"More coffee?" suggested Mark.
Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken possession of the last slice of toast, proceeded to scrape out the remainder of the marmalade.
"I seem to be eating rather a lot," he observed apologetically. "I suppose it's the result of being in love."
Mark laughed and glanced at the clock. "It seems to have affected Nancy in the same way. Anyhow, this is the first time I've ever known her late."
"You mustn't be brutal to her," said Colin; "it's all my fault. I took her out to supper after the theatre last night, and we didn't get back to her place until nearly one o'clock. I expect she was a bit sleepy this morning."
"Well, I'll try and overlook it for once," replied Mark generously. He produced his pipe, and, after stuffing the bowl with tobacco, tossed the pouch across the table. "What are your plans for this morning?" he inquired.
"I've got to find Joe," was the answer. "Marsden wants him at the Yard at two o'clock, so I must go along to the Palace and see if I can get hold of his address."
"You had better tell him to come here at half-past twelve," said Mark. "He can have some lunch with us, and then you can all go up together in the car."
"That's a bright idea," agreed Colin. "I'm afraid that, in one way and another, I'm becoming a bit of a nuisance, though."
"Not the slightest," returned Mark. "I'm enjoying myself immensely. It's so dull down here as a rule that any little thing like a love affair or an attempted murder is a perfect godsend."
He sauntered off to the surgery, and a few minutes later Colin, having scribbled a brief note to Nancy and left it on the hall table, was striding along the street in the direction of the Whitechapel Road.
No one could describe the thoroughfares through which he had to pass as picturesque or engaging, but in the crisp morning air, and with a yellow sun shining down from overhead, the two-mile walk was not without a certain attraction.
He was in the kind of mood, indeed, in which even the Dead Sea or the Sahara Desert would probably have appeared to possess some favourable features. Ever since he had discovered his real feelings toward Nancy the whole world seemed to have become an extraordinarily interesting and exciting place. At the present moment, both these sensations were intensified by the prospect of his approaching interview with Marsden. From the way in which the detective had spoken there could be little doubt that he had made some important discoveries, and the mere thought that in a few hours he might be helping to track down the Professor's murderer was sufficient in itself to set every nerve in Colin's body tingling with a fierce elation.
Half-an-hour's walk brought him to the Palace, a gaudy structure wedged in between two public houses. The only person about who appeared to have any connection with the establishment was an elderly man with a bucket of paste, who was leisurely engaged in affixing a poster to one of the two boards which decorated each side of the entrance.
Colin pulled up alongside of him.
"Do you happen to know where Joe Bates lives?" he asked.
The other paused in his work, and eyed him with some suspicion.
"Yus," he replied, "an' wot abaht it?"
"Nothing much," returned Colin. "I happen to be a pal of his, and I want to see him. My name's Doctor Gray."
The elderly man's expression changed instantly. "Ow," he remarked, "that's orl right. I've 'eard 'im speak o' you. You're the bloke as mended 'im up when 'e was in 'orspital? Thinks the world o' you, Joe does, an' no error."
"Well, in that case," said Colin, "perhaps you will trust me with his address?"
"Why, o' course," was the answer. "No offence, mister, but I didn't know who you was when you come askin' fust. Might 'a' been one o' these 'ere blarsted rate collectors." He laid down his brush, and, stepping out on the pavement, pointed across toward a narrow turning on the opposite side of the road. "You foller that," he said, "an' when you come to the last 'ouse on the right jest give a couple o' taps on the front winder."
Colin thanked him, and, crossing the street, made his way down the alley in question, until he arrived at the farther end. Joe's residence proved to be a single-fronted dwelling of grimy brick, the ground floor window of which opened on to the street. A square of not over-clean muslin had been nailed up inside, in order to secure the owner's privacy, but at Colin's second knock this obstruction was cautiously lifted, and Joe's face peered out inquiringly through the dirty glass.
On recognizing the visitor, it disappeared again at once, and the next moment a burly figure in trousers and shirt sleeves swung open the front door.
