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The Project Gutenberg eBook ofFour Max Carrados Detective Stories

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Title: Four Max Carrados Detective Stories

Author: Ernest Bramah

Release date: July 17, 2004 [eBook #12932]
Most recently updated: December 15, 2020

Language: English

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR MAX CARRADOS DETECTIVE STORIES ***

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FOUR MAX CARRADOS DETECTIVE STORIES

by

ERNEST BRAMAH

1914

CONTENTS

THE COIN OF DIONYSIUS

THE KNIGHT'S CROSS SIGNAL PROBLEM

THE TRAGEDY AT BROOKBEND COTTAGE

THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR

THE COIN OF DIONYSIUS

It was eight o'clock at night and raining, scarcely a time when abusiness so limited in its clientele as that of a coin dealer couldhope to attract any customer, but a light was still showing in thesmall shop that bore over its window the name of Baxter, and in theeven smaller office at the back the proprietor himself sat reading thelatestPall Mall. His enterprise seemed to be justified, forpresently the door bell gave its announcement, and throwing down hispaper Mr. Baxter went forward.

As a matter of fact the dealer had been expecting someone and hismanner as he passed into the shop was unmistakably suggestive of acaller of importance. But at the first glance towards his visitor theexcess of deference melted out of his bearing, leaving the urbane,self-possessed shopman in the presence of the casual customer.

"Mr. Baxter, I think?" said the latter. He had laid aside his drippingumbrella and was unbuttoning overcoat and coat to reach an innerpocket. "You hardly remember me, I suppose? Mr. Carlyle—two years agoI took up a case for you—"

"To be sure. Mr. Carlyle, the private detective—"

"Inquiry agent," corrected Mr. Carlyle precisely.

"Well," smiled Mr. Baxter, "for that matter I am a coin dealer and notan antiquarian or a numismatist. Is there anything in that way that Ican do for you?"

"Yes," replied his visitor; "it is my turn to consult you." He hadtaken a small wash-leather bag from the inner pocket and now turnedsomething carefully out upon the counter. "What can you tell me aboutthat?"

The dealer gave the coin a moment's scrutiny.

"There is no question about this," he replied. "It is a Siciliantetradrachm of Dionysius."

"Yes, I know that—I have it on the label out of the cabinet. I cantell you further that it's supposed to be one that Lord Seastoke gavetwo hundred and fifty pounds for at the Brice sale in '94."

"It seems to me that you can tell me more about it than I can tellyou," remarked Mr. Baxter. "What is it that you really want to know?"

"I want to know," replied Mr. Carlyle, "whether it is genuine or not."

"Has any doubt been cast upon it?"

"Certain circumstances raised a suspicion—that is all."

The dealer took another look at the tetradrachm through his magnifyingglass, holding it by the edge with the careful touch of an expert.Then he shook his head slowly in a confession of ignorance.

"Of course I could make a guess—"

"No, don't," interrupted Mr. Carlyle hastily. "An arrest hangs on itand nothing short of certainty is any good to me."

"Is that so, Mr. Carlyle?" said Mr. Baxter, with increased interest."Well, to be quite candid, the thing is out of my line. Now if it wasa rare Saxon penny or a doubtful noble I'd stake my reputation on myopinion, but I do very little in the classical series."

Mr. Carlyle did not attempt to conceal his disappointment as hereturned the coin to the bag and replaced the bag in the inner pocket.

"I had been relying on you," he grumbled reproachfully. "Where onearth am I to go now?"

"There is always the British Museum."

"Ah, to be sure, thanks. But will anyone who can tell me be therenow?"

"Now? No fear!" replied Mr. Baxter. "Go round in the morning—"

"But I must know to-night," explained the visitor, reduced to despairagain. "To-morrow will be too late for the purpose."

Mr. Baxter did not hold out much encouragement in the circumstances.

"You can scarcely expect to find anyone at business now," he remarked."I should have been gone these two hours myself only I happened tohave an appointment with an American millionaire who fixed his owntime." Something indistinguishable from a wink slid off Mr. Baxter'sright eye. "Offmunson he's called, and a bright young pedigree-hunterhas traced his descent from Offa, King of Mercia. So he—quitenaturally—wants a set of Offas as a sort of collateral proof."

"Very interesting," murmured Mr. Carlyle, fidgeting with his watch. "Ishould love an hour's chat with you about your millionairecustomers—some other time. Just now—look here, Baxter, can't yougive me a line of introduction to some dealer in this sort of thingwho happens to live in town? You must know dozens of experts."

"Why, bless my soul, Mr. Carlyle, I don't know a man of them away fromhis business," said Mr. Baxter, staring. "They may live in Park Laneor they may live in Petticoat Lane for all I know. Besides, therearen't so many experts as you seem to imagine. And the two best willvery likely quarrel over it. You've had to do with 'expert witnesses,'I suppose?"

"I don't want a witness; there will be no need to give evidence. All Iwant is an absolutely authoritative pronouncement that I can act on.Is there no one who can really say whether the thing is genuine ornot?"

Mr. Baxter's meaning silence became cynical in its implication as hecontinued to look at his visitor across the counter. Then he relaxed.

"Stay a bit; there is a man—an amateur—I remember hearing wonderfulthings about some time ago. They say he really does know."

"There you are," explained Mr. Carlyle, much relieved. "There alwaysis someone. Who is he?"

"Funny name," replied Baxter. "Something Wynn or Wynn something." Hecraned his neck to catch sight of an important motor-car that wasdrawing to the kerb before his window. "Wynn Carrados! You'll excuseme now, Mr. Carlyle, won't you? This looks like Mr. Offmunson."

Mr. Carlyle hastily scribbled the name down on his cuff.

"Wynn Carrados, right. Where does he live?"

"Haven't the remotest idea," replied Baxter, referring the arrangementof his tie to the judgment of the wall mirror. "I have never seen theman myself. Now, Mr. Carlyle, I'm sorry I can't do any more for you.You won't mind, will you?"

Mr. Carlyle could not pretend to misunderstand. He enjoyed thedistinction of holding open the door for the transatlanticrepresentative of the line of Offa as he went out, and then made hisway through the muddy streets back to his office. There was only oneway of tracing a private individual at such short notice—through thepages of the directories, and the gentleman did not flatter himself bya very high estimate of his chances.

Fortune favoured him, however. He very soon discovered a Wynn Carradosliving at Richmond, and, better still, further search failed tounearth another. There was, apparently, only one householder at allevents of that name in the neighbourhood of London. He jotted down theaddress and set out for Richmond.

The house was some distance from the station, Mr. Carlyle learned. Hetook a taxicab and drove, dismissing the vehicle at the gate. Heprided himself on his power of observation and the accuracy of hisdeductions which resulted from it—a detail of his business. "It'snothing more than using one's eyes and putting two and two together,"he would modestly declare, when he wished to be deprecatory ratherthan impressive. By the time he had reached the front door of "TheTurrets" he had formed some opinion of the position and tastes of thepeople who lived there.

A man-servant admitted Mr. Carlyle and took his card—his privatecard, with the bare request for an interview that would not detain Mr.Carrados for ten minutes. Luck still favoured him; Mr. Carrados was athome and would see him at once. The servant, the hall through whichthey passed, and the room into which he was shown, all contributedsomething to the deductions which the quietly observant gentleman washalf unconsciously recording.

"Mr. Carlyle," announced the servant.

The room was a library or study. The only occupant, a man of aboutCarlyle's own age, had been using a typewriter up to the moment of hisvisitor's entrance. He now turned and stood up with an expression offormal courtesy.

"It's very good of you to see me at this hour," apologised Mr.
Carlyle.

The conventional expression of Mr. Carrados's face changed a little.

"Surely my man has got your name wrong?" he explained. "Isn't it Louis
Calling?"

Mr. Carlyle stopped short and his agreeable smile gave place to asudden flash of anger or annoyance.

"No sir," he replied stiffly. "My name is on the card which you havebefore you."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Carrados, with perfect good-humour. "Ihadn't seen it. But I used to know a Calling some years ago—at St.Michael's."

"St. Michael's!" Mr. Carlyle's features underwent another change, noless instant and sweeping than before. "St. Michael's! Wynn Carrados?Good heavens! it isn't Max Wynn—old 'Winning' Wynn"?

"A little older and a little fatter—yes," replied Carrados. "I havechanged my name you see."

"Extraordinary thing meeting like this," said his visitor, droppinginto a chair and staring hard at Mr. Carrados. "I have changed morethan my name. How did you recognize me?"

"The voice," replied Carrados. "It took me back to that littlesmoke-dried attic den of yours where we—"

"My God!" exclaimed Carlyle bitterly, "don't remind me of what we weregoing to do in those days." He looked round the well-furnished,handsome room and recalled the other signs of wealth that he hadnoticed. "At all events, you seem fairly comfortable, Wynn."

"I am alternately envied and pitied," replied Carrados, with a placidtolerance of circumstance that seemed characteristic of him. "Still,as you say, I am fairly comfortable."

"Envied, I can understand. But why are you pitied?"

"Because I am blind," was the tranquil reply.

"Blind!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, using his own eyes superlatively. "Doyou mean—literally blind?"

"Literally…. I was riding along a bridle-path through a wood about adozen years ago with a friend. He was in front. At one point a twigsprang back—you know how easily a thing like that happens. It justflicked my eye—nothing to think twice about."

"And that blinded you?"

"Yes, ultimately. It's called amaurosis."

"I can scarcely believe it. You seem so sure and self-reliant. Youreyes are full of expression—only a little quieter than they used tobe. I believe you were typing when I came….Aren't you having me?"

"You miss the dog and the stick?" smiled Carrados. "No; it's a fact."

"What an awful affliction for you, Max. You were always such animpulsive, reckless sort of fellow—never quiet. You must miss such afearful lot."

"Has anyone else recognized you?" asked Carrados quietly.

"Ah, that was the voice, you said," replied Carlyle.

"Yes; but other people heard the voice as well. Only I had noblundering, self-confident eyes to be hoodwinked."

"That's a rum way of putting it," said Carlyle. "Are your ears neverhoodwinked, may I ask?"

"Not now. Nor my fingers. Nor any of my other senses that have to lookout for themselves."

"Well, well," murmured Mr. Carlyle, cut short in his sympatheticemotions. "I'm glad you take it so well. Of course, if you find it anadvantage to be blind, old man——" He stopped and reddened. "I begyour pardon," he concluded stiffly.

"Not an advantage perhaps," replied the other thoughtfully. "Still ithas compensations that one might not think of. A new world to explore,new experiences, new powers awakening; strange new perceptions; lifein the fourth dimension. But why do you beg my pardon, Louis?"

"I am an ex-solicitor, struck off in connexion with the falsifying ofa trust account, Mr. Carrados," replied Carlyle, rising.

"Sit down, Louis," said Carrados suavely. His face, even hisincredibly living eyes, beamed placid good-nature. "The chair on whichyou will sit, the roof above you, all the comfortable surroundings towhich you have so amiably alluded, are the direct result of falsifyinga trust account. But do I call you 'Mr. Carlyle' in consequence?Certainly not, Louis."

"I did not falsify the account," cried Carlyle hotly. He sat downhowever, and added more quietly: "But why do I tell you all this? Ihave never spoken of it before."

"Blindness invites confidence," replied Carrados. "We are out of therunning—human rivalry ceases to exist. Besides, why shouldn't you? Inmy case the accountwas falsified."

"Of course that's all bunkum, Max" commented Carlyle. "Still, Iappreciate your motive."

"Practically everything I possess was left to me by an Americancousin, on the condition that I took the name of Carrados. He made hisfortune by an ingenious conspiracy of doctoring the crop reports andunloading favourably in consequence. And I need hardly remind you thatthe receiver is equally guilty with the thief."

"But twice as safe. I know something of that, Max … Have you anyidea what my business is?"

"You shall tell me," replied Carrados.

"I run a private inquiry agency. When I lost my profession I had to dosomething for a living. This occurred. I dropped my name, changed myappearance and opened an office. I knew the legal side down to theground and I got a retired Scotland Yard man to organize the outsidework."

"Excellent!" cried Carrados. "Do you unearth many murders?"

"No," admitted Mr. Carlyle; "our business lies mostly on theconventional lines among divorce and defalcation."

"That's a pity," remarked Carrados. "Do you know, Louis, I always hada secret ambition to be a detective myself. I have even thought latelythat I might still be able to do something at it if the chance came myway. That makes you smile?"

"Well, certainly, the idea——"

"Yes, the idea of a blind detective—the blind tracking the alert—"

"Of course, as you say, certain facilities are no doubt quickened,"Mr. Carlyle hastened to add considerately, "but, seriously, with theexception of an artist, I don't suppose there is any man who is moreutterly dependent on his eyes."

Whatever opinion Carrados might have held privately, his genialexterior did not betray a shadow of dissent. For a full minute hecontinued to smoke as though he derived an actual visual enjoymentfrom the blue sprays that travelled and dispersed across the room. Hehad already placed before his visitor a box containing cigars of abrand which that gentleman keenly appreciated but generally regardedas unattainable, and the matter-of-fact ease and certainty with whichthe blind man had brought the box and put it before him had sent aquestioning flicker through Carlyle's mind.

"You used to be rather fond of art yourself, Louis," he remarkedpresently. "Give me your opinion of my latest purchase—the bronzelion on the cabinet there." Then, as Carlyle's gaze went about theroom, he added quickly: "No, not that cabinet—the one on your left."

Carlyle shot a sharp glance at his host as he got up, but Carrados'sexpression was merely benignly complacent. Then he strolled across tothe figure.

"Very nice," he admitted. "Late Flemish, isn't it?"

"No, It is a copy of Vidal's 'Roaring Lion.'"

"Vidal?"

"A French artist." The voice became indescribably flat. "He, also, hadthe misfortune to be blind, by the way."

"You old humbug, Max!" shrieked Carlyle, "you've been thinking thatout for the last five minutes." Then the unfortunate man bit his lipand turned his back towards his host.

"Do you remember how we used to pile it up on that obtuse ass Sanders,and then roast him?" asked Carrados, ignoring the half-smotheredexclamation with which the other man had recalled himself.

"Yes," replied Carlyle quietly. "This is very good," he continued,addressing himself to the bronze again. "How ever did he do it?"

"With his hands."

"Naturally. But, I mean, how did he study his model?"

"Also with his hands. He called it 'seeing near.'"

"Even with a lion—handled it?"

"In such cases he required the services of a keeper, who brought theanimal to bay while Vidal exercised his own particular gifts … Youdon't feel inclined to put me on the track of a mystery, Louis?"

Unable to regard this request as anything but one of old Max'sunquenchable pleasantries, Mr. Carlyle was on the point of making asuitable reply when a sudden thought caused him to smile knowingly. Upto that point, he had, indeed, completely forgotten the object of hisvisit. Now that he remembered the doubtful Dionysius and Baxter'srecommendation he immediately assumed that some mistake had been made.Either Max was not the Wynn Carrados he had been seeking or else thedealer had been misinformed; for although his host was wonderfullyexpert in the face of his misfortune, it was inconceivable that hecould decide the genuineness of a coin without seeing it. Theopportunity seemed a good one of getting even with Carrados by takinghim at his word.

"Yes," he accordingly replied, with crisp deliberation, as here-crossed the room; "yes, I will, Max. Here is the clue to what seemsto be a rather remarkable fraud." He put the tetradrachm into hishost's hand. "What do you make of it?"

For a few seconds Carrados handled the piece with the delicatemanipulation of his finger-tips while Carlyle looked on with aself-appreciative grin. Then with equal gravity the blind man weighedthe coin in the balance of his hand. Finally he touched it with histongue.

"Well?" demanded the other.

"Of course I have not much to go on, and if I was more fully in yourconfidence I might come to another conclusion——"

"Yes, yes," interposed Carlyle, with amused encouragement.

"Then I should advise you to arrest the parlourmaid, Nina Brun,communicate with the police authorities of Padua for particulars ofthe career of Helene Brunesi, and suggest to Lord Seastoke that heshould return to London to see what further depredations have beenmade in his cabinet."

Mr. Carlyle's groping hand sought and found a chair, on to which hedropped blankly. His eyes were unable to detach themselves for asingle moment from the very ordinary spectacle of Mr. Carrados'smildly benevolent face, while the sterilized ghost of his nowforgotten amusement still lingered about his features.

"Good heavens!" he managed to articulate, "how do you know?"

"Isn't that what you wanted of me?" asked Carrados suavely.

"Don't humbug, Max," said Carlyle severely. "This is no joke." Anundefined mistrust of his own powers suddenly possessed him in thepresence of this mystery. "How do you come to know of Nina Brun andLord Seastoke?"

"You are a detective, Louis," replied Carrados. "How does one knowthese things? By using one's eyes and putting two and two together."

Carlyle groaned and flung out an arm petulantly.

"Is it all bunkum, Max? Do you really see all the time—though thatdoesn't go very far towards explaining it."

"Like Vidal, I see very well—at close quarters," replied Carrados,lightly running a forefinger along the inscription on the tetradrachm."For longer range I keep another pair of eyes. Would you like to testthem?"

Mr. Carlyle's assent was not very gracious; it was, in fact, faintlysulky. He was suffering the annoyance of feeling distinctlyunimpressive in his own department; but he was also curious.

"The bell is just behind you, if you don't mind," said his host.
"Parkinson will appear. You might take note of him while he is in."

The man who had admitted Mr. Carlyle proved to be Parkinson.

"This gentleman is Mr. Carlyle, Parkinson," explained Carrados themoment the man entered. "You will remember him for the future?"

Parkinson's apologetic eye swept the visitor from head to foot, but solightly and swiftly that it conveyed to that gentleman the comparisonof being very deftly dusted.

"I will endeavour to do so, sir," replied Parkinson, turning again tohis master.

"I shall be at home to Mr. Carlyle whenever he calls. That is all."

"Very well, sir."

"Now, Louis," remarked Mr. Carrados briskly, when the door had closedagain, "you have had a good opportunity of studying Parkinson. What ishe like?"

"In what way?"

"I mean as a matter of description. I am a blind man—I haven't seenmy servant for twelve years—what idea can you give me of him? I askedyou to notice."

"I know you did, but your Parkinson is the sort of man who has verylittle about him to describe. He is the embodiment of the ordinary.His height is about average——"

"Five feet nine," murmured Carrados. "Slightly above the mean."

"Scarcely noticeably so. Clean-shaven. Medium brown hair. Noparticularly marked features. Dark eyes. Good teeth."

"False," interposed Carrados. "The teeth—not the statement."

"Possibly," admitted Mr. Carlyle. "I am not a dental expert and I hadno opportunity of examining Mr. Parkinson's mouth in detail. But whatis the drift of all this?"

"His clothes?"

"Oh, just the ordinary evening dress of a valet. There is not muchroom for variety in that."

"You noticed, in fact, nothing special by which Parkinson could beidentified?"

"Well, he wore an unusually broad gold ring on the little finger ofthe left hand."

"But that is removable. And yet Parkinson has an ineradicable mole—asmall one, I admit—on his chin. And you a human sleuth-hound. Oh,Louis!"

"At all events," retorted Carlyle, writhing a little under thisgood-humoured satire, although it was easy enough to see in itCarrados's affectionate intention—"at all events, I dare say I cangive as good a description of Parkinson as he can give of me."

"That is what we are going to test. Ring the bell again."

"Seriously?"

"Quite. I am trying my eyes against yours. If I can't give you fiftyout of a hundred I'll renounce my private detectorial ambition forever."

"It isn't quite the same," objected Carlyle, but he rang the bell.

"Come in and close the door, Parkinson," said Carrados when the manappeared. "Don't look at Mr. Carlyle again—in fact, you had betterstand with your back towards him, he won't mind. Now describe to mehis appearance as you observed it."

Parkinson tendered his respectful apologies to Mr. Carlyle for theliberty he was compelled to take, by the deferential quality of hisvoice.

"Mr. Carlyle, sir, wears patent leather boots of about size seven andvery little used. There are five buttons, but on the left boot onebutton—the third up—is missing, leaving loose threads and not themore usual metal fastener. Mr. Carlyle's trousers, sir, are of a darkmaterial, a dark grey line of about a quarter of an inch width on adarker ground. The bottoms are turned permanently up and are, justnow, a little muddy, if I may say so."

"Very muddy," interposed Mr. Carlyle generously. "It is a wet night,
Parkinson."

"Yes, sir; very unpleasant weather. If you will allow me, sir, I willbrush you in the hall. The mud is dry now, I notice. Then, sir,"continued Parkinson, reverting to the business in hand, "there aredark green cashmere hose. A curb-pattern key-chain passes into theleft-hand trouser pocket."

