Chapter Eight.

Chapter Eight.A Fresh Turn in Affairs.Here was the whole affair in danger of being exposed to the police and public by this young man’s encounter with the Professor’s servant! If it were exposed, then I should be compelled to give some account of myself. It would certainly be difficult to convince the police that I had no knowledge of the Professor’s death.“Well,” I remarked, “that Antonio should be leaving Calais seems somewhat curious, but perhaps it may have only been somebody resembling him.”“Of course, I’m not quite sure,” the young man replied; “but is it not curious that Miss Greer and the servants are all out? The Professor is always so very careful of his experiments and the contents of his laboratory that the house is never left untenanted.”“I’ve called quite by chance and upon business,” I explained. “I’m a motor-car engineer, and I live in Chiswick. My name is Holford.”“Mine’s Langton—Leonard Langton,” he answered. Then, after a second’s hesitation, he added, “Ethelwynn—Miss Greer—is to become my wife. That’s why I’m surprised that she hasn’t kept the appointment I made.”I was silent. What if I told him of the girl’s mysterious death? What would he say? How would he act?He seemed a smart, active, well-set-up fellow, quick, energetic, with a pair of merry grey eyes and a good-natured smile. Indeed, I took to him from the first. Yet how dare I divulge a word of what I knew?“The only thing is to wait,” I suggested.“But if the Professor is in Scotland, as you say, why have you called this evening?” he asked, with some little suspicion, I thought.For the moment I was nonplussed.“I wondered whether he had returned,” was my rather lame reply. “I simply called on the off-chance of seeing him.”“Was your business of a pressing nature?” he asked, still wondering, I think, whether I might not have some connection with thieves who might be within. Perhaps he now suspected me of being an accomplice, set to watch outside. My hesitation when he suggested calling the police had no doubt aroused his suspicion. Besides, I suppose my agitation had caused him some surprise, for I was in deadly fear lest the police should be called, and should enter there.The dead girl’s lover was a man of strongly marked character, that I could see. When once he learned the truth I should surely be suspected of having secret knowledge of the crime!“Well?” he asked, as we still stood before the closed door, “what shall we do?”“Wait,” I again suggested, “the Professor is evidently still away. He may have sent Antonio across to the Continent upon some business.”“If so, then there are undoubtedly thieves within. Since I’ve been waiting here the light in the small drawing-room overlooking the Park has been extinguished—put out, no doubt, immediately I rang. No,” he went on, “we must call the police. Will you go and get a constable—or shall I?”“You go,” I said, in a blank voice. “I—I’ll wait here.”I saw that the game was up. His suspicions were aroused, and he intended to take immediate action.“There’s sure to be a policeman along at Clarence Gate,” he said; “I’ve often noticed a man on point-duty there. But,” he added, suddenly facing me and looking straight into my eyes, for the street-lamp shone brightly upon the spot where we were standing, “tell me, Mr Holford, have you told me the actual truth?”“The truth!” I echoed. “Why, of course I have! Here is my card,” and I gave him one from my cigarette-case, wherein I always carried them.He read it eagerly, and in exchange gave me one of his, laughing as he said:“I feared, perhaps, that you might be in association with the men inside. Forgive me for suspecting you, won’t you?”“Of course. I knew you doubted me,” I answered, smiling. “I’ll remain here until you return, though, to be frank, I don’t see very much cause for alarm.”“I do. There’s a mystery here—one which we must fathom. Keep watch. I’ll be back in a few moments.”And he left the steps and, turning to the left, disappeared round the corner.I stood outside the door, my ears strained to catch the slightest sound. The young man’s presence there was indeed an unfortunate contretemps.In the silence I could hear my own heart thumping. Of a sudden, however, I thought I could detect a sound of movement within. I listened attentively. Yes, I was not mistaken, someone was actually in the hall! What if it were the unknown assassin, returned to the scene of his crime?My heart-beats quickened. The dead girl’s lover had not been mistaken. The lights had been put out when the person or persons inside were disturbed by his ring. In a few moments he would be there with the police, and the crime would be properly investigated. But what account could I myself give of the reason of my call? If I were suspected, the police might inquire into my movements during the past few days and gain knowledge of my visits there!My position was growing to one of great seriousness. Every moment increased my peril.Across the narrow road rose the great blank wall of a mews, while in the room on the first floor above where showed the high, dark window stretching across nearly the whole frontage of the house, lay huddled, I knew, the body of the dead Professor.I was still listening, full of wonder as to who might be lurking in that house of death, when, of a sudden, I heard the latch touched, and slowly and silently the big door opened.I drew back, prepared for a fight, but next second a cry of amazement escaped my lips when I saw in the darkness of the cautiously-opened door a man’s face—the thin, sallow, frightened face of Kershaw Kirk.“It’s I, Holford?” he gasped. “I must get away. Langton must not see me. Remember you must not breathe a single word of your knowledge of myself! Success now depends entirely upon your silence. I will wire an appointment with you to-morrow. Be careful, or you yourself may now be suspected.”“But why not tell the police?” I demanded, barring his way.“Police be hanged!” he cried impatiently. “Have I not already told you? I have no time to argue. Langton must not see me—he must know nothing of me. A word from you would mean loss incalculable, and all hope of elucidating the mystery would instantly be at an end. Which way did young Langton go?”“Towards Clarence Gate,” I replied almost mechanically, for his sudden appearance there had startled me.“Good!” he cried; “then I’ll go in the opposite direction. Be silent, Holford, and rely upon me. Whatever you may discover, do not betray any surprise. In this affair you will probably meet with a good deal that will surprise you—as it has already surprised me.”“Where’s Antonio?” I demanded.“Gone.”“Abroad?”“I—well, how can I tell? He’s left here. That’s all I know,” replied this mysterious man very lamely.I sniffed in suspicion.“Do, I beg of you, tell me more of this affair, Mr Kirk,” I urged, speaking quickly. “If you are really my friend, if you really wish me to assist you, why not instruct me how to act? If you will tell me the truth, I will keep a still tongue.”“You will be more silent if you remain in ignorance,” was his response. “Listen! I must get away,” and before I could prevent him he had closed the door quietly behind him. I noticed that he was attired in clothes quite different from his usual habit. Indeed, he was smartly dressed, wearing a black overcoat with a velvet collar, and well-ironed silk hat.“Stay and face Langton,” I urged. “Take him into your confidence. Surely no good can be served by this elusiveness.”“You don’t know what you’re saying, man!” he cried. “Let me pass. I’ve been listening to all you told the young man. Your story was quite a feasible one. Keep it up, and affect entire ignorance of me. It is the only way if we are to place our hand upon poor Greer’s assassin.”“The proper course for me to pursue, Mr Kirk, is to—”“Footsteps! I must go!” he cried hoarsely, in a voice which plainly betrayed his intense agitation and anxiety not to come face to face with the dead girl’s lover. “I’ll try and see you to-morrow or next day. Remain in patience till you hear from me. Good-bye.”And the next instant he ran lightly down the steps and sped away to the left, out of sight. All this had happened within three minutes.Scarce had he disappeared, when Langton, accompanied by two constables, turned the corner, and found me on guard at the door. I felt bewildered. Kirk’s sudden appearance at the door of that house of mystery had taken me so aback that I had scarcely yet recovered. Did not his admission that the faithful Antonio had left bear out Langton’s story of having seen the fellow passing through the buffet at Calais station?The young man had, I saw, been explaining his suspicions to the constables on their way to the house. I was glad that there was only a blank wall opposite, otherwise my action in allowing Kirk to leave the place might easily have been observed and misconstrued.What, I wondered, was the reason of my strange friend being in there alone? Why had the lights been so suddenly extinguished when Langton had rung the bell? That he feared Langton was evident.Why?Within myself I resolved to put some guarded questions and ascertain, if possible, what Ethelwynn’s lover knew of this man who had so ingeniously drawn me into that maelstrom of doubt and grim tragedy.The two constables were instantly on the alert. They examined the lock of the front door, conversing in low whispers, then, after a brief consultation, one of the pair left hurriedly, in order to place a guard upon the front of the premises, overlooking the garden, which divided the crescent from the park.Presently he returned, accompanied by a brown-bearded sergeant, who recognised Langton as having been witness in a motor-car accident in Cumberland Terrace a couple of months before.The sergeant pressed the button of the electric bell for a long time, and though we waited anxiously there was, of course, no response.“I’m certain somebody is within,” declared Langton excitedly; “I saw the light quite distinctly.”“Very well, sir, if you’re certain,” replied the sergeant gruffly, “we’ll have to force an entry. But remember, if you’re mistaken, it will be a trifle awkward. The owner might come upon you for damage.”“I’ll stand the racket of all that,” declared the young man readily. “There are thieves in here, I’m certain.”“It may be only a maid who has a visitor, and who believes her master, or young mistress, has returned,” I suggested, full of apprehension at the alarming discovery which must be made as soon as the police entered and searched the place.“Then all the worse for her, sir,” answered one of the constables grimly.And again they banged at the door and continued ringing. All, however, was silence and darkness.What would they have thought had they known that I had allowed the mysterious Kirk, who had been lurking there, to escape?Had I acted foolishly in doing so? I was forced to the conclusion that I had.While sergeant and constables were in counsel as to what course should be adopted, an inspector, who had been warned by the constable on guard at the front, arrived, and was told Langton’s story.“This is Professor Greer’s,” he remarked; “I think we’d better force an entry, sergeant. That basement window down there looks easy of access,” and he pointed to a window of the back-kitchen.“Yes,” replied the bearded man addressed, as a constable shone his lantern down upon it, “we could break the glass and turn back the catch. There are no bars there.”This course was quickly adopted. The inspector, taking one of the men’s truncheons, tapped the glass lightly until he had cracked it, and then pulled the pieces forward till he could insert his hand and release the catch.The window thus opened, the two constables, truncheons in hand and lights turned on, crept into the kitchen and disappeared, while we stood waiting anxiously without, our ears strained in listening.A few moments later, one of the men threw open the front door, and together we entered the dark and silent house of mystery.I stood back, passing into the wide hall last of all. There was now no hiding the grim, astounding truth from police and public.I held my breath, awaiting the sensation that must be caused by the discovery.As I anticipated, a discovery was made very quickly.But, strangely enough, it was not at all what I had looked for. It only added further mystery to the altogether inscrutable problem.

