding to thesense of security the touch of the man she loved gave her, driedher tears, "is, why Harold is going to marry that awful woman. Italmost looks as if--"--he hesitated--"as if she knew something hedidn't want other people to know."

"Blackmail," Anne said tersely.

Burford nodded gloomily.

"Well, as long as she hopes to marry him, she'll keep it toherself," his wife rejoined, and finished sadly, "poor old Harold!Do you know," she went on, sitting up and leaning her head on theshoulder so near her own, "whatever it is, I believe Cousin Minniemust be in it too. Minnie has her faults--lots of them, and shehatesme for some reason, and always has--but she wouldn'tput up with a woman like Sybil Stainer unless she was obligedto!"

* * *

Two days later in their comfortable sitting-room at the"Medchester Arms" Inspector Stoddart and Harbord were coming to thesame conclusion. They were quite conscious that a woman of MissStainer's type would not have been tolerated unless some very goodreason lay behind.

"Since Garwood told his story we know Lady Medchester hassomething to hide. When she said she had not been outside thatevening she lied, and people don't lie unless they have somethingto lie about, and Miss Stainer may have tumbled to what it is. I'mnot quite ready to face Lady Medchester with Garwood's statementyet, but I have found out something and it was no more than Iexpected."

Harbord looked at him inquiringly. "What was it? Got a line onMayer's source of information?"

The other shook his head. "No; I wish I had. But I got an ideaLady Medchester knew more about those crystal beads than she leton, and I laid a trap for her. It turned out I was right--and I waswrong."

"That doesn't seem to get us on much," Harbord said with alaugh, as he lighted up. "May one ask, sir, exactly what youmean?"

"What I found out was that she doesn't know as much about thosebeads as she thought she did. And, as you say, it doesn't seem tohelp us on overmuch. What I did was this," he went on as the otherlooked at him expectantly. "I asked for another interview with LadyMedchester, having first enlisted Mrs. Burford's help to carry outmy notion. It was arranged for this afternoon in the library atHolford. I put a few questions to her more to mark time than forany result I hoped to get from them, and I confess I was a bittempted to spring Garwood's tale on her and see how she tookit."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because so far it's a case of hard swearing between the two ofthem. Garwood says she was out in the garden, she says she wasn't,and there you are. I believe his story all right, but we've got toget a bit more to go on."

"Well, what was the idea?"

"I had stationed Mrs. Burford outside the library door, and at agiven signal--a loud cough from me--she was to walk into the roomas if by accident, which she did--with her own string of crystalbeads hanging conspicuously round her neck." He laughedreminiscently and lit a cigarette. "Mrs. Burford stood in thedoorway as if taken aback at finding her cousin engaged; did it tothe life, and I never took my eyes off Lady Medchester's face.

"When she saw Mrs. Burford standing there, the beads gleaming onher neck, she went white as a sheet, caught her breath, and staredtill I thought her eyes would have dropped out. 'Why, Anne,' shecried, pointed a hand at the necklace and dropped it at her side,'where did that--Why, I thought--' and stopped short, fearful nodoubt of saying too much. 'Why, Cousin Minnie, what's the matter?'Mrs. Burford asked, genuinely astonished, for I hadn't told herjust what I was after.

"Lady Medchester pulled herself together. 'The matter,' sherepeated angrily and evasively, 'when you come into the room like aJack-in-the-box! It's enough to startle anybody!' 'Whom do thosebeads belong to, Lady Medchester?' I asked sternly. 'And why wereyou taken aback at the sight of them?'

"She looked from them to me as if she could have killed me. 'Ihaven't the least idea!' she stammered, then realizing she wasgiving herself away, added, 'At least, I suppose they belong toMrs. Burford, as she is wearing them round her neck!'

"But my little trap had succeeded. I had found out what I wantedto know."

"What was that?" Harbord asked curiously.

"Lady Medchester had imagined the beads found after the murderbelonged to Anne Courtenay," Stoddart replied slowly, "and when shesaw that string hanging round Mrs. Burford's neck she got thesurprise of her life. What I should like to know is this--why didLady Medchester get the shock of her life when she realized thebeads found in Saunderson's pocket did not belong to AnneCourtenay?"

CHAPTER 19

Mrs. Mayer was taking her trouble hardly. As she had passed outof the depressing, whitened walls of the Cottage Hospital where herhusband had just gasped out the last words he would ever speak inthis world, she felt the light had gone out of her life. Like otherwomen of a certain type, she was inclined to give way to herfeelings as long as there was some hope left; but, that once sweptaway, the calmness of a great despair had enveloped her, and shehad arrived at her home feeling as though the bottom had fallen outof the world.

She and Bill Mayer had led such a happy life together. In thatlay her one drop of comfort. She might be suffering at the momentmore than many other wives bereft like herself, but whoever may bethe presiding genius in charge of life's scales sees to it that thebalance is kept pretty even, and at least there was no touch ofremorse in her grief.

She could look back over the years without any of the gnawingregret so many wives experience in the first flush of realizing thetime has gone irrevocably for undoing any regrettable act in thepast.

She and her husband had had the usual tiffs of married life, andhad made them up; no one could nurse resentment long in face of herBill's good-humoured smile, backed as often as not by the remarkthat they wouldn't be entering for the flitch of bacon that year.But she had been a good wife to him, borne him children, and madehis home a comfortable haven to come back to after a day's work.She had nothing to blame herself about in that way, and many a timehe had looked at her, a twinkle in his eyes, and congratulatedhimself on knowing how to appreciate a good thing when he'd gotit.

As a husband and father no one could have asked for better.Rising steadily in his profession step by step, he had reached theposition of superintendent by a stolid devotion to duty andintelligence, not always apparent in country districts whereexperience is necessarily more limited than in large cities. He hadwon the respect of his superiors, and Stoddart had spoken no morethan the truth when he said, "Those little pig's eyes of his seemore than you think."

Mrs. Mayer was suffering from the greatest loss it is possiblefor a woman to suffer in this world--that of a good husband.

Betty Morgan, her daughter, married to a baker and living on theedge of the town, had been waiting for her mother when she returnedfrom that sad visit to the hospital. She had been hastily summonedfrom her own home, and read all she needed to know in the stonydespair of her mother's eyes.

"He's gone," Mrs. Mayer said, dropping into a sleepless night,and insisted on doing her share towards getting the breakfast andputting the house straight.

Betty Morgan, having a husband and children to see to, caughtthe eleven o'clock bus from Medchester town hall, next door to thepolice station, leaving her mother with a promise to return earlyin the afternoon. Both her sisters were in service, and herbrother, following in his father's footsteps, had become apoliceman; being stationed in a far-away Devonshire town, he couldonly hope for leave to come home in time for his father's funeral.She felt therefore that the care of her mother devolved for themoment entirely upon herself, Mrs. Mayer shrinking from seeing anykindly-intentioned neighbours in the first flush of her grief.

By three o'clock Betty Morgan was back at the policestation.

She found her mother sitting in the kitchen, hat and coat on,and concluded with slight surprise she had been to the only decentdraper's shop the town could boast to see about mourning.

But Mrs. Mayer fiercely repudiated any such suggestion.

"Not me!" she said, adding with a curious note of defiance,"I've been to see the place where your poor father was killed.That's where I've been."

"Whatever made you do that, mother?" Betty raised hereyebrows.

"Why shouldn't I? It's natural enough; and I had a feelin'somehow"--she hesitated and pulled off her hat--"I don't know why,but I just wanted to go and see it before every sightseer in theplace went treadin' about there. It's sacred ground to me--can'tyou understand?"

"Yes, perhaps I can," the other said gently. "Not far from thelodge, wasn't it?"

"Not more than a few hundred yards. I found the spot easy enoughby the description, leastways thereabouts. I knew I was rightbecause--"

"Because why?" her daughter asked, hanging her coat and hat on apeg in a corner.

But Mrs. Mayer shut her mouth with a snap and left the sentenceunfinished.

"Susan Yates called to me as I came back through the lodgegates," she went on, glancing furtively at Betty, "wants to comeand see me. Very kind she was."

Betty nodded.

"But I asked her to wait a day or so," Mrs. Mayer continued. "Idon't feel up to it. She had somebody staying in the house withher; I don't know who it was, but somebody pulled a blind down inone of the bedrooms while we were talkin'."

At the inquest two days later Mrs. Mayer learnt the visitor atthe lodge had been "that there Mary Ann Yates, or Saunderson, orDelauney, or whatever she calls herself." Her own evidence, beingpractically nil, she was quickly through. After informing the courtthat the superintendent had left her in the morning as usual forEmpton, and had never returned, that was all she had to tell, andwhen given she had been allowed to leave the court and go home.

Then had come a visit from the inspector. That was two daysafter the inquest, and the day before the funeral.

"I've come to tell you, Mrs. Mayer," Stoddart said, removing hishat as she opened the door to him and following her into the littleparlour, "that there isn't a man in the Force who is notsympathizing with you in your trouble. It's a bad job, that itis."

Mrs. Mayer's face hardened. She was too sore and her wound toofresh to be able to look at things dispassionately, and in someunreasonable fashion she was inclined to hold Scotland Yardresponsible for her husband's death. What was the good of thepolice if they let honest members of their own force be murdered inbroad daylight?

So she nodded her head and remained silent. Inspector Stoddartcoughed and blew his nose; not because it required it, but merelyto give him time. He was not sure of what to say on occasions suchas this.

"I was thinking, Mrs. Mayer," he began again, "now the inquestis over, and perhaps you may be settling down a bit, there might besome little thing you might remember--all you've had to go throughis enough to upset anybody's memory--that maybe might give us aline on what it was that came to the superintendent's knowledgebetween his leaving you in the morning and his meeting with Mrs.Yates at the Holford lodge gates. A lot hangs on that; and you'llbe wanting to track the villain that murdered him as much or morethan we do at the Yard. Was he to your knowledge expecting to hearof anything?"

Mrs. Mayer shook her head. Her eyes travelled uneasily round theroom, and something in her manner urged him to press the point.

"No," she said shortly, "there wasn't anything; not that I knewof. But Bill kep' his business affairs, as he called them, tohimself sometimes. Not that he didn't trust me," she addedfiercely, "but he liked to get away from them--forget he was apoliceman, he used to say."

"I can quite understand that, and I'm sure you would have nowish to hide anything from the Yard, Mrs. Mayer."

The hearty assent expected by the inspector was not forthcoming.Mrs. Mayer dropped her eyes.

"Surely," he went on, slightly puzzled by her manner, "you wouldkeep nothing back that would help us to trace the criminal?"

This time the reply came eagerly enough; a look of relieflightened Mrs. Mayer's pale blue eyes as she looked him straight inthe face.

"I surely would not! I'd give years of my life to catch him! ButI can't help you; I can only say what I said at the inquest--Idon't believe Bill had a thing in his mind when he started off thatmorning for Empton. Mrs. Yates and that daughter of hers, besideshis lordship, talked of his being in high spirits owing to hispromotion being likely. Well, there was nothing o' that when heleft me, and if he talked like that to his lordship and sundry,ain't it likely he'd ha' said something of it to his lawful wife?No," as her visitor rose, "if he heard anything, as you say, it wassomething he learnt that morning after he'd left and before he sawMrs. Yates at the lodge. You can take it from me."

"I suppose I must, and thank you. There'll be a bit of a pensionfor you, Mrs. Mayer--the superintendent was killed while doing hisduty. Not much, I'm afraid, but it's all to the good."

"Thank you, inspector," she replied quietly, "but I'm notworrying about that. His lordship'll see to it--Bill having diedinside of his own gates, so to speak. He isn't one to let a poorwoman suffer, even though my family is out in the world and all.Still a bit of pension will be all to the good."

The inspector nodded. "If anything should turn up you'll knowwhere to find me," he said kindly and left, cudgelling his brainsfor a solution to what appeared to be now an insoluble problem.

As the door closed on him Mrs. Mayer glanced round her with ahint of secretiveness in her eyes. She was alone in the house. Herson from Devonshire was to arrive in the evening, her daughter hadgone home to put a finishing touch to her own mourning to wear atthe funeral. Instead of going back into the kitchen where Betty hadleft the potatoes for dinner peeled and ready for boiling, sheslipped up the short flight of narrow stairs into the bedroom sheand her husband had shared for so many happy years, and closed thedoor softly behind her.

Tiptoeing across the room, although there was no one in thehouse to hear her, she opened a drawer in an old-fashioned piece offurniture standing against the wall and slipped her hand into theback of it.

At the same moment the door below opened and a footstep crossedthe passage. Mrs. Mayer drew her hand back as though it had beenstung, closed the drawer as softly as she had opened it, and stoodup.

"There's Betty back." She stood still and her eyes filled withtears. "I don't care," she muttered defiantly, "not if it is thelaw of the land! Not if the King of England was himself to ask onhis bended knees. Yes, Betty, coming," she cried in answer to herdaughter's voice calling her from below, and with a backward glanceto make sure the drawer was safely closed she went downstairs.

"I saw Mrs. Yates in the town, mother," Betty said, divestingherself of hat and coat. "She says she's coming in to see you dayafter tomorrow."

"So long as she don't bring that daughter of hers with her Ishall be glad enough to see Susan Yates," her mother repliedwithout enthusiasm. "When's she coming?"

"I told her to look in somewhere about four o'clock and you'dgive her a cup of tea. It'll be early closing and Frank'll behaving his afternoon off, so it'll be company for you. Frank'llwant me at home."

"You've been very good to me, dearie," Mrs. Mayer said warmly,"but I got to stick it out, I suppose--moving and all that. HowI'll do it, God knows! Susan Yates lost her husband a matter offive years ago now, and his lordship let her five on at the lodge.That's the worst of living in a police station--very nice while itlasts, but the widow has to break up her home and clear out whenher husband leaves her."

