The Black Mask Magazine (Vol. 5, No. 5 — August 1922)

Synopsis of preceding chapters

Sir Cheville is found dead at the foot of a precipice from which he was apparently hurled. Etherton, a manufacturer, who owed Cheville money, and Mrs. Stanbury, his sister-in-law, who opposed his approaching marriage to a governess because it threatened her son’s inheritance, were seen near the scene of the crime by Pike, Etherton’s secretary, who tries to use his information to force Letty, Etherton’s daughter, to marry him. She is secretly engaged to Marston Stanbury, Cheville’s heir, and scorns the clerk’s advances. Two documents bearing on the motive of the murder are missing, one from the dead baronet’s pocket, is the plan of Etherton’s valuable invention, and the other is a will executed on the day of Sir Cheville’s death in which he bequeathes 100,000 pounds to his fiancee and the rest of his estate to Marston. Marston’s growing suspicion of Birch, Sir Cheville’s lawyer and a former lover of the governess, is strengthened by the report of a moor ranger who saw the couple many times late at night on the moor, and on the night of the murder in particular. Pike overhears this conversation and pretending to have been an eye witness, demands 5,000 pounds of Birch for his silence. Birch, frightened, complies, but Pike who plans to hasten to America is seen entering a steamship office and is detained by the police who suspect him. He pretends to make a full confession, which implicates Birch. Meanwhile, the lost will is found in Sir Cheville’s locker. The police go after Birch, who is found with the governess. She frankly confesses they were lovers and had met on the night of the murder for a last good-bye. She further tells of leaving her lover and on her homeward way of passing two men, wearing black masks, coming from the direction of the precipice!

Chapter XXII The Secret

While Sindal became greatly excited on seeing Bradwell Pike enter Birch’s office that afternoon, and Marston showed a certain amount of curiosity, Weathershaw manifested no interest whatever. He glanced carelessly out of the window when Sindal pointed across the street, and then remarking, almost indifferently, that he must be attending to his own affairs, went off.

The first thing he did was to turn into a hotel and borrow a directory; out of this he copied in his note-book the names of certain tradesmen in Hallithwaite, some eight or nine in all, and that done he proceeded to call on one after another with the clockwork precision of a commercial traveller. It was not until he called on almost the last man on his list that he got what he wanted: with this man he was closeted for some time, and when he left him he had to race to the station to meet the express due at six o’clock from Manchester. It came in as he hurried up the platform; a moment later, a keen-looking fellow, whose dress and appearance were that of a respectable workman in his Sunday clothes, stepped from a compartment and responded to Weathershaw’s nod with a scarcely perceptible smile.

“That’s right, Hartley,” said Weathershaw. “I’ve a good deal for you to do tonight, so we’ll get some dinner together. Let’s find a quiet corner and I’ll give you your instructions while we eat.”

The two men sat side by side in a recess in the station dining-room, while Hartley took in his employer’s explanations, suggestions, and instructions in silence, doing no more than nod in acquiescence or understanding.

“So now,” said Weathershaw, “you know precisely what to do.” He glanced at the clock which hung in front of them. “Catch the 6:45 out to Lithersdale — it’s the second station up a branch line. Go straight to the place I’ve told you of, and make your enquiries in your own way. Later — say nine o’clock — look in at the Stanbury Arms in the village; you’ll find me there. No need to tell you to keep eyes and ears open, Hartley.”

Hartley responded with a quiet smile and presently went away in the direction of the booking-office: Weathershaw, remaining behind, ordered black coffee, lighted a cigar, and sat for half an hour longer, thinking. Eventually, he left the station and strolled round to Sindal’s private rooms, to find the solicitor leisurely eating his bachelor dinner.

“Sir Marston gone back home?” asked Weathershaw as he dropped into a chair.

“Just after you left,” answered Sindal laconically.

“Hear any more of Pike and his visit to Birch?” enquired the agent.

“Nothing!” said the solicitor. He was becoming almost as reserved as Weathershaw himself. Nevertheless, his curiosity asserted itself. “That man of yours turned up?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” replied Weathershaw. “Came at six o’clock.”

Then, seeing that Sindal was inquisitive, he added, with a smile:

“He’s already at work.”

“Well, you do your work in a pretty quiet and underground fashion, I must say!” remarked Sindal. “I hope it’s going to mature. I wish to goodness I knew what that infernal Pike was after this afternoon.

“If you’ve nothing to do this evening,” remarked Weathershaw, “will you come with me up to Lithersdale? I’m going to meet my man at the Stanbury Arms at nine o’clock — he may have some news to give me. If so, I’ll let you know what it is.”

Sindal immediately showed interest.

“News!” he exclaimed. “Of course I’ll go — I’m jolly anxious to get hold of any news relating to this affair, I can assure you!”

“All right,” agreed Weathershaw. “We’ll get a car about half past eight; they’ll run us out in half an hour.”

It was just nine o’clock when these two turned into the Stanbury Arms, an old wayside inn which stood a little way outside Lithersdale village. It was one of those places which had originally been farmstead as well as hostelry, and in it were a number of low-ceilinged, wainscoted parlors; into one of these, Sindal and his companion turned. Sindal rang a handbell which stood on the table.

“They keep particularly good ale here,” he said. “Better try some — for the good of the house, anyway.”

“Anything you like,” answered Weathershaw indifferently. “I daresay my man will do with a glass when he comes in.”

The landlord, who presently brought in a foaming jug of ale and clean glasses, looked knowingly at Sindal as he felt in his pockets for change.

“Owt more been heard about things, Mr. Sindal?” he asked familiarly. “I expect all you lawyer gentlemen’s up to t’ neck in enquiries, like. It’s a queer business, an’ all — and theer’s some strange things bein’ said about it, my conscience!”

“What’s being said?” asked Sindal, with a glance at Weathershaw.

“Nay, all sorts!” answered the landlord. “You know how folks talks when they come and sit i’ houses like this — ivvery man ’at comes in’s gotten some theory or other. Theer’s them ’at says ’at neither t’ police, nor t’ crowner, nor any o’ you lawyers hes gotten t’ stick be t’ right end yet — ’at theer’s a far greater mystery about owd Sir Cheville’s death than anybody’s aware on. And that’s what I think.”

“Does anybody suggest what the mystery is?” asked Sindal.

