Chapter VIIIConway Westenhanger had no very high opinion of his own ability to unravel the Talisman mystery, and the more he thought over the subject the less could he see any simple solution. One point, however, seemed beyond dispute: the method of elimination, as handled by Freddie Stickney, had been given a trial and had led to absolutely nothing whatever. The net result of Freddie’s efforts was that everybody had been made to feel uncomfortable, while not a single gleam of light had been thrown upon the problem. And yet, given the conditions of the case, the elimination method seemed to promise results. If the servants were put on one side, and if no thief had got into the house in the darkness, then only thirteen persons remained who had any possible means of access to the Corinthian’s Room that night. One of them must be responsible for the vanishing of the Talisman. That seemed an inevitable conclusion.But here his train of thought was crossed by another. He could not quite dismiss from his mind the impression made upon him by the way in which old Rollo Dangerfield had taken his loss.“The thing’s worth at least £50,000,” Westenhanger reflected. “The Dangerfields may be well enough off, but a loss on that scale is something more than a flea-bite. And yet he doesn’t seem disturbed in the slightest. One could bet that he really believes the Talisman will turn up again in a few days. If it isn’t cold confidence, then it’s the best acting I ever saw. I could almost take my oath that he meant what he said.”He turned the matter over and over in his mind for a time; but although a number of suggestions offered themselves, none of them seemed satisfying.“It may be a case of rank superstition, but I don’t read him so myself. Who believes in that sort of stuff nowadays? It can’t be that. Of course, he side-tracked all the talk about the Dangerfield Secret. He’s probably half-ashamed of that business—likely it’s some old ritual about informing the heir that in 1033 or so the head of the Dangerfields sold his soul to the Devil. The Dangerfield Secret has nothing to do with the case anyway.”But Westenhanger was wrong on that point, as he was to discover at no distant date. However, dismissing that line of thought, he sought for other possible explanations of the mystery.“The old man may know who took the Talisman,” he suggested to himself. “If that’s so, then perhaps he means to put the screw on the culprit quietly, without saying anything to the rest of us. Most obviously he doesn’t want a scandal at Friocksheim. But in that case he must have spotted the wrong ’un immediately; because, first thing in the morning, he was quite certain that the Talisman would turn up again—he wasn’t worried in the slightest degree. If he tracked down the thief between one a.m. and breakfast-time, it was a lightning bit of detective work. But if it wasn’t a case of detection, then the only possible explanation is that he actually saw the theft committed.”Westenhanger paused only for a moment on this idea, however, for its inherent improbability struck him at once.“That’s no good. If he’d caught the thief in the act, he’d simply have threatened to expose him; got the Talisman back from him, and replaced it in its cabinet without giving rise to all this trouble.”Then a new thought occurred to him.“But suppose old Rollo couldn’t trust the thief not to have a second try, with better luck the second shot? That’s a possibility. If I’d been in old Rollo’s shoes under these conditions I think I’d have pocketed the Talisman and kept it safe until that particular guest’s visit was up. Then he could put it back in the cabinet with a comfortable mind. That’s a possibility, too, and Wraxall might fit the case.”But here again his knowledge would hardly fit the hypothesis.“No, that won’t work, either,” he admitted to himself. “Old Rollo’s a chivalrous old bird. He knows Miss Cressage is under suspicion now—Freddie’s sure to have let that leak out. If the old man knew the identity of the thief he certainly wouldn’t stand aside and let the girl bear the brunt of things for a moment, I’m sure. . . . Wraxall isn’t even a friend of the Dangerfields; he’s the merest casual caller, so far as they’re concerned. There’s no reason why they should shieldhim.”He cudgelled his brain for another alternative hypothesis.“Suppose the old man didn’t spot the thief, but managed somehow to discover where the Talisman was hidden after it was stolen. He may be keeping a watch on the hiding-place, waiting for the thief to give himself away by going after the thing at last.”He brooded for a time on the various ideas he had evolved; but in the end he put them all aside.“Damn it!” he said, irritably, “if I go on like this, I’ll end up by being as bad as Freddie. That’s not the way to go about the business at all. What’s wanted is new facts, not a lot of futile ideas. One must begin somewhere. I’ll go and have a look at the Corinthian’s Room and see if anything suggests itself when I’m on the actual spot.”Westenhanger had learnt that no change had been made in the Corinthian’s Room since the theft. The cabinet had been untouched, just as the thief had left it. They had all been asked not to tamper with anything.“The Talisman will come back by the way in which it went,” Old Dangerfield had said, with a faint mockery in his voice. “Let us leave the door open for it to get into its case again.”Without any very strong hope in his mind, Westenhanger made his way to the Corinthian’s Room which, to his relief, was untenanted. He felt a certain shamefacedness in actually embarking on this attempt at detection, and he was glad that he could examine the place without betraying his purpose. As he entered the door, his eye was caught by the gigantic chess-board set in the floor pattern, and he examined it curiously.“These little holes at the corners of the squares are rum,” he thought, as his eye was caught by one of them. “I begin to wonder whether Wraxall wasn’t near the mark when he talked about some kind of man-trap for protecting the Talisman. But no, that’s obviously rubbish, because the Talisman’s gone and yet none of us shows much in the way of visible damage. Besides, old Rollo declared there was no man-trap—you could lift the Talisman and come to no harm. He volunteered that. And if there’s one thing certain in this business it’s that Rollo isn’t an aimless liar. That notion has nothing in it.”He stepped across the chess-board and halted before the empty cabinet which had held the Dangerfield Talisman. It stood on its stone pillar so that the glass front was breast high, and he examined it minutely in the hope of detecting something significant. The central plate-glass slab, through which he had inspected the armlet three nights before, was intact. On the velvet floor of the cabinet he could see the clearly marked ring made by the long-continued pressure of the bell-cover of tinted glass which now stood in a fresh position a little to the right, almost behind the closed door of the cabinet. The other door stood half-open, and he noticed that it had no lock but only an ordinary spring-catch. Idly he tried the strength of the spring, using his nail to avoid leaving any finger-marks, and he found that the catch was in good order. The handles of the doors were simple in pattern, like miniature corkscrew handles. Conway Westenhanger studied the glass surfaces with care, but after a time he abandoned his self-imposed task.“Not much use bothering about finger-marks there,” he commented. “There’s no saying how many of us had our paws on it, that night he showed us the Talisman. Some of them are bound to be there, even if the case has been dusted by the servants. Most likely there’s a set of my own amongst them. Nobody could be incriminated by that, certainly. There’s nothing in it.”He stepped back a pace to look at the cabinet as a whole, and suddenly a keen expression crossed his features. He had seen the thing he wanted.“Well,thatlimits it down considerably!” he said with relief. “What a bit of pure luck! And I believe I’m right, too.”He thought for a moment or two before deciding on his next step.“This isn’t going to be so easy, after all,” he concluded, with more hesitation in his manner. “I can’t go running round them, asking that particular question bluntly, or the thief will be put on his guard long before it comes to his turn. This affair will need careful handling—very careful. And I’ll need to try a blank experiment first with someone who is absolutely above suspicion. I know how I’d do the thing, but I’m prejudiced subconsciously, probably. I’ll need some subject who doesn’t know what I’m after.”He ran over in his mind the list of the house-party.“Douglas, of course! He’s the man. He offered to help if I needed him, and he’s able to keep his tongue quiet.”Then a fresh thought occurred to him. A picture of Eileen Cressage’s strained face came up in his memory and changed his immediate purpose.“I’ll see her first, and try it,” he decided. “After all, the main thing is to clear her and get her out of this affair if possible. Once that’s done, there will be time enough to think about Douglas.”It took him longer than he expected to hit upon a line of procedure that satisfied him. More than once he was forced to discard an idea which proved faulty after consideration and think out something fresh. At last, however, his plans seemed to be sound so far as he could see. He closed the door of the Corinthian’s Room and made his way into the hall. Freddie Stickney was sitting beside the main entrance, evidently deep in thought.