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Show I I l 1 H , i.. L'. w - .-Jr.. --w - i'- . .'.-. Mt v - ' i.,1.-,J . I .r'lhP r JVll (RTPVl f-y'nJPi It r ) ? f 141 W r lir)1 f&P " I H ' CHAPTER IV. (Continued) I My .dune Enid. t DID not know, as it was not my 1 business to -know, and as I Hr did not want to, what former relations thero may have been be Hj tween Aunt Enid and him. I only knew of him as a soldier-friend of Aunt Enid's in India. He had actu-ally actu-ally been in Simla at the time when Uncle Ralph got engaged to her. I had indeed hardly heard his name mentioned until Aunt Enid announced quite casually at lunch-' lunch-' con one day: "Willy Vlbart (she always spoke of her men friends, by their Chris- ' tian names) is coming down to- morrow." There were several people at luncheon. I saw a very curious ex-pression ex-pression come into Uncle Ralph's face. All he said was: "Vibart!" H; He said it in a way which, Hj ' coupled with the look, told mo that H' - he was thinking a great deal more ' than he said. I have thought since that Aunt Enid brought out tho topic of the Yibart visit thus, when H ' there were a lot of people about, so that uncle should not be able to raise any objection to IL Besides, if he had an objection, it must be made quickly, since it was only on the morrow that the guest was due. "Yes, Willy Vlbart." Aunt Enid - said again. "You met him at Simla, you know. Surely you re-member." re-member." "Oh, yes," Uncle Ralph an-j an-j swered, with a laugh which he cut i - .short. "I remember meeting him quite well," I do not know whether any more was said about it between them H j afterward. That, at all events, is 1 ' , all that passed at the time, and the . 1 j - next day Captain Vlbart duly ar- Ii expect met ne was a type or the kind of man that exercises a tremendous fascination over women wo-men of a certain nature. It is a type which I find rather repellent, i , He was a broad, blond, well-made man, with good features. He was i "beginning already to go bald on " the top of the bead. He had a very long, golden mustache. I expect r jhe was proud of his mustache, for j he was always playing with it and -'twisting5 it about with his mani-" mani-" cured Angers. He was always quite agreeable , and pleasant, and had Aunt Enid been with him ju3t as Bhe was with all the other men friends that she liked to have ahout her I do not 1 suppose I should have taken particular par-ticular notice of him for good or . ill, but emphatically Aunt Enid was not the same with him as with the rest She sofcmed quite altered when he was there, To me it was most-curious to see her. It reminded me of stories one " has read of certain people having a peculiar power over dangerous animals, as of a lion tamer dominating dominat-ing some fierce and beautiful feline thing. For certainly I had always realized a possibility of fierce wilfulness wil-fulness underlying the vanity and , 4 veneer of my lovely aunt, and yet , more certainly there was much that was very feline about her. There was a singular and absolute reversal of her role ,here, as compared com-pared with -her attitude toward Uncle Ralph. Whereas with him, it was he that followed her with -.. the dog-like gaze; in the case of ''this other man it was she who was, more or less covertly perhaps, watching him all the time, hardly taking her eyes off him while he was in the room, and adopting, possibly pos-sibly quite unaware, his phrases I and terms of speech. He, on the contrary, appeared perhaps he made it his pose to be rather rudely indifferent to her, smiling at her in an amused way, as if she were, scarcely to be taken seriously, and this indifference, irt stead of angering her, seemed to subjugate her only the more. All that by-play, however, I could hare borne with patience, and might have been .merely amused at it, but 1 what really did cause me most furious furi-ous internal anger was his attitude toward Uncle Ralph. It was impossible to say that he was absolutely discourteous to uncle or forgetful of his relation toward him as guest to host, but there was in his attitude an air of emiling tolerance, almost of patron- age, the air of one who deemed "himself entirely superior, which made me boll inwardly with rage. He had the air of suffering a fool : gladly, with a Christian resignation, resigna-tion, which was unendurable. Ho.wever this, his first visit, " passed without any untoward inci-rt inci-rt dent. There was nothing, so far as I know, to which Uncle Ralph could 4 possibly take offence. So he came again. It appeared that his regi-' regi-' ment had returned for homo service ser-vice or -else that he had exchanged into a home battalion I forget which. He came three times, in all, in a little more than a year, and each time the same story repeated itself. it-self. Aunt Enid waB absorbed by him from the moment of his coming com-ing until -his going, and he seemed always smilingly careless and almost al-most indifferent. I gathered, too, that she saw him more than once in London, and thought that maybo they met far more often than she said. I did not then know, but I suspected that it was so. The last time that he came to Scotney was on a Saturday, tho Saturday of the week preceding that in which the tragedy happened. hap-pened. There were one or two others here for the week-end, but by the Tuesday all except Captain Vibart left. He stayed on and showed no immediate signs of going. go-ing. How long he was to stay had been arranged, I presume, between him and Aunt Enid, but neither Uncle Ralph nor I was told. "When the deuce d'you think the fellow's going?" uncle had said to me on the Wednesday, and I could give him no information.