Here was the whole affair in danger of being exposed to the police and public by this young man’s encounter with the Professor’s servant! If it were exposed, then I should be compelled to give some account of myself. It would certainly be difficult to convince the police that I had no knowledge of the Professor’s death.

“Well,” I remarked, “that Antonio should be leaving Calais seems somewhat curious, but perhaps it may have only been somebody resembling him.”

“Of course, I’m not quite sure,” the young man replied; “but is it not curious that Miss Greer and the servants are all out? The Professor is always so very careful of his experiments and the contents of his laboratory that the house is never left untenanted.”

“I’ve called quite by chance and upon business,” I explained. “I’m a motor-car engineer, and I live in Chiswick. My name is Holford.”

“Mine’s Langton—Leonard Langton,” he answered. Then, after a second’s hesitation, he added, “Ethelwynn—Miss Greer—is to become my wife. That’s why I’m surprised that she hasn’t kept the appointment I made.”

I was silent. What if I told him of the girl’s mysterious death? What would he say? How would he act?

He seemed a smart, active, well-set-up fellow, quick, energetic, with a pair of merry grey eyes and a good-natured smile. Indeed, I took to him from the first. Yet how dare I divulge a word of what I knew?

“The only thing is to wait,” I suggested.

“But if the Professor is in Scotland, as you say, why have you called this evening?” he asked, with some little suspicion, I thought.

For the moment I was nonplussed.

“I wondered whether he had returned,” was my rather lame reply. “I simply called on the off-chance of seeing him.”

“Was your business of a pressing nature?” he asked, still wondering, I think, whether I might not have some connection with thieves who might be within. Perhaps he now suspected me of being an accomplice, set to watch outside. My hesitation when he suggested calling the police had no doubt aroused his suspicion. Besides, I suppose my agitation had caused him some surprise, for I was in deadly fear lest the police should be called, and should enter there.

The dead girl’s lover was a man of strongly marked character, that I could see. When once he learned the truth I should surely be suspected of having secret knowledge of the crime!

“Well?” he asked, as we still stood before the closed door, “what shall we do?”

“Wait,” I again suggested, “the Professor is evidently still away. He may have sent Antonio across to the Continent upon some business.”

“If so, then there are undoubtedly thieves within. Since I’ve been waiting here the light in the small drawing-room overlooking the Park has been extinguished—put out, no doubt, immediately I rang. No,” he went on, “we must call the police. Will you go and get a constable—or shall I?”

“You go,” I said, in a blank voice. “I—I’ll wait here.”

I saw that the game was up. His suspicions were aroused, and he intended to take immediate action.

“There’s sure to be a policeman along at Clarence Gate,” he said; “I’ve often noticed a man on point-duty there. But,” he added, suddenly facing me and looking straight into my eyes, for the street-lamp shone brightly upon the spot where we were standing, “tell me, Mr Holford, have you told me the actual truth?”

“The truth!” I echoed. “Why, of course I have! Here is my card,” and I gave him one from my cigarette-case, wherein I always carried them.

He read it eagerly, and in exchange gave me one of his, laughing as he said:

“I feared, perhaps, that you might be in association with the men inside. Forgive me for suspecting you, won’t you?”

“Of course. I knew you doubted me,” I answered, smiling. “I’ll remain here until you return, though, to be frank, I don’t see very much cause for alarm.”

“I do. There’s a mystery here—one which we must fathom. Keep watch. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

And he left the steps and, turning to the left, disappeared round the corner.

I stood outside the door, my ears strained to catch the slightest sound. The young man’s presence there was indeed an unfortunate contretemps.

In the silence I could hear my own heart thumping. Of a sudden, however, I thought I could detect a sound of movement within. I listened attentively. Yes, I was not mistaken, someone was actually in the hall! What if it were the unknown assassin, returned to the scene of his crime?

My heart-beats quickened. The dead girl’s lover had not been mistaken. The lights had been put out when the person or persons inside were disturbed by his ring. In a few moments he would be there with the police, and the crime would be properly investigated. But what account could I myself give of the reason of my call? If I were suspected, the police might inquire into my movements during the past few days and gain knowledge of my visits there!

My position was growing to one of great seriousness. Every moment increased my peril.

Across the narrow road rose the great blank wall of a mews, while in the room on the first floor above where showed the high, dark window stretching across nearly the whole frontage of the house, lay huddled, I knew, the body of the dead Professor.

I was still listening, full of wonder as to who might be lurking in that house of death, when, of a sudden, I heard the latch touched, and slowly and silently the big door opened.

I drew back, prepared for a fight, but next second a cry of amazement escaped my lips when I saw in the darkness of the cautiously-opened door a man’s face—the thin, sallow, frightened face of Kershaw Kirk.

“It’s I, Holford?” he gasped. “I must get away. Langton must not see me. Remember you must not breathe a single word of your knowledge of myself! Success now depends entirely upon your silence. I will wire an appointment with you to-morrow. Be careful, or you yourself may now be suspected.”

“But why not tell the police?” I demanded, barring his way.

“Police be hanged!” he cried impatiently. “Have I not already told you? I have no time to argue. Langton must not see me—he must know nothing of me. A word from you would mean loss incalculable, and all hope of elucidating the mystery would instantly be at an end. Which way did young Langton go?”

“Towards Clarence Gate,” I replied almost mechanically, for his sudden appearance there had startled me.

“Good!” he cried; “then I’ll go in the opposite direction. Be silent, Holford, and rely upon me. Whatever you may discover, do not betray any surprise. In this affair you will probably meet with a good deal that will surprise you—as it has already surprised me.”

“Where’s Antonio?” I demanded.

“Gone.”

“Abroad?”

“I—well, how can I tell? He’s left here. That’s all I know,” replied this mysterious man very lamely.

I sniffed in suspicion.

“Do, I beg of you, tell me more of this affair, Mr Kirk,” I urged, speaking quickly. “If you are really my friend, if you really wish me to assist you, why not instruct me how to act? If you will tell me the truth, I will keep a still tongue.”

“You will be more silent if you remain in ignorance,” was his response. “Listen! I must get away,” and before I could prevent him he had closed the door quietly behind him. I noticed that he was attired in clothes quite different from his usual habit. Indeed, he was smartly dressed, wearing a black overcoat with a velvet collar, and well-ironed silk hat.

“Stay and face Langton,” I urged. “Take him into your confidence. Surely no good can be served by this elusiveness.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, man!” he cried. “Let me pass. I’ve been listening to all you told the young man. Your story was quite a feasible one. Keep it up, and affect entire ignorance of me. It is the only way if we are to place our hand upon poor Greer’s assassin.”

“The proper course for me to pursue, Mr Kirk, is to—”

“Footsteps! I must go!” he cried hoarsely, in a voice which plainly betrayed his intense agitation and anxiety not to come face to face with the dead girl’s lover. “I’ll try and see you to-morrow or next day. Remain in patience till you hear from me. Good-bye.”

And the next instant he ran lightly down the steps and sped away to the left, out of sight. All this had happened within three minutes.

Scarce had he disappeared, when Langton, accompanied by two constables, turned the corner, and found me on guard at the door. I felt bewildered. Kirk’s sudden appearance at the door of that house of mystery had taken me so aback that I had scarcely yet recovered. Did not his admission that the faithful Antonio had left bear out Langton’s story of having seen the fellow passing through the buffet at Calais station?

The young man had, I saw, been explaining his suspicions to the constables on their way to the house. I was glad that there was only a blank wall opposite, otherwise my action in allowing Kirk to leave the place might easily have been observed and misconstrued.

What, I wondered, was the reason of my strange friend being in there alone? Why had the lights been so suddenly extinguished when Langton had rung the bell? That he feared Langton was evident.

Why?

Within myself I resolved to put some guarded questions and ascertain, if possible, what Ethelwynn’s lover knew of this man who had so ingeniously drawn me into that maelstrom of doubt and grim tragedy.

The two constables were instantly on the alert. They examined the lock of the front door, conversing in low whispers, then, after a brief consultation, one of the pair left hurriedly, in order to place a guard upon the front of the premises, overlooking the garden, which divided the crescent from the park.

Presently he returned, accompanied by a brown-bearded sergeant, who recognised Langton as having been witness in a motor-car accident in Cumberland Terrace a couple of months before.

The sergeant pressed the button of the electric bell for a long time, and though we waited anxiously there was, of course, no response.

“I’m certain somebody is within,” declared Langton excitedly; “I saw the light quite distinctly.”

“Very well, sir, if you’re certain,” replied the sergeant gruffly, “we’ll have to force an entry. But remember, if you’re mistaken, it will be a trifle awkward. The owner might come upon you for damage.”

“I’ll stand the racket of all that,” declared the young man readily. “There are thieves in here, I’m certain.”

“It may be only a maid who has a visitor, and who believes her master, or young mistress, has returned,” I suggested, full of apprehension at the alarming discovery which must be made as soon as the police entered and searched the place.

“Then all the worse for her, sir,” answered one of the constables grimly.

And again they banged at the door and continued ringing. All, however, was silence and darkness.

What would they have thought had they known that I had allowed the mysterious Kirk, who had been lurking there, to escape?

Had I acted foolishly in doing so? I was forced to the conclusion that I had.

While sergeant and constables were in counsel as to what course should be adopted, an inspector, who had been warned by the constable on guard at the front, arrived, and was told Langton’s story.

“This is Professor Greer’s,” he remarked; “I think we’d better force an entry, sergeant. That basement window down there looks easy of access,” and he pointed to a window of the back-kitchen.

