Читать книгу The Judgment of Larose - Arthur Gask - Страница 5

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ABOUT eleven-thirty that same morning a number of those people whose dispositions and temperaments the inspector of the Eastbourne police and Gilbert Larose had been so energetically discussing were gathered together upon one of the lawns of Southdown Court, and interestedly regarding the coming of a storm that was sweeping down towards the town from over Beachy Head.

The air about the Court was close and sultry, and not a breath of wind was stirring among the trees, but as far as the eye could see great black clouds were banking themselves up over the downs and, with every few seconds, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. The peals were getting louder.

"It will be over us in less than three minutes," remarked an immaculately dressed man carelessly, "and then for a good downpour."

"Well, anything for a breeze, Mr. Wardle," yawned a handsome woman with deeply carmined lips. "I've had a wretched headache ever since I got up this morning. I feel a hundred to-day."

"And you look tired, my dear Sylvia," exclaimed another woman, tall and angular, and with big prominent blue eyes. "I thought so at breakfast directly I saw you." She sighed and swept round a plaintive glance upon the others. "But then who wouldn't be tired with all we are going through?"

A tall, aristocratic-looking man, with a clear-cut profile, smiled wearily.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Culloden," he said. "I assure you it was not included in the hospitality I was intending to offer you, but"—he shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little bitterly—"it is Fate, as you would say."

"Oh, I know it isn't your fault, Sir James," exclaimed Mrs. Culloden quickly, "and it's worse, of course, for you than any one; still"—and she sighed again—"it's very distressing, isn't it?"

"Very," agreed Sir James Marley grimly, "for all of us."

"And are you sure, Sir James," asked a pretty girl with widely opened eyes, "that this dreadful Gilbert Larose will be coming to-day?"

"I am sure of nothing, Miss Bartholomew," replied the baronet gravely. "I know no more about it than you do. All I was told was that he was going to be sent down."

"Well, he'll not be much good, anyhow, if he does come," scoffed Gentry Wardle. "He's much over-rated in my opinion, and he's been lucky in his cases, that's all. I heard him giving evidence once, and wasn't at all impressed. He's a most ordinary-looking fellow."

"But he's psychic, Mr. Wardle," protested Mrs. Culloden with great animation, "and that's of course why he's being sent here." Her voice quavered. "That horrid policeman is so certain it was one of us who did it, and they must expect this Larose will find out something at once." She lowered her voice mysteriously. "He's supposed to be elemental, you know, and in touch with strange forces that ordinary people don't understand."

"Dear me!" ejaculated Gentry Wardle sarcastically, "but how useful he would have been then if we had only had him at Goodwood with us the other day."

"They say," went on Mrs. Culloden, as if she had not heard the interruption, "that when a murder has been committed, no matter how long afterwards, he can still see the shadow of the murderer upon the wall."

"And you believe it?" asked a stout, red-faced man, scornfully.

"It is not impossible, Colonel Mead," replied Mrs. Culloden with spirit, and she nodded her head vigorously. "A great many things happen in this world that you never hear of in the army." Her face flushed in her enthusiasm. "Why, they call Gilbert Larose 'the man who never fails.' He's——"

"But if they had to send down somebody," interrupted Lady Sylvia Drews rudely, "it ought to have been Naughton Jones. He's a freak to look at, and very rude, but he got back Bishop Rundle's sliver snuff-boxes when the regular police had failed hopelessly. Everyone says he saved his lordship from a severe nervous breakdown."

"Oh, how black it's getting!" exclaimed Lucy Bartholomew. "It'll soon be dark as night. Here comes the storm." And with the falling of big drops of rain everyone hurried into the house and stood in the big open doorway.

A blinding flash of lightning tore through the sky and then an awe-inspiring peal of thunder crashed overhead.

"We're right under it now," drawled Gentry Wardle with a bored expression. He smiled dryly. "We're being specially favoured."

"Then there's a reason for it," called out Mrs. Culloden shrilly, raising her voice in order that it should be heard above the lashing of the rain which was now beginning to fall in torrents. "It's a day of judgment"—she looked round with suddenly startled eyes—"the hour of judgment, perhaps—upon someone in this house."

The men looked either bored or contemptuous, but a visible shudder ran through some of the women and then a voice from the background called out angrily:

"Stop it, Flora, at once will you? Your confounded nonsense will upset the ladies. Have the door shut, will you, Marley, and then perhaps my wife will hold her tongue?"