“Well, no, sir, I couldn’t say ’at anybody does exactly that theer,” answered the landlord. “But theer were a man in here this afternoon ’at laid t’ law down pretty dogmatic. ‘Yon owd feller weren’t murdered ower that will he’d made! ’ says he. ‘He wor made away wi’ for summat at hed nowt to do wi’ no wills! ’ ‘Well, an’ what? ’ says another man. ‘Never ye mind! ’ says t’ first chap. ‘What I’m sayin’s reight — ye’ll see what he was slain for, i’ due time — ye mark my words! ’ That’s t’ way ’at they will talk, you know, Mr. Sindal,” concluded the landlord as he left the parlor.

Sindal glanced at Weathershaw when the landlord had gone.

“That’s it!” he said with a grim laugh. “Talk, talk! — and never anything at the end of it. Well, going to try this fine old ale? — cold as snow!”

Weathershaw, who had been looking out of the window, suddenly moved to the door.

“A moment!” he said. “Here’s my man!”

He went swiftly out to the road, and Sindal, looking after him, saw him meet Hartley, who came quietly along as if he had no other business in hand than to call at the inn. Together, the two men turned aside, and became absorbed in what was evidently an important conversation. Suddenly Weathershaw, motioning his companion to follow, turned and strode swiftly back.

“Sindal!” he exclaimed, as he came in, with Hartley on his heels. “The time’s come for action! Will you ring up the police at Hallithwaite, and say that you — they don’t or won’t know me, so you must take responsibility — want them to send up superintendent, inspector, and a couple of men, plain-clothes men, here to the Stanbury Arms, at once. Tell them it’s most urgent — I’ll tell you why, after.”

Sindal, carried away by Weathershaw’s emphasis, started for the door. But with his hand on it, he turned, for one word.

“Arrest?” he asked.

Weathershaw was pouring out a glass of ale for Hartley. He answered with equal brevity.

“Probably!” he said.

He glanced at his man when Sindal had hurried off; Hartley, cool and unperturbed, was lifting his glass to his mouth.

“Two of ’em, then?” said Weathershaw.

“Two!” replied Hartley.

“In the same house?”

“In the same house.”

“And — both at the same game?”

“So I found out!”

“We’re on the right track, without doubt,” said Weathershaw musingly. He pulled out his watch. “Those fellows can get up here before ten,” he added. “It’ll be about dark by that time, and so—”

Sindal came hurrying back.

“I say!” he said. “Marrows, the superintendent, and Calvert, the inspector, are here in the village now — they’re at the vicarage. I’ll run along there and fetch them. Two other men are coming straight up. Look here! — am I to tell Marrows anything until—”

“Leave it to me!” broke in Weathershaw. “Get him and Calvert here, if you can, at once. Then — I’ll explain. Where’s that telephone? — I want to ask Sir Marston to run down here.”

Sindal led him into the hall, pointed out the telephone at the end of it, and then leaving the house ran along to the vicarage. And in his excitement on bursting into the Vicar’s study, he did not at first notice that Birch was there, and when, turning to look round, he saw him, he was still so engrossed by the needs of the moment that he failed to connect the presence of his brother-solicitor with that of the police.

“Come away at once, Marrows!” he repeated. “Both of you! — you’re wanted.”

But Marrows was as cool as Sindal was excited.

“What are we wanted for, Mr. Sindal?” he asked. “We’ve business here, yet.”

Even then Sindal made no guess at what was happening. His sole concern was to get the police to Weathershaw.

“The fact is,” he said, seeing that an explanation was necessary before the superintendent would move — “the fact is, Sir Marston and myself have been employing a private detective in this business — Weathershaw, of Manchester. He’s made a discovery — I can’t tell you what it is, but I know him well enough to know that it’s highly important. And he wants your official help — just now. He wants you to arrest somebody. Two of your men are coming up now, from town.”

Marrows, who had listened to this with evident astonishment, glanced at Calvert and then turned again to Sindal.

“Just step outside a minute, Mr. Sindal,” he said. “We’ll join you presently. Now, Mr. Birch,” he went on, when Sindal had gone out into the hall, “you’ve heard that? I hope there’s something in it, for your sake — for to tell you the truth, I was just going to tell you and Mam’selle there that you’d have to go back to Hallithwaite with me! But, as things are — will you give me your word that you’ll stop here until I’ve seen what this new business is?”

“With the Vicar’s permission,” answered Birch.

The Vicar waved a hand, implying consent, and Marrows, after a moment’s hesitation, signed to Calvert to follow him and joined Sindal.

“Do you know any more than you’ve told us, Mr. Sindal?” he asked, as all three hurried down the road toward the inn. “I know this Weathershaw by reputation, but, of course, I’d no knowledge that you were employing him. What is it he’s found out?”

“I’ve no more idea than you have,” answered Sindal. “But I know that he’s had a theory about this affair from the time of his arrival, and I’m confident that he wouldn’t want your help unless he felt sure of what his line is.”

“Well, let’s hope we’re going to have the thing cleared up!” said Marrows. “Matters were beginning to look queer for more than one person, Mr. Sindal.”

Sindal made no answer and asked no question. He hurried on and presently led his companions into the parlor at the Stanbury Arms. There, Weathershaw, Hartley, and Marston Stanbury, the latter evidently in a state of high surprise, stood whispering together on the hearthrug. All three turned as Sindal entered with the police officials, who looked with professional interest at the man who had already made his mark as an investigator of crime. And Marrows went straight to the point.

“So this is Mr. Weathershaw, is it?” he said, with good-natured curiosity. “Pleased to meet you, sir — I’ve heard a good deal of you, one time or another. You want our assistance, Mr. Weathershaw? Well, now, what’s the exact line you’re taking?”

Weathershaw looked round at the door, which Sindal made haste to close.

“This!” answered Weathershaw, as the three new-comers closed round him. “I’ve just explained it to Sir Marston. There’s a man in this village whom I’ve suspected of having a good deal to do with Sir Cheville Stanbury’s death ever since I began to investigate matters. I’ve found out certain things about him — quite sufficient to warrant his arrest. And by a piece of rare good luck, I’ve found out within this last hour, from my assistant here, Mr. Hartley, that the man’s on the point of leaving the neighborhood, in company with another man who is very probably his accomplice. Now, I want you to come with me to the house where these men lodge, where I’ll put some questions to the man I chiefly suspect. And if things go as I think they will, I believe we shall get at the full truth before the night’s over.”

Marrows, who had listened with close attention to Weathershaw, glanced at Calvert when the second man was mentioned.

