The Clue of the Rising Moon (2024)

VALENTINE WILLIAMS

First UK book edition: Hodder & Stoughton, London,1935
First US book edition: Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston &New York, 1935

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2019
Version Date: 2020-07-14
Produced by Paul Moulder and Roy Glashan

All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

IT was Victor's doing entirely, but, needless tosay, he had to blame it on his wife. We had set out for anafternoon ride, just the four of us—Graziella and Victor,Sara Carruthers and I—two miles out from camp over a nice,broad trail to where the State highway curved round the Lumsdenproperty. There, instead of turning homeward by the bridle-pathalong the lake, Victor insisted on going on. He was "hog fat," heprotested—he must absolutely have a good work-out. Onceacross the concrete, he took the first trail at hazard, andalmost immediately broke into a trot, the three of us clippety-clopping behind, Sara on "Andy," I on "Jester" and Graziella on"Firefly," Charles Lumsden's own mount, a lovely chestnut marewhich he would allow nobody but Graziella to ride.

"Black Prince," Victor's horse, soon drew ahead. Suddenly Isaw "Black Prince" go straight up in the air. At the same instant"Andy" shied and Sara sailed over his shoulder. She landed on herknees, but was on her feet at once. "Jester" stood as steady as apolice horse, and I grabbed "Andy's" rein. Out of the corner ofmy eye I could see "Black Prince" plunging: behind me I couldhear "Firefly" snorting with fright and Graziella crooning toher, "There, there, old lady!"

Sara declared she was not hurt, and took "Andy's" bridle fromme.

There was an angry shout from Victor: "You darned fool, youmight have been killed! What the devil do you mean by steppingout from behind a bush like that?"

I put "Jester" about. A rough-looking man stood on the path. Abony face darkened with stubble, tangled hair; he was in shirtand trousers and carried a bucket.

"Aw, baloney!" he growled back. "I got as much right here asyou!"

Without replying, Victor wheeled "Black Prince" round and cametowards us so swiftly that the man would have been trampled if hehad not sprung aside. He jumped back on the path with such amenacing air that I gave "Jester" my heel in the ribs and drewlevel with him.

"Take it easy, buddy!" I said.

He glared at me out of narrow, black eyes. "What's he thinkhe's at?" he ground out between his teeth. "No one ain't a-goin'to ride me down that-away!"

"Forget it!" I bade him. "He only wanted to look after theyoung lady. You scared the horses and she was thrown, you know.Go on, beat it!"

He gazed at me fixedly, then, picking up his bucket which hehad dropped, he crossed the trail and vanished among the treeswithout a word.

Haversley had dismounted, and with his arm about Sara, wasasking her if she was sure she was all right. I glanced atGraziella. But she was doing something to one of her irons, andaffected to notice nothing. I said to him pretty curtly:

"You want to be more careful the way you handle strangers,Vic! That's a tough customer!"

He laughed in that arrogant way of his that always made memad. "What do you mean, 'tough'?"

"That baby's a gunman!"

He dropped his arm from Sara's neck and spun round to me asthough he had been shot. "A gunman?" he repeated, frowning. "Goon, Pete, you're kidding!"

"Like hell I'm kidding! Maybe you didn't notice the way heclawed under his left arm as he came forward. That's where thesegents keep their personal ironmongery. I expect he forgot hewasn't wearing a coat!"

Haversley was paying no more attention to Sara. He was staringblankly at his wife. Graziella said, "Don't be a goat, Pete! Whatwould a man like that be doing in the Adirondacks, miles awayfrom everywhere?"

I shrugged. "He's probably one of Jake Harper's summerboarders..."

Victor said nothing. It was his wife who asked, "And who'sJake Harper?"

Hank Wells, the sheriff down in the village, had told me aboutJake. He was one of these rundown, hill-billy farmers—apretty bad hat, by all accounts, who during Prohibition wasgenerally thought to be mixed up with booze-running from theCanadian border. According to Hank, Jake's tumbledown shack inthe woods, back of where we were, was the resort of all kinds ofmysterious visitors. I explained this, and Haversley, who hadgone very red, swung to his wife.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" he demanded angrily. "Whydidn't Charles Lumsden warn me?"

Graziella shrugged. "I don't suppose it ever occurred to him.As a matter of fact, I never realised that we were outside camp.After all, there's lots of room to ride at Wolf Lake withoutgoing off the property..."

Leaving Sara to mount as best she might, Haversley scrambledinto the saddle. "If you were in the habit of giving me and myinterests the slightest thought, you'd have known it," heretorted acrimoniously. "You're always at me to take moreexercise, and when I do..." He broke off. "How do we know whatthis man wants here? He's a gunman, isn't he? A hiredkiller..."

Her gauntleted hand on his sleeve sought to restrain him."Why, Vic," she said, "you're surely not taking this seriously.The fellow's probably only a tramp. Pete loves to dramatisethings: that's why he's a writer—isn't it, Pete?"

As she spoke she threw me, over her husband's shoulder, such alook of appeal that at once I came to her aid.

"Well, maybe I did let the old imagination rip a little," Isaid, with a laugh. "That's the devil of writing aplay—one's apt to dramatise everything. And we don't haveto take what Hank says as gospel, either—he regards everyoutsider as having designs on the morals of the villagers!"

But Haversley refused to be appeased. "It's all very well totalk like that now," he rejoined furiously. "Whether he'sexaggerating or not, it never occurred to you that I might berunning into danger. You've gone round all day like a woman in atrance, and I know why!"

A touch of colour warmed her brown cheeks. "Vic, please!" shemurmured.

But he had touched "Black Prince's" flanks, and now departedat a gallop by the way we had come.

I was on the ground, giving Sara a hand into the saddle. Ilooked after the vanishing figure curiously. I had a feeling thatVictor was scared, that his burst of ill-humour was to cover uphis fear. I was puzzled. Of course, he was supposed to berecovering from a nervous breakdown, which in his case I hadinferred to be a polite euphemism for drink—he certainlyput away a lot of whisky. But why should a chance encounter witha tough disturb him thus? And what did he mean by saying thatGraziella had gone around all day like a woman in a trance?

Once Sara was up, there was no holding Andy, and he was offafter "Black Prince" like a shot out of a gun. Graziella made noattempt to follow, though "Firefly" was dancing with eagerness.She waited for me to mount, and we set off at a walktogether.

CHAPTER 2

I HADN'T much use for Victor Haversley. I wasjealous of him, of course. Not merely on account of his money andeverything—on account of Graziella, too. He was the sameage as I—forty-five; but whereas I was a poor, pennilessdevil of a writer with a groggy lung, he was rich and hearty, awealthy Illinois brewer. Ever since the War, the cards had beenstacked against me, but he—what sweet luck he'd had!Actually, Charles Lumsden told me, Vic's fortune had come to himthrough his stepfather. His mother had married, as her secondhusband, Hermann Kummer, the brewer, who, on dying, had left thebusiness to her, and at her death, Vic, who was president of thecorporation, had inherited the Kummer millions.

It was when I thought of Graziella that I envied him his moneymost—had I ever enjoyed even a hundredth part of his yearlyincome, I'd tell myself, I might have made someone like herhappy. Riding back through the woods that afternoon was actuallythe first chance I'd had of an intimate chat with her, despitethe fact that, for the past fortnight, we had been riding andswimming and playing bridge together. Strictly speaking, I wasnot one of the house-party. I lived in the one-room cabin theLumsdens had rented me down beside the lake. I slept and wroteand took my meals there, except when the Lumsdens asked me overto lunch or dinner, which happened several times a week. I workedevery morning at the play, and after lunch strolled up to thehouse to join the others. But I seemed fated never to findGraziella alone—she was the sort of person who is always indemand at a house-party. We seemed to meet for ever in acrowd.

Descriptions of people never mean anything to me. So I'm notgoing to attempt to paint a picture of Graziella, except to saythat, with her pale gold hair and shining skin she had agleaming, brittle air about her that put me in mind of a piece ofLalique glass. From the standpoint of mere prettiness I supposethat Sara, with her doe eyes and red-brown hair and ravishingfigure, was the more effective. Sara could give Graziella, whowas twenty-eight, a few years, but she was much moresophisticated, the up-to-the-minute New Yorker, out for a goodtime. She was of quite good family, but her people had lost a lotof money in the crash, and she was actually helping a friend ofhers to run a "little shop" on Madison Avenue.

Graziella, on the other hand, had distinction, a beautifulgrace of bearing and carriage. She was distinguished as a cameois distinguished. When you met her you didn't think of herlooks—even now, I can't tell you the colour of those graveeyes of hers—for a certain strange allure she possessed. Idon't know what her secret was, but you couldn't help wanting totalk to her. The moment I set eyes on her in the big living-roomat the camp, the evening she arrived, I found myself liking herbetter than any woman I'd ever met.

Once across the highway, I drew level with her. "What's thematter with Vic?" I asked her.

She seemed to start from a reverie. "Vic's a sick man. He'snever really got over this nervous breakdown he had in thespring. The doctors at home told me that if I didn't take himright away, they wouldn't be responsible for the consequences. Bythe way," she added, smiling at me, "thanks for playing up sostoutly just now!"

"Vic was scared to death. Why?"

She shrugged. "Vic has a lot of money, you know, and it makeshim jumpy about strangers. There's a good deal of crime where wecome from, near Chicago, and Vic's always on his guard..."

"That may be. But there's no reason why he should bawl you outlike that!"

She raised her switch and dropped it lightly on "Firefly's"gleaming quarters. A brief shrug was her only response.

"You're young," I went on boldly, "and you're entitled to yourshare of happiness. Why should you go on putting up with histantrums?"

The movement of her shoulders was as much as to say, "I'm usedto it!"

"It's none of my business," I continued. "But I like you,Graziella, and I hate to see you making a mess of your life.Isn't it perfectly evident that you and he are unsuited to oneanother?"

She tilted her head sagely. "I wouldn't say that. At any rate,I suit him. He depends on me a lot. You know, he's never had achance. He was an only child, and his father died when he was ababy. His mother, who married old Kummer, was rolling in money,and she spoiled Vic insanely. I feel dreadfully sorry for himsometimes—he's like a little boy who has to bemothered."

"Yeah, with a slipper," I told her. "One of these dayssomeone's going to hand your little boy a dreadful big poke inthe jaw!"

She gave me a startled look. "You're joking?" she said, hereyes searching my face.

"Maybe I am. But Dave Jarvis isn't. He don't like theway Vic runs after Sara—not one little bit. After all, theyare engaged..."

I had the impression that she was relieved. "Oh, Dave," shesaid, rather contemptuously.

"Don't make any mistake about Dave. He has the dickens of atemper—the way those black eyebrows of his come togethershould tell you that. One of these days he's going to blow thetop right off. These moonlight trips on the lake and soforth..."

Meditatively her gloved hand slapped at a horse-fly on themare's neck. "I know it's stupid the way Vic's behaving," sheagreed in a low voice. "But don't imagine that there's anythingwrong between him and Sara, because there isn't! I daresay herhead's turned a little, that's all!"

"It's tough on Dave, all the same. He's doing quite well inWall Street, they tell me; but of course he's not in Vic's classwhen it comes to money. He looks perfectly wretched, poorchap!"

"Why doesn't he speak to Sara?"

"For all I know he has. But don't let's kid ourselves,Graziella. Vic's the one who wants talking to, and you ought todo it!"

She dropped her eyes. "What's the use?" she said softly. "Ifit isn't Sara, it's someone else. You can't change a man!"

"You could walk out on him!"

She shook her head. "It sounds easy, but I can't face it.Particularly now, when he's ill and needs me. I tremble to thinkwhat he'd do if I left him. Besides, I owe everything to Vic. Ihadn't a cent when I married him, and he's been very generous..."She made a little break. "I was his secretary, you know..."

No one had told me; but as I glanced at her I had nodifficulty in picturing her in some swagger President's office,serene and efficient, managing Vic and his appointments.

"I didn't know that," I said.

She nodded. "Yes." She gave a little laugh. "I sometimes thinkthat's why Miss Ingersoll doesn't like me..."

"Even so," I put in, "if you can't make it a go, you'reentitled to call it a day. It's not as though there were anychildren..."

Her eyes clouded over. "That's been one of the troubles," sheanswered in an undertone. "If I'd given him an heir..." She fellsilent.

There was a sudden dryness in my throat—I felt so sorryfor her. "Shall I tell you why I like you, Graziella?" Isaid.

She smiled wistfully. "It might raise my morale if youdid..."

"You're a good sport. And you're brave..."

She shook her head. "Not really. I have awful moments ofdespair, when I feel like ending it all..."

There was an underlying current of passion in her voice thatshocked me, hinting as it did at unplumbed depths of unhappinessin this wretched marriage of hers.

"Is it really as bad as that?" I asked.

She bowed her head, her eyes averted. "If I carry on," shesaid hesitantly, "it's because I have an anchor, a sheet anchor,to cling to..." Then, as though to forestall any furtherquestion, she turned and, laying her hand on my wrist, said, "Butdon't let's talk about me any more! Let's talk about you! Edithsays you were badly gassed in the War. Tell me about it!"

I told her. It isn't a very new or a very cheerfulstory—in and out of the military hospitals for sixteenyears—and I kept it short. Then she wanted to hear aboutthe play. I told her how I'd induced Barrett Mann, the Broadwayproducer, to pay me $500 advance on the strength of the completedfirst act, and how Edith Lumsden had come to the rescue byoffering to rent me a cabin at ten dollars a month until the playwas finished.

"The rent, of course, is to salve my pride," I said. "There'sa great lady for you. If the play goes over, I'll have only herto thank!"

"And I'm sure it will go over," Graziella declared. "You mustlet me read it, will you?"

"I'll do better than that," I promised. "Cynthia"—thatwas the Lumsden girl—"wants me to try out the first actwith our crowd reading parts. Well, you're going to play myheroine. Daphne, her name is—it's a swell role!"

She was all excited. "Oh," she cried, "when's it to be?"

"To-night, after dinner!"

She made no answer, and I saw that she was gazing ahead. Fromthe end of the trail a man was waving his hat. Graziella stood upin her stirrups and flung her hand excitedly aloft. Her eyes wereshining—she was a woman transfigured.

"Fritz!" she cried and, putting "Firefly" at a gallop, dashedoff helter-skelter towards the approaching figure.

Following in her wake, I witnessed their meeting. He took herhand and pressed it between his two, a tall, bronzed man in greytweeds. Her back was to me, but her whole attitude, as she leanedtowards him from the saddle, was one of joyful eagerness. As Ilooked, Haversley's parting taunt drifted into my mind:"You've gone around all day like a woman in a trance, and Iknow why!"

Was this stranger the "why"? Then I remembered, while we werewaiting for the horses after lunch, hearing Dickie Lumsdenordering a car to meet some friend of the Haversleys who wasarriving by the afternoon train from New York. What if this manwas the "sheet anchor" she had spoken of?

Her flushed face, and a certain shyness as she introduced usto one another, gave me my answer. He was a rather ugly, quietman with a deep voice. His name was Fritz Waters. He walkedbeside her, one arm across the back of her saddle, the pair ofthem deep in talk—she was radiant. Perceiving that theywere quite unaware of my existence, I shook "Jester" into a trotand made for home.

CHAPTER 3

I HAVE gone back to my diary to establish thedate of the arrival of Fritz Waters at Wolf Lake. It wasSaturday, August 18th. The date is important, not only because inretrospect I now see how already at that time the pattern of whatwas to come was forming, but also because it was on thatafternoon I first encountered Trevor Dene, who was destined toplay a leading role in the terrible events which were impending.It was five o'clock before I got in from our ride, and withoutstopping to change I took one of the power-boats and went acrossthe lake to the village to do my weekly shopping. A young man ina white sweater and shorts was in Hank Wells's store, examiningthe two shelves of tattered mystery stories which constitutes thevillage circulating library and talking to Mrs. Wells. Irecognised him for an Englishman by his accent.

"It's a sort of dictionary, don't you know?" he wassaying.

Minnie Wells, large and motherly, obviously didn't know."There ain't nothin' but novels there," she answered. "There wuza book agent with dictionaries round here last month, but Mr.Wells didn't buy none..." Then, as she recognised me, she added,"But this gentleman's a writer, too. Mebbe he could helpyou."

The young man swung about, I had an impression of horn-rimmedspectacles under a thatch of tawny hair. "A writer?" he echoedbriskly. "Tell me, have you by any chance a copy of Roget'sThesaurus?"

I nodded. "I have..."

"Could I borrow it? I'm writing a—well, a sort oftreatise and I'm stuck for a synonym..."

"By all means. Only you'll have to come over to Wolf Lake tofetch it."

He drew a deep breath. "This," he pronounced, "is undoubtedlymy lucky day. We must celebrate. The name is Dene, Trevor Dene.And yours?"

"Peter Blakeney!"

We shook hands. "Tell me, Mr. Blakeney," said my newacquaintance, "does the word 'beer' excite any pleasurablecommotion in your organs of sensation?"

"Nothing else but," I gave him back, and we adjourned to thelunch-room next door.

Over our beer it came out that he lived in London, was marriedto an American, and had taken his B.A. at Cambridge—he wasspending a month at "The Cedars," the boarding-house in thevillage, in order to finish the book he was writing, while hiswife was down in Long Island with a sick relative. He didn't saywhat the book was about, and I didn't ask him: somethingscientific, I surmised—his glasses and untidy hair,together with a certain precision of speech, suggested theprofessor: one of the younger kind, alert and keen-minded.

He told me he had rented Hank's ancient outboard motor for theduration of his stay, so, as he seemed to know no one outside thevillagers, and was obviously a well-behaved young man, I told himhe'd better come over the next afternoon, and I'd introduce himto the Lumsdens and he could get some tennis and bridge. But heshied off at once.

"It's most frightfully nice of you," he said, his youthfulface reddening, "but Americans terrify me. You're so hospitableand so polite..."

I laughed. "Well, I'm American. And you paid for thebeer!"

"You're different. If I don't have to dress up and be social,I'd love to run over for a chat with you some time. For onething, you're a writer, which means you're a human being, andthen, of course, you know something about the British..."

"What makes you think that?" I asked him, puzzled.

"You were with our fellows in the War, weren't you?"

That mystified me—this was a detail of my war servicewhich I was very sure was known to nobody at Wolf Lake, let alonethe village.

"That's right," I agreed. "But how do you know? Surely, you'retoo young to have been out there?"

He laughed. "I was at school..." He shot me a quizzing glancethrough his spectacles.

"You were gassed, weren't you? And if I might make a shot atwhere it was, it was on the St. Quentin Canal. Am I right?"

I stared at him. "Perfectly..."

"September—let me see—the 28th, 1918, wasn'tit?"

"The 29th, to be exact, the day after the show. But how onearth...?"

He chuckled. "You were obviously in the War—that's anAmerican service shirt you're wearing." He pointed to my fadedkhaki shirt. "When you lit one of my cigarettes just now it madeyou cough. That's a gas cough you have—the wheeze isabsolutely characteristic. You've no business to smoke at all,and you know it..."

I nodded. "I was gassed all right. But how do you get at thedate?"

He grinned. "When I meet a doughboy who's been gassed andwears an Anzac badge on his belt, I'm naturally reminded of thatcelebrated attack in which the Aussies leapfrogged your 27thDivision..."

I clapped my hands to my waist. I'd forgotten I was wearing myold leather belt from the War, decorated with the badge which anAustralian subaltern had given me in exchange for mine as asouvenir of that day of carnage on the Hindenburg Line.

"All units—British, Australian and American—weremixed up," said Dene. "There was a lot of fraternisation."

I laughed. "You're pretty observant. And for one who wasn'tthere you seem to know a lot about the War..."

"My guv'nor was killed on the Somme," was his sober answer."And I read every book about the War I can lay my hands on. Asfor being observant, I like to study people. They're much moreinteresting than books." He broke off to pour out the last of thebeer into our glasses. "That reminds me, there's a chap calledHaversley stopping over at the camp, isn't there?"

"That's right!"

"Millionaire, they tell me..."

"So they say."

He had produced a well-seasoned briar and began to fill itfrom an oilskin pouch.

"He was in here the other afternoon buying fish-hooks. What'swrong with him?"

I laughed. "Too much money, I guess."

"Of course. And he drinks too much. A man of his age shouldn'thave pouches under the eyes. But I wasn't thinking of that.What's he scared of?"

"Scared of?" I repeated the phrase lamely—I was thinkingof Victor's exhibition in the woods that afternoon. "He'srecovering from a nervous breakdown, but I don't knowthat..."

Dene was touching a match to his pipe. "That's obvious,too—his reflexes are all wrong. But that's not what I mean,either. Have you ever looked into his eyes?"

"I can't say I have..."

"Take a look some time. They're devilish odd. He's making agreat fight not to show it, but he's evidently going in fear ofhis life. If you'd ever seen a man under sentence of death, as Ihave, you'd know what I mean. My hat, it gives me the jitters tolook at him!" He blew a cloud of smoke.

I shrugged. "If what you say is true, I'm very sure no one atthe camp realises it. But I think you're exaggerating..."

One of the Wells boys looking in at that moment to say he hadcarried my supplies down to the boat, the Englishman stood up. Heagain refused my invitation to come over next afternoon, butsaid, if I would be home in the evening around ten he might lookin for a late drink and collect my Roget.

CHAPTER 4

THE Lumsdens had invited me to dine that eveningin view of the play-reading after. On my return from the villageI changed into flannels and a blue coat and around a quarter-pastseven went up to the house.

Like all these summer camps, the Lumsden camp consisted of anumber of structures. The main house, of varnished timber, like aSwiss chalet, stood high, backed against the woods, looking outacross the gardens over the lake. Garage and farm buildings werein rear: in the left foreground a cluster of roofs peeped throughthe trees—the Bachelor Bungalow, reserved for the unmarriedmen among the guests; the Yellow Lodge, which a friend of theLumsdens had rented; the White Bungalow, where Sara Carruthersand another girl of the party were lodged; and, down beside thelake, the boathouse. My shack was in the opposite direction, atthe extreme right hand of the camp, on the water.

A path at the back of my shack led to the gate at the top ofthe gardens. Beside this gate the path branched away to the leftto lead through the woods to the trapper's cabin. It was an oldAdirondack hunter, Eben Hicks by name, who had first discoveredthe charms of Wolf Lake. Some time in the fifties or sixties hehad built himself a log cabin at a little distance away throughthe woods from the present site of the camp. On buying theproperty, Lumsden found the cabin in a ruined state, and restoredit as far as possible to its original condition, so that now,both inside and out, it had quite a Currier and Ives air to it.He had even gone so far as to ban electricity, and the place wasstill lit by oil lamps. He used it as a hunting-lodge in thewinter, when the main house was shut up. When Victor Haversley,who had a lot of current business to attend to, wanted a quietplace to work in, away from the young people's noise, Charlesoffered him the trapper's cabin, as it was always called.Surrounded by the woods on three sides, it struck me as being acreepy, melancholy sort of place. But Victor seemed to revel init. He spent a lot of time working there, either alone or withMiss Ingersoll, the rather homely secretary he had brought withhim to Wolf Lake.

As I approached the fork where the path curved away into thewoods, I saw Dave Jarvis emerge rather hastily from under thetrees, coming from the direction of the cabin, and pass throughthe gate into the gardens.

"What's your hurry, Dave?" I called out.

But he did not appear to hear me, striding rapidly awaytowards the Bachelor Bungalow where he was lodged. The first gongfor dinner had already gone—I assumed he was rushing off tochange.

Sunrise and sunset are the best times of the day at Wolf Lake.Then the lake, girdled with its solemn woods, is like a sheet ofglass, and the cooling air brings out the fragrance of balsam andpine. Those reunions on the verandah before dinner are among myhappiest recollections of that peerless summer, with Charlesrattling the co*cktail shaker, the youngsters ragging and thesunset flaming in the sky. We were all so healthy, so browned bysun and wind, so care-free. The Lumsdens were a grand couple, andthe most unexacting of hosts. They adored theirchildren—Dickie, in his second year at Princeton, andCynthia, home from finishing school—and the happy spirit oftheir little household seemed to spread to their guests.

They were all gathered on the verandah, all except theHaversleys and young Jarvis, that is. When I first came up toWolf Lake, each weekend would bring visitors; but as the summeradvanced and the holiday season set in, the guests became morepermanent. Apart from the Haversleys and Miss Ingersoll, who werethere for the summer, there was old Miss Ryder, who had taken theYellow Lodge for the season, and Dr. Bracegirdle, a fishing cronyof Charles Lumsden's, who seemed to be making a more or lessindefinite stay. Sara Carruthers, who was Edith Lumsden's niece,was up for a month, and young Jarvis had arrived on the previousSaturday to spend a fortnight of his vacation with his fiancée.The rest of the party consisted of a hefty youth called BusterLeighton, a college chum of Dickie's, his young cousin, MyrtleFletcher, who was Dickie's girl of the moment, and, of course,the latest arrival, Fritz Waters.

Already, had we but known it, the approaching tragedy wascasting its black shadow over our happy little crowd. Lookingback, I find myself thinking of an eclipse of the sun I oncewatched through a telescope in New Jersey, with the inky disccreeping irresistibly forward and the afternoon light slowlypaling to a sickly saffron. But Fate, unlike Nature, rarelyaccompanies its convulsions with premonitory symptoms, and thatevening, it seems to me, we were, if anything, more light-heartedthan usual. Sara, in a vivid green frock, Myrtle, Dickie andBuster were trying some trick with a chair which involved a lotof squealing and a considerable display of stockingless leg bythe young women: old Bracegirdle, his brown, nubbly face wreathedin smiles, was chatting with Waters, while on the swinging couchMiss Ryder, who took her meals with the house-party, although shelived out, was showing Edith Lumsden a knitting stitch.

Old Bracegirdle hailed me, wanting to know what part I'd casthim for in the play.

"Do I play the heroine, Peter darling?" said Saracoaxingly.

I told her the part was already promised to Graziella. "Butthere's a very good bit for I you, Sara," I added, "a pertmanicurist who opens the play. You know, smart and terribly hard-boiled..."

"Swell!" Buster chortled. "Hard-berled Sadie from Greenpernt!"And they all began to rag her in more or less authenticBrooklynese.

"Who's the hero?" Charles inquired, giving me my Martini.

"Well," I said, "he's not exactly a young man. I thought ofyou or Vic..."

The young Lumsdens whooped derisively. "My goodness, Dad can'tact," Cynthia declared. "Is it frightfully pash?"

"Fairly so..."

"Does he have to kiss Graziella?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Then Vic's out. You can't have a man making love to his ownwife. Why don't you play it yourself?"

I blushed like a schoolboy. "Oh, no. Besides I want tolisten..."

"Then why not make him play it?" She jerked her headin the direction of Waters. "Hair slightly greying at thetemples, you know—he's just the type!"

The dinner gong boomed out. Miss Ingersoll appeared from thehouse. Mr. Haversley was signing his letters, sheannounced—Mrs. Lumsden would please not wait dinner forhim.

Edith stood up. "Where's Graziella?" she asked. "AndDave?"

"Dave's not coming to dinner," said Sara rather sulkily.

Edith sighed placidly. "Have you two been squabbling again?You go straight down and fetch him up; do you hear me, Sara?"

"But, Aunt Edith..."

"Go along. Be off with you!"

Cynthia had given me a mischievous idea. In the play my hero,Stephen, had to sweep the heroine, Daphne, a married woman, offher feet, and the curtain descended upon them in one another'sarms. If Waters were the "sheet anchor" Graziella had spoken of,wouldn't he betray himself when it came to making love to her? Iapproached him.

"How about you reading the chief man's part?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I should be terrible..."

Cynthia was dancing about behind us. "Nonsense!" she told him."We're all amateurs, anyway. Of course, you must play it!"

Waters shrugged. "All right," he said good-humouredly.

I saw his face change suddenly—it was like the lightsgoing up in a darkened room.

Graziella was emerging from the house. I had a feeling that,if my suspicion were correct, she might make an excuse to get outof playing heroine to his hero. But when Cynthia told her, sheonly smiled at him affectionately and said, "Oh, Fritz, whatfun!"

Then Sara reappeared with her young man, rather sullen butsubmissive, in tow, and Victor arriving a moment later, we allwent in to dinner.

I had only myself to blame for the scene which brought ourplay to an ignoble conclusion. That chance gibe of Victor's inthe woods should have warned me that he was insanely jealous ofFritz Waters. But I was intent on my experiment and, anyway, heleft us immediately after dinner to return to his dictation, andI never anticipated that he would come back before the rehearsalwas over.

But he did. And, as luck would have it, he walked in on us atthe very height of the love scene between Waters and Graziella. Ihad put everything I had into that scene, and I was interested tosee how closely it held that small audience. Amateurish thoughthey were and reading from scripts, those two revealed asincerity in their acting which was gripping, particularlyWaters—it was actually the man's scene. He had a goodvoice, and he read the long speech in which he declares his lovefor his friend's wife really well. You could have heard a pindrop in the big living-room, and I fancy I was the only one whosaw Victor come in—I was sitting close to the door, and Iheard the squeak of the wire-mesh screen as he appeared.

He was rather pale, as he always was when he had beendrinking—although my attention was focussed on the play, myeye retained that detail. It seemed to me he remained standing upjust inside the door; then I forgot him, for I was faintlyimpatient—the long speech was done, the scene working up toits climax, and they were dragging, as amateurs always do. I hadplanned the scene to be simple, and they played it, as the stagedirections set forth, seated side by side on a chesterfield. Nowhe had his arms about her and had drawn her to him until hercheek rested against his.

"If you only knew it," he said, "all through these years I'vebeen holding you like this!"

And she gave him back, "Ah, Stephen dear, those wastedyears!"

"Not wasted since they've brought you back to me!" heanswered, and gently turned her face to his.

On that, according to the stage directions, he kisses her, andwith a cry of "Stephen!" she falls into his arms and the curtaincomes down.

Graziella's face, serene and lovely in the lamplight, wastilted expectantly for the kiss. But Waters hesitated, and itbroke the spell.

Myrtle began to giggle and Dickie, who was perched on the armof her chair, called out, "Kiss her, why don't you?"

At the same moment Victor whirled forward.

With a shout of "Damn you, Fritz Waters, keep your hands offmy wife!" he seized Graziella by the wrist and pulled her out ofthe other's arms. Then he turned on Waters with a torrent ofabuse. I don't remember exactly what he said—in the abjecthumiliation of such exhibitions one instinctively tries toforget; besides, I was more concerned with the scarlet faces andstartled eyes of that bunch of kids who had to stand there andhear him. He didn't get far, for Charles Lumsden stopped him,while Edith hustled Graziella upstairs, and old Bracegirdle and Ichased the children out on to the porch. While we were thereWaters passed us, with set face and eyes smouldering, anddisappeared into the darkness.

I knew I should be blamed for what had happened, but decided Iwould wait until the morning to make my peace with the Lumsdens.So I bade good-night to old Bracegirdle and went home to myshack.

At least my experiment had succeeded, I reflected. These twowere in love with one another, and Victor knew it.

CHAPTER 5

EARLY next morning—it was Sunday—Ihad a visitor. It was Graziella. She wore a white serge cloakover her swimming-suit with a floppy hat and sandals.

"Are you fearfully mad at being disturbed?" she inquired, hereyes on my typewriter.

I assured her that any excuse for not working was welcome, andgave her a cigarette.

She sat down on the bed and crossed one slim leg over theother. "I came to apologize—for last night," she saidrather self-consciously.

"Good Lord! it wasn't your fault," I told her. "If anyone wasto blame, it was I!"

She shook her head. "It seemed harmless enough—I neverdreamed he could be so petty, so—so vulgar. Still, I shouldhave known better. Fritz Waters is my friend, and Vic never likesmy friends. Besides, he's jealous of Fritz, less on account ofme, I believe, than of Fritz himself. Fritz is such a fineperson, so straight and high-minded, he shows Vic up..." Sheglanced at me sidelong. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that."

"I understand..."

She dropped her eyes. "I wonder if you do. I went to Charlesand Edith last night and wanted to break off our visit. But theywere so sweet—they wouldn't hear of it!"

"Why should they? Vic was drunk and looking fortrouble..."

Her face was distressed. "Those children—whatever arethey thinking of me?"

I laughed. "Listen, Graziella, any kid who's been brought upunder Prohibition is apt to take an entirely sensible view ofsuch exhibitions as Vic's last night."

"You must all believe that Fritz and I are lovers..."

I felt her eyes on my face. I shrugged. "My dear," I said,"you don't owe me or anybody else an explanation about that."

She sighed. "I'm terribly fond of him. He spent some months inChicago in the spring—he used to come out to us for week-ends. I was going through a very difficult time withVic—Fritz was so kind and understanding. If a woman can'thave a platonic friend..."

I couldn't help thinking that there was darn little platonicin the way their faces lighted up when they met. But I only said,"It'll blow over. How long is Waters staying?"

"Just the week-end."

"Vic'll apologize to the Lumsdens, I suppose?"

"He's done that already."

"Will he apologize to Fritz?"

Her eyes clouded over. "That's the trouble. He hates Fritz.And Fritz despises him..."

She sighed and leaned forward to discard her ash in the trayon the table. As she did so her wrap slipped off and I saw thebruise on her shoulder, a great discoloured patch at the top ofthe arm.

I pointed at it. "Is that why you're going swimming so earlybefore anyone's about?" I asked sternly.

She shook herself unwillingly, and attempted to draw the cloakabout her again. "Don't be silly, Pete! That's just where I hitmyself on the board, diving yesterday!"

I held the cloak away from her. "Don't lie, Graziella!"

The colour flooded her face. "The key to my room has beenlost. He came in last night after everybody had gone tobed—he wanted to apologize. When I wouldn't speak tohim..." She broke off, biting her lip.

I let the wrap go, and it fell about her as she sat on my bed.She made no attempt to retrieve it, but remained motionless,staring in front of her. I was aghast.

"It's damnable!" I burst out. "And I'll tell you somethingelse. It's not the first time, is it?"

"Only when he's been drinking," she answered, with an almostapologetic air. "He never used to drink. It's only been duringthe past three months. He gave it up after his illness, but nowhe's started again."

"You poor thing!" I cried. "What you must have put up with! ByGod, I could break the fellow's neck!"

She snatched at her cloak and pulled it about her, even as weheard Miss Ingersoll's voice outside. "Oh, Mr. Blakeney, is Mrs.Haversley there?"

Graziella would have sprung up, but I stayed her—MissIngersoll was opening the screen door. "Excuse me," she said inher rather prim way, "but I heard voices..." She turned toGraziella. "Mr. Haversley is stopping in bed this morning. He'dlike you to go up to him when you've had your swim!"

I looked at Graziella—she was her old, well-balancedself again. "Very good, Miss Ingersoll," she replied, and thesecretary went away. Graziella made no attempt to move—shewas tapping out a cigarette on the back of her hand. "I've beenmeaning to ask you this," I said to her. "What's wrong with Vic?What's he scared of?"

She looked at me gravely. "You noticed him when we were outriding yesterday?"

"Yes, and generally..."

She shook her head. "I don't know..."

"You've asked him?"

"Oh, yes, but he always flies into a passion." She paused."That's why I try to bear with him, Pete—he has somethingon his mind. It's what started him drinking, I'm sure. I feel sodreadfully sorry for him. Sometimes, when he thinks he's notbeing observed, his eyes are terrible..."

"And you've no idea what the reason might be?"

"There was some talk back home about threateningletters—labour trouble, you know; but Vic denies it."

I swung about, for there was a step on the porch. FritzWaters, very spruce in a Palm Beach suit, was smiling at us fromthe doorway. "Good morning," he said easily. "Sorry I'm late,Graziella, but that secretary woman was snooping around."

She had sprung up, prettily flustered. "She was here justnow," she exclaimed. "She didn't see you, Fritz, I hope?"

He shook his head, smiling at her affectionately. "No,ma'am!"

She turned to me. "Pete, I had to have a word with him inprivate. I told him to meet me here—I knew you wouldn'tmind. No, you needn't go," she added, as I moved towards thedoor. "Fritz," she said, addressing him again, "you've got toforget about last night. If you'll leave it to me, I can smoothit over..."

His eyes had grown stern—he was regarding her with animplacable air. "Fritz," she cried, with increasing agitation,"you must be reasonable. Don't spoil our week-end together!"

He shook his head like a big bear. "Last night was thefinish," he said sternly. "I've stood all I'm going to stand fromhim, and so have you. I told you I'd come down here to have itout with him, Graziella, and I'm going to. That's flat!"

"And what good will that do?" she almost wailed. "He'll takeme away, and I'll never see you again!"

"You can leave him, can't you?" he answered in his deep voice."You know I'm waiting, sweetheart—I shall always bewaiting..."

"I can't do it, when he's ill and miserable and frightened.Oh, Fritz, have a little pity—don't make it so hard forme!"

"He's not worth it," said Waters. "He doesn't appreciateyou—he's never appreciated you. Do you think I can exist,away from you, knowing that you're tied to that brute?"

I should have gone away at once and left them to their talk,but the passion in their voices held me, and I seemed rooted tothe spot.

She caught him by the lapels of his coat. "I can bear it,Fritz, if only I can see you sometimes..."

He shook his big head. "No, Graziella, you're too good for anyunderhand business. You've got to realise it—it's the show-down!"

"You're so impatient," she murmured, and the tone of her voicewas like a caress. "For God's sake, Fritz, give me a littletime!"

