Читать книгу The House on the Island - Arthur Gask - Страница 4

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A FEW minutes later, and tightly wedged in between the two English detectives, Larose found himself in a big police car bowling along at a good pace through the London streets. He certainly admired the dexterity with which the driver threaded his way along the crowded thoroughfares, but at the same time it was not without some feelings of trepidation that he viewed the chances the man took in proceeding so rapidly upon his way.

Presently the burly Stone, turning round, seemed to sense something of what was passing in the Australian's mind.

"Good driver, this," he remarked carelessly, "he's not had an accident now for a fortnight." He eyed Larose solemnly. "But as ten days is about his average, we mustn't feel too aggrieved if he has one now.

"No, of course not," agreed Larose, speaking in the same vein. "Still, if anything does happen, we can crawl out from underneath and take a tram. I understand the police ride free over here." He smiled and added, "nice car, this."

"Nice car!" echoed Stone, as if surprised. "For sure it is, or Carter and I wouldn't be riding in it. We're the brains of the Yard, my lad,"—he winked his eye and spoke very loudly—"or rather I am. Carter's not up to much. Too fond of drink and women to be much good." He looked sternly at Larose. "But, I say, young fellow, are you carrying a gun?"

"Yes," replied Larose, "a little Bayard."

"Got a licence?" asked Stone.

"No-o," replied Larose, as if rather taken aback by the question. "I thought——"

"Never mind what you thought," cried Stone truculently, and he leant across to his colleague. "Carter, do you hear? This young man's carrying a gun without a licence. Should we turn back at once and acquaint the Chief? Now, what are we to do?"

"Give our minds to the business we are on," said the tall detective sternly, "and stop fooling." He turned apologetically to Larose. "This stout man, Mr. Larose, is not quite the mountebank he would like you to believe, and somewhere in his gross body, in his stomach I imagine it must be, he gives shelter, as you may learn soon, to one of the acutest brains we have in the Force. In some ways there's not a man in the Yard that can touch him." He turned and spoke in matter-of-fact tones to his colleague. "Now, Charlie, be serious and tell us about this Dr. Shillington of yours."

Stone winked again at Larose and pretended to sigh before replying.

"Well, Elias," he said casually, "this Shillington's rather a big nob in the mad world, and he's written two of three books on why people go potty and all that. He's got a very high-class consulting practice, and attends half the aristocracy, the judges and bishops and the clergy. He's about fifty years of age and has been associated with mental work ever since he qualified, for his father specialised in the same way before him. He's supposed to be very rich, and to only run the asylum as a hobby. Personally, he's a big, fine man like myself, but he's run more to fat than I have because, I suppose, he's been better fed."

"He's a collector, then," said Carter, "if they came after his old silver."

"Well, he's not collected anything off me," replied the incorrigible Stone, "so I can't answer for that. At any rate I've never had occasion to pay him any fees."

The big car ate up the miles at a tremendous pace, and with the exhilaration of the keen air rushing on his face Gilbert Larose began to enjoy himself thoroughly. He was, however, thinking hard. He was now, he knew, in the company of two of the greatest detectives of the old country, and he was about to measure his capacity alongside with theirs. In his own country he was quite aware he was esteemed a master, but how would he fare now he wondered, with these men working on their own ground. At any rate, he consoled himself, human passions were much the same all the world over, and crime worked for its ends, in kindred fashions under all skies.

Colchester was reached in not many minutes over the hour, and then at the direction of Carter, the car turned out of the main road and shot like a bullet down some narrow winding lanes.

"This is a short cut," he shouted, "and it'll save us a few miles. Take note of the kind of country we are passing and some idea may perhaps come to us as to in what way these men cross through. We shall soon have water all around. You can smell the sea now."

Without any appreciable slackening of pace they roared through sleepy little villages, across wide stretches of green meadows and over dreary wastes of flat marshlands. The tang of salt was strong upon the air and soon they could hear the crash of distant waves.

Carter stood up in the car. "That's Great Oakley," he said, "over there, and Dr. Shillington's asylum is about a mile further on. Oakley Court, it's called."