But before Sir James had time to make any comment or give the order, a roar was heard in the direction of the lodge and three seconds later a car was seen avalanching round the bend of the drive. It was being driven furiously as if its driver were in great haste to gain whatever shelter were possible against the side of the house.

"It's the policeman's car" snapped Gentry Wardle grimly, "and that fellow Roberts is driving it."

"And the man sitting with him," added Mrs. Culloden excitedly, "is Gilbert Larose. I am sure of it."

The car was braked sharply to a standstill in front of the house, and Inspector Roberts, followed closely by Larose, darted across to the doorway and stepped into the hall. Instinctively a lane was made for them to pass through, and Sir James Marley came forward.

"Mr. Gilbert Larose," announced Inspector Roberts curtly, indicating his companion, and taking notice only of the baronet.

Sir James bowed coldly. "Come this way, will you?" he said, and he at once made for a small room leading out of the hall. He held the door open for them to enter, and then, following them in, closed it behind him.

"Sit down, please," he went on, and then, with no further speech, he himself took a chair and proceeded silently to regard his visitors, as if he were in no way particularly interested as to what the nature of their mission was.

"Exactly," was the mental note of Larose, "a gentleman, as the inspector said, but he's stiff and haughty and he's suffering a lot. Friend Roberts had not been too tactful, and he's put his back up, otherwise I should have had no difficulty in dealing with him. He's not a fool and he'll be quite straightforward."

The inspector cleared his throat and spoke in a cold, official tone.

"We are not satisfied, as I have told you, Sir James," he said, "and Mr. Larose has come to help us in the investigation. It is my firm conviction, as you are aware, that the crime was committed by some one in the house, and that our inquiries will end as they began—here."

"Quite so, Mr. Roberts," replied the baronet carelessly, "I understand." He looked coldly at the detective. "And what do you propose to do, Mr. Larose? How are you going to begin?"

Larose smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I just want to look about a bit, sir, and then ask a few questions." He put as much sympathy as he could into his voice. "I won't worry any of you more than I can help, for I realise, of course, what a dreadful time you must be going through."

"Very dreadful," commented the baronet, "and the memory of it will overshadow all our lives." He spoke very quietly. "We shall probably never, any of us, be quite the same men and women again."

"But you would wish, wouldn't you," asked Larose gently, "that the culprit should be found out, whoever he or she may be?"

"Most certainly," agreed Sir James looking Larose straight in the face, "as you say—whoever he or she may be."

"And you have no suspicion of any one, of course?"

"None whatever," was the instant reply, "and it is inconceivable to my mind that any of my guests could have done it." The note of antagonism in his voice deepened. "I disagree entirely with Inspector Roberts there." His lips curled scornfully. "None of my friends, that I know of, is short of two thousand pounds."

"But it is quite clear that robbery was the motive?" asked Larose quietly.

Sir James elevated his eyebrows. "Is anything clear, Mr. Larose?" he replied. He shrugged his shoulders. "But as the money is missing, and no other motive is conceivable, surely we can surmise that?"

Larose started on a new tack. "And are you well acquainted with all your guests?" he asked. "Have you known them all for some time?"

Sir James hesitated. "The men, yes," he replied slowly, "the young ladies, no. My wife became friendly with them only since our marriage—five months ago."

"And Captain Dane," asked Larose, "he was an old friend?"

The baronet inclined his head. "My superior officer in the war. I served under him in 1914-1915."

"And was he known to all the other guests before he came here?"

Sir James spoke very deliberately. "No, on the contrary," he replied, "only to Colonel Mead, but they had known each other for many years."

"He was a stranger then to every one else when he arrived?" went on Larose.

"Exactly; even to my wife," replied the baronet, and he added sarcastically, "so there was no likelihood of his having any desperate enemy here thirsting for his blood." He stirred irritably in his chair. "As it happened it was quite by chance that he came to be our guest for the Goodwood week. I met him accidentally at Henley last month and gave him the invitation then."

Larose thought for a moment. "And the servants," he asked, "you are sure of them?"

Sir James's face cleared. "As far as I can be sure of anyone," he replied. "My butler has served our family for many years, and the maids"—he half-smiled—"well, surely the murder was not a woman's work."

"And your opinion then is," said the detective, "that the murderer was a stranger who came from outside?"