“Wake up, Freddie!” Westenhanger brutally interrupted the reflections of the amateur detective. “Seen Douglas about anywhere?”“I think he’s been playing tennis. Most likely he’s still down at the courts.”“Oh! Seen Cynthia and Miss Cressage since breakfast?”Westenhanger was careful to couple Eileen’s name with Cynthia’s in his demand. He had no desire to let Freddie know that he was in search of Eileen in particular.“Cynthia’s probably down at the tennis courts with Douglas,” Freddie assured him. “I saw them go off together in that direction. Miss Cressage went away by herself some time ago, towards the shore—over yonder.”Westenhanger nodded his thanks curtly and descended the steps leading down into the gardens. He sauntered along while he was within range of Freddie’s eyes, but as soon as he got out of sight of the door, he quickened his steps. Ten minutes brought him to a spot from which he could see the nearer coastline, and, looking from point to point, he at last detected a girl’s figure on a tiny headland which ran out to form one horn of the bay.He made his way indirectly towards her, and before he reached the ridge of the headland he slackened his pace, so that when he actually came into her neighbourhood he seemed to have arrived there by pure chance in the course of an aimless walk. He wished, above everything, to avoid giving her the impression that he had deliberately sought her out; for the test he meant to apply depended for its success on her being completely off her guard. He had not the slightest doubt as to the result, but his scientific caution demanded that he should play his game with absolute fairness. If the test was to establish anything whatever, it would have to be applied without fear or favour.As he drew nearer he tried to read something from her attitude. She faced the sea, and from time to time he saw her glance along the horizon, only to look down again when her eyes found nothing but the skyline.“That girl’s got a bit of personality somewhere,” Westenhanger reflected, as he advanced. “Every line of her figure shows some emotion, just as clearly as if I were looking at her face. But what particular emotion is it? She looks dejected, but that isn’t everything. There’s something else there as well.”Enlightenment flashed across him.“That’s the way Robinson Crusoe might have looked when he was hoping for a sail and yet felt certain it wasn’t coming that day. It’s hope deferred that’s wrong with that girl. But what’s she hoping for?”By this time he had come quite close to her, and at the sound of his steps on the turf she turned her head.“Not disturbing you, I hope?” he said, casually, as he came up. “I came up to have a look at the view for a moment or two. May I sit down?”She nodded assent, seeming to accept his company with indifference. He seated himself a couple of yards away and for some minutes he gazed over the bay without saying anything.“May I smoke?”She gave him permission, and he rose and stepped across to offer his case. She took a cigarette, but he seemed to change his mind, closed his case and put it back in his pocket. Then he re-seated himself in his old position.“That’s stupid of me,” he exclaimed, as the girl looked at her unlighted cigarette. He drew out a little silver box and tossed it over to her. “Catch.”He threw it so clumsily, that though she snatched at it in the air, she missed it, and was forced to reach over and pick it up.“Sorry,” Westenhanger apologised, as she struck a match for herself.He waited for some minutes before saying anything further. Eileen Cressage seemed to feel no desire for talk. She smoked slowly, and from time to time her eyes followed the tiny blue clouds as they drifted seaward on the faint airs which came from the land. Westenhanger was not deceived. She was still scanning the horizon-line in search of something. Suddenly he realised what the thing must be.“I wonder how Mrs. Brent is getting on,” he said, watching the girl’s face as he spoke. “She hasn’t made any sign since she left.”“How could she?”“Oh, wireless. Most boats have it.”“I wish theKestrelhad. But she hasn’t.”Something in the girl’s voice surprised Westenhanger—an intensity of feeling which seemed quite uncalled-for by the subject. Of course, Eileen was watching for theKestrel’sreturn. That was why she had come up to the headland; that was why she looked out to sea so eagerly. Anyone could put two and two together to that extent. But why should she be so eager to get into touch with the yacht? Obviously she wanted to do so; the reference to the lack of wireless could mean nothing else. And the tone of her voice was enough to betray the intensity of her desire.Of course theKestrelmeant Mrs. Brent; there was no one else on board except the crew. But that meant that the return of Mrs. Brent was the thing Eileen Cressage was awaiting with such eagerness. Where did Mrs. Brent come into the affair? The only thing that mattered now to the girl was to be extricated from the position she was in. Had she been shielding Mrs. Brent in something? Had she given Mrs. Brent some promise of secrecy and was she now waiting for theKestrel’sreturn so that she might take back her promise and clear herself? It sounded unlikely. Mrs. Brent could hardly be mixed up in the Talisman mystery. But if she was not, why should Eileen be so eager for the coming of the yacht?He watched the sea again, avoiding the girl’s face with his eyes. After a time she finished her cigarette and threw away the stub.“Another?” he suggested, drawing out his case.She refused, and he took a cigarette himself and felt for his match-box. Eileen had let it slip down to the ground beside her after using it, and she now picked it up and tossed it across to him. Westenhanger deliberately lighted his cigarette, blew out the match carefully, and pitched it away before saying anything.“Nobody suspects you of taking the Talisman, Miss Cressage,” he said at last.The girl started as though she had been stung, and made a gesture as though she wished to stop him saying anything further. Westenhanger continued without appearing to notice her action.“If that was all I had to say, Miss Cressage, I think I would have left it to your imagination. No decent person thinks you had anything to do with that business; and I expect you know that without my telling you. What I wanted to say was a shade more interesting.”He looked out to seaward, so as to let the girl feel that he was not watching her.“Iknowyou didn’t take it, and I think I’ll be able to prove that fairly conclusively to any reasonable person.”To his surprise she showed very little relief at his statement. Her voice had no particular ring of pleasure in it when she replied. It seemed almost as though she regarded the matter as of slight importance in comparison with something else that was in her mind. Westenhanger was frankly puzzled by her attitude—even a little nettled to find that his efforts on her behalf led to so little acknowledgment.“It’s very kind of you, Mr. Westenhanger. I know I have some very good friends here at Friocksheim. But there are some other people here too. I know perfectly well what some of them think. Even if I were cleared of the Talisman theft, they’d go on repeating other things about me. Oh, I know what they’ve been saying. I’m not a fool, Mr. Westenhanger. I know quite well what that miserable little beast Stickney has been hinting about me.”She raised her eyes again to the sky-line, looking over the empty sea.“Oh, Idowish theKestrelwould come!”For a few moments Westenhanger also scanned the horizon, giving her time to pull herself together again. When she broke the silence, it was in another tone.“I’m sorry, Mr. Westenhanger. That was ungrateful of me. You’ve been very kind. Don’t take that seriously. You know I’ve got very raw nerves just now, and you mustn’t blame me too much.”Westenhanger’s smile reassured her.“Now I’m all right,” she went on. “I don’t deserve it; but I wish you’d tell me just what you meant by what you said just now. How can you clear me in the Talisman affair? Of course I knew all along that you never believed I took it. I could see that in your face—and in Douglas’s too. But proving it’s a different thing, isn’t it?”Westenhanger smiled again, in genuine amusement this time; and his expression helped the girl in her struggle for the control of her nerves.“I’m going to play the mystery-man for another quarter of an hour,” he said, “then I’ll explain the whole affair to you. We’ll need Douglas’s help also. But just to tantalise you, I can tell you that I got absolute certainty on the point since I came up here half and hour ago. Now, if that excites your curiosity, let’s gather in Douglas and clear the ground for my explanation. It’s so simple that you’ll probably think you saw it yourself, really.”She rose to her feet and gave a last glance round the sea-rim; but no smoke showed on the horizon. Then they made their way down the headland and back into the Friocksheim grounds. Douglas had finished his tennis, they found when they reached the courts; and as Cynthia had gone into the house to write a letter he was easily persuaded to go with Westenhanger and Eileen. As they walked through the gardens, the engineer puzzled Douglas by a request.