And then I broke out. "Why should he, by all that's holy?" Istruck in, and before she could stop me, I whipped off her cloak.With a faint cry she shrank back, folding her arms across herchest to conceal the bruise, so that it was as though she werenaked under her wrap. I plucked her hand away. "Look at that!" Iexclaimed. "He gave her that last night!"

Waters's face flamed. He stuck out his lower lip and groundhis teeth. "The hound!" he said. "I'll kill him for this!"

Her face buried in her hands, she had fallen against his chestand now, with infinite tenderness, his arms enfolded her andI—well, I crept away. I should like to claim it was from asense of delicacy—actually, it was the realisation, sharpas a stab, that I meant, and should always mean, nothing to her,which sent me groping blindly into the sunshine.

Miss Ingersoll was just outside. She stood at the top of thesteps facing the door. I felt certain she'd been spying—herflat-heeled shoes had rubber soles, I noticed. To draw her out ofearshot of the shack I brushed past her and went across the grasspatch to the water's edge.

"Oh, Mr. Blakeney," she said, trailing after me, "have youseen anything of Mr. Lumsden?"

I glanced back at the shack—Graziella and Waters did notappear—and shook my head.

"He may have gone to church. What is it?"

"The sheriff rang up."

"Hank Wells? What did he want?"

"It's about that man you met in the woods yesterdayafternoon."

"I pricked up my ears. So Vic had got Charles to put thesheriff on to the beggar.

"The State police have been up to Jake Harper's place," thesecretary went on, "but Jake denies all knowledge of him. Thepolice think he's moved on..."

"Do they know who the fellow is?"

"By Mr. Haversley's description the Utica police are prettysure it's a man called Ed Wharton. He's a New York gunman. Theysay he's hiding in Utica. They raided his lodgings on Thursday,but he escaped."

"A New York gunman, eh? Well, this should ease Haversley'smind. He seemed to think it was some gangster from way backhome..."

Miss Ingersoll made no comment, but only said in her ratherprim way, "If you see Mr. Lumsden, you might tell him. I must goback to Mr. Haversley now—he's not getting up thismorning."

I watched her go, then strolled as far as the dock. I loungedthere until I saw Graziella and Waters crossing the garden, thenreturned to my typewriter.

CHAPTER 6

I WAS bidden to bridge at the house after dinnerthat night. What with summer-time it was still broad daylightwhen, around half-past eight, I entered the big living-room. Theparty had risen from dinner and were scattered in groups, takingtheir coffee. Everything seemed amicable: I began to think thatGraziella had been as good as her word and smoothed thingsout.

My first glance was for her. Very graceful in a plain blackdinner frock she was stooping over an enormous picture puzzlewhich Edith Lumsden and old Miss Ryder were doing. Victor,looking singularly affable, and Charles Lumsden, both with bigcigars, hovered in the background. Vic was chaffing Sara andpointing out pieces to her as, looking very sweet in blue, sherested her dimpled arms on the table. The other children werehaving one of their usual vociferous arguments. It turned, as wewere to have good cause to remember, on a string of blue mummybeads which Sara was wearing and which Buster Leighton proclaimedwere unlucky. I looked about for Waters, and saw him, standingalone before the big fireplace, smoking a pipe with an abstractedair.

On perceiving me, Vic came over. I had the instant feelingthat he wanted to extend the olive branch. He asked me joviallywhere I'd been all day, and I explained I'd been working. Henodded approvingly.

"So have I. I stayed in bed until dinner, but Miss Ingersollwas with me all afternoon taking dictation. She's hard at workstill..." He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and I heard, on thefloor above, the distant rattle of typewriter keys. "We have abig report to get out," he vouchsafed. "I'm off to the cabin nowto work on it. A tough job—we've been at it all week. It'staken a good deal out of me..." He broke off and contemplated theend of his cigar. "And that reminds me, old man," he went on, "Iowe you an apology for breaking up your reading last night.There's nothing very much I can say, I guess, exceptthat—well, I was a bit tight."

I felt very embarrassed. "That's all right, Vic," I said.

"I made a thundering ass of myself, and I'm sorry," he wenton. "A man can't say more than that, can he?" He put his hand onmy arm. "No hard feelings, Pete?"

He was in his most charming mood: butter wouldn't melt in hismouth. But I couldn't help thinking of that bruise.

"Say no more about it," I told him pretty stiffly, and went towhere Charles and Graziella were waiting for me to playbridge.

Vic noticed nothing—the most violent emotions appearedto run off him like water off a duck's back. The next thing I sawof him was at the puzzle table, with his arm round Sara's waist,leaning over her shoulder. Fortunately, Dave had been called outof the room to speak to the chauffeur about some bait he wasexpecting by rail. Vic did not linger. Presently, he waved us ageneral good-night, and, telling Graziella he would be late, wentoff to his work.

Vic or Edith usually played with us. Edith declining to quither puzzle, Graziella got Fritz Waters—rather against hiswill, it seemed to me—to make a fourth. The youngsters, whowere going on the lake, trooped off. Sara, who said she had towrite to her mother, remained behind and went on with the puzzle.Presently, old Bracegirdle appeared from the verandah rubbing hishands.

"Well, my doughty adversary," he said to Miss Ryder, "all setfor the evening's encounter?"

This was the doctor's invariable preliminary to chess, whichhe and Miss Ryder played together every night afterdinner—usually on the verandah, unless it was raining.

Miss Ryder, a merry, active little body with a wrinkled face,sniffed. "How does the score stand now, Oscar Bracegirdle?" shedemanded in her rather squeaky voice.

"Twenty-eight games to seventeen, my pet!"

"Come on," she said, rising. "To-night, I warn you, I'm goingto knock the stuffing out of you!"

"And what more exquisite fate at such dainty hands!"

They were a funny pair, these two, always chipping oneanother—we got a lot of amusem*nt out of it.

"Go along with you, you ruffian!" exclaimed Miss Ryder,delighted, and they trotted off to their game together.

I partnered Graziella against Charles and Waters. Waters wasdistrait, and Charles, who took his bridge seriously, didn't likeit. Even Graziella was annoyed with her young man, and there wereinquests after every hand. Edith went to bed.

"Dave drifted in. Where's Sara?" he wanted to know.

I hadn't noticed her go out. But Waters said, "She went outabout five minutes ago..."

"She's probably down at the White Bungalow, Dave," Graziellaput in. "She spoke of writing letters..."

Dave drifted out again.

At last we had the big room to ourselves. Our bridge wasuninteresting. Charles and Waters were sparring, and when, at theend of a hand, Miss Ryder came in for ice-water, I was glad toescape and carry it out for her. As the night was warm, they hadset out their chessboard round the turn of the verandah, wherethere was a little breeze. A lamp above the table shone down uponthe doctor's bald pate as, with chin on fist, in the attitude ofRodin's 'Penseur', he stared abstractedly at theboard.

"Would you believe it?" said Miss Ryder resignedly. "He's beena good twenty minutes by the clock over a single move..." Shechuckled. "I'm going to beat him to-night, and he knows it!"

It was five to eleven by the clock over the fireplace when thekids came back. We were just finishing a rubber and Waters wantedto quit.

"I'm all in to-night," he said. "I guess this mountain air'stoo much for me. I believe I'll go to bed!" With that, refusing adrink, he bade us all good-night and went out.

Charles and I split a bottle of beer. Someone had turned onthe radio, and the young people were dancing. Sara was back,whirling round in Buster's stalwart arms—the room was fullof bustle and noise. Presently I saw that the chess players hadcome in from the verandah. Miss Ryder had beaten the doctor intwo straight games, and was crowing over him while he mixed her aweak whisky-and-water. The radio was running full blast: thechildren were making such a row that Charles called out to hisson, "Be quieter, can't you? Your mother's gone to bed!" But noone paid any attention to him.

I drank up my beer and decided to turn in. I thought I'd havea word with Graziella before I left; but when I looked for hershe was gone. At that moment I suddenly remembered Trevor Dene.Heavens, he'd said he'd come over for a drink around ten, and itwas now ten minutes past eleven—I dashed off.

There was no moon. It was as dark as Hades outside. A light inmy shack and the sight of the outboard motor tied to the mooring-post told me that my visitor was still there. I found Denereclining full length on my couch, deep in the study of myThesaurus. He brushed my apologies aside. "You didn't mind mymaking myself at home?"

"I should have been very hurt if you hadn't!"

I got out the whisky, and we talked. I said no more aboutWade, and he did not revert to the subject—we discussedbooks. It was exactly 12.40—I remember Dene looking at hiswatch and saying it was time he was going—when a series ofbloodcurdling yells intermingled with distant splashesinterrupted us. Dene sat up in mock alarm.

"It wouldn't be an Indian rising, would it? Or would it?"

"It's only the kids going for a moonlight bathe," I said, andglanced out of the window. "Look, the moon's coming up!"

With a slight shiver, my companion settled himself back amonghis cushions again. "I could never be very crazy about moon-burn," he remarked whimsically. "The sun's good enough forme!"

It might have been five minutes later when, as we sat yarningthere in a cloud of tobacco smoke, I heard Dickie Lumsden callme: "Pete! Pete!"

There was a note of alarm in his voice that brought me in ahurry to the door. Dickie and Buster, naked to the waist, indripping shorts, were there. The moon was flooding the horizonwith light, and every shadow was hard and sharp.

Dickie's face was screwed up as though he were about to burstinto tears. He said huskily, "Pete, Vic's up there in thetrapper's cabin. He's shot himself!"

CHAPTER 7

A CHILL breeze had sprung up: the boys wereshivering in their thin swimming-trunks. Teeth chattering, as heran along at my side, Dickie panted out, "He's slumped in hischair at the desk. Myrtle found him. We'd been in for a moonlightbathe, and the girls were cold coming out. We thought we'd see ifVic was still up and cadge a drink off him. He usually has abottle of Scotch there, and Dad had gone to bed—he alwayslocks the drinks away, the last thing at night. Oh, Pete, it'sawful! He's sitting there beside the lamp and he doesn'tmove..."

I had an icy sensation at the heart. This was horrible.

"Myrtle had the most frightful shock," said Buster on my otherside. "We were all racing for the cabin, and she was ahead. Shewalked bung in on him. At first she thought he was asleep; butthen she saw the gun in his hand..."

"I touched his hand," Dickie put in, "and the gun dropped onthe floor. Dad and Dr. Bracegirdle are with him. Dad sent me tofetch you."

The path emerged upon the cabin at the side. A window wasflung back there with drawn curtains that stirred in the breeze,so that we could see the light within. The clearing was as brightas day from the moon that hung like a great yellow lamp in theaisles of trees, and the sky blazed with stars. On its patch ofrough turf the cabin, low of roof and fashioned of logs, had aforsaken air. The passing hoot of an owl stressed the stillness:at the foot of the boulder-strewn slope the lake was a tongue ofmolten silver in the moonlight.

We went round to the front. The two windows that flanked thedoor, one on either side, and the door itself were wide open. Ihad discarded my coat at the shack, and my shirt was sticking tomy back—I realised that I was literally sweating with thefear of the sight that awaited me—God, it was tooghastly!

Without moving from the threshold, I knew he wasdead—there's a limpness about a corpse that never deceives.The table which he used as a desk had its chair backing towardsthe door because, he used to say, the view of the lake distractedhim. He was humped in the chair, with his head fallen forwardamong his papers and his right hand dangling down along thechair-leg. An old-fashioned paraffin lamp with a white glassshade furnished the only light. It stood on the desk a bare footfrom the dead man's head, its rays bringing into relief everystrand of his yellowish hair, which he wore rather long andcombed back to cover up his incipient baldness. Something winkedand sparkled in the lamplight on the bearskin beneath the table.It was an automatic, a heavy model, of oxydised metal.

His bald head thrust forward at a questing angle, his mouth,almost grotesquely wide and full-lipped, pursed forbiddingly, Dr.Bracegirdle fussed about the body under Lumsden's sorrowfulglance. Both men were in dressing-gowns. I was shocked to seeGraziella there. In a white négligé edged with white fur shestood with Edith Lumsden, who was in a kimono, against thedresser silently looking on. She had creamed her face for thenight, so that it was absolutely bloodless, and her gleaming hairwas coiled in a loose knot on her neck. The way her hair waslooped back, the white, flowing robe, gave her an air of classictragedy—she looked like Phèdre. She did not move when,presently, Dr. Bracegirdle beckoned to Charles. Raising the deadman's head, he pointed to a small round hole in the middle of theright temple. It was blackened at the edges.

Charles gave a sort of groan. "Poor, poor fellow!" he murmuredand averted his gaze.

A clock in a glass case painted in the naive manner of thepioneer days ticked ponderously on the wall. His eyes upon it,Bracegirdle said, "It's now five minutes to one. In my opinionhe's been dead for two hours: in other words, death took placesomewhere around eleven o'clock..." He pulled down the cuffs ofhis dressing-gown and brushed his hands together. "We won't touchanything more until the sheriff arrives. You sent for him, Ithink?"

Charles nodded. "I sent the chauffeur in the fastest boat.They should be here any minute now..."

I pointed my foot at the pistol on the floor. "Where did heget the gun?"

"He kept it in the table drawer. I blame myself—I shouldnever have let him have it. But I couldn'tforesee—this!"

Feet drummed, and Miss Ingersoll was in the midst of us. In afaded print wrapper, her hair scraped back off her face, Iscarcely recognised her.

"There's some mistake," she cried passionately, "it isn'ttrue—it can't be true..." She swung to Lumsden. "He wasn'tthe man to take his own life, Mr. Lumsden. I knew him sowell..."

"I'm afraid there's no doubt about it, Miss Ingersoll," wasthe somewhat testy answer. "Tell me, did you see him after dinnerto-night?"

She shook her head. "He asked particularly not to bedisturbed, as he had this report to get out—I had a mass ofnotes to transcribe, anyway. I didn't come down to dinner, if youremember, but had a tray in my room. When I'd finished my typingI went to bed..."

While speaking she had stepped up to the table. "Look!" shecried. "He was working on his report!"

Two sheets of typewriting paper, covered with pencilledhandwriting, with many erasures and insertions, were draped overthe inkstand. The sheet of paper under the dead man's head caughtmy attention. It was numbered "3," and halfway down the writingended abruptly. Through a long, reddish smear I read, "Inattempting to evaluate the probable action of the Federal ReserveBank..." There the writing stopped.

I pointed at the paper. "It looks as though he'd broken off inthe middle of a sentence to shoot himself."

"By Jove, you're right!" Charles exclaimed excitedly. Heturned to the doctor. "Oscar, what do you make of that?"

Bracegirdle shrugged. "Most suicides are the result of asudden, uncontrollable impulse, you know..."

Lumsden blew his nose loudly. "He was in such good spirits atdinner to-night, do you remember, Oscar? That unpleasantness oflast evening seemed to have quite blown over. He'd apologisedvery handsomely to Edith and me, and he told me," he added,looking at me, "that he was going to apologise to you,Pete..."

"He did. He came up to me before dinner..."

"I mention it," Charles observed gravely, "because I don'twant anybody to imagine that the scene we were compelled towitness last night has any bearing on this shocking tragedy. Yousee, there was another reason which none of you knows about. Vic,poor chap, swore me to secrecy, because he was determined to keepthe truth from you, Graziella..." Out of respect for the deadman, to whom the glance of every one of us kept returning, asthough by instinct, he had lowered his voice to a hushedundertone.

Graziella spoke for the first time—it was like a statuecoming to life. "The truth," she repeated uncertainly. "The truthabout what?"

Lumsden's eyes rested sombrely on the limp figure in thechair. "If ever a man was hounded to his death, it was VictorHaversley," he declared, frowning. "Do you know why he came East,Graziella? It was because his life was threatened—yours,too, if it comes to that..."

She stared at him in consternation. "It's the first I've heardof it."

"Ever since Repeal, the Kummer Brewery has had trouble withgangsters. Chicago hoodlums, formerly in the alky-cooking racket,have been trying to levy blackmail on the brewers, hijackingtheir trucks, beating up and even killing the drivers. Vic wasinstrumental in sending up five of the ringleaders for longsentences. Since then the gang's been after him!"

My glance sought out the flaccid form at the table. Of course,this explained his outburst in the woods. No wonder the poordevil looked haunted!—Dene had been right. By the way, whathad become of Dene? I realised I'd forgotten all abouthim—he must have remained in my shack.

Charles went on, "Threats rained in on him—anonymous'phone calls, notes pushed under the door. His constant fear wasthat you, Graziella, should find out. Two attempts to dynamitethe house were foiled by the police. After the second Vic decidedto quit. His nerve went back on him, and no wonder..."

How little one ever learns about the human heart, I mused. Oddto come upon this unexpected streak of chivalry in Vic Haversley.He didn't mind getting drunk and brutalising his wife; yet, tospare her anxiety, he'd been willing to carry the burden of hissecret alone. Graziella was moved, too—at any rate, shecontinued to gaze at Charles with a forlorn and bewilderedair.

"If I'd known of this, maybe I could have done something aboutit," rumbled the doctor, wiping his glasses. "The persistentrepression of any violent emotion is fundamentally unsound, andleads to all kinds of mental disturbances. The War taught usthat. What you've told us explains a great deal, Charles. Thepoor fellow put up a good fight, but his mind gave way atlast..."

Graziella said passionately, "Why wasn't I told? Why wasn't Itold?"

"It was to spare you, my dear," Charles replied. "Vic had hisfaults, but he was truly attached to you. Myself, I thought youshould be informed, and said as much to your husband. But hewouldn't have it..." He slipped his arm about her. "But come,there's nothing further we can do here for the moment. I'm goingto ask Edith to see you to bed..." With that he hustled us alloutside and closed the door behind him.

The coarse grass before the cabin gleamed like silk under themoon. A figure burst into the clearing. At first I thought it wasDene, but then saw it was Waters. He was fully dressed, and hisshoes were dusty. At the sight of us all grouped before the huthe stopped short. Graziella was speaking to Miss Ingersoll.

"Did you know about theses threats?" I heard her say.

The secretary nodded, tight-lipped. "Mr. Haversley had nosecrets from me," she answered.

It was not tactfully put, and Graziella flushed. "Have theybeen coming since we've been here?" she asked coldly.

Miss Ingersoll shook her head. "No, Mrs. Haversley!"

Graziella said no more. Lumsden was arguing with the Doctor."But if he did it around eleven o'clock, as you suggest, Oscar,"he was saying, "why did none of us hear the shot? After all, wewere all up and about..." He glanced round the circle for Dickieand said, "Some of you were out on the lake to-night—didnone of you hear anything?"

"Not that I remember, Dad," the boy replied. "But I don't knowthat we'd have noticed particularly. We often hear shots afterdark—it's some of the fellows in the village out after therabbits..."

"And in any case we were all in by eleven," Buster put in.

I spoke up. "That's right, and it probably explains themystery—as to why we heard nothing, I mean. From eleveno'clock on the youngsters were all in the living-room, kicking upthe devil of a noise with the radio, don't you remember? Theycould have let off Big Bertha, and we wouldn't have heardit..."

"By Jove, I believe you've hit it, Pete," Charles exclaimed."But what about the rest of us—those who weren't in theroom, I mean?"

A rather gruff voice said unexpectedly, "I heard a shot!"

Miss Ryder confronted us in the moonlight, leaning on thecrutch-handled cane she always carried. She was wearing a tweedcoat over a lavender dressing-gown, and a boudoir cap concealedher short, grey hair. "You did?" Charles cried. "When?Where?"

"It was at five minutes past eleven precisely," was the promptrejoinder. "I'd glanced at my watch, thinking it was long past mybed time. It was just before Oscar and I came in off theverandah..."

"And did the sound appear to come from the direction of thecabin?" Lumsden questioned.

"It came from somewhere in the woods, at any rate. I rememberthinking it seemed pretty close to the house..."

Charles turned to Dr. Bracegirdle. "There's your confirmation,Oscar. But wait a minute. You were out on the verandah with MissRyder—how did it happen that you didn't hear the shot?"

With a short, scathing laugh Miss Ryder answered for thedoctor. "You could ha' fired a gun right off in his ear and hewouldn't ha' been any the wiser!" she declared. "You werecheckmate at the time," she said to Bracegirdle, "but you'realways so darned obstinate, you wouldn't admit it..." She waggedher head at Charles. "When that man's absorbed in a move, the SanFrancisco earthquake wouldn't shake him out of it!"

Old Bracegirdle gave a rueful laugh. "I guess you're right atthat, Janet," he admitted.

Lumsden extended his wrist-watch to the moon. "Hank's takinghis time," he murmured fretfully. "I suppose we ought to notifythe coroner, eh, Oscar?"

"Undoubtedly," said Bracegirdle.

Charles turned to me. "Will you see to it, Pete? It's Dr.Gavan, over at Newton's Corners. Central in the village'll putyou through..."

At that time of night it took me a good quarter of an hour toget on to the coroner's house. The doctor was out at aconfinement, Mrs. Gavan told me, but she promised to have himover at the camp first thing in the morning. The telephone at themain house was in a booth off the living-room. I emerged to findDickie and Buster there, swathed in blankets. They had lit thefire and were drinking toddy. The sheriff had arrived, they said,and was down at the cabin with Lumsden and Bracegirdle. Graziellawas also with them.

I refused a drink and went out into the moonlight again. Icame upon Waters on the edge of the clearing. There were voiceswithin the cabin. Graziella was inside, Waters told me. At thesame instant she appeared. Her face was stricken. Waters sprangforward. "Graziella! What's the matter?"

She seemed to catch her breath. "Something very odd," sheanswered. "They're saying it isn't suicide!"

CHAPTER 8

SHE had run to Waters—instinctively, as Ithought—and looked from him to me as she spoke.

He frowned, his features inscrutable. "Who says this?" hedemanded abruptly.

"Some man the sheriff brought with him. It's nonsense, ofcourse..." She appealed to me. "You were there before, Pete, youheard what Dr. Bracegirdle said..."

"Of course it's suicide," I reassured her.

At that moment a rather high-pitched voice came to us throughthe open door of the cabin. "I'm not concerned at present withthe motive, Doctor," it pronounced, clear and precise. "I'mdealing now only with the ocular evidence..."

I started. The English accent was unmistakable. It was myfriend Trevor Dene. How on earth had he got there? Then Iremembered that he knew Hank Wells—hadn't he hired hisboat? Damn the fellow! To try out his detective stunts on me wasone thing: to bluff Hank into letting him make a painful domestictragedy the subject of his experiments was a different matter. Ifelt rather indignant—after all, I was responsible forintroducing him to the Lumsden camp.

I turned to Waters. "I have to see Lumsden about the coroner,"I explained. "For heaven's sake, take Graziella back to the houseand see that she gets some sleep!" And to Graziella I said,"Don't worry, honey! It's only some crazy amateur detectiveHank's got hold of. Run along home now, and I'll talk to you inthe morning!"

I waited only long enough to see her depart on Waters's arm,then entered the cabin. It was Dene all right. He stood up at thetable, the lamp light glinting on his glasses as he moved hishead this way and that in speaking. The small hut seemed crowded.Hank Wells, the sheriff, was a prominent figure, all six foot ofhim. He was in his old blue sweater, patched knee-breeches andshooting-boots reaching halfway up grey, woollenstockings—we never saw him in any other rig. With him werethe two State troopers who lodged at "The Cedars" in the village,very smart in their slouch hats, grey blouses and black-leatherleggings. One of them, Fred Good, who had been in the Marines, Iknew—he had the automatic wrapped in a handkerchief. Denehad raised the body up in its chair and, disregarding Charles andold Bracegirdle across the table from him, appeared to beaddressing himself exclusively to the sheriff. The dead man'sface was livid in the lamplight—he looked grotesque andhorrible, sprawling there.

"It's been established in a number of cases," Dene was sayingas I came in, "that it's virtually impossible to shoot oneselfeffectively through the temple with an automatic pistol unlessyou hold the weapon upside down. I'm speaking of an automatic,remember—a revolver's different. It's a question of therecoil, which, in the automatic, as you know, is utilised for thepurpose of sliding the next cartridge into the firing position inthe broach. The recoil throws the gun up, and the chances arethat you inflict merely a scalp wound. In any event, the bulletwould come out through the top of the head. But look at him! Thetop of his head's untouched. The bullet's probably lodgedsomewhere inside the skull..."

So saying he laid the dead man's head gently back upon thetable and, with his jaunty, listless air, seemed to turn hisattention to the room. The lamp cast its light upon a typicalearly American interior. With its log walls, moss-packed, itstruckle bed spread with a buffalo robe, its stone fireplace withandirons and roasting spit, its old colonial dresser, the placealways put me in mind of a certain coloured print of a pioneer'shut in a cherished copy of Leather Stocking I possessedas a kid. A wall telephone was the only incongruous touch. Ithung beside the door in the corner leading to the washroom andkitchen which Charles had built on to the original structure.

The sheriff gave his nose a wipe on the back of a bony wristand observed in a slow drawl, looking at Charles, "He worn'tholdin' the gun upside down when they found him, as I hearedof!"

"He was holding the gun the right way up, there's no doubtabout that," Lumsden put in sharply. "I made my son show me howhe was grasping it, with a finger curled round thetrigger..."

Raspingly old Bracegirdle cleared his throat. "We needn'twaste our time discussing theories," he remarked dispassionately."If there are really any doubts as to how our poor friend met hisdeath I am very sure that the autopsy will set them at rest. You,Mr. Sheriff, have heard of the threats the deceased received. Iwasn't his medical attendant, but I've had him under constantobservation for the past fortnight, and he was in a highlyunbalanced state. Moreover, it's quite possible that his chanceencounter with this gunman yesterday, which I heard about onlythis evening, may have affected him more than we'd any ideaof..."

"Ef it wuz chance," the sheriff commented nasally.

Charles drew down his white eyebrows in a frown. "You're notseriously suggesting that this fellow Wharton might have killedhim?" he faltered.

"Ain't seggestin' nothin'—jes' wonderin'," was theimperturbable reply.

"If there should be the remotest grounds for such apreposterous conjecture," the doctor began.

But the sheriff cut him off. "How long's he bin dead?" hedemanded.

Dene felt the dead man's pendent hand. "Rigor hasn't set inyet," he remarked. "But then, what with the lamp and so forth,it's fairly close in here. The temperature always makes adifference..."

"It's Dr. Bracegirdle's opinion," Charles struck in ratherstiffly, "that death must have taken place around eleveno'clock."

Dene glanced at Bracegirdle. "You're more positive than manydoctors would care to be. These things are hard to judge,although, in my experience, some doctors are much better at itthan others..."

Old Bracegirdle seemed to bristle. "As it happens, my estimatewas not far out. Actually, the poor fellow killed himselfprecisely at eleven-five. Miss Ryder, one of the guests at thecamp, heard the shot..." Adjusting his eyeglasses, he confrontedthe Englishman with an air of challenge.

The young man co*cked his head approvingly. "Pretty good. Icongratulate you, doctor. At eleven-five, eh? I wonder I didn'thear the shot myself..."

"You weren't here as early as that, surely?" said Charles.

"Oh, but I was," was the cheerful answer. "I was waiting forMr. Blakeney here in his shack. Wasn't I, old man?"

Charles looked at me rather coldly. "I see!" he remarked.

"These automatics make the devil of a row," Dene went on, "andthat shack of Blakeney's isn't so far from this, is it? I oughtto have heard the report. However, sound's a freakish thing theway it travels—they had some interesting experiences in theWar with zones of silence, as they call them. And up here in themountains..."

But now old Bracegirdle, who was growing visibly impatient,broke in. "I see no object in prolonging this discussion," hesaid to Charles. "For me and for all of us, with the exception ofthis gentleman, I believe the facts are clear. In any case, let'sawait the result of the post-mortem. The coroner'll perform it, Isuppose?" he went on, turning to the sheriff.

Hank nodded. "That reminds me," he observed to Charles, andpointed at the telephone. "'Twouldn't hurt none to give Doc Gavana ring rightaway!"

I spoke up and said that the matter had been attendedto—the coroner would be at the camp first thing in themorning.

"He ain't in such a tearin' hurry es a rule," remarked thesheriff impassively.

"Do we have to wait for the coroner?" Charles wanted to know."Otherwise, I should very much like to move the body up to thehouse at once, if it's all the same to you, Hank."

"Go ahead an' shift him, ef you want to," was the tranquilrejoinder. "The boys here brung a stretcher along—it'sstill layin' in the boat, I reckon. How 'bout it, Fred?"

Trooper Good having clattered out, Hank, with the extremedeliberation characterising his every movement, jerked his headin the direction of the dead man. "Jes' when wuz he last seenalive?" he said to Charles.

"That was one of the first questions I asked myself," Lumsdenanswered, "and from inquiries I made while waiting for you itseems clear that no one saw him from the time when, around nineo'clock, he left the house to come down here..."

"An' no one didn't drop in on him between whiles?"

"Apparently not."

A clear voice struck in. "I suppose there's no doubt aboutthat?" Dene had spoken. He stood at the writing-table, staringmoodily at the litter of papers that strewed it.

"None, so far as I know," Charles replied rather stiffly. "Notcounting poor Haversley, we're thirteen here at the camp. Lastnight four of us—Blakeney here, Mrs. Haversley, Mr. Watersand I—were playing bridge; my two youngsters with MissFletcher and young Leighton were out on the lake; Dr. Bracegirdleand Miss Ryder were on the verandah; and Miss Ingersoll, Mr.Haversley's secretary, was in her bedroom typing."

"That don't make only eleven," Hank pointed outcautiously.

"Let's see, who else is there?" said Charles, scratching hishead. "Oh yes, Mrs. Lumsden's niece, Miss Carruthers—shewas down at her bungalow writing letters—and then there'sDave Jarvis. Dave took a row-boat out on the lake and went to bedearly. In any case," he went on, "either I or my wife made apoint of questioning every member of our party whose movementsweren't otherwise accounted for, and I'm satisfied that no onewas anywhere near the cabin throughout the evening..."

Then Trooper Good appeared with the stretcher. He and hiscomrades set the dead man upon it and silently bore him out intothe moonlight.

"I'll be up at the house if you want me, Hank," Charles saidto the sheriff. "And you, Pete," he added to me, "you'd better goto bed!"

"The same goes fer you, Mr. Lumsden," Hank observed. "Thereain't nothin' more you kin do ter-night. I'll jes' have a wordwith Trev here,"—he jerked a thumb in Dene'sdirection—"an' be over first thing. The finger-print manfrom the State police at Springsville's stopping by fer me in themorning. I'll lock up here an' bring the key with me when Icome..."

"Very good, Hank. Come, Oscar..." With a harassed air Charlesnodded and, followed by the doctor, went out after the trooperswith their burden.

CHAPTER 9

THE sheriff of Springsville County was famousfor miles around for his shrewdness and sturdy independence ofcharacter. A woodsman from his early youth, he left themanagement of the store entirely to his wife, and spent most ofhis time escorting parties on hunting and fishing excursions intothe woods. With his lanky figure, straight as a larch for all hissixty-three years, his silvering hair cut in a lick à laWill Rogers, and his deliberate, faintly cynical drawl, he was atype right out of the pages of Mark Twain. His small, fearlesseyes sparkled with not unkindly malice, the clean-shaven mouth,with its long upper lip, was firm and framed by two long creaseslike a comedian's. A rounded, bulbous nose, streaked with littleveins, gave the face quite a Bardolphian air.

That he had not joined Charles and the doctor in dismissingDene's suggestion as preposterous intrigued me considerably. Itlikewise filled me with a curious misgiving. Who was this vagueEnglishman who was permitted to air his fantastic theories inthis way, and why did Charles stand for it? I looked for Dene. Hewas still rooted before the writing-table, gazing down at thepapers where the dead man's head had rested.

"What's on your mind, son?" the sheriff drawled.

The young man made no answer. Seeing Hank approach the table,I followed. As far as I could determine, the table displayednothing beyond the usual desk appointments—on the extremeleft the lighted lamp, then a glass vase with some roses, besideit the bronze inkstand half-hidden by the sheets of Vic'smanuscript, a wire letter-basket, a porcelain ash-tray and, onthe extreme right, a box of cigars. The edges of a leather-boundblotter protruded from under the papers.

Dene spoke suddenly. "Haversley smoked, didn't he?"

Hank looked towards me, and I said, "Sure."

Dene pointed at the cigar box. "Cigars, eh?"

"Nothing but. The doctor had cut him down to four a day, but Idon't believe he kept to it..."

There was no reply—Dene was glancing about on the floor.It was the waste-paper basket he was in search of. He dragged it,a gilt wire affair, to the light. It contained nothing but somecrumpled sheets of typewriting paper. He smoothed them out,glanced over them and dropped them back in the basket. I noticedthat he scrutinised the bearskin rug, where the basket had stood,before replacing it in its old position on the right of thedesk.

"Take a look at this!" he said at last.

He was pointing at the ash-tray. It was not only empty, butalso spotless. The young man shook his head. "Even a fellow whosecigars are rationed to four a day will keep one to smoke in theevening after dinner," he suggested. "Particularly when he has areport to write..."

I had a curious sense of foreboding. "I remember now," I putin. "He was smoking a cigar when I joined the party up at thehouse after dinner to-night..."

"What sort of cigar? Big? Little? Havana? Domestic?"

"One of the big Coronas he always smoked. He used to importthem specially from Cuba, I believe. Those are they in thatbox..."

Muffling his hand in his handkerchief, Dene raised the lid ofthe cigar box, then pursed his lips in a noiseless whistle. "Theylook disgustingly expensive. One of these big fellows would takehim at least an hour to smoke. What time was it when you saw himwith a cigar?"

"Soon after half-past eight."

"And he came down here about nine? Yet he left no ash eitherin the ash-tray or the waste-paper basket!" He closed the box."You'll want to look it over for finger-prints, Hank," hesuggested nonchalantly. Then he pointed at the vase of roses."That vase, too! Notice anything about it?"

The sheriff stepped forward. "'Tain't only a quarter full o'water!"

"Look at the table, man!"

Dark red leather was let into the table-top. A faint circulardepression was visible in front of the spot where the vase nowstood. Hank peered at the mark, then, extending a gnarled finger,gingerly felt the leather. "That vayze got tipped over—theleather's damp yit!" he exclaimed. "Struck it with his head as hefell forward, I guess!"

"So I should imagine. But who set the vase up again? Didn'tLumsden assure us that nothing on the table had been touched? Inthat case the vase must have been standing upright as we see itnow when the body was first discovered!"

Dubiously the sheriff fingered his long jaw. "You mean,someone come in after he wuz killed an' emptied the ash-tray an'mopped up the spilt water an' kinda tidied up gen'rally?"

"Well, I was wondering," was the quiet reply. His modest air,his allusive manner, didn't deceive me. I was feeling pretty wellfed up with Master Dene. This amateur sleuthing was all right indetective stories—in real life I was finding it highlyobjectionable. I could see that Charles resented the stranger'spresence, not only because the latter had gravely offended Dr.Bracegirdle, who was a harmless old thing, but also because hewas filling up Hank Wells, who was an arrant gossip, with thesecrazy theories of his. And really what evidence had Dene adducedin support of his monstrous suggestion that Haversley had beenmurdered? Apart from some highly technical rigmarole about theposition of the gun, nothing more convincing than an empty ash-tray, and a flower vase overset and replaced—incidents forwhich the dead man, as easily as anyone else, could beresponsible!

Considerably exasperated by this, I looked around the roomwithout detecting the smallest scrap of evidence in corroborationof Dene's insinuation. There was no trace of a struggle—thecabin was in apple-pie order. On the dresser, with its array ofcrockery, before which the young man had come to a halt, not adish or a plate was out of place: even the three tumblers whichstood on a glass tray placed there, flanking a bottle of whisky,an ice bowl and a siphon, were unused and turned down.Nevertheless, Dene lifted each glass in his handkerchief,examined it and put it back.

The hearth was spotless; but our inquisitive companion stoopedto scrutinise the pine logs laid ready for lighting and the bareflags beneath, and even to take a look up the chimney. And,though the camp-bed was unruffled, he must spend quite a timeporing over the three or four leather cushions piled there beforeturning his attention to the buffalo robe that covered it. Iglanced at Hank to see what he made of this performance. But thesheriff's battered countenance might have been carved out ofwood, as he stolidly regarded the young man. For anything hisfeatures revealed, he might have been playing poker down at AlGreen's, the village barber, where there was usually a game onSunday nights.

Dene had finished up on his knees, groping under the bed. Atlast he rose, and perceiving, as though for the first time, thedoor that led to the kitchen, promptly disappeared throughit.

I turned to Hank impatiently. "What's the big idea? And justwho's this nut you've turned loose on us? Hawkshaw the detectiveor what?"

The sheriff gurgled. "You ain't tellin' me as how you don'tknow?"

"If I did, should I be asking you?"

He bubbled with silent mirth. "Durn et, ef that don't beatall! An' he visitin' with you just afore I run into him on thedock! Bust my galluses, ef he ain't the durnedest, cagiest,peskiest li'l cuss!"

"Damn it, Hank, answer my question! Who is he?"

The sheriff's rubicund countenance suddenly became secretive."Wal, ef you don't let it go no further, Pete, he's from ScotlandYard!"

I stared at him in amazement. "From Scotland Yard? You mean,he's in the London police?"

"Yes, sirree. From Scotland Yard, London, England, that youread about in these yar detective stories!"

I laughed. "Oh, nuts! That kid a Scotland Yard man! He's juststringing you along!"