- He had asked in a kind of humorous humor-ous exasperation. We had not said much to each other about Captain Cap-tain Vibart. I expect wo both felt ho was" a subject best left undiscussed. undis-cussed. But 1 think each of us understood un-derstood tolerably well what the views of the other. about that gentleman gen-tleman were, and that they had much in common. Then something happened on tho afternoon of the next day, the Thursday, which changed my uncle's mood most completely from the humorously exasperated. Aunt Enid and Captain Vibart had been out walking together as usual, and whether undo had seen or had overheard something which they had not intended him to see or hear, I do not know. All I do know is that he came in at the front door when I happened to be in the hall, walking more quickly and, as it seemed to me, with heavier steps Lhan Mr wnn His face was downcast, frowning, frown-ing, and he passed me- without a word, which was a most unusual . thing for him to do. I hardly know whether ho as much as noticed that I was there. He weut on into the library. At dinner that night the atmosphere seemed very highly charged with ' electricity. I do not think that Uncle Ralph spoke more than twice all through the meal, and then It was to Grainger, and on each occasion to gIlN find fault with him for Wfij&jlM some trivial or imagin- Srjffif ary misdemeanor. Aunt Enid, too, was abnormal! ly silent, and when slid did speak it was in a feverishly quick way, with a laugh higher pitched than usual. Little though I -liked her I must admit that she had some self-control, ,and I think it needed a: considerable exercise of that, useful quality to save her from hysterics. . Captain Vibart hardly noticed these little sallies, though they., were generally addressed to him. Tie had none of his usual smiling and careless air with which to greet them. Once or twice I noticed no-ticed quite a different expression on his face from any that I had seen it wear before a hard, cruel glint in his eyes. And what struck me as curious was that they had this glint in them almost as markedly mark-edly when he looked at Aunt Enid as when he looked at uncle. He had none of it when he was so good as to favor me, to whom he was completely Indifferent, with a glance, and as a matter of fact the greater part of the very little conversation that passed during the whole of that most disagreeable disagree-able dinner was between him and me and on topics which had not the faintest interest for either of us. The meal came to an end somehow some-how and Aunt Enid and I left tho men to themselves. She did not say a 'word when we went into the drawing-room, but sat down in her usual chair and made pretence of reading a book whose pages she quite forgot to turn. Presently she got up, still without a word, and went straight out of the room I really think that she could not trust herself to speak. She banged the door behind her and I did not see her any more that night. I sat there alone, for half an hour or more, after she had gone and still the two men did not come from the dining-room. I was on the point of giving them up and going to my room, when they came. They were both very pale, but perfectly per-fectly composed. My uncle held the door open, with a studious politeness, po-liteness, for Captain Vibart, and said, in a strained compressed way: "Oh, is Enid not here? Has she gone to bed?" , I said that I believed Bhe had, and then he went on, making conversation con-versation to me about nothing at all, just as unlike his usual self as possible, for uncle and I had been long at that delightful stage of friendliness in which we could be together without feeling any necessity neces-sity to. - talk unless we had some thing that wo thought worth the 6aying. Captain Vibart did not seem to think that he was called on to make any further offorts. He looked at a book or two, held open tho door for me, saying "Goodnight" "Good-night" when I loft the room and I went upstairs sincerely grateful that the miscrablo evening was over. Aunt Enid did not como down to breakfast the next morning, and much the samo comedy between mysolf and tho two men had to be played out as on the night before. Uncle Ralph began to show himself to mo In something of a new light, making phrases, as a diplomatist might, putting an obvious restraint on himself and acting quite an unreal un-real role. I should not have believed be-lieved him capable of it. Captain Vibart was again singularly silent. "I