“Have you a thick scarf, Miss Cressage?”“Yes.”The girl’s face showed that she had no idea of what lay behind the inquiry.“Well, would you mind getting it—and a pair of gloves. And then would you come to the Corinthian’s Room?”She nodded without saying anything, and Westenhanger turned to Douglas.“Your outfit, my lad, will be a pair of thin gloves, if you have them. Bring ’em to the Corinthian’s Room, and don’t keep Miss Cressage waiting. I’m going there myself direct.”In a few moments they rejoined him.“Now, Douglas,” he said, “your business is to stand in the corridor at present and detain any possible intruder by the charm of your conversation. Nobody’s to get into this room for the next five minutes. You’re a peaceful picket, you understand?”Douglas grinned and retired into the corridor.“Now, Miss Cressage,” said Westenhanger, pushing the door until it was almost closed, “would you mind putting on your gloves.”The girl did so and then looked at him with a puzzled expression.“What’s all this about, Mr. Westenhanger? I don’t understand.”“I’m afraid you must bear with it for a minute or two more and then it will be quite obvious. Do you mind if I blindfold you with this scarf? I know it looks like a child’s game; but I really am serious.”He wound the scarf round her head and fastened it gently.“Can you see?”“No; you’ve been quite efficient.”“It’s most important that you shouldn’t see anything. Quite sure you’re absolutely blindfolded?”“Quite.”“Very good.”She heard a click like the closing of a pocket-knife, then Westenhanger’s voice in a low tone near her ear.“I’ve just shut the door of the cabinet. Now let me lead you over to it.”He guided her carefully for a step or two.“Now,” he continued in the same low tone, “you’re standing right in front of the centre of the cabinet. If you lift your hand you can open the door. Try it.”Obediently Eileen put out her hand, groped and caught the handle and, after turning it, opened the door.“Now,” said Westenhanger again, “suppose you try to reach the place where the Talisman was. Wait! You might knock over the bell, being blindfolded. Don’t move an inch after I say Stop! . . . Stop!”She brought her hand to rest immediately.“Now, bring your hand back to your side and then take a step backwards. I’ll see you don’t trip.”As she stood, after completing the movement, she heard another slight click.“That’s all, Miss Cressage. Now I’ll take the scarf off.”He did so, and she looked round, slightly dazzled by the sunlight which streamed into the room. Nothing seemed to be changed; and she failed to understand what his manœuvres meant. Then her eyes ranged over the cabinet and something caught her attention.“You’ve been playing some trick on me, Mr. Westenhanger,” she said, indignantly. “I’m sure I opened the right-hand door of the cabinet, and now it’s the left-hand one that’s open!”Westenhanger, as soon as she began to speak, had crossed the room swiftly and closed the door leading into the corridor completely. He turned back with a vexed expression on his face.“My fault entirely,” he said. “I ought to have shut that door. You nearly gave the show away to Douglas. Didn’t I tell you it was obvious?”Eileen looked from him to the cabinet and then back again to his face, which showed a mixture of triumph and amusement.“But it isn’t obvious,” she protested. “I don’t understand what you’re driving at.”“We’ll repeat the whole performance with Douglas, and you’ll see the point.”He went to the door again and summoned the picket.“Douglas, come inside. I strongly recommend to your attention the genuine antique carving on the back of this door. It’s well worthy of study. Study it.”Douglas Fairmile obediently stepped into the room, faced the door and fixed his eye on the carving.“I know it by heart, old man,” he asserted. “You can’t puzzle me with any of your parlour games.”“Got it well into your mind? All right. Miss Cressage will now blindfold you.”The girl, still more puzzled by this procedure, put the scarf over Douglas’s eyes and fastened it in position.“Blind as a bat, Douglas?” demanded Westenhanger. His tone changed. “I’m serious. You can’t see anything?”“Not a thing.”“Right.”Westenhanger took out his pen-knife and opened it silently. He drew Eileen’s attention to it with a glance.“Oh, half a jiff,” he exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered something. “One of the cabinet doors is open. I’ll shut it.” He shut his pen-knife with a click; but to Eileen’s surprise he made no attempt to close the open door of the cabinet.“Now, Douglas, this way. I’ll lead you.”Again he gave the same series of orders as he had given to her. She saw Douglas put out his right hand, grope for the handle of the right-hand door, open it, and then inserting his arm into the case, reach to the left towards the place where the Talisman used to lie.“Stop! . . . Now come out again, gently. Don’t upset the glass bell.”Douglas withdrew his arm cautiously.“One pace to the rear, and stand fast.”Douglas stepped back obediently. Westenhanger went up to the cabinet.“I’m shutting the door. Hear the click?”He suited the action to the word, closing the door which Douglas had opened. Then he turned round to Eileen.“Nowdo you see, Miss Cressage? That’ll do, Douglas. You can take off your turban. It doesn’t suit you.”Douglas disentangled himself from the scarf, blinked for a moment or two, and then looked at the cabinet.“What’s your little game?” he demanded. “The left-hand door’s open now. It was the right-hand one that I opened.”“Exactly,” said Westenhanger. “The left-hand door’s been open all the time—just as the thief left it. Neither of you touched it. That’s why I blindfolded you both. I wanted you to think both doors were shut; and I didn’t want to close that left-hand door. Much better to leave things exactly as they are. The Dangerfields may want to call in the police after all, you know; and we mustn’t destroy any possible clues. Hence the gloves I asked you to put on—you’ve left no fingermarks.”Eileen broke in with a trace of excitement in her voice.“Now Idosee. You wanted to test which hand I used when I opened the cabinet. Both Douglas and I are right-handed. The thief was left-handed because he opened the other door—not the one we opened. Is that it?”“That’s it,” admitted Westenhanger. “I told you it was obvious. And of course all that by-play was just meant to keep your mind off the crucial action, so that you’d do it perfectly naturally, without giving it a thought. See it, Douglas? Don’t forget the pattern on the back of the door; it’s most important, you know!”“You had me there, I’ll admit,” confessed Douglas. “You wandered me completely, so that I hadn’t a notion what you were after. And so the thief’s left-handed, is he?”“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”Eileen stepped over to the cabinet and examined it for a moment or two.“How, exactly, did you come to think of it, Mr. Westenhanger? I suppose it was the left-hand door that gave you the key?”“There’s some confirmatory evidence,” Westenhanger explained. “Will you stand in front of the case, Miss Cressage? Now notice that you’ve the choice between the two doors if you wanted to get at the Talisman. You’re right-handed, so you choose the right-hand door, naturally. Besides, it’s always easier to turn a handle clockwise than counter-clockwise; and that favours the right-hand again, subconsciously. To open the cabinet you turn the right-hand handle as you turn a corkscrew, which is easier than turning the left-hand handle counter-clockwise.”Eileen put out both hands and imitated the motion of opening the doors.“That’s true enough,” she said. “I remember that sometimes a door handle gives one trouble if it works in the opposite direction from the usual way.”Westenhanger continued his explanation.“Now look at where the bell has been placed. That’s the really important point. The thief might have been a right-handed man and used his right hand to take the Talisman; then, after he had got it, he might have closed the door he had used and opened the left-hand one. But the bell gives him away.”Douglas examined the case closely.“The bell’s slightly to the right of its old position. Is that what you mean?”Westenhanger nodded.“That’s it. A right-handed man goes in at the right-hand door, just as you both did. Then he crooks his elbow towards his chest to get his hand over to the Talisman. That brings his hand to the centre of the case. It’s a narrow case, you notice. Not much room to manœuvre in it.”“I see,” said Eileen. “He’d pick up the bell; and he’d have to put it down again—clear of the Talisman—in order to pick up the jewel. If he put it down on the right-hand side of the case, it would be in the way of his arm in getting out again, so he’d set it downbeyondthe Talisman, towards the left of the case. Then he’d pick up the Talisman and take his hand and arm out of the case. Is that it?”“Yes,” confirmed Westenhanger. “That’s what a right-handed man would do. And since the bell’s been set down towards the right hand of the cabinet, it’s obvious that there’s been a left-hander at work, isn’t it?”“That seems right,” Eileen admitted. “It’s very clever of you to have noticed it.”“You noticed it yourself. It just happened that I was lucky enough to spot the thing almost at once.”Eileen reflected for a moment, then she addressed Westenhanger directly.