“Yes,” replied the bearded man addressed, as a constable shone his lantern down upon it, “we could break the glass and turn back the catch. There are no bars there.”

This course was quickly adopted. The inspector, taking one of the men’s truncheons, tapped the glass lightly until he had cracked it, and then pulled the pieces forward till he could insert his hand and release the catch.

The window thus opened, the two constables, truncheons in hand and lights turned on, crept into the kitchen and disappeared, while we stood waiting anxiously without, our ears strained in listening.

A few moments later, one of the men threw open the front door, and together we entered the dark and silent house of mystery.

I stood back, passing into the wide hall last of all. There was now no hiding the grim, astounding truth from police and public.

I held my breath, awaiting the sensation that must be caused by the discovery.

As I anticipated, a discovery was made very quickly.

But, strangely enough, it was not at all what I had looked for. It only added further mystery to the altogether inscrutable problem.

Chapter Nine.I Discover Something.On the light being switched on in the dining-room, I held my breath, expecting that Langton would there find the body of the girl he loved.It had, however, been removed.The yellow cushion was still there, flung upon the leather couch where the unfortunate girl had lain, but there was no sign of any tragedy having been enacted.Strangely enough, however, a bright fire burned in the grate, while upon the table were the remains of a repast—dinner, no doubt—of which three persons had partaken. Dessert had been finished, and the three coffee-cups had been drained, while about the room was a strong odour of cigars.Who had been entertained there by Kirk?The set table did not, of course, strike any of my companions as at all unusual, and so they passed across to the morning-room on the opposite side of the hall, one of the constables remaining at the foot of the stairs in order to prevent the escape of any persons who might be secreted in the house.In the dining-room I loitered, for I had noticed in the grate a quantity of burnt paper. Therefore, when I was alone, I stooped, and snatched up a few half-consumed scraps—leaves of a manuscript-book they appeared to be. But at the moment, having no time to examine them, I crushed them into the pocket of my jacket, and followed the quartet on their tour of investigation.Every nook and corner, behind chairs, in cupboards, everywhere they searched, expecting to discover somebody secreted. But they, of course, found the house untenanted.In the smaller drawing-room, where the clean-shaven young man had noticed the light, there was a fire burning and an odour of cigars, showing that some man or men had been in the room. What consultation, I wondered, had taken place there?The large drawing-room—the room from whence the Professor had signalled—was cold and cheerless, while in the study nothing had apparently been disarranged.“I think, sir,” remarked the inspector to young Langton, “that you must have been mistaken. I don’t see any evidence of the presence of thieves here. The master is away, and the servants are all out for this evening. That’s all.”“But I’m quite certain there was a light when I first rang,” declared Langton.“Then if anyone was here, he or she must still be here,” replied the officer with a slightly incredulous smile, while at the same moment I recollected that as dinner had been served in the dining-room, there must also have been servants there during that evening.“Is there no other door—no back door?” I queried.“No,” replied Langton promptly; “both front and back doors are in Sussex Place. The door leading to the park was bricked up by the Professor, as he was always afraid that undesirable people might enter and steal the secrets of his experiments. There are two locked doors leading to the laboratory, of which he always keeps the keys. I’ll show you them in a moment.” And he led the way across the landing from the study to the boudoir.Here I noticed that the drawers of Miss Greer’s little rosewood escritoire stood open, and that upon the table was a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends; letters, fancy needlework, and other things, as though a hasty search had been made among the dead girl’s effects. To me it appeared that whoever had been making the investigation had been disturbed in the act and had escaped.The police noticed it, while Langton exclaimed:“Look! Ethelwynn is usually so very tidy! Somebody has, no doubt, been turning over her treasures. For what reason?” and he halted before the open door leading to the passage to the laboratory. “Look!”Inspector, sergeant, and constable all looked, but saw nothing unusual. The door stood open—that was all.“Don’t you see!” cried the young man excitedly. “This door—the door which Professor Greer always keeps fastened—has been burst open. Somebody has been here! I was not mistaken after all!”And he made his way along the passage, opening the second door and entering the darkness of the great lofty room. The constable followed with his lamp, while I held behind, knowing that in a few seconds the ghastly truth must be discovered.Langton quickly found the switch, and the place was flooded with light.At the same moment a strong and pungent smell of some acid greeted our nostrils, causing us to catch our breath. It was due, we noticed, to a bottle of some liquid which had been knocked off the table nearest us, and lay smashed upon the tiled floor.Full of fear and trembling, I glanced to the corner in which I had seen the Professor’s huddled-up body; but my heart gave a quick bound of joy. It was not there!Already evidences of the double tragedy had been removed. Was it for that reason, in order to remove them, that Kershaw Kirk had been there?“Why!” exclaimed Langton. “Look! the furnace is alight. The Professor certainly cannot be in Scotland!”I glanced to the left where he had indicated, and saw that the good-sized brick furnace built in the right-hand wall, in which, by means of a great electric fan, the Professor could generate, by forced draught, the intense heat he sometimes required for his experiments, was aglow. A fierce fire had evidently been burning there, but it was now slowly dying out. The warmth of the laboratory and of the brickwork of the furnace showed that the draught fan must have been used.“I wonder what the Professor has been doing to-day?” remarked the inspector, examining the place with considerable curiosity.“I wonder rather what intruders have been doing here!” exclaimed Langton. “You forget that both doors have been forced.”The inspector stood gazing round the place in silent wonder.“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “I don’t see the slightest evidence of burglars here, sir.”“They may be hidden upstairs,” suggested the young man. “Remember there are many people very anxious to obtain knowledge of the Professor’s discoveries. That is why he is always so careful to keep these doors locked. His daughter, Ethelwynn, is the only person he ever allows in here. He and she even carry in the coal for the furnace, the servants being excluded.”“But thieves would hardly light up the furnace!” said the officer.“Unless they wished to destroy something in the fire,” responded the other.That suggestion held me aghast. Upon me, like a flash, came the astounding suspicion that that furnace might have been lit for the purpose of destroying the evidence of the mysterious crime. I remembered Kirk’s curious and guarded response when I had referred to the burial of the body.Was this, then, the reason why I had found him alone in the house?I stood staggered by the suggestion.I was near the furnace—nearer than the others.Then, when I found speech again, I said:“If there are intruders in this place, they could not have escaped; they must certainly be upstairs. I agree with Mr Langton that it is certainly very curious that these doors should have been forced.”“How did you know that the Professor is in Scotland?” he inquired of me eagerly.In an instant I had a ready reply.“Antonio told me so when I called on Monday.”“Did he say when his master would be back?” asked the inspector.“He said he expected him to return last night, as he had an engagement to go with his daughter to a ball.”“Then he may have returned and gone to the dance,” remarked the officer. “He may also have lost his keys and been compelled to break open the doors—quite a likely circumstance. Three persons dined downstairs to-night. He and his daughter and a friend probably dined and afterwards went out; while the servants, knowing they would not return before midnight, may have followed them out to spend the evening. That at least is my theory at the present.”“That certainly seems to be the most logical conclusion, inspector,” I remarked.“We must search the upper premises before I accept it,” exclaimed Langton, who, I could see, was still very suspicious that something unusual had happened. The meeting with Antonio in the buffet at Calais had caused him to doubt, and most naturally so.My eager eyes were fixed upon the glowing furnace, the large, square, iron door of which was still red-hot, though the heat was now decreasing. At the side was a large air-shaft, in which were fitted electric fans, while on the wall were three switches by which a strong forced draught could be obtained.Before the furnace door was a portion of the tiled floor railed off, to prevent the cinders from being trodden about, and in there I saw a quantity of ashes. At the side were several large crucibles, one of which, still gripped by the iron tongs or holders, contained some metal which looked like steel.Carelessly I made a tour of the place, passing the corner where had lain the Professor’s body. I saw that all traces of blood had been carefully removed from the tiles. No one would suspect that any tragedy had occurred there.Was this Kirk’s work? Had the man who had such a contempt for the police—whom he denounced as red-taped blunderers—succeeded in removing all trace of the crime?If so, was not that sufficient proof of his own guilt? Was he not fooling me when, all the time, he was the actual assassin?Every fresh fact as presented in that house that night increased rather than elucidated the mystery.I longed to take the dead girl’s lover into my confidence and tell him, there and then, all I knew, just as I have told you; but I hesitated. Had I not given my word of honour to be silent? And, moreover, like a confounded fool, I had allowed Kirk to escape!So now, more than ever, were my lips sealed. I was bound hand and foot.In a few moments the four men passed out of the laboratory, while I, as I had done below, remained behind for a moment.I stood before the furnace peering into the ashes.I saw there something which they had overlooked, or, if they had seen it, could convey nothing to them.Among those grey ashes lay a black horn overcoat button!This I snatched up and transferred to my pocket.Had that bottle of acid been purposely smashed in order to dispel any unpleasant odour arising from the furnace?I longed to throw myself upon my knees and examine those ashes, but, alas! I dare not.So I was compelled to follow my companions, rigid and speechless.

On the light being switched on in the dining-room, I held my breath, expecting that Langton would there find the body of the girl he loved.

It had, however, been removed.

The yellow cushion was still there, flung upon the leather couch where the unfortunate girl had lain, but there was no sign of any tragedy having been enacted.

Strangely enough, however, a bright fire burned in the grate, while upon the table were the remains of a repast—dinner, no doubt—of which three persons had partaken. Dessert had been finished, and the three coffee-cups had been drained, while about the room was a strong odour of cigars.

Who had been entertained there by Kirk?

The set table did not, of course, strike any of my companions as at all unusual, and so they passed across to the morning-room on the opposite side of the hall, one of the constables remaining at the foot of the stairs in order to prevent the escape of any persons who might be secreted in the house.

In the dining-room I loitered, for I had noticed in the grate a quantity of burnt paper. Therefore, when I was alone, I stooped, and snatched up a few half-consumed scraps—leaves of a manuscript-book they appeared to be. But at the moment, having no time to examine them, I crushed them into the pocket of my jacket, and followed the quartet on their tour of investigation.