"Couldn't believe me own eyes, doctor," announced the prize-fighter with a grin of welcome. "'Ow the blazes did you manage to find your way 'ere?"
"I got your address from an elderly gentleman who was shoving up bills outside the Palace," said Colin. "He wouldn't part with it until I told him who I was."
"Ah, that'd be old Tom," returned Joe, nodding his head. "'E ain't the sort to let 'is mouth flap, not unless 'e's sure of 'is comp'ny." He stepped back into the passage, holding open the door. "Come along in, doctor. I ain't got much of a place, but, such as it is, you're more than welcome."
Colin followed his host into a tiny apartment on the left, on the walls of which were nailed up a number of coloured prints, representing various well-known boxers in highly aggressive attitudes. In the centre of the room stood a deal table, containing a couple of bottles of Bass and the smaller half of a brown loaf. A bed, a dilapidated chair, and an old packing-case, full of odds and ends, completed the remainder of the furniture.
"I was jest goin' to 'ave me breakfast," explained Joe, indicating the refreshments. "If you'd fancy a drop, guv'nor, I can borrow a glass from the bloke upstairs."
"Not for me, thanks," said Colin. "I always go to sleep if I drink beer in the morning, and besides, I have only looked in to tell you that you'll be wanted this afternoon."
Joe's eyes glistened. "Goin' to shove it across 'em?" he inquired eagerly.
"I wish we were," was Colin's reply, "but I'm afraid it's nothing as exciting as that. The fact is, I had a talk with Inspector Marsden yesterday, and he wants you and me and Miss Seymour to meet him at Scotland Yard at two o'clock."
For a moment Joe seemed somewhat taken aback.
"If them's the orders," he said at last, "there ain't no more to be said abaht it. I never thought to see meself walkin' in there, though, not of me own accord."
"They'll be civil enough," said Colin. "They only want to hear your story about getting me out of the cellar."
"I daresay you're right," admitted Joe doubtfully. "I ain't got nothin' special against the perlice; all I says is that the less you 'as to do with 'em the better." He paused. "Wot's the programme, guv'nor? Do I jest step up to the front door an' 'and in me card?"
"Doctor Ashton suggested that you should come round to the surgery. Then you can have some grub and drive up with us."
Joe shook his head. "Thankin' yer kindly, but if it's all the same I reckon I'll meet yer there. I gotter couple o' torfs comin' to the Palace for a lesson this mornin', an' it means a quid to me if I let 'em knock me abaht a bit."
"That's all right," said Colin, "as long as I can depend on you to keep the appointment."
"I'll be there, doctor," replied Joe. "I'll be there, honest to Gawd. You bring the young laidy along in the car, and yer'll find me sittin' on the Embankment waitin' for yer."
Satisfied with this assurance, Colin took his departure, and, retracing his steps to the end of the street, made his way back to Shadwell by the same route that he had come.
As he opened the door of the house he saw to his surprise that the note which he had left for Nancy was still lying on the hall table. Before he had time to realize anything further Mark suddenly appeared from the surgery.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Colin. "I made sure you'd be out on your round."
"So I ought to be," replied Mark, "but, as a matter of fact, I was waiting for you."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm rather worried about Nancy. She's never turned up, and there's been no message from her."
Colin's whole figure stiffened abruptly.
"No message?" he repeated.
"Nothing. I can't understand it at all. If she's ill, surely she'd have let us know."
Without a word Colin swung round sharply, and, striding toward the pegs, unhooked his coat.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Mark.
"I'll get out the car and drive up there at once," he said. "Can you stop in for another twenty minutes? I'll telephone you directly I find out what's the matter."
Mark nodded. "Keep steady, old son. I expect it will be all right. There's probably some quite simple explanation."
Colin moistened his lips. "We were mad ever to let her leave the house," he said hoarsely. "If any harm's come to her I'll kill Fenton with my own hands."
As he spoke the clock on the stairs chimed out eleven-thirty, and, turning hastily to the door, he hurried out again into the street.
If there is any truth in the theory that each of us possesses a guardian angel, the fact that a quarter of an hour later Colin drew up safely at the corner of Jubilee Place must be regarded as an amazing tribute to the efficiency of his own particular escort.