“There’s just one other thing I don’t quite understand. Out on the headland, you said you’d made certain about the matter after you met me there. That means you weren’t quite sure before. What did you mean by that?”Westenhanger laughed.“That’s obvious, too. Don’t you see it now?”The girl went over in her memory the talk which she had had with him half an hour previously; but quite evidently it suggested nothing to her mind as a solution.“No,” she admitted at last, “I can’t think of anything.”“It’s simple enough. Think of the things I did; don’t bother about anything I said to you.”After a moment Eileen recalled something.“You offered me a cigarette.”“Yes. I held the case so that you could reach it with either hand; but you used your right hand to pick out the cigarette.”“Was that all?” She put on a judicial expression. “That doesn’t seem much to go on in a thing like this—does it, Douglas?”“Look at him grinning,” said Douglas, in sham disgust. “He’s laughing at us. He’s got more up his sleeve, of course.”Westenhanger admitted it with a nod.“Of course I have. What happened next, Miss Cressage?”“I smoked for a while.”“Do you usually smoke unlighted cigarettes?”Eileen laughed at her omission.“No, of course not. I remember now. You gave me your match-box.”“Hardly correct in detail. I was rude enough to pitch my match-box across to you, so that you could catch it with either hand. What I wanted to see was which hand you would use. You made a snatch at it—with your right hand.”“I didn’t imagine I was being watched so closely as all that, Mr. Westenhanger. Is that all, now?”“Oh, no. There’s more to come. You finished your cigarette and threw away the stub. You tried to fling it over the cliff-edge on your right side, if you remember.”“I think so. One does these things without thinking about them.”“That’s just why I attached importance to them in this case. Now think. It was a fairly long distance to throw a cigarette, wasn’t it. You just failed to send yours over the edge. So you had to pitch it to the best of your ability. If you’d been left-handed you’d have used your left hand, swinging it across your body. What you actually did was to use your right hand in an awkward attitude. Evidently your right hand, even used awkwardly, was better than your left used in a natural gesture. Obvious conclusion—you were right-handed.”“That was rather neat, wasn’t it, Douglas?”“Oh, Conway always had the name of a smart lad, even among the great brains like myself. Don’t let’s interrupt him. I can see he’s still bursting with news.”“How do you strike a match on a box, Douglas?” demanded Westenhanger, suddenly.“How should I know? This way, of course.”Douglas fished a match-box from his pocket, took out a vesta and struck it.“That’s what you did, Miss Cressage. You held the match in your right hand and the box in your left, just as Douglas is holding them now. A left-hander reverses the positions and strikes the match with his left hand. I remember noticing that once.”“Anything more, Mr. Westenhanger?”“Just one thing. After a while, I took out a cigarette myself and you had to throw my match-box across to me. You used your right hand again. That made five things, in any one of which even partial left-handedness might have come out. What settled it, to my mind, was the snatch at the match-box when I tossed it over to you. That’s an almost instinctive movement, when you’ve no time to think. One uses the hand that’s had most practice, provided one has a free choice between the two hands; and I was careful to pitch the box so that you might have used either hand for it.”“Well, you’re a good actor, Mr. Westenhanger. I never suspected anything at all; and the whole time you must have been watching me like a cat watching a mouse.”“It wouldn’t have been much good if you had suspected,” said Westenhanger. He turned to Douglas. “Now, Douglas, does that evidence seem enough to prove that Miss Cressage had no hand in the Talisman’s disappearance? I promised her I could do that. It’s for you to say.”Douglas Fairmile had no doubts.“Of course it does. I may not be an impartial judge, of course; for I never believed for a moment that Eileen had the least connection with the Talisman affair. But that evidence would convince most people. Smart of you to spot these things, Conway.”Conway Westenhanger glanced from one to the other.“It’s for Miss Cressage to say what we ought to do next,” he pointed out to them. “My main reason for going into the thing at all was simply to clear her of suspicion.”Eileen gave him a grateful glance and seemed inclined to say something. Then quite evidently she changed her mind and chose a fresh subject.“What do you think, Douglas?”“Never suffered from doubts in my life. Seems to me the first thing is to put a stop to any more chatter with your name in it, Eileen. Call another general meeting. Let Conway make a few remarks. That would finish it.”Eileen looked from one to the other doubtfully. She reflected for a moment or two, while Douglas and Westenhanger waited for her to speak. At last she gave them her view.“No, you’re wrong, Douglas. That wouldn’t finish it. It would simply turn it into something worse. Both Mrs. Caistor Scorton and that little creature Stickney were accurate enough in what they said last night. I was out of my room, just as they made out. If I wasn’t stealing the Talisman, then they’d have their own ideas about where I was during that time. Mr. Westenhanger knows what I mean; and so do you, Douglas. And I can’t clear myself. I really can’t.”She deliberately caught the eye of each man in turn and held it long enough to show that she was not avoiding them; then she looked down, as if thinking carefully.“You certainly mustn’t say anything about this, just now. It wouldn’t do me any good. And there’s a better reason. Our one chance of catching this thief is to find the left-handed man amongst the people here. If you bring out this evidence, he’ll be on his guard at once and cover up his left-handedness somehow. He could cut his right hand badly, or something like that.”“I knew that,” admitted Westenhanger, “but the main thing still seems to me to get you cleared. Don’t you want to be?”Eileen studied his face in silence for a moment.“I’ll tell you something,” she said, at last. “When you came down this morning and began to talk, I thought you were just trying to be sympathetic; but I didn’t take it at face value. I believed you were only trying to cheer me up, and that your talk about proving things wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Now I know you really did mean what you said. What’s more, I’ve learned that somebody did more than just sympathise. You didn’t stop there, Mr. Westenhanger: you did something practical to clear me of suspicion.”“I happened to be lucky, first shot—that’s all.”She waved that aside and went on:“You reallydidsomething, no matter how you choose to describe it; you didn’t simply stand round, pitying me. Do you know, that’s made things ever so much easier for me, now that I know about it. I can’t explain why; it’s just a feeling. I don’t feel absolutely isolated now, as I did this morning. Don’t think I’m ungrateful to you and Cynthia, Douglas, or to Nina either. You were all as kind as you could be. But somehow nobody seemed to be doing anything to help; and I was feeling the strain of it all, horribly. Now it seems all right again, somehow.”She stopped for a moment, then added doubtfully:“I don’t suppose I’ve made it clear; but it is so. I feel as if a weight were off my mind. I don’t care how long it is before theKestrelcomes back.”“What’s theKestrelgot to do with it?” asked Douglas.“I can’t tell you,” she said, in a lighter tone. “It’s my turn to play the mystery-man, Mr. Westenhanger. But everything will be all right when theKestreldrops anchor in the bay. I feel sure of that.”“Are you talking about the Talisman?” demanded Westenhanger.“No! What’s theKestrelgot to do with the Talisman?” Eileen asked in surprise. “I only meant my own affairs. I can’t tell you anything about the Talisman. I know nothing about it.”Westenhanger accepted her statement without comment.“Then I take it that you think we ought to use this affair”—he indicated the cabinet—“to track down the fellow who stole the Talisman? Things are to be left as they are, so far as you’re concerned? You don’t want us to say anything to the rest of them?”“No, certainly not.” There was no hesitation in her tone. “You’ve got a trump card with this thing, Mr. Westenhanger. You know that well enough. And the thief must be found. One has to agree even with Mr. Stickney at times. He’s quite right. Weareall under suspicion until this thing is cleared up; and I think it ought to be cleared up. I know just exactly how it feels to be under suspicion. You must see it through to the end and catch the thief. I’m sure you can—you’re quite clever enough for that—and it’s the only way to clear the rest of us completely. I wouldn’t hear of it being used and wasted merely to clear me personally and leave all the rest in the lurch. We’ve got other people to think of as well.”“Very sporting of you, Eileen,” said Douglas. “I think you’re right. But if you change your mind, of course you’ll let us know?”“I’m really all right again, thanks. I shan’t worry a bit now. Things are quite different—and I can wait for theKestrel.”