Every nook and corner, behind chairs, in cupboards, everywhere they searched, expecting to discover somebody secreted. But they, of course, found the house untenanted.

In the smaller drawing-room, where the clean-shaven young man had noticed the light, there was a fire burning and an odour of cigars, showing that some man or men had been in the room. What consultation, I wondered, had taken place there?

The large drawing-room—the room from whence the Professor had signalled—was cold and cheerless, while in the study nothing had apparently been disarranged.

“I think, sir,” remarked the inspector to young Langton, “that you must have been mistaken. I don’t see any evidence of the presence of thieves here. The master is away, and the servants are all out for this evening. That’s all.”

“But I’m quite certain there was a light when I first rang,” declared Langton.

“Then if anyone was here, he or she must still be here,” replied the officer with a slightly incredulous smile, while at the same moment I recollected that as dinner had been served in the dining-room, there must also have been servants there during that evening.

“Is there no other door—no back door?” I queried.

“No,” replied Langton promptly; “both front and back doors are in Sussex Place. The door leading to the park was bricked up by the Professor, as he was always afraid that undesirable people might enter and steal the secrets of his experiments. There are two locked doors leading to the laboratory, of which he always keeps the keys. I’ll show you them in a moment.” And he led the way across the landing from the study to the boudoir.

Here I noticed that the drawers of Miss Greer’s little rosewood escritoire stood open, and that upon the table was a miscellaneous collection of odds and ends; letters, fancy needlework, and other things, as though a hasty search had been made among the dead girl’s effects. To me it appeared that whoever had been making the investigation had been disturbed in the act and had escaped.

The police noticed it, while Langton exclaimed:

“Look! Ethelwynn is usually so very tidy! Somebody has, no doubt, been turning over her treasures. For what reason?” and he halted before the open door leading to the passage to the laboratory. “Look!”

Inspector, sergeant, and constable all looked, but saw nothing unusual. The door stood open—that was all.

“Don’t you see!” cried the young man excitedly. “This door—the door which Professor Greer always keeps fastened—has been burst open. Somebody has been here! I was not mistaken after all!”

And he made his way along the passage, opening the second door and entering the darkness of the great lofty room. The constable followed with his lamp, while I held behind, knowing that in a few seconds the ghastly truth must be discovered.

Langton quickly found the switch, and the place was flooded with light.

At the same moment a strong and pungent smell of some acid greeted our nostrils, causing us to catch our breath. It was due, we noticed, to a bottle of some liquid which had been knocked off the table nearest us, and lay smashed upon the tiled floor.

Full of fear and trembling, I glanced to the corner in which I had seen the Professor’s huddled-up body; but my heart gave a quick bound of joy. It was not there!

Already evidences of the double tragedy had been removed. Was it for that reason, in order to remove them, that Kershaw Kirk had been there?

“Why!” exclaimed Langton. “Look! the furnace is alight. The Professor certainly cannot be in Scotland!”

I glanced to the left where he had indicated, and saw that the good-sized brick furnace built in the right-hand wall, in which, by means of a great electric fan, the Professor could generate, by forced draught, the intense heat he sometimes required for his experiments, was aglow. A fierce fire had evidently been burning there, but it was now slowly dying out. The warmth of the laboratory and of the brickwork of the furnace showed that the draught fan must have been used.

“I wonder what the Professor has been doing to-day?” remarked the inspector, examining the place with considerable curiosity.

“I wonder rather what intruders have been doing here!” exclaimed Langton. “You forget that both doors have been forced.”

The inspector stood gazing round the place in silent wonder.

“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “I don’t see the slightest evidence of burglars here, sir.”

“They may be hidden upstairs,” suggested the young man. “Remember there are many people very anxious to obtain knowledge of the Professor’s discoveries. That is why he is always so careful to keep these doors locked. His daughter, Ethelwynn, is the only person he ever allows in here. He and she even carry in the coal for the furnace, the servants being excluded.”

“But thieves would hardly light up the furnace!” said the officer.

“Unless they wished to destroy something in the fire,” responded the other.

That suggestion held me aghast. Upon me, like a flash, came the astounding suspicion that that furnace might have been lit for the purpose of destroying the evidence of the mysterious crime. I remembered Kirk’s curious and guarded response when I had referred to the burial of the body.

Was this, then, the reason why I had found him alone in the house?

I stood staggered by the suggestion.

I was near the furnace—nearer than the others.

Then, when I found speech again, I said:

“If there are intruders in this place, they could not have escaped; they must certainly be upstairs. I agree with Mr Langton that it is certainly very curious that these doors should have been forced.”

“How did you know that the Professor is in Scotland?” he inquired of me eagerly.

In an instant I had a ready reply.

“Antonio told me so when I called on Monday.”

“Did he say when his master would be back?” asked the inspector.

“He said he expected him to return last night, as he had an engagement to go with his daughter to a ball.”

“Then he may have returned and gone to the dance,” remarked the officer. “He may also have lost his keys and been compelled to break open the doors—quite a likely circumstance. Three persons dined downstairs to-night. He and his daughter and a friend probably dined and afterwards went out; while the servants, knowing they would not return before midnight, may have followed them out to spend the evening. That at least is my theory at the present.”

“That certainly seems to be the most logical conclusion, inspector,” I remarked.

“We must search the upper premises before I accept it,” exclaimed Langton, who, I could see, was still very suspicious that something unusual had happened. The meeting with Antonio in the buffet at Calais had caused him to doubt, and most naturally so.

My eager eyes were fixed upon the glowing furnace, the large, square, iron door of which was still red-hot, though the heat was now decreasing. At the side was a large air-shaft, in which were fitted electric fans, while on the wall were three switches by which a strong forced draught could be obtained.

Before the furnace door was a portion of the tiled floor railed off, to prevent the cinders from being trodden about, and in there I saw a quantity of ashes. At the side were several large crucibles, one of which, still gripped by the iron tongs or holders, contained some metal which looked like steel.

Carelessly I made a tour of the place, passing the corner where had lain the Professor’s body. I saw that all traces of blood had been carefully removed from the tiles. No one would suspect that any tragedy had occurred there.

Was this Kirk’s work? Had the man who had such a contempt for the police—whom he denounced as red-taped blunderers—succeeded in removing all trace of the crime?

If so, was not that sufficient proof of his own guilt? Was he not fooling me when, all the time, he was the actual assassin?

Every fresh fact as presented in that house that night increased rather than elucidated the mystery.

I longed to take the dead girl’s lover into my confidence and tell him, there and then, all I knew, just as I have told you; but I hesitated. Had I not given my word of honour to be silent? And, moreover, like a confounded fool, I had allowed Kirk to escape!

So now, more than ever, were my lips sealed. I was bound hand and foot.

In a few moments the four men passed out of the laboratory, while I, as I had done below, remained behind for a moment.

I stood before the furnace peering into the ashes.

I saw there something which they had overlooked, or, if they had seen it, could convey nothing to them.

Among those grey ashes lay a black horn overcoat button!

This I snatched up and transferred to my pocket.

Had that bottle of acid been purposely smashed in order to dispel any unpleasant odour arising from the furnace?

I longed to throw myself upon my knees and examine those ashes, but, alas! I dare not.

So I was compelled to follow my companions, rigid and speechless.