Leaving the car in the gutter, he jumped out on to the pavement, and the next moment he was mounting the narrow staircase which led up to the first landing.
There were two studios on this floor, the one which Nancy rented being distinguished by a small brass knocker. Catching hold of the knob, Colin rapped loudly, and then, bending down, lifted up the flap of the letter box.
"Nancy," he called out, "are you there? It is I—Colin." There was no answer.
He straightened himself slowly, and as he did so the door of the second studio was pulled back and a girl appeared in the opening. She was a fair-haired, cheerful-looking girl, wearing a brown overall and smoking a cigarette.
"Excuse my butting in," she said, "but do you want to speak to Miss Seymour?"
Colin took off his hat. "I do," he said, "rather particularly."
"Well, I'm afraid it's no good waiting," was the answer. "She went out just after eight o'clock this morning, and I know she won't be back till late, because she asked me to take in a parcel for her."
"I suppose you don't happen to know where she was going to?" asked Colin. "Please forgive my curiosity, but I am a friend of Doctor Ashton's, for whom Miss Seymour works, and as she hasn't turned up and has sent no message, we are both feeling rather anxious about her."
"She has gone to see her lawyer," replied the girl. "He sent a car around to fetch her, that's why she went off in such a hurry."
Colin stared at her in astonishment. "Her lawyer?" he repeated.
"That's what she told me. I think from the way she spoke he wanted to see her suddenly about some important business. Anyhow, I know the chauffeur brought a letter with him, because she had it in her hand."
"Did you notice the man?" demanded Colin, "Would you be able to describe him again?"
The girl raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose so," she said coolly. "He was on the landing, but it doesn't happen to be a habit of mine to stare at chauffeurs."
With a big effort Colin pulled himself together.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "Perhaps I ought to explain. Miss Seymour and I are engaged to be married, so you will understand why I'm feeling worried about this sudden disappearance of hers."
The girl looked up at him sympathetically. "Why, of course," she replied, "but surely there's no reason to be alarmed? I expect she intended to ring up when she reached the lawyer's office, and then something came along and put it out of her head. She has probably done so by now."
"It won't take me long to find out, anyhow," said Colin. He paused. "Are you likely to be at home the rest of the day?" he asked.
His companion nodded. "Yes," she said. "I live here. I'm an artist."
"Then, just in case Miss Seymour does come home, would you mind asking her to let Doctor Ashton know immediately?"
"Certainly I will," said the girl. "Even if I don't hear her, she's sure to look in in order to see about the parcel." She hesitated. "I—I should like to congratulate you, if I may," she added. "I don't know Miss Seymour very well—I have only been in this studio a few weeks—but one's merely got to speak to her to see that she's a perfect dear."
In spite of his anxiety, Colin smiled at her gratefully.
"Thank you so much," he said. "I'll tell Nancy what a brick you've been."
He shook her hand and, leaving her standing in the doorway, hurried downstairs again into the street.
There was a chemist's shop at the corner which boasted a public telephone, and, entering the box, he rang up Mark.
"No news here," came the reply in answer to his first inquiry. "How about you?"
In a few words Colin acquainted him with the story he had just been told, giving the bare facts exactly as he had heard them from the girl.
"It seems a devilish queer business," was Mark's comment, after a short pause. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I know the name of her lawyer at Helston," said Colin. "It's Penwarren. I shall send a telegram at once to find out whether he's in London."
"And suppose he's not?"
"In that case there's only one explanation. She's in the hands of that brute Fenton, and——"
"Look here," broke in Mark, "shall I come up and join you? I can easily put off my round until this evening."
"I would rather you stayed at the surgery for the present," replied Colin. "A message might come through from Nancy any time, and I shall have to give Penwarren your address so that he can have somewhere to reply to. I'll ring you up again about half-past one, before I see Marsden. We ought to have an answer by then."
"I'll be here," said Mark. "Don't you worry more than you can help. Even if you're right, Nancy can't be in any real danger; the police will have her back in a few hours."
