The Dorrington Deed-Box 🕵️♂️📦 | A Classic Detective Mystery by Arthur Morrison
Welcome to Classic Detective Mysteries. In today’s tale, The Dorington Deed Box by Arthur Morrison, we delve into a gripping story of deception and intrigue. Dorington, a man with a sharp mind for manipulation, finds himself entangled in a web of mystery involving a seemingly innocuous deed box. As the case unfolds, we follow the twists and turns of a puzzle that could cost more than just money. Stay with us as we uncover the secrets hidden within the box and witness a masterful blend of suspense and cunning. Chapter the narrative of Mr. James Riby. I shall here set down in language as simple and straightforward as I can command the events which followed my recent return to England, and I shall leave it to others to judge whether or not my conduct has been characterized by foolish fear and ill-considered credul. At the same time, I have my own opinion as to what would have been the behavior of any other man of average intelligence and courage in the same circumstances. More especially a man of my exceptional upbringing and retired habits. I was born in Australia and I have lived there all my life till quite recently save for a single trip to Europe as a boy in company with my father and mother. It was then that I lost my father. I was less than 9 years old at the time, but my memory of the events of that European trip is singularly vivid. My father had immigrated to Australia at the time of his marriage and had become a rich man by singularly fortunate speculations in land in and about Sydney. As a family, we were most uncommonly self-centered and isolated. From my parents, I never heard a word as to their relatives in England. Indeed, to this day, I do not as much as know what was the Christian name of my grandfather. I have often suppose that some serious family quarrel or great misfortune, must have preceded or accompanied my father’s marriage. Be that as it may, I was never able to learn anything of my relatives, either on my mother’s or my father’s side. Both parents, however, were educated people, and indeed I fancy that their habit of seclusion must first have arisen from this circumstance, since the colonists about them in the early days, excellent people as they were, were not as a class distinguished for extreme intellectual culture. My father had his library stocked from England and added to by fresh arrivals from time to time, and among his books he would pass most of his days taking, however, now and again an excursion with a gun in search of some new specimen to add to his museum of natural history, which occupied three long rooms in our house by the Lane Cove River. I was, as I have said, 8 years of age when I started with my parents on a European tour, and it was in the year We stayed but a short while in England at first arrival, intending to make a longer stay on our return from the continent. We made our tour, taking Italy last, and it was here that my father encountered a dangerous adventure. We were at Naples, and my father had taken an odd fancy for a picturesque-looking ruffian, who had attracted his attention by a complexion unusually fair for an Italian, and in whom he professed to recognize a likeness to Tasso, the poet. This man became his guide in excursions about the neighborhood of Naples, though he was not one of the regular core of guides, and indeed seemed to have no regular occupation of a definite sort. Tasso, as my father always called him, seemed a civil fellow enough, and was fairly intelligent, but my mother disliked him extremely from the first, without being able to offer any very distinct reason for her aversion. In the event her instinct was proved true, Tasso, his correct name, by the way, was Tomaso Marino, persuaded my father that something interesting was to be seen at the Estroni Crater 4 mi west of the city, or thereabout persuaded him, moreover, to make the journey on foot, and the two accordingly set out. All went well enough till the crater was reached. And then, in a lonely and broken part of the hill, the guide suddenly turned and attacked my father with a knife. His intention without a doubt being murder and the acquisition of the Englishman’s valuables. Fortunately, my father had a hip pocket with a revolver in it, for he had been warned of the danger a stranger might at that time run wandering in the country about Naples. He received a wound in the flesh of his left arm in an attempt to ward off a stab and fired at wrestling distance with the result that his asalent fell dead on the spot. He left the place with all speed, tying up his arm as he went, sought the British consul at Naples, and informed him of the whole circumstances. From the authorities there was no great difficulty. An examination or two, a few signatures, some particular exertions on the part of the consul, and my father was free so far as the officers of the law were concerned. But while these formalities were in progress, no less than three attempts were made on his life, two by the knife, and one by shooting, and in each his escape was little short of miraculous. for the dead Ruffian Marino had been a member of the dreaded Camora, and the Camaristi were eager to avenge his death. To anybody acquainted with the internal history of Italy, more particularly the history of the old kingdom of Naples, the name of the Kamora will be familiar enough. It was one of the worst and most powerful of the many powerful and evil secret societies of Italy and had none of the excuses for existence which have been from time to time put forward on behalf of the others. It was a gigantic club for the commission of crime and the extortion of money. So powerful was it that it actually imposed a regular tax on all food material entering Naples. a tax collected and paid with far more regularity than were any of the taxes due to the lawful government of the country. The carrying of smuggled goods was a monopoly of the Kamora, a perfect organization existing for the purpose throughout the kingdom. The whole population was terrorized by this detestable society which had no less than 12 centers in the city of Naples alone. It contracted for the commission of crime just as systematically and calmly as a railway company contracts for the carriage of merchandise. A murder was so much according to circumstances with extras for disposing of the body. Arson was dealt in profitably. Mamings and kidnappings were carried out with promptitude and dispatch and any diabolical outrage imaginable was a mere matter of price. One of the staple vocations of the concern was of course brigandage. After the coming of Victor Emanuel and the fusion of Italy into one kingdom, the Camora lost some of its power, but for a long time gave considerable trouble. I have heard that in the year after the matters I am describing 200 Camaristi were banished from Italy. As soon as the legal forms were complied with, my father received the broadest possible official hint that the sooner and the more secretly he left the country, the better it would be for himself and his family. The British consul too impressed it upon him that the law would be entirely unable to protect him against the minations of the Kamora, and indeed it needed but little persuasion to induce us to leave. For my poor mother was in a state of constant terror, lest we were murdered together in our hotel, so that we lost no time in returning to England and bringing our European trip to a close. In London, we stayed at a well-known private hotel near Bond Street. We had been but 3 days here when my father came in one evening with a firm conviction that he had been followed for something like 2 hours and followed very skillfully too. More than once he had doubled suddenly with a view to confront the pursuers who he felt were at his heels but he had met nobody of a suspicious appearance. The next afternoon, I heard my mother telling my governness who was traveling with us, of an unpleasant-l lookinging man, who had been hanging about opposite the hotel door, and who she felt sure had afterwards been following her and my father as they were walking. My mother grew nervous and communicated her fears to my father. He, however, poo pooed the thing, and took little thought of its meaning. Nevertheless, the dogging continued, and my father, who was never able to fix upon the persons who caused the annoyance, indeed he rather felt their presence by instinct, as one does in such cases, than otherwise grew extremely angry, and had some idea of consulting the police. Then one morning, my mother discovered a little paper label stuck on the outside of the door of the bedroom occupied by herself and my father. It was a small thing, circular, and about the size of a six penny piece, or even smaller. But my mother was quite certain that it had not been there when she last entered the door the night before, and she was much terrified, for the label carried a tiny device, drawn awkwardly in ink, a pair of knives of curious shape, crossed, the sign of the kamora. Nobody knew anything of this label, or how it came, where it had been found. My mother urged my father to place himself under the protection of the police at once, but he delayed. Indeed, I fancy he had a suspicion that the label might be the production of some practical joker staying at the hotel, who had heard of his Neapolitan adventure. It was reported in many newspapers and designed to give him a fright. But that very evening, my poor father was found dead, stabbed in a dozen places in a short, quiet street not 40 yards from the hotel. He had merely gone out to buy a few cigars of a particular brand which he fancied at a shop two streets away, and in less than half an hour of his departure, the police were at the hotel door with the news of his death. having got his address from letters in his pockets. It is no part of my present design to enlarge on my mother’s grief, or to describe in detail the incidents that followed my father’s death. For I am going back to this early period of my life merely to make more clear the bearings of what has recently happened to myself. It will be sufficient, therefore, to say that at the inquest, the jury returned a verdict of willful murder against some person or persons unknown. that it was several times reported that the police had obtained a most important clue and that being so very naturally there was never any arrest. We returned to Sydney and there I grew up. I should perhaps have mentioned dare this that my profession or I should rather say my hobby is that of an artist. Fortunately or unfortunately as you may please to consider it, I have no need to follow any profession as a means of livelihood. But since I was 16 years of age, my whole time has been engrossed in drawing and painting. Were it not for my mother’s invincible objection to parting with me, even for the shortest space of time, I should long ago have come to Europe to work and to study in the regular schools. As it was, I made shift to do my best in Australia, and wandered about pretty freely, struggling with the difficulties of molding into artistic form the curious Australian landscape. There is an odd, desolate, uncanny note in characteristic Australian scenery, which most people are apt to regard as of little value for the purposes of the landscape painter, but with which I have always been convinced that an able painter could do great things. So, I did my feeble best. Two years ago, my mother died. My age was then 28, and I was left without a friend in the world, and so far as I know, without a relative. I soon found it impossible any longer to inhabit the large house by the Lane Cove River. It was beyond my simple needs, and the whole thing was an embarrassment to say nothing of the associations of the house with my dead mother, which exercised a painful and depressing effect on me. So I sold the house and cut myself a drift. For a year or more I pursued the life of a lonely vagabond in New South Wales, painting as well as I could its scattered forests of magnificent trees with their curious upturned foliage. Then miserably dissatisfied with my performance and altogether filled with a restless spirit, I determined to quit the colony and live in England or at any rate somewhere in Europe. I would paint at the Paris schools I promised myself and acquire that technical mastery of my material that I now felt the lack of. The thing was no sooner resolved on than begun. I instructed my solicitors in Sydney to wind up my affairs and to communicate with their London correspondents in order that on my arrival in England I might deal with business matters through them I had more than half resolved to transfer all my property to England and to make the old country my permanent headquarters and in 3 weeks from the date of my resolve I had started I carried with me the necessary letters of introduction to the London solicitors and the deeds appertaining to certain land in South Australia, which my father had bought just before his departure on the fatal European trip. There was workable copper in this land it had since been ascertained, and I believed I might profitably dispose of the property to a company in London. I found myself to some extent out of my element on board a great passenger steamer. It seemed no longer possible for me in the constant association of shipboard to maintain that reserve which had become with me a second nature. But so much had it become my nature that I shrank ridiculously from breaking it. For grown man as I was, it must be confessed that I was absurdly shy, and indeed I fear little better than an overgrown school boy in my manner. But somehow I was scarce a day at sea before falling into a most pleasant acquaintance ship with another passenger, a man of 38 or 40, whose name was Dorington. He was a tall, well-built fellow, rather handsome perhaps, except for a certain extreme roundness of face and fullness of feature. He had a dark military mustache and carried himself erect with a swing as of a cavalryman, and his eyes had, I think, the most penetrating quality I ever saw. His manners were extremely engaging, and he was the only good talker I had ever met. He knew everybody, and had been everywhere. His fond of illustration and anecdote was inexhaustible, and during all my acquaintance with him, I never heard him tell the same story twice. Nothing could happen. Not a bird could fly by the ship, not a dish could be put on the table. But Dorington was ready with a pungent remark and the appropriate anecdote, and he never bored nor wearied one. With all his ready talk, he never appeared unduly obtrusive, nor in the least egotistic. Mr. Horris Dorington was altogether the most charming person I had ever met. Moreover, we discovered a community of taste in cigars. By the way, said Dorington to me one magnificent evening as we leaned on the rail and smoked. Riby isn’t a very common name in Australia, is it? I seem to remember a case 20 years ago or more of an Australian gentleman of that name being very badly treated in London. Indeed, now I think of it, I’m not sure that he wasn’t murdered. Ever hear anything of it? Yes, I said. I heard a great deal. Unfortunately, he was my father and he was murdered. your father there. I’m awfully sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but of course I didn’t know. Oh, I replied. That’s all right. It’s so far back now that I don’t mind speaking about it. It was a very extraordinary thing altogether. And then, feeling that I owed Dorington a story of some sort, after listening to the many he had been telling me, I described to him the whole circumstances of my father’s death. Ah, said Dorington when I had finished. I have heard of the Kamora before this. I know a thing or two about it indeed. As a matter of fact, it still exists, not quite the widespread and open thing it once was, of course, and much smaller, but pretty active in a quiet way, and pretty mischievous. They were a mighty bad lot, those Camaristi. Personally, I’m rather surprised that you heard no more of them. They were the sort of people who would rather any day murder three people than one, and their usual idea of revenge went a good way beyond the mere murder of the offending party. They had a way of including his wife and family and as many relatives as possible. But at any rate, you seem to have got off all right, though I’m inclined to call it rather a piece of luck than otherwise. Then, as was his invariable habit, he launched into anecdote. He told me of the crimes of the mafia, that Italian secret society, larger even and more powerful than the camora, and almost as criminal tales of implacable revenge visited on father, son, and grandson in succession, till the race was extated. Then he talked of the methods, of the large funds at the disposal of the Kamora and the mafia, and of the cunning patients with which their schemes were carried into execution, of the victims who had discovered too late that their most trusted servants were sworn to their destruction, and of those who had fled to remote parts of the earth and hoped to be lost and forgotten, but who had been shadowed and slain with barbarous ferocity in their most trusted hiding places. Wherever Italians were, there was apt to be a branch of one of the societies, and one could never tell where they might or might not turn up. The two Italian for Castle hands on board at that moment might be members, and might or might not have some business in hand, not included in their signed articles. I asked if he had ever come into personal contact with either of these societies or their doings. with the Kamora? No. Though I know things about them that would probably surprise some of them, not a little. But I have had professional dealings with the mafia. And that without coming off second best, too. But it was not so serious a case as your father’s one of a robbery of documents and blackmail. Professional dealings, I queried. Dorington laughed. Yes, he answered. I find I’ve come very near to letting the cat out of the bag. I don’t generally tell people who I am when I travel about and indeed I don’t always use my own name as I’m doing now. Surely you’ve heard the name at some time or another. I had to confess that I did not remember it but I excused myself by citing my secluded life and the fact that I had never left Australia since I was a child. Ah, he said, “Of course we should be less heard of in Australia, but in England we’re really pretty wellnown, my partner and I. But come now, look me all over and consider, and I’ll give you a dozen guesses and bet you a sovereign you can’t tell me my trade, and it’s not such an uncommon or unheard of trade, neither. Guessing would have been hopeless, and I said so. He did not seem the sort of man who would trouble himself about a trade at all. I gave it up. Well, he said, I have no particular desire to have it known all over the ship, but I don’t mind telling you. You’d find it out probably before long if you settle in the old country that we are what is called private inquiry agents, detectives, secret servicemen, whatever you like to call it. Indeed. Yes, indeed. And I think I may claim that we stand as high as any, if not a trifle higher. Of course, I can’t tell you, but you’d be rather astonished if you heard the names of some of our clients. We have had dealings with certain royalties, European and Asiatic, that would startle you a bit if I could tell them. Dorington Amp Hicks is the name of the firm, and we are both pretty busy men, though we keep going a regiment of assistance and correspondence. I have been in Australia 3 months over a rather awkward and complicated matter, but I fancy I’ve pulled it through pretty well, and I mean to reward myself with a little holiday when I get back there. Now you know the worst of me. And D Amp H present their respectful compliments and trust that by unfailing punctuality and a strict attention to business they may hope to receive your esteemed commands whenever. You may be so unfortunate as to require their services. Family secrets extracted, cleaned, scaled, or stopped with gold. Special attention given to wholesale orders. He laughed and pulled out his cigar case. You haven’t another cigar in your pocket, he said, or you wouldn’t smoke that stump so low. Try one of these. I took the cigar and lit it at my remainder. Ah, then, I said, I take it that it is the practice of your profession that has given you such a command of curious and out of the way information and anecdote. Plainly, you must have been in the midst of many curious affairs. Yes, I believe you, Dorington replied. But as it happens, the most curious of my experiences I am unable to relate since they are matters of professional confidence. Such as I can tell, I usually tell with altered names, dates, and places. One learns discretion in such a trade as mine. As to your adventure with the mafia now, is there any secrecy about that? Dorington shrugged his shoulders. No, he said, none in particular, but the case was not particularly interesting. It was in Florence. The documents were the property of a wealthy American and some of the mafia rascals managed to steal them. It doesn’t matter what the documents were. That’s a private matter. But their owner would have parted with a great deal to get them back. And the mafia held them for ransom. But they had such a fearful notion of the Americans wealth and of what he ought to pay that badly as he wanted the papers back, he couldn’t stand their demands and employed us to negotiate and to do our best for him. I think I might have managed to get the thing stolen back again. Indeed, I spent some time thinking a plan over, but I decided in the end that it wouldn’t pay. If the mafia were tricked in that way, they might consider it appropriate to stick somebody with a knife. And that was not an easy thing to provide against. So, I took a little time and went another way to work. The details don’t matter. They’re quite uninteresting. And to tell you them would be to talk mere professional shop. There’s a deal of dull and patient work to be done in my business. Anyhow, I contrived to find out exactly in whose hands the documents lay. He wasn’t altogether a blameless creature, and there were two or three little things that properly handled might have brought him into awkward complications with the law. So, I delayed the negotiations while I got my nets effectually round this gentleman, who was the president of that particular branch of the mafia. And when all was ready, I had a friendly interview with him and just showed him my hand of cards. They served as no other argument would have done. And in the end, we concluded quite an amicable arrangement on easy terms for both parties. And my client got his property back, including all expenses at about a fifth of the price he expected to have to pay. That’s all. I learned a deal about the mafia while the business lasted. And at that and other times I learned a good deal about the Kamora, too. Dorington and I grew more intimate every day of the voyage, till he knew every detail of my uneventful little history, and I knew many of his own most curious experiences. In truth, he was a man with an irresistible fascination for a dull homebird like myself. With all his gaity, he never forgot business, and at most of our stopping places, he sent off messages by cable to his partner. As the voyage drew near its end, he grew anxious and impatient, lest he should not arrive in time to enable him to get to Scotland for grouse shooting on the 12th of August. His one amusement, it seemed, was shooting, and the holiday he had promised himself was to be spent on a grouse mo, which he rented in Perth. It would be a great nuisance to miss the 12th, he said, but it would apparently be a near shave. He thought, however, that in any case it might be done by leaving the ship at Plymouth and rushing up to London by the first train. Yes, he said, I think I shall be able to do it that way, even if the boat is a couple of days late. By the way, he added suddenly, why not come along to Scotland with me? You haven’t any particular business in hand, and I can promise you a week or two of good fun. The invitation pleased me. It’s very good of you, I said, and as a matter of fact, I haven’t any very urgent business in London. I must see those solicitors I told you of, but that’s not a matter of hurry. Indeed, an hour or two on my way through London would be enough. But as I don’t know any of your party, and poo poo, my dear fellow, answered Dorington, with a snap of his fingers. That’s all right. I shan have a party, there won’t be time to get it together. One or two might come down a little later, but if they do, they’ll be capital fellows, delighted to make your acquaintance, I’m sure. Indeed, you’ll do me a great favor if you’ll come. Else I shall be all alone without a soul to say a word to. Anyway, I won’t miss the 12th. If it’s to be done by any possibility, you’ll really have to come. You know, you’ve no excuse. I can lend you guns and anything you want, though I believe you have such things with you. Who is your London solicitor by the way? Mobre of Lincoln’s in Fields. Oh, Mobre, we know him well. His partner died last year. When I say we know him well, I mean as a firm. I have never met him personally, though my partner who does the office work has regular dealings with him. He’s an excellent man, but his managing Clark’s frightful. I wonder Mobri keeps him. Don’t you let him do anything for you on his own hook. He makes the most disastrous messes, and I rather fancy he drinks. deal with Moberry himself. There’s nobody better in London. And by the way, now I think of it, it’s lucky you’ve nothing urgent for him, for he’s sure to be off out of town for the 12th. He’s a rare old gunner and never misses a season. So that now you haven’t a shade of an excuse for leaving me in the lurch, and will consider the thing settled. Settled accordingly it was, and the voyage ended uneventfully. But the steamer was late and we left it at Plymouth and rushed up to town on the 10th. We had 3 or 4 hours to prepare before leaving Houston by the night train. Dorington’s Moore was a long drive from Creef Station, and he calculated that at best we could not arrive there before the early evening of the following day, which would however give us comfortable time for a good long night’s rest before the morning sport opened. Fortunately, I had plenty of loose cash with me, so that there was nothing to delay us in that regard. We made ready in Dorington’s rooms. He was a bachelor in Conduit Street, and got off comfortably by the 10:00 train from Houston, then followed a most delightful 8 days. The weather was fine, the birds were plentiful, and my first taste of grouse shooting was a complete success. I resolved for the future to come out of my shell and mix in the world that contained such charming fellows as Dorington and such delightful sports as that I was then enjoying. But on the eighth day Dorington received a telegram calling him instantly to London. It’s a shocking nuisance, he said. Here’s my holiday either knocked on the head altogether or cut in two. And I fear it’s the first rather than the second. It’s just the way in such an uncertain profession as mine. There’s no possible help for it, however I must go, as you’d understand at once if you knew the case. But what chiefly annoys me is leaving you all alone.” I reassured him on this point and pointed out that I had for a long time been used to a good deal of my own company, though indeed with Dorington away, life at the shooting lodge threatened to be less pleasant than it had been. “But you’ll be bored to death here,” Dorington said. his thoughts jumping with my own. But on the other hand, it won’t be much good going up to town yet. Everybody’s out of town and Mobrey among them. There’s a little business of ours that’s waiting for him at this moment. My partner mentioned it in his letter yesterday. Why not put in the time with a little tour around? Or you might work up to London by irregular stages and look about you. As an artist, you’d like to see a few of the old towns probably Edinburgh, Chester, Warick, and so on. It isn’t a great program perhaps, but I hardly know what else to suggest. As for myself, I must be off as I am by the first train I can get. I begged him not to trouble about me, but to attend to his business. As a matter of fact, I was disposed to get to London and take Chambers at any rate for a little while. But Chester was a place I much wanted to see, a real old town with walls around it, and I was not indisposed to take a day at Warick. So in the end I resolved to pack up and make for Chester the following day and from there to take train for Warrick and in half an hour Dorington was gone. Chester was all delight to me. My recollections of the trip to Europe in my childhood were vivid enough as to the misfortunes that followed my father. But of the ancient buildings we visited I remembered little. Now in Chester I found the medieval town I had so often raid of. I wandered for hours together in the quaint old rose and walked on the city wall. The evening after my arrival was fine and moonlight, and I was tempted from my hotel. I took a stroll about the town and finished by a walk along the wall from the watergate toward the cathedral. The moon, flecked over now and again by scraps of cloud, and at times obscured for half a minute together, lighted up all the rudy in the intervals, and touched with silver the river beyond. But as I walked, I presently grew aware of a quiet shuffling footstep some little way behind me. I took little heed of it at first, though I could see nobody near me from whom the sound might come. But soon I perceived that when I stopped, as I did from time to time to gaze over the parapet, the mysterious footsteps stopped also, and when I resumed my walk, the quiet shuffling tread began again. At first I thought it might be an echo, but a moment’s reflection dispelled that idea. Mine was an even distinct walk, and this which followed was a soft, quick shuffling step, a mere scuffle. Moreover, when by way of test I took a few silent steps on tiptoe, the shuffle still persisted. I was being followed. Now, I do not know whether or not it may sound like a childish fancy, but I confess I thought of my father. When last I had been in England as a child, my father’s violent death had been preceded by just such followings. And now, after all these years on my return, on the very first night I walked abroad alone, there were strange footsteps in my track. The walk was narrow, and nobody could possibly pass me unseen. I turned suddenly, therefore, and hastened back. At once I saw a dark figure rise from the shadow of the parapit and run. I ran too, but I could not gain on the figure, which receded farther and more indistinctly before me. One reason was that I felt doubtful of my footing on the unfamiliar track. I ceased my chase and continued my stroll. It might easily have been some vagrant thief, I thought, who had a notion to rush at a convenient opportunity and snatch my watch, but here I was, far past the spot where I had turned, there was the shuffling footstep behind me again. For a little while I feigned not to notice it, then swinging round as swiftly as I could. I made a quick rush, useless again, for there in the distance scuttled that same indistinct figure more rapidly than I could run. What did it mean? I liked the affair so little that I left the walls and walked toward my hotel. The streets were quiet. I had traversed two and was about emerging into one of the two main streets where the rows are when from the farther part of the dark street behind me there came once more the sound of the now unmistakable footstep. I stopped. The footsteps stopped also. I turned and walked back a few steps, and as I did it, the sounds went scuffling away at the far end of the street. It could not be fancy. It could not be chance. For a single incident perhaps such an explanation might serve, but not for this persistent recurrence. I hurried away to my hotel resolved, since I could not come at my pursuer, to turn back no more. But before I reached the hotel, there were the shuffling footsteps again, and not far behind. It would not be true to say that I was alarmed at this stage of the adventure, but I was troubled to know what it all might mean, and altogether puzzled to account for it. I thought a great deal, but I went to bed and rose in the morning, no wiser than ever. Whether or not it was a mere fancy induced by the last night’s experience, I cannot say, but I went about that day with a haunting feeling that I was watched. And to me, the impression was very real indeed. I listened often, but in the bustle of the day, even in quiet old Chester, the individual characters of different footsteps were not easily recognizable. Once, however, as I descended a flight of steps from the rose, I fancied, I heard the quick shuffle in the curious old gallery I had just quitted. I turned up the steps again and looked. There was a shabby sort of man looking in one of the windows, and leaning so far as to hide his head behind the heavy oaken palister that supported the building above. It might have been his footstep, or it might have been my fancy. At any rate, I would have a look at him. I mounted the top stair, but as I turned in his direction, the man ran off with his face averted and his head ducked and vanished down another stair. I made all speed after him, but when I reached the street, he was nowhere to be seen. What could it all mean? The man was rather above the middle height, and he wore one of those soft felt hats familiar on the head of the London organ grinder. Also, his hair was black and bushy and protruded over the back of his coat collar. Surely this was no delusion. Surely I was not imagining an Italian aspect for this man simply because of the recollection of my father’s fate. Perhaps I was foolish, but I took no more pleasure in Chester. The embarrassment was a novel one for me, and I could not forget it. I went back to my hotel, paid my bill, sent my bag to the railway station, and took train for Warrick by way of crew. It was dark when I arrived, but the night was near as fine as last night had been at Chester. I took a very little late dinner at my hotel, and fell into a doubt what to do with myself. One rather fat and very sleepy commercial traveler, was the only other customer visible, and the billiard room was empty. There seemed to be nothing to do but to light a cigar and take a walk. I could just see enough of the old town to give me good hopes of tomorrow’s sightseeing. There was nothing visible of quite such an interesting character as one might meet in Chester, but there were a good few fine old 16th century houses, and there were the two gates with the chapels above them. But of course, the castle was the great showplace, and that I should visit on the tomorrow, if there were no difficulties as to permission. There were some very fine pictures there, if I remembered a right what I had read. I was walking down the incline from one of the gates, trying to remember who the painters of these pictures were, besides Van Djk and Holine, when that shuffling step was behind me again. I admit that it cost me an effort, this time to turn on my pursuer. There was something uncanny in that persistent elusive footstep, and indeed there was something alarming in my circumstances, dogged thus from place to place, and unable to shake off my enemy, or to understand his movements or his motive. Turn I did, however, and straightway the shuffling step went off at a hastened pace in the shadow of the gate. This time I made no more than half a dozen steps back. I turned again and pushed my way to the hotel. And as I went, the shuffling step came after. The thing was serious. There must be some object in this unceasing watching, and the object could bode no good to me. Plainly some unseen eye had been on me the whole of that day, had noted my goings and comingings, and my journey from Chester. Again, and irresistibly, the watchings that preceded my father’s death came to mind, and I could not forget them. I could have no doubt now that I had been closely watched from the moment I had set foot at Plymouth, but who could have been waiting to watch me at Plymouth, when indeed I had only decided to land at the last moment. Then I thought of the two Italian four castle hands on the steamer, the very men whom Dorington had used to illustrate in what unexpected quarters members of the terrible Italian secret societies might be found. And the camora was not satisfied with single revenge. It destroyed the son after the father, and it waited for many years with infinite patience and cunning. Dogged by the steps, I reached the hotel and went to bed. I slept but fitfully at first, though better rest came as the night wore on. In the early morning I woke with a sudden shock and with an indefinite sense of being disturbed by somebody about me. The window was directly opposite the foot of the bed and there as I looked was the face of a man dark evil and grinning with a bush of black hair about his uncovered head and small rings in his ears. It was but a flash and the face vanished. I was struck by the terror that one so often feels on a sudden and violent awakening from sleep. And it was some seconds there I could leave my bed and get to the window. My room was on the first floor and the window looked down on a stable yard. I had a momentary glimpse of a human figure leaving the gate of the yard and it was the figure that had fled before me in the rose at Chester. A ladder belonging to the yard stood under the window and that was all. I rose and dressed. I could stand this sort of thing no longer. If it were only something tangible, if there were only somebody I could take hold of and fight with if necessary, it would not have been so bad. But I was surrounded by some mysterious mination, persistent, unexplainable, that it was altogether impossible to tackle or to face. To complain to the police would have been absurd they would take me for a lunatic. They are indeed just such complaints that lunatics so often make to the police. Complaints of being followed by indefinite enemies and of being besieged by faces that look in at windows. Even if they did not set me down a lunatic, what could the police of a provincial town do for me in a case like this? No, I must go and consult Dorington. I had my breakfast and then decided that I would at any rate try the castle before leaving. Try it, I did accordingly, and was allowed to go over it. But through the whole morning I was oppressed by the horrible sense of being watched by malignant eyes. Clearly there was no comfort for me while this lasted. So after lunch I caught a train which brought me to Houston soon after 6. I took a cab straight to Dorington’s rooms, but he was out and was not expected home till late. So I drove to a large hotel near Charing Cross. I avoid mentioning its name for reasons which will presently be understood, sent in my bag, and dined. I had not the smallest doubt, but that I was still under the observation of the man or the men who had so far pursued me, I had indeed no hope of eluding them, except by the contrivance of Dorington’s expert brain. So, as I had no desire to hear that shuffling footstep again, indeed, it had seemed at Warick to have a physically painful effect on my nerves, I stayed within and got to bed early. I had no fear of waking face to face with a grinning Italian here. My window was four floors up, out of reach of anything but a fire escape, and in fact, I woke comfortably and naturally, and saw nothing from my window but the bright sky, the buildings opposite, and the traffic below. But as I turned to close my door behind me, as I emerged into the corridor, there on the mountain of the frame, just below the bedroom number was a little round paper label, perhaps a trifle smaller than a sixpence. And on the label, drawn