Chapter Ten.Leonard Langton Makes a Statement.Search of the upper portion of the premises revealed nothing—nothing, at least, to arouse the undue suspicions of the searchers.My eager glance was everywhere, but I discerned nothing further of an unusual nature. The one great truth had become impressed upon me that the man Kirk, madman or master criminal, had got rid of the evidences of his crime.He must have disposed of the poor girl’s body in the same manner as that of her father!I recollected that when seated with him in Bath Road, Bedford Park, he had admitted that he possessed another home. Was it in Foley Street, that squalid house where I had heard a woman’s frantic screams?I knew my duty, yet I still hesitated to perform it. My duty as a good citizen was to tell the police, openly and frankly, all that I knew. Yet if I did so, would I be believed? Now, after I had allowed them to search the place, I should, if I spoke, surely be suspected of trying to shield myself.No, having assumed an attitude of ignorance, I saw I was now compelled to retain it. Kirk, clever, crafty, and far-seeing, had most ingeniously sealed my lips.Yet why, if he were the actual criminal, had he taken me, a perfect stranger, into his confidence? And again, what connection could the Eckhardt tyre have with the strange affair?Who were those two mysterious callers who had followed his visit, and whom Pelham had seen? What could have been their object?I stood in the large drawing-room listening to the discussion between the searchers, who had now returned there disappointed.“I can only repeat, sir,” remarked the inspector, addressing Langton, “that you must have been mistaken regarding the light in the window of the next room.”“I’m certain I was not,” replied the young man doggedly. “Someone was in this house—someone who, when I rang, extinguished the light and escaped!”“But how could he have escaped?” queried the officer.“Ah! that’s the mystery. By the roof, perhaps.”“The trap-door is bolted on the inside,” declared the constable; “I examined it, sir.”“Or by a window leading out on to some leads somewhere?” I suggested.“There are no windows unfastened by which anyone could have escaped,” the sergeant exclaimed; “I’ve looked at them all.”“Well,” exclaimed the young man with a puzzled air, “nothing will ever convince me that I’ve brought you all here upon a fool’s errand. I still maintain that something unusual has happened. Why has Antonio fled to France?”“We must ask the Professor,” replied the inspector. “He may have been sent by his master upon perfectly legitimate business. He was entirely trusted, you say.”“But he saw me in the buffet at Calais, and, turning, hurried away,” Langton said. “In other circumstances he would certainly have raised his hat in greeting; he is a most polite, tactful man.”“Well, sir,” laughed the officer, “I don’t think we can assist you any further. Just go out, 403,” he added, turning to the constable, “and tell the two men in the park that we’ve finished, and they can go back to their beats.”“Very well, sir,” responded the man, replacing his truncheon as he left the room.Both inspector and sergeant soon followed him, leaving Langton and myself alone.After the front door had closed, we returned to the big dining-room.“Well,” he exclaimed, “I don’t know what your theory is, Mr Holford, but I’m absolutely certain that something has happened here. There is some crooked circumstance,” and I saw deep lines of thought upon his shrewd, clever, clean-shaven countenance.Why dare not Kirk meet him?“The absence of everybody is certainly mysterious,” I admitted.“Doubly mysterious when one takes into consideration the fact that the doors leading into the laboratory have been forced,” he remarked quickly. “Three persons dined here to-night. The Professor entertained a man-friend. Who was he?”“That we can only discover when the servants return,” I said.“Or from the Professor himself,” he suggested.I held my breath. What would he have said if I had told him the truth—that the Professor was dead, and that a button from his overcoat had been lying among the ashes of the furnace?I glanced around the comfortable room where the fire glowed cheerfully and the electric lights were so cunningly shaded. The Professor was, among other things, a connoisseur of old silver, and upon the sideboard were a number of fine Georgian pieces, tankards, salvers, candelabra, salt-cellars, decanter stands, and other things, all of which I recognised as perfect specimens.My hand went to my jacket pocket, and I there felt the button. I withdrew my fingers in horror.We had decided to await the return of the Professor. Await his return! Surely we would have a long time to wait for his arrival?I was on my mettle. I alone knew the truth, and to conceal my secret knowledge from this shrewd and active young man would, I saw, be difficult.We seated ourselves beside the fire, and, having offered me a cigarette from his case, he began to endeavour to learn more about me. But at first I was very wary, and exercised caution in my replies.He apologised for mistaking me for an accomplice of thieves, whereat I laughed, saying:“When we meet the Professor he will perhaps tell you of our long friendship.”“Curiously enough,” he said, looking straight across at me, “I never recollect Ethelwynn speaking of you.”“I knew very little of the young lady,” I hastened to explain; “the Professor is my friend. He has, on several occasions, told me what a great help she was to him in his experiments.”“She is his right hand,” declared the young man. “Her knowledge of certain branches of chemistry is, perhaps, unequalled in a woman.”“And yet she is delightful and charming, and nothing of a blue-stocking, I understand,” I remarked.He smiled, for was he not the happy lover! Ah! what an awakening must be his ere long!But we gossiped on. His face, however, betrayed a great anxiety, and time after time he expressed wonder why Ethelwynn had not remained at home to keep the appointment, or left him some message.Indeed, we searched both her boudoir and her bedroom to find his telegram, but all in vain. Then again we returned to the dining-room.“I suppose you’ve known the Professor for some years,” I remarked, hoping that he would tell me the story of their acquaintance.“Oh, yes,” answered the young man, twisting a fresh cigarette between his fingers. “I first met him and Ethelwynn at the Gandolfi Palace, in Rome, four years ago. I was staying with my aunt, the Marchesa Gandolfi, and they were at the Grand Hotel. I saw quite a lot of them all through the Roman season. The Professor gave some lectures before one of the Italian learned societies, and I had frequent opportunities to take Ethelwynn out to see the sights of the Eternal City. I happen to know Rome very well, for I spent all my youth there with my aunt, an Englishwoman, who married into the Roman nobility, and who, like every other Englishwoman who takes such a step, repented it afterwards.”“You mean she was not very happy with her husband?” I said. “I’ve heard before that mixed marriages in Italy are never very successful.”“No,” he sighed; “my poor aunt, though she became a Marchesa and possessed a dozen different titles and probably the finest palazzo in Rome, was very soon disillusioned. The Marchese was an over-dressed elegant, who lived mostly at his club, ogled women each afternoon in the Corso, or played baccarat till dawn. And Roman society was not at all kind to her because she was just a plain Englishwoman of a county family. Gandolfi was thrown from his horse while riding over one of his estates down in Calabria two years ago.”“The Professor was a friend of your aunt’s, I suppose?”“Yes, an old friend. At the time when we met, Ethelwynn had, I found, an ardent admirer in a young Italian lieutenant of infantry, who had met her once or twice at the Grand and in the English tea-rooms on the Corso, and had fallen desperately in love with her.“The Professor told me of this, and in confidence asked whether I knew the grey-trousered popinjay. I did not. He had apparently told the Professor of his family and high connections in Bologna, had declared his love for Ethelwynn, and with her consent had asked the Professor for her hand in marriage.“I consulted my aunt, who was much against the matrimonial union of English and Italians, and in secret I went to Bologna to investigate the lieutenant’s story. What I found was rather interesting. Instead of being the son of a noble but decayed family, he was the only child of an old man employed as a gardener at a big villa out on the Via Imola, and so erratic had been his career and so many his amours, that his father had disowned him.“I returned to Rome with the father’s written statement in black and white.”“And what happened then?” I asked, interested.“The amorous fortune-hunter spent a rather bad quarter of an hour in the Professor’s sitting-room, and was then quickly sent to the right-about. He quietly got transferred to another regiment up in Cremona, while Ethelwynn, of course, shed a good many tears.”“And, her disillusionment over, she repaid you for your exertions on her behalf by becoming engaged to you, eh?”“Exactly,” was his answer as his mouth relaxed into a smile. “A very strong attachment exists between the Professor and myself. I am happy to believe, indeed, that I am one of his closest friends—at least, that is what he declared when I asked his permission to marry Ethelwynn. Perhaps as regards finance I am not all that he might desire,” he said frankly. “I’m not by any means rich, Mr Holford. In fact, I’m simply a hard-working business man, but I have a very generous and kind employer in Sir Albert Oppenheim, and my position as his confidential secretary is one of great trust.”“Sir Albert Oppenheim!” I echoed. “Why, he’s supposed to be one of the wealthiest men in England!”“He probably is,” laughed my friend. “Every rich man, however, has enemies, and he is no exception. I’ve read and heard spoken many very unkind libels about him; but take it, from one who knows, that no man in all England performs more charitable work in secret than he.”The name recalled several rumours I had heard, ugly rumours of dishonourable dealings in the City, where he was one of the greatest, shrewdest, and most powerful of modern financiers.I had grown to like Leonard Langton for his frankness. That he was devoted to the unfortunate girl was very plain, and naturally he was anxious and puzzled at her failure to be at home to receive him after an absence of a month in Portugal, where he had, he told me, been engaged upon the purchase of the tramways of Lisbon by an English syndicate formed by Sir Albert.He lived in chambers in Wimpole Street, with a great chum of his who was a doctor, and he invited me to look him up, while I began to tell him a little about myself, my motor business, and my friends.He was a motor enthusiast, I quickly found; therefore I, on my part, invited him to come down to Chiswick and go out for a day’s run on the “ninety.”Thus it occurred that, seated in that house of mystery, nay, in that very room where I had seen his well-beloved lying cold and dead, we became friends.Ah! if I had but known one tithe of what that hastily-formed friendship was to cost me! But if the future were not hidden, surely there would be neither interest nor enjoyment in the present.Suddenly, and without warning, I launched upon him the one question which had been ever uppermost in my mind during all the time we had sat together.“I have met on several occasions,” I said, “a great friend of the Professor’s, a man you probably know—Kirk—Kershaw Kirk.”I watched his face as I uttered the words. But, quite contrary to my expectations, its expression was perfectly blank. The name brought no sign of recognition of the man to his eyes, which met mine unwaveringly.“Kirk?” he repeated thoughtfully. “No, I’ve never met him—at least, not to my knowledge. Was he young—or old?”“Elderly, and evidently he is a very intimate friend of Greer’s.”The young man shook his head. If he was denying any knowledge he possessed, then he was a most wonderful actor.Perhaps Kirk himself had lied to me! Yet I remembered that towards him Antonio had always been most humble and servile.I tried to discern any motive Langton could have to disclaim knowledge of the mysterious Kirk. But I failed to see any.As far as I could gather, my companion was not acquainted with the man whom I had so foolishly allowed to escape from the house.Yet had not Kirk himself expressed a fear at meeting him? Had he not told me plainly that by mere mention of his name to that young man, all hope of solving the enigma would be at an end?Perhaps, after all, I had acted very injudiciously in admitting my knowledge of Kirk. For aught I knew my remarks might now have aroused further suspicion in his mind concerning myself. Yet was not the temptation to put the question too great to be resisted?At my suggestion we again ascended the stairs, and re-entered the forbidden chamber.I gave as an excuse that I was curious to examine some of the delicate apparatus which the Professor used in his experiments. My real reason, however, was again to examine those ashes before the furnace.Circumstances, fortunately, favoured me, for almost as soon as we were inside the laboratory we heard the telephone bell ringing out upon the landing.“I wonder who’s ringing up?” Langton exclaimed quickly. “I’ll go and see,” and he hurried away to the study where I had noticed the instrument stood upon a small side-table near the window.The moment he had gone I bent swiftly and poked over the dust and ashes with my hand.Yes! Among them were several small pieces of cloth and linen only half-consumed, some scraps of clothing, together with a silver collar-stud, blackened by fire.I feared lest my companion should observe the unusual interest I was taking in the furnace-refuse, therefore I cleaned my hand quickly with my handkerchief and followed him.He had his ear to the telephone, still listening, when I entered the study.Then he placed the receiver upon its hook, for the person with whom he had been conversing had evidently gone.Turning, with his eyes fixed upon mine, he made in a few clear words an announcement which fell upon my ears like a thunderbolt.I believe I fell back as though I had been struck a blow. By that plain, simple declaration of his, the dark vista of doubt and mystery became instantly enlarged a thousand-fold.I stood staring blankly at the young man, absolutely refusing to believe my own ears.What he told me was beyond all credence.

Search of the upper portion of the premises revealed nothing—nothing, at least, to arouse the undue suspicions of the searchers.

My eager glance was everywhere, but I discerned nothing further of an unusual nature. The one great truth had become impressed upon me that the man Kirk, madman or master criminal, had got rid of the evidences of his crime.

He must have disposed of the poor girl’s body in the same manner as that of her father!