"It's like I'm tellin' you, Pete," said Hank, with invinciblesangfroid. "Phemie Miller up at th' post-office seen hispassport—there wuz a registered packet fer him. An' me an'him fishin' an' trampin' the woods tergether, it must be ten daysnow, by crikey! an' him never breathin' a word! He shown me hiscard after. Detective-Sergeant Dene, it sez—from theFinger-print Branch, or somep'n. So when I steps out of the boatter-night an' catches sight o' the li'l runt settin' on the dock,quieter'n a lamb, I jes' naturally brung him along!"

"Does Mr. Lumsden know?"

Hank looked rather guilty. "Wal, not yet he don't, on accountof Trev allowed he didn't oughter appear in this officially, see?I jes' said it wuz a detective friend of mine from England!"

To say I was staggered, is to put it mildly. This placed anentirely different complexion on Dene's attitude, I realised in aflash. These were not the windy vapourings of an amateur, but theconsidered opinion of an expert—his doubts as to the truecirc*mstances of Victor Haversley's death were almost certainlybased on something much stronger than mere surmise. I gazed athim blankly as he now emerged from the kitchen—thislackadaisical stripling, with the pink-and-white complexion anduntidy hair, was nobody's idea of a Scotland Yard man, I toldmyself. But as I considered him I was aware of a subtle changewhich had come over him. His eyes brooded behind theirspectacles; his expression was grave; he had shed his debonairmanner—he suddenly appeared to be older.

Without taking any notice of us, he went to the writing-tableand, after a glance at his wrist-watch, began to do something tothe lamp with a pencil and a piece of paper—I had theimpression that he was marking off the height of the oil in thereservoir.

I watched him in silence for a spell, then said, "Are youreally a Scotland Yard man?"

He nodded moodily.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, fussing with his pencil and paper. "Why should I?I'm over here merely on holiday, you know. As a matter of fact,I've no business butting in on this case at all. It was thatdarned Hank who dragged me into it—I'm ready to fade out atany instant..."

The sheriff had opened the door. The first greyness of dawnstreamed into the cabin. "All through here, Trev?" heinquired.

Dene nodded, and stowed paper and pencil in his pocket. "ShallI put out the lamp?" he asked.

"Sure. But don't make no finger-marks!"

The Scotland Yard man laughed. "You're telling me!" heretorted, rather proud of the idiom. Catching my eye, he waggedhis head dubiously and said under his breath, "A damned queerbusiness, Blakeney!" glanced at his watch again and stoopingover, blew out the light with a mighty puff.

We went out together, Hank, who had fastened the windows,locking the door and pouching the key. Dawn was at hand: thefirst birds were stirring in the trees, and at the foot of thegardens the lake smoked mysteriously with the melting mists ofnight. I watched the little outboard motor go snorting into thegreyness with them and, cold and depressed, crawled off to myslumbers.

I opened my eyes to find the shack full of sunshine andGraziella standing by my bed. I struggled on to an elbow."Graziella! What time is it?"

"Past ten. Get some clothes on, Pete. I want to talk toyou!"

CHAPTER 10

SHE wore a blue-sprigged muslin I'd seen her inbefore—I suppose she had no black day clothes withher—and one of the shady hats she used against the sun. Itwas a gay and charming frock, and the contrast it made with thedesperate gravity of her expression went to my heart. She wascalm, but there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched lookabout the nostrils I'd seen all too often in the shell-shockhospitals. It was evident to me that she was straining everynerve to keep her feelings under control.

I waited only long enough to dash water on my face and hands,run a comb through my hair, and slip on a singlet and white ducksbefore joining her on the porch. She was smoking a cigarette outof one of the long holders she affected and gazing over the bluewaters of the lake.

"Oh, Pete," she said, trying to speak casually, "if theyshould question you, you won't feel obliged to say anything aboutwhat Fritz Waters and I were discussing in your room yesterdaymorning, will you?"

"I should hope not," I answered.

"Or about that scene at your rehearsal? Poor Vic had beendrinking, of course; and anyway, Charles and Edith know that hissuspicions were absolutely unfounded. Charles has promised tocaution the others against mentioning the incident..."

"I'll do anything you want, my dear," I assured her. "But, asa matter of fact, none of these questions is likely to arise." Ipaused, my eyes on her face. "I don't know if you realise it, butthere seems considerable doubt whether Vic really committedsuicide."

Remembering her attitude on the previous night, I expected herto protest. To my surprise she only said gravely, "You've heardabout the coroner, then?"

"What about him? Is he here already?"

"He arrived about half an hour ago. They're going to take poorVic down to the hospital at Springsville for the autopsy." Shehesitated. "Dr. Gavan told Charles that, from his preliminaryexamination, he'd judge suicide to be out of the question."

"He said that, did he? Well, I can identify this guy Wharton,I guess. And I can testify that he threatened Vic, that hereached for his gun..."

"Of course," she broke in, "of course. But, Pete, promise meyou won't let them pump you about—about Fritz Waters andme!"

"Why on earth should they?"

Her eyes became secretive. "The sheriff—Hank, orwhatever his name is—was questioning Charles just now as towhether there was bad blood between Vic and anybody at the camp.Charles poohpoohed the whole thing, but I have the feeling thatthe sheriff's not entirely satisfied." She broke off, twisting atthe guard ring she wore. "I don't want any scandal, Pete. I'venothing to hide, but Fritz has a good position in New York, andany gossip of this kind... But what are you staring at me likethat for? Why don't you say something? You look at me the waythis sheriff of theirs does, as though you thought it was I who'dkilled poor Vic..."

Her charge curled round me like a whip-lash and I started.With no more substance to it than a fragment of thistledown blownby the wind, a suspicion—an appalling suspicion—hadcome floating into my mind. I found myself thinking of the icyfury in Fritz Waters's eyes when I'd shown him the bruise on herarm, of his muttered ejacul*tion, "The hound! I'll kill him forthis!" It shook me so that, for a moment, I could scarcelyspeak.

She faced me with a sort of forlorn defiance that made myheart ache for her. I should have liked best to have taken her inmy arms and told her the sheriff might believe what he liked, Ishould love her none the less. Seeing how agitated she hadbecome, I tried to pacify her.

"You know very well I don't think anything of the kind," Isaid. "And Hank doesn't either, take it from me. Only this isprobably the first case of the kind he's ever had to handle, andhe's naturally feeling his weight a bit. There's just one pointabout your friend Waters, however. I suppose he can account forhis movements after he left us last night?"

She shot a frightened glance at me through thick lashes. "Whydo you ask that?" she demanded in a strained voice.

"You remember this fellow whom the sheriff brought along withhim last night? Well, he's from Scotland Yard!"

"From Scotland Yard?" she repeated in a dazed sort of way."What does he want here?"

"He's staying in the village—Trevor Dene, his name is. Imet him at the store and asked him over for a drink. He happenedto be with me last night when Dickie fetched me out. I'd no ideahe was a professional when you spoke to me, but now, of course,it's more serious. You see, he's apparently discovered traces ofsomeone having been in the cabin besides Vic..."

"Traces?" she echoed sharply. "What traces?"

I shrugged. "The ash-tray had been emptied, there wereindications that a vase had been knocked over andreplaced..."

"But it's nonsense! Charles questioned everybody, and no onewent near the cabin last night until Dickie and the others foundVic dead."

She spoke peremptorily in a passionate voice, her eyesflashing. Her eagerness to rush into denial had the effect uponme of a cold douche. "He doesn't allege that it was anybody atthe camp," I pointed out.

A flood of colour stained her face. "What does he mean,butting in like this?"

I shrugged. "He's not butting in, Graziella. Hank brought himinto it, really—he's a friend of Hank's..." I paused. "Myonly point is that if he's going to take over the investigation,we're all likely to be asked to account for our movements lastevening..."

The stutter of a propeller resounded. I recognised theasthmatic grunt of Hank's outboard motor. Banging and bouncingover the wavelets, the boat came speeding up the lake, headedstraight for where we were sitting. A figure at the tillerhoisted an arm in salutation.

"Here's Dene now," I told her.

She jumped to her feet. "I don't want to meet him..."

"He's a nice guy. And very tactful..."

"I don't care what he is—I won't have him here!"

"I guess that rests with Hank..."

"At any rate, you don't have to see him! I don't see quite howI can send him away!"

"You can. You can tell him his visits are inconvenient justnow..."

"Would that be wise? I mean, he might think we had somethingto hide..."

"I don't care what he thinks. It's monstrous to have strangersprying into our private affairs like this. I'm going to speak toCharles about it." Her face flaming with anger, she ran down theporch steps and disappeared in the direction of the house.

The boat, engine shut off, was gliding to shore. "Who wasthat?" Dene asked, as he came up the path.

"Mrs. Haversley."

He co*cked an eyebrow at me. "Didn't want to meet me, eh?"

"You're not going to pretend you could hear what we weresaying against the foul row that propeller of yours makes?"

He chuckled. "An angry woman's silhouette is pretty eloquent.Every picture tells its story and deeds speak louder than words.Ah, well! What's her colouring?"

"Her colouring?"

"Her hair and that sort of thing. I couldn't make it out underthat big hat of hers."

"She's fair."

I was pretty short with him, although I was telling myselfthat, whatever Graziella might say, it would be fatal toantagonize him. He was swift to divine my mood for he stopped andlooked at me.

"Am I welcome?" he asked, in his rather flippant way. "Is thered carpet spread and the lintel garnished with bay? I'm notfiguring in this officially, mind you, notwithstanding the factthat our friend the sheriff suggested I should lend a hand. Onlysay the word and I'll clear out!"

"Forget it!" I said. "Come on inside—I'm going to getsome breakfast!"

He'd had breakfast, he said, but he came in. "No sign of Hankyet?" he wanted to know as I put on the coffee.

"Isn't he up at the house?"

"He was here first thing with the finger-print expert—hewas to let me know at what time I was to meet him here. ButTrooper Good rang me up a while back to say Hank had been calledaway—if I cared to come over he'd meet me here at yourshack. Where's a place called Red Falls?"

"It's a small town about twenty miles north of here. Why?"

"That's where Hank's gone—the Lord knows why. So thecoroner agrees with me, Good told me..."

"That seems to have been a pretty shrewd guess of yours lastnight," I remarked, setting the table.

He held up a hand in protest—he had the hands of asurgeon, long-fingered and beautifully shaped. "A guess? My dearfellow! Criminology's an exact science!"

"A shocking business," I observed, squeezing out an orange."This sort of thing takes us straight back to the Borgias. Iwonder how much they paid him."

"Paid whom?"

"Why, Wharton, of course—for killing Haversley!"

"Oh!" He was tapping out a cigarette. "Are you sure Whartonkilled him?"

"I don't know who else it could be. Is there any doubt aboutit?"

He had found himself a seat on my bed, and was leaning backagainst the wall, one leg dangling over the other, as he puffedairily at his cigarette. "I'd say there's every doubt," herejoined in his precise way.

Strainer in hand, I contemplated him. "Go on," I encouragedhim. "The gentleman from Scotland Yard has the floor!"

He smiled rather diffidently. "I haven't much first-handexperience of these gangster killings. But one characteristiccommon to all of them is that the assassin rarely makes anyserious attempt to cover up the crime: also, the victim is almostinvariably shot from behind. Consider the following points. Thehired killer's sole object is to do the job and earn his fee asquickly and unobtrusively as possible. Wharton's a paidassassin—what you call a trigger man or torpedo, I believe.Well, why did he have to use Haversley's gun when, with his own,he could have shot the poor devil down from the door incomparative safety? And why no silencer, but a report loud enoughto be heard up at the house? Is that logic, or is it?"

"It's logic, all right."

"Man alive, it's common sense. One of the best practicalcriminologists on the other side, old Boulot, former head of theParis Sûreté, once said to me that crime detection isnothing more than an infinite capacity for clear thinking. IfWharton's our man, why this dawdling about to fake a semblance ofsuicide? The woods were at the door—why didn't he scuttleoff as fast as his legs would carry him? One thing more:Haversley had already seen this bird, hadn't he? Well, ifWharton's the murderer, they must have met face to face—thewound in the temple proves that. Are we to believe thatHaversley—on his guard for months against an attempt on hislife, mark you!—let him walk in, grab that gun and shoothim and never a cry for help? It don't rhyme, old boy—itreally don't!"

My throat was dry with apprehension—I was thinking ofGraziella and her visit to me. "But if it wasn't Wharton...?"

With a speculative air my companion tilted his tawny head toone side. "The gun's the crux. Haversley had it handy, nodoubt—probably it was lying on the table. One thing puzzlesme, and that's why, jumpy as he was and knowing that this gunmanwas roaming the neighbourhood, he should have been willing tospend the evening in the cabin alone..." He paused and added, asthough to himself, "If he were alone! But, leaving thataside," he went on, flaking the ash from his cigarette, "don'tyou see, my Blakeney, that whoever came into the cabin andsecured possession of that gun was almost certainly someoneHaversley knew? From my observation of the poor blighter,the slightest untoward sound, the creak of a plank, would havebrought him round, gun in hand, to face the door. Yet was thereany sign of a struggle, a rough-and-tumble? There was not..."

Someone Haversley knew! Was it Waters? I had a suddenvision of him pushing back his chair and leaving the three of usthere at the bridge table. It must have been within a minute ortwo of eleven o'clock when he went off—he'd have had ampletime to reach the trapper's cabin and fire the shot heard by MissRyder at eleven-five.

I knew very well what Dene was leading up to. But I had to dotthe "i." "Someone Haversley knew?" I faltered. "Someone at thecamp, you mean?"

He did not meet my glance. His expression gave no clue to histhoughts. "That faked suicide," he said, not without a certaingrimness, "reveals a knowledge of the poor beggar's mental statewhich can scarcely have been common property outside the camp..."He shook his head and gravely crushed out his cigarette end onthe sole of his shoe.

The door opened suddenly. Like a jack-in-the-box MissIngersoll appeared. The secretary was one of those red-hairedgirls with the chalky complexion and pale blue eyes that go withthat colouring. Ignoring me, she marched straight up to Dene."You're the Scotland Yard man, aren't you?" she said abruptly."I'm Barbara Ingersoll—I was Mr. Haversley's secretary. Iheard Mrs. Haversley telling Mrs. Lumsden about you. She wantsMrs. Lumsden to get rid of you..."

This barefaced attempt at mischief-making was too much for me,and I broke in pretty stiffly, "I'm very certain youmisunderstood Mrs. Haversley—she wouldn't dream of sayingsuch a thing. In any case, the matter's one for Mr. Lumsden todecide...

"Mr. Lumsden went to Springsville with the coroner," sheanswered tartly, and turned to Dene again. "Don't let them sendyou away, Mr. Dene. There's work here for you to do. Have youheard about Wharton?"

A presentiment of evil seized me, and I said huskily, "Whatabout him?"

"He was arrested at Red Falls at eight o'clock lastnight!"

Very deliberately Dene took off his spectacles, folded themand stuck them in his pocket. "And Haversley was alive an hourlater," he observed tranquilly. "Very interesting!"

CHAPTER 11

MISS INGERSOLL'S announcement brought my fool'sparadise clattering about my ears. "Where did you get this?" Iasked her incredulously.

"The sheriff rang through from the village—he was justback from Red Falls. Wharton was arrested getting off a freighttrain there around eight o'clock yesterday evening—one ofthe railroad police recognised him from the descriptioncirculated, and he was jailed on the spot. He admits he's the manMr. Haversley met in the woods. And that's not all. Mr. Haversleyknew about the arrest last night."

"Oh?" Dene broke in. "How was that?"

"Red Falls reported the arrest to Utica. The Utica police toldthe sheriff that Mr. Haversley called them around nine o'clocklast night for news of Wharton, and they then informed him of thearrest."

"There's a telephone at the cabin, isn't there?" the ScotlandYard man said. "Did he speak from there, or from the house?"

"From the cabin. I checked it with central in the village. Thecall was put in at nine-eleven..."

Dene's eye lighted on me whimsically. "So much for the suicidemotive!" he remarked.

"There was never any question of suicide," Miss Ingersollinterrupted passionately. "I saw him almost every day for thepast three years, and I knew him better than anyone—hiswife, even. He disapproved of suicide—he thought itcowardly, despicable—I've heard him say so a hundred times.And he loved life and beauty, the open air—he wanted tolive. He wasn't a very strong character—things had alwaysbeen made too easy for him. He was scared, and he'd drink toforget it. But he wasn't a quitter. He'd often talk to me aboutit. 'Bing,' he'd say—that was a name he had forme—'Bing, that chap Waters'—this was when Mr. Waterswas staying with them—'doesn't know what fear is. I'mrattled, and I don't care who knows it. But they're not going toget me down!'"

The Scotland Yard man nodded. "It's a form of courage, likeany other..."

Her pale face lit up—her rather homely features weresuffused with a glow of ecstasy which made her almost good-looking. "That's what I say," she declared warmly. "If he'd hadany sympathy, any understanding, in his home life to supporthim..."

"That's sheer nonsense," I struck in sharply. "Haversley toldhis wife nothing of these threats," I said to Dene. "They werekept from her by his express instructions, as Miss Ingersoll verywell knows..."

She bit her lip and looked away—I had the impressionthat the tears were dangerously near the surface. Human nature isthe constant study of writers, and the thought came to me that,in our modern scheme of things, a man may possess two quiteseparate entities—the one he presents at home, and that inwhich his private secretary sees him at the office. I realisedthat Miss Ingersoll was showing an entirely new portrait ofVictor Haversley. Evidently, the weakness of the man had appealedto the mothering instinct of both these women, to Miss Ingersollas to her predecessor whom he had married. In her office daysGraziella, too, must have seen this side of him—odd tothink how the possessiveness of marriage had blurred the pictureso that I now had the sensation of contemplating the presentmentsof two different men! And then it dawned upon me that MissIngersoll had been in love with Vic.

If there were tears about, she kept them under. The face sheturned to us was dry-eyed. Leaving my protest unanswered, shesaid to Dene, "You knew from the first it wasn't suicide, didn'tyou?"

Our companion shrugged. "I merely took the liberty ofquestioning Dr. Bracegirdle's findings..."

"Dr. Bracegirdle!" she echoed impatiently. "Why, he hasn'tpractised for twenty years. He admits it himself."

"All the same, I'm not a doctor," was the quiet reply. "Wemust await the result of the autopsy..."

"If he really took his life," she said darkly, "he was drivento it."

"By these threats, do you mean?"

She shook her head.

"Then how?"

She shrugged, her pale face stony. "You'd better ask Mrs.Haversley that!"

"Really, Miss Ingersoll," I exclaimed, "that's an outrageousthing to say!"

"It's no more than the truth," she retorted with suddenpassion. "She isn't afraid to have her lover here, hugging andkissing him in front of you all!"

An icy shiver ran down my spine as I suddenly realised thatshe'd been present at that ill-starred rehearsal of mine. I wasabout to make an angry rejoinder when it further flashed acrossmy mind that I'd come upon her outside my shack while Graziellaand Fritz Waters were engaged in that passionate altercationinside. How much had she overheard? I laughed and said to Dene,"Miss Ingersoll's alluding to something that happened up at thehouse the other night. We were trying out the first act of myplay. Mrs. Haversley and Mr. Waters, who's staying at the camp,were reading the parts of the lovers. Haversley arrived drunk inthe middle of it and made a fuss. He apologised next day. WhyMiss Ingersoll should want to drag up this stupid businessnow..."

"That's not all, as Mr. Blakeney knows," the secretaryinterposed. She pointed an accusing finger at me. "Ask him whattook place in this very room no later than yesterday morning!"she said to Dene.

The Scotland Yard man spoke no word. With eyes mildlyattentive behind his large glasses, he listened to us, turninghis head from side to side, like the spectators at a lawn-tennismatch. She stared at me defiantly, her face triumphant—Icould have brained her where she stood. I took myself inhand—it was up to me to get Graziella out of this. If onlyI knew how much the damned woman had overheard!

I said to Dene, "It's very simple. Mr. Waters was naturallyembarrassed by what had occurred, and he and Mrs. Haversley methere in my presence to talk over what they should do aboutit."

"Didn't he tell her he was waiting for her, that he'd alwaysbe waiting?" the secretary challenged hotly. "Didn't he speak ofher being 'tied to that brute'? Didn't he—didn't he sayhe'd like to kill him?"

On that I lost my temper. "Damn it," I shouted, "will you shutup?"

"Do you deny it?" she cried. "You don't deny it, because youcan't deny it!"

I swung to Dene. "What I can and do deny," I told himemphatically, "is a malicious misrepresentation put upon aperfectly harmless discussion by a spiteful and jealous personwho's not ashamed to eavesdrop on a private conversation..."

"He's her lover," the secretary declared passionately. "He'sbeen her lover for months!"

"You'll understand," I said, addressing myself pointedly toDene, "why Miss Ingersoll is bound to misinterpret an entirelyinnocent friendship between Mrs. Haversley and this gentlemanwhen I tell you she's insanely jealous of Mrs. Haversley, thatshe's always been jealous of her..."

The pallid face flamed. "That's a lie!" she gasped. "How dareyou say such a thing!"

"You see," I went on, still ignoring her, "Mrs. Haversley wasformerly Mr. Haversley's secretary. And Miss Ingersoll's nevergot over it!"

She gave me such a look of fury that for the moment I madecertain she was about to strike me. A knock at the doorinterrupted us. Martha, the elderly parlour-maid, was there. Shesaid the sheriff was asking for Mr. Dene: Mr. Lumsden would beglad if I'd bring Mr. Dene up to the house. Mr. Wells was withMr. Lumsden in the living-room, she told us.

With the sensation that a crisis was at hand, I led the wayout of the shack.

CHAPTER 12

THE gardens swam in the noonday heat: agreeablythe stocks perfumed the still air. The camp was very quiet. Withthe exception of our host, the entire party was assembled on theverandah—Graziella, Waters, everybody. No one spoke: theysat about and seemed to be waiting—my spirits sank as I sawhow repressed they all appeared to be. It struck me thatGraziella's expression changed as she perceived Miss Ingersollmounting the verandah steps with us, and I had the impressionthat she exchanged a rapid glance with Waters, who stood besideher chair. I believe that the secretary would have liked to haveaccompanied us into the living-room. But at the last moment herresolution appeared to fail her, and she remained behind with theothers.

In the big, cool living-room Charles was pacing restlessly upand down, his normally untroubled features stamped with worry.Hank straddled a chair at the end of the room, stolidly regardinga State trooper—not one of the two from thevillage—as he pored over a tray laden with small bottlesand saucers—the fingerprint expert, evidently. On our entrythe sheriff rose and stalked forward, loose-limbed, to meetus.

At the sight of him my sense of disquietude deepened. Itseemed to me that he had lost his easy-going air—there wasa disconcerting grimness about him as he addressed my companion.In a sort of daze I heard him. The autopsy was over. Dr. Gavanand the house surgeon at Springsville were unanimous in theirfindings—Hank kept us in suspense while he dwelt upon thecoroner's exceptional qualifications, explaining that at one timeDr. Gavan had done a lot of post-mortem work at Bellevue. Bothdoctors declared that suicide was out of the question—thedead man had been shot down from a distance of at least fourfeet. The bullet had taken a downward course, lodging itself inthe neck muscles—the empty shell, which Hank, it appeared,had found on the floor of the cabin on the previous night, theballistic expert of the State police unhesitatingly pronounced tohave been fired by the .38 automatic found in Haversley's hand.The pistol took seven shots: the fact that the magazine was fulland the barrel revealed fresh powder marks was evidence thatthere had been one cartridge in the chamber ready for firing.

"They allow the murderer must a' stood facin' Haversley as hesat in his cheer," said Hank. "'Pears to me like the poor beggardidn't have a Chinaman's chance..." His eye dwelt sombrely onDene.

The Scotland Yard man glanced towards where the trooperfiddled with his paraphernalia. "How about finger-prints?" hedemanded.

"Nothin' but Haversley's. Trooper Gray tested everything likeyou said—chair, cigar box, the whole bag o' tricks!"

"What about the gun?"

"It goes for the gun, too. You heared about Wharton?"

Dene nodded briefly.

"Seein' as he's out," said the sheriff, "I've asked Mr.Lumsden to round up the whole party so's me an' you can git eachan' everyone to account for his'n or her movements lastnight."

Charles thrust out his chin obstinately. "I've told youalready, Hank, none of us has anything to hide. But I must say Iresent the suggestion that anyone at the camp knows anythingabout this shocking business." He glanced at Dene. "You're fromScotland Yard, I understand?"

"Thar!" declared the sheriff ruefully. "It's out. I never toldhim, Trev!"

I knew then that Graziella had made her protest and failed."That's quite all right, Hank," the Scotland Yard man replied,"as long as Mr. Lumsden realises that I'm in this unofficially,and merely as a friend of yours. If the Department ever heard,"he added confidentially to Charles, "that I'd gone poking my nosewithout authority into a case of this kind—whew, I'd be outon my ear quicker than you could say 'Jack the Ripper'!" Hesmiled engagingly.

"I welcome the fullest cooperation from you, Mr. Dene,"Charles answered rather stiffly, "but I admit I'm curious to hearon what grounds you or Hank imagine that I or any of my guestsare implicated in this dreadful business!"

"There ain't no kind o' hurry about that, Mr. Lumsden," Hankbroke in. "We'll proceed with method, sir, if you please. An'seein' as friend Dene's here, I'd like to ask you a couple o'questions..." He pulled down his bushy eyebrows importantly. "Youdidn't stir from this room all evenin' playin' bridge, you wuztellin' me. There wuz you, an' Pete Blakeney here, an' Mrs.Haversley, an' Mr. Waters. Now what time wuz it when the four ofye knocked off?"

"Just before eleven..."

"Right. Miss Ryder, out on the verandy, heared the shot ateleven-five, eh? Now whar wuz you an' Pete Blakeney at eleven-five?"

"I was right here in this room until I went to bed at eleven-thirty."

"You, Mr. Blakeney?"

"I stopped to have a glass of beer with Mr. Lumsden, thensuddenly remembered that Mr. Dene would be waiting at my shackand hurried off there. That was at about ten past eleven."

"Agreed," said Dene. "You blew in to your place just beforethe quarter."

"At eleven-five, when the shot was fired, jes' how many,outside o' you two, wuz here in the room?" was Hank's nextquestion.

He glanced at me as he spoke, but I pretended to think he wasaddressing Charles. I didn't want to answer, for I rememberedvery well looking for Graziella as I was leaving and not seeingher.

Charles replied guilelessly, "That shouldn't be hard toanswer, eh, Pete? Let's see, the young people were allthere—that's to say," he explained to Dene, "my twoyoungsters, Miss Fletcher, young Leighton, my wife's niece, SaraCarruthers and her fiancé, Dave Jarvis—no, wait a minute, Idon't believe Dave was there..."

"What about Miss Ingersoll?" said Dene. The question wasabrupt: I looked at him, but his face was as impassive asever.

"She was in her room typing. She didn't appear all evening,"Charles replied.

"How about Mrs. Haversley? Wuz she there too?" Hankinquired.

Charles paused to reflect. "I don't remember seeingher—I think she must have been outside on the verandah. Atany rate, I recall her coming in as I was going up to bed."

"At eleven-thirty?"

"That's right."

The sheriff tugged at his ear. "There worn't nobody only MissRyder heared the shot, you told us?"

"That's so. Why?"

"If Mrs. Haversley wuz on the verandy she'd have heared it thesame as the old lady, wouldn't she?"

Charles looked vague. "I suppose so—you'll have to askher. She didn't say anything to me about it when she camein—she only asked me if I'd seen Waters..."

The Scotland Yard man struck in sharply. "He wasn't in theroom, then?" Once more I had a short stab of fear.

"No. He went off as soon as we'd finished our rubber—tobed, I understood him to say..."

After that I lost the thread of their conversation. It wasclear that Waters had left the house almost ten minutes beforethe shot was heard, and that Graziella had lost no time in goingafter him. The established fact that both were missing at thecrucial moment buzzed in my head like a fly on the window-pane,so that I discovered presently, with a sense of surprise, thatHank and the Scotland Yard man had come to the end of theirquestions, and that the members of the house-party were filinginto the room.

CHAPTER 13

HANK opened the proceedings with a littlespeech. "Wal, folks, I guess you've heard what Doc Gavan sez. Itain't suicide, it's murder, an' consekently it dee-volves on me,as sheriff of thisyar county, to investigate the crime, with thehelp an' assistance of my friend, Trev Dene here, who's a verycellybrated an' famous dee-tective from London, England. Now,folks, in cases like this there ain't but the one way ter git atthe truth, and that's to 'stablish, first off, who's got a alibiand who hasn't. What I partikerly aims to discover is whar youall wuz at eleven-five last evenin' when the shot wuz fired. Sofer we're able to 'liminate Mr. Lumsden an' Pete Blakeney, who ateleven-five were here in the room; Mrs. Lumsden, who'd gone tobed; Miss Ingersoll, who wuz typin' upstairs, an' Dr. Bracegirdlean' Miss Ryder, playin' chess on the verandy. But we ain't rightclear 'bout the rest of ye. You, Dickie, yer Paw allows some ofye wuz out on the lake last night. S'pose you tell us 'boutet?"

Hank and the Lumsden children were old cronies—it wasHank who had given Dickie his first shooting lesson. There werefour of them out in the launch, Dickie said—Myrtle andBuster and Cynthia besides himself. They came in about half-pastten, as Myrtle felt cold. Myrtle fetched a sweater, and she andDickie went out again, Buster and Cynthia remaining behind thistime. Shortly before eleven Myrtle and Dickie returned, and,meeting Cynthia and Buster on the dock, the four went up to thehouse together.

"And what became of you an' him, Cynthie?" the sheriff asked,jerking his head at young Leighton.

Cynthia coloured slightly. "We went for a walk."

"Where?"

"Only as far as the birches behind the Bachelor Bungalow."

"Didn't go nigh the trapper's cabin, did ye, Cynthie?"

"No, Hank."

"None of us did," Dickie chimed in.

The three young girls sat in a row on the chesterfield, withDickie and Buster perched on the arms and Dave Jarvis on thefloor at Sara's feet.

Hank's gaze, shifting along the line, dropped to Dave. "Youtook a row-boat out on the lake, Mr. Lumsden sez," he remarked."What time was that?"

The young man shrugged. "Nine o'clock, half-past—I don'tknow."

"You were in here looking for Sara round half-past nine,Dave," Charles pointed out. "Did you go out on the lake afterthat?"

"Yeah!"

"Alone, was it?" asked Hank, looking at Sara.

"That's right."

"And what time did you come in?"

"I can't say exactly. But it was after the launch went out forthe second time..."

"I went into his room at the Bachelor Bungalow on the way upto the house," Buster put in, "and he was in bed reading."

"And you didn't go out again?" Hank asked Jarvis.

The young man shook his head. "Buster came back later andwanted me to go swimming with them, and I was still in bed.Remember, Buster?"

"Sure. You were reading Anthony Adverse!"

"And you didn't drop in on Mr. Haversley, neether?" thesheriff questioned.

"No," was the rather sullen answer.

Hank made no comment. His rugged features as expressionless asa cigar-store Indian's, he turned to Sara. "What about you,Miss?"

"Me?" said Sara in her cooing voice. "I was in my bedroomwriting letters."

"Here in the house, is it?"

"No. Myrtle—Miss Fletcher—and I sleep down at theWhite Bungalow."

"Spent all evenin' thar, did ye?"

"Uh-huh!"

"But you went up to the house with the others when they comeoff the water. Is that right?"

"Yes. Miss Fletcher fetched me out. When the others went inswimming, I went to bed."

"What time was it when you first went down to your bedroom?"Dene asked unexpectedly.

She glanced rather condescendingly to where he stood leaningup against the fireplace. "After dinner, do you mean? Oh, aboutten past nine, I suppose."

"Did you go straight to your room?"

As she did not reply immediately, Hank said, "He means, didyou drop in on Mr. Haversley for a little visit on the way?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then from nine-ten, say, until a few minutes before eleven,you were in your room at the White Bungalow?" said Dene.

"That's right."

"Thank you, Miss Carruthers."

"Mrs. Haversley!" The sheriff's keen eye picked out Graziellawhere she sat on a low stool beside Edith Lumsden. "Sorry tobother ye at a time like this, ma'am, but there wuz a question ortwo..." He paused, gazing stolidly down at his large, hairyhands. "I understand you wuz not in the room here at the time theshot wuz heard?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," she answered in a low voice. "Inany case, I didn't hear any shot."

"Where did you go after you all wuz through with yourbridge?"

"Mr. Waters and I had spoken of riding before breakfast, butwe hadn't fixed any time. I wanted to leave word forEarl"—Earl was the groom—"about the horses beforegoing to bed. So I went to find Mr. Waters."

Waters's sonorous baritone cut across her words. "Mrs.Haversley went down to the Bachelor Bungalow to find me, but myroom was dark, as I'd gone for a bit of a stroll before turningin."

"Jest a minute!" Hank told him. "I'm comin' ter you presently.When you found he worn't at the bungalow," he said to Graziella,"what did you do?"

She hesitated. "I—well, I looked around for him alittle, and then I came back here."

"Jes' whar did you look for him, ma'am?"

"Down by the lake—in the gardens..."

"Didn't go as fer as the trapper's cabin, did ye?"

She shook her head. "No." Firmly.

"You were away quite a time," the Scotland Yard man nowpointed out mildly. "Nearly half an hour..."

"Was I?" Her tone was rather haughty.

"You weren't back until half-past eleven, Mr. Lumsdensays..."

"If Mr. Lumsden says so, I suppose that's right."

"You were out of doors, away from the noise in the living-room, yet you didn't hear the shot. Rather odd, isn't it?"

"I may have heard it without paying attention. The villagersgo out shooting rabbits at night sometimes..."

"Not in the dark, they don't," the sheriff commented. "Thereworn't no moon last night—leastwise not till going on fermidnight, there worn't!"

The Scotland Yard man looked up sharply. "Thanks, Hank. That'sa good point!" With a thoughtful air he began to fill hispipe.

The sheriff was addressing Waters. "You told Mr. Lumsden an'the others you wuz goin' ter bed, but you went fer a stroll. Isthat right? Where did you go?"

"Out along the lake, by the road that leads to the village..."Waters's manner was brisk and self-assured. "It was such aglorious night I felt disinclined for bed, and I went fartherthan I intended. I got back to camp just in time to walk into allthe excitement..."

"That's the road that starts back o' the boathouse, ain't it?Then you must a' met the young folks comin' up from thelake?"

An awkward silence fell. "Wal, didn't you?" Hankpersisted.

With a dogged air Waters stuck his pipe in his mouth. "No," hereplied, "I can't say I did."

"I guess I can explain it," Buster Leighton struck in. "Mr.Waters didn't meet us because he didn't come down the path. Hewent through the gardens—I saw him as I was coming out ofthe Bachelor Bungalow, where I'd been talking to Dave. I thoughthe was going down to Pete's shack when I heard the gatesqueak..."

I had a thrill of fear. That squeaky gate opened on the paththat descended to the back of my shack; but it was also the onlyaccess from the house to the road through the woods that led tothe trapper's cabin.

Waters was speaking. "Now I come to think of it," he remarkedimpassively, "I remember I did go through the gardens."

"Why?" said Hank abruptly. "That ain't the nearest way to theroad along the lake."

Waters shrugged. "I may as well be frank with you. I thoughtof looking in on Haversley. But I changed my mind."

The sheriff grunted. "It'd surprise you, I guess, to hear thatMr. Haversley had a visitor at the cabin last night?"

Charles started up. "Who says so?" he demandedindignantly.

Hank pointed at Dene. "Ask him!"

"There's not much doubt about it, Mr. Lumsden," the ScotlandYard man said quietly. "A vase on the desk has been knocked overand replaced, the ash-tray emptied and two of the glasses on thedresser show signs of having been used—they appear to havebeen washed in a hurry and not properly dried. Besides, the sodasiphon's only half full, and a good third of the whisky has beendrunk. I shall want to see the maid who looks after these thingsto find out whether the siphon and the whisky bottle were full atthe start of the evening. That's not all. In the ash-can in thekitchen I found a cigar butt and about two-thirds of a cigarpartially smoked, as well as various cigarette and matchends."

"Couldn't they have been there from earlier in the day?"Charles struck in.

"They could—it depends on when the ash-can is cleared.Actually, it was empty except for these things lying in thebottom, the cigars still damp, their ends chewed to ribbons. Youmust have noticed the way Haversley smoked a cigar? Idid—one day I saw him at the store. He champed them torags."

"Mightn't he have tidied the place up himself?"

Very positively the other shook his head. "The man's draftingan important report—are we to believe he left it midwaythrough a sentence to go and empty the ash-tray, throw away acigar half smoked and wash out his glass and his visitor's? No,Mr. Lumsden"—his tone grew sterner—"all the evidencegoes to show that whoever did the tidying up intended to removeevery trace of the fact that Haversley had had a caller, with thedefinite object of bolstering up the semblance of suicide..." Hisregard, impersonal and coldly analytical, shifted to Waters. "AmI right in supposing that there was no love lost between you andthe deceased?" he demanded.

Waters was unmoved. "Perfectly. I didn't like Haversley and hedidn't like me."

"He resented your attentions to his wife, didn't he?"

"If he did, it was without any justification."

The Scotland Yard man turned to the sheriff. "It seems thatMr. Haversley made a scene with his wife about Mr. Waters theother night. I'm going to ask Mr. Lumsden to tell you aboutit..."

Charles did his best, but, in the light of what had gonebefore, the episode sounded damning, and I saw Hank's mouthharden to a tight, uncompromising hair line as the storyproceeded.