"Please God," said Colin fervently.
He replaced the receiver, and, leaving the shop, walked on quickly up the King's Road until he reached the post office. Here, after destroying two previous attempts, he wrote out the following wire, which he signed in Mark's name:
"I shall be very grateful if you will let me know immediately whether Mr. Penwarren is in London and whether he has any business to discuss with Miss Nancy Seymour. Miss Seymour is in my employment. The matter is extremely urgent."
He handed this to the girl behind the counter, and, having paid for a reply, made his way back to where he had left the car.
He had done everything he could think of for the present, but the knowledge of this fact deepened rather than lessened his anxiety. The whole affair was so extraordinary that he had an instinctive feeling that there must be something evil at the back of it. Was it likely or even possible that the summons which Nancy had received could really have come from Mr. Penwarren? Even if he were in town, for what conceivable reason could he have sent to fetch her at eight o'clock in the morning? And yet, knowing Nancy's character, it seemed equally incredible that she should have left the studio under such circumstances, without being absolutely convinced that the message was a genuine one.
If she had fallen into a trap, there could be no doubt whose hand had set it. The affair in Flood Lane proved that, whatever motive lurked behind Fenton's proceedings, he had now reached a point where nothing would be allowed to stand in his way. He was certainly quite capable of having abducted Nancy, though, in view of the hue and cry which he must have known would immediately follow, it was difficult to imagine how he could have hoped to avoid discovery. From all appearances it seemed to be either the work of a madman, or else the final stroke in some deliberate scheme, the apparent weaknesses of which had been carefully guarded against.
It was the dread of this latter alternative which was clutching at Colin's heart as he once more reached the corner of Jubilee Place. Should it prove to be the true explanation, every minute was obviously of the greatest value, and the prospect of remaining idle for the next two hours filled him with an almost intolerable revolt.
Unless he could get hold of Marsden personally, however, it seemed useless to communicate with the police until he had received a reply from Helston. They were not likely to take action on mere suspicion, especially when the Inspector himself had promised to be on the spot at two o'clock. As to whether there was any chance of his arriving earlier Colin had no idea, but, since the only other course was to do nothing, he decided that he might just as well drive up to Whitehall straight away.
With this resolve he started the car, and, turning down through Burton Court on to the Embankment, swung round to the left in the direction of Westminster Bridge. A sharp run of about seven minutes brought him to the Yard gates, where, as usual, a couple of stalwart-looking constables were standing on duty. Colin recognized one of them as his acquaintance of the previous day, and with a friendly nod he pulled up alongside.
"That's all right, sir," observed the man approvingly. "No objection to your coming in now we know who you are."
Colin leaned forward from the driving seat.
"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Marsden is about anywhere?" he asked. "He made an appointment with me for two o'clock, but something rather important has cropped up, and if possible I should like to see him at once."
"He hasn't been in this way," was the policeman's answer, "but he might have come along by one of the other entrances. You can go inside and inquire, if you like. The officer on duty will be able to find out for you."
Colin thanked him, and, steering his car through the gates, came to a halt in front of the broad flight of steps which led up to the main door.
Another constable advanced inquiringly.
"I don't think so," he replied, in answer to Colin's question; "but if you like to wait a moment I can let you know for certain."
He disappeared within the building, returning after a short absence with a significant shake of his head.
"No one's heard anything of him yet, sir. They expect him at two o'clock, though."
"I know," said Colin. "I've got an appointment with him." He paused. "Can I leave the car here until then?"
The constable scratched his head. "Well, this ain't exactly a garage," he replied doubtfully. "Still, if you back her up quite into that corner——"
He turned aside as he spoke, and, pocketing the five shillings which Colin slipped into his hand, sauntered back to his former position.
* * * * * * * * *
With the best part of an hour and a half before him Colin came out into Whitehall and paused irresolutely on the edge of the pavement. Of all the tasks with which an impatient man can be confronted, that of killing time is perhaps the most trying. He was not in the least hungry, and, in any case, there was something ghastly in the thought of sitting all that while in a half-empty restaurant, brooding miserably over what might have happened to Nancy. If he wished to keep his nerves steady, it seemed to him that some form of exercise was imperatively needed, and, without hesitating further he made his way across Parliament Green, and struck off westward along the Embankment.