Three minutes later and a high forbidding-looking wall loomed up before them, and skirting round it for some hundreds of yards, the car was pulled up suddenly before two big iron gates.

The gates were inhospitably closed, but there was a lodge just inside and apparently hearing the noise of the car a policeman and another man immediately appeared in the doorway.

"We're from the Yard," Carter called out and at once the policeman saluted and motioned to his companion to open the gates.

"The Chief Constable's up at the house, sir," he said, as the car drove in. "Bear round to the left," and the gates were clanged to behind them.

A drive of about two hundred yards led up to the asylum and it passed at first through a winding avenue of trees that blocked all view of the buildings. Then the trees gave way to a long vista of well trimmed lawns and ornamental flower beds, with a big, rambling looking mansion in the background.

"That's the asylum," said Carter. "It was a nobleman's residence once, and it's got over fifty rooms in it, they say. Lord Roddam built it, and that ivy has been growing for more than a hundred years. And there's the doctor's private house—well away from the asylum you see, no doubt, so that he shan't hear the shrieks." He nodded his head approvingly. "As nice a little place as you could wish, and I bet he's got every comfort there just as if he were up in town!"

The car drew up before the entrance of the house he had pointed out, and the three detectives immediately alighted.

The big Stone nudged Larose's arm. "Sniff, you young bloodhound," he whispered, "sniff," and although there was jocularity in his mode of speech, there was certainly nothing of humor in the steely eyes with which he regarded his young companion.

The front door stood open, and upon seeing the detectives, a tall, soldier-looking man immediately came down the steps.

"The Chief Constable of Essex," Stone whispered to Larose. "Major Hartley—a V.C."

"You've been quick, gentlemen," said the Major; "I didn't expect you for half an hour yet," and he shook hands with Carter and Stone. Then his eyes wandered to Larose.

"Mr. Gilbert Larose," promptly announced Carter; "on exchange from the Commonwealth of Australia. He's helping me."

The eyes of the Chief Constable narrowed, and he looked curiously at Larose. Then he smiled kindly, and held out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Larose," he said. "I've heard of you, of course," and he turned back at once to Carter. "Bad business again," he went on quickly, "and as I expect you know, there's been a kill. The butler's dead. They've got a haul of valuable silver, and, as usual——" he frowned and shrugged his shoulders, "they got off unmolested."

"When did they come?" asked Carter sharply.

"No one knows," replied the Chief Constable. "Nothing was discovered until the lodge-keeper saw the butler's body behind some shrubs as he was coming up the drive with the letters this morning. That was at 7.25, I am told. Then Dr. Shillington was called, and it was found that the house had been burgled, too."

"Telephone wires cut I suppose?" said Carter.

The Chief Constable smiled grimly. "Of course. One of the asylum attendants bicycled down to the village and rang us up." He shrugged his shoulders. "But I've not been here myself ten minutes yet, and have only got just the heads of everything from the doctor. I didn't start any formal investigation, knowing you were on the way. I've sent a couple of my men, however, to go round the wall to try and find out where they got over, so as not to waste any time."

"Good!" said Carter, "then we'll go to the doctor at once. He's here of course."

"Yes," replied the Chief Constable, "he's in his study. I've just come from there. He's not a very good-tempered man. These mental chaps seldom are."

"Oh! one moment," went on Carter as the Chief Constable was turning away. "How was the butler killed?"

"Battered on the head," was the reply, "but we can confirm that in a few minutes, for we shall have the police surgeon here. I've managed to get him on the 'phone from the village."

"Nothing been touched, of course?" asked Carter.

"Yes," said the Chief Constable frowning, "the body's been brought in. Dr. Shillington had it done before we arrived."

"Damn," swore Carter angrily, "and a doctor ought to have known better. Where's it been put?"

"On a table in the laundry. I've got one of my men looking after it now."

They walked into the house, and the Chief Constable bade a frightened-looking maid inform her master. She tapped timidly on a door that stood half ajar and immediately, as if he had been awaiting the summons, a stout and big-framed man appeared.