Mrs. Mayer looked round the little room and sighed. It was sofamiliar, and yet with life turned grey and the pivot of her veryexistence removed it all looked flat and unresponsive. The clock onthe mantelpiece that she and Bill had bought when he got promotedto sergeant still ticked on with the same monotonous perseveranceas ever, but it seemed somehow to be telling quite a differentstory. The chenille table-cloth that she had bought out of savingson the housekeeping one year and been a surprise for her husbandwho always had an eye for a bit of bright colour; the arm-chairworn almost through to the stuffing where his elbow had rubbed it;the broken bar round the fender which one of them had remarkedought to be mended at least once a week since it had got brokenmonths before--all, everything reminded her of the companion whowas gone. Life seemed very empty.

* * *

When Mrs. Yates paid the promised visit two days later she foundher old acquaintance a trifle more settled in her mind. The funeralwas over. It had been well attended, for Superintendent Mayer hadbeen respected not only by his companions in the Force, but by thewhole countryside. "Very gratifying for you, Mary," her visitorconsoled, "on foot and in cars--the mayor and the gentry all turnedout to pay respect to poor Bill's memory; and not more than theyshould do, either. He died doing his duty, and what can a man domore?"

The platitude seemed to bring comfort of a sort. Mrs. Mayernodded and poured out the tea with a hand that shook pitifully.

"Hard on you having to move. I was lucky that way," the otherwent on. "Seems like tearing you up by the roots. Have you got aplace to go to yet, Mary? Perhaps Betty'll take you for a bit whileyou have a look round?"

Mrs. Mayer shook her head. "I don't hold with plumping yourselfdown on other people--maybe where you're not wanted. There's acottage belonging to his lordship on the edge of Holford Commonhe's offered me--rent free too--and I'm to move in soon as Ican."

"Is the new superintendent appointed yet?"

"I don't know, but he will be almost at once, and I must get outof this," Mrs. Mayer said drearily.

"You poor thing! Well, I know what you're suffering. I felt justlike that when my Tom was took. Mighty bad it is, whatever way youlook at it."

There was silence for a moment. Mrs. Mayer cut her guest anotherslice from the loaf and pushed the butter towards her.

"Your girl's with you, isn't she?" she asked after a pause."Funny her being married like that and you not knowing. To that Mr.Saunderson too--and he murdered."

"They don't seem getting on much about who murdered him," SusanYates remarked. "I don't understand Mary Ann. You'd think she wastaking it to heart the way she goes on, and yet I know sheisn't--not because she was fond of him, that is."

"She'll get a good bit of money, won't she?" the other askedcuriously. "Bill told me as how it didn't seem there was aWill--died intestinal don't they call it?--and the wife'll get mostof what's going."

But Mrs. Yates felt herself to be on thin ice and disinclined todiscuss the point. Mary Ann had done nothing so far as she knew toestablish her claims as Saunderson's widow, and, with a slipperycustomer such as he had been, there was no saying whether the formof marriage gone through at the Marylebone Register Office mightnot prove to have been a sham. Saunderson himself had said it was,but Mary Ann had not believed him. At any further reference to thesubject her daughter turned crusty and said there was time enoughto go into the rights and wrongs of it later on.

"She shuts herself up in her room and won't see anybody," Mrs.Yates went on evasively, "and goes white if you so much as mentionthe police. She's talked too free to the police as it is, in myopinion, and I told her so, and ever since she keeps her mouth shutlike a mouse-trap and won't speak."

"That's a sight better than talking too much," Mrs. Mayerreplied with the wisdom born of many years' close contact with amember of His Majesty's police force.

"Truth is, if you ask me," the other observed, "I believe she'sfrightened, and it was I that did it. There's a lot of talk aboutmotive these days, and if it comes to motive--who's going tobenefit by Saunderson's death more than his wife?" She glanced overher shoulder and lowered her voice. "That's what I says to her.She'll have to face it all in the long run. It's no sort of usetrying to keep anything from the police--within reason, that's tosay."

Mrs. Mayer turned scared eyes on her visitor.

"Not keep anything from the police!" she echoed in a voice thathad turned shrill. "Depends what it is," with a note of defiance inher manner. "If it don't do anybody any harm--"

"They'll find it out sooner or later," Mrs. Yates put in, "boundto, and then where are you?"

Mrs. Mayer lowered her eyes and with nervous fingers rolled herhandkerchief into a tight ball under the shelter of thetable-cloth.

"Wouldn't you keep anything from the police, Susan?" she askedearnestly.

Mrs. Yates hesitated.

"Tom kept something back once--nothing to matter, nothing he'ddone himself--but they found it out. They always find out,Mary."

Mrs. Mayer glanced about her nervously.

"There's things," she said in a thin, high voice again, "thatdon't hurt anybody--I wouldn't tell the police, not for all youcould offer me!"

The other looked at her in astonishment.

"And you the widder of a superintendent, Mary!"

"It's because of that I say it," was the enigmatical reply. "Andthere's things I wouldn't tell the police--not if it was everso--and I'm not ashamed of it, either!"

CHAPTER 20

Inspector Stoddart, sitting at his desk at Scotland Yard, haddecided to confront Lady Medchester with Garwood's statement--thathe had seen her in the gardens at Holford on the night and aboutthe time of Robert Saunderson's murder.

He had always had a suspicion she knew more than she hadadmitted, and congratulated himself on the brain-wave that hadprompted the little trap he laid for her, and for which he hadinvoked Anne's innocent connivance. He had been certain she knewsomething about those beads; he had discovered by his ruse she didnot know so much as she thought she did. She had imagined theybelonged to Anne.

The inspector had no love for Lady Medchester. He feltinstinctively hers was a mean mind, secretive and vindictive. Whereit served her purpose he suspected her to be capable of going togreat lengths to gain her own ends: no scruples would be allowed tointerfere with their achievement. He could easily understand whyshe and Anne had never been friends, a fact well known in theneighbourhood; their natures were apart as the poles. He believedGarwood's tale and wondered in his own mind whether it had been shewho had made an assignation with Saunderson that night in thesummer-house. Somebody had, that was certain, and rumour had beenpretty free in coupling their names together.

The definite clues they had to the crime were more or lessunsatisfactory and seemed likely to lead to nothing; the slip ofpaper found in Saunderson's notebook bearing the words, "I accedebecause I have no choice," was badly written in block letters andpaper torn apparently off the end of a half-sheet of so ordinary atype that it might have been bought at any stationer's in any town,and results from it were hardly to be hoped for.

There was also the note signed with the letter M, that Harbordhad found in Saunderson's flat. On reading it their minds hadsimultaneously jumped to Lady Medchester, but so far there wasnothing to prove she had written it. It, too, was in non-committalblock letters, on very ordinary notepaper. Had the date suggestedin it for the proposed assignation coincided with the date of themurder Stoddart might have been justified in taking immediateaction. But it did not; the date mentioned was considerablyprevious to that of the crime, and although that did not precludethe possibility of a second meeting having been, arranged there wasnothing to prove it. Saunderson could quite well have met a dozenwomen, without making his actions any concern of the police, and ifLady Medchester chose to deny authorship of the letter, as sheassuredly would, they had no means so far of proving it againsther.

His strongest asset in the case lay in her denial of having beenout in the gardens that night. Persons with clear consciences don'tneed to tell lies. She had every right to go out into her owngrounds at any time of the day or night, and had she admitted thefact in the first instance and said frankly she had seen nothing,or, if that were not so, had told what she had seen, she would havebeen believed and there would have been no more trouble aboutit.

But she had not been frank, and had thereby immediately laidherself open to suspicion. The fact of Lord Medchester being aperson of some importance in the county did not simplify matters.Stoddart felt that for his own sake he must tread warily: theauthorities strongly objected to becoming embroiled with persons ofinfluence.

He had made up his mind; he would have yet another interviewwith Lady Medchester, and, without warning, confront her withGarwood's statement about her movements that night. If she couldprove an alibi so much the better; but she had made no effort to doso in the first instance, had produced no evidence proving her ownassertion of not having left the house, and a belated explanationborn of second thoughts would have to be peculiarly unassailable tocarry any weight.

Then there was the matter of the beads. He intended to pressthat point, to force the truth from her. He could quite understandher astonishment at seeing the crystal beads hanging round Anne'sneck when she had thought the chain to be broken and in the handsof the police. That was no more than he had expected.

But if she had imagined she recognized Anne's property in thebroken necklace found near the scene of the crime, and the threeloose beads in the dead man's pocket, why had she shown no surprisewhen first confronted with them? It would almost seem it had notbeen a surprise to her. The two necklaces were so much alike therewas every reason for her to have been mistaken, but why had she notsaid--as she believed--the beads belonged to Anne Courtenay whenasked?

An instinct told the inspector it was not in order to shield herhusband's cousin.

Then there was Miss Delauney's story bringing Lord Gorth and hissister into it. That, too, was, mere chatter--nothing to goupon--and her own assertion of being married to Robert Saunderson,by the registrar in Marylebone had had to be substantiated. Policeinquiries had disclosed the fact that Saunderson had been lyingwhen he said the marriage ceremony had been a sham. The record ofthe marriage was there sure enough; in their own names, and noquestion about it. Miss Delauney of the halls was Mrs. Saundersonwithout a doubt. All these threads, apparently leading into blindalleys, had to be followed up, and Garwood's evidence had to bedealt with first.

So about four hours later Inspector Stoddart walked into thefirst floor sitting-room at the "Medchester Arms," where Harbord,with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, was writing up areport.

"Ring up the Hall," he said, flinging down his hat, "while I geta bit of something to eat. I caught the train by the skin of myteeth. Find out if Lady Medchester's at home and, if not, when shewill be--but don't say why you want to know. I am going to have aword with her, and I'd as soon Lord Medchester was out of theway."

* * *

It was six o'clock when a footman informed Lady Medchester thatInspector Stoddart would like to speak to her. She was writingletters at her writing-table, and as the man delivered his messagestared straight in front of her without looking round. When shespoke, after a perceptible pause, her face was white to thelips.

"Inspector Stoddart--what does he want?"

"To speak to you, my lady," the man answered stolidly.

"Yes, but what about?" she asked impatiently.

"He didn't say. He's got the other detective--I think his name'sHarbord, my lady--with him, and says he would like to see you atonce."

"Tell him I can't--" she began; then with a little helplessgesture, "I--suppose it's no good. Where's his lordship?"

"Gone over to East Molton, I believe, to see Mr. Burford."

She turned and faced the man in the doorway for the firsttime.

"Show the inspector into the library and say I will be with himdirectly." As the door closed and she was left again alone sheflung the pen angrily on the table and rose. "What is itnow?" she muttered. "Am I never to have any peace? Oh,Dick!--my dear--" She broke off with a sob.

Moving across the room to the mirror over the mantelpiece shedrew powder and puff from a vanity-bag hanging at her wrist, andapplied it skilfully to eyes and nose. A delicate brush of geraniumto cheeks, white for the moment as chalk, and a finishing touch oflipstick made her feel herself again, and with lips firmly set andanything but welcome in her eyes she crossed the wide hall to thelibrary.

The detectives turned as she entered.

"What do you want?" she said abruptly. "I suppose it's morequestions about these--these murders? I have already told you all Ican--and I have nothing further to add."

Stoddart drew a chair a few feet forward.

"Won't you sit down?" he suggested. "A new development hasarisen, and there are one or two questions that must be asked."

Lady Medchester frowned at the implication that the interviewmight be a long one, and shook her head.

"I prefer to stand, thank you. Surely there is some limit tothis continual inquisition on the part of the police! Why should aninnocent person be subjected to this sort of thing? It's not myidea of British justice!"

The inspector's eyes scanned her face with so uncompromising alook that her own dropped.

"The innocent?" he said coldly. "But innocence has to beproved--and proved up to the hilt in cases of this sort." Hepaused--no one knew better than Inspector Stoddart when to give hisactions a dramatic setting. "Why did you say you had spent thehours between nine and eleven on the evening of Saunderson's murderin your bedroom, Lady Medchester?" he asked sternly.

She stared at him angrily.

"Because I did. I can't prove it because, as it happens, I wasseen by no one between those hours. I was in my bedroom, and mymaid--"

Stoddart moved a step forward.

"On the contrary, you were seen--in the garden," he interrupted."Wait," as she attempted to speak, "don't make matters worse bydenying it."

"Who saw me--is supposed to have seen me?" she said with avehement gesture of denial. "I tell you I was in my room."

"Never mind who saw you; you were seen, that's enough. It's nogood denying it; I have my witness. If you knew no more of thisaffair than you first admitted there would have been no need toresort to subterfuge. Now, Lady Medchester, be frank--it will bebetter for you in the long run--and Iknow you were in thegarden that night."

Bluff is an excellent servant when applied to certain types ofhuman nature, and it did not fail here. Lady Medchester caught atthe back of a chair to steady herself. In spite of powder and paintshe looked ten years older than when she came into the room.

"Tell me," Stoddart went on, pressing his opportunity, "was ityou who met Saunderson in the summer-house that night?"

The shock of the sudden question broke down her lastdefence.

"It was not!" she cried emphatically. "I never went into thesummer-house at all--at least, not until--not--" droppinghelplessly into a chair.

"Oh--damn you!" she cried, losing all control, reverting to typeas, in a crisis, is the manner of her kind. "I did not killSaunderson, if that's what you think--and I don't know who did!"she finished violently.

"Better make a clean breast of it, Lady Medchester," Stoddartsaid evenly; experience had taught him when to turn the screw andwhen to ease the strain. "Nothing that does not bear on the caseshall go any further."