The soundness of his instinct was proved by the fact that when he arrived back at Westminster Bridge, after a vigorous tramp of about six miles, he felt that, whatever the next few hours might bring, his mind and judgment were once more under proper control. The hands of Big Ben were already at five and twenty minutes to two, and, knowing that there was a public telephone in the station, he crossed the road and entered the box. After a brief delay he succeeded in getting Mark's number.
"That you, Colin?" came the latter's voice. "Yes, I've just got an answer to the wire. It arrived a few minutes ago. If you hold on I'll read it out to you." There was a pause. "'Mr. Penwarren is ill in bed at Helston. As far as we are aware he has had no communication with Miss Seymour for the last eighteen months. Should be glad of an explanation.'"
"It's only what I expected," said Colin quietly. "There must be something wrong, or Nancy would have let us know long before this."
"Have you told the police?"
"Not yet. I went up to the Yard, but Marsden hadn't arrived, so I thought I'd better wait until we got the reply from Helston."
"Where are you telephoning from?"
"Westminster Bridge Station. I've arranged to meet Joe close by here, and, unless anything's happened, he ought to be along in a few minutes. By that time Marsden will probably have turned up."
There was a pause.
"Well, I'm ready when you want me," observed Mark. "In case there's going to be trouble, you can count me in to the limit."
"I know that," returned Colin gratefully. "If there's any possible way in which you can be of help I'll ring you up and let you know."
He put down the receiver, and, leaving the station, walked slowly round the corner on to the Embankment. A few yards past the entrance to the Yard, on the opposite side of the road, were a couple of empty seats facing the river. He crossed over toward the first one, and, having lighted himself a cigarette, sat down patiently to wait for Joe.
Just as the opening strokes of a quarter to two were chiming out from the clock tower, the latter made his appearance. In a quiet and unobtrusive fashion he slipped suddenly into view round the pedestal of Boadicea's statue, and at the same moment a grin of recognition broke over his face as his eyes lit upon Colin. He quickened his steps, and came rapidly up to the seat.
"Thought you might be early, doctor," he began, "so I come along a bit ahead o' me time on purpose." He looked round inquiringly. "But where's the young laidy?"
Colin, who had thrown away his cigarette, rose to his feet. "I've got some bad news for you, Joe," he said. "Miss Seymour has disappeared."
Joe's mouth opened, and he gazed blankly at his companion.
"Disappeared!" he repeated.
"She was taken away in a car at eight o'clock this morning. Some one tricked her into leaving the studio by means of a false message."
With a muttered oath Joe clutched him by the arm.
"Wot, the saime swine that tried to do you in?"
Colin nodded. "Unless I'm wrong, it's the man I spoke to you about—Major Fenton; the one who was talking to 'Spike' Cooper outside the station."
"Well, if yer knows that," exclaimed Joe, "wot the 'ell are we messin' abaht 'ere for? Why don't we go an' wring 'is blarsted neck?"
"Because we've got to find him first," returned Colin curtly. "That's why I've been waiting to keep this appointment with the Inspector. The police are after him too, so they may be able to help us."
Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"For Gawd's sake let's get over and see 'em, guv'nor. I wouldn't 'ave no 'arm come to that young laidy, not for all the money in the Bank of England."
Colin gave a queer laugh. "I think I can understand the feeling," he said.
They crossed the road toward the Yard, where the same two constables were still on duty.
"You're all right now, mister," remarked one of them. "I saw him come in by the other way a few minutes ago."
With a nod of thanks Colin passed through the gates, and, followed by Joe, who kept casting mistrustful glances to right and left, walked rapidly up to the main entrance.
The recipient of his five-shilling tip stepped forward to meet him.
"Mr. Marsden has just come, sir," he announced. "Told me that when you and your party arrived I was to bring you in straight away."