began to wonder, as I went to see about some ..household business, busi-ness, how long life was to continue in this delightful manner, -when I saw, looking from the window, the station car coming round to the door. I was surprised, for I was generally Informed of any comings or goings, but I was immensely relieved re-lieved when I passed through tho hall to And luggage, which I knew must belong to Captain Vibart, being be-ing brought through and placed on the car. So he was going, and Undo Ralph had not told me; therefore I must send word to the cook that there would bo one less at luncheon and dinner than I had told her. That- was tho first, the purely domestic, do-mestic, thought that came to my mind. Tho second, and the more lasting, was one of supreme thank--fulness that he was going. '.fi; - - v.. ' ne saia "good-bye" to me very pleasantly. He thanked Uncle Ralph, under Graingers' observant eye, for his "pleasant visit," to which Uncle Ralph said nothing. The two men just touched hands it could not be called a shake and he wont. He went; but his going did not by any means dispel all the tension that his visit had' created. What had passed between Uncle Ralph and Aunt Enid I did not know, but he, in his new role of polished diplomatist, dip-lomatist, was almost painfully courteous in the few words which were all that I heard him address to her either on the Thursday evening eve-ning or the following day. She was far less unlike her normal nor-mal self. The little vortical furrow fur-row which came now and then between be-tween her perfect brows was a trISe accentuated. She was pale, and the slightly petulant expres- Blon which was tho one fault of her beautiful little mouth was rather emphasized by a drawing down of the corners. The look of wilfulness was more, marked. But otherwise there was no change In her. During those hours she never once, so far as I know, said a word to Uncle Ralph on her own initiative. initia-tive. Again, just before Captain VI-bart's VI-bart's going, I was asking myself how long this xaiserable state of things was to endure. The an swer began with tha,t violent ringing ring-ing of the house door 'bell by Live-say, Live-say, the keeper, at midnight on tho Friday when tho harvest moon was in the sky. CHAPTER V. The Vigil in the SummerHouaa. ALL these miserable happenings, happen-ings, with many more unrecorded un-recorded details, kept enacting en-acting themselves over and over again in my brain as I sat in the Summer-houso with my uncle during dur-ing our weary vigil. The time no doubt was much shorter than it seemed 'before we heard steps quickly coming from the direction of the village along the shrubbery path. It was the doctor on whom Live-say Live-say had called to tell him of the tragedy; and much I regretted, in theso terrible circumstances, that it was not our old friend Dr. Rum-ford, Rum-ford, who had brought two generations gen-erations of Carltons, counting myself for one, into the world, besides the greater part of the present population of tho village vil-lage of Upper Scotney. But Dr. Rumford had retired from his practice lately, having grown. ' to tell tho truth, a little old for his job and being left a little in a backwater by tho current of. modern medical science. The practice had been bought by a man of a very different stamp, a young fellow, Dr. Pratt by name, , of rather bustling perhaps ho t could have called them "hustling" ways, reputed to be exceptionally clever and really kind and considerate, con-siderate, especially to the poor people in their illness. But he was, as my uncle said, "a bit of a bounder, boun-der, or, at least, on the boundary line." I think there is little doubt that he was clever, but I am quite sure that the person who had tho least doubt on that question was D. Pratt himself. Very likely it is a good point about a doctor that he should have confidence in his own ability, and certainly it was a good point not lacking to this new young doctor to Scotney He believed in himself him-self and he seemed to think it a good thing to let it be known that ho so believed. Perhaps he was right. It is an age of advertisement, advertise-ment, when people take others a good deal at their own valuation, and Dr. Pratt, very much a child of his age, asked no better of them than this. If they accepted him at his own rating they would not place him very low in the rank3 of his profession. He was a kindly young man, however,, as I have said, and, not without sympathy. I could see that he was moved now with, real pity for my uncle, and never had I liked him so well as I did during that --v".; - brief and trying consultation, if g J-.V-w that is the right word for it, in the ' Wk Ho came in, "blocking out the' S ' moonlight as he stood in tho door- 4 -!nJl way, and just nodded, as im f'-y$- ' " ijl forrn00oCnd tho "floor?11 as - ' . 