From the visitor's nether garments the photographic-eyed Parkinsonproceeded to higher ground, and with increasing wonder Mr. Carlylelistened to the faithful catalogue of his possessions. Hisfetter-and-link albert of gold and platinum was minutely described.His spotted blue ascot, with its gentlemanly pearl scarfpin, was setforth, and the fact that the buttonhole in the left lapel of hismorning coat showed signs of use was duly noted. What Parkinson saw herecorded, but he made no deductions. A handkerchief carried in thecuff of the right sleeve was simply that to him and not an indicationthat Mr. Carlyle was, indeed, left-handed.

But a more delicate part of Parkinson's undertaking remained. Heapproached it with a double cough.

"As regards Mr. Carlyle's personal appearance, sir—"

"No, enough!" cried the gentleman concerned hastily. "I am more thansatisfied. You are a keen observer, Parkinson."

"I have trained myself to suit my master's requirements, sir," repliedthe man. He looked towards Mr. Carrados, received a nod and withdrew.

Mr. Carlyle was the first to speak.

"That man of yours would be worth five pounds a week to me, Max," heremarked thoughtfully. "But, of course—"

"I don't think that he would take it," replied Carrados, in a voice ofequally detached speculation. "He suits me very well. But you have thechance of using his services—indirectly."

"You still mean that—seriously?"

"I notice in you a chronic disinclination to take me seriously, Louis.It is really—to an Englishman—almost painful. Is there somethinginherently comic about me or the atmosphere of The Turrets?"

"No, my friend," replied Mr. Carlyle, "but there is somethingessentially prosperous. That is what points to the improbable. Nowwhat is it?"

"It might be merely a whim, but it is more than that," replied Carrados."It is, well, partly vanity, partlyennui, partly"—certainly therewas something more nearly tragic in his voice than comic now—"partlyhope."

Mr. Carlyle was too tactful to pursue the subject.

"Those are three tolerable motives," he acquiesced. "I'll do anythingyou want, Max, on one condition."

"Agreed. And it is?"

"That you tell me how you knew so much of this affair." He tapped thesilver coin which lay on the table near them. "I am not easilyflabbergasted," he added.

"You won't believe that there is nothing to explain—that it waspurely second-sight?"

"No," replied Carlyle tersely: "I won't."

"You are quite right. And yet the thing is very simple."

"They always are—when you know," soliloquised the other. "That's whatmakes them so confoundedly difficult when you don't."

"Here is this one then. In Padua, which seems to be regaining its oldreputation as the birthplace of spurious antiques, by the way, therelives an ingenious craftsman named Pietro Stelli. This simple soul,who possesses a talent not inferior to that of Cavino at his best, hasfor many years turned his hand to the not unprofitable occupation offorging rare Greek and Roman coins. As a collector and student ofcertain Greek colonials and a specialist in forgeries I have beenfamiliar with Stelli's workmanship for years. Latterly he seems tohave come under the influence of an international crook called—at themoment—Dompierre, who soon saw a way of utilizing Stelli's genius ona royal scale. Helene Brunesi, who in private life is—and really is,I believe—Madame Dompierre, readily lent her services to theenterprise."

"Quite so," nodded Mr. Carlyle, as his host paused.

"You see the whole sequence, of course?"

"Not exactly—not in detail," confessed Mr. Carlyle.

"Dompierre's idea was to gain access to some of the most celebratedcabinets of Europe and substitute Stelli's fabrications for thegenuine coins. The princely collection of rarities that he would thusamass might be difficult to dispose of safely, but I have no doubtthat he had matured his plans. Helene, in the person of Nina Brun, anAnglicised French parlourmaid—a part which she fills toperfection—was to obtain wax impressions of the most valuable piecesand to make the exchange when the counterfeits reached her. In thisway it was obviously hoped that the fraud would not come to lightuntil long after the real coins had been sold, and I gather that shehas already done her work successfully in general houses. Then,impressed by her excellent references and capable manner, myhousekeeper engaged her, and for a few weeks she went about her dutieshere. It was fatal to this detail of the scheme, however, that I havethe misfortune to be blind. I am told that Helene has so innocentlyangelic a face as to disarm suspicion, but I was incapable of beingimpressed and that good material was thrown away. But one morning mymaterial fingers—which, of course, knew nothing of Helene's angelicface—discovered an unfamiliar touch about the surface of my favouriteEuclideas, and, although there was doubtless nothing to be seen, mycritical sense of smell reported that wax had been recently pressedagainst it. I began to make discreet inquiries and in the meantime mycabinets went to the local bank for safety. Helene countered byreceiving a telegram from Angiers, calling her to the death-bed of heraged mother. The aged mother succumbed; duty compelled Helene toremain at the side of her stricken patriarchal father, and doubtlessThe Turrets was written off the syndicate's operations as a bad debt."

"Very interesting," admitted Mr. Carlyle; "but at the risk of seemingobtuse"—his manner had become delicately chastened—"I must say thatI fail to trace the inevitable connexion between Nina Brun and thisparticular forgery—assuming that it is a forgery."

"Set your mind at rest about that, Louis," replied Carrados. "It is aforgery, and it is a forgery that none but Pietro Stelli could haveachieved. That is the essential connexion. Of course, there areaccessories. A private detective coming urgently to see me with anotable tetradrachm in his pocket, which he announces to be the clueto a remarkable fraud—well, really, Louis, one scarcely needs to beblind to see through that."

"And Lord Seastoke? I suppose you happened to discover that Nina Brunhad gone there?"

"No, I cannot claim to have discovered that, or I should certainlyhave warned him at once when I found out—only recently—about thegang. As a matter of fact, the last information I had of Lord Seastokewas a line in yesterday'sMorning Post to the effect that he wasstill at Cairo. But many of these pieces—" He brushed his fingeralmost lovingly across the vivid chariot race that embellished thereverse of the coin, and broke off to remark: "You really ought totake up the subject, Louis. You have no idea how useful it might proveto you some day."

"I really think I must," replied Carlyle grimly. "Two hundred andfifty pounds the original of this cost, I believe."

"Cheap, too; it would make five hundred pounds in New York to-day. AsI was saying, many are literally unique. This gem by Kimon is—here ishis signature, you see; Peter is particularly good at lettering—andas I handled the genuine tetradrachm about two years ago, when LordSeastoke exhibited it at a meeting of our society in Albemarle Street,there is nothing at all wonderful in my being able to fix the localeof your mystery. Indeed, I feel that I ought to apologize for it allbeing so simple."

"I think," remarked Mr. Carlyle, critically examining the loosethreads on his left boot, "that the apology on that head would be moreappropriate from me."

THE KNIGHT'S CROSS SIGNAL PROBLEM

"Louis," exclaimed Mr. Carrados, with the air of genial gaiety thatCarlyle had found so incongruous to his conception of a blind man,"you have a mystery somewhere about you! I know it by your step."

Nearly a month had passed since the incident of the false Dionysiushad led to the two men meeting. It was now December. Whatever Mr.Carlyle's step might indicate to the inner eye it betokened to thecasual observer the manner of a crisp, alert, self-possessed man ofbusiness. Carlyle, in truth, betrayed nothing of the pessimism anddespondency that had marked him on the earlier occasion.

"You have only yourself to thank that it is a very poor one," heretorted. "If you hadn't held me to a hasty promise——"

"To give me an option on the next case that baffled you, no matterwhat it was——"

"Just so. The consequence is that you get a very unsatisfactory affairthat has no special interest to an amateur and is only bafflingbecause it is—well——"

"Well, baffling?"

"Exactly, Max. Your would-be jest has discovered the proverbial truth.I need hardly tell you that it is only the insoluble that is finallybaffling and this is very probably insoluble. You remember the awfulsmash on the Central and Suburban at Knight's Cross Station a fewweeks ago?"

"Yes," replied Carrados, with interest. "I read the whole ghastlydetails at the time."

"You read?" exclaimed his friend suspiciously.

"I still use the familiar phrases," explained Carrados, with a smile."As a matter of fact, my secretary reads to me. I mark what I want tohear and when he comes at ten o'clock we clear off the morning papersin no time."

"And how do you know what to mark?" demanded Mr. Carlyle cunningly.

Carrados's right hand, lying idly on the table, moved to a newspapernear. He ran his finger along a column heading, his eyes still turnedtowards his visitor.

"'The Money Market. Continued from page 2. British Railways,'" heannounced.

"Extraordinary," murmured Carlyle.

"Not very," said Carrados. "If someone dipped a stick in treacle andwrote 'Rats' across a marble slab you would probably be able todistinguish what was there, blindfold."

"Probably," admitted Mr. Carlyle. "At all events we will not test theexperiment."

"The difference to you of treacle on a marble background is scarcelygreater than that of printers' ink on newspaper to me. But anythingsmaller than pica I do not read with comfort, and below long primer Icannot read at all. Hence the secretary. Now the accident, Louis."

"The accident: well, you remember all about that. An ordinary Centraland Suburban passenger train, non-stop at Knight's Cross, ran past thesignal and crashed into a crowded electric train that was justbeginning to move out. It was like sending a garden roller down a rowof handlights. Two carriages of the electric train were flattened outof existence; the next two were broken up. For the first time on anEnglish railway there was a good stand-up smash between a heavysteam-engine and a train of light cars, and it was 'bad for the coo.'"

"Twenty-seven killed, forty something injured, eight died since,"commented Carrados.

"That was bad for the Co.," said Carlyle. "Well, the main fact wasplain enough. The heavy train was in the wrong. But was theengine-driver responsible? He claimed, and he claimed vehemently fromthe first, and he never varied one iota, that he had a 'clear'signal—that is to say, the green light, it being dark. The signalmanconcerned was equally dogged that he never pulled off the signal—thatit was at 'danger' when the accident happened and that it had been forfive minutes before. Obviously, they could not both be right."

"Why, Louis?" asked Mr. Carrados smoothly.

"The signal must either have been up or down—red or green."

"Did you ever notice the signals on the Great Northern Railway,
Louis?"

"Not particularly, Why?"

"One winterly day, about the year when you and I were concerned inbeing born, the engine-driver of a Scotch express received the 'clear'from a signal near a little Huntingdon station called Abbots Ripton.He went on and crashed into a goods train and into the thick of thesmash a down express mowed its way. Thirteen killed and the usual taleof injured. He was positive that the signal gave him a 'clear'; thesignalman was equally confident that he had never pulled it off the'danger.' Both were right, and yet the signal was in working order. AsI said, it was a winterly day; it had been snowing hard and the snowfroze and accumulated on the upper edge of the signal arm until itsweight bore it down. That is a fact that no fiction writer dare haveinvented, but to this day every signal on the Great Northern pivotsfrom the centre of the arm instead of from the end, in memory of thatsnowstorm."

"That came out at the inquest, I presume?" said Mr. Carlyle. "We havehad the Board of Trade inquiry and the inquest here and no explanationis forthcoming. Everything was in perfect order. It rests between theword of the signalman and the word of the engine-driver—not a jot ofdirect evidence either way. Which is right?"

"That is what you are going to find out, Louis?" suggested Carrados.

"It is what I am being paid for finding out," admitted Mr. Carlylefrankly. "But so far we are just where the inquest left it, and,between ourselves, I candidly can't see an inch in front of my face inthe matter."

"Nor can I," said the blind man, with a rather wry smile. "Never mind.
The engine-driver is your client, of course?"

"Yes," admitted Carlyle. "But how the deuce did you know?"

"Let us say that your sympathies are enlisted on his behalf. The jurywere inclined to exonerate the signalman, weren't they? What has thecompany done with your man?"

"Both are suspended. Hutchins, the driver, hears that he may probablybe given charge of a lavatory at one of the stations. He is a decent,bluff, short-spoken old chap, with his heart in his work. Just nowyou'll find him at his worst—bitter and suspicious. The thought ofswabbing down a lavatory and taking pennies all day is poisoning him."

"Naturally. Well, there we have honest Hutchins: taciturn, a littletouchy perhaps, grown grey in the service of the company, andmanifesting quite a bulldog-like devotion to his favourite 538."

"Why, that actually was the number of his engine—how do you know it?"demanded Carlyle sharply.

"It was mentioned two or three times at the inquest, Louis," replied
Carrados mildly.

"And you remembered—with no reason to?"

"You can generally trust a blind man's memory, especially if he hastaken the trouble to develop it."

"Then you will remember that Hutchins did not make a very goodimpression at the time. He was surly and irritable under the ordeal. Iwant you to see the case from all sides."

"He called the signalman—Mead—a 'lying young dog,' across the room,
I believe. Now, Mead, what is he like? You have seen him, of course?"

"Yes. He does not impress me favourably. He is glib, ingratiating, anddistinctly 'greasy.' He has a ready answer for everything almostbefore the question is out of your mouth. He has thought ofeverything."

"And now you are going to tell me something, Louis," said Carradosencouragingly.

Mr. Carlyle laughed a little to cover an involuntary movement ofsurprise.

"There is a suggestive line that was not touched at the inquiries," headmitted. "Hutchins has been a saving man all his life, and he hasreceived good wages. Among his class he is regarded as wealthy. Idaresay that he has five hundred pounds in the bank. He is a widowerwith one daughter, a very nice-mannered girl of about twenty. Mead isa young man, and he and the girl are sweethearts—have been informallyengaged for some time. But old Hutchins would not hear of it; he seemsto have taken a dislike to the signalman from the first, and latterlyhe had forbidden him to come to his house or his daughter to speak tohim."

"Excellent, Louis," cried Carrados in great delight. "We shall clearyour man in a blaze of red and green lights yet and hang the glib,'greasy' signalman from his own signal-post."

"It is a significant fact, seriously?"

"It is absolutely convincing."

"It may have been a slip, a mental lapse on Mead's part which hediscovered the moment it was too late, and then, being too cowardly toadmit his fault, and having so much at stake, he took care to makedetection impossible. It may have been that, but my idea is ratherthat probably it was neither quite pure accident nor pure design. Ican imagine Mead meanly pluming himself over the fact that the life ofthis man who stands in his way, and whom he must cordially dislike,lies in his power. I can imagine the idea becoming an obsession as hedwells on it. A dozen times with his hand on the lever he lets hismind explore the possibilities of a moment's defection. Then one dayhe pulls the signal off in sheer bravado—and hastily puts it atdanger again. He may have done it once or he may have done it oftenerbefore he was caught in a fatal moment of irresolution. The chancesare about even that the engine-driver would be killed. In any case hewould be disgraced, for it is easier on the face of it to believe thata man might run past a danger signal in absentmindedness, withoutnoticing it, than that a man should pull off a signal and replace itwithout being conscious of his actions."

"The fireman was killed. Does your theory involve the certainty of thefireman being killed, Louis?"

"No," said Carlyle. "The fireman is a difficulty, but looking at itfrom Mead's point of view—whether he has been guilty of an error or acrime—it resolves itself into this: First, the fireman may be killed.Second, he may not notice the signal at all. Third, in any case hewill loyally corroborate his driver and the good old jury willdiscount that."

Carrados smoked thoughtfully, his open, sightless eyes merelyappearing to be set in a tranquil gaze across the room.

"It would not be an improbable explanation," he said presently."Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would say: 'People do not do thesethings.' But you and I, who have in our different ways studiedcriminology, know that they sometimes do, or else there would be nocurious crimes. What have you done on that line?"

To anyone who could see, Mr. Carlyle's expression conveyed an answer.

"You are behind the scenes, Max. What was there for me to do? Still Imust do something for my money. Well, I have had a very close inquirymade confidentially among the men. There might be a whisper of one ofthem knowing more than had come out—a man restrained by friendship,or enmity, or even grade jealousy. Nothing came of that. Then therewas the remote chance that some private person had noticed the signalwithout attaching any importance to it then, one who would be able toidentify it still by something associated with the time. I went overthe line myself. Opposite the signal the line on one side is shut inby a high blank wall; on the other side are houses, but coming belowthe butt-end of a scullery the signal does not happen to be visiblefrom any road or from any window."

"My poor Louis!" said Carrados, in friendly ridicule. "You were at theend of your tether?"

"I was," admitted Carlyle. "And now that you know the sort of job itis I don't suppose that you are keen on wasting your time over it."

"That would hardly be fair, would it?" said Carrados reasonably. "No,Louis, I will take over your honest old driver and your greasy youngsignalman and your fatal signal that cannot be seen from anywhere."

"But it is an important point for you to remember, Max, that althoughthe signal cannot be seen from the box, if the mechanism had gonewrong, or anyone tampered with the arm, the automatic indicator wouldat once have told Mead that the green light was showing. Oh, I havegone very thoroughly into the technical points, I assure you."

"I must do so too," commented Mr. Carrados gravely.

"For that matter, if there is anything you want to know, I dare saythat I can tell you," suggested his visitor. "It might save yourtime."

"True," acquiesced Carrados. "I should like to know whether anyonebelonging to the houses that bound the line there came of age or gotmarried on the twenty-sixth of November."

Mr. Carlyle looked across curiously at his host.

"I really do not know, Max," he replied, in his crisp, precise way.
"What on earth has that got to do with it, may I inquire?"

"The only explanation of the Pont St. Lin swing-bridge disaster of '75was the reflection of a green bengal light on a cottage window."

Mr. Carlyle smiled his indulgence privately.

"My dear chap, you mustn't let your retentive memory of obscurehappenings run away with you," he remarked wisely. "In nine cases outof ten the obvious explanation is the true one. The difficulty, ashere, lies in proving it. Now, you would like to see these men?"

"I expect so; in any case, I will see Hutchins first."

"Both live in Holloway. Shall I ask Hutchins to come here to seeyou—say to-morrow? He is doing nothing."

"No," replied Carrados. "To-morrow I must call on my brokers and mytime may be filled up."

"Quite right; you mustn't neglect your own affairs forthis—experiment," assented Carlyle.

"Besides, I should prefer to drop in on Hutchins at his own home. Now,Louis, enough of the honest old man for one night. I have a lovelything by Eumenes that I want to show you. To-day is—Tuesday. Come todinner on Sunday and pour the vials of your ridicule on my want ofsuccess."

"That's an amiable way of putting it," replied Carlyle. "All right, Iwill."

Two hours later Carrados was again in his study, apparently, for awonder, sitting idle. Sometimes he smiled to himself, and once ortwice he laughed a little, but for the most part his pleasant,impassive face reflected no emotion and he sat with his useless eyestranquilly fixed on an unseen distance. It was a fantastic caprice ofthe man to mock his sightlessness by a parade of light, and under thesoft brilliance of a dozen electric brackets the room was as bright asday. At length he stood up and rang the bell.

"I suppose Mr. Greatorex isn't still here by any chance, Parkinson?"he asked, referring to his secretary.

"I think not, sir, but I will ascertain," replied the man.

"Never mind. Go to his room and bring me the last two files ofThe
Times. Now"—when he returned—"turn to the earliest you have there.
The date?"

"November the second."

"That will do. Find the Money Market; it will be in the Supplement.
Now look down the columns until you come to British Railways."

"I have it, sir."

"Central and Suburban. Read the closing price and the change."

"Central and Suburban Ordinary, 66-1/2-67-1/2, fall 1/8. PreferredOrdinary, 81-81-1/2, no change. Deferred Ordinary, 27-1/2-27-3/4, fall1/4. That is all, sir."

"Now take a paper about a week on. Read the Deferred only."

"27-27-1/4, no change."

"Another week."

"29-1/2-30, rise 5/8."

"Another."

"31-1/2-32-1/2, rise 1."

"Very good. Now on Tuesday the twenty-seventh November."

"31-7/8-32-3/4, rise 1/2."

"Yes. The next day."

"24-1/2-23-1/2, fall 9."

"Quite so, Parkinson. There had been an accident, you see."

"Yes, sir. Very unpleasant accident. Jane knows a person whosesister's young man has a cousin who had his arm torn off in it—tornoff at the socket, she says, sir. It seems to bring it home to one,sir."

"That is all. Stay—in the paper you have, look down the first moneycolumn and see if there is any reference to the Central and Suburban."

"Yes, sir. 'City and Suburbans, which after their late depression onthe projected extension of the motor bus service, had been steadilycreeping up on the abandonment of the scheme, and as a result of theirown excellent traffic returns, suffered a heavy slump through thelamentable accident of Thursday night. The Deferred in particular atone time fell eleven points as it was felt that the possible dividend,with which rumour has of late been busy, was now out of thequestion.'"

"Yes; that is all. Now you can take the papers back. And let it be awarning to you, Parkinson, not to invest your savings in speculativerailway deferreds."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, I will endeavour to remember." He lingeredfor a moment as he shook the file of papers level. "I may say, sir,that I have my eye on a small block of cottage property at Acton. Buteven cottage property scarcely seems safe from legislative depredationnow, sir."