"Well, this is my party," said Colin. "At least, all of it that's likely to turn up."
He beckoned to Joe, who had halted a couple of paces in the rear, and, mounting the steps, the two of them followed the constable into the building. He led the way up the staircase to Marsden's room, where, in response to his knock, the Inspector himself opened the door. Over his shoulder Colin caught sight of another man in plain clothes, who was standing with his back to the fire.
"Come along in, doctor," exclaimed the detective. "I've got some one here you ought to know—Inspector Ainsworth, of the Investigation Department. He has been doing some rather useful work for you during the last twenty-four hours."
Colin shook hands with his new acquaintance, a stout, gray-haired individual, who eyed him with considerable interest.
"And this is our friend Bates, eh?" continued Marsden, turning a sharp glance on Joe. "But where's Miss Seymour? I thought you were going to bring her with you."
"You had better hear what I've got to tell you straight away," said Colin. "Miss Seymour never came to Shadwell this morning. I went up to her flat just before midday, and I found out from the girl next door that someone had called for her in a car at eight o'clock with a letter from her lawyer in Cornwall."
"What, Penwarren?" broke out Marsden. "Impossible! Why, he's seriously ill down at Helston."
"I know," said Colin. "I sent him a wire at once and I've just got the answer. The letter was a forgery.
"And Miss Seymour?" demanded Marsden quickly.
"She went away in the car and nothing has been heard of her since."
Marsden took a couple of paces across the room, and then turned to his colleague.
"I blame myself for this, Ainsworth," he said. "I ought to have had the place watched."
"That's so," assented the other. "All the same, I don't think there's any harm done. It's plain enough what they're after, but if they want to bring it off they'll have to take her abroad. You can't work that sort of gadget in England."
There was a short pause, which was broken by Marsden. "You had better get hold of Graham immediately. Tell him that the girl's been kidnapped, and that an attempt will probably be made to smuggle her out of the country. They're already on the lookout for Cooper, so it will only be a matter of sending another message."
Giving a curt nod, Ainsworth strode to the door, and, with an abrupt change in his manner, Marsden addressed himself to Colin.
"I am sorry this has happened," he said, "especially as it's partly my fault. I wish to God you could have let me know sooner."
"I came along immediately," retorted Colin, "but you weren't here."
For a moment Marsden hesitated. "Have you any idea who Miss Seymour really is?" he asked slowly.
Colin stared at him. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"She is the granddaughter of Professor Carter, and the heiress to over a quarter of a million of money."
If the Professor himself had suddenly appeared through the doorway Colin's amazement could hardly have been more complete.
"Good God!" he stammered. "Is this true? Are you certain of it?”
"I am quite certain of it—now," was the answer. "I have suspected it was so for the last two days, but what I have found out this morning puts the matter beyond question." He took hold of a chair and thrust it toward Colin. "Sit down for a moment, doctor. I know how impatient and anxious you must be feeling, but I can assure you that I sha'n't waste a second. Before we go any further it's essential that you should hear the truth."
"Get on with it, then," said Colin hoarsely. "I don't want a chair. I'd rather stand."
Marsden walked across to his desk and seated himself in front of an open cardboard file, containing a number of papers.
"Do you remember what I told you the morning after the murder?" he asked. "That if we could find the Professor's old servant, Kennedy, we should probably learn something which would alter our whole view of the case?"
Colin nodded.
"Well, a couple of days ago I got a message from the Hertford police that they had run him to earth in a small village near Hoddesdon. He has been paralyzed and bedridden for some months, and as the old woman who has been looking after him can't even read or write, he might easily have died without ever hearing of the murder. As it was, we got hold of him just in time. I went down there yesterday, and, although he was so ill that he could hardly speak, he managed to give me the one bit of information that I was so badly in need of. He told me that twenty-three years ago Nancy Carter, the Professor's only daughter, then a girl of eighteen, had run away from her home and married a young artist called Richmond Seymour."
Colin took a step forward, but before he could speak the detective raised his hand.