'H much as to say it was SmSf0mM only what he had been JMM&WJm Wf'SM - H toid that.no would s'MrW -v'?4m And. He did not JPW ' mWMm ' ' 1 attempt to say a WMWtWM ' ' ' V' &r" 'MPMmm ; f ord of sympathy Jf jMmf or sorrow either to JmffiW& Uncle Ralph or to m$M Wf3 myself, but he fTr' WMM0 Aw'JXS' Pressed my baud Wf 'MWmMM V. I know? convey 4 1 that he did feel HR' WWMwMMfMfMWX - I for us. and I do WKm ' MA. k WSW ' f not doubt that I-e . ' MlL Wmmt ' FnthTa! ,,Imse;tf-. ' -jg8. ,Pjp KffiffijW 47 f "D'you mean to say' he exclaimed, "that I am not at liberty to take her back and lay her on her -. : . 'iwP jfj,' own bed? The thing is monstrous. What good is it that the poor body should still lie here?" Vr'V " way in his handshake with m7 uncle. Without a word ho took the keeper's lantern from the table and knelt down beside tho body, letting the light from the bull's-eye stream on the face. Only a moment's examination ex-amination sufficed him to solve the first question which he had to answer. an-swer. He answered it sufficiently by a shake of his head as he looked up at uncle. . Then uncle spoke, and tho hol-lowncss hol-lowncss of his voice gave me a start "No use of course?" "I can be of no use, no," Dr. Pratt" said. "She is long past my help." Uncle Ralph nodded. "Of course," he agreed, "it was only a matter of form, sending for you. It had to be." "Of course, of course," the doctor doc-tor assented. "And, this is also a matter of form which I have to do now. I think, 1 I were you, I should turn aside for a minute or two; it might be too painful for you It is my duty to ascertain precisely pre-cisely the mann&r of death the evidence will bo expected of me you' understand?" "Oh, yes, I understand perfectly," my undo said, with resignation, but whether he acted on the doctor's doc-tor's thoughtful suggestion I had no means of knowing, for to this added horror I shut my own eyes firmly. I presume that his examination was concluded about the same time' that voices and the .sound of steps (C) 1920. International Feature Scrricc, Inc. Great Britain Klchta Reserved. approaching up the path announced tho arrival of Livesay with the constable. Larncombe, the one and only policeman of Upper Scotney, was a good fellow in his way and prob-afbly prob-afbly a useful and very typical membor of his calling, but he was the son of agricultural laborers and his professional training had not included a course of Instruction in tact. He drew himself up stiffly, like a soldier at attention, in the door of the Summer-house and said in a deep, official voice: "Very sorry to 'ear of this tragic occurrence, Sir Ralph." It was his cue, I thought, ' to model himself on the police officials offi-cials described in the newspape'r roports of tragedies. He seemed much taken aback by the fact that my uncle did not answer an-swer him. This was not playing the game in accord with his conception con-ception of it. There followed an awkward moment of silence, which was relieved by the doctor's suggestion: sug-gestion: "Well, I have done my part, Larncombe, in this painful business. It is for you now to do yours." "Thank you, Dr. Pratt," said the constable, "I know my duty" which was quite untrue. His senso of offended dignity immediately moved him to a show of official activity, and he produced from his person an enormous pocketbook and a stub of pencil which he . moistened with his tongue, and setting set-ting the lantern so that It should mm -. m $ IP I; I w J ' J fall on the book's page began a K' H laborious entry. "Corpse discovered," he read H slowly, giving us the benefit of H each word as ho wrote it down, H "by George Livesay, gamekeeper: IH at what hour precisely?" ho de- IH manded of the keeper. "I should say, as near as I could H judge, a quarter to twelve." H "Eleven fortj'-five,"' Larncombe M corrected severely, noting it down. H "And nothing had been disturbed " IH from the time of the. discovery, of s 1 tho corpse until the police ap- 'll peared upon the scene?" What- ll ever his limitations Larncombo evidently had a retentive memory. He had all the language of the police court report to the very ''i 1 letter H "I didn't make to touch her lady- H ship when I seed as she was dead, , IH if that's what you mean, Joe Lam- v IH combe," said the keeper dubiously. "I just went right up to tho house v H and told Sir Ralph' H For a minute or two the stubby H pencil travelled over the pocket-book's pocket-book's page, and then the con-stable's con-stable's request for information ad- dressed itself to Undo Ralph and - 'jH to me, in order to elicit how we jH had received the news. There is no need to repeat, with all the wearying unimportant details which - Larncombe's questioning extracted, ll a story of which all the points that ll matter have been given to the reader already. -Several pages of (Continued on Next Page) ' '(Continued from Preceding Page) H the book had fteen filled and the H lead stub had many times been re H 'freshed with moisture 'before the H ; constable, in his bucolic way, Hj - o moved on to a new chapter: H "And now will you be good H enough to explain. Air. LIvesay, H , how it was as you happened to be B 'h'. in the neighborhood of the Sum- H Jv , mer-house" and to discover the B m' corpse, 'as stated?" L "Sir Ralph knows all about that. HHLl. sr- " 1 tol(l nIm Qlread5 as wo came along down here," was Livesay's H!" all,That is all very well, Mr. Llve- B sav," Larncombe said severely. Bl , "You have told Sir Ralph. What I am asking of you now, as is my duty, mo being a police constable, is a3 you should inform the Law that is, Me." It Is Impossible to do justice to the Immense dignity with .