Conway Westenhanger had no very high opinion of his own ability to unravel the Talisman mystery, and the more he thought over the subject the less could he see any simple solution. One point, however, seemed beyond dispute: the method of elimination, as handled by Freddie Stickney, had been given a trial and had led to absolutely nothing whatever. The net result of Freddie’s efforts was that everybody had been made to feel uncomfortable, while not a single gleam of light had been thrown upon the problem. And yet, given the conditions of the case, the elimination method seemed to promise results. If the servants were put on one side, and if no thief had got into the house in the darkness, then only thirteen persons remained who had any possible means of access to the Corinthian’s Room that night. One of them must be responsible for the vanishing of the Talisman. That seemed an inevitable conclusion.
But here his train of thought was crossed by another. He could not quite dismiss from his mind the impression made upon him by the way in which old Rollo Dangerfield had taken his loss.
“The thing’s worth at least £50,000,” Westenhanger reflected. “The Dangerfields may be well enough off, but a loss on that scale is something more than a flea-bite. And yet he doesn’t seem disturbed in the slightest. One could bet that he really believes the Talisman will turn up again in a few days. If it isn’t cold confidence, then it’s the best acting I ever saw. I could almost take my oath that he meant what he said.”
He turned the matter over and over in his mind for a time; but although a number of suggestions offered themselves, none of them seemed satisfying.
“It may be a case of rank superstition, but I don’t read him so myself. Who believes in that sort of stuff nowadays? It can’t be that. Of course, he side-tracked all the talk about the Dangerfield Secret. He’s probably half-ashamed of that business—likely it’s some old ritual about informing the heir that in 1033 or so the head of the Dangerfields sold his soul to the Devil. The Dangerfield Secret has nothing to do with the case anyway.”
But Westenhanger was wrong on that point, as he was to discover at no distant date. However, dismissing that line of thought, he sought for other possible explanations of the mystery.
“The old man may know who took the Talisman,” he suggested to himself. “If that’s so, then perhaps he means to put the screw on the culprit quietly, without saying anything to the rest of us. Most obviously he doesn’t want a scandal at Friocksheim. But in that case he must have spotted the wrong ’un immediately; because, first thing in the morning, he was quite certain that the Talisman would turn up again—he wasn’t worried in the slightest degree. If he tracked down the thief between one a.m. and breakfast-time, it was a lightning bit of detective work. But if it wasn’t a case of detection, then the only possible explanation is that he actually saw the theft committed.”
Westenhanger paused only for a moment on this idea, however, for its inherent improbability struck him at once.
“That’s no good. If he’d caught the thief in the act, he’d simply have threatened to expose him; got the Talisman back from him, and replaced it in its cabinet without giving rise to all this trouble.”
Then a new thought occurred to him.
“But suppose old Rollo couldn’t trust the thief not to have a second try, with better luck the second shot? That’s a possibility. If I’d been in old Rollo’s shoes under these conditions I think I’d have pocketed the Talisman and kept it safe until that particular guest’s visit was up. Then he could put it back in the cabinet with a comfortable mind. That’s a possibility, too, and Wraxall might fit the case.”
But here again his knowledge would hardly fit the hypothesis.
“No, that won’t work, either,” he admitted to himself. “Old Rollo’s a chivalrous old bird. He knows Miss Cressage is under suspicion now—Freddie’s sure to have let that leak out. If the old man knew the identity of the thief he certainly wouldn’t stand aside and let the girl bear the brunt of things for a moment, I’m sure. . . . Wraxall isn’t even a friend of the Dangerfields; he’s the merest casual caller, so far as they’re concerned. There’s no reason why they should shieldhim.”
He cudgelled his brain for another alternative hypothesis.
“Suppose the old man didn’t spot the thief, but managed somehow to discover where the Talisman was hidden after it was stolen. He may be keeping a watch on the hiding-place, waiting for the thief to give himself away by going after the thing at last.”
He brooded for a time on the various ideas he had evolved; but in the end he put them all aside.
“Damn it!” he said, irritably, “if I go on like this, I’ll end up by being as bad as Freddie. That’s not the way to go about the business at all. What’s wanted is new facts, not a lot of futile ideas. One must begin somewhere. I’ll go and have a look at the Corinthian’s Room and see if anything suggests itself when I’m on the actual spot.”
Westenhanger had learnt that no change had been made in the Corinthian’s Room since the theft. The cabinet had been untouched, just as the thief had left it. They had all been asked not to tamper with anything.
“The Talisman will come back by the way in which it went,” Old Dangerfield had said, with a faint mockery in his voice. “Let us leave the door open for it to get into its case again.”
Without any very strong hope in his mind, Westenhanger made his way to the Corinthian’s Room which, to his relief, was untenanted. He felt a certain shamefacedness in actually embarking on this attempt at detection, and he was glad that he could examine the place without betraying his purpose. As he entered the door, his eye was caught by the gigantic chess-board set in the floor pattern, and he examined it curiously.
“These little holes at the corners of the squares are rum,” he thought, as his eye was caught by one of them. “I begin to wonder whether Wraxall wasn’t near the mark when he talked about some kind of man-trap for protecting the Talisman. But no, that’s obviously rubbish, because the Talisman’s gone and yet none of us shows much in the way of visible damage. Besides, old Rollo declared there was no man-trap—you could lift the Talisman and come to no harm. He volunteered that. And if there’s one thing certain in this business it’s that Rollo isn’t an aimless liar. That notion has nothing in it.”
He stepped across the chess-board and halted before the empty cabinet which had held the Dangerfield Talisman. It stood on its stone pillar so that the glass front was breast high, and he examined it minutely in the hope of detecting something significant. The central plate-glass slab, through which he had inspected the armlet three nights before, was intact. On the velvet floor of the cabinet he could see the clearly marked ring made by the long-continued pressure of the bell-cover of tinted glass which now stood in a fresh position a little to the right, almost behind the closed door of the cabinet. The other door stood half-open, and he noticed that it had no lock but only an ordinary spring-catch. Idly he tried the strength of the spring, using his nail to avoid leaving any finger-marks, and he found that the catch was in good order. The handles of the doors were simple in pattern, like miniature corkscrew handles. Conway Westenhanger studied the glass surfaces with care, but after a time he abandoned his self-imposed task.
“Not much use bothering about finger-marks there,” he commented. “There’s no saying how many of us had our paws on it, that night he showed us the Talisman. Some of them are bound to be there, even if the case has been dusted by the servants. Most likely there’s a set of my own amongst them. Nobody could be incriminated by that, certainly. There’s nothing in it.”
He stepped back a pace to look at the cabinet as a whole, and suddenly a keen expression crossed his features. He had seen the thing he wanted.
“Well,thatlimits it down considerably!” he said with relief. “What a bit of pure luck! And I believe I’m right, too.”
He thought for a moment or two before deciding on his next step.
“This isn’t going to be so easy, after all,” he concluded, with more hesitation in his manner. “I can’t go running round them, asking that particular question bluntly, or the thief will be put on his guard long before it comes to his turn. This affair will need careful handling—very careful. And I’ll need to try a blank experiment first with someone who is absolutely above suspicion. I know how I’d do the thing, but I’m prejudiced subconsciously, probably. I’ll need some subject who doesn’t know what I’m after.”
He ran over in his mind the list of the house-party.
“Douglas, of course! He’s the man. He offered to help if I needed him, and he’s able to keep his tongue quiet.”
Then a fresh thought occurred to him. A picture of Eileen Cressage’s strained face came up in his memory and changed his immediate purpose.
“I’ll see her first, and try it,” he decided. “After all, the main thing is to clear her and get her out of this affair if possible. Once that’s done, there will be time enough to think about Douglas.”
It took him longer than he expected to hit upon a line of procedure that satisfied him. More than once he was forced to discard an idea which proved faulty after consideration and think out something fresh. At last, however, his plans seemed to be sound so far as he could see. He closed the door of the Corinthian’s Room and made his way into the hall. Freddie Stickney was sitting beside the main entrance, evidently deep in thought.
“Wake up, Freddie!” Westenhanger brutally interrupted the reflections of the amateur detective. “Seen Douglas about anywhere?”
“I think he’s been playing tennis. Most likely he’s still down at the courts.”
“Oh! Seen Cynthia and Miss Cressage since breakfast?”