"Most certainly," replied Sir James. He looked coldly at the inspector. "There have been a number of burglaries in Eastbourne lately, as, of course, Mr. Roberts has informed you, and undoubtedly an entrance was effected here."

"And if the murderer did come from outside," asked the detective, whose eyes had never once left the baronet's face, "you have no suggestion to make as to how he got into the house?"

"There are many possibilities," replied Sir James slowly, "and for one thing I am not satisfied he did not get in through one of the windows in the corridor upstairs. There are several places where an active man could have climbed up, and it is not impossible that in so doing he left no traces behind. Also I have stressed to Mr. Roberts the other possibility of someone having slipped into the house earlier in the evening before the doors were locked and the burglar alarms set."

"But in either of those happenings," suggested Larose diffidently, "having committed the murder, and being in possession of the banknotes, surely the murderer would have made away from the house in the easiest way possible. There was only that side-door in the billiard-room to open, and he would have been out in the grounds at once. And yet the door there, I understand, was found both bolted and locked." He shrugged his shoulders. "And then what were the chances of any stranger escaping the attention of those Alsatian dogs?"

Sir James made no comment and the detective went on softly. "Then another thing—why should a burglar have gone into the billiard-room at all? Was there anything there of particular value, of a portable nature, that he could carry away?"

A long silence followed and then Sir James shook his head slowly. "No, nothing that I know of," he replied. He sighed wearily. "But I tell you I don't pretend to understand it at all and I'm sick of going over all the possibilities. It's a dreadful nightmare to me."

Larose rose briskly to his feet. "Well I think that is all, just now," he said, "and so, with your permission, I'll start at once to go over the house and then"—he spoke as if he were asking a great favour—"I'll have a chat with your guests as well as with the servants."

"Just as you like," said the baronet quietly, and, rising to his feet, he moved across to the door and opened it for them to pass out. "Oh! one moment, Mr. Larose," he added, and pushing to the door again he stood hesitating with his hand upon the handle. "You might"—he was obviously trying hard to speak carelessly, but there was a tremor in his voice—"you might, please, if you will, deal gently with the ladies and particularly so with my wife, because"—he had himself completely under control now—"because we are hoping for an heir to the baronetcy in about six months."

Larose drew in his breath sharply, and in spite of all the hardening influence of his life's work amongst crime, a lump came into his throat. No wonder the man was suffering, no wonder he looked drawn and ill!

"Certainly, Sir James," he replied gently. "I'm not an enemy in any way, and it may not be necessary to question her ladyship at all."

"Thank you," said Sir James stiffly and, opening the door again, he followed after his visitors into the hall.

Larose had gone first and for the moment he thought the hall was untenanted. Then he saw a girl arranging some flowers in a vase upon a small table near the big fire-place, and he realised instantly that she must be the mistress of the house.

Obviously still in the very early twenties, she was extraordinarily pretty and, built rather on the small side, there was something, notwithstanding the dignity of her carriage, very childlike about her. The lines of her face were almost perfect in their symmetry and the ivory pallor of her complexion was heightened in its effect by a head of rich dark hair. She held herself erect and proudly.

"Poor little woman," sighed the detective, "and she's mixed up in all this wretched business when her thoughts should be all upon the coming of her baby."

The girl had looked round sharply as they had turned into the hall, and her glance wandered from the inspector and her husband; she fastened a pair of beautiful, dark eyes upon Larose.

It was evidently the intention of Sir James to pass without noticing her, but she was standing directly in his way and so, after a moment's hesitation, he stopped and with a frown indicated Larose.

"Mr. Gilbert Larose, Sonia," he said grimly. "He's come to help. Mr. Larose—Lady Marley."

The girl stood hesitating, and with her lips slightly parted, regarded the detective with a cold, unfriendly stare, but then, seeing only gentleness and amiability in the eyes that were regarding her with equal intentness, the hostility in her face died away and, with a rather wistful little smile, she suddenly held out her hand.

"Your coming is naturally an ordeal, Mr. Larose," she said gently, "and it prolongs our distress." Her voice shook a little. "We hope, however, you will not find any of us quite as wicked as Inspector Roberts believes we are."

"I hope not, too," smiled back Larose. "I've come with an open mind."

"And what are you going to do now, then?" she asked with a slight catch in her voice.

"Oh, I'm just going to look round first," replied Larose, "and then perhaps ask some of you a few questions."

"You'll want to question us all together?" she suggested quickly.