“You think — if your conclusions are right — that there were two men in at it, Mr. Weathershaw?” he asked.

“Two, yes!” said Weathershaw. “And of the identity of one I’m pretty well certain — in fact I am, personally, quite certain. Of the second man, I’m not certain, but I’m not doubtful.”

“Aye? — and who’s the man you’re certain about, now?” enquired the superintendent. “I know most of the folk about here. Who is he?”

Weathershaw lowered his voice as he looked round the circle of faces.

“A man named Madgwick — one of Mr. Lucas Etherton’s foremen, or over-lookers,” he answered quietly.

There were one or two exclamations of surprise — and the most surprised man was Calvert, who, as a resident of Lithersdale, knew all its people.

“Quiet and steady a man as there is in the place!” he said. “If it is so — well, I could scarcely believe it!”

“Just so!” observed Weathershaw drily. “I think you’ll have no room left for doubt, though. Well — this man lodges at a certain cottage in Marriner’s Fold, and I want to get up there at once.”

Marrows nodded, and the little company set out — to be joined outside by the two men who had come post-haste from Hallithwaite on Sindal’s urgent summons.

Chapter XXIII Marriner’s Fold

By this time, night had fallen over the valley, not a clear, starlight night, but a dark, gloomy night wherein the lights of the little houses and the distant mills shone but faintly. All was quiet on the road and on the hillside up which Hartley and Calvert presently led them. Ere very long, these two, walking in advance, paused, and Calvert pointed to a group of houses lying a little off the path in a depression of the ground. Utter darkness lay over the houses, save where the glow of a lamp shone feebly through a red curtain.

“That’s Marriner’s Fold,” whispered Calvert, as the rest came up. “That cottage where the light’s showing is where Madgwick lodges — the woman’s name is Beckett — widow-woman. There’s a front entrance, here before us, and a back door, opening on the moor.”

“Somebody must go round to that,” said Weathershaw. “Don’t let’s have any attempt at escape.”

Marrows came forward and took charge. Dividing his party into two sections, he sent one under Calvert to the rear of the cottage; with the other he approached the front door.

“Don’t bother to knock, Calvert,” he commanded. “Walk straight in, quietly, and make for that room where the light’s burning. We’ll do the same at this side. If there’s any attempt to bolt, stick to whoever makes it.”

Marston, following closely upon the heels of Marrows and Weathershaw, in company with Sindal, was struck by the strangeness of the scene on which the two parties presently converged. There had been no difficulty about entering the cottage; both doors had been open; before the occupants had time to realize that strangers were at hand, the men had stepped quickly down the low-ceilinged hall and were in the living-room. And it required but one glance to see that such a visit as that now in process had never been expected.

The room, half-parlor, half-kitchen, comfortable and warm, furnished in the homely style common to the valley, had three occupants. One, a placid-faced, elderly woman, sat in a hooded chair by the fireside knitting a gray stocking. At the table in the centre of the room sat two men quietly eating supper. One of the two men was in the act of carving the beef; the other was fishing out onions from the jar of pickles; each paused in his act, open-mouthed, as the captors crowded swiftly in. And Weathershaw, swift to note impressions, saw that while one man’s face was instantly drawn into a scowl of anger, the other’s grew white with fear.

Marrows went straight to the matter in hand. Before Madgwick could drop the carving knife the superintendent and Calvert were on either side of him, close to his elbows; before the other man could put down the pickle fork the two detectives were close to him. And the first sound was a cry from the woman by the fire, who hastily dropped her knitting and rose to her feet.

“All right, missis!” said Marrows, “No harm intended to you. Now, Madgwick, my lad!” he went on. “We want some information out of you. I’d better tell you straight out — you’re suspected of having something to do with this affair at Black Scar the other night. Now — keep your hands there on the table!” he exclaimed peremptorily, as Madgwick pushed the knife angrily away from him and made a show of plunging his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to search you, just yet, but I shall if you don’t keep quiet. Put your hands on that table — and keep ’em there while you answer my questions.”

Madgwick laid his hands on the cloth in front of him. They were steady enough, but the hands of the other man, just then bidden to do the same, trembled badly, and his face began to work. Marrows pointed to him.

“You and this man!” he said, “the two of you — here, Mrs. Beckett, what’s the name of this other lodger of yours?”

“Stones, sir — Ben Stones,” answered the woman, who was obviously much upset. “And a quiet enough fellow. Oh, Madgwick, whatever have you been doing with him — it’s ye ’at’s led him off, if—”

“Where’s he work?” demanded Marrows.

“At t’ Old Mill, sir; Mr. Etherton’s,” replied the landlady. “Same as Madgwick there does. Oh, dear me—”

“Keep quiet, missis,” said Marrows. “Here, I’ll ask you a few questions first. These two have been lodging with you for some time, haven’t they? Aye, just so — well, now, aren’t they going to leave you a bit suddenly?”

Madgwick turned his head and gave the landlady a warning frown.

“Tell him nowt!” he growled. “He’s no power to ax you questions; now, at any rate. Say nowt to him — I shan’t!”

“We’ll see about that, my lad!” said Marrows. “Come now, missis!”

“Tak’ no notice on him, I tell yer!” exclaimed Madgwick. He gave a glance of disdain at Stones and changed it to one of sullen anger as he regarded Weathershaw, who was watching him from across the table. “Ye’ve no power to ax questions, Marrows!” he said insolently. “I know t’ law as well as ye do. It’s that theer damned feller ’at’s setten ye lot on — I thowt he wor a spy when Etherton browt him into t’ mill. And ye’re on t’ wrong game — we’ve nowt to do wi’ t’ owd man’s death, and nivver had. So theer!”

“What were you and this chap doing on the moor on Monday night, with bits of cloth over your faces?” asked Marrows quietly. “That’s a question you’ll find it difficult to answer, my lad!”

No one knew better than Marrows that this was a shaft drawn and discharged at a venture. But it went home — Madgwick’s face fell, in spite of his bravado; as for Stones, he grew paler still, and a cry half-escaped his lips. Madgwick twisted quickly in his chair and glared at him.

“Ho’d thi damned whist!” he growled. “Who says we were on t’ moor wi’ cloth on our faces?” he demanded, turning to the superintendent. “Ye’ve invented that — I know your ways!”