Westenhanger was careful to couple Eileen’s name with Cynthia’s in his demand. He had no desire to let Freddie know that he was in search of Eileen in particular.
“Cynthia’s probably down at the tennis courts with Douglas,” Freddie assured him. “I saw them go off together in that direction. Miss Cressage went away by herself some time ago, towards the shore—over yonder.”
Westenhanger nodded his thanks curtly and descended the steps leading down into the gardens. He sauntered along while he was within range of Freddie’s eyes, but as soon as he got out of sight of the door, he quickened his steps. Ten minutes brought him to a spot from which he could see the nearer coastline, and, looking from point to point, he at last detected a girl’s figure on a tiny headland which ran out to form one horn of the bay.
He made his way indirectly towards her, and before he reached the ridge of the headland he slackened his pace, so that when he actually came into her neighbourhood he seemed to have arrived there by pure chance in the course of an aimless walk. He wished, above everything, to avoid giving her the impression that he had deliberately sought her out; for the test he meant to apply depended for its success on her being completely off her guard. He had not the slightest doubt as to the result, but his scientific caution demanded that he should play his game with absolute fairness. If the test was to establish anything whatever, it would have to be applied without fear or favour.
As he drew nearer he tried to read something from her attitude. She faced the sea, and from time to time he saw her glance along the horizon, only to look down again when her eyes found nothing but the skyline.
“That girl’s got a bit of personality somewhere,” Westenhanger reflected, as he advanced. “Every line of her figure shows some emotion, just as clearly as if I were looking at her face. But what particular emotion is it? She looks dejected, but that isn’t everything. There’s something else there as well.”
Enlightenment flashed across him.
“That’s the way Robinson Crusoe might have looked when he was hoping for a sail and yet felt certain it wasn’t coming that day. It’s hope deferred that’s wrong with that girl. But what’s she hoping for?”
By this time he had come quite close to her, and at the sound of his steps on the turf she turned her head.
“Not disturbing you, I hope?” he said, casually, as he came up. “I came up to have a look at the view for a moment or two. May I sit down?”
She nodded assent, seeming to accept his company with indifference. He seated himself a couple of yards away and for some minutes he gazed over the bay without saying anything.
“May I smoke?”
She gave him permission, and he rose and stepped across to offer his case. She took a cigarette, but he seemed to change his mind, closed his case and put it back in his pocket. Then he re-seated himself in his old position.
“That’s stupid of me,” he exclaimed, as the girl looked at her unlighted cigarette. He drew out a little silver box and tossed it over to her. “Catch.”
He threw it so clumsily, that though she snatched at it in the air, she missed it, and was forced to reach over and pick it up.
“Sorry,” Westenhanger apologised, as she struck a match for herself.
He waited for some minutes before saying anything further. Eileen Cressage seemed to feel no desire for talk. She smoked slowly, and from time to time her eyes followed the tiny blue clouds as they drifted seaward on the faint airs which came from the land. Westenhanger was not deceived. She was still scanning the horizon-line in search of something. Suddenly he realised what the thing must be.
“I wonder how Mrs. Brent is getting on,” he said, watching the girl’s face as he spoke. “She hasn’t made any sign since she left.”
“How could she?”
“Oh, wireless. Most boats have it.”
“I wish theKestrelhad. But she hasn’t.”
Something in the girl’s voice surprised Westenhanger—an intensity of feeling which seemed quite uncalled-for by the subject. Of course, Eileen was watching for theKestrel’sreturn. That was why she had come up to the headland; that was why she looked out to sea so eagerly. Anyone could put two and two together to that extent. But why should she be so eager to get into touch with the yacht? Obviously she wanted to do so; the reference to the lack of wireless could mean nothing else. And the tone of her voice was enough to betray the intensity of her desire.
Of course theKestrelmeant Mrs. Brent; there was no one else on board except the crew. But that meant that the return of Mrs. Brent was the thing Eileen Cressage was awaiting with such eagerness. Where did Mrs. Brent come into the affair? The only thing that mattered now to the girl was to be extricated from the position she was in. Had she been shielding Mrs. Brent in something? Had she given Mrs. Brent some promise of secrecy and was she now waiting for theKestrel’sreturn so that she might take back her promise and clear herself? It sounded unlikely. Mrs. Brent could hardly be mixed up in the Talisman mystery. But if she was not, why should Eileen be so eager for the coming of the yacht?
He watched the sea again, avoiding the girl’s face with his eyes. After a time she finished her cigarette and threw away the stub.
“Another?” he suggested, drawing out his case.
She refused, and he took a cigarette himself and felt for his match-box. Eileen had let it slip down to the ground beside her after using it, and she now picked it up and tossed it across to him. Westenhanger deliberately lighted his cigarette, blew out the match carefully, and pitched it away before saying anything.
“Nobody suspects you of taking the Talisman, Miss Cressage,” he said at last.
The girl started as though she had been stung, and made a gesture as though she wished to stop him saying anything further. Westenhanger continued without appearing to notice her action.
“If that was all I had to say, Miss Cressage, I think I would have left it to your imagination. No decent person thinks you had anything to do with that business; and I expect you know that without my telling you. What I wanted to say was a shade more interesting.”
He looked out to seaward, so as to let the girl feel that he was not watching her.
“Iknowyou didn’t take it, and I think I’ll be able to prove that fairly conclusively to any reasonable person.”
To his surprise she showed very little relief at his statement. Her voice had no particular ring of pleasure in it when she replied. It seemed almost as though she regarded the matter as of slight importance in comparison with something else that was in her mind. Westenhanger was frankly puzzled by her attitude—even a little nettled to find that his efforts on her behalf led to so little acknowledgment.
“It’s very kind of you, Mr. Westenhanger. I know I have some very good friends here at Friocksheim. But there are some other people here too. I know perfectly well what some of them think. Even if I were cleared of the Talisman theft, they’d go on repeating other things about me. Oh, I know what they’ve been saying. I’m not a fool, Mr. Westenhanger. I know quite well what that miserable little beast Stickney has been hinting about me.”
She raised her eyes again to the sky-line, looking over the empty sea.
“Oh, Idowish theKestrelwould come!”
For a few moments Westenhanger also scanned the horizon, giving her time to pull herself together again. When she broke the silence, it was in another tone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Westenhanger. That was ungrateful of me. You’ve been very kind. Don’t take that seriously. You know I’ve got very raw nerves just now, and you mustn’t blame me too much.”
Westenhanger’s smile reassured her.
“Now I’m all right,” she went on. “I don’t deserve it; but I wish you’d tell me just what you meant by what you said just now. How can you clear me in the Talisman affair? Of course I knew all along that you never believed I took it. I could see that in your face—and in Douglas’s too. But proving it’s a different thing, isn’t it?”
Westenhanger smiled again, in genuine amusement this time; and his expression helped the girl in her struggle for the control of her nerves.
“I’m going to play the mystery-man for another quarter of an hour,” he said, “then I’ll explain the whole affair to you. We’ll need Douglas’s help also. But just to tantalise you, I can tell you that I got absolute certainty on the point since I came up here half and hour ago. Now, if that excites your curiosity, let’s gather in Douglas and clear the ground for my explanation. It’s so simple that you’ll probably think you saw it yourself, really.”
She rose to her feet and gave a last glance round the sea-rim; but no smoke showed on the horizon. Then they made their way down the headland and back into the Friocksheim grounds. Douglas had finished his tennis, they found when they reached the courts; and as Cynthia had gone into the house to write a letter he was easily persuaded to go with Westenhanger and Eileen. As they walked through the gardens, the engineer puzzled Douglas by a request.
“Have you a thick scarf, Miss Cressage?”
“Yes.”
The girl’s face showed that she had no idea of what lay behind the inquiry.
“Well, would you mind getting it—and a pair of gloves. And then would you come to the Corinthian’s Room?”
She nodded without saying anything, and Westenhanger turned to Douglas.
“Your outfit, my lad, will be a pair of thin gloves, if you have them. Bring ’em to the Corinthian’s Room, and don’t keep Miss Cressage waiting. I’m going there myself direct.”