She stifled a sob with a handkerchief rolled into a small,compact ball, and for a moment silence reigned in the long roomfrom whose walls the painted eyes of her husband's forbears lookeddown upon this unworthy bearer of the name. Her shoulders shookwith the effort to smother her sobs and bring herself to the pointof confession.

"Send him away," she said at last, nodding her head in Harbord'sdirection.

At a signal from the inspector his subordinate went out, closingthe door softly behind him. The sight of a soul bared to the worldcannot fail to have its effect on the least thinking man orwoman.

Stoddart waited in vain for Lady Medchester to speak.

"Why did you go out in the garden that night?" he askedgently.

With a deep sigh she looked up, the rouge on her cheeks riddledwith tears.

"I'll tell you all I know," she said slowly. "You won'tunderstand--no man ever would understand--and it doesn't matter,"she added desperately. "I did go out that evening, but it was notin order to meet Robert Saunderson."

"Why did you go?"

She sat up and pulled herself together.

"I went into the garden that night to spy on Anne Courtenay--asshe was then. I never liked her, perhaps because I knew she did notlike me. There was a peculiar touch of careless arrogance towardsme in her manner that got through the skin somehow--and I'm notthin-skinned as a rule. It may have been unintentional--I don'tknow. Anyway, I hated her; and I suspected that when she pleadedheadache and went to her room she was up to some game or other. SoI slipped out into the gardens and hid among the trees near thesummer-house."

The inspector nodded. With a recollection of the rumoursconcerning her and Saunderson he could read between the lines.Jealousy was writ large all over the page.

"You were seen," he said shortly. "I can describe the exact spotwhere you stood, if you wish."

Lady Medchester shook her head.

"No need to do that. I am telling the truth--anyhow, thistime.

"I had only waited a few minutes," she went on, "when sureenough Anne Courtenay's figure flitted from the shadow of the houseinto the moonlight and I held my breath. There was no doubt aboutit, she expected some one to meet her."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because instead of walking calmly into the open she darted fromone patch of shadow to another, glancing each side of her in anervous sort of way quite unlike her. As she came near to where Iwas standing in the deep shadow her face looked pale and drawn,even in the moonlight, and I saw she was making for thesummer-house just beyond the rose garden. At the foot of the stepsshe hesitated and looked round her again. The moon went behind acloud, but I could still see her. She mounted slowly and pushedopen the summer-house door."

Stoddart listened with breathless attention. Was this going tobe the solution of the problem that had worried him by day andinterfered with his sleep at night? Somehow, he did not feel allthe exultation he would have expected. Anne Courtenay!

"What did you do then?"

"I stood still of course," was the sharp answer. "I wanted tofind out whom she expected to meet in the summer-house. She cameout again almost immediately and half ran, half tottered down thesteps; I thought she was going to fall. She caught at the gate intothe rosery to steady herself, and the moon came out again full andI saw her face--horror-stricken, her eyes staring in front of her.Then she ran, flinging caution to the winds, as though all thedevils in hell were after her, and disappeared into the house. Andthat's all I saw."

She ceased abruptly, but the representative of justice had notyet done with her.

"What did you do then, Lady Medchester?" he asked, keeping hiseyes steadily fixed upon her face.

The victim of this rigid interrogation wiped her lips with thehandkerchief folded and unfolded by her nervous fingers as shetalked, and looked round as though hoping for a means of escape.There was none; she knew that well enough. The law had its clutchon her; she was frightened and tired--too tired to care much whathappened to her. There was only one thing--if that could be keptfrom this tormenting devil he should have the rest.

"I waited a moment to make sure she was not coming back," LadyMedchester resumed, "then I went across the rosery and up the fewsteps to the summer-house. Ihad to see what Anne Courtenayhad seen that had blanched her cheeks and put that look of terrorinto her eyes. I pushed open the door--" She broke off with ashiver, and for the first time looked Inspector Stoddart straightin the face. "You must believe what I say, for I swear I am tellingthe truth," she protested.

"What did you find in the summer-house?" he asked, unmoved.

"Robert Saunderson's dead body was lying on the floor," she wenton in a hard voice, her manner changing, "and at the sight of it Iknew Anne Courtenay was meeting him secretly. It was a shock." Hereyes dropped. "Robert Saunderson and I have been friends--friends,"she repeated with emphasis, "for some time, and I had had no ideaof it."

"Yet you followed her into the garden?"

"I guessed she was going to meet some one, and I wished to knowwho it was," was the evasive reply. She covered her eyes as thoughto screen them from the penetrating gaze of the man opposite her."I had always hated her, but I think at that moment I could havekilled her. I dare say you don't understand--it was thedeception--" She broke off.

"I understand perfectly," the inspector interposed. Being man aswell as policeman he felt rather embarrassed. It was so easy toread between the lines.

Her hand dropped from her eyes and she continued:

"Self-preservation, I suppose, is the most powerful instinct wehave, and even at that moment I knew I mustn't be found alone withSaunderson's dead body at that hour. I looked round hurriedly tosee if any weapon could be seen, and my eye was caught by somethingon the floor between the body and the top of the steps. It was anecklace of crystal beads, shining in the moonlight--broken, asthough the wearer might have stooped forward and caught it on thedoor-handle. I slipped it into my pocket and crept back across thegardens and into the house."

She sank back in the chair as though the narrative had come toan end; but the inspector's questions were not finished.

"Did you hear any shot fired during the interval between theentry of Mrs. Bur ford into the summer-house and her exit?" heasked.

Lady Medchester shook her head. "I am sure no shot was fired, orI should certainly have heard it."

"Are these the beads you found, Lady Medchester?" he asked,producing the broken string from his pocket and holding them up toview.

"Yes."

"Then how was it they were found near the scene of thecrime--three of them in the pocket of the dead man?"

A curious look of cunning satisfaction came into her eyes. Shegave a harsh little laugh.

"Because in the morning when I examined the beads I thought theywere Anne's, and that I had been a fool not to leave them where Ifound them. Suspicion would have fastened on her quite naturally,and I should have had my--" She pulled herself up abruptly.

Stoddart smiled; there was no need to supply the word.

"But," she went on, eyeing him defiantly, "I didn't see why Ishouldn't remedy the evil; there would be no harm in assisting theends of justice instead of hindering. I determined to put themback."

She wiped her mouth again nervously. Her interrogator waited insilence.

"Of course I know it was wrong of me to have done it for thereason I did, and I'm not sure I am not sorry. But you have nocause to complain, as my intention was to help the law; and as thebeads have turned out not to be Anne's there's no harm done.Anyway, I went out as soon as I could leave the house without beingnoticed, and from my old hiding-place in the trees saw the policewere already at work in the summer-house. They came out on to thesteps, talking; Wilton, the gardener, was with them and he pointedin the direction of the old barn. Then the three of them walked offand I got my chance."

She paused, and Stoddart noticed tiny beads of perspiration werestanding out on her forehead.

"I tore off three of the beads, ran across the rosery and intothe summer-house, slipped them hurriedly into Saunderson's pocketand, throwing the remainder of the necklace into the shrubbery, gotback to the house without meeting anyone."

She sank back into the chair again and closed her eyes.

Inspector Stoddart looked down at her with an inscrutableexpression in his eyes. What will a jealous woman not risk forrevenge?

"And as those beads do not belong to Mrs. Burford, whom do yousuppose they do belong to?" He shot the question at hersuddenly.

"I haven't the least idea," Lady Medchester repliedlistlessly.

And this time the inspector believed she was speaking thetruth.

CHAPTER 21

Inspector Stoddart left Holford Hall considerably worried.

It looked uncommonly as though Miss Tottie Delauney's storymight be true, and that Mrs. Burford had played the star part inthis sordid drama. If so, his suspicions that Saunderson andSuperintendent Mayer had been murdered by the same hand would haveto go. Mrs. Burford might possibly have shot the former, but forthe hour during which Mayer had been killed she had an unassailablealibi.

He promised Harbord, who had been waiting for him in the hall,to tell him the main points of the interview later on. He wanted tothink, and when he had that object in view had found nothing soefficacious as solitude and a cigarette in the fresh air.

It was a lovely autumn day--one of those days on which it seemsgood to be alive. He turned his back on the Hall with its old greywalls shining as placidly in the last rays of the setting sun asthough no such tragedies as crime and sudden death had been enactedunder their shadow; walked through the rosery with the fatefulsummer-house on his right; glanced as he passed at the shrubberyand woods on the left where Lady Medchester had hidden herself onthat evening of tragedy; and passed on towards the boundary of thecopse.

What a woman! Experienced as he was in sordid crime and theseamy side of life, he felt as though he needed cleansing aftersuch a contact. A woman without excuses for her mean jealousies,and her indulgence of instincts not far removed from the brutebeast.

He walked slowly along the narrow path, worn by the passing ofinnumerable feet through scrub and undergrowth, under the shadow ofbeech and oak to a side gate leading to the high road. He wasbecoming very familiar with the geography of the place, and hadpurposely avoided the lodge with the possibility of beingintercepted by Mrs. Yates or her daughter and forced to talk whenhe wanted to think. He had the power, so necessary in hisprofession, of thinking in watertight compartments, of switchingoff from one aspect of a subject before switching on to another: aninvaluable asset and one that many a time had stood him in goodstead.

Lady Medchester's confession--for it amounted to no less--hadnot greatly advanced the case. The problem of why the beads hadbeen found in the murdered man's pocket after Mayer had declaredthey had not been there when the body was first searched had beensolved, and he made a mental note to emphasize that fact whenretailing the story to Harbord. He rather congratulated himself onhaving pulled up the latter for underrating the superintendent'sintelligence on that occasion. But they were no nearer theirownership. They were certainly not Anne Burford's; no one would belikely to possess two strings of beads so nearly identical. Theweapon still remained a problem. Both murders had been committed bymeans of a shot, and in neither case was there any trace of therevolver. The bullet that had killed Saunderson had been foundlodged in the wooden boards of the back wall of the summer-house.In Mayer's case the bullet had not been found at all; it had quitelikely embedded itself in the soft ground among the roots of theundergrowth and never would be found.

But Anne Burford? Was it possible?

He would have been prepared to go bail almost on herstraightforwardness. She had given her evidence so unhesitatingly,so simply, with such an air of complete innocence, admitting herpresence in the garden that night, but disclaiming all knowledge ofany unusual occurrence having taken place. He would have beeninclined to doubt Lady Medchester's story--she was capable of anymalicious invention that would clear herself and inculpate the girlshe hated--if it had not been that Miss Tottie Delauney's evidencepointed in the same direction. Although founded on statement onlyand not carrying much weight in itself, each story backed the otherup.

Why had Anne not admitted her visit to the summer-house? A girlmight be shy of an assignation of the sort being discovered,particularly as she was already engaged to Michael Burford, but shemight have explained the episode away very plausibly; could havesaid she drifted in by accident while wandering about the gardens.Women were ingenious at that sort of thing, and from all accountsno one would ever have suspected her of a deliberate arrangement tomeet Saunderson secretly.

But she had denied the whole affair, and if she could lie onceshe could go on lying, unless--Stoddart's mind was suddenlyside-tracked along another line--she was shielding some one?

He reached the wicket-gate leading to the high road, and leaninghis arms on the top rail stared in front of him. If Anne Burfordwere shielding some one, it brought Lord Gorth into it good andplenty. That was what Miss Tottie Delauney had said--that AnneCourtenay had killed Saunderson to save her brother, andherself.

Save him from what? Nothing incriminating Harold Courtenay hadbeen found among Saunderson's papers, and he seemed harmlessenough, taking him all round; not much brains perhaps--people saidhe was making a foolish marriage.

Stoddart smiled grimly. All marriages came into that category inhis opinion; he intended to remain a bachelor. If, as they said, awoman was at the bottom of all trouble, it was asking for it tomarry one of them. But Lord Gorth's dossier would have to be lookedinto more particularly; and Mrs. Burford's, too, for that matter.She had brought it on herself by her want of frankness.

Lord Gorth lived somewhere in the neighbourhood, not far away.The inspector had never been there, but he had heard it talkedabout. He decided to ring him up from the Medchester policestation. His alibi had never been satisfactory; no alibi at allreally. He had been seen that night by one or two of the guests atvarious times during the evening; that was all it amounted to.There were intervals nobody could swear to, times when he couldhave slipped away to the summer-house and back again and no onehave been the wiser.

The little perpendicular lines between Stoddart's keen grey eyesdeepened as his thoughts travelled away from the scene of thatfirst tragedy and strayed to the spot where the superintendent hadbeen murdered. That the two crimes were closely related wascertain. He still clung to the theory that both had been committedby the same hand, but if that were the case then Anne Burford andher brother were both innocent. They were far enough away whenSuperintendent Mayer was killed to be entirely clear ofsuspicion.

Inspector Stoddart pulled himself up. After many injunctions tojuniors not to start a theory and then make the facts fit it, herehe was doing it himself! There was nothing to prove the criminal inthe one case to have been the criminal in the other. Circumstancespointed that way, and that was all that could be said.

He felt justified in the conjecture that the criminal who firedthe shot that killed Mayer had heard him state that he knew who hadkilled Saunderson. There were three persons of whom that could besaid--Mrs. Yates; the self-styled Tottie Delauney, her daughter;and Lord Medchester.

But it was possible Mayer had mentioned it to some one else. Hehad been in a self-congratulatory mood, finding it difficult tokeep this precious discovery to himself, as was evidenced by hisconfidences to Mrs. Yates and Lord Medchester. He had very nearlyblurted out the whole secret to the latter, only restrained by thediscipline of his training in the Force.