“Now then!” said Marrows, suddenly changing his tone to one of peremptory decision. “You were both of you packing up your clothes and things an hour ago. Where are their things, missis? Upstairs? All right — if. that’s the attitude you’re going to take, Madgwick, I’ll have your things and you taken straight off to Hallithwaite. But — I’m giving you a chance to speak because I think there’s somebody behind you!”

“Tell you we’ve nowt to do wi’ t’ owd man’s death!” asserted Madgwick. “I know no more of how t’ owd chap came to his end at them rocks than Sir Marston does!”

“Aye, but there’s something you do know,” retorted Marrows. “Come, now!”

“I know this!” said Madgwick. “I know ’at t’ law doesn’t allow t’ police to threaten folk!”

“If there’s somebody behind you, as I believe there is,” said Marrows, “I’m giving you a chance to save your own necks. But if—”

A sudden strange interruption came from the other side of the table. Stones, who had never ceased to show signs of a nervousness almost amounting to terror since the entrance of the police, suddenly lost control of himself and burst into tears.

“I tell’d thee it ’ud all come out!” he blubbered, letting his head drop on his folded arms. “Tha’d far better own up, and hev done wi’ it.”

Madgwick’s cheeks paled at that, but the pallor swiftly died away, to be replaced by an angry flush.

“Ye damned white-livered rat!” he hissed. “If I could—”

“But you can’t, my lad!” interrupted Marrows, keeping a watchful eye on his man’s movements. “And you’d better realize that the game’s up — you’re going to Hallithwaite, both of you, anyway. But if there’s somebody else—”

Madgwick turned his angry face on Stones. It was evident to everybody that the younger man’s nerve had gone; he continued to moan and sob and to roll his head about between his arms.

“I wish I’d brokken thy neck, Stones, afore ever I took thee on for a job like this!” said Madgwick, after a long look at his accomplice. “Damn thee for a coward! Well,” he went on, raising his voice and looking defiantly at those around him, “I reckon ’at if I don’t tell what there is to tell, this here feller will! But there’s not so much to tell as ye’d like to hear, Marrows, and if I do start on I shall tell nowt but t’ truth. Ye can eyther believe it or not, as ye like, but — it will be t’ truth. And I say again — neyther me nor Stones theer — damn him! — knows owt at all about what happened at Black Scar.”

“What do you know about?” demanded Marrows.

“Pour me out a glass o’ that ale!” said Madgwick coolly. “And I’ll tell you. But I’ll say this first, Mr. Spy!” he added, when he had drunk the ale which Calvert handed to him, “when I’ve finished wi’ this job, whether it’s at ten year end, or five year end, or twelve month end, thee look out for thisen! It’s thee ’at’s done it! — I mistrusted thee as soon as Etherton browt thee into t’ mill! Thou’rt a sharp ’un, thou art! — thou went straight to t’ root o’ t’ matter. He’s more brains nor all ye police put together, hes that feller, Marrows,” he continued, pointing at Weathershaw. “He varry soon saw where t’ secret lay!”

“Well, where?” asked Marrows.

Madgwick stared defiantly at his listeners.

“Why, i’ yon invention o’ Lucas Etherton’s!” he exclaimed. “If he hedn’t started inventin’ that theer machine ’at’s in t’ strong-room at t’ Owd Mill, all this here ’ud niver ha’ happened. Damn t’ machine! — I wish I’d niver heerd tell on it!”

“Nor me eyther!” sobbed Stones. “What’ll my owd mother say?”

Madgwick gave his accomplice a glance of scorn, and turned once more to his captors.

“Ye see,” he said, evidently not displeased to be in the position of narrator, “when Etherton started makin’ yon machine, t’ news filtered out. Not about t’ machine itself, but about t’ fact ’at he wor agate o’ makin’ summat, and he’d hed a strong-room built for to mak’ it in. And of course it wor known ’at he did try at a similar invention some years ago, and gev’ it up, so it were concluded ’at he wor makin’ another start. Anyway, there’s one man i’ this valley ’at’s known about it for some time, and he’s t’ man ’at’s behind all this.”

A dead silence followed on Madgwick’s last sentence — broken at last by a groan from Stones and a question from Marrows.

“What man? Who is he?”

“I shall n’t tell you till I’ve telled all t’ tale,” retorted Madgwick. “But — a man ’at iverybody knows reight well, an’ all! Now then, this man began tryin’ to get round me some time ago, wantin’ to know what I knew about Etherton’s machine, and so on, and he started hintin’ at what he’d pay for t’ knowledge. T’ fact o’ t’ case is, this man hes an idea of his own, and he believes ’at Etherton’s on t’ same idea, and he wants to be first i’ t’ field, does this man, not only here, but ower yonder i’ t’ United States. An’ it come to this — he offered me a rare lot o’ brass if I could do two things. T’ first wor to get into that theer strong-room secretly, and get a careful look at t’ model; t’ second wor to get hold o’ t’ drawings and specifications. Well, now, I did manage, not so long since, to get into t’ strong-room, and I hed a varry careful look at t’ model. But I saw it wor no good — nobody could tell exactly what that machine wor, nor how to mek’ it wi’out t’ papers — t’ drawings and so on. And of course when I telled this man that, he wor all the more anxious ’at I should get ’em, and in t’ end he made me an offer for ’em ’at nobody but a fool would ha’ refused.”

“How much?” demanded Marrows.

“Niver ye mind!” retorted Madgwick defiantly. “I gotten it, and it’s wheer neyther ye, nor t’ spy theer, nor all t’ police i’ t’ world can get at it, whether I iver do or not! And now I’ll tell yer how I got ho’d o’ t’ papers. That Monday afternoon, I hed to go to Etherton’s private office i’ t’ mill. But I heard voices in Etherton’s room, so I listened a bit, and I heard talk between him and owd Sir Cheville. An’ it wor just what I wanted, d’ye see? — Etherton wor talkin’ to t’ owd feller about t’ machine, and he said he’d have to let him into t’ secret. So I slipped away, and hid misen where I could see ’em go in and out o’ t’ strong-room, and by and by they come there, and they wor some time in it, and when they come out, Sir Cheville wor puttin’ a docket o’ papers in his inside breast pocket. An’ I saw then how t’ thing could be done.”

Madgwick glanced round the ring of interested faces with something of an air of triumph — one listener, at any rate, saw that, like all criminally-minded persons, he was intensely vain and proud of his achievements.