"From Scotland Yard, Dr. Shillington," said the Chief Constable indicating his companions. "Chief Inspectors Carter and Stone and Detective-Inspector Larose."

The doctor eyed the newcomers with a frown. As Stone had told them in the car, he was a big man, but ponderous would perhaps have been the better adjective to use. He was well over six feet in height, and was built on massive lines. He had a large impressive face with a big mouth and heavy cheeks that sagged over a determined jaw. His eyes, however, were on the small side, and dark and beady, they peered out from under bushy brows. Altogether he looked like a man of considerable mental and moral force even if physically he were now beginning to run to seed. Gilbert Larose thought he was not unlike a dangerous and ill-tempered bear.

Without turning round or taking his eyes off the detectives, the doctor pulled to and closed the door behind him and then he pointed to a room opening on the other side of the hall.

"We'll go in there," he said gruffly, and he led the way himself. "Sit down," he went on when they were all inside the room, and then he added. "But I've nothing much to tell you, except that I've been robbed as well as having my servant murdered." He frowned angrily. "What good are you police, I ask?"

"Well, unhappily, we can't be everywhere Doctor," said Carter suavely, "and this appears to be probably more work of the gang that we are finding especially hard nuts to crack." He spoke in cold official tones. "But will you please now tell us, as far as you know what happened."

"And it's precious little I can tell," said the doctor. He leant back in his chair and went on pompously. "I had just finished making my toilet this morning and was about to come downstairs when my housemaid informed me precipitately that my butler Jakes was lying dead behind some shrubs off the drive. I investigated the matter at once and found it was as she had said. I then returned to the house and saw that various articles of my silver were missing——" he pointed with his hand, "from the sideboard there. My King Charles' salt cellars, my candlesticks of Louis Quatorze, and two valuable snuffboxes of George the First."

He paused a moment and Carter asked, frowning—-

"And was that all that was taken then? They didn't get much of a haul!"

Dr. Shillington sat bolt upright in his chair. "Not much!" he snarled. He laughed contemptuously. "A mere trifle of about £3,000 and in so compact a compass, too, that everything could have been carried away in the pockets of one man. Not much!" He snarled again. "Why, sir—my salt-cellars alone were worth £250 an ounce."

The detective made no further comment on that score.

"And you had the body moved, Doctor," he said. "You had it brought into the house." He shook his head reprovingly. "You know you oughtn't to have done that. You should have waited until the police came."

"Oh!" exclaimed the doctor incredulously, "and I was to leave a corpse right in front of the windows of my institution was I? For all my patients to see."

"You might have covered it over," said Carter sternly, "with a rug or a sheet."

"Well, I didn't," said the doctor brusquely. "I ordered that it should be carried in." He smiled sarcastically. "The man was just as dead wasn't he, on the laundry table as behind the shrubs in the drive? He would continue dead wherever he was, surely?"

The detective ignored the question. "And what was the position of the body when you found it?" he asked.

"In dorsal decubitus. He was lying on his back."

"And when had you last seen him, Dr. Shillington?"

The doctor appeared to think for a moment. "When he came into the study at about 10 o'clock last night. He came, as usual, with my cup of cocoa that he had prepared."

"How long has he been in your employ?" asked Carter.

"Three years," was the reply, "ever since I purchased the institution and before that, I understand, he had served my predecessor for over eighteen years." The doctor's lips curled to a sneer. "So if you think he was in collusion with the lawbreakers, you are probably mistaken."

"And did you hear no unusual sounds during the night. Dr. Shillington?" asked the detective. "Nothing struck you as happening, out of the ordinary?"

The doctor sighed as if he were tired of all the questioning. "I was asleep," he said coldly, "before eleven and nothing disturbed me until my parlor-maid knocked on my door this morning at half-past seven."

"And how do you suggest," persisted Carter, "that these men got into the ground and into the house?"

The doctor yawned. "I don't suggest anything," he said, "except that the authorities show themselves woefully incompetent when such outrages as these occur." He raised his voice in anger. "Anything it seems may now happen in this country if we can be murdered in our beds like this."