In a few moments they rejoined him.
“Now, Douglas,” he said, “your business is to stand in the corridor at present and detain any possible intruder by the charm of your conversation. Nobody’s to get into this room for the next five minutes. You’re a peaceful picket, you understand?”
Douglas grinned and retired into the corridor.
“Now, Miss Cressage,” said Westenhanger, pushing the door until it was almost closed, “would you mind putting on your gloves.”
The girl did so and then looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“What’s all this about, Mr. Westenhanger? I don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid you must bear with it for a minute or two more and then it will be quite obvious. Do you mind if I blindfold you with this scarf? I know it looks like a child’s game; but I really am serious.”
He wound the scarf round her head and fastened it gently.
“Can you see?”
“No; you’ve been quite efficient.”
“It’s most important that you shouldn’t see anything. Quite sure you’re absolutely blindfolded?”
“Quite.”
“Very good.”
She heard a click like the closing of a pocket-knife, then Westenhanger’s voice in a low tone near her ear.
“I’ve just shut the door of the cabinet. Now let me lead you over to it.”
He guided her carefully for a step or two.
“Now,” he continued in the same low tone, “you’re standing right in front of the centre of the cabinet. If you lift your hand you can open the door. Try it.”
Obediently Eileen put out her hand, groped and caught the handle and, after turning it, opened the door.
“Now,” said Westenhanger again, “suppose you try to reach the place where the Talisman was. Wait! You might knock over the bell, being blindfolded. Don’t move an inch after I say Stop! . . . Stop!”
She brought her hand to rest immediately.
“Now, bring your hand back to your side and then take a step backwards. I’ll see you don’t trip.”
As she stood, after completing the movement, she heard another slight click.
“That’s all, Miss Cressage. Now I’ll take the scarf off.”
He did so, and she looked round, slightly dazzled by the sunlight which streamed into the room. Nothing seemed to be changed; and she failed to understand what his manœuvres meant. Then her eyes ranged over the cabinet and something caught her attention.
“You’ve been playing some trick on me, Mr. Westenhanger,” she said, indignantly. “I’m sure I opened the right-hand door of the cabinet, and now it’s the left-hand one that’s open!”
Westenhanger, as soon as she began to speak, had crossed the room swiftly and closed the door leading into the corridor completely. He turned back with a vexed expression on his face.
“My fault entirely,” he said. “I ought to have shut that door. You nearly gave the show away to Douglas. Didn’t I tell you it was obvious?”
Eileen looked from him to the cabinet and then back again to his face, which showed a mixture of triumph and amusement.
“But it isn’t obvious,” she protested. “I don’t understand what you’re driving at.”
“We’ll repeat the whole performance with Douglas, and you’ll see the point.”
He went to the door again and summoned the picket.
“Douglas, come inside. I strongly recommend to your attention the genuine antique carving on the back of this door. It’s well worthy of study. Study it.”
Douglas Fairmile obediently stepped into the room, faced the door and fixed his eye on the carving.
“I know it by heart, old man,” he asserted. “You can’t puzzle me with any of your parlour games.”
“Got it well into your mind? All right. Miss Cressage will now blindfold you.”
The girl, still more puzzled by this procedure, put the scarf over Douglas’s eyes and fastened it in position.
“Blind as a bat, Douglas?” demanded Westenhanger. His tone changed. “I’m serious. You can’t see anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“Right.”
Westenhanger took out his pen-knife and opened it silently. He drew Eileen’s attention to it with a glance.
“Oh, half a jiff,” he exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered something. “One of the cabinet doors is open. I’ll shut it.” He shut his pen-knife with a click; but to Eileen’s surprise he made no attempt to close the open door of the cabinet.
“Now, Douglas, this way. I’ll lead you.”
Again he gave the same series of orders as he had given to her. She saw Douglas put out his right hand, grope for the handle of the right-hand door, open it, and then inserting his arm into the case, reach to the left towards the place where the Talisman used to lie.
“Stop! . . . Now come out again, gently. Don’t upset the glass bell.”
Douglas withdrew his arm cautiously.
“One pace to the rear, and stand fast.”
Douglas stepped back obediently. Westenhanger went up to the cabinet.
“I’m shutting the door. Hear the click?”
He suited the action to the word, closing the door which Douglas had opened. Then he turned round to Eileen.
“Nowdo you see, Miss Cressage? That’ll do, Douglas. You can take off your turban. It doesn’t suit you.”
Douglas disentangled himself from the scarf, blinked for a moment or two, and then looked at the cabinet.
“What’s your little game?” he demanded. “The left-hand door’s open now. It was the right-hand one that I opened.”
“Exactly,” said Westenhanger. “The left-hand door’s been open all the time—just as the thief left it. Neither of you touched it. That’s why I blindfolded you both. I wanted you to think both doors were shut; and I didn’t want to close that left-hand door. Much better to leave things exactly as they are. The Dangerfields may want to call in the police after all, you know; and we mustn’t destroy any possible clues. Hence the gloves I asked you to put on—you’ve left no fingermarks.”
Eileen broke in with a trace of excitement in her voice.
“Now Idosee. You wanted to test which hand I used when I opened the cabinet. Both Douglas and I are right-handed. The thief was left-handed because he opened the other door—not the one we opened. Is that it?”
“That’s it,” admitted Westenhanger. “I told you it was obvious. And of course all that by-play was just meant to keep your mind off the crucial action, so that you’d do it perfectly naturally, without giving it a thought. See it, Douglas? Don’t forget the pattern on the back of the door; it’s most important, you know!”
“You had me there, I’ll admit,” confessed Douglas. “You wandered me completely, so that I hadn’t a notion what you were after. And so the thief’s left-handed, is he?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Eileen stepped over to the cabinet and examined it for a moment or two.
“How, exactly, did you come to think of it, Mr. Westenhanger? I suppose it was the left-hand door that gave you the key?”
“There’s some confirmatory evidence,” Westenhanger explained. “Will you stand in front of the case, Miss Cressage? Now notice that you’ve the choice between the two doors if you wanted to get at the Talisman. You’re right-handed, so you choose the right-hand door, naturally. Besides, it’s always easier to turn a handle clockwise than counter-clockwise; and that favours the right-hand again, subconsciously. To open the cabinet you turn the right-hand handle as you turn a corkscrew, which is easier than turning the left-hand handle counter-clockwise.”
Eileen put out both hands and imitated the motion of opening the doors.
“That’s true enough,” she said. “I remember that sometimes a door handle gives one trouble if it works in the opposite direction from the usual way.”
Westenhanger continued his explanation.
“Now look at where the bell has been placed. That’s the really important point. The thief might have been a right-handed man and used his right hand to take the Talisman; then, after he had got it, he might have closed the door he had used and opened the left-hand one. But the bell gives him away.”
Douglas examined the case closely.
“The bell’s slightly to the right of its old position. Is that what you mean?”
Westenhanger nodded.
“That’s it. A right-handed man goes in at the right-hand door, just as you both did. Then he crooks his elbow towards his chest to get his hand over to the Talisman. That brings his hand to the centre of the case. It’s a narrow case, you notice. Not much room to manœuvre in it.”
“I see,” said Eileen. “He’d pick up the bell; and he’d have to put it down again—clear of the Talisman—in order to pick up the jewel. If he put it down on the right-hand side of the case, it would be in the way of his arm in getting out again, so he’d set it downbeyondthe Talisman, towards the left of the case. Then he’d pick up the Talisman and take his hand and arm out of the case. Is that it?”
“Yes,” confirmed Westenhanger. “That’s what a right-handed man would do. And since the bell’s been set down towards the right hand of the cabinet, it’s obvious that there’s been a left-hander at work, isn’t it?”
“That seems right,” Eileen admitted. “It’s very clever of you to have noticed it.”
“You noticed it yourself. It just happened that I was lucky enough to spot the thing almost at once.”
Eileen reflected for a moment, then she addressed Westenhanger directly.
“There’s just one other thing I don’t quite understand. Out on the headland, you said you’d made certain about the matter after you met me there. That means you weren’t quite sure before. What did you mean by that?”
