Chapter Thirty Two.

Chapter Thirty Two.The Problem Solved.I scanned it through—then held my breath. It was from Angoulême, in Central France, and signed by somebody named Croxton, evidently a person in the secret employ of our Government. The telegram was a jumble of cipher figures and letters, but above, written in ink, were their equivalents in plain English. The message read:“Details are as follow: Professor Greer left Paris by the ‘Rapide’ at 9:29 last night for Bordeaux. He occupied a first-class compartment alone, and at Poitiers was seen by thechef du trainasleep. Soon after passing Moussac, towards Angoulême, two men in the adjoining compartment were startled at hearing three pistol shots in rapid succession. They looked out, and saw a man open the carriage door and leap from the train. The train was stopped by pulling the communication-cord, whereon the Professor was found dead on the floor of the carriage. His assailant had evidently entered the carriage at Ruffec, the junction for La Rochelle. The passengers instituted a search back along the line towards Moussac, where they found the murderer lying in a ditch with his neck broken. Both bodies have been brought here to Angoulême, and by papers upon the assassin he has been identified as a German named Henke, lately living at Hillside Cottage, Epping. Have had the body photographed, and sending you print for identification. Am making arrangements for sending the late Professor’s body to London. Wire further instructions.”“What does this mean?” I gasped.“We know the man Henke,” Kirk replied. “He was a German secret agent, who has lately been engaged with a number of others in making a complete survey north of London. He was brother-in-law to Leftwich. It was he who entered the house in Sussex Place to make certain that his relative was dead, and who, on finding Ethelwynn there, attacked her so savagely, believing he had killed her. Finding that he had not, he evidently followed the Professor, and, alas! avenged Leftwich’s death.”“Then the poor Professor is dead?” I said, amazed.“Yes,” sighed Langton. “Ethelwynn is now beside herself with grief. I have just left her, having broken the dreadful news to her.”“Ah!” exclaimed Kirk, “it’s surely a dark and bitter revenge—rendered all the worse, Holford, by one vivid fact.”“What is that?”“The fact that Doctor Flynn—who was born in Germany, though of British parents, and was an intimate friend of Leftwich—suspecting the truth, told the German’s brother-in-law, with this tragic result.”“Then Flynn is to blame for Greer’s death!” I cried.“Undoubtedly,” was Kirk’s answer. “Poor Greer!” he added, “He was an old and dear friend of mine. I never suspected that he would be followed abroad, or I would have gone with him. Flynn was no doubt privy to the attempt to be made to secure revenge.”“Where is Flynn?”“Gone abroad,” replied Langton. “As soon as I told him what Mr Kirk had said over the telephone, he packed some of his traps, and, making a lame excuse that he had to visit some friends in Germany, he drove to Charing Cross.”I stood gazing at the pair before me, my thoughts too full for mere words.Professor Greer’s end was, indeed, an unexpected and extraordinary one.That night, however, proved full of surprises, for when I returned home I found Mabel, sweet, eager and happy, anxiously awaiting me.I noticed she seemed pale, weary and travel-worn, but as she threw herself into my ready arms with a cry of joy at our reunion, she sobbed to me to forgive her for doubting me.“I don’t understand you, darling,” I said. “I never doubted you for one moment.”“Ah!” she sobbed, “you do not know all I’ve suffered in these long weeks we have been parted.”“No,” I said. “Tell me, dearest, tell me all.”Then, in broken sentences, smiling now and then through her tears, she explained how, on receipt of the false telegram, she had at once gone to Italy, where she was met by Kirk, who told her that I had unfortunately been accused of the crime of forgery, of which I was innocent, and that I was in hiding. He promised, if for the time she concealed her name, he would take her to me.They went to Florence, only to find that I was not there. Thence they went to Faenza, on the Adriatic side of the Apennines, where she was handed over to the care of Pietro Merli, who conducted her about the Continent under the same pretext—always in search of myself, and always preventing her from sending a message home, for fear, the Italian had said, that the English police should be placed on the track. In Vienna, Kirk again met her, Pietro having returned to England.Here she met the Professor, whom she had known when a girl at her home in Hampshire, and who had purposely sent her a note and seen her prior to conniving at the trick by which she was enticed abroad and kept apart from me. She had, in turn, been introduced to Sir Mark Edwards, who came to Vienna to purchase the secret of the new process, and had accompanied them one evening to the opera.From Vienna my dear wife was induced to travel alone to Moscow, where for the past fortnight she had been awaiting news of me promised by the Professor, who had all along supplied her with funds. Three days before, however, she had received a telegram from Kirk, telling her that the charge against me was withdrawn, and that I had returned home. Then, of course, she had not lost an instant in returning to my side.During my absence at Kirk’s house Gwen had been telling her sister the whole remarkable truth. Therefore, when my wife had concluded her story, her head fell upon my shoulder, and in tears she begged forgiveness for doubting me, a fault which, in those circumstances, I freely forgave—as you may quite well imagine.Is there any need to say more?Need I tell you that Mabel and myself stood beside the grave and watched the burial of poor Professor Greer at St. Peter’s, near Broadstairs?Need I tell you, either, how, just a year later, Ethelwynn, who had inherited the great fortune accruing from her father’s discoveries, was married to Leonard Langton, both my wife and myself being honoured guests at the wedding?Flynn has not been heard of since; but Antonio is still all-powerful at the pretty house Langton has taken in Hill Street, and on more than one occasion Mabel and I have been guests at the bright, breezy seaside house overlooking the Goodwins, beyond Broadstairs.Leonard Langton and Ethelwynn are extremely happy. Yet I verily believe that Mabel and myself are even still happier, for I cannot help thinking that our enforced separation has rendered the joys of our lives the sweeter, and has proved our mutual trust and love.Kershaw Kirk is still travelling hither and thither, ever active as secret agent of the British Government, and ever prone to ask the advice of his feathered pet.As for myself, I still carry on my garage in Chiswick, a business which, I am glad to say, is rapidly extending, though I confess it very nearly came to ruin in those dark, breathless days when I was seeking a solution of the remarkable problem of “The Red Room.”The End.