I recollected that when seated with him in Bath Road, Bedford Park, he had admitted that he possessed another home. Was it in Foley Street, that squalid house where I had heard a woman’s frantic screams?

I knew my duty, yet I still hesitated to perform it. My duty as a good citizen was to tell the police, openly and frankly, all that I knew. Yet if I did so, would I be believed? Now, after I had allowed them to search the place, I should, if I spoke, surely be suspected of trying to shield myself.

No, having assumed an attitude of ignorance, I saw I was now compelled to retain it. Kirk, clever, crafty, and far-seeing, had most ingeniously sealed my lips.

Yet why, if he were the actual criminal, had he taken me, a perfect stranger, into his confidence? And again, what connection could the Eckhardt tyre have with the strange affair?

Who were those two mysterious callers who had followed his visit, and whom Pelham had seen? What could have been their object?

I stood in the large drawing-room listening to the discussion between the searchers, who had now returned there disappointed.

“I can only repeat, sir,” remarked the inspector, addressing Langton, “that you must have been mistaken regarding the light in the window of the next room.”

“I’m certain I was not,” replied the young man doggedly. “Someone was in this house—someone who, when I rang, extinguished the light and escaped!”

“But how could he have escaped?” queried the officer.

“Ah! that’s the mystery. By the roof, perhaps.”

“The trap-door is bolted on the inside,” declared the constable; “I examined it, sir.”

“Or by a window leading out on to some leads somewhere?” I suggested.

“There are no windows unfastened by which anyone could have escaped,” the sergeant exclaimed; “I’ve looked at them all.”

“Well,” exclaimed the young man with a puzzled air, “nothing will ever convince me that I’ve brought you all here upon a fool’s errand. I still maintain that something unusual has happened. Why has Antonio fled to France?”

“We must ask the Professor,” replied the inspector. “He may have been sent by his master upon perfectly legitimate business. He was entirely trusted, you say.”

“But he saw me in the buffet at Calais, and, turning, hurried away,” Langton said. “In other circumstances he would certainly have raised his hat in greeting; he is a most polite, tactful man.”

“Well, sir,” laughed the officer, “I don’t think we can assist you any further. Just go out, 403,” he added, turning to the constable, “and tell the two men in the park that we’ve finished, and they can go back to their beats.”

“Very well, sir,” responded the man, replacing his truncheon as he left the room.

Both inspector and sergeant soon followed him, leaving Langton and myself alone.

After the front door had closed, we returned to the big dining-room.

“Well,” he exclaimed, “I don’t know what your theory is, Mr Holford, but I’m absolutely certain that something has happened here. There is some crooked circumstance,” and I saw deep lines of thought upon his shrewd, clever, clean-shaven countenance.

Why dare not Kirk meet him?

“The absence of everybody is certainly mysterious,” I admitted.

“Doubly mysterious when one takes into consideration the fact that the doors leading into the laboratory have been forced,” he remarked quickly. “Three persons dined here to-night. The Professor entertained a man-friend. Who was he?”

“That we can only discover when the servants return,” I said.

“Or from the Professor himself,” he suggested.

I held my breath. What would he have said if I had told him the truth—that the Professor was dead, and that a button from his overcoat had been lying among the ashes of the furnace?

I glanced around the comfortable room where the fire glowed cheerfully and the electric lights were so cunningly shaded. The Professor was, among other things, a connoisseur of old silver, and upon the sideboard were a number of fine Georgian pieces, tankards, salvers, candelabra, salt-cellars, decanter stands, and other things, all of which I recognised as perfect specimens.

My hand went to my jacket pocket, and I there felt the button. I withdrew my fingers in horror.

We had decided to await the return of the Professor. Await his return! Surely we would have a long time to wait for his arrival?

I was on my mettle. I alone knew the truth, and to conceal my secret knowledge from this shrewd and active young man would, I saw, be difficult.

We seated ourselves beside the fire, and, having offered me a cigarette from his case, he began to endeavour to learn more about me. But at first I was very wary, and exercised caution in my replies.

He apologised for mistaking me for an accomplice of thieves, whereat I laughed, saying:

“When we meet the Professor he will perhaps tell you of our long friendship.”

“Curiously enough,” he said, looking straight across at me, “I never recollect Ethelwynn speaking of you.”

“I knew very little of the young lady,” I hastened to explain; “the Professor is my friend. He has, on several occasions, told me what a great help she was to him in his experiments.”

“She is his right hand,” declared the young man. “Her knowledge of certain branches of chemistry is, perhaps, unequalled in a woman.”

“And yet she is delightful and charming, and nothing of a blue-stocking, I understand,” I remarked.

He smiled, for was he not the happy lover! Ah! what an awakening must be his ere long!

But we gossiped on. His face, however, betrayed a great anxiety, and time after time he expressed wonder why Ethelwynn had not remained at home to keep the appointment, or left him some message.

Indeed, we searched both her boudoir and her bedroom to find his telegram, but all in vain. Then again we returned to the dining-room.

“I suppose you’ve known the Professor for some years,” I remarked, hoping that he would tell me the story of their acquaintance.

“Oh, yes,” answered the young man, twisting a fresh cigarette between his fingers. “I first met him and Ethelwynn at the Gandolfi Palace, in Rome, four years ago. I was staying with my aunt, the Marchesa Gandolfi, and they were at the Grand Hotel. I saw quite a lot of them all through the Roman season. The Professor gave some lectures before one of the Italian learned societies, and I had frequent opportunities to take Ethelwynn out to see the sights of the Eternal City. I happen to know Rome very well, for I spent all my youth there with my aunt, an Englishwoman, who married into the Roman nobility, and who, like every other Englishwoman who takes such a step, repented it afterwards.”

“You mean she was not very happy with her husband?” I said. “I’ve heard before that mixed marriages in Italy are never very successful.”

“No,” he sighed; “my poor aunt, though she became a Marchesa and possessed a dozen different titles and probably the finest palazzo in Rome, was very soon disillusioned. The Marchese was an over-dressed elegant, who lived mostly at his club, ogled women each afternoon in the Corso, or played baccarat till dawn. And Roman society was not at all kind to her because she was just a plain Englishwoman of a county family. Gandolfi was thrown from his horse while riding over one of his estates down in Calabria two years ago.”

“The Professor was a friend of your aunt’s, I suppose?”

“Yes, an old friend. At the time when we met, Ethelwynn had, I found, an ardent admirer in a young Italian lieutenant of infantry, who had met her once or twice at the Grand and in the English tea-rooms on the Corso, and had fallen desperately in love with her.

“The Professor told me of this, and in confidence asked whether I knew the grey-trousered popinjay. I did not. He had apparently told the Professor of his family and high connections in Bologna, had declared his love for Ethelwynn, and with her consent had asked the Professor for her hand in marriage.

“I consulted my aunt, who was much against the matrimonial union of English and Italians, and in secret I went to Bologna to investigate the lieutenant’s story. What I found was rather interesting. Instead of being the son of a noble but decayed family, he was the only child of an old man employed as a gardener at a big villa out on the Via Imola, and so erratic had been his career and so many his amours, that his father had disowned him.

“I returned to Rome with the father’s written statement in black and white.”

“And what happened then?” I asked, interested.

“The amorous fortune-hunter spent a rather bad quarter of an hour in the Professor’s sitting-room, and was then quickly sent to the right-about. He quietly got transferred to another regiment up in Cremona, while Ethelwynn, of course, shed a good many tears.”

“And, her disillusionment over, she repaid you for your exertions on her behalf by becoming engaged to you, eh?”

“Exactly,” was his answer as his mouth relaxed into a smile. “A very strong attachment exists between the Professor and myself. I am happy to believe, indeed, that I am one of his closest friends—at least, that is what he declared when I asked his permission to marry Ethelwynn. Perhaps as regards finance I am not all that he might desire,” he said frankly. “I’m not by any means rich, Mr Holford. In fact, I’m simply a hard-working business man, but I have a very generous and kind employer in Sir Albert Oppenheim, and my position as his confidential secretary is one of great trust.”

“Sir Albert Oppenheim!” I echoed. “Why, he’s supposed to be one of the wealthiest men in England!”

“He probably is,” laughed my friend. “Every rich man, however, has enemies, and he is no exception. I’ve read and heard spoken many very unkind libels about him; but take it, from one who knows, that no man in all England performs more charitable work in secret than he.”

The name recalled several rumours I had heard, ugly rumours of dishonourable dealings in the City, where he was one of the greatest, shrewdest, and most powerful of modern financiers.

I had grown to like Leonard Langton for his frankness. That he was devoted to the unfortunate girl was very plain, and naturally he was anxious and puzzled at her failure to be at home to receive him after an absence of a month in Portugal, where he had, he told me, been engaged upon the purchase of the tramways of Lisbon by an English syndicate formed by Sir Albert.

He lived in chambers in Wimpole Street, with a great chum of his who was a doctor, and he invited me to look him up, while I began to tell him a little about myself, my motor business, and my friends.

He was a motor enthusiast, I quickly found; therefore I, on my part, invited him to come down to Chiswick and go out for a day’s run on the “ninety.”

Thus it occurred that, seated in that house of mystery, nay, in that very room where I had seen his well-beloved lying cold and dead, we became friends.

Ah! if I had but known one tithe of what that hastily-formed friendship was to cost me! But if the future were not hidden, surely there would be neither interest nor enjoyment in the present.

Suddenly, and without warning, I launched upon him the one question which had been ever uppermost in my mind during all the time we had sat together.

“I have met on several occasions,” I said, “a great friend of the Professor’s, a man you probably know—Kirk—Kershaw Kirk.”

I watched his face as I uttered the words. But, quite contrary to my expectations, its expression was perfectly blank. The name brought no sign of recognition of the man to his eyes, which met mine unwaveringly.

“Kirk?” he repeated thoughtfully. “No, I’ve never met him—at least, not to my knowledge. Was he young—or old?”

“Elderly, and evidently he is a very intimate friend of Greer’s.”