awkwardly in ink, was a device of two crossed knives of curious crooked shape, the sign of the camora. I will not attempt to describe the effect of this sign upon me. It may best be imagined in view of what I have said of the incidents preceding the murder of my father. It was the sign of an inexurable fate, creeping nearer, step by step, implacable, inevitable, and mysterious. In little more than 12 hours after seeing that sign, my father had been a mangled corpse. One of the hotel servants passed as I stood by the door, and I made shift to ask him if he knew anything of the label. He looked at the paper and then more curiously at me, but he could offer no explanation. I spent little time over breakfast and then went by cab to Conduit Street. I paid my bill and took my bag with me. Dorington had gone to his office, but he had left a message that if I called I was to follow him, and the office was in Bedford Street, Covent Garden. I turned the cab in that direction forth with. Why? said Dorington as we shook hands. I believe you look a bit out of sorts. Doesn’t England agree with you? Well, I answered, “It has proved rather trying so far,” and then I described in exact detail my adventures as I have set them down here. Dorington looked grave. “It’s really extraordinary,” he said. “Most extraordinary, and it isn’t often that I call a thing extraordinary, neither with my experience. But it’s plain something must be done, something to gain time.” At any rate, we’re in the dark at present, of course, and I expect I shall have to fish about a little before I get it anything to go on. In the meantime, I think you must disappear as artfully as we can manage it. He sat silent for a little while, thoughtfully, tapping his forehead with his fingertips. I wonder, he said presently, whether or not those Italian fellows on the steamer are in it or not. I suppose you haven’t made yourself known anywhere, have you? Nowhere. As you know, you’ve been with me all the time till you left the Moore. And since then, I have been with nobody and called on nobody. Now, there’s no doubt it’s the Kamora.” Dorington said, “That’s pretty plain. I think I told you on the steamer that it was rather wonderful that you had heard nothing of them after your father’s death. What has caused them all this delay? There’s no telling. They know best themselves. It’s been lucky for you anyway so far. What I’d like to find out now is how they have identified you and got on your track so promptly. There’s no guessing where these fellows get their information. It’s just wonderful. But if we can find out, then perhaps we can stop the supply or turn on something that will lead them into a pit. If you had called anywhere on business and declared yourself, as you might have done, for instance, at Mobres, I might be inclined to suspect that they got the tip in some crooked way from there. But you haven’t. Of course, if those Italian chaps on the steamer are in it, you’re probably identified pretty certainly, but if they’re not, they may only have made a guess. We two landed together and kept together till a day or two ago. As far as any outsider would know, I might be and you might be Dorington. Come, we’ll work on those lines. I think I smell a plan. Are you staying anywhere? No. I paid my bill at the hotel and came along here with my bag. Very well. Now, there’s a house at Highgate kept by a very trustworthy man whom I know very well, where a man might be pretty comfortable for a few days or even for a week if he doesn’t mind staying indoors and keeping himself out of sight. I expect your friends of the Kamora are watching in the street outside at this moment, but I think it will be fairly easy to get you away to Highgate without letting them into the secret if you don’t mind secluding yourself for a bit. In the circumstances, I take it, you won’t object at all. Object, I should think not. Very well, that’s settled. You can call yourself Dorington or not, as you please. Though perhaps it will be safest not to shout Riby too loud. But as for myself, for a day or two, at least I’m going to be Mr. James Riby. Heavy your card case handy. Yes, here it is. But then, as to taking my name, won’t you run serious risk? Dorington winked merrily. I’ve run a risk or two before now, he said in course of my business, and if I don’t mind the risk, you needn’t grumble, for I warn you, I shall charge for risk when I send you my bill. And I think I can take care of myself fairly well, even with the kamora bout. I shall take you to this place at Highgate, and then you won’t see me for a few days. It won’t do for me, in the character of Mr. James Riby, to go dragging a trail up and down between this place and your retreat. You’ve got some other identifying papers, haven’t you? Yes, I have. I produced the letter from my Sydney lawyers to Mobrey and the deeds of the South Australian property from my bag. Ah, said Dorington. I’ll just give you a formal receipt for these since they’re valuable. It’s a matter of business, and we’ll do it in a business-like way. I may want something solid like this to support any bluff I may have to make. A mere case of cards won’t always act. You know, it’s a pity old Moberry is out of town, for there’s a way in which he might give a little help, I fancy, but never mind. Leave it all to me. There’s your receipt. Keep it snug away somewhere where inquisitive people can’t read it. He handed me the receipt and then took me to his partner’s room and introduced me. Mr. Hicks was a small, wrinkled man, older than Dorington, I should think, by 15 or 20 years, and with all the aspect and manner of a quiet old professional man. Dorington left the room and presently returned with his hat in his hand. “Yes,” he said. “There’s a charming, dark gentleman with a head like a mop and rings in his ears skullking about at the next corner. If it was he who looked in at your window, I don’t wonder you were startled.” His dress suggests the organ grinding interest, but he looks as though cutting a throat would be more in his line than grinding a tune, and no doubt he has friends as engaging as himself close at call. If you’ll come with me now, I think we shall give him the slip. I have a growler ready for you. A handsome a bit too glassy in public. Pull down the blinds and sit back when you get inside. He led me to a yard at the back of the building wherein the office stood, from which a short flight of steps led to a basement. We followed a passage in this basement till we reached another flight, and ascending these, we emerged into the corridor of another building. outed the door at the end of this and we passed a large block of model dwellings and were in Bedfordbury. Here a four-wheeler was waiting, and I shut myself in it without delay. I was to proceed as far as King’s Cross in this cab Dorington had arranged, and there he would overtake me in a swift handsome. It fell out as he had settled, and dismissing the handsome, he came the rest of the journey with me in the four-wheeler. We stopped at length before one of a row of houses, apparently recently built houses of the over ornamented, gabled, and tiled sort that abound in the suburbs. Crofting is the man’s name, Dorington said as we ellighted. He’s rather an odd sort of customer, but quite decent in the Maine, and his wife makes coffee such as money won’t buy in most places. A woman answered Dorington’s ring, a woman of most extreme thinness. Dorington greeted her as Mrs. Crofting and we entered. “We’ve just lost our servant again, Mr. Dorington,” the woman said in a shrill voice. “And Mr. Crofting ain’t at home, but I’m expecting him before long.” “I don’t think I need wait to see him, Mrs. Crofting,” Dorington answered. “I’m sure I can’t leave my friend in better hands than yours. I hope you have a vacant room.” “Well, for a friend of yours, Mr. Dorington, no doubt we can find room.” “That’s right. My friend, Mr. Dorington gave me a meaning look. Mr. Phelps would like to stay here for a few days. He wants to be quite quiet for a little. Do you understand? Oh, yes, Mr. Dorington. I understand. Very well, then. Make him as comfortable as you can, and give him some of your very best coffee. I believe you’ve got quite a little library of books, and Mr. Phelps will be glad of them. Have you got any cigars? Dorington added, turning to me. Yes, there are some in my bag. Then I think you’ll be pretty comfortable now. Goodbye. I expect you’ll see me in a few days, or at any rate, you’ll get a message. Meanwhile, be as happy as you can. Dorington left, and the woman showed me to a room upstairs where I placed my bag. In front, on the same floor, was a sitting room with, I suppose, some two or 300 books, mostly novels, on shelves. The furniture of the place was of the sort one expects to find in an ordinary lodging house, horsehair sofas, L tables, lusters, and so forth. Mrs. Crofting explained to me that the customary dinner hour was two, but that I might dine when I liked. I elected, however, to follow the custom of the house, and sat down to a cigar and a book. At 2:00 the dinner came, and I was agreeably surprised to find it a very good one, much above what the appointments of the house had led me to expect. plainly. Mrs. Crofting was a capital cook. There was no soup, but there was a very excellent soul and some welldone cutlets with peas and an omelette, also a bottle of base. Come, I felt that I should not do so badly in this place. After all, I trusted that Dorington would be as comfortable in his half of the transaction, bearing my responsibilities and troubles. I had heard a heavy blundering tread on the floor below, and judged from this that Mr. Crofting had returned. After dinner, I lit a cigar, and Mrs. Crofting brought her coffee. Truly, it was excellent coffee, and brewed as I like it, strong and black, and plenty of it. It had a flavor of its own, too. Novel, but not unpleasing. I took one cup full, and brought another to my side. As I lay on the sofa with my book, I had not read six lines before I was asleep. I woke with a sensation of numbing cold in my right side, a terrible stiffness in my limbs, and a sound of loud splashing in my ears. All was pitch dark, and what was this? Water. Water all about me. I was lying in 6 in of cold water, and more was pouring down upon me from above. My head was afflicted with a splitting ache. But where was I? Why was it dark? And whence all the water? I staggered to my feet and instantly struck my head against a hard roof above me. I raised my hand. There was the roof or whatever place it was, hard, smooth, and cold, and little more than 5 ft from the floor. So that I bent as I stood. I spread my hand to the side. That was hard, smooth, and cold, too. And then the conviction struck me like a blow. I was in a covered iron tank, and the water was pouring in to drown me. I dashed my hands frantically against the lid and strove to raise it. It would not move. I shouted at the top of my voice and turned about to feel the extent of my prison. One way I could touch the opposite sides at once easily with my hands. The other way it was wider, perhaps a little more than 6 ft altogether. What was this? Was this to be my fearful end? Cooped in this tank while the water rose by inches to choke me. Already the water was a foot deep. I flung myself at the sides. I beat the pitilous iron with fists, face and head. I screamed and implored. Then it struck me that I might at least stop the inlet of water. I put out my hand and felt the falling stream, then found the inlet and stopped it with my fingers, but water still poured in with a resounding splash. There was another opening at the opposite end, which I could not reach without releasing the one I now held. I was but prolonging my agony. Oh, the devilish cunning that had devised those two inlets so far apart. Again, I beat the sides, broke my nails with tearing at the corners, screamed and intreated in my agony. I was mad, but with no dulling of the senses for the horrors of my awful helpless state, overwhelmed my brain, keen and perceptive to every ripple of the unceasing water. In the height of my frenzy, I held my breath, for I heard a sound from outside. I shouted again, implored some quicker death. Then there was a scraping on the lid above me, and it was raised at one edge, and let in the light of a candle. I sprang from my knees and forced the lid back, and the candle flame danced before me. The candle was held by a dusty man, a workman apparently, who stared at me with scared eyes and said nothing but ghoul law. Overhead were the rafters of a gabled roof and tilted against them was the thick beam which jammed across from one sloping rafter to another had held the tank lid fast. “Help me!” I gasped. “Help me out!” The man took me by the armpits and hauled me, dripping and half dead over the edge of the tank into which the water still poured, making a noise in the hollow iron that half drowned our voices. The man had been at work on the system of a neighboring house, and hearing an uncommon noise, he had climbed through the spaces left in the party walls to give passage along under the roofs to the builder’s men. Among the joists at our feet was the trap door through which, drugged and insensible, I had been carried to be flung into that horrible system. With the help of my friend, the workman, I made shift to climb through by the way, he had come. We got back to the house where he had been at work, and there the people gave me brandy and lent me dry clothes. I made haste to send for the police, but when they arrived, Mrs. Crofting and her respectable spouse had gone. Some unusual noise in the roof must have warned them. And when the police, following my directions further, got to the offices of Dorington and Hicks, those acute professional men had gone too, but in such haste that the contents of the office papers, and everything else had been left, just as they stood, the plot was clear now. The followings, the footsteps, the face at the window, the label on the door, all were a mere humbug arranged by Dorington for his own purpose, which was to drive me into his power and get my papers from me. Armed with these, and with his consuate address and knowledge of affairs, he could go to Mr. Moberry, in the character of Mr. James Riby, sell my land in South Australia, and have the whole of my property transferred to himself from Sydney. The rest of my baggage was at his rooms. If any further proof were required, it might be found there. He had taken good care that I should not meet Mr. Moberry, who by the way I afterwards found had not left his office and had never fired a gun in his life. At first I wondered that Dorington had not made some murderous attempt on me at the shooting place in Scotland. But a little thought convinced me that that would have been bad policy for him. the disposal of the body would be difficult and he would have to account somehow for my sudden disappearance. Whereas by the use of his Italian assistant and his murder apparatus at Highgate, I was made to have face my own trail and could be got rid of in the end with little trouble. For my body, stripped of everything that might identify me would be simply that of a drowned man unknown, whom nobody could identify. The whole plot was contrived upon the information I myself had afforded Dorington during the voyage home, and it all sprang from his remembering the report of my father’s death. When the papers in the office came to be examined, there each step in the operations was plainly revealed. There was a code telegram from Suez directing Hicks to hire a grouse Moore. There were telegrams and letters from Scotland giving directions as to the later movements. Indeed, the thing was displayed completely. The business of Dorington and Hicks had really been that of private inquiry agents, and they had done much bonafideed business, but many of their operations had been of a more than questionable sort, and among their papers were found complete sets, neatly arranged in dockets, each containing in skeleton a complete history of a case. Many of these cases were of a most interesting character, and I have been enabled to piece together out of the material thus supplied the narratives which will follow this. As to my own case, it only remains to say that as yet neither Dorington, Hicks, nor the Croftings have been caught. They played in the end for a high stake. They might have made six figures of me if they had killed me, and the first figure would not have been a one, and they lost by a mere accident. But I’ve often wondered how many of the bodies which the coroner’s juries of London have returned to be found drowned were drowned. Not where they were picked up, but in that horrible tank at Highgate. What the drug was that gave Mrs. Crofting’s coffee its value in Dorington’s eyes, I do not know, but plainly it had not been sufficient in my case to keep me unconscious against the shock of cold water, till I could be drowned altogether. Months have passed since my adventure, but even now I sweat at the sight of an iron tank, the case of Janiser. Chapter 2. In this case, and indeed in most of the others, the notes and other documents found in the dockets would by themselves give but a faint outline of the facts, and indeed might easily be unintelligible to many people, especially as for much of my information I have been indebted to outside inquiries. Therefore, I offer no excuse for presenting the whole thing digested into plain narrative form with little reference to my authorities. Though I knew none of the actors in it, with the exception of the astute Dorington, the case was especially interesting to me, as will be gathered from the narrative itself. The only paper in the bundle, which I shall particularly allude to, was a newspaper cutting of a date anterior by 9 or 10 months to the events I am to write of. It had evidently been cut at the time it appeared and saved in case it might be useful in a box in the form of a book containing many hundreds of others from this receptacle. It had been taken and attached to the bundle during the progress of the case. I may say at once that the facts recorded had no direct concern with the case of the horse janisary, but had been useful in affording a suggestion to Dorington in connection therewith. The matter is the short report of an ordinary sort of inquest, and I here transcribe it. Dr. McCullik held an inquest yesterday on the body of Mr. Henry Lawrence, whose body was found on Tuesday morning last in the river near Vauhall Bridge. The deceased was well known in certain sporting circles. Sophia Lawrence, the widow, said that deceased had left home on Monday afternoon at about 5 in his usual health, saying that he was to dine at her friends, and she saw nothing more of him till called upon to identify the body. He had no reason for suicide, and so far as witness knew was free from pecuniary embarrassments. He had indeed been very successful in betting recently, he habitually carried a large pocketbook with papers in it. Mr. Robert Naylor commission agent said the deceased dined with him that evening at his house in Gold Street, Chelsea, and left for home at about 11. He had at the time a sum of nearly $400 upon him, chiefly in notes which had been paid him by witness in settlement of a bet. It was a fine night, and deceased walked in the direction of Chelsea embankment. That was the last witness saw of him. He might not have been perfectly sober, but he was not drunk and was capable of taking care of himself. The evidence of the temp’s police went to show that no money was on the body when found except a few coppers and no pocketbook. Dr. William Hajit said that death was due to drowning. There were some bruises on the arms and head which might have been caused before death. The body was a very healthy one. The coroner said that there seemed to be a very strong suspicion of foul play unless the pocketbook of the deceased had got out of his pocket in the water, but the evidence was very meager. Although the police appeared to have made every possible inquiry, the jury returned a verdict of found drowned, though how the deceased came into the water there was no evidence to show. I know no more of the unfortunate man Lawrence than this, and I have only printed the cutting here because it probably induced Dorington to take certain steps in the case I am dealing with. With that case, the fate of the man Lawrence has nothing whatever to do. He passes out of the story entirely. Chapter Mr. Warren Tela was a gentleman of means and the owner of a few very few raceh horses. But he had a great knack of buying hidden prizes in yearlings and what his stable lacked in quantity it often more than made up for in quality. Thus he had once bought a saint leisure winner for as little as £150. Many will remember his bitter disappointment of 10 or a dozen years back when his horse Mattfellon starting an odds on favorite for the 2000 never even got among the crowd and ambled in streets behind everything. It was freely rumored and no doubt with cause that Matt Felon had been got at and in some way knobbled. There were hints of a certain bucket of water administered just before the race a bucket of water observed in the hands. Some said of one, some said of another person connected with Ritter’s training establishment. There was no suspicion of pulling, for plainly the jockey was doing his best with the animal all the way along, and never had a tight reign. So a knobbling it must have been, said the knowing ones, and Mr. Warren Teler said so too with much bitterness. more. He immediately removed his horses from Ritter’s stables and started a small training place of his own for his own horses merely putting an old steeplechase jockey in charge who had come out of a bad accident permanently lame and had fallen on evil days. The owner was an impulsive and violenteteered man who once a notion was in his head held to it through everything and in spite of everything. His misfortune with Matt Felon made him the most insanely distrustful man alive. In everything he fancied, he saw a trick, and to him every man seemed a scoundrel. He could scarce bear to let the very stable boys touch his horses, and although for years all went as well as could be expected in his stables, his suspicious distrust lost nothing of its virulence. He was perpetually fussing about the stables, making surprise visits, and laying futile traps that convicted nobody. The sole tangible result of this behavior was a violent quarrel between Mr. Warren Tela and his nephew Richard, who had been making a lengthened stay with his uncle. Young Tel, to tell the truth, was neither so discreet nor so exemplary in behavior as he might have been, but his temper was that characteristic of the family. And when he conceived that his uncle had an idea that he was communicating stable secrets to friends outside, there was an animated row and the nephew bettook himself and his luggage somewhere else. Young Tela always insisted, however, that his uncle was not a bad fellow on the whole, though he had habits of thought and conduct that made him altogether intolerable at times. But the uncle had no good word for his graceless nephew, and indeed Richard Telera betted more than he could afford, and was not so particular in his choice of sporting acquaintances, as a gentleman should have been. Mr. Warren Tela’s house, Blackhole, and his stables were little more than 2 mi from Redbury in Hampshire, and after the quarrel, Mr. Richard Teler was not seen near the place for many months, not indeed till excitement was high over the forthcoming race for the Redbury Stakes, for which there was an entry from the stable Janisary for long ranked second favorite, and then the owner’s nephew did not enter the premises, and in fact made his visit as secret as possible. I have said that Janiseri was long ranked second favorite for the Redbury Stakes, but a little more than a week before the race, he became first favorite, owing to a training mishap to the horse fancied first, which made its chances so poor that it might have been scratched at any moment. And so far was Janiseri above the class of the field, though it was a 2-year-old race, and there might be a surprise that it at once went to far shorter odds than the previous favorite, which indeed, had it run fit and well, would have found Janiseri no easy cult to beat. Mr. Tela’s nephew was seen near the stables, but two or three days before the race, and that day, the owner dispatched a telegram to the firm of Dorington Amp, Hicks. In response to this telegram, Dorington caught the first available train for Redbury and was with Mr. Warren Tela in his library by 5:00 in the afternoon. It is about my horse Janisary that I want to consult you, Mr. Dorington, said Mr. Tela. It’s right enough now, or at least was right at exercise this morning, but I feel certain that there’s some diabolical plot on hand somewhere to interfere with the horse before the Redbury stakes day. And I’m sorry to have to say that I suspect my own nephew to be mixed up in it in some way. In the first place I may tell you that there is no doubt whatever that the cult if let alone and bar accident can win in a caner. He could have won even if Herald the late favorite had kept well for I can tell you that Janiseri is a far greater horse than anybody is aware of outside my establishment or at any rate than anybody ought to be aware of. if the stable secrets are properly kept. His pedigree is nothing very great and he never showed his quality till quite lately in private trials. Of course, it has leaked out somehow that the cult is exceptionally good. I don’t believe I can trust a soul in the place. How should the price have gone up to 5 to four unless somebody had been telling what he’s paid not to tell? But that isn’t all. As I have said, I have a conviction that something’s on foot. somebody wants to interfere with the horse. Of course, we get a tout about now and again, but the downs are pretty big and we generally manage to dodge them if we want to. On the last three or four mornings, however, wherever Janiseri might be taking his gallop, there was a big hulking fellow with a red beard and spectacles, not so much watching the horses trying to get hold of the lad. I’m always up and out at 5, for I found to my cost you remember about Matt Felon, that if a man doesn’t want to be ramped, he must never take his eye off things. Well, I have scarcely seen the lad ease the cult once on the last three or four mornings without that red bearded fellow bobbing up from a null or a clump of bushes or something close by, especially if Janiseri was a bit away from the other horses and not under my nose or the head lads for a moment. I rode at the fellow, of course, when I saw what he was after, but he was artful as a cartload of monkeys and vanished somehow before I could get near him. The headlad believes he has seen him about just after dark, too. But I am keeping the stable lads in when they’re not riding. And I suppose he finds he has no chance of getting at them except when they’re out with the horses. This morning, not only did I see this fellow about as usual, but I am ashamed to say, I observed my own nephew acting the part of a common tout. He certainly had the decency to avoid me and clear out. But that was not all, as you shall see. This morning, happening to approach the stables from the back, I suddenly came upon the red bearded man giving money to a groom of mine. He ran off at once, as you may guess, and I discharged the groom where he stood, and would not allow him into the stables again. He offered no explanation or excuse, but took himself off, and half an hour afterward, I almost sent away my head boy, too. For when I told him of the dismissal, he admitted that he had seen that same groom taking money of my nephew at the back of the stables an hour before, and had not informed me. He said that he thought that as it was only Mr. Richard, it didn’t matter. fool. Anyway, the groom has gone, and so far as I can tell, as yet, the colt is all right. I examined him at once, of course, and I also turned over a box that weeks. The groom used to keep brushes and odd things in there. I found this paper full of powder. I don’t yet know what it is, but it’s certainly nothing he had any business with in the stable. Will you take it? And now, Mr. Tela went on, “I’m in such an uneasy state that I want your advice and assistance. Quite apart from the suspicious, more than suspicious circumstances I have informed you of, I am certain, I know it without being able to give precise reasons, I am certain that some attempt is being made at disabling Janisery before Thursday’s race. I feel it in my bones, so to speak. I had the same suspicion just before that 2000 when Matt Felen was got at. The thing was in the air as it is now. Perhaps it’s a sort of instinct, but I rather think it is the result of an unconscious absorption of a number of little indications about me. Be it as it may, I am resolved to leave no opening to the enemy if I can help it. And I want you to see if you can suggest any further precautions beyond those I am taking. Come and look at the stables. Dorington could see no opening for any piece of rascality by which he might make more of the case than by serving his client loyally. So he resolved to do the latter. He followed Mr. Teler through the training stables where eight or nine thoroughbreds stood and could suggest no improvement upon the exceptional precautions that already existed. No, said Dorington. I don’t think you can do any better than this. At least on this the inner line of defense, but it is best to make the outer line secure first. By the way, this isn’t Janiseri, is it? We saw him farther up the row, didn’t we? Oh, no. That’s a very different sort of cult, though. He does look like, doesn’t he? People who’ve been up and down the stables once or twice often confuse them. They’re both bays, much of a build and about the same height and both have a bit of stocking on the same leg, though janiserries is bigger. And this animal has a white star, but you never saw two creatures look so like and run so differently. This is a dead loss, not worth his feed. If I can manage to wind him up to something like a gallop, I shall try to work him off in a selling plate somewhere, but as far as I can see, he isn’t good enough even for that. He’s a disappointment. and his stocks far better than janiseries, too, and he cost half as much again. Yearlings are a lottery. Still, I’ve drawn a prize or two among them at one time or another. Ah, yes, so I’ve heard. But now, as to the outer defenses I was speaking of. Let us find out who is trying to interfere with your horse. Do you mind letting me into the secrets of the stable commissions? Oh, no. We’re talking in confidence, of course. I’ve backed the cold pretty heavily all round, but not too much anywhere. There’s a good slice with Barker. You know Barker, of course. Mullins has a thousand down for him. And that was at 5 to one before Herold went a miss. Then there’s Ford and Lassil, both good men. And Naylor, he’s the smallest man of them all. And there’s only a hundred or two with him, though he’s been laying the horse pretty freely everywhere, at least until Herold went wrong. And there’s Ped. But there must have been a deal of money laid to outside backers, and there’s no telling who may contemplate a ramp. Just so now, as to your nephew, what of your suspicions in that direction? Perhaps I’m a little hasty as to that, Mr. Teler answered, a little ashamed of what he had previously said. But I’m worried and mystified, as you see, and hardly know what to think. My nephew Richard is a little erratic, and he has a foolish habit of betting more than he can afford. He and I quarreled some time back while he was staying here because I had an idea that he had been talking too freely outside. He had in fact and I regarded it as a breach of confidence. So there was a quarrel and he went away. Very well. I wonder if I can get a bed at the crown at Redbury. I’m afraid it’ll be crowded, but I’ll try. But why trouble? Why not stay with me and be near the stables? because then I should be of no more use to you than one of your lads. People who come out here every morning are probably staying at Redbury, and I must go there after them. Chapter. The crown at Redbury was full in anticipation of the races, but Dorington managed to get a room ordinarily occupied by one of the landlord’s family, who undertook to sleep at a friend’s for a night or two. This settled. He strolled into the yard and soon fell into animated talk with the hostler on the subject of the forthcoming races. All the town was backing Janiseri for the stakes, the hustler said, and he advised Dorington to do the same. During this conversation, two men stopped in the street just outside the yard gate talking. One was a big, heavy, vulgar-looking fellow in a boxcloth coat and with a shaven face and horse voice. The other was a slighter, slimmer, younger, and more gentlemanlike man, though there was a certain patchy color about his face that seemed to hint of anything but tea totalism. There, said the hostler, indicating the younger of these two men. That’s young Mr. Tela. Him as whose uncle’s owner or Janiseri. He’s a young plunger he is. And he’s on Janisery, too. He gave me the tip straight this morning. You put your little bit on my uncle’s cult, he said. It’s all right. I ain’t such pals with the old man as I was. But I’ve got the tip that his money’s down on it. So don’t neglect your opportunities, Thomas, he says. And I haven’t. He’s stopping in our house. Is young Mr. Richard. And who is that? He is talking to a book maker. Yes, sir. That’s Naylor. Bob Naylor. He’s got Mr. Richard’s bets. Perhaps he’s putting on a bit more now. The men at the gate separated and the bookmaker walked off down the street in the fast gathering dusk. Richard Tela, however, entered the house and Dorington followed him. Tela mounted the stairs and went into his room. Dorington lingered a moment on the stairs and then went and knocked at Tela’s door. “Hello!” cried Tela, coming to the door and peering out into the gloomy corridor. “I beg pardon,” Dorington replied courteously. “I thought this was Naylor’s room.” No, it’s no by the end, but I believe he’s just gone down the street. Dorington expressed his thanks and went to his own room. He took one or two small instruments from his bag and hurried stealthily to the door of no, all was quiet, and the door opened at once to Dorington’s picklock, for there was nothing but the common tumbler rim lock to secure it. Dorington, being altogether an unscrupulous scoundrel, would have thought nothing of entering a man’s room thus for purposes of mere robbery, much less scruple had he in doing so in the present circumstances. He lit the candle in a little pocket lantern, and having secured the door, looked quickly about the room. There was nothing unusual to attract his attention, and he turned to two bags lying near the dressing table. One was the usual bookmaker’s satchel and the other was a leather traveling bag. Both were locked. Dorington unbuckled the straps of the large bag and produced a slender picklock of steel wire with a sliding joint which with a little skillful humoring turned the lock in the course of a minute or two. One glance inside was enough. There on the top lay a large false beard of strong red, and upon the shirts below was a pair of spectacles. But Dorington went farther and felt carefully below the linen till his hand met a small flat mahogany box. This he withdrew and opened. Within on a velvet lining lay a small silver instrument resembling a syringe, he shut and replaced the box, and having rearranged the contents of the bag, shut locked and strapped it, and blew out his light. He had found what he came to look for. In another minute, Mr. Bob Naylor’s door was locked behind him and Dorington took his picklocks to his own room. It was a noisy evening in the commercial room at the crown. Chaff and laughter flew thick and Richard Teler threatened Naylor with a terrible settling day. More was drunk than thirst strictly justified, and everybody grew friendly with everybody else. Dorington, sober and keenly alert, affected the reverse, and exhibited a special and extreme affection for Mr. Bob Naylor. His advances were unsuccessful at first, but Dorington’s manner and the Crown Whiskey overcame the bookmakaker’s reserve, and at about 11:00 the two left the house arm in arm for a cooling stroll in the high street. Dorington blabbed and chatted with great success, and soon began about Janiser. So, you’ve pretty well done all you want with Janisary, eh? Book full? Ah, nothing like keeping a book, even all round. It’s the safest way, especially with such a cult as Janisery about. Hey, my boy, he nudged Naylor genially. Ah, no doubt it’s a good cult, but old Tela has rum notions about preparation, hasn’t he? I don’t know, replied Naylor. How do you mean? Why? What does he have the horse led up and down behind the stable for half an hour every afternoon? Didn’t know he did. Ah, but he does. I came across it only this afternoon. I was coming over the downs and just as I got round behind Tela’s stables there I saw a fine bay colult with a white stocking on the offhind leg well covered up in a suit of clothes being led up and down by a lad like a sentry up and down up and down about 20 yards each way and nobody else about. Hello says I to the lad. Hello what horse is this janisery says the boy pretty free for a stable lad. Ah, says I. And what are you walking him like that for? Don’t know, says the boy, but it’s governor’s orders. Every afternoon at 2 to the minute, I have to bring him out here and walk him like this for half an hour exactly. Neither more nor less. And then he goes in and has a handful of malt, but I don’t know why. Well, says I, I never heard of that being done before, but he’s a fine colt. And I put my hand under the cloth and felt him hard as nails and smooth as silk. And the boy let you touch him. Yes, he struck me as a bit easy for a stable boy. But it’s an odd trick, isn’t it, that of the half hour’s walk and the handful of malt? Never hear of anybody else doing it, did you? No, I never did. They talked and strolled for another quarter of an hour and then finished up with one more drink. chapter. The next was the day before the race and in the morning Dorington making a circuit came to Mr. Warren Telers from the father’s side as soon as they were assured of privacy. “Have you seen the man with the red beard this morning?” asked Dorington. “No, I looked out pretty sharply, too.” “That’s right. If you like to fall in with my suggestions, however, you shall see him at about 2:00 and take a handsome rise out of him.” “Very well,” Mr. Teler replied. What’s your suggestion? I’ll tell you in the first place what’s the value of that other horse that looks so like Janisery. Hamid is his name. He’s worth well, what he will fetch. I’ll sell him for 50 and be glad of the chance. Very good. Then you’ll no doubt be glad to risk his health temporarily to make sure of the Redbury stakes and to get longer prices for anything you may like to put on between now and tomorrow afternoon. Come to the stables and I’ll tell you. But first, is there a place where we may command a view of the ground behind the stables without being seen? Yes, there’s a ventilation grating at the back of each stall. Good. Then we’ll watch from Hamid’s stall, which will be empty. Select your most wooden-faced and most careful boy and send him out behind the stable with Hamid at 2:00 to the moment. Put the horse in a full suit of clothes. It is necessary to cover up that white star and tell the lad he must lead it up and down slowly for 20 yards or so. I rather expect the red bearded man will be coming along between 2:00 and 2. You will understand that Hamid is to be Janisary for the occasion. You must drill your boy to appear a bit of a fool and to overcome his stable education sufficiently