Hardly was it done when a voice cried shrilly, "But that's notall!" We all swung about to find that Miss Ingersoll had sprungup from the chair where she had sat bolt upright, her handsclasped tensely before her, throughout the cross-examination. "Hethreatened him"—she pointed a denunciatory finger atWaters. "He said, 'The hound, I'll kill him for this!' It was atMr. Blakeney's shack yesterday morning. I heard him—I wasjust outside—and so did Mr. Blakeney. Ask him!" Her voicerang hysterical in the profound hush.

Hank bent his glittering eye on me. "Is that right what shesez?"

"How should I know?" I lied desperately. "It was a privateconversation—I purposely didn't listen."

"That's all right, Blakeney," Water's deep tones interposed."I don't just recall what I did say," he informed the sheriff,"but I was pretty excited, I guess. You see"—his voice wasnot very steady—"he'd been ill-treating her." He broke offand added, "But I didn't kill him."

Hank's mouth snapped to like one of his own steel traps."You'd best tell that to the district attorney," he said grimly."I'm takin' you along with me ter Springsville now." And, raisinghis voice for the benefit of the company at large, he added,"Okay. The rest of you don't need to stop any longer."

Graziella was on her feet, staring with a blank and strickenexpression at Waters. Unresisting, she let me lead her away. Notuntil we were seated in one of the rose arbours in the gardens,out of earshot of everyone, did she speak. "They mean to arresthim, don't they?" she said in a low voice.

I shrugged. "It's no use our deceiving ourselves, my dear.They're on to a good, strong motive, and he has no alibi, I canunderstand his doing it: what puzzles me is that he should havetried to fake this appearance of suicide by tidying up the roomand so on. He doesn't look to me that kind of a fellow..."

"He isn't," she said, "and he didn't tidy up the room. Idid!"

CHAPTER 14

"YOU?" I echoed. Once again suspicion assailedme. Was it the old story of the wife and lover conspiring to ridthemselves of the inconvenient husband? But her next wordsdisarmed me.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking," she murmured bitterly. "Itwas because I realised what everybody would think that I keptsilent, and just now I could have said nothing that wouldn't havemade things worse for poor Fritz. God," she burst out, "I couldalmost wish it were true. Then at least I'd be sure. Anything'sbetter than this ghastly uncertainty. Oh, Pete, I must havesomeone to talk to, someone I can trust, or I shall gomad..."

I put my hand on hers. "You can trust me, Graziella—youknow that..."

"Yet you'd believe that I'd plot with my lover to kill myhusband?"

I shook my head. "No. Besides, you told me he wasn't yourlover—that's enough for me. I think you know that he killedVic. That's all."

She gave a forlorn headshake. "I don't know it—that'swhat's driving me crazy. You're right when you say he's not theman to descend to a subterfuge like this faked suicide. At least,I used to think so. And yet, if you knew what I knew, you'd feelyou couldn't reject the evidence of your senses, but must believehim guilty. Oh, I know that Vic was my husband, and that it musthorrify you to find me ready to make allowances for the mansuspected of killing him. But I can't help that. God knows, Itried to keep them apart, pleading with Fritz to havepatience—you heard me yourself. No later than yesterdayafternoon, out there on the lake, I implored him, if he had anyfeeling for me, not to precipitate a crisis, and I thought I'dpersuaded him to leave things where they were. Now, if it seemsthey met after all and quarrelled and Fritz killed Vic, I can'tfind it in my heart to condemn him as I know I should. Because,you see, Pete"—tears filled her eyes and voice—"Ilove him, I can't help loving him, and if anything were to happento him through my fault, I think I should die!"

"My dear," I told her gently, "I can't see why you shouldblame yourself in all this."

"But I do," she answered brokenly. "I was weak—Icouldn't bear to let him go. I should either have surrendered tohim—or sent him away."

I put my arm about her. "Suppose you tell me about it!"

She dabbed at her Eyes with her handkerchief. "You broughtthis Scotland Yard detective here. How do I know you won't takeeverything back to him?"

"It might be the best plan," I said firmly. "He's a very humanperson. I don't want to frighten you, but it's a question now offinding extenuating circ*mstances, you know!"

She strained away from me. "Then you think Fritz killedhim?"

"I don't see who else it could have been. Don't you think soyourself?"

"I don't know," she replied in a scared voice.

"Didn't you ask him the question direct?"

She shook her head. "I only saw him alone for a minute lastnight when you asked him to take me up to the house. He wastender and soothing with me, as you might be with a child, but Ithought he looked at me strangely—I don't know, it was asthough there were a barrier between us. I wanted to ask him ifhe'd been down to the cabin that night to see Vic, but somehow Icouldn't bring the question out. Then Edith met us and took meoff to bed, and to-day he seems to be avoiding me."

"What made you think he'd been down at the cabin?" She wassilent and I went on, "You saw him leave the bridge table, andthought he was going to Vic, didn't you? And you followedhim!"

She drew a deep sigh and nodded. "He was so distrait at ourbridge, do you remember? I had an uneasy feeling that he wasplanning to 'have it out' with Vic, as he called it, in spite ofwhat I'd said that afternoon—you know, he came to Wolf Lakefully intending to tell Vic he'd have to give me a divorce..."She broke off.

"And...?"

"I looked for him first at the Bachelor Bungalow, but his roomwas dark, so I went on to the cabin. It was very dark, but I hadone of those torches we keep on the verandah for people goingdown to the bungalows at night. I came across a cigarette someonehad thrown away on the path under the trees—it was stillsmouldering and I made sure then that I should find Fritz withVic..." She checked again.

"Well?"

She gave a little shudder. "Vic was alone. He was dead in hischair with the gun in his hand, just as the children foundhim..."

"My dear!"

"Of course, I thought he'd killed himself," she said sombrely."Ever since our marriage and before, when I worked for him, hewas so utterly dependent on me. That was why I tried to preventFritz from tackling him about us—at any rate, until he wasmore like his old self: I was haunted by the fear he'd dosomething desperate if he believed I wanted to leavehim—you remember, I told you. When I saw that vase knockedover, I felt certain that he and Fritz had had a scene, and thatVic, in a fit of despondency after Fritz went away, had shothimself. I could picture the scandal if these facts came out; Icould see Fritz's name linked with mine on the front pages of allthe newspapers, and it seemed to me, since I was to blame forFritz being in this mess, that I'd have to do something to keephis name out of it..."

"And so you thought you'd remove all traces of Vic having hada visitor. Isn't that it?"

She nodded. "I was in a panic. I did remember about finger-prints, and handled everything with my handkerchief, but that wasabout all. Besides Vic's drink on the desk, there was a usedglass on the dresser. I wasn't taking any chances as to which wasFritz's, so I washed both out. Vic never smoked cigarettes, butthere were cigarette ends in the ash-tray, so I emptied it, oh,and I mopped up the water spilt on the desk..."

"Dene says Vic knocked that vase over with his head in fallingforward..."

"I see," she said slowly. "Of course, that would be it. Itnever occurred to me..."

"And you saw no sign of Waters while you were at thecabin?"

She shook her head. "No."

"He denies being anywhere near the cabin, of course. He sayshe went for a walk."

"That was to protect me, Pete!"

"Or himself..."

She heaved a deep sigh. "As long as I thought it was suicide,my duty seemed plain. Vic was dead, and nothing I could do wouldbring him back to life. But I could help Fritz. When I discoveredit wasn't suicide, but murder, I was aghast—I felt asthough I'd aided and abetted my husband's murderer. Ever sincehearing the coroner's report I've asked myself the one question,how I should have acted if I'd known from the first that Fritzhad killed Vic?"

"And what's the answer?"

She seemed to shiver. "I haven't found it. But of this I'mcertain, and nothing you can say will shake me in my belief, thatif Fritz found it necessary to stage this appearance of suicide,it was to save my good name."

"It's a pity he didn't think of that sooner," I couldn't helpsaying. "In the meantime, Graziella, you're coming straight withme to Dene with this statement of yours."

She shook her head firmly. "No, Pete—at least, not untilI've had a talk with Fritz..."

"Do you realise that he's probably in the county jail bythis?"

"Then I'll see him in jail."

"Be reasonable," I begged her. "Thanks to Miss Ingersoll, Denesuspects you already. If he discovers independently that you wereat the cabin last night, don't you see he's bound to believe thatyou and Fritz Waters were in on this killing together?"

"I don't care what he thinks, I'll tell him nothing until I'vespoken to Fritz. And that goes for you, too, Pete. You said Icould trust you—I have your word, haven't I?"

"You have my word all right. But I think you're making aterrible mistake."

"I've made so many," she answered wistfully, and stood up,"that one more can't make much difference."

With that she left me, and I went down to my shack.

After her performance that day I should have thought MissIngersoll would have steered clear of me. But when I reached myshack, there she was, restlessly rocking herself on theporch.

"Well," I said, "I hope you're satisfied."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I saw you and Mrs. Haversley hob-nobbing in the gardens just now. I'd like to know what she wassaying to you..."

"Couldn't you get near enough to hear?"

My thrust went home. She blushed scarlet. "I wonder you wasteyour time on these people," she said severely.

"I don't know whom you mean by 'these people.' Mrs. Haversleyhappens to a friend of mine."

"She's a parasite, like her friend Waters. Working folk likeyou and me are too good for them."

"Speak for yourself!" I said, and turned to go into thehouse.

"You don't like me, do you?" she struck in. "Well, you'rewrong. You and I should stick together. I think it's a scandalthat a man who's sacrificed his health and his career to hiscountry should slave and toil for a bare living in the midst ofthis vulgar display of wealth. I know you never complain, butdon't you rebel inwardly? I do. How do you suppose I likesticking indoors all day typing on thirty-five a week and makingout on a couple of cheap frocks when I see empty-headed chitslike this Sara Carruthers and this Myrtle of theirs, withtrunkloads of lovely clothes, amusing themselves in the freshair? I know I'm not as young or as pretty as they are, but I'vetwice their brains. Is it fair?"

Almost for the first time since she had come to Wolf Lake, Ifound myself considering Miss Ingersoll with more than a passingglance. Now that she had laid aside the hideous octagonal rimmedglasses she invariably wore, she was really not bad-looking. Shehad nice skin, and her auburn hair, gleaming like copper in thesun where it was brushed back from the forehead, was scrupulouslyneat. Her hands, large but very slender, were well kept, and Iobserved that she disdained the blood-red nails affected by Saraand Myrtle. In the plain black frock she wore with white muslinat neck and wrists she looked to have quite a good figure.

"It's nothing you and I can correct," I told her. "Moreover,two wrongs never made a right, and if you think you're going toreform social injustice by venting your spite onindividuals..."

"That's not true," she said quickly.

"You were jealous of Graziella Haversley, you know that aswell as I do, and you pursued her with your rancour. Well, whathave you achieved? You've managed to have Fritz Waters arrested,but what good does that do you?"

"You believe I was in love with Victor Haversley, don't you?"she answered, flushing again. "Well, it's not true. But he waskind to me, thoughtful and understanding, almost the only personwho's been kind to me in my life. His wife never cared a rapabout him: she married him for the position he could give her.And now that he's dead I seem to be the only one to give athought to his memory. I've avenged him, at least. Isn't thatsomething?"

"Certainly, if you're sure you're not making a mistake. I'drather the responsibility were yours than mine."

She laughed contemptuously. "Of course, your friend Mrs.Haversley proclaims this man's innocence!"

That nettled me, and I found myself, rather paradoxically,rallying to Waters's defence. "At present," I said, "the caseagainst him mainly rests on the fact that he can't produce analibi. That goes for other people in this camp. Yourself, forinstance!"

Her face was blank with dismay. "Me?" She paused. "Was thatwhy this Scotland Yard man was questioning me just now?"

"What did he want to know?"

"He asked me if I ever wore jewellery. I told him I had nojewellery except this watch"—she lifted herwrist—"that Mr. Haversley gave me at Christmas. What did hemean by that, do you suppose?"

"I haven't the least idea. But it shows, at least, that hekeeps an open mind. Did he question young Jarvis, too?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"He was absent from the house when the shot was fired. He sayshe was in bed."

She stared at me fixedly. "Jarvis?" she echoed.

I laughed. "Unlike you, I don't regard it as part of my dutyto make charges against anyone. But young Jarvis greatly resentedMr. Haversley's attentions to Miss Carruthers. I can't saywhether it ever came to a set-to between them, but at any rateFritz Waters was not the only person at the camp to bearHaversley ill-will."

She had risen from her rocking-chair, her face perplexed. Now,without speaking, she walked down the porch steps and left methere.

With unseeing eyes, I watched her go. My mind was gropingback. Out of the recesses of my memory Dave Jarvis's darklyhandsome face seemed to peer in one of those resentful, grudginglooks I'd seen him turn on Vic when Vic was fussing about Sara.Step by step, something was building up. I remembered, on theafternoon of our ride, the day that Waters arrived, coming out towhere the horses were waiting behind the house.

Vic and Sara were there and Sara was saying, as Vic adjustedher stirrup leathers, "Dave'll be mad as hell: I promised to playtennis with him!"

And Vic replied, "That'll be all right, sweetness. You canhave a set with him before dinner!"

Dave, eh? Had he blown the top off after all, as I'd predictedto Graziella he would? The question rose in my thoughts as Irecalled the glimpse I had of him emerging from the path that ledto the trapper's cabin, when, later on that same afternoon, Iwent up to the house to dine. I had hailed him, but he paid noattention. And he failed to appear at co*cktail time because heand Sara—Sara had admitted as much to EdithLumsden—had had a quarrel: Edith had insisted on Sara goingin search of him.

Here was a line of reasoning, tenuous, perhaps, as thespider's web trembling from the trumpet vine that clambered upthe porch, but logical, to submit to Trevor Dene. What ifWaters's story were true? Supposing he had kept faith withGraziella, and not gone to the trapper's cabin after all? Iremembered the honest bluntness, the dignity, with which he toldus all, "I never killed this man!"

Young Jarvis—the name had touched some responsive chordin the secretary's mind, I felt certain. I recalled the doubt inher eyes as she had silently fled from me, her self-assuranceevaporated. I glanced out from the porch, at the little dockshimmering white in the blinding sunshine, the sparkling watersof the lake, the girdle of trees shading in hue from the sicklyblue of the spruce to the blacker verdure of hemlock and pine,and was suddenly revolted. Somewhere, amid all that loveliness, amurderer lurked, I told myself.

I turned my back on the scene and went in to mytypewriter.

CHAPTER 15

IT was Miss Ryder who brought me the news ofWaters's arrest.

The long, hot afternoon was on the wane when the smart rappingof her cane on the screen door of my shack jarred upon mysubconsciousness. Since Miss Ingersoll's abrupt departure I hadnot stirred from my machine. Murder or no murder, I hadcontracted to deliver the completed manuscript of my play by thelast day of the month: here we were at the 20th already, and Ihad no more than blocked out my third act. In the confused andanxious condition of my mind work was a sedative, and I hadwritten steadily through the lunch hour, quite oblivious of thelapse of time, when Miss Ryder appeared.

I welcomed the break. Besides, I rather liked Janet Ryder. Shewas an old maid without being the least skittish or vinegary. Hersmall face, wrinkled and intelligent as a monkey's, was full ofcharacter. I knew nothing about her save that she was a friend ofEdith Lumsden's in New York, where she lived, like thousands ofother lonely women, in one of the innumerable small hotels to befound on the west side of the park. I often speculated upon herearly history—her brusque mode of address, her pungentcomments on life, suggested a wide knowledge of the world.

She said she would sit on the porch, and lowered herself intomy rocking-chair, her large, brogued feet thrust out in front ofher. Bracegirdle, who had accompanied the party to Springsville,had telephoned, she told me—the district attorney haddecided to hold Waters on the homicide charge.

"And I ain't surprised," she added drily in her queer, rustyvoice.

I gazed at her in consternation. "Does this mean he'sconfessed?"

She sported a gay bunch of cornflowers on the dingy straw hatshe wore, and she shook her head until they danced. "Not he. Hestill protests his innocence, Oscar says, though they've beengrilling him for hours. But don't let that fool you. All he's outfor now is to cover up the woman." Her eyes, round and black likeboot buttons, darted me a piercing glance. "Who set the cabin torights, is what I'd like to know!" she remarked severely.

I felt my colour changing as I faced her, leaning against thebalustrade. "Wasn't it Waters—to make it look likesuicide?"

She sniffed. "A man wouldn't have made the mistake of throwingout Haversley's cigar. Besides, she was out of the house a goodhalf-hour. What was she up to all that time. Will you tell methat?"

Her persistence irked me. I was scared, too, she stared at meso intently. It wasn't going to be so easy to fool this hard,sharp old woman, I reflected. Attack was my best weapon, Idecided.

"I know no more than you do," I retorted incisively. "But Iknow Graziella, and I'm not going to stand here and let youpractically accuse her of complicity in her husband'smurder."

She nodded complacently. "Quite right, young man! Always stickup for your friends. But if she didn't tidy up that room, whodid?" Once more her auger glance bored into my face. "What's thisScotland Yard man got on his mind?" she asked abruptly.

I laughed. "I'm sorry, but he hasn't taken me into hisconfidence, Miss Ryder."

Her air of disbelief was evident. "What's he got against MissWhat's-her-name—the secretary gal?" she rapped out.

"Miss Ingersoll? I don't know. She told me he'd beenquestioning her..."

"What about?"

"He wanted to know whether she wore any jewellery."

"In other words, whether Vic Haversley had been making herpresents. Is that it?"

"She has a wrist-watch he gave her, that's all! And she wearsthat..."

"Humph! Then what did the fellow want in her room?"

"Who? Dene? When?"

"After he'd had us all up this morning. It was just beforethey left for Springsville. I'd gone upstairs with Edith. MissIngersoll sleeps on that floor, at the end of the landing. I wasjust coming out of Edith's room when I saw this chap Denesuddenly appear from the staircase. I kept out of sight, andwatched him slip into Cynthia's room, which comes first, and thenMiss Ingersoll's at the end. What do you suppose he wasafter?"

I shook my head. "I haven't the faintest idea!"

She laughed and tapped me with the palm leaf fan she carried."Discreet, aren't you?"

"I assure you..." I began.

"Never mind," she said. "Here's Oscar!"

Dr. Bracegirdle looked hot, and his loose suit of black alpacawas powdered with dust. "You're well out of that mob up at thehouse," he growled, plodding up the steps.

"What mob?" I inquired.

"Newspaper men, photographers," Miss Ryder answered for him."I went for a walk," she told the doctor craftily.

Bracegirdle nodded approvingly. "Good for you. We can't haveyou figuring in the tabloids at your time of life, eh, Janet?Wilson"—Wilson was the Lumsdens' agent and headfactotum—"has rounded them all up at his house, and Charleshas gone there to issue a statement." He had doffed his panama,and was wiping the back of his neck with a red bandannahandkerchief.

"What about Waters?" I asked.

"In jail," he replied laconically, still mopping.

"And Graziella?"

"She shut herself up in her room when the Press arrived, Edithsays." He sighed. "I'm sorry for that girl..."

"Did Dene come back with you, Doc?"

The old boy seemed to stiffen—I had the impression thathis clash with Dene at the cabin on the previous night stillrankled. "Yes. Edith's giving him tea." He paused. "I'm not awarethat I ever watched one of these modern scientific criminologistsat work before," he remarked somewhat acidly, "but if this youngman's a representative specimen, by heck! they certainly takeprecious little for granted. I'd have said that the case againstWaters was pretty well established, but your friend Dene, now, hedon't seem to accept anything he hasn't established himself."

Miss Ryder gave me a look as much as to say, "What did I tellyou?"

"As, for instance——?" I asked the doctor.

Bracegirdle shrugged broad shoulders. "Don't think I'm sorebecause he proved me wrong—obviously, he's had experienceof forensic medicine which I can't pretend to possess," heremarked with a touch of pompousness. "But I was one of the firstto reach the scene of the crime, and my statement as to the hourof death was a considered one. Yet it wasn't good enough for yourfriend Dene, apparently, Pete!"

"How do you mean 'not good enough'?"

The doctor bristled. "Dr. Gavan, the coroner, confided to methat Dene had been to him, wanting him to express an opinion asto the approximate hour of death. Gavan pointed out thatHaversley had been dead for nearly twelve hours before heexamined the body, and very properly referred him to me. Andthat's not all! He's been pestering everybody—the D. A.,the sheriff, the State police, with questions..."

"What sort of questions?"

"I don't know—about the prevailing conditions lastnight, the temperature of the air, what time it was dark, whenthe moon rose, a whole string." He clapped on his hat and gazedbenignly at Miss Ryder. "Well, my pretty, what do you say to acup of tea?"

"Not a thing," was the gruff response. "What I need is a goodstiff highball, and a drink wouldn't do Pete here any harm, bythe looks of him!"

"That's a good idea," I told her, and the three of us trudgedup to the house together.

CHAPTER 16

OLD Bracegirdle co*cked his big, bald head up atthe sky as, fanning himself with his hat, he stumped aheadthrough the gardens. "There's a storm coming up!" he observedsagely.

"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," said Miss Ryder. "Theglass has been falling ever since lunch. Well, let's hope it'llbreak up the heat!"

I knew those Adirondack thunderstorms—we had had asuccession of them through the summer. Long to threaten, slow toarrive, when they burst they are terrifying in their duration andintensity. The afternoon was clammy with damp heat, the flowersdrooped before the spasmodic gusts of a fiery wind that rattledamong the pergolas, and from time to time a ragged mass of lemon-tipped cloud, obscuring the sun, stressed the curiously leadenquality of the light. The lake was like one of those Chinesepictures painted on glass. Small sounds rang with exaggeratedclearness in the oppressive hush—the yapping of MissRyder's elderly Peke imprisoned in her bungalow, the rhythmicclank of the Bowser pump at the garage.

The atmosphere of suspense, the breathlessness with which lakeand woods seemed to wait, unsettled me. The parallel with our ownsituation was too close. Like the menace of the storm, I felt theshadow of the tragedy of Victor Haversley resting over us,darkening our horizon, keeping us waiting with bated breath forthe next development.

I found myself desperately anxious for a private word withDene. My confidence in the young man was growing. Hispertinacity, the way he went after his goal regardless ofpeople's feelings, impressed me. From what Bracegirdle had saidit was evident that, Waters's arrest notwithstanding, theScotland Yard man still guarded an open mind. I was on fire todiscover in which direction his inquiries were leading him. Ifonly they led away from Waters, then Graziella's fatal intrusionmight yet be safely explained away.

Were his suspicions focussing on Miss Ingersoll? It lookedlike it. The idea was not so far-fetched. She had no alibi, tobegin with, and, for all her denials, I still believed she hadbeen in love with Vic. What about him? Had there been anythingbetween these two he wouldn't have been the first employer tohave an affair with his typist. If he had wanted to break withher and she had shot him, that notion of the fake suicide wouldhave occurred to her more naturally than to anyone else.

Tea-time at Wolf Lake was usually a bustling occasion. Theprincipal mail of the day arrived around five, and people woulddrift in to grab a cup of tea and a cookie and talk over theirletters and the New York newspapers. But this afternoon an air ofdepression reigned. At the tea-table Edith was making politeconversation with Trevor Dene, who, cup in hand, stood back tothe fireplace as in a London drawing-room. Such of the house-party as were present were scattered—Cynthia on a couchdeep in a magazine; Buster Leighton and Dickie reading a lettertogether; young Jarvis at the far end of the room behind thesports section of The Times. There was no sign ofGraziella.

I caught Dene while Edith was getting the doctor his tea."Break away as soon as you can and come down to my shack. I'vesomething to tell you," I whispered.

"Okay," he returned in his sprightly way, and I went to thesideboard to mix Miss Ryder her highball.

I brought her her drink and poured out one for myself. When Ilooked round again, Dene was nowhere to be seen.

I found him on the verandah, filling his blackened briar fromhis pouch. I drained my glass at a gulp and put it away. "Comealong!" I told him. "We've got to have a talk!"

"Just a minute!" he stayed me.

Myrtle and Sara were mounting the path from the lake. In typethey were strikingly contrasted, Myrtle a dark brunette, Saramuch fairer, with her red-bronze ringlets and snowy skin. Herbackless green swimming-suit showed off her shapely figure to thebest advantage, and she trailed a vivid orange bath-gown. Myrtlelooked no less fetching in bell-bottom pyjamas of the brightestblue with braces over her bare, brown shoulders and a gob'shat.

"Oh, for pity's sake, old man," I groaned. "Once those two getgoing, we shall never break away!"

But he didn't budge. Even in those tragic circ*mstances, Isuppose, a new young man at the camp, particularly one withDene's romantic background, was an event in the eyes of thosegirls. I could almost see them preening themselves as theytripped up the steps. And the Englishman, I perceived withexasperation, was young enough to fall for a pretty face—atany rate, he seemed unable to take his eyes off Sara.

"Tea's ready inside," I told them. "Coming?" I asked Dene.

Myrtle had flung herself down on the swinging couch.

"It's much too hot for tea," she gasped. "Be a love, Petedarling, and bring me a long drink here outside, something withoceans of ice. How about you, Sara?"

"A Tom Collins, I think," said Sara.

"An excellent suggestion," Dene chimed in coolly. "Make thatthree, will you, Pete, old boy?"

I gave him a look, but I went inside. As I opened the screendoor I heard Myrtle say, "Is it true about Mr. Waters?" and Sarastrike in quickly, "Oh, my goodness, Myrtle, can't we speak ofsomething else for once in this house?"

Her voice was tart—unconsciously young Jarvis came intomy mind. I looked for him as I entered the living-room. He stillhad his newspaper, but he wasn't reading it. It had dropped onhis knees, and with a dour, scowling mien he was staring in frontof him.

I fixed the drinks and took them outside. The girls hadapparently been pumping Dene about himself—at any rate, Iheard Sara's soft laugh as Myrtle gurgled, "The only cops I evermet were either Irish or Jewish. I never heard of one who'd beento Cambridge!"

Dene chuckled, puffing at his pipe. To see him there,comfortably installed in one of the low wicker chairs, you'd havesaid he was prepared to yarn with those two for the rest of theafternoon—I could have strangled him.

There was the tinkle of ice and straws made sucking noises.Presently Dene said to Sara in his languid way, "Is ProfessorCarruthers a relation of yours?"

Sara shook her head and released carmined lips from about herstraw. "I'm afraid we don't run to professors in our family. Whois he?"

"The Egyptologist. Remember Tut's tomb—well, he was oneof the experts helping on the excavation. I heard him lectureabout it in London."

Myrtle spoke up from where she lay on her back on the couch."Do you believe that things taken from tombs areunlucky, Mr. Dene?" she questioned lazily.

Sara broke in promptly. "Shut up, will you please,Myrtle!"

The Scotland Yard man shrugged. "I've heard stories.Personally, I think they're rather rot."

Myrtle bounced up to a sitting posture. With a glance at Sara,she said impressively, "Sara has a string of mummy beads. They'resupposed to have belonged to a lady-in-waiting ofQueen—Queen—oh, dear, you tell him the name,Sara!"

As Sara did not answer, I stepped into the breach. "QueenHatshepsut. She was a kind of Middle Dynasty Queen Victoria, youknow," I added to Dene.

"Sara was wearing them last night," Myrtle went on with an airof mystery. "Buster told her they were frightfully unlucky. Andthen this terrible thing happened. It's pretty odd, don't youthink, Mr. Dene?"

"It's a lot of nonsense," Sara struck in. "Just an oldnecklace someone gave me for Christmas. It's probably fake,anyway!" Her pretty face glowed with indignation—she wasquite annoyed. "I wish you'd mind your own business, Myrtle!" Shejumped to her feet and picked up her wrap.

Dene seemed unconscious of her ill humour—I wasbeginning to feel that he wasn't always so tactful as I'dthought. "I could probably tell you whether they're genuine ornot," he said gravely, standing up in his turn. "I know a bitabout Egyptian antikas. Why not let me see them?"

"Sure," she answered carelessly, "any time you say.Unfortunately, the string's broken at present. I'll have to getthem re-strung... Well, we'd better be getting some clothes on, Isuppose. Thanks for the drink, Pete. Coming, Myrtle?"

Reluctantly Myrtle gathered herself up from her couch. "Okay!"She fluttered her hand at us and ran down the steps afterSara.

Dene gave me a semi-comic look. "I didn't realise you were anEgyptologist, old man," he remarked.

I laughed. "I'm not. Only I once ghosted a magazine series on'The Curse of the Pharaohs,' and I read everything I could lay myhands on about Tut's tomb. I remember Breasted and Winlock andsome of your British men like Newberry and Alan Gardiner helpingHoward Carter, but I'm blessed if I can place your ProfessorCarruthers. Is he very well-known?"

"As well known as the celebrated Mrs. 'arris, shall we say?"he replied, gazing at me hard.

I returned his stare—he didn't bat an eyelid. "SaireyGamp's imaginary friend, is it?"

He nodded briefly, and glanced casually over his shoulder."Would you know those beads again if you saw them?" His handdipped into his waistcoat pocket.

"I guess so. It's the only string of its kind at thecamp."

He opened his palm. Two cylindrical beads of blue glazereposed there. Then his palm closed and the beads disappeared inhis pocket. "Okay?"

I nodded. "Okay! Where did you find 'em?"

"At the cabin!"

I stared at him aghast. "Ye gods!"

"One was under the couch, the other lay on the grass justoutside the door."

I laughed. "You drew her out skilfully enough. But how did youknow they were hers?"

His fingers went to another pocket and produced an envelope.Another backward glance and a single coppery hair lay on hishand.

"I picked it off one of the cushions on the couch," he said,and restored it to its envelope. "It was hers or the secretarywoman's," he explained. "They have much the same colouring."

"How do you know it isn't Miss Ingersoll's?"

"Not carrotty enough. I checked it by a hair I picked off herdressing-table."

So that was what he had been after in Miss Ingersoll's room!"Talking of Miss Ingersoll..." I began. But suddenly his fingersclosed on my wrist like a clamp.

The living-room door had opened. Miss Ingersoll stood therelooking out. "He's here!" she said over her shoulder into theroom and disappeared.

Then Hank's stalwart figure filled the doorway. "All set?" hecried to Dene.

"I'm ready," said Dene, and knocked out his pipe. "Newspapermen gone?"

"Sure."

"And you kept my name out of it?"

"Yeah." The sheriff sighed. "You're making a mistake, son.They'd sure of given you a great build-up!"

Dene turned to me. "The coroner's expecting me at half-pastsix. I can't wait now. I'll try to come over after dinner. In themeantime"—he patted his pocket—"not a word!"

"And what about Waters?"

"Waters?" He laughed. "You needn't worry about him!"

"He's in jail, isn't he?"

"True. But he won't be there long!"

"You mean, the D.A.'s decided not to hold him?"

His finger prodded my chest. "Yes. But the D. A. don't know ityet. So keep it under your hat!"

With which he touched his hand to his head in a grave saluteand made off after the sheriff.

CHAPTER 17

I SIDE-STEPPED Edith's kind but rather half-hearted invitation that I should stop on for dinner on the pleathat I wanted to work. I returned to my lonely shack in a stateof indescribable restlessness—the threatening storm, thegloom that hung over the camp, this secret which Graziella hadconfided to me, combined to lower my spirits to the nadir ofdepression. Dene's discovery that Sara had been at the cabin, Ireflected, was bound to convince him that it was she who hadtidied up the place: he would have to be told the truth if thewhole investigation were not to run on the rocks. But I had givenGraziella my word, and I knew she would never release me untilshe was sure that Fritz Waters was exculpated. Could Dene clearhim without his vital disclosure? He seemed to think he could:nevertheless I felt I could scarcely wait until he should appearand I might learn from him the exact extent of his suspicionsagainst Sara and Miss Ingersoll.

I couldn't eat, I couldn't write. The storm held off, and Isat on the porch in the breathless evening, smoking one cigaretteafter the other and coughing my lungs out, my ears strained forthe sound of the outboard motor. Night came down like ink, with acapricious wind that clacked the rushes along the bank. It wasmidnight and Dene didn't arrive. I went to bed. I awoke with along peal of thunder ringing in my ears. The rain was hissing andsplashing, and through the open door of the shack I could see thejagged outline of the woods beyond the lake as the lightningflamed on the horizon. The noise was tremendous, and everylightning flash seemed to split the livid sky. I thought ofVictor Haversley lying there in his bedroom up at the house, andI was awed—it was like a stupendous requiem.

I got up and went to the door. The very air seemed to cracklewith electricity: the whole world was fragrant of wet earth andleaves. I stood awhile looking out, and presently I was aware ofthe trapper's cabin irresistibly forcing itself to the forefrontof my thoughts. My life has been much too full of the hardestreality to make me in the least superstitious, but as I lingeredthere watching the lightning I became conscious of a compellingimpulse to go to the cabin. I told myself that to leave the housein such weather was folly: I should be drowned out in thattorrential downpour—besides, the danger of being struck bylightning among the trees was considerable. Nevertheless, thesensation persisted: it was like a magnet drawing me. In thelight of what happened, I cannot explain it, unless it be thatthe discharge of great quantities of electric fluid into theatmosphere in some way galvanises our subconscious powers. Sostrong was the impulse that at last I walked along to the end ofthe porch and, leaning out, gazed backward across the gardens towhere, above the iron gate, the lamp which burned all nightmarked the opening of the path leading to the cabin.

To my astonishment a tiny point of light moved through thegardens. My eye caught the glitter of wet leaves—it was atorch. A brilliant lightning flash showed me a dark figurerunning. Now it had reached the fence, and the dim bulb above thegate disclosed a fleeting glimpse of a form in sou'-wester andoilskins passing through. Then flash-light and figure wereswallowed up by the trees.

It was the work of an instant to pull oilskins over mypyjamas, thrust my feet into gumboots and snatch up my torch. Therain, warm and lush on my bare head, was descending in a solidcurtain; the path behind my shack was a flowing rivulet; thethunder clanged and echoed through the hills. The lightning wasterrifying, slashing down into the woods and lighting up thewhole, swaying horizon. Once, with a sickening slam like a six-inch letting off, startling war-shocked nerves to instant,agonised revolt, it struck close by, and I heard the rendingcrash of the falling tree.

As I plunged and splashed my way through the dark, in thelightning's glare the hut was suddenly revealed, desolate andrain-washed in its tiny clearing, at the end of the path. A flashas I broke into the open showed windows close-shuttered. But thedoor was ajar, and there was a glimmer of light inside.

Rubber boots and grass deadened my footsteps as I tiptoedforward. The thought nagged at my brain that the place was keptlocked and that the sheriff had the key. But what should Hankwant there at that hour and on such a night? Noiselessly I swungback the door—and had the greatest fright of my life.

Victor Haversley stood at the writing-table. At least, thatwas my first, annihilating impression. It was the sou'-wester,the oilskins that did it. They were not of the usual black ormustard-coloured variety, but dark green, of that diaphanousrubber that looks like cellophane. Vic's green oilskins were theonly set of their kind at the camp.

Common sense told me at once that it was not Vic, but somebodywearing his hat and coat. All the same, I received ashock—it was creepy to see him, apparently, there, stoopedover the table, torch in hand, hunting through a drawer. I didnot switch on my light but, holding it in readiness, stood stockstill and waited. Who was it? Man or woman? I couldn't tell. Thefigure, muffled in the shapeless coat, with the shield of thesou'-wester down on to the shoulders, was a blur against thecarefully shaded light.

One drawer was softly closed, another opened. The search wenton. Pitilessly the rain drummed on the roof. The thunder rolledincessantly, but in the warm and shuttered darkness of the cabinthe lightning was no more than a flicker, like a light-sign inNew York rising and falling far away among the houses. I scarcelydared breathe. Now the second drawer was shut and that amorphousshape was bending over the third. Then I heard a sigh and thefigure swung slowly about. At the same instant I switched on mytorch.

It was Miss Ingersoll. In the flashlight's beam her pale eyeswere wide with terror. She made as though to spring back, but thetable was in her way. She held a paper in her hand. I was on herand had wrested it away before she could speak.

"And what are you doing here, I'd like to know?" Idemanded.

"Give me back that bill!" she whispered hoarsely.

"Bill?" I said, and stooped to the table to examine it.

She made a grab at my hand, but I pulled it away. "It'snothing to do with you," she cried, struggling to reach thepaper. "I won't have you read it. Give it back to me!"

"Not till I see what it is," I told her, holding it out of hergrasp.

"Please—I entreat you," she pleaded with tears in hervoice. "Already this Scotland Yard man suspects me. If he seesthat bill..."

But I had put the table between us. Laying the paper down, Iturned my light on it. With a little, wailing cry she buried herface in her hands.

It was a bill from Cartier for a diamond bangle—price$1650—made out to Victor Haversley, Esq., Wolf Lake,N.Y.

I glanced up at her. She had left her torch alight on thetable, and by its broken radiance I could see the teardropsglisten on her lashes—she looked utterly crestfallen.

"A little souvenir for the girl friend, eh?" I commented. "Sothat was why you were so eager to denounce Mrs. Haversley?"

She said nothing, but continued to gaze at me with the same,dismayed expression.

"And so you've no jewellery except a wristwatch, eh?" Itaunted her. "And he gave you that, too!"

She shook her head wistfully. "That bangle wasn't for me. Iknow nothing about it except that it arrived two days ago and Isigned for it, and afterwards Mr. Haversley showed it to me. Ithought he meant it as a surprise for his wife. But I've beenthrough her jewellery box, and she hasn't got it. It's not amonghis things, either. And it's not here—I've hunted for itevery place. He put it in that drawer." She pointed to the centredrawer of the table.

"Come, my dear," I said, "you'll have to think up a better onethan that!"