Had he met anyone on his way to catch the Empton bus? Some onewho had given him a clue to the murderer--and who had then,perhaps, regretted it and lain in wait for him on his way back?

These questions raced through Stoddart's brain as he stoodleaning on the wooden gate, his eyes gazing across the road at thehedge opposite without consciously seeing it. It was growing dark;a few stray rooks were cawing overhead, and a dove in the recessesof the wood was coo-cooing with gentle persistence. The tall treesbeyond the hedge threw the road into shadow.

Stoddart was susceptible to the beauties of nature, and for themoment the man in him outweighed the detective. He could haveconsigned all criminals to the bottom of the sea. He would like tosettle on a farm and till the soil, be done with this everlastingsuspicion of his fellow-men that led him into the foul places ofthe earth, and feel no longer in a perpetual state of warfare.

He lit a cigarette absently and threw the match away; it layflickering, poised on the long grass bordering the road, as heopened the gate and passed through.

Glancing down, he put his foot on it, but not before somethingthat glittered from among the long, green blades reflected theflame and caught his eye. Instinctively he stooped to pick it up,and laid it on the palm of his hand, shining in the dyinglight.

It was a crystal bead.

On the instant the detective was again uppermost. He stared atit, surprised. He could: have sworn it was a bead from the brokenstring that lay among the police exhibits--the string thrown byLady Medchester into the shrubbery, three of which she had slippedinto Saunderson's pocket. What did this mean? Surely she had notstrayed so far afield that night--what would have been her object?Or had this single bead been dropped here by its rightfulowner?

Stoddart pushed it impatiently into his pocket. Every new detailthat cropped up and might be expected to throw light on the caseonly seemed to add to its perplexities. He turned to the right,heading for Medchester, then thought better of it and, re-enteringthe wood through the gate, retraced his steps until he came to apoint where the footpath forked. Leaving the track he had come byon his left, he took the other, and skirting the spot where Mayerhad been shot came out on the drive close to the lodge gates.

It had struck him it might be as well to find out whether MissTottie Delauney had ever owned a string of crystal beads.

In spite of an autumnal nip in the air the window of the frontroom was open, and, as the detective crossed the plot of grass withthe path running up the centre to the front door, voices raised indiscussion reached his ears. Mrs. Yates and her daughter wereapparently in slight disagreement over something.

"If you can't what the lawyers call substantiate yourstatements, my advice to you, Mary Ann, is to hold yer tongue," wasthe injunction that drifted through the window to the inspector'sears. "I don't hold with putting things into a policeman's head.Let them find it out for themselves--that's what I say. I wassaying to Mary Mayer when I went to see her in Medchester. 'Mary,'I said, 'it's no manner of use trying to keep anything from thepolice,' I said; 'you mark my words, they'll find it out sooner orlater without your help,' I said, 'and least said soonest mended,'and that's what I say to you--"

"How you do go on, mother!" her daughter's voice broke in."First you tell me to keep nothing from the police--then you tellme I talk too much. I've got nothing to hide; I told them all Icould. If they don't believe me I can't help it. I say AnneCourtenay did my husband in, and I don't care--"

The window was closed suddenly from inside as the inspectorknocked at the front door. Mrs. Yates opened it.

"Oh, it's you," she remarked without enthusiasm. "Come in,sir--the inspector from Scotland Yard, isn't it?" She showed himinto the front parlour, where Miss Tottie Delauney was lying fulllength on a cretonne-covered sofa, looking at a picture paper. Shesat up at sight of the visitor and nodded.

"I and Inspector Stoddart are old friends," she saidgraciously.

It was always worth while to cultivate friendship with themammon of unrighteousness, she had learnt that in her precariousprofession; you never knew when a friend in high places mightn'tcome in useful, and just now she was particularly anxious toplacate the authorities.

"Like a cup of tea, inspector?" she invited. "I'll boil a dropof water in no time, and I dare say you've walked a good step oneway and another."

"I don't mind if I do, Miss Delauney," was the ready answer.

Mrs. Yates pushed a chair towards him.

"No news yet about who killed poor Bill Mayer?" she asked as herdaughter, ready to bestir herself when it came to her owninterests, disappeared into the kitchen.

He shook his head. "Nothing to tell the world about; but we'regetting on. What a lot of trouble and anxiety we should have beensaved if Superintendent Mayer had told you what he knew, Mrs.Yates."

"It wasn't my fault he didn't," Mrs. Yates repliedreminiscently, "but he kept his mouth shut as tight as anyoyster."

"And Mrs. Mayer can't help us," Stoddart observed tentatively,thinking of the words he had heard through the open window, "not togo by the evidence she gave at the inquest. Never said anything toyou, Mrs. Yates, that might lead you to think she knows more thanshe let on?"

Mrs. Yates, with a memory of certain inscrutable words let dropby her friend at their last meeting, flushed scarlet and turned herface away.

"Never," she replied loyally. "I don't believe Mary Mayer knowsanything more than you or I do. She'd have told it quick enough ifit would help to find out who'd murdered her husband."

The rattle of tray and cup and saucer preceded Miss Delauney'sreappearance; she had taken advantage of her temporary retirementto remedy the day's wear and tear with powder and lipstick, and itwas the Tottie Delauney familiar to the music-hall world thatsmiled at him over the homely tea-tray. But she kept a wary eye onhim as she poured out the cup of tea and supplied him with milk andsugar.

"I was in hopes you'd got news for us," she said brightly. "Youthought Bob Saunderson was speaking truth when he said our marriagewas a sham, but I bet you know better by now. I'm an honest woman,I am--and I mean to have my rights."

"Certainly you'll have your rights. Every one in this case willget their rights in the end, no doubt. What we have to find outis--what are their rights?"

"Well, I know what mine are, anyway," Miss Delauney replied witha toss of her henna-dyed head. "I shall be entitled to the half ofall poor Bob left as his wife, as there aren't any children toprovide for, and there are those who'll see I get it."

"Did you know he had made no Will?" The inspector shot thequestion at her.

Miss Delauney dropped her eyes.

"No, I didn't," she replied after a perceptible pause. "I knewhe hadn't made a Will up to the time we parted company, but how wasI to know what he'd done since? I knew nothing about his affairs.When I heard of the murder I came here to--to look round as itwere. Why shouldn't I? A wife couldn't do no less in my opinion."In moments of excitement Miss Delauney was apt to revert to thediction natural to her. "If you've come here to be asking questionsagain I'm sorry I gave you a cup of tea, that I am!" she cried,chin in air, hand on hip, a pose he felt sure had met with muchapplause on many a music-hall stage.

"Bob Saunderson mayn't have been a pattern husband," she went onbefore either of the others could speak, "but he wasn't a bad sorttake him all round, and I'll thank you police to find out who didhim in!"

"Now, now, go easy, Mirandy," her mother murmured uneasily.

Stoddart smiled. "We shall have to find out who had a motive fordoing so," he said smoothly, and Miss Delauney subsided on the edgeof a chair, a scared look creeping into her eyes. "But I didn'tcome here to talk about the murder"--he put a hand in hispocket--"as a matter of fact, I looked in to see if either of youladies ever had a string of beads like this?"

He placed the crystal bead on the table, "Where did you findit?" Mrs. Yates asked after a pause during which both she and herdaughter glanced at it furtively as though suspecting a trap.

"At the edge of the wood."

"Not mine," Mrs. Yates said curtly. "I don't hold with thosesort of gewgaws. Waste of money, I call them."

"I am sure," the inspector suggested persuasively, "Miss TottieDelauney's admirers don't share that opinion, Mrs. Yates," and helooked expectantly at her daughter.

"Mirandy likes a bit of colour," Mrs. Yates put in hastily. "Shehad some beads like that only they was red as rubies and--"

"I'm not answering any more questions, mother," the other saidsullenly, "and I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut too."

"Well, somebody's missing it," the detective remarked, replacingthe bead in his pocket.

Having got as much--or as little--information from the two womenas he had hoped for, he walked off towards Medchester, not much thewiser for his pains.

He was greeted at the hotel door by Harbord.

"There's a man asking for you," he informed him; "wouldn't talkto me--said he wanted the top boss of this here murder case. He'sto call again first thing tomorrow morning."

"What sort of a man?"

"Tramp, if you ask me. Three days' growth on his chin, and looksas though he wouldn't recognize a piece of soap if he saw it."

"Umph," the inspector muttered, and added under his breath,"What I want to meet is somebody who'll tell me whom those beadsbelong to."

CHAPTER 22

Inspector Stoddart's visit left an atmosphere of uneasiness atthe lodge.

Miss Delauney's antagonism to His Majesty's police force,developed during a career that had more than once been withinbowing acquaintance with the Law Courts, was instinctive andineradicable. She distrusted policemen, from the man on point dutyto the Chief of the C.I.D. In her opinion they were a prying,meddling crowd, making a still more difficult problem of life,which Providence, or some other potent authority, had already madesufficiently complicated.

It might have afforded her a modicum of consolation had sheknown that she had puzzled the inspector. It was true she had notclaimed ownership of the vagrant bead, but neither had she deniedit. His knowledge of the subject had remained exactly where it was.On comparison it was found to match the police "exhibit" in everyparticular, and was without doubt a part of the necklace thrown byLady Medchester into the shrubbery under the erroneous impressionthat it belonged to Anne Courtenay. When he laid it on the table infull view Miss Delauney had not flickered so much as an eyelash--hehad watched her carefully. It appeared to convey nothing to her atall; nor to her mother, who was presumably less experienced inhistronic display.

However, it was not through the question direct he hoped to getthe coveted information; although the clue of the bead necklace hadbeen kept from public knowledge, guilt would be on its guard, andit would be by some side-track that the owner would bedetected.

From small beginnings great results may arise.

Is there a more trite observation than that in the Englishlanguage? But like other similar axioms it is none the less true,and if Inspector Stoddart could have foreseen what was to resultfrom the fact that Harbord spent the following night wide awake,owing to an aching tooth, he would have received that informationwith more interest when it was offered to him in the morning by thesufferer.

As it was, although not wanting in sympathy, after suggesting anearly visit to a dentist in Medchester, he considered the situationadequately dealt with and proceeded to other business, includingthe promised visit from the tramp overnight. When by eleven o'clockthe man had failed to appear, the inspector, deciding withindifference he had changed his mind, settled down to deal withcertain reports, and saw his colleague depart in search of relieffrom one of the most cruel torments to which human flesh isheir.

* * *

In the meantime trouble had been going on at the Hall.

Lord Medchester had put his foot down. In spite of persuasionamounting almost to tears on the part of his wife he absolutelyrefused to have a wedding-party at Holford. If Mr. Maurice Stainerwas not in a position to give his sister a suitable send-off, thenlet Harold himself do it from Gorth, of which he was now solemaster.

"But," Lady Medchester remonstrated, "it's unheard of for thebride to be married from the bridegroom's house!"

"It will also be unheard of that she is married frommine--because she won't be," his lordship replied grimly, andchuckled at his own retort. "'Pon my soul--not so bad--what?" helaughed again. "But I mean it, Min," he added, sobering down. "Iwon't have Miss Sybil Stainer playing the star part in any showunder my roof. And that's that!"

He left the room, followed by Lady Medchester's despairing eyes,until the door, sharply banged, hid him from view. She sat for amoment as though turned to stone.

The door reopened to admit the new Lord Gorth. He was scarcelyrecognizable as the former Harold Courtenay. In appearance tenyears older, his face was white and drawn, his eyes dull, thesparkle of youth in them faded. Little lines showed at the cornersof his eyes and his hands moved restlessly. He walked listlesslyacross the room and dropped into a chair.

"Dick says he won't have the wedding here, Harold," LadyMedchester said, looking at him anxiously, "and I'm afraid it'sfinal. Do you think you could persuade Sybil to be married quietly,here at the village church, or even at a London Register Office?And I suppose I may go as far as to promise a wedding cake and aglass of champagne here after it. Surely as long as she is marriedshe needn't care how the ceremony is performed?" Her voice wasbitter, but Harold did not seem to notice it. "I suppose Annewouldn't let the marriage--" she began tentatively, but broke offas Harold's eyes suddenly lost their apathy and flamed intoindignation.

"I won't have Anne asked. My God! hasn't she done enough?" hebegan furiously; then pulling himself together at the surprise inLady Medchester's face, "Anne has suffered more than youthink--dragged into all this muck. I dare say she would have thewedding from her house if I asked her; but I am not going to askher." He went on more quietly, "I'll speak to Sybil. If sheunderstands that Cousin Dick definitely refuses I dare say she'llbe reasonable."

Lady Medchester looked as though she hardly agreed with him.

"Life plays funny tricks sometimes," he went on after a pause."I suppose it's one's own fault."

"You shouldn't be saying that, with the world at yourfeet--money, title, marriage--what more do you want?" She smiledironically. "A veritable fairy dream, the world would say."

"A damnable nightmare!" he retorted.

"Then why are you doing it?" she asked curiously.

He looked at her uneasily and rose to his feet.

"Why are you trying to persuade Cousin Dick to have the weddingfrom here?" he asked abruptly. "You don't want it. You don't likeSybil."

The colour faded from his cousin's face.

"We have to do things we don't want to do sometimes," shereplied evasively. "But you must speak to Sybil and persuade her togive up the idea of a big show. She shall stay here if she likesand you can be quietly married at Holford Church, and go straightaway for the honeymoon after we've drunk your health. Dick can'tobject to that."

Harold nodded gloomily.

"Her marriage will then have the seal of our approval," she wenton, "which, after all, is what she wants--and her brother can giveher away."

He moved towards the door. "Needs must when the devil drives, Isuppose. I only hope I may get Sybil to see it. If she'll bereasonable I'll marry her in three weeks if she likes, instead ofsticking out for the two months I bargained for." And he flung outof the room before his cousin had time to remark on theun-bridegroom-like remark.