( which Larncombe here invested " ' the personal pronoun unless it be B written with a capital Initial. BB "And I told you, too, Joe Larn- Bj combe only just now, as we come MM along from the village. You know jR 1 very well as I did." B Bt-' "And you know very well, Mr. B my LIvesay, as you told me when un- B thir der the trees, in the shade like, pa? and me not having my notebook in BB "Well, you surelj haven't forgot- er ten." LIvesay began, protesting, QH y but. at this point Uncle Ralph f , broke In with an exclamation which showed how much In the way of nerve strain it was costing him to endure the prolonged tor-HHW tor-HHW ture. It was as if on the snapping BBK'j "' .or release of some tenseV held Wffiff spring in Mm that he burst out M ' "Oh, for God's sake, let him ask jjfitjj his question in his own way, and RgH get done with it, LIvesay." lsI "Very good, Sir Ralph," said BSjl LIvesay, obediently, subduing, as mm many a wise man has been con-Wm con-Wm , f trained to do before him, his irrl w&m r tation at the tortoise-like methods Wjjk Uncle's exclamation, though ad- B dressed to Livosay, who was his Pi . own servant, was not without Its flf) effect on the other also, and he flmf eeemed to make such endeavors as MS T his intelligence permitted him to IB expedite his Inquiry, gj ,. 1 "I will put it to you this way, Mr. Ban p Liv.esay," ho said. "Didn't you say Bffl as you was in the shrubbery with BlSfi your dog because you had reason Bps to suspect as a certain person had BsH been In there a-laying his snares BRf for the rabbits?" B$l "I didn't suspect I knowed," the sgg keeper replied with some heat, Kjfj ' "Didn't I find the snares? Three Pffli or four of them?" "That's so, Mr. LIvesay That's the way as the law puts it reason KSll -' -to susnect" The stirhhv TiflnrMl i I went to work again ' while tlie fceeper, though saying no articulate TTord, snorted in a manner which suggested no profound respsct for the law. "And what did you see in the shrubbery, Mr. LIvesay?" "I saw Jim Heasden," said the keeper shortly. "And where did you see Jim Heasden?" was tho next question, when the fact of that person's apparition ap-parition had been noted. MHo came out from the Summer-ffiouse," Summer-ffiouse," said LIvesay. "Leastways," "Least-ways," he corrected himself, al-mor al-mor as If in reply to a movement and a half-uttered ejaculation of my uncle, "leastways. I should not like to say as It was from the Summer-house itself as I seed him come. I seed him come from the path whic'i leads down to the Summer-house, the little short path, out of the main path like." "The Law," said Larncombe' very r4 impressively, In the pauses of not- f . ing down the headB of this reply, "is most particular as witnesses should be most particular In witnessing wit-nessing to the particulars." Apparently LIvesay did not think it necessary to reply to the cau-"And cau-"And you give it as your opinion then, Mr. LIvesay," asked the constable, con-stable, "as it was Jim Heasden as come away from the Summer-house after murdering her ladyship?" At this extremely leading ques- - tion the doctor could not restrain himself from exclaiming, "Oh, come, come, Larocombe," but the keeper himself forestalled the v , exception which the doctor no doubt was about to take to the question, by pronouncing with de-,;' de-,;' cision: "I ain't going to give it as my opinion as anybody had anything any-thing to do at all with the murder. I don't know nothing about that. Murder there has been, and that's a fact, but as to who done it I know Y no more than the babe unborn. I know only as I see Jim Heasden come as I've told you, and I chased him in and out among the bushes, and then I lost him, and then I -T , looked in at the Summer-house, in i case he was hiding thero, and then Iseed her ladyship. And that's "I am to understand, then, Mr. . LIvesay," Larncombe observed, "as you decline to give any further information." in-formation." -;. "Decline I" retorted the keeper indignantly. "I don't declino to give nothing. I've give all I have to give, and I can't give no more, can I, now?" "Doctor's evidence," said the constable con-stable phlegmatically, introducing a new heading and beginning a new page in the notebook, without noticing the keeper's wrath. "Death probably instantaneous-caused.' instantaneous-caused.' by some sharp weapon, probably knife or dagger. Take , that down, and that's all I have to give you for the moment, at all ;. events by the way of doctor's evi-dence. evi-dence. And now Larncombe," Dr. Pratt added, "you must realize that all this must bo intensely painful to Sir Ralph, to say nothing of 'Miss Carlton. Surely you have asked questions enough, or the rest can be asked somewhere elBe than in their