The next day Mr. Carrados called on his brokers in the city. It is tobe presumed that he got through his private business quicker than heexpected, for after leaving Austin Friars he continued his journey toHolloway, where he found Hutchins at home and sitting morosely beforehis kitchen fire. Rightly assuming that his luxuriant car wouldinvolve him in a certain amount of public attention in KlondykeStreet, the blind man dismissed it some distance from the house, andwalked the rest of the way, guided by the almost imperceptible touchof Parkinson's arm.

"Here is a gentleman to see you, father," explained Miss Hutchins, whohad come to the door. She divined the relative positions of the twovisitors at a glance.

"Then why don't you take him into the parlour?" grumbled theex-driver. His face was a testimonial of hard work and generalsobriety but at the moment one might hazard from his voice and mannerthat he had been drinking earlier in the day.

"I don't think that the gentleman would be impressed by the differencebetween our parlour and our kitchen," replied the girl quaintly, "andit is warmer here."

"What's the matter with the parlour now?" demanded her father sourly."It was good enough for your mother and me. It used to be good enoughfor you."

"There is nothing the matter with it, nor with the kitchen either."She turned impassively to the two who had followed her along thenarrow passage. "Will you go in, sir?"

"I don't want to see no gentleman," cried Hutchins noisily."Unless"—his manner suddenly changed to one of pitiableanxiety—"unless you're from the Company sir, to—to—"

"No; I have come on Mr. Carlyle's behalf," replied Carrados, walkingto a chair as though he moved by a kind of instinct.

Hutchins laughed his wry contempt.

"Mr. Carlyle!" he reiterated; "Mr. Carlyle! Fat lot of good he's been.
Why don't hedo something for his money?"

"He has," replied Carrados, with imperturbable good-humour; "he hassent me. Now, I want to ask you a few questions."

"A few questions!" roared the irate man. "Why, blast it, I have donenothing else but answer questions for a month. I didn't pay Mr.Carlyle to ask me questions; I can get enough of that for nixes. Whydon't you go and ask Mr. Herbert Ananias Mead your few questions—thenyou might find out something."

There was a slight movement by the door and Carrados knew that thegirl had quietly left the room.

"You saw that, sir?" demanded the father, diverted to a new line ofbitterness. "You saw that girl—my own daughter, that I've worked forall her life?"

"No," replied Carrados.

"The girl that's just gone out—she's my daughter," explained
Hutchins.

"I know, but I did not see her. I see nothing. I am blind."

"Blind!" exclaimed the old fellow, sitting up in startled wonderment."You mean it, sir? You walk all right and you look at me as if you sawme. You're kidding surely."

"No," smiled Carrados. "It's quite right."

"Then it's a funny business, sir—you what are blind expecting to findsomething that those with their eyes couldn't," ruminated Hutchinssagely.

"There are things that you can't see with your eyes, Hutchins."

"Perhaps you are right, sir. Well, what is it you want to know?"

"Light a cigar first," said the blind man, holding out his case andwaiting until the various sounds told him that his host was smokingcontentedly. "The train you were driving at the time of the accidentwas the six-twenty-seven from Notcliff. It stopped everywhere until itreached Lambeth Bridge, the chief London station on your line. Thereit became something of an express, and leaving Lambeth Bridge atseven-eleven, should not stop again until it fetched Swanstead onThames, eleven miles out, at seven-thirty-four. Then it stopped on andoff from Swanstead to Ingerfield, the terminus of that branch, whichit reached at eight-five."

Hutchins nodded, and then, remembering, said: "That's right, sir."

"That was your business all day—running between Notcliff and
Ingerfield?"

"Yes, sir. Three journeys up and three down mostly."

"With the same stops on all the down journeys?"

"No. The seven-eleven is the only one that does a run from the Bridgeto Swanstead. You see, it is just on the close of the evening rush, asthey call it. A good many late business gentlemen living at Swansteaduse the seven-eleven regular. The other journeys we stop at everystation to Lambeth Bridge, and then here and there beyond."

"There are, of course, other trains doing exactly the same journey—aservice, in fact?"

"Yes, sir. About six."

"And do any of those—say, during the rush—do any of those runnon-stop from Lambeth to Swanstead?"

Hutchins reflected a moment. All the choler and restlessness hadmelted out of the man's face. He was again the excellent artisan, slowbut capable and self-reliant.

"That I couldn't definitely say, sir. Very few short-distance trainspass the junction, but some of those may. A guide would show us in aminute but I haven't got one."

"Never mind. You said at the inquest that it was no uncommon thing foryou to be pulled up at the 'stop' signal east of Knight's CrossStation. How often would that happen—only with the seven-eleven,mind."

"Perhaps three times a week; perhaps twice."

"The accident was on a Thursday. Have you noticed that you were pulledup oftener on a Thursday than on any other day?"

A smile crossed the driver's face at the question.

"You don't happen to live at Swanstead yourself, sir?" he asked inreply.

"No," admitted Carrados. "Why?"

"Well, sir, we werealways pulled up on Thursday; practicallyalways, you may say. It got to be quite a saying among those who usedthe train regular; they used to look out for it."

Carrados's sightless eyes had the one quality of concealing emotionsupremely. "Oh," he commented softly, "always; and it was quite asaying, was it? Andwhy was it always so on Thursday?"

"It had to do with the early closing, I'm told. The suburban trafficwas a bit different. By rights we ought to have been set back twominutes for that day, but I suppose it wasn't thought worth while toalter us in the time-table so we most always had to wait outside ThreeDeep tunnel for a west-bound electric to make good."

"You were prepared for it then?"

"Yes, sir, I was," said Hutchins, reddening at some recollection, "andvery down about it was one of the jury over that. But, mayhap once inthree months, I did get through even on a Thursday, and it's not forme to question whether things are right or wrong just because they arenot what I may expect. The signals are my orders, sir—stop! go on!and it's for me to obey, as you would a general on the field ofbattle. What would happen otherwise! It was nonsense what they saidabout going cautious; and the man who stated it was a barber whodidn't know the difference between a 'distance' and a 'stop' signaldown to the minute they gave their verdict. My orders, sir, given meby that signal, was 'Go right ahead and keep to your running time!'"

Carrados nodded a soothing assent. "That is all, I think," heremarked.

"All!" exclaimed Hutchins in surprise. "Why, sir, you can't have gotmuch idea of it yet."

"Quite enough. And I know it isn't pleasant for you to be taken alongthe same ground over and over again."

The man moved awkwardly in his chair and pulled nervously at hisgrizzled beard.

"You mustn't take any notice of what I said just now, sir," heapologized. "You somehow make me feel that something may come of it;but I've been badgered about and accused and cross-examined from oneto another of them these weeks till it's fairly made me bitter againsteverything. And now they talk of putting me in a lavatory—me that hasbeen with the company for five and forty years and on the foot-platethirty-two—a man suspected of running past a danger signal."

"You have had a rough time, Hutchins; you will have to exercise yourpatience a little longer yet," said Carrados sympathetically.

"You think something may come of it, sir? You think you will be ableto clear me? Believe me, sir, if you could give me something to lookforward to it might save me from—" He pulled himself up and shook hishead sorrowfully. "I've been near it," he added simply.

Carrados reflected and took his resolution.

"To-day is Wednesday. I think you may hope to hear something from yourgeneral manager towards the middle of next week."

"Good God, sir! You really mean that?"

"In the interval show your good sense by behaving reasonably. Keepcivilly to yourself and don't talk. Above all"—he nodded towards aquart jug that stood on the table between them, an incident thatfilled the simple-minded engineer with boundless wonder when herecalled it afterwards—"above all, leave that alone."

Hutchins snatched up the vessel and brought it crashing down on thehearthstone, his face shining with a set resolution.

"I've done with it, sir. It was the bitterness and despair that droveme to that. Now I can do without it."

The door was hastily opened and Miss Hutchins looked anxiously fromher father to the visitors and back again.

"Oh, whatever is the matter?" she exclaimed. "I heard a great crash."

"This gentleman is going to clear me, Meg, my dear," blurted out theold man irrepressibly. "And I've done with the drink for ever."

"Hutchins! Hutchins!" said Carrados warningly.

"My daughter, sir; you wouldn't have her not know?" pleaded Hutchins,rather crest-fallen. "It won't go any further."

Carrados laughed quietly to himself as he felt Margaret Hutchins'sstartled and questioning eyes attempting to read his mind. He shookhands with the engine-driver without further comment, however, andwalked out into the commonplace little street under Parkinson'sunobtrusive guidance.

"Very nice of Miss Hutchins to go into half-mourning, Parkinson," heremarked as they went along. "Thoughtful, and yet not ostentatious."

"Yes, sir," agreed Parkinson, who had long ceased to wonder at hismaster's perceptions.

"The Romans, Parkinson, had a saying to the effect that gold carriesno smell. That is a pity sometimes. What jewellery did Miss Hutchinswear?"

"Very little, sir. A plain gold brooch representing amerry-thought—the merry-thought of a sparrow, I should say, sir. Theonly other article was a smooth-backed gun-metal watch, suspended froma gun-metal bow."

"Nothing showy or expensive, eh?"

"Oh dear no, sir. Quite appropriate for a young person of herposition."

"Just what I should have expected." He slackened his pace. "We arepassing a hoarding, are we not?"

"Yes, sir."

"We will stand here a moment. Read me the letterpress of the posterbefore us."

"This 'Oxo' one, sir?"

"Yes."

"'Oxo,' sir."

Carrados was convulsed with silent laughter. Parkinson had infinitelymore dignity and conceded merely a tolerant recognition of theludicrous.

"That was a bad shot, Parkinson," remarked his master when he couldspeak. "We will try another."

For three minutes, with scrupulous conscientiousness on the part ofthe reader and every appearance of keen interest on the part of thehearer, there were set forth the particulars of a sale by auction ofsuperfluous timber and builders' material.

"That will do," said Carrados, when the last detail had been reached.
"We can be seen from the door of No. 107 still?"

"Yes, sir."

"No indication of anyone coming to us from there?"

"No, sir."

Carrados walked thoughtfully on again. In the Holloway Road theyrejoined the waiting motor-car.

"Lambeth Bridge Station" was the order the driver received.

From the station the car was sent on home and Parkinson was instructedto take two first-class singles for Richmond, which could be reachedby changing at Stafford Road. The "evening rush" had not yet commencedand they had no difficulty in finding an empty carriage when the traincame in.

Parkinson was kept busy that journey describing what he saw at variouspoints between Lambeth Bridge and Knight's Cross. For a quarter of amile Carrados's demands on the eyes and the memory of his remarkableservant were wide and incessant. Then his questions ceased. They hadpassed the "stop" signal, east of Knight's Cross Station.

The following afternoon they made the return journey as far asKnight's Cross. This time, however, the surroundings failed tointerest Carrados. "We are going to look at some rooms," was theinformation he offered on the subject, and an imperturbable "Yes, sir"had been the extent of Parkinson's comment on the unusual proceeding.After leaving the station they turned sharply along a road that ranparallel with the line, a dull thoroughfare of substantial, elderlyhouses that were beginning to sink into decrepitude. Here and there acorner residence displayed the brass plate of a professional occupant,but for the most part they were given up to the various branches ofsecond-rate apartment letting.

"The third house after the one with the flagstaff," said Carrados.

Parkinson rang the bell, which was answered by a young servant, whotook an early opportunity of assuring them that she was not tidy as itwas rather early in the afternoon. She informed Carrados, in reply tohis inquiry, that Miss Chubb was at home, and showed them into amelancholy little sitting-room to await her appearance.

"I shall be 'almost' blind here, Parkinson," remarked Carrados,walking about the room. "It saves explanation."

"Very good, sir," replied Parkinson.

Five minutes later, an interval suggesting that Miss Chubb also foundit rather early in the afternoon, Carrados was arranging to take roomsfor his attendant and himself for the short time that he would be inLondon, seeing an oculist.

"One bedroom, mine, must face north," he stipulated. "It has to dowith the light."

Miss Chubb replied that she quite understood. Some gentlemen, sheadded, had their requirements, others their fancies. She endeavouredto suit all. The bedroom she had in view from the firstdid facenorth. She would not have known, only the last gentleman, curiouslyenough, had made the same request.

"A sufferer like myself?" inquired Carrados affably.

Miss Chubb did not think so. In his case she regarded it merely as afancy. He had said that he could not sleep on any other side. She hadhad to turn out of her own room to accommodate him, but if one kept anapartment-house one had to be adaptable; and Mr. Ghoosh was certainlyvery liberal in his ideas.

"Ghoosh? An Indian gentleman, I presume?" hazarded Carrados.

It appeared that Mr. Ghoosh was an Indian. Miss Chubb confided that atfirst she had been rather perturbed at the idea of taking in "a blackman," as she confessed to regarding him. She reiterated, however, thatMr. Ghoosh proved to be "quite the gentleman." Five minutes ofaffability put Carrados in full possession of Mr. Ghoosh's manner oflife and movements—the dates of his arrival and departure, hissolitariness and his daily habits.

"This would be the best bedroom," said Miss Chubb.

It was a fair-sized room on the first floor. The window looked out onto the roof of an outbuilding; beyond, the deep cutting of the railwayline. Opposite stood the dead wall that Mr. Carlyle had spoken of.

Carrados "looked" round the room with the discriminating glance thatsometimes proved so embarrassing to those who knew him.

"I have to take a little daily exercise," he remarked, walking to thewindow and running his hand up the woodwork. "You will not mind myfixing a 'developer' here, Miss Chubb—a few small screws?"

Miss Chubb thought not. Then she was sure not. Finally she ridiculedthe idea of minding with scorn.

"If there is width enough," mused Carrados, spanning the uprightcritically. "Do you happen to have a wooden foot-rule convenient?"

"Well, to be sure!" exclaimed Miss Chubb, opening a rapid successionof drawers until she produced the required article. "When we did outthis room after Mr. Ghoosh, there was this very ruler among the thingsthat he hadn't thought worth taking. This is what you require, sir?"

"Yes," replied Carrados, accepting it, "I think this is exactly what Irequire." It was a common new white-wood rule, such as one might buyat any small stationer's for a penny. He carelessly took off the widthof the upright, reading the figures with a touch; and then continuedto run a finger-tip delicately up and down the edges of theinstrument.

"Four and seven-eighths," was his unspoken conclusion.

"I hope it will do sir."

"Admirably," replied Carrados. "But I haven't reached the end of myrequirements yet, Miss Chubb."

"No, sir?" said the landlady, feeling that it would be a pleasure tooblige so agreeable a gentleman, "what else might there be?"

"Although I can see very little I like to have a light, but not anykind of light. Gas I cannot do with. Do you think that you would beable to find me an oil lamp?"

"Certainly, sir. I got out a very nice brass lamp that I havespecially for Mr. Ghoosh. He read a good deal of an evening and hepreferred a lamp."

"That is very convenient. I suppose it is large enough to burn for awhole evening?"

"Yes, indeed. And very particular he was always to have it filledevery day."

"A lamp without oil is not very useful," smiled Carrados, followingher towards another room, and absent-mindedly slipping the foot-ruleinto his pocket.

Whatever Parkinson thought of the arrangement of going intosecond-rate apartments in an obscure street it is to be inferred thathis devotion to his master was sufficient to overcome his privateemotions as a self-respecting "man." At all events, as they wereapproaching the station he asked, and without a trace of feeling,whether there were any orders for him with reference to the proposedmigration.

"None, Parkinson," replied his master. "We must be satisfied with ourpresent quarters."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Parkinson, with some constraint. "Iunderstand that you had taken the rooms for a week certain."

"I am afraid that Miss Chubb will be under the same impression.Unforeseen circumstances will prevent our going, however. Mr.Greatorex must write to-morrow, enclosing a cheque, with my regrets,and adding a penny for this ruler which I seem to have brought awaywith me. It, at least, is something for the money."

Parkinson may be excused for not attempting to understand the courseof events.

"Here is your train coming in, sir," he merely said.

"We will let it go and wait for another. Is there a signal at eitherend of the platform?"

"Yes, sir; at the further end."

"Let us walk towards it. Are there any of the porters or officialsabout here?"

"No, sir; none."

"Take this ruler. I want you to go up the steps—there are steps upthe signal, by the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to measure the glass of the lamp. Do not go up any higherthan is necessary, but if you have to stretch be careful not to markoff the measurement with your nail, although the impulse is a naturalone. That has been done already."

Parkinson looked apprehensively round and about. Fortunately the partwas a dark and unfrequented spot and everyone else was moving towardsthe exit at the other end of the platform. Fortunately, also, thesignal was not a high one.

"As near as I can judge on the rounded surface, the glass is four andseven-eighths across," reported Parkinson.

"Thank you," replied Carrados, returning the measure to his pocket,"four and seven-eighths is quite near enough. Now we will take thenext train back."

Sunday evening came, and with it Mr. Carlyle to The Turrets at theappointed hour. He brought to the situation a mind poised for anyeventuality and a trenchant eye. As the time went on and theimpenetrable Carrados made no allusion to the case, Carlyle's mannerinclined to a waggish commiseration of his host's position. Actually,he said little, but the crisp precision of his voice when the path layopen to a remark of any significance left little to be said.

It was not until they had finished dinner and returned to the librarythat Carrados gave the slightest hint of anything unusual being in theair. His first indication of coming events was to remove the key fromthe outside to the inside of the door.

"What are you doing, Max?" demanded Mr. Carlyle, his curiosityovercoming the indirect attitude.

"You have been very entertaining, Louis," replied his friend, "butParkinson should be back very soon now and it is as well to beprepared. Do you happen to carry a revolver?"

"Not when I come to dine with you, Max," replied Carlyle, with all theaplomb he could muster. "Is it usual?"

Carrados smiled affectionately at his guest's agile recovery andtouched the secret spring of a drawer in an antique bureau by hisside. The little hidden receptacle shot smoothly out, disclosing apair of dull-blued pistols.

"To-night, at all events, it might be prudent," he replied, handingone to Carlyle and putting the other into his own pocket. "Our man maybe here at any minute, and we do not know in what temper he willcome."

"Our man!" exclaimed Carlyle, craning forward in excitement. "Max! youdon't mean to say that you have got Mead to admit it?"

"No one has admitted it," said Carrados. "And it is not Mead."

"Not Mead…. Do you mean that Hutchins—?"

"Neither Mead nor Hutchins. The man who tampered with the signal—for
Hutchins was right and a green lightwas exhibited—is a young
Indian from Bengal. His name is Drishna and he lives at Swanstead."

Mr. Carlyle stared at his friend between sheer surprise and blankincredulity.

"You really mean this, Carrados?" he said.

"My fatal reputation for humour!" smiled Carrados. "If I am wrong,
Louis, the next hour will expose it."

"But why—why—why? The colossal villainy, the unparalleled audacity!"Mr. Carlyle lost himself among incredulous superlatives and could onlystare.

"Chiefly to get himself out of a disastrous speculation," repliedCarrados, answering the question. "If there was another motive—or atleast an incentive—which I suspect, doubtless we shall hear of it."

"All the same, Max, I don't think that you have treated me quitefairly," protested Carlyle, getting over his first surprise andpassing to a sense of injury. "Here we are and I know nothing,absolutely nothing, of the whole affair."

"We both have our ideas of pleasantry, Louis," replied Carradosgenially. "But I dare say you are right and perhaps there is stilltime to atone." In the fewest possible words he outlined the course ofhis investigations. "And now you know all that is to be known untilDrishna arrives."

"But will he come?" questioned Carlyle doubtfully. "He may besuspicious."

"Yes, he will be suspicious."

"Then he will not come."

"On the contrary, Louis, he will come because my letter will make himsuspicious. Heis coming; otherwise Parkinson would have telephonedme at once and we should have had to take other measures."

"What did you say, Max?" asked Carlyle curiously.

"I wrote that I was anxious to discuss an Indo-Scythian inscriptionwith him, and sent my car in the hope that he would be able to obligeme."

"But is he interested in Indo-Scythian inscriptions?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," admitted Carrados, and Mr. Carlyle wasthrowing up his hands in despair when the sound of a motor-car wheelssoftly kissing the gravel surface of the drive outside brought him tohis feet.

"By Gad, you are right, Max!" he exclaimed, peeping through thecurtains. "There is a man inside."

"Mr. Drishna," announced Parkinson a minute later.

The visitor came into the room with leisurely self-possession thatmight have been real or a desperate assumption. He was a slightlybuilt young man of about twenty-five, with black hair and eyes, asmall, carefully trained moustache, and a dark olive skin. Hisphysiognomy was not displeasing, but his expression had a harsh andsupercilious tinge. In attire he erred towards the immaculatelyspruce.

"Mr. Carrados?" he said inquiringly.

Carrados, who had risen, bowed slightly without offering his hand.

"This gentleman," he said, indicating his friend, "is Mr. Carlyle, thecelebrated private detective."