to chatter freely so long as it is the proper chatter. The man may ask the horse’s name or he may not. Anyway, the boy mustn’t forget it is Janisary he is leading. You have an odd fad you must know and the boy must know it too in the matter of training. This ridiculous fad is to have your cult walked up and down for half an hour exactly at 2:00 every afternoon and then given a handful of malt as he comes in. The boy can talk as freely about this as he pleases and also about the cult’s chances and anything else he likes. And he is to let the stranger come up, talk to the horse, pat him in short, to do as he pleases. Is that plain? Perfectly. You have found out something about this red bearded chap then. Oh yes, it’s Naylor the bookmaker, as a matter of fact, with a false beard. What? Naylor? Yes, you see the idea. Of course. Once Naylor thinks he has nobled the favorite, he will lay it to any extent and the odds will get longer. Then you can make him pay for his little games. Well, yes, of course. Though I wouldn’t put too much with Naylor in any case. He’s not a big man, and he might break and lose me the lot, but I can get it out of the others. Just so you’d better see about schooling your boy now, I think. I’ll tell you more presently. A minute or two before 2:00, Dorington and Tela, mounted on a pair of steps, were gazing through the ventilation grating of Hammed’s stall, while the colt, clothed completely, was led round. Then Dorington described his operations of the previous evening. No matter what he may think of my tale, he said, Naylor will be pretty sure to come, he has tried to bribe your stableman and has been baffled. Every attempt to get hold of the boy in charge of Janiseri has failed, and he will be glad to clutch at any shadow of a chance to save his money now. Once he is here, and the favorite apparently at his mercy, the thing is done. By the way, I expect your nephew’s little present to the man you sacked was a fairly innocent one. No doubt he merely asked the man whether Janiseri was keeping well and was thought good enough to win for I find he is backing it pretty heavily. Naylor came afterwards with much less innocent intentions but fortunately you were down on him in time. Several considerations induced me to go to Naylor’s room. In the first place, I have heard rather shady tales of his doings on one or two occasions, and he did not seem a sufficiently big man to stand to lose a great deal over your horse. Then when I saw him, I observed that his figure bore a considerable resemblance to that of the man you had described, except as regards the red beard and the spectacles articles easily enough assumed, and indeed often enough used by the scum of the ring, whose trade is Welshing, and apart from these considerations, here at any rate, was one man who had an interest in keeping your cult from winning, and here was his room waiting for me to explore. So I explored it and the card turned up trumps. As he was speaking, the stable boy, a stolidl lookinging youngster, was leading Hamid back and forth on the turf before their eyes. There’s somebody, said Dorington suddenly. Over in that clump of trees. Yes, our man. Sure enough, I felt pretty sure of him after you had told me that he hadn’t thought it worthwhile to turn up this morning. Here he comes. Naylor, with his red beard sticking out over the collar of his big coat, came slouching along with an awkwardly assumed air of carelessness and absence of mind. “Hello,” he said suddenly, as he came a breast of the horse, turning as though, but now aware of its presence. “That’s a valuable sort of horse, ain’t it, my lad.” “Yes,” said the boy. “It is. He’s going to win the Redbury Stakes tomorrow. It’s Janiseri.” “Oh, Janiseri, is it?” Naylor answered with a quaint affectation of gaping ignorance. Janie Siri, eh? Well, she do look a fine horse what I can see of her. What a suit of clothes. And so she’s one of the horses that runs in races, is she? Well, I never pretty much like other horses, too, to look at, ain’t she? Only a bit thin in the legs. The boy stood carelessly by the cult side, and the man approached. His hand came quickly from an inner pocket and then he passed it under Hamid’s cloths near the shoulder. Ah, I do feel a lovely skin to be sure, he said. And so there’s going to be races at Redbury tomorrow, is there? I don’t know anything about races myself and oh my. Naylor sprang back as the horse, flinging back its ears, started suddenly swung round and reared. Lore, he said, what a vicious brute. just because I stroked her. I’ll be careful about touching resources again. His hand passed stealthily to the pocket again, and he hurried on his way while the stable boy steadied and soothed Hamid. Telur and Dorington sniggered quietly in their concealment. “He’s taken a deal of trouble, hasn’t he?” Dorington remarked. “It’s a sad case of the bite a bit for Mr. Naylor, I’m afraid. That was a prick. The cult felt hypodermic injection with the syringe I saw in the bag. No doubt the boy won’t be such a fool as to come in again at once, will he? If Naylor’s taking a look back from anywhere, that may make him suspicious. No fear. I’ve told him to keep out for the half hour and he’ll do it. Dear dear, what an innocent person Mr. Bob Naylor is. Well, I never pretty much like other horses. He didn’t know there were to be races at Redbury. Janie Siri too. It’s really very funny. Air the half hour was quite over. Hamid came stumbling and dragging into the stable yard plainly all a miss and collapsed on his litter as soon as he gained his stall. There he lay shivering and drowsy. I expect he’ll get over it in a day or two, Dorington remarked. I don’t suppose a vet could do much for him just now, except perhaps give him a drench and let him take a rest. Certainly, the effect will last over tomorrow. That’s what it is calculated for. Chapter The Redbury Stakes were run at 3:00 in the afternoon after two or three minor events had been disposed of. The betting had undergone considerable fluctuations during the morning, but in general, it ruled heavily against Janisary. The story had got about two that Mr. Warren Tela’s cult would not start. So that when the numbers went up and it was seen that Janiser was starting after all, there was much astonishment and a good deal of uneasiness in the ring. It’s a pity we can’t see our friend Naylor’s face just now, isn’t it? Dorington remarked to his client as they looked on from Mr. Tela’s drag. Yes, it would be interesting, Tela replied. He was quite confident last night, you say? Quite. I tested him by an offer of a small bet on your cult, asking some points over the odds, and he took it at once. Indeed, I believe he has been going about gathering up all the wages he could about Janisery, and the market has felt it. Your nephew has risked some more with him, I believe, and altogether it looks as though the town would spoil the bookies badly. As the horses came from the weighing enclosure, Janiseri was seen conspicuous among them, bright, clean, and firm, and a good many faces lengthened at the site. The start was not so good as it might have been, but the favorite, the starting price had gone to evens, was not left, and got away well in the crowd of 10 starters. There he lay till rounding the bend, when the teler blue, and chocolate was seen among the foremost, and near the rails. Mr. The tel for almost trembled as he watched through his glasses. Hang that willlet, he said almost to himself. He’s too clever against those rails before getting clear. All right, though. All right, he’s coming. Janiseri indeed was showing in front, and as the horses came along the straight, it was plain that Mr. Tela’s cult was holding the field comfortably. There were changes in the crowd. Some dropped away, some came out and attempted to challenge for the lead. But the favorite, striding easily, was never seriously threatened, and in the end, being a little let out, came in a three lengths winner, never once having been made to show his best. “I congratulate you, Mr. Tela,” said Dorington. “And you may congratulate me.” “Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Tela hastily, hurrying off to lead in the winner. It was a bad race for the ring, and in the open parts of the course, many a humble fielder grabbed his satchel air. The shouting was over, and made his best pace for the horizon, and more than one pair of false whiskers, as red as nailers, came off suddenly, while the owner betook himself to a fresh stand. Unless a good many outsiders sailed home before the end of the week, there would be a bad Monday for layers. But all sporting Redbury was jubilant. They had all been on the local favorite for the local race and it had won chapter. Mr. Bob Naylor got a bit back in his own phrase on other races by the end of the week. But all the same, he saw a black settling day ahead. He had been done for a certainty. He had realized this as soon as he saw the numbers go up for the red stakes. Janiseri had not been drugged after all. That meant that another horse had been substituted for him, and that the whole thing was an elaborate plant. He thought he knew Janiseri pretty well by sight, too, and rather prided himself on having an eye for a horse. But clearly it was a plant, a complete do. Tela was in it, and so of course was that gentlemanly stranger who had strolled along Redbury High Street with him that night, telling that and bull story about the afternoon walks and the handful of malt. There was a nice school boy tale to take in a man who thought himself broad as cheapside. He cursed himself high and low. To be done and to know it was a glawing thing. But this would be worse. The tail would get about. They would boast of a clever stroke like that. And that would injure him with everybody with honest men because his reputation as it was would bear no worsening. and with naves like himself, because they would laugh at him and leave him out when any little cooperative swindle was in contemplation. But though the chagrin of the defeat was bitter bad enough, his losses were worse, he had taken everything offered on Janiser after he had knobbled the wrong horse and had given almost any odds demanded. do as he might, he could see nothing but a balance against him on Monday, which though he might pay out his last scent, he could not cover by several hundred, but on the day he met his customers at his club as usual, and paid out freely. Young Richard Tela, however, with whom he was heavily in, he put off till the evening. I’ve been a bit disappointed this morning over some ready that was to be paid over, he said, “And I’ve used the last check form in my book. You might come and have a bit of dinner with me tonight, Mr. Teler, and take it then. Tela asented without difficulty. All right, then that’s settled. You know the place, Gold Street, 7 Sharp. The MS will be pleased to see you, I’m sure, Mr. Tela. Let’s see. It’s 1530 altogether, isn’t it? Yes, that’s it. I’ll come. Young Teler left the club and at the corner of the street ran against Dorington. Teler of course knew him but as his late fellow guest at the crown at Redbury and this was their first meeting in London after their return from the races. Ah said Tela going to draw a bit of Janisery money eh. Oh I haven’t much to draw Dorington answered but I expect your pockets are pretty heavy if you’ve just come from Naylor. Yes, I’ve just come from Naylor, but I haven’t touched the merry sves just yet, replied Tela cheerfully. There’s been a run on Naylor, and I’m going to dine with him and his respectable Mrs. this evening and draw the plunder then. I feel rather curious to see what sort of establishment a man like Naylor keeps going. His place is in Gold Street, Chelsea. Yes, I believe so. Anyhow, I congratulate you on your hall and wish you a merry evening. and the two men parted. Dorington had indeed a few pounds to draw as the result of his fishing bet with Naylor, but now he resolved to ask for the money at his own time. This invitation to Tela took his attention, and it reminded him oddly of the circumstances detailed in the report of the inquest on Lawrence, transcribed at the beginning of this paper. He had cut out this report at the time it appeared because he saw certain singularities about the case and he had filed it as he had done hundreds of other such cutings. And now certain things led him to fancy that he might be much interested to observe the proceedings at Naylor’s house on the evening after a bad settling day. He resolved to gratify himself with a strict professional watch in Gold Street that evening on chance of something coming of it, for it was an important thing in Dorington’s rascally trade to get hold of as much of other people’s private business as possible, and to know exactly in what cupboard to find every man’s skeleton, for there was no knowing but it might be turned into money sooner or later. So he found the number of Naylor’s house from the handiest directory, and at 6:00, a little disguised by a humbler style of dress than usual, he began his watch. Naylor’s house was at the corner of a turning with the flank wall blank of windows except for one at the top, and a public house stood at the opposite corner. Dorington, skilled in watching without attracting attention to himself, now lounged in the public house bar, now stood at the street corner, and now sauntered along the street, a picture of vacancy of mind, and looking, apparently at everything in turn, except the house at the corner. The first thing he noted was the issuing forth from the area steps of a healthy looking girl in much gay be ribboned finery, plainly a servant taking an evening out. This was an odd thing that a servant should be allowed out on an evening when a guest was expected to dinner, and the house looked like one, where it was more likely that one servant would be kept than two. Dorington hurried after the girl, and changing his manner of address to that of a civil laborer, said, “Beg pardon, miss, but is Mary Walker still in service at your house?” “Mary Walker?” said the girl. “Why, no, I never heard the name, and there ain’t nobody in service there but me. Beg pardon. It must be the wrong house. It’s my cousin, miss. That’s all. Dorington left the girl and returned to the public house. As he reached it, he perceived a second noticeable thing. Although it was broad daylight, there was now a light behind the solitary window at the top of the sidewall of Naylor’s house. Dorington slipped through the swing doors of the public house and watched through the glass. It was a bare room behind the high window. It might have been a bathroom, and its interior was made, but dimly visible from outside by the light. A tall, thin woman was setting up an ordinary pair of house steps in the middle of the room. This done, she turned to the window and pulled down the blind, and as she did so, Dorington noted her very extreme thinness, both of. When the blind was down, the light still remained within. Again, there seemed some significance in this. It appeared that the thin woman had waited until her servant had gone before doing whatever she had to do in that room. Presently the watcher came again into Gold Street, and from there caught a passing glimpse of the thin woman as she moved busily about the front room over the breakfast parlor. Clearly then the light above had been left for future use. Dorington thought for a minute, and then suddenly stopped with a snap of the fingers. He saw it all now. here was something altogether in his way. He would take a daring course, he withdrew once more to the public house, and ordering another drink, took up a position in a compartment from which he could command a view both of Gold Street and the side turning. The time now, he saw by his watch, was 10 minutes to 7. He had to wait rather more than a quarter of an hour before seeing Richard Tela come walking jaunty down Gold Street, mount the steps, and knock at Naylor’s door. There was a momentary glimpse of the thin woman’s face at the door, and then Tela entered. It now began to grow dusk, and in about 20 minutes more Dorington took to the street again. The room over the breakfast parlor was clearly the dining room. It was lighted brightly, and by intent listening, the watcher could distinguish now and again a sudden burst of laughter from Tela, followed by the deeper grunts of Naylor’s voice, and once by sharp tones that it seemed natural to suppose were the thin womans. Dorington waited no longer, but slipped a pair of thick sock feet over his shoes, and after a quick look along the two streets to make sure nobody was near, he descended the area steps. There was no light in the breakfast parlor. With his knife, he opened the window catch, raised the sash quietly, and stepped over the sill, and stood in the dark room within. All was quiet except for the talking in the room above. He had done but what many thieves parlor jumpers do everyday, but there was more ahead. He made his way silently to the basement passage and passed into the kitchen. The room was lighted and cookery utensils was scattered about, but nobody was there. He waited till he heard a request in Naylor’s gruff voice for another slice of something and nolessly mounted the stairs. He noticed that the dining room door was a jar, but passed quickly onto the second flight, and rested on the landing above. Mrs. Naylor would probably have to go downstairs once or twice again, but he did not expect anybody in the upper part of the house just yet. There was a small flight of stairs above the landing, whereon he stood, leading to the servant’s bedroom and the bathroom. He took a glance at the bathroom with its feeble lamp, its steps, and its open ceiling trap, and returned again to the bedroom landing. There he stood, waiting watchfully. Twice the thin woman emerged from the dining room, went downstairs, and came up again, each time with food and plates. Then she went down once more, and was longer gone. Meanwhile, Naylor and Tela were talking and joking loudly at the table. When once again, Dorington saw the crown of the thin woman’s head rising over the bottom stair. He perceived that she bore a tray set with cups already filled with coffee. These she carried into the dining room, whence presently came the sound of striking matches. After this, the conversation seemed to flag, and Tela’s part in it grew less and less, till it ceased altogether, and the house was silent, except for a sound of heavy breathing. Soon this became almost a snore, and then there was a sudden noisy tumble as of a drunken man, but still the snoring went on, and the nailers were talking in whispers. There was a shuffling and heaving sound, and a chair was knocked over. Then at the dining room door appeared Naylor walking backward and carrying the inert form of Tela by the shoulders while the thin woman followed supporting the feet. Dorington retreated up the small stair flight cocking a pocket revolver as he went up the stairs they came. Naylor puffing and grunting with the exertion and Telus still snoring soundly on till at last. Having mounted the top flight, they came in at the bathroom door, where Dorington stood to receive them, smiling and bowing pleasantly, with his hat in one hand and his revolver in the other. The woman from her position saw him first and dropped Tela’s legs with a scream. Naylor turned his head and then also dropped his end. The drugged man fell in a heap, snoring still. Naylor, astounded and choking, made as if to rush at the interloper. But Dorington thrust the revolver into his face and exclaimed, still smiling courteously, “Mind, mind. It’s a dangerous thing as a revolver, and apt to go off if you run against it.” He stood thus for a second, and then stepped forward, and took the woman, who seemed like to swoon by the arm, and pulled her into the room. “Come, Mrs. Naylor,” he said. You’re not one of the fainting sort, and I think I’d better keep two such clever people as you under my eye, or one of you may get into mischief. Come now, Naylor, we’ll talk business.” Naylor, now white as a ghost, sat on the edge of the bath, and stared at Dorington as though in a fascination of terror. His hands rested on the bath at each side, and an odd sound of gurgling came from his thick throat. “We will talk business,” Dorington resumed. Come. You’ve met me before now, you know. At Redbury, you can’t have forgotten Janisery and the walking exercise and the handful of malt. I’m afraid you’re a clumsy sort of rascal, Naylor, though you do your best. I’m a rascal myself, though I don’t often confess it, and I assure you that your conceptions are crude as yet. Still, that isn’t a bad notion in its way. that of drugging a man and drowning him in your system up there in the roof when you prefer not to pay him his winnings. It has the very considerable merit that after the body has been fished out of any river you may choose to fling it into, the stupid coroner’s jury will never suspect that it was drowned in any other water but that. Just as happened in the Lawrence case, for instance, you remember that, eh? So do I. Very well. And it was because I remembered that that I paid you this visit tonight. But you do the thing much too clumsily, really. When I saw a light up here in broad daylight, I knew at once it must be left for some purpose to be executed later in the evening. And when I saw the steps carefully placed at the same time, after the servant had been sent out, why the thing was plain, remembering, as I did, the curious coincidence that Mr. Lawrence was drowned the very evening he had been here to take away his winnings. The steps must be intended to give access to the roof, where there was probably a tank to feed the bath, and what more secret place to drown a man than there. And what easier place, so long as the man was well drugged, and there was a strong lid to the tank. As I say, Naylor, your notion was meritorious, but your execution was wretched. Perhaps because you had no notion that I was watching you. He paused and then went on. Come, he said, collect your scattered faculties, both of you. I shan hand you over to the police for this little invention of yours. It’s too useful an invention to give away to the police. I shan hand you over. That is to say, as long as you do as I tell you. If you get mutinous, you shall hang both of you for the Lawrence business. I may as well tell you that I’m a bit of a scoundrel myself by way of profession. I don’t boast about it, but it’s well to be frank in making arrangements of this sort. I’m going to take you into my service. I employ a few agents, and you and your tank may come in very handy from time to time, but we must set it up with a few improvements in another house, a house which hasn’t quite such an awkward window, and we mustn’t execute our little suppressions so regularly on settling day. It looks suspicious. So, as soon as you can get your faculties together, we’ll talk over this thing.” The man and the woman had exchanged glances during this speech. And now Naylor asked huskily, jerking his thumb toward the man on the floor. And what about him? What about him? Why, get rid of him as soon as you like. Not that way, though? He pointed toward the ceiling trap. It doesn’t pay me, and I’m master now. Besides, what will people say when you tell the same tale at his inquest that you told at Lawrence’s? No, my friend. Bookmaking and murder don’t assort together. Profitable as the combination may seem. Settling days are too regular. And I’m not going to be your accomplice, mind. You are going to be mine. Do what you please with Tela. Leave him on somebody’s doorstep if you like, but I owe him 1,500 and I ain’t got more than half of it. I’ll be ruined. Very likely, Dorington returned placidly. Be ruined as soon as possible then, and devote all your time to my business. You’re not to ornament the ring any longer. Remember, you’re to assist a private inquiry agent. You and your wife and your charming tank. Repudiate the debt if you like. It’s a mere gaming transaction and there is no legal claim. Or leave him in the street and tell him he’s been robbed. Please yourself as to this little rogary. You may as well, for it’s the last you will do on your own account. For the future, your respectable talents will be devoted to the service of Dorington AMP Hicks private inquiry agents. And if you don’t give satisfaction, that eminent firm will hang you with the assistance of the judge at the old Bailey. So settle your business yourselves and quickly, for I have a good many things to arrange with you.” and Dorington watching them continually. They took Tela out by the side gate in the garden wall and left him in a dark corner. Thus I learned the history of the horrible tank that had so nearly ended my own life as I have already related. Clearly the nailers had changed their name to Crofting on taking compulsory service with Dorington and Mrs. Naylor was the repulsively thin woman who had drugged me with her coffee in the house at Highgate. The events I have just recorded took place about 3 years before I came to England. In the meantime, how many people whose deaths might be turned to profit had fallen victims to the murderous cunning of Dorington and his tools? The case of the Mirror of Portugal. Chapter. Whether or not this case has an historical interest is a matter of conjecture. If it has none, then the title I have given it is a misnomer. But I think the conjecture that some historical interest attaches to it is by no means an empty one, and all that can be urged against it is the common, though not always declared error, that romance expired 50 years at least ago, and history with it. This makes it seem improbable that the answer to an unsolved riddle of a century since should be found today in an inquiry agent’s dingy office in Bedford Street, Covent Garden. Whether or not it has so been found, the reader may judge for himself, though the evidence stops far short of actual proof of the identity of the mirror of Portugal with the stone wherewith this case was concerned. But first, as to the mirror of Portugal, this was a diamond of much and ancient fame. It was of Indian origin, and it had lain in the possession of the royal family of Portugal in the time of Portugal’s ancient splendor. But 300 years ago, after the extinction of the early line of succession, the diamond with other jewels fell into the possession of Don Antonio. One of the halfozen pretenders who were then scrambling for the throne. Don Antonio, badly in want of money, deposited the stone in pledge with Queen Elizabeth of England, and never redeemed it. Thus, it took its place as one of the English crown jewels, and so remained till the overthrow and death of Charles I. Queen Henrietta then carried it with her to France and there to obtain money to satisfy her creditors, she sold it to the great cardinal Mazarin. He bequeathed it at his death to the French crown and among the crown jewels of France it once more found a temporary abiding place, but once more it brought disaster with it in the shape of a revolution. And again a king lost his head at the executioner’s hands and in the riot and confusion of the great revolution of the mirror of Portugal with other jewels vanished utterly. Where it went to and who took it nobody ever knew. The mirror of Portugal disappeared as suddenly and effectually as though fused to vapor by electric combustion. So much for the famous mirror. Whether or not its history is germanine to the narrative which follows, probably nobody will ever certainly know, but that Dorington considered that it was, his notes on the case abundantly testify. For some days before Dorington’s attention was in any way given to this matter, a poorly dressed and not altogether pre-possessing Frenchman had been haunting the staircase and tapping at the office door, unsuccessfully attempting an interview with Dorington, who happened to be out or busy. Whenever he called, the man never asked for Hicks, Dorington’s partner, but this was very natural. In the first place, it was always Dorington who met all strangers and conducted all negotiations. And in the second, Dorington had just lately, in a case regarding a secret society in Soho, made his name much known and respected, not to say feared, in the foreign colony of that quarter. Wherefore it was likely that a man who bore evidence of residence in that neighborhood should come with the name of Dorington on his tongue. The weather was cold, but the man’s clothes were thin and threadbear, and he had no overcoat. His face was of a broad, low type, coarse in feature and small in forehead, and he wore the baggy black linen peaked cap familiar on the heads of men of his class in parts of Paris. He had called unsuccessfully, as I have said, sometimes once, sometimes more frequently, on each of three or four days before he succeeded in seeing Dorington. At last, however, he intercepted him on the stairs as Dorington arrived at about 11 in the morning. “Pardon, Missu,” he said, laying his finger on Dorington’s arm. “It is Mrs. Dorington, not well, suppose it is what, then?” Dorington never admitted his identity to a stranger without first seeing good cause. I have beesness, very great business. Be business of a large profit for you if you please to take it. Where shall I tell it? Come in here, Dorington replied, leading the way to his private room. The man did not look like a wealthy client, but that signified nothing. Dorington had made profitable strokes after introductions even less promising. The man followed Dorington, pulled off his cap, and sat in the chair Dorington pointed at “In the first place,” said Dorington. “What’s your name?” “Ah, Yas, but before all that I tell is for ourselves alone, is it not? It is all in confidence, eh?” “Yes, yes, of course,” Dorington answered with virtuous impatience. “Whatever is said in this room is regarded as strictly confidential.” “What’s your name?” Jacqu Bouvier living at Little Norm Street, Soho. And now the business you speak of, the business is this. My cousin Leon Bouvier is cooking a rascal. Very likely. He has a great jewel. It is, I have no doubt, a diamond of a great value. It is not his. There is no right of him to it. It should be mine. If you get it for me, one quarter of it in money shall be yours, and it is of a great value. Where does your cousin live? What is he? Beck Street So Zoh Soho. He has a shop, a cafe cafe debonards. And he give me not a crust if I starve. It scarcely seemed likely that the keeper of a little foreign cafe in a back street of Soho would be possessed of a jewel a quarter of whose value would be prized enough to tempt Dorington to take a new case up. But Dorington bore with the man a little longer. What is this jewel you talk of? He asked. And if you don’t know enough about it to be quite sure whether it is a diamond or not, what do you know? Listen, the stone I have never seen, but that it is a diamond makes probable. What else so much value? And it is much value that gives my cousin so great care and trouble. Kushon, listen, I relate to you. My father, he was charcoal burner at Bonal department of Sen. My uncle, the father of my cousin, also was charcoal burner. The grandfather charcoal burner also and his father and his grandfather before him all burners of charcoal at Bonal. Now perceive. The father of my grandfather was of the great revolution. A young man great among those who stormed the Bastile the Tweries the hotel devi brave and a leader. Now when palaces were burnt and heads were falling there was naturally much confusion. Things were lost things of large value. What more natural? While so many were losing the head from the shoulders, it was not strange that some should lose jewels from the neck. And when these things were lost, who might have a greater right to keep them than the young men of the revolution, the brave and the leaders? They who did the work? If you mean that your respectable greatgrandfather stole something, you needn’t explain it anymore. Dorington said, “I quite understand. I do not say stole when there is a great revolution. and a thing is anybody’s but it would not be convenient to tell of it at the time for the new government might believe everything to be its own these things I do not know you will understand I suggest an explanation that is all after the great revolution my greatgrandfather lives alone and quiet and burns the charcoal as before why the jewel is too great to sell so soon so he gives it to his son and dies he also my grandfather still burns the charcoal. Again, why? Because, as I believe, he is too poor, too common a man to go about openly to sell so great a stone. More, he loves the stone, for with that he is always rich, and so he burns his charcoal, and lives contented, as his father had done, and he is rich, and nobody knows it. What then? He has two sons. When he dies, which son does he leave the stone to? Each one says it is for himself that is natural. I say it was for my father. But however that may make itself, my father dies suddenly. He falls in a pit by accident, says his brother. Not by accident, says my mother. And soon after she dies too. By accident too, perhaps you ask. Oh yes, by accident too, no doubt. The man laughed disagreeably. So I am left alone, a little boy to burn charcoal. When I am a bigger boy, there comes the great war and the Prussians besiege Paris. My uncle he burning charcoal no more goes at night and takes things from the dead Prussians. Perhaps they’re not always quite dead when he finds them. Perhaps he makes them so. Be that as it will, the Prussians take him one dark night and they stand him against a garden wall and piff, puff, they shoot him. That is all of my uncle, but he dies a rich man and nobody knows. What does his wife do? She has the jewel and she has a little money that has been got from the dead Prussians. So when the war is over, she comes to London with my cousin, the bad Leon, and she has the cafe cafe de Bon Camarad. And Leon grows up and his mother dies and he has the cafe. And with the jewel is a rich man, nobody knowing, nobody but me. But figure to yourself, shall I burn charcoal and starve at bonal with a rich cousin in London, rich with a diamond that should be mine? Not so. I come over and Leyon at first he lets me wait at the cafe. But I do not want that there is the stone and I can never see it, never find it. So one day Leon finds me looking in a box and shut out I go. I tell Leon that I will share the jewel with him or I will tell the police. He laughs at me. There is no jewel. He says, “I am mad. I do not tell the police, for that is to lose it altogether. But I come here and I offer you one quarter of the diamond if you shall get it. Steal it for you, eh?” Jacqu Bouvier shrugged his shoulders. “The word is as you please,” he said. “The jewel is not his, and if there is delay, it will be gone. Already he goes each day to Hatton Garden, leaving his wife to keep the cafe debon Camarads. Perhaps he is selling the jewel today. Who can tell?” So that it will be well that you begin at once. Very well. My fee in advance will be 20 guineies. What? Dear, I have no money, I tell you. Get the diamond and there is one quarter 25% for you. But what guarantee you give that this story of yours isn’t all a hoax. Can you expect me to take everything on trust and work for nothing? The man rose and waved his arms excitedly. It is true, I say, he exclaimed. It is a fortune. There is much for you and it will pay. I have no money or you should have some. What can I do? You will lose the chance if you are foolish. It rather seems to me, my friend, that I shall be foolish to give valuable time to gratifying your and bull fancies. See here now, I’m a man of business, and my time is fully occupied. You come here and waste half an hour or more of it with a long rigomearroll about some valuable article that you say yourself you have never seen and you don’t even know whether it is a diamond or not. You wander at large over family traditions which you may believe yourself or may not. You have no money and you offer no fee as a guarantee of your bonafidees. And the sum of the thing is that you ask me to go and commit a theft to perloin an article you can’t even describe. And then to give you 3/4 of the proceeds. No, my man, you have made a mistake. You must go away from here at once, and if I find you hanging about my door again, I shall have you taken away very summearily. Do you understand? Now go away, M dear. But I have no more time to waste, Dorington answered, opening the door and pointing to the stairs. If you stay here any longer, you’ll get into trouble. Shak Bouvier walked out, muttering and agitating his hands. At the top stair, he turned and almost too angry for words, burst out, “Sir, you are a verb. Big fool, a fool.” But Dorington slammed the door. He determined, however, if he could find a little time to learn a little more of Leon Bouvier, perhaps to put a man to watch at the cafe de Bong Camar, that the keeper of this place in Soho should go regularly to Hatton Garden, the Diamond Market, was curious, and Dorington had met and analyzed too many extraordinary romances to put aside unexamined Jacqu Bouvier’s seemingly improbable story. But having heard all the man had to say, it had clearly been his policy to get rid of him in the way he had done. Dorington was quite ready to steal a diamond or anything else of value if it could be done quite safely. But he was no such fool as to give three quarters of his plunder or any of it to somebody else. So that the politic plan was to send Jacqu Bouvier away with the impression that his story was altogether poo pooed and was to be forgotten. Chapter Dorington left his office late that day, and the evening being clear, though dark, he walked toward Conduit Street by way of Soho. He thought to take a glance at the cafe debonards on his way, without being observed, should Jack Bouvier be in the vicinity. Beck Street, Soho, was a short and narrow street lying east and west and joining two of the larger streets that stretched north and south across the district. It was even a trifle dirtier than these by streets in that quarter are want to be. The cafe de bongamarads was a little green painted shop. The window whereof was backed by muslin curtains, while upon the window itself appeared in fid painted letters the words cuisine frances. It was the only shop in the street with the exception of a small coal and firewood shed at one end. the other buildings consisting of the side wall of a factory, now closed for the night, and a few tenement houses. An alley entrance, apparently the gate of a stable yard, stood next the cafe. As Dorington walked by the steamy window, he was startled to hear his own name and some part of his office address spoken in excited tones somewhere in this dark alley entrance. And suddenly a man rather well-dressed and cramming a damaged tall hat on his head as he went, darted from the entrance, and ran in the direction from which Dorington had come. A stoutly built French woman, carrying on her face every indication of extreme excitement, watched him from the gateway, and Dorington, made no doubt that it was in her voice that he had heard his name mentioned. He walked briskly to the end of the short street, turned at the end, and hurried round the block of houses in hope to catch another sight of the man. Presently he saw him running in Old Compton Street and making in the direction of Charing Cross Road. Dorington mended his pace and followed. The man emerged where Shaftsbury Avenue meets Charing Cross Road, and as he crossed, hesitated once or twice as though he thought of hailing a cab. but decided rather to trust his own legs. He hastened through the byways to St. Martins’s Lane, and Dorington now perceived that one side and half the back of his coat was dripping with wet mud. Also, it was plain, as Dorington had suspected, that his destination was Dorington’s own office in Bedford Street. So the follower broke into a trot, and at last came