She drew a shuddering breath. "Why do you hate me so?" shequestioned forlornly.

"Because you've pursued an innocent woman with your spite," Itold her bluntly, "and because you're responsible for having aninnocent man arrested on what now seems to be a totally falsecharge, to save your own skin."

"Do you believe that I killed Mr. Haversley?" she askedgravely.

"It was either you or Sara Carruthers. He was playing aroundwith the pair of you, presumably."

She gave me a long, questing look. "Sara Carruthers?" sherepeated in a strained voice. "Why do you mention her?"

"You known darn well why!"

I spoke heatedly, but once more she passed over the anger inmy tone. With a serious air she nodded and replied, "It came tome only just now. Nothing in the desk has been examinedyet—the sheriff wanted me to help him go through the papersto-morrow. When I found that bangle missing I realised that Mr.Haversley must have intended it for Sara..."

"Then why did you find it necessary to come out here in themiddle of a thunderstorm to get this bill?"

"You don't understand," she said. "I had no suspicion of Sarauntil I looked for the bangle in the desk and it wasn't there.All I thought of was that your friend Dene was trying to saddleme with this crime. I don't know how he knew about the bangle,but he'd asked me if I wore any jewellery."

Dene's question, I knew now, referred to the mummy beads. ButI didn't disillusion her.

"And so you thought you'd get rid of the bill, at anyrate?"

She flushed slowly. "Yes, if you want to know, I did. I tellyou again I never had this bangle, and I'd nothing to do with thekilling of Mr. Haversley—why should I kill a kind andconsiderate employer? But do you realise what happens to anyonelike me who falls into the hands of the police? I'm out of a jobas it is—who'd employ me again after my name had been onevery front page in America as a suspect in the Haversleymurder?"

"You ask pity for yourself," I said bitterly. "But you hadnone on Graziella Haversley and her friend Waters..."

She dropped her eyes. "Maybe I acted over-hastily. I wasattached to Mr. Haversley. It revolted me to find them allagainst him. I wish you'd tell me why you mentioned Sara's namejust now."

I was excited—the storm that still raged outside thecabin, the strangeness of our surroundings, carried meaway—and I blurted out the truth. "Because she visitedHaversley here in the cabin last night!" I retorted.

She opened her eyes wide. "Are you sure of this?" she asked inan awed whisper.

"Dene is," I told her.

"Then she must have the bangle! Don't you see, Mr. Haversleymust have given it to her last night! Oh, they were having a mildflirtation, of course, but I never thought she'd have allowed himto have given her a present as valuable as this..." She checkedbewildered. "She's vain and spoilt, but surely you don't thinkher capable of—of murder?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. You can't get over the facts.At eleven-five, when Miss Ryder heard the shot, Sara was with therest of us up at the house..."

"And her fiancé, Mr. Jarvis, was in bed at his bungalow, youtold me?"

"Yes. Young Leighton was with him in his room a minute or twobefore eleven o'clock..."

She sighed. "Then, of course, you must suspect me. Nobody sawme last night—I haven't any alibi."

Her directness, the candour of her glance, were not withouttheir effect upon me. She was a woman alone, God knows how manythousands of miles from home—for I supposed she came fromthe West, like the Haversleys—and I had sneered at her,taunted her. I felt suddenly rather ashamed of myself.

"That's a matter for Dene," I parried, but with a gentlertone. "I'll have to give him this bill and explain to him aboutthe bangle." I looked at her severely. "You were crazy to comeout on a night like this. What have you got on under thatraincoat?"

She clasped her hands together, drawing her shoulders downlike a bashful little girl. "Only my night-dress."

"That's Haversley's coat, isn't it?"

She nodded. "I found it in the hall."

I laughed. "For a moment I thought it was he—you gave mea proper turn." I was surveying her with my flashlight: the beamfell on her feet. Her bedroom slippers were sodden with wet."Look at your slippers, for goodness' sake! You'll catch yourdeath of cold."

For the first time she smiled at me. Her teeth were white andeven in the torch's beam. "I shall be all right. The rain'sstopping already." She glanced towards the door.

"How did you get in here?" I demanded.

"Mr. Haversley let me have a key."

"You'd better give it to me, do you mind?"

She dipped into the capacious pocket of her oilskin andproduced it. "Now I'll take you home to bed," I said. I gave herher flashlight from the table and, taking her by the arm, led herto the door.

A spell of coughing racked me as we went out. "It's you whoshould take care of yourself with that lung of yours," she said."You've been smoking again, haven't you?"

I nodded and turned to lock the door. The storm was over:through a wreath of ragged brown cloud the moon shone down ondripping branches, gleaming wet grass. Shyly she laid her arm inmine. "You want someone to look after you," she said. "Have youno relations? No sister or someone?"

I laughed. "If the entire human race were to be blotted outto-morrow," I told her, "I shouldn't be a penny the better orworse!"

She said nothing, but it seemed to me that the pressure of herhand on my arm tightened. As we crossed the grass the moon shonefull in our faces, and I saw a single tear roll down her cheekinto the upturned collar of her oilskin. We spoke no morethereafter save for a brief "Good night." But on my way back tomy shack I reflected that it was the first time a woman had sheda tear for me since the day they had carried me broken and bloodyand fighting for breath into the casualty clearing-station theday I was hit, and the young nurse fresh from home who had givenme my first blanket bath had wept silently while she plied herflannel.

CHAPTER 18

THERE was no word from Dene next morning. I feltconsiderably at a loss. As long as he was apparently satisfied asto Fritz Waters's innocence, my mind was comparatively easy onthe score of Graziella's disclosure to me. But the episode of thebangle was a different matter. Here was an important piece of newevidence which clearly should be passed on without delay to thesheriff or the district attorney or whoever was officially incharge of the investigation. Yet I was unwilling to take anysteps without consulting Dene. So around ten I strolled over tothe house to telephone "The Cedars."

Charles, in a town suit, was on the verandah, moodily smokingan after-breakfast cigar. The inquest, he told me, was fixed foreleven o'clock, at Hartigan's dance saloon in the village. Onlyhe and old Bracegirdle proposed to go over for it, for theproceedings were to be purely formal—beyond theidentification of the body no evidence would be offered, and Hankwas going to ask for a week's adjournment to complete hisinquiries. In the meantime, Waters, late on the previous evening,had been brought before the Justice of the Peace at Springsvilleand charged with the murder. Beyond denying the accusation, hehad made no statement. I asked what had been done about engaginga lawyer to defend him.

"Walter Lauff, the Haversleys' attorney in Chicago, isarriving at Red Falls on the ten-two," Lumsden replied. "AtGraziella's request I called him first thing yesterday morning athis home in Chicago, and he said he'd hop on the morning 'planefor New York. Graziella speaks of consulting him about Waters'sdefence..." His teeth clamped hard down on his cigar. "I tried tosuggest to her that, in the circ*mstances, it might be morefitting if she kept out of it. But women are so damned pig-headed, she won't listen to me. Well, they're in a tough spot,the pair of them, I'm afraid. They can't say we didn't do what wecould for them. Especially you, Pete. Although, mind you, I'm notsure I altogether approve of your having kept that threat ofWaters's against Vic under your hat."

I shrugged. "Even now the case against him is purelycirc*mstantial, you must admit that!"

Charles reddened irately—like many good-natured people,he was quick to anger. "He's as guilty as hell. He had no use forVic—he admitted it. And he and Graziella were crazy aboutone another. Both Oscar and Janet Ryder tumbled to it the veryafternoon he arrived."

"Miss Ryder's a catty old woman. To hear her talk, you'd thinkGraziella put him up to it, like Ruth Snyder or someone."

"Oscar Bracegirdle's one of the shrewdest men I know, and hebelieves that Waters is guilty."

"That's because he's prejudiced..."

"Why? What's Waters done to him?"

"Not against Waters—against Dene. Because Dene provedhim wrong about the suicide. And now, simply because Dene asksfor proof, your friend Bracegirdle proclaims Waters's guilt fromthe house-tops..."

We had both grown heated. Suddenly the folly of it struck me,and I said, "Don't let's quarrel about it, Charles. Our nervesare all to hell, I guess, and I'm not surprised..."

He sighed. "I expect you're right."

"Have you seen anything of Dene this morning?"

He shook his head. "He's gone to Red Falls to meet the lawyer.He rang up to ask me to let the car stop by for him in thevillage on the way to the depot."

"The Haversley's lawyer, eh? I wonder what he wants withhim?"

Charles considered me thoughtfully. "I have an idea, if you'llkeep it to yourself..."

"Of course."

"I fancy it's to check up on some information he got from meyesterday. He wanted to know how Vic's death would affectGraziella financially..."

I started. He'd not breathed a word of this to me. Howthorough this young man was and how secretive, burrowing away outof sight like a mole!

"My God, Charles," I broke in, "he wasn't suggesting..."

My companion smiled at the horror in my voice. "Fortunatelyfor Graziella I was able to tell him that, save for such gifts ofmoney as Vic may have made her during his lifetime, his deathwill leave her virtually penniless, as far as Vic's capital isconcerned. You know he inherited through his mother from hisstepfather, Hermann Kummer, the brewer?"

"Yes. Edith told me."

"It appears that Kummer left his fortune in trust to hiswidow, Vic's mother, and to Vic after her, with the stipulation,however, that if Vic died childless, the money should return toold Kummer's next-of-kin. As Graziella has no family..."

I nodded. "I see—she loses the lot. I wish you'd tellold Janet this..."

Charles shrugged. "It doesn't matter much, one way or another.From what Vic told me, Waters is very well off." He took out hiswatch. "Ten-fifteen. I'd better see whether Oscar has finishedbreakfast..."

"Motive?" snarled Dene impatiently. "If it were only that! Butyou'll solve no crime by motive alone—motive by itselfain't worth a tinker's cuss. At a murder trial in London theother day the judge told the jury that you can't prove A hasmurdered B simply by proof that A would be better off by sodoing. And he went on to say that the use of motive is merely tomake it easier for the jury to accept other evidence tending toincriminate the accused. Motive? Great Scotland Yard, Pete,between what you've just told me and what Hank here and I havededuced, what with Waters and his widow, and the Carruthers girl,and Miss What's-her-name, we seem to have our pick! Butwhat's the good of a motive if you haven't a direct line ofevidence to back it up? That's the snag here—the picture'slopsided! It ought to form a symmetrical pattern, all shipshapeand Bristol fashion, as neat as a square or an equilateraltriangle in geometry. But what do I get, by the Lord Harry? Abloody rhomboid!"

It was early afternoon before at long last he had appeared.Above the click of my portable my ear caught the hiccough ofHank's decrepit craft outside the shack—it brought me in aflurry to the water's edge. Dene was a changed person: unshaven,a soiled shirt, a brusque and scowling mien. Hank, impassive asalways, accompanied him: he had only a taciturn nod for me as hehitched the painter to the mooring-post, and I had a prick ofuneasiness.

They had had no lunch. Over the cold corned beef and beer Iset before them I told of my encounter on the previous night.Hank was all attention, watching me with his gimlet eye, jawsstolidly champing; but Dene, during his meal and after, scarcelyseemed to listen, staring absently out at the sun shining on thelake. Even for the Cartier bill he had no more than a distractedglance.

I warmed to my theme as I began to outline my suspicions ofyoung Jarvis. I had had leisure that morning to do some quietthinking. I wasn't very happy about the way I'd behaved to MissIngersoll. I found in retrospect that I'd bullied her abominably,and it occurred to me now that I had the chance to make amends,supposing Dene should still suspect her. Poor thing! After all,she'd been perfectly honest about her reasons for wanting toabstract the bill and, if possible, the bracelet as well—Iwas beginning to realise how friendless she must have felt, howdesperate her fear of unsavoury publicity must have been, for herto have found the courage to make her way down at the height ofthe storm to that lonely and sinister hut. Step by step, Iconstructed my case: Vic's attentions to Sara; Dave's growingresentment; his quarrel with Sara the evening before the crimeand my surmise that it hinged on a scene between the two men asthe glimpse I had had of Jarvis earlier, apparently returningfrom the trapper's cabin, suggested.

"On the question of motive," I wound up by saying, "supposingJarvis had discovered that Vic had given Sara this valuablebangle; supposing, for the sake of argument, he had gone to thecabin last night and found them together; you must admit thathe'd have had a pretty good grudge against Vic. Perhaps not asstrong in one sense, but every bit as effective for starting afirst-class fight!"

It was this closing remark of mine which provoked Dene'soutburst. His vehemence caught me unprepared, so silent and glumhad he sat there, and I could only gaze at him open-mouthed.

"The whole darn picture's co*ckeyed!" he affirmed violently."It don't make sense!"

Hank leaned forward and sedately squirted a stream of tobaccothrough the door. "Wait now, Trev," he remarked pawkily, "I'd sayas it's you as don't make sense. What's dancing got ter do withit?"

The Scotland Yard man turned a blistering glance at him."Dancing?" he snapped. "Who said anything about dancing?"

"You did," was the bland reply. "I know what a rumba is. Theyplay it on the radio!"

On the instant the scowl vanished. Dene shouted with laughter."Hank, you're unique! Not rumba—rhomboid! An irregularparallelogram!"

The sheriff looked at me doggedly. "Ye can't fool me aboutrumbas," he declared. "Mrs. Wells is kinda partial to them. Anytime this yar Cab Calloway's on the air she's apt ter toonin!"

Dene jumped up, his good humour quite restored. "Come up tothe cabin with me, both of you, and I'll try to make you see thisthing as I see it. And if you can knock any sense into it, Hank,I'll dance the rumba for you and the missus!"

Hank co*cked his wicked old eye at us. "She's powerful spryyit, that gal o' mine. Likely she'd up and dance et withyou!"

CHAPTER 19

NOW that he'd let off steam, my young friendseemed to be much more cheerful. He chatted amiably to Hank as weheaded for the cabin. They spoke of a jail break which had takenplace at Dannemora, the great State prison on our north, in thebreakfast hour that morning. A lifer named George Martin hadescaped, and a general alarm had been broadcast. Hank, itappeared, had been fetched away from the inquest—hegrumbled that it meant detaching Trooper Good from theinvestigation for the purpose of watching Jake's place.

"Me an' Jake'll be quite social, time we're through!" hecommented.

It was past two o'clock. Over at the house the party would befinishing lunch, and we had the woods to ourselves. The littleclearing throbbed to the chirp of the crickets. Hank unlocked thecabin, and, going before us, flung open windows and shutters.Dene seated himself at the table in the dead man's chair andspread his hands tentatively on the blotter, flexing his longfingers. Trooper Gray seemed to have done his work withoutdisturbing anything—lamp, flower vase, inkstand draped withthe sheets of Vic's report, were exactly as I'd last seen them.The sheriff took the couch and, extracting a sheath knife fromthe top of his boot, proceeded to slice himself a chew from hiswad of plug. I drew up a chair to face Dene across the table.

The Scotland Yard man was busy polishing his spectacles. "I'mgoing to ask you fellows to accept the figures I give you ascorrect," he remarked. "You can take it from me that everystatement I make has been checked and double-checked. That's onething they do teach us in the MetropolitanPolice—accuracy." So saying, he pulled a sheet of paperfrom his pocket and, laying it on the table, drew the lamptowards him. "You remember," he went on, tapping the glass oilcontainer with his goggles, "that this lamp was burning whenHaversley was found. It remained alight until I extinguishedit,"—he put on his specs and picked up the paper—"atprecisely 1.29 A.M. last night."

After a pause he resumed: "At the beginning of the evening theoil container was full. I've questioned Agnes, the maid who looksafter the cabin, and it appears that part of her duties was totake the lamp away in the morning when she swept and aired theplace and bring it back in the evening when Haversley was atdinner. Soon after eight o'clock last night she brought the lampdown here as usual cleaned and filled."

He pushed the lamp out of his way and, joining his handsbefore him on the table, proceeded sedately, "This lamp, as Hankwill tell you, was purchased at his store. Mrs. Wells informs methat the advertised burning capacity of this particular model issix hours, and I've since confirmed this figure by a wire to themanufacturers at Kansas City. Trooper Gray was good enough todrain off and measure the contents of the container as itremained after I'd extinguished the lamp last night and, withoutbeing too technical about it, I may say that, roughly, five-twelfths of the oil was left over. That's to say, seven-twelfths,or rather more than half the supply, had been consumed. Now, ifthe full reservoir is good for six hours, by the same reckoning,seven-twelfths is equivalent to three and a half hours. Right? Ithink we're safe in assuming, in the absence of proof to thecontrary, that the lamp was burning continuously once it waslighted—therefore, since it was put out at 1.29 A.M., asimple process of arithmetic shows us that it must have beenlighted three and a half hours earlier—that's to say, at9.59 P.M. or, to make it a round figure, say, ten o'clock. Isthat clear?"

Hank, jaws rotating steadily, hoisted his grizzled poll inassent. I remained silent—I was too engrossed forspeech.

Dene's glance shifted to Hank. "Old pal," he observed,"yesterday you unconsciously dropped a valuable hint. Youreminded me that, on the night of the murder, there was no moonuntil around midnight—I remembered then that, when I leftthe village at about ten-fifteen to call on Blakeney, it was asblack as Hades on the lake. Actually, as I worked out from acalender of the moon's phases I was able to consult at the PublicLibrary at Springsville yesterday, the exact time of the moon'srising was 12.42 A.M., Eastern Daylight Saving Time..."

Hank nodded. "That'd be et. When I said midnight, I wuzthinkin' of th' old time, like most of us country folks!"

"On the evening of the crime," Dene continued in the samematter-of-fact tone he had employed throughout, "the sunset"—he consulted his memorandum—"at 7.54 P.M.,summer time. My calendar shows that twilight ended at ten-twenty-one. Which means that at half-past nine it was dusk."

"That's right," the sheriff agreed. "Nine-thirty past youwon't hardly see to read the paper in my store, this time o'year..."

"Ah!" said the Scotland Yard man, a new eagerness in hismanner. "And at ten o'clock, Hank, how's it at ten?"

"Indoors, you mean?"

"Of course. I'm thinking of the cabin here."

"Afore the moon come up?" As always, the sheriff was extremelydeliberate.

"Yes, man, yes! Aren't we dealing with last night?"

As he sprawled on the couch, Hank pivoted on his elbow toeject a stream of tobacco juice through the open window behindhim, then turned a leisurely glance round the cabin. "Hyar? Atten o'clock o' night an' no moon? You won't see as fer as the endof your nose!" he drawled.

The young man drew a deep sigh—his face shone withexcitement. "It was daylight when Haversley came down here afterdinner, soon after nine. But it must have been getting dusk herein the room. Still, with door and windows open letting in thelight from the western sky, he could have seen well enough towrite without kindling the lamp. But not much after half-pastnine. Agreed?"

Hank grunted. "You kin lay ter that, Trev. Time the sun'sgorn, up here in the woods, the daylight don't last. Down at thestore, there ain't nothin' 'tween us an' t'other side of MainStreet, but in thisyar cabin, among the trees, come half-pastnine a feller'd find hisself in the dark, I reckon!"

With a crash that made me jump, Dene slammed the flat of hishand down upon the desk. "Exactly. And what was Haversley doinghere by himself in the dark from half-past nine to ten? That'swhat baffles me."

Eerie to think of Vic sitting there in such Stygian blacknessas had descended upon the cabin when Dene had blown out the lampon the night before! Somehow, the picture wouldn't come intofocus. Vic, as I'd known him, was a mass of restless energy, alive wire—impossible to identify him with any such passiverole. He could have dozed off, but it seemed scarcely probable.He'd spent the day resting up, and he was cold sober when he'dleft us after dinner. Besides, he had his report to draft.

"The experience of all crime investigation," Dene said,speaking more calmly, "teaches us that, failing evidence to thecontrary, it's a safe rule to assume that the succession ofevents followed a normal, rather than an abnormal course. There'snothing to show that Haversley ever left the cabin. We know thatthe first thing he did on reaching here after dinner was totelephone the police at Utica, and they informed him of Wharton'sarrest. His mind at ease, he sits down to his evening's work. Itis nine-fifteen or so, as the time of that telephone call toUtica proves, and there's at most a quarter of an hour ofdaylight left in the cabin. By nine-thirty, as you tell me, itmust have been dark in the room. Does he light the lamp? He doesnot. Why?"

Hank scratched his head. "Wal, ef et's right what you think,mebbe the Carruthers gal dropped by to visit with him, and he satwith her fer a spell..."

"In the dark?"

The sheriff laughed. "That's the way of it when you'recoortin', son!"

"She told us she quitted the house around ten past nine," saidDene impatiently. "Actually it was nearer nine-twenty, as Idiscovered by questioning Lumsden—he informs me that sheleft shortly before Jarvis came in, and he appeared at half-pastnine. If she went to the cabin she can't have arrived here muchbefore nine-twenty-five, when it was growing darker every minute.By a quarter to ten it must have been as black as the pit ofTophet in here. Now, although Haversley wasn't what you'ddescribe as a romantic youth, I daresay, like the rest of us, hewouldn't have minded lingering for a bit in the gloaming with apretty wench. I'm even prepared to believe that he gave her thatbangle, as Blakeney suggests, and mixed her a drink, withoutwaiting to light the lamp. What I find hard to credit is thatthose two should have sat for a quarter of an hour or twentyminutes in total darkness when, by the simple process of strikinga match, they could have had a discreetly modulated light.Besides, Sara's no fool. Anybody could have walked in on them.What could she have said if she, an engaged young woman, had beencaught spooning with a married man in the dark?"

"Maybe young Jarvis did walk in on them?" I hazarded.

"And killed him?" Dene snapped.

"That'd be the inference."

"That don't jell, young feller," said Hank. "He worn't killedtill eleven-five, and by that Dave Jarvis wuz in his bed."

"Don't I know it?" the Scotland Yard man exclaimed with anexasperated air. "That's why I say the picture's all co*ck-eyed.But for that darn shot Miss Ryder heard one might make a stab atexplaining it..."

"How?" asked the sheriff bluntly.

Dene hesitated. "Suppose Haversley didn't light that lampbecause he couldn't light it?" he answered slowly. "Suppose MissCarruthers left him before darkness in the cabin had fully setin? Suppose"—he checked again—"that he was killed,not at eleven, but before ten?"

"But the shot?" I exclaimed.

The Scotland Yard man frowned. "That's the hell of it!"

"Well," he went on, after a silence, "let's see what youngSara can tell us about it. And this time," he added, his teethgritting grimly on the stem of his empty pipe, "we'll have thetruth, or I get another guess. Do you think you could find herfor me, Hank, and bring her here? And we'll have young Jarvis up,too!"

"Sure," said the sheriff, dropping his long legs to the floor,and sauntered out.

Dene was frantically patting his pockets. "Lummy," he groaned,"I believe I've been and left my 'baccy at your place."

"Never mind, I'll get it for you," I told him.

Scarcely had I set foot on my porch when I heard the shot. Itsreverberations went rolling through the woods. In a flash I'dturned about and was running back along the path to the cabinwhence the sound had reached me.

CHAPTER 20

NOT until that shot resounded did I realise thenervous strain under which we all were labouring. Myself I had asensation of physical nausea. I pictured Dene alone in that ill-omened hut, at the mercy of any assassin lurking in the woods,and, from sheer fear of the unknown, my stomach seemed to turnover. Violent exercise of any kind plays havoc with my singleremaining lung, but, notwithstanding a pain like a red-hot spearbeing driven through my chest, I bolted up the path, my legsmoving like an automaton.

While yet the crash of the report came reverberating back fromthe hills, the whole camp, plunged in the quiet of the siestahour, appeared to stir into life. Shouts and excited voices rangfrom the direction of the main house. Somewhere a whistleshrilled thrice, and as I passed the gate of the gardens,following the path through the woods, I was aware of runningfigures strung out among the pergolas and heading for thegate.

A volley of barks greeted me as I burst into the clearing.Chang, Miss Ryder's Peke, had planted itself before the cabindoor and was yapping for dear life. At the opening of the path onthe far side of the clearing Miss Ryder stood, leaning on herstick.

I was past speech. I halted at the sight of her, and on that,my forces seemed to leave me—of a sudden, the pain in mychest was so agonizing that only sheer will-power prevented mefrom pitching forward on my face.

In a harsh, strained tone she said, "What is it? What'shappened?" Her voice was a raucous croak, and as, panting andwheezing and still breathless, I gazed at her, I saw that she wastrembling, and that her crinkled, brown face was sallow withfear.

"Who's in there?" she snarled, swinging her ebony stickimperiously towards the closed door of the cabin. "There was ashot—I was walking with Chang in the woods back of this andI heard it. What's happened? God damn it, why don't you answerme?"

I was nigh to suffocation, my lung a ball of fire. I couldonly shake my head, my hands pressed to my chest, my eyes raisedto her imploringly. But they encountered no sympathy in thatwizened countenance, the small eyes stony, the mouth ugly, withsuspicion and fright. For all the pain I was enduring, my brainwas feverishly active—in fact, it was as though mysuffering sharpened my susceptibilities—and I perceivedthat at bottom Miss Ryder was a tough, rough-spoken old lady whocould on occasion rip out an oath as to the manner born. Then thecabin door opened and Dene looked casually out. At the samemoment Dickie and Hank, the latter with his whistle still betweenhis lips, followed at a short interval by the two State troopersand Charles, came rushing into the clearing.

For the first time I saw the sheriff excited. "Gees, son," hecried to Dene, "are you all right?"

The Scotland Yard man laughed. He had an automatic in hishand, and behind him a little haze of blue smoke curled about aband of sunlight pouring through the cabin window. "No harm done,Hank," he replied breezily. "Just a little accident!"

Miss Ryder sniffed. "Accident?" she repeated in her stridentvoice. "What do you mean by an accident?"

By this the clearing seemed to be full of people. Edith andGraziella and Miss Ingersoll and old Bracegirdle and one of themaids and Albert, the chauffeur, all very hot and breathless,were there.

"We wuz talkin' on th' verandy, me an' Fred Good an' Mr.Lumsden here," said Hank, "when wham! there's a shot. 'Goldarnet,' I sez..."

Dripping with perspiration, Dr. Bracegirdle thrust himselfforward. "An accident?" he echoed querulously, blinking brighteyes at Dene. "How? Explain yourself, young man!"

"Yes," Charles broke in with some acerbity. "Will you kindlyexplain what's happened? You managed to scare everyone out oftheir lives!"

Dene was entirely unmoved. With his most nonchalant air hesurveyed the circle of alarmed faces. "My gun went off," heremarked, showing his pistol.

"You mean you discharged it accidentally?" Charlesdemanded.

With an apologetic air the Scotland Yard man nodded. "Sorry. Iwas examining the charger, and I'm afraid I forgot there was ashot in the chamber."

Old Bracegirdle glared at him. "Well! And for that I wasroused up out of my afternoon nap."

Miss Ryder spoke up. "There's nothing to get all worked upabout, Oscar," she observed tartly. "An accident's an accident,and that's all there's to it."

The doctor snorted. "You'd think at least they'd teach themhow to handle arms in the London police," he growled.

The old lady cackled. "Don't mind him, Mr. Dene," she said tothe Englishman. "It's only the heat—it always makes himfractious!"

She tucked her arm in Bracegirdle's. "Come on, you! We'll gofor a row on the lake and cool off!" Her equanimity seemed to bequite restored: her face was once again smiling and amiable.

Charles Lumsden shook the perspiration from his forehead withhis hand. "Whew!" He mopped his face. "Well, I'm glad it's noworse," he remarked, rather bluntly, to Dene. "For the moment wethought that this escaped prisoner had attacked you!"

"An escaped prisoner, Dad?" Dickie broke in excitedly. "Whatescaped prisoner?"

"A fellow who broke jail at Dannemora first thing thismorning, old man," his father replied. "Trooper Goodhere"—he turned towards the trooper at his side—"camedown to report that he caught a glimpse of him snooping roundJake Harper's place, but he vanished in the woods before he couldget a shot at him..."

"Gosh!" exclaimed Dickie impressively, "it's pretty thrilling,isn't it? Dannemora, that's where they put the tough babies away,isn't it? Who is this bird? A murderer, or something?"

Charles shrugged. "He's a lifer, at any rate—a fellowcalled George Martin. Hank can probably tell us what he's infor..."

Taking careful aim, the sheriff expelled a stream of tobaccojuice. "He bumped off a cop; ain't that et, Fred?" he said to thetrooper.

"That's right," was the phlegmatic answer. "In a hold-up overon Third Avenya, the boys was telling me..."

Dickie's voice broke in suddenly. "What's the matter with MissRyder?" he said.

Miss Ryder and the doctor had got no farther than the edge ofthe path leading back to the gardens. We saw her leaning againsta tree, her eyes closed, her face bloodless. Bracegirdle wasslapping her hands briskly and calling her by name, "Janet!Janet!"

There was a general rush to the spot. Miss Ryder had openedher eyes and was smiling feebly, her lips parted. One hand wentup in an instinctive feminine gesture to re-settle her hat, whichwas awry. "She was going to faint," said Bracegirdle, but Imanaged to stop her. "It's her heart—she's had theseattacks before. That shot frightened her, I guess, and no wonder!Stand back, please, everybody, and let her get some air!"

We all fell back. Miss Ryder uttered a little groan and saidin a thick voice, "I'm all right. Let me be, can't you?"

Trooper Good produced a flask and the doctor held it to herlips.

"She had a bad shock," I explained to Charles in an undertone."She was walking in the woods with Chang, and must have beenquite close when that gun went off. She was here when I arrived,and it struck me then she was scared to death..."

"Confound your detective friend, Pete," Charles ground outbetween his teeth. "You'd think he'd know better than to do adamn fool thing like that. To bring old Bracegirdle and the restof us tearing up here in all this heat! Pete, you're all in, andOscar don't look too good to me himself!"

In truth, the doctor appeared distressed.

Dene stood aloof talking to Hank. "They tuk the cruiser an'went off ter the village," I heard the sheriff say. "But they'llbe along presently—young Leighton an' the girls went afterthem..."

I turned to find Miss Ingersoll at my elbow. She drew measide. "You told him about the bracelet?" she whispered, noddingtowards Dene.

"I did," I told her.

She sighed. "And now he's sent for Sara! He means to questionher, doesn't he?"

I shrugged, my eyes on her face. "It looks like it, doesn'tit?"

"And if she denies all knowledge of the bracelet, he'll thinkthat Mr. Haversley gave it to me—he's bound to!" Her voicewas harsh with fear.

A spasm of coughing caught me—I couldn't speak. Sheflung me a reproachful glance, her eyes compassionate. "You ranhere like the rest of us, I suppose? Oh, Pete, will you neverlearn to take care of yourself? Show me that handkerchief!"Before I could stop her she had drawn away the handkerchief Iheld to my lips. Indignantly she pointed to a scarlet spot on thewhite cambric and handed the handkerchief back to me. "You'recrazy!" she cried unsteadily. "And here am I, talking aboutmyself and my affairs, when you've gone and started up ahemorrhage!"

It wasn't the first time the old lung had played up like that,and I could afford to make light of it. "I'll be all right in amoment." Then I thrust her aside. "It's nothing," I panted.

The rest of the house-party were trooping out of the clearing,Bracegirdle and Charles supporting Miss Ryder between them. OnlyHank and the two troopers remained behind. Now Dene calledGraziella back. His summons rang peremptory: "Mrs. Haversley, onemoment, please!" He held the Cartier bill in his hand—fromwhere I stood I could see the engraved letter-head.

He extended the paper. "Do you know anything of this?" heasked.

In dead silence she took the bill. Hank and the two troopersregarded her stolidly—at my side I was aware of MissIngersoll frozen into a sort of taut immobility.

Graziella shook her head—proud and self-possessed, shefaced them. "No!" she said.

"Then your husband didn't make you a present of thatbangle?"

She shook her head again. "It's the first I've heard of it."The cool, grey eyes were looking past me, and I knew they soughtthe figure at my side.

"Have you any idea for whom it was intended?"

She reddened proudly and her face hardened. "None whatever,"was the firm answer. "But why don't you ask Miss Ingersoll? Sheknew more about Mr. Haversley's affairs than anybody." Her lipcurled, and made it seem as though her allusion were to herhusband's love affairs rather than to business matters.

The secretary's pallid face flamed. Women were mercilesstowards one another, I reflected.

I was sorry for the Ingersoll girl, alone and defenceless asshe was and, as I now believed, guiltless; but Graziella didn'tthink of that. All she saw—it was evident—was, thatMiss Ingersoll had been chiefly responsible for Fritz Waters'sarrest: she was obviously resolved to carry the war boldly intothe enemy's country.

With expressionless features, the Scotland Yard man turned tothe girl at my side. "You signed for this bangle, Iunderstand?"

"Yes."

"When did it arrive?"

"On Saturday afternoon. Mr. Haversley was out riding. When hecame in I gave him the box."

"He opened it and showed you the bangle, didn't he?"

"Yes. I thought he meant it as a surprise for Mrs. Haversley.He laid it against my arm and said jokingly, 'What do you knowabout that, Bing, old girl? Wouldn't it knock your eye out?' orsomething like that. Then he put the bangle away in the drawer ofthe writing-table..."

"And when you went to look for it last night, it haddisappeared?"

"Yes."

"And it wasn't intended as a gift for you, you say?"

She seemed to bristle. "Certainly not. I shouldn't haveaccepted a valuable present like that from Mr. Haversley,anyway."

Trooper Good spoke up from the edge of the woods. "Here theycome, Sheriff," he announced, and we saw Sara and Daveapproaching under the trees. Dene turned to Graziella. "Shall wego in out of the sun?"

He pushed open the cabin door. Graziella entered, and MissIngersoll and I followed. Dene remained outside for a word withHank—I saw him whispering earnestly to the sheriff while hefilled his disreputable pipe.

My eyes fastened upon the pouch in the Englishman's hand. Hehad sent me to my shack to fetch it, but he'd had it all thetime—it had been clearly a ruse to get rid of me. His storyabout accidentally discharging his pistol had not convincedme—my young friend, alert, wary, methodical, wasemphatically not the sort of idiot who "didn't know the gun wasloaded."

A sudden light dawned upon me. It fired a train of thoughtthat coiled itself like a time-fuse in and out of the recesses ofmy mind. So overwhelmed was I by the implications of my discoverythat the cabin door was shut and Dave and Sara were facing Deneand the sheriff at the writing-table before I stirred myself frommy musings.

CHAPTER 21

IN a sky-blue polo shirt, white shorts andsandals displaying toes with nails vividly crimsoned, theCarruthers girl was contemplating the sheriff with languidcuriosity. Her red-gold hair was blown out from the breezes onthe lake, and she was tucking in sundry, errant whisps with herhands, holding meanwhile the cigarette she was smoking betweenher lips.

She was cool, and glittering, and hard, like a figure on afashion plate. Young Jarvis was dourer than ever, his mien ablend of suspicion and challenge. There was something faintlyinsolent about the girl's demeanour: I could see by the hard lineHank's mouth made that he, too, had this impression. Hank hadold-fashioned ideas: there was strong disapproval in the glancehe levelled at those bare, sun-browned knees, the little,carmined toes. Also, as I knew, he hated to see young girlssmoking, especially in that region of forest fires. How often hadI heard him, down at Al Green's barber's shop, where the villageelders would congregate of an evening, railing at modern youngwomen as "a pack of flibbertigibbets with their faces painted,puffin' at their cigarettes!"

Sara said lightly, flicking her ash on the bearskin rug, whileshe glanced from the sheriff to Dene, "Has anything freshhappened? I mean, what's the tearing hurry? We were on our way tothe village to buy cigarettes, but Buster said we were to comeback instantly..."

"Sit down, Miss," Hank bade her. A movement of his head sentthe troopers outside.

She dropped into a chair, crossing one bare, brown leg overthe other. With arms folded, Dave Jarvis posted himself beforethe dresser close by. The door was in the act of closing when itwas thrust inward again, and Charles, accompanied by Dr.Bracegirdle, poked a red and angry face inside. He marchedstraight up to the table.

"I think you might have told me you'd sent for MissCarruthers, Hank," he said peremptorily to the sheriff. "She's aguest in my house, a young, unmarried girl, and my wife's niece.I'm responsible to her parents, and if you've anything to askher, you can do so in my presence. Is that clear?"

This attack left the sheriff quite unmoved. "Sure, Mr.Lumsden," he drawled. "But don't git us wrong. This ain't nothin'but jes' a friendly meetin' ter clear up a point or two!"

"That's all right," our host replied, somewhat mollified. "ButI consider I should have been informed. If it hadn't been for Dr.Bracegirdle here, I wouldn't have known a thing about it."

"I happened to meet them at the landing-stage as I came awayfrom Miss Ryder's bungalow," the doctor explained, taking off hisglasses, "and young Leighton mentioned to me that..."

Sara crooned a little laugh. "Don't worry about me, UncleCharles," she remarked. "I haven't the faintest idea what I cantell the sheriff, but I'm perfectly ready to answer any questionshe has to put, and so is Dave; aren't you, Dave?" She stretchedout her hand to Jarvis. "Cigarette, please, honey!"

Jarvis gave her a cigarette, and Charles sat down besideGraziella, who made room for him on the couch, while the doctorfound a chair by Miss Ingersoll. I remained by the openwindow—the small room felt stuffy and I wanted air. I couldsee the two troopers and the young people standing aimlesslyabout in the clearing outside.

But now Hank was speaking in his wonted, unemotional drawl. Hewent straight to the point. "Did Mr. Haversley give you a presentsence you wuz here, Miss?" he asked Sara.