Westenhanger laughed.
“That’s obvious, too. Don’t you see it now?”
The girl went over in her memory the talk which she had had with him half an hour previously; but quite evidently it suggested nothing to her mind as a solution.
“No,” she admitted at last, “I can’t think of anything.”
“It’s simple enough. Think of the things I did; don’t bother about anything I said to you.”
After a moment Eileen recalled something.
“You offered me a cigarette.”
“Yes. I held the case so that you could reach it with either hand; but you used your right hand to pick out the cigarette.”
“Was that all?” She put on a judicial expression. “That doesn’t seem much to go on in a thing like this—does it, Douglas?”
“Look at him grinning,” said Douglas, in sham disgust. “He’s laughing at us. He’s got more up his sleeve, of course.”
Westenhanger admitted it with a nod.
“Of course I have. What happened next, Miss Cressage?”
“I smoked for a while.”
“Do you usually smoke unlighted cigarettes?”
Eileen laughed at her omission.
“No, of course not. I remember now. You gave me your match-box.”
“Hardly correct in detail. I was rude enough to pitch my match-box across to you, so that you could catch it with either hand. What I wanted to see was which hand you would use. You made a snatch at it—with your right hand.”
“I didn’t imagine I was being watched so closely as all that, Mr. Westenhanger. Is that all, now?”
“Oh, no. There’s more to come. You finished your cigarette and threw away the stub. You tried to fling it over the cliff-edge on your right side, if you remember.”
“I think so. One does these things without thinking about them.”
“That’s just why I attached importance to them in this case. Now think. It was a fairly long distance to throw a cigarette, wasn’t it. You just failed to send yours over the edge. So you had to pitch it to the best of your ability. If you’d been left-handed you’d have used your left hand, swinging it across your body. What you actually did was to use your right hand in an awkward attitude. Evidently your right hand, even used awkwardly, was better than your left used in a natural gesture. Obvious conclusion—you were right-handed.”
“That was rather neat, wasn’t it, Douglas?”
“Oh, Conway always had the name of a smart lad, even among the great brains like myself. Don’t let’s interrupt him. I can see he’s still bursting with news.”
“How do you strike a match on a box, Douglas?” demanded Westenhanger, suddenly.
“How should I know? This way, of course.”
Douglas fished a match-box from his pocket, took out a vesta and struck it.
“That’s what you did, Miss Cressage. You held the match in your right hand and the box in your left, just as Douglas is holding them now. A left-hander reverses the positions and strikes the match with his left hand. I remember noticing that once.”
“Anything more, Mr. Westenhanger?”
“Just one thing. After a while, I took out a cigarette myself and you had to throw my match-box across to me. You used your right hand again. That made five things, in any one of which even partial left-handedness might have come out. What settled it, to my mind, was the snatch at the match-box when I tossed it over to you. That’s an almost instinctive movement, when you’ve no time to think. One uses the hand that’s had most practice, provided one has a free choice between the two hands; and I was careful to pitch the box so that you might have used either hand for it.”
“Well, you’re a good actor, Mr. Westenhanger. I never suspected anything at all; and the whole time you must have been watching me like a cat watching a mouse.”
“It wouldn’t have been much good if you had suspected,” said Westenhanger. He turned to Douglas. “Now, Douglas, does that evidence seem enough to prove that Miss Cressage had no hand in the Talisman’s disappearance? I promised her I could do that. It’s for you to say.”
Douglas Fairmile had no doubts.
“Of course it does. I may not be an impartial judge, of course; for I never believed for a moment that Eileen had the least connection with the Talisman affair. But that evidence would convince most people. Smart of you to spot these things, Conway.”
Conway Westenhanger glanced from one to the other.
“It’s for Miss Cressage to say what we ought to do next,” he pointed out to them. “My main reason for going into the thing at all was simply to clear her of suspicion.”
Eileen gave him a grateful glance and seemed inclined to say something. Then quite evidently she changed her mind and chose a fresh subject.
“What do you think, Douglas?”
“Never suffered from doubts in my life. Seems to me the first thing is to put a stop to any more chatter with your name in it, Eileen. Call another general meeting. Let Conway make a few remarks. That would finish it.”
Eileen looked from one to the other doubtfully. She reflected for a moment or two, while Douglas and Westenhanger waited for her to speak. At last she gave them her view.
“No, you’re wrong, Douglas. That wouldn’t finish it. It would simply turn it into something worse. Both Mrs. Caistor Scorton and that little creature Stickney were accurate enough in what they said last night. I was out of my room, just as they made out. If I wasn’t stealing the Talisman, then they’d have their own ideas about where I was during that time. Mr. Westenhanger knows what I mean; and so do you, Douglas. And I can’t clear myself. I really can’t.”
She deliberately caught the eye of each man in turn and held it long enough to show that she was not avoiding them; then she looked down, as if thinking carefully.
“You certainly mustn’t say anything about this, just now. It wouldn’t do me any good. And there’s a better reason. Our one chance of catching this thief is to find the left-handed man amongst the people here. If you bring out this evidence, he’ll be on his guard at once and cover up his left-handedness somehow. He could cut his right hand badly, or something like that.”
“I knew that,” admitted Westenhanger, “but the main thing still seems to me to get you cleared. Don’t you want to be?”
Eileen studied his face in silence for a moment.
“I’ll tell you something,” she said, at last. “When you came down this morning and began to talk, I thought you were just trying to be sympathetic; but I didn’t take it at face value. I believed you were only trying to cheer me up, and that your talk about proving things wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. Now I know you really did mean what you said. What’s more, I’ve learned that somebody did more than just sympathise. You didn’t stop there, Mr. Westenhanger: you did something practical to clear me of suspicion.”
“I happened to be lucky, first shot—that’s all.”
She waved that aside and went on:
“You reallydidsomething, no matter how you choose to describe it; you didn’t simply stand round, pitying me. Do you know, that’s made things ever so much easier for me, now that I know about it. I can’t explain why; it’s just a feeling. I don’t feel absolutely isolated now, as I did this morning. Don’t think I’m ungrateful to you and Cynthia, Douglas, or to Nina either. You were all as kind as you could be. But somehow nobody seemed to be doing anything to help; and I was feeling the strain of it all, horribly. Now it seems all right again, somehow.”
She stopped for a moment, then added doubtfully:
“I don’t suppose I’ve made it clear; but it is so. I feel as if a weight were off my mind. I don’t care how long it is before theKestrelcomes back.”
“What’s theKestrelgot to do with it?” asked Douglas.
“I can’t tell you,” she said, in a lighter tone. “It’s my turn to play the mystery-man, Mr. Westenhanger. But everything will be all right when theKestreldrops anchor in the bay. I feel sure of that.”
“Are you talking about the Talisman?” demanded Westenhanger.
“No! What’s theKestrelgot to do with the Talisman?” Eileen asked in surprise. “I only meant my own affairs. I can’t tell you anything about the Talisman. I know nothing about it.”
Westenhanger accepted her statement without comment.
“Then I take it that you think we ought to use this affair”—he indicated the cabinet—“to track down the fellow who stole the Talisman? Things are to be left as they are, so far as you’re concerned? You don’t want us to say anything to the rest of them?”
“No, certainly not.” There was no hesitation in her tone. “You’ve got a trump card with this thing, Mr. Westenhanger. You know that well enough. And the thief must be found. One has to agree even with Mr. Stickney at times. He’s quite right. Weareall under suspicion until this thing is cleared up; and I think it ought to be cleared up. I know just exactly how it feels to be under suspicion. You must see it through to the end and catch the thief. I’m sure you can—you’re quite clever enough for that—and it’s the only way to clear the rest of us completely. I wouldn’t hear of it being used and wasted merely to clear me personally and leave all the rest in the lurch. We’ve got other people to think of as well.”
“Very sporting of you, Eileen,” said Douglas. “I think you’re right. But if you change your mind, of course you’ll let us know?”
“I’m really all right again, thanks. I shan’t worry a bit now. Things are quite different—and I can wait for theKestrel.”