upon the muddy man wrenching at the bell, and pounding at the closed door of the house in Bedford Street, just as the housekeeper began to turn the lock. “Mrs. Dorington, Mr. Dorington,” the man exclaimed excitedly as the door was opened. “He’s gone home long ago,” the caretaker growled. “You might have known that.” “Oh, eerie as though.” “Good evening, sir. I am Mr. Dorington,” the inquiry agent said politely. Can I do anything for you? Ah, yes. It is important at once. I am robbed. Just step upstairs then and tell me about it. Dorington had but begun to light the gas in his office when his visitor broke out. I am robbed. Mu Dorington. Robbed by my cousin Kquin. Robbed of everything. Robbed, I tell you. He seemed astonished to find the other so little excited by the intelligence. Let me take your coat, Dorington said calmly. You’ve had a downer in the mud, I see. Why? What’s this? He smelt the collar as he went toward a hat peg. Chloroform. Ah, yes. It is that rascal jac. I will tell you this evening I go into the gateway next my house cafe de bong camarads to enter by the side door and puff. A shawl is flinging across my face from behind. It is pulled tight. There is a knee in my back. I can catch nothing with my hand. It smell all hot in my throat. I choke and I fall over. There is no more. I wake up and I see my wife and she take me into the house. I am all muddy and tired but I feel and I have lost my property. It is a diamond and my cousin Jacqui has done it. Are you sure of that? Sure. Oh yes, it is certain. I tell you certain. Then why not inform the police? The visitor was clearly takenback by this question. He faltered and looked searchingly in Dorington’s face. That is not always the convenient way, he said. I would rather that you do it. It is the diamond that I want not to punish my cousin thief that he is. Dorington mended a quill with ostentatious care, saying encouragingly as he did so, “I can quite understand that you may not wish to prosecute your cousin only to recover the diamond you speak of. Also, I can quite understand that there may be reasons, family reasons perhaps, perhaps others, which may render it inadvisable to make even the existence of the jewel known more than absolutely necessary. For instance, there may be other claimments, Miss Leon Bouvier, the visitor started. You know my name then, he asked. How is that? Dorington smiled the smile of a sphinx. Bouvier, he said. It is my trade to know everything, everything. He put the pen down and gazed whimsically at the other. My agents are everywhere. You talk of the secret agent of the Russian police. They are nothing. It is my trade to know all things. For instance, Dorington unlocked a drawer and produced a book. It was but an office diary. And turning its pages went on, “Let me see be. It is my trade, for instance, to know about the cafe de Bong Camarads, established by the late Madame Bouvier, now unhappily deceased. It is my trade to know of Madame Bouvier at Bono, where the charcoal was burnt, and where Madame Bouvier was unfortunately left a widow at the time of the siege of Paris, because of some lamentable misunderstanding of her husbands, with a file of Prussian soldiers by an orchard wall. It is my trade, moreover, to know something of the sad death of that husband’s brother in a pit, and of the later death of his widow. Oh yes, more. Turning a page attentively, as though, following detailed notes, it is my trade to know of a little quarrel between those brothers. It might even have been about a diamond, just such a diamond as you have come about tonight, and of jewels missed from the twilleries in the great revolution a 100red years ago. He shut the book with a bang and returned it to its place. “And there are other things too many to talk about,” he said, crossing his legs and smiling calmly at the Frenchman. During this long pretense at reading, Bouvier had slid farther and farther forward on his chair, till he sat on the edge, his eyes staring wide and his chin dropped. He had been pale when he arrived, but now he was of a leaden gray. He said not a word. Dorington laughed lightly. Come, he said. I see you are astonished. Very likely. Very few of the people and families whose dossiers we have here, he waved his hand generally about the room are aware of what we know. But we don’t make a song of it, I assure you, unless it is for the benefit of clients. A client’s affairs are sacred, of course, and our resources are at his disposal. Do I understand that you become a client? Bouvier sat a little farther back on his chair and closed his mouth. “Uh, yes,” he answered at length with an effort, moistening his lips as he spoke. “That is why I come.” “Ah, now we shall understand each other,” Dorington replied genially, opening an ink pot and clearing his blotting pad. “We’re not connected with the police here or anything of that sort, and except so far as we can help them, we leave our clients affairs alone. You wish to be a client and you wish me to recover your lost diamond. Very well, that is business. The first thing is the usual fee in advance, 20 guineies. Will you write a check? Bouvier had recovered some of his self-possession, and he hesitated. It is a large fee, he said. Large nonsense. It is the sort of fee that might easily be swallowed up in half a day’s expenses. and besides a rich diamond merchant like yourself. Bouvier looked up quickly. Diamond merchant? He said, I do not understand. I have lost my diamond. There was but one. And yet you go to Haten Garden every day. What? Cried Bouvier, letting his hand fall from the table. You know that, too. Of course, Dorington laughed easily. It is my trade, I tell you. But write the check. Bouvier produced a crumpled and dirty checkbook and complied with many pauses, looking up dazedly from time to time into Dorington’s face. “Now,” said Dorington, tell me where you kept your diamond, and all about it. It was in an old little wooden box, so Bouvier, not yet quite master of himself, sketched an oblong of something less than 3 in long by two broad. The box was old and black. My grandfather may have made it, or his father. The lid fitted very tight, and the inside was packed with fine charcoal powder with the diamond resting in it. The diamond, oh, it was great like that. So he made another sketch, roughly square, an inch and a quarter across. But it looked even much greater still, so bright, so wonderful. It is easy to understand that my grandfather did not sell it beside the danger. It is so beautiful a thing, and it is such great riches all in one little box. Why should not a poor charcoal burner be rich in secret, and look at his diamond, and get all the few things he wants by burning his charcoal? And there was the danger. But that is long ago. I am a man of beesness, and I desired to sell it and be rich. And that Jacqui has stolen it. Let us keep to the point. The diamond was in a box. Well, where was the box? On the outside of the box, there were notches. So, and so round the box at each place there was a tight, strong silk cord that is two cords. The cords were round my neck, under my shirt. So, and the box was under my arm, just as a boy carries his satchel, but high up in the armpit where I could feel it at all times. Tonight, when I come to myself, my collar was broken at the stud. See, the cords were cut and all was gone. You say your cousin Jacqu has done this. How do you know? Ah, but who else? Who else could know? And he has always tried to steal it. At first, I let him wait at the cafe de Bon Camarads. What does he do? He press about my house and opens drawers and I catch him at last looking in a box and I turn him out and he calls me a thief. Sacker. He goes, “I have no more of him.” And so he does this. Very well. Write down his name and address on this piece of paper and your own. Bouvier did so. And now tell me what you have been doing at Hatton Garden. Well, it was a very great diamond. I could not go to the first man and show it to Cell. I must make myself known. It never struck you to get the stone cut in two, did it? Hey, what? Nomian, no. He struck his knee with his hand. Fool, why did I not think of that? But still, he grew more thoughtful. I should have to show it to get it cut, and I did not know where to go, and the value would have been less. Just so, but it’s the regular thing to do, I may tell you, in cases like this. But go on about Hatton Garden, you know. I thought that I must make myself known among the merchants of diamonds, and then perhaps I should learn the ways, and one day be able to sell. As it was, I knew nothing, nothing at all. I waited and I saved money in the cafe. Then when I could do it, I dressed well and went and bought some diamonds of a dealer. Very little diamonds, a little trayful for £20, and I try to sell them again. But I have paid too much. I can only sell for £15. Then I buy more and sell them for what I give. Then I take an office in Hatton Garden. That is, I share a room with a dealer, and there is a partition between our desks. My wife attends the cafe. I go to Hatton Garden to buy and sell. It loses me money, but I must lose till I can sell the great diamond. I get to know the dealers more and more. And then tonight as I go home, he finished with an expressive shrug and a wave of the hand. Yes, yes, I think I see, Dorington said. As to the diamond again. It doesn’t happen to be a blue diamond, does it? No. Pure white perfect. Dorington had asked because two especially famous diamonds disappeared from among the French crown jewels at the time of the great revolution. One blue, the greatest colored diamond ever known, and the other the mirror of Portugal. Bouvier’s reply made it plain that it was certainly not the first which he had just lost. Come, Dorington said, I will call and inspect the scene of your disaster. I haven’t dined yet and it must be well past 9:00 now. They returned to Beck Street. There were gates at the dark entry by the side of the cafe de Bon Camarads, but they were never shut, Bouvier explained. Dorington had them shut now, however, and a lantern was produced. The paving was of rough cobblestones deep in mud. Do many people come down here in the course of an evening? Dorington asked. Never anybody but myself. Very well. Stand away at your side door. Bouvier and his wife stood huddled and staring on the threshold of the side door while Dorington with the lantern explored the muddy cobblestones. The pieces of a broken bottle lay in a little heap and a cork lay a yard away from them. Dorington smelt the cork and then collected together the broken glass. There were but four or five pieces from the little heap. Another piece of glass lay by itself, a little way off, and this also Dorington took up, scrutinizing it narrowly. Then he traversed the whole passage carefully, stepping from bare stone to bare stone, and skimming the ground with the lantern. The mud lay confused and trackless in most places, though the place where Bouvier had been lying was indicated by an appearance of sweeping, caused, no doubt, by his wife dragging him to his feet. Only one other thing beside the glass and cork did Dorington carry away as evidence, and that the Bouvier knew nothing of, for it was the remembrance of the mark of a sharp small boot heel in more than one patch of mud between the stones. “Will you object, Madame Bouvier?” he asked as he handed back the lantern. “To show me the shoes you wore when you found your husband lying out here.” Madame Bouvier had no objection at all. They were what she was then wearing and had worn all day. She lifted her foot and exhibited one. There was no need for a second glance. It was a loose, easy cashmere boot with spring sides and heels cut down flat for indoor comfort. And this was at what time? It was between 7 and 8:00. Both agreed, though they differed a little as to the exact time. Bouvier had recovered when his wife raised him, had entered the house with her, at once discovered his loss, and immediately, on his wife’s advice, set out to find Dorington, whose name the woman had heard spoken of frequently among the visitors to the cafe, in connection with the affair of the secret society already alluded to. He had felt certain that Dorington would not be at his office, but trusted to be directed where to find him. Now, Dorington asked of Bouvier. The woman had been called away. Tell me some more about your cousin. Where does he live? In Little Norm Street, the third house from this end on the right and the back room at the top. That is, unless he has moved just lately. Has he been ill recently? Ill? Bouvier considered. Not that I can say no. I have never heard of Jacqu being ill. It seemed to strike him as an inongruous and new idea. Nothing has made him ill all his life. He is too good in constitution, I think. Does he wear spectacles? Spectacles? May no never. Why should he wear spectacles? His eyes are good as mine. Very well. Now attend. Tomorrow you must not go to Hatton Garden. I will go for you. If you see your cousin Jacqu, you must say nothing. Take no notice. Let everything proceed as though nothing had happened. Leave all to me. Give me your address at Hatton Garden. But what is it you must do there? That is my business. I do my business in my own way. Still, I will give you a hint. Where is it that diamonds are sold? In Hatton Garden, as you so well know, as I expect your cousin knows if he has been watching you, then where will your cousin go to sell it? Hatton Garden, of course. Never mind what I shall do there to intercept it. I am to be your new partner. You understand? Bringing money into the business. You must be ill and stay at home till you hear from me. Go now and write me a letter of introduction to the man who shares the office with you, or I will write it if you like, and you shall sign it. What sort of a man is he? Very quiet, a tall man, perhaps English, but perhaps not. Ever buy or sell diamonds with him? Once only, it was the first time. That is how I learned of the half office tolet. The letter was written, and Dorington stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. Mr. Hammer is the name, is it? He said, I fancy I have met him somewhere. He is short-sighted, isn’t he? Oh, yes, he is short-sighted with Ponese. Not very well lately. No, I think not. He takes medicine in the office. But you will be careful. Eh, now he must not know. Do you think so? Perhaps I may tell him, though. Tell him, seal, no, you must not tell people. No. Shall I throw the whole case over and keep your deposit fee? No. No, not that. But it is foolish to tell to people. I am to judge what is foolish and what wise. Mu Bouvier. Good evening. Good evening, Ms. Dorington. Good evening. Bouvier followed him out to the gate. And will you tell me? Do you think there is a way to get the diamond? Have you any plan? Oh yes, Muvier. I have a plan, but as I have said, that is my business. It may be a successful plan or it may not. That we shall see. and and the dossier. The notes that you so marvelously have written out in the book you read when this business is over, you will destroy them, eh? You will not leave a clue. The notes that I have in my books, answered Dorington, without relaxing a muscle of his face, are my property for my own purposes and were mine before you came to me. Those relating to you are a mere item in thousands. So long as you behave well, Miss Bouvier, they will not harm you. And as I said, the confidences of a client are sacred to Dorington Amp Hicks. But as to keeping them, certainly I shall. Once more, good evening. Even the stonyfaced Dorington could not repress a smile and something very like a chuckle as he turned the end of the street and struck out across Golden Square towards his rooms in Conduit Street. The simple Frenchman, only half a rogue, even less than half, was now bamboozled, and put aside as effectually as his cousin had been. Certainly there was a diamond and an immense one if only the Bouvier tradition were true. Probably the famous mirror of Portugal, and nothing stood between Dorington and absolute possession of that diamond, but an ordinary sort of case such as he dealt with every day, and he had made Bouvier pay a fee for the privilege of putting him completely on the track of it. Dorington smiled again. His dinner was spoiled by waiting, but he troubled little of that. He spread before him and examined again the pieces of glass and the cork. The bottle had been a drugist’s ordinary flat bottle, graduated with dose marks, and altogether 7 in high or thereabout. It had without a doubt contained the chloroform wherewith Leon Bouvier had been assaulted, as Dorington had judged from the smell of the cork. The fact of the bottle being cked showed that the chloroform had not been bought all at once, since in that case it would have been put up in a stopper bottle. More probably, it had been procured in very small quantities, ostensibly for toothache or something of that kind at different drugists, and put together in this larger bottle, which had originally been used for something else. The bottle had been distinguished by a label, the usual white label affixed by the drugist, with directions as to taking the medicine, and this label had been scraped off. All except a small piece at the bottom edge by the right hand side, whereon might be just distinguished the greater part of the letters N E. The piece of glass that had lain a little way apart from the bottle was not a part of it, as a casual observer might have supposed. It was a fragment of a concave lens with a channel ground in the edge. Chapter at 10 precisely next morning, as usual, Mr. Ludvig Hammer mounted the stairs of the house in Hatton Garden, wherein he rented half a rumor’s office. He was a tall, fair man, wearing thick convex pon. He spoke English like a native, and indeed he called himself an Englishman, though there were those who doubted the Briticism of his name. Scarce had he entered his office when Dorington followed him. The room had never been a very large one, and now a partition divided it in two, leaving a passage at one side only by the window. On each side of this partition stood a small pedestal table, a couple of chairs, a copying press, and the other articles usual in a meagerly furnished office. Dorington strode past Bouvier’s half of the room, and came upon Hammer as he was hanging his coat on a peg. The letter of introduction had been burnt, since Dorington had only asked for it in order to get Hammer’s name and the Hatton Garden address, without betraying to Bouvier the fact that he did not already know all about it. “Good morning, Mr. Hammer,” said Dorington loudly. “Sorry to see you’re not well,” he pointed familiarly with his stick at a range of medicine bottles on the mantelpiece. “But it’s very trying weather, of course. You’ve been suffering from toothache, I believe.” Hey seemed at first disposed to resent the loudness and familiarity of this speech, but at the reference to Toothach, he started suddenly and set his lips. Chloroforms a capital thing for toothache, Mr. Hammer, and for for other things. I’m not in your line of business myself, but I believe it has even been used in the diamond trade. What do you mean? Asked Hammer, flushing angrily. Mean? Why, bless me nothing more than I said. By the way, I’m afraid you dropped one of your medicine bottles last night. I’ve brought it back, though I’m afraid it’s past repair. It’s a good job you didn’t quite clear the label off before you took it out with you, else I might have had a difficulty. Dorington placed the fragments on the table. You see, you’ve just left the first letter of EC in the drugist’s address in the last and of Hatton Garden just before it. There doesn’t happen to be any other garden in EC district that I know of. Nor does the name of any other thoroughare end in they are mostly streets or lanes or courts you see and there seems to be only one drugist in Hatton Garden capital fellow. No doubt the one whose name and address I observe on those bottles on the mantelpiece. Dorington stood with his foot on a chair and tapped his knee carelessly with his stick. Hammer dropped into the other chair and regarded him with a frown, though his face was pale. “Presently,” he said in a strained voice. “Well, yes, there is something else, Mr. Himer, as you appear to suggest. I see you’re wearing a new pair of glasses this morning. Pity you broke the others last night, but I’ve brought the piece you left behind.” He gathered up the broken bottle and held up the piece of concave lens. I think after all it’s really best to use a cord with pon snay. It’s awkward and it catches in things I know but it saves a breakage and you’re liable to get the glasses knocked off you know in certain circumstances. Hey sprang to his feet with a sn slammed the door locked it and turned on Dorington. But now Dorington had a revolver in his hand though his manner was as genial as ever. Yes, yes, he said. Best to shut the door, of course. People listen, don’t they? But sit down again. I’m not anxious to hurt you. And as you will perceive, you’re quite unable to hurt me. What I chiefly came to say is this. Last evening, my clients Bouvier of this office in the cafe de Bonamarad was attacked in the passage adjoining his house by a man who was waiting for him with a woman. Was it really Mrs. Hammer? But there I won’t ask keeping watch. He was robbed of a small old wooden box containing charcoal and a diamond. My name is Dorington Firm of Dorington and Hicks, which you may have heard of. That’s my card. I’ve come to take away that diamond. Hey was pale and angry, but in his way was almost as calm as Dorington. He put down the card without looking at it. I don’t understand you, he said. How do you know I’ve got it? Come, come, Mr. Hey, Dorington replied, rubbing the barrel of his revolver on his knee. That’s hardly worthy of you. You’re a man of business with a head on your shoulders. The sort of man I like doing business with. In fact, men like ourselves needn’t trifle. I’ve shown you most of the cards I hold, though not all, I assure you. I’ll tell you, if you like, all about your little tour around among the drugists with the convenient toothache. All about the evenings on which you watched Bouvier home and so on. But really need we as men of the world descend to such pedalling detail? Well, suppose I have got it, and suppose I refuse to give it you, what then? What then? But why should we talk of unpleasant things? You won’t refuse, you know. Do you mean you’d get it out of me by help of that pistol? Well, said Dorington deliberately, the pistol is noisy, and it makes a mess and all that, but it’s a useful thing, and I might do it with that, you know, in certain circumstances, but I wasn’t thinking of it. There’s a much less troublesome way, which you’re a slower man than I took you for, Mr. Hammer. Or perhaps you haven’t quite appreciated me yet. If I were to go to that window and call the police, what with the little bits of evidence in my pocket, and the other little bits that the drugists who sold the chloroform would give, and the other bits in reserve that I prefer not to talk about just now. There would be rather an awkwardly complete case of robbery with violence, wouldn’t there? And you’d have to lose the diamond, after all, to say nothing of a little rest in gale and general ruination. That sounds very well. But what about your client? Come now, you call me a man of the world, and I am one. How will your client account for the possession of a diamond worth $80,000 or so? He doesn’t seem a millionaire. The police would want to know about him as well as about me, if you were such a fool as to bring them in. Where did he steal it, eh? Dorington smiled and bowed at the question. That’s a very good card to play, Mr. Hammer, he said. A capital card, really. To a superficial observer, it might look like winning the trick, but I think I can trump it. He bent farther forward and tapped the table with the pistol barrel. Suppose I don’t care one solitary dump what becomes of my client. Suppose I don’t care whether he goes to jail or stays out of it. In short, suppose I prefer my own interests to his. Ho ho, hmer cried. I begin to understand. You want to grab the diamond for yourself then? I haven’t said anything of the kind, Mr. Hammer,” Dorington replied swavely. “I have simply demanded the diamond which you stole last night, and I have mentioned an alternative.” “Oh, yes, yes, but we understand one another. Come, we’ll arrange this.” “How much do you want?” Dorington stared at him stonily. “I I beg your pardon,” he said. “But I don’t understand. I want the diamond you stole. But come now, we’ll divide.” Bouvier had no right to it and he’s out. You and I perhaps haven’t much right to it legally, but it’s between us and we’re both in the same position. Pardon me, Dorington replied silky. But there you mistake. We are not in the same position by a long way. You are liable to an instant criminal prosecution. I have simply come, authorized by my client, who bears all the responsibility, to demand a piece of property which you have stolen. That is the difference between our positions. Mr. Hammer, come now. A policeman is just standing opposite. Shall I open the window and call him, or do you give in? Oh, I give in, I suppose, Hammer groaned. But you’re a deal too hard. A man of your abilities shouldn’t be so mean. That’s right, and reasonable, Dorington answered briskly. The wise man is the man who knows when he is beaten and saves further trouble. You may not find me so mean after all, but I must have the stone first. I hold the trumps, and I’m not going to let the other player make conditions. Where’s the diamond? It isn’t here. It’s at home. You’ll have to get it out of Mrs. Hammer. Shall I go and wire to her? No, no, said Dorington. That’s not the way. We’ll just go together and take Mrs. Hammer by surprise. I think I mustn’t let you out of sight, you know. Come, we’ll get a handsome. Is it far Besperous Street Pimlo? You’ll find Mrs. Hammer has a temper of her own. Well, well, we all have our failings. But before we start, now observe. For a moment, Dorington was stern and menacing. You wriggled a little at first, but that was quite natural. Now you’ve given in, and at the first sign of another wrigle, I stop it once and for all. Understand? No tricks now? They entered a handsome at the door. Hey was moody and silent at first, but under the influence of Dorington’s gay talk, he opened out after a while. Well, he said, you’re far cleverest of the three, no doubt. And perhaps in that way, you deserve to win. It’s mighty smart for you to come in like this and push Bouvier on one side and me on the other, and both of us helpless, but it’s rough on me after having all the trouble. Don’t be a bad loser, man. Dorington answered. You might have had a deal more trouble and a deal more roughness, too. I assure you. Oh, yes. So, I might. I’m not grumbling. But there’s one thing has puzzled me all along. Where did Bouvier get that stone from? He inherited it. It’s the most important of the family jewels. I assure you. Oh, Skittles. I might have known you wouldn’t tell me even if you knew yourself. But I should like to know. What sort of a duffer must it have been that let Bouvier do him for that big stone Bouvier of all men in the world? Why he was a record flat himself couldn’t tell a diamond from a glass marble, I should think. Why he used to buy peddling little trays of roters in the garden at twice their value, and then he’d sell them for what he could get. I knew very well he wasn’t going on systematically dropping money like that for no reason at all. He had some axe to grind. That was plain. And after a while, he got asking timid questions as to the sale of big diamonds and how it was done and who bought them and all that. That put me on it at once. All this buying and selling at a loss was a blind. He wanted to get into the trade to sell stolen diamonds. That was clear. And there was some value in them, too. Else he couldn’t afford to waste months of time and lose money every day over it. So, I kept my eye on him. I noticed when he put his overcoat on and thought I wasn’t looking, he would settle a string of some sort around his neck, under his shirt collar, and feel to pack up something close under his armpit. Then I just watched him home and saw the sort of shanty he lived in. I mentioned these things to Mrs. H, and she was naturally indignant at the idea of a chap like Bouvier having something valuable in a dishonest way, and agreed with me that if possible, it ought to be got from him. if only in the interests of virtue. Hey laughed jerkily. So at any rate we determined to get a look at whatever it was hanging around his neck and we made the arrangements you know about. It seemed to me that Bouvier was pretty sure to lose it before long one way or another if it had any value at all to judge by the way he was done in other matters. But I assure you I nearly fell down like Bouvier himself when I saw what it was. No wonder we left the bottle behind where I dropped it after soaking the shawl. I wonder I didn’t leave the shawl itself and my hat and everything. I assure you we sat up half last night looking at that wonderful stone. No doubt I shall have a good look at it myself. I assure you. Here is Besper Street, which is the number. They ellighted and entered a house rather smaller than those about it. Ask Mrs. Hammer to come here, said Hammer glooily to the servant. The men sat in the drawing room. Presently Mrs. Hammer entered a shortish, sharp, keeneyed woman of 45. This is Mr. Dorington, said Hammer of Dorington Amp, Hicks, private detectives. He wants us to give him that diamond. The little woman gave a sort of involuntary bounce and exclaimed, “What diamond? What do you mean?” Oh, it’s no good, Maria,” Hey, answered. “I’ve tried it every way myself. One comfort is we’re safe as long as we give it up. Here,” he added, turning to Dorington, “show her some of your evidence that’ll convince her.” Very politely, Dorington brought forth with full explanations the cork and the broken glass, while Mrs. Hammer, biting hard at her thin lips, grew shinier and redder in the face every moment, and her hard gray eyes flashed fury. “And you let this man,” she burst out to her husband when Dorington had finished. “You let this man leave your office with these things in his possession after he had shown them to you, and you, as big as he is, and bigger, coward, my dear, you don’t appreciate Mr. Dorington’s forethought. Hang it. I made preparations for the very line of action you recommend, but he was ready. He brought out a very well-kept revolver, and he has it in his pocket now. Mrs. Hammer only glared, speechless with anger. You might just get Mr. Dorington a whiskey and soda. Maria Hey pursued with a slight lift of the eyebrows, which he did not intend Dorington to see. The woman was on her feet in a moment. Thank you. No, interosed Dorington, rising also. I won’t trouble you. I’d rather not drink anything just now. And although I fear I may appear rude, I can’t allow either of you to leave the room. In short, he added, I must stay with you both till I get the diamond. And this man Bouvier asked Mrs. Hammer what is his right to the stone. Really, I don’t feel competent to offer an opinion, do you know? Dorington answered sweetly. To tell the truth, Miss Yabuvier doesn’t interest me very much. No go, Maria, growled Hammer. I’ve tried it all. The fact is we’ve got to give Dorington the diamond. If we don’t, he’ll just call in the police. Then we shall lose diamond and everything else, too. He doesn’t care what becomes of Bouvier. He’s got us. That’s what it is. He won’t even bargain to give us a share. Mrs. Hmer looked quickly up. Oh, but that’s nonsense, she said. We’ve got the thing. We ought at least to say halves. Her sharp eyes searched Dorington’s face, but there was no encouragement in it. I am sorry to disappoint a lady, he said, but this time it is my business to impose terms, not to submit to them. Come, the diamond. Well, you’ll give us something surely, the woman cried. Nothing is sure, madam, except that you will give me that diamond or face a policeman in 5 minutes. The woman realized her helplessness. Well, she said, “Much good may it do you. You’ll have to come and get it. I’m keeping it somewhere else. I’ll go and get my hat.” Again, Dorington interposed. “I think we’ll send your servant for the hat,” he said, reaching for the bell rope. “I’ll come wherever you like, but I shall not leave you till this affair is settled. I promise you. And as I reminded your husband a little time ago, you’ll find tricks come expensive.” The servant brought Mrs. Hammer’s hat and cloak, and that lady put them on, her eyes ablaze with anger. Dorington made the pair walk before him to the front door and followed them into the street. Now, he said, “Where is this place? Remember, no tricks.” Mrs. Hammer turned towards Vauhall Bridge. “It’s just over by Upper Kennington Lane,” she said. “Not far.” She paced out before them, Dorington and Hammer following, the former affable and business-like. the latter apparently a little puzzled. When they came about the middle of the bridge, the woman turned suddenly. “Come, Mr. Dorington,” she said in a more subdued voice than she had yet used. “I give in. It’s no use trying to shake you off. I can see. I have the diamond with me here.” She put a little old black wooden box in his hand. he made to open the lid, which fitted tightly, and at that moment the woman, pulling her other hand free from under her cloak, flung away over the parapit something that shone like 50 points of electric light. “There it goes,” she screamed aloud, pointing with her finger. “There’s your diamond, you dirty thief. You bully. Go after it now, you spy!” The great diamond made a curve of glitter and disappeared into the river. For the moment Dorington lost his cool temper, he seized the woman by the arm. Do you know what you’ve done, you wild cat? He exclaimed. Yes, I do, the woman screamed, almost foaming with passion, while boys began to collect, though there had been but few people on the bridge. Yes, I do. And now you can do what you please, you thief. You bully. Dorington was calm again in a moment. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Hammer was frightened. He came at Dorington’s side and faltered. I I told you she had a temper. What will you do? Dorington forced a laugh. Oh, nothing, he said. What can I do? Locking you up now wouldn’t fetch the diamond back. And besides, I’m not sure that Mrs. Hmer won’t attend to your punishment faithfully enough, and he walked briskly away. What did she do, Bill? Asked one boy of another. Why didn’t you see? She chucked that man’s watch in the river. Gone. That wasn’t his watch, interrupted a third. It was a little glass tumbler. I see it. Have you got my diamond? asked the agonized Leon Bouvier of Dorington a day later. No, I have not, Dorington replied dryly. Nor has your cousin Jack, but I know where it is, and you can get it as easily as I, Montier. Where? At the bottom of the rivers, exactly in the center, rather to the right of Vauxhall Bridge, looking from this side. I expect it will be rediscovered in some future age when the bed of the tempames is a diamond field. The rest of Bouvier’s savings went in the purchase of a boat, and in this with a pale on a long rope, he was very busy for some time afterward, but he only got a great deal of mud into his boat. The affair of the avalanche bicycle and tire company limited chapter. Cycle companies were in the market everywhere. Immense fortunes were being made in a few days, and sometimes little fortunes were being lost to build them up. Mining shares were dull for a season, and any company with the word cycle or tire in its title was certain to attract capital, no matter what its prospects were like in the eyes of the expert. All the old private cycle companies suddenly were offered to the public and their proprietors, already rich men, built themselves houses on the Riviera, bought yachts, ran raceh horses, and left business forever. Sometimes the shareholders got their money’s worth. Sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes they got nothing but total loss. But still the game went on. One could never open a newspaper without finding displayed at large the prospectus of yet another cycle company with capital expressed in six figures at least often in seven solemn old dailies into whose editorial heads no new thing ever found its way till years after it had been forgotten elsewhere suddenly exhibited the scandalous phenomenon of broken columns in their advertising sections and the universal prospectuses stretched outrageously across half for even all the pager thing to cause apoplelexy in the bodily system of any self-respecting manager of the old school. In the midst of this excitement, it chanced that the firm of Dorington Amp Hicks were engaged upon an investigation for the famous and longestablished indestructible bicycle and tricycle manufacturing company of London and Coventry. The matter was not one of sufficient intricacy or difficulty to engage Dorington’s personal attention, and it was given to an assistant. There was some doubt as to the validity of a certain patent having reference to a particular method of tightening the spokes and trueing the wheels of a bicycle. And Dorington’s assistant had to make inquiries without attracting attention to the matter as to whether or not there existed any evidence, either documentary or in the memory of veterans, of the use of this method, or anything like it. Before the year, the assistant completed his inquiries and made his report to Dorington. Now I think I have said that from every evidence I have seen the chief matter of Dorington solicitude was his own interest and just at this time he had heard as had others much of the money being made in cycle companies. Also like others he had conceived a great desire to get the confidential advice of somebody in the know advice which might lead him into the good thing desired by all the greedy who flutter about at the outside edge of the stock and share market. For this reason Dorington determined to make this small matter of the wheel patent an affair of personal report. He was a man of infinite resource, plausibility, and good companionship, and there was money going in the cycle trade. Why then should he lose an opportunity of making himself pleasant in the inner groves of that trade, and catch whatever might come his way, information, syndicate shares, directorships, anything. So that Dorington made himself master of his assistants information and proceeded to the head office of the indestructible company on Hobban vioaduct resolved to become the entertaining acquaintance of the managing director. On his way his attention was attracted by a very elaborately fitted cycle shop which his recollection told him was new. The Avalanche Bicycle Entire Company was the legend guilt above the great plate glass window. And in the window itself stood many brilliantly enameled and plated bicycles. each labeled on the frame with the flaming red and gold transfer of the firm. And in the midst of all was another bicycle covered with dried mud, of which, however, sufficient had been carefully cleared away to expose a similar glaring transfer to those that decorated the rest with a placard announcing that on this particular machine somebody had ridden some incredible distance on bad roads in very little more than no time at all. A crowd stood about the window and gaped respectfully at the placard, the bicycles, the transfers, and the mud, though they paid little attention to certain piles of folded white papers endorsed in bold letters with the name of the company, with the suffix limited and the word prospectus in bloated black letter below. These, however, Dorington observed at once, for he had himself that morning, in common with several thousand other people, received one by post. Also, half a page of his morning paper had been filled with a copy of that same prospectus, and the afternoon had brought another copy in the evening paper. In the list of directors there was a titled name or two, together with a few unknown names, doubtless the practical men. And below this list there were such positive promises of tremendous dividends backed up and proved beyond dispute by such ingenious piles of business-like figures. Every line of figures referring to some other line for testimonials to its perfect genuiness and accuracy that any reasonable man it would seem must instantly sell the hat off his head and the boots off his feet to buy one share at least and so make his fortune forever. True, the business was but lately established, but that was just it. It had rushed ahead with such amazing rapidity, as was natural with an avalanche, that it had got altogether out of hand, and orders couldn’t be executed at all. Wherefore the proprietors were reluctantly compelled to let the public have some of the luck. This was Thursday. The share list was to be opened on Monday morning and closed inexorably at 4:00 on Tuesday afternoon with a merciful extension to Wednesday morning for the candidates for wealth who were so unfortunate as to live in the country so that it behoved among the unlucky whose subscription money should be returned in full failing allotment. The prospectus did not absolutely say it in so many words, but no rational person could fail to feel that the directors were fervently hoping that nobody would get injured in the rush. Dorington passed on and reached the well-known establishment of the indestructible bicycle company. This was already a limited company of a private sort and had been so for 10 years or more, and before that the concern had had eight or nine years of prosperous experience. The founder of the firm, Mr. Paul Malows, was now the managing director and a great pillar of the cycling industry. Dorington gave a cler his card and asked to see Mr. Malows. Mr. Malows was out, it seemed, but Mr. Steedman, the secretary, was in, and him Dorington saw. Mr. Steedman was a pleasant youngish man who had been a famous amateur bicyclist in his time, and was still an enthusiast. In 10 minutes, business was settled and dismissed, and Dorington’s tact had brought the secretary into a pleasant discursive chat with much exchange of anecdote. Dorington expressed much interest in the subject of bicycling, and seeing that Steedman had been a racing man, particularly as to bicycling races. There’ll be a rare good race on Saturday, I expect, Steedman said, or rather, he went on, I expect the 50 mi record will go. I fancy our man Gilllet is pretty safe to win, but he’ll have to move. And I quite expect to see a good set of new records on our advertisements next week. The next best man is Lant, the new fellow. You know who rides for the Avalanche people. Let’s see. They’re going to the public as a limited company, aren’t they? Dorington asked casually. Steedman nodded with a little grimace. You don’t think it’s a good thing, perhaps? Dorington said, noticing the grimace. Is that so? Well, Steedman answered, “Of course, I can’t say. I don’t know much about the firm. Nobody does as far as I can tell, but they seem to have got a business together in almost no time. That is if the business is as genuine as it looks at first sight. But they want a rare lot of capital.” And then the prospectus. Well, I’ve seen more satisfactory ones, you know. I don’t say it isn’t all right, of course, but still. I shan go out of my way to recommend any friends of mine to plunge on it. You won’t? No, I won’t. Though, no doubt they’ll get their capital or most of it. Almost any cycle or tire company can get subscribed just now. And this avalanche affair is both. And it is so well advertised, you know. Lant’s been winning on their mounts just lately, and they’ve been booming it for all their worth by Jove. If they could only screw him up to win the 50 mi on Saturday and beat our man Gilllet, that would give them a push. Just at the correct moment, too. Gilllet’s never been beaten yet at the distance, you know. But Lant can’t do it. Though, as I have said, he’ll make some fast riding. It’ll be a race, I tell you. I should like to see it. Why not come see about it, will you? And perhaps you’d like to run down to the track after dinner this evening and see our man training. Awfully interesting, I can tell you. with all the pacing machinery in that. Will you come? Dorington expressed himself delighted and suggested that Steedman should dine with him before going to the track. Steedman, for his part, charmed with his new acquaintance, as everybody was at a first meeting with Dorington, asented gladly. At that moment, the door of Steman’s room was pushed open, and a well-dressed, middle-aged man with a shaven, flabby face appeared. “I beg pardon,” he said. I thought you were alone. I’ve just ripped my finger against the handle of my brom door. As I came in, the screw sticks out. Have your piece of sticking plaster? He extended a bleeding finger as he spoke. Steedman looked doubtfully at his desk. Here is some court plaster, Dorington exclaimed, producing his pocketbook. I always carry it. It’s handier than ordinary sticking plaster. How much do you want? Thanks. An inch or so. This is Mr. Dorington of Messes. Dorington Amp Hicks Mr. Malows Steedman said our managing director Mr. Paul Malows Mr. Dorington Dorington was delighted to make Mr. Malows’s acquaintance and he busied himself with a careful strapping of the damaged finger. Mr. Malows had the large frame of a man of strong build who has had much hard bodily work but there hung about it the heavier softer flesh that told of a later period of ease and sloth. “Ah, Mr. Mallows. Steedman said, “The bicycle’s the safest thing after all. Dangerous things, these Brums. Are you younger men?” Mr. Malows replied with a slow and rounded enunciation. “You younger men can afford to be active. We elders can afford a brom,” Dorington added before the managing director began the next word. “Just so, and the bicycle does it all. Wonderful thing, the bicycle.” Dorington had not misjudged his man, and the oblique reference to his wealth flattered Mr. Malows. Dorington went once more through his report as to the spoke patent, and then Mr. Malows bade him goodbye. Good day, Mr. Dorington. Good day, he said. I am extremely obliged by your careful personal attention to this matter of the patent. We may leave it with Mr. Steedman now, I think. Good day. I hope soon to have the pleasure of meeting you again. And with clumsy statliness, Mr. Malows vanished. Chapter. So you don’t think the avalanche good business as an investment? Dorington said once more as he and Steman, after an excellent dinner, were cabbing it to the track. No, no, Steedman answered. Don’t touch it. There’s better things than that coming along presently. Perhaps I shall be able to put you in for something, you know, a bit later, but don’t be in a hurry. As to the avalanche, even if everything else was satisfactory, there’s too much booming being done just now to please me. All sorts of rumors, you know, of there having something up their sleeve and so on, mysterious hints in the papers and all that as to something revolutionary being in hand with the avalanche people. Perhaps there is, but why they don’t fetch it out in view of the public subscription for shares is more than I can understand, unless they don’t want too much of a rush. And as to that, well, they don’t look like modestly shrinking from anything of that sort up to the present. They were at the track soon after 7:00, but Gilllet was not yet riding. Dorington remarked that Gilllet appeared to begin late. Well, Steedman explained, “He’s one of those fellows that afternoon training doesn’t seem to suit unless it is a bit of walking exercise. He just does a few miles in the morning and a spurt or two and then he comes on just before sunset for a fast 10 or 15 miles. That is when he is getting fit for such a race as Saturdays. Tonight will be his last spin of that length before Saturday because tomorrow will be the day before the race. Tomorrow he’ll only go a spurt or two and rest most of the day. They strolled about inside the track. the two highly banked dens whereof seemed to a nearsighted person in the center to be solid erect walls along the face of which the training riders skimmed fly fashion only three or four persons beside themselves were in the enclosure when they first came but in 10 minutes time Mr. Paul Malows came across the track. Why? said Steedman to Dorington. He is the governor. It isn’t often he comes down here, but I expect he’s anxious to see how Gillet’s going in view of Saturday. Good evening, Mr. Malows, said Dorington. I hope the fingers all right. Want any more plaster? Good evening. Good evening, responded Mr. Malows heavily. Thank you. The fingers not troubling me a bit. He held it up, still decorated by the black plaster. Your plaster remains, you see. I was a little careful not to fray it too much in washing, that was all, and Mr. Malow sat down on a light iron garden chair, of which several stood here and there in the enclosure, and began to watch the riding. The track was clear, and dusk was approaching, when at last the great Gillet made his appearance on the track. He answered a friendly question or two put to him by Malows and Steedman, and then, giving his coat to his trainer, swung off along the track on his bicycle, led in front by a tandem, and closely attended by a triplet. In 50 yards his pace quickened, and he settled down into a swift, even pace, regular as clockwork. Sometimes the tandem and sometimes the triplet went to the front, but Gillet neither checked nor heeded. As nursed by his pacers, who were directed by the trainer from the center, he swept along mile after mile, each mile in, but a few seconds over the 2 minutes. Look at the action, exclaimed Steman with enthusiasm. Just watch him. Not an ounce of power wasted there. Did you ever see more regular ankle work? And did anybody ever sit a machine quite so well as that? Show me a movement anywhere above the hips. Ah, said Mr. Malows, Gilllet has a wonderful style. A wonderful style, really. The men in the enclosure wandered about here and there on the grass, watching Gilllet’s riding as one watches the performance of a great piece of art, which indeed was what Gilllet’s riding was. There were besides Malows Steedman Dorington and the trainer, two officials of the cyclists union, an amateur racing man named Sparks, the track superintendent, and another man. The sky grew darker, and gloom fell about the track. The machines became invisible, and little could be seen of the riders across the ground, but the row of rhythmically working legs and the white cap that Gilllet wore. The trainer had just told Steedman that there would be three fast laps and then his man would come off the track. Well, Mr. Steedman, said Mr. Malows, I think we shall be all right for Saturday. Rather, answered Steman confidently. Gilllets going great guns and steady as a watch. The pace now suddenly increased. The tandem shot once more to the front. The triplet hung on the riders’s flank and the group of swishing wheels flew round the track at a 150 gate. The spectators turned about following the riders round the track with their eyes and then swinging into the straight from the top bend. The tandem checked suddenly and gave a little jump. Gillet crashed into it from behind and the triplet failing to clear wavered and swung and crashed over and along the track too. All three machines and six men were involved in one complicated smash. Everybody rushed across the grass, the trainer first. Then the cause of the disaster was seen lying on its side on the track with men and bicycles piled over and against it was one of the green painted light iron garden chairs that had been standing in the enclosure. The triplet men were struggling to their feet, and though much cut and shaken seemed the least hurt of the lot. One of the men of the tandem was insensible, and Gillet, who from his position had got all the worst of it, lay senseless, too, badly cut and bruised, and his left arm was broken. The trainer was cursing and tearing his hair. “If I knew who done this,” Steedman cried. “I’d pulp him with that chair.” “Oh, that betting! That betting!” wailed Mr. Malows, hopping about distractedly. “See what it leads people into doing. It can’t have been an accident, can it? Accident. Skittles. A man doesn’t put a chair on a track in the dark and leave it there by accident. Is anybody getting away there from the outside of the track? No, there’s nobody. He wouldn’t wait till this. He’s clear off a minute ago and more. Here, fielders, shut the outer gate, and we’ll see who’s about. But there seemed to be no suspicious character. Indeed, except for the ground man, his boy Gillet’s trainer, and a racing man, who had just finished dressing in the pavilion, there seemed to be nobody about beyond those whom everybody had seen standing in the enclosure. But there had been ample time for anybody, standing unnoticed at the outer rails to get across the track in the dark, just after the riders had passed, place the obstruction, and escape before the completion of the lap. The damaged men were helped or carried into the pavilion and the damaged machines were dragged after them. I will give £50 gladly more. 100, said Mr. Malows excitedly. To anybody who will find out who put that chair on the track. It might have ended in murder. Some wretched bookmaker, I suppose, who has taken too many bets on Gillet. As I’ve said a thousand times, betting is the curse of all sport nowadays. The governor excites himself a great deal about betting and bookmakers, Steedman said to Dorington as they walked toward the pavilion. But between you and me, I believe some of the avalanche people are in this. The betting bee is always in Malow’s bonnet, but as a matter of fact, there’s very little betting at all on cycle races, and what there is is little more than a matter of half crowns, or at most half sovereigns on the day of the race. No bookmaker ever makes a heavy book first. Still, there may be something in it this time, of course. But look at the avalanche people. With Jill away, their man can certainly win on Saturday. And if only the weather keeps fair, he can almost as certainly beat the record. Just at present, the 50 mi is fairly easy, and it’s bound to go soon. Indeed, our intention was that Gillet should pull it down on Saturday. He was a safe winner, bar accidents, and it was good odds on his altering the record, if the weather were any good at all. with Gilllet out of Atlant is just about as certain a winner as our man would be if all were well and there would be a boom for the Avalanche company on the very eve of the share subscription. Lant you must know was very second rate till this season but he has improved wonderfully in the last month or two since he has been with the avalanche people. Let him win and they can point to the machine as responsible for it all. Here they will say in effect is a man who could rarely get in front even in secondass company till he rode an avalanche. Now he beats the world’s record for 50 mi on it and makes rings round the topmost professionals. Why it will be worth thousands of capital to them. Of course the subscription of capital won’t hurt us but the loss of the record may and to have Gillet knocked out like this in the middle of the season is serious. Yes, I suppose with you it is more than a matter of this one race. Of course, and so it will be with the Avalanche company, don’t you see? With Gilllet probably useless for the rest of the season. Lant will have it all his own way at anything over 10 mi. That’ll help to boom up the shares, and there’ll be big profit made on trading in them. Oh, I tell you, this thing seems pretty suspicious to me. Look here, said Dorington. Can you borrow a light for me and let me run over with it to the spot where the smash took place? The people have cleared into the pavilion and I could go alone. Certainly. Will you have a try for the governor’s hund? Well, perhaps. But anyway, there’s no harm in doing you a good turn if I can while I’m here. Someday perhaps you’ll do me one. Right you are. I’ll ask Fielders the ground man. A lantern was brought and Dorington btotook himself to the spot where the iron chair still lay while Steedman joined the rest of the crowd in the pavilion. Dorington minutely examined the grass within 2 yardds of the place where the chair lay and then crossing the track and getting over the rails did the same with the damp gravel that paved the outer ring. The track itself was of cement and unimpressionable by foot marks, but nevertheless he scrutinized that with equal care, as well as the rails. Then he turned his attention to the chair. It was, as I have said, a light chair made of flat iron strip, bent to shape and riveted. It had seen good service, and its present coat of green paint was evidently far from being its original one. Also, it was rusty in places, and parts had been repaired and strengthened with cross pieces secured by bolts and square nuts, some rusty and loose. It was from one of these square nuts holding a cross piece that stayed the back at the top, that Dorington secured some object, it might have been a hair, which he carefully transferred to his pocketbook. This done, with one more glance round, he buck himself to the pavilion. A surgeon had arrived, and he reported well of the chief patient. It was a simple fracture and a healthy subject. When Dorington entered, preparations were beginning for setting the limb. “There was a sofa in the pavilion, and the surgeon saw no reason for removing the patient till all was made secure.” “Found anything?” asked Steedman in a low tone of Dorington. Dorington shook his head. “Not much,” he answered at a whisper. I’ll think over it later. Dorington asked one of the cyclists union officials for the loan of a pencil and having made a note with it immediately in another part of the room asked Sparks the amateur to lend him another. Steedman had told Mr. Malows of Dorington’s late employment with the lantern and the managing director now said quietly, “You remember what I said about rewarding anybody who discovered the perpetrator of this outrage, Mr. Dorington? Well, I was excited at the time, but I quite hold to it. It is a shameful thing. You have been looking about the grounds, I hear. I hope you have come across something that will enable you to find something out. Nothing will please me more than to have to pay you, I’m sure. Well, Dorington confessed, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen anything very big in the way of a clue, Mr. Malows, but I’ll think a bit. The worst of it is, you never know who these betting men are, do you? once they get away. There are so many and it may be anybody. Not only that, but they may bribe anybody. Yes, of course. There’s no end to their wickedness, I’m afraid. Steedman suggests the trade rivalry may have had something to do with it, but that seems an uncharitable view, don’t you think? Of course, we stand very high and there are jealousies and all that. But this is a thing I’m sure no firm would think of stooping to for a moment. No, it’s betting that is at the bottom of this, I fear. And I hope, Mr. Dorington, that you will make some attempt to find the guilty parties. Presently Steedman spoke to Dorington again. Here’s something that may help you, he said. To begin with, it must have been done by someone from the outside of the track. Why? Well, at least every probability is that way. Everybody inside was directly interested in Gillet’s success, excepting the Union officials and Sparks, who’s a gentleman and quite above suspicion, as much so indeed, as the Union officials. Of course, there was the ground man, but he’s all right, I’m sure. And the trainer. Oh, that’s altogether improbable altogether. I was going to say, and there’s that other man who was standing about. I haven’t heard who he was. Right, you are. I don’t know him either. Where is he now? But the man had gone. Look here, I’ll make some quiet inquiries about that man. Steedman pursued. I forgot all about him in the excitement of the moment. I was going to say that although whoever did it could easily have got away by the gate before the smash came. He might not have liked to go that way in case of observation in passing the pavilion. In that case, he could have got away. And indeed, he could have got into the grounds to begin with by way of one of those garden walls that bound the ground just by where the smash occurred. If that was so, he must either live in one of the houses, or he must know somebody that does. Perhaps you might put a man to smell about along that road. It’s only a short one. Chisnel Roads the name. Yes, yes, Dorington responded patiently. There might be something in that. By this time, Gilllet’s arm was in a starched bandage and secured by splints, and a cab was ready to take him home. Mr. Malows took Steedman away with him, expressing a desire to talk business, and Dorington went home by himself. He did not turn down Chisnull Road, but he walked jauntily along toward the nearest caband, and once or twice he chuckled, for he saw his way to a delightfully lucrative financial operation in cycle companies without risk of capital. the cab gained. He called at the lodgings of two of his men assistants and gave them instant instructions. Then he packed a small bag at his rooms in Conduit Street and at midnight was in the late fast train for Birmingham. Chapter the prospectus of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company stated that the works were at Exat and Birmingham. Exitter is a delightful old town, but it can scarcely be regarded as the center of the cycle trade. Neither is it in especially easy and short communication with Birmingham. It was the sort of thing that any critic anxious to pick holes in the prospectus might wonder at, and so one of Dorington’s assistants had gone by the nightmare to inspect the works. It was from this man that Dorington in Birmingham about noon on the day after Gillette’s disaster received this telegram. works here. Old disused cloth mills just out of town. Closed and empty but with big new sign board and notice that works now running are at Birmingham. Agent says only deposit paid tenency agreement not signed. Farish. The telegram increased Dorington’s satisfaction for he had just taken a look at the Birmingham works. They were not empty, though nearly so, nor were they large. And a man there had told him that the chief premises, where most of the work was done, were at exit, and the hollower the business, the better prize he saw in store for himself. He had already early in the morning indulged in a telegram on his own account, though he had not signed it. This was how it ran. Mows up a sandown place, London, W. Fear all not safe here. Run down by train without fail. Thus it happened that at a little later than half 8 Dorington’s other assistant watching the door of no upper sandown place saw a telegram delivered and immediately afterward Mr. Paul Malows in much haste dashed away in a cab which was called from the end of the street. The assistant followed in another. Mr. Mallows dismissed his cab at a theatrical wig makers in Bow Street and entered. When he emerged in little more than 40 minutes time, none but a practiced watcher, who had guessed the reason of the visit, would have recognized him. He had not assumed the clumsy disguise of a false beard. He was made up deafly. His color was heightened, and his face seemed thinner. There was no heavy accession of false hair, but a slight crepe hair whisker at each side made a better and less pronounced disguise. He seemed a younger, healthier man. The watcher saw him safely off to Birmingham by the 10 minutes past 10 train and then gave Dorington note by telegraph of the guys in which Mr. Mallows was traveling. Now, this train was time to arrive at Birmingham at 1, which was the reason that Dorington had named it in the anonymous telegram. The entrance to the avalanche works was by a large gate which was closed, but which was provided with a small door to pass a man. Within was a yard, and at a little before 1:00, Dorington pushed open the small door, peeped, and entered. Nobody was about in the yard, and what little noise could be heard came from a particular part of the building on the right. A pile of solid export crates stood to the left, and these Dorington had noted at his previous call that morning as making a suitable hiding place for temporary use. Now he slipped behind them and awaited the stroke of one. Prompt at the hour a door on the opposite side of the yard swung open, and two men and a boy emerged and climbed one after another through the little door in the big gate. Then presently another man, not a workman, but apparently a sort of overseer, came from the opposite door, which he carelessly let fall to behind him, and he also disappeared through the little door, which he then locked. Dorington was now alone in the sole active works of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company Limited. He tried the door opposite, and found it was free to open. Within he saw in a dark corner a candle which had been left burning, and opposite him a large iron enameling oven like an immense safe, and round about on benches, were strewn heaps of the glaring red and gold transfer which Dorington had observed the day before on the machines exhibited in the Hobburn vioaduct window. Some of the frames had the label newly applied, and others were still plain. It would seem that the chief business of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company Limited was the attaching of labels to previously nondescript machines, but there was little time to examine further, and indeed Dorington presently heard the noise of a key in the outer gate. So he stood and waited by the enameling oven to welcome Mr. Malows. As the door was pushed open, Dorington advanced and bowed politely. Malow started guilty, but remembering his disguise, steadied himself and asked gruffly, “Well, sir, and who are you?” “I,” answered Dorington with perfect composure, “I am Mr. Paul Malows. You may have heard of me in connection with the indestructible bicycle company.” Malows was altogether taken aback. But then it struck him that perhaps the detective, anxious to win the reward he had offered in the matter of the Gilllet outrage, was here making inquiries in the assumed character of the man who stood impenetraably disguised before him. So after a pause he asked again, a little less gruffly, “And what may be your business?” “Well,” said Dorington, “I did think of taking shares in this company. I suppose there would be no objection to the managing director of another company taking shares in this. No, answered Malows, wondering what all this was to lead to. Of course not. I’m sure you don’t think so. Eh, Dorington, as he spoke, looked in the others face with the sly lear, and Malows began to feel altogether uncomfortable. But there’s one other thing, Dorington pursued, taking out his pocketbook, though still maintaining his lear in Malows’s face. One other thing. And by the way, will you have another piece of court plaster now? I’ve got it out. Don’t say no. It’s a pleasure to oblige you. Really, and Dorington, his lear, growing positively fish, tapped the side of his nose with the case of court plaster. Malows pald under the paint, gasped, and felt for support. Dorington laughed pleasantly. “Come, come,” he said. “Don’t be frightened. I admire your cleverness, Mr. mows and I shall arrange everything pleasantly as you will see. And as to the court plaster, if you’d rather not have it, you needn’t. You have another piece on now, I see. Why didn’t you get them to painted over at Clarkson’s? They really did the face very well, though. And there again, you were quite right. Such a man as yourself was likely to be recognized in such a place as Birmingham, and that would have been unfortunate for both of us. Both of us, I assure you. Man alive, don’t look as though I was going to cut your throat. I’m not. I assure you. You’re a smart man of business, and I happen to have spotted a little operation of yours. That’s all. I shall arrange easy terms for you. Pull yourself together and talk business before the men come back. Here, sit on this bench. Malows, staring amazedly in Dorington’s face, suffered himself to be led to a bench and sat on it. Now, said Dorington, the first thing is a little matter of £100. That was the reward you promised if I should discover who broke Gillette’s arm last night. Well, I have. Do you happen to have any notes with you? If not, make it a check. But, but how? I mean, who? Who? Tutt. Don’t waste time, Mr. Malows. Who? Why? Yourself, of course. I knew all about it before I left you last night, though it wasn’t quite convenient to claim the reward then. for reasons you’ll understand presently. Come that little hundred. But what what proof of you? I’m not to be bounced like this. You know, Mr. Malows was gathering his faculties again. Proof? Why man alive be reasonable? Suppose I have none none at all. What difference does that make? Am I to walk out and tell your fellow directors where I have met you here? Or am I to have that hundred more? Am I to publish abroad that Mr. Paul Malows is the moving spirit in the rotten avalanche bicycle company. Well, Mallows answered reluctantly. If you put it like that, but I only put it like that to make you see things reasonably. As a matter of fact, your connection with this new company is enough to bring your little performance with the iron chair pretty near. But I got at it from the other side. See here, you’re much too clumsy with your fingers, Mr. Malows. First you go and tear the tip of your middle finger opening your bru door and have to get caught plaster from me. Then you let that court plaster get frayed at the edge and you still keep it on. After that you execute your very successful chair operation. When the eyes of the others are following the bicycles, you take the chair in the hand with the plaster on it, catching hold of it at the place where a rough, loose, square nut protrudes, and you pitch it onto the track so clumsily and nervously that the nut carries away the frayed thread of the court plaster with it. Here it is, you see, still in my pocketbook where I put it last night by the light of the lantern. Just a sticky black silk thread, that’s all. I’ve only brought it to show you I’m playing a fair game with you. Of course, I might easily have got a witness before I took the thread off the nut. If I had thought you were likely to fight the matter, but I knew you were not. You can’t fight, you know, with this bogus company business known to me. So that I am only showing you this thread as an act of grace to prove that I have stumped you with perfect fairness. And now the hundred. Here’s a fountain pen if you want one. Well, said Malows glumbly, I suppose I must, then. He took the pen and wrote the check. Dorington blotted it on the pad of his pocketbook and folded it away. So much for that, he said. That’s just a little preliminary, you understand? We’ve done these little things just as a guarantee of good faith, not necessarily for publication, though you must remember that as yet there’s nothing to prevent it. I’ve done you a turn by finding out who upset those bicycles as you so ardently wished me to do last night, and you’ve loyally fulfilled your part of the contract by paying the promised reward, though I must say that you haven’t paid with all the delight and pleasure you spoke of at the time. But I’ll forgive you that, and now that the little old derv is disposed of, we’ll proceed to serious business.” Mallows looked uncomfortably glum. But you mustn’t look so ashamed of yourself, you know, Dorington said, purposely misinterpreting his glumness. It’s all business. You were disposed for a little side flutter, so to speak, a little speculation outside your regular business. Well, you mustn’t be ashamed of that. No, Malows observed, assuming something of his ordinarily ponderous manner. No, of course not. It’s a little speculative deal. Everybody does it and there’s a deal of money going. Precisely. And since everybody does it and there is so much money going, you are only making your share. Of course. Mr. Malows was almost pompous by now. Of course, Dorington coughed slightly. Well, now do you know I’m exactly the same sort of man as yourself, if you don’t mind the comparison. I am disposed for a little side flutter, so to speak, a little speculation outside my regular business. I also am not ashamed of it. And since everybody does it, and there is so much money going why, I am thinking of making my share. So, we are evidently a pair and naturally intended for each other. Mr. Paul Malows here looked a little doubtful. See here now, Dorington proceeded. I have lately taken it into my head to operate a little on the cycle share market. That was why I came round myself about that little spoke affair instead of sending an assistant. I wanted to know somebody who understood the cycle trade from whom I might get tips. You see, I’m perfectly frank with you. Well, I have succeeded uncommonly well and I want you to understand that I have gone every step of the way by fair work. I took nothing for granted and I played the game fairly. When you asked me as you had anxious reason to ask if I had found anything, I told you there was nothing very big and see what a little thing the thread was. Before I came away from the pavilion, I made sure that you were really the only man there with black court plaster on his fingers. I had noticed the hands of every man but two, and I made an excuse of borrowing something to see those. I saw your thin pretense of suspecting the betting men and I played up to it. I have had a telegraphic report on your exit works this morning. A deserted cloth mills with nothing on it of yours but a signboard and only a deposit of rent paid. There they referred to the works here. Here they referred to the works there. It was very clever really. Also, I have had a telegraphic report of your makeup adventure this morning. Clarkson does it marvelously, doesn’t he? And by the way, that telegram bringing you down to Birmingham was not from your confederate here, as perhaps you fancied. It was from me. Thanks for coming so promptly. I managed to get a quiet look around here just before you arrived. And on the whole, the conclusion I come to, as to the Avalanche Bicycle Entire Company Limited, is this a clever man, whom it gives me great pleasure to know, with a bow to Malows, conceives the notion of offering the public the very rottenest cycle company ever planned, and all without appearing in it himself. He finds what little capital is required. His two or three Confederates help to make up a board of directors with one or two titled guinea pigs who know nothing of the company and care nothing, and the rest’s easy. A professional racing man is employed to win races and make records on machines which have been specially made by another firm. Perhaps it was the indestructible, who knows, to a private order, and afterwards decorated with the name and style of the bogus company on a transfer. For ordinary sale, bicycles of the trade description are bought so much a hundred from the factors and put your own name on them. They come cheap and they sell at a good price. The profit pays all expenses and perhaps a bit over. And by the time they all break down, the company will be successfully floated. The money, the capital will be divided. The moving spirit and his confederates will have disappeared. And the guinea pigs will be left to stand the racket. If there is a racket and the moving spirit will remain unsuspected, a man of account in the trade all the time. Admirable. All the work to be done at the works is the sticking on of labels and a bit of enameling. Excellent all round. Isn’t that about the size of your operations? Well, yes, Melos answered a little reluctantly, but with something of modest pride in his manner. That was the notion since you speak so plainly. And it shall be the notion. All everything shall be as you have planned it with one exception which is this. The moving spirit shall divide his plunder with me. You but but why I gave you a hundred just now. Dear dear, why will you harp so much on that vulgal hundred? That’s settled and done with. That’s our little personal bargain in the matter of the lamentable accident with the chair. We are now talking of bigger business. Not hundreds, but thousands, and not one of them, but a lot. Come now, a mind like yours should be wide enough to admit of a broad and large view of things. If I refrain from exposing this charming scheme of yours, I shall be promoting a piece of scandalous robbery. Very well then, I want my promotion money in the regular way. Can I shut my eyes and allow a piece of iniquity like this to go on unchecked without getting anything by way of damages for myself? perish the thought when all expenses are paid and the Confederates are sent off with as little as they will take you and I will divide fairly Mr. Malows respectable brothers in rascality mind. I might say we’d divide to begin with and leave you to pay expenses but I am always fair to a partner in anything of this sort. I shall just want a little guarantee you know it’s safest in such matters as these say a bill at 6 months for £10,000 which is very low. When a satisfactory division is made you shall have the bill back. Come, I have a bill stamp ready. being so much convinced of your reasonleness as to buy it this morning though it cost £5, but that’s nonsense you’re trying to impose. I’ll give you anything reasonable. Half is out of the question. What? After all the trouble and worry and risk that I’ve had, which would suffice for no more than to put you in gale if I held up my finger? But hang it, be reasonable. You’re a mighty clever man, and you’ve got me on the hip, as I admit, say 10%. You’re wasting time and presently the men will be back. Your choice is between making half or making none and going to gale into the bargain. Choose. But just consider. Choose. Mallows looked desparingly about him. But really, he said, I want the money more than you think. I for the last time choose. Malow’s desparing gaze stopped at the enameling oven. Well, well, he said, if I must, I must, I suppose. But I warn you, you may regret it. Oh dear. No, I’m not so pessimistic. Come. You wrote a check. Now I’ll write the bill. 6 months after date. Pay to me or my order the sum of £10,000 for value. Received excellent value, too, I think. There you are. When the bill was written and signed, Malows scribbled his acceptance with more readiness than might have been expected. Then he rose and said with something of brisk cheerfulness in his tone, “Well, that’s done.” And the least said the soonest mended, “You’ve won it, and I won’t grumble anymore. I think I’ve done this thing pretty neatly, eh? Come and see the works.” Every other part of the place was empty of machinery. There were a good many finished frames and wheels bought separately, and now in course of being fitted together for sale, and there were many more complete bicycles of cheap but showy make to which nothing needed to be done but to fix the red and gold transfer of the avalanche company. Then Malows opened the tall iron door of the enameling oven. “See this,” he said. “This is the enameling oven. Get in and look round. The frames and other different parts hang on the racks after the enamel is laid on, and all those gas jets are lighted to harden it by heat. Do you see that deeper part there by the back? Go closer. Dorington felt a push at his back, and the door was swung too with a bang, and the latch dropped. He was in the dark, trapped in a great iron chamber. “I warned you,” shouted Malows from without. “I warned you, you