The Indian shot a very sharp glance at the object of this description.
Then he sat down.

"You wrote me a letter, Mr. Carrados," he remarked, in English thatscarcely betrayed any foreign origin, "a rather curious letter, I maysay. You asked me about an ancient inscription. I know nothing ofantiquities; but I thought, as you had sent, that it would be morecourteous if I came and explained this to you."

"That was the object of my letter," replied Carrados.

"You wished to see me?" said Drishna, unable to stand the ordeal ofthe silence that Carrados imposed after his remark.

"When you left Miss Chubb's house you left a ruler behind." One lay onthe desk by Carrados and he took it up as he spoke.

"I don't understand what you are talking about," said Drishnaguardedly. "You are making some mistake."

"The ruler was marked at four and seven-eighths inches—the measure ofthe glass of the signal lamp outside."

The unfortunate young man was unable to repress a start. His face lostits healthy tone. Then, with a sudden impulse, he made a step forwardand snatched the object from Carrados's hand.

"If it is mine I have a right to it," he exclaimed, snapping the rulerin two and throwing it on to the back of the blazing fire. "It isnothing."

"Pardon me, I did not say that the one you have so impetuouslydisposed of was yours. As a matter of fact, it was mine. Yoursis—elsewhere."

"Wherever it is you have no right to it if it is mine," pantedDrishna, with rising excitement. "You are a thief, Mr. Carrados. Iwill not stay any longer here."

He jumped up and turned towards the door. Carlyle made a step forward,but the precaution was unnecessary.

"One moment, Mr. Drishna," interposed Carrados, in his smoothesttones. "It is a pity, after you have come so far, to leave withouthearing of my investigations in the neighbourhood of ShaftesburyAvenue."

Drishna sat down again.

"As you like," he muttered. "It does not interest me."

"I wanted to obtain a lamp of a certain pattern," continued Carrados."It seemed to me that the simplest explanation would be to say that Iwanted it for a motor-car. Naturally I went to Long Acre. At the firstshop I said: 'Wasn't it here that a friend of mine, an Indiangentleman, recently had a lamp made with a green glass that was nearlyfive inches across?' No, it was not there but they could make me one.At the next shop the same; at the third, and fourth, and so on.Finally my persistence was rewarded. I found the place where the lamphad been made, and at the cost of ordering another I obtained all thedetails I wanted. It was news to them, the shopman informed me, thatin some parts of India green was the danger colour and therefore taillamps had to show a green light. The incident made some impression onhim and he would be able to identify their customer—who paid inadvance and gave no address—among a thousand of his countrymen. Do Isucceed in interesting you, Mr. Drishna?"

"Do you?" replied Drishna, with a languid yawn. "Do I lookinterested?"

"You must make allowance for my unfortunate blindness," apologized
Carrados, with grim irony.

"Blindness!" exclaimed Drishna, dropping his affectation of unconcernas though electrified by the word, "do you mean—really blind—thatyou do not see me?"

"Alas, no," admitted Carrados.

The Indian withdrew his right hand from his coat pocket and with atragic gesture flung a heavy revolver down on the table between them.

"I have had you covered all the time, Mr. Carrados, and if I hadwished to go and you or your friend had raised a hand to stop me, itwould have been at the peril of your lives," he said, in a voice ofmelancholy triumph. "But what is the use of defying fate, and whosuccessfully evades his destiny? A month ago I went to see one of ourpeople who reads the future and sought to know the course of certainevents. 'You need fear no human eye,' was the message given to me.Then she added: 'But when the sightless sees the unseen, make yourpeace with Yama.' And I thought she spoke of the Great Hereafter!"

"This amounts to an admission of your guilt," exclaimed Mr. Carlylepractically.

"I bow to the decree of fate," replied Drishna. "And it is fitting tothe universal irony of existence that a blind man should be theinstrument. I don't imagine, Mr. Carlyle," he added maliciously, "thatyou, with your eyes, would ever have brought that result about."

"You are a very cold-blooded young scoundrel, sir!" retorted Mr.Carlyle. "Good heavens! do you realize that you are responsible forthe death of scores of innocent men and women?"

"Doyou realize, Mr. Carlyle, that you and your Government and yoursoldiers are responsible for the death of thousands of innocent menand women in my country every day? If England was occupied by theGermans who quartered an army and an administration with their wivesand their families and all their expensive paraphernalia on theunfortunate country until the whole nation was reduced to the verge offamine, and the appointment of every new official meant the callousdeath sentence on a thousand men and women to pay his salary, then ifyou went to Berlin and wrecked a train you would be hailed a patriot.What Boadicea did and—and Samson, so have I. If they were heroes, soam I."

"Well, upon my word!" cried the highly scandalized Carlyle, "whatnext! Boadicea was a—er—semi-legendary person, whom we may possiblyadmire at a distance. Personally, I do not profess to express anopinion. But Samson, I would remind you, is a Biblical character.Samson was mocked as an enemy. You, I do not doubt, have beenentertained as a friend."

"And haven't I been mocked and despised and sneered at every day of mylife here by your supercilious, superior, empty-headed men?" flashedback Drishna, his eyes leaping into malignity and his voice tremblingwith sudden passion. "Oh! how I hated them as I passed them in thestreet and recognized by a thousand petty insults their lordly Englishcontempt for me as an inferior being—a nigger. How I longed withCaligula that a nation had a single neck that I might destroy it atone blow. I loathe you in your complacent hypocrisy, Mr. Carlyle,despise and utterly abominate you from an eminence of superiority thatyou can never even understand."

"I think we are getting rather away from the point, Mr. Drishna,"interposed Carrados, with the impartiality of a judge. "Unless I ammisinformed, you are not so ungallant as to include everyone you havemet here in your execration?"

"Ah, no," admitted Drishna, descending into a quite ingenuousfrankness. "Much as I hate your men I love your women. How is itpossible that a nation should be so divided—its men so dull-wittedand offensive, its women so quick, sympathetic and capable ofappreciating?"

"But a little expensive, too, at times?" suggested Carrados.

Drishna sighed heavily.

"Yes; it is incredible. It is the generosity of their large nature. Myallowance, though what most of you would call noble, has proved quiteinadequate. I was compelled to borrow money and the interest becameoverwhelming. Bankruptcy was impracticable because I should have thenbeen recalled by my people, and much as I detest England a certainreason made the thought of leaving it unbearable."

"Connected with the Arcady Theatre?"

"You know? Well, do not let us introduce the lady's name. In order torestore myself I speculated on the Stock Exchange. My credit was goodthrough my father's position and the standing of the firm to which Iam attached. I heard on reliable authority, and very early, that theCentral and Suburban, and the Deferred especially, was safe to fallheavily, through a motor bus amalgamation that was then a secret. Iopened a bear account and sold largely. The shares fell, but onlyfractionally, and I waited. Then, unfortunately, they began to go up.Adverse forces were at work and rumours were put about. I could notstand the settlement, and in order to carry over an account I wasliterally compelled to deal temporarily with some securities that werenot technically my own property."

"Embezzlement, sir," commented Mr. Carlyle icily. "But what isembezzlement on the top of wholesale murder!"

"That is what it is called. In my case, however, it was only to betemporary. Unfortunately, the rise continued. Then, at the height ofmy despair, I chanced to be returning to Swanstead rather earlier thanusual one evening, and the train was stopped at a certain signal tolet another pass. There was conversation in the carriage and I learnedcertain details. One said that there would be an accident some day,and so forth. In a flash—as by an inspiration—I saw how thecircumstance might be turned to account. A bad accident and the shareswould certainly fall and my position would be retrieved. I think Mr.Carrados has somehow learned the rest."

"Max," said Mr. Carlyle, with emotion, "is there any reason why youshould not send your man for a police officer and have this monsterarrested on his own confession without further delay?"

"Pray do so, Mr. Carrados," acquiesced Drishna. "I shall certainly behanged, but the speech I shall prepare will ring from one end of Indiato the other; my memory will be venerated as that of a martyr; and theemancipation of my motherland will be hastened by my sacrifice."

"In other words," commented Carrados, "there will be disturbances athalf-a-dozen disaffected places, a few unfortunate police will beclubbed to death, and possibly worse things may happen. That does notsuit us, Mr. Drishna."

"And how do you propose to prevent it?" asked Drishna, with coolassurance.

"It is very unpleasant being hanged on a dark winter morning; verycold, very friendless, very inhuman. The long trial, the solitude andthe confinement, the thoughts of the long sleepless night before, thehangman and the pinioning and the noosing of the rope, are apt to preyon the imagination. Only a very stupid man can take hanging easily."

"What do you want me to do instead, Mr. Carrados?" asked Drishnashrewdly.

Carrados's hand closed on the weapon that still lay on the tablebetween them. Without a word he pushed it across.

"I see," commented Drishna, with a short laugh and a gleaming eye."Shoot myself and hush it up to suit your purpose. Withhold my messageto save the exposures of a trial, and keep the flame from the torch ofinsurrectionary freedom."

"Also," interposed Carrados mildly, "to save your worthy people a gooddeal of shame, and to save the lady who is nameless the unpleasantnecessity of relinquishing the house and the income which you havejust settled on her. She certainly would not then venerate yourmemory."

"What is that?"

"The transaction which you carried through was based on a felony andcould not be upheld. The firm you dealt with will go to the courts,and the money, being directly traceable, will be held forfeit as nogood consideration passed."

"Max!" cried Mr. Carlyle hotly, "you are not going to let thisscoundrel cheat the gallows after all?"

"The best use you can make of the gallows is to cheat it, Louis,"replied Carrados. "Have you ever reflected what human beings willthink of us a hundred years hence?"

"Oh, of course I'm not really in favour of hanging," admitted Mr.
Carlyle.

"Nobody really is. But we go on hanging. Mr. Drishna is a dangerousanimal who for the sake of pacific animals must cease to exist. Lethis barbarous exploit pass into oblivion with him. The disadvantagesof spreading it broadcast immeasurably outweigh the benefits."

"I have considered," announced Drishna. "I will do as you wish."

"Very well," said Carrados. "Here is some plain notepaper. You hadbetter write a letter to someone saying that the financialdifficulties in which you are involved make life unbearable."

"But there are no financial difficulties—now."

"That does not matter in the least. It will be put down to anhallucination and taken as showing the state of your mind."

"But what guarantee have we that he will not escape?" whispered Mr.
Carlyle.

"He cannot escape," replied Carrados tranquilly. "His identity is tooclear."

"I have no intention of trying to escape," put in Drishna, as hewrote. "You hardly imagine that I have not considered thiseventuality, do you?"

"All the same," murmured the ex-lawyer, "I should like to have a jurybehind me. It is one thing to execute a man morally; it is another todo it almost literally."

"Is that all right?" asked Drishna, passing across the letter he hadwritten.

Carrados smiled at this tribute to his perception.

"Quite excellent," he replied courteously. "There is a train atnine-forty. Will that suit you?"

Drishna nodded and stood up. Mr. Carlyle had a very uneasy feelingthat he ought to do something but could not suggest to himself what.

The next moment he heard his friend heartily thanking the visitor forthe assistance he had been in the matter of the Indo-Scythianinscription, as they walked across the hall together. Then a doorclosed.

"I believe that there is something positively uncanny about Max attimes," murmured the perturbed gentleman to himself.

THE TRAGEDY AT BROOKBEND COTTAGE

"Max," said Mr. Carlyle, when Parkinson had closed the door behindhim, "this is Lieutenant Hollyer, whom you consented to see."

"To hear," corrected Carrados, smiling straight into the healthy andrather embarrassed face of the stranger before him. "Mr. Hollyer knowsof my disability?"

"Mr. Carlyle told me," said the young man, "but, as a matter of fact,I had heard of you before, Mr. Carrados, from one of our men. It wasin connection with the foundering of theIvan Saratov."

Carrados wagged his head in good-humoured resignation.

"And the owners were sworn to inviolable secrecy!" he exclaimed.
"Well, it is inevitable, I suppose. Not another scuttling case, Mr.
Hollyer?"

"No, mine is quite a private matter," replied the lieutenant. "Mysister, Mrs. Creake—but Mr. Carlyle would tell you better than I can.He knows all about it."

"No, no; Carlyle is a professional. Let me have it in the rough, Mr.
Hollyer. My ears are my eyes, you know."

"Very well, sir. I can tell you what there is to tell, right enough,but I feel that when all's said and done it must sound very little toanother, although it seems important to me."

"We have occasionally found trifles of significance ourselves," said
Carrados encouragingly. "Don't let that deter you."

This was the essence of Lieutenant Hollyer's narrative:

"I have a sister, Millicent, who is married to a man called Creake.She is about twenty-eight now and he is at least fifteen years older.Neither my mother (who has since died) nor I cared very much aboutCreake. We had nothing particular against him, except, perhaps, themoderate disparity of age, but none of us appeared to have anything incommon. He was a dark, taciturn man, and his moody silence froze upconversation. As a result, of course, we didn't see much of eachother."

"This, you must understand, was four or five years ago, Max,"interposed Mr. Carlyle officiously.

Carrados maintained an uncompromising silence. Mr. Carlyle blew hisnose and contrived to impart a hurt significance into the operation.Then Lieutenant Hollyer continued:

"Millicent married Creake after a very short engagement. It was afrightfully subdued wedding—more like a funeral to me. The manprofessed to have no relations and apparently he had scarcely anyfriends or business acquaintances. He was an agent for something orother and had an office off Holborn. I suppose he made a living out ofit then, although we knew practically nothing of his private affairs,but I gather that it has been going down since, and I suspect that forthe past few years they have been getting along almost entirely onMillicent's little income. You would like the particulars of that?"

"Please," assented Carrados.

"When our father died about seven years ago, he left three thousandpounds. It was invested in Canadian stock and brought in a little overa hundred a year. By his will my mother was to have the income of thatfor life and on her death it was to pass to Millicent, subject to thepayment of a lump sum of five hundred pounds to me. But my fatherprivately suggested to me that if I should have no particular use forthe money at the time, he would propose my letting Millicent have theincome of it until I did want it, as she would not be particularlywell off. You see, Mr. Carrados, a great deal more had been spent onmy education and advancement than on her; I had my pay, and, ofcourse, I could look out for myself better than a girl could."

"Quite so," agreed Carrados.

"Therefore I did nothing about that," continued the lieutenant. "Threeyears ago I was over again but I did not see much of them. They wereliving in lodgings. That was the only time since the marriage that Ihave seen them until last week. In the meanwhile our mother had diedand Millicent had been receiving her income. She wrote me severalletters at the time. Otherwise we did not correspond much, but about ayear ago she sent me their new address—Brookbend Cottage, MullingCommon—a house that they had taken. When I got two months' leave Iinvited myself there as a matter of course, fully expecting to staymost of my time with them, but I made an excuse to get away after aweek. The place was dismal and unendurable, the whole life andatmosphere indescribably depressing." He looked round with an instinctof caution, leaned forward earnestly, and dropped his voice. "Mr.Carrados, it is my absolute conviction that Creake is only waiting fora favourable opportunity to murder Millicent."

"Go on," said Carrados quietly. "A week of the depressing surroundingsof Brookbend Cottage would not alone convince you of that, Mr.Hollyer."

"I am not so sure," declared Hollyer doubtfully. "There was a feelingof suspicion and—before me—polite hatred that would have gone a goodway towards it. All the same therewas something more definite.Millicent told me this the day after I went there. There is no doubtthat a few months ago Creake deliberately planned to poison her withsome weed-killer. She told me the circumstances in a rather distressedmoment, but afterwards she refused to speak of it again—even weaklydenied it—and, as a matter of fact, it was with the greatest ofdifficulty that I could get her at any time to talk about her husbandor his affairs. The gist of it was that she had the strongestsuspicion that Creake doctored a bottle of stout which he expected shewould drink for her supper when she was alone. The weed-killer,properly labelled, but also in a beer bottle, was kept with othermiscellaneous liquids in the same cupboard as the beer but on a highshelf. When he found that it had miscarried he poured away themixture, washed out the bottle and put in the dregs from another.There is no doubt in my mind that if he had come back and foundMillicent dead or dying he would have contrived it to appear that shehad made a mistake in the dark and drunk some of the poison before shefound out."

"Yes," assented Carrados. "The open way; the safe way."

"You must understand that they live in a very small style, Mr.Carrados, and Millicent is almost entirely in the man's power. Theonly servant they have is a woman who comes in for a few hours everyday. The house is lonely and secluded. Creake is sometimes away fordays and nights at a time, and Millicent, either through pride orindifference, seems to have dropped off all her old friends and tohave made no others. He might poison her, bury the body in the garden,and be a thousand miles away before anyone began even to inquire abouther. What am I to do, Mr. Carrados?"

"He is less likely to try poison than some other means now," pondered
Carrados. "That having failed, his wife will always be on her guard.
He may know, or at least suspect, that others know. No. … The
common-sense precaution would be for your sister to leave the man, Mr.
Hollyer. She will not?"

"No," admitted Hollyer, "she will not. I at once urged that." Theyoung man struggled with some hesitation for a moment and then blurtedout: "The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I don't understand Millicent. She isnot the girl she was. She hates Creake and treats him with a silentcontempt that eats into their lives like acid, and yet she is sojealous of him that she will let nothing short of death part them. Itis a horrible life they lead. I stood it for a week and I must say,much as I dislike my brother-in-law, that he has something to put upwith. If only he got into a passion like a man and killed her itwouldn't be altogether incomprehensible."

"That does not concern us," said Carrados. "In a game of this kind onehas to take sides and we have taken ours. It remains for us to seethat our side wins. You mentioned jealousy, Mr. Hollyer. Have you anyidea whether Mrs. Creake has real ground for it?"

"I should have told you that," replied Lieutenant Hollyer. "I happenedto strike up with a newspaper man whose office is in the same block asCreake's. When I mentioned the name he grinned. 'Creake,' he said,'oh, he's the man with the romantic typist, isn't he?' 'Well, he's mybrother-in-law,' I replied. 'What about the typist?' Then the chapshut up like a knife. 'No, no,' he said, 'I didn't know he wasmarried. I don't want to get mixed up in anything of that sort. I onlysaid that he had a typist. Well, what of that? So have we; so haseveryone.' There was nothing more to be got out of him, but the remarkand the grin meant—well, about as usual, Mr. Carrados."

Carrados turned to his friend.

"I suppose you know all about the typist by now, Louis?"

"We have had her under efficient observation, Max," replied Mr.
Carlyle with severe dignity.

"Is she unmarried?"

"Yes; so far as ordinary repute goes, she is."

"That is all that is essential for the moment. Mr. Hollyer opens upthree excellent reasons why this man might wish to dispose of hiswife. If we accept the suggestion of poisoning—though we have only ajealous woman's suspicion for it—we add to the wish thedetermination. Well, we will go forward on that. Have you got aphotograph of Mr. Creake?"

The lieutenant took out his pocket-book.

"Mr. Carlyle asked me for one. Here is the best I could get."

Carrados rang the bell.

"This, Parkinson," he said, when the man appeared, "is a photograph ofa Mr. —— What first name, by the way?"

"Austin," put in Hollyer, who was following everything with a boyishmixture of excitement and subdued importance.

"—of a Mr. Austin Creake. I may require you to recognize him."

Parkinson glanced at the print and returned it to his master's hand.

"May I inquire if it is a recent photograph of the gentleman, sir?" heasked.

"About six years ago," said the lieutenant, taking in this new actorin the drama with frank curiosity. "But he is very little changed."

"Thank you, sir. I will endeavour to remember Mr. Creake, sir."

Lieutenant Hollyer stood up as Parkinson left the room. The interviewseemed to be at an end.

"Oh, there's one other matter," he remarked. "I am afraid that I didrather an unfortunate thing while I was at Brookbend. It seemed to methat as all Millicent's money would probably pass into Creake's handssooner or later I might as well have my five hundred pounds, if onlyto help her with afterwards. So I broached the subject and said that Ishould like to have it now as I had an opportunity for investing."

"And you think?"

"It may possibly influence Creake to act sooner than he otherwisemight have done. He may have got possession of the principal even andfind it very awkward to replace it."

"So much the better. If your sister is going to be murdered it may aswell be done next week as next year so far as I am concerned. Excusemy brutality, Mr. Hollyer, but this is simply a case to me and Iregard it strategically. Now Mr. Carlyle's organization can look afterMrs. Creake for a few weeks, but it cannot look after her for ever. Byincreasing the immediate risk we diminish the permanent risk."

"I see," agreed Hollyer. "I'm awfully uneasy but I'm entirely in yourhands."

"Then we will give Mr. Creake every inducement and every opportunityto get to work. Where are you staying now?"

"Just now with some friends at St. Albans."