presence." "I know my duty, Dr. Pratt," said, the constable, repeating that highly high-ly improbable statement with the same ponderous dignity as before, "and I believe that it is now done." He closed the notebook with an air of as much solemnity as if it had been the book of doom, and. as ho spoke, readjusted its elastic band. "It is my duty to inform you, Sir Ralph," he added pompously, "that nothing must be touched in or about the Summer-house, nor the body be moved in any way until my report is made to a higher official." It was more than my Uncle Ralph could bear. "D'you mean to say," he exclaimed, ex-claimed, "that I am not at liberty to take her back and lay her on her own bed? The thing is monstrous. mon-strous. What good is it that the poor body should still lie here?" The doctor had to reason with uncle a little, persuading him that in this the ridiculous Dogberry of tho Watch was probably right. And, at least, he argued, what harm could there be how could the poor clay lie better than In this peaceful house in the woods? That was the sum of his argument, argu-ment, and my uncle, despite himself, him-self, had to concede its force. "Then if she is to lie here," he said, at length assenting, "I shall sit here beside her. You do not wish to order me away, I suppose?" he demanded of the constable. "Certainly not, Sir Ralph," th man answered. "I have only to do my duty," he added, a shade less pompously. I suppose Uncle Ralph had sat In the chair at the bench of magistrates magis-trates a score of times and had ordered Larncombe to do his bidding, bid-ding, and it Is possible that the policeman may have felt a little secret pleasure in something like u reversal of the roles. I prayed uncle that he would let mo share his watch with him, but this he would not consent to. I was so shivering with cold and misery that I hardly knew what I .did and I was grateful to tho doctor doc-tor when he said that he would take me back to the house. He told uncle that he would bring him, on his return journey, an overcoat and other wraps. Wo talked as we walked together the two hundred or so yards to the house, of several notable points which the man who "knew his duty" had omitted to take note of. In the first place, it was morally certain that robbery could not have been the motive of the fell deed, for my Aunt Enid's inanv rings were on her fingers still and a row of valuable pearls, which she always al-ways wore, was around hor neck. "After reading for a while in bed, I had looked out of the window, and there saw, as it seemed to me quite distinctly and unmistakably, unmis-takably, Uncle Ralph going across the gravelled sweep before the house" "And LIvesay tells me," said tho doctor, "though that ass Larn-. combo never thought of inquiring into that fairly obvious point, that though he looked in and around the Summer-house, as well as he could by the light of his bull's-eye, he could see nothing of any knife or dagger with which the wound might have been made." "If they were to find that and Identify it, of course it would bring them very near the murdorer," I said. "Larncombe has made up his mind that it is Jim Heasden who did it, and Jim's pretty well blackguard black-guard enough for anything. Still, unless he did it for robbery ono hardly sees the motive. Did Lady Carlton ever have any words witti him at any time?" "Once she caught him trespassing trespass-ing and gave It to him for it, I know. Probably ho was Betting snares for rabbits then. But that would hardly account for such a deed as this." , "Until wo find the knife," said the doctor, "I agree that, we are bound to be In the dark," and with that we arrived at the house. Grainger was at the door ready to admit us, and from tho sound of certain shutting of distant doors in tho house, I gathered that the domestic staff had been thoroughly awakened and was prepared to use all its ears to gather any news that it could pick up. The doctor supplemented sup-plemented the wai'ni clothing which he took out to uncle with a large flask of brandy, and left me, bidding me go to bed and to sleep. I could not help thinking it an ironical suggestion. Sleep in my violently perturbed state of mind appeared an absolute impossibility. I had a special cause of perturbation, perturba-tion, of which I had told no one. When uncle was being questioned by Larncombe in tho Summer-house Summer-house he had distinctly stated that he had r ot gone outside tho doors of Scotney House that night, after the shutters were shut, until he wont at tho summons of LIvesay. Now it so happened that just as I had put out my light, after reading read-ing for awhile in bed, I had looked out of the window, attracted by the brilliance of the moonlight, and there I had seen, as it seemed to me quite distinctly and unmistakably, unmistak-ably, Uncle Ralph going across the gravelled sweep before the house. I could not be sure, but it seemed to me just as if he had gone up the shrubbery path. I was certain, at all events, that he vanished Into tho shade of the big trees In that direction. di-rection. And yet, in tho