For some time there had been a tacit understanding between thesetwo; although not comprehending the other's secret, the mutualknowledge that neither was any longer a free agent had establisheda link between them of a sort.

Minnie Medchester smiled rather grimly as she resumed theletter-writing at which she had been engaged when interrupted byher husband's ultimatum. Harold's task of persuading his ladyloveinto what he had called a reasonable frame of mind was not going tobe a light one. She had had more than one experience of MissStainer's tantrums when things went wrong, and she did not envy himhis mission. It had become a sort ofidée fixe with Sybil,this godmothering of her by the Medchesters. It was odd she shouldhave sufficient intelligence to realize her prospective neighboursin the county were not likely to hail her with enthusiasm as asuitable wife for Lord Gorth, and yet should fail to understandthat the seal of Holford Hall's approval would never be sufficientto outweigh her own shortcomings. The county would probably havenone of her in any case, though all the Medchesters in the worldwere to take her by the hand.

But this was hardly a line of argument possible for the man whowas going to marry her to adopt, and Harold quailed, as many abetter man has quailed, at the prospect of tackling an angrywoman.

His fears proved to have been unnecessary. Either a fragment ofcommon sense had penetrated the thick skin of her self-esteem orthe desire for publicity on her wedding day had evaporated.

"I'm sick of Minnie's waverings this way and that--one dayassuring me she has that husband of hers on the end of a string,and the next that he has put his foot down and isn't taking it upagain. What does it matter, anyway? Once I'm Lady Gorth it's mewho'll be calling the tune"--grammar was not Sybil Stainer's longsuit--"and they'll be ready enough to dance when I tell them. AndI'll make 'em dance too!" she added viciously, while the manlistening to her shivered inwardly at the crude vulgarity of heroutlook.

Through his own manoeuvring they were standing on the lawn infull view of the house; no lover-like demonstrations could beexpected of him out in the open.

"We'll be married just as soon as you can get a licence," shewent on.

To strike while the iron was hot had always been her idea whendealing with her own interests, and this suggestion of Harold's hadits advantages. Less chance of slip 'twixt cup and lip, perhaps,and a speedy marriage would bring Anne to her bearings. No use tokick against the pricks then.

"We'll be married at the church here, as Minnie says, and goaway from the Hall afterwards. No Register Office for me--church isbetter style, and if you get a special licence no banns need becalled. So get a move on, Harold. I'll go up to town for a fewdays--must see the last of old Maurice and get a bit of shoppingdone.

"Buck up!" she added. "Not much of the impatient bridegroomabout you, I must say!"

"Played out nowadays, that sort of thing," he answeredapathetically. "I think you're wise to take Lady Medchester'soffer--"

She glanced at him sharply. "No need to swallow the poker," sheput in. "'Lady Medchester,' indeed! She'll be my cousin as well asyours when we're married!"

"It will save trouble in the long run--a quiet wedding," he wenton as though she had not spoken, "and come to the same thing in theend."

"Now look here, Harold," Miss Stainer admonished, "understand Iam not going to take any nonsense from you lying down. I know whatI know--and there's others'll know it too if you don't behaveyourself. Once I'm your wife it'll be different--"

"Oh, I know all that," he interrupted wearily. "What more do youwant? We'll be married whenever you like, I tell you. You hadbetter go and tell--Minnie"--he brought the name out with agulp--"you accept her offer. She'll bet glad to have itsettled--one way or the other--and I'll see about the licence."

He strode off, glad to have got it over without a "scene." SybilStainer rather enjoyed scenes; she said it cleared the air and gavean opportunity for getting in a home-truth or two.

She also knew when she was beaten, and it had been dawning uponher for some days that, although for certain reasons she could putthe screw on Lady Medchester when she liked, it was a differentmatter when dealing with Lord Medchester, and she had no idea oflosing the bird in her hand because she could glimpse a bigger onein the bush; that is to say, she would never allow theunsubstantial glories of a large and fashionable wedding toendanger seriously the wedding itself.

Before Harold broached the subject to her she had alreadydecided that, as Medchester was making such an unholy fuss aboutit, it would be politic to give way with regard to the manner of itand get on with the business itself. Life, in her experience, wasso essentially a matter of ups and downs, it was foolish to temptFate by asking too much.

As Harold drove off after his interview with Sybil Stainer, hepassed Harbord walking into Medchester in search of a dentist. Herecognized him as one of the detectives engaged on the unravellingof the murders in which they all seemed to have become involved,and suppressed a first kindly impulse to offer him a lift. The manmight make use of the opportunity to ask questions--questionsHarold did not want to answer. So far as that unpleasant bill withRobert Saunderson's signature on it was concerned, that had beensettled; it had been easy enough to raise the money when he hadcome into the Gorth properties and, with the principal witnessdead, there was no one to bring up awkward questions about thesignature. The name had been forged very cleverly, and Messrs.Usher & Snell, the money-lenders in whose office it had beenleft, had apparently never suspected its genuineness. Saundersonwould never have let on about the forgery. He would want to keepall the cards in his own hand till the right time came.Circumstances, accidental or otherwise, had certainly played intoHarold's hands as far as that was concerned.

So he professed not to see Harbord, who, he hoped, had possiblynot seen him, little thinking that each step taken by ScotlandYard's emissary was a step nearer the solution of the problem thatwas causing them all so much distress.

Who is to say how far we can exercise free will, and how far weare the puppets of an arbitrary fate? What impulse is it that makesus choose this road or that: one perhaps leading to goals big withopportunity; the other dwindling into an arid, barrencul-de-sac, pitted with futile footsteps that never get anyfurther? They may both have looked fair enough at the start. Whatinfluence lies behind the final decision?

There were three dentists, it appeared, in Medchester. Harbordlearnt so much from a local directory and, knowing nothing aboutany of them, chose one at random. He did not suppose there was muchthe matter, and the least efficient member of the dentist's craftshould be able to give him something to stay the pain till he couldget back to London.

He missed the first because he disliked the name--Le Mouette. Hedistrusted flowery names, and it sounded foreign. So he chose thesecond, bearing the simple and familiar name of Howard, and a fewminutes later was knocking at his door.

Mr. Howard was in but engaged; if the gentleman had noengagement he might have to wait a little. Would he take a seat inthe waiting-room, and the maid assured him she would let Mr. Howardknow the case was urgent.

Harbord found himself sharing the cheerful little waiting-roomwith two other unfortunates who presumably would be attended tobefore his turn came. If he had not been reluctant to face anothersleepless night he might have been tempted to return to Holfordforthwith; but having got so far it seemed foolish to give way toimpatience.

A natural instinct, further developed by training, to observewhat was going on round him caused him to take stock of hisfellow-victims. Not much of interest to be gained there! A youngwoman, nursing a swelled face, and keeping a pair of scared eyesfixed on the door, as a lost soul might wait a summons to theInferno; and an elderly man deeply immersed in the pages of afinancial paper probably some days old.

Harbord turned to the table upon which papers old and new and amagazine or two lay scattered in untidy profusion. He drew up achair and selected one at random, and had absently turned over afew leaves before discovering it was a railway guide to the besthotels in the North of England. He dropped it and picked upanother. The door opened, the young woman rose and followed thebeckoning finger into the Unknown--so Harbord imagined it to befrom the expression on her face.

One step nearer to his own turn.

The paper he had chanced on was the "Bysphere," and hardlyknowing what he was doing he turned the pages idly, stared atportraits with names under them, of men in tweeds carrying golfclubs, ladies notorious in society or stageland, a picture of theriver crowded with boats, Japanese parasols, girls with bare armsin punts, with "Henley Regatta" beneath. This made him glance up atthe date; the paper was an issue of months ago, but it served aswell as anything else, and at that moment the maid reappeared and,the elderly gentleman obeying the call, Harbord was left in solepossession of the waiting-room. Anyhow it would be his turn nextnow, so there would not be so much longer to wait.

He continued to turn over the leaves of the ancient weekly, buthis thoughts were elsewhere. He had seen Lord Gorth drive past himoutside Medchester; it had set him wondering again, in spite of thepain he was suffering, whether that young gentleman and his sisterwere really involved, entangled in the knotted threads of thissinister problem. Things were beginning to look bad for Mrs.Burford; he, with Stoddart, would have been almost ready to vouchfor her innocence, and yet here she was, telling lies like the restof them, and he was sorry--

His thoughts came to an end in an audible exclamation.

He bent over the page before him, every sense suddenly alert andattentive. He stared at it, turning it this way and that; took itto the window and scanned it in the better light, holding it closeto his eyes to examine it in detail. Muttered "Good God!" asvisions of a rapid rise in his profession rose before him.

Then returning to the table he flattened out the paper and, withan anxious glance at the door, which might admit a witness at anymoment, he took out a penknife and rapidly detached the entire pageneatly from the rest; folded it carefully and slipped it into thebreast pocket of his coat.

This done, he wiped his forehead, upon which tiny beads ofperspiration stood out as the result of unusual excitement, andrealized that every trace of the pain in his tooth had disappeared!He seized his hat, opened the door softly, and tiptoed along theentrance passage, through the front door, into the street.

Half an hour later Inspector Stoddart, still busy over hisreports, was startled by the sudden and somewhat violent entranceof his colleague.

"What the devil?" he began, annoyed at the interruption; but atthe sight of the other's face the words died on his lips.

"Sorry, sir," Harbord said, "but I've got news for you!"

The inspector raised his eyebrows. "Well--had the tooth out?" heasked sardonically.

"Damn the tooth!" the other replied without emotion; thenlowering his voice, "I can tell you who the crystal beads belongto!" and with a glance behind him to make sure the door was closed,he drew the page he had cut out of the "Bysphere" from his pocketand laid it on the table.

CHAPTER 23

Mrs. Yates was setting out the breakfast things for herself andher daughter on the morning following Harbord's remarkable recoveryin the dentist's waiting-room, and grumbling to herself as she didit.

Devoted mother as she was, she was growing tired of doing thework while Miss Tottie Delauney reaped the benefit, lolling in idleself-indulgence while her mother washed up or swept the floors. Atthe moment she was still lying in bed in the room above, while Mrs.Yates had already been up and about for an hour or two; as she setteacups and saucers on the kitchen table, neatly covered for themeal by a red and white checked cloth, she was conscious that evena mother's devotion might peter out, and had a curious sense offutility and a wish to sit down and cry her eyes out.

The year was dying slowly. A thin drizzle blurred the outlinesof bush and hedge round the lodge, the big iron gates barring theway to visitors, ghostly in the grip of the wet mist. The roadshone dark and grey, reflecting as clearly as a river the trees andposts that bordered it. Every twig dripped moisture, the reds andyellows of autumn that had glowed so vividly in the sunshine lookeddead and lifeless, and the quacking of a string of ducks waddlingacross the road in single file, to discover what treasure thelittle rill running under the far hedge might yield, added to thegeneral melancholy of the dismal day.

Mrs. Yates, having opened the window when she first camedownstairs to give the place an airing, shut it again with a jerk.It was letting in more damp than air; she shivered as she put thekettle on the fire. She was not going to wait any longer for thatlie-abed daughter of hers, nor was she going to pander to her lazyhabits by carrying a cup of tea up to her room. She had done so atfirst, but now she was tired of it. There was still a draught fromsomewhere, and urged by an ever-present dread, rheumatism, she wentback to the window and made sure it was properly closed.

As she glanced through the small, leaded panes, a figure cameinto view on the road outside, looming dimly into sight through thedriving mist: the figure of a man, evidently a gentleman of theroad, walking slowly with steps that lagged, and reflected fulllength by the hard, wet ground at his feet. He limped a little; hisshock of flaming red hair, with no hat to shelter it, made a brightblot of colour against the grey hedge beyond.

Mrs. Yates stared through the glass pane, her hand arrestedhalf-way to the latch of the casement. She had seen that red headbefore, and the rather vacant features it surmounted. Butwhere?

Before the man had reached the centre of her field of vision sheremembered. He had passed along the road--she had seen him from thegate--on the morning poor Bill Mayer had been shot. She had nevergiven him a thought since, but the sight of him shuffling alongstirred her memory, and she distinctly remembered seeing him onthat previous occasion. It was before Mayer himself had come along;he was going towards Medchester while Mayer was coming away fromit, and what with seeing the superintendent and hearing all he hadto say, and then the disturbing news of his death, the tramp hadpassed entirely from her mind. Not that it could matter much, butthe sight of him brought back the tragic circumstances of that daywith sudden poignancy.

She was a kind-hearted woman and the slowly moving figureappealed so eloquently as a bit of human flotsam and jetsam,drifting past through the murk of the autumn morning, that sheimpulsively threw the window open and called to him as he passed.He was not the sort to be invited into a spotlessly kept kitchen,especially with the possibility of a sudden descent on the part ofthe fastidious lady of the music-halls upstairs, but a cup of hottea passed through the window could hurt nobody. He imbibed itgreedily.

"Thank 'ee kindly," he said, returning it, "puts a bit o' lifeinto you on a morning like this. Las' time I was 'ere--" He lookedround curiously, but the closed gates barred the view into thedrive beyond, and a curtailed vision of grey, dripping branches anda hedge already shorn of its summer foliage was all that could beseen.

The man moved nearer to the window and dropped his voice.

"There was a murder near 'ere, wasn't there? A nark 'e was,wasn't 'e--policeman I mean?" he asked in a hoarse whisper."'Appened the very day I was 'ere las'. I seed it in a picturepaper wot somebody had dropped in the road just this side o'Mapsdale. Well, missis"--he wiped his mouth with the back of hisstumpy fingers--"they do say 'tis an ill wind wot blows nobody nogood, and maybe there's a bit waitin' for services done. Leastwaysthere's no 'arm in tryin'."