The deep voice of Stone was heard for the first time. "And did your butler then, Dr. Shillington," he asked quietly, "usually take his rest at night behind these shrubs in the drive? Was that his usual bed?"

Dr. Shillington's beady eyes flickered angrily as he turned them on the speaker.

"Ah!" he exclaimed slowly, "we've met before. I remember you by the impertinent nature of your interrogations—then, as now."

Carter interposed hurriedly, "But what was your butler doing in the grounds, Doctor? What had he gone outside at all for?"

Dr. Shillington withdrew his eyes reluctantly from the offending Stone.

"I don't know," he said brusquely, "I tell you it's all a mystery to me. I heard the man go upstairs to bed a few minutes after he had satisfied my requirements and the next thing noted was this morning when the parlor-maid found the front door on the latch, when she came down."

"Oh! then," said Carter, "she found the front door open when she came down?"

The doctor inclined his head. "So she says," he said, coldly, "and I see no reason to doubt her word."

There was a knock upon the door and the girl in question entered to announce that the Chief Constable was wanted in the hall by a Dr. Hume, from Colechester.

"Good!" exclaimed Carter, rising at once to his feet. "The police surgeon." He turned to the doctor. "I think we'll view the body all together now, please, Dr. Shillington."

Dr. Shillington rose at once, too, and with a curt gesture motioned to everyone to follow him from the room.

"A nice specimen," breathed Stone into Larose's ear as they were filing out, "I'd like to punch his head."

"He's a liar," whispered back Larose. "He never slept all through the night. He looks dead tired now, and his trousers are all rumpled and out of shape as if he'd been lying down without taking them off."

The humor died instantly from the big detective's face, and with his lips slightly parted, for quite an appreciable number of seconds he stared hard at Larose, then, frowning heavily, he turned and without a word followed after the others into the hall.

The laundry was at the back of the house, and Dr. Shillington, with the importance of a man dealing with his inferiors, led the way in through the kitchen. The body of the dead man, covered with a sheet, was stretched upon a table in front of a large window, and a policeman in uniform, sitting unconcernedly upon a wash tub, was engaged in the perusal of a newspaper. He sprang up and stood stiffly to attention when the party came in.

Dr. Shillington strode forward and lifted off the sheet. "A good servant," he remarked in a judicial tone; "I shall have difficulty in replacing him."

They all came up and stood round the table for a moment in complete silence.

The body before them was fully clothed and was that of a medium sized man between fifty and sixty years of age. It was lying stiffly on its back with its arms stretched straight down. The head was, however, turned slightly to one side. The jaw sagged a little, the eyes were half open and the face was mottled over in places with black blood. The front of the clothing was bloody, too.

The police surgeon spoke first.

"Hum! Not pretty," he remarked, and he proceeded to take off his coat and tuck up his shirt sleeves. Then he passed his hands rapidly over the body.

"Been dead a long time," he said, "probably more than twelve hours. Found in the grounds, wasn't it?"

"Yes," replied Carter. "Dr. Shillington had it brought in at half-past eight this morning."

The surgeon turned to Dr. Shillington. "Was the rigor quite pronounced then, doctor?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the doctor carelessly, "at any rate, in the arms. I just lifted one. I didn't touch the lower limbs."

The surgeon nodded. "Well, it was probably complete, for the night was chilly and as I say, he's been dead a long while." He turned back to the body. "Yes," he went on, "bones of nose broken, but not from direct blow, for there is no abrasion of the skin. Blow, on the cheek. That will probably account for some of that blood in the mouth, with inside of cheek cut against the teeth." He turned the body partly over on to one side and peered intently at the back of the head. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "now, here's something. Heavy blow on the back of the neck, pretty high up, just below the head. See the bruising. Not done with anything hard, because the skin's not broken. Probably a blow from the fist." He let the body fall back gently, and then again examined the nose. "Yes, that's it. He was struck from behind and jerked forwards with considerable violence on to the ground. The fall broke his nose and caused all that blood we see, then——" he paused just a moment and carefully scrutinised the front of the neck, "then he was suffocated before he had regained consciousness."