"That is too far." The inscrutable eyes retained their tranquil depthbut a new quality of quickening interest in the voice made Mr. Carlyleforget the weight and burden of his ruffled dignity. "Give me a fewminutes, please. The cigarettes are behind you, Mr. Hollyer." Theblind man walked to the window and seemed to look out over thecypress-shaded lawn. The lieutenant lit a cigarette and Mr. Carlylepicked up Punch. Then Carrados turned round again.

"You are prepared to put your own arrangements aside?" he demanded ofhis visitor.

"Certainly."

"Very well. I want you to go down now—straight from here—toBrookbend Cottage. Tell your sister that your leave is unexpectedlycut short and that you sail to-morrow."

"TheMartian?'

"No, no; theMartian doesn't sail. Look up the movements on your waythere and pick out a boat that does. Say you are transferred. Add thatyou expect to be away only two or three months and that you reallywant the five hundred pounds by the time of your return. Don't stay inthe house long, please."

"I understand, sir."

"St. Albans is too far. Make your excuse and get away from thereto-day. Put up somewhere in town, where you will be in reach of thetelephone. Let Mr. Carlyle and myself know where you are. Keep out ofCreake's way. I don't want actually to tie you down to the house, butwe may require your services. We will let you know at the first signof anything doing and if there is nothing to be done we must releaseyou."

"I don't mind that. Is there nothing more that I can do now?"

"Nothing. In going to Mr. Carlyle you have done the best thingpossible; you have put your sister into the care of the shrewdest manin London." Whereat the object of this quite unexpected eulogy foundhimself becoming covered with modest confusion.

"Well, Max?" remarked Mr. Carlyle tentatively when they were alone.

"Well, Louis?"

"Of course it wasn't worth while rubbing it in before young Hollyer,but, as a matter of fact, every single man carries the life of anyother man—only one, mind you—in his hands, do what you will."

"Provided he doesn't bungle," acquiesced Carrados.

"Quite so."

"And also that he is absolutely reckless of the consequences."

"Of course."

"Two rather large provisos. Creake is obviously susceptible to both.
Have you seen him?"

"No. As I told you, I put a man on to report his habits in town. Then,two days ago, as the case seemed to promise some interest—for hecertainly is deeply involved with the typist, Max, and the thing mighttake a sensational turn at any time—I went down to Mulling Commonmyself. Although the house is lonely it is on the electric tram route.You know the sort of market garden rurality that about a dozen milesout of London offers—alternate bricks and cabbages. It was easyenough to get to know about Creake locally. He mixes with no onethere, goes into town at irregular times but generally every day, andis reputed to be devilish hard to get money out of. Finally I made theacquaintance of an old fellow who used to do a day's gardening atBrookbend occasionally. He has a cottage and a garden of his own witha greenhouse, and the business cost me the price of a pound oftomatoes."

"Was it—a profitable investment?"

"As tomatoes, yes; as information, no. The old fellow had the fataldisadvantage from our point of view of labouring under a grievance. Afew weeks ago Creake told him that he would not require him again ashe was going to do his own gardening in future."

"That is something, Louis."

"If only Creake was going to poison his wife with hyoscyamine and buryher, instead of blowing her up with a dynamite cartridge and claimingthat it came in among the coal."

"True, true. Still—"

"However, the chatty old soul had a simple explanation for everythingthat Creake did. Creake was mad. He had even seen him flying a kite inhis garden where it was found to get wrecked among the trees. A lad often would have known better, he declared. And certainly the kite didget wrecked, for I saw it hanging over the road myself. But that asane man should spend his time 'playing with a toy' was beyond him."

"A good many men have been flying kites of various kinds lately," said
Carrados. "Is he interested in aviation?"

"I dare say. He appears to have some knowledge of scientific subjects.
Now what do you want me to do, Max?"

"Will you do it?"

"Implicitly—subject to the usual reservations."

"Keep your man on Creake in town and let me have his reports after youhave seen them. Lunch with me here now. 'Phone up to your office thatyou are detained on unpleasant business and then give the deservingParkinson an afternoon off by looking after me while we take a motorrun round Mulling Common. If we have time we might go on to Brighton,feed at the 'Ship,' and come back in the cool."

"Amiable and thrice lucky mortal," sighed Mr. Carlyle, his glancewandering round the room.

But, as it happened, Brighton did not figure in that day's itinerary.It had been Carrados's intention merely to pass Brookbend Cottage onthis occasion, relying on his highly developed faculties, aided by Mr.Carlyle's description, to inform him of the surroundings. A hundredyards before they reached the house he had given an order to hischauffeur to drop into the lowest speed and they were leisurelydrawing past when a discovery by Mr. Carlyle modified their plans.

"By Jupiter!" that gentleman suddenly exclaimed, "there's a board up,
Max. The place is to be let."

Carrados picked up the tube again. A couple of sentences passed andthe car stopped by the roadside, a score of paces past the limit ofthe garden. Mr. Carlyle took out his notebook and wrote down theaddress of a firm of house agents.

"You might raise the bonnet and have a look at the engines, Harris,"said Carrados. "We want to be occupied here for a few minutes."

"This is sudden; Hollyer knew nothing of their leaving," remarked Mr.
Carlyle.

"Probably not for three months yet. All the same, Louis, we will go onto the agents and get a card to view whether we use it to-day or not."

A thick hedge, in its summer dress effectively screening the housebeyond from public view, lay between the garden and the road. Abovethe hedge showed an occasional shrub; at the corner nearest to the cara chestnut flourished. The wooden gate, once white, which they hadpassed, was grimed and rickety. The road itself was still theunpretentious country lane that the advent of the electric car hadfound it. When Carrados had taken in these details there seemed littleelse to notice. He was on the point of giving Harris the order to goon when his ear caught a trivial sound.

"Someone is coming out of the house, Louis," he warned his friend. "Itmay be Hollyer, but he ought to have gone by this time."

"I don't hear anyone," replied the other, but as he spoke a doorbanged noisily and Mr. Carlyle slipped into another seat and ensconcedhimself behind a copy ofThe Globe.

"Creake himself," he whispered across the car, as a man appeared atthe gate. "Hollyer was right; he is hardly changed. Waiting for a car,I suppose."

But a car very soon swung past them from the direction in which Mr.Creake was looking and it did not interest him. For a minute or twolonger he continued to look expectantly along the road. Then he walkedslowly up the drive back to the house.

"We will give him five or ten minutes," decided Carrados. "Harris isbehaving very naturally."

Before even the shorter period had run out they were repaid. Atelegraph-boy cycled leisurely along the road, and, leaving hismachine at the gate, went up to the cottage. Evidently there was noreply, for in less than a minute he was trundling past them backagain. Round the bend an approaching tram clanged its bell noisily,and, quickened by the warning sound, Mr. Creake again appeared, thistime with a small portmanteau in his hand. With a backward glance hehurried on towards the next stopping-place, and, boarding the car asit slackened down, he was carried out of their knowledge.

"Very convenient of Mr. Creake," remarked Carrados, with quietsatisfaction. "We will now get the order and go over the house in hisabsence. It might be useful to have a look at the wire as well."

"It might, Max," acquiesced Mr. Carlyle a little dryly. "But if it is,as it probably is in Creake's pocket, how do you propose to get it?"

"By going to the post office, Louis."

"Quite so. Have you ever tried to see a copy of a telegram addressedto someone else?"

"I don't think I have ever had occasion yet," admitted Carrados. "Haveyou?"

"In one or two cases I have perhaps been an accessory to the act. Itis generally a matter either of extreme delicacy or considerableexpenditure."

"Then for Hollyer's sake we will hope for the former here." And Mr.Carlyle smiled darkly and hinted that he was content to wait for afriendly revenge.

A little later, having left the car at the beginning of the stragglingHigh Street, the two men called at the village post office. They hadalready visited the house agent and obtained an order to viewBrookbend Cottage, declining with some difficulty the clerk'spersistent offer to accompany them. The reason was soon forthcoming."As a matter of fact," explained the young man, "the present tenant isunderour notice to leave."

"Unsatisfactory, eh?" said Carrados encouragingly.

"He's a corker," admitted the clerk, responding to the friendly tone."Fifteen months and not a doit of rent have we had. That's why Ishould have liked—"

"We will make every allowance," replied Carrados.

The post office occupied one side of a stationer's shop. It was notwithout some inward trepidation that Mr. Carlyle found himselfcommitted to the adventure. Carrados, on the other hand, was thepersonification of bland unconcern.

"You have just sent a telegram to Brookbend Cottage," he said to theyoung lady behind the brasswork lattice. "We think it may have comeinaccurately and should like a repeat." He took out his purse. "Whatis the fee?"

The request was evidently not a common one. "Oh," said the girluncertainly, "wait a minute, please." She turned to a pile of telegramduplicates behind the desk and ran a doubtful finger along the uppersheets. "I think this is all right. You want it repeated?"

"Please." Just a tinge of questioning surprise gave point to thecourteous tone.

"It will be fourpence. If there is an error the amount will berefunded."

Carrados put down his coin and received his change.

"Will it take long?" he inquired carelessly, as he pulled on hisglove.

"You will most likely get it within a quarter of an hour," shereplied.

"Now you've done it," commented Mr. Carlyle as they walked back totheir car. "How do you propose to get that telegram, Max?"

"Ask for it," was the laconic explanation.

And, stripping the artifice of any elaboration, he simply asked for itand got it. The car, posted at a convenient bend in the road, gave hima warning note as the telegraph-boy approached. Then Carrados took upa convincing attitude with his hand on the gate while Mr. Carlyle lenthimself to the semblance of a departing friend. That was theinevitable impression when the boy rode up.

"Creake, Brookbend Cottage?" inquired Carrados, holding out his hand,and without a second thought the boy gave him the envelope and rodeaway on the assurance that there would be no reply.

"Some day, my friend," remarked Mr. Carlyle, looking nervously towardthe unseen house, "your ingenuity will get you into a tight corner."

"Then my ingenuity must get me out again," was the retort. "Let ushave our 'view' now. The telegram can wait."

An untidy workwoman took their order and left them standing at thedoor. Presently a lady whom they both knew to be Mrs. Creake appeared.

"You wish to see over the house?" she said, in a voice that wasutterly devoid of any interest. Then, without waiting for a reply, sheturned to the nearest door and threw it open.

"This is the drawing-room," she said, standing aside.

They walked into a sparsely furnished, damp-smelling room and made apretence of looking round, while Mrs. Creake remained silent andaloof.

"The dining-room," she continued, crossing the narrow hall and openinganother door.

Mr. Carlyle ventured a genial commonplace in the hope of inducingconversation. The result was not encouraging. Doubtless they wouldhave gone through the house under the same frigid guidance had notCarrados been at fault in a way that Mr. Carlyle had never known himfail before. In crossing the hall he stumbled over a mat and almostfell.

"Pardon my clumsiness," he said to the lady. "I am, unfortunately,quite blind. But," he added, with a smile, to turn off the mishap,"even a blind man must have a house."

The man who had eyes was surprised to see a flood of colour rush into
Mrs. Creake's face.

"Blind!" she exclaimed, "oh, I beg your pardon. Why did you not tellme? You might have fallen."

"I generally manage fairly well," he replied. "But, of course, in astrange house—"

She put her hand on his arm very lightly.

"You must let me guide you, just a little," she said.

The house, without being large, was full of passages and inconvenientturnings. Carrados asked an occasional question and found Mrs. Creakequite amiable without effusion. Mr. Carlyle followed them from room toroom in the hope, though scarcely the expectation, of learningsomething that might be useful.

"This is the last one. It is the largest bedroom," said their guide.Only two of the upper rooms were fully furnished and Mr. Carlyle atonce saw, as Carrados knew without seeing, that this was the one whichthe Creakes occupied.

"A very pleasant outlook," declared Mr. Carlyle.

"Oh, I suppose so," admitted the lady vaguely. The room, in fact,looked over the leafy garden and the road beyond. It had a Frenchwindow opening on to a small balcony, and to this, under the strangeinfluence that always attracted him to light, Carrados walked.

"I expect that there is a certain amount of repair needed?" he said,after standing there a moment.

"I am afraid there would be," she confessed.

"I ask because there is a sheet of metal on the floor here," hecontinued. "Now that, in an old house, spells dry rot to the waryobserver."

"My husband said that the rain, which comes in a little under thewindow, was rotting the boards there," she replied. "He put that downrecently. I had not noticed anything myself."

It was the first time she had mentioned her husband; Mr. Carlylepricked up his ears.

"Ah, that is a less serious matter," said Carrados. "May I step out onto the balcony?"

"Oh yes, if you like to." Then, as he appeared to be fumbling at thecatch, "Let me open it for you."

But the window was already open, and Carrados, facing the variouspoints of the compass, took in the bearings.

"A sunny, sheltered corner," he remarked. "An ideal spot for adeck-chair and a book."

She shrugged her shoulders half contemptuously.

"I dare say," she replied, "but I never use it."

"Sometimes, surely," he persisted mildly. "It would be my favouriteretreat. But then—"

"I was going to say that I had never even been out on it, but thatwould not be quite true. It has two uses for me, both equallyromantic; I occasionally shake a duster from it, and when my husbandreturns late without his latchkey he wakes me up and I come out hereand drop him mine."

Further revelation of Mr. Creake's nocturnal habits was cut off,greatly to Mr. Carlyle's annoyance, by a cough of unmistakablesignificance from the foot of the stairs. They had heard a trade cartdrive up to the gate, a knock at the door, and the heavy-footed womantramp along the hall.

"Excuse me a minute, please," said Mrs. Creake.

"Louis," said Carrados, in a sharp whisper, the moment they werealone, "stand against the door."

With extreme plausibility Mr. Carlyle began to admire a picture sosituated that while he was there it was impossible to open the doormore than a few inches. From that position he observed his confederatego through the curious procedure of kneeling down on the bedroom floorand for a full minute pressing his ear to the sheet of metal that hadalready engaged his attention. Then he rose to his feet, nodded,dusted his trousers, and Mr. Carlyle moved to a less equivocalposition.

"What a beautiful rose-tree grows up your balcony," remarked Carrados,stepping into the room as Mrs. Creake returned. "I suppose you arevery fond of gardening?"

"I detest it," she replied.

"But thisGloire, so carefully trained—?"

"Is it?" she replied. "I think my husband was nailing it up recently."By some strange fatality Carrados's most aimless remarks seemed toinvolve the absent Mr. Creake. "Do you care to see the garden?"

The garden proved to be extensive and neglected. Behind the house waschiefly orchard. In front, some semblance of order had been kept up;here it was lawn and shrubbery, and the drive they had walked along.Two things interested Carrados: the soil at the foot of the balcony,which he declared on examination to be particularly suitable forroses, and the fine chestnut-tree in the corner by the road.

As they walked back to the car Mr. Carlyle lamented that they hadlearned so little of Creake's movements.

"Perhaps the telegram will tell us something," suggested Carrados.
"Read it, Louis."

Mr. Carlyle cut open the envelope, glanced at the enclosure, and inspite of his disappointment could not restrain a chuckle.

"My poor Max," he explained, "you have put yourself to an amount ofingenious trouble for nothing. Creake is evidently taking a few days'holiday and prudently availed himself of the Meteorological Officeforecast before going. Listen: 'Immediate prospect for London warmand settled. Further outlook cooler but fine.' Well, well; I did geta pound of tomatoes formy fourpence."

"You certainly scored there, Louis," admitted Carrados, with humorous
appreciation. "I wonder," he added speculatively, "whether it is
Creake's peculiar taste usually to spend his week-end holiday in
London."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, looking at the words again, "by gad,that's rum, Max. They go to Weston-super-Mare. Why on earth should hewant to know about London?"

"I can make a guess, but before we are satisfied I must come hereagain. Take another look at that kite, Louis. Are there a few yards ofstring hanging loose from it?"

"Yes, there are."

"Rather thick string—unusually thick for the purpose?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

As they drove home again Carrados explained, and Mr. Carlyle sataghast, saying incredulously: "Good God, Max, is it possible?"

An hour later he was satisfied that it was possible. In reply to hisinquiry someone in his office telephoned him the information that"they" had left Paddington by the four-thirty for Weston.

It was more than a week after his introduction to Carrados thatLieutenant Hollyer had a summons to present himself at The Turretsagain. He found Mr. Carlyle already there and the two friends wereawaiting his arrival.

"I stayed in all day after hearing from you this morning, Mr.Carrados," he said, shaking hands. "When I got your second message Iwas all ready to walk straight out of the house. That's how I did itin the time. I hope everything is all right?"

"Excellent," replied Carrados. "You'd better have something before westart. We probably have a long and perhaps an exciting night beforeus."

"And certainly a wet one," assented the lieutenant. "It was thunderingover Mulling way as I came along."

"That is why you are here," said his host. "We are waiting for acertain message before we start, and in the meantime you may as wellunderstand what we expect to happen. As you saw, there is athunderstorm coming on. The Meteorological Office morning forecastpredicted it for the whole of London if the conditions remained. Thatis why I kept you in readiness. Within an hour it is now inevitablethat we shall experience a deluge. Here and there damage will be doneto trees and buildings; here and there a person will probably bestruck and killed."

"Yes."

"It is Mr. Creake's intention that his wife should be among thevictims."

"I don't exactly follow," said Hollyer, looking from one man to theother. "I quite admit that Creake would be immensely relieved if sucha thing did happen, but the chance is surely an absurdly remote one."

"Yet unless we intervene it is precisely what a coroner's jury willdecide has happened. Do you know whether your brother-in-law has anypractical knowledge of electricity, Mr. Hollyer?"

"I cannot say. He was so reserved, and we really knew so little ofhim—"

"Yet in 1896 an Austin Creake contributed an article on 'AlternatingCurrents' to the AmericanScientific World. That would argue afairly intimate acquaintanceship."

"But do you mean that he is going to direct a flash of lightning?"

"Only into the minds of the doctor who conducts the post-mortem, andthe coroner. This storm, the opportunity for which he has been waitingfor weeks, is merely the cloak to his act. The weapon which he hasplanned to use—scarcely less powerful than lightning but much moretractable—is the high voltage current of electricity that flows alongthe tram wire at his gate."

"Oh!" exclaimed Lieutenant Hollyer, as the sudden revelation struckhim.

"Some time between eleven o'clock to-night—about the hour when yoursister goes to bed—and one thirty in the morning—the time up towhich he can rely on the current—Creake will throw a stone up at thebalcony window. Most of his preparation has long been made; it onlyremains for him to connect up a short length to the window handle anda longer one at the other end to tap the live wire. That done, he willwake his wife in the way I have said. The moment she moves the catchof the window—and he has carefully filed its parts to ensure perfectcontact—she will be electrocuted as effectually as if she sat in theexecutioner's chair in Sing Sing prison."

"But what are we doing here!" exclaimed Hollyer, starting to his feet,pale and horrified. "It is past ten now and anything may happen."

"Quite natural, Mr. Hollyer," said Carrados reassuringly, "but youneed have no anxiety. Creake is being watched, the house is beingwatched, and your sister is as safe as if she slept to-night inWindsor Castle. Be assured that whatever happens he will not beallowed to complete his scheme; but it is desirable to let himimplicate himself to the fullest limit. Your brother-in-law, Mr.Hollyer, is a man with a peculiar capacity for taking pains."

"He is a damned cold-blooded scoundrel!" exclaimed the young officerfiercely. "When I think of Millicent five years ago—"

"Well, for that matter, an enlightened nation has decided thatelectrocution is the most humane way of removing its superfluouscitizens," suggested Carrados mildly. "He is certainly aningenious-minded gentleman. It is his misfortune that in Mr. Carlylehe was fated to be opposed by an even subtler brain—"

"No, no! Really, Max!" protested the embarrassed gentleman.

"Mr. Hollyer will be able to judge for himself when I tell him that itwas Mr. Carlyle who first drew attention to the significance of theabandoned kite," insisted Carrados firmly. "Then, of course, itsobject became plain to me—as indeed to anyone. For ten minutes,perhaps, a wire must be carried from the overhead line to thechestnut-tree. Creake has everything in his favour, but it is justwithin possibility that the driver of an inopportune train mightnotice the appendage. What of that? Why, for more than a week he hasseen a derelict kite with its yards of trailing string hanging in thetree. A very calculating mind, Mr. Hollyer. It would be interesting toknow what line of action Mr. Creake has mapped out for himselfafterwards. I expect he has half-a-dozen artistic little touches uphis sleeve. Possibly he would merely singe his wife's hair, burn herfeet with a red-hot poker, shiver the glass of the French window, andbe content with that to let well alone. You see, lightning is sovaried in its effects that whatever he did or did not do would beright. He is in the impregnable position of the body showing all thesymptoms of death by lightning shock and nothing else but lightning toaccount for it—a dilated eye, heart contracted in systole, bloodlesslungs shrunk to a third the normal weight, and all the rest of it.When he has removed a few outward traces of his work Creake mightquite safely 'discover' his dead wife and rush off for the nearestdoctor. Or he may have decided to arrange a convincing alibi, andcreep away, leaving the discovery to another. We shall never know; hewill make no confession."