"What do you know about it?" Mrs. Yates asked sharply.

A sudden caution looked out through a pair of cunning littleeyes.

"I'll deliver the goods to the proper party, missis. I ain'ta-givin' nothin' away. Not me! Thank 'ee kindly for the tea." And,jerking a finger towards a lock of red hair drooping disconsolatelyover one eye, he shuffled off to be swallowed up immediately by thewreathing mists.

* * *

Stoddart and his colleague were finishing a late breakfast whenMrs. Marlow knocked at their sitting-room door later on in themorning.

"A man to see you, sir, and never in my life did I see a redderhead of hair--carrots and pillarboxes are fools to it, and that's afact," she said volubly, her hand round the edge of the door, herbody somewhere in the background. "I said as how you were busyeating your breakfast, and he said he'd wait--and, if you ask me,he means it--looks as if he'd wait till the last day and then waitsome," she added thoughtfully, "though I told him--"

"That's all right, Mrs. Marlow," the inspector interrupted.

"The man who called before probably," Harbord muttered.

"Clear away these things and then show him up," Stoddartfinished.

Considerably more bedraggled than when enjoying Mrs. Yates'shospitality outside the lodge, the red-haired tramp entered theroom and, touching his forelock, stood awkwardly by the door.

"Are you the man who called the day before yesterday?" theinspector asked curtly.

His visitor nodded assent, finding it difficult perhaps to findhis voice in so august a presence.

"What's your name?"

"Ted Watson."

"Why didn't you come here yesterday?"

The man swallowed twice, and Stoddart continued:

"Never mind; it doesn't matter. What do you want?"

The nearest publican could probably furnish the answer.

The tramp looked nervously from one to the other of the menbefore whom he was arraigned, and then apparently plucked upcourage.

"It's this way, mister," he began. "There was a man shot abouthere not so long ago, though I don't mind the date"--Stoddart,suddenly alive to the possibility that the man might knowsomething, nodded encouragement--"a police constableseemingly--done in 'e was--name of Mayer--"

"How do you know what his name was?" the inspector snapped.

"Saw it in the papers--it was coz of what I sees in the papersI'm 'ere now. I knows what I knows"--the cunning in his eyesincreased and he edged nearer to where the two detectives sat bythe table--"and I'll tell what I knows, when I knows what I'll getfor it, see? That's fair."

The inspector looked at him sternly. "You don't make bargainswith the police, my man. What you know you'll tell, or it will bethe worse for you."

The man stared back truculently. "When you 'appen to ha' gotsummat another party wants--" he began.

Stoddart tapped authoritatively on the table.

"Lock the door," he said to his assistant.

Harbord rose and made a step forward. The bluff acted likemagic: the red-haired man subsided.

"Now, mister, no offence," he cringed. "I'll tell what I know,but I may tell 'ee the cop what was called Mayer promised me, 'edid--"

The two detectives exchanged a rapid glance.

"Tell us what you know," the inspector urged more gently. "Youwon't lose by it if it's worth listening to. A jug of beer, Alfred,from Mrs. Marlow--it's dry work talking."

The visitor appeared to find the prospect of beer encouraging.He grinned broadly and plunged forthwith into his story.

On the night when so much tragedy had been staged at HolfordHall--the night of Saunderson's murder, though he hadn't known thenthere'd been a murder--it seemed he had been on the road, makinghis way to Medchester through the village of Holford. It had been awarmish day and a bad one--that was to say, he had had no luck onthe road, and was both tired and hungry. But he wanted to get toMedchester before night, and that evening some time after dark--hecouldn't tell what time exactly--he found himself where the roadwas overshadowed by trees, and where a little gate led into what henow knew to be Holford woods.

As he was about to pass on the figure of a woman appearedsuddenly on the other side of the gate, and he instinctively drewback into the shadow on the far side of the road. For a moment themoon shone full on her face and he would know her again anywhere.She fumbled with the latch, glancing up and down the roadnervously, but never noticing the man cowering in the ditchopposite. Having got the gate open, she came through, closed itsoftly behind her, and went off at a run along the road.

Stoddart here called a halt for refreshment, and when Mrs.Marlow's ale had been disposed of asked in which direction thewoman had run, and the tramp resumed his story.

The woman had run along the road towards Medchester, which wentpast the lodge, and he had crept out of the shadows and followedher. But she had stopped suddenly, so suddenly that he had onlyjust time to fling himself flat in the long grass beside the roador she would have seen him. She stood in the middle of the road,passing her hand over her neck and shoulders and peering on theground as if she'd lost something. She shook her dress and the bagshe had in her hand, and came a step or two back along theroad--stopped again and took a step or two in the direction she hadcome.

Then she seemed to make up her mind, turned again and went offalong the road round a comer and out of sight.

"Towards the lodge?" Stoddart asked.

Yes, towards the lodge, or it might be Medchester, or there wasa short cut he had heard tell across the park to Holfordvillage--he couldn't say where she went. He got on to his feet andfollowed, and when he arrived at the spot where she had hesitatedand turned round he saw something white lying on the road close towhere she had been standing.

He picked it up. It was a bit of paper with something written onit; not being a scholar, and the moon having gone behind a cloud,he couldn't tell what it was--looked like marriage lines orsomething--and he hastened after the woman, thinking he might get ashilling or two for giving it back to her. But he couldn't catch upwith her, and never saw her again.

"And so you've brought the paper here?" the inspector remarked."And time, too, considering weeks have gone by. Why didn't you takeit at once to the police?"

"I ain't brought it with me, coz I ain't got it," the manreplied sulkily, "and if you be kind enough to listen to me,mister, you'll 'ear as 'ow I did take it to the police."

"Go on," Stoddart said shortly, with a glance at Harbord; werethey going to know at last what it was Mayer had learnt that hadcost him so great a price?

The man threw a suggestive glance at the empty beer jug andcontinued.

Not catching up with the woman he had slipped the paper into hispocket, spent the night under a convenient haystack, and resumedhis tramp in the morning; not very early because he had overslepthimself. He put the paper in his pocket and forgot all aboutit.

Having tramped the country for he didn't remember how long, hefound himself back at Holford, heard of the murder of a blokecalled Saunderson, and thought of the slip of paper still lyingforgotten in his pocket. The police might be willing to give him abit for it; anyway, it was worth trying.

He had passed the lodge, which he knew pretty well by this time,by about half a mile when he met a policeman walking along the roadfrom the direction of Medchester. A bit of a boss he was, with acap instead of a helmet and a bit of braid about him. He had neverseen him before, didn't--begging their pardons--see more of thepolice than he was obliged to, but had learnt since the officer'sname was Mayer.

Thinking to save himself a visit to the police station, he hadstopped the officer and handed it over to him, with the requestthat if it should prove to be of any value he wouldn't beforgotten. It was just as well, he went on, to stand in with thepolice when you didn't do yourself any harm by it, a remark thathad brought a grin to Stoddart's lips.

"What then?" the inspector asked shortly. "Did it seem to be ofany importance?"

The man nodded.

"He seemed all dithery-like when he'd read it."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Well, I be damned!' twice over--very slow."

Stoddart moved impatiently. "Was that all he said? Get on,man!"

"There ain't nothin' more to tell--leastways 'e told me toreport myself at the station at Medchester next mornin' at teno'clock and I'd probably 'ear o' something to my advantage."

"And did you do so?"

The tramp drew the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Not me! By evenin' it was all over the place that a man 'adbeen murdered--and a policeman at that--close to the 'Olford lodge,near where we'd been talkin' in the mornin', so I makes myselfscarce. 'Tweren't no manner o' use gettin' mixed up in a murdercase--and havin' awkward questions asked. So I 'ops it, and let anyreward for the findin' of the paper that might be comin' to me go'ang."

There was a pause; the pair of cunning little eyes wanderedvaguely round the room to come again to a halt at the beer jug. Butnobody took the hint.

"What have you been doing with yourself since?" Stoddartasked.

"Trampin' the country--and doin' no 'arm," was the defiantreply.

"Umph?" the detective looked doubtful. "Why have you come herenow?"

The flamboyantly red head leaned forward confidentially.

"I picked up a noospaper lying in the road as I was trampin'into Mapsdale and there I reads about the inquest. 'Twas an oldnoospaper--days and days. That was last Wednesday. There I sees thepoliceman's name was Mayer, and as 'ow 'e'd told the lady at thelodge 'e'd got a line on summat an' no one knew 'ow 'e'd got it. SoI thinks to meself--" He hesitated, looking doubtfully at hisinterrogator. "You'll play fair, you gentlemen," he whined, "youwon't let nothink I say be used agin me? I needn't ha' come 'ere ifI 'adn't wanted to--"

"Tell us all you know and you'll be none the worse for it,"Stoddart said curtly.

"Well," he drew back with an air of relief, "I come 'ere nowbecause I could see I 'ad a bit o' information and thought it mightbe worth a bit o' money. Nobody knows I met the cop 'cept 'im andme, and if you put 'im out of it there's only me--and if you arskme, I tell yer I believe he got a bit o' vallyble information outo' that there bit o' paper."

"What did he do with the bit of paper?" Both detectives bentforward eagerly.

The tramp shook his head.

"I can't tell yer that, gentlemen, for I knows no more than thebabe unborn. When I left 'im 'e was standin' in the middle of theroad a-readin' of it over again. I went my ways, and when I 'earsabout the murder I 'ooks it, and never 'eard no more till I pickedup the noospaper in the road outside o' Mapsdale."

Stoddart muttered a strong word under his breath.

"You didn't see him put it in his pocket? Think," he urged,signing to Harbord to get the beer jug replenished.

"I didn't stop to see what 'e done with it. I tell 'ee--'e wasa-standin' in the middle o' the road 'oldin' the paper in 'is'and--like so." He held up both hands in front of him as ifgrasping a visionary slip of paper. "I turned my back to 'im,a-walkin' along the road towards Medchester, and I went round acorner and didn't see 'im no more. Then when I 'ears about themurder--"

The inspector held up his hand. "We know all that," he saidcurtly, "you 'opped it. Would you know the woman again who camethrough the little gate?"

"Ay, that I would. I seed 'er face plain enough in themoonlight."

Stoddart drew the page his colleague had cut from theillustrated paper from his pocket and laid it on the table beforehim.

"Anything like that?" he asked, spreading it out flat.

The man pushed his red-crowned head forward and studied thepicture; frowned, put his head on one side and pulled the sheetnearer to him.

"That's 'er," he said shortly, "that's the face I saw in themoonlight."

"You're certain?" the inspector pressed.

He nodded. "That's 'er all right," and added thoughtfully, "so'elp me, Gawd."

CHAPTER 24

The two detectives, having got rid of their visitor for the timebeing, looked at one another with raised brows.

"Well," Stoddart remarked, "that's that. Pretty exasperatingabout that paper, but we've got something definite to go on atlast. I'd like to know what that bit of paper was about, andwhether poor Mayer was shot for the sake of it. Seems to me,Alfred, our theory looks like holding good--the same hand firedboth shots. Mayer knew too much."

He paused a moment lost in thought.

"I rang up Mrs. Burford," he went on, "while you were away inMedchester and said I should like another bit of a talk with her,but I'm not sure after this that I want it, not straight off. Youmight ring up and cry off for me. The story wants a bit of thinkingout, and the sooner we get on to it the better--and keep a line onMr. Ted Watson."

The message had found Anne nearly at the end of her tether.

It is one thing to face a dramatic moment with calmness andfortitude; it is quite another to face life day in day out, week byweek, the sword of Damocles suspended by the slenderest of threads,and yet to keep up a brave, unflinching attitude towards a worldthat will certainly judge you through its head rather than itsheart.

For Anne could gauge the situation into which by her own act shehad precipitated herself fairly accurately. Judged on the merits ofthe case, to put it colloquially, she hadn't a leg to stand upon;she was well aware of that, even though ignorant of the fact thatowing to Lady Medchester's evidence the police knew she had been inthe summer-house that night. If she stood firm in her refusal toadmit her brother's part in the meeting arranged between herselfand Saunderson--and she had every intention of doing so--herassignation, were she to admit it, would bear inevitably a sinisterinterpretation, would connect her with his death in a manner moresinister still.

Over and over, round and round her brain, every conceivableaspect of the affair revolved. Night and day she got no peace; herlast thought at night, it greeted her when she opened her eyes inthe morning; and adding the last straw to the burden was Harold'scoldness, his curt, unsympathetic message sent through a woman heknew she detested, and, worst of all, his continued absence.Considering all the circumstances and the supreme sacrifice she hadbeen prepared to make for him and for the sake of the family name,dragged by his action through the mud, it seemed unbelievable thathe should stand aloof now that she was in trouble.

Not even to her husband had she divulged the true circumstancesof that night. He knew as much as she had told the police--no more.It would be part of the reward of the trials she had faced that herbrother and the family name should go unscathed, especially in theeyes of the man who had stood by her and whom she loved with allher heart. Her loyalty had withstood every temptation, but when themessage came that Inspector Stoddart proposed to pay her anotherinquisitorial visit she found herself at breaking point, and insomething approaching panic had flung herself into her husband'sstudy where he was busy over the day's correspondence, and to hissurprise and distress burst into tears.

"Michael," she sobbed, "I can't stand it! That inspector iscoming again, and I know I shall--shall go mad--and say something Idon't mean--and"--as he drew her on to a low seat in the windowbeside him--"which probably won't be true!"

He slipped a protective arm round her. "Why should you mind?" hesoothed. "Whatever others may think,we know Harold isinnocent and, knowing that, nothing you say is likely toincriminate him."