“Nowt could be easier!” he continued. “I heerd Sir Cheville say that he were goin’ into Hallithwaite for t’ evenin’, and ’at t’ papers ’ud be safe enough in his pocket till he could look at ’em at home. Now I knew his habits — I knew he’d come home by t’ last train and walk ower t’ moor. An’ I knew where he could easily be waylaid and relieved o’ t’ papers, and in such a fashion ’at nobody ud ever know who’d done it. But I wanted help — and I paid that theer snivelin’ hound for it — paid him well for t’ job! — he’s five hundred pound i’ his pocket now! We went up t’ moor about half past eleven, and waited for t’ owd man this side o’ Black Scar: waited behind a bit o’ old wall, and when he came along, I gat him by t’ arms, fro’ behind, and Stones there took t’ papers thro’ his pocket. He fought and kicked — but it were all over in a minute, and we left him. We went straight away and delivered t’ papers — all ’at we found, will an’ all — and I arranged about payment o’ my reward — and I tell you ’at that’s all ’at eyther me or Stones theer knows! We know nowt about how t’ owd man come to fall ower Black Scar — when we’d done wi’ him, we went our way, and we left him to go his. Neyther on us meddled wi’ him, except to take t’ papers — that’s t’ Gospil truth!”

“I never laid a finger on him!” blubbered the accomplice. “Nowt but snatch t’ papers out o’ t’ inside pocket while Madgwick theer held him!”

“An’—that’s all,” declared Madgwick.

“Except this,” said Marrows. “The man behind you! Now then, out with it!”

Madgwick looked round the group with an evil smile on his face.

“Aye!” he said. “I’ll tell now! Ye’ll be astonished. Sir John Arncliffe!”

Chapter XXIV The Neighbor’s hearth

Weathershaw, to whom the name which Madgwick has just pronounced conveyed nothing, was immediately aware that to the rest of his companions it meant more than he could account for. From Marrows, grim and official, to Marston, excited and eager, every man started and stared as if a bomb had fallen on the supper-table; each caught his breath sharply. A curious silence fell on the room, broken at last by an incredulous, contemptuous exclamation from Sindal.

“Rot!” he said.

Madgwick gave the solicitor a significant look.

“I’m tellin’ yer!” he answered. “Ye’ll see! That’s t’ man ’at’s been at t’ bottom o’ t’ job — him and no other.”

Weathershaw nudged the superintendent’s elbow.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“Biggest manufacturer in the district — chairman of our bench of magistrates — great man altogether,” muttered Marrows. “And — a client of Mr. Sindal’s.”

“And I say it’s all rot — utter rot!” exclaimed Sindal, who was obviously much perturbed. “This fellow’s lying! — to save himself.”

“Looks like savin’ myself, wi’ all you chaps round me, doesn’t it?” sneered Madgwick. “I’m telling you reight. Sir John wor t’ man ’at set me on to this here, and ’at paid me an’ all!”

“You’ve proof of this, Madgwick?” demanded Marrows.

“Proof? — aye, plenty o’ proof if it comes to it,” replied Madgwick. “I can prove it before and behind!”

“When were you paid?”

“This very day — at noon!”

“Where — and how?”

“I met him i’ Hallithwaite — never mind wheer — and he paid me i’ notes, accordin’ to t’ stippylation ’at I’d made.”

“Got any of them?”

“I hev some — not so much,” replied Madgwick. He pointed to Stones, who was still whimpering and bemoaning his fate. “He hes more — hes ’em on him now. Proof? Aye! An’ now ’at ye know, I don’t care what I tell about Arncliffe, nor what becomes on him! He were t’ main agent — I wor nowt but t’ cat’s-paw. An’ ye can do nowt much at me — nor at Stones theer. We’d nowt to do wi’ t’ owd man’s death — we waylaid him, and took t’ papers thro’ him, it’s true, but we did no more. It’s nowt but common assault, or highway robbery, or summat o’ that sort, at t’ warst. An’ ye’ll hev to put Arncliff i’ t’ dock wi’ us, when all’s said and done. Damn thee, spy!” he suddenly broke out, turning fiercely on Weathershaw. “If tha’d niver come on t’ scene, pokin’ thi nose into t’ affair, nob’dy ’ud iver ha’ foun’ it all out!”

Marrows turned to one of the detectives.

“Run down to the village and get the two local police,” he said. “And bring those cars up here, as near as you can to this place. Calvert!” he went on. “Take these chaps and their belongings down to the town when you’ve got this extra help — one in each car. As for the rest—”

He motioned Weathershaw to come close to him.

“I believe what this fellow’s let out!” he whispered. “It explains everything, to me. Wait till these men are off, and then — then we’ll tackle the man that put them up to it.”

Ten minutes later, when the captives had been carried off, Marrows led his reduced party outside the cottage. The moon had risen over the shoulder of the moors while they were busied inside, and in its light the superintendent’s face showed itself unusually grave as he turned to his companions.

“This is a bad business!” he said in a low voice. “Worst business I’ve ever known since I came here — and I’ve been here thirty years. Sir John Arncliffe, of all men!”

“It’s all bosh, Marrows!” exclaimed Sindal angrily. “I don’t believe a word of it! That fellow’s invented it.”

Marrows quietly tapped the solicitor’s arm and at the same time gave a knowing look at Marston and Weathershaw, standing by.

“Mr. Sindal!” he said, in a voice full of conviction. “Yon fellow wasn’t inventing anything. He just knew the game was up, and naturally, he turned on the originator. I believe every word that Madgwick’s told us. Look you here, Mr. Sindal,” he went on, as the solicitor showed signs of impatience, “some of us have pretty good memories. And — this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of Sir John Arncliffe’s trying to pick other people’s brains! You’ve heard something of that sort, too, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Sindal — come, now! What about that affair of poor young Wilson’s, some years ago?”

“Nothing but rumor!” said Sindal.

“A good many folks, in a position to know, say it was more than rumor,” retorted Marrows. “They say it was fact!”

“What was it?” asked Weathershaw.

“I’ll tell you,” replied Marrows. “Sir John Arncliffe, as I said, is the biggest manufacturer in these parts, and he’s always been known as an inventor, too. Now, some years ago, he’d a very smart, promising young chap in his mill who, in his spare time, invented a machine out of which he expected to make his fortune. He was fool enough, when he’d got the thing finished, to take it one day to Sir John in his private office — Sir John bade him leave it and he’d see what could be done. Time passed — the lad never heard anything. Then it came out that Sir John had calmly patented that machine as his own, and he told Wilson that as he was in his employ he considered his brains were his, and threw him a cheque for some two or three hundred pounds with the remark that he ought to feel thankful for it. Now, this Wilson was a high-strung sort of chap — and he went home and shot himself! That’s that story, and it makes me believe—”

“It’s only one side of it!” said Sindal. “Sir John had another.”