My glance had shifted to Dene. As usual, I observed, he hadcontrived to efface himself. Behind the big glasses, his boyishcountenance was no more than what vaudeville calls a 'dead pan.'But it was evident to me, though he affected to busy himselfdrawing circles on the blotter, that he was watching the girllike a hawk. The infinitesimal pause she made while she took thecigarette away and flicked off a fragment of paper clinging toher under lip did not escape him, I could see.

"A present?" she echoed, then shook her head. "Why, no!"

"Not a di'mond bangle, f'r instance?" the sheriffpersisted.

She coloured up swiftly. "Certainly not." For the fraction ofa second her eyes travelled to Graziella, who was staring on theground. "I'm not in the habit of accepting presents from marriedmen, anyway," she added disdainfully.

Hank's expression remained unchanged. "Mr. Haversley orderedit from New York," he elucidated. "It come Saturday. It worn'tfer his wife: then who wuz it fer? And it ain't nowheres around,neether!"

The girl shrugged nervously. "I'm afraid I can't help you: Iknow nothing about it, I tell you!"

Thoughtfully Hank fingered a bristly chin. "You an' Haversleywuz kinda friendly, wuzn't you?" he suggested.

Sara laughed indifferently. "It's usual to be friendly withyour fellow guests, you know!"

His gaze was level, direct. "Seen you an' him on the watertergether, once or twice, nights, ain't I?"

She looked towards the others, gave her crooning laugh. "It'squite possible!"

"Didn't him an' you climb Wolf Mountain one afternoon lastweek?"

Once more her cheeks glowed under her pale tan. "Is there anyreason why we shouldn't have climbed it?"

"Went up alone, the pair of ye, around two—I seen you,"was the imperturbable rejoinder. "Goin' on fer sundown, 'twas,afore ye come down, one of the boys wuz tellin' me..."

She leaned back in her chair, cigarette in mouth. "I don'tknow what you're getting at," she remarked haughtily. "But Ican't help feeling you're being rather offensive."

"Sara, please!" Charles broke in quickly, and turned to thesheriff.

But Hank's even drawl forestalled him. "Ain't gittin' atnothin', Miss, only that you an' him wuz uncommon friendly..." Hepaused, and his rugged, blue eyes seemed to soften. "You're ayoung gal, Miss, an' young gals is easily skeered. You told usyesterday morning that Sunday night—the night of themurder—you spent from round nine o'clock till jest aforeeleven in your bedroom at the White Bungalow writin' letters.Wal, mebbe you wuz kinda flustered when you said that, mebbeyou'd like to change your evidence. It ain't too late..."

"Are you suggesting that I told a lie?" she flamed back.

The honest face hardened. With a slow nod Hank said in hisdeep voice, "Yes, Miss. Jes' that!"

She sprang up, her face blazing. "Uncle Charles! Dave!"

Charles was greatly distressed. He held up his hand. "Wait aminute, Sara!" he bade the girl, and swung to the sheriff. "We'vebeen friends for many years, Hank," he said, "and I know youwouldn't bring a charge of this kind against a guest of mineunless you honestly believed it to be true. But, really..."

"It's true all right, Mr. Lumsden," the sheriff struck in, andonce more bent his glance on the girl. But this time the blueeyes were pitiless. His voice rang loudly through the hush in theroom. "What were you doin' here in the cabin on the night of themurder?" he asked Sara.

She faced him defiantly. "I wasn't here. I've told you where Iwas. I was at the White Bungalow writing letters." She veeredround to the sullen figure at her side. "Dave, are you going tostand for this man insulting me? Let's get out of this!"

I saw young Jarvis's brown hand steal out and grip hers. Itwas a gesture of restraint rather than support. But he saidnothing. It seemed to me that his persistent silence was moreaccusing than anything the sheriff had said.

Hank spoke again. "What's come to that string of beads youwear?"

The question caught her unawares. It seemed to stagger her."Beads?" she echoed vaguely.

Dene elucidated. "Your mummy beads, Miss Carruthers," heventured quietly.

Her defiant air came back. "In my room. Why?"

"We'd like to see them," said the sheriff.

"I don't know where they are," was the glib answer. "Besides,the string's broken..."

"We'll see them all the same," Hank replied briskly.

The girl's self-composure was remarkable. She glanced ratherquickly round, first at young Jarvis's sombre face at her side,then at the men at the table; but she made no move. Hank rose andcrossed to where I stood at the window. "Whar's the Fletchergirl?" he growled.

From the window I called Myrtle over, and Hank and Dene wentout to her. Charles broke the awkward pause that ensued.

"Sara," he said sternly, "is there anything in this charge ofHank's? I insist on knowing."

"But it's all nonsense," she retorted and swung to Jarvis."What's the matter with you?" she demanded crossly. "Have youlost your tongue or something? How can you stand there and letthis dumb hick say such things about me?"

It seemed to me that Hank would have his work cut out toextract any admission from this alert and resourceful youngwoman. Dave still said nothing, staring in front of him as thoughhe hadn't heard her.

"But these beads of yours?" Charles persisted.

"I don't remember when I broke the string," she retortedirritably. "If I'd been down here that night, don't you think I'dtell you?"

Tense with annoyance, she helped herself to a cigarette fromDave's packet on the table, and we all fell silent again.

Graziella's eyes were on me—I wondered whether she wasthinking, as I was, that before the interview was over the matterof the tidying up of the cabin was bound to be ventilated. MissIngersoll was staring with frank hostility at Sara. As for oldBracegirdle, with his broad nose, narrow eyes and sallow face, hewas like an image of Buddha in the background.

It seemed an age before Hank and Dene came back. The ScotlandYard man silently drew from his pocket the two beads he had shownme and laid them on the blotter. Still he resolutely held aloof,and it was Hank who said to Sara, "Recognise those beads,Miss?"

Languidly she leaned forward from her chair—she didn'tbat an eyelid. "They look like mine certainly," she agreed.

Then Hank brought from behind his back an envelope and part ofthe blue necklace and a shower of single beads trickled out uponthe blotter. "These two beads," he said, showing the two whichDene had produced, "they belong to this string; there ain't nokind o' doubt, is there?"

Sara laughed rather contemptuously. "I'm not denying it, ifthat's what you mean..."

"He picked 'em up in this yar room, Sunday night," heexplained, with a sideward jerk of the head towards the ScotlandYard man, "an hour or two after we found Haversley. How did theygit here; will you tell me that?"

"How should I know?" The girl paused. "I didn't say I'd neverbeen to the cabin. We've all been here, lots of times. I couldhave lost those two beads here almost any day since I've been atthe camp."

"When did the string break?" The sheriff's tone wasbrusque.

"I haven't the least idea. Several days ago, at any rate!"

Cold as ice Graziella'svoice struck in. "Surely not. You woreyour beads at dinner on Sunday evening, and the string wasn'tbroken then."

"That string's always breaking," Sara declared, and addedpetulantly, "it's no use your trying to make out I was down herethat night, Graziella, because I wasn't!"

Hank shot a questioning glance at Dene from under his lashesand sat down.

Dene came out of his shell at last. Addressing Sara he saidcomposedly, "I believe I know your motive, Miss Carruthers, butyou ought to reflect that these persistent denials of yours willdo your friend, Mr. Jarvis, no good..."

"Jarvis?" Charles put in, puzzled.

But the Scotland Yard man had turned to Dave. "I think youcalled on Mr. Haversley here at the cabin shortly after he camein from riding on Saturday afternoon?"

Young Jarvis was scowling. "Quite right," he agreedchallengingly.

"What took place at that interview?"

"Don't answer him, Dave," the girl interrupted peremptorily."I won't be dragged into this, do you hear me? I won't!"

Slowly the young man shrugged. "It was a private matterbetween Haversley and me," he told the detective. "Anyhow, it hadno bearing on the case."

"Nonsense," exclaimed Charles sharply. "I've just rememberedmy wife mentioning to me on Saturday night that you and Sara hadhad a quarrel that evening, and that you'd have stayed away fromdinner if she hadn't ordered Sara to fetch you in. Your row wasthe result of your interview with Vic, I suppose—over Sara,of course?"

Dave squared his chin. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lumsden, but I'd rathernot talk about it!"

Charles said, flushing angrily, "Don't give me that stuff,Dave. Quit stalling and answer me!"

Young Jarvis shook his head. "No!"

"Damn it," our host exploded, "do you want us to think you'vesomething to hide?"

But, with another shrug, the young man relapsed into hisformer sulky silence.

"He's got somep'n ter hide all right," growled the sheriff,frowning forbiddingly at Sara. "Now jes' you listen ter me," hetold her. "You had that di'mond bangle, an', what's more, youcome down here Sunday night an' the dee-ceased give ityou..."

"What is the use of repeating something I've told you isn'ttrue?" she retorted hotly.

"Don't tell me no falsehoods! You come here, an' your youngman"—he jerked his head at Jarvis—"caught the pair ofyou tergether an' killed him. Worn't that the way of it?"

Her laugh was mocking. "I can't prevent you saying crazythings if it amuses you." She turned wearily to Jarvis. "Forpity's sake, Dave, say something, can't you? Tell him he's allwrong!"

"See here, Sheriff," the young man declared huskily, "neitherof us had anything to do with this killing, I give you my solemnword. Good God! man, don't you see that at eleven-five, when MissRyder heard the shot, Miss Carruthers was up at the house withthe rest of them, while I was in bed at the BachelorBungalow?"

"There you are!" said Sara triumphantly, and glanced towardsour host. "Uncle Charles, you know it's the truth, don'tyou?"

"Nobody ain't charged you killed him right off," Hank replied,addressing young Jarvis and ignoring the interruption. "You coulda' come down here, though, soon's young Leighton left you, whenhe went up to the house with the other young folks. It wanted afew minutes to eleven—plenty o' time to nip down as fer asthe cabin an' back!"

"I never left my room, I tell you," cried Jarvis.

"You kin tell that to the jedge," was the stern reply.

Charles sprang forward in alarm. "Hank, you're not serious?You're not going to arrest them?"

"I'm goin' ter arrest the pair of 'em," declared the sheriffimpassively.

"She wuz down here, an' she had that thar bangle; an' whenshe's catched out, she can't do nuthin' 'cept tell a pack o'lies. Wal, mebbe the Districk 'turney'll believe her. We'll see!Come on, you two!"

Sara had gone very white. She said nothing, but flashed ascared glance round the circle of attentive faces.

Suddenly Dene spoke, pushing his glasses up on his foreheadwith his slightly bored air. "Now, look here, my dear," heremarked, "this sort of thing will take you nowhere. SheriffWells has quite enough evidence to detain the pair of you onsuspicion, and you know very well what thatmeans—publicity, scandal and the Lord knows what!" He gaveher his pleasant smile. "You know jolly well you were down herethat night, so why not admit it? And you had thatbangle, eh?"

Her smooth forehead was furrowed with perplexity and she bither lip.

Then young Jarvis growled, "Oh, for God's sake, Sara, tell'em! I've said all along you'd have to own up, sooner orlater."

She was quite composed. "Well," she observed delicately, "ifyou want to know, I did run in here for a minute after dinner onSunday to see Vic..."

The exclamation came from Hank: he was glaring at herindignantly.

"I'd have spoken before," she explained, "but I wanted tospare poor Graziella's feelings..."

Graziella sat up. "My feelings? What have my feelings got todo with it?" she demanded.

"It was all too stupid," said Sara lightly. "Vic found measleep one afternoon by the tennis court and kissed me, and youknow there's a custom that if a man kisses a girl when she'sasleep he has to give her a present. Well, Vic told me atco*cktail time on Saturday evening that he had my present, but itwas to be a secret between us, and I'd have to come down to thecabin and get it one evening after dinner when no one was about.I couldn't go that evening on account of Pete's play-reading, butI went the next night..."

"The Sunday?" Dene précised.

"Yes. Vic gave me a drink and..."

"One moment," Dene interrupted. "At what time was this?"

She paused to reflect. "I wouldn't know exactly, but it wastwenty-five to ten by my travelling clock when I got back to theWhite Bungalow, and I suppose I was with Vic about tenminutes."

"Was the lamp lit when you went in?"

"The lamp?" She paused. "Now that I come to think of it, itwasn't. I remember because it was getting dark in here before Iwent away, and I said why didn't we have some light, and he saidthere was no hurry about it..."

The Scotland Yard man nodded dourly. "All right. Go on!"

She hesitated. "I don't much like to bring all this up," shereplied, with a sidelong glance at Graziella, "on account ofGraziella. But I suppose I can't help myself. Well, Vic mixed mea highball and made me sit down beside him on the couch. Then Ihad to shut my eyes, and when I opened them, there was the bangleon my arm..."

There was a sort of shout from Hank. "Hah! Then you did haveit?" he boomed.

She shook her head demurely. "No. He, well, he madeconditions..." She broke off and, turning to Graziella, saidapologetically, "I'm sorry, Graziella, but it was really prettycrude. When I told him there was nothing doing like that, hetried to get his arms round me, and my necklace broke and, well,I just grabbed my beads and bolted..."

"Leaving him there?" The question was from Dene.

"Yes. I guess he didn't dare follow me, in case we metsomeone."

"And the bangle, Miss?" Hank asked.

"It stayed on the couch where I laid it down."

"It stayed on the couch!" Hank repeated sarcastically.

His air was frankly incredulous, and I must say I shared hispoint of view. The girl was a hard-boiled baggage, quite cleverenough, I felt sure, to have wheedled that bangle out of Victorwhile holding him at arm's length. For I saw no grounds fordisbelieving her statement that she'd resisted hisadvances—with the Sara Carruthers type it's marriage ornothing.

"And why tell a string o' lies about it?" Hank demanded.

She shot him a questing glance from under her thick lashes."I've explained that—it was to spare Mrs. Haversley..."

"Poppyco*ck!" exclaimed the sheriff. He pointed a gnarledfinger at young Jarvis. "It wuz ter cover him up. You knew that,only twenty-four hours afore, he'd bin raising blue murder withHaversley over you. Ain't that right?" He rounded on the youngman.

Dave said unexpectedly, "Yes. I had it out with him onSaturday afternoon. Sara had promised to play tennis with me, butinstead he persuaded her to go riding. I told him to lay off orI'd break his neck. Sara was wild with me when I told her aboutit..."

"Naturally," she exclaimed indignantly. "I didn't want ascandal at the camp. Especially when I'd done nothing wrong!"

Charles snorted audibly. "Nothing wrong, eh? I must say, youtake it very lightly, Sara!"

Hank disregarded these interruptions. He turned to Dave again."Nevertheless, you found 'em tergether the next night; isn't thatright?"

The young man shook his head. "No. Let me explain! Afterdinner, when I didn't find her at her bungalow, I supposed shewas out on the lake with the others. I was kind of mad at her, Iguess—I thought she might have waited for me, as she knewI'd only gone as far as the garage—so I took a boat out onmy own, and when I came in, went straight to bed without lookingfor her any more. It was only when Buster Leighton turned up inmy room, just before eleven, when I was already in bed, that Idiscovered she hadn't been with them at all. Then I guessed she'dbeen off somewhere with Vic..."

"So what did you do then?" asked the sheriff.

He shrugged. "Nothing. There was nothing I could do about it.But when Dickie woke me up and told me Vic was dead, I wentstraight off to find Sara, and she told me what she's just toldyou..."

"And that was the first you heered 'bout her bein' at thecabin?" Hank's voice was faintly mocking.

"Sure."

"Then why did she have ter go an' clean the place up?"

"I didn't," Sara put in sharply. "It's not true. I never cameback here."

The sheriff co*cked his head to one side. "A woman done it. Thedee-ceased's drink wuz throwed out, his ceegar the same—noman in his senses would a' made a blunder like that!"

"I can't help it," said Sara stubbornly. "I know nothing aboutit. Besides, I was up at the house when Vic was shot."

"You wuz up at the house, sure," Hank agreed impassively. "Butonly till the others went in swimmin'. That was around half-pasttwelve. You worn't to know the kids wuz goin' ter call in here onthe way back—you could a' went an' cleared up then!"

I hadn't exchanged a word with Graziella since our talk in therose arbour on the previous morning. She'd been avoiding me, ofcourse, for fear I'd worry her to let me tell Dene about hervisit to the cabin. To give her away now without her consentmeant risking our friendship: moreover, the inevitable result, asI saw it, would only be to remove her farther than ever from meby clearing Fritz Waters.

But I couldn't help myself. I knew now that she was not forsuch as I; I could even laugh at myself for ever indulging theillusion that a woman of her rare quality would have more than apassing glance of pity for a starveling, shabby author. But myliking for her was unchanged; my mind was made up that the timehad come to speak out. If I hadn't been virtually certain ofyoung Jarvis's guilt, it might have been different. It seemed tome that the surest way of clearing Fritz Waters was to sift thegrain from the chaff by bringing out all the relevant facts. Andso, my heart in my mouth, I spoke up.

"Hold on there, Hank," I said. "Sara didn't tidy up the cabin.That was Mrs. Haversley's doing. Wasn't it, Graziella?"

CHAPTER 22

WHEN I saw the look she gave me, I was appalledto think what I'd done. Odd, how a mere flick of a woman's lashescan make a fellow feel like an abject cad, even when he's actingfrom the best of motives! There was a frightful moment ofsilence, then Charles, bless him! went boring in. Poor Charles!For a man who adored a quiet life he was receiving a series ofrude shocks, one after the other.

"Graziella!" he gasped and, turning, glared at me. "Pete! Doyou know what you're saying?"

But Dene's voice rang out above his. "Mr. Lumsden, please! Isthis true?" he said sternly to Graziella.

Her lovely face was adamant. "I've nothing to say," she gavehim back. "I'll speak when Mr. Waters is released, not before.Why should you lock him away from all his friends, an innocentman?"

The Scotland Yard man shrugged. "You'll no doubt be allowed tovisit him in due course," he observed, with a glance at Hank.

"I rang up the District Attorney—he refused mepermission," she answered scathingly. "As long as Fritz—Mr.Waters—declines to answer questions, no visitors. I supposeyou think that by torturing him, by cross-examining him for hourson end, you'll force him to own up to a crime he didn't commit.It's—it's horrible!" She was breathless, vibrant withhysteria.

Hank was much embarrassed. "Shucks, ma'am," he drawled, "hislawyer was let see him. Mr. Lauff's over ter th' jail now. Yousaw Mr. Lauff—you could a' given him a message for thegentleman."

"I'm sending no message by any lawyer," she cried vehemently."I'll speak only to Mr. Waters himself!"

Dene's shoulders rose imperceptibly, then, throwing himselfback in his chair, he whispered in the sheriff's ear.

Nodding understandingly, Hank said to Charles, "We want a wordwith this lady in private, Mr. Lumsden. You an' your friends kingo now, but nobody ain't ter leave the camp without I give 'empermission. Is that clear?" He glanced over to me. "You stop,Pete!"

Charles would have liked to have stayed too and—somewhatofficiously, I thought—Bracegirdle, his faithful watch-dog,encouraged him in this idea.

"She's your guest, old man," I heard him mutter. "If there'sto be any third degree business, we certainly should bepresent!"

Without much friendliness his glance rested onDene—evidently, the memory of their early clashes stillrankled. But the Scotland Yard man had a suave word with Charlesin a corner, and presently the two cronies followed the othersout, old Bracegirdle still palpably dissatisfied.

"Mrs. Haversley," Dene opened, when the four of us were atlast alone, "I'm going to put my cards on the table. There's agood chance of my being able to clear your friend Waters. But youmust help me..."

Her face lit up. "You mean that?" Her tone wasincredulous.

His nod was grave. "Absolutely. But only if I succeed inclearing away this tangle of misstatements some of you have seenfit to make can I hope to drive through to the truth beyond. Theway to establish your friend's innocence is to find the realmurderer. I think Blakeney realises that. The point is, doyou?"

Soberly she bowed her head. "Yes."

"Then tell me the truth!"

She wavered still. "You think that young Jarvis killed him,don't you?"

He had picked up his pipe, ready filled but neglected duringthe long session, and was busy lighting it. "Never mind what Ithink," he mumbled over his cupped hands. "Get on with the story,and let's see how it fits in with an idea or two I have in mynoddle!" He glanced up and smiled at her.

My young man had a way with him, there was no gainsaying it.He had a laughing nature. Always, even in his graver moments, thefaint shadow of that easy smile of his seemed to hover about hismouth. Graziella hesitated; but I could see her rancour andsuspicion melting like snow before the sun. Through a blue smokehaze he beamed amiably at her, and at last she succumbed. She wasmuch perturbed.

"It was very wrong of me to deceive you, I know," shefaltered. "But that night, when I came here, to look forWaters..." She shuddered.

"I know." The Scotland Yard man's voice was very gentle. "Youthought Waters had told your husband you wanted a divorce, andthat, as a result, Haversley had shot himself. And afterwards youheld your tongue about it for fear of incriminating Waters; isn'tthat it? Now let's have the whole thing from the beginning!"

She told her story very much as she'd told it to me. With anadroit question or two Dene filled in the gaps. When she had donehe said:

"Here's the picture as I see it from your statement—stopme if I go wrong. It's eleven o'clock. You've finished yourbridge. The youngsters are trooping in, the place is full ofnoise. You're worried about Waters. He's been distrait all night.You don't believe he's gone to bed: you think he's made for thecabin to have a show-down with your husband. You go first to theBachelor Bungalow to see if Waters is really in his room. It'sdark, and there's no answer when you throw up some pebbles at hiswindow. So you make your way to the cabin. Right?"

She inclined her head.

"On the path under the trees you come upon a smoulderingcigarette. 'Ha, Fritz!' you say to yourself, and you go on. Butthough a light burns in the cabin, all is as still as deathinside and, peeping through the window, you see your husbandcollapsed at the table, a pistol in his hand. You touchhim—his hands are clammy; you put the mirror of your vanitycase to his lips and he doesn't breathe—he's dead..."

"Hold on there, Trev," Hank now put in. "She sez she felt ofhis hands and they wuz clammy. Now what I want ter ask is..."

"Just a minute, Hank, let me finish!"

"But thisyar's important, son!"

"No doubt, but you're putting me off my stride. A moment'spatience and you can ask all the questions you want. Where was I?Oh, yes. There's no sign of a struggle, but plenty of evidencethat Haversley has had a visitor—a glass of whisky on thetable, another on the floor beside the couch, a dent in one ofthe pillows as though someone had rested an elbow there.Correct?"

"Absolutely," she agreed.

"Convinced that your husband had committed suicide, your firstthought was of Waters. In a panic you straightened up the room,your sole idea being to cover up the fact that Haversley had hada caller—without stopping to think you even threw away yourhusband's cigar and emptied his drink down the sink in thekitchen. You were perhaps ten minutes in all in the cabin, andthroughout that time you heard no sound. And going and coming yousaw no one; isn't that so?"

She nodded.

"And you heard no shot—you're perfectly definite aboutthat, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"Where do you suppose you'd have been at eleven-five when theshot was fired?"

"Probably down at the Bachelor Bungalow—I was severalminutes there trying to make Fritz Waters hear me."

"And there was no report?"

"No. But the Bachelor Bungalow's quite a way from this." Shepaused. Then, twisting nervously at her ring, she said, "Thesheriff suggested that Dave Jarvis came back here around eleveno'clock and killed Vic. Do you realise that my evidence clearshim? I must have met him leaving the Bachelor Bungalow orreturning from the cabin. But I saw no one." She paused again."I've told you everything because you said it would help you toclear Fritz. But I can't see how it does. I wish you'd explain.As far as I know, Dave's speaking the truth when he says that hewas in bed at the moment the shot was fired."

Dene shook his tawny head. "There was no shot!" he said.

He was frowning and his mouth was grim.

CHAPTER 23

"NO SHOT?" she echoed blankly.

He had swung to Hank. "Put your question now!" he bade thesheriff.

With a poker face, Hank turned to Graziella. "You told us jes'now, ma'am, you felt of your husband's hands and they wuzcold..."

"Not cold, old man, clammy," Dene corrected.

"Clammy, then—it's all one," the other agreed placidlyand addressed Graziella again. "He wuz shot at eleven-fivepresoombably—d'you reelise he worn't dead more'n fiveminutes at the most when you come in? His hands ought to of binas warm as yourn!"

She stared at him in bewilderment. "They were dank to thetouch—it was horrible. Do you think I could be mistakenabout a thing like that?"

"You're not mistaken, Mrs. Haversley," said Dene gently. "Whenyou found your husband he'd been dead for more than an hour!"

Women possess an extraordinary singleness of purpose. Theyhave one-track minds. While Hank and I were struck aghast by thetrain of consequences which the Scotland Yard man's announcementunfolded, Graziella cried out excitedly, "Then Fritz has analibi. Because this would put the time back to ten o'clock, whenhe was with us at the bridge table."

"To ten or perhaps earlier," said Dene gravely.

Hank was scowling petulantly, as he always did when eventsmoved too swiftly for his comprehension. "Easy there, Trev!" hegrowled. "What becomes of the old woman's evidence? She heered ashot, didn't she? At eleven-five, it was—very pree-cise shewuz about et, an' never varied, so Mr. Lumsden told me..."

"And what about Dr. Bracegirdle?" I couldn't refrain fromputting in. "He stated quite independently of Miss Ryder—infact, it was before she ever appeared on the scene—that Vicwas shot around eleven o'clock. Charles Lumsden and I were boththere, and we heard him..."

For the first time the Scotland Yard man seemed to losepatience. Whipping off his glasses, he flung them with adisgusted air upon the blotter. "I don't care a damn what the oldgirl thinks she heard, and as for that doctor fellow, he's anincompetent, meddling ass. There was no shot, I tell you," and hebrought his fist down with a bang on the blotter, "there was noshot, because there couldn't have been any shot..."

"You mean, Miss Ryder got the time wrong?" I questioned.

"I mean there couldn't have been a shot in the circ*mstancesshe described then or earlier. And when I say 'shot,' I mean areport loud enough to be heard outside of this room. Tchah!" Inexasperation he flicked his spectacles away from him. "When Ithink that from the very outset the whole investigation has beenled right off the track by the delusions of a silly old woman andthe pompous self-complacency of our friend Bracegirdle!"

The sheriff scratched his head. "Seems like you wuz tryin' tertell us the medical ev'dence wuz wrong, ain't that et?"

Dene sighed and retrieved his glasses. "Your perspicacity, myHank," he observed drily, "floods the scene with light. That'sprecisely what I'm endeavouring to convey. Look here," he wenton, gradually recovering his wonted good humour as though hisoutbreak had relieved his feelings, "from the moment I came intothis case I've been worried by the idea of this shot fired atdead of night in the quiet of the mountains not a mile from agroup of houses full of people and heard by a single person only.That was why, simply because I couldn't get the idea to makesense, I let off my gun this afternoon in the cabin here."

Hank grinned and co*cked his head at him. "I wuz kindawonderin' about that accident myself," he drawled.

I laughed. "So was I. I had a notion it was a test of somekind."

"We're not really so careless with fire-arms in theMetropolitan Police as our friend Bracegirdle seems to think,"said Dene. "Yes, it was a test, and it worked. You saw whathappened: from all parts of the camp people came running in alarmeven as far as the Bachelor Bungalow."

"That was old Bracegirdle," I précised. "He said you woke himup from his afternoon nap."

"Quite so!" the Scotland Yard man replied. "Well, Mrs.Haversley was at the Bachelor Bungalow that night about the timeMiss Ryder is supposed to have heard the report, and she heardnothing. Moreover, Waters who must have been somewhere in thevicinity at the time heard nothing—we got that much out ofhim, at least—and I, who was waiting down at Blakeney'splace, I heard nothing, either. Nobody heard the darned report,except Miss Ryder!"

"Then what was the shot she heard?" Graziellaasked.

Dene spread his hands. "God knows! A poacher, a car backfiringon the main road, one can't say. It must have been pretty faroff, anyhow..."

"She said it seemed pretty close to the house," I pointedout.

The Englishman laughed drily. "If you'd been at this game aslong as I have, you'd know something about the invincibleinaccuracy of witnesses, especially elderly maiden ladies. And,irrespective of sex, it's always fatal when a witness believesthat his or her testimony is important. They'll say anything.It's a kind of vanity—I could tell you some stories. TakeBracegirdle. It's the hardest thing, as any police surgeon willtell you, to fix with even approximate precision the exact hourof death in a given case. But old Bracegirdle has no hesitationabout it. He sailed in baldheaded and announces that the man waskilled at eleven. Flat-footed, just like that. I couldn't correcthim. The body was cooling off when we found it and, not being adoctor, it was impossible for me to say, to an hour or two,exactly when death had taken place. The tragedy was that itwasn't until hours later—next morning, in fact—that acompetent police surgeon was able to make a proper examination,and then the man at Springsville was clearly over-awed by ourfriend's resolute co*cksureness." He shrugged and knocked out hispipe. "Well, we start again from scratch!"

Hank nodded with an impassive air, as though to say that timewas of no account in his normally placid existence as hunter andguide. Then he remarked, "What made you tell the lady he wuz shotat ten or, mebbe, earlier, Trev?"

"The lamp, man," was the swift reply. "It was lighted aroundten, and Miss Carruthers, as you heard her say, was back at herbungalow by nine-thirty-five, which means she must have left thecabin at about half-past nine. It was getting dusk inside whenshe went away. Is there any earthly reason why Haversley shouldhave remained sitting in the dark after her departure?"

"You mean, if young Jarvis had followed her..." the sheriffbegan, and paused significantly.

The Scotland Yard man nodded. "We've got to find that bangle,Hank," he said rather tensely.

"Sara must have it," Graziella put in.

Dene shook his head. "I searched her room a while back when wewent to fetch her beads, and Hank took the opportunity of goingthrough young Jarvis's. There's no sign of the bracelet in eitherplace!"

At that moment the door was rapped. Albert, the Lumsdenchauffeur, was disclosed. Albert and I were good friends. Acivil, forthright little man with a round face and button nose,he had served overseas in my own Division, the New York, and weoften had a yarn together. He had been the Lumsden chauffeur andgeneral handy man at the camp for years.

"'Scuse me, Mr. Blakeney," he said when I opened to him, "butI want to speak to Hank." He came in and, catching sight ofGraziella sitting there, touched his cap.

"You ain't come ter tell me that thar battery of mine's downagin, Albert?" remarked the sheriff.

The chauffeur smiled briefly—this was evidently an oldjoke between them. "No, it ain't the battery this time, Hank.There's something in the lake I guess you'll want to look at. Mr.Lumsden went to Springsville to see Mr. Lauff, the lawyer, so Ithought I'd better tell you..."

"Something in the lake?" repeated Hank. "There ain't nothinghappened to one of them kids, Albert, is there?"

Albert shook his head impassively. "Nothing like that. Butit's kinda odd, all the same..."

"What's odd?" the sheriff demanded.

Speech with Albert was a deliberate affair. "Well," heanswered ponderously, "it was like this, see? Miss Cynthie andher friend, Miss Fletcher, thought they'd like to fish thisafternoon. I tells Miss Cynthie no trout'll take the fly with thesun blazing on the water, and they'd best wait till sundown, butit wasn't no good my talking, they had to go at once. So Ifetches down a coupla rods and takes the young ladies in the puntacross to that rock on the far side of the lake—you know,where the boss and Mr. Bracegirdle mostly fish..."

"You don't have ter tell me whar to catch trout in Wolf Lake,Albert Hunt," Hank broke in impatiently. "Git on with the story,why don't you?"

"I'm getting on with it all right," was the imperturbablerejoinder. "There's a mooring, 'tother side of that rock, wherethey tie up when they goes fishing, jes' a side of a cratefastened by a wire rope to a weight on the bottom. Remember?"

"Fer land's sakes," rasped the sheriff, "didn't I fix it feryour boss afore you all come up? Do you think we got allarternoon to set here an' listen ter you? I know that tharmoorin', a' coorse. What about et?"

But Albert was not to be hurried. "I didn't notice it when Iwent to tie up the punt," he said, "but when I goes to castoff—the young ladies soon got tired of setting therewithout a bite and wanted to go back—I sees there's alength of fish line lashed round the mooring. I pulls on it, andup comes a sorta package done up in oil silk."

Dene glanced up quickly. "A package?" He held out his hand."Let's have a look!"

The chauffeur shook his bullet head warily.

"I let it be, sir." His air became slightly mysterious. "FredGood, the trooper, let fall something to me about a valuablebangle being missing, and I thought, mebbe..." He left hismeaning unfinished. "What I was going to say, it warn't thereSat'day afternoon when I was out at the rock with the boss and Iwas jes' wondering..."

He broke off.

"How big is this package?" Dene asked.

The man curved his fingers to a square. "Quite small. Butkinda heavy. It hangs down out of sight under water."

Hank's blue eyes rested moodily on Dene. "I believe he'sright, Trev. It's the bangle, fer a clinch!"

The other nodded. "It'd explain what young Jarvis was doingout in a boat on Sunday night," he remarked tentatively.

Triumphantly the sheriff pounded a horny palm with his fist."By crikey, I didn't think o' that!" He swung to the chauffeur."Come on, Albert, let's go peek at this package o' yourn!"

"I'll run you across in the power-boat," said Albert, and insilence the four of us followed him out.

CHAPTER 24

THE clearing was deserted, but as we exchangedits bright sunlight for the dappling under the trees we perceivedGeorge Wilson, the Lumsden's bailiff, a grizzled man in plusfours, running along the path towards us. With him was a youthwhose appearance was vaguely familiar to me—it was one ofthe lads I had noticed working on the place. Both looked veryhot.

"Oh, Hank," puffed the bailiff, wiping his face, "when I wasdown in the village just now a trooper from headquarters wasasking for you. I told him you were over at our place, and hegave me this for you." So saying he handed the sheriff a largebuff envelope. "It's the photo of this guy who broke out ofDannemora this morning," he explained confidentially.

"Thanks, George!" Hank was about to thrust the envelopeunopened in his pocket when the bailiff stopped him. "Hold onthere! If it's all one to you, I'd like Harry here"—hepulled the youth forward—"to take a look at that picture.He thinks he saw this escaped con on the road near the Greens'place, not an hour back."

"Presently, George, presently," said Hank brusquely. "I'm busynow!" And he made to pass him. Dene, too, I could see, wasjigging with impatience. But the bailiff's bulky form barred theway.

"Gosh, Hank," he exclaimed, "if Harry's right, d'you know whatthis means? This bird has only to cross the road to be on theproperty. And, what's more, he knows it. Here"—he gave theyouth a push—"you tell him, Harry!"

"Goldarn et," cried the sheriff crossly, "why's everything gotter happen at once? Here am I, as busy as a wet hen, an' thewarden over ter Dannemora can't even keep his vermin in theircages. All right, son, it ain't your fault," he added to the boy."Let's have it!"

The boy told his story intelligently enough. He had been overto Mrs. Green's to fetch some eggs for the chef, and was walkingback along the highway that skirted the camp when, withoutwarning, a man stepped out of the woods and confronted him. Hewas wearing a jacket over a suit of jeans, but what struck Harryparticularly was the fact that he had no hat, and that bits ofstraw were sticking to his hair, as though he had been lying in abarn. He had a cigarette in his mouth, and asked Harry for amatch, which the lad produced. Then the man had wanted to knowhow far he was from the Lumsden camp, and on Harry pointing outthat the estate began on the other side of the road the strangerhad waved his hand and disappeared back into the woods from whichhe had come.

"A kinda thin guy with grey hair who looked at you funny," wasHarry's description.

Without comment, Hank broke the seal of the envelope. The cardhe drew forth showed the regular police photograph in threepositions—the front face and the two profiles. As is usualwith such pictures, the photos were flat and characterless; butthe hollowness of the cheeks and a curious, birdlike brightnessof the eye were features that came out strongly.

The boy didn't hesitate. With a grubby finger he pointed to asort of dent visible in the man's right temple in the front facephotograph.

"It's him!" he declared excitedly to the sheriff. "Gees, Mr.Wells, I'd know him anywheres by that mark on his forehead. Andthat's just how he looks at you, see? with his eyes kinda burninga hole right through you!"

Silently Dene underlined with his finger a passage in thedescription of the wanted man appended to the photographs—adeep mark or depression faintly purplish in colour, in the righttemple.

Hank grunted. "Whar's them boys o' mine?" he asked thechauffeur.

"They was up at the kitchen for a cup o' corfee the last I seeof them," said Albert.

"Start up the boat. I'll be right back!"

With that he hurried off with Wilson and Harry. Only then didI perceive that Graziella was no longer with us. Dene had strodeahead by himself: I went along with Harry to the boathouse.

Graziella was already in the cruiser under the high, dim roofof the boathouse. I stepped in beside her, while Albert wentforward to the engine. Hank was not long appearing and, droppingwithout a word into the seat on the other side of Graziella, tookthe tiller. A moment later we were gliding out into thesunshine.

It was a divine afternoon, the lake's surface unruffled, thelight warmly golden, the air saturated with the scent of theforest. Nobody paid any attention to Graziella and me, for Albertwas busy with the engine, Hank had his steering to look after,while as for Dene, he had posted himself forward, and was staringout across the lake, apparently sunk in thought. I liftedGraziella's hand.

"Forgiven?" I asked her.

She coloured, then nodded, her cool fingers resting in mine."It was the wisest thing to do, though I didn't think so atfirst. I felt as though you'd wantonly betrayed me, but then Ibegan to see that you were right after all. The time had come tospeak."

"You see," I explained, "I knew something you didn't know.Yesterday afternoon Dene confided to me that he hoped to haveyour friend Waters out of jail before very long."