The silence that ensued was broken by a deep sigh from the Chief Constable. A soldier only, he was not so accustomed as the others were to cold-blooded analysis of sudden death. And this was a killing done horribly, too, by stealth in the dark hours of the night. He repressed a shudder.

The police surgeon went on.

"Of course, I am only speaking in the light of a very cursory examination, but still I am sure the post-mortem will confirm in the main what I am telling you now. There are all signs present that there was firm pressure on the nose and mouth with some kind of cloth—see, for one thing, those unnatural indentations of the teeth upon the lower lip—and that bluey tinge everywhere points indisputably to the fact that just previous to the actual supervention of death there was no air getting into the lungs." He looked very thoughtfully at the body. "But I don't think there was any struggling. That blow on the nape of the neck and the fall knocked him completely out, and he just died from suffocation without fully coming to." He smiled at the detectives. "Well, gentlemen, that's all from me for the present from my particular angle of view, and it's up to you now to follow on with the discoveries that don't come within my province."

"But about what time should you say he was killed, Dr. Hume?" asked Carter.

The police surgeon hesitated. "Well, that's difficult to say, sir. You see we have to take into consideration so many things. Still——" he brightened up, "we can form a pretty good idea, for when Dr. Shillington lifted the arm this morning at half-past 8 he tells us he found rigor mortis was there. He didn't touch the legs, so we can't learn from him whether the rigor was complete over the whole body, but you can certainly find out that from those who brought the poor chap in. They'll remember, of course, if he was stiff all over when they lifted him. Well, provided he was stiff, which I think most probable, we can be pretty sure that he was killed before midnight. Of course, as I say, there are several things that we must bear in mind. He was a man, well-nourished, and apparently in good health; he died from suffocation, and although he died by violent means, he died without a struggle. I mean there was no strenuous exertion just before he died. Also, he died in his clothes. All these things would tend to delay the rigor mortis setting in, but on the other hand he has been lying out all night in the open air, and the night was chilly—very." The surgeon picked up a piece of soap and turned on the water in one of the washing troughs. "Yes," he concluded, "we can say with fair accuracy, he was killed between 10 and 12 last night."

No one seemed desirous of asking any further questions, and after a moment's silence, he turned to the Chief Constable.

"I'll manage the post-mortem this afternoon, Major," he said, "if you'll have it brought in."

The Chief Constable nodded. "It shall be in Colchester within a couple of hours. I'll 'phone up for the ambulance to come at once. Oh! I forgot," he added, "the wire's been cut here, of course. We'll have to ring up, then, from the village."

"But I'll lend you a lorry, Major Harvey," said Dr. Shillington, speaking much more amiably than he had as yet spoken. "We have one here, and the body can go at once."

The Chief Constable shook his head. "Thank you, Doctor," he replied. "I'm much obliged to you, but our ambulance will be best. You see, we have to take special precautions that the body isn't bumped at all in transit, for it will have to undergo a very minute examination when we get it in to Colchester."

"And we shall want to go over it again, too," added Stone sternly, "before it leaves the table here." He flashed a significant look at the constable on duty. "So it's not to be touched by anyone until we give orders," and he picked up the sheet and drew it again over the body.

Carter turned to Dr. Shillington. "Well interview the maids now, please, Doctor," he said, "and then we'll go over the house and see if we can find how they got in."

The doctor made no reply, and the little party filed back into the hall. There they found the parlor-maid speaking to a man clad in motor bicycle overalls. He was holding a bag in his hand.

"To see about the telephone, sir," explained the girl timidly to her master. "They rang up from the village that ours was out of order."

"All right," said the doctor curtly, "show him where it is."

"One moment, please," said Carter, and he spoke directly to the young man. "When you've found where the fault it, don't start any repair until we've seen what's wrong. We're connected with the police," he added, "and there's been a murder done here."

The girl led the man away, the police surgeon walked with the Chief Constable into the drive, while the three detectives went back with Dr. Shillington into the dining-room.