"I wish it was well over," admitted Hollyer, "I'm not particularlyjumpy, but this gives me a touch of the creeps."

"Three more hours at the worst, lieutenant," said Carrados cheerfully.
"Ah-ha, something is coming through now."

He went to the telephone and received a message from one quarter; thenmade another connection and talked for a few minutes with someoneelse.

"Everything working smoothly," he remarked between times over hisshoulder. "Your sister has gone to bed, Mr. Hollyer."

Then he turned to the house telephone and distributed his orders.

"So we," he concluded, "must get up."

By the time they were ready a large closed motor car was waiting. Thelieutenant thought he recognised Parkinson in the well-swathed formbeside the driver, but there was no temptation to linger for a secondon the steps. Already the stinging rain had lashed the drive into thesemblance of a frothy estuary; all round the lightning jagged itscourse through the incessant tremulous glow of more distant lightning,while the thunder only ceased its muttering to turn at close quartersand crackle viciously.

"One of the few things I regret missing," remarked Carradostranquilly; "but I hear a good deal of colour in it."

The car slushed its way down to the gate, lurched a little heavilyacross the dip into the road, and, steadying as it came upon thestraight, began to hum contentedly along the deserted highway.

"We are not going direct?" suddenly inquired Hollyer, after they hadtravelled perhaps half-a-dozen miles. The night was bewildering enoughbut he had the sailor's gift for location.

"No; through Hunscott Green and then by a field-path to the orchard atthe back," replied Carrados. "Keep a sharp look out for the man withthe lantern about here, Harris," he called through the tube.

"Something flashing just ahead, sir," came the reply, and the carslowed down and stopped.

Carrados dropped the near window as a man in glistening waterproofstepped from the shelter of a lich-gate and approached.

"Inspector Beedel, sir," said the stranger, looking into the car.

"Quite right, Inspector," said Carrados. "Get in."

"I have a man with me, sir."

"We can find room for him as well."

"We are very wet."

"So shall we all be soon."

The lieutenant changed his seat and the two burly forms took placesside by side. In less than five minutes the car stopped again, thistime in a grassy country lane.

"Now we have to face it," announced Carrados. "The inspector will showus the way."

The car slid round and disappeared into the night, while Beedel ledthe party to a stile in the hedge. A couple of fields brought them tothe Brookbend boundary. There a figure stood out of the black foliage,exchanged a few words with their guide and piloted them along theshadows of the orchard to the back door of the house.

"You will find a broken pane near the catch of the scullery window,"said the blind man.

"Right, sir," replied the inspector. "I have it. Now who goesthrough?"

"Mr. Hollyer will open the door for us. I'm afraid you must take offyour boots and all wet things, Lieutenant. We cannot risk a singlespot inside."

They waited until the back door opened, then each one divested himselfin a similar manner and passed into the kitchen, where the remains ofa fire still burned. The man from the orchard gathered together thediscarded garments and disappeared again.

Carrados turned to the lieutenant.

"A rather delicate job for you now, Mr. Hollyer. I want you to go upto your sister, wake her, and get her into another room with as littlefuss as possible. Tell her as much as you think fit and let herunderstand that her very life depends on absolute stillness when sheis alone. Don't be unduly hurried, but not a glimmer of a light,please."

Ten minutes passed by the measure of the battered old alarum on thedresser shelf before the young man returned.

"I've had rather a time of it," he reported, with a nervous laugh,"but I think it will be all right now. She is in the spare room."

"Then we will take our places. You and Parkinson come with me to thebedroom. Inspector, you have your own arrangements. Mr. Carlyle willbe with you."

They dispersed silently about the house. Hollyer glancedapprehensively at the door of the spare room as they passed it, butwithin was as quiet as the grave. Their room lay at the other end ofthe passage.

"You may as well take your place in the bed now, Hollyer," directedCarrados when they were inside and the door closed. "Keep well downamong the clothes. Creake has to get up on the balcony, you know, andhe will probably peep through the window, but he dare come no farther.Then when he begins to throw up stones slip on this dressing-gown ofyour sister's. I'll tell you what to do after."

The next sixty minutes drew out into the longest hour that thelieutenant had ever known. Occasionally he heard a whisper passbetween the two men who stood behind the window curtains, but he couldsee nothing. Then Carrados threw a guarded remark in his direction.

"He is in the garden now."

Something scraped slightly against the outer wall. But the night wasfull of wilder sounds, and in the house the furniture and the boardscreaked and sprung between the yawling of the wind among the chimneys,the rattle of the thunder and the pelting of the rain. It was a timeto quicken the steadiest pulse, and when the crucial moment came, whena pebble suddenly rang against the pane with a sound that the tensewaiting magnified into a shivering crash, Hollyer leapt from the bedon the instant.

"Easy, easy," warned Carrados feelingly. "We will wait for anotherknock." He passed something across. "Here is a rubber glove. I havecut the wire but you had better put it on. Stand just for a moment atthe window, move the catch so that it can blow open a little, and dropimmediately. Now."

Another stone had rattled against the glass. For Hollyer to go throughhis part was the work merely of seconds, and with a few touchesCarrados spread the dressing-gown to more effective disguise about theextended form. But an unforeseen and in the circumstances ratherhorrible interval followed, for Creake, in accordance with some detailof his never-revealed plan, continued to shower missile after missileagainst the panes until even the unimpressionable Parkinson shivered.

"The last act," whispered Carrados, a moment after the throwing hadceased. "He has gone round to the back. Keep as you are. We take covernow." He pressed behind the arras of an extemporized wardrobe, and thespirit of emptiness and desolation seemed once more to reign over thelonely house.

From half-a-dozen places of concealment ears were straining to catchthe first guiding sound. He moved very stealthily, burdened, perhaps,by some strange scruple in the presence of the tragedy that he had notfeared to contrive, paused for a moment at the bedroom door, thenopened it very quietly, and in the fickle light read the consummationof his hopes.

"At last!" they heard the sharp whisper drawn from his relief. "Atlast!"

He took another step and two shadows seemed to fall upon him frombehind, one on either side. With primitive instinct a cry of terrorand surprise escaped him as he made a desperate movement to wrenchhimself free, and for a short second he almost succeeded in draggingone hand into a pocket. Then his wrists slowly came together and thehandcuffs closed.

"I am Inspector Beedel," said the man on his right side. "You arecharged with the attempted murder of your wife, Millicent Creake."

"You are mad," retorted the miserable creature, falling into adesperate calmness. "She has been struck by lightning."

"No, you blackguard, she hasn't," wrathfully exclaimed hisbrother-in-law, jumping up. "Would you like to see her?"

"I also have to warn you," continued the inspector impassively, "thatanything you say may be used as evidence against you."

A startled cry from the farther end of the passage arrested theirattention.

"Mr. Carrados," called Hollyer, "oh, come at once."

At the open door of the other bedroom stood the lieutenant, his eyesstill turned towards something in the room beyond, a little emptybottle in his hand.

"Dead!" he exclaimed tragically, with a sob, "with this beside her.
Dead just when she would have been free of the brute."

The blind man passed into the room, sniffed the air, and laid a gentlehand on the pulseless heart.

"Yes," he replied. "That, Hollyer, does not always appeal to thewoman, strange to say."

THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR

The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident inthe joint experiences of Mr. Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this:that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the privatedetective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safedeposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompaniedhim, and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly amongthe palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr. Carlyle wasoccupied with his deed-box in one of the little compartments providedfor the purpose.

The Lucas Street depository was then (it has since been converted intoa picture palace) generally accepted as being one of the strongestplaces in London. The front of the building was constructed torepresent a gigantic safe door, and under the colloquial designationof "The Safe" the place had passed into a synonym for all that wassecure and impregnable. Half of the marketable securities in the westof London were popularly reported to have seen the inside of itscoffers at one time or another, together with the same generousproportion of family jewels. However exaggerated an estimate thismight be, the substratum of truth was solid and auriferous enough todazzle the imagination. When ordinary safes were being carried bodilyaway with impunity or ingeniously fused open by the scientificallyequipped cracksman, nervous bond-holders turned with relief to theattractions of an establishment whose modest claim was summed up inits telegraphic address: "Impregnable." To it went also the jewel-casebetween the lady's social engagements, and when in due course "thefamily" journeyed north—or south, east or west—whenever, in short,the London house was closed, its capacious storerooms received theplate-chest as an established custom. Not a few tradersalso—jewellers, financiers, dealers in pictures, antiques and costlybijouterie, for instance—constantly used its facilities for any stockthat they did not require immediately to hand.

There was only one entrance to the place, an exaggerated keyhole, tocarry out the similitude of the safe-door alluded to. The ground floorwas occupied by the ordinary offices of the company; all thestrong-rooms and safes lay in the steel-cased basement. This wasreached both by a lift and by a flight of steps. In either case thevisitor found before him a grille of massive proportions. Behind itsbars stood a formidable commissionaire who never left his post, hissole duty being to open and close the grille to arriving and departingclients. Beyond this, a short passage led into the round central hallwhere Carrados was waiting. From this part, other passages radiatedoff to the vaults and strong-rooms, each one barred from the hall by agrille scarcely less ponderous than the first one. The doors of thevarious private rooms put at the disposal of the company's clients,and that of the manager's office, filled the wall-space between theradiating passages. Everything was very quiet, everything looked verybright, and everything seemed hopelessly impregnable.

"But I wonder?" ran Carrados's dubious reflection as he reached thispoint.

"Sorry to have kept you so long, my dear Max," broke in Mr. Carlyle'scrisp voice. He had emerged from his compartment and was crossing thehall, deed-box in hand. "Another minute and I will be with you."

Carrados smiled and nodded and resumed his former expression, whichwas merely that of an uninterested gentleman waiting patiently foranother. It is something of an attainment to watch closely withoutbetraying undue curiosity, but others of the senses—hearing andsmelling, for instance—can be keenly engaged while the observerpossibly has the appearance of falling asleep.

"Now," announced Mr. Carlyle, returning briskly to his friend's chair,and drawing on his grey suède gloves.

"You are in no particular hurry?"

"No," admitted the professional man, with the slowness of mildsurprise. "Not at all. What do you propose?"

"It is very pleasant here," replied Carrados tranquilly. "Very cooland restful with this armoured steel between us and the dust andscurry of the hot July afternoon above. I propose remaining here for afew minutes longer."

"Certainly," agreed Mr. Carlyle, taking the nearest chair and eyeingCarrados as though he had a shrewd suspicion of something more thanmet the ear. "I believe some very interesting people rent safes here.We may encounter a bishop, or a winning jockey, or even a musicalcomedy actress. Unfortunately it seems to be rather a slack time."

"Two men came down while you were in your cubicle," remarked Carradoscasually. "The first took the lift. I imagine that he was amiddle-aged, rather portly man. He carried a stick, wore a silk hat,and used spectacles for close sight. The other came by the stairway. Iinfer that he arrived at the top immediately after the lift had gone.He ran down the steps, so that the two were admitted at the same time,but the second man, though the more active of the pair, hung back fora moment in the passage and the portly one was the first to go to hissafe."

Mr. Carlyle's knowing look expressed: "Go on, my friend; you arecoming to something." But he merely contributed an encouraging "Yes?"

"When you emerged just now our second man quietly opened the door ofhis pen a fraction. Doubtless he looked out. Then he closed it asquietly again. You were not his man, Louis."

"I am grateful," said Mr. Carlyle expressively. "What next, Max?"

"That is all; they are still closeted."

Both were silent for a moment. Mr. Carlyle's feeling was one ofunconfessed perplexity. So far the incident was utterly trivial in hiseyes; but he knew that the trifles which appeared significant to Maxhad a way of standing out like signposts when the time came to lookback over an episode. Carrados's sightless faculties seemed indeed tokeep him just a move ahead as the game progressed.

"Is there really anything in it, Max?" he asked at length.

"Who can say?" replied Carrados. "At least we may wait to see them go.
Those tin deed-boxes now. There is one to each safe, I think?"

"Yes, so I imagine. The practice is to carry the box to your privatelair and there unlock it and do your business. Then you lock it upagain and take it back to your safe."

"Steady! our first man," whispered Carrados hurriedly. "Here, look atthis with me." He opened a paper—a prospectus—which he pulled fromhis pocket, and they affected to study its contents together.

"You were about right, my friend," muttered Mr. Carlyle, pointing to aparagraph of assumed interest. "Hat, stick and spectacles. He is aclean-shaven, pink-faced old boy. I believe—yes, I know the man bysight. He is a bookmaker in a large way, I am told."

"Here comes the other," whispered Carrados.

The bookmaker passed across the hall, joined on his way by the managerwhose duty it was to counterlock the safe, and disappeared along oneof the passages. The second man sauntered up and down, waiting histurn. Mr. Carlyle reported his movements in an undertone and describedhim. He was a younger man than the other, of medium height, andpassably well dressed in a quiet lounge suit, green Alpine hat andbrown shoes. By the time the detective had reached his wavy chestnuthair, large and rather ragged moustache, and sandy, freckledcomplexion, the first man had completed his business and was leavingthe place.

"It isn't an exchange lay, at all events," said Mr. Carlyle. "Hisinner case is only half the size of the other and couldn't possibly besubstituted."

"Come up now," said Carrados, rising. "There is nothing more to belearned down here."

They requisitioned the lift, and on the steps outside the gigantickeyhole stood for a few minutes discussing an investment as a coupleof trustees or a lawyer and a client who were parting there might do.Fifty yards away, a very large silk hat with a very curly brim markedthe progress of the bookmaker towards Piccadilly.

The lift in the hall behind them swirled up again and the gateclashed. The second man walked leisurely out and sauntered awaywithout a backward glance.

"He has gone in the opposite direction," exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, ratherblankly. "It isn't the 'lame goat' nor the 'follow-me-on,' nor eventhe homely but efficacious sand-bag."

"What colour were his eyes?" asked Carrados.

"Upon my word, I never noticed," admitted the other.

"Parkinson would have noticed," was the severe comment.

"I am not Parkinson," retorted Mr. Carlyle, with asperity, "and,strictly as one dear friend to another, Max, permit me to add, thatwhile cherishing an unbounded admiration for your remarkable gifts, Ihave the strongest suspicion that the whole incident is a ridiculousmare's nest, bred in the fantastic imagination of an enthusiasticcriminologist."

Mr. Carrados received this outburst with the utmost benignity. "Comeand have a coffee, Louis," he suggested. "Mehmed's is only a streetaway."

Mehmed proved to be a cosmopolitan gentleman from Mocha whose shopresembled a house from the outside and an Oriental divan when one waswithin. A turbaned Arab placed cigarettes and cups of coffee spicedwith saffron before the customers, gave salaam and withdrew.

"You know, my dear chap," continued Mr. Carlyle, sipping his blackcoffee and wondering privately whether it was really very good or verybad, "speaking quite seriously, the one fishy detail—our gingerfriend's watching for the other to leave—may be open to a dozen veryinnocent explanations."

"So innocent that to-morrow I intend taking a safe myself."

"You think that everything is all right?"

"On the contrary, I am convinced that something is very wrong."

"Then why—?"

"I shall keep nothing there, but it will give me theentrée. Ishould advise you, Louis, in the first place to empty your safe withall possible speed, and in the second to leave your business card onthe manager."

Mr. Carlyle pushed his cup away, convinced now that the coffee wasreally very bad.

"But, my dear Max, the place—'The Safe'—is impregnable!"

"When I was in the States, three years ago, the head porter at onehotel took pains to impress on me that the building was absolutelyfireproof. I at once had my things taken off to another hotel. Twoweeks later the first place was burnt out. Itwas fireproof, Ibelieve, but of course the furniture and the fittings were not and thewalls gave way."

"Very ingenious," admitted Mr. Carlyle, "but why did you really go?You know you can't humbug me with your superhuman sixth sense, myfriend."

Carrados smiled pleasantly, thereby encouraging the watchful attendantto draw near and replenish their tiny cups.

"Perhaps," replied the blind man, "because so many careless peoplewere satisfied that it was fireproof."

"Ah-ha, there you are—the greater the confidence the greater therisk. But only if your self-confidence results in carelessness. Now doyou know how this place is secured, Max?"

"I am told that they lock the door at night," replied Carrados, withbland malice.

"And hide the key under the mat to be ready for the first arrival inthe morning," crowed Mr. Carlyle, in the same playful spirit. "Dearold chap! Well, let me tell you—"

"That force is out of the question. Quite so," admitted his friend.

"That simplifies the argument. Let us consider fraud. There again theprecautions are so rigid that many people pronounce the forms anuisance. I confess that I do not. I regard them as a means ofprotecting my own property and I cheerfully sign my name and give mypassword, which the manager compares with his record-book before hereleases the first lock of my safe. The signature is burned before myeyes in a sort of crucible there, the password is of my own choosingand is written only in a book that no one but the manager ever sees,and my key is the sole one in existence."

"No duplicate or master-key?"

"Neither. If a key is lost it takes a skilful mechanic half-a-day tocut his way in. Then you must remember that clients of a safe-depositare not multitudinous. All are known more or less by sight to theofficials there, and a stranger would receive close attention. Now,Max, by what combination of circumstances is a rogue to know mypassword, to be able to forge my signature, to possess himself of mykey, and to resemble me personally? And, finally, how is he possiblyto determine beforehand whether there is anything in my safe to repayso elaborate a plant?" Mr. Carlyle concluded in triumph and was socarried away by the strength of his position that he drank off thecontents of his second cup before he realized what he was doing.

"At the hotel I just spoke of," replied Carrados, "there was anattendant whose one duty in case of alarm was to secure three irondoors. On the night of the fire he had a bad attack of toothache andslipped away for just a quarter of an hour to have the thing out.There was a most up-to-date system of automatic fire alarm; it hadbeen tested only the day before and the electrician, finding some partnot absolutely to his satisfaction, had taken it away and not had timeto replace it. The night watchman, it turned out, had received leaveto present himself a couple of hours later on that particular night,and the hotel fireman, whose duties he took over, had missed beingnotified. Lastly, there was a big riverside blaze at the same time andall the engines were down at the other end of the city."

Mr. Carlyle committed himself to a dubious monosyllable. Carradosleaned forward a little.

"All these circumstances formed a coincidence of pure chance.Is it not conceivable, Louis, that an even more remarkable seriesmight be brought about by design?"

"Our tawny friend?"

"Possibly. Only he was not really tawny." Mr. Carlyle's easy attitudesuddenly stiffened into rigid attention. "He wore a false moustache."

"He wore a false moustache!" repeated the amazed gentleman. "And youcannot see! No, really, Max, this is beyond the limit!"

"If only you would not trust your dear, blundering old eyes soimplicitly you would get nearer that limit yourself," retortedCarrados. "The man carried a five-yard aura of spirit gum, emphasizedby a warm, perspiring skin. That inevitably suggested one thing. Ilooked for further evidence of making-up and found it—thesepreparations all smell. The hair you described was characteristicallythat of a wig—worn long to hide the joining and made wavy to minimizethe length. All these things are trifles. As yet we have not gonebeyond the initial stage of suspicion. I will tell you another trifle.When this man retired to a compartment with his deed-box, he nevereven opened it. Possibly it contains a brick and a newspaper. He isonly watching."

"Watching the bookmaker."

"True, but it may go far wider than that. Everything points to a plotof careful elaboration. Still, if you are satisfied—"

"I am quite satisfied," replied Mr. Carlyle gallantly. "I regard 'TheSafe' almost as a national institution, and as such I have an implicitfaith in its precautions against every kind of force or fraud." So farMr. Carlyle's attitude had been suggestive of a rock, but at thispoint he took out his watch, hummed a little to pass the time,consulted his watch again, and continued: "I am afraid that there wereone or two papers which I overlooked. It would perhaps save me comingagain to-morrow if I went back now—"

"Quite so," acquiesced Carrados, with perfect gravity. "I will waitfor you."

For twenty minutes he sat there, drinking an occasional tiny cup ofboiled coffee and to all appearance placidly enjoying the quaintatmosphere which Mr. Mehmed had contrived to transplant from theshores of the Persian Gulf.

At the end of that period Carlyle returned, politely effusive aboutthe time he had kept his friend waiting but otherwise bland andunassailable. Anyone with eyes might have noticed that he carried aparcel of about the same size and dimensions as the deed-box thatfitted his safe.