She sighed. "I've been almost frantic with anxiety—I canscarcely believe it's true, that I'm to see him again, a freeman." She raised up my hand caressingly. "Oh, Pete, what a goodfriend you've been! You've helped me all through. Why did you doit?"

"I've told you before. Because I like you. I like youtremendously, Graziella, more than anyone I've ever met. Ifthings had been different for me, if I'd met you earlier..."

She stopped me there. The tone of my voice, I suppose,something in my eyes, must have given me away. Very softly shemurmured, while her fingers twined themselves in mine, "Oh, Pete,my dear, I'm so very sorry."

"I wish that meant you were sorry we didn't meet sooner," Ihad to blurt out. "Unfortunately, I know what you mean. You'rereminding me that you're in love with Waters. You're going tomarry him, aren't you?"

She nodded. "If he still wants me. But, Pete, dear, I shouldnever make anyone like you happy. Money has spoilt me, butyou—you've suffered, you've been through the fire. Thewoman who gets you for a husband will be lucky!"

It was nonsense, of course, and she knew it. I told her so. Iset it down here only to show how sweetly she tried to spare myfeelings.

"I'm not three days a widow," she went on, "yet I feel like abride. I wouldn't say this to anyone but you, for they wouldn'tunderstand me; but I think you will. Shall I tell you that I'mcounting the hours until I see Fritz again, hear the sound of hisvoice, feel his arms around me? Yet I can grieve for Vic. I neverloved him, yet I'm grateful to him—I shall always begrateful—and it's horrible to think of his dying in thatway. But I try to be honest with myself, and I realise that I canthink kindly and even regretfully of my dead husband now merelybecause my anxiety about Fritz is relieved." She gave a little,fluttering sigh. "There! I'm pretty worthless, really, Pete. Notnearly good enough for you, or Fritz, either!"

I laughed—it's always easier to laugh, when you're usedto it. "As far as I'm concerned, I'd always take a chance onthat," I told her.

For a long moment her eyes looked affectionately into mine."Dear Pete!" she murmured and gave my hand a little squeeze. Thenshe released it. I didn't know it then, but that was destined tobe the last word to pass between us on the subject.

She sighed.

"Isn't life a puzzle? Murder has been done, and the murderer'sstill at large; yet we glide along here and talk as if nothinghad happened."

She touched my sleeve. "Look at those two there!"

Idly my eye followed her pointing finger. Close inshore underthe trees lining the bank we were rapidly approaching, a boatmoved away from us at a leisurely pace. Old Bracegirdle in hisshirt sleeves, his bald head glistening in the sunshine, was atthe oars: in the stern, her knitting in her lap, Miss Rydertrailed her hand in the water. After the alarums and excursionsof the day, and oppressed as I was by the weight of this freshenigma hanging over us, I found this placid domestic scene acharming spectacle—the old people looked so relaxed andhappy, keeping one another company in their boat.

"Funny pair!" I commented. "Well, I'm glad to see that MissRyder's got over her fainting fit. You know, I like the oldgirl—she's full of character!"

Graziella's smile was faintly mischievous. "Poor Miss Ryder!Your friend Dene was pretty hard on her, wasn't he? And he hasn'tmuch use for the doctor, either!" Dene's name seemed to bring herthoughts to Jarvis. "Oh, Pete," she said with a little shudder,"what about Dave? They mean to arrest him, don't they?"

"I guess so," I answered.

Again she shivered. "It's horrible to think that all this timewe've been rubbing shoulders, sitting down to our meals with amurderer. I hope they act quickly—I don't believe I couldbring myself to meet him again. And Sara? Are they going toarrest her, too?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, I'm sure. I can't quite make Deneout. You'd think the case against young Jarvis was clear enough,yet I have the feeling that Dene's still keeping an open mind.Well, if this really is the bangle, this should clinch it, Iimagine!"

The Scotland Yard man called suddenly from the bows, "Easythere!"

At the same time, in a flurry of water, the engine went intoreverse, stopped, and we drifted along under our own momentum. Iwas tingling with excitement. We had reached the float—onthe port bow the rock thrust its grey and pointed head out of thelake.

In a thrilling silence the four of us crowded about Dene. Withone hand he grasped the float, with the other he hauled on thelength of line made fast to it. Hank brandished a knife, but Denesaid quietly, "No, don't cut it! We'll pull it in, float and all.Ah, here she comes!"

A small, square packet, wrapped in yellow oil silk and boundtightly round with fish-line, was in his hands. Albert caught upthe line, scrutinised it.

"That's some of the new line Mr. Lumsden brought up from NewYork when he come," he pronounced, then, with a mighty heave, heswung the float and the iron weight to which it was attached intothe boat.

"Good man, Albert," said Dene. "And now let's make for theshore!"

"What, ain't we goin' ter open it?" the sheriff asked,pointing at the packet.

"Not here," Dene replied, balancing it with his fingers."Where can we be undisturbed? Your place, I think, Pete!"

"Okay," I told him.

The engine roared: Hank swung the boat round and we startedback. Save for the skiff with the old couple, now headingsluggishly for the landing-stage, we had the lake toourselves.

"Did the girls see you find this packet?" Dene asked thechauffeur.

"No, sir," said Albert promptly. "Did you say anything to themabout it?"

"Not me, Mr. Dene!"

"Then listen, all of you"—the Scotland Yard manaddressed us collectively. "Not a word about this to anyone atthe camp, understand?"

We murmured our assent, then Dene, Hank and Albert put theirheads together aft—I gathered they were scrutinising theknot with which the line carrying the packet was lashed to thefloat.

No one was about when we went ashore at the little landing-stage before my shack. The whole camp seemed to slumber in thewarmth of the late afternoon. With Dene grasping the package andAlbert shouldering weight and float, we went up to the shack.

Albert dumped his burden on the verandah. Hank produced hisknife, but the Scotland Yard man insisted on loosing the knotthat held the line about the parcel with his fingers. I couldscarcely contain my impatience as I watched him fiddling with thesopping line, picking and tugging at the tough knot, as though hehad the entire day before him.

At last he was done, and the line dropped to the ground.Carrying the package, he led the way into the shack. There was aslight rending sound as he tore the edges of the oil silk apart,disclosing a small cardboard box.

It was inscribed, "Cartier, Fifth Avenue, New York."

"Ha!" cried the sheriff triumphantly and, seizing the box,prised open the lid. A layer of tissue paper came into view. Hankdiscarded the paper, then I saw his face change. He plunged hisfingers into the box and drew out, not the leather case we hadexpected to see, or even the diamond bangle itself, but a smallcylinder, of dark, oxidised metal.

With a fierce exclamation like a snarl, the Scotland Yard mansnatched it from him. "By Gad," he ground out between his teeth,"I was looking for one of these, but I never expected to findit!" And he slammed it down on the table.

"But what is it?" I asked.

Dene, however, was in no mood to be questioned. He wasbubbling with excitement. "I knew the old girl was wrong," hevociferated. "I said she heard no shot from the cabin at the hourshe spoke of, but this tells us that no report can have beenheard at any time. By the Lord Harry, now I can go to work atlast!"

Hank had grabbed him by the coat and was vainly trying toattract his attention. "What in the hell are you talkin' about?"he demanded sourly. "Trev, will you shet up an' listen ter me?Jes' what is thisyar contraption?"

On that the young man seemed to come to his senses. "Sorry,Hank. It's a silencer! Do you mean to tell me you never saw asilencer before?"

A voice spoke from the doorway. "Is this a council of war, ormay the general public come in?"

CHAPTER 25

IT was Dr. Bracegirdle. I don't know that therewas anybody I was less willing to see at that particularmoment—I was beginning to find him dull and prolix andinquisitive. Dene felt as I did, I knew: I told myself he'd keephis own counsel as long as the doctor was present, and I was onfire to hear from my young friend's lips his explanation of oursurprising discovery.

"I was out in a boat with Miss Ryder," Bracegirdle, quiteimpervious to the sudden silence which greeted his appearance,explained and came into the room. "We saw you all rushing out tothe rock, so I thought I'd drop in and find out what it's allabout. Why did you pull the float up, and what's this packagethat seemed to be attached to it?"

"What do you know about any package?" Hank demanded gruffly."You ain't tellin' me you wuz near enough to see what we wuzat?"

The old gentleman smiled and half drew a pair of binocularsfrom the side pocket of his alpaca jacket. "I had my glasses withme. I always take them when I go out on the lake. I like to studythe birds. I hope I wasn't indiscreet..." He broke off as his eyefell upon the metal cylinder resting in a pool of water on thetable. "Why, good gracious me," he exclaimed, "if it isn't asilencer!" His hand strayed to the oil silk trailing on a chair."Wrapped in oil silk and attached to the buoy. My word, that's aningenious hiding-place!" He glanced at Dene. "May one look atit?"

"Help yourself!" said Dene, civilly enough. "Any finger printshave long since been wiped clean, you may lay to that!"

The doctor had picked up the silencer and was examining itwith interest.

"It's most bewildering!" he remarked at last. "From thecirc*mstances in which it was discovered we're bound to infer, ofcourse, that the murderer used it. Then what becomes of the shotMiss Ryder heard?"

"She heard no shot, Doctor—at least, not the shot thatkilled Haversley," was Dene's quiet reply. "You see, he was shota good hour earlier than you led us to believe..."

The old man was up in arms at once. "Who says so?" hedemanded, scowling.

"Mrs. Haversley has definitely established that point."

He stared at the speaker, drawing down his bushy eyebrows."Mrs. Haversley?"

"It was she who tidied up the room under the impression thather husband had committed suicide as the result of a scene withWaters. When she found Haversley around eleven o'clock the bodywas already cooling off."

Dr. Bracegirdle looked conscience-stricken. "You astonish me!How is it possible I could have been so greatly at fault? I'dhave staked my professional reputation."

I was surprised to see Dene smile quite amiably. "We all makemistakes, sir..."

"Yes, but, dear me, when I think that I've led you all astray!It seems I owe you an apology, young man. And you, too, Sheriff!"He sighed wistfully. "Friends, I'm getting on for seventy, andwith the advancing years, you know, the faculties becomegradually blunted. We doctors know that a man is endowed withonly a certain amount of vitality, and that when it'sexhausted..." He shook his head. "I'm confused—I don't knowwhat to say!" Out of his small, shrewd eyes he shot a piercingglance at Dene. "But this puts a wholly different aspect on thematter. To be quite frank, friend Hank," he went on prosily,turning to the sheriff, "I wasn't much impressed by yoursuggestion that young Jarvis would have had time to leave hisbed, sneak down to the trapper's cabin and commit the crime, allwithin the five minutes between eleven o'clock and five past. Butnow that the time of the murder's set back to ten, his alibi'sblown to smithereens. For at that hour, by his own admission, hewas off by himself—out on the lake, as he claims. That'sclear, isn't it?" He gazed about him in triumph.

"As clear as ditch water!" rumbled the sheriff disgustedly."The young feller's no gangster, for all he's in Wall Street asthey tell me. Wal, whar in mischeef does he git one o' themthings?" He pointed sternly at the silencer. "Their sale's aginthe law—that's a' coorse, why gangsters an' gunmen have'em. That's why, me bein' sheriff of a decent, lawabidin' county,if you don't reckon in game offences, I never seed one afore." Hepaused to administer a passing wipe to his nose with the back ofhis hand and with a loud sniff went on, "Then thar's this!"Impressively he tapped the silencer. "This means dee-liberatemurder, this means planning, see? Are you goin' ter tell me thisyoung' man's the sort as'd tote one o' theseyar contraptionsround in his baggage? He looks kinda short in the temper ter me,an' I wouldn't put it past him, if he catched them two tergether,he mightn't a' let Haversley have it out of a gun. You kin sayI'm all wet, that he was layin' fer him with the silencer readyan' all, but what about this? He told us he never stirred out ofhis bed once he come in off'n the water 'bout half-past ten.Right?"

"That's his statement, I believe, yes," said the doctorloftily.

Hank's nubbly index finger smartly rapped the table. "If he'sthe murderer, he wuz the only one ter know Haversley worn't shotat eleven, ain't that so?"

"I suppose so."

"Then why wuz he so sat on fixin' hisself a alibi fereleven?"

"Naturally, because he knew we all believed Haversley to havebeen killed at eleven!" The doctor's tone was testy.

"Jes' ter be on the safe side, wouldn't he have fixed hisselfa alibi fer the real time? 'Stead o' that, he admits he ain't gotone. Whar's the sense?"

Dene had taken no part in the argument. He had flung himselfdown on my bed, and sprawled there, propped on one elbow, staringat the roof and meditatively smoking his pipe. But he hadevidently been listening, for he remarked sotto voce,"Well reasoned, Hank!"

Old Bracegirdle grunted. "Well," he observed stubbornly, "inthe light of this afternoon's discovery, all I can say is thatit's strange he should have found it necessary to take a boat outon that particular night. And if Dave Jarvis isn't the murderer,perhaps you'll tell me who is?"

Hank wriggled his shoulders. "I've been thinkin'. Thar's oneparty as comes inter this whose movements Sunday night'd bearinvestigatin'!"

The doctor tittered. "It's not Pete here, I hope?"

But the sheriff was in no mood for joking. "No, it ain'tPete," he returned morosely, "nor you, neether, Doc. It's thatMiss Ingersoll!"

I had a shock. With a pang I realised that I was responsiblefor steering the sheriff's thoughts to this quarter—thestory I'd told him and Dene of my midnight encounter with thesecretary must have sounded most compromising for her. But I saidnothing for the moment. The fact that she'd made me herconfidant—claimed me, indeed, as an ally—sealed mylips. I waited impatiently for what was to come.

But Bracegirdle, the old bore, gave Hank no chance to develophis line of thought. "Miss Ingersoll, eh?" he broke in. "Nowthat's most interesting. A capable, even a masterful, youngwoman. Red-haired—the possessive, jealous type, if I knowanything of the traits that go with that colouring. Of course,she was devoted to poor Haversley, but equally I fancy she'd havebeen quick to resent any encroachment upon her influence overhim..."

"She wasn't in love with him, if that's what you mean," Isaid.

He laughed. "My dear fellow, all women fall for philanderersof his description!"

"I dunno nothin' 'bout her type," Hank now declared. "All Iknows is that she comes from Chicago or near by, and that by allaccounts them gangsters in Illinois have regl'ar arsenals oftommy guns an' silencers an' such things. An' that bangle pointster her, too. She knew about it, 'cos she signed fer it when itcome, let alone Haversley showin' it ter her. An' the Carruthersgirl ain't got it, nor yit Jarvis!"

"It's odd your bringing her name up," the doctor struck in,"because, you know, it was she who first accused Waters."

The sheriff seemed impressed. "That's right, too. And it wuzshe as first put us wise ter the bangle. Pete catched her at thetrapper's cabin in the middle of the night. She said she wuzlookin' fer the bangle, but what she wuz arter, I guess, wuz thebill, ter get rid of it."

"Good gracious me!" exclaimed the old gentleman all of aflutter, "I'd no idea of this. And, of course, she has noalibi—she told us she was upstairs that night, in her roomtyping. Have you searched her room—for the bangle, Imean?"

"Not yit we ain't," said Hank, "but I reckon we ought. How'bout et, Trev?"

"We'll speak of this again," Dene answered, glancing throughthe open door. "Here's Lumsden and the lawyer chap—I fancythey're looking for you, Hank!"

I remembered that Lauff, the lawyer from Chicago, and Dene hadalready met at the depot. The lawyer nodded affably to Dene andstood to one side, a dapper, plump man in rimless glasses and agrey suit, while Charles spoke to the sheriff.

"What's this I hear from Wilson about this escaped convictbeing seen on the highway?" Charles demanded rather excitedly."It seems to be raining desperadoes round here justnow—this is the second case we've had in three days. Whatare we going to do about it?"

Hank began to detail the measures he had ordered—patrolson the road and so forth. I didn't listen to himparticularly—I was thinking about Miss Ingersoll.Bracegirdle was right as far as it went. It was she—noneknew it better than I—who by her violent attacks onGraziella had started up the inquiry into Waters's movements onthe night of the murder, she again who, when the case againstWaters showed signs of crumbling, had used me—I wasunpleasantly conscious of it now—to throw suspicion on Sarain the matter of the bangle. I put my mind back. Why, she mighthave overheard Dene telling me that Waters was likely to bereleased—only an instant before she'd come out on theverandah where we were talking! She could not have foreseen thatI would surprise her ransacking the cabin, but when she wascaught she had been quick to turn the situation to her advantage.I felt more and more disturbed.

Hank had taken out the police photograph of the fugitive andwas showing it to Charles. Lauff strolled across to look at it.Suddenly he uttered a loud exclamation.

"But, good God," he cried in a bewildered voice, "it's HenryKummer!"

CHAPTER 26

DENE seemed to leap a foot in the air."What?" he trumpeted. "Not the fellow you were tellingme about—the chap who comes into all Haversley'smoney?"

"Old Hermann Kummer's next of kin?" This was from Charles."But this man's a convict, a lifer. There must be somemistake!"

"I know what I'm talking about," said the lawyer firmly. "It'stwenty years since I last set eyes on him, and he's thinner andolder-looking. But it's Henry Kummer all right, old Hermann'scousin, and the only Kummer left. I'd know him anywhere by thatdinge on the side of his head. It's where his pony kicked himwhen he was a kid—I always thought it affected his brain bythe way he cut up afterwards. I haven't heard of him foryears—I imagined he was dead, killed in the War, orsomething." He gazed at the photograph again. "So he ended up injail. For life, eh? and in an assumed name. I'm notsurprised—he was always a wild fellow. Lucky for Henry oldKummer's mind went back on him three or four years before hedied, or he'd surely have altered his will. The old boy must bespinning in his grave at the thought of this jail-bird cominginto all the money. Well, I always told Vic he ought to have achild!"

"But what brings the fellow here?" Charles wanted to know."He's obviously heard of Haversley's death, although I'm sure Idon't know how."

"They git the noospapers in jail, that's how!" the sheriffelucidated.

"Even so, why risk a jail break? He doesn't think he can walkin here and collect a few million dollars before the will'sproved, surely?"

"As far as I'm aware," Lauff observed, "he doesn't even knowthat he's old Kummer's heir. He was abroad somewhere—inAustralia, I believe—when the old man died, and our letterswere returned unopened."

"He knew all right," Hank declared sombrely. "This ain't thefirst crime that's been planned in jail, you know that, Mr.Lauff!"

"I don't see how he could have killed poor Haversley, ifthat's what you mean," the lawyer replied, "since he broke outonly this morning."

"I don't mean nothin' of the sort," was the dogged rejoinder."There wuz only Haversley between this jail-bird an' the Kummermillions, you told us. Henry's in Dannemora doin' a stretch, buthe kin have a 'complice here at the camp, can't he?"

"An accomplice here at the camp?" Charles repeated in ashocked voice. "Good heavens, Hank! What are you saying?"

After his initial outburst Dene had fallen silent, standinglike a statue, and staring with brows knit across the lake. Nowhe struck in.

"The sheriff," he said, "has made the valuable suggestion thatMiss Ingersoll's movements on the night of the murder are worthexamining more closely."

Charles seemed to shrink away from him. "Miss Ingersoll? Oh,my God!" he murmured.

"We've every reason to believe that the crime was committedwith the aid of that silencer," Dene went on, pointing at thetable, "which we discovered hidden in the lake this afternoon. AsHank rightly remarks, only professional criminals seem to be ableto get hold of these devilish devices, the sale of which isprohibited by law, and therefore this silencer furnishes a strongpresumptive link, if not directly with Kummer in jail, at leastwith his criminal associates outside. From the fact that Kummer'sbeen seen in the neighbourhood of the camp, we're entitled toinfer that he has an accomplice here, as the sheriff suggests.From the very outset Miss Ingersoll has been at pains toincriminate one person after the other, and actually she's givenno satisfactory account of her own movements on the night of themurder. We've yet to discover what connection exists between herand Kummer, but it may well be that it was she, in her capacityas private secretary to Haversley, who discovered that Kummer wasthe next-of-kin. They may be old acquaintances, or she may havemade it her business to ascertain his whereabouts and convey theinformation to him in prison. I can't tell you, but I'm virtuallycertain, and I'm sure that Dr. Bracegirdle agrees withme"—here his eye sought out the old doctor who was lookingvery grave—"that we're on the right track at last!"

I held no brief for Barbara Ingersoll, but I had to speak out.She was alone and defenceless, and they were all againsther—the sternly condemning expression stamped on everycountenance told me that. Her face rose in my mind, so calm andresolute. It was the face of a woman who had had her own way tomake in the world, longing for security, eager for happiness,masterful, perhaps, as Bracegirdle had said, jealous, even, butnot a liar.

"It all sounds very plausible as you tell it, Dene," Ideclared, "but, believe me, you're making a terrible mistake.Miss Ingersoll's lost a good job, and anything she's done or saidto hamper this investigation has been governed by her terror offalling into the hands of the police and never finding another.She's a high-minded girl, a respectable girl, and not in athousand years would she associate with criminals!"

With unexpected ferocity the Scotland Yard man rounded onme—the suddenness of his attack fairly took my breathaway.

"You keep out of this, Blakeney!" he said waspishly. "You'veinterfered enough. You encourage your friend Mrs. Haversley towithhold vitally important evidence, and I've yet to discoverwhat's really at the back of your nocturnal meeting with theIngersoll girl at the trapper's cabin. You may as well understandthat it's a serious business to hamper a police investigation, asthe sheriff will tell you, and my advice to you is to watch yourstep. And see here, one word to the Ingersoll girl about whatyou've heard here this afternoon, and you'll find yourself whereyou can do no more harm!" With that he turned his back on me.

The blood rushed into my face. The fellow had a nerve, takingthat tone with me! Before I could reply, however, I felt my armgripped. It was Charles.

"Not now, old man!" he whispered.

"But he can't talk like that to me!"

"To oblige me, Pete—you can have it out with himlater!"

I noticed that Hank said nothing. He did not even look atme—I had the feeling he was anxious I shouldn't think heassociated himself with Dene's attack. So I shrugged and fellsilent.

Bracegirdle was speaking. "That bangle would give us avaluable clue," he said to Dene. "If we could only find thebangle. She must have it somewhere, unless she's sent itaway!"

"I bin on to the post-mistress about that," Hank put in."There ain't bin no packet despatched from the village fromanyone at the camp for more'n a week."

"Then it's still here," affirmed the doctor. "You'll searchher room?" he said to Dene.

Charles, with his fine sense of a host's responsibilities,looked miserable. "It's inevitable, I suppose?" he remarked.

The Scotland Yard man nodded. "Yes, but it's essential sheshouldn't suspect anything until I've been able to make someinquiries into her background. I'm going to the village now, andin the meantime I'd suggest that you should get her out of theway, somehow, and that perhaps you and the doctor here shouldthen make a thorough search!"

"I guess I'd better go along, too," said Hank.

"My dear fellow," Dene cried excitedly, "you're coming withme. Is your car still there?"

"Sure!"

"Then let's go!" He turned to Charles. "You'll make a good jobof it, won't you? And above all don't let her smell a rat! I'llbe along later!"

Grabbing Hank by the arm and, stopping only to pick up thesilencer and its box, he stormed out.

CHAPTER 27

MURDER, the criminologists tell us, springs fromone of three passions—love, revenge or greed; and of thesethree causes the last-named is the most frequent. I had to admitto myself that the props had been knocked from under every theoryI had formed about the case. With the appearance on the scene ofthe mysterious George Martin and his identification as HenryKummer, the murdered man's heir, an entirely fresh motive, andone much stronger than any we had examined, was disclosed. FritzWaters and young Jarvis were automatically discarded, for, withevery step we advanced, it became increasingly clear that thiswas no crime passionel, no murder committed in hotblood, but a frigidly calculated, deep-laid conspiracy toslaughter the wretched Haversley in order to inherit fromhim.

The poet who wrote of meeting murder on the way didn't knowwhat he was talking about. He wouldn't have recognised a murdererif he'd seen one. The murderer, I knew now, has no especial face.One of the house-party at Wolf Lake had shed blood; yet as we ateand drank and slept and went about the daily round there was notelling which was the criminal. With a sickening sense of doubt,I realised that I might be wholly mistaken in Miss Ingersoll.Every murder case has its record of dupes to show, and I wouldn'tbe the first man whose suspicions were lulled or even nipped inthe bud by the nimble wits of a ruthless and unscrupulous woman.As the realisation came to me I wished from the bottom of myheart, play or no play, I'd never seen the camp or any of itsinhabitants—yes, even Graziella.

With the appearance of Charles and the doctor, Albert hadslipped away, and we now had the shack to ourselves. Seeing thatthe other two were busy talking, I went to the sideboard andpoured myself a stiff shot of rye. Bracegirdle was tellingCharles about the finding of the silencer and the deductions Denehad based upon this clue as to the hour at which the murder wascommitted. I must say the old boy was quite candid about themistake he had made. Rather gruffly Charles wanted to know aboutthe shot Miss Ryder was supposed to have heard. Either there wasa shot or there wasn't—she couldn't have imagined it.Bracegirdle was vague. They must question her. To-morrow, nottonight. She hadn't recovered from her attack at the cabin,although she'd insisted on going out on the lake for a breath ofair. Her heart wasn't strong—all this business had upsether very much.

Charles came across to me. "You mustn't mind what Dene said,"he told me. "He's a bit rattled, and no wonder..."

"Graziella told me her story in confidence," I said. "Icouldn't give her away."

"I know..." Charles was a good friend, altogether a grandperson. "But, Pete, old man, you must help us now. I'm going totell Miss Ingersoll you want to speak to her down here—youcan find some pretext—and while she's with you, we'llsearch her room..."

"And then, when the bangle isn't forthcoming, have Dene accuseme of tipping her off? Thank you!"

"Dene's a reasonable chap—he must know, the same as weall do, that whoever had that bangle has long since got rid ofit."

"I'm sorry, Charles, but I'd rather not have anything to dowith it!"

"I'll make it all right with Dene, I tell you!"

"I'm not thinking of Dene now, it's the girl. Supposing Vicdid give her that bracelet, does it prove that she killedhim?"

"It'll go the hell of a way towards proving it. What aboutthat box?"

"What box?"

"The box the silencer was packed in. It's a Cartier box, isn'tit? Man, don't you see it's a direct link between the bangle andthe killing?"

It was true—I'd overlooked the point.

Charles said firmly, "I'm going to search her room, and if thebangle isn't there, I'll search the house. If I had my way, I'dlike to have her up and tax her point-blank with the crime, but Isuppose we'll have to leave that to Dene. Come on, Pete, you'llhelp us, I know." His eye fell on my portable. "You can tell heryou've some typing to give her!"

Old Bracegirdle struck in. "It's a social duty, my boy. Don'tyou think poor Haversley deserves a thought? The least we can dois to put all personal considerations aside and try to find hismurderer!"

"This girl's nothing to me..." I was beginning pretty iratelywhen the door was rapped.

Trooper Good, stalwart and trim, stood there. "Oh, Mr.Blakeney," he announced, "the sheriff sent me back for thefloat." As he spoke, his left eyelid quivered at me in anunmistakable wink.

"It's on the verandah, Fred—I'll bring the line so youwon't get snarled up," I said, and went out to him, taking thelength of fish-line with me.

The trooper glanced over my shoulder, as I faced him, into theroom beyond, then, rapidly opening and shutting his hand, gave mea glimpse of a twist of paper lying there. "He don't want theweight," he explained and bent to free the float from its cable.As he stooped he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "FromMr. Dene. I wasn't to let no one see me hand it over. Walk apiece along the lake with me and I'll slip it to you!"

Greatly wondering, I obeyed. Where the trees, spreading theirbranches over the path beside the water, hid us from prying eyes,Fred gave me the note and, carrying the float, went on his way tothe dock, where the tall figure of the sheriff was visibleaddressing a group of troopers. It was a sheet of thin paper tornfrom a notebook, folded lengthwise and twisted once across, likethe notes one passed in class at school. I unfolded the paper andread:

Quite right to stick up for her, but I lay youan even ten to one in dollars or pounds, just as you say, thatthey'll find that bangle in her room. Keep this to yourself, butsee if I'm not right.

T.D.

P.S. Does shefish?

I had a sense of relief on perusing this curiouscommunication. I guessed it was the Scotland Yard man's fashionof letting me know that he'd definitely traced the bangle to MissIngersoll's possession. Remembering his cautious nature, I wassure he wouldn't have committed himself to any such statementwithout good grounds, and I felt the last vestiges of my faith inthe secretary slowly draining away. Also, I was not displeased atfinding myself thus apparently reinstated in Dene's favour,although I was considerably puzzled by the abrupt transition fromthe hectoring tone he'd used to me before and the almost genialtenor of his note. I read the letter through twice, then tore itinto small pieces, which I thrust down a rabbit-hole.

Charles and the doctor awaited me with evident impatience.

"She'll be going up to dress in another half an hour," saidCharles, "and I want to get the job over with before dinner. Whatabout it, Pete? Are you in on this or not?"

"Okay," I told him. "You can send her along!"

And I poured myself another drink of whisky.

I needed stimulating. I hated the role they had wished on me.Sitting there, I felt like Judas must have felt when he waited inthe garden for the Master. I was the only friend this girl had inthe house: she had given me her sympathy and her confidence, andin return I was to betray her—to lull her into a falsesense of security, while Charles and that old pantaloon,Bracegirdle, went snuffling about among her possessions. Well, itwas too late to draw back now. No half measures—I shouldhave to make a thorough job of it. After all, she had thebangle—Dene seemed convinced of it, and he ought to know;it meant she had been lying throughout. In that case, shedeserved no mercy. I took another drink.

I was at the sideboard when I heard her step outside.

"Mr. Lumsden said you wanted to see me about some typing," sheannounced from the door.

"That's right," I told her. "Come in and sit down. It's thefirst half of the Third Act. Drink?"

"No, thanks." She had seated herself at the table and waseyeing my portable. "Is this your typing?" she demanded, lookingat a sheet in the machine.

"Sure!"

Severely she ran her finger along the type. "Has this machineever been cleaned?"

"I guess not!"

She shook her head. "The typewriter companies pay dividendsout of people like you. Have you a brush?"

I handed over the tool-box and, tucking back her cuffs, shestarted to clean the machine.

"What are they going to do about Dave Jarvis?" she asked me,brushing away.

I shrugged. "I've no idea. Hank and Dene have gone offsomewhere..."

"Does that mean they've discovered something fresh?"

"I can't tell you!"

"Did they get anything out of your friend, Mrs.Haversley?"

"I haven't the remotest notion! Can't we talk about somethingelse for a change? I'm sick and tired of the whole subject!"

I guess my tone was pretty irritable. Without looking up fromher task, she remarked quietly, "I'm sure whisky isn't good forthat chest of yours..."

I laughed. "First, it's my cigarettes, then it's whisky!You'll have your work cut out if you start trying to reform me,my dear!"

A little, secretive smile hovered round her lips as she testedthe roller. "It's time someone took you in hand!" For a spell shewent on with her cleaning in silence. "I think you'll find thatbetter," she said at last. "Now where's the stuff you want me totype?"

I handed her my MS. in a folder.

"May I read it?" she asked.

"Why not? You'll have to, anyway, if you're going to copyit!"

My tone was harsher than I'd meant it to be, but the situationwas getting on my nerves. She turned her level gaze on me.

"May I have a cigarette, please?"

I pushed the packet over to her. "Do you think they're goodfor you?" I said drily.

She smiled. "Ah, but I haven't got a groggy lung, yousee!"

She stooped to the match I held and, putting on her hideousspectacles, started to read.

I was in a fever of impatience. I could picture Charles andthe doctor opening closets, rooting in bureaux—at anymoment I expected to see one of them appear and silently beckonme out. At last, unable to stand the suspense any longer, I beganto pace up and down.

At once the girl looked up. "Oh, please!" she murmured. "Can'tyou sit still? I've nearly finished..."

"Put it aside!" I bade her. "You'll be reading it by and by. Iwant to talk..."

Then Dene's postscript crept into my mind and I added, "Tellme about yourself! What are you interested in particularly?"

She shrugged. "Work. Holding down my job. Why?"

"I meant as recreation. There's fishing, for example, Ihaven't seen you doing any fishing up here, have I?"

"I'm not a guest like the rest of you," she answered with alaugh. "I'm a bee, not a drone!"

"But do you fish?"

She laughed incredulously. "Me? The only fishing I've everdone is for jobs." She laid her hand down on my MS. "Why didn'tyou tell me you could write like this?"

"Like which?"

My flippancy left her unmoved. "That love scene at the openingof the act—my dear, it's charming! It's so tender,so—so intuitive. And the speech in which Stephen tellsDaphne his reasons for loving her—my dear, it has a sort offlaming sincerity about it that—that scorches. Just readingit gave me a lump in the throat. I'd no idea you had it inyou!"

"Maybe it's a case of vicarious satisfaction, like the oldmaids who write sex books!"

She sighed. "I wish you wouldn't always be so cynical. I thinkit's splendid that a man who's been through what you have shouldhave kept his ideals..."

"The ideals of one's youth are the false gods of one's middleyears!"

She gave me a scathing look. "That's a good epigram for aplay, but it's not true..." And before I knew it we were deep inan argument about love.

She had praised me, praised my writing. And she was easy totalk to, restful, quick to grasp a point, a good listener. Iwon't say I forgot the shadow that hung over her, but I foundmyself encouraging her to talk because it prevented me fromwatching the hands of my alarum clock inexorably advancingtowards the hour of the dressing-bell and straining my ears forthe summons I expected. It was with a sense of shock that atlast, on the stroke of seven, I heard Charles's step on theverandah. At the same moment the first gong for dinner boomedfrom the house.

Charles came in. He was alone. His face told menothing—he had himself well in hand. At the sound of thegong Miss Ingersoll had gathered up my MS., and on seeing Charlesshe made hastily for the door.

"I just looked in to see if I could persuade Pete to dine withus," he remarked easily as she passed him.

But when she was gone he dropped the mask. Silently he spreadhis fingers—something flashed and scintillated in theevening light.

"We had a rare hunt," he said, "but we found it at last. Itwas hidden at the bottom of her laundry bag hanging in thebathroom."

CHAPTER 28

AS long as I live I shall remember thatinterminable evening. Every detail seems to have burnt itselfinto my memory. I believe I can still recite the menu atdinner—I know there was lake trout, and chicken encasserole, and one of the chef's most delicious concoctions,in which peaches and ice cream and hot raspberry sauce figured.By Dr. Bracegirdle's orders old Miss Ryder had kept her bed, andFritz Waters was, of course, still absent; but with theseexceptions the whole of our party appeared—Graziella, Saraand Dave, Miss Ingersoll, everybody, including the lawyer, whowas staying the night. This was Edith's doing, I surmised. Lauffwas a stranger—it was like her to insist on everyoneputting up a good front before him: she took her duties as ahostess very seriously.

Dinner was a ghastly ordeal—not alone for me, for all ofus. By merely closing my eyes I can revisualise thescene—the oval table at the end of the long living-roomwith its shaded candles and lace mats—and hear in spiritthe rattle of knives and forks, the occasional nervous cough,which would break in upon the inevitable silence falling uponevery conversational opening. As chance would have it, MissIngersoll was seated immediately opposite me: after what hadtaken place between us when we met on the verandah, immediatelybefore going into dinner, she must have found the position asintolerable as I did.

I'd accepted Charles's invitation, not because I relished theprospect of spending the evening in the girl's company, butbecause, in the mood in which I found myself, any company waspreferable to my own. Furthermore, I meant to be on hand whenHank and Dene should return. Charles had despatched Albert acrossthe lake with a note to the sheriff reporting the discovery ofthe bangle: meanwhile, we had only to wait.

When I reached the house, the co*cktails were over and theparty was just moving in from the verandah to dinner. I'd hadanother whisky at the shack with Charles and, feeling that I'dhad all that was good for me, I was content to forgo a co*cktailand follow the rest in—when the screen door from theliving-room opened and Miss Ingersoll came out.

She said to me in a distressed sort of voice, "Don't go in fora minute! I want to speak to you!"

On that, glancing behind her at the lights on the dinner-tableshining through the open windows, she drew me a little way alongthe verandah.

"They've been searching my room," she exclaimed tremulouslyand reiterated: "They've been searching my room! Oh, Pete,whatever am I going to do?"

She had missed the bangle, of course! Maybe the whisky I'dbeen drinking had something to do with it, but I could only stareblankly at her, at a loss for words. Dusk was creeping along theverandah, and the black evening frock into which she'd changedseemed to merge with the shadows, so that only her face wasvisible, a pale oval with beseeching eyes. Consternation dawnedin their depths as for a long moment her glance held mine.

"So that was why you sent for me?" she murmured at last and,turning quickly, went inside.

I thought that, knowing herself to be suspected, she'd havemade some excuse for not dining. But no! When I entered theliving-room, there she was, seated at table with the rest.Evidently she was running away from nothing—whatever was instore for her, she meant to stay and face it out. I couldn't helpadmiring her pluck.

Never once throughout dinner, though every time I raised myeyes from my plate they rested on her face, did she glance myway. Once more doubt assailed me—surely no woman who hadplanned and carried out a cold-blooded murder could look likethat! Freed from their disfiguring lenses, her eyes were cool andreflective, and her dark frock gave her quite a distinguishedair, the candle-light stressing the creamy whiteness of her skin.Her hair, I mused, toying with my sherry glass, was exactly theshade of Charles's Amontillado. But as I studied her I seemed tosee that band of diamonds clasped about her wrist, and I groanedwithin me. How could I shut my eyes to the evidence of thebangle?