But Anne remained silent, desperately undecided whether to makea clean breast of it to him or not. She was so passionately anxiousto keep her brother's character unstained in the eyes of the manwho had so generously joined his fortunes with her own in themoment of her trouble. If she told him half the truth only, howexplain her presence in the summer-house that night? She was torntwo ways, shaken by slow sobs as her husband, not understanding,tried to calm her obvious terror of being raked by the fire ofScotland Yard methods again.

The truth was he himself was a little puzzled. Harold's attitudewith regard to his marriage was not the attitude of a happybridegroom; still less that of a man whose actions were free andindependent. He seemed rather in the position of a man forced to dosomething against his will, and, although Anne continued toreiterate her faith in his innocence, her husband found himselfsubconsciously adding a question mark whenever the subject wasmentioned. There was something behind it all he did not understand,and Michael Burford hated mysteries.

But the immediate necessity was to comfort Anne and soothe herfears, and patiently he recapitulated the arguments in favour ofher brother's innocence, Anne knowing all the time he was inpossession of only half the facts, and therefore quite unaware ofthe motive that might have spurred Harold into a criminal act.

In that lay the difficulty of her position. It was so hard thatnow Harold had made good, had, as she knew privately, redeemed theincriminating paper the moment his heritage as Lord Gorth enabledhim to raise sufficient money for the purpose, her tongue muststill remain tied as to her motive for arranging the meeting withSaunderson that evening. The fact still remained that Harold'smisdemeanour had forced her into consenting to marry a man shehated, and that her brother had accepted the sacrifice; further, aknowledge of all the facts would certainly justify the police inregarding Harold with the gravest suspicion.

It amounted to this, that if she were to tell Michael of hervisit to the summer-house, she must suppress the reason, and leaveit to his generosity to put upon it an innocent interpretation.

And now, here were her nerves giving way when she wanted all thebacking they could give, and she sobbed incoherent phrases into herhusband's broad shoulder while he silently breathed fire andbrimstone against the Yard and all its ways, and determined to paythe detective a visit on his own account and extort from him anexplanation of his conduct and suspicions.

Then, at breaking point, Stoddart's second message came through,and Anne, in an ecstasy of relief, was in danger of being overcomeby an attack of hysterical laughter. With the resilience of youththe hope once more reasserted itself that, if only the realmurderer could be found, Harold's forgery of Saunderson's name, andher own assignation with him might never transpire, but lie, buriedbetween them, till the day when according to general belief nosecrets will be hid. Such secrets, she thought optimistically,might not loom so large in a world where all cupboards will beopened and skeletons invited to walk out. Some of them, at allevents, might be overlooked in the crowd.

Anyway, it was a respite, and, to her husband's relief, Annedried her eyes and joyfully accepted his offer to drive her intoMedchester in the car.

It was a radiant autumn day, the glowing tints of beech and elm,the more vivid for the deep blue background of an almost cloudlesssky, and in the reaction from her black hour Anne felt almost happyas she slipped in beside Michael and pulled the door of the car toafter her. There is an exhilaration in rapid motion that willdislodge dull care from most shoulders, and the colour began tocreep back into Anne's cheeks, the life into her eyes.

At the corner where the roads from East Molton and from Holfordto Medchester forked, they met the bus heading for Holford. Anneglanced at it indifferently, little thinking that it carried withit the key to the riddle they had all been so vainly trying tosolve, and upon which hung so much of vital importance to her ownfuture and to that of her brother.

Anne Burford was not the only woman in the neighbourhood who hadbeen fighting her way through an emotional storm that day, the maindifference in the situation being that whereas the one foundherself almost submerged by circumstances brought about by no faultof her own, the other had brought them on herself, and was inaddition therefore confronted by remorse and a sense ofill-doing.

It had been Mrs. Mayer's last day at her home in Medchesterpolice station. The new superintendent had proved to be unmarriedand, being of a kindly disposition, had begged her not to hurryherself, but to transport herself and her belongings to otherquarters at her own convenience. So she had packed at her leisure,and it was not until she had emptied the drawers in theold-fashioned bureau, standing against the wall in her bedroom, oftheir contents that she made an overwhelming discovery.

In the first flush of it she had stood, rigid, gazing intospace, her eyes filled with dismay, fear, and a sense of rightstruggling for mastery. Then, coming to a sudden decision, she hadclosed her lips in a thin, hard line, put on coat and hat, and witha parcel in her hand had caught the bus for Holford.

Inspector Stoddart, having finished lunch at the "MedchesterArms," was on the point of starting for the Hall when he was toldby Mrs. Marlow's maid there was some one to see him. He wasinclined to be impatient at the interruption.

During the last twenty-four hours events had been shapingthemselves more satisfactorily, but the whole case was still toomuch in the air for any definite action to be taken. Harbord'sdiscovery in the dentist's waiting-room of the ownership of thecrystal beads, added to the redhaired tramp's evidence, had givensubstantial grounds for a well-defined line of inquiry, but therestill remained a most important point which would have to beestablished before proceeding further.

So when it transpired that the some one's name was Mayer, thewidow of the murdered superintendent, Stoddart decided to postponehis visit to the Hall and to receive her in their sitting-room,with Harbord in attendance to take notes or bear witness shouldwitness be required.

Mrs. Mayer was ushered in, breathless from her journey and, asshe would have said herself, upset, whether through fear or shockit was impossible to say at first sight. She sank into the chairplaced for her by Harbord, hugging to her the parcel she wascarrying as if loath to part with it.

The inspector gave her time to pull herself together, then heasked gently:

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Mayer?" He had alwaysfelt sorry for the poor woman.

She turned a pair of frightened eyes towards him.

"I didn't mean any harm," she said in a low voice. "I neverthought as how it could matter. Believe me," bending forwardearnestly, "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known. I knew I didn'tought--not to hide anything from the police--Bill he often saidthat in my hearing--'Don't hide anything from the police,' hesaid--and I never thinking--not knowing as how there'd ever beanything--"

"I dare say it's nothing very serious, Mrs. Mayer," Stoddartsaid kindly. "You tell us what it is and don't go making yourselfunhappy about it before the time. Tell us all about it in your ownway."

She sat straight up in the chair and placed the parcel on thetable in front of her.

"I've got to make a clean breast of it sooner or later, so Isuppose I may as well do it straight off," making a brave effort atself-control. "After all, I didn't mean any harm, and you won'tforget that, inspector."

"Don't be afraid," he encouraged, "we shall be glad to hearanything you have to say."

"Well, it was like this. The day after my Bill was"--shehesitated for a word and her lip quivered--"shot, it came over meto go and see the spot--sort of sacred--you understand--"

She paused again.

Stoddart, who was hanging on her words, convinced somehow theywere going to get the truth about Mayer's death, nodded insilence.

"So peaceful it looked," she went on, her eyes becoming dreamy,"the tree trunks rising up out of the green moss; the ground strewnwith red and yellow leaves--some of them fallen fresh in the night;there was a bird chirruping somewhere--you'd never have thought aman had been killed there. I just looked round, and wished thetrees and the bushes could have spoken and told me the name of thecoward who'd done it--killed a man doing his duty."

Again she paused, and neither of her hearers seemed inclined tobreak the silence. She sighed heavily and resumed:

"My eyes fell on something glittering under a bush, and when Iwent to see what it was I found it was the shiny peak of a cap. Ipicked it up--my Bill's cap--dropped there, I suppose, andoverlooked when they took him away to the Cottage Hospital."

The inspector glanced at the parcel on the table.

"The cap was missed when they went over his clothes, Mrs. Mayer,and a constable went back to look for it next day. Of course hedidn't find it."

"I'm sorry, inspector, I am indeed; but it was my Bill's cap,which I'd brushed for him and watched him put on his head when heleft me that morning. I just couldn't give it up! I know I oughtn'tto have kept it--it belonged to the Government and all that--and Ioughtn't to hide anything from the police--and Bill a policeman soto speak himself--but there it was! I kept it and," she addedfiercely, "I meant to have kept it till my dying day in spite ofall the police in the world!"

Again there was silence.

"And why didn't you?" Stoddart asked gently.

"Providence is inscrutable in His ways, and He made me do theright thing in spite of myself," she said simply. "I took Bill'scap home with me, hid under my jacket, and I went half-way roundMedchester and in at the little garden gate at the back of thepolice station instead of by the front, fearful I'd meet aconstable who'd ask me what I'd got hid. Then I wrapped it up in abit of clean tissue paper what Betty's--that's my daughter--newblack hat had come in, and put it away in the drawer of an old bitof furniture that was left to Bill by an old gentleman he'd done agood turn to when burglars got into his house. And I'd never havetold anyone, not the police nor even my own daughter that I'd gotit, if it hadn't been for--for what I found out."

"What did you find out, Mrs. Mayer?" Stoddart urged, aspatiently as he could. Perhaps it might amount to nothing afterall.

She hesitated and drawing the parcel towards her fidgeted withthe string.

"It was when I was packing up to come away to-day. I came totell you at once when I knew," she protested. "I opened the drawerand took out the cap from the back, and I sat down in a chair andheld it in my hand and thought of how Bill had put it on thatmorning, and how glad I was I had got something he had worn thelast thing before--before--"

"I am sure you were," the inspector said sympathetically, "andthen--?"

"Then I was just passing my fingers over it--loving-like--and Ifound, slipped into the lining that runs round inside, a bit ofpaper. I pulled it out and I saw it had something written on it,and in a minute I remembered all the talk and the questions aboutBill having learnt something after he'd left me in the morning, andhow the coroner and the police had thought that was what he'd beenshot for, and how nobody had found out what it was, and there was Ihiding the very thing that maybe they were all looking for. It gaveme a shock, it did--and I came along here as quick as I could."

"The red-haired tramp! Lord, how the pieces begin to fit in!"Harbord muttered.

With fingers that shook the poor woman unfastened the string,and from the tissue paper produced the peaked uniform cap that hadbelonged to her husband. She pushed it across the table to theinspector.

"I never so much as looked at it--just let it be as it was," sheexplained. "I knew it didn't ought to be there, not in an ordinaryway like--he never carried anything inside his cap. Didn't I know,as gave it a brush up and put it on his head for him as often asnot! So I've brought it along. I am sorry--and a woman can't saymore."

Stoddart took the folded slip of paper from the strip of liningand laid the cap back on the table. There was dead silence in theroom as he read what was written in rather faded ink. When he hadfinished he turned to his colleague and for all the expression thatappeared on his features they might have been carved in wood.

"Ask Mrs. Marlow to give Mrs. Mayer a cup of tea before shestarts back, Alfred," he said.

Harbord disappeared, and Stoddart looked at the woman seatedopposite.

"You shouldn't have kept the cap back, you know, Mrs. Mayer.It's Government property and it's a criminal offence to hideanything from the police that may forward the ends of justice."

"I know that," she admitted, "but when a woman has lost--thebest man what ever was--"

The words tailed off into a sob.

The inspector gave the cap the slightest push in herdirection.

"It's the paper that's wanted," he said with a gruffness assumedpossibly to hide a different emotion; turning his back, he staredout of the window.

Mrs. Mayer hesitated, put out a hand, and gathered the cap intothe shelter of her coat, safe from prying eyes. Then with agrateful glance at the figure standing by the window she softlyleft the room.

When Harbord returned his superior was scanning the slip ofpaper held up in front of him.

"Well?" Harbord asked eagerly.

The other looked up with a grim smile and handed him the slip ofpaper.

"All we want," he said tersely. "The one link that wasmissing--the motive!"

"What are you going to do now?"

Stoddart reached for his hat and coat.

"I am going straight off to get a warrant," he said, making forthe door.

CHAPTER 25

"That's the third car from the Hall you've opened the gate for,mother."

Miss Tottie Delauney flattened her nose against the casementwindow of the lodge and peered out into the fading light of theautumn afternoon.

"What's up at the Hall? And here's another," she added as araucous hoot outside sent Mrs. Yates trotting through the frontdoor. In a moment she was back again.

"That was Mrs. Baily-Barton," she informed her daughter,breathless from the effort of swinging the heavy gates to and fro."Her chauffeur is a son of John Nomes's that keeps the tobacco shopin Medchester High Street. Here's another! Mirandy, go and open thegate, there's a good girl. I can't get me breath all in aminute."

"Not me!" was the casual retort. "Let 'em open it themselves.Don't you put yourself out, mother. Chauffeur indeed! Fat and lazy!Why can't he get out and open it himself? The machine won't runaway."

But Mrs. Yates was already bustling down the gravel path to thedrive, and the creak of a ponderous hinge broke into the soft purrof the big car awaiting her kind offices inside the gates.

"Who was that?"

Mrs. Yates, returning, a hand clasped to her heart, made noreply.

"Why don't you prop it open? There's no sense running in and outlike that, and I don't suppose any strays'll get in from theroad."

"Blest if I don't next one as comes through. There's bin atea-party goin' on at the Hall--so Mr. Wilton said when he passedthrough to the gardens this morning--in honour of young LordGorth--Mr. Harold that was--and his young lady."

"She's older than him, I guess, and she's older than that Mrs.Stuck-up Burford with her nose in the air for all that I couldtell--" Miss Delauney stopped abruptly.

"You hold your tongue, Mary Ann," her mother interposedhurriedly, "especially when it comes to talking about yer betters.They are going to be married to-morrow, quiet-like in HolfordChurch. I do hold with going to church--seems kinder asking ablessing--and you want all the help you can get when it comes tohusbands. That's what I say. That husband o' yours, Mary Ann--"

"Oh, leave him alone, mother!" was the sharp retort. "What's thegood of raking up things best forgot? Let sleeping dogs lie. Theless the police mess round the better. I gave 'em a hint and theydidn't take it--if they can't see through a stone wall I'm not theone to make a hole in it for them. There's another car! I wouldn'tdemean myself running out after them," Miss Delauney added as hermother scrambled to her feet, "not if I was you."