The next day Carrados presented himself at the safe-deposit as anintending renter. The manager showed him over the vaults andstrong-rooms, explaining the various precautions taken to render theguile or force of man impotent: the strength of the chilled-steelwalls, the casing of electricity-resisting concrete, the stupendousisolation of the whole inner fabric on metal pillars so that thewatchman, while inside the building, could walk above, below, and allround the outer walls of what was really—although it bore no actualrelationship to the advertising device of the front—a monstrous safe;and, finally, the arrangement which would enable the basement to beflooded with steam within three minutes of an alarm. These detailswere public property. "The Safe" was a showplace and its directorsheld that no harm could come of displaying a strong hand.

Accompanied by the observant eyes of Parkinson, Carrados gave anadventurous but not a hopeful attention to these particulars.Submitting the problem of the tawny man to his own ingenuity, he wasconstantly putting before himself the question: How shall I set aboutrobbing this place? and he had already dismissed force asimpracticable. Nor, when it came to the consideration of fraud, didthe simple but effective safeguards which Mr. Carlyle had specifiedseem to offer any loophole.

"As I am blind I may as well sign in the book," he suggested, when themanager passed him a gummed slip for the purpose. The precautionagainst one acquiring particulars of another client might well bedeemed superfluous in his case.

But the manager did not fall into the trap.

"It is our invariable rule in all cases, sir," he replied courteously."What word will you take?" Parkinson, it may be said, had been left inthe hall.

"Suppose I happen to forget it? How do we proceed?"

"In that case I am afraid that I might have to trouble you toestablish your identity," the manager explained. "It rarely happens."

"Then we will say 'Conspiracy.'"

The word was written down and the book closed.

"Here is your key, sir. If you will allow me—your key-ring—"

A week went by and Carrados was no nearer the absolute solution of theproblem he had set himself. He had, indeed, evolved several ways bywhich the contents of the safes might be reached, some simple anddesperate, hanging on the razor-edge of chance to fall this way orthat; others more elaborate, safer on the whole, but more liable tobreak down at some point of their ingenious intricacy. And settingaside complicity on the part of the manager—a condition that Carradoshad satisfied himself did not exist—they all depended on a relaxationof the forms by which security was assured. Carrados continued to haveseveral occasions to visit the safe during the week, and he "watched"with a quiet persistence that was deadly in its scope. But frombeginning to end there was no indication of slackness in thebusiness-like methods of the place; nor during any of his visits didthe "tawny man" appear in that or any other disguise. Another weekpassed; Mr. Carlyle was becoming inexpressibly waggish, and Carradoshimself, although he did not abate a jot of his conviction, wascompelled to bend to the realities of the situation. The manager, withthe obstinacy of a conscientious man who had become obsessed with thepervading note of security, excused himself from discussing abstractmethods of fraud. Carrados was not in a position to formulate adetailed charge; he withdrew from active investigation, content toawait his time.

It came, to be precise, on a certain Friday morning, seventeen daysafter his first visit to "The Safe." Returning late on the Thursdaynight, he was informed that a man giving the name of Draycott hadcalled to see him. Apparently the matter had been of some importanceto the visitor for he had returned three hours later on the chance offinding Mr. Carrados in. Disappointed in this, he had left a note.Carrados cut open the envelope and ran a finger along the followingwords:—

"Dear Sir,—I have to-day consulted Mr. Louis Carlyle, who thinksthat you would like to see me. I will call again in the morning, sayat nine o'clock. If this is too soon or otherwise inconvenient Ientreat you to leave a message fixing as early an hour as possible.

"Yours faithfully,

"Herbert Draycott.

"P.S.—I should add that I am the renter of a safe at the LucasStreet depository.H.D."

A description of Mr. Draycott made it clear that he was not theWest-End bookmaker. The caller, the servant explained, was a thin,wiry, keen-faced man. Carrados felt agreeably interested in thisdevelopment, which seemed to justify his suspicion of a plot.

At five minutes to nine the next morning Mr. Draycott again presentedhimself.

"Very good of you to see me so soon, sir," he apologized, on Carradosat once receiving him. "I don't know much of English ways—I'm anAustralian—and I was afraid it might be too early."

"You could have made it a couple of hours earlier as far as I amconcerned," replied Carrados. "Or you either for that matter, Iimagine," he added, "for I don't think that you slept much lastnight."

"I didn't sleep at all last night," corrected Mr. Draycott. "But it'sstrange that you should have seen that. I understood from Mr. Carlylethat you—excuse me if I am mistaken, sir—but I understood that youwere blind."

Carrados laughed his admission lightly.

"Oh yes," he said. "But never mind that. What is the trouble?"

"I'm afraid it means more than just trouble for me, Mr. Carrados." Theman had steady, half-closed eyes, with the suggestion of depth whichone notices in the eyes of those whose business it is to look out overgreat expanses of land or water; they were turned towards Carrados'sface with quiet resignation in their frankness now. "I'm afraid itspells disaster. I am a working engineer from the Mount Magdalenadistrict of Coolgardie. I don't want to take up your time with outsidedetails, so I will only say that about two years ago I had anopportunity of acquiring a share in a very promising claim—gold, youunderstand, both reef and alluvial. As the work went on I put more andmore into the undertaking—you couldn't call it a venture by thattime. The results were good, better than we had dared to expect, butfrom one cause and another the expenses were terrible. We saw that itwas a bigger thing than we had bargained for and we admitted that wemust get outside help."

So far Mr. Draycott's narrative had proceeded smoothly enough underthe influence of the quiet despair that had come over the man. But atthis point a sudden recollection of his position swept him into afrenzy of bitterness.

"Oh, what the blazes is the good of going over all this again!" hebroke out. "What can you or anyone else do anyhow? I've been robbed,rooked, cleared out of everything I possess," and tormented byrecollections and by the impotence of his rage the unfortunateengineer beat the oak table with the back of his hand until hisknuckles bled.

Carrados waited until the fury had passed.

"Continue, if you please, Mr. Draycott," he said. "Just what youthought it best to tell me is just what I want to know."

"I'm sorry, sir," apologized the man, colouring under his tanned skin."I ought to be able to control myself better. But this business hasshaken me. Three times last night I looked down the barrel of myrevolver, and three times I threw it away…. Well, we arranged that Ishould come to London to interest some financiers in the property. Wemight have done it locally or in Perth, to be sure, but then, don'tyou see, they would have wanted to get control. Six weeks ago I landedhere. I brought with me specimens of the quartz and good samples ofextracted gold, dust and nuggets, the clearing up of several weeks'working, about two hundred and forty ounces in all. That includes theMagdalena Lodestar, our lucky nugget, a lump weighing just under sevenpounds of pure gold.

"I had seen an advertisement of this Lucas Street safe-deposit and itseemed just the thing I wanted. Besides the gold, I had all the papersto do with the claims—plans, reports, receipts, licences and so on.Then when I cashed my letter of credit I had about one hundred andfifty pounds in notes. Of course I could have left everything at abank, but it was more convenient to have it, as it were, in my ownsafe, to get at any time, and to have a private room that I could takeany gentlemen to. I hadn't a suspicion that anything could be wrong.Negotiations hung on in several quarters—it's a bad time to dobusiness here, I find. Then, yesterday, I wanted something. I went toLucas Street, as I had done half-a-dozen times before, opened my safe,and had the inner case carried to a room…. Mr. Carrados, it wasempty!"

"Quite empty?"

"No." He laughed bitterly. "At the bottom was a sheet of wrapperpaper. I recognized it as a piece I had left there in case I wanted tomake up a parcel. But for that I should have been convinced that I hadsomehow opened the wrong safe. That was my first idea."

"It cannot be done."

"So I understand, sir. And, then, there was the paper with my namewritten on it in the empty tin. I was dazed; it seemed impossible. Ithink I stood there without moving for minutes—it was more likehours. Then I closed the tin box again, took it back, locked up thesafe and came out."

"Without notifying anything wrong?"

"Yes, Mr. Carrados." The steady blue eyes regarded him with painedthoughtfulness. "You see, I reckoned it out in that time that it mustbe someone about the place who had done it."

"You were wrong," said Carrados.

"So Mr. Carlyle seemed to think. I only knew that the key had neverbeen out of my possession and I had told no one of the password. Well,it did come over me rather like cold water down the neck, that therewas I alone in the strongest dungeon in London and not a living soulknew where I was."

"Possibly a sort of up-to-date Sweeney Todd's?"

"I'd heard of such things in London," admitted Draycott. "Anyway, Igot out. It was a mistake; I see it now. Who is to believe me as itis—it sounds a sort of unlikely tale. And how do they come to pick onme? to know what I had? I don't drink, or open my mouth, or hellround. It beats me."

"They didn't pick on you—you picked on them," replied Carrados."Never mind how; you'll be believed all right. But as for gettinganything back—" The unfinished sentence confirmed Mr. Draycott in hisgloomiest anticipations.

"I have the numbers of the notes," he suggested, with an attempt athopefulness. "They can be stopped, I take it?"

"Stopped? Yes," admitted Carrados. "And what does that amount to? Thebanks and the police stations will be notified and every littlepublic-house between here and Land's End will change one for thescribbling of 'John Jones' across the back. No, Mr. Draycott, it'sawkward, I dare say, but you must make up your mind to wait until youcan get fresh supplies from home. Where are you staying?"

Draycott hesitated.

"I have been at the Abbotsford, in Bloomsbury, up to now," he said,with some embarrassment. "The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I think I oughtto have told you how I was placed before consulting you, because I—Isee no prospect of being able to pay my way. Knowing that I had plentyin the safe, I had run it rather close. I went chiefly yesterday toget some notes. I have a week's hotel bill in my pocket, and"—heglanced down at his trousers—"I've ordered one or two other thingsunfortunately."

"That will be a matter of time, doubtless," suggested the otherencouragingly.

Instead of replying Draycott suddenly dropped his arms on to the tableand buried his face between them. A minute passed in silence.

"It's no good, Mr. Carrados," he said, when he was able to speak. "Ican't meet it. Say what you like, I simply can't tell those chaps thatI've lost everything we had and ask them to send me more. Theycouldn't do it if I did. Understand sir. The mine is a valuable one;we have the greatest faith in it, but it has gone beyond our depth.The three of us have put everything we own into it. While I am herethey are doing labourers' work for a wage, just to keep going …waiting, oh, my God! waiting for good news from me!"

Carrados walked round the table to his desk and wrote. Then, without aword, he held out a paper to his visitor.

"What's this?" demanded Draycott, in bewilderment. "It's—it's acheque for a hundred pounds."

"It will carry you on," explained Carrados imperturbably. "A man likeyou isn't going to throw up the sponge for this set-back. Cable toyour partners that you require copies of all the papers at once.They'll manage it, never fear. The gold … must go. Write fully bythe next mail. Tell them everything and add that in spite of all youfeel that you are nearer success than ever."

Mr. Draycott folded the cheque with thoughtful deliberation and put itcarefully away in his pocket-book.

"I don't know whether you've guessed as much, sir," he said in a queervoice, "but I think that you've saved a man's life to-day. It's notthe money, it's the encouragement … and faith. If you could seeyou'd know better than I can say how I feel about it."

Carrados laughed quietly. It always amused him to have people explainhow much more he would learn if he had eyes.

"Then we'll go on to Lucas Street and give the manager the shock ofhis life," was all he said. "Come, Mr. Draycott, I have already rungup the car."

But, as it happened, another instrument had been destined to applythat stimulating experience to the manager. As they stepped out of thecar opposite "The Safe" a taxicab drew up and Mr. Carlyle's alert andcheery voice hailed them.

"A moment, Max," he called, turning to settle with his driver, atransaction that he invested with an air of dignified urbanity whichalmost made up for any small pecuniary disappointment that may haveaccompanied it. "This is indeed fortunate. Let us compare notes for amoment. I have just received an almost imploring message from themanager to come at once. I assumed that it was the affair of ourcolonial friend here, but he went on to mention Professor HolmfastBulge. Can it really be possible that he also has made a similardiscovery?"

"What did the manager say?" asked Carrados.

"He was practically incoherent, but I really think it must be so. Whathave you done?"

"Nothing," replied Carrados. He turned his back on "The Safe" andappeared to be regarding the other side of the street. "There is atobacconist's shop directly opposite?"

"There is."

"What do they sell on the first floor?"

"Possibly they sell 'Rubbo.' I hazard the suggestion from the legend
'Rub in Rubbo for Everything' which embellishes each window."

"The windows are frosted?"

"They are, to half-way up, mysterious man."

Carrados walked back to his motor-car.

"While we are away, Parkinson, go across and buy a tin, bottle, box orpacket of 'Rubbo.'"

"What is 'Rubbo,' Max?" chirped Mr. Carlyle with insatiablecuriosity.

"So far we do not know. When Parkinson gets some, Louis, you shall bethe one to try it."

They descended into the basement and were passed in by thegrille-keeper, whose manner betrayed a discreet consciousness ofsomething in the air. It was unnecessary to speculate why. In thedistance, muffled by the armoured passages, an authoritative voiceboomed like a sonorous bell heard under water.

"What, however, are the facts?" it was demanding, with the causticityof baffled helplessness. "I am assured that there is no other key inexistence; yet my safe has been unlocked. I am given to understandthat without the password it would be impossible for an unauthorizedperson to tamper with my property. My password, deliberately chosen,is 'anthropophaginian,' sir. Is it one that is familiarly on the lipsof the criminal classes? But my safe is empty! What is theexplanation? Who are the guilty persons? What is being done? Where arethe police?"

"If you consider that the proper course to adopt is to stand on thedoorstep and beckon in the first constable who happens to pass, permitme to say, sir, that I differ from you," retorted the distractedmanager. "You may rely on everything possible being done to clear upthe mystery. As I told you, I have already telephoned for a capableprivate detective and for one of my directors."

"But that is not enough," insisted the professor angrily. "Will onemere private detective restore my £6000 Japanese 4-1/2 per cent.bearer bonds? Is the return of my irreplaceable notes on 'PolyphyleticBridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men' to depend on asolitary director? I demand that the police shall be called in—asmany as are available. Let Scotland Yard be set in motion. A searchinginquiry must be made. I have only been a user of your preciousestablishment for six months, and this is the result."

"There you hold the key of the mystery, Professor Bulge," interposed
Carrados quietly.

"Who is this, sir?" demanded the exasperated professor at large.

"Permit me," explained Mr. Carlyle, with bland assurance. "I am LouisCarlyle, of Bampton Street. This gentleman is Mr. Max Carrados, theeminent amateur specialist in crime."

"I shall be thankful for any assistance towards elucidating thisappalling business," condescended the professor sonorously. "Let meput you in possession of the facts—"

"Perhaps if we went into your room," suggested Carrados to themanager, "we should be less liable to interruption."

"Quite so; quite so," boomed the professor, accepting the proposal oneveryone else's behalf. "The facts, sir, are these: I am theunfortunate possessor of a safe here, in which, a few months ago, Ideposited—among less important matter—sixty bearer bonds of theJapanese Imperial Loan—the bulk of my small fortune—and themanuscript of an important projected work on 'Polyphyletic BridalCustoms among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men.' Today I came to detachthe coupons which fall due on the fifteenth; to pay them into my banka week in advance, in accordance with my custom. What do I find? Ifind the safe locked and apparently intact, as when I last saw it amonth ago. But it is far from being intact, sir! It has been opened,ransacked, cleared out! Not a single bond, not a scrap of paperremains."

It was obvious that the manager's temperature had been rising duringthe latter part of this speech and now he boiled over.

"Pardon my flatly contradicting you, Professor Bulge. You have againreferred to your visit here a month ago as your last. You will bearwitness of that, gentlemen. When I inform you that the professor hadaccess to his safe as recently as on Monday last you will recognizethe importance that the statement may assume."

The professor glared across the room like an infuriated animal, acomparison heightened by his notoriously hircine appearance.

"How dare you contradict me, sir!" he cried, slapping the tablesharply with his open hand. "I was not here on Monday."

The manager shrugged his shoulders coldly.

"You forget that the attendants also saw you," he remarked. "Cannot wetrust our own eyes?"

"A common assumption, yet not always a strictly reliable one,"insinuated Carrados softly.

"I cannot be mistaken."

"Then can you tell me, without looking, what colour Professor Bulge'seyes are?"

There was a curious and expectant silence for a minute. The professorturned his back on the manager and the manager passed fromthoughtfulness to embarrassment.

"I really do not know, Mr. Carrados," he declared loftily at last. "Ido not refer to mere trifles like that."

"Then you can be mistaken," replied Carrados mildly yet with decision.

"But the ample hair, the venerable flowing beard, the prominent noseand heavy eyebrows—"

"These are just the striking points that are most easilycounterfeited. They 'take the eye.' If you would ensure yourselfagainst deception, learn rather to observe the eye itself, andparticularly the spots on it, the shape of the finger-nails, the setof the ears. These things cannot be simulated."

"You seriously suggest that the man was not Professor Bulge—that hewas an impostor?"

"The conclusion is inevitable. Where were you on Monday, Professor?"

"I was on a short lecturing tour in the Midlands. On Saturday I was inNottingham. On Monday in Birmingham. I did not return to London untilyesterday."

Carrados turned to the manager again and indicated Draycott, who sofar had remained in the background.

"And this gentleman? Did he by any chance come here on Monday?"

"He did not, Mr. Carrados. But I gave him access to his safe on
Tuesday afternoon and again yesterday."

Draycott shook his head sadly.

"Yesterday I found it empty," he said. "And all Tuesday afternoon Iwas at Brighton, trying to see a gentleman on business."

The manager sat down very suddenly.

"Good God, another!" he exclaimed faintly.

"I am afraid the list is only beginning," said Carrados. "We must gothrough your renters' book."

The manager roused himself to protest.

"That cannot be done. No one but myself or my deputy ever sees thebook. It would be—unprecedented."

"The circumstances are unprecedented," replied Carrados.

"If any difficulties are placed in the way of these gentlemen'sinvestigations, I shall make it my duty to bring the facts before theHome Secretary," announced the professor, speaking up to the ceilingwith the voice of a brazen trumpet.

Carrados raised a deprecating hand.

"May I make a suggestion?" he remarked. "Now, I am blind. If,therefore—?"

"Very well," acquiesced the manager. "But I must request the others towithdraw."

For five minutes Carrados followed the list of safe-renters as themanager read them to him. Sometimes he stopped the catalogue toreflect a moment; now and then he brushed a finger-tip over a writtensignature and compared it with another. Occasionally a passwordinterested him. But when the list came to an end he continued to lookinto space without any sign of enlightenment.

"So much is perfectly clear and yet so much is incredible," he mused."You insist that you alone have been in charge for the last sixmonths?"

"I have not been away a day this year."

"Meals?"

"I have my lunch sent in."

"And this room could not be entered without your knowledge while youwere about the place?"

"It is impossible. The door is fitted with a powerful spring and afeather-touch self-acting lock. It cannot be left unlocked unless youdeliberately prop it open."

"And, with your knowledge, no one has had an opportunity of havingaccess to this book?"

"No," was the reply.

Carrados stood up and began to put on his gloves.

"Then I must decline to pursue my investigation any further," he saidicily.

"Why?" stammered the manager.

"Because I have positive reason for believing that you are deceivingme."

"Pray sit down, Mr. Carrados. It is quite true that when you put thelast question to me a circumstance rushed into my mind which—so faras the strict letter was concerned—might seem to demand 'Yes' insteadof 'No.' But not in the spirit of your inquiry. It would be absurd toattach any importance to the incident I refer to."

"That would be for me to judge."

"You shall do so, Mr. Carrados. I live at Windermere Mansions with mysister. A few months ago she got to know a married couple who hadrecently come to the opposite flat. The husband was a middle-aged,scholarly man who spent most of his time in the British Museum. Hiswife's tastes were different; she was much younger, brighter, gayer; amere girl in fact, one of the most charming and unaffected I have evermet. My sister Amelia does not readily—"

"Stop!" exclaimed Carrados. "A studious middle-aged man and a charmingyoung wife! Be as brief as possible. If there is any chance it mayturn on a matter of minutes at the ports. She came here, of course?"

"Accompanied by her husband," replied the manager stiffly. "Mrs. Scotthad travelled and she had a hobby of taking photographs wherever shewent. When my position accidentally came out one evening she wascarried away by the novel idea of adding views of a safe deposit toher collection—as enthusiastic as a child. There was no reason whyshe should not; the place has often been taken for advertisingpurposes."

"She came, and brought her camera—under your very nose!"

"I do not know what you mean by 'under my very nose.' She came withher husband one evening just about closing time. She brought hercamera, of course—quite a small affair."

"And contrived to be in here alone?"

"I take exception to the word 'contrived.' It—it happened. I sent outfor some tea, and in the course—"

"How long was she alone in here?"

"Two or three minutes at the most. When I returned she was seated atmy desk. That was what I referred to. The little rogue had put on myglasses and had got hold of a big book. We were great chums, and shedelighted to mock me. I confess that I was startled—merelyinstinctively—to see that she had taken up this book, but the nextmoment I saw that she had it upside down."