face of that, ho had told the constable most directly,, di-rectly,, and without hesitation, that he had not quitted the house; It was beyond everything mysterious.' Then 1 tried to put this fact together to-gether with the singular condition of full dresp in which Grainger, the butler, hn." .tppeared at midnight to answer ae house door boll, but could see no link of connection between the two. With my mind in such agitation it appeared to me, as I got into bed, almost useless to attempt to sleep, but nature knew a great deal better, bet-ter, and from the moment that I put my wearied head on the pillow until broad daylight on the following follow-ing morning I slept the sleep of the just and the untroubled. CHAPTER VI. Sergeant Crisp, NOW, up to this point in the tragedy I havo been able to tell It as I learned of it at first-hand, have been retailing what I saw or hoard directly. Tho greater part of what has to follow I believe I shall be able to tell in the same way, of my personal experience. ex-perience. But in part I know that this will be impossible, and therefore there-fore I will ask thp reader to understand, under-stand, when I write of something which It Is obvious that I could not know in this personal and firsthand first-hand manner, thnt I am doing my best to reproduce events and conversation con-versation from what I learned from this person or tho other. , Larncombe, the constable, must have spent a considerable portion of the night, after leaving the Summer-house, in telephonic' communication com-munication with higher police authorities. au-thorities. It was said in thevil- lage that he was talking all night with Scotland Yard. However that may be, It is certain cer-tain that the early train on the following fol-lowing Saturday morning brought to Scotney a little person, who was said to be one of the most famous detectives in all London, a compound com-pound of M. Dunin, Sergeant Cuff. M. Lecoq, Sherlock Holmes and all tho famous detectives of fiction. He, too, was a sergeant Sergeant Crisp. I thought when I first saw him that I had never in my wljolc life seen a man in all ways so little remarkable. re-markable. Ho was dressed in a pepper and salt colored suit which seemed to fit into all environments and to be invisible like the "protective "pro-tective coloring" of certain animals. ani-mals. Then he was very small, with sloping shoulders, a cleanshaven clean-shaven face with unnoticeable features. He said very little, and what he did say was said in very quiet voice. He appeared extraordinarily ex-traordinarily unimpressive. And then, after a time, when you had been with him a little while, you began to find that there was something impressive about this very-quietness itself. It was more than the quiet of a normal human being. His very pose was kept with a quite extraordinary immobility. When you say of an ordinary man that ho was "standing still," you probably do not mean this to preclude suoh movements as turning turn-ing his head a little now and then, making movements Avith his hands, shifting his weight from one leg,tp the other the innumerable constant con-stant small motions which you do not notico just because they are so constant. But what began to be noticeable about Sergeant Crisp, when you had been with him only a very short while, was tho absence ab-sence of these constant and normal nor-mal movements whicii everybody makes. It was not until I saw him that I realized how very rarely, or even never, we do stand, in the full sense, "still." But Sergeant Crisp did so stand, with an immobility which almost suggested catalepsy and made me feel ridiculously as if I should like to shake him into movement. Even when he had occasion to move he was very economical about it, making only just that amount o3 muscular adjustment which was necessary for his purpose. pur-pose. In sitting he was, if possible, possi-ble, Kyet more rigid. I expect it Avas lot the reason that he hardly every moved in them that his pepper pep-per arid salt clothes appeared to fit him more closely and more crease-lessly crease-lessly than any suit I ever saw on any other man. . But the muscles which, above all, he was remaxkable in not exercising, ex-ercising, -were those which most people use continually to close tlielr eyes, I suppose that this lit-tlo lit-tlo man did sometimes sleep and did sometimes let the lids down over his eyes in that movement which we call a wink, but assuredly assured-ly they wore tho most unwinking pair of optics that I ever saw. They were quite small eyes and light in color, the irises of a peculiarly pecu-liarly light gray, but once 1 had become conscious of their peculiarity pecu-liarity they affected me more than .the most boldly staring or fiercely frowning eyes I have ever encoua fl tered. ! Really he was in some ways B quite a terrible little man; he was j B so utterly inhuman. And yet, ' B though I began by despising him fl and went on to being quite In ter- B ror of him, 1 ended with becoming IH really attached to him. I grew to learn that somewhere, deeply hid- B den, he had a