The young man shook his head. If he was denying any knowledge he possessed, then he was a most wonderful actor.

Perhaps Kirk himself had lied to me! Yet I remembered that towards him Antonio had always been most humble and servile.

I tried to discern any motive Langton could have to disclaim knowledge of the mysterious Kirk. But I failed to see any.

As far as I could gather, my companion was not acquainted with the man whom I had so foolishly allowed to escape from the house.

Yet had not Kirk himself expressed a fear at meeting him? Had he not told me plainly that by mere mention of his name to that young man, all hope of solving the enigma would be at an end?

Perhaps, after all, I had acted very injudiciously in admitting my knowledge of Kirk. For aught I knew my remarks might now have aroused further suspicion in his mind concerning myself. Yet was not the temptation to put the question too great to be resisted?

At my suggestion we again ascended the stairs, and re-entered the forbidden chamber.

I gave as an excuse that I was curious to examine some of the delicate apparatus which the Professor used in his experiments. My real reason, however, was again to examine those ashes before the furnace.

Circumstances, fortunately, favoured me, for almost as soon as we were inside the laboratory we heard the telephone bell ringing out upon the landing.

“I wonder who’s ringing up?” Langton exclaimed quickly. “I’ll go and see,” and he hurried away to the study where I had noticed the instrument stood upon a small side-table near the window.

The moment he had gone I bent swiftly and poked over the dust and ashes with my hand.

Yes! Among them were several small pieces of cloth and linen only half-consumed, some scraps of clothing, together with a silver collar-stud, blackened by fire.

I feared lest my companion should observe the unusual interest I was taking in the furnace-refuse, therefore I cleaned my hand quickly with my handkerchief and followed him.

He had his ear to the telephone, still listening, when I entered the study.

Then he placed the receiver upon its hook, for the person with whom he had been conversing had evidently gone.

Turning, with his eyes fixed upon mine, he made in a few clear words an announcement which fell upon my ears like a thunderbolt.

I believe I fell back as though I had been struck a blow. By that plain, simple declaration of his, the dark vista of doubt and mystery became instantly enlarged a thousand-fold.

I stood staring blankly at the young man, absolutely refusing to believe my own ears.

What he told me was beyond all credence.

Chapter Eleven.The Storm Gathers.“I’ve just been speaking to Ethelwynn,” Langton said. “She’s down at Broadstairs.”“At Broadstairs!” I echoed, staring straight at my companion.“Yes,” he replied. “She tells me that her father went up to Edinburgh, but was suddenly called abroad upon business connected with one of his newly-patented chemical processes. She rang up Antonio, intending to leave a message for me.”I stood listening to him, utterly dumbfounded. The young man was being misled. Had I not with my own eyes seen the poor girl lying cold and dead in the room downstairs? Besides, was it possible that she, who knew of her father’s fate and had seen him lifeless, would tell her lover that great untruth!Could this be one of Kirk’s ingenious subterfuges in order to gain time?“Then you are satisfied?” I managed at last to stammer.“To a certain degree, yes,” he replied, looking at me with a good deal of surprise, I saw. “But it does not explain why Antonio is absent abroad, or—”“Gone to meet his master most probably,” I interrupted.“Perhaps. But why has the laboratory been broken open; and, again, why has the furnace been lit? Who were the three persons who dined here this evening? The Professor is away!”“Miss Ethelwynn might have entertained two friends before leaving for Broadstairs,” I suggested.“They were men. Ethelwynn does not smoke cigarettes.”“Did she say whether she is returning to London?” I inquired.“She will let me know on the ’phone to-morrow.”“She didn’t tell you her father’s whereabouts?”“She doesn’t know. He’s somewhere in Germany, she believes. He has been in communication with a strong German syndicate, which it seems has been formed in Hamburg to work one of his discoveries. And in his absence somebody has undoubtedly been prying into his experiments.”“Somebody who you believe was disturbed by your ring at the door, eh?”“Exactly!” replied the young man, glancing at his watch. “But now, Mr Holford, I think I shall go to my rooms. I’m tired after my journey. The Channel crossing was an exceptionally bad one this afternoon. You’ll call and see me very soon, won’t you?”I promised, and together we descended the stairs and left the silent house.By his side I walked out by Clarence Gate as far as Baker Street Station, where we shook hands and parted.After he had left me I halted on the kerb, utterly bewildered.It had dawned upon me that there was just a chance of discovering something further among the ashes of the furnace. The window, broken by the police, would afford an easy means of access. Now, and only now, was my chance of obtaining knowledge of the actual truth.Therefore I turned back again, and, loitering before the house, seized my chance when no one was nigh, opened the basement window and was again inside.In a few minutes I was again standing in the laboratory, over which the glowing furnace threw a red light. I dared not switch on the electricity, lest I should give warning to anybody watching outside, hence I was compelled to grope by the fitful firelight among the ashes.My examination—a long and careful one—resulted in the discovery of a metal cuff-link much discoloured by fire, a charred pearl shirt-button, and a piece of half-burned coloured linen. As far as I could ascertain there were no human remains—only traces of burnt clothing. But charred bones very much resemble cinders.Yet were not those remains, in conjunction with the words of Kershaw Kirk, sufficient evidence of a grim and ghastly occurrence?I left the house by the window, just as I had entered it, and, walking as far as the Marylebone Road, entered a small private bar, where, being alone, I took out the scraps of half-burned paper and eagerly examined them. Alas! most of the faint-ruled pages were blank. The others, however, were covered with a neat feminine calligraphy, the words, as far as I could decipher, having reference to certain chemical experiments of the Professor’s!Those precious notes by Ethelwynn at the Professor’s dictation had, it seemed clear, been wantonly destroyed.What could have been the motive? If that were found, it would surely not be difficult to discover the perpetrator of that most amazing crime.I returned home more than ever mystified, but carrying in my pocket a cabinet photograph of the dead man, which I had abstracted from a silver frame in his daughter’s boudoir. It was theft, I knew, but was not theft justifiable in such unusual circumstances?Next morning I was early at the garage in order to carry out a plan upon which I had decided during the grey hours before the dawn. In the telephone book I searched for, and found, the Professor’s number at his seaside cottage at Broadstairs, and asked the exchange for it.In a quarter of an hour I was informed that I was “through.”“Is Miss Ethelwynn at home?” I inquired. “No; she’s gone out for a walk,” replied a feminine voice—that of a maid, evidently. “Who are you, please?”“Mr Kershaw Kirk,” I replied, for want of something better to say.“Oh, Mr Kirk!” exclaimed the woman. “Is that you, sir? Your voice sounds so different over the ’phone. Miss Ethelwynn left word that, if you rang up, I was to tell you that Mr Langton is back, so you had better keep out of the way.”“What does Langton know?” I asked, quickly on the alert.“Nothing yet; only be very careful. Are you coming down here?”“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll ring your mistress up later on to-day. Is there any other message for me?”“No, my mistress said nothing else, sir.”“Very well,” I said. “Good morning!” and I rang off.That conversation created further doubts in my mind. Here was a girl whom both Kirk and myself had seen dead, yet she was still alive, and actually acting in conjunction with him to keep her father’s death a secret! It was incomprehensible!What could it mean?Pelham came to me with some questions concerning the business, but I only answered mechanically. I could think of nothing—only of the mysterious, inscrutable affair in Sussex Place. The mystery had possessed my soul.At eleven o’clock, suppressing all suspicion I held of Kershaw Kirk, I called at his house; but his sister showed me a telegram she had received soon after nine o’clock that morning. It had been handed in at Charing Cross Station, and was to the effect that he was just leaving for the Continent.Another curious circumstance! He had gone to join that crafty-faced servant, Antonio Merli. Now that Leonard Langton had returned, he evidently thought it wise to make himself scarce. And yet Langton had calmly denied all knowledge of him!A little before five o’clock that afternoon, while sitting in my glass office in the garage, the man Dick Drake brought me a telegram. It had been handed in at the Gare du Nord, in Paris, and was from Kirk. His enigmatical words were:“Recall all I told you. I thank you sincerely for helping me over a difficulty last night. Shall rejoin you shortly. If questioned say nothing. All depends upon you. Silence!”I read it through in wonder half a dozen times.I longed to ring up Ethelwynn Greer again. It would be a weird experience to converse with one whom I had seen dead. Yet I could think of no excuse. Kirk had, no doubt, telegraphed to her, for it seemed that their association was, after all, a very close one.The day’s work ended, I got into a car and drove to the address in Wimpole Street given me by Leonard Langton.His chambers were particularly cosy and well-furnished; but his man, a young foreigner, told me that his master had left for Broadstairs by the “Granville” from Victoria that afternoon.Therefore I remounted in the car, and turned away down into Oxford Street, entirely nonplussed.I could not discern Kirk’s motive in exposing the tragic circumstances to me. I did not see in what way I could assist him, even though his version of the affair were the true one.Who was this Kershaw Kirk? That was the main question. Either he was a man of extraordinary power and influence, or else a most cunning and ingenious assassin. Yet was there no suspicion upon Antonio Merli, the foreign servant, who seemed hand-in-glove with Kirk?Recollection of this caused me to turn the car towards the Euston Road and search along that long, busy thoroughfare for the tobacconist’s shop kept by Antonio’s cadaverous-looking brother, Pietro—the only outsider, apparently, aware of the Professor’s death.For fully half an hour I searched, until, near the Tottenham Court Road end, I came across a little shop where stationery, newspapers, and tobacco were displayed in the window.Entering, I asked the dark-eyed girl behind the small counter if Mr Merli kept the establishment.“Yes, sir, he does,” was her reply.“Can I see him?”“He’s been suddenly called abroad, sir,” answered the girl; “he left London this morning.”“By what train?”“Nine o’clock from Charing Cross.”“Do you happen to know a Mr Kershaw Kirk?”“Yes; he was here last night to see him,” replied the girl. “That’s the only time I’ve ever met him.”“When do you expect Mr Merli back?”“Oh, I don’t know, sir! He’s gone to Italy, I expect; and when he goes there he’s generally away for some weeks.”“Then he often goes abroad?”“Yes, sir; very often. He has some business, I think, which takes him away travelling, and he leaves this shop in charge of my married sister and myself. He’s not married, as I dare say you know.”“He’s seldom here, then?” I remarked, gratified at all this information.“He lives out at Acton, and only comes here occasionally.”“You know his brother, of course?” I asked, after I had purchased some cigarettes.“You mean Mr Antonio? Oh, yes; he’s been here once or twice—for letters he has addressed here.”“In another name—eh?” I laughed lightly.“Yes, they’re letters in a lady’s hand, so perhaps we’d better not be too inquisitive,” laughed the girl. And then, after some further conversation, I told her I would call again in a week’s time to ascertain if she knew her employer’s whereabouts, and, re-entering the car, drove back to Chiswick, my mind clouded by many anxious apprehensions.The outlook was every moment growing darker and more perplexing.