"Clever! She couldn't get it away in time. And the camera, withhalf-a-dozen of its specially sensitized films already snapped overthe last few pages, by her side!"

"That child!"

"Yes. She is twenty-seven and has kicked hats off tall men's heads inevery capital from Petersburg to Buenos Ayres! Get through to ScotlandYard and ask if Inspector Beedel can come up."

The manager breathed heavily through his nose.

"To call in the police and publish everything would ruin thisestablishment—confidence would be gone. I cannot do it withoutfurther authority."

"Then the professor certainly will."

"Before you came I rang up the only director who is at present in townand gave him the facts as they then stood. Possibly he has arrived bythis. If you will accompany me to the boardroom we will see."

They went up to the floor above, Mr. Carlyle joining them on the way.

"Excuse me a moment," said the manager.

Parkinson, who had been having an improving conversation with the hallporter on the subject of land values, approached.

"I am sorry, sir," he reported, "but I was unable to procure any
'Rubbo.' The place appears to be shut up."

"That is a pity; Mr. Carlyle had set his heart on it."

"Will you come this way, please?" said the manager, reappearing.

In the boardroom they found a white-haired old gentleman who hadobeyed the manager's behest from a sense of duty, and then remained ina distant corner of the empty room in the hope that he might beover-looked. He was amiably helpless and appeared to be deeply awareof it.

"This is a very sad business, gentlemen," he said, in a whispering,confiding voice. "I am informed that you recommend calling in theScotland Yard authorities. That would be a disastrous course for aninstitution that depends on the implicit confidence of the public."

"It is the only course," replied Carrados.

"The name of Mr. Carrados is well known to us in connection with adelicate case. Could you not carry this one through?"

"It is impossible. A wide inquiry must be made. Every port will haveto be watched. The police alone can do that." He threw a littlesignificance into the next sentence. "I alone can put the police inthe right way of doing it."

"And you will do that, Mr. Carrados?"

Carrados smiled engagingly. He knew exactly what constituted the greatattraction of his services.

"My position is this," he explained. "So far my work has been entirelyamateur. In that capacity I have averted one or two crimes, remediedan occasional injustice, and now and then been of service to myprofessional friend, Louis Carlyle. But there is no reason at all whyI should serve a commercial firm in an ordinary affair of business fornothing. For any information I should require a fee, a quite nominalfee of, say, one hundred pounds."

The director looked as though his faith in human nature had received arude blow.

"A hundred pounds would be a very large initial fee for a small firmlike this, Mr. Carrados," he remarked in a pained voice.

"And that, of course, would be independent of Mr. Carlyle'sprofessional charges," added Carrados.

"Is that sum contingent on any specific performance?" inquired themanager.

"I do not mind making it conditional on my procuring for you, for thepolice to act on, a photograph and a description of the thief."

The two officials conferred apart for a moment. Then the managerreturned.

"We will agree, Mr. Carrados, on the understanding that these thingsare to be in our hands within two days. Failing that—"

"No, no!" cried Mr. Carlyle indignantly, but Carrados good-humouredlyput him aside.

"I will accept the condition in the same sporting spirit that inspiresit. Within forty-eight hours or no pay. The cheque, of course, to begiven immediately the goods are delivered?"

"You may rely on that."

Carrados took out his pocket-book, produced an envelope bearingan American stamp, and from it extracted an unmounted print.

"Here is the photograph," he announced. "The man is called Ulysses K.Groom, but he is better known as 'Harry the Actor.' You will find thedescription written on the back."

Five minutes later, when they were alone, Mr. Carlyle expressed hisopinion of the transaction.

"You are an unmitigated humbug, Max," he said, "though an amiable one,I admit. But purely for your own private amusement you spring thesethings on people."

"On the contrary," replied Carrados, "people spring these things onme."

"Now this photograph. Why have I heard nothing of it before?"

Carrados took out his watch and touched the fingers.

"It is now three minutes to eleven. I received the photograph attwenty past eight."

"Even then, an hour ago you assured me that you had done nothing."

"Nor had I—so far as result went. Until the keystone of the edificewas wrung from the manager in his room, I was as far away fromdemonstrable certainty as ever."

"So am I—as yet," hinted Mr. Carlyle.

"I am coming to that, Louis. I turn over the whole thing to you. Theman has got two clear days' start and the chances are nine to oneagainst catching him. We know everything, and the case has no furtherinterest for me. But it is your business. Here is your material.

"On that one occasion when the 'tawny' man crossed our path, I tookfrom the first a rather more serious view of his scope and intentionthan you did. The same day I sent a cipher cable to Pierson of the NewYork service. I asked for news of any man of such and such adescription—merely negative—who was known to have left the States;an educated man, expert in the use of disguises, audacious in hisoperations, and a specialist in 'dry' work among banks andstrong-rooms."

"Why the States, Max?"

"That was a sighting shot on my part. I argued that he must be anEnglish-speaking man. The smart and inventive turn of the modern Yankhas made him a specialist in ingenious devices, straight or crooked.Unpickable locks and invincible lock-pickers, burglar-proof safes andsafe-specializing burglars, come equally from the States. So I tried avery simple test. As we talked that day and the man walked past us, Idropped the words 'New York'—or, rather, 'Noo Y'rk'—in his hearing."

"I know you did. He neither turned nor stopped."

"He was that much on his guard; but into his step there came—thoughyour poor old eyes could not see it, Louis—the 'psychological pause,'an absolute arrest of perhaps a fifth of a second; just as it wouldhave done with you if the word 'London' had fallen on your ear in adistant land. However, the whys and the wherefores don't matter. Hereis the essential story.

"Eighteen months ago 'Harry the Actor' successfully looted the officesafe of M'Kenkie, J.F. Higgs & Co., of Cleveland, Ohio. He had justmarried a smart but very facile third-rate vaudeville actress—Englishby origin—and wanted money for the honeymoon. He got about fivehundred pounds, and with that they came to Europe and stayed in Londonfor some months. That period is marked by the Congreave Square postoffice burglary, you may remember. While studying such of the Britishinstitutions as most appealed to him, the 'Actor's' attention becamefixed on this safe-deposit. Possibly the implied challenge containedin its telegraphic address grew on him until it became a point ofprofessional honour with him to despoil it; at all events he waspresumedly attracted by an undertaking that promised not only glorybut very solid profit. The first part of the plot was, to the mostskilful criminal 'impersonator' in the States, mere skittles.Spreading over those months he appeared at 'The Safe' in twelvedifferent characters and rented twelve safes of different sizes. Atthe same time he made a thorough study of the methods of the place. Assoon as possible he got the keys back again into legitimate use,having made duplicates for his own private ends, of course. Five heseems to have returned during his first stay; one was received later,with profuse apologies, by registered post; one was returned through aleading Berlin bank. Six months ago he made a flying visit here,purely to work off two more. One he kept from first to last, and theremaining couple he got in at the beginning of his second longresidence here, three or four months ago.

"This brings us to the serious part of the cool enterprise. He hadfunds from the Atlantic and South-Central Mail-car coup when hearrived here last April. He appears to have set up threeestablishments; a home, in the guise of an elderly scholar with ayoung wife, which, of course, was next door to our friend the manager;an observation point, over which he plastered the inscription 'Rub inRubbo for Everything' as a reason for being; and, somewhere else, adressing-room with essential conditions of two doors into differentstreets.

"About six weeks ago he entered the last stage. Mrs. Harry, with quiteridiculous ease, got photographs of the necessary page or two of therecord-book. I don't doubt that for weeks before then everyone whoentered the place had been observed, but the photographs linked themup with the actual men into whose hands the 'Actor's' old keys hadpassed—gave their names and addresses, the numbers of their safes,their passwords and signatures. The rest was easy."

"Yes, by Jupiter; mere play for a man like that," agreed Mr. Carlyle,with professional admiration. "He could contrive a dozen differentoccasions for studying the voice and manner and appearance of hisvictims. How much has he cleared?"

"We can only speculate as yet. I have put my hand on seven doubtfulcallers on Monday and Tuesday last. Two others he had ignored for somereason; the remaining two safes had not been allotted. There is onepoint that raises an interesting speculation."

"What is that, Max?"

"The 'Actor' has one associate, a man known as 'Billy the Fondant,'but beyond that—with the exception of his wife, of course—he doesnot usually trust anyone. It is plain, however, that at least sevenmen must latterly have been kept under close observation. It hasoccurred to me—"

"Yes, Max?"

"I have wondered whether Harry has enlisted the innocent services ofone or other of our private inquiry offices."

"Scarcely," smiled the professional. "It would hardly pass muster."

"Oh, I don't know. Mrs. Harry, in the character of a jealous wife or asuspicious sweetheart, might reasonably—"

Mr. Carlyle's smile suddenly faded.

"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "I remember—"

"Yes, Louis?" prompted Carrados, with laughter in his voice.

"I remember that I must telephone to a client before Beedel comes,"concluded Mr. Carlyle, rising in some haste.

At the door he almost ran into the subdued director, who was wringinghis hands in helpless protest at a new stroke of calamity.

"Mr. Carrados," wailed the poor old gentleman in a tremulous bleat,"Mr. Carrados, there is another now—Sir Benjamin Gump. He insists onseeing me. You will not—you will not desert us?"

"I should have to stay a week," replied Carrados briskly, "and I'mjust off now. There will be a procession. Mr. Carlyle will supportyou, I am sure."

He nodded "Good-morning" straight into the eyes of each and found hisway out with the astonishing certainty of movement that made so manyforget his infirmity. Possibly he was not desirous of encounteringDraycott's embarrassed gratitude again, for in less than a minute theyheard the swirl of his departing car.

"Never mind, my dear sir," Mr. Carlyle assured his client, withimpenetrable complacency. "Never mind.I will remain instead.Perhaps I had better make myself known to Sir Benjamin at once."

The director turned on him the pleading, trustful look of a cornereddormouse.

"He is in the basement," he whispered. "I shall be in theboardroom—if necessary."

Mr. Carlyle had no difficulty in discovering the centre of interest inthe basement. Sir Benjamin was expansive and reserved, bewildered anddecisive, long-winded and short-tempered, each in turn and more orless all at once. He had already demanded the attention of themanager, Professor Bulge, Draycott and two underlings to his case andthey were now involved in a babel of inutile reiteration. The inquiryagent was at once drawn into a circle of interrogation that he did hisbest to satisfy impressively while himself learning the new facts.

The latest development was sufficiently astonishing. Less than an hourbefore Sir Benjamin had received a parcel by district messenger. Itcontained a jewel-case which ought at that moment to have beensecurely reposing in one of the deposit safes. Hastily snatching itopen, the recipient's incredible forebodings were realized. It wasempty—empty of jewels, that is to say, for, as if to add a sting tothe blow, a neatly inscribed card had been placed inside, and on itthe agitated baronet read the appropriate but at the moment rathergratuitous maxim: "Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth—"

The card was passed round and all eyes demanded the expert'spronouncement.

"'—where moth and rust doth corrupt and where thieves break throughand steal.' H'm," read Mr. Carlyle with weight. "This is a mostimportant clue, Sir Benjamin—"

"Hey, what? What's that?" exclaimed a voice from the other side of thehall. "Why, damme if I don't believe you've got another! Look at that,gentlemen; look at that. What's on, I say? Here now, come; give me mysafe. I want to know where I am."

It was the bookmaker who strode tempestuously in among them,flourishing before their faces a replica of the card that was in Mr.Carlyle's hand.

"Well, upon my soul this is most extraordinary," exclaimed thatgentleman, comparing the two. "You have just received this, Mr.—Mr.Berge, isn't it?"

"That's right, Berge—'Iceberg' on the course. Thank the Lord Harry, Ican take my losses coolly enough, but this—this is a facer. Put intomy hand half-an-hour ago inside an envelope that ought to be here andas safe as in the Bank of England. What's the game, I say? Here,Johnny, hurry and let me into my safe."

Discipline and method had for the moment gone by the board. There wasno suggestion of the boasted safeguards of the establishment. Themanager added his voice to that of the client, and when the attendantdid not at once appear he called again.

"John, come and give Mr. Berge access to his safe at once."

"All right, sir," pleaded the harassed key-attendant, hurrying up withthe burden of his own distraction. "There's a silly fathead got inwhat thinks this is a left-luggage office, so far as I can make out—aforeigner."

"Never mind that now," replied the manager severely, "Mr. Berge'ssafe: No. 01724."

The attendant and Mr. Berge went off together down one of thebrilliant colonnaded vistas. One or two of the others who had caughtthe words glanced across and became aware of a strange figure that wasdrifting indecisively towards them. He was obviously an elderly Germantourist of pronounced type—long-haired, spectacled, outrageouslygarbed and involved in the mental abstraction of his philosophicalrace. One hand was occupied with the manipulation of a pipe, asmarkedly Teutonic as its owner; the other grasped a carpet-bag thatwould have ensured an opening laugh to any low comedian.

Quite impervious to the preoccupation of the group, the German madehis way up to them and picked out the manager.

"This was a safety deposit,nicht wahr?"

"Quite so," acquiesced the manager loftily, "but just now—"

"Your fellow was dense of comprehension." The eyes behind the clumsyglasses wrinkled to a ponderous humour. "He forgot his own business.Now this goot bag—"

Brought into fuller prominence, the carpet-bag revealed furtherdetails of its overburdened proportions. At one end a flannel shirtcuff protruded in limp dejection; at the other an ancient collar, withthe grotesque attachment known as a "dickey," asserted its presence.No wonder the manager frowned his annoyance. "The Safe" was in lowenough repute among its patrons at that moment without any burlesqueinterlude to its tragic hour.

"Yes, yes," he whispered, attempting to lead the would-be depositoraway, "but you are under a mistake. This is not—"

"It was a safety deposit? Goot. Mine bag—I would deposit him insafety till the time of mine train.Ja?"

"Nein, nein!" almost hissed the agonized official. "Go away, sir, goaway! It isn't a cloakroom. John, let this gentleman out."

The attendant and Mr. Berge were returning from their quest. The innerbox had been opened and there was no need to ask the result. Thebookmaker was shaking his head like a baffled bull.

"Gone, no effects," he shouted across the hall. "Lifted from 'The
Safe,' by crumb!"

To those who knew nothing of the method and operation of the fraud itseemed as if the financial security of the Capital was tottering. Anamazed silence fell, and in it they heard the great grille door of thebasement clang on the inopportune foreigner's departure. But, as if itwas impossible to stand still on that morning of dire happenings, hewas immediately succeeded by a dapper, keen-faced man in severeclerical attire who had been let in as the intruder passed out.

"Canon Petersham!" exclaimed the professor, going forward to greethim.

"My dear Professor Bulge!" reciprocated the canon. "You here! A mostdisquieting thing has happened to me. I must have my safe at once." Hedivided his attention between the manager and the professor as hemonopolized them both. "A most disquieting and—and outrageouscircumstance. My safe, please—yes, yes, Rev. Henry Noakes Petersham.I have just received by hand a box, a small box of no value but onethat Ithought, yes, I am convinced that it was the one, a box thatwas used to contain certain valuables of family interest which shouldat this moment be in my safe here. No. 7436? Very likely, very likely.Yes, here is my key. But not content with the disconcerting effect ofthat, professor, the box contained—and I protest that it's a mostunseemly thing to quote any text from the Bible in this way to aclergyman of my position—well, here it is. 'Lay not up for yourselvestreasures upon earth—' Why, I have a dozen sermons of my own in mydesk now on that very verse. I'm particularly partial to the veryneedful lesson that it teaches. And to apply it tome! It'smonstrous!"

"No. 7436, John," ordered the manager, with weary resignation.

The attendant again led the way towards another armour-plated aisle.Smartly turning a corner, he stumbled over something, bit a profaneexclamation in two, and looked back.

"It's that bloomin' foreigner's old bag again," he explained acrossthe place in aggrieved apology. "He left it here after all."

"Take it upstairs and throw it out when you've finished," said themanager shortly.

"Here, wait a minute," pondered John, in absent-minded familiarity."Wait a minute. This is a funny go. There's a label on that wasn'there before. 'Why not look inside?'"

"'Why not look inside?'" repeated someone.

"That's what it says."

There was another puzzled silence. All were arrested by someintangible suggestion of a deeper mystery than they had yet touched.One by one they began to cross the hall with the conscious air of menwho were not curious but thought that they might as well see.

"Why, curse my crumpet," suddenly exploded Mr. Berge, "if that ain'tthe same writing as these texts!"

"By gad, but I believe you are right," assented Mr. Carlyle. "Well,why not look inside?"

The attendant, from his stooping posture, took the verdict of the ringof faces and in a trice tugged open the two buckles. The centralfastening was not locked, and yielded to a touch. The flannel shirt,the weird collar and a few other garments in the nature of a"top-dressing" were flung out and John's hand plunged deeper….

Harry the Actor had lived up to his dramatic instinct. Nothing waswrapped up; nay, the rich booty had been deliberately opened out anddisplayed, as it were, so that the overturning of the bag, when Johnthe keybearer in an access of riotous extravagance lifted it up andstrewed its contents broadcast on the floor, was like the looting of asmuggler's den, or the realization of a speculator's dream, or thebursting of an Aladdin's cave, or something incredibly lavish andbizarre. Bank-notes fluttered down and lay about in all directions,relays of sovereigns rolled away like so much dross, bonds and scripfor thousands and tens of thousands clogged the downpouring stream ofjewellery and unset gems. A yellow stone the size of a four-poundweight and twice as heavy dropped plump upon the canon's toes and senthim hopping and grimacing to the wall. A ruby-hilted kris cut acrossthe manager's wrist as he strove to arrest the splendid rout. Stillthe miraculous cornucopia deluged the ground, with its pattering,ringing, bumping, crinkling, rolling, fluttering produce until, likethe final tableau of some spectacular ballet, it ended with a goldenrain that masked the details of the heap beneath a glittering veil ofyellow sand.

"My dust!" gasped Draycott.

"My fivers, by golly!" ejaculated the bookmaker, initiating a plungeamong the spoil.

"My Japanese bonds, coupons and all, and—yes, even the manuscript ofmy work on 'Polyphyletic Bridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene CaveMen.' Hah!" Something approaching a cachinnation of delight closed theprofessor's contribution to the pandemonium, and eyewitnessesafterwards declared that for a moment the dignified scientist stood onone foot in the opening movement of a can-can.

"My wife's diamonds, thank heaven!" cried Sir Benjamin, with the airof a schoolboy who was very well out of a swishing.

"But what does it mean?" demanded the bewildered canon. "Here are myfamily heirlooms—a few decent pearls, my grandfather's collection ofcamei and other trifles—but who—?"

"Perhaps this offers some explanation," suggested Mr. Carlyle,unpinning an envelope that had been secured to the lining of the bag."It is addressed 'To Seven Rich Sinners.' Shall I read it for you?"

For some reason the response was not unanimous, but it was sufficient.
Mr. Carlyle cut open the envelope.

"My dear Friends,—Aren't you glad? Aren't you happy at this moment?Ah yes; but not with the true joy of regeneration that alone can bringlightness to the afflicted soul. Pause while there is yet time. Castoff the burden of your sinful lusts, for what shall it profit a man ifhe shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? (Mark, chap.viii,v. 36.)

"Oh, my friends, you have had an all-fired narrow squeak. Up till theFriday in last week I held your wealth in the hollow of my ungodlyhand and rejoiced in my nefarious cunning, but on that day as I withmy guilty female accomplice stood listening with worldly amusement tothe testimony of a converted brother at a meeting of the SalvationArmy on Clapham Common, the gospel light suddenly shone into ourrebellious souls and then and there we found salvation. Hallelujah!

"What we have done to complete the unrighteous scheme upon which wehad laboured for months has only been for your own good, dear friendsthat you are, though as yet divided from us by your carnal lusts. Letthis be a lesson to you. Sell all you have and give it to thepoor—through the organization of the Salvation Army bypreference—and thereby lay up for yourselves treasures where neithermoth nor rust doth corrupt and where thieves do not break through andsteal. (Matthew, chap. vi,v. 20.)

"Yours in good works,Private Henry, the Salvationist.

"P.S. (in haste).—I may as well inform you that no crib is reallyuncrackable, though the Cyrus J. Coy Co.'s Safe Deposit on West 24thStreet, N.Y., comes nearest the kernel. And even that I could work tothe bare rock if I took hold of the job with both hands—that is tosay I could have done in my sinful days. As for you, I shouldrecommend you to change your T.A. to 'Peanut.'

"U.K.G."

"There sounds a streak of the old Adam in that postscript, Mr.Carlyle," whispered Inspector Beedel, who had just arrived in time tohear the letter read.

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