"Now, Doctor, please," said Carter, "we'll just have a few words with the maids. But you needn't wait, sir, if you're busy. We don't want to trespass unduly on your time."

"I'll be present," said the doctor curtly; "I'm free for the moment," and he touched the bell.

"Now, Smithers," he said, "these——" he hesitated, "these gentlemen want to question you. When you came down this morning, what did you——?"

"Oh! if you please, Doctor," interrupted Carter, "we'll ask her what we want. It will be quicker."

Dr. Shillington subsided with dignity into his armchair. He yawned as if he were bored, and then his eyes wandered round and fell upon Larose. The latter was apparently uninterested in what the girl would have to tell, and instead was engaged in staring fixedly at each and every different article in the room, one by one. The chairs, the sofa, the sideboard—he stared very long there—the window curtains, and pieces of china upon some shelves, the carpet—he seemed to search the carpet all over as if he were looking for a lost pin—the wainscoting, the table, the tablecloth, but here he might have sensed that the doctor was looking at him, for he closed his eyes, and then rubbed them vigorously as if he were very tired.

Carter's examination of the maid was soon over. She could tell nothing except that she shared a bedroom with the housemaid, had gone to bed at half-past nine, had heard nothing unusual during the night, and had come down just before seven to find the hall door open. She had not thought the latter fact very startling, for the deceased butler occasionally went down early to the lodge to pick up the morning papers, which were generally thrown over the gate about half-past six.

The housemaid followed, and she had nothing at all of any moment to tell. Then came the cook, and to her also the night had been quite uneventful, except that under cross-examination it was elicited she had wakened up once after she had dropped off to sleep and remembered thinking that she had heard the butler moving about in his room. She could not say what time in the night it was when she had wakened up, nor what was the exact nature of the sound that she had heard. She thought now that it might have been the moving of a chair. She had nibbled a piece of chocolate—she always kept a piece handy, and had gone straight off to sleep again.

"Now, sir, what next?" asked Dr. Shillington of Carter when the cook had gone out, and he spoke in a tired, long-suffering tone.

"The premises, please," said Carter briskly, "we'll just run over the house. We'll take the ground floor first. We'll go straight round."

But in the hall there was a delay for a couple of minutes. The telephone man was waiting for them there.

"Found what's wrong, sir," he said, "the wire was cut just under the box."

The telephone was in a small cloakroom leading out from the far end of the hall, and it was at once inspected by the detectives, with the chief constable and the doctor close behind.

"Hacked away," enunciated Carter as he held the torn wires in his hand. "No chance of any finger prints here." He looked at Stone. "He can mend it straight away, eh?"

Stone nodded, and they returned into the hall. The doctor's study was the first room to be inspected, but apparently to the fastenings of the windows only did the detectives give much attention.

"Always bolt them at night, doctor?" asked Carter.

"Yes," replied Dr. Shillington, "and as you heard from Smithers, they were bolted when she came in this morning."

Room by room they went over the ground floor. Carter, the doctor, and the chief constable invariably going first, with Stone and Larose following behind.

"His lordship's taken a dislike to you for some reason," whispered the big detective presently to Larose. "I notice he keeps his eyes on you more than anyone else. How have you come to annoy him?"

"Hush!" Larose whispered back, and then he went on rapidly. "Look here, if you don't mind. I won't go upstairs with you. I want to get a word with those girls when he isn't present. Just say you've sent me back to the car for a camera if they miss me, will you?"

Stone grinned. "That's right, sonny, make yourself at home. You and me are the brains in this case." He nodded. "All O.K., I'll tell the necessary lies."

So a few minutes later when the others were going upstairs, Larose slipped away and darted in the direction of the kitchen. He slowed down abruptly, however, when he reached the door, and it was a very leisurely young man with plenty of time on his hands who stepped in.

He smiled in the friendliest manner possible at the three girls, who regarded him with uneasy eyes.

"May I come through this way?" he asked. "No, I've not come to worry you any more. You must be sick of us all by now."

The girls recovered their composure at once and smiled back. Here was a man not a bit like a detective, he had such a kind and pleasant face.