“I’ve just been speaking to Ethelwynn,” Langton said. “She’s down at Broadstairs.”

“At Broadstairs!” I echoed, staring straight at my companion.

“Yes,” he replied. “She tells me that her father went up to Edinburgh, but was suddenly called abroad upon business connected with one of his newly-patented chemical processes. She rang up Antonio, intending to leave a message for me.”

I stood listening to him, utterly dumbfounded. The young man was being misled. Had I not with my own eyes seen the poor girl lying cold and dead in the room downstairs? Besides, was it possible that she, who knew of her father’s fate and had seen him lifeless, would tell her lover that great untruth!

Could this be one of Kirk’s ingenious subterfuges in order to gain time?

“Then you are satisfied?” I managed at last to stammer.

“To a certain degree, yes,” he replied, looking at me with a good deal of surprise, I saw. “But it does not explain why Antonio is absent abroad, or—”

“Gone to meet his master most probably,” I interrupted.

“Perhaps. But why has the laboratory been broken open; and, again, why has the furnace been lit? Who were the three persons who dined here this evening? The Professor is away!”

“Miss Ethelwynn might have entertained two friends before leaving for Broadstairs,” I suggested.

“They were men. Ethelwynn does not smoke cigarettes.”

“Did she say whether she is returning to London?” I inquired.

“She will let me know on the ’phone to-morrow.”

“She didn’t tell you her father’s whereabouts?”

“She doesn’t know. He’s somewhere in Germany, she believes. He has been in communication with a strong German syndicate, which it seems has been formed in Hamburg to work one of his discoveries. And in his absence somebody has undoubtedly been prying into his experiments.”

“Somebody who you believe was disturbed by your ring at the door, eh?”

“Exactly!” replied the young man, glancing at his watch. “But now, Mr Holford, I think I shall go to my rooms. I’m tired after my journey. The Channel crossing was an exceptionally bad one this afternoon. You’ll call and see me very soon, won’t you?”

I promised, and together we descended the stairs and left the silent house.

By his side I walked out by Clarence Gate as far as Baker Street Station, where we shook hands and parted.

After he had left me I halted on the kerb, utterly bewildered.

It had dawned upon me that there was just a chance of discovering something further among the ashes of the furnace. The window, broken by the police, would afford an easy means of access. Now, and only now, was my chance of obtaining knowledge of the actual truth.

Therefore I turned back again, and, loitering before the house, seized my chance when no one was nigh, opened the basement window and was again inside.

In a few minutes I was again standing in the laboratory, over which the glowing furnace threw a red light. I dared not switch on the electricity, lest I should give warning to anybody watching outside, hence I was compelled to grope by the fitful firelight among the ashes.

My examination—a long and careful one—resulted in the discovery of a metal cuff-link much discoloured by fire, a charred pearl shirt-button, and a piece of half-burned coloured linen. As far as I could ascertain there were no human remains—only traces of burnt clothing. But charred bones very much resemble cinders.

Yet were not those remains, in conjunction with the words of Kershaw Kirk, sufficient evidence of a grim and ghastly occurrence?

I left the house by the window, just as I had entered it, and, walking as far as the Marylebone Road, entered a small private bar, where, being alone, I took out the scraps of half-burned paper and eagerly examined them. Alas! most of the faint-ruled pages were blank. The others, however, were covered with a neat feminine calligraphy, the words, as far as I could decipher, having reference to certain chemical experiments of the Professor’s!

Those precious notes by Ethelwynn at the Professor’s dictation had, it seemed clear, been wantonly destroyed.

What could have been the motive? If that were found, it would surely not be difficult to discover the perpetrator of that most amazing crime.

I returned home more than ever mystified, but carrying in my pocket a cabinet photograph of the dead man, which I had abstracted from a silver frame in his daughter’s boudoir. It was theft, I knew, but was not theft justifiable in such unusual circumstances?

Next morning I was early at the garage in order to carry out a plan upon which I had decided during the grey hours before the dawn. In the telephone book I searched for, and found, the Professor’s number at his seaside cottage at Broadstairs, and asked the exchange for it.

In a quarter of an hour I was informed that I was “through.”

“Is Miss Ethelwynn at home?” I inquired. “No; she’s gone out for a walk,” replied a feminine voice—that of a maid, evidently. “Who are you, please?”

“Mr Kershaw Kirk,” I replied, for want of something better to say.

“Oh, Mr Kirk!” exclaimed the woman. “Is that you, sir? Your voice sounds so different over the ’phone. Miss Ethelwynn left word that, if you rang up, I was to tell you that Mr Langton is back, so you had better keep out of the way.”

“What does Langton know?” I asked, quickly on the alert.

“Nothing yet; only be very careful. Are you coming down here?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ll ring your mistress up later on to-day. Is there any other message for me?”

“No, my mistress said nothing else, sir.”

“Very well,” I said. “Good morning!” and I rang off.

That conversation created further doubts in my mind. Here was a girl whom both Kirk and myself had seen dead, yet she was still alive, and actually acting in conjunction with him to keep her father’s death a secret! It was incomprehensible!

What could it mean?

Pelham came to me with some questions concerning the business, but I only answered mechanically. I could think of nothing—only of the mysterious, inscrutable affair in Sussex Place. The mystery had possessed my soul.

At eleven o’clock, suppressing all suspicion I held of Kershaw Kirk, I called at his house; but his sister showed me a telegram she had received soon after nine o’clock that morning. It had been handed in at Charing Cross Station, and was to the effect that he was just leaving for the Continent.

Another curious circumstance! He had gone to join that crafty-faced servant, Antonio Merli. Now that Leonard Langton had returned, he evidently thought it wise to make himself scarce. And yet Langton had calmly denied all knowledge of him!

A little before five o’clock that afternoon, while sitting in my glass office in the garage, the man Dick Drake brought me a telegram. It had been handed in at the Gare du Nord, in Paris, and was from Kirk. His enigmatical words were:

“Recall all I told you. I thank you sincerely for helping me over a difficulty last night. Shall rejoin you shortly. If questioned say nothing. All depends upon you. Silence!”

“Recall all I told you. I thank you sincerely for helping me over a difficulty last night. Shall rejoin you shortly. If questioned say nothing. All depends upon you. Silence!”

I read it through in wonder half a dozen times.

I longed to ring up Ethelwynn Greer again. It would be a weird experience to converse with one whom I had seen dead. Yet I could think of no excuse. Kirk had, no doubt, telegraphed to her, for it seemed that their association was, after all, a very close one.

The day’s work ended, I got into a car and drove to the address in Wimpole Street given me by Leonard Langton.

His chambers were particularly cosy and well-furnished; but his man, a young foreigner, told me that his master had left for Broadstairs by the “Granville” from Victoria that afternoon.

Therefore I remounted in the car, and turned away down into Oxford Street, entirely nonplussed.

I could not discern Kirk’s motive in exposing the tragic circumstances to me. I did not see in what way I could assist him, even though his version of the affair were the true one.

Who was this Kershaw Kirk? That was the main question. Either he was a man of extraordinary power and influence, or else a most cunning and ingenious assassin. Yet was there no suspicion upon Antonio Merli, the foreign servant, who seemed hand-in-glove with Kirk?

Recollection of this caused me to turn the car towards the Euston Road and search along that long, busy thoroughfare for the tobacconist’s shop kept by Antonio’s cadaverous-looking brother, Pietro—the only outsider, apparently, aware of the Professor’s death.

For fully half an hour I searched, until, near the Tottenham Court Road end, I came across a little shop where stationery, newspapers, and tobacco were displayed in the window.

Entering, I asked the dark-eyed girl behind the small counter if Mr Merli kept the establishment.

“Yes, sir, he does,” was her reply.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s been suddenly called abroad, sir,” answered the girl; “he left London this morning.”

“By what train?”

“Nine o’clock from Charing Cross.”

“Do you happen to know a Mr Kershaw Kirk?”

“Yes; he was here last night to see him,” replied the girl. “That’s the only time I’ve ever met him.”

“When do you expect Mr Merli back?”

“Oh, I don’t know, sir! He’s gone to Italy, I expect; and when he goes there he’s generally away for some weeks.”

“Then he often goes abroad?”

“Yes, sir; very often. He has some business, I think, which takes him away travelling, and he leaves this shop in charge of my married sister and myself. He’s not married, as I dare say you know.”

“He’s seldom here, then?” I remarked, gratified at all this information.

“He lives out at Acton, and only comes here occasionally.”

“You know his brother, of course?” I asked, after I had purchased some cigarettes.

“You mean Mr Antonio? Oh, yes; he’s been here once or twice—for letters he has addressed here.”

“In another name—eh?” I laughed lightly.

“Yes, they’re letters in a lady’s hand, so perhaps we’d better not be too inquisitive,” laughed the girl. And then, after some further conversation, I told her I would call again in a week’s time to ascertain if she knew her employer’s whereabouts, and, re-entering the car, drove back to Chiswick, my mind clouded by many anxious apprehensions.

The outlook was every moment growing darker and more perplexing.

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