“Aye, well!” remarked Marrows. “I’m going to know what Sir John’s got to say to what we’ve just heard. Yon’s his house,” he continued, pointing to the lights of a large mansion which stood a little beyond Low Hall. “I’m going there at once. There’s going to be no trifling in this, Mr. Sindal.”

“Stop a bit!” said Sindal. “Look here! — we don’t want such a scandal as this’ll cause, if there’s any reasonable explanation of it. Now, let me go to him — quietly. Then—”

Marston suddenly came to the front.

“No, by George!” he exclaimed. “None of that, Sindal! After what I’ve heard, I agree with Marrows. Come on, Marrows!”

“Yes, I’m going, Sir Marston,” assented the superintendent. “What do you say, Mr. Weathershaw?”

“If you want to know what I say,” answered Weathershaw, who had listened in silence, “I say this — I don’t know what we’re waiting for! I haven’t the least doubt of this man’s guilt.”

“Come along, then,” said Marrows. “It’s only a stone’s throw.”

But Sindal hung back.

“Please yourselves, then!” he said, suddenly. “I’m not going! Sir John Arncliffe’s my client, and—”

He turned and walked away in the direction of the village, and Marrows glanced at his companions.

“Bread-and-butter!” he remarked significantly.

“Look here!” said Weathershaw, as they approached the gates of a big house built amidst groves of trees on a shelving edge of the moor. “A question before we go in: Is Sir John a member of the club?”

“Yes!” answered Marston. “In and out every day — spends half his time there.”

“That explains it, then,” observed Weathershaw. “He put Sir Cheville’s will in the locker. Deep!”

“Oh, he’s deep enough!” muttered Marrows. “Deep and sly. Well, now for it. See! — you gentlemen just stand back a bit while I ask at the door for him. If he’s in, I’ll make an excuse for all three of us to see him.”

Marston and Weathershaw drew back under the trees of the avenue while Marrows went up to the front door. It opened; a man in livery appeared; after a brief conversation with him Marrows came back, a curious smile on his face.

“Not in!” he said in a whisper. “And where on earth do you think he is? At Mr. Etherton’s, at Low Hall! Gad! — that’s the height of impudence, I’m thinking. To go and call in neighborly fashion on the man whose ideas he’s been thieving!”

“Come on!” growled Marston, with a certain grim determination.

Half-way up the path to Low Hall, Weathershaw called his companions to a halt.

“If Mr. Marrows has no objection,” he said, “I’d like to take this part of the game in hand.”

“No objection whatever,” replied Marrows. “But — give us an inkling.”

“Let Sir Marston take us in,” continued Weathershaw. “Let him — if we find Sir John there — just say, casually, to Mr. Etherton that we’ve been making an enquiry or two up this way, and that we thought we’d just drop in to give him the latest news. Then — leave it to me to talk. And, while I talk, you keep your eyes on Sir John and see how he takes it.”

“Aye, aye!” agreed Marrows. “I see — you’ll lead up to the climax, eh? Good notion! Well, Sir Marston, you’ll take us in then.”

Marston quietly opened the front door, and led his companions down the thickly carpeted passage to a door at the rear of the house. He opened this without ceremony and walked in. Marrows and Weathershaw, at a sign from him, followed close on his heels and were in the room, with the door closed behind them, before its occupants had realized their presence.

It was a peaceful, domestic scene on which they entered. In his own easy-chair Etherton was smoking his favorite briar pipe; near him Letty, in another, was busied with some fancy-work; on the opposite side of the hearth a short, stout, consequential-looking man, whose mutton-chop whiskers gave him something of an aggressive air and whose eyes were small and sly, lolled back in a big lounge, lingering a long, recently-lighted cigar. Weathershaw’s glance went to him at once; somewhat to his surprise, the man showed no sign whatever of either interest or astonishment at his sudden invasion.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Etherton, looking round as the three men advanced. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, nothing particular,” answered Marston, playing up to his part. “We’ve been making an enquiry or two round about, and we thought we’d just drop in and give you a bit of news.”

“News, eh!” said Etherton, handing glasses to his guests, and pushing the cigar-box near to them. “Aye — anything fresh?”

“Weathershaw’s made a few discoveries that he might tell about,” said Marston, nodding at the agent.

“We were just talking about it, Sir John and I,” remarked Etherton, resuming his seat. “Sir John’s not so very hopeful about a complete solution. He thinks there’s a good deal deep down.”

Marrows gave Weathershaw a quiet kick under the table.

“A long way beneath the surface, you think, Sir John?” he asked.

“Deeper than most of you fellows would fancy,” asserted Sir John, in a half-confidential, half-knowing voice. He looked round the half-circle of faces, from Marrows at the table to Marston in the corner, and winked his small right eye. “Deep business!” he said. “My impression — somebody wanted — badly — to know contents of that will? D’ye see? Somebody — clear away from the surface view of things — outsider! Eh! Will! — that’s it. Will at the bottom of the whole thing. My decided belief — that!”

“You think Sir Cheville Stanbury was attacked for the sake of the will, sir?” said Weathershaw.

Sir John favored the stranger with a lofty, supercilious glance, and nodded his head.

“I do!” he answered. “Just said so!”

Weathershaw reached for the cigars, selected one, quietly lighted it, and began to smoke. He let a minute pass — in silence.

“Well, I know he wasn’t!” he said suddenly, in sharp, staccato accents.

Etherton twisted round in his chair, and Letty looked up from her work. But Sir John, who, it was evident to Marrows and Weathershaw, had dined pretty freely, and was in a state of great confidence, smiled disdainfully.

“Ah, you do, do you?” he said. “Well — no offence — don’t know you at all, you know — you’re young! Young — and confident, eh?”

“Confident about what I know,” retorted Weathershaw.

“And what’s that?” asked Etherton. He was watching the detective keenly, and as he watched, he fancied that he saw a certain glance, which might have been a signal, exchanged between him and Marrows. “Sir Marston says you might tell us something?”

“Yes!” answered Weathershaw. “I can — now. But” — he paused and waved his cigar in Sir John Arncliffe’s direction — “as this gentleman thinks I’m young and — as he puts it — confident, perhaps you’d better tell him, Mr. Etherton, that I’ve been on this job — professionally!”