The fruit was being served when Charles was called away to thetelephone. I was too far away to hear the message the maidbrought, but old Bracegirdle evidently heard it, for he rose atonce and followed Charles out. I guessed that Hank or Dene was onthe wire. We rose from the table for our coffee, and when Charlesand the doctor failed to return, I went in search of them.Charles had a small office or study off the hall—I foundthem there.

Charles said, "This is a nice business, Pete. Dene rang mejust now. They won't be over again to-night, either he orHank..."

"He knows about the bangle, does he?"

"Of course. But he says his inquiries about the girl aren'tyet complete—he proposes to take no steps about questioningher till the morning. I rather gather that Hank's scared ofmaking another false arrest. Well, here we are with a murderesson our hands! I tell you one thing—I'm going on guardoutside her room to-night. I bet you what you like she knows bythis that she's suspected. She'd guess as much the moment shefound the bangle was gone!"

"She knows you searched her room, at any rate—shetackled me about it before dinner. Are you sure you didn't leavethe place in a mess?"

Charles flushed. "We had to scramble it a bit—we didn'tknow how long you'd be able to hold her. But it's allone—she was bound to discover that the bangle was missing,as I told Dene..." His voice became plaintive. "I don't knowwhat's come over those two. Hank left three troopers to patrolround the camp in case this fellow Martin should show up again.Well, Albert just came in to say Hank's withdrawn them on thestrength of some co*ck-and-bull story about this bird having beenspotted heading south for the railroad. Hank wasn't there when Ispoke to Dene. I remonstrated with Dene, but he says he can'tinterfere..."

I shrugged. "Then we adjourn till morning?"

"That's about the size of it," Charles grumbled.

The doctor, who had been standing by listening, pulled out hiswatch. "I promised Janet I'd run in on her at the Yellow Lodgeafter dinner and see how she is," he remarked. "Then I believeI'll turn in myself—it's been a strenuous day. Good-night,Charles!"

"We'll see you as far as the verandah, Oscar," our hostreplied, and we returned to the living-room.

A fire of hickory logs that blazed in the great stonefireplace reminded us that the summer was on the wane. The bigroom was curiously still. Then I perceived that Edith had pressedthe whole party into helping her with her picture puzzle—agigantic affair of 1200 pieces on which she and Miss Ryder, withspasmodic assistance from the rest of us, had been working fordays. There was little talking in the group gathered about thepuzzle table—they were all intent on the job so that thedoctor's cheery "Good-night, everybody!" met with but a half-hearted response.

Outside, the temperature had dropped, and there was a sharpedge to the wind that sent the dead leaves dancing along theverandah. The night was black and blustery, and the light abovethe entrance to the Bachelor Bungalow below us seemed to rise andfall as the branches of the trees swayed before it. Lower still,where a wider dimness marked the presence of the lake, there wasa little square of radiance. It was a lighted window of theYellow Lodge, crouched at the water's edge. Old Bracegirdleremarked on it.

"Janet hasn't settled down for the night yet, at any rate," heobserved. "Good-night, you two! See you in the morning, Charles!"Buttoning up his jacket, he disappeared down the path.

We went back to the living-room. The party was working on thepuzzle in teams—one on the margin, one on the sky, a thirdon the figures and so forth. Miss Ingersoll, I noticed, hadteamed up with Lauff and Dickie Lumsden. She was self-possessed,and apparently absorbed in the work—the stir of her eyelidsas she dropped her eyes quickly on my approach was the only signshe gave of being aware of my presence.

Standing up at the back, I watched them moodily. From time totime, with a little "Ah!" of elation, someone would fit a pieceinto position. Presently I found myself thinking of Dene.Somewhere out there in the darkness we had just left he, too, wasputting a puzzle together. The wires must be humming to New Yorkand Chicago and Dannemora to the North: at police headquarters inboth cities and in the prison registry a great hunting through ofrecords must be in progress; and as the night wore on and thereports began to pour in, Dene's puzzle, even as Edith's, wouldgradually assume form and shape. I could almost see him, withthose finely-modelled hands of his, patiently sorting over thepieces, testing them, trying them out, one after the other, untilhe found the one that would smoothly drop into place.

But what figure, what face, would the completed picturereveal? For that we must wait until morning.

Seeing that they were all wrapt up in their task, I did notbother to say good-night, but crept silently away to bed.

CHAPTER 29

FROM the depths of the uncharted ocean of sleepI came to the surface of consciousness. A hand was on my mouth,gently shaking me: a whisper rustled, "Pete! Pete, wake up!"

The shack was in darkness, the night outside the windows asblack as pitch. I struck the hand aside and grabbed the electrictorch I kept under my pillow. But even as I switched it on, itwas plucked from my grasp and dark enveloped us again.

"No light, for God's sake!" came a rapid whisper.

It was Dene.

I sat up. I could just make him out, a dim silhouette perchedon the side of the bed.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Half-past twelve. Keep your voice low, will you? What did youwant to turn in so early for?"

"You told Lumsden you weren't coming back. What's up?"

"Nothing. If you don't mind, I'd like to sit with you here fora bit—I'm expecting a message."

"Do you want a drink?"

"I could do with one, if you can find the whisky in thedark..."

"Wait!" I groped my way to the sideboard, found the bottle andsiphon by touch, and mixed him a highball. "Is Hank with you?" Iwhispered, handing him his drink.

"He'll be along. Here's cheers!" A gurgle, a sigh ofsatisfaction, then he said under his breath, "You had mynote?"

"Yes. I owe you a dollar, do I? Or is it a pound?"

A repressed chuckle came out of the dark. I felt the warmth ofhis hand on mine. "You're not mad at me for ticking you off likethat?"

"It wasn't necessary!"

He chuckled again. "Believe me, it was!"

"It was the Ingersoll girl, then?"

"We'd better not talk any more now, do you mind?" hewhispered. "Go to sleep again if you want to, or if you'd like tosee this thing through with me, put on some clothes. It's coolishout of doors! But don't make any more noise than you canhelp!"

I collected my things and dressed as best I could in the dark,winding a woolly scarf round my neck against the nip in the air.Then I sat down beside him on the bed. Faces to the door wewaited.

As silence descended upon the shack, all the nocturnal noisesof the woods began to make themselves heard. Above the incessantcroaking of the frogs at the water's edge unearthly cries andwhoops and chatterings came spasmodically to our ears. Murder andsudden death are the order of the night in the forest, and as wesettled down to our vigil in the dark I found myself thinking ofstealthy shapes slinking through the undergrowth, of eyes greenlyglowing, of snarling lips drawn back over sharp and cruel fangs.Even so, under cover of night, I reflected with a thrill ofrepulsion, Haversley's murderer had stolen forth to the kill.

Dene's immobility was extraordinary—he did not stir asmuch as a muscle. As time crept on, however, I realised that, forall his apparent stolidity, his nerves were stretched almost tobreaking point—he was like a sprinter crouched in his lanewaiting for the starting gun. It may be that the darkness and thequiet rendered me unduly receptive of such influences, but Iseemed to be aware of a magnetic fluid emanating from the rock-like figure at my side, setting up vibrations that sent wave uponwave of excitement rolling over me until, for sheer suspense, Icould have screamed out. But the Scotland Yard man's calm wasinexorable, and with an effort I controlled myself.

We must have sat an hour thus when an owl hooted thrice andthen twice immediately outside. Instantly Dene was on his feet:the pressure of his hand on my thigh said, as plainly as if he'dspoken, Stay where you are!

Noiselessly he tiptoed to the door and was gone. A momentlater the door grated softly. His "Ps-t!" was no louder than asigh. As I joined him on the verandah, I was aware of a lankyfigure retreating across the grass in the direction of the paththat snaked its way along the lake bank. There was no mistakingthat angular silhouette—it was Hank. Although he was not adozen paces away when I caught sight of him, the next instant,moving absolutely without sound, he was gone, swallowed up inthat Stygian darkness.

I had never known so dark a night since my days at the front.There should have been a moon, but masses of cloud, felt ratherthan seen, obscured it, blotting out the stars and lowering theceiling above our heads. Like a pall of black velvet the nightlay over the lake.

Dene put his lips to my ear. "Hank!" he whispered. "He'll showa light through the trees there when he wants us." He pointed inthe direction of the dock. "We'd best prop the door open so thatwe can see his signal from inside. Where's that weight?"

"What weight?"

"The weight the float was attached to. It was here. Or did thetrooper take it?"

"The trooper didn't take it. And it was here this evening whenI went to bed. I saw it!" I groped on the floor: the weight haddisappeared.

We heard the owl cry again. It came from the opening of thepath. Dene spun round, and was down the steps in a flash, with meat his heels. Round a bend in the path we almost collided withtwo dim shapes. One was Hank. The clank of a spur revealed theother: it was Trooper Good.

The sheriff said under his breath: "I met Fred: I come back,as we daren't show a light. They've took a boat out, hesays!"

"A boat?" Dene's tense whisper echoed. "Who?"

"I couldn't see nothin', it's that all-fired dark," thetrooper replied in a hushed voice. "An' I dasen't go too near,case they spotted me—I remembered what you an' the sheriffsaid. But I heard them talking, quiet like, back o' the YallerLodge, an' then the sound of oars..." He raised his hand."Listen, you can still hear them!" In the deathly silence thatensued the measured thump of rowlocks rose distinctly to ourears.

"A boat?" the Scotland Yard man repeated softly—heseemed bewildered. Then he grabbed my arm. "My God," he raspedunder his breath, "the weight!" He seized hold of the sheriff."Come on, Hank, we've got to follow them!"

"What weight?" demanded Hank bluntly.

"Don't waste time arguing!" Dene snarled. "Cut on ahead, youFred Good, and start up that big motor launch of Lumsden's!"

"The cruiser?" muttered the sheriff dubiously. "They'll hearus, son: you'll scare 'em off whatever they're at. Better take acanoe—we kin sneak up on 'em in a canoe!"

"And arrive too late?" the Scotland Yard man ground outbetween his teeth. "Do I have to fetch out that blasted launchmyself? Go on, Fred, what the Hades are you waiting for?"

The trooper wanted no further urging: in his wake the three ofus went pounding along the path. He soon outstripped us: alreadyhis feet rang hollow on the boathouse boards as we reached thedock. The light on the landing-stage had been switched off. Thelake was swathed in blackness—like a long ink-blot itspread itself under the lowering sky. In vain we strained oureyes across the water—we could distinguish no movementthere. Only out of the stillness the rhythmic thump of oars stillfaintly resounded.

We fumbled our way into the boathouse. The long, white shapeof the cruiser gleamed faintly in its berth. The trooper was atthe engine, and as we ran up, with a thunderous roar the motorsprang into life. Fred had already cast off, and in less than asecond we were shooting out into the dimness of Wolf Lake.

With his usual impassive air the sheriff had dropped into thestern seat and taken the tiller. Dene and I stood amidships,clutching the bulwarks, for as the cruiser gathered speed sherocked violently. A voice drawled quietly from behind us:

"Thar's a spotlight forrard on the deckhouse, one o' you!"

Simultaneously the Scotland Yard man and I scrambled forward,but Fred's hand was already at the switch. A blinding beam oflight clove the darkness, swung this way and that on the darkwater, then came to rest on a boat that lay almost in the centreof the lake. I recognised the boat immediately by its vividprimrose hue. It was the skiff that went with the YellowLodge—I'd seen Miss Ryder out in it a dozen times.

A man stood erect in the skiff, a short, squat figure in acap. He was stooping when the light picked up the craft, but asthe glare enveloped them, he straightened up and swung about. Bythis we were no more than a hundred yards apart, and we all sawthe sallow, panic-stricken countenance, the broad, Mongolnose.

It was Dr. Bracegirdle. And he was not alone. Beyond him,seated in the stern, clasping the sides of the boat to steady it,was old Miss Ryder.

The water swirled as Hank brusquely put the tiller over toavoid running them down. Dene shouted to Good, "Cut, quick!" Hesprang to the light as the trooper relinquished it to obey theorder, pivoting the beam until once more it bathed our quarry inits pitiless glare.

What happened then was an affair of split seconds. As themotor died something whined beside my ear, and simultaneously thenoise of the report came roaring over the water. A bullet smackedviciously against the woodwork, and three more whizzed by. But,though we were sweeping down on them with the full momentum ofthat mad rush from the shore, the beam never left them. Dene sawto that. Crouched over the deckhouse in that rain of bullets, heheld the beam steady, and in its radiance I had a clear view ofBracegirdle as we raced past. A gun smoked in his hand, and hislivid face, every wrinkle and crease distinct in the vivid light,was a mask of fury. The next instant I was almost deafened by anexplosion that seemed to be right in my ear, and as we cameabout, a fraction of a second before the beam momentarily lostthe skiff, I saw the doctor pitch forward across the thwarts andvanish from sight.

I glanced behind me. Hank had risen to his feet. He controlledthe tiller with his knee, and his right hand grasped a revolver.Its long barrel was pointed skyward, and a little wisp of smokeeddied from it. In the reflected glow of our spotlight his ruggedface was like graven stone, and his jaws moved rhythmically.

Another movement of the tiller and as we swung inward, hedrawled impassively, "Have your guns ready, fellers! I'm goin'alongside!"

The light swung wide, for Dene had left it, and now, automaticin hand, was waiting to grapple the skiff as we drew up toit.

I went to the light and focussed it downward on the boat.Bracegirdle sprawled in the bottom like a sack. He had lost hiscap, and his bald pate shone like ivory in the hard, whiteradiance. There was blood on the boards.

Prim as a schoolmarm, her hands folded placidly on her lap,Miss Ryder sat bolt upright in the stern. Her features wererigid, her mouth tightly compressed—the flicker of hereyelids as she blinked in the blinding light was her onlymovement.

"Come on you! Get out of it!" the Scotland Yard man called toher roughly.

She stood up at once and gathering her skirts about her withquiet dignity, put a foot on the seat beside the doctor's proneform and, taking Dene's hand, was hoisted into the cruiser.

Dene spoke over his shoulder: "Handcuffs, Fred!" Then, while Ileaned out and steadied it, he let himself down into the skiff.The scene was as bright as day. I saw him stoop over theprostrate figure, raise the head, then check suddenly.

"Wal?" asked the sheriff, who was at my side.

"Plumb through the eyes," said Dene—he had got his armsround the body and was hauling it towards the side of the skiff."Help me with him, one of you—there's something here I wantto see!"

Hank and I leaned out, and between the three of us we hauledthe doctor into the launch and laid him on the seat. The face wasa mess—he was quite dead.

Dene called quietly: "Hank! Come here a moment!"

We then saw what the doctor's body had concealed. Half coveredby a raincoat, a dead man lay on his back in the bottom of theboat, with eyes bulging and tongue protruding. A narrow band ofsome glossy material that looked like silk was so tightly woundabout the neck that it almost disappeared in the flesh, andbeside him on the boards, attached to a length of wire that boundhis wrists together, was the missing weight.

Bending down, the Scotland Yard man twisted the head so thatthe right side of the face came into view. "Look!" he said,pointing to the temple.

In the spotlight's glare the purplish mark was clearlyvisible.

A croaking voice spoke up behind us. Miss Ryder had broken hersilence. She stood amidships, her wrists joined together, hermonkey face hard as flint.

"Bah!" she sneered, "he had it coming to him, the dirtyblackmailer!"

CHAPTER 30

DENE laughed briefly, and tossed the skiff'spainter to Good. "Well, you should know, Aggie," he remarked andscrambled on board the cruiser.

"Where d'you get that Aggie stuff?" she retorted gruffly. "Myname's Janet!"

I considered her with interest. Clearly, it meant little toher that her friend the doctor had been blasted intoeternity—her small, brown face was as impassive, her eyes,like black pinpoints, as alert and untroubled as when we'd seenher stumping up from the Yellow Lodge to meals. But there was asubtle difference in her manner. Behind the mask she wasruthless, defiant and very, very watchful. I divined it for thereason that once already, and that no later than the previousafternoon, she'd lifted the mask for a moment and given me aglimpse of the hard-bitten old harridan she really was. And Iknew now, too, what on that occasion had sent her into a faint.It was not Dene's shot, as everybody had surmised, but therevelation, in the shape of Charles's announcement, that the manwho had escaped from Dannemora was none other than George Martin,the unfortunate wretch who now lay strangled in the skiff.

Dene shook his head. "It wasn't always Janet. You were bornAgnes Bonnett, and you married a fence named Danbury. That's howyou first met Bracegirdle, who ran a criminal organisation undercover of a medical practice in the suburbs of Chicago. WhenDanbury went up for a stretch, you pitched in with the doc, whomyou'd known, on and off, for twenty years. This was back in 1930.The slump was on, the medicine racket had crumbled, so the docshifted East, and went into the moneylending business. It was asmart idea, because no one connected the retired physician livingin a quiet villa at Pelham or his elderly lady friend, with theInvestors' Mutual Aid and Reinsurance Corporation of Brooklyn, orwhatever you called it..."

"The doctor's an old friend of mine, I'm not denying it," sheremarked in a surly tone. "But I'd nothing to do with hisbusiness affairs, and I certainly had no idea how he made hismoney..."

"Or that he was still financing criminals? Or that this so-called bank of his was at the back of some of the biggestcriminal coups in the East?"

"I knew nothing about it, I tell you!"

"You won't deny that you've done several stretches in jail,will you?"

The wizened face seemed to grow a shade darker. "And if Ihave, what does it prove? You can't bluff me! You've got nothingon me, and you know it!"

The Scotland Yard man wagged his head dubiously. "You're notso young as you were, Agnes—your memory's failing. 'JanetRyder' is one of your old aliases—you'd forgotten that,hadn't you? But Ed Danbury hasn't. He's still at Sing Sing, youknow, and he's remembered a whole lot!"

On that she fell silent. Dene turned away. Lights were movingon shore—evidently, the shooting had aroused the camp. WithBracegirdle's dead body rolling on the seat and the skiff withits grisly burden bobbing behind us, we headed for the landing-stage.

As I stood by the deckhouse an arm was slipped through mine."Is it peace between us?" said Dene.

I laughed. "I know now that your onslaught on me was justcamouflage, like your message that you wouldn't be back to-night.But why pick on poor Miss Ingersoll?"

"Because she was as likely a suspect as any, and Bracegirdlewas strong for her guilt. Besides, I wanted to see whether he'dbe rash enough to seize the chance I meant to give him to plantthe bangle on her!"

"So that was the meaning of your note? You knew he had thebangle then?"

"If he hadn't, all my theories were at fault!"

"But why tick me off and then confide in me?"

He laughed. "Professional vanity, partly—I couldn't haveyou think me so incredibly naive as to believe that a nice girllike Miss Ingersoll could have been the brains behind thismonstrous conspiracy..."

I felt myself growing crimson, but fortunately Dene didn'tperceive it in the dimness.

"Besides," he said, "by writing you a chaffing note, I hopedyou'd understand that we were still on friendly terms!" Hechuckled. "My sainted aunt, your face when I walked into you! Fora moment I made sure you were going to dot me one!"

"Why did you ask me whether she fished?"

"Ah," said Dene, "I wasn't sure she mightn't be the murderer'saccomplice. You see, that knot on the float was a fisherman'sknot!"

"Bracegirdle was a fisherman—was that how you first goton to him?"

He shook his head. "I'd formed certain theories. But theydidn't begin to crystallise until the silencer came to light.Then I realised that we were in the presence of a mastermind..."

"How? I wish you'd explain."

He laughed. "Later. No time now."

I glanced towards where Miss Ryder sat beside the trooper. "Doyou think she'll talk?"

His face was glum. "She'll talk all right, but it won't be thetruth. The old girl was the brains of the outfit, or I miss myguess. Bracegirdle was crude—he blundered. The only slipshe made was to use one of her old names. Her sole idea now is tosave herself from the scaffold, and with luck, she'll doit—she's nobody's fool. We shall only get at the truth byfilling in the gaps!"

* * * * *

THEREAFTER my mind is a confusion of wavinglights, and frightened voices, and a great trampling of feetunder the high roof of the boathouse where we berthed, with dearold Charles's face, stamped with an expression of increduloushorror, staring out of a blurred and lurid picture. My memoryfocusses itself with greater sharpness on Charles's bare, littleoffice, and on Dene, his fair face rather flushed, addressing usexcitedly. In his hand he held a wire which a trooper had broughtthe sheriff from the village: Hank, Charles, Lauff the lawyer andI composed his audience.

"The New York police," he said, showing the telegram, "got astatement to-night out of Bracegirdle's confidential clerk, oneManny Benson. It seems that some years back this drunken wastrel,Martin, approached them for a loan, and in the course of hisinquiries Bracegirdle, who had connections with Chicago,discovered that Martin was Victor Haversley's heir. Martin didn'tknow it—half the time he was under the influence of drinksand drugs, they say—and cheerfully signed a document makingover to Bracegirdle, in return for a trifling sum, the reversionof his expectations under the Hermann Kummer will. The next thinghe knew he found himself railroaded into jail for life, and wedon't have to ask who was at the back of it..."

He paused. "If we'd had this information earlier," he went ongravely, "we might have saved this wretched creature's life. Iwas convinced that his object in coming here was to seeBracegirdle, but I believed that he was the doctor's accomplice,not his victim. By pretending to withdraw the surveillance, wehoped to catch them together. Unfortunately, we didn't know thatat eight-thirty when the sheriff called the troopers in, Martinmust have already been at the Yellow Lodge—he probablyslipped in at dusk. Our plan was, from nightfall on, to keep aneye both on the doctor's quarters and the Yellow Lodge. The Ryderwoman may be willing to tell us the exact hour at which Martinwas killed; but at one-thirty this morning, when Trooper Good sawBracegirdle leave his room and enter the Yellow Lodge, Martin wasunquestionably dead. We'll have the lady in now, and while Hank'sfetching her, perhaps you, sir"—he turned toCharles—"would care to read her criminal record, likewisewhat the New York and the Chicago police have to say about thedoctor?" He drew a sheaf of telegrams from his pocket and laidthem before Charles.

They brought her in. She was still handcuffed, but she boreherself with considerable aplomb—she seemed quiteunconscious of poor Charles's stricken air. The sheriff gave herthe usual warning, but with great composure she declared herselfready to make a statement.

"You've dug up my record," she said in her raucous voice, "andI'm not wasting any breath denying it. But it's going on tenyears since I had my last spot of bother, and I've kept myselfrespectable ever since. And if I did change my name, that's not acrime! I'm an innocent woman, gentlemen, the victim of ablackhearted scoundrel. He's always kept himself out of trouble,but he knew my record, and I was helpless in his hands..." Sheseemed to take a deep breath. "As God is my judge, this was thedoctor's idea from first to last. It was he who strangled thatrat Martin, the same as he knocked off that poor sap,Haversley..."

I considered her with interest. Under the influence of thesituation she was disintegrating. The cant of the underworldseemed to roll naturally from her tongue. She had shed her poseas a snake sheds its skin. She was no longer Miss Janet Ryder,the prim spinster of Central Park West, but Aggie Danbury, wifeof one criminal and mistress, for aught we knew, of another,reverting to type.

CHAPTER 31

DENE was right. By the story shetold—precise enough, and probably accurate where it suitedher book, as for instance in certain details of the twomurders—Bracegirdle was the villain of the piece, she theunwilling instrument of his machinations. She knew nothing of anyplot. She had accepted the role he had insisted on her playing atWolf Lake believing that he was planning a stock swindle orsomething of the kind—it was actually not until afterHaversley was dead that her eyes were opened. At twenty minutesto ten on that Sunday night, while they were at chess on theverandah, Bracegirdle had told her he must leave for a while, butthat, if any questions were asked later, she was to swear he'dnever quitted her sight. It was only when he returned and toldher Haversley had shot himself, and that she must be prepared tohelp him fix a good, strong alibi, that she guessed the truth. Hehad everything worked out, and the only share she'd taken in themurder, as God was her judge, was to repeat parrot-like the storyBracegirdle ordered her to tell. She knew nothing about thesilencer, and if Bracegirdle had taken the bangle, it was thefirst she'd heard of it.

She'd met George Martin at Bracegirdle's some years before,and "a rare sot" he was. He and the doctor had quarrelled, andthe story was that Bracegirdle had "framed" him—she knewnothing about his being Victor Haversley's heir. On learning thathe'd broken jail and been seen near the camp, she was naturallyalarmed, because she guessed immediately he intended to have ashow-down with the doctor.

"It was about nine o'clock, and getting dusk," she said,"when, as I lay in bed at the Yellow Lodge, I thought I heard astep in the sitting-room. I found George Martin there. He wasgrayer and thinner, cold sober, too, which made a greatdifference in his manner; but I knew him at once, and he knew me.He said 'Don't ask questions, Aggie, but get me a bite to eat andlet me lie up here for a couple of days. And when you've rustledup the grub, go and find me Oscar Bracegirdle, because he and Ihave got to have a little business chat.' While we were talking,Dr. Bracegirdle walks straight in on us. When he catches sight ofMartin, he stops dead—you could have knocked him down witha feather, as they say. Martin sings out, 'Why, if it ain't myold friend! Step up, doc, and shake hands with a millionaire!'Then the doc sends me away. A little bit later I hear him comeout. He tells me he's going to his room to fetch George somewhisky—I hadn't a drop of liquor in the house. In a minutehe's back, and goes into the sitting-room and shuts the door. Thenext thing I know he's back in my bedroom. He says that George isasleep and mustn't be disturbed: with that he shows me thekey—he's locked George in. I ask him, 'Is there anytrouble?' And he says, 'Plenty.' George is trying to blackmailhim, and he's a bad man to blackmail. He says he'll come backlater, when George has rested up a bit, and see what's to be doneabout it. With that he clears off and I go to sleep."

Here, almost for the first time, she paused in her narrative,her beady eyes glancing sidelong at us as though she wanted togauge the impression she was producing. As no one said anything,she resumed at once, "I don't know how long I slept, but I wokeup to find Dr. Bracegirdle at my bedside. He told me to dressmyself—he was going out on the lake, and I had to help him.It was half-past one—I said he was crazy to expect me to goout with him at any such hour. On that he goes to the sitting-room and unlocking it, calls over his shoulder, 'Look here aminute!' and there's this guy Martin lying dead on the couch withthe doc's red-and-blue necktie wound round his throat. Thatfinished me. I told him he'd got himself into this mess and hecould get himself out of it again—I was through risking myneck for him. But he said it couldn't be helped—if Georgetalked it was the chair for both of us. I asked him how he'd doneit so quietly, and he said he'd given George a little somethingin his drink, and after that it was easy. He'd brought a chunk ofiron with him to weight the body down, and he made me help himlift Martin out to the boat."

The matter-of-fact tone in which she reeled off this grislytale enhanced the horror of it. Dene had made nomistake—this grim old woman with the basilisk eye wascertainly the brains behind the conspiracy. My mind had beentravelling backward as she spoke, and I saw how at every stage ahidden hand had been thrust forward to hamper and baffle theinvestigation. I remembered how on the Sunday night she had comeinto the living-room where we were playing bridge in search ofice water. The hour, as I recalled very well, was ten, for I'dglanced at the mantelpiece clock—in other words, it wasalmost immediately after Bracegirdle's return from his ghastlyerrand to the cabin. She had got me to carry the pitcher outsidefor her, chafing the doctor in my presence because, as shedeclared, he'd taken twenty minutes over a single move. Twentyminutes—that went back to nine-forty, the moment whenBracegirdle had left the verandah. Her purpose was plain. It wasto establish firmly in my mind that Bracegirdle was playing chessat the actual hour of the murder, should the real hour ever comeout.

Months before, clearly, their plans had been laid. Howskilfully they'd bided their time! The scene at my rehearsal, Irealised with a shock, must have ultimately determined the dateof the murder. Waters must have appeared as an obvious suspect inthe event of the faked suicide being detected. Actually, MissIngersoll had been the first to direct suspicion towards him, butI felt very sure she had only forestalled the twoconspirators.

Wherever I looked I now perceived their traces. Bracegirdle'sattempt to discredit Dene, when the latter scouted the suicidetheory: Miss Ryder's call at my shack, obviously to pump me as tothe extent of Dene's discoveries: the doctor's persistentinquisitiveness and his use of his intimacy with Charles to bepresent at almost every stage of the investigation: his endeavourto incriminate Dave Jarvis and, when that failed, Miss Ingersoll:the planting of the silencer, and almost immediately afterwardsof the bangle to bolster up this theory—piece by piece, asin Edith's puzzle, each successive machination clicked smoothlyinto place.

But in all this I discerned the hand, not of Bracegirdle, butthe woman. In the planning, I mean—not the execution.Bracegirdle was her puppet—she remained in the backgrounddirecting him. As Dene had said—and one glance at hershrewd, determined face confirmed it—she was not the one tomake mistakes. It was the doctor's blunders which had provedtheir undoing—that fisherman's knot, the clumsy way inwhich he'd swallowed Dene's bait in the matter of the bangle.Somehow I couldn't see Miss Ryder falling into that trap.

The handcuffs chinked as she moved her hands in a vaguelyappealing gesture. "That's the whole story, gentlemen, and it'sthe solemn truth, so help me!"

The door was rapped, and Trooper Good put his head in."Springsville's on the wire, sheriff," he announced. "The D. A.wants to know if you're bringing her over!"

"Rightaway," said Hank. "You kin take her out to the car,Fred!"

Miss Ryder stood up briskly. "I'd like to telephone my lawyerin New York," she remarked with dignity.

"You'll want a good lawyer ter git you out o' this, sister,"the sheriff replied phlegmatically.

"I've told you the truth—what more can I do?" shecried.

"I'd like ter have the doctor's opinion o' that tharstatement," was the impassive rejoinder.

For the first time anger flared in the wrinkled face. "It'snot my fault he cheated the chair, the big boob! That was yourbad luck!"

"All right, Fred!" said the sheriff, jerking a thumb towardsthe door, and the trooper ushered her out.

"She means her good fortune," Dene remarked as the door closedbehind her.

"Or your good shooting, sheriff!" Lauff suggested.

Dene laughed. "If she beats the rap, she'll owe it toHank!"

"Gees, Trev," said the sheriff mortified, "that guy wuzshootin' at us. I had to let him have it!"

The Scotland Yard man clapped him on the back. "It's not thatshot I meant—it's your second shot!"

"But I didn't fire but the one," Hank pointed out.

"Exactly," Dene replied.

"He means you should have made a whole job of it," explainedthe lawyer in his dry way.

CHAPTER 32

WE broke up after that. The others were going toaccompany Hank with the prisoner to Springsville, but I slippedaway to my shack. I was worn out, and my chest was hurting. Theliving-room was ablaze with light—evidently the whole houseparty was assembled there. I felt I couldn't face them,especially not the Ingersoll girl. So I went to bed.

I had one of my bad nights, racked with coughing, and when atlength I dozed off, it was to fall into a nightmare as terrifyingas any battle dream I ever had. I thought we were raiding atrench piled high with dead. A machine-gun kept firing at us, andthe face under the coalscuttle helmet was Bracegirdle's. I awoketo a distant clatter, and found the room bathed in sunshine.Through the open window I perceived Dene's outboard motorapproaching my little landing-stage. I looked at theclock—it was half-past nine.

I felt utterly exhausted, and my lung was worse than ever.When, a minute later, Dene appeared, he wouldn't hear of mygetting up, but insisted on preparing breakfast for the two ofus. He told me he hadn't been to bed, but he looked fresh as abridegroom in a blue serge suit with a smart grey hat. Overbreakfast he gave me the news. Waters had been released, and wasto have met Graziella and the lawyer at Springsville station totravel back to Chicago with them—they had left the camp ateight to take Victor's body home for burial. Miss Ryder hadsigned her statement, and was lodged in the county jail, awaitingcross-examination at the hands of the district attorney.

"Much good it'll do him," my companion remarkedphilosophically. "That old girl's a match for any lawyer, andshe'll stick to her story until hell freezes!"

"Then we'll never know which of them killed Haversley and theother fellow?" I wheezed.

"Martin was a joint effort, I fancy. That idea of hocussinghis drink has a touch of genius which smacks of the old lady. Thedoctor accounted for Haversley single-handed, I believe, and I'lltell you why I think so. She'd never have allowed Bracegirdle toplant that bangle on Miss Ingersoll the way he did: therefore, Iconclude she never knew he had it."

"You mean he stuck to it as a sort of private perquisite?"

"Exactly. She evidently imagined that either Sara or MissIngersoll had the bangle. Bracegirdle must have pretended hefound only the box. It was an ingenious notion, which againsuggests our friend Aggie, to enclose the silencer in the box,because it linked the silencer—that's to say, themurder—with whoever had the bangle..."

"The trouble about this case," he went on, helping himself tocoffee, "is that we started out with not one, but two sets offalse premises. We assumed that Haversley's murder was anunpremeditated crime, or at least a crime of passion, and weaccepted the evidence of an apparently disinterested witness thatthe murder was committed at a specific hour. I won't say Isuspected the doctor from the first, but I was struck by thecirc*mstance that he should have judged the time ofdeath—always a ticklish matter—with suchextraordinary accuracy, having regard to Miss Ryder's evidenceabout the shot..."

"Was that why you made that experiment with the lamp?"

He laughed. "To be honest, it wasn't—that was routine.Even when I became convinced that Bracegirdle and Miss Ryder wereat fault, I felt no urgent impulse to look farther into theiralibi, I suppose, because I was blinded by the fixed idea thatthis was a crime of passion. But if, as my examination of thelamp suggested, the murder had taken place earlier, then a shotmust have been heard, unless a silencer was used, and I couldn'tassociate a silencer, this gangster's gadget, with the luxurioussurroundings of this camp. That made me wonder whether ourinitial premises were right. It decided me to look more closelyinto Haversley's environment, and I went to meet Lauff..."

He had taken out his pipe and was filling it. "What he told mesuggested an entirely new motive for the murder," he continued,putting a match to the bowl. "My lurking doubt of Bracegirdle,fostered by the strange synchronization of his evidence with MissRyder's, rose to the surface of my mind. My first thought was totest the accuracy of Miss Ryder's story of the shot, and you knowwhat happened. Then there was Mrs. Haversley's evidence, whichproved conclusively that I was right and they were wrong. But Iwas still far from suspicious, because witnesses do make theoddest mistakes. It was the doctor himself, however, who finallyconvinced me that I was working along the right lines..." He blewa cloud of smoke.

"How?" I questioned eagerly.

"It was yesterday afternoon when he butted in on us here atyour place, after we'd found the silencer. First, he'd obviouslybeen spying on us—that might pass: he was a nosey olddevil. Secondly, he recognised the silencer right off for what itwas, suggesting that he was not unfamiliar with those things.That in itself was not particularly incriminating, because thereare silencers about; but I'd spotted that fisherman's knot on thefloat, and I began to sit up and take notice. For a while he wasall for young Jarvis being the murderer, but the moment Hankopened up against the little Ingersoll lady, before you could say'Knife!' he'd switched, and was reminding us that she'd been thefirst to accuse Waters. That remark of his—I don't quiteknow why—made me think back. I began to discern a sort ofcontrolled rhythm about each successive development of the case,if you understand what I mean..."

"Perfectly. The same idea occurred to me last night while MissRyder was making her statement. No sooner was one suspectdisposed of, than another one appeared—that's what you'redriving at, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It was all too pat. Things don't happen like that.Directly the finger of suspicion pointed to young Jarvis, thesilencer turned up, with the Cartier box thrown in to link themurder up to Sara. The moment Hank started in about MissIngersoll and Bracegirdle backed him up, I felt certain that afresh discovery was pending. And when the doctor urged us tosearch the girl's room, I was as certain that he'd plant thebangle there as if I'd caught him in the act. I'd I left him toit, and buzzed straight off to Hank's telephone and called up NewYork, Chicago, Dannemora, every place Hank and I could think of.I must say they all played up grandly. The rest you know..." Hepaused and stood up. "Well, Pete, it's good-bye. I'm catching themorning train to New York and sailing for England to-morrowafternoon."

A spasm of coughing robbed me of breath, so that I couldn'tspeak. "That's a rotten cough you have, old man!" he said.

"Too many cigarettes!" I gasped.

He nodded gravely. "So Miss Ingersoll was saying just now. Shewas on the dock as I came by, and I stopped for a word. That's adarn nice girl, Pete. You ought to marry her and settledown!"

"She wouldn't have me, after what happened yesterday," I toldhim.

He laughed. "Rubbish! She knows now that it was entirely myfault. Besides, she regards all men as weak, defencelesscreatures, anyway. So long, old boy, I must dash or I shall missmy train!"

We gripped hands. The pain in my chest was suddenly soagonising that I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Denehad gone, and Miss Ingersoll was standing there.

"I brought that typing—I did it last night," sheannounced.

"Thanks a lot," I managed to murmur. "Now I'll be able to geton with the play—I'm terribly behind with it!" And I triedto throw back the bed-clothes.

With a firm hand she stayed me. "You stop where you are. Whenyour cough's better you can dictate to me. But first I'm going tostraighten the room and make you some lemonade to clear yourchest!"

Out of the distance I heard the receding bark of Dene's boat.The morning was still and lovely, and through the open window theblue waters of Wolf Lake sparkled like a hundred thousandbayonets in the sun. As I lay there and watched that trim figuremoving noiselessly about my little room, it seemed to me that,for the first time after the horror and strain of the past fewdays, I knew peace. And as she approached the bed with my drinkand I looked into her eyes, I felt that Dene's advice wasgood.

If the play succeeds, I promised myself as, her cool fingersinterlaced in mine, I fell asleep.

THE END