I scanned it through—then held my breath. It was from Angoulême, in Central France, and signed by somebody named Croxton, evidently a person in the secret employ of our Government. The telegram was a jumble of cipher figures and letters, but above, written in ink, were their equivalents in plain English. The message read:

“Details are as follow: Professor Greer left Paris by the ‘Rapide’ at 9:29 last night for Bordeaux. He occupied a first-class compartment alone, and at Poitiers was seen by thechef du trainasleep. Soon after passing Moussac, towards Angoulême, two men in the adjoining compartment were startled at hearing three pistol shots in rapid succession. They looked out, and saw a man open the carriage door and leap from the train. The train was stopped by pulling the communication-cord, whereon the Professor was found dead on the floor of the carriage. His assailant had evidently entered the carriage at Ruffec, the junction for La Rochelle. The passengers instituted a search back along the line towards Moussac, where they found the murderer lying in a ditch with his neck broken. Both bodies have been brought here to Angoulême, and by papers upon the assassin he has been identified as a German named Henke, lately living at Hillside Cottage, Epping. Have had the body photographed, and sending you print for identification. Am making arrangements for sending the late Professor’s body to London. Wire further instructions.”

“What does this mean?” I gasped.

“We know the man Henke,” Kirk replied. “He was a German secret agent, who has lately been engaged with a number of others in making a complete survey north of London. He was brother-in-law to Leftwich. It was he who entered the house in Sussex Place to make certain that his relative was dead, and who, on finding Ethelwynn there, attacked her so savagely, believing he had killed her. Finding that he had not, he evidently followed the Professor, and, alas! avenged Leftwich’s death.”

“Then the poor Professor is dead?” I said, amazed.

“Yes,” sighed Langton. “Ethelwynn is now beside herself with grief. I have just left her, having broken the dreadful news to her.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Kirk, “it’s surely a dark and bitter revenge—rendered all the worse, Holford, by one vivid fact.”

“What is that?”