"Let me finish first, and then I'll answer any questions you like. It seems from Kennedy's story that the Professor was one of those self-willed, obstinate sort of people who simply don't know the meaning of the word 'forgiveness.' He had forbidden this marriage, and, since his daughter had chosen to disobey him, he made up his mind that he would have nothing more to do with her. Kennedy tells me that from that time forward he never even mentioned her name again.
"Well, to cut a long story short, as soon as I heard this the two names 'Nancy Seymour' came back to my mind at once. I'd written them down in my notebook that day in the King's Road, and somehow or other they'd stuck in my memory ever since. I knew nothing about the young lady except the fact that she'd helped to save me from having my face kicked in, but I guessed it was likely that you two had kept in touch with each other, and so directly I got back to town I 'phoned you to come up." He paused. "I thought you'd probably be able to give me some information, doctor, and, by God, you did."
Colin came across to the desk, and, leaning over the back, stared eagerly in the detective's face.
"Go on, man," he exclaimed: "for heaven's sake tell me what you mean!"
"I mean this," returned Marsden. "You not only convinced me that Miss Seymour is the Professor's granddaughter, but you opened my eyes to one of the most remarkable and cleverly laid crimes that it's ever been my job to tackle."
"Who did it?" demanded Colin. "Who killed the Professor?"
"I am not referring to the murder. I don't believe that had anything to do with the original scheme. It was an accident—a very awkward accident, and quite unforeseen. In all probability no one regretted it more bitterly than the two men who were chiefly responsible for it—Major Fenton and Mr. Medwin."
"Mr. Medwin!" repeated Colin in a whisper.
"Yes," was the answer. "I'll stake my official reputation that the whole of this interesting plan originated in the brain of Mr. James Stanhope Medwin, solicitor, commissioner for oaths, and I should think about the most complete rascal that ever cheated a client."
Colin drew in a long breath. "I was right then. I felt that he was up to some devil's work the first time I saw him." He leaned forward again, his eyes alight with anger. "How did you find all this out?"
"Well, one thing was quite plain; whoever broke into the Red Lodge the first time was after some particular object which the Professor kept in his desk. According to his own statement to you, he had nothing there except his private papers, and, unless my information was wrong, the only person who was likely to have known this was Medwin. I always make it a rule in business to suspect everyone, no matter who they are, and so, in spite of our friend's plausible manner and professional standing, I put him on the list straight away.
"It was the merest guesswork at first, but when I discovered that the Professor had left a large fortune and had made no will, I began to wonder whether this rather important fact had any connection with the attempt to search his papers. Supposing that Medwin had had reasons for believing in the existence of a legal heir, but at the same time had been unable to get hold of any definite information on the subject. It was quite conceivable—allowing him to be a bad lot—that he might have arranged the burglary with a little professional assistance, and, for all we knew, might even have succeeded in finding out what he wanted.
"The weak point in this theory was the fact that up till then the man had apparently had an unblemished record. However, I set Ainsworth to work, and he very soon dug up a few facts which put quite a different complexion on the matter. He found out that some time ago our respectable friend, who has always had a taste for speculation, suddenly became bitten with the Turf. For the past two years he has been betting heavily with several of the leading bookmakers, and one of them—we know these gentry pretty well at the Yard—confided to us that his own profit in the transaction already amounted to a good many thousand pounds.
"Having got so far, I came more or less to a standstill. I felt convinced in my own mind that, even if Medwin knew nothing about the murder, he was certainly up to some hanky-panky with regard to the money, but it's one thing to believe a man guilty and quite another to prove it.
"It was my interview with Kennedy, and your story coming on top of that, which suddenly did the business. I realized at once, then, that if Miss Seymour was really the Professor's granddaughter, Medwin and Fenton and this fellow Cooper were probably all in the same game. No doubt Cooper had been roped in to help with the burglary, and, although I had no actual evidence that Fenton and Medwin were friends——"
"I could have told you that," interrupted Colin. "I saw a photograph of Fenton on his mantelpiece the day he took me to his house."