“Mr. Weathershaw is a private detective,” said Etherton, looking at his guest. “With a reputation!”

Sir John nodded — indulgently. Then he shook his head again.

“No good!” he said. “Too deep — deep down!”

Etherton smiled at Weathershaw.

“What do you know?” he asked.

“To start with, this,” responded Weathershaw. “I know — for a fact, now — why Sir Cheville Stanbury was attacked on the night of his death. It was not for any reason but one. What his assailants wanted was — your papers!”

Chapter XXV Denounced

Weathershaw let his gaze wander round to the consequential little man on the lounge as he made this announcement. And he immediately realized something which at that moment was sorely puzzling Marrows and arousing astonishment in Marston. There was not the slightest sign of surprise in Sir John Arncliffe’s face, and Weathershaw suddenly knew why. Here before him was another of those men who, born schemers and plotters, cannot believe that their plans can miscarry. Sir John Arncliffe, said Weathershaw to himself, was at that moment assuring his own mind that the secret was safe between Madgwick, Stones, and himself, and would never, could never be revealed. From that point Weathershaw began to take an almost malicious pleasure in unfolding his story in the presence of the man who as yet had no suspicion that he was concerned in it.

“When I was called into this case,” continued Weathershaw, “I began my work on it by reading every available account of the inquest held on Sir Cheville Stanbury. And I very quickly came to the conclusion that the true object of whoever it was that assailed Sir Cheville on his homeward way that night was, as I have just said, the papers relating to your invention. I had heard, more than once, of the efforts made by men who wished to steal the secret of a really important invention, and I was sure that in this case there was somebody, behind the scenes, who wanted, ardently, to rob you of yours!”

Weathershaw paused for a moment and looked round. He had already got the attention of his audience. But he was chiefly interested in two of its members. Etherton had twisted round in his chair and was watching him with a puzzled frown on his face; Sir John Arncliffe was lying comfortably back against the padded lounge on which he lolled, placidly complacent, and evidently sure of his own safety.

“Now that,” resumed Weathershaw, “that pre-supposed that somebody — one person, or two persons, or even more — knew that you were busy with an invention. It seemed to me that such persons must be in close touch with you; persons, probably, who were employed by you. Well, there was your clerk, Pike — from what one could gather of the evidence at the inquest, Pike seemed a likely person to suspect. And I was suspecting Pike when I called on you, heard your story, and got you to show me your strong-room, and to lend me the key of it. But at that stage, two things happened in quick succession. The fact was this — my first proceeding on getting into that strong-room was to closely examine the key you had given me, and the lock into which it fitted. If you have that key on you, Mr. Etherton, please hand it to me for a minute.”

Etherton drew a key from his pocket and passed it across in silence. Weathershaw held it up.

“Now, you’ll all notice,” he continued, “that this key is of very intricate workmanship. As you see, it is cut out of the steel in a fashion which left what we will call niches and crevices. And I’m sure you’d never noticed it, Mr. Etherton, but in one of those crevices I, immediately on making a close inspection of the key, discovered a tiny, almost minute, fragment of wax — green, soft wax. I knew, then, that the key had been out of your possession, and that whoever had had it possessed it long enough to take an impression of it, in wax. A fragment — the merest fragment — of wax had adhered in one of the crevices — there it was!”

Once more Weathershaw paused. And now he noticed that the man in whom he was particularly concerned had removed the big cigar from his lips and was listening more attentively.

“The next thing to do,” he went on, “was to find out who had taken that impression. Clearly, it was somebody who very much wanted to get into your strong-room — to see the machine. That somebody was a person about your premises. I recognized that it would probably be a very difficult matter to fasten on the right person. But here again chance favored me. You’ll remember that when you took me to the floor where that strong-room is situated, you called one of your overlookers, a man named Madgwick, to you, and told him I was seeing about some alterations and was to look round where I liked. Well, after coming out, I saw a man’s coat hanging on a peg. I slipped a hand into the inside pocket, found some odd scraps of paper, and some letters addressed to Madgwick, at Mrs. Beckett’s, Marriner’s Fold. And on at least three of the odd scraps of paper there were rough pencil sketches of the wards of a key — the very key which I held in my possession!”

“God bless my soul!” muttered Etherton. “A fellow that I’d have trusted—”

“I saw through the whole thing, then,” continued Weathershaw, holding up a finger to bespeak silence and attention. “This man had got your key at some time, and had taken a wax impression of it. But he didn’t dare to take that wax impression to any locksmith! — that would have been too dangerous. So what he’d done was to make a drawing of the wax model, practising it over and over again until he’d got something sufficiently accurate to work upon. And just as the cleverest and most careful criminals invariably forget some slight detail in their schemes, so he, whose first crooked job this probably was, had forgotten to destroy the results of his practice!”

“The unexpected!” muttered Marrows. “Will come in! — many an instance of it!”

“I was certain I was on the right track then,” Weathershaw went on. “And the next thing to do was to find out all I could about Madgwick. It would never have done to do this myself — I couldn’t go openly, or, indeed, in any way, about Lithersdale. So I telephoned to my office in Manchester for an assistant of mine, Mr. Hartley, who’s very clever at making himself up as a working man. I told Hartley to join me in Hallithwaite at once. And in the meantime, while I waited for him in the town, I went round the locksmiths there — working locksmiths, you know, some nine or ten of them — to try to find out if Madgwick had had a key made by one of their number. I hit on the man at the end of my round, a man named Nicholson, in Back Lane. I had to tell him who I was and what I was after before I could get any information from him, but he gave it freely in the end.”

Weathershaw held up the key which Etherton had handed over, and professing to look at it, glanced at the man on the lounge. Sir John’s cigar had gone out, but as yet Weathershaw saw no sign of fear or of anxiety in his face.

“Nicholson,” continued Weathershaw, “made a duplicate of this key for Madgwick not so very long ago. Madgwick went to him with a pencil sketch of a key and asked him if he could make a key from it. He said it was for Mr. Etherton. Nicholson made a key from the drawing. Madgwick took that key back twice, to be filed at one or two points. He called again, said the key was then all right, and paid for it.”

“Bless me!” said Etherton. “Couldn’t have believed it!”