might regret it.” And instantly Dorington’s nostrils were filled with the smell of escaping gas. He realized his peril on the instant. Malows had given him the bill with the idea of silencing him by murder and recovering it. He had pushed him into the oven and had turned on the gas. It was dark, but to light a match would mean death instantly, and without the match, it must be death by suffocation and poison of gas in a very few minutes. To appeal to Malows was useless. Dorington knew too much. It would seem that at last a horribly fitting retribution had overtaken Dorington in death by a mode parallel to that which he and his creatures had prepared for others. Dorington’s victims had drowned in water, or at least Croftton’s had, for I never ascertained definitely whether anybody had met his death by the tank after the Croftton had taken service with Dorington, and now Dorington himself was to drown in gas. The oven was of sheet iron, fastened by a latch in the center. Dorington flung himself desperately against the door, and it gave outwardly at the extreme bottom. He snatched a loose angle iron with which his hand came in contact, dashed against the door once more, and thrust the iron through where it strained open. Then, with another tremendous plunge, he drove the door a little more outward, and raised the angle iron in the crack. Then, once more, and raised it again. He was near to losing his senses when, with one more plunge, the catch of the latch, not designed for such treatment, suddenly gave way. The door flew open, and Dorington, blew in the face, staring, stumbling, and gasping, came staggering out into the fresher air, followed by a gush of gas. Mows had retreated to the rooms behind, and thither Dorington followed him, gaining vigor and fury at every step. At sight of him, the wretched Mows sank in a corner, sighing and shivering with terror. Dorington reached him and clutched him by the collar. There should be no more honor between these two thieves now. He would drag Malows forth and proclaim him aloud, and he would keep that bill. He hauled the struggling wretch across the room, tearing off the crepe whiskers as he came, while Malows supplicated and whined, fearing that it might be the others designed to imprison him in the enameling oven. But at the door of the room against that containing the oven, their progress came to an end, for the escaped gas had reached the lighted candle, and with one loud report, the partition wall fell in. Half burying mllows where he lay, and knocking Dorington over, windows fell out of the building, and men broke through the front gate, climbed into the ruined rooms, and stopped the still escaping gas. When the two men and the boy returned with the conspirator who had been in charge of the works, they found a crowd from the hardware and cycle factories thereabout. Surveying with great interest the spectacle of the extrication of Mr. Paul Malows, managing director of the indestructible bicycle company from the broken bricks mortar bicycles and transfers of the avalanche bicycle and tire company limited and the preparations for carrying him to a surgeon’s where his broken leg might be set. As for Dorington, a crushed hat and a torn coat were all his hurts beyond a few scratches, and in a couple of hours it was all over Birmingham and spreading to other places. that the business of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tire Company consisted of sticking brilliant labels on factors bicycles bought in batches for the whole thing was thrown open to the general gaze by the explosion. So that when next day Land won the 50 mi race in London, he was greeted with ironical shouts of gum on your transfer. Hi, mind your label. Where did you steal that bicycle? Sold your shares and so forth. Somehow the avalanche bicycle and tire company limited never went to a lotment. It was said that a few people in remote and benited spots where news never came till it was in the history books had applied for shares but the bankers returned their money doubtless to their extreme disappointment. It was found politic also that Mr. Paul Malows should retire from the directorate of the indestructible bicycle company, a concern which is still, I believe, flourishing exceedingly. As for Dorington, he had his £100 reward, but the bill for he never presented. Why, I do not altogether know unless he found that Mr. Malow’s financial position, as he had hinted, was not altogether so good as was supposed. At any rate, it was found among the notes and telegrams in this case in the Dorington deed box, the case of Mr. Loftus Deacon chapter. This was a case that helped to give Dorington much of that reputation, which unfortunately too often enabled him to profit himself far beyond the extent to which his clients intended. It occurred some few years back, and there was such a stir at the time over the mysterious death of Mr. the Loftest Deacon that it well paid Dorington to use his utmost diligence in an honest effort to uncover the mystery. It gave him one of his best advertisements, though indeed it occasioned him less trouble in the unraveling than many a less interesting case. There were scarcely any memorander of the affair among Dorington’s papers, beyond entries of fees paid, and I have almost entirely relied upon the account given me by Mr. Stone manager in the employee of the firm owning the premises in which Mr. Deacon died. These premises consisted of a large building let out in expensive flats, one of the first places built with that design in the west end of London. The building was one of three, all belonging to the firm I have mentioned and numbered and Bedford Mansions. They stood in the St. James’s district and Mr. Loftest Deacons quarters were in no Mr. Deacon’s magnificent collection of oriental porcelain will be remembered as long as any in the national depositories. Much of it was for a long while lent and by Mr. Deacon’s will passed permanently into possession of the nation. His collection of oriental arms, however, was broken up and sold, as were also his other innumerable objects of Eastern art, lacquers, carvings, and so forth. He was a wealthy man. This Mr. Deacon, a bachelor of 60, and his whole life was given to his collections. He was currently reported to spend some, a year on them, and in addition would make inroads into capital for special purchases at the great sales. People wondered where all the things were kept, and indeed they had reason, for Mr. Deacon’s personal establishment was but a suite of rooms on the ground floor of Bedford Mansions. But the bulk of the collections were housed at various museums. Indeed, it was a matter of banter among his acquaintances that Mr. Loftess Deacon made the taxpayers warehouse most of his things. Moreover, the flat was a large one. It occupied almost the whole of the ground floor of the building, and it overflowed with the choicest of its tenants possessions. There were eight large and lofty rooms, as well as the lobby, scullery, and so forth, and everyone was full. The walls were hung with the most precious kakamono and nishiki of Japan and glass cabinets stood everywhere packed with porcelain and fay and celadon peach bloom and blue and white satsuma raku nins and darita. Many a small piece worth its weight in gold over and over and over again. At places on the wall among the kakamono and pictures of the Yukio were trophies of arms. Two suits of ancient Japanese armor, each complete and each the production of one of the most eminent of the Mochin family were exhibited on stands and swords stood in many corners and lay in many racks. Innumerable drawers contain specimens of the greatest lacaware of Corin, Shunho, Kajikawa, Coyetsu, and Ritsuo. Each in its wadded brocade Fukuza with the light wooden box encasing all. In more glass cabinet stood Netsuk and Okimono of ivory, bronze, wood, and lacquer. There were a few gods and goddesses, and conspicuous among them, two life-sized guilt Buddhas beamed mildly over all from the shelves on which they were raised. By the operation of natural selection, it came about that the choicest of all Mr. Deacon’s possessions were collected in these rooms. Here were none of the great cumbersome pots, good in their way, but made of old time merely for the European market. of all that was Japanese, every piece was of the best and rarest. Consequently, in almost every case of small dimensions, as is the way of the greatest of the wares of old Japan, and of all the precious contents of these rooms, everything was oriental in its origin, except the contents of one case, which displayed specimens of the most magnificent goldsmiths and silver smiths work of medieval Europe. It stood in the room which Mr. the loftest deacon used as his sitting room, and more than one of his visitors had wondered that such valuable property was not kept at a bankers. This view, however, always surprised and irritated Mr. Deacon. Keep it at a banker’s, he would say. Why not melt it down at once? The things are works of art, things of beauty, and that’s why I have them, not merely because they’re gold and silver. To shut them up in a strong room would be the next thing to destroying them altogether. Why not lock the whole of my collections in safes and never look at them? They are all valuable, but if they are not to be seen, I would rather have the money they cost. So the gold and silver stood in its case. To the blinking wonderment of messengers and porters whose errands took them into Mr. Loftess Deacon’s sitting room. The contents of this case were the only occasion, however, of Mr. Deacons straying from oriental paths in building up his collection. There they stood, but he made no attempt to add to them. He went about his daily hunting, bargaining, cataloging, cleaning, and exhibiting to friends, but all his new treasures were from the east, and most were Japanese. His chief visitors were traveling buyers of curiosities, little Japanese, who had come to England to study medicine, and were paying their terms by the sale of heirlooms in pottery and lacquer, porters from Christies and Fosters, and sometimes men from coppleston. the odd emporium by the riverside where lions and monkeys, porcelain and savage weapons were bought and sold close by the ships that brought them home. The travelers were suspicious and cunning. The Japanese were bright, polite, and dignified, and the men from Coppelston’s were wiry, hairy, and amphibious. One was an enormously muscular little hunchback nicknamed slackjaw, a quaint and rather repulsive compound of showman, sailor, and half-cast rough, and all were like merman, more or less. These curious people came and went, and Mr. Deacon went on buying, cataloging, and joying in his possessions. It was the happiest possible life for a lonely old man with his tastes and his means of gratifying them, and it went placidly on till one Wednesday midday. Then Mr. Deacon was found dead in his rooms in most extraordinary and it seemed altogether unaccountable circumstances. There was but one door leading into Mr. Deacon’s rooms from the open corridor of the building, and this was immediately opposite the large street door. When one entered from the street, one ascended three or four broad marble steps, pushed open one of a pair of glazed swing doors, and found oneself facing the door by which Mr. Deacon entered and left his quarters. There had originally been other doors into the corridor from some of the rooms, but those Mr. deacon had had it blocked up, so making the flat entirely self-contained. Just by the glazed swing doors, which I have spoken of, and in full view of the old gentleman’s door, the whole porter’s box stood. It was glazed on all sides, and the porter sat so that Mr. Deacon’s door was always before his eyes, and so long as he was there. It was very unlikely that anybody or anything could leave or enter by that door unobserved by him. It is important to remember this in view of what happened on the occasion I am writing of. There was one other exterior door to Mr. Deacon’s flat and one only. It gave upon the back spiral staircase and was usually kept locked. This staircase had no outlet to the corridors but merely extended from the housekeeper rooms at the top of the building to the basement. It was little used, and then only by servants, for it gave access only to the rooms on its own side. There was no way from this staircase to the outer street, except through the private rooms of the tenants, or through those of the housekeeper. That Wednesday morning, things had happened precisely in the ordinary way. Mr. Deacon had risen and breakfasted as usual. He was alone with his newspaper and his morning letters when his breakfast was taken in and when it was removed. He had remained in his rooms till between 12 and 1:00. Goods had arrived for him. This was an almost daily occurrence, and one or two ordinary visitors had called and gone away again. It was Mr. deacon’s habit to lunch at his club, and at about a/4 to 1 or thereabout, he had come out, locked his door, and leaving his usual message that he should be at the club for an hour or two. In case anybody called, he had left the building. At about 1, however, he had returned hurriedly, having forgotten some letters. “I didn’t give you any letters for the post, did I, beard, before I went out?” he asked the porter. And the porter replied that he had not. “Mr. Deacon thereupon crossed the corridor, entered his door, and shut it behind him. He had been gone but a few seconds when there arose an outcry from within the rooms, a shout followed in a breath by a loud cry of pain, and then silence. Beard the porter ran to the door and knocked, but there was no reply. “Did you call, sir?” he shouted and knocked again, but still without response. The door was shut and it had a latch lock with no exterior handle. Beard, who had had an uncle die of apoplelexy, was now thoroughly alarmed and shouted up the speaking tube for the housekeeper’s keys. In course of a few minutes, they were brought, and Beard and the housekeeper entered. The lobby was as usual, and the sitting room was in perfect order. But in the room beyond, Mr. Loftess Deacon lay in a pool of blood with two large and fearful gashes in his head. Not a soul was in any of the rooms, though the two men, first shutting the outer door, searched diligently. All windows and doors were shut, and the rooms were tenantless and undisturbed, except that on the floor lay Mr. Deacon in his blood at the foot of a pedestal, whereupon there squatted with serenely fierce grin. The god Hatchiman, guilt and painted, carrying in one of his fore hands a snake, in another a mace. In a third a small human figure, and in the fourth a heavy, straight guardless sword, and all around furniture, cabinets, porcelain lacquer, and everything else lay undisturbed. At first sight of the tragedy, the porter had sent the lift man for the police, and soon they arrived, and a surgeon with them. For the surgeon, there was very little to do. Mr. deacon was dead. Either of the two frightful gashes in the head would have been fatal, and they had obviously both been delivered with the same instrument, something heavy and exceedingly sharp. The police now set themselves to close investigation. The porter was certain that nobody had entered the rooms that morning who had not afterwards left. He was sure that nobody had entered unobserved, and he was sure that Mr. Deacon had re-entered his chambers unaccompanied. Working therefore on the assumption that the murderer could not have entered by the front door, the police turned their attention to the back door and the windows, the door to the back staircase was locked, and the key was in the lock and inside. Therefore, they considered the windows. There were but three of these that looked upon the street, two in one room and one in another, but these were shut and fastened within. Other rooms were lighted by windows looking upon lighting wells, some being supplied with reflectors. All these windows were found to be quite undisturbed and fastened within except one. This window was in the bedroom, and though it was shut, the catch was not fastened. The porter declared that it was Mr. Deacon’s practice invariably to fasten every shut window, a thing he was always very careful about. Moreover, the window now found unfastened and shut was always left open a foot or so all day to air the bedroom. More a housemmaid was brought who had that morning made the bed and dusted the room. The window was opened, she said when she had entered the room, and she had left it so, as she always did, therefore shut as it was, but not fastened. It seemed plain that this window must have given exit to the murderer, since no other way appeared possible. Also, to shut the window behind him would be the fugitive’s natural policy. The lower panes were of ground glass, and at least pursuit would be delayed. The window looked upon a lighting well, and the concreted floor of the basement was but 15 or 20 ft below. Careful inquiries disclosed the fact that a man had been at work painting the joinery about this wellbottom. He was a man of very indifferent character, had in fact done time, and he was employed for odd jobs by way of charity, being some sort of connection of a member of the firm owning the buildings. He had indeed received a good education fitted to place him in a very different position from that in which he now found himself, but he was a black sheep. He drank, he gambled, and finally he stole. His relatives helped him again and again, but their efforts were useless, and now he was indebted to one of them for his present occupation at a pound a week. The police, of course, knew something of him, and postponed questioning him directly until they had investigated a little further. It might be that Mr. Deacon’s death was the work of a conspiracy wherein more than one had participated. chapter. The next morning, Thursday, Mr. Henry Coulson was an early caller at Dorington’s office. Mr. Coulson was a thin, grizzled man of 60 or thereabout, who had been a close friend, the only intimate friend indeed of Mr. Loft’s deacon. He was a widowerower, and he lived in rooms scarce 200 yd distant from Bedford Mansions, where his friend had died. “My business, Mr. Dorington, he said, is in connection with the terrible death of my old friend, Mr. Loftess Deacon, of which you no doubt have heard or read in the morning papers. Yes, Dorington asented, both in this morning’s papers and the evening papers of yesterday. Very good. I may tell you that I am sole executive under Mr. Deacon’s will. The will indeed is in my possession. I am a retired solicitor, and there happens to be a sum set apart in that will out of which I am to defay any expenses that may arise in connection with his death. It really seems to me that I should be quite justified in using some part of that sum in paying for inquiries to be conducted by such an experienced man as yourself, into the cause of my poor friend’s death. At any rate, I wish you to make such inquiries, even if I have to pay the fees myself. I am convinced that there is something very extraordinary, something very deep in the tragedy. The police are pottering about, of course, and keeping very mysterious as to the matter. But I expect that simply because they know nothing. They have made no arrest, and perhaps every minute of delay is making the thing more difficult. As executive, of course, I have access to the rooms. Can you come and look at them now? Oh, yes, Dorington answered, reaching for his hat. I suppose there’s no doubt of the case being one of murder. Suicide is not likely, I take it. Oh, no, certainly not. He was scarcely the sort of man to commit suicide, I should say, and he was as cheerful as he could be the afternoon before when I last saw him. Besides, the surgeon says it’s nothing of the kind. A man committing suicide doesn’t gash himself twice over the head or even once. And in this case, the first blow would have made him incapable of another. I have heard nothing about the weapon, Dorington remarked as they entered a cab. Has it been found? That’s a difficulty, Mr. Coulson answered. It would seem not. Of course, there are numbers of weapons about the place, Japanese swords and whatnot, any one of which might have caused such injuries, but there are no blood stains on any of them. Is any article of value missing? I believe not. Everything seemed to be in its place so far as I noticed yesterday, but then I was not there long and was too much agitated to notice very particularly. At any rate, the old gold and silver plate had not been disturbed. He kept that in a large case in his sitting room and it would certainly be the plate that the murderer would have made for first if robbery had been his object. Mr. Coulson gave Dorington the other details of the case already set forth in this account and presently the cab stopped before no Bedford Mansions. The body of course had been removed but otherwise the rooms had not been disturbed. The porter let them into the chambers by aid of the housekeeper’s key. They don’t seem to have found his keys, Mr. Coulson explained, and that will be troublesome for me, I expect presently. He usually carried them with him, but they were not on the body when found. That may be important, Dorington said. But let us look at the rooms. They walked through the large apartments one after the other, and Dorington glanced casually about him as he went. Presently, Mr. Coulson stopped, struck with an idea. Ah,” he said, more to himself than to Dorington. “I will just see.” He turned quickly back into the room they had just quitted, and made for the broad shelf that ran the length of the wall at about the height of an ordinary table. “Yes,” he cried. “It is. It’s gone.” “What is gone?” “The sword, the Masamune.” The whole surface of the shelf, covered with a silk cloth, was occupied by Japanese swords and dirks with rich mountings. Most lay on their sides in rows, but two or three were placed in the lacquered racks. Mr. Coulson stood and pointed at a rack which was standing alone and swordless. “That is where it was,” he said. “I saw it was talking about it.” In fact, the afternoon before, “No, it’s nowhere. It’s not like any of the others. Let me see.” And Mr. Coulson, much excited, hurried from room to room, wherever swords were kept, searching for the missing specimen. No, he said at last, looking strangely startled. It’s gone, and I think we are near the soul of the mystery. He spoke in hushed, uneasy tones, and his eyes gave token of strange apprehension. “What is it?” Dorington asked. “What about this sword? Come into the sitting room.” Mr. Coulson led Dorington away from the scene of Mr. deacon’s end, away from the empty sword rack, and from under the shadow of the grinning god with its four arms, its snake, and its threatening sword. “I don’t think I’m very superstitious,” Mr. Coulson proceeded. “But I really feel that I can talk more freely about the matter in here.” They sat at the table over against the case of plate, and Mr. Coulson went on. The sword I speak of, he said, was much prized by my poor friend who brought it with him from Japan nearly 20 years back, not many years after the civil war there, in fact. It was a very ancient specimen of the 14th century, I think. And the work of the famous swordsmith Masamune. Masamune’s work is very rarely met with, it seems, and Mr. Deacon felt himself especially fortunate in securing this example. It is the only piece of Masamune’s work in the collection. I may tell you that a sword by one of the great old masters is one of the rarest of all the rarities that come from Japan. The possessors of the best keep them rather than sell them at any price. Such swords were handed down from father to son for many generations, and a Japanese of the old school would have been disgraced had he parted with his father’s blade, even under the most pressing necessity. the mounts he might possibly sell if he were in very bad circumstances, but the blade never. Of course, such a thing has occurred, and it occurred in this very case, as you shall hear, but as an almost invariable rule, the Japanese samurai would part with his life by starvation rather than with his father’s sword by sail. Such swords would never be stolen either, for there was a firm belief that a faithful spirit resided in each, which would bring terrible disaster on any wrongful possessor. Each sword had its own name, just as the legendary sword of King Arthur had, and a man’s social standing was judged, not by his house, nor by his dress, but by the two swords in his girdle. The ancient swordsmiths wore court dress and made votive offerings when they forged their best blades and the gods were supposed to assist and to watch over the career of the weapon. Thus, you will understand that such an article was apt to become an object almost of worship among the samurai or warrior class in old Japan. And now to come to the sword in question, it was a long sword or katana. The swords, as you know, were worn in pairs, and the smaller was called the wacki zashi, and it was mounted very handsomely with fittings by a great metal worker of the Gooto family. The signature of the great Masamune himself was engraved in the usual place on the iron tang within the hilt. Mr. Deacon bought the weapon of its possessor, a man of some distinction before the overthrow of the shogun in, but who was reduced to deep poverty by the change in affairs. Mr. Deacon came across him in his dy straits when his children were near to starvation and the man sold the sword for a sum that was a little fortune to him. Though it only represented some four or5 of our money. Mr. Deacon was always very proud of his treasure. Indeed, it was said to be the only blade by Masamuna in Europe. And the two Japanese things that he had always most longed for, I have heard him say, were a Masamune sword and a piece of violet lacquer. That precious lacquer, the secret of making which died long ago. The Masamune he acquired, as I have been telling you, but the violet lacquer he never once encountered. 6 months or so back, Deacon received a visit from a Japanese taller than usual for a Japanese. I have seen him myself and with the refined type of face characteristic of some of the higher class of his country. His name was Ko Kanamaro, his card said, and he introduced himself as the son of Ko Kiyotaki, the man who had sold Deacon his sword. He had come to England and had found my friend after much inquiry, he said expressly to take back his father’s katana. His father was dead, and he desired to place the sword in his tomb, that the soul of the old man might rest in peace. Undisturbed by the disgrace that had fallen upon him by the sail of the sword that had been his and his ancestors for hundreds of years back, the father had vowed, when he had received the sword in his turn from Canamaro’s grandfather, never to part with it, but had broken his vow under pressure of want. He, the son, had earned money as a merchant, an immeasurable descent for a samurai with the feelings of the old school, and he was prepared to buy back the Masamune blade with the Gooto mountings for a much higher price than his father had received for it. And I suppose Deacon wouldn’t sell it, Dorington asked. No, Mr. Coulson replied. He wouldn’t have sold it at any price, I’m sure. Well, Kanamaro pressed him very urgently and called again and again. He was very gentlemanly and very dignified, but he was very earnest. He apologized for making a commercial offer, assured Deacon that he was quite aware that he was no mere buyer and seller, but pleaded the urgency of his case. It is not here as in Japan, he said, among us, the samurai of the old days. You have your beliefs, we have ours. It is my religion that I must place the katana in my father’s grave. My father disgraced himself and sold his sword in order that I might not starve when I was a little child. I would rather that he had let me die. But since I am alive and I know that you have the sword, I must take it and lay it by his bones. I will make an offer. Instead of giving you money, I will give you another sword. A sword worth as much money as my father’s, perhaps more. I have had it sent from Japan since I first saw you. It is a blade made by the great Yukiasu. And it has a scabbard and mountings by an older and greater master than the Gooto who made those for my father’s sword. But it happened that Deacon already had two swords by Yukiasu, while of Masamune he had only the one. So he tried to reason the Japanese out of his fancy, but that was useless. Kanamaro called again and again and got to be quite a nuisance. He left off for a month or two, but about a fortnight ago he appeared again. He grew angry and forgot his oriental politeness. The English have the English ways, he said. And we have ours, yes, though many of my foolish countrymen are in haste to be the same as the English are. We have our beliefs, and we have our knowledge. And I tell you that there are things which you would call superstition, but which are very real. Our old gods are not all dead yet. I tell you in the old times no man would wear or keep another man’s sword. Why? Because the great sword has a soul just as a man has and it knows and the gods know. No man kept another’s sword who did not fall into terrible misfortune and death sooner or later. Give me my father’s katana and save yourself. My father weeps in my ears at night and I must bring him his katana. I was talking to poor Deacon as I told you only on Tuesday afternoon and he told me that Kanamaro had been there again the day before in a frantic state so bad indeed that Deacon thought of applying to the Japanese legation to have him taken care of for he seemed quite mad. Mind you foolish man he said my gods still live and they are strong. My father wanders on the dark path and cannot go to his gods without the swords in his girdle. His father asks of his vow. Between here and Japan there is a great sea, but my father may walk even here looking for his katana and he is angry. I go away for a little, but my gods know and my father knows and then he took himself off. And now Mr. Coulson nodded towards the next room and dropped his voice. Now poor Deacon is dead and the sword is gone. Canamaro has not been seen about the place, I suppose, since the visit you speak of on Monday, Dorington asked. No, and I particularly asked as to yesterday morning. The hall porter swears that no Japanese came to the place. As to the letters now, you say that when Mr. Deacon came back after having left, apparently to get his lunch, he said he came for forgotten letters. Were any such letters afterwards found? Yes, there were three lying on this very table, stamped ready for postage. Where are they now? I have them at my chambers. I opened them in the presence of the police in charge of the case. There was nothing very important about them, appointments, and so forth, merely, and so the police left them in my charge as executive. Nevertheless, I should like to see them, not just now, but presently. I think I must see this man presently. the man who was painting in the basement below the window that is supposed to have been shut by the murderer in his escape. That is if the police haven’t frightened him. Very well, we’ll see after him as soon as you like. There was just one other thing rather a curious coincidence, though of course there can’t be anything in such a superstitious fancy. But I think I told you that Deacon’s body was found lying at the feet of the forehanded god in the other room. Yes, just so Mr. Coulson seemed to think a little more of the superstitious fancy than he confessed. Just so, he said again, at the feet of the god, and immediately under the hand carrying the sword, it is not wooden, but an actual steel sword. In fact, I noticed that. Yes. Now, that is a figure of Hatchiman, the Japanese god of war, a recent addition to the collection, and a very ancient specimen. Deacon bought it at Coppelston’s only a few days ago. Indeed, it arrived here on Wednesday morning. Deacon was telling me about it on Tuesday afternoon. He bought it because of its extraordinary design, showing such signs of Indian influence. Hatchiman is usually represented with no more than the usual number of a man’s arms and with no weapon but a sword. This is the only image of Hatchiman that Deacon ever saw or heard of with four arms. and after he had bought it, he ascertained that this was said to be one of the idols that carry with them ill luck from the moment they leave their temples. One of Coppelston’s men confided to Deacon that the Lascar seaman and stokers on board the ship that brought it over swore that everything went wrong from the moment that Hatchiman came on board and indeed the vessel was nearly lost off Finn a stair and Coppelston himself the man said was glad to be quit of it. things had disappeared in the most extraordinary and unaccountable manner, and other things had been found smashed, notably a large porcelain vase, without any human agency. After standing near the figure, “Well,” Mr. Coulson concluded, after all that, and remembering what Canamaro said about the gods of his country who watch over ancient swords, “It does seem odd, doesn’t it, that as soon as poor Deacon gets the thing, he should be found stricken dead at its feet.” Dorington was thinking. Yes, he said presently. It is certainly a strange affair altogether. Let us see the odd job man. The man who was in the basement below the window. Or rather, find out where he is and leave me to find him. Mr. Coulson stepped out and spoke with the hall porter. Presently, he returned with news. He’s gone, he said, bolted. What? The man who was in the basement? Yes. It seems the police questioned him pretty closely yesterday. and he seized the first opportunity to cut and run. Do you know what they asked him? Examined him generally, I suppose, as to what he had observed at the time. The only thing he seems to have said was that he heard a window shut at about 1:00. Questioned further, he got into confusion and equivocation, more especially when they mentioned a ladder, which is kept in a passage close by where he was painting. It seems they had examined this before speaking to him and found it had been just recently removed and put back. It was thick with dust except just where it had been taken hold of to shift. And there the handmarks were quite clean. Nobody was in the basement but Dowen, that is the man’s name, and nobody else could have shifted that ladder without his hearing and knowing of it. Moreover, the ladder was just the length to reach Deacon’s window. They asked if he had seen anybody move the ladder, and he most anxiously and vehemently declared that he had not a little while after he was missing, and he hasn’t reappeared. “And they let him go,” Dorington exclaimed. “What fools! He may know something about it, of course,” Coulson said dubiously. But with that sword missing and knowing what we do of Canamaro’s anxiety to get it at any cost and and he glanced toward the other room where the idol stood. And one thing and another, it seems to me we should look in another direction. We will look in all directions, Dorington replied. Canamaro may have enlisted Dowin’s help. Do you know where to find Canamaro? Yes, Deacon has had letters from him which I have seen. He lived in lodgings near the British Museum. Very well. Now, do you happen to know whether a night porter is kept at this place? No, there is none. The outer door is shut at 12. Anybody coming home after that must ring up the housekeeper by the electric bell. The tenants do not have keys for the outer door. No, none but keys for their own rooms. Good. Now, Mr. Coulson, I want to think things over a little. Would you care to go at once and ascertain whether or not Canamaro is still at the address you speak of? Certainly, I will. Perhaps I should have told you that though he knows me slightly, he has never spoken of his father’s sword to me and does not know that I know anything about it. He seems indeed to have spoken about it to nobody but Deacon himself. He was very proud and reticent in the matter. And now that Deacon is dead, he probably thinks nobody alive knows of the matter of the sword but himself. If he is at home, what shall I do? In that case, keep him in sight and communicate with me or with the police. I shall stay here for a little while. Then I shall get the whole porter if you will instruct him before you go to show me the ladder and the vicinity of Dowin’s operations. Also, I think I shall look at the back staircase, but that was found locked with the key inside. Well, well, there are ways of managing that as you would know if you knew as much about housebreaking as I do, but we’ll see. Chapter Mr. Coulson took a cab for Canamaro’s lodgings. Canamaro was not in, he found, and he had given notice to leave his rooms. The servant at the door thought that he was going abroad since his boxes were being packed, apparently for that purpose. The servant did not know at what time he would be back. Mr. Coulson thought for a moment of reporting these facts at once to Dorington, but on second thoughts he determined to hurry to the city and make inquiry at some of the shipping offices as to the vessels soon to leave for Japan. On the way, however, he beought him to buy a shipping paper and gather his information from that. He found what he wanted from the paper, but he kept the cab on its way, for he happened to know a man in authority at the Anglo Malay company’s office, and it might be a good thing to take a look at their passenger list. Their next ship for Yokohama was to sail in a few days, but he found it unnecessary to see the passenger list. As he entered one of the row of swing doors which gave access to the large general and inquiry office of the steamship company, he perceived Ko Canamaro leaving by another. Canamaro had not seen him. Mr. Coulson hesitated for a moment and then turned and followed him. And now Mr. Coulson became suddenly seized with a burning fancy to play the subtle detective on his own account. Plainly Canamaro feared nothing, walking about thus openly, and taking his passage for Japan at the chief office of the first line of steam ships that anybody would think of, who contemplated a voyage to Japan, instead of leaving the country, as he might have done by some indirect route, and shipping for Japan from a foreign port. Doubtless he still supposed that nobody knew of his errand in search of his father’s sword. Mr. Coulson quickened his pace and came up beside the Japanese. Canamara was a well-made man of some 5’8 or nine, remarkably tall for a native of Da Nepon. His cheekbones had not the prominence noticeable in the Japanese of the lower classes, and his pale oval face and aqualine nose gave token of highosu family. His hair only was of the coarse black that is seen on the heads of all Japanese. He perceived Mr. Coulson and stopped at once with a grave bow. Good morning, Mr. Coulson said. I saw you leaving the steamship office and wondered whether or not you were going to leave us. Yes, I go home to Japan by the next departing ship, Canamaro answered. He spoke with an excellent pronunciation, but with the intonation and the suppression of short syllables peculiar to his countrymen who speak English. My business is finished. Mr. Coulson’s suspicions were more than strengthened, almost confirmed. He commanded his features, however, and replied as he walked by Keo’s side. Ah, your visit has been successful, then. It has been successful, Canamaro answered. At a very great cost. At a very great cost. Yes, I did not expect to have to do what I have done. I should once not have believed it possible that I could do it. But Calamaro checked himself hastily and resumed his grave reserve. But that is private business and not for me to disturb you with. Mr. Coulson had the tack to leave that line of fishing alone for a little. He walked a few yards in silence and then asked with his eyes fertively fixed on the face of the Japanese. Do you know of the god Hachiman? It is Hachiman the warrior him of eight flags. Kanamaru replied. Yes, I know, of course. He spoke as though he would banish the subject, but Mr. Coulson went on. Did he preside over the forging of ancient sword blades in Japan? He asked. I do not know of preside. That is a new word. But the great workers of the steel, those who made the katana in the times of Yoshitsune and Taiko Sama, they hung curtains and made offerings to Hachiman when they forged a blade. Yes, the great Muramasa and the great Masamune and Sanori. They forged their blades at the foot of Hatchiman. And it is believed that the god Inari came unseen with his hammer and forged the steel too. Though Hachiman is Buddhist and Inari is Shinto, but these are not things to talk about. There is one religion which is yours and there is another religion which is mine. And it is not good that we talk together of them. There are things that people call superstition when they are of another religion, though they may be very true. They walked a little farther and then Mr. Coulson determined to penetrate Canamaro’s mask of indifference observed. It’s a very sad thing this about Mr. Deacon. What is that? asked Canamaro stoidly. Why it is in all the newspapers. The newspapers I do not read at all. Mr. Deacon’s been killed murdered in his rooms. He was found lying dead at the feet of Hatchiman the god. Indeed, Canamaru answered politely, but with something rather like stalled indifference. That is very sad. I am sorry. I did not know he had a Hachiman. And they say, Mr. Coulson pursued that something has been taken. Ah, yes, Kanamaro answered just as coolly, there were many things of much value in the rooms, and after a little while, he added, I see it is a little late. You will excuse me, for I must go to lunch at my lodgings. Good day, he bowed, shook hands, and hailed a cab. Mr. Coulson heard him direct the cabman to his lodgings. And then in another cab, Mr. Coulson made for Dorington’s office. Canamaro’s stolidity, the lack of anything like surprise at the news of Mr. Deacon’s death. His admission that he had finished his business in England successfully. These things placed the matter beyond all doubt in Mr. Coulson’s mind. Plainly he felt so confident that none knew of his errand in England that he took things with perfect coolness, and even ventured so far as to speak of the murder in very near terms, to say that he did not expect to have to do what he had done, and would not have believed it possible that he could do it, though, to be sure. He checked himself at once before going farther. Certainly Dorington must be told at once. That would be better than going to the police perhaps, for possibly the police might not consider the evidence sufficient to justify an arrest, and Dorington may have ascertained something in the meantime. Dorington had not been heard of at his office since leaving there early in the morning. So, Mr. Coulson saw Hicks and arranged that a man should be put on to watch Canamaro and should be sent instantly before he could leave his lodgings again. Then, Mr. Coulson hurried to Bedford Mansions. There he saw the housekeeper. From him he learned that Dorington had left some time since, promising either to be back or to telegraph during the afternoon. Also, he learned that Beard, the Hall porter, was in a great state of indignation and anxiety as a consequence of the discovery that he was being watched by the police. He had got a couple of days leave of absence to go and see his mother, who was ill, and he found his intentions and destination a matter of pressing inquiry. Mr. Coulson assured the housekeeper that he might promise Beard a speedy restbite from the attentions of the police and went to his lunch. Chapter After his lunch, Mr. Coulson called and called again at Bedford Mansions, but neither Dorington nor his telegram had been heard of. At something near 5:00, however, when he had made up his mind to wait, restless as he was, Dorington appeared, fresh and complacent. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he asked. “Fact is I got no opportunity for lunch till after 4, so I had it then. I think I’d fairly earned it. The case is finished.” “Finished?” “But there’s Canamaro to be arrested. I’ve found No, no, I don’t think anybody will be arrested at all. You’ll read about it in the evening papers in an hour, I expect. But come into the rooms. I have some things to show you. But I assure you, Mr. Coulson said as he entered the door of Deacon’s rooms. I assure you that I got as good as a confession from Canamaro. He let it slip in ignorance of what I knew. Why do you say that nobody is to be arrested? Because there’s nobody alive who is responsible for Mr. Deacon’s death. But come, let me show you the whole thing. It’s very simple. He led the way to the room where the body had been found and paused before the forearmmed idol. “Here’s our old friend, Hachiman,” he said. “Whom you half fancied might have had something to do with the tragedy.” “Well, you were right. Himan had a good deal to do with it, and with the various disasters at Coppelston’s, too. I will show you how.” The figure, which was larger than life-size, had been set up temporarily on a large packing case hidden by a red cloth covering. Hachiman was represented in the familiar Japanese kneeling sitting position and the carving of the whole thing was of an intricate and close description. The god was represented as clad in ancient armor with a large and loose cloak depending from his shoulders and falling behind in a wilderness of marvelously and deeply carved folds. “See here,” Dorington said, placing his fingers under a projecting part of the base of the figure and motioning to Mr. Coulson to do the same. Lift. Pretty heavy, eh? The idol was indeed enormously heavy, and it must have required the exertions of several strong men to place it where it was. It seems pretty solid, doesn’t it? Dorington continued. But look here. He stepped to the back of the image, and taking a prominent fold of the cloak in one hand, with a quick pull and a simultaneous wrap of the other fist two feet above, a great piece of the carved drapery lifted on a hinge near the shoulders, displaying a hollow interior. In a dark corner within a small bottle and a fragment of rag were just visible. See there, said Dorington. There wouldn’t be enough room in there for you or me. But a small man, a Japanese priest of the old time, say could squat pretty comfortably and see. He pointed to a small metal bolt at the bottom of the swing drapery. He could bolt himself safely in when he got there. Whether the priest went there to play the oracle or to blow fire out of Hachiman’s mouth and nose, I don’t know. Though no doubt it might be an interesting subject for inquiry. Perhaps he did both. You observe the chamber is lined with metal which does something towards giving the thing its weight and there are cunning little openings among the armor joints in front which would transmit air and sound even permit of a peep out. Now Mr. Deacon might or might not have found out this back door after the figure had been a while in his possession. But it is certain he knew nothing of it when he bought it. Coppelston knew nothing of it, though the thing has stood in his place for months. You see, it’s not a thing one would notice at once. I never should have done so if I hadn’t been looking for it. He shut the part, and the joints of irregular outline fell into the depths of the folds and vanished as if by magic. Now, Dorington went on, as I told you, Coppelston knew nothing of this, but one of his men found it out. Do you happen to have heard of one Samuel Castro, nicknamed Slackjaw, a hunchback whom Corbelston employed on odd jobs? I have seen him here, he called, sometimes with messages, sometimes with parcels. I should probably have forgotten all about him, were it not that he was rather an extraordinary creature, even among Coppelston’s men, who are all remarkable. But did he? He murdered Mr. Deacon, I think, Dorington replied. As I fancy, I can explain to you, but he won’t hang for it, for he was drowned this afternoon before my eyes in an attempt to escape from the police. He was an extraordinary creature, as you have said. He wasn’t English a half cast of some sort, I think, though his command of language of the riverside and dock description was very free. It got him his nickname of slackjaw among the long shoremen. He was desperately excitable, and he had most of the vices, though I don’t think he premeditated murder in this case, nothing but robbery. He was immensely strong, although such a little fellow, and sharp in his wits, and he might have had regular work at Cobbleston’s if he had liked, but that wasn’t his game. He was too lazy. He would work long enough to earn a shilling or so, and then he would go off to drink the money. So he was a sort of odd on andoff man at Coppelston’s just to run a message or carry something or whatn not when the regular men were busy. Well, he seems to have been smart enough or perhaps it was no more than an accident to find out about Hatchiman’s back and he used his knowledge for his own purposes. Copelston couldn’t account for missing things in the night because he never guessed that Castro, by shutting himself up in Hatchimon about closing time, had the run of the place when everybody had gone, and could pick up any trifle that looked suitable for the porn shop in the morning. He could sleep comfortably on sacks or among straw, and thus save the rent of lodgings, and he could accept Hatchiman’s shelter again just before Coppelston turned up to start the next day’s business. Getting out too after the place was opened was quite easy, for nobody came to the large store rooms till something was wanted, and in a large place with many doors and gates like cobblestones. Unperceived going and coming was easy to one who knew the ropes, so that slackjaw would creep quietly out and in again by the front door to ask for a job. Coppelston noticed how regular he had been every morning for the past few months and thought he was getting steadier. As to the things that got smashed, I expect Slackjaw knocked them over, getting out in the dark. One China vase in particular had been shifted at the last moment, probably after he was in his hiding place and stood behind the image that was smashed, of course. and these things coming after the bad voyage of the ship in which he came over very naturally gave poor Hatchiman an unlucky reputation. Probably Slackjaw was sorry at first when he heard that Hachiman was bought, but then an idea struck him. He had been to Mr. Deacon’s rooms on errands and must have seen that fine old plate in the sitting room. He had picked up unconsidered trifles at Coppelston’s by aid of Hatchiman. Why not acquire something handsome at Deacons in the same way? The figure was to be carried to Bedford Mansions as soon as work began on Wednesday morning. Very well. All he had to do was to manage his customary sojurnn at Coppelston’s over Tuesday night and keep to his hiding place in the morning. He did it. Perhaps the men swore a bit at the weight of Hatchiman. But as the idol weighed several hundred weights by itself and had not been shifted since it first arrived, they most likely perceived no difference. Hatchiman, with slack jaw, comfortably bolted inside him, though even he must have found the quarters narrow, jolted away in the wagon, and in course of time was deposited where it now stands. Of course, all I have told you and all I am about to tell you is no more than conjecture, but I think you will say I have reasons. From within the idol slack jaw could hear Mr. Deacon’s movements, and no doubt when he heard him take his hat and stick and shut the outer door behind him. Hutchiman’s tenant was glad to get out. He had never had so long, and trying a sojurnn in the idol before, though he had provided himself this time with something to keep his spirits up in that little flat bottle he left behind. Probably, however, he waited some little time before emerging, for safety’s sake. I judge this because I found no signs of his having started work except a single small knife mark on the plate case. He must have no more than begun when Mr. The deacon came back for his letters. First, however, he went and shut the bedroom window, lest his movements might be heard in some adjacent rooms. The man who was painting said he heard that you remember well, hearing Mr. Deacon’s key in the lock. Of course, he made a rush for his hiding place, but there was no time to get in and close up before Mr. Deacon could hear the noise. Mr. Deacon, as he entered, heard the footsteps in the next room and went to see the result. You know, Castro perhaps, crouched behind the idol, and hearing Mr. Deacon approaching, and knowing discovery inevitable, in his mad fear and excitement, snatched the nearest weapon, and struck wildly at his pursuer. See, here are half a dozen heavy, short Japanese swords at hand, any one of which might have been used. The thing done. Castro had to think of escape. The door was impossible. The whole porter was already knocking there, but the man had no key. He could be heard moving about and calling for one. There was yet a little time. He wiped the blade of the weapon, put it back in its place, took the keys from the dead man’s pocket, and regained his concealment in the idol. Whether or not he took the keys with the idea of again attempting theft when the room was left empty, I don’t know. Most likely, he thought they would aid him in escape. Anyway, he didn’t attempt theft, but lay in his concealment, and a pretty bad time he must have had of it till night. Probably his nerve was not good enough for anything more than simple flight. When all was quiet, he left the rooms and shut the door behind him. Then he lurked about corridors and basements till morning, and when the doors were opened, slipped out unobserved. Now, that’s all. It’s pretty obvious once you know about Hatchiman’s interior. And how did you find out? When you left me here, I considered the thing. I put aside all suspicions of motive, the Japanese and his sword and the rest of it, and addressed myself to the bare facts. Somebody had been in these rooms when Mr. Deacon came back and that somebody had murdered him. The first thing was to find how this person came and where he came from. At first, of course, one thought of the bedroom window as the police had done, but reflection proved this unlikely. Mr. Deacon had entered his front door, was inside a few seconds, and then was murdered close by the figure of Hatchiman. Now, if anybody had entered by the window for purposes of robbery, his impulse on hearing the key in the outer door, and such a thing could be heard all over the rooms, as I tested for myself. His impulse, I say, would be to retreat by the way he had come, that is by the window. If then Mr. Deacon had overtaken him before he could escape, the murder might have taken place just as it had done, but it would have been in the bedroom, not in a room in the opposite direction, and any thief’s attention would naturally be directed at first to the gold plate. Indeed, I detected a fresh knife mark in the door of the case, which I will show you presently. Now, as you see by the arrangement of the rooms, the retreat from the plate case to the bedroom window would be a short one, whereas the murderer must in fact have taken a longer journey in the opposite direction. Why? Because he had arrived from that direction, and his natural impulse was to retreat by the way he had come. This might have been by the door to the back stairs, but a careful examination of this door and its lock and key convinced me that it had not been opened. The key was dirty, and to have turned it from the opposite side would have necessitated the forcible use of a pair of thin hollow pliers, a familiar tool to burglars, and these must have left their mark on the dirty key. So I turned back to the idol. This was the spot the intruder had made for in his retreat, and the figure had been brought into the place the very morning of the murder. Also, things had disappeared from its vicinity at Coppelston’s. more. It was a large thing. What if it were hollow? One has heard of such things having been invented by priests anxious for certain effects? Could not a thief smuggle himself in that way? The suggestion was a little startling, for if it were the right one, the man might be hiding there at that moment. I gave the thing half an hour’s examination, and in the end found what I have shown you. It was not the sort of thing one would have found out without looking for it. Look at it even now. Although you have seen it open, you couldn’t point to the joints. Dorington opened it again. Once open, he went on, the thing was pretty plain. Here is the rag. Perhaps it was Castro’s pocket handkerchief used to wipe the weapon. It is stained all over and cut, as you will observe by the sharp edge. Also, you may see a crumb or two slackjaw had brought food with him in case of a long imprisonment, but chiefly observe the bottle. It is a flat high shouldered cotton bottle, such as publicans sell or lend to their customers in poor districts. And as usual, it bears the publican’s name J. Mills. It’s a most extraordinary thing, but it seems the fate of almost every murderer, no matter how cunning, to leave some such damning piece of evidence about, foolish as it may seem afterward. I’ve known it in a dozen cases. Probably Castro in the dark and in his excitement forgot it when he quitted his hiding place. At any rate, it helped me and made my course plain. Clearly, this man, whoever he was, had come from Coppelston’s. Moreover, he was a small man, for the space he had occupied would be too little, even for a man of middle height. Also, he bought drink of J Mills, a publican, if J. Mills carried on business near Coppleston, so much the easier my task would seem. Before I left, however, I went to the basement and inspected the ladder, the removal of which had caused the police so much exercise. Then it was plain why Dowen had cleared out. All his prearication and uneasiness were explained at once, as the police might have seen if they had looked behind the ladder, as well as at it, for it had been lying lengthwise against the wooden partition, which formed the back of the compartments put up to serve the tenants as wine sellers. Dowen had taken three planks out of this partition, and so arranged that they could be slipped in their places and out again without attracting attention. What he had been taking through the holes he thus made I won’t undertake to say, but I will make a small bet that some of the tenants find their wine short presently. And so Dowen, never an industrious person and never at one job long, thought it best to go away when he found the police asking why the ladder had been moved. Yes. Yes, it’s very surprising, but no doubt you’re right. Still, what about Kanamaro and that sword? Tell me exactly what he said to you today. Mr. Coulson detailed the conversation at length. Dorington smiled. See here, he said. I have found out something else in these rooms. What Canamaro said he meant in another sense to what you supposed. I wondered a little about that sword and made a little search among some drawers in consequence. Look here. Do you see this box standing out here on a nest of drawers? That is quite unlike Mr. deacons orderly ways. The box contains a piece of lacquer, and it had been shifted from its drawer to make room for a more precious piece. See here. Dorington pulled out a drawer just below where the box stood, and took from it another white wood box. He opened this box and removed a quantity of wading. A rich brocade fukusa was then revealed and loosening the cord of this Dorington displayed a Japanese writing case or suzuri bako aged and a little worn at the corners but all of lacquer of a beautiful violet hue. What exclaimed Mr. Coulson violet lacquer. That is what it is answered. And when I saw it, I judged at once the deacon had at last consented to part with his Masamoon in blade in exchange for that even greater rarity, a fine piece of the real old violet lacquer. I should imagine that Canamaro brought it on Tuesday evening. You will remember that you saw Mr. Deacon for the last time alive in the afternoon of that day. Beard seems not to have noticed him, but in the evening hall porters are apt to be at supper. you know, perhaps even taking a nap now and then. Then this is how Canamaro finished his business, Mr. Coulson observed, and the very great cost was probably what he had to pay for this. I suppose so, and he would not have believed it possible that he could get a piece of violet lacquer in any circumstances. But, Mr. Coulson objected, I still don’t understand his indifference and lack of surprise when I told him of poor Deacon’s death. I think that is very natural in such a man as Kgo Canamaro. I don’t profess to know a very great deal about Japan, but I know that a samurai of the old school was trained from infancy to look on death, whether his own or anothers, with absolute indifference. They regarded it as a mere circumstance. Consider how coldbloodedly their hariri their legalized suicide was carried out. As they left the rooms and made for the street, Mr. Coulson said, “But now I know nothing of your pursuit of Castro.” Dorington shrugged his shoulders. “There is little to say,” he said. “I went to Coppleston and asked him if any one of his men was missing all day on Wednesday. None of his regular men were, it seemed, but he had seen nothing that day of an odd man named Castro or Slackjaw, although he had been very regular for some time before, and indeed Castro had not yet turned up. I asked if Castro was a tall man. No, he was a little fellow and a hunchback, Coppelston told me. I asked what public house one might find him at, and Coppelston mentioned the blue anchor kept, as I had previously ascertained from the directory by J. Mills. That was enough. With everything standing as it was, a few minutes talk with the inspector in charge at the nearest police station was all that was necessary. Two men were sent to make the arrest, and the people at the blue anchor directed us to Martin’s Wararf, where we found Castro. He had been drinking, but he knew enough to make a bolt the moment he saw the policeman coming on the warf. He dropped onto a dummy barge and made off from one barge to another in what seemed an aimless direction, though he may have meant to get away at the stairs a little lower down the river, but he never got as far. He muddled one jump and fell between the barges. You know what a suck under there is when a man falls among barges like that. A strong swimmer with all his senses has only an off chance. And a man with bad whiskey in his head. Well, I left them dragging for slackjaw when I came away. As they turned the corner of the street, they met a news boy running. Paper special, he cried. The West End murder special. Suicide of the murderer. Dorington’s conjecture that Canamaro had called to make his exchange on Tuesday evening proved correct. Mr. Coulson saw him once more on the day of his departure and told him the whole story and then Ko Kanamaro sailed for Japan to lay the sword in his father’s tomb. Old Kater’s money. Chapter 18. The firm of Dorington and Hicks had not been constructed at the time when this case came to Dorington’s hand. Dorington had barely emerged from the obscurity that veils his life before some 10 years ago, and he was at this time a needier adventurer than he had been at the period of any other of the cases I have related. Indeed, his illicit gains on this occasion would seem first to have set him on his feet, and enabled him first to cut a fair exterior figure. Whether or not he had developed to the full the scoundrelism that first brought me acquainted with his trade, I do not know, but certain it is that he was involved at the time in transactions wretchedly ill-paid on behalf of one Flint, a shipto’s dealer at Depford, an employer whose record was never a very clean one. This Flint was one of an unpleasant family. He was nephew to old Kater the Warfinger and private usurer and cousin to another Kater whose name was Paul and who was also a usurer though he variously described himself as a commission agent or general dealer. Indeed he was a general dealer if the term may be held to include a dealer in whatever would bring him gain and who made no great punctilio in regard to the honesty or otherwise of his transactions. In fact, all three of these pleasant relatives had records of the shadyiest, and all three did whatever in the way of money lending, mortgaging, and blood sucking came in their way. It is, however, with old Kater Jerry Kater. He was called that this narrative is in the first place concerned. I got the story from a certain Mr. Sinclair, who for many years acted as his clerk and debt collector. Old Jerry Kater lived in the crooked and decaying old house over his wararf by Burmany wall where his father had lived before him. It was a grim and strange old house with long shut loft doors in upper floors and hinged flaps in sunundry rooms that when lifted gave startling glimpses of muddy water washing among rotten piles below. Not once in 6 months now did a barge land its load at Kater’s Warf, and no coasting brig ever lay alongside. For in fact, the day of Kater’s Warf was long past, and it seemed indeed that few more days were left for old Jerry Kater himself. For 78 years old, Jerry Kater had led a life useless to himself and to everybody else, though his own belief was that he had profited considerably. Truly, if one counted nothing but the money the old miser had accumulated, then his profit was large indeed, but it had brought nothing worth having, neither for himself nor for others, and he had no wife nor child who might use it more wisely when he should at last leave it behind him. No other relative indeed than his two nephews, each in spirit a fair copy of himself, though in body a quarter of a century younger. 78 years of every mean and sworded vice, and of every virtue that had pecuniary gain for its sole object, left Jerry Kater stranded at last in his cheap iron bedstead with its insufficient coverings, with not a sincere friend in the world to sit 5 minutes by his side. down below. Sinclair, his unhappy clark, had the accommodation of a wooden table and a chair, and the clark’s wife performed what meager cooking and cleaning service old caterer would have. Sinclair was a man of 45, rusty, starved, honest, and very cheap. He was very cheap because it had been his foolishness 20 years ago when in city employee to borrow £40 of old cater to get married with and to buy furniture together with £40 he had of his own. Sinclair was young then and knew nothing of the ways of the 200% money lender. when he had by three or four years pinching paid about £150 on account of interest and fines and only had another hundred or two still due to clear everything off. He fell sick and lost his place. The payment of interest ceased and old Jerry Kater took his victim’s body, soul, wife, sticks and chairs together. Jerry Kater discharged his own clerk and took Sinclair with a saving of five shillings a week on the nominal salary, and out of the remainder he deducted on account of the debt and ever accumulating interest, enough to keep his man thin and broken spirited without absolutely incapacitating him from work, which would have been bad finance. But the rest of the debt, capital and interest was made into a capital debt with usury on the whole, so that for 16 years or more Sinclair had been paying something every week off the eternally increasing sum, and might have kept on for 16 centuries at the same rate without getting much nearer freedom. If only there had been one more room in the house, old Kater might have compulsorily lodged his clerk, and have deducted something more for rent. As it was, he might have used the office for the purpose, but he could never have brought himself to charge a small rent for it, and a large one would have swallowed most of the rest of Sinclair’s salary, thus bringing him below starvation point and impairing his working capacity. But Mrs. Sinclair, now gaunt and scraggy, did all the housework, so that that came very cheap. Most of the house was filled with old bales and rotting merchandise which old Jerry Kater had seized in payment for warfage jews and other debts and had held to because his ideas of selling prices were large, though his notion of buying prices were small. Sinclair was out of doors more than in dunning and threatening debtors as hopeless as himself, and the household was completed by one Samuel Greer, a squinting man of grease and rags. within 10 years of the age of old Jerry Kater himself. Greer was warhand messenger and personal attendant on his employer and with less opportunity was thought to be near as bad a scoundrel as Kater. He lived and slept in the house and was popularly supposed to be paid nothing at all, though his patronage of the ship and anchor hard by was as frequent as might be. Old Jerry Kater was plainly not long for this world. Ailing for months, he at length gave in and took to his bed. Greer watched him anxiously and greedily, for it was his design, when his master went at last to get what he could for himself. More than once during his illness, old Kater had sent Greer to fetch his nephews. Greer had departed on these errands, but never got farther than the next street. He hung about a reasonable time, perhaps in the ship and anchor if funds permitted, and then returned to say that the nephews could not come just yet. Old Kater had quarreled with his nephews, as he had with everybody else sometime before, and Greer was resolved if he could to prevent any meeting now, for that would mean that the nephews would take possession of the place, and he would lose his chance of convenient larseny when the end came. So it was that neither nephew knew of old Jerry Kater’s shaky condition. Before long, finding that the old miser could not leave his bed. Indeed, he could scarcely turn in it, Greer took courage in Sinclair’s absence. To poke about the place in search of concealed sovereigns. He had no great time for this, because Jerry seemed to have taken a great desire for his company. Whether for the sake of his attendance or to keep him out of mischief was not clear. At any rate, Greer found no concealed sovereigns, nor anything better than might be sold for a few pence at the rag shop, until one day, when old Kater was taking alternate fits of restlessness and sleep. Greer ventured to take down a dusty old pickle jar from the top shelf in the cupboard of his master’s bedroom. Kater was dozing at the moment, and Greer, tilting the jar toward the light, saw within a few doubled papers, very dusty. He snatched the papers out, stuffed them into his pocket, replaced the jar, and closed the cupboard door hastily. The door made some little noise, and old Kater turned and woke, and presently he made a shift to sit up in bed, while Greer scratched his head as innocently as he could, and directed his divergent eyes to parts of the room as distant from the cupboard as possible. “Sam Grier,” said old Kater in a feeble voice, while his lower jaw waggled and twitched. Samuel Grier, I think I’ll have some beef tea. He groped tremulously under his pillow, turning his back to Greer, who tiptoed and glared variously over his master’s shoulders. He saw nothing, however, though he heard the clink of money. “Old Kater turned with a shilling in his shaking hand. “Get half a pound a shin of beef,” he said. “And go to Greens for it at the other end of Graange Road, dear here. It’s it’s a penny a pound cheaper there than it is anywhere nearer.” and and I ain’t in so much of a hurry for it, so the distance don’t matter. Go long, and old Jerry Kater subsided in a fit of coughing. Greer needed no second bidding. He was anxious to take a peep at the papers he had secreted. Sinclair was out collecting, or trying to collect, but Greer did not stop to examine his prize before he had banged the street door behind him, lest Kater, listening above, should wonder what detained him. But in a convenient courtyard a 100 yards away, he drew out the papers and inspected them eagerly. First there was the policy of insurance of the house and premises. Then there was a bundle of receipts for the yearly insurance premiums, and then there was old Jerry Kater’s will. There were two fullcap sheets written all in Jerry Kater’s own straggling handwriting. Greer hastily scanned the sheets, and his dirty face grew longer, and his squint intensified as he turned over the second sheet, found nothing behind it, and stuffed the papers back in his pocket. For it was plain that not a penny of old Jerry Kater’s money was for his faithful servant, Samuel Greer. Ungrateful old Wagabone, mused the faithful servant as he went his way. Not a blessed aini, not a pini, and them as don’t want it gets it. Of course, that’s always the way. It’s like a greasing of a fat pig. I shall have to get what I can while I can. That’s all. And so ruminating, he pursued his way to the butchers in Graange Road. Once more on his way there, and twice on his way back. Samuel Greer stepped into retired places to look at those papers again. And at each inspection he grew more thoughtful. There might be money in it yet. Come, he must think it over. The front door being shut, and Sinclair probably not yet returned, he entered the house by a way familiar to the inmates, a latched door giving on to the warf. The clock told him that he had been gone nearly an hour, but Sinclair was still absent. When he entered old Kater’s room upstairs, he found a great change. The old man lay in a state of collapse, choking with a cough that exhausted him. And for this there seemed little wonder, for the window was open, and the room was full of the cold air from the river. “What j been open in the window for?” asked Greer in astonishment. “It’s enough to give ye a death.” He shut it and returned to the bedside. But though he offered his master the change from the shilling, the old man seemed not to see it, nor to hear his voice. Well, if you won’t, don’t, observed Greer with some elacrity, pocketing the coppers. But I’ll bet he’ll remember right enough presently, dear,” he added, bending over the bed. “I’ve got the beef. Shall I b it now?” But old Jerry Kater’s eyes still saw nothing, and he heard not, though his shrunken chest and shoulders heaved with the last shuddters of the cough that had exhausted him. So Greer stepped lightly to the cupboard and restored the fire policy and the receipts to the pickle jar. He kept the will. Greer made preparations for cooking the beef, and as he did so he encountered another phenomenon. Well, he had been a going of it, said Grier. Blow me if he ain’t been reading the Bible now. A large ancient worn old Bible in a rough calfskin cover lay on a chair by old Kater’s hand. It had probably been the family bible of the kers for generations back. For certainly old Jerry Kater would never have bought such a thing. For many years it had accumulated dust on a distant shelf among certain outofdate account books, but Greer had never heard of it being noticed before. Feels he going? That’s about it. Greer mused as he pitched the Bible back on the shelf to make room for his utensils. But I shouldn’t have thought he’d take it sentimental like that reading the Bible and letting in the free air of even to make him cough blind. The beef tea was set simmering and still old Kater lay impotent. The fit of prostration was longer than any that had preceded it, and presently Greer thought it might be well to call the doctor. Call him, he did accordingly. The surgery was hard by, and the doctor came. Jerry Kater revived a little sufficiently to recognize the doctor, but it was his last effort. He lived another hour and a half. Greer kept the change and had the beef tea as well. The doctor gave his opinion that the old man had risen in delirium and had expended his last strength in moving about the room and opening the window. Chapter Samuel Greer found somewhere near £2 in silver in the small canvas bag under the dead man’s pillow. No more money, however, rewarded his hasty search about the bedroom, and when Sinclair returned, Greer set off to carry the news to Paul Kater, the dead man’s nephew. The respectable Greer had considered well the matter of the will, and saw his way, he fancied, at least to a few pounds, by way of compensation for his loss of employment, and the ungrateful forgetfulness of his late employer. The two sheets comprised, in fact, not a simple will merely, but a will and a cautisil, each on one of the sheets, the cautisle being a year or two more recent than the will. Nobody apparently knew anything of these papers, and it struck Greer that it was now in his power to prevent anybody learning, unless an interested party were disposed to pay for the disclosure. That was why he now took his way toward the establishment of Paul Kater. For the will made Paul Kater not only sole executive but practically sole leg. Wherefore Greer carefully separated the will from the codisil intending the will alone for sale to Paul Kater. Because indeed the codisil very considerably modified it and might form the subject of independent commerce. Paul Kater made a less miserly show than had been the want of his uncle. His house was in a street in Pimlo, the ground floor front room of which was made into an office with a wire blind carrying his name in guilt letters. Perhaps it was that Paul Kater carried his covetousness to a greater refinement than his uncle had done. Seeing that a decent appearance is a commercial advantage by itself, bringing a greater profit than miserly habits could save, the man of general dealings was balancing his books when Greer arrived. But at the announcement of his uncle’s death, he dropped everything. He was not noticeably stricken with grief, unless a sudden seizure of his hat and a roaring aloud for a cab might be considered as indications of affliction. For in truth, Paul Kater knew well that it was a case in which much might depend on being first at Burmany Wall. The worthy Greer had scarce got the news out before he found himself standing in the street while Kater was giving directions to a cabman. Here you come in too, said Kater, and Greer was bustled into the cab. It was plainly a situation in which half crowns should not be too reluctantly parted with. So Paul Kater produced one and presented it. Kater was a strong-faced man of 50 odd with a tightdrawn mouth that proclaimed everywhere a tight fist, so that the unaccustomed passing over of a tip was a noticeably awkward and unspontaneous performance, and Greer pocketed the money with little more acknowledgement than a growl. “Do you know where he put the will?” asked Paul with a keen glance. “Will?” answered Greer, looking him blankly in the face. the gaze of one eye passing over Kater’s shoulder and that of the other seeming to seek his boots will perhaps he never made one didn’t he that odd mean lawfully as the property would come to you and Mr. Flynn arves being all personal property, so I’d think, and Greer’s composite gaze blankly persisted. But how do you know whether he made a will or not? How do I know? Ah, well, perhaps I don’t know. It’s only fancy like, I just put it to you, that’s all. It be divided between the two of you. Then, after a long pause, he added, but L, it’ be a pretty fine thing for you if he did leave a will and willed it all to you, wouldn’t it? Mighty fine thing. And it ought be a mighty fine thing for Mr. Flint if there was a will leaving it all to him, wouldn’t it? Pretty fine thing. Ker said nothing but watched Greer’s face sharply. Greer’s face with its greasy features and its irresponsible squint was as expressive as a brick. They traveled some distance in silence. Then Greer said musingly, “Ah, a