quite' unexpected , IH heart. His appearance gave no promise of It. One would have IH thought that the brain, the intel- lect only, moved, so far as it did M move, this curiously mechanical little frame, but it was not so. The t -H little man could feel. Really, au fond, he was quite astonishingly human. So Sergeant Crisp, somewhat as I have endeavored to describe him, arrived and introduced himself, and for a day pr two was in and out of the house so constantly that he almost became one of ourselves. The first of the Scotney people , that he saw was Larncombe, who went, by orders, to meet him on arrival at the station, two miles from the village. In course of the drive Tie had the . advantage of VM Larncombe's conversation td in-form in-form him on the points of the case jH which he had come down to Inves- He learned that in Larncombe's opinion, gratified though the con-stable con-stable was to work with the great detective, the task to which he had been 3'et was one entirely unworthy of his genius. In point of fact, the problem had been solved, so far as JH any solution was needed In an af-fair af-fair so simple, by the perspicuity of Larncombe himself. There was jH no possibility of doubt that the jB murder had been committed by one B James Heasden, well known to the B police of Upper Scotney that Is to B say, P. C. Joseph Larncombe as a 11 poaching blackguard, of gipsy an-cestry an-cestry on the maternal side. . JH ''And the evidence?" said Ser- jH gean Crisp interrogatively. jB "Well the evidence," Larncombe JB Teplied. "There it 1b We know in Scotney what he has been. Ever since a boy he has been the same IH never wouldn't settle to no work. jH Never could get him to attend to his books tho school teachers couldn't. There he Is now as he's a man growed just the same, wouldn't settle to nothing. Always a trouble he's been in the village, always hanging around doing odd jobs or not doing them. Poaching WH he's been. Been caught two or jH three times, and many times more JH there's been poaching work done JH as has. been laid to.him, though not B clearly proved so as the magis- B trates would convict. A regular bad lot." "But the evidence?" said Ser-geant Ser-geant Crisp as before, only varying jH the form of his question by a single 1 word. 1 B "Well, the evidence," Larncombe fl answered, "there it is. Mr. Live-say Live-say sees him in the path sees him tB coming from the Summer-house. Follows after. Loses him in the bushes. Looks Into the Summer-house. Summer-house. Finds the body of her lady ship lying dead." ftl "Coming from the Summer H house! Did Mr. LIvesay see him do that?" "Mr. Livesay seed him, to be ex-act, ex-act, in the path what leads to the B Summer-house and what, don't lead nowhercs else," Larncombe replied flH with growing confidence. "Baln't that evidence?" "Evidence, certainly," Sergeant H Crisp agreed. "I will see Mr. Live- H say." IH Larncombe continuing, I presume M . in obedience to orders from higher B places, to act in capacity of guide, B philosopher and friend to Sergeant " Crisp, conducted him in the first instance to Scotney House that he B might present himself and his cro dentials to Uncle Ralph. - HH As soon as I had had some break JH fast that morning I went out to the IH Summer-house aud succeeded in jl persuading uncle to relinquish to M me, for a while at least, the dread-ful dread-ful post of watcher beside the sav- IH agely murdered body, and to go to. jH the house for a waBh, a rest and a 'B meal. He had looked terribly wan and white and haggard when I found him in the Summer-house, JH and the ragged appearauce of hJs ' unshaven chin and his unbrushed r hair added' to tho wretchedness of 1 his aspect. Ho was ready to ac- j quiesce in any suggestion that I B made, and I guessed him to be at the end of his "tether," as Is said B worn to such point of bodily and B mental weariness that his energy B was utterly spent. Grainger told B me that when he came in he lay down on his bed as he was, without food or any change of clothes, and seemed to fall asleep before his head touched the pillow. In this condition it would have wl been a crime to wake him, and H Grainger did quite right, important as Sergeant Crisp's mission was, in telling him that it was Impossible fjl that he should see Sir Ralph at the moment. He proposed instead that ;.iH Larncombe should bring him down -H to me in the Summer-house. Owing to my giving, as Uncle Ralph's rep-resentativc, rep-resentativc, most of their orders to the household, they were in the -H habit of referring questions to me -H in his absence and of accepting me 'H as his deputy. Sergeant Crisp was j fl the readier to fall In with the sug- j B gesllon because it took him imme- rH diately to the scene of the crime ' and the body of Us victim, - JH Consequently it happened that i 'B before I had been long at my vigil 'B in Uncle Ralph's stead the door of B the Summer-house was opened by 'H Larncombe ushering in Jhe ex-tremely ex-tremely commouplace figure of the little detective. (To Bo Continued Next Sunday) Copyright, 1020. b George II. Doran Cow |