"No, no," replied Larose, shaking his head, "nothing like that. I don't want anything so formal." He smiled engagingly. "Just a little chat, perhaps, with a few of you when Inspector Roberts has shown me over the house and I have spoken to the servants."

"But it will take you quite a long time, won't it," asked the girl, "even to do that?"

"Well, anyhow, I'll be as quick as I can," replied the detective noncommittally, "and we'll upset your domestic arrangements as little as possible."

Lady Marley was now quite at her ease. "And you'll have some refreshment later, of course, won't you?" she said, inclining her head.

"That's a good idea," exclaimed the detective, "and I can get to know your guests much better that way." He looked up at the big hall clock. "Now, what time do you have luncheon?"

The girl flashed an embarrassed look at her husband, but she composed her features at once and replied with no hesitation.

"At one o'clock, and we shall be pleased to have you." She turned with a smile to the inspector. "And you'll join us too, Mr. Roberts?"

But the inspector was grim and unsmiling. "I'm sorry, my lady," he replied, "but my duties won't permit me. I have to get back as soon as possible. I'm just going to put Mr. Larose in the way of things and then I'll leave him." He looked significantly at the detective. "We'd better begin at once."

"Well, I won't detain you," said Lady Marley with a gracious little bow, "and I'll send for Mr. Larose when lunch is ready."

"But that was not necessary, Sonia," frowned Sir James when he was alone with his wife. "You shouldn't have asked him."

His wife drew in a deep breath. "I couldn't help it, Jim," she replied brokenly. "He practically asked himself and besides"—her face lost a little of its careworn expression—"he seems kind and gentle, and it'll be best for everyone if we keep friendly with him."

"Well, I'm damned," growled the inspector as he and Larose together were traversing the long corridor leading to the billiard-room, "but you've got a cheek. She never intended to invite you to have lunch with them. All she meant perhaps was a glass of beer in some back room."

"But I'm hungry," smiled Larose, looking amused, "and shall be ready for a good meal. They're sure to keep a good cook here, too."

"And why the devil didn't he tell me about that baby coming?" went on the inspector irritably. "I had a long conversation with him and he never mentioned it."

But Larose was saved from the necessity of replying, for by then they had reached the door of the billiard-room and the inspector was busy examining the sealed tape stretched across the jamb.

"All right," he exclaimed, "quite intact." And pulling it off, he produced a key from his pocket, and, unlocking the door, ushered his companion in.

"Now, Mr. Larose," he went on in a sharp, policeman-like tone, "except that the body has been removed, you will see everything exactly as we found it. The chairs and settees are in the same positions and the bloodstains are absolutely untouched. The poker has been handled, of course, but it has been put back to the place where it came from and none of the ashes in the grate even has been disturbed. Of course, as we expected, we found finger-prints everywhere on surfaces wherever they could be left, but they did nothing to help us, for everybody, almost, had been here at some time or other on the night of the murder." He made a grimace. "The place smells musty because it's been shut up, but this is a modern house and with the doors and windows well fitting there is practically no dust. Now, I'll pull up the blinds and you'll get the hang of everything."

Larose found himself in a large oblong room containing two full-sized billiard tables, with long, dark, leather-covered settees on each side, and with half a dozen or so of big arm-chairs conveniently placed. It had a parquet floor upon which were laid a generous number of rich Persian rugs. At the far end was a large open fire-place, and drawn up close to it was one of the arm-chairs. There was a second door to the room in an alcove at the side. Upon the walls were a dozen or so of sporting pictures, a couple of mounted heads of leopards, a collection of spears and shields, some old-fashioned-looking rifles with peculiar barrels, and clusters of evil-shaped, foreign-looking daggers and knives.

"His uncle, the former baronet, General Sir Julian Marley," explained the inspector, pointing to the varied trophies on the walls, "served in India and collected these things." He nodded his head contemptuously. "A waste of good money to my mind."

He walked over to one of the settees and pointed to some stains upon the leather.

"This is where he was killed," he said in a low voice, "and as I have told you we can be quite certain of several things. He was on his feet facing the murderer when he was struck—he must have been for he was struck full face on his forehead, and there were those marks of blood down his clothes and upon one of his shoes. Then he fell backwards on to that settee, he lay balanced there for a few seconds, and then, from that trail of blood, he slipped off on to the floor, and died. And you heard what our police surgeon said—that the attack must have been so swift and unexpected that he could not even have had time to put up his hands, for if he had there would have been some marks or injury upon them probably, and certainly some soiling from the black-lead of the poker upon his fingers or his palms." He pointed to the fireplace. "All the queer old fire-irons there are covered thickly with blacklead, and there were distinct traces of it, as you heard, upon the wound in the forehead."