“The fact that Doctor Flynn—who was born in Germany, though of British parents, and was an intimate friend of Leftwich—suspecting the truth, told the German’s brother-in-law, with this tragic result.”

“Then Flynn is to blame for Greer’s death!” I cried.

“Undoubtedly,” was Kirk’s answer. “Poor Greer!” he added, “He was an old and dear friend of mine. I never suspected that he would be followed abroad, or I would have gone with him. Flynn was no doubt privy to the attempt to be made to secure revenge.”

“Where is Flynn?”

“Gone abroad,” replied Langton. “As soon as I told him what Mr Kirk had said over the telephone, he packed some of his traps, and, making a lame excuse that he had to visit some friends in Germany, he drove to Charing Cross.”

I stood gazing at the pair before me, my thoughts too full for mere words.

Professor Greer’s end was, indeed, an unexpected and extraordinary one.

That night, however, proved full of surprises, for when I returned home I found Mabel, sweet, eager and happy, anxiously awaiting me.

I noticed she seemed pale, weary and travel-worn, but as she threw herself into my ready arms with a cry of joy at our reunion, she sobbed to me to forgive her for doubting me.

“I don’t understand you, darling,” I said. “I never doubted you for one moment.”

“Ah!” she sobbed, “you do not know all I’ve suffered in these long weeks we have been parted.”

“No,” I said. “Tell me, dearest, tell me all.”

Then, in broken sentences, smiling now and then through her tears, she explained how, on receipt of the false telegram, she had at once gone to Italy, where she was met by Kirk, who told her that I had unfortunately been accused of the crime of forgery, of which I was innocent, and that I was in hiding. He promised, if for the time she concealed her name, he would take her to me.

They went to Florence, only to find that I was not there. Thence they went to Faenza, on the Adriatic side of the Apennines, where she was handed over to the care of Pietro Merli, who conducted her about the Continent under the same pretext—always in search of myself, and always preventing her from sending a message home, for fear, the Italian had said, that the English police should be placed on the track. In Vienna, Kirk again met her, Pietro having returned to England.

Here she met the Professor, whom she had known when a girl at her home in Hampshire, and who had purposely sent her a note and seen her prior to conniving at the trick by which she was enticed abroad and kept apart from me. She had, in turn, been introduced to Sir Mark Edwards, who came to Vienna to purchase the secret of the new process, and had accompanied them one evening to the opera.

From Vienna my dear wife was induced to travel alone to Moscow, where for the past fortnight she had been awaiting news of me promised by the Professor, who had all along supplied her with funds. Three days before, however, she had received a telegram from Kirk, telling her that the charge against me was withdrawn, and that I had returned home. Then, of course, she had not lost an instant in returning to my side.

During my absence at Kirk’s house Gwen had been telling her sister the whole remarkable truth. Therefore, when my wife had concluded her story, her head fell upon my shoulder, and in tears she begged forgiveness for doubting me, a fault which, in those circumstances, I freely forgave—as you may quite well imagine.

Is there any need to say more?

Need I tell you that Mabel and myself stood beside the grave and watched the burial of poor Professor Greer at St. Peter’s, near Broadstairs?

Need I tell you, either, how, just a year later, Ethelwynn, who had inherited the great fortune accruing from her father’s discoveries, was married to Leonard Langton, both my wife and myself being honoured guests at the wedding?

Flynn has not been heard of since; but Antonio is still all-powerful at the pretty house Langton has taken in Hill Street, and on more than one occasion Mabel and I have been guests at the bright, breezy seaside house overlooking the Goodwins, beyond Broadstairs.

Leonard Langton and Ethelwynn are extremely happy. Yet I verily believe that Mabel and myself are even still happier, for I cannot help thinking that our enforced separation has rendered the joys of our lives the sweeter, and has proved our mutual trust and love.

Kershaw Kirk is still travelling hither and thither, ever active as secret agent of the British Government, and ever prone to ask the advice of his feathered pet.

As for myself, I still carry on my garage in Chiswick, a business which, I am glad to say, is rapidly extending, though I confess it very nearly came to ruin in those dark, breathless days when I was seeking a solution of the remarkable problem of “The Red Room.”

The End.

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