“But now,” Weathershaw went on, “I had to think out the probable course of events. I’d no doubt that Madgwick had looked over your machine carefully. But I know that a man can’t get at the secret of a machine by seeing a model. And Madwick wanted more — he wanted the papers! — the drawings, the specifications. Now, I had a theory. It occurred to me that possibly Madgwick was in collusion with Pike. Now Pike, as I had learned, had been present, hidden behind a curtain, at the interview between you, Mr. Etherton, and Sir Cheville Stanbury, and had probably heard your talk about the machine and, further, had heard you say that you would give your papers to Sir Cheville to look through. I figured that Pike had told Madgwick of this, and that the two, knowing Sir Cheville’s habits very intimately, had agreed to waylay him on his way home, and to take the papers from him. That was my theory, up to a certain time this evening.”

Weathershaw paused for a moment — to take a mouthful from the glass which Etherton had placed before him on his first entrance. His movement seemed to remind Sir John Arncliffe that he, too, had a glass near him; as if mechanically, he took it up, drained its contents, and then sat, empty glass in hand, staring at Weathershaw as the agent resumed his story.

“At that point,” continued Weathershaw, “my man Hartley arrived, dressed like a respectable artisan. I gave him certain information and instructions, and sent him on to Lithersdale, where, in the role of a man seeking lodgings, he was to go to Marriner’s Fold and see if he could find out anything at all about Madgwick’s movements. In company with Mr. Sindal, I followed Hartley to the village, later. He came to me at the Stanbury Arms, and told me that he’d had the best of luck already. He’d gone to Mrs. Beckett’s, professing that he’d heard she might have lodgings to let — she’d told him at once that she would have in a day or two, for two of her lodgers were leaving, and were at that moment packing up. She showed him the room he could have — Madgwick was even then putting his luggage together in it. Hartley had a bit of talk with him, pretending to ask how he’d liked the place; he gathered that Madgwick might be leaving next day — he’d got a much better job, he said, elsewhere. So Hartley returned to me — and I determined to act at once. Mr. Sindal had heard that Superintendent Marrows and Inspector Calvert were in the village; he fetched them to the inn; we were joined there by two detectives, and in company with Sir Marston Stanbury, for whom I’d telephoned, we all went up to Marriner’s Fold.”

Etherton was getting excited. He had risen from his chair and was following Weathershaw’s story with approving nods of the head. And from time to time he turned to Sir John with a smile as if to invite him to join in his own approval; but Sir John by that time was watching the narrator as if something in Weathershaw’s speech and manner fascinated him.

“We went straight into Mrs. Beckett’s,” continued Weathershaw, becoming more terse and emphatic. “Two men were there at supper: one, Madgwick; the other, a younger man, Stones. Madgwick was defiant, insolent, even certain of himself. But the other man suddenly gave way — nerves! Then Madgwick — as cool a scoundrel as ever I saw! — made a full confession. All,” added Weathershaw, with a meaning look, “all but one thing!”

“What — what?” exclaimed Etherton excitedly.

“The name of the man who had been behind him!” replied Weathershaw. “I knew well enough that Madgwick had not started this affair himself. He’d been bribed. He admitted he’d been bribed. He admitted the truth of all that I’d suspected. He and Stones had waylaid Sir Cheville, not at Black Scar, but on the moor; had taken the papers from him; had handed them over to the man who wanted them; had received their pay! They were, in a sense, cats-paws. But there was a hand behind — a man, Mr. Etherton, who was willing to do anything, pay anything, to get at your valuable secret!”

“In God’s name, who?” demanded Etherton.

Sir John looked across at Weathershaw. And Weathershaw, in that glance, learned another lesson in psychology. Even now, the rich man was trusting in his riches to deliver him! — Weathershaw realized that the chief culprit was still so confident of the power of his money that he believed that the price he had paid, the price he might pay in the future, had kept and would keep his name out of the matter. And suddenly he spoke and those who knew the secret felt a sense of disgust to hear a note of sneering self-satisfaction in his voice.

“He’s just told you that they wouldn’t give any name!” said Sir John. “Naturally Madgwick wouldn’t! Likely thing is, Etherton, my lad, that there’s no name to give.”

Weathershaw found Marrows’s outstretched foot under the table, and gave it a quiet kick with one of his own. He rose slowly to his feet, and Marrows rose, too. So, also, did Marston.

“No!” said Weathershaw, looking across, past Etherton, to his guest. “I said Madgwick wouldn’t give the name in his confession. But he gave it when his confession was finished! And — full proof! Do you want to hear it? Your name, then! — Sir John Arncliffe! Mr. Etherton, that’s the man who has your papers! That’s the man who put Sir Cheville Stanbury’s will back in the locker at the club! That’s the man who’s responsible — how far, God only knows! — for the old man’s death! Now — let him speak!”

Etherton, as soon as Sir John’s name had fallen from Weathershaw’s lips, had drawn away from him; Letty had stolen up to her father’s side and slipped her hands through his arm; their eyes were fixed on the accused man; so were the eyes of the other three.

“Now then?” said Etherton, at last. “You hear?”

Sir John got to his feet. There was no natural dignity in his short and stout figure, but he endeavored to look stern and magisterial.

“I’d best be going,” he said. “It seems as if there was likely to be naught but insults and accusations under this roof! However, there’s some of you’ll hear something from my lawyer tomorrow, and — but I’ll bid you good night.”

“Not just yet, Sir John!” said Marrows quietly. “I know my duty! You’d far better answer a few questions, Sir John — you had, indeed! Now, about those papers?”

Weathershaw suddenly laughed; something in the sound made the accused man start and look at him with the first signs of real fear.

“I shouldn’t wonder if he has the papers on him!” said Weathershaw. “Pity you can’t search him here and now, Marrows!”

He had forgotten that there was young and impulsive blood at his elbow. Before any of them could move, Marston, whose fingers had been itching for the last few minutes, had thrust a hand into the inner pocket of Sir John’s coat. Drawing out a quantity of papers, he flung them on the table, and Etherton, a second later, held up three folded documents.

“Here they are!” he said quietly.

A few minutes later, when Marrows and Weathershaw had taken Sir John Arncliffe away, and Marston and Letty had slipped off into the adjacent drawing-room, Etherton, with a look round the scene of recent action, drew back the curtains of his window, opened the casement, and leaned out to look over the moonlit valley beneath his house. His heart was full of loathing and bitterness — until he suddenly remembered that close behind him was youth and love, and that it was better to think of both than of the treachery and greed which had just been led away from his door.