"Yes," went on Larose, "and I thought you all answered our questions remarkably well, but my word——" and he smiled more than ever, "what splendid consciences you must all have, to sleep as you did. Fancy none of you waking up at all, all night."

"But I woke up once," said the cook, archly, "as I told the gentleman."

"Ah! so you did," said Larose. "I had forgotten that." He pretended to be struck with sudden interest. "Now I wonder what woke you. You must have heard some noise."

But the cook shook her head. "No, I don't think it was that." She hesitated a moment and went on thoughtfully, "it might have been, I think now, because I was imagining I was smelling something. I have a terribly keen nose for a smell."

"Oh! you smelt something?" asked Larose. "Now, what did you smell?"

"Something burning, I thought at first," replied the cook, "and I sat up in bed to make sure." She shook her head again, "But I smelt nothing then."

"Curious," said Larose, looking very puzzled, "and what did the first smell remind you of, tobacco?"

"No, no," replied the cook, "something unusual, more like burning cloth. For an instant I think I imagined the house was on fire and I was going to jump up, but I couldn't smell anything more, so I turned over again and went to sleep."

Larose was silent for a moment and looked very sad. "Ah, well," he sighed, "it's a dreadful business. This poor chap was a splendid fellow, I hear."

"Yes," said the parlor-maid, "he was that, and always a perfect gentleman, too."

"Was he of a happy disposition?" asked Larose.

"Yes," replied the girl. She hesitated, and then added, "at any rate until a little while ago." She turned to the cook. "He's seemed worried lately, hasn't he, Mary?"

"Yes," replied the cook, "ever since he gave the master notice to leave."

"Oh! He was leaving then?" asked Larose. "Has he got the sack?"

"No; it was him who gave the notice," said the cook, "and the master was furious. Mr. Jakes was leaving in about a fortnight's time."

"What for?" asked Larose. "Why did he want to go?"

"No one knows." said the parlor-maid. "He wouldn't tell the master, even, and that made him so wild."

"Did the doctor ever ask any of you if you knew the cause?" said Larose.

The girls all laughed. "Ask us," said the parlor-maid. "Why, he hardly speaks to any of us, he's much too grand."

"Well, don't you tell him I've talked to you," laughed back Larose.

"No fear," said the cook, "we'd all get the sack."

Larose asked another question. "Did Mr. Jakes write a letter to anyone last night, do you know?"

The cook looked around at the others. "We didn't see him with any letter," she said, "but he was writing in his book. He kept a diary and used to write down everything that happened."

"What on earth for?" asked Larose.

"So that he could always remember what had happened, he told us," answered the cook. "At any rate, it was often very useful," she went on, "and sometimes helped the master, too. He asked Mr. Jakes last month, when the lodge gates were last painted, and he went to his book and found out at once."

They talked on for a few minutes and then Larose took out his watch. "Well, I shall have to go now," he said, "and as you've kept me here gossiping,——" he smiled, "I can't do what I intended to and shall have to go back." He pretended to shiver. "But, I say, isn't it awfully cold and damp down here? I was frozen in the car coming down. Do you have fires here every night at this time of the year?"

"Good gracious, no," replied the cook, "and I don't suppose it's colder with us than it is in London. Of course, there's always a fire here in the kitchen," she added, "but not usually anywhere else." She turned to the parlor-maid. "The master didn't have a fire last night, did he?"

"But he did," replied the girl, "and burned a bit of coal, too. The box was nearly empty this morning."

With a bright smile Larose bade them good-bye, but once outside in the passage again the smile faded instantly from his face.

"Whew!" he whispered, "then it looks as if this old devil Shillington did it." He wiped the perspiration from his face. "But, cripes, I must be darned careful in the company I'm now in. If I make a fool of myself——" but he stopped whispering and, tip-toeing through the hall, made for the waiting car outside. Then he pounced on a camera that he had noticed in one of the pockets and when a couple of minutes or so later the party descended from the upper rooms, it was a very dull-witted and innocent-looking young man that stood awaiting them in the hall.

"A country bumpkin," the big Stone told him afterwards, "a regular sook."