"But the little cut on his ear," commented Larose thoughtfully, "that wants some explanation. Remember—your surgeon couldn't account for it, although he said it was bleeding at the moment when the captain died, and he was sure, too, it was much too insignificant an injury to have been caused by that heavy poker."

"The bigger puzzle to me," said the inspector slowly, and as if he were busy on his own train of thought, "is how does it come about that it was here by the settee that he was killed? Was he dozing in that armchair when someone attempted to rob him and, waking up suddenly, did he dart these twenty-odd feet away in an endeavour to escape the poker his assailant was threatening him with? That's what I think, and yet in some ways"—he shook his head—"all the facts don't fit in. If he saw the danger coming, why didn't he cry out? The acoustic properties of the room are good, and we have proved by experiment that a cry from here can be heard a long way through the house. Why, too, was he killed facing his attacker, and why, again, did not he make some attempt to ward off the blow?"

It was quite a long moment before Larose spoke.

"I can give no answer off-hand," he said slowly. He measured the distance between the settee and the fireplace with his eye, and went on. "But certainly the captain would not have been lying down here before he was attacked, for if he had been feeling chilly, as he had told them, of all places he would not have been upon this settee, so far away from the fire."

"Quite so," commented the inspector drily. He looked sceptical. "But, of course, if we don't believe that he was remaining on here before the fire that night because he was feeling chilly—then we surely need not bother our heads about why he was killed on this settee. He may have made an assignation with one of the females of the house, and they just happened to park themselves in this particular place."

"And the lady had first gone over to the fire-place," laughed Larose, "and provided herself with a poker to add zest to the love-making." He shook his head and became serious again. "Ah! but I must have time in this room to work out all it can tell me, and I'll have to arrange with Sir James to come here to-night when they're all in bed. I shall get the right atmosphere then with everything silent in the house."

"And you'll be stopping here at the Court, then?" suggested the inspector ironically. "You'll join the house-party perhaps, in place of the deceased?"

"That's it," nodded Larose cheerfully, "and then I'll soon find out who among them is acting as if he'd got some secret to hide." He looked solemnly at the inspector. "Yes, if any one in this house committed the murder, he surely cannot be so inured to crime that he can be continually masking his feelings, and show no signs of the effort he is making." The detective's tone was most emphatic. "He is an amateur, this assassin, and in close contact with him, I shall catch him, in a hundred little ways, betraying himself."

"Hum!" remarked the inspector, "but I don't seem to remember hearing Sir James or her ladyship suggest that you should stay on here as a guest."

"No," replied Larose airily, "but I shall have to manage it." He looked round thoughtfully, and took in all the surroundings of the room. "Door locked, windows bolted, burglar-alarms undisturbed and poker, the instrument of death. Yes, yes, this certainly looks an inside job and a crime of the moment."

He walked over to the door in the alcove and unlocked it, noticing that the key turned easily and with hardly any sound. "But if the murderer were any one belonging to the house," he remarked very puzzled, "it is funny that he didn't unlock the door and leave it open so that it might have been thought afterwards the killer came from outside."

"That's one of my points," said the inspector quickly, "for, as I say, he was one of the crowd staying here, and not a regular professional, and after he had grabbed the notes he was too flurried to think of laying any false trails. He just thought of nothing but getting away quickly from the scene of his crime."

"That might perhaps have been the case," commented Larose slowly, "if he had been a man with no nerve or self-possession, but if he had had the foresight, as we have seen, to throw that poker into the fire in order to obliterate his finger-prints, then surely one would think he would have thought to unlock the door and leave it open."

"Bah!" exclaimed the inspector scornfully, "they never think of everything, these gentry. They always make a mistake somewhere."

The detective, after a final long and searching look round the room, took out his watch.

"Well now, sir," he said briskly, "I've seen all I want to here for the present and so I'd like a quick look over the house, just to note the positions of all the rooms, and you can tell me where everyone slept. Then we'll go into the captain's room and see if there's anything particularly interesting there. We've only three quarters of an hour before lunch."

They pulled down the blinds and, out in the passage again, the inspector relocked the door.

"What about resealing?" he asked.

"Hardly necessary, I think," replied Larose. "The lock's a good one and you say this is the only key there is, besides, after to-night, we may be able to let them have the room back."

The Court was of two stories only and covered a large area, but their progress was speedy, and soon they were upon the upper floor.

"Any burglar-alarms here?" asked Larose.

"No," replied the inspector, "but all the rooms except two were occupied that night, and we found the windows of these two vacant ones bolted, and with the safety-catches down. Besides"—and he shook his head—"there happen to be flower beds beneath both of them and no ladder could have been placed against the wall without leaving unmistakable traces of its having been there." He led the way along a wide passage. "Now here's that corridor Sir James spoke about, and there are flower beds under these windows, too."

Larose leant out of one of the windows he indicated. "About 22 feet," he commented, "from the sill to the ground and there's a water pipe there." He smiled. "Still it would take a very acrobatic man to swing from it on to the window as Sir James wanted to suggest." He shook his head. "No, I think we can rule out all entrance upon this floor and so if the doors and windows below were all undisturbed, we can take it for granted there was no forcible entry to the house at all. Now for the captain's room."

The inspector led the way to a door down the corridor and unlocking it, they were at once in the dead man's room.

"We made a thorough search here for those banknotes," said the inspector, "although as I told you we did not expect to find them. Still, on the chance that he might later have brought them up here, we looked for every possible hiding-place besides his trunk—carpet, wainscotting, boards, furniture, mattress—in fact we looked everywhere. The contents of his trunk have been replaced, as nearly as possible, as we found them, and nothing of any kind has been removed from the room. I locked it at once, and the key has been with me ever since."

"No other key in existence?" asked Larose.

"Yes, a master key to all the doors," nodded the inspector, "but Sir James handed that over and I've got it now."

The trunk of the dead man was opened, and the detective ran rapidly through its contents.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, opening a fair sized tin, "he has travelled, undoubtedly. Quite a little medicine-chest. Iodine, mustard leaves, chlorodyne, and a two-ounce bottle of quinine." He turned quickly and, striding over to a shelf above the wash-stand basin, took down a tumbler and held it up to the light. Then he smelt it and finally rubbed his finger round the inside of the tumbler and put it lightly to his tongue.

He nodded quickly to the inspector. "It was the truth," he said, "when he told them he was feeling chilly, for he'd been taking quinine dissolved in some spirit, probably in some of that whisky there from that flask, and if we inquire into his life we shall almost certainly find, from the amount of quinine he was in the habit of carrying about with him, that he has lived in a malarial district at some time."

"Good!" exclaimed the inspector, but he looked rather disappointed. "Still he may have had a date with some female in that billiard-room all the same."

They went carefully through the contents of the trunk, but the detective found nothing further of any particular interest to him, and then he turned to a writing-table in the corner.

"Find any letters about?" he asked the inspector, and when the latter had replied in the negative he pointed to the blotting-pad and added: "But he's been writing some. One," he corrected himself, bringing the pad up to the window, "and as he apparently did not possess a fountain pen, we may presume it was not his custom to write much. Therefore, whenever he did write, we may presume again, it was necessary, and in a degree more or less important."

He held the pad up before the mirror over the washstand basin.

"Quite a short one," he went on, "and evidently written to a friend, for he finishes up with 'Yours ever.'" He frowned and beckoned the inspector over to his side. "Now, what are those words above? 'I—something—'pleasant'—something— 'tell'—something, and then a space for three or four more words."

"Think it of any importance?" asked the inspector, when for a long minute they had been studying the pad.

"But note the bold handwriting," continued Larose. "He was a man of energy, a man of enterprise—remember his eyebrows, Inspector—and you'll always find energy with bushy eyebrows. Oh, is it of any importance?" The detective thought for a moment and drew in a long breath. "Well, it might be," he said slowly, looking intently at his companion. "You see," he went on, "I am entirely in accord with you now that the murder was an inside one, and that you have certainly had speech with the murderer, but"—he frowned and shook his head—"we must not rest absolutely sure that the money motive is the only one, and we must grope about on the chance of finding something else as well." He tore off the sheet of blotting-paper, and folding it carefully, placed it in his pocket. "So, I am going to think this over."

A sound of softly pealing bells came up from the hall, and the detective started.

"But that's for lunch," he exclaimed quickly, "and I mustn't keep them waiting"—he sighed whimsically—"the star guest, and—I am hoping to get one of them hanged."