"Did you?" returned Marsden. "Well, it's a pity you never thought of mentioning the fact; it might have put me on the right track straight away. As it is, we've had a fairly strenuous thirty-six hours. Our people have been ransacking Cornwall and London to verify the truth of Kennedy's story, and by one o'clock to-day we pretty well completed our case." He laid his hand on the pile. "I have here all the evidence of Mrs. Seymour's marriage and death, and the birth certificate of her daughter. There is no doubt that Miss Seymour was her only child, and she is therefore the sole heiress to the Professor's money."
"I've just a couple of questions I want to ask you," said Colin abruptly. "In the first place, what did these two devils mean to do with Nancy?"
"Marry her to Fenton before she found out the truth. Unfortunately for them, the young lady didn't prove such an easy catch as they expected. I fancy you got most of the credit for that, hence the happy notion of putting you out of the way."
Colin nodded grimly. "And what exactly is your theory about the murder?"
"I haven't the least doubt that it was the work of 'Spike' Cooper. In all probability the other two knew nothing about it. I expect that when he broke into the house the first time—most likely in company with Medwin—he took the opportunity of having a look at the safe. It struck him as being a soft job, and so, without saying a word to the others, he made up his mind to come back again later on and see if there was anything worth collecting. Through some cursed accident the Professor happened to blunder across him, and——"
"But if you know all this," broke out Colin passionately, "why in God's name haven't you arrested them?"
The Inspector looked up at him with unruffled coolness. "We have done everything that's possible," he replied. "I can't bring a charge against Medwin without some actual proof, and we're not likely to find that until we get hold of Cooper and Fenton. I've a warrant out for each of them, and it's only a matter of a few hours before they'll both be in custody."
"And meanwhile——" exclaimed Colin.
"Yes, I know," interrupted the Inspector quickly; "they have managed to trap the girl. There's no question about that, but you can take it from me that she's not in any great danger. Every port in England is being closely watched, and unless they can get her over to the Continent, and force her into a marriage——"
"Do you think I'm content to sit down here and trust to a lot of damned country policemen?" shouted Colin hotly. He wheeled round as he spoke, at the same time beckoning to Joe, who, throughout the whole interview, had remained standing discreetly in the background.
The Inspector jumped up from his chair. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.
"Do!" repeated Colin. "I'm going to find Medwin. He'll know where Nancy is, and I'll get the truth out of him if I have to cut him in pieces."
He turned toward the door.
"Stop!" said Marsden sharply. He stepped forward, his hard blue eyes fixed upon the flushed and angry face of his companion.
"You mean this seriously, doctor?"
"O' course 'e does," chimed in Joe; "an' the saime 'ere, mister."
"I mean to find out what they're doing with Nancy," repeated Colin. "If Medwin won't speak, I'll damned well make him."
For a moment Marsden stood motionless, glancing thoughtfully from one to the other of them.
"I'm hanged if I haven't a good mind to let you try it," he said, suddenly. "It's just one of those mad things that might come off—provided it's properly handled."
"We'll handle it all right," said Colin. "You can trust me for that."
"I hope I can," retorted Marsden. "I tell you frankly that if it weren't for Miss Seymour I should lock you both up straight away. I feel, however, that it's my carelessness that's got her into this mess, and if you can possibly force the truth out of Medwin it may save her a lot of unpleasantness." He paused. "How do you propose to set about it?"
"I shall go down to his house," said Colin, "and tax him with the whole story."
Marsden hesitated. "It will mean showing our cards with a vengeance," he said, "but as things are I don't know that it really matters. He'd be bound to take alarm directly he heard of the arrest of Fenton and Cooper, and however much you frighten him he hasn't a dog's chance of getting away." He took another step forward, and contemplated Colin from under his bushy eyebrows. "You quite understand the position, my young friend. Supposing anything goes wrong, it will be no use expecting me to help you. From the moment you leave this office you will be acting entirely on your own responsibility."
"Of course we shall," said Colin coolly. "The first thing you'll know about it is when we ring up and tell you the result."
With a faint twitch of his lips the detective held out his hand.
"Good luck to you, doctor," he said. "That young lady deserves a man, and I'll take my oath she's got one."