will like that be a mighty fine thing. What you be disposed to give for it now? Give for it? What do you mean? If there’s a will, there’s an end to it. Why should I give anything for it? Just so, just so, replied Greer with a complacent wave of the hand. Why should you? No reason at all, unless you couldn’t find it without giving something. See here now, said Kater sharply. Let us understand this. Do you mean that there is a will, and you know that it is hidden, and where it is? Greer’s squint remained impenetrable. Hidden law. How should I know if it was hidden? I was a putting of a case to you. Because Kater went on disregarding the reply if that’s the case. The sooner you out with the information, the better it’ll be for you. Because there are ways of making people give up information of that sort for nothing. Yes, of course, replied the imperturbable Greer. Of course there is, and quite right, too. Ah, it’s a fine thing. Is the law a mighty fine thing? The cab rattled over the stones of Burmany wall, and the two ellighted at the door through which old Jerry Kater was soon to come feet first. Sinclair was back, much disturbed and anxious, at sight of Paul Kater, the poor fellow, weak and broken spirited, left the house as quietly as he might. for years of grinding habit had inured him to the belief that in reality old Kater had treated him rather well and now he feared the probable action of the heirs “Who was that?” asked Paul of Greer. “Wasn’t it the clerk that owed my uncle the money?” Greer nodded. “Then he’s not to come here again, do you hear? I’ll take charge of the books and things as to the debt. Well, I’ll see about that after. And now look here.” Poor Ka stood before Greer and spoke with decision. About that will now bring it. Greer was not to be bluffed. Where from? He asked innocently. Will you stand there and tell me you don’t know where it is? Maybe I’d best stand here and tell you what pays me best. Pay you? How much more do you want? Bring me that will or I’ll have you in jail for stealing it. Lore? Answered Greer composedly conscious of holding another trump as well as the will. Why, if there was anybody as node where the will was, and you talk to him as violent as that ear, why you’d frighten him so much he’d as likely as not go out and get a price from your cousin, Mr. Flint. Whatever was in the will, it might pay him to get hold of it. At this moment, there came a furious knocking at the front door. Why? Greer continued. I bet that’s him. It can’t be nobody else. I bet the doctors told him or summoned. They were on the first floor landing and Greer peeped from a broken shuttered window that looked on the street. “Yes,” he said. “That’s Mr. Flint, sure enough.” “Now, Mr. Paul Kater business, do you want to see that will before I let Mr. Flint in?” “Yes,” exclaimed Kater furiously, catching at his arm. “Quick, where is it?” “I want 20.” “2020? You’re mad? What for?” “All right, if I’m mad, I’ll go and let Mr. Flinton. The knocking was repeated louder and longer. No, cried Kater, getting in his way. You know you mustn’t conceal a will. That’s law. Give it up. What’s the law that says I must give it up to you instead of your cousin. If there’s a will, it may say anything in your favor or out of it. If there ain’t, you’ll get al. The will might give you more or it might give you less or it might give you nothing. £20 for first look at it. for Flint comes in. And do what you like with it, for he knows anything about it. Again, the knocking came at the door, this time supplemented by kicks. But I don’t carry 20 about with me, protested Kater, waving his fists. Give me the will and come to my office for the money tomorrow. No tick for this sort of job, answered Greer decisively. Sorry, I can’t oblige you. I’m going down to the front door. And he made as though to go. Well, look here,” said Kater, desperately, pulling out his pocketbook. “I’ve got a note or two, I think.” “How much?” asked Greer, calmly laying hold of the pocketbook. “Two at least two fers.” “Well, I’ll let it go at that. Give us hold.” He took the notes and pulled out the will from his pocket. Flint outside battered the door once more. “Why?” exclaimed Kater as he glanced over the sheet. “I’m sole executive, and I get the lot. Who are these witnesses? Oh, they’re all right. Long shore hands just here about. You’ll get them any day at the ship and anchor. Kater put the will in his breast pocket. You’d best get out of this, my man, he said. You’ve had me for £10, and the further you get from me, the safer you’ll be. What? said Greer with a chuckle. Not even grateful. Shocking, he took his way downstairs, and Kater followed at the door. Flint, a counterpart of Kater, except that his dress was more sllovenly, stood ragefully. “Ah, cousin,” said Kater, standing on the threshold and preventing his entrance. “This is a very sad loss.” “Sad loss,” Flint replied with disgust. “A lot you think of the loss as much as I do, I reckon. I want to come in.” “Then you shant,” Kater replied with a prompt change of manner. “You shant. I’m sole executive and I’ve got the will in my pocket. He pulled it out sufficiently far to show the end of the paper and then returned it. As executive, I’m in charge of the property and responsible. It’s vested in me till the wills put into effect. That’s law. And it’s a bad thing for anybody to interfere with an executive. That’s law, too. Flint was angry but cautious. Well, he said, your uncommon high with your will and your executive’s law and your sad loss, I must say. What’s your game for answer? Kater began to shut the door. Just you look out, cried Flint. You haven’t heard the last of this. You may be executive or it may be a lie. You may have the will or you may not. Anyway, I know better than to run the risk of putting myself in the wrong now. But I’ll watch you and I’ll watch this house and I’ll be about when the will comes to be proved. And if that ain’t done quick, I’ll apply for administration myself and see the thing through. Chapter Samuel Greer sheared off as the cousinly interview ended well satisfied with himself. £10 was a fortune to him, and he meant having a good deal more. He did nothing further till the following morning, when he presented himself at the shop of Jarvis Flint. Good morning, Mr. Flint, said Samuel Greer, grinning and squinting effably. I couldn’t help noticing as you had a few words yesterday with Mr. Kater after the sad loss. Well, it happens as I’ve seen the will as Mr. Kater was talking of, and I thought perhaps it would save you making mistakes if I told you of it. What about it? Jarvis Flint was not disposed to accept Greer altogether on trust. Well, it do seem a scandalous thing certainly, but what Mr. Kada said was right. He do take the personal property subject to debts. And he do take the freehold primes. And he is the executor. Was the will witnessed? Yes. Two waterside chaps well known thereabouts. Was it made by a lawyer? No. All in the lamented corpse’s handwritten. Oomph. Flint maintained his hard stare in Greer’s face. Anything else? Well, no, Mr. Flint, sir. Perhaps not. But I wonder if there might be such a thing as a codisole. Is there? Oh, I was a wondering that’s all. It might make a deal a difference in the will, mightn’t it? And perhaps Mr. Kater mightn’t know anything about the codisil. What do you mean? Is there a codisil? Well, really, Mr. Flint, answered Greer with a deprecatory grin. Really, it ain’t business to give information for nothing, is it? Business or not? If you know anything, you’ll find you’ll have to tell it. I’m not going to let Kater have it all his own way if he is executive. My lawyer will be on the job before you’re a day older, my man, and you won’t find it pay to keep things too quiet. But it can’t pay worse than to give information for nothing, persisted Greer. Come now, Mr. Flint, suppose. I don’t say there is, mind. I only say suppose. Suppose there was a codisil. And suppose that codisil meant a matter of a few,000 in your pocket. And suppose some person could tell you where to put your hand on that codisil. What might you be disposed to pay that person? Bring me the codisil, answered Flint. And if it’s all right, I’ll give you well. Say five shillings. Greer grinned again and shook his head. No, really, Mr. Flint, he said. We can’t do business on terms like them. £50 down in my hand now and it’s done. 50 I’d be dirt cheap. And the longer you are a considering, well, you know, Mr. might get hold of it. And then why? Suppose it got burnt and never heard of Aeen. Flint glared with round eyes. You get out, he said. Go on. £50 indeed. £50 without my knowing whether you’re telling lies or not. Out you go. I know what to do now, my man. Greer grinned once more and slouched out. He had not expected to bring Flint to terms at once. Of course, the man would drive him away at first, and having got sent of the existence of the codisle, and supposing it to be somewhere concealed about the old house at Burmany wall, he would set his lawyer to warn his cousin that the thing was known, and that he, as executive, would be held responsible for it. But the trump card, the codisil itself, was carefully stowed in the lining of Greer’s hat, and Kater knew nothing about it. Presently Flint, finding Kater objurate, would approach the wy gre again, and then he could be squeezed. Meanwhile, the hatlinining was as safe a place as any in which to keep the paper. Perhaps Flint might take a fancy to have him way late at night and searched, in which case a pocket would be an unsafe repository. Flint, on his part, was in good spirits. Plainly, there was a codisil favorable to himself. Certainly he meant neither to pay Greer for discovering it. at any rate no such sum as £50 nor to abate a jot of his rights. Flint had a running contract with a shady solicitor named Lug in accordance with which Lug received a yearly payment and transacted all his legal business consisting chiefly of writing threatening letters to unfortunate debtors. Also, as I think I have mentioned, Dorington was working for him at the time and working at very cheap rates. Flint resolved to begin with to set Dorington and Lug to work, but first Dorington, who as a matter of fact was in Flint’s back office during the interview with Greer. Thus it was that in an hour or two Dorington found himself in active pursuit of Samuel Greer with instructions to watch him closely, to make him drunk if possible, and to get at his knowledge of the codisol by any means conceivable. Chapter On the morning of the day after his talk with Flint, Samuel Greer ruminated doubtfully on the advisability of calling on the shiptore dealer again, or waiting in dignified silence till Flint should approach him. As he ruminated, he rubbed his chin, and so rubbing it found it very stubbly, he resolved on the luxury of a penny shave, and as he walked the street, kept his eyes open for a shop where the operation was performed at that price. Mr. Flint, at any rate, could wait till his chin was smooth. Presently, in a turning by Abbey Street, Burmansy, he came on just such a barber’s shop as he wanted. Within two men were being shaved already, and another waiting, and Greer felt himself especially fortunate in that three more followed at his heels. He was ahead of their turns anyhow, so he waited patiently. The man, whose turn was immediately before his own, did not appear to be altogether sober. A hiccup shook him from time to time. He grinned with a dull glance at a comic paper held upside down in his hand, and when he went to take his turn at a chair, his walk was unsteady. The barber had to use his skill to avoid cutting him, and he opened his mouth to make remarks at awkward times. Then Greer’s turn came at the other chair, and when his shave was half completed, he saw the unsteady customer rise, pay his penny, and go out. “Beginning early in the morning,” observed one customer. The barber laughed. “Yes,” he said. “He wants to get a proper bust on before he goes to bed, I suppose.” Samuel Greer’s chin being smooth at last, he rose and turned to where he had hung his hat. His jaw dropped, and his eyes almost sprang out to meet each other as he saw a bare peg. The unsteady customer had walked off with the wrong hat, his hat, and the paper concealed inside. “Le!” cried the dismayed Greer. “He’s took my hat. All the shop full of men set up a gapour at this. Take his then, said one. It’s a blame sight better one than yawn. But Greer, without a hat, rushed into the street, and the barber without his penny rushed after him. Stop him! shouted Greer distractedly. “Stop thief!” Thus it was that Dorington, at this time of a far less well-groomed appearance than was his later want watching outside the barbers, observed the mad bursting forth of Greer, followed by the barber. After the barber came the customers, one grinning furiously beneath a coating of lather. Stop him, cried Greer. He’s got my at. Stop him. You pay me my money, said the barber, catching his arm. Never mind. You’re at Yukonavis, but just you pay me first. Leave go. You’re responsible for letting take it. I tell you, it’s a special and valuable leave go. Dorington stayed to hear no more. 3 minutes before he had observed a slightly elevated Nav’i emerge from the shop and walked solemnly across the street under a hat manifestly a size or two too small for him. Now Dorington darted down the turning which the man had taken. The hat was a wretched thing, and there must be some special reason for Greer’s wild anxiety to recover it, especially as the Nav’i must have left another, probably better, behind him. Already Dorington had conjectured that Greer was carrying the codisol about with him, for he had no place else to hide it, and he would scarcely have offered so confidently to negotiate over it, if it had been in the Burmany Wallhouse, well in reach of Paul Kater. So he followed the elevated Nav’vi with all haste. He might never have seen him again were it not that the unconscious bearer of the fortunes of Flint and indeed Dorington hesitated for a little while whether or not to enter the door of a public house near St. Savior’s Dock. In the end he decided to go on, and it was just as he had started that Dorington cited him again. The Nav’i walked slowly and gravely on, now and again with a swerve to the wall or the curb, but generally with a careful and labored directness. Presently he arrived at a dock bridge with a low iron rail. An incoming barge attracted his eye, and he stopped and solemnly inspected it. He leaned on the low rail for this purpose, and as he did so, the hat, all too small, fell off. Had he been standing 2 yards nearer the center of the bridge, it would have dropped into the water. As it was, it fell on the key a few feet from the edge, and a dockman coming toward the steps by the bridgeside picked it up and brought it with him. “Here, your mate,” said the dockman, offering the hat. The navi took it in lofty silence, and inspected it narrowly. Then he said, “Here, what’s this? This ain’t my he glared suspiciously at the Dockman.” “Ain’t it?” answered the Dockman carelessly. All right, then. Keep it for the bloke it belongs to. I don’t want it. No, returned the Nav’i with rising indignation. But I want mine though. What you done with it? Eh, it ain’t a rotten old like this here. None of your alarks, just you and it over. Come on. And what over? asked the dockman, growing indignant in his turn. You drop your it over the bridge like some kid is can’t take care of it. and I brings it up for ye. Instead of saying thank you like a man, he asks me for another at. Go and bile your face,” and he turned on his heel. “No, you don’t,” bled the N’vi, dropping the battered hat and making a complicated rush at the others retreating form. “Not much. You give me my hat.” And he grabbed the Dockman anywhere with both hands. The Dockman was as big as the Nav’i, and no more patient. He immediately punched his asalent’s nose and in 3 seconds a mingled bunch of Dockman and Nav’i was floundering about the street. Dorington saw no more. He had the despised hat in his hand and general attention being directed to the action in progress. He hurried quietly up the nearest court. Chapter Samuel Greer, having got clear of the barber by paying his penny, was in much perplexity, and this, notwithstanding his acquisition of the Nav’i’s hat, a very decent bowler, which covered his head generously and rested on his ears. What should be the move now? His hat was clean gone, and the cautisil with it to find it again would be a hopeless task, unless by chance the Nav’i should discover his mistake and return to the barbers to make a rectification of hats. So Samuel Greer returned once more to the barbers, and for the rest of the day called again and again, fruitlessly. At first the barber was vastly amused, and told the story to his customers, who laughed. Then the barber got angry at the continual worrying, and at the close of the day’s barbering, he earned his knight’s repose by pitching Samuel Greer neck and crop into the gutter. Samuel Greer gathered himself up disconulately, surrounded his head with the Navy’s hat, and shuffled off to the ship and anchor. At the ship and anchor, he found one Barker, a decayed and soden lawyer’s clerk, out of work. Greer’s temporary affluence enabling him to stand drinks. He was presently able by putting artfully hypothetical cases to extract certain legal information from Barker. Chiefly he learned that if a will or a codisil were missing, it might nevertheless be possible to obtain probate of it by satisfying the court with evidence of its contents and its genuiness. Here, at any rate, was a certain hope. He alone, apparently of all persons, knew the contents of the codisil and the names of the witnesses. And since it was impossible to sell the codisil, now that it was gone, he might at least sell his evidence. He resolved to offer his evidence for sale to Flint at once, and take what he could get. There must be no delay, for possibly the Nav’i might find the paper in the hat and carry it to Flint, seeing that his name was beneficially mentioned in it, and his address given. Plainly, the hat would not go back to the barbers now. If the drunken Na’vi had found out his mistake, he probably had not the least notion where he had been, nor where the hat had come from, else he would have returned it during the day and recovered his own superior property. So Samuel Greer went at once, late as it was, and knocked up Mr. Flint. Flint congratulated himself, feeling sure that Greer had thought better of his business, and had come to give his information for anything he could get. Greer, on his part, was careful to conceal the fact that the codisil had been in his possession and had been lost. All he said was that he had seen the codisil, that its date was 9 months later than that of the will, and that it benefited Jarvis Flint to the extent of some £10,000, leaving Flint to suppose, if he pleased, that Kater, the executive, had the codisol, but would probably suppress it. Indeed, this was the conclusion that Flint immediately jumped at, and the result of the interview was this. Flint, with much grudging and reluctance, handed over as a preliminary fee the sum of £1, the most he could be screwed up to. Then it was settled that Greer should come on the tomorrow and consult with Flint and his solicitor Lug. The object of the consultation being the construction of a consistent tale and a satisfactory suite desant copy of the codile which Greer was to swear to if necessary and armed with which Paul Kater might be confronted and brought to terms. It may be wondered why this Flint had not received the genuine codisil itself recovered by Dorington from Greer’s hat. The fact was that Dorington, as was his want, was playing a little game of his own, having possessed himself of the codisol, he was now in a position to make the most from both sides, and in a far more efficient manner than the clumsy Greer. People of Jarvis Flint’s sorted character, are apt, with all their sorted keenness, to be wonderfully short-sighted in regard to what might seem fairly obvious to a man of honest judgment. Thus, it never occurred to Flint that a man like Dorington, willing for a miserable wage to apply his exceptional subtlety to the furtherance of his employer’s rascally designs, would be at least as ready to swindle that master on his own account when the opportunity offered, would be in fact the more ready, in proportion to the stinginess wherewith his master had treated him. Having found the codisol, Dorington’s procedure was not to hand it over forth with to Flint. It was this. First he made a careful and exact copy of the codisil. Then he procured two men of his acquaintance, men of good credit, to read over the copy, word for word, and certified as being an exact copy of the original by way of a signed declaration written on the back of the copy. Then he was armed at all points. He packed the copy carefully away in his pocketbook, and with the original in his coat pocket, he called at the house in Burmany Wall, where Paul Kater had taken up his quarters to keep guard over everything till the will should be proved. So it happened that while Samuel Greer, Jarvis Flint, and Lug the lawyer were building their scheme, Dorington was talking to Paul Kater at Kater’s Warf. On the assurance that he had business of extreme importance, Kater took Dorington into the room in which the old man had died. Kater was using this room as an office in which to examine and balance his uncle’s books, and the corpse had been carried to a room below to await the funeral. Dorington’s clothes at this time, as I have hinted, were not distinguished by the excellence of cut and condition that was afterwards noticeable. In point of fact, he was sey, but his assurance and his presence of mind were fully developed, and it was this very transaction that was to put the elegant appearance within his reach. Mr. Kater, he said, I believe you are sole executive of the will of your uncle, Mr. Jeremiah Kater, who lived in this house. Kater ascented that will is one extremely favorable to yourself. In fact, by it you become not only sole executive but practically soul legotee. Well, I am here as a man of business and as a man of the world to give you certain information. There is a codisol to that will. Ka started then he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as though he knew better. There is a codisil, Dorington went on imperturbably, executed in strict form, all in the handwriting of the testator, and dated 9 months later than the will. That codisil benefits your cousin, Mr. Jarvis Flint, to the extent of £10,000. To put it in another way, it deprivives you of £10,000. Kater felt uneasy, but he did his best to maintain a contemptuous appearance. You’re rushing ahead pretty fast, he said, talking about the terms of this codishell, as you call it. What I want to know is where is it? That, replied Dorington smilingly, is a question very easily answered. The codisil is in my pocket. He tapped his coat as he spoke. Paul started again, and now he was plainly discomposed. Very well, he said with some bravado. If you’ve got it, you can show it to me, I suppose. Nothing easier,” Dorington responded affably. He stepped to the fireplace and took the poker. “You won’t mind my holding the poker while you inspect the paper, will you?” he asked politely. “The fact is the codisil is of such a nature that I fear a man of your sharp business instincts might be tempted to destroy it, there being no other witness present, unless you had the assurance, which I now give you, that if you as much as touch it, I shall stun you with a poker. There is a codisil which you may read with your hands behind you. He spread the paper out on the table and Kater bent eagerly and read it growing paler as his eye traveled down the sheet. Before raising his eyes, however, he collected himself and as he stood up he said with affected contempt, “I don’t care a brass farthing for this thing. It’s a forgery on the face of it.” “Dear me,” answered Dorington placidly, recovering the paper and folding it up. That’s very disappointing to hear. I must take it round to Mr. Flint and see if that is his opinion. No, you mustn’t, exclaimed Kater desperately. You say that’s a genuine document. Very well. I’m still executive and you are bound to give it to me. Precisely, Dorington replied sweetly. But in the strict interests of justice, I think Mr. Flint, as the person interested, ought to have a look at it first in case any accident should happen to it in your hands. Don’t you? Kater knew he was in a corner, and his face betrayed it. Come, said Dorington in a more business-like tone. Here is the case in a nutshell. It is my business, just as it is yours, to get as much as I can for nothing. In pursuance of that business, I quietly got hold of this codisole. Nobody but yourself knows I have it. And as to how I got it, you needn’t ask, for I shan tell you. Here is the document, and it is worth £10,000 to either of two people, yourself and Mr. Flint, your worthy cousin. I am prepared to sell it at a very great sacrifice, to sell it dirt cheap, in fact, and I give you the privilege of first refusal, for which you ought to be grateful. £1,000 is the price, and that gives you a profit of £9,000 when you have destroyed the cordisil. A noble profit of 900% at a stroke. Come, is it a bargain? What? ejaculated Kater astounded. £1,000? £1,000 exactly, replied Dorington complacently. And a penny for the receipt stamp if you want a receipt. Oh, said Kater. You’re mad. £1,000. Why, it’s absurd. Think so, remarked Dorington, reaching for his hat. Then I must see if Mr. Flint agrees with you. That’s all. He’s a man of business, and I never heard of his refusing a certain 900%. Profit yet. Good day. No, stop, yelled the desperate caterer. Don’t go. Don’t be unreasonable. Now say 500 and I’ll write you a check. Won’t do, answered Dorington, shaking his head. A thousand is the price and not a penny less, and not by check mind. I understand all moves of that sort. notes or gold? I wonder at a smart man like yourself expecting me to be so green, but I haven’t the money here. Very likely not. Where’s your bank will go there and get it? Kater, between his avarice and his fears, was at his wits end. Don’t be so hard on me, Mr. Dorington, he whined. I’m not a rich man. I assure you, you’ll ruin me. Ruin you? What do you mean? I give you £10,000 for 1,000, and you say I ruin you? Really, it seems too ridiculously cheap. If you don’t settle quickly, Mr. Kater, I shall raise my terms, I warn you. So, it came about that Dorington and Kater took cab together for a branch bank in Pimlo, when Storington emerged with 1,000 in notes and gold, stowed carefully about his person, and Kater with the codisil to his uncle’s will, which half an hour later he had safely burnt. Chapter 23. so much for the first half of Dorington’s operation. For the second half he made no immediate hurry. If he had been aware of Samuel Greer’s movements and Lug’s little plot, he might have hurried, but as it was, he busied himself in setting up on a more respectable scale by help of his newly acquired money. But he did not long delay. He had the attested copy of the codisil, which would be as good as the original if properly backed with evidence in a court of law. The astute Kater, wise in his own conceit, just as was his equally astute cousin Flint, had clean overlooked the possibility of such a trick as this. And now all Dorington had to do was to sell the copy for one more,000 to Jarvis Flint. It was on the morning of old Jerry Kater’s funeral that he made his way to Depford to do this, and he chuckled as he reflected on the probable surprise of Flint, who doubtless wondered what had become of his sweated inquiry agent when confronted with his offer. But when he arrived at the shiptore shop, he found that Flint was out. So he resolved to call again in the evening. At that moment, Jarvis Flint, Samuel Greer, and Lug the lawyer were at the house in Burmany Wall attacking Paul Kater. Greer, foreseeing probable defiance by Kato from a window, had led the party in by the wolf door, and so had taken Kater by surprise. Kato was in a suit of decent black as befitted the occasion, and he received the news of the existence of a copy of the codisol he had destroyed with equal fury and apprehension. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What do you mean? I’m not to be bluffed like this. You talk about a codisol, where is it? Where is it? day. My dear sir, said Lug peaceibly, he was a small, snuffy man, we are not here to make disturbances or quarrels or breaches of the peace. We are here on a strictly business errand, and I assure you it will be for your best interests if you listen quietly to what we have to say. Ahem, it seems that Mr. Samuel Greer here has frequently seen the codisil. Greer’s a rascal aa thief a scoundrel cried the iate kater shaking his fist in the thick of Greer’s squint he swindled me out of £10 he really Mr. Kater lug interposed you do no good by such outbursts and you prevent my putting the case before you as I was saying Mr. Greer has frequently seen the cautisil and saw it indeed on the very day of the late Mr. ator’s decease. You may not have come across it, and indeed there may be some temporary difficulty in finding the original, but fortunately, Mr. Greer took notes of the contents and of the witness’s names, and from those notes, I have been able to draw up this statement, which Mr. Greer is prepared to subscribe to. by affidavit or declaration if by any chance you may be unable to produce the original codisil. Kater seeing his£1,000 to Dorington going for nothing and now confronted with the fear of losing £10,000 more could scarce speak for rage. Greer’s a liar, I tell you, he spluttered out. A liar, a thief, a scoundrel. His word, his affidavit, his oath, anything of his isn’t worth a straw. That, my dear sir, Lug proceeded equitably, is a thing that may remain for the probate court and possibly a jury to decide upon. In the meantime, permit me to suggest that it will be better for all parties cheaper. In fact, if this matter be settled out of court, I think if you will give the matter a little calm and unbiased thought, you will admit that the balance of strength is all together with our case. Would you like to look at the statement? Its effect, you will see, is roughly speaking, to give my client a legacy of, say, about £10,000 in value. The witnesses are easily produced, and really, I must say, for my part, if Mr. Greer, who has nothing to gain or lose either way, is prepared to take the serious responsibility of swearing a declaration. I don’t believe he will, cried Kater, catching at the straw. I don’t believe he will. Mind Greer, he went on. There’s penal servitude for perjury. Yes, Greer answered, speaking for the first time with a squint and a chuckle. So there is, and for stealing and suppressing documents, I’m told. I’m ready to make that ear declaration. I don’t believe he is, Ka said with an attempt to affect indifference. And anyhow, I needn’t take any notice of it till he does. Well, said Lug accommodatingly, there need be no difficulty or delay about that. the declarations all written out and I’m a commissioner to administer oaths. I think that’s a Bible I see on the shelf there, isn’t it? He stepped across to where the old Bible had lain since Grier flung it there. Just before Jerry Kater’s death, he took the book down and opened it at the title page. Yes, he said, “A Bible? And now why? What? What?” Mr. Lug stood suddenly still and stared at the fly leaf. Then he said quietly, “Let me see. It was on Monday last that Mr. Kater died, was it not? Yes. Late in the afternoon? Yes. Then, gentlemen, you must please prepare yourselves for a surprise. Mr. Ka evidently made another will, revoking all previous wills and cautisles on the very day of his death. And here it is. He extended the Bible before him, and it was plain to see that the fly leaf was covered with the weak, straggling handwriting of old Jerry Kater, a little weaker and a little more straggling than that in the other will, but unmistakably his. Flint stared, perplexed and bewildered. Greer scratched his head and squinted blankly at the lawyer. Paul Kater passed his hand across his forehead and seized a tuft of hair over one temple as though he would pull it out. The only book in the house that he had not opened or looked at during his stay was the Bible. The thing is very short, Lug went on, inclining the writing to the light. This is the last will and testament of me, Jeremiah Kater of Kater’s Warf. I give and bequeath the whole of the estate and property of which I may die possessed, whether real or personal, entirely and absolutely to to what is the name? Oh yes, to Henry Sinclair, my clerk. What? Yelled Kater and Flint in chorus, each rising and clutching at the Bible. Not Sinclair. No. Let me see. I think, gentlemen, said the solicitor, putting their hands aside, that you will get the information quickest by listening while I read to Henry Sinclair, my cler, and I appoint the said Henry Sinclair my sole executive. And I wish it to be known that I do this not only by way of reward to an honest servant and to recompense him for his loss in loan transactions with me, but also to mark my sense of the neglect of my two nephews. And I revoke all former wills and codisils. Then follows date and signature and the signatures of witnesses, both apparently men of imperfect education. But you’re mad. It’s impossible, exclaimed Kater, the first to find his tongue. He couldn’t have made a will then. He was too weak. Greer knows he couldn’t. Greer, who understood better than anybody else, present the illusion in the will to the nephew’s neglect, coughed dubiously and said, “Well, he did get up while I was out, and when I got back, he had the Bible beside him, and he seemed pretty well knocked up with something, and the winder was wide open. I expect he opened it to holler out as well as he could to some chaps on the warf or somewhere to come up by the wolf door and do the witnessing.” And now I think of it, I expect he sent me out a purpose in case, well, in case if I knowed I might get up to summit with the will. He told me not to hurry, and I expect he about used himself up with the writen and the hollerin and the cold air and whatnot. Kater and Flint greatly abashed, exchanged a rapid glance. Then Kater, with a preliminary cough, said hesitatingly, “Well, now, Mr. Lug, let us consider this. It seems quite evident to me, and no doubt it will to you as my cousin solicitor. It seems quite evident to me that my poor uncle could not have been in a sound state of mind when he made this very ridiculous will. Quite apart from all questions of genuiness, I’ve no doubt that a court would set it aside, and in view of that, it would be very cruel to allow this poor man Sinclair to suppose himself to be entitled to a great deal of money, only to find himself disappointed and ruined after all. You’ll agree with that, I’m sure. So, I think it will be best for all parties if we keep this thing to ourselves and just tear out that fly leaf and burn it to save trouble. And on my part, I shall be glad to admit the copy of the codisil you have produced. And no doubt my cousin and I will be prepared to pay you a fee which will compensate you for any loss of business in actions. E Mr. Lug was tempted, but he was no fool. Here was Samuel Greer at his elbow, knowing everything, and without a doubt, no matter how well bribed, always ready to make more money by betraying the arrangement to Sinclair. and that would mean inevitable ruin to lug himself and probably a dose of gale. So he shook his head virtuously and said, “I couldn’t think of anything of the sort, Mr. Kater. Not for an instant. I am a solicitor and I have my strict duties. It is my duty immediately to place this will in the hands of Mr. Henry Sinclair as sole executive. I wish you a good day, gentlemen.” And so it was that old Jerry Kater’s money came at last to Sinclair, and the result was a joyful one, not only for Sinclair and his wife, but also for a number of poor debtors whose paper was part of the property. For Sinclair knew the plight of these wretches by personal experience, and was merciful, as neither Flint nor Paul would have been. The two witnesses to the Bible will turned out to be bargemen. They had been mightily surprised to be hailed from Jerry Kater’s window by the old man himself, already looking like a corpse. They had come up, however, at his request, and had witnessed the will, though neither knew anything of its contents. But they were ready to testify that it was written in a Bible, that they saw Kater sign it, and that the attesting signatures were theirs. They had helped the old man back into bed, and next day they heard that he was dead. As for Dorington, he had £1,000 to set him up in a gentlemanly line of business and villain. Ignorant of what had happened, he attempted to tap Flint for another 1,000 as he had designed, but was met with revilings and an explanation. Seeing that the game was finished, Dorington laughed at both the cousins and turned his attention to his next case. And old Jerry Kater’s funeral was attended, as nobody would have expected, by two very genuine mourers, Paul Kater and Jarvis Flint. But they mourned, not the old man, but his lost fortune. And Paul Kater also mourned a sum of 1,0. They had followed Lug to the door when he walked off with the Bible in hope to persuade him, but he saw a wealthy client in prospect in Mr. Henry Sinclair and would not allow his virtue to be shaken. Samuel Greer walked away from the old house in Moody case. Plainly there were no more pickings available from old Jerry Kada’s wills and cautisils. As he trudged by St. Savior’s dock, he was suddenly confronted by a large Nav’i with a black eye. The Nav’i stooped and inspected a peacock’s feather eye that adorned the band of the hat Greer was wearing. Then he calmly grabbed and inspected the hat itself. inside and outside. Why blow me if this ain’t my ass? said the N’vi. Take that, you dirty squinting thief. And that, too, and that. Thank you for joining us on this journey through the Dorington deed box. As we’ve seen, sometimes the simplest objects can hold the deepest secrets, and Dorington’s cunning knows no bounds. We hope you enjoyed this classic detective mystery. If you did, be sure to like, share, and subscribe for more thrilling tales of suspense. Until next time, keep your wits sharp and your curiosity keen because a good mystery is always just around the corner.
🕵️♂️ **Welcome to Classic Detective Mysteries** 🕵️♂️
In this gripping tale, ‘The Dorrington Deed-Box’ by Arthur Morrison, a mysterious case involving a seemingly ordinary deed-box uncovers hidden secrets and deception. Follow the intriguing journey as we unravel the mind of a master manipulator, Dorrington, and discover what lies beneath the surface of a case that promises to keep you on the edge of your seat. 🧐💼
### 📜 **Story Overview**:
– 📦 **The Deed-Box**: A simple object with far-reaching consequences.
– 🕵️♂️ **The Investigator**: A detective caught in a tangled web of lies and deceit.
– 💡 **The Mystery**: What’s hidden inside the deed-box and who will be the true victim?
### 🚨 **Key Features**:
– A classic detective story filled with suspense and unexpected twists.
– Perfect for fans of early 20th-century detective fiction and mysteries.
– Written by the renowned Arthur Morrison, known for his sharp attention to detail and deep psychological insights into crime and criminals.
– Great for mystery lovers who enjoy complex characters and intricate plots.
### 📅 **Why Watch?**
– If you love detective stories that challenge your wit and keep you guessing until the very end, this is the perfect tale for you.
– Stay engaged with an unforgettable narrative that reveals just how far people will go to manipulate and deceive.
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