"What do you suppose his lordship gives me my house for, rentfree?" Mrs Yates threw back at her from the door. "And what do yousuppose I should do without it?"

"You wait till I come into me own," Miss Delauney muttered. "Isuppose a wife has got her rights."

Having sped the parting guest, Mrs Yates returned to herchair.

"That was Lady Darman, high and haughty she is. I wonder herladyship asked her. I hear his lordship's going to town and won'tbe home till the end of the week. Don't hold with the marriage hedon't--so Mr. Wilton says--but her ladyship's fair set on it."

It had, however, been by no wish of Lady Medchester's that theneighbourhood had been enjoying the hospitality of Holford Hallthat afternoon. Ostensibly with the object of introducing her ownacquaintances to the future Lady Gorth, invitations had been sentout; but Lord Medchester had refused to lend his countenance to theentertainment. He had taken himself off to London until it and thesubsequent marriage ceremony at the village church should be over.Reluctantly admitting his jurisdiction did not extend to Churchmatters, and that Miss Stainer was entitled to be married in anychurch she chose, he could only express his disapproval publicly byabsenting himself and advertising the fact to all and sundry whomight be interested.

The party brought together with so depressing an atmosphereinspiring it had not been a success. Those among Lady Medchester'sneighbours who had accepted the invitation had done so mainly outof curiosity, and finding themselves entertained perfunctorily byan apparently apathetic hostess, and treated with a sort of hostileinsolence by the woman who proposed to settle down among them, haddeparted as quickly as bare politeness permitted, leaving behindthem in the large drawing-room used only for receptions of a moreor less formal nature, and insisted upon by Miss Stainer on thisspecial occasion, four people in varying degrees of bad temper.

Lady Medchester made no effort to hide her annoyance andhumiliation at the performance she had just gone through. She wasnot accustomed to giving parties that were failures, and she turnedto Anne Burford, present more or less under compulsion, with anunspoken appeal for sympathy that was very unusual in her attitudetowards her cousin.

Harold sat in a corner frankly in the sulks, and Miss Stainer,the fourth occupant of the room, was trying to put a good face onthe situation by humming a tune and standing with assumednonchalance on the hearth-rug, warming a foot at the fire.

Destiny as often as not seems to set the stage for life's mostpoignant dramas with a careless hand. No studied grouping ofprincipal actors, no background of significant details, nor play oflimelight on the stars of the piece. The scene as the act opens maybe commonplace and undistinguished, the position of the playersapparently haphazard, until the red light of tragedy transforms thecommon setting of everyday life into an indelible picture.

Lady Medchester, at the end of her patience, looked irritablyacross the room at her guest.

"I wish you would stop humming that thing, Sybil," sheprotested, "it gets on my nerves. You were at it all theafternoon--and out of tune at that!"

Miss Stainer turned sharply, a reply on her lips; but before shecould speak the door opened and before anyone realized what washappening, unannounced, Inspector Stoddart and Harbord werestanding inside the room.

Lady Medchester, with a suppressed cry of terror, pressed a handto her heart and fell back in her chair. Anne, suddenly faced withpossible danger, crept instinctively to her brother's side; heslipped a protective arm round her and murmured something in herear.

But Stoddart, his face cold and impassive as Anne had never seenit, took no notice of them. He crossed to the fireplace where MissStainer stood, staring at him, eyes wide and desperate, and laid ahand on her shoulder.

"Sybil Stainer, I arrest you in the name of the law for themurder of Robert Saunderson on the twenty-ninth of August last--andI warn you anything you say now may be used in evidence againstyou!"

There was a moment of tense silence; the movement of a hand asif in search of a handkerchief; a sharp report--and Sybil Stainerdropped limply at Stoddart's feet.

CHAPTER 26

Two days later, each with a bit of the story to tell, InspectorStoddart and his companion were ushered into the library at HolfordHall, where Lord Medchester awaited them.

"I shall be interested to hear how you arrived at yourconclusions, inspector," he remarked, motioning them to be seated."To be quite frank, I never liked the woman--couldn't imagine whatthe devil my wife saw in her. But it's a bit of a shake-up to havea thing of that sort happen under your own roof--a damn sight worsethan the murder, being a woman and all that," he finishedvaguely.

"No need for you to go over the threads that led us nowhere,"Stoddart began. "We'll follow up the main line of it. It seemedsuch a precious tangle when we began, bringing us up against ablank wall time and again. Where there was motive we wereconfronted with a watertight alibi; and where opportunity could beproved the motive was wanting--and murder without motive is asenseless sort of proposition."

Lord Medchester acquiesced. "Give me the salient facts. What putyou on to the line eventually?"

"As often as not it's one part grey matter to two parts chancethat does the trick; though I will say that if the grey matter wereto be entirely absent perhaps the so-called chances wouldn't turnup. Anyway, the first definite pointer we got was because mycolleague"--he jerked his head in Harbord's direction--"couldn'tsleep one night on account of toothache. And even then there didn'tseem to be any motive."

He pulled his chair a few inches nearer to his listeners, andcarefully deposited his hat underneath.

"No need to repeat what you know already," he went on, "but I'dbetter tell you straight away there's one bit of the story willhave to come out before the evidence can be pieced together. I'msorry, Lord Medchester."

And, as considerately as the circumstances permitted, herepeated all that Lady Medchester had told him of her part in theaffair, and her presence in the garden that night, while his hearersat as though turned to stone, unable to refute and loyallyreluctant to accept the statement.

"The difficulty all through with which we were faced," theinspector went on hurriedly, glad to get on less delicate ground,"was the ownership of the crystal beads. They were peculiar beads,cut in a peculiar way, not outstandingly unique, but I had noticedthat in the broken necklace picked up in the shrubbery one of themwas missing, leaving a gap in the chain, and the bead next to thegap was broken. A bit of a signpost that. Miss Stainer neverentered into my calculations, and I don't mind confessing now I wastaking an interest in Miss Tottie Delauney, Mrs. Yates's daughter,who had kept her presence at the lodge so quiet and was so ready totry and put the crime on some one else's shoulders. But therewasn't enough to go on."

"There would have been opportunity there, with her headquartersat the lodge," Lord Medchester muttered, "and, if she gets hismoney, motive."

"True enough, especially in poor Mayer's case--to keep his mouthshut. But nobody was forthcoming to testify to her having been nearthe Hall or in the gardens that night and--well, I've had a goodbit of experience, and Miss Delauney wasn't the type that goes sofar as a murder--much less two of them. She's more the kind that'snervous of firearms because she doesn't know which end they'll gooff at. The motive wasn't so very plain, either. She didn't carefor her husband nor his goings-on with other women, and couldn't besure whether he'd made a Will or not. She confessed as much. Shehad persuaded him into making her an allowance, and if he had madea Will it was quite possible she might have found herself betteroff with him alive than dead. That seemed to put her out ofcourt."

Lord Medchester nodded assent. "And how did you get on to SybilStainer?"

Stoddart smiled. "That's where this man comes in."

He turned to Harbord, who shook his head, being of a retiringdisposition and nothing of a spokesman. The inspector resumed:

"He had toothache one night, as I was telling you"--he indicatedhis companion--"and went off next morning to see a dentist inMedchester. As no appointment had been made he had to kick hisheels in the waiting-room till his turn came. And now this is, wemust admit, where chance gave a hand rather than grey matter."

He paused impressively. Inspector Stoddart was not wanting in asense of the dramatic.

"Harbord picked up one of the papers lying on the table atrandom: an old one--a date in July. One of those illustrated papersabout people in Society. In it he came on a full page portrait andunder it was printed--'Miss Sybil Stainer, one of the stall-holdersat the Duchess of Merebank's bazaar.' And"--he paused, to give dueeffect to the words--"round her neck was hanging the crystal beadnecklace, the gap on the chain, the broken bead next to it, hittingyou, so to speak, in the eye!"

Lord Medchester, his interest keenly aroused, bent forwardeagerly.

"Lord! What a bit of luck! and Harold within an ace of marryingher!" he added under his breath.

"Harbord was so pleased he forgot all about his toothache, madea dash for the door, and a bee-line for me. And that's how we firstgot on to Miss Sybil Stainer.

"But it was only a first step," he continued. "It proved she hadbeen on the scene of the tragedy that night, but there didn't seemto be any motive."

"How the devil did the woman know Saunderson was to be atHolford that night?" Lord Medchester put in.

For an almost imperceptible moment Stoddart hesitated.

"Might have arranged to meet him there for aught we know," heanswered, and turning to Harbord added, "she was on the spot allright, for, if you remember, we took the very rooms at the'Medchester Arms' she and her brother had vacated that morning--theday after the murder. We knew Robert Saunderson was a bit of ablackmailer, and where that comes in you never know where you are,low-down blackguards that they are! But we searched his papers andnot a trace could we find of any transactions with Miss SybilStainer."

The inspector added the incident of the finding of the straybead by the little gate; no doubt it had lodged in her dress or bagwhen the necklace broke and fell in the road as she passed throughthe gate.

"But we hadn't seen the tramp then," he added.

"Not justified in making an arrest and didn't want to questionher for fear of putting her on her guard?"

"That's so; and while we were hesitating about forcing thesituation Providence again played into our hands."

The inspector proceeded to relate the story the red-haired tramphad had to tell, confirming the silent testimony of the crystalbeads, that Sybil Stainer had been in the gardens that night; ofthe paper she had dropped, of how it had lain in his pocket, and ofhis meeting with Superintendent Mayer on the morning he wasshot.

"Then we were up against the problem of what Mayer had done withthe slip of paper handed to him by the tramp, and vanishedapparently into the blue, the contents of which Mayer hadconsidered too important to be divulged either to you or to Mrs.Yates, and that had sent him posthaste to the nearest telephone.And then," he said slowly, "Mrs. Mayer came on the scene. She cameto see me at the 'Medchester Arms.'"

"What had she to say?"

Stoddart smiled whimsically. "She was half out of her mind, poorwoman, with grief at the loss of her husband and remorse at havingcheated the law. The truth was, she had found poor Mayer's caplying among the bushes near the spot where he was killed, and takenit home and hidden it, and an hour before she arrived breathless atthe 'Medchester Arms' in search of me had discovered there was abit of paper slipped in behind the strip of lining that goes roundinside--without a doubt the paper handed to Mayer by the tramp, andthat he must have placed there for safety."

"Good Lord! It's like putting a puzzle together! Get on with thestory--what had the paper to do with the murders?"

"It put the lid on the evidence against Miss Stainer. I alwayssaid the two murders were done by the same hand. I take it MissStainer overheard Mayer talking to you and what he said at thetelephone through the open window--you remember you found herbrother loafing about outside, though we don't connect him with thecrime. She nipped down by the short cut to intercept thesuperintendent before he reached the lodge, inveigled him into thebushes by pretending to be hurt--any pretext would have done--andshot him with the automatic she carried in her bag, as we now know,for use should any desperate emergency arise. She silenced Mayer,but she didn't allow for the bit of evidence hidden in hiscap."

"What was the nature of that bit of evidence?"

"It was a copy of a marriage certificate," the inspectorreplied, "a marriage that took place about four years ago in SouthAmerica, between Sybil Stainer and a man called Guido Baruta. Heseems to have vanished into the blue, but there is no record of hisdeath--we cabled for information. The certificate is in order rightenough, and"--he paused impressively--"the name of RobertSaunderson was on it as witness! That was good enough!"

Lord Medchester stared at the speaker, his slowly working mindlabouring to put two and two together.

"There was motive, good and plenty!" Stoddart repeated."Nothing more wanted. Motive enough, with a brilliant marriagehanging in the balance and Saunderson with the game in his hands sofar as she was concerned--and motive was all we wanted. A woman whohad committed one murder to gain her ends," he finished slowly,"wasn't likely to stick at a second--and Miss Sybil Stainer meantto be Lady Gorth in spite of all the devils in hell! She was thatsort of woman."

* * *

"There are two points in this case that need never come out,Alfred," Stoddart remarked as they walked down the drive towardsthe 'Medchester Arms.' "One of them is--What made Anne Courtenay goto the summer-house that night? Had she an assignation withSaunderson or was it pure accident? Do you remember the bit ofpaper found on Saunderson's body--'I accede because I must'? Ialways thought that was written by Anne Courtenay. But she wasshielding that young cub of a brother of hers. I'll bet that wasit, though we may never know now. Miss Stainer, of course, got aglimpse of her in the garden, guessed her brother Harold wasfinancially involved with the murdered man, and played one againstthe other, making each think the other had done it."

"Just so," Harbord agreed, "and neither of them knew how muchshe knew, and both of them had something to hide." he saidthoughtfully. "The truth about that doesn't matter now."

"The other fact about which we may exercise a bit ofsuppressio veri," the inspector went on with the suspicionof a twinkle in his eye, "is the letter from Lady Medchester toSaunderson we found in Miss Stainer's bag, taken no doubt from thedead man's pocket-book when she took the marriage certificate--aletter fit to scorch the hair off your head! No wonder Miss Stainerhad the writer of it under her thumb! That need never come out, forLord Medchester's sake; his wife can tell him her own story. He'shad his suspicions about the relations between them all through--hewas always nervous what might come out in evidence--anybody couldsee that."

"Funny what some women will do for money and position, and whatchances they'll take!" Harbord remarked thoughtfully. "Then shefound herself in a tight place, and took the simplest way out